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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..30aaff9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52980 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52980) diff --git a/old/52980-0.txt b/old/52980-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 09b4c69..0000000 --- a/old/52980-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3074 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Philosophy of Art, by Hippolyte Taine - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Philosophy of Art - -Author: Hippolyte Taine - -Translator: John Durand - -Release Date: September 4, 2016 [EBook #52980] -Last Updated: August 29, 2017 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, alo linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -Images generously made available by the Internet Archive. - - - - - -THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART - -BY - -H. TAINE - -PROFESSOR OF ÆSTHETICS AND OF THE HISTORY OF ART IN THE -ÉCOLE DES BEAUX-ARTS, PARIS. - -TRANSLATED BY - -JOHN DURAND - -_Second Edition, Thoroughly Revised by the Translator_ - -NEW YORK - -HOLT & WILLIAMS - -1873 - - - - -PUBLISHERS' NOTE. - - -The now famous name of Taine was first introduced to the American -public by the issue, in 1865, of a small imported edition of this -work. That edition has long been out of print here and in Europe. That -the book is now re-issued may be subject of special satisfaction to -those who already possess the Author's "_Ideal in Art_" "_Art in the -Netherlands_" and "_Art in Greece_" as this work (now published in a -style uniform with others named) is properly the forerunner of them -all; containing, as it does, the principles laid down in the Author's -first course of lectures, and constantly referred to in the later -courses which now form the books before alluded to. - -In preparing this edition for the press, the translator, by bringing -to bear the experience gained in the later works, has made it a great -improvement on the previous edition. - - - - -PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. - - -The translation herewith presented to the reader consists of a course -of Lectures delivered during the winter of 1864, before the Students of -Art of the _École des Beaux Arts_ at Paris, by H. Taine, _Professeur -d'Esthétique et d' Histoire de l'Art_ in that institution. - -These lectures, as a system of Æsthetics, consist of an application of -the experimental method to art, in the same manner as it is applied -to the sciences. Whatever utility the system possesses is due to this -principle. The author undertakes to explain art by social influences -and other causes; humanity at different times and places, climate, -and other conditions, furnish the facts on which the theory rests. The -artistic development of any age or people is made intelligible through -a series of historical inductions terminating in a few inferential -laws, constituting what the title of the book declares it to be--_the -philosophy of art._ - -Such a system seems to possess many advantages. Among others, it -tends to emancipate the student of art, as well as the amateur, from -metaphysical and visionary theories growing out of false theories and -traditional misconceptions; he is not misled by an exclusive adherence -to particular schools, masters, or epochs. It also tends to render -criticism less capricious, and therefore less injurious; dictating no -conventional standard of judgment, it promotes a spirit of charity -towards all works. As there is no attempt to do more than explain art -according to natural laws, the reader must judge whether, like all -systems assuming to bring order out of confusion, this one fulfils its -mission. - -Readers familiar with M. Taine's able and original work on English -literature _(Histoire de la Littérature Anglaise)_ will recognize -in the following pages the same theory applied to art as is therein -applied to literature. - -J. D. - -LONDON, _November 9,_ 1865. - - - - -PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. - - -Since the publication of the first edition of the "_Philosophy of Art_" -seven years ago, in London, its author has become deservedly popular, -and especially in this country. His writings are sought for, read and -translated both in England and on the continent of Europe, and it would -be but refining gold to say aught in his praise. Like every man of -genius he has, as time moves on, improved in his order of thought and -in his wonderfully artistic style. His latest work, "_On Intelligence_" -ranks him as high among thinkers, as his former works among men of -letters. - -The present edition is a careful revision of the former one, and -amounts, indeed, to a new translation. Were either to be compared -with the original, no change of sense could probably be detected. The -present edition, however, being much more literal, the translator -considers it an improvement, and hopes that it will be found more -worthy of its gifted author, the publishers, his indulgent critics, and -the public generally. - -J. D. - -SOUTH ORANGE, N. J. _January,_ 1873. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -PART I. - -ON THE NATURE OF THE WORK OF ART. - -§ I. - -Object of this Study--The Method employed--The search for Aggregates on -which the Work of Art depends. - -First Aggregate, the Entire Production of the Artist--Second Aggregate, -the School to which he belongs; examples, Shakespeare, Rubens. Third -Aggregate, Contemporary Society; examples, Greece, Spain, in the -Sixteenth Century. - -Conditions determining appearance and character of Works of Art; -examples, Greek Tragedy, Gothic Architecture, Dutch Painting, French -Tragedy--Comparison of Climate and Natural Productions with a Moral -Temperature, and its effect--Application of this method to Italian Art. - -Objects and method of Æsthetics--Opposition of the Historic and -Dogmatic Methods--Laws--Sympathy for all Schools--The Analogy between -Æsthetics and Botany, and between the Natural and the Moral Sciences 19 - -§ II. - -What is the Object of Art--The Research Experimental and not -Ideal--Comparisons and Eliminations of Works of Art sufficient. - -Division of the Arts into two groups--On the one hand, Painting, -Sculpture and Poesy; and, on the other, Architecture and Music. -First group--Imitation apparently the end of Art--Reasons for this -derived from ordinary experience, and from the lives of great men; -Michael Angelo, Corneille--Reasons derived from the History of Art and -Literature; Pompeii and Ravenna--Classic Style under Louis XIV., and -Academic Style under Louis XV 39 - -§ III. - -Exact Imitation not the end of Art--Illustrations derived from -Casting, Photography, and Stenography--Comparison between Denner -and Van Dyck--Certain Arts purposely Inexact--Comparison between -Antique Statues and Draped Figures in the Churches of Naples and -Spain--Comparison between Prose and Verse--The Two Iphigenias of Goethe - -§ IV. - -Relationships of Parts the true object of Imitation--Illustrations -derived from Drawing and Literature . . 58 - -§ V. - -A Work of Art not confined to Imitating Relationships of -Parts--Modification of the Principle in the greatest Schools; Michael -Angelo, Rubens--The Medici Tomb--The 'Kermesse.' - -Definition of Essential Character: Examples of the Lion and the -Netherlands. - -Importance of Essential Character; Nature imperfectly expressing it, -Art supplies her place--Flanders in the time of Rubens, and Italy in -the time of Raphael. - -Artistic Imagination--Spontaneous Impressions, and their power of -Transformation. - -Retrospect; successive steps of the Method, and Definition of a Work of -Art 62 - -§ VI. - -Two Parts in this Definition--How Music and Architecture enter into -it--Opposition of the first and second group of Arts--The first copies -Organic and Moral Dependencies; the second combines Mathematical -Dependencies. - -Mathematical Relationships perceived by the sense of sight--Different -classes of these Relationships--Principle of Architecture. - -Mathematical Relationships perceived by the sense of Hearing--Different -classes of these Relationships--Principle of Music--The second -Principle of Music, Analogy of the Sound and the Cry--Music, on this -side, enters into the first group of Arts. - -The definition given is applicable to all the Arts 83 - -§ VII. - -The Value of Art in Human Life--Selfish Acts for the preservation -of the Individual--Social Acts tending to preserve the -Species--Disinterested Acts having for object the contemplation of -Causes and Essentials--Two ways for attaining this end; Science and -Art--Advantages of Art 89 - -PART II. - -PRODUCTION OF THE WORK OF ART. - -§ I. - -General Law for the Production of the Work of Art--First Formula--Two -sorts of Proof, one of Experience, and the other of Reasoning 95 - -§ II. - -General Exposition of the Action of Social Mediums--The Development -of the Plant compared with the Development of Human Activity--Natural -Selection 97 - -§ III. - -The Action of a Moral Temperature--The Influence of Melancholy and -Cheerful States of Mind--The Artist is saddened by his personal share -of misfortune--By the melancholy ideas of his contemporaries--By his -aptitude for defining the salient character of objects, which here is -sadness--He finds suggestions and enlightenment only in melancholy -subjects--The Public comprehends only melancholy subjects. - -An inverse case, state of prosperity and general joy--Intermediate -cases 105 - -§ IV. - -Real and Historical cases--Four Epochs, and four leading Arts 117 - -§ V. - -Greek Civilization and Antique Sculpture--Comparison of Greek manners -with those of contemporaries--The City--The Citizen--Taste for War--The -Athlete-Spartan Education--The Gymnasium in other parts of Greece. - -Conformity of Customs with Ideas--Nudity--Olympic Games--The Gods -perfect Human Figures. - -Birth of Sculpture; Statues of Athletes and of Gods--Why Statuary -sufficed for the Artist's Conceptions--Immense Number of Statues 119 - -§ VI. - -The Civilization of the Middle Ages, and Gothic Architecture. - -Decline of Antique Society--Invasions of Barbarians--Feudal -Excesses--Universal Misery. - -Distaste for Life--Exalted Sensibility--The Passion of Love--Power of -the Christian Religion.. - -Birth of Gothic Architecture--The Cathedral--Universality of Gothic -Architecture 138 - -§ VII. - -French Civilization in the Seventeenth Century, and Classic Tragedy. - -The Courtier--Ruling Taste--Tragedy--The Aristocratic Sentiments of -Society--Importation of French Tragedy into other European Countries 154 - -§ VIII. - -Contemporary Civilization and Music--The French Revolution--Effect of -Civil Equality, Machinery, and the Comforts of Existence--Decay of -Traditional Authority. - -The Representative Man--Development of Music--Its Origin in Germany and -Italy; and its Dependence on Modern Sentiments. - -Universality of Music 168 - -§ IX. - -The Law of the Production of Works of Art--The Four Terms of the -Series--Practical Application of the Law to a Study of all the Arts and -of every Literature. 180 - -§ X. - -Application of the Law to the Present--The Social Medium renewing -itself constantly, Art renews itself--Hopes for the Future 186 - - - - -ON THE NATURE OF THE WORK OF ART. - - -GENTLEMEN: - -In commencing this course of lectures I wish to ask you two things -of which I stand in great need: in the first place, your attention; -afterwards, and especially, your kind indulgence. The warmth of -your reception persuades me that you will favor me with both. Let -me sincerely and earnestly thank you beforehand. The subject with -which I intend to entertain you this year is the history of art, and, -principally, the history of painting in Italy. Before entering on the -subject itself, I desire to indicate to you its spirit and method. - - - - -I. - - -The principal point of this method consists in recognizing that a -work of art is not isolated, and, consequently, that it is necessary -to study the conditions out of which it proceeds and by which it is -explained. - -The first step is not difficult. At first, and evidently, a work of -art--a picture, a tragedy, a statue--belongs to a certain whole, that -is to say, to the entire work of the artist producing it. This is -elementary. It is well known that the different works of an artist -bear a family likeness, like the children of one parent; that is to -say, they bear a certain resemblance to each other. We know that every -artist has his own style, a style recognized in all his productions. -If he is a painter, he has his own coloring, rich or impoverished; -his favorite types, noble or ignoble; his attitudes, his mode of -composition, even his processes of execution; his favorite pigments, -tints, models, and manner of working. If he is a writer, he has his -own characters, calm or passionate; his own plots, simple or complex; -his own dénouements, comic or tragic, his peculiarities of style, his -pet periods, and even his special vocabulary. This is so true, that a -connoisseur, if you place before him a work not signed by any prominent -master, is able to recognize, to almost a certainty, to what artist -this work belongs, and, if sufficiently experienced and delicate in his -perceptions, the period of the artist's life, and the particular stage -of his development. - -This is the first whole to which we must refer a work of art. And here -is the second. The artist himself, considered in connection with his -productions, is not isolated; he also belongs to a whole, one greater -than himself, comprising the school or family of artists of the time -and country to which he belongs. For example, around Shakespeare, -who, at the first glance, seems to be a marvellous celestial gift -coming like an aerolite from heaven, we find several dramatists of a -high order--Webster, Ford, Massinger, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Beaumont -and Fletcher--all of whom wrote in the same style and in the same -spirit as he did. There are the same characters in their dramas as -in Shakespeare's, the same violent and terrible characters, the same -murderous and unforeseen occurrences, the same sudden and frenzied -passions, the same irregular, capricious, turgid, magnificent style, -the same exquisite poetic feeling for rural life and landscape, and -the same delicate, tender, affectionate ideals of woman. - -In a similar way Rubens is to be judged. Rubens apparently stands -alone, without either predecessor or successor. On going to Belgium, -however, and visiting the churches of Ghent, Brussels, Bruges, or -Antwerp, you find a group of painters with genius resembling his. -First, there is Crayer, in his day considered a rival; Seghers, Van -Oost, Everdingen, Van Thulden, Quellin, Hondthorst, and others, with -whom you are familiar, Jordaens, Van Dyck--all conceiving painting in -the same spirit, and with many distinctive features, all preserving a -family likeness. Like Rubens, these artists delighted in painting ruddy -and healthy flesh, the rich and quivering palpitation of life, the -fresh and sensuous pulp which is diffused so richly over the surface of -the living being, the real, and often brutal types, the transport and -abandonment of unfettered action, the splendid lustrous and embroidered -draperies, the varying hues of silk and purple, and the display of -shifting and waving folds. At the present day they seem to be obscured -by the glory of their great contemporary; but it is not the less true -that to comprehend him it is necessary to study him amidst this cluster -of brilliants of which he is the brightest gem--this family of artists, -of which he is the most illustrious representative. - -This being the second step, there now remains the third. This family -of artists is itself comprehended in another whole more vast, which -is the world surrounding it, and whose taste is similar. The social -and intellectual condition is the same for the public as for artists; -they are not isolated men; it is their voice alone that we hear at -this moment, through the space of centuries, but, beneath this living -voice which comes vibrating to us, we distinguish a murmur, and, as it -were, a vast, low sound, the great infinite and varied voice of the -people, chanting in unison with them. They have been great through this -harmony, and it is very necessary that it should ever be so. Phidias -and Ictinus, the constructors of the Parthenon and of the Olympian -Jupiter, were, like other Athenians, pagans and free citizens, brought -up in the _palæstra,_ exercising and wrestling naked, and accustomed -to deliberate and vote in the public assemblies; possessing the same -habits, the same interests, the same ideas, the same faith; men of -the same race, the same education, the same language; so that in all -the important acts of their life they are found in harmony with their -spectators. - -This harmony becomes still more apparent if we consider an age nearer -our own. For example, take the great Spanish epoch of the sixteenth -and a part of the seventeenth centuries, in which lived the great -painters, Velasquez, Murillo, Zurbaran, Francisco de Herrera, Alonzo -Cano, and Morales; and the great poets, Lope de Vega, Calderon, -Cervantes, Tirso de Molina, Don Luis de Leon, Guilhem de Castro, -and so many others. You know that at this time Spain was entirely -monarchical and Catholic; that she had over-come the Turks at Lepanto; -that she planted her foot in Africa and maintained herself there; that -she combated the Protestants in Germany, pursued them in France and -attacked them in England; that she subdued and converted the idolaters -of the new world, and chased away Jews and Moors from her own soil; -that she purged her own faith with autodafés and persecutions: that -she lavished fleets and armies, and the gold and silver of her American -possessions, along with her most precious children, the vital blood of -her own heart, upon multiplied and boundless crusades, so obstinately -and so fanatically, that at the end of a century and a half she fell -prostrate at the feet of Europe, but with such enthusiasm, such a -burst of glory, such national fervor, that her subjects, enamored of -the monarchy in which their power was concentrated, and with the cause -to which they devoted their lives, felt no other desire than that of -elevating religion and royalty by their obedience, and of forming -around the Church and the Throne a choir of faithful, militant, and -adoring supporters. In this monarchy of crusaders and inquisitors, -preserving the chivalric sentiments and sombre passions, the ferocity, -intolerance, and mysticism of the middle ages, the greatest artists -are the very men who possessed in the highest degree the faculties, -sentiments, and passions of the public that surrounded them. The most -celebrated poets--Lope de Vega and Calderon--were military adventurers, -volunteers in the Armada, duellists and lovers, as exalted and as -mystic in love as the poets and Don Quixotes of feudal times; they were -passionate Catholics and so ardent that, at the end of their lives, -one became a familiar of the Inquisition, others became priests, and -the most illustrious among them--the great Lope de Vega--fainted on -saying Mass, at the thought of the sacrifice and martyrdom of Jesus. -Everywhere may be found similar examples of the alliance, the intimate -harmony existing between an artist and his contemporaries; and we may -rest assured that if we desire to comprehend the taste or the genius -of an artist, the reasons leading him to choose a particular style of -painting or drama, to prefer this or that character or coloring, and to -represent particular sentiments, we must seek for them in the social -and intellectual conditions of the community in the midst of which he -lived. - -We have therefore to lay down this rule: that, in order to comprehend -a work of art, an artist or a group of artists, we must clearly -comprehend the general social and intellectual condition of the times -to which they belong. Herein is to be found the final explanation; -herein resides the primitive cause determining all that follows it. -This truth, gentlemen, is confirmed by experience. In short, if we pass -in review the principal epochs of the history of art, we find that -the arts appear and disappear along with certain accompanying social -and intellectual conditions. For example, the Greek tragedy--that -of Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides--appears at the time when the -Greeks were victorious over the Persians; at the heroic era of small -republican cities, at the moment of the great struggle by which -they acquired their independence and established their ascendency -in the civilized world; and we see it disappearing along with this -independence and this vigor when a degeneracy of character and the -Macedonian conquest delivered Greece over to strangers. It is the -same with Gothic architecture, developing along with the definitive -establishment of feudalism in the semi-renaissance of the eleventh -century at the period when society, delivered from brigands and -Normans, began to consolidate, and disappearing at the period when -the military system of petty independent barons, with the manners and -customs growing out of it vanished near the end of the fifteenth -century, on the advent of modern monarchies. It is the same with -Dutch painting, which flourished at the glorious period when, -through firmness and courage, Holland succeeded in freeing herself -from Spanish rule, combated England with equal power, and became -the richest, freest, most industrious, and most prosperous state in -Europe: and we see it declining at the commencement of the eighteenth -century, when Holland, fallen into a secondary rank, leaves the first -to England, reducing itself to a well-ordered, safely administered, -quiet, commercial banking-house, in which man, an honest _bourgeois,_ -could live at ease, exempt from every great ambition and every grand -emotion. It is the same, finally, with French tragedy appearing at -the period when a noble and well-regulated monarchy, under Louis -XIV., established the empire of decorum, the life of the court, "the -pomp and circumstance" of society, and the elegant domestic phases -of aristocracy; disappearing when the social rule of nobles and the -manners of the antechamber were abolished by the Revolution. - -I would like to make you more sensible by a comparison of this effect -of the social and intellectual state on the Fine Arts. Suppose you -are leaving the land of the south for that of the north; you perceive -on entering a certain zone a particular mode of cultivation and a -particular species of plant: first come the aloe and the orange; a -little later, the vine and the olive; after these, the oak and the -chestnut; a little further on, oats and the pine, and finally, mosses -and lichens. Each zone has its own mode of cultivation and peculiar -vegetation; both begin at the commencement, and both finish at the -end of the zone; both are attached to it. The zone is the condition -of their existence; by its presence or its absence is determined -what shall appear and what shall disappear. Now, what is this zone -but a certain temperature; in other words, a certain degree of heat -and moisture; in short, a certain number of governing circumstances -analogous in its germ to that which we called a moment ago the social -and intellectual state? - -Just as there is a physical temperature, which by its variations -determines the appearance of this or that species of plant, so is -there a moral temperature, which by its variations determines the -appearance of this or that species of art. And as we study the physical -temperature in order to comprehend the advent of this or that species -of plants, whether maize or oats, the orange or the pine, so is it -necessary to study the moral temperature in order to comprehend the -advent of various phases of art, whether pagan sculpture or realistic -painting, mystic architecture or classic literature, voluptuous music -or ideal poetry. The productions of the human mind, like those of -animated nature, can only be explained by their _milieu._ - -Hence the study I intend to offer you this season, of the history of -painting in Italy. I shall attempt to lay before your eyes the mystic -_milieu,_ in which appeared Giotto and Beato Angelico, and to this end -I shall read passages from the poets and legendary writers, containing -the ideas entertained by the men of those days concerning happiness, -misery, love, faith, paradise, hell, and all the great interests of -humanity. We shall find documentary evidence in the poetry of Dante, -of Guido Cavalcanti, of the Franciscans, in the Golden Legend, in the -Imitation of Jesus Christ, in the Fioretti of St. Francis, in the -works of historians like Dino Campagni, and in that vast collection -of chroniclers by Muratori, which so naively portray the jealousies -and disturbances of the small Italian republics. After this I shall -attempt to place before you in the same manner the pagan _milieu_ -which a century and a half later produced Leonardo da Vinci, Michael -Angelo, Raphael and Titian, and to this end I shall read, either from -the memoirs of contemporaries--Benvenuto Cellini for instance--or from -the diverse chronicles kept daily in Rome and in the principal Italian -cities, or from the despatches of ambassadors, or, finally, from the -descriptions of fêtes, masquerades, and civic receptions, which are -remarkable fragments, displaying the brutality, sensuality, and vigor -of society, as well as the lively poetic sentiment, the love of the -picturesque, the great literary sentiment, the decorative instincts, -and the passion for external splendor which at that time are seen as -well among the people and the ignorant crowd as among the great and the -lettered. - -Suppose now, gentlemen, we should succeed in this undertaking, and -that we should be able to mark clearly and precisely the various -intellectual conditions which have led to the birth of Italian -painting--its development, its bloom, its varieties and decline. -Suppose the same undertaking successful with other countries, and other -ages, and with the different branches of art, architecture, sculpture, -painting, poetry, and music. Suppose, that through the effect of all -these discoveries, we succeed in defining the nature, and in marking -the conditions of existence of each art, we shall then have a complete -explanation of the Fine Arts, and of all in general; that is to say, a -philosophy of the Fine Arts--what is called an _æsthetic_ system. This -is what we aim at, gentlemen, and nothing else. Ours is modern, and -differs from the ancient, inasmuch as it is historic, and not dogmatic; -that is to say, it imposes no precepts, but ascertains and verifies -laws. Ancient Æsthetics gave, at first, a definition of beauty, and -declared, for instance, that the beautiful is the expression of the -moral ideal, or rather is the expression of the invisible, or, rather -still, is the expression of the human passions; then starting hence, -as from an article of a code, they absolved, condemned, admonished, -and directed. It is my good fortune not to have such a formidable -task to meet. I do not wish to guide you--it would embarrass me too -much. Besides, I say with all humility, that, as to precepts, we have -as yet found but two: the first is to be born a genius, an affair of -your parents, and not mine; and the second, which implies much labor -in order to master art, which likewise does not depend on me, but -on yourselves. My sole duty is to offer you facts, and show you how -these facts are produced. The modern method, which I strive to pursue, -and which is beginning to be introduced in all the moral sciences, -consists in considering human productions, and particularly works of -art, as facts and productions of which it is essential to mark the -characteristics and seek the causes, and nothing more. Thus understood, -science neither pardons nor proscribes; it verifies and explains. It -does not say to you, despise Dutch art because it is vulgar, and prize -only Italian art; nor does it say to you despise Gothic art because -it is morbid, and prize only Greek art. It leaves every one free to -follow their own predilections, to prefer that which is germane to -one's temperament, and to study with the greatest care that which -best corresponds to the development of one's own mind. Science has -sympathies for all the forms of art, and for all schools, even for -those the most opposed to each other. It accepts them as so many -manifestations of the human mind, judging that the more numerous they -are, and the more antithetical, the more they show the human mind in -its innumerable and novel phases. It is analogous to botany, which -studies the orange, the laurel, the pine, and the birch, with equal -interest; it is itself a species of botany, applied not to plants, but -to the works of man. By virtue of this it keeps pace with the general -movement of the day, which now affiliates the moral sciences with -the natural sciences, and which, giving to the first the principles, -precautions, and directions of the second, gives to them the same -stability, and assures them the same progress. - - - - -II. - - -I wish to apply at once this method to the first and principal -question by which a course of æsthetics is opened out, and which -is a definition of art. What is art, and in what does its nature -consist? Instead of establishing a formula, I wish to familiarize you -with facts, for facts exist here as elsewhere--positive facts open to -observation; I mean _works_ of _art_ arranged by families in galleries -and libraries, like plants in an herbarium, and animals in a museum. -Analysis may be applied to the one as to the others; a work of art -may be investigated generally, as we investigate a plant or an animal -generally. There is no more need of discarding experience in the first -case than in the second; the entire process consists in discovering, -by numerous comparisons and progressive eliminations, traits common -to all works of art, and, at the same time, the distinctive traits by -which works of art are separated from other productions of the human -intellect. - -To this end we will, among the five great arts of poetry, sculpture, -painting, architecture, and music, set aside the last two, of which -the explanation is more difficult, and to which we will return -afterwards; we shall at present consider only the three first. All, as -you are aware, possess a common character, that of being more or less -_imitative_ arts. - -At the first glance, it seems that this is their principal character, -and their object is imitation as exact as possible. For it is plain -that a statue is meant to imitate accurately a really living man; that -a picture is intended to portray real persons in real attitudes, the -interior of a house and a landscape, such as nature presents. It is no -less evident that a drama, a romance, attempts to represent faithfully -characters, actions, and actual speech, and to give as precise and as -accurate a picture of them as is possible. When, accordingly, the image -is inadequate or inexact, we say to the sculptor, "This breast or this -limb is not well executed;" and to the painter, "The figures of your -background are too large--the coloring of your trees is faulty;" and we -say to the author, "Never did man feel or think as you have imagined -him." - -But there are other proofs, still stronger, and first, every-day -experience. When we behold what takes place in the life of an artist, -we perceive that it is generally divided into two sections. During -the first, in the youth and maturity of his talent, he sees things as -they are, and studies them minutely and earnestly; he fixes his eyes -on them; he labors and worries to express them, and he expresses them -with more than scrupulous fidelity. Arriving at a certain moment of -life, he thinks he understands them thoroughly and discovers no more -novelty in them; he casts aside the living model, and with certain -prescribed rules which he has picked up in the course of his experience -he forms a drama or a romance, a picture or a statue. The first epoch -is that of natural feeling; the second that of mannerism and decline. -If we penetrate the lives of the greatest men, we rarely fail to -discover both. In the life of Michael Angelo, the first period lasted -a long time, a little less than sixty years; all the works belonging -to it disclose the sentiment of force and heroic grandeur. The artist -is imbued with it; he has no other thought. His numerous dissections, -his countless drawings, the unremitted analysis of his own heart, his -study of the tragic passions and of their physical expression, are -for him but the means of manifesting outwardly the militant energy -with which he is carried away. This idea descends upon you from every -corner of the great vault of the Sistine chapel. Enter the Pauline -chapel alongside of it, and contemplate the works of his old age--the -Conversion of St. Paul, the Crucifixion of St. Peter; consider even -the Last Judgment, which he painted in his seventy-seventh year. -Connoisseurs, and those who are not, recognize at once that the two -frescoes are executed according to prescribed rules; that the artist -possessed a certain number of forms, which he used conventionally; -that he multiplied extraordinary attitudes, and ingeniously contrived -foreshortenings; that the lively invention, naturalness, the great -transport of the heart, the perfect truth peculiar to his first works, -have, at least in part, disappeared from the abuse of technique and -the force of routine; and that if he is still superior to others, he is -greatly inferior to himself. - -The same comment may be made on another life--that of our French -Michael Angelo, Corneille. In the first years of his life, Corneille -was likewise struck by the feeling of force, and of moral heroism. -He found it around him in the vigorous passions bequeathed by the -religious wars to the new monarchy; in the daring acts of duellists; -in the proud feeling of honor which still carried away the devotees -of feudalism; in the bloody tragedies which the plots of princes and -the executions of Richelieu furnished as spectacles for the court; and -he created personages like _Chimène_ and the _Cid._ like _Polyeucte_ -and _Pauline,_ like _Cornélie, Sertorius, Émilie,_ and _les Horaces._ -Afterwards he produced _Pertharite, Attila,_ and other feeble works, in -which the situations merge into the horrible, and generous emotions -lose themselves in extravagance. In this period the living models he -once contemplated no longer had a social setting; at least he no longer -sought them, he failed to renew his inspiration. He was governed by -prescribed rules due to the memory of processes which he had formerly -found in the heat of enthusiasm, literary theories, dissertations and -distinctions on theatrical catastrophes and dramatic licenses. He -copied and exaggerated himself; learning, calculation and routine shut -out from him the direct and personal contemplation of powerful emotions -and of noble actions; he no longer created, but manufactured. - -It is not alone the history of this or that great man which proves to -us the necessity of imitating the living model, and of keeping the eye -fixed on nature, but rather the history of every great school of art. -Every school (I believe without exception) degenerates and falls, -simply through its neglect of exact imitation, and its abandonment -of the living model. You see it in painting, in the fabricators of -muscles and exaggerated attitudes who succeeded Michael Angelo; in -the sciolists of theatrical decorations and in the brawny rotundities -which have followed the great Venetians; and in the boudoir and alcove -painters which closed the French school of art of the eighteenth -century. The same thing occurs in literature, with the versifiers and -rhetoricians of the Latin decadence; with the sensual and declamatory -playwrights closing the bright period of the English drama, and -with the manufacturers of sonnets, puns, witticisms, and bombast of -the Italian decline. Among these I will cite two striking examples. -The first is the decline of sculpture and painting in antiquity, -of which you obtain a vivid impression by visiting Pompeii, and -afterwards Ravenna. At Pompeii the painting and sculpture belong to -the first century of the present era; at Ravenna the mosaics are of -the sixth century, about the times of the Emperor Justinian. In this -interval of five centuries art becomes irremediably corrupt, and its -degeneracy is wholly due to the neglect of the living model. In the -first century the pagan manners and tastes of the _palestra_ still -existed. Men wore their vestments loose and cast them off easily, -frequented the baths, exercised in a state of nudity, witnessed -the combats of the circus, ever contemplating sympathetically and -intelligently the active movements of the living body. Their sculptors -and painters, surrounded by nude and half-nude forms, were capable of -reproducing them. Accordingly, you will see on the walls of Pompeii, -in the little oratories and in the inner courts, beautiful dancing -females, spirited, supple young heroes, with manly chests, agile -feet, every posture and form of the body rendered with an ease and -accuracy to which the most elaborate study of the present day cannot -attain. During the following five hundred years everything gradually -changes. Pagan manners, the use of the _palestra,_ and the love of -the nude, disappear. The body is no longer exposed, but concealed -under complicated drapery, and under a display of lace, purple, and -oriental magnificence. People no longer esteem the wrestler and the -youthful gymnast,[1] but the eunuch, the scribe, the monk, and the woman. -Asceticism gains ground, and with it a love for listless reverie, -hollow disputation, scribbling and wrangling. The worn-out babblers -of the Lower Empire replace the valiant Greek athletes and the hardy -combatants of Rome. By degrees the knowledge and study of the living -model are interdicted. People have discarded it. Their eyes rest only -on the works of ancient masters, and they copy these. Soon copies -are only made of copies, and again copies of these, so that each -generation recedes a step from the original type. The artist ceases to -have his own idea and his own feeling, and becomes a copying machine. -The Fathers declare that he must invent nothing, but must adhere to -lineaments prescribed by tradition and sanctioned by authority. This -separation of the artist from the living model brings art to the -condition in which you see it at Ravenna. At the end of five centuries, -artists can only represent man in two ways--seated and standing; other -attitudes are too difficult, and are beyond their capacity. Hands and -feet appear rigid as if fractured, the folds of drapery are wooden, -figures seem to be mannikins, and heads are invaded by the eyes. Art is -like an invalid sinking under a mortal consumption; it is languishing, -and about to expire. - -In a different branch of art amongst ourselves, and in a neighboring -century, we find again a similar decline, and brought about by -similar causes. In the age of Louis XIV., literature attained to a -perfect style, to a purity, to a precision, to a sobriety of which -we have no example; dramatic art, especially, created a language and -a style of versification deemed by all Europe a masterpiece of the -human intellect. This is due to the fact of writers finding their -models around them and constantly observing them. The language of -Louis XIV. was perfect, displaying a dignity, eloquence, and gravity -truly royal. We know by the letters, despatches, and memoirs of the -court personages of that time, that an aristocratic tone, sustained -elegance, propriety of terms, dignified manners, and the art of correct -speaking, were as common to courtiers as to monarch; so that the writer -frequenting their society, had but to draw on his memory and experience -in order to obtain the very best materials of his art. - -[Footnote 1: ἔφηβος.] - - - - -III. - - -Is this true in every particular, and must we conclude that absolutely -exact imitation is the end of art? - -If this were so, gentlemen, absolutely exact imitation would produce -the finest works. But, in fact, it is not so. In sculpture, for -instance, casting is the process by which a faithful and minute -impression of a model is obtained, and certainly a good cast is not -equal to a good statue. Again, and in another domain, photography -is the art which completely reproduces with lines and tints on a -flat surface, without possible mistake, the forms and modelling of -the object imitated. Photography is undoubtedly a useful auxiliary -to painting, and is sometimes tastefully employed by cultivated and -intelligent men; but after all, no one thinks of comparing it with -painting. And finally, as a last illustration, if it were true that -exact imitation is the supreme aim of art, let me ask what would be the -best tragedy? the best comedy? the best drama? A stenographic report -of a criminal trial, every word of which is faithfully recorded. It -is clear, however, that if we sometimes encounter in it flashes of -nature and occasional outbursts of sentiment, these are but veins of -pure metal in a mass of worthless dross; it may furnish a writer with -materials for his art, but it does not constitute a work of art. - -Some may possibly say, that photography, casting, and stenography are -mechanical processes, and that we ought to leave mechanism out of the -question, and accordingly limit our comparisons to man's work. Let us, -therefore, select works by artists conspicuous for minute fidelity. -There is a canvas in the Louvre by Denner. This artist worked -microscopically, taking four years to finish a portrait. Nothing in his -heads is overlooked--the finest lines and wrinkles, the faintly mottled -surface of the cheeks, the black specks scattered over the nose, the -bluish flush of imperceptible veins meandering under the skin, nor the -reflection of objects in the vicinity on the eye. We are struck with -astonishment. This head is a perfect illusion; it seems to project -out of the frame. Such success and such patience are unparalleled. -Substantially, however, a broad sketch by Van Dyck is a hundredfold -more powerful. Beside, neither in painting nor in any other art are -prizes awarded to deceptions. - -A second and stronger proof, that exact imitation is not the end of -art, is to be found in this fact, that certain arts are purposely -inexact. There is sculpture, for instance. A statue is generally -of one color, either of bronze or of marble; and again, the eyes -are without eyeballs. It is just this uniformity of tint, and this -modification of moral expression, which completes its beauty. Examine -corresponding works, in which imitation is pushed to extremity. The -churches of Naples and Spain contain draped statues, colored; saints in -actual monastic garb, with yellow earthy skins, suitable to ascetics, -and bleeding hands and wounded sides characteristic of the martyred. -Alongside of these appear madonnas, in royal robes, in festive dresses, -and in bright silks, crowned with diadems, wearing precious necklaces, -brilliant ribbons, and magnificent laces, and with rosy complexions, -glittering eyes, and eyeballs formed of carbuncles. By this excess -of literal imitation, the artist gives no pleasure, but repugnance, -often disgust, and sometimes horror. - -It is the same in literature. The best half of dramatic poetry, every -classic Greek and French drama, and the greater part of Spanish and -English dramas, far from literally copying ordinary conversation, -intentionally modify human speech. Each of these dramatic poets makes -his characters speak in verse, casting their dialogue in rhythm, and -often in rhyme. Is this modification prejudicial to the work? Far from -it. One of the great works of the age, the "Iphigenia" of Goethe, which -was at first written in prose and afterwards re-written in verse, -affords abundant evidence of this. It is beautiful in prose, but in -verse what a difference! The modification of ordinary language, in the -introduction of rhythm and metre, evidently gives to this work its -incomparable accent, that calm sublimity, that broad, sustained tragic -tone, which elevates the spirit above the low level of common life, and -brings before the eye the heroes of ancient days--that lost race of -primitive souls--and, among them, the august virgin, interpreter of the -gods, custodian of the laws, and the benefactress of mankind, in whom -is concentrated whatever is noble and good in human nature, in order to -glorify our species and renew the inspiration of our hearts. - - - - -IV. - - -It is essential, then, to closely imitate something in an object; -but not everything. We have now to discover what imitation should -be applied to. Anticipating an answer to this, I reply, "To the -relationships and mutual dependence of parts." Excuse this abstract -definition--I will make my meaning clearer to you. - -Imagine yourselves before a living model, man or woman, with a pencil, -and a piece of paper twice the dimensions of your hand, on which to -copy it. Certainly, you cannot be expected to reproduce the magnitude -of the limbs, for your paper is too small; nor can you be expected to -reproduce their color, for you have only black and white to work with. -What you have to do is to reproduce their _relationships,_ and first -the proportions, that is to say, the relationships of magnitude. If -the head is of a certain length, the body must be so many times longer -than the head, the arm of a length equally dependent on that, and -the leg the same; and so on with the other members. Again, you are -required to reproduce forms, or the relationships of position: this or -that curve, oval, angle, or sinuosity in the model must be repeated -in the copy by a line of the same nature. In short, your object is to -reproduce the aggregate of relationships, by which the parts are linked -together, and nothing else; it is not the simple corporeal appearance -that you have to give, but the _logic_ of the whole body. - -Suppose, in like manner, you are contemplating some actual character, -some scene in real life, high or low, and you are asked to furnish -a description of it. To do this you have your eyes, your ears, your -memory, and, perhaps, a pencil, to dot down five or six notes--no -great means, but ample for your purpose. What is expected of you is, -not to record every word and motion, all the actions of the personage, -or of the fifteen or twenty persons that are figured before you, -but, as before, to note proportions, connections, and relationships; -you are expected, in the first place, to keep exactly the proportion -of the actions of the personage, in other words, to give prominence -to ambitious acts, if he is ambitious, to avaricious acts, if he is -avaricious, and to violent acts, if he is violent; after this, to -observe the reciprocal connection of these same acts; that is to -say, to provoke one reply by another, to originate a resolution, a -sentiment, an idea by an idea, a sentiment, a preceding resolution, -and moreover by the actual condition of the personage; in addition to -that, still by the general character bestowed on him. In short, in -the literary effort, as in the pictorial effort, it is important to -transcribe, not the visible outlines of persons and events, but the -aggregate of their relationships and interdependencies, that is to say, -their logic. - -As a general rule, therefore, whatever interests us in a real -personage, and which we entreat the artist to extract and render, is -his outward or inward logic; in other terms, his structure, composition -and action. - -We have here, as you perceive, corrected the first definition given; -it is not cancelled, but purified. We have discovered a more elevated -character for art, which thus becomes intellectual, and not mechanical. - - - - -V. - - -Does this suffice us? Do we find works of art simply confined to a -reproduction of the relationships of parts? By no means, for the -greatest schools are justly those in which actual relationships are -most modified. Consider, for example, the Italian school in its -greatest artist, Michael Angelo, and, in order to give precision to -our ideas, let us recall his principal work, the four marble statues -surmounting the tomb of the Medicis at Florence. Those of you who -have not seen the originals, are at least familiar with copies of -them. In the figures of these men, and especially in the reclining -females, sleeping or waking, the proportions of the parts are certainly -not the same as in real personages. Similar figures exist nowhere, -even in Italy. You will see there young, handsome, well-dressed men, -peasants with bright eyes and a fierce expression, academy models -with firm muscles and a proud bearing; but neither in a village nor at -festivities, nor in the studios of Italy or elsewhere, at the present -time or in the sixteenth century, does any real man or woman resemble -the indignant heroes and the colossal despairing virgins which this -great artist has placed before us in this funereal chapel. Michael -Angelo found these types in his own genius and in his own heart. In -order to create them it was necessary to have the soul of a recluse, -of a meditative man, of a lover of justice; the soul of an impassioned -and generous nature bewildered in the midst of enervated and corrupt -beings, amidst treachery and oppression, before the inevitable -triumph of tyranny and injustice, under the ruins of liberty and of -nationality, himself threatened with death, feeling that if he lived -it was only by favor, and perhaps only by a short respite, incapable -of sycophancy and of submission, taking refuge entirely in that -art by which, in the silence of servitude, his great heart and his -great despair still spoke. He wrote on the pedestal of his sleeping -statue--"Sleep is sweet, and yet more sweet is it to be of stone, while -shame and misery last. Fortunate am I not to see--not to feel. Forbear -to arouse me! Ah! speak low!" - -This is the sentiment which revealed to him such forms. To express -it, he has changed the ordinary proportions; he has lengthened the -trunk and the limbs, twisted the torso upon the hips, hollowed out the -sockets of the eyes, furrowed the forehead with wrinkles similar to -the lion's frowning brow, raised mountains of muscles on the shoulder, -ridged the spine with tendons, and so fastened the vertebras that it -resembles the links of an iron chain strained to their utmost tension -and about to break. - -Let us consider, in like manner, the Flemish school; and in this -school the great Fleming, Rubens, and one of the most striking of -his works, the "Kermesse." In this work, no more than in those of -Michael Angelo, will you find an imitation of ordinary proportions. -Visit Flanders, and observe the types of mankind about you, even -at feastings and revellings, such as the fêtes of Gayant, Antwerp, -and other places. You will see comfortable-looking people eating -much and drinking more; serenely smoking, cool, phlegmatic bodies; -dull-looking, and with massive, irregular features, strongly resembling -the figures of Teniers. As to the splendid brutes of the "Kermesse," -you meet nothing like them! Rubens certainly found them elsewhere. -After the horrible religious wars, this rich country of Flanders, -so long devastated, finally attained peace and civil security. The -soil is so good, and the people so prudent, comfort and prosperity -returned almost at once. Everybody enjoyed this new prosperity and -abundance; the contrast between the past and the present led to the -indulgence of rude and carnal instincts let loose like horses and -cattle after long privation in fresh, green fields, abounding in the -richest pasture. Rubens himself was sensible of them; and the poetry -of gross, sumptuous living, of satisfied and redundant flesh, of -brutal, inordinate merry-making, found a ready outlet in the shameless -sensualities and voluptuous ruddiness, in the whiteness and freshness -of the nudities of which he was so prodigal. In order to express all -this in the "Kermesse" he has expanded the trunk, enlarged the thighs, -twisted the loins, deepened the redness of the cheeks, dishevelled -the hair, kindled in the eyes a flame of savage, unbridled desire, -unloosed the demons of disorder in the shape of shattered glasses, -overturned tables, holdings and kissings, a perfect orgie, and the -most extraordinary culmination of human bestiality ever portrayed upon -canvas. - -These two examples show you that the artist, in modifying the -relationships of parts, modifies them understandingly, purposely, in -such a way as to make apparent the _essential character_ of the object, -and consequently its leading idea according to his conception of it. -This phrase, gentlemen, requires attention; this _essential character_ -is what philosophers call the _essence_ of things; and because of this -they say that it is the aim of art to manifest the _essence_ of things. -We will not retain this term essence, which is technical, but simply -state that it is the aim of art to manifest a predominant character, -some salient principal quality, some important point of view, some -essential condition of being in the object. - -We here approach the true definition of art, and accordingly need to -be perfectly clear. We must insist on and precisely define essential -character. I would premise at once that it is _a quality from which -all others, or at least most other qualities, are derived according to -definite affinities._ Grant me again this abstract definition: a few -illustrations will make it plain to you. - -The essential character of a lion, giving him his rank in the -classifications of natural history, is that of a great flesh-eater; -nearly all his traits, whether physical or moral, as I am about to -prove to you, are derived from this trait as their fountain-head. -First, there are physical traits: his teeth move like shears; he has -a jaw constructed to tear and to crush; and necessarily, for, being -carnivorous, he has to nourish himself with, and prey upon, living -game; in order to manoeuvre this formidable instrument he requires -enormous muscles, and for their insertion, temporal sockets of -proportionate size. Add to the feet other instruments, the terrible -contractile claws, the quick step on the extremity of the toes, a -terrible elasticity of the thighs acting like a powerful spring, and -eyes that see best at night, because night is the best hunting-time. A -naturalist, pointing to a lion's skeleton, once said to me, "There is a -jaw mounted on four paws." - -The moral points of the lion are likewise in harmony. At first, -there is the sanguinary instinct--the craving for fresh flesh, and a -repugnance for every other food; next, the strength and the nervous -excitement through which the lion concentrates an enormous amount of -force at the instant of attack and defence; and on the other hand, his -somniferous habits, the grave, sombre inertia of moments of repose, -and the long yawnings after the excitement of the chase. All these -traits are derived from his carnivorous character, and on this account -we call it his essential character. - -Let us now consider a more difficult case, that of an entire country, -with its innumerable details of structure, aspect, and cultivation; -its plants, animals, inhabitants, and towns; as, for example, the Low -Countries. The essential character of this region is its _alluvial_ -formation; that, is to say, a formation due to vast quantifies of -earth brought down by streams and deposited about their mouths. From -this single term spring an infinity of peculiarities, summing up the -entire nature of the country, not only its physical outlines, what it -is in itself, but again the intellectual, moral, and physical qualities -of its inhabitants, and of their works. At first, in the inanimate -world, come its moist and fertile plains, the necessary consequence -of numerous broad rivers and vast deposits of productive soil. These -plains are always green, because broad, tranquil, and sluggish streams, -and the innumerable canals so easily constructed in soft, flat ground, -maintain perennial verdure. You can readily imagine, and on purely -rational principles, the aspect of such a country--a dull, rainy sky, -constantly streaked with showers, and even on fine days veiled as if -by gauze with light vapory clouds rising from the wet surface, forming -a transparent dome, an airy tissue of delicate, snowy fleeces, over -the broad verdant expanse stretching out of sight and rounded to the -distant horizon. In the animated kingdom these numerous luxuriant -pastures attract countless herds of cattle, who recline tranquilly on -the grass, or ruminate over their cud, and dot the flat green sward -with innumerable spots of white, yellow, and black. Hence the rich -stores of milk and meat, which, added to the grains and vegetables -raised on this prolific soil, furnish its inhabitants with cheap and -abundant supplies of food. It might well be said that in this country -water makes grass, grass makes cattle, cattle make cheese, butter, -and meat; and all these, with beer, make the inhabitant. Indeed, out -of this fat living, and out of this physical organization saturated -with moisture, spring the phlegmatic temperament, the regular habits, -the tranquil mind and nerves, the capacity to take life easily -and prudently, unbroken contentment and love of well-being, and, -consequently, the reign of cleanliness and the perfection of comfort. -These consequences extend so far as even to affect the aspect of towns. -In an alluvial country there is no stone; building material consists -of terra-cotta bricks, and tiles. Rains being frequent and heavy, -roofs are very sloping, and as dampness lasts a long time, their fronts -are painted and varnished. A Flemish town, therefore, is a net-work -of brown or red edifices always neat, occasionally glittering and -with pointed gables; here and there rises an old church constructed -of shingle or of rubble; streets in the best of order run between two -scrupulously clean lines of sidewalk. In Holland the sidewalks are laid -in brick, frequently intermingled with coarse porcelain: domestics may -be seen at an early hour in the morning on their knees cleaning them -off with cloths. Cast your eyes through the dazzling window-panes; -enter a club-room decked with green branches, with its floor powdered -with sand constantly renewed; visit the taverns, brightly painted, -where rows of casks display their brown rotund sides, and where the -rich yellow beer foams up out of glasses covered with quaint devices. -In all these details of common life, in all these signs of inward -contentment and enduring prosperity, you detect the effects of the -great underlying characteristic which is stamped upon the climate and -the soil, upon the vegetable kingdom and the animal kingdom, upon man -and his works, upon society and the individual. - -Through these innumerable effects, you judge of the importance of this -essential character. It is this which art must bring forward into -proper light, and if this task devolves upon art, it is because nature -fails to accomplish it. In nature, this essential character is simply -dominant; it is the aim of art to render it predominant. It moulds -real objects, but it does not mould them completely: its action is -restricted, impeded by the intervention of other causes; its impression -on objects bearing its stamp is not sufficiently strong to be clearly -visible. Man is sensible of this deficiency, and to remove it he has -invented art. - -Let us again take up Rubens' "Kermesse." These blooming merry wives, -these roystering drunkards, these busts and visages of burly unbridled -brutes, probably found counterparts in the carousals of the day. -Over-nourished and exuberant nature aimed at producing such gross forms -and such coarse manners, but she only half accomplished her task; other -causes intervened to stay this excess of a carnal jovial energy. There -is, at first, poverty. In the best of times, and in the best countries, -many people have not enough to eat, and fasting, at least partial -abstinence, misery, and bad air, all the accompaniments of indigence, -diminish the development and boisterousness of native brutality. A -suffering man is not so strong, and more sober. Religion, law, police -regulations, and habits due to steady labor, operate in the same -direction; education does its part. Out of a hundred subjects who, -under favorable conditions, might have furnished Rubens with models, -only five or six, perhaps, could be of any service to him. Suppose now -that these five or six figures in the actual festivities which he might -have seen were lost in a crowd of people more or less indifferent and -common; consider again, that at the moment they came under his eye -they exhibited neither the attitude, the expression, the gestures, -the abandonment, the costume, or the disorder requisite to make this -teeming excitement apparent. Through all these draw-backs nature called -art to its aid; she could not clearly distinguish the character; it was -necessary that the artist should supplement her. - -Thus is it with every superior work of art. While Raphael was painting -his "Galatea," he wrote that, beautiful women being scarce, he was -following a conception of his own. This means that, looking at human -nature from a certain point of view, its repose, its felicity, its -gracious and dignified sweetness, he found no living model to express -it satisfactorily. The peasant or laboring girl who posed for him, -had hands deformed by work, feet spoiled by their covering, and eyes -disordered by shame, or demoralized by her calling. His "Fornarina" has -drooping shoulders, a meagre arm above the elbow, a hard and contracted -expression.[1] If he painted her in the Farnesini Palace, he completely -transformed her, developing a character in his painted figure of which -the real figure only contributed parts and suggestions. - -Thus the province of a work of art is to render the essential -character, or, at least, some capital quality, the predominance of -which must be made as perceptible as possible. In order to accomplish -this the artist must suppress whatever conceals it, select whatever -manifests it, correct every detail by which it is enfeebled, and recast -those in which it is neutralized. - -Let us no longer consider works but artists, that is to say, the way in -which artists feel, invent, and produce: you will find it consistent -with the foregoing conception of the work of art. There is one gift -indispensable to all artists; no study, no degree of patience, supplies -its place; if it is wanting in them they are nothing but copyists and -mechanics. In confronting objects the artist must experience _original -sensation_; the character of an object strikes him, and the effect -of this sensation is a strong, peculiar impression. In other words, -when a man is born with talent his perceptions--or at least a certain -class of perceptions--are delicate and quick; he naturally seizes and -distinguishes, with a sure and watchful tact, relationships and shades; -at one time the plaintive or heroic sense in a sequence of sounds, at -another the listlessness or stateliness of an attitude, and again the -richness or sobriety of two complimentary or contiguous colors. Through -this faculty he penetrates to the very heart of things, and seems to be -more clear-sighted than other men. This sensation, moreover, so keen -and so personal, is not inactive--by a counter-stroke the whole nervous -and thinking machinery is affected by it. Man involuntarily expresses -his emotions; the body makes signs, its attitude becomes mimetic; -he is obliged to figure externally his conception of an object; -the voice seeks imitative inflections, the tongue finds pictorial -terms, unforeseen forms, a figurative, inventive, exaggerated style. -Under the force of the original impulse the active brain recasts -and transforms the object, now to illumine and ennoble it, now to -distort and grotesquely pervert it; in the free sketch, as in the -violent caricature, you readily detect, with poetic temperaments, the -ascendency of involuntary impressions. Familiarize yourselves with the -great artists and great authors of your century; study the sketches, -designs, diaries, and correspondence of the old masters, and you will -again everywhere find the same inward process. We may adorn it with -beautiful names; we may call it genius or inspiration, which is right -and proper; but if you wish to define it precisely you must always -verify therein the vivid spontaneous sensation which groups together -the train of accessory ideas, master, fashion, metamorphose and employ -them in order to become manifest. - -We have now arrived at a definition of a work of art. Let us, for a -moment, cast our eyes backward, and review the road we have passed -over. We have, by degrees, arrived at a conception of art more and more -elevated, and consequently more and more exact. At first we thought -that the object of art was to _imitate sensible appearances._ Then -separating material from intellectual imitation, we found that what -it desired to reproduce in sensible appearances is the _relationships -of parts. _ Finally, remarking that relationships are, and ought to -be, modified in order to obtain the highest results of art, we proved -that if we study the relationships of parts it is _to make predominant -an essential character._ No one of these definitions destroys its -antecedent, but each corrects and defines it. We are consequently -able now to combine them, and by subordinating the inferior to the -superior, thus to sum up the result of our labor:--"The end of a work -of art is to manifest some essential or salient character, consequently -some important idea, clearer and more completely than is attainable -from real objects. Art accomplishes this end by employing a group of -connected parts, the relationships of which it systematically modifies. -In the three imitative arts of sculpture, painting, and poetry, these -groups correspond to real objects." - - -[Footnote 1: See the two portraits of the "Fornarina," in the Sciarra -and the Borghese palaces.] - - - - -VI. - - -That established, gentlemen, we see, on examining the different -parts of this definition, that the first is essential and the second -accessory. An aggregate of connected parts is necessary in all art -which the artist may modify so as to portray character; but in every -art it is not necessary that this aggregate should correspond with -real objects; it is sufficient that it exists. If we therefore meet -with aggregates of connected parts which are not imitations of real -objects, there will be arts which will not have imitation for their -point of view. This is the case, and it is thus that architecture and -music are born. In short, besides connections, proportions, moral and -organic dependencies, which the three imitative arts copy, there are -mathematical relationships which the two others, imitating nothing, -combine. - -Let us, at first, consider the mathematical relationships perceived by -the sense of sight. Magnitudes sensible to the eye may form amongst -each other aggregates of parts connected by mathematical laws. For -instance, a piece of wood or stone may have geometrical form, that of -a cube, a cone, a cylinder, or a sphere, which establishes regular -relationships of distance between the different points of its outline. -Furthermore, its dimensions may be quantities mutually related in -simple proportions which the eye can seize readily; height, may be -two, three, or four times greater than thickness or breadth: this -constitutes a second series of mathematical relationships. Finally, -many of these pieces of wood or stone may be placed symmetrically -on the top or by the side of each other, according to distances and -angles mathematically combined. Architecture is established on this -aggregate of connected parts. An architect conceiving some dominant -character, either serenity, simplicity, strength, or elegance, as -formerly in Greece or Rome, or the strange, the varied, the infinite, -the fantastic, as in Gothic times, may select and combine connections, -proportions, dimensions, forms, and positions--in short, the -relationships of materials, that is to say, certain visible magnitudes -in such a way as to display the character aimed at. - -By the side of magnitudes perceived by sight there are magnitudes -perceived by the hearing,--I mean the velocities of sonorous -vibrations; and these vibrations being magnitudes may also form -aggregates of parts connected by mathematical laws. In the first place, -as you are aware, a musical sound is composed of continuous vibrations -of equal velocity, and this equality already places between them -a mathematical relationship; in the second place, two sounds being -given, the second may be composed of vibrations, two, three, or four -times the rapidity of the first; accordingly, there is between these -two sounds a mathematical relationship, which is figured by placing -them at an equal distance from each other on the musical stave. If, -consequently, instead of taking two, we take a number of sounds, and -place them at equal distances,--we form a scale, which scale is the -gamut, all the sounds being thus bound together according to their -relative position on the gamut. You can now establish these connections -either between successive or simultaneous sounds, the first order of -sounds constituting melody, and the second harmony. This is music: it -has two essential parts, based, like architecture, on mathematical -relationships, which the artist is free to combine and modify. - -Music, however, possesses a second property, and this new element gives -it a peculiar quality and no ordinary scope. Besides its mathematical -qualities, sound is analogous to the cry, and by this title it directly -expresses with unrivalled precision, delicacy and force, suffering, -joy, rage, indignation--all the agitations and emotions of an animated -sensitive being, even to the most secret and most subtle gradations. -From this point of view it is similar to poetic declamation, furnishing -a specific type of music, called the music of expression, like that of -Gluck and the Germans, in opposition to the music of melody, that of -Rossini and the Italians. Let the composer's point of view be what it -may, the two styles of music are nevertheless related to each other, -sounds always forming aggregates of parts linked together at once by -their mathematical relationship and by the correspondence which they -have with the passions and the various internal states of the moral -being. The musician, therefore, who conceives a certain salient, -important feature of things, let it be sadness or joy, tender love or -passionate rage, any idea or sentiment whatever, may freely select and -combine in such a way in these mathematical and moral relationships as -to manifest the character which he has conceived. - -All the arts are thus included in the definition above presented. In -architecture and music, as in sculpture, painting, and poetry, it is -the object of a work of art to manifest some essential character, and -to employ as means of expression an aggregate of connected parts, the -relationship of which the artist combines and modifies. - - - - -VII. - - -Now that we know the nature of art, we can comprehend its importance. -Previously we were only sensible of its effect; it was a matter of -instinct, and not of reason: we were conscious of respecting and -esteeming art, but were not qualified to account for our respect and -esteem. Our admiration for art can now be justified, and we can mark -its place in the order of life. - -Man, in many respects, is an animal endeavoring to protect himself -against nature and against other men. He is obliged to provide himself -with food, clothing, and shelter, and to defend himself against -climate, want, and disease. To do this he tills the ground, navigates -the sea, and devotes himself to different industrial and commercial -pursuits. Furthermore, he must perpetuate his species, and secure -himself against the violence of his fellow-men; to this end, he forms -families and states, and establishes magistracies, functionaries, -constitutions, laws, and armies. After so many inventions and such -labor, he is not yet emancipated from his original condition; he is -still an animal, better fed and better protected than other animals; -he still thinks only of himself, and of his kindred. At this moment -a superior life dawns on him--that of contemplation, by which he -is led to interest himself in the creative and permanent causes on -which his own being and that of his fellows depend, in the leading -and essential characters which rule each aggregate, and impress their -marks on the minutest details. Two ways are open to him for this -purpose. The first is Science, by which, analyzing these causes and -these fundamental laws, he expresses them in abstract terms and precise -formula; the second is Art, by which he manifests these causes and -these fundamental laws no longer through arid definitions, inaccessible -to the multitude, and only intelligible to a favored few, but in a -sensible way, appealing not alone to reason, but also to the heart and -senses of the humblest individual. Art has this peculiarity, that it is -at once _noble_ and _popular,_ manifesting whatever is most exalted, -and manifesting it to all. - - - - -PART II. - -ON THE PRODUCTION OF THE WORK OF ART. - - - - -I. - -Having investigated the nature of the work of art, there now remains -a study of the law of its production. This law, in general terms, may -be thus expressed:--_A work of art is determined by an aggregate which -is the general state of the mind and surrounding circumstances._ I -have stated this principle in the foregoing section, and have now to -establish it. - -This law rests on two kinds of proof: the one that of experience, and -the other that of reason. The former consists of an enumeration of the -many instances in which the law verifies itself. Some of these I have -already presented to you, and others will soon follow. One may assert, -moreover, that no case is known to which the law is not applicable; it -is strictly so to those hitherto examined, and not merely in a general -way, but in detail; not only to the growth and extinction of great -schools, but again to all the variations and oscillations to which -art is subject. The second order of proof consists in showing this -dependence to be not only rigorous in point of fact, but, again, that -it is so through necessity. We will accordingly analyze what we have -called the general state of the mind and surrounding circumstances; -we shall seek, according to the ordinary standard of human nature the -effects which a like state must produce on the public, on artists, and -consequently on works of art. Hence we draw a forced connection and a -definite concordance, and we establish a necessary harmony which we had -observed as simply fortuitous. The second proof _demonstrates_ what the -first had averred. - - - - -II. - -In order to make this harmony apparent let us resume a comparison -already of service to us, that between a plant and a work of art, and -note the circumstances in which a plant, or a species of plant, say -the orange, may be developed and propagated in a certain soil. Let -us suppose all kinds of grain and seed borne by the wind and sown at -random; on what conditions can those of the Lorange germinate, become -trees, blossom, yield fruit, spread, and cover the ground with a -numerous family? - -Many favorable circumstances are essential to this end. And at first -the soil must be neither too light nor too meagre: otherwise, the roots -lacking depth and grasp, the tree would fall at the first gale of wind. -Next, the soil must not be too dry; otherwise the tree will wither -where it stands deprived of the moisture of springs and streams. -Moreover, the climate must be warm; or the tree, which is delicate, -will freeze, or at least droop, and never put forth sprouts; the summer -must be long, in order that the fruit, which is slow in ripening, may -fully mature; and the winter mild, so that January frosts may not blast -or shrivel the oranges that remain green on its branches. Finally, -the soil must not be too favorable for other plants, lest the tree, -left to itself, might be stifled by the competition and infringement -of a more vigorous vegetation. When all these conditions concur, the -little orange will grow, become mature, and produce others again to -reproduce themselves. Storms will undoubtedly occur, stones fall, and -browsing goats will destroy certain plants; but on the whole, in spite -of accidents which kill individuals, the species will be propagated, -cover the ground, and in a few years display a nourishing grove of -orange trees. All this is to be seen in the admirably sheltered gorges -of Southern Italy, in the environs of Sorrento and Amain, on the -shores of the gulfs, and in the small, watered valleys, freshened by -streams descending from the mountains, and caressed by the beneficent -breezes of the sea. This concourse of circumstances was necessary in -order to produce those beautiful round tops, those lustrous domes of a -bright deep green, those innumerable golden apples, and that exquisite -fragrant vegetation which, in mid-winter, makes this coast the richest -and loveliest of gardens. - -Let us now reflect on the manner in which things moved in this example. -We have just observed the effect of circumstances and of physical -temperature. Strictly speaking, these have not produced the orange; -the seeds were given, and these alone contained the vital force. The -circumstances described, however, were necessary in order that the -plant might flourish and be propagated; had these failed, the plant -likewise would have failed. - -Accordingly, let the temperature be different, and the species of plant -will be different. Suppose conditions entirely opposite to those just -mentioned; take the summit of a mountain swept by violent winds, with a -thin scanty soil, a cold climate, a short summer, and snow during the -winter; not only will the orange not thrive here, but the greater part -of other trees will perish. Of all the seeds scattered haphazard by the -wind only one will survive, and you will see but one species to endure -and be propagated, the only one adapted to these severe conditions; the -fir and the pine will cover the lonely crags, the abrupt precipices, -and long, rocky ridges, with their stiff colonnades of tall trunks and -vast mantles of sombre green, and there, as in the Vosges, in Scotland -and in Norway, you may travel league after league, under silent arches, -on a carpet of crisp leaves, among gnarled roots obstinately clinging -to the rocks, the domain of the patient energetic plant which alone -subsists under the incessant attacks of gales, and the hoar-frosts of -long winters. - -We may accordingly regard temperature and physical circumstances -as _making a choice_ amongst various species of trees, all owing a -certain species to subsist and propagate, to the exclusion, more or -less complete, of all others. Physical temperature acts by elimination -and suppression, in other words, by _natural selection._ Such is the -great law by which we now explain the origin and structure of diverse -existing organisms--a law as applicable to moral as to physical -conditions, to history as well as to botany and zoology, to genius and -to character, as well as to plant and to animal. - -In short, there is a _moral_ temperature, consisting of the general -state of minds and manners, which acts in the same way as the other. -Properly speaking, this temperature does not produce artists; talent -and genius are gifts like seeds; what I mean to say is, that the same -country at different epochs probably contains about the same number -of men of talent, and of men of mediocrity. We know, in fact, through -statistics, that in two successive generations nearly the same number -of men are found of the requisite stature for the conscription and the -same number of men too small for soldiers. In all probability, it is -with minds as with bodies. Nature is a sower of men, and putting her -hand constantly in the same sack, distributes nearly the same quantity, -the same quality, the same proportion of seed. But in these handfuls -of seed which she scatters as she strides over time and space, not all -germinate. A certain moral temperature is necessary to develop certain -talents; if this is wanting, these prove abortive. Consequently, as -the temperature changes, so will the species of talent change; if it -becomes reversed, talent will become reversed, and, in general, we may -conceive moral temperature as _making a selection_ among different -species of talent, allowing only this or that species to develope, to -the exclusion more or less complete of others. It is through some such -mechanism that you see developed in schools at certain times and in -certain countries the sentiment of the ideal, that of the real, that -of drawing and that of color. There is a prevailing tendency which -constitutes the spirit of the age. Talent seeking to force an outlet -in another direction, finds it closed; and the force of the public -mind and surrounding habits repress and lead it astray, by imposing on -it a fixed growth. - - - - -III. - -The foregoing comparison may serve you as a general indication; let us -now enter into details, and study the action of the moral temperature -on works of art. - -For the sake of greater clearness we will take a very simple case, -that of a certain mental condition, in which melancholy predominates. -This supposition is not arbitrary, for such a condition has frequently -occurred in the life of humanity: five or six centuries of decadence, -depopulation, foreign invasion, famine, pests, and aggravated misery, -are amply sufficient to produce it. Asia experienced such a state of -things in the sixth century before Christ, and Europe in the period of -the first ten centuries of our own era. In times like these men lose -both courage and hope, and regard life as a burden. - -Let as contemplate the effect of such a mental condition, together with -the circumstances which engender it, on the artists of an epoch like -this. We admit that nearly the same number of melancholy and joyous -temperaments, as well as a mixture of both, are met in this as at other -times; how and in what sense does the prevailing situation effect their -transformation? - -It must be borne in mind that the misfortunes that afflict the public -also afflict the artist; he is one of the flock, and he suffers as -the rest suffer. For example, if invasions of barbarians occur, and -pests, famines, and calamities of all sorts prolonged for centuries and -spread over the entire country; not only one, but countless miracles, -would be necessary to save him harmless in the general inundation. On -the contrary, it is probable, and even certain, that he will have his -share of public misfortune; that he will be ruined, beaten, wounded, -and led into captivity like others; that his wife, children, relatives -and friends will share the common fate, and that he will suffer and be -subject to fears on their account, as well as on his own. During this -long-continued flood of personal misery he will, if he is gay, become -less gay, and, if melancholy, still more melancholy. This is the first -effect of his social medium. - -On the other hand, if the artist is raised among melancholy companions, -the ideas he receives in infancy, with those acquired afterwards, -are melancholy. The dominant religion, accommodating itself to the -lugubrious order of things, teaches him that the earth is a place -of exile, the world a prison-house, life an evil, and that all that -concerns him is to deserve to get out of it. Philosophy, forming its -morality according to the lamentable spectacle of man's degeneracy, -proves to him that it would have been better for him not to have -been born Ordinary conversation teems with only mournful events, -the invasion of a province, the destruction of some monument, the -oppression of the weak, and civil wars among the strong. Daily -observation reveals to him only images of discouragement and grief, -beggars, and cases of starvation, a bridge left to decay, abandoned, -crumbling houses, fields going to waste, and the black walls of -dwellings ravaged by fire. All these impressions sink deep in his mind -from the first year of his life to the last, incessantly aggravating -whatever melancholy sentiment arises out of his own misfortunes. - -They aggravate him so much the more proportionately to the intensity -of his artistic feeling. What makes him an artist is the practice of -imitating the essential character of things, the salient points of -objects; other men only see portions, while he sees the whole and the -spirit of them. And as in this case the salient characteristic is -melancholy, he accordingly perceives nothing else. Moreover, through -this excess of imagination and this instinct of exaggeration peculiar -to artists, he amplifies and expands it to the utmost; he becomes -impregnated with it, and charges his work with it, so that he commonly -sees and paints things in much darker colors than would be employed by -his contemporaries. - -It must be added also that he finds them of great assistance to -him in his work. You know that a man who paints or writes remains -not alone face to face with his canvas or his writing-desk. On the -contrary, he goes out and talks to people and looks about him; he -listens to the hints of his friends or rivals, and seeks suggestions -in books and from surrounding works of art. An idea resembles a -seed: if the seed requires, in order to germinate, develope and -bloom, the nourishment which water, air, sun and soil afford it, the -idea, in order to complete and shape itself into form, requires to be -supplemented and aided by other minds. Accordingly, in these epochs -of melancholy, what sort of suggestions are other minds capable of -furnishing? Only melancholy ones, for only on this side do men labor. -As their experience provides them only with painful sensations and -sentiments, they can only note the shades of difference, and record -discoveries made on the path of suffering: the heart is the only field -of observation, and if this is filled with sorrow, sorrow is all -that men contemplate. They are, therefore, conscious only of grief, -dejection, chagrin and despair. If the artist demands instruction of -them this is all the return they can make. To seek in them any idea -or any information on the different kinds or different expressions of -joy would be labor lost; they can only furnish what they possess. For -this reason let him attempt to portray happiness, cheerfulness, or -gayety, and he stands alone, deprived of all support, left to his own -resources, and which in an isolated man amounts to nothing. His labor -will likewise be stamped with mediocrity. On the other hand, when he -would paint melancholy sentiments his century would come to his aid. -He finds materials prepared for him by preceding schools; he finds a -ready-made art, consisting of known processes and a beaten track. A -church ceremony, a piece of furniture, a conversation, suggests to him -a form, a color, a phrase, or a character still unknown to him; his -work, to which millions of unknown co-laborers have contributed, is -all the more beautiful, because, in addition to his own labor and his -own genius, it embodies the labor and genius of surrounding society, -and of generations that have gone before it. - -There is still another reason, and the strongest of all, which draws -him to melancholy subjects; it is that his work, once exposed to the -public eye, finds appreciation only as it expresses melancholy ideas. -Men, indeed, can only comprehend sentiments analogous to those they -have themselves experienced. Other sentiments, no matter how powerfully -expressed, do not affect them; the look with their eyes, but the heart -is dormant and directly their eyes are averted. Imagine a man losing -his fortune, country, children, health and liberty, one manacled in -a dungeon for twenty years, like Pellico or Andryane, whose spirit -by degrees is changed and broken, and who becomes melancholy and a -mystic, and whose discouragement is incurable; such a man entertains -a horror of cheerful music, and has no disposition to read Rabelais; -if you place him before the merry brutes of Rubens, he will turn aside -and place himself before the canvases of Rembrandt; he will enjoy only -the music of Chopin and the poetry of Lamartine or Heine. The same -thing happens to the public and to individuals; their taste depends -on their situation; their sadness gives them a taste for melancholy -works; cheerful productions are accordingly repudiated, and the artist -is censured or neglected. Now an artist composes mostly in order to -obtain appreciation and applause; this is his ruling passion. Hence, -therefore, betides other causes, his ruling passion, added to the -pressure of public opinion, leads him, pushes him, and constantly -brings him back to the expression of melancholy, and barring the ways -to him which would lead him to the portrayal of gayety and happiness. - -Through this series of obstacles every passage would be closed for -works of art manifesting joy. If an artist overcomes one obstacle, -he is arrested by others. If he meets with joyous natures he will -be saddened _by_ their personal misfortunes. Education and current -conversation fill their minds with gloomy ideas. The artists' faculties -by which they detach and amplify the leading traits of objects, will -find for their exercise none but melancholy ones. The experience and -labor of others provide them with suggestions and are co-operative only -in melancholy subjects. Finally, the earnest and decisive will of the -public allows them to produce only melancholy subjects. Consequently, -the class of artists and their works suitable for the expression of -gayety and joyousness disappear, or end by becoming reduced to almost -nothing. - -Consider, now, the opposite case, that of a general condition of -cheerfulness. That occurs in renaissance epochs, when order, wealth, -population, comfort, prosperity, and useful and beautiful discoveries -are constantly increasing. By reversing its terms the analysis we have -just made is applicable word for word; the same process of reasoning -proves that the works of art of such a period will all, more or less, -express a joyous character. - -Consider, now, an intermediary case, that is to say, a commingling of -this or that phase of joy or sadness, which is the ordinary condition -of things. By a proper modification of terras, the analysis is equally -pertinent; the same reasoning demonstrates that works of art express -corresponding combinations, and a corresponding species of joy and -melancholy. - -Let us conclude, therefore, that in every simple or complex state, the -social medium, that is to say, the general state of mind and manners, -determines the species of works of art in suffering only those which -are in harmony with it, and in suppressing other species, through a -series of obstacles interposed, and a series of attacks renewed, at -every step of their development. - - - - -IV. - - -Let us now leave supposed cases, simplified to give clearness to -the exposition, and take up real ones. You will see in glancing at -the most important of a historical series, a verification of the -law. I will select four which are the four great cycles of European -civilization--Greek and Roman antiquity, the feudal and Christian -middle ages, the well-regulated aristocratic monarchies of the -seventeenth century, and the industrial democracies of the present day, -directed by the sciences. Each of these periods has its own art, or -some department of art peculiar to it, either sculpture, architecture, -the drama or music, or some determined phase of each of these -great arts; in every case a distinct, singularly rich and complete -vegetation, which, in its leading features, reflects the principal -traits of the art and the nation. Let us, accordingly, consider turn -the different soils, and we shall that all produce different flowers. - - - - -V. - -About three thousand years ago there appeared on the shores and islands -of the Ægean Sea a remarkably handsome, intelligent race, viewing life -in quite a new way. It did not allow itself to be absorbed by a great -religious conception like the Hindoos and Egyptians, nor by a great -social organization like the Assyrians and Persians, nor by great -industrial and commercial usages after the fashion of the Phoenicians -and Carthagenians. Instead of a theocracy and a hierarchy of caste, and -instead of a monarchy and a hierarchy of functionaries and of great -trading and commercial establishments, the men of that race had an -invention of their own called the city, which city, in sending forth -branches, gave birth to others of the same description. One of these, -Miletus, produced three hundred towns, and colonized the entire coast -of the Black Sea. Others did the same, the Mediterranean Sea being -encircled with a garland of flourishing cities, extending from Cyrene -to Marseilles, along the gulfs and promontories of Spain, Italy, -Greece, Asia Minor and Africa. - -What was the life of this city?[1] A citizen performed but little -manual labor; he was generally supported by his subjects and -tributaries, and always served by slaves. The poorest man in the place -had one to keep house for him. Athens counted four for each citizen; -and lesser cities, like Ægina and Corinth, possessed from four to five -hundred thousand. Servants, of course, abounded. The citizen, however, -needed but little help. Like all the finely-built races of the south, -he was abstemious, a meal consisting of three or four olives, a bit of -garlic, and the head of a fish.[2] His wardrobe consisted of sandals, -a small shirt, and a large mantle, like that of a shepherd. His house -was a narrow, frail, ill-constructed tenement, into which robbers -could penetrate by piercing the walls,[3] and which he only used for -sleeping; a bed and two or three beautiful vases were the principal -articles of furniture. The citizen had few wants, and he passed the day -in the open air. - -How did he dispose of his leisure? Serving neither king nor priest, -he was, as far as he was concerned, free and sovereign in the city. -He elected his own pontiffs and magistrates, and he himself, in -turn, could be elected to sacerdotal and other offices; whether -blacksmith or currier, he judged the most important political cases -in the tribunals, and decided the gravest of affairs of state in the -assemblies; his occupation consisted, substantially, of public business -and war. To be a politician and a soldier was a part of his duty; other -pursuits were of little importance to him; the attention of a free man, -in his opinion, ought to be applied to these two employments. And he -was right, for, at that time, human life was not protected as it is in -ours; human societies had not acquired the stability which they now -have. Most of these cities, built and scattered along the Mediterranean -shores, were surrounded by barbarians eager to prey upon them; the -citizen was obliged to be under arms, like the European of the present -day in Japan and in New Zealand; if not, Gauls, Libyans, Samitites -and Bithynians would soon have pitched their camps amid the ruins -of battered walls and devastated temples. Besides all this, these -cities were inimical to each other. The rights of war were atrocious; -a vanquished city was often devoted to destruction; a wealthy noted -man might any day see his dwelling in ashes, his property pillaged, -his wife and daughters sold to recruit places of prostitution; he -himself, and his sons, enslaved, would be buried in mines, or compelled -by the lash to turn a mill. With such perils before him it is natural -for a man to be interested in affairs of state, and be qualified for -battle: he has to become a politician under penalty of death. Ambition, -however, and love of glory are equal stimulants. Every city aspired to -reduce or humble every other city, to acquire vassals, to conquer or to -make profitable the persons of others.[4] The citizen passed his life -in the public thoroughfares, discussing the best means for preserving -and aggrandizing his city, canvassing its alliances, treaties, laws and -constitution; now listening to orators, and again acting as one himself -up to the very moment of going aboard his vessel in order to wage war -in Thrace or in Egypt, against other Greeks, against the barbarians, or -against the Great King. - -To reach this point, they had systematized a peculiar discipline. As -there were no industrial facilities in those days, the machinery of -war was unknown. War was a combat between man and man; consequently, -the essential thing to insure victory was not to transform soldiers -into marshalled automatons, as in our day, but to render each soldier -the most resistant, the strongest, and the most agile body possible; -in short, a highly-tempered gladiator, capable of the utmost physical -endurance. - -To this end, Sparta which, about the eighth century, gave the example -and the impulse to all Greece, had a very complicated and no less -efficacious military system. She herself was a camp without walls, -situated, like our camps in Kabyle, amidst enemies and a conquered -people, wholly military, and devoted to attack and self-defence. In -order to have a perfect military, it was necessary to have a splendid -race; it was managed as in stock-breeding. All deformed children were -deprived of life. The law, moreover, prescribed the age for marriage -and selected the most suitable time and circumstances for proper -breeding. An old man happening to have a young wife was obliged to give -her over to a young man in order to have a good healthy offspring. A -middle-aged man having a friend whose beauty and character he admired, -might give him the use of his wife.[5] After having constituted the -race, they shaped the individual. Young men were enrolled, drilled, -and accustomed to live in common like a troop of children. They were -divided into two rival bands, who inspected each other, and fought -together with their feet and their fists. They slept in the open -air, bathed in the cool waters of the Eurotas, went marauding, ate -sparingly, fast and badly, rested on beds of rushes, drank nothing but -water, and endured every inclemency of climate. Young girls exercised -in the same manner, and the matured were restricted to almost the same -routine. The rigor of this antique discipline was undoubtedly less, or -was mitigated, in other cities; nevertheless, with these mitigations, -the same road conducted to the same end. Young people passed the -greater part of the day in the gymnasia, wrestling, jumping, boxing, -racing, pitching quoits; fortifying and rendering supple their naked -muscles. It was their aim to produce strong, robust bodies, the most -beautiful and the nimblest possible, and no system of education ever -succeeded better in obtaining them.[6] - -These peculiar customs of the Greeks gave birth to peculiar ideas. -In their eyes the ideal man was not the man of thought, or a man of -delicate sensibility, but the naked man, the man of a fine stock and -growth, well-proportioned, active and accomplished in all physical -exercises. This mode of thinking was manifested by a variety of traits. -In the first place, whilst the Carians and the Lydians around them, and -their barbarian neighbors generally, were ashamed to appear naked, they -stripped without embarrassment in order to wrestle and run races.[7] -The young girls of Sparta were in the habit of exercising almost -naked. You will perceive that gymnastic exercises had suppressed, or -at least transformed, modesty. In the second place, the great national -festivals of the Greeks, the Olympian, Pythian, and Nemean games, -consisted of a display and triumph of the naked figure. The youth of -the first families resorted to these from all parts of Greece, and -from the remotest Grecian colonies. They, prepared themselves for them -a long time beforehand by special training and the severest labor, -and there, under the eyes and applause of the whole nation, stripped -of their clothing, they wrestled, boxed, pitched quoits, and raced -on foot or in the chariot. Victories of this class, which we of the -present day leave to a Hercules in a circus, they regarded as of the -first importance. The victorious athlete in the foot-race gave his -name to the Olympiad; his praises were chanted by the greatest poets; -Pindar, the most illustrious lyric poet of antiquity, sang only of -chariot races. On returning to his native city the victorious athlete -was received in triumph, and his strength and agility became the pride -of the place. One of these, Milo of Crotona, who was invincible at -wrestling, was chosen general, and led his fellow-citizens to battle, -clad in a lion's skin and armed with a club like Hercules, to whom he -was compared. It is related that a certain Diagoras saw his two sons -crowned on the same day, and was carried around by them in triumph -before the assembled multitude. Deeming a like happiness too great for -one mortal, the people cried out to him. "Die, Diagoras, for thou -canst not now become a god!" Diagoras, suffocated with emotion, did -indeed expire in the arms of his children. In his eyes, as in the eyes -of all Greece, to see his sons possessing the most vigorous fists and -the nimblest legs was the height of terrestrial bliss. Whether this -be truth or legend, such a judgment proves the excessive degree of -admiration entertained by the Greeks for the perfection of the human -form. - -On this account they were not afraid to expose it before the gods on -solemn occasions. They had a formal system of attitudes and actions, -called _orchestrique,_ which regulated and taught them beautiful -postures of the sacred dances. After the battle of Salamis the tragic -poet Sophocles, then fifteen years old, and celebrated for his beauty, -stripped himself of his clothing in order to dance and chant the pæan -before the trophy. One hundred years later, Alexander, on passing -through Asia Minor to contend with Darius, cast aside his garments, -along with his companions, for the purpose of honoring the tomb of -Achilles with races. But the Greeks went still further; they considered -the perfection of the human form as attesting divinity. In a town in -Sicily a young man of extraordinary beauty was worshipped, and after -death, altars were erected in his honor.[8] In Homer, which is the -Grecian Bible, you will find everywhere that the gods had a human body -which the flesh-lance could pierce, flowing red blood, instincts, -passions and pleasures similar in every respect to our own, and to such -an extent that heroes become the lovers of goddesses, and gods beget -children of mortal mothers. Between Olympus and the earth there is no -abyss; they descend from, and we ascend to, it; if they surpass us, -it is because they are exempt from death, because their wounds heal -quicker, and they are stronger, handsomer and happier than we. In other -respects, they eat, drink and quarrel as we do, all enjoying the same -senses, and employing the same corporeal functions. Greece has so well -worked out its model of the beautiful human animal that it has made its -idol of it, and glorifies it on earth, by making a divinity of it in -heaven. - -Out of this conception statuary is born, and we can mark every -moment of its growth. On the one hand, an athlete, once crowned, was -entitled to a statue; crowned a third time, he was awarded an iconical -statue--that is to say, an effigy bearing his portrait. On the other -hand, the gods being only human forms, more serene and more perfect -than others, it was natural to represent them by statues. For that -purpose there is no need of a forced dogma. The marble or bronze effigy -is not an allegory, but an exact image; it does not give to the god -muscles, bones, and a heavy covering which it has not; it represents -the reclothing of flesh which covers it, and the living form which is -its substance. It suffices, in order to be a truthful portrait, that it -should be the most beautiful, and reproduce the immortal calm by which -the god is exalted above mortals. - -The statue is now blocked out--is the sculptor qualified to produce -it? Dwell a moment on his preparation. Men in those days studied the -body naked and in action, in the baths, in the gymnasia, in the sacred -dances and at the public games; they observed and preferred such forms -and such attitudes as denoted vigor, health, and activity; they -labored with all their might to impress on it these forms and to shape -it to these attitudes. For three or four hundred years they were thus -correcting, purifying, developing their idea of physical beauty. It is -not surprising that they finally discovered the ideal type of the human -form. We of the present day that are familiar with it owe our knowledge -of it to them. When Nicholas of Pisa and other early sculptors at -the end of the Gothic period abandoned the meagre, bony, and ugly -forms of hieratic tradition, it was because they took an example from -Greek bas-reliefs, preserved or exhumed; and if to-day, forgetting -our distorted and defective bodies, as plebeians or thinkers, we wish -to find again some type of the perfect form, it is in these statues, -monuments of a noble, unoccupied, gymnastic life, that we must seek our -instruction. - -Not only the form of it is perfect, but again, which is unique, it -suffices for the thought of the artist. The Greeks, having assigned -to the body a dignity of its own, were not tempted, like the moderns, -to subordinate it to the head. A chest breathing healthily, a trunk -solidly resting on the thighs, a nervous supple leg impelling the -body forward with ease; they did not occupy themselves solely with -the breadth of a thoughtful forehead, with the frown of an irritated -brow, or the turn of a sarcastic lip. They could limit themselves to -the conditions of perfect statuary, which leaves the eye without an -iris, and the head without expression; which prefers quiet personages, -or those occupied by insignificant action; which commonly employs -only a uniform tint, either of marble or cf bronze; which leaves the -picturesque to painting, and abandons dramatic interest to literature; -which, confined to, but ennobled by, the nature of its materials -and its limited domain, avoids the representation of details, of -physiognomy, of the casualties of human agitation, in order to detach -the pure and abstract form, and thus illuminate the sanctuaries with -motionless, peaceful, august effigies in which human nature recognized -its heroes and its gods. - -Statuary, accordingly, is the central art of Greece; other arts are -related to it, accompany it, or imitate it. No other art has so well -expressed the national life; no other was so cultivated or so popular. -In the hundred small temples around Delphi, in which the treasures of -the cities were kept, "a whole world of marble, gold, silver, brass, -and bronze, twenty different bronzes, and of all tints, thousands of -glorified dead in irregular groups, seated and standing, radiated the -veritable subjects of the god of light."[9] When Rome, at a later day, -despoiled the Greek world of its treasures, this vast city possessed a -population of statues almost equal to that of its living inhabitants. -At the present time, after so many centuries and such devastation, it -is estimated that more than sixty thousand statues have been discovered -at Rome and in its surrounding Campagna. A like harvest of sculpture -has never been seen, such a prodigious abundance of flowers,--a display -of flowers so perfect, a growth so natural, so continuous and varied. -You have just seen the cause of it, in digging up the earth layer by -layer, and in observing that all the foundations of the human soil, -institutions, manners, ideas, have contributed to sustain it. - - - -[Footnote 1: Grote, _History of Greece--_Boeckh, _Political Economy of -the Athenians_--Wullon, _Slavery in Antiquity._] - -[Footnote 2: The Frogs of Aristophanes; the Cock of Lucian.] - -[Footnote 3: Their proper name was wall-piercers.] - -[Footnote 4: Thucydides, Book I. See the divers expeditions of the -Athenians between the peace of Cimon and the Peloponnesian war.] - -[Footnote 5: Xenophon. The Lacedemonian Republic, _passim. _] - -[Footnote 6: The Dialogues of Plato. The Clouds of Aristophanes.] - -[Footnote 7: The Lacedemonians adopted this custom about the 14th -Olympiad.--Plato.] - -[Footnote 8: Herodotus.] - -[Footnote 9: Michelet.] - - - - -VI. - - -This military organization common to all the cities of antiquity -at length had its effect,--a sad effect. War being the natural -condition of things, the weak were over-powered by the strong, and, -more than once, one might have seen formed states of considerable -magnitude under the control or tyranny of a victorious or dominant -city. Finally one arose, Rome, which, possessing greater energy, -patience, and skill, more capable of subordination and command, of -consecutive views and practical calculations, attained, after seven -hundred years of effort, in incorporating under her dominion the -entire basin of the Mediterranean and many great outlying countries. -To gain this point she submitted to military discipline, and, like a -fruit springing from its germ, a military despotism was the issue. -Thus was the Empire formed. Towards the first century of our era, the -world, organized under a regular monarchy, seemed at last to have -attained to order and tranquillity. It issued only in a decline. In -the horrible destruction of conquest cities perished by hundreds and -men by millions. During an entire century the conquerors themselves -massacred each other, and the civilized world having lost its free -men, lost the half of its inhabitants.[1] Citizens, converted into -subjects, and no longer pursuing noble ends, abandoned themselves to -indolence and luxury, refused to marry and to have children. Machinery -being unknown, and the hand the only instrument of labor, the slaves, -whose lot it was to provide for the pleasures, pomp, and refinements -of society, disappeared under a burden too heavy for them to bear. -At the expiration of four hundred years the enervated, depopulated -empire had not sufficient men or energy to repel the barbarians. The -barbarous wave entered, sweeping away the dykes; after the first, a -second, then a third, and so on for a period of five hundred years. -The evils they inflicted cannot be described: people exterminated, -monuments destroyed, fields devastated, and cities burnt; industry, -the fine arts, and the sciences mutilated, degraded, forgotten; fear, -ignorance, and brutality spread everywhere and established. They were -complete savages, similar to the Hurons and Iroquois suddenly encamped -in the midst of a cultivated and thinking world like ours. Imagine a -herd of wild bulls let loose amid the furniture and decorations of a -palace, and after this another herd, so that the ruins left by the -first perished under the hoofs of the second, and, scarcely installed -in disorder, each troop of brutes had to arouse itself in order to -battle with its horns a bellowing, insatiable troop of invaders. When -at last, in the tenth century, the last horde had made its lair and -glutted itself, men seemed to be in no better condition. The barbarian -chiefs becoming feudal barons, fought amongst themselves, pillaging -peasants and burning their crops, robbing the merchants, and wantonly -robbing and maltreating their miserable serfs. The land remained waste, -and provisions became scarce. In the eleventh century forty out of -seventy years were years of famine. A monk, Raoul Glaber, relates that -it got to be common to eat human flesh; a butcher was burnt alive for -exposing it for sale in his stall. Add to this universal poverty and -filth, and a total neglect of the simplest of hygienic principles, and -you can well understand how leprosy, pests, and epidemics, becoming -acclimated, raged as if upon their native soil. People degenerated -to the condition of the anthropophagi of New Zealand, to the ignoble -brutality of the Papuans and Caledonians, to the lowest depths of the -human cesspool, seeing that reminiscences of the past trenched on the -misery of the present, and since some thinking heads, still reading -the ancient language felt in a confused way the immensity of the fall, -the whole depth of the abyss into which the human species had been -engulphed for a thousand years. - -You may divine the sentiments which such a condition of things, so -extreme and so lasting, implanted in people's breasts. At first there -was weakness, disgust of life, and the deepest melancholy; "the -world," said a writer of that day, "is nothing but an abyss of vice and -immodesty." Life seemed a foretaste of hell. Many withdrew from it, -and not alone the poor, the feeble, and women, but sovereign lords, -and even kings; such as possessed delicate and noble natures preferred -the tranquillity and monotony of the cloister. On the approach of the -year one thousand a general belief in the extinction of the world -prevailed, and many, seized with fright, made over their property -to churches and convents. On the other hand, and coupled with this -terror and despondency, there arose an extraordinary degree of nervous -exaltation. When men are very miserable they become excitable, like -invalids and prisoners; their sensibility increases, and acquires a -feminine delicacy; their heart is filled with caprices, agitations -and despondency, excesses and effusions from which they are free in a -healthy state. They depart from moderate sentiments which alone can -maintain continuous masculine action. They indulge in re very, burst -into tears, sink down on their knees, become incapable of providing for -themselves, imagine infinite sweet and tender transports, yearning to -diffuse the excessive refinements and enthusiasm of their over-wrought -intemperate imaginations; in short, they are prone to love. Hence, we -see them developed with an enormous exaggeration, a passion unknown -to the stern and virile souls of antiquity, namely, the chivalric -mystic love of the middle ages. The calm rational love of wedlock was -subordinated to the ecstatic and unruly love encountered outside of -wedlock. Its subtleties were carefully defined and embodied in the -maxims of tribunals presided over by ladies. It was decreed there -that "love could not exist between spouses," and that "love could -refuse nothing to love.[2] Woman was no longer considered as flesh -and blood like man, but was converted into a divinity; man was only -too well compensated in the privilege of adoring: and serving her. -Human love was regarded as a celestial sentiment leading to divine -love and confounded with it. Poets transformed their mistresses into -supernatural virtue, and implored them to guide them through the -empyrean to the tabernacle of God. You can easily appreciate the hold -the Christian faith derived from such sentiments. Disgust for the -world, a tendency to ecstacy, habitual despair and infinite craving -for tender sympathy, naturally impelled men to a doctrine representing -the earth as a vale of tears, the present life a period of trial, -rapturous union with the Divinity as supreme happiness, and the love -of God as the first of duties. Morbid or trembling sensibility found -its support in the infinitude of terror and of hope, in pictures of -flaming pits and eternal perdition, and in conceptions of a radiant -paradise and of ineffable bliss. Thus supported, Christianity ruled all -souls, inspired art, and gave employment to artists. "Society," says a -contemporary, "divested itself of its old rags in order to clothe its -churches in robes of whiteness." Gothic architecture accordingly made -its appearance. - -Let us observe the growth of the new Gothic edifice. In opposition to -the religions of antiquity, which were all local, belonging to castes -or to families, Christianity is a universal religion which appeals -to the multitude, and summons all men to salvation. It was necessary -accordingly for this new edifice to be very large and capable of -containing the entire population of any one city or district--the -women, the children, the serfs, the artisans, and the poor as well as -the nobles and sovereigns. The small _cella_ which contains the statue -of the Greek god, and the portico where the procession of free citizens -was displayed, were not sufficient for this immense crowd. An enormous -vault was required, lofty naves multiplied and crossed by others, and -measureless arches and colossal columns; generations of workmen flocked -in crowds for centuries to labor here for the salvation of their souls, -displacing mountains before the monument could be completed. - -The men who enter here have sorrowing souls, and the ideas they come -in quest of are mournful. They meditate on this miserable life, so -troubled and confined by such an abyss, on hell and its punishments, -endless, measureless and unintermittent, on the sufferings and passion -of Christ crucified, and those of persecuted and tortured saints and -martyrs. Listening to such religious teaching, and under the burden of -their own fears, they could ill accommodate themselves to the simple -beauty and joyous effect of pure light; the clear and healthy light -of day is accordingly excluded; the interior of the edifice remains -subject to cold and lugubrious shadow; light only comes in transformed -by stained glass into purple and crimson tints, into the splendors of -topaz and amethyst, into the mystic gleams of precious stones, into -strange illuminations, seeming to afford glimpses of paradise. - -Delicate over-excited imaginations like these are not content with -simple architectural forms. And first, form in itself is not sufficient -to interest them. It must be a symbol of and designate some august -mystery. The edifice with its transverse naves represents the cross -on which Christ died; its circular window with its brilliant petals -figures the rose of eternity, the leaves of which are redeemed souls; -all the dimensions of its parts correspond to sacred numbers. Again, -these forms in their richness, strangeness, boldness, delicacy and -immensity, harmonize with the intemperance and curiosity of a morbid -fancy. Vivid sensations--manifold, changing, bizarre and extreme--are -necessary to such souls. They reject the column, the horizontal and -transverse beams, the round arch, in short, the solid construction, -balanced proportions, and beautiful simplicity of antique architecture; -they do not sympathize with those noble creations that seem to have -been born without pain and to last without effort, which attain to -beauty the same time as to life, and the finished excellence of which -needs neither addition nor ornament. - -They adopt for type, not the plain half-circle of the arcade, or -the simple angle formed by the column and the architrave, but the -complicated union of two curves intersected by each other, forming the -ogive. They aspire to the gigantic, covering square acres of ground -with piles of stone, binding pillars together in monstrous columns, -suspending galleries in the air, elevating arches to the skies, and -stage upon stage of belfry until their spires are lost in the clouds. -They exaggerate the delicacy of forms; they surround doors with -series of statuettes, and festoon the sides with trefoils, gables and -gargoyles; they interlace the tortuous tracery of mullions with the -motley hues of stained glass; the choir seems to be embroidered with -lace, while tombs, altars, stalls and towers are covered with mazes of -slender columns and fringes of leaves and statues. It seems as if they -wished to attain at once infinite grandeur and infinite littleness, -seeking to overwhelm the mind on either side, on the one hand with -the vastness of a mass, and on the other with a prodigious quantity -of details. Their object was evidently to produce an extraordinary -sensation; they aimed to dazzle and bewilder. - -Proportionately, therefore, to the development of this style of -architecture, it becomes more and more paradoxical. In the fourteenth -and fifteenth centuries, the age of the flamboyant Gothic of Strasburg, -Milan, York, Nuremburg, and the Church of Brou, solidity seems to -have been wholly abandoned for ornament. At one time it bristles with -a profusion of multiplied and superposed pinnacles; at another its -exterior is draped with a lacework of mouldings. Walls are hollowed -out, and almost wholly absorbed by windows; they lack strength, and -without the buttresses raised against them the structure would fall; -ever disintegrating, it is necessary to establish colonies of masons -about them constantly to repair their constant decay. This embroidered -stonework, more and more frail as it ascends the spire, cannot sustain -itself; it has to be fastened to a skeleton of iron, and as iron rusts, -the blacksmith is summoned to contribute his share towards propping up -this unstable, delusive magnificence. In the interior the decoration is -so exuberant and complex, the groinings so richly display their thorny -and tangled vegetation, and the stalls, pulpit, and railings, swarm -with such intricate, tortuous, fantastic arabesques, that the church -no longer seems to be a sacred monument, but a rare example of the -jewellers art. It is a vast structure of variegated glass, a gigantic -piece of filigree work, a festive decoration as elaborated as that of -a queen or a bride; it is the adornment of a nervous, over-excited -woman, similar to the extravagant costumes of the day, whose delicate -and morbid poesy denotes by its excess the singular sentiments, the -feverish, violent, and impotent aspiration peculiar to an age of -knights and monks. - -For this architecture, which has lasted four centuries, is not confined -to one country or to one description of edifice; it is spread over -all Europe, from Scotland to Sicily, and is employed in all civil and -religious and public and private monuments. Not only do cathedrals and -chapels bear its imprint, but fortresses, palaces, costumes, dwellings, -furniture, and equipments. Its universality, accordingly, expresses -and attests the great moral crisis, at once morbid and sublime, which, -during the whole of the middle ages, exalted, and at the same time -disordered, the human intellect. - - -[Footnote 1: _Rome, thirty years B. C,_ by Victor Durny.] - -[Footnote 2: Andre le Chapelain.] - - - - -VII - - -Human institutions, like living bodies, are made and unmade by their -own forces; and their health passes away or their cure is effected -by the sole effect of their nature and their situation. Among these -feudal chiefs who ruled and plundered men in the middle-ages one was -found in each country, stronger, more politic, and better placed than -others, who constituted himself conservator of public order; sustained -by public sentiment, he by degrees weakened and subdued, subordinated -and rallied the others, and, organizing a systematic obedient -administration, became under the name of king the head of the nation. -Towards the fifteenth century, the barons, formerly his equals, were -only his officers, and towards the seventeenth century they were simply -his courtiers. - -Note the significance of this term. A courtier is a member of the -king's court; that is to say, a person charged with some function or -domestic duty in the palace--either chamberlain, equerry, or gentleman -of the antechamber--receiving a salary, and addressing his master with -all the deference and ceremonial obsequiousness proper to such an -employment. But this person is not a valet, as in oriental monarchies, -for his ancestor, the grandfather of his grandfather, was the equal, -the companion, the peer of the king; and on this account he himself -belongs to a privileged class, that of noblemen. He does not serve -his prince solely through personal interest; his devotion to him is a -point of honor. The prince in his turn never neglects to treat him with -consideration. Louis XIV. threw his cane out of the window in order not -to be tempted to strike Lauzun, who had offended him. The courtier is -honored by his master, and regarded as one of his society. He lives in -familiarity with him, dances at his balls, dines at his table, rides -in the same carriage, sits in the same chairs, and frequents the same -_salon._ From such a basis court life arose; first in Italy and Spain, -subsequently in France, and afterwards in England, in Germany, and in -the north of Europe. France was its centre, and Louis XIV. gave to it -its principal _éclat._ - -Let us study the effect of this new state of things on minds and -characters. The kings _salon_ is the first in the country, and is -frequented by the most select society; the most admired personage, -therefore, the accomplished man whom everybody accepts for a model, is -the nobleman enjoying familiarity with his sovereign. This nobleman -entertains generous sentiments; he believes himself of a superior -race, and he says to himself, _noblesse oblige._ He is more sensitive -than other men on the point of honor, and freely risks his life at the -slightest insult. Under Louis XIII. four thousand noblemen were killed -in duels. Contempt of danger, in the eyes of this nobleman, is the -first obligation of a soul nobly born. The dandy, the worldling, so -choice of his ribbons, so careful of his perruque, is ready to encamp -in Flanders mud, and expose himself to bullets for hours together at -Neerwinden. When Luxembourg announces that he is about to give battle, -Versailles is deserted; all these young perfumed gallants hasten off -to the army as if they were going to a ball. Finally, and through a -remnant of the spirit of ancient feudalism, our nobleman regards the -monarch as his natural legitimate chief: he knows he is bound to him, -as the vassal formerly was to his suzerain, and at need will give -him his blood, his property, and his life. Under Louis XYI. noblemen -voluntarily placed themselves at the king's disposal, and on the 10th -of August many were slain in his behalf. - -But they are nevertheless courtiers, that is to say, men of the world, -and in this respect perfectly polite. The King himself sets them an -example. Louis XIV. even doffed his hat to a chambermaid, and the -Memoirs of St. Simon mention a duke who saluted so frequently that he -was obliged to cross the courts of Versailles bareheaded. The courtier, -for the same reason, is accomplished in all that appertains to good -breed-ins; language never fails him in difficult circumstances; he -is a diplomat, master of himself, an adept in the art of disguising, -concealing, flattering and managing others, never giving offence, and -often pleasing. All these qualifications and these sentiments proceed -from an aristocratic spirit refined by the usages of society; they -attain to perfection in this court and in this century. Anybody of -the present time disposed to admire the choice flowers of this lost -and delicate species need not look for them in our equalized, rude -and mixed society, but must turn to the elegant, formal, monumental -parterres in which they formerly flourished. - -You can imagine that people so constituted must have chosen pleasures -appropriate to their character. Their taste, indeed, like their -persons, was noble; for they were not only noble by birth, but also -through their sentiments; and correct because they were educated to -practise and respect what was becoming to them. It was this taste -which, in the seventeenth century, fashioned all their works of -art--the serious, elevated, severe productions of Poussin and Lesueur, -the grave, pompous, elaborate architecture of Mansart and Perrault, -and the stately symmetrical gardens of LeNotre. You will find its -traces in the furniture, costumes, house decoration, and carriages of -the engravings and paintings of Perelle, Sebastian Leclerc, Eigaud, -Nanteuil, and many others. Versailles, with its groups of well-bred -gods, its symmetrical alleys, its my theological water-works, its -large artificial basins, its trimmed and pruned trees modelled into -architectural designs, is a masterpiece in this direction; all its -edifices and parterres, everything belonging to it, was constructed -for men solicitous about their dignity, and strict observers of the -recognized standard of social propriety. But the imprint is still -more visible in the literature of the epoch. Never in France or in -Europe has the art of fine writing been carried to such perfection. -The greatest of French authors, as you are aware, belong to this -epoch--Bossuet, Pascal, La Fontaine, Molière, Corneille, Racine, La -Rochefoucauld, Madame de Sévigné, Boileau, La Bruyère, Bourdalone, and -others. Great men not only wrote well, but almost everybody; Courier -asserted that a chambermaid of those days knew more about style than -a modern academy. In fact, a good style at that time pervaded the -air, people unconsciously inhaling it; it prevailed in correspondence -and in conversation; the court taught it; it entered into the ways of -people of the world. The man who aimed to be polished and correct in -deportment, got to be so likewise in the attributes of language and -of style. Among so many branches of literature there is one, tragedy, -which reached a singular degree of perfection, and which more than -all the rest furnishes at that time the most striking example of the -concordance which links together man and his works, manners and the -arts. - -The general features of this tragedy first claim attention; they are -all calculated to please noblemen and members of the court. The poet -does not fail in the blandishment, of truth, which by its nature is -often crude; he allows no murders on the stage; he disguises brutality -and repudiates violence, such as blows, butcheries, yells, and groans, -everything that might offend the senses of a spectator accustomed to -moderation and the elegancies of the _salon._ For the same reason he -excludes disorder, never abandoning himself to the caprices of fancy -and imagination like Shakespeare; his plan is regular, he admits no -unforeseen incidents, no romantic poesy. He elaborates his scenes, -explains entrances, graduates the interest of his piece, prepares -the way for sudden turns of fortune, and skilfully anticipates and -directs dénouements. Finally, he diffuses throughout the dialogue, -like a uniform brilliant varnish, a studied versification composed -of the choicest terms and the most harmonious rhymes. If we seek the -costume of this drama in the engravings of the time we find heroes -and princesses appearing in furbelows, embroideries, bootees, swords -and plumes--a dress, in short, Greek in name, but French in taste and -fashion; such as the king, the dauphin, and the princesses paraded in, -to the music of violins, at the court performances of ballets. - -Note, moreover, that all his personages are courtiers, kings and -queens, princes and princesses of royal blood, ambassadors, ministers, -officers of the guard, _menins,_[1] dependants and confidants. The -associates of princes are not here, as in ancient Greek tragedy, -slaves of the palace and nurses born under their master's roof, but -ladies-in-waiting, equerries, and gentlemen of the antechamber, -charged with certain duties in the royal household; we readily detect -this in their conversational ability, in their skill in flattery, in -their perfect education, in their exquisite deportment, and in their -monarchical sentiments as subjects and vassals. Their masters, like -themselves, are French noblemen of the seventeenth century, proud -and courteous, heroic in Corneille and noble in Racine; they are -gallants with the ladies, faithful to their name and race, capable of -sacrificing their dearest interests and strongest affections to their -honor, and incapable of uttering a word or an act which the most rigid -courtesy would not authorize. Iphigenia, in Racine, delivered up by her -father to her executioners, does not regret life, weeping like a girl, -as in Euripides, but thinks it her duty to obey her father and her king -without a murmur, and to die without shedding a tear, because she is a -princess. Achilles, who in Homer stamps, still unappeased, on the body -of the dying Hector, feeling like a lion or wolf, as if he would "eat -the raw flesh" of his vanquished antagonist, is, in Racine, a Prince of -Condé, at once brilliant and seductive, passionate concerning honor, -devoted to the fair, impetuous, it is true, and irritable, but with -the reserved vivacity of a young officer who, even when most excited, -maintains good breeding and never stoops to brutality. All these -characters are models of polite address, and show a knowledge of the -world never at fault. Head, in Racine, the first dialogue of _Oreste_ -and _Pyrrhus,_ and the whole of the part of _Acomat_ and of _Ulysse;_ -nowhere is greater tact or oratorical dexterity apparent; nowhere -more ingenious compliments and flatteries, exordiums so well poised, -such a quick revelation, such an ingenious adjustment, such a delicate -insinuation of appropriate motives. The wildest and most impetuous -lovers--_Hippolyte, Britannicus, Pyrrhus, Oreste,_ and _Xipharès_ ---are accomplished cavaliers who turn a madrigal and bow with the -utmost deference. However violent their passions may be, _Hermione, -Andromaqne, Boxane,_ and _Bérénice,_ preserve the tone of the best -society. _Mithridate, Phèdre,_ and _Athalie,_ when expiring, express -themselves in correct periods, for a prince has to be a prince to the -last, and die in due form. This drama might be called a perfect picture -of the fashionable world. Like Gothic architecture, it represents a -positive complete side of the human mind, and this is why, like that, -it has become so universal. It has been imported into, or imitated by, -along with its accompanying taste, literature, and manners, every court -of Europe--in England, after the restoration of the Stuarts; in Spain, -on the advent of the Bourbons; and in Italy, Germany, and Russia, in -the eighteenth century. We are warranted in saying that at this epoch -France was the educator of Europe; she was the source from which was -derived all that was elegant and agreeable, whatever was proper in -style, delicate in ideas, and perfect in the art of social intercourse. -If a savage Muscovite, a dull German, a stolid Englishman, or any -other uncivilized or half-civilized man of the North quit his brandy, -pipe, and furs, his feudal or hunting or rural life, it was to French -_salons_ and to French books he betook himself, in order to acquire the -arts of politeness, urbanity, and conversation. - - -[Footnote 1: Foster-brother, school-companion, or other intimate of -this class.] - - - - -VIII. - - -This brilliant society did not last; it was its own development -which caused its dissolution. The government being absolute, ended -in becoming negligent and tyrannical; and, besides this, the king -bestowed the best offices and the greatest favor only on such of the -nobles of his court as enjoyed his intimacy. This appeared unjust to -the _bourgeoisie_ and to the people, who, having greatly increased -in numbers, wealth and intelligence, felt their power augment in -proportion to the growth of their discontent. The French Revolution was -accordingly their work; and after ten years of trial they established -a system of democracy and equality, in which, according to a fixed -order of promotion, all civil employments were ordinarily accessible -to everybody. The wars of the empire and the contagion of example -gradually spread this system beyond the frontiers of France, and -whatever may be local differences and temporary delays, it is now -evident that the tendency of the whole of Europe is to imitate it. The -new construction of society, coupled with the invention of industrial -machinery, and the great abatement of rudeness in manners and customs, -has changed the condition as well as the character of man. Henceforth, -man is exempt from arbitrary measures, and is protected by a good -police. However lowly born, all careers are open to him; an enormous -increase of useful articles, places within reach of the poorest, -conveniences and pleasures of which, two centuries ago, the rich were -entirely ignorant. Again, the rigor of authority is mitigated, both -in society and in the family; a father is now the companion of his -children, and the citizen has become the equal of the noble. Human -life, in short, displays a lesser degree of misery, and a lighter -degree of oppression. - -But, as a counterpart of this, Ave see ambition and cupidity spreading -their wings. Accustomed to comfort and luxuries, and obtaining here and -there glimpses of happiness, man begins to regard happiness and comfort -as his due. The more he obtains, the more exacting he becomes, and the -more his pretensions exceed his acquisitions. The practical sciences -also having made great progress, and instruction being diffused, -liberated thought abandons itself to all daring enterprises; hence it -happens that men, relinquishing the traditions which formerly regulated -their beliefs, deem themselves capable, through intellect alone, of -attaining to the highest truths. Questions of every kind are mooted, -moral, political and religious; men seek knowledge by groping their -way in every direction. For fifty years past we behold this strange -conflict of systems and sects, each tendering us new creeds and perfect -theories of happiness. - -Such a state of things has a wonderful effect on minds and ideas. -The representative man, that is to say, the character who occupies -the stage, and to whom the spectators award the most interest and -sympathy, is the melancholy, ambitious dreamer--René, Faust, Werther -and Manfred--a yearning heart, restless, wandering and incurably -miserable. And he is miserable for two reasons. In the first place he -is over-sensitive, too easily affected by the lesser evils of life; he -has too great a craving for delicate and blissful sensations; he is -too much accustomed to comfort; he has not had the semi-feudal and -semi-rustic education of our ancestors; he has not been roughly handled -by his father, whipped at college, obliged to maintain respectful -silence in the presence of great personages, and had his mental growth -retarded by domestic discipline; he has not been compelled, as in -ancient times, to use his own arm and sword to protect himself, to -travel on horseback, and to sleep in disagreeable lodgings. In the soft -atmosphere of modern comfort and of sedentary habits, he has become -delicate, nervous, excitable, and less capable of accommodating himself -to the course of life which always exacts effort and imposes trouble. - -On the other hand, he is skeptical. Society and religion both being -disturbed--in the midst of a pêle-mêle of doctrines and an irruption -of new theories--his precocious judgment, too rapidly instructed, -and too soon unbridled, precipitates him early and blindly off the -beaten track made smooth for his fathers by habit, and which they -have trodden, led on by tradition and governed by authority. All the -barriers which served as guides to minds having fallen, he rushes -forward into the vast, confusing field which is opened out before his -eyes; impelled by almost superhuman ambition and curiosity he darts off -in the pursuit of absolute truth and infinite happiness. Neither love, -glory, knowledge nor power, as we find these in this world, can satisfy -him; the intemperance of his desires, irritated by the incompleteness -of his conquests and by the nothingness of his enjoyments, leaves -him prostrate amid the ruins of his own nature, without his jaded, -enfeebled, impotent imagination being able to represent to him the -_beyond_ which he covets, and the unknown _what_ which he has not. -This evil has been styled the great malady of the age. Forty years -ago it was in full force, and under the apparent frigidity or gloomy -impassibility of the positive mind of the present day it still subsists. - -I have not the time to show you the innumerable effects of a like state -of mind on works of art. You may trace them in the great development of -the lyrical, sentimental and philosophical poetry of France, Germany -and England; again, in the corruption and enrichment of language and -in the invention of new classes and of new characters in literature; -in the style and sentiments of all the great modern writers, from -Chateaubriand to Balzac, from Goethe to Heine, from Cowper to Byron, -and from Alfieri to Leopardi. You will find analogous symptoms in the -arts of design if you observe their feverish, tortured and painfully -archeological style, their aim at dramatic effect, psychological -expression, and local fidelity; if you observe the confusion which has -befogged the schools and injured their processes; if you pay attention -to the countless gifted minds who, shaken by new emotions, have opened -out new ways; if you analyze the profound sympathy for scenery which -has given birth to a complete and original landscape art. But there -is another art, Music, which has suddenly reached an extraordinary -development. This development is one of the salient characteristics of -our epoch, and the dependence of this on the modern mind, the ties by -which they are connected, I shall endeavor to point out to you. - -This art was born, and necessarily, in two countries where people -sing naturally, Italy and Germany. It was gestating for a century and -a half in Italy, from Palestrina to Pergolese, as formerly painting -from Giotto to Massaccio, discovering processes and feeling its -way in order to acquire its resources. At the commencement of the -eighteenth century it suddenly burst forth, with Scarlatti, Marcello -and Handel. This is a most remarkable epoch. Painting at this time -ceased to nourish in Italy, and in the midst of political stagnation, -voluptuous, effeminate customs prevailed, furnishing an assembly of -sigisbés, Lindors and amorous ladies for the roulades and tender -sentimental scenes of the opera. Grave, ponderous Germany, at that time -the latest in acquiring self-consciousness, now succeeds in displaying -the severity and grandeur of its religious sentiment, its profound -knowledge, and its vague melancholy instincts in the sacred music of -Sebastian Bach, anticipating the evangelical epic of Klopstock. Tn the -old and in the new nation the reign and expression of _sentiment_ is -beginning. Between the two, half-Germanic and half-Italian, is Austria, -conciliating the two spirits, producing Haydn, Gluck and Mozart. Music -now becomes cosmopolite and universal on the confines of that great -mental convulsion of souls styled the French Revolution, as formerly -painting under the impulse of the great intellectual revival known -under the name of the Renaissance. We need not be astonished at the -appearance of this new art, for it corresponds to the appearance of a -new genius--that of the ruling, morbid, restless, ardent character I -have attempted to portray for you. It is to this spirit that Beethoven, -Mendelssohn and Weber formerly addressed themselves, and to which -Meyerbeer, Berlioz and Verdi are now striving to accommodate themselves. - -Music is the organ of this over-refined excessive sensibility and -vague boundless aspiration; it is expressly designed for this service, -and no art so well performs its task. And this is so because, on the -one hand, music is founded on a more or less remote imitation of a cry -which is the natural, spontaneous, complete expression of passion, and -which, affecting us through a corporeal stimulus, instantly arouses -involuntary sympathy, so that the tremulous delicacy of every nervous -being finds in it its impulse, its echo, and its ministrant. On the -other hand, founded on relationships of sounds which represent no -living form, and which, especially in instrumental music, seem to be -the reveries of an incorporeal soul, it is better adapted than any -other art to express floating thoughts, formless dreams, objectless -limitless desires, the grandiose and dolorous mazes of a troubled heart -which aspires to all and is attached to nothing. This is why, along -with the discontent, the agitations, and the hopes of modern democracy, -music has left its natal countries and diffused itself over all Europe; -and why you see at the present time the most complicated symphonies -attracting crowds in France, where, thus far, the national music has -been reduced to the song and the melodies of the Vaudeville. - - - - -IX. - - -The foregoing illustrations, gentlemen, seem to me sufficient to -establish the law governing the character and creation of works of -art. And not only do they establish it, but they accurately define -it. In the beginning of this section I stated that _the work of art -is determined by an aggregate which is the general state of the mind -and surrounding manners._ We may now advance another step, and note -precisely in their order each link of the chain, connecting together -cause and effect. - -In the various illustrations we have considered, you have remarked -first, a _general situation,_ in other words, a certain universal -condition of good or evil, one of servitude or of liberty, a state of -wealth or of poverty, a particular form of society, a certain species -of religious faith; in Greece, the free martial city, with its slaves; -in the middle ages, feudal oppression, invasion and brigandage, and -an exalted phase of Christianity; the court life of the seventeenth -century; the industrial and studied democracy of the nineteenth, guided -by the sciences; in short, a group of circumstances controlling man, -and to which he is compelled to resign himself. - -This situation developes in man corresponding needs, distinct -_aptitudes_ and _special sentiments_--physical activity, a tendency -to revery; here rudeness, and there refinement; at one time a martial -instinct, at another conversational talent, at another a love of -pleasure, and a thousand other complex and varied peculiarities. In -Greece we see physical perfection and a balance of faculties which no -manual or cerebral excess of life deranges; in the middle ages, the -intemperance of over-excited imaginations and the delicacy of feminine -sensibility; in the seventeenth century, the polish and good-breeding -of society and the dignity of aristocratic _salons_; and in modern -times, the grandeur of unchained ambitions and the morbidity of -unsatisfied yearnings. - -Now, this group of sentiments, aptitudes and needs, constitutes, when -concentrated in one person and powerfully displayed by him, _the -representative man,_ that is to say, a model character to whom his -contemporaries award all their admiration and all their sympathy; -there is, for instance, in Greece, the naked youth, of a fine race and -accomplished in all bodily exercise; in the middle ages, the ecstatic -monk and the amorous knight; in the seventeenth century, the perfect -courtier; and in our days, the melancholy insatiable Faust or Werther. - -Moreover, as this personage is the most captivating, the most important -and the most conspicuous of all, it is he whom artists present to the -public, now concentrated in an ideal personage, when their art, like -painting, sculpture, the drama, the romance or the epic, is imitative; -now, dispersed in its elements, as in architecture and in music, -where art excites emotions without incarnating them. All their labor, -therefore, may be summed up as follows: they either represent this -character, or address themselves to it; the symphonies of Beethoven -and the "storied windows" of cathedrals are addressed to it; and it -is represented in the Niobe group of antiquity and in the Agamemnon -and Achilles of Racine. _All art, therefore, depends on it,_ since the -whole of art is applied only to conform to, or to express it. - -A general situation, provoking tendencies and special faculties; -a representative man, embodying these predominant tendencies and -faculties; sounds, forms, colors, or language giving this character -sensuous form, or which comport with the tendencies and faculties -comprising it, such are the four terms of the series; the first carries -with it the second, the second the third, and the third the fourth, -so that the slightest variation of either involves a corresponding -variation in those that follow, and reveals a corresponding variation -in those that precede it, permitting abstract reasoning in either -direction in an ascending or descending scale of progression.[1] As far -as I am capable of judging, this formula embraces everything. If, now, -we insert between these diverse terms the accessory causes occurring -to modify their effects; if, in order to explain the sentiments of -an epoch, we add an examination of race to that of the social medium; -if, in order to explain the works of art of any age, we consider, -besides the prevailing tendencies of that age, the particular period of -the art, and the particular sentiments of each artist, we shall then -derive from the law not only the great revolutions and general forms -of man's imagination, but, again, the differences between national -schools, the incessant variations of various styles, and the original -characteristics of the works of every great master. Thus followed out, -such an explanation will be complete, since it furnishes at once the -general traits of each school, and the distinctive traits which, in -this school, characterize individuals. We are about to enter upon this -study in relation to Italian art; it is a long and difficult task, and -I have need of your attention in order to pursue it to the end. - - -[Footnote 1: This law may be applied to the study of all literatures -and to every art. The student may begin with the fourth term, -proceeding from this to the first, strictly adhering to the order of -the series.] - - - - -X. - - -Before proceeding further, gentlemen, there is a practical and personal -conclusion due to our researches, and which is applicable to the -present order of things. - -You have observed that each situation produces a certain state of -mind followed by a corresponding class of works of art. This is why -every new situation must produce a new state of mind, and consequently -a new class of works; and therefore why the social medium of the -present day, now in the course, of formation, ought to produce its own -works like the social mediums that have gone before it. This is not -a simple supposition based on the current of desire and of hope; it -is the result of a law resting on the authority of experience and on -the testimony of history. From the moment a law is established it is -good for all time; the connections of things in the present, accompany -connections of things in the past and in the future. Accordingly, -it need not be said in these days that art is exhausted. It is true -that certain schools no longer exist and can no longer be revived; -that certain arts languish, and that the future upon which we are -entering does not promise to furnish the aliment that these require. -But art itself, which is the faculty of perceiving and expressing the -leading character of objects, is as enduring as the civilization of -which it is the best and earliest fruit. What its forms will be, and -which of the five great arts will provide the A'ehicle of expression -of future sentiment, we are not called upon to decide we have the -right to affirm that new forms will arise, and an appropriate mould -be found in which to cast them. We have only to open our eyes to see -a change going on in the condition of men, and consequently in their -minds, so profound, so universal, and so rapid that no other century -has witnessed the like of it. The three causes that have formed the -modern mind continue to operate with increasing efficacy. You are -all aware that discoveries in the positive sciences are multiplying -daily; that geology, organic chemistry, history, entire branches of -physics and zoology, are contemporary productions; that the growth of -experience is infinite, and the applications of discovery unlimited; -that means of communication and transport, cultivation, trade, -mechanical contrivances, all the elements of human power, are yearly -spreading and concentrating beyond all expectation. None of you are -ignorant that the political machine works smoother in the same sense; -that communities, becoming more rational and humane, are watchful of -internal order, protecting talent, aiding the feeble and the poor; -in short, that everywhere, and in every way, man is cultivating his -intellectual faculties and ameliorating his social condition. We cannot -accordingly deny that men's habits, ideas and condition transform -themselves, nor reject this consequence, that such renewal of minds and -things brings along with it a renewal of art. The first period of this -evolution gave rise to the glorious French school of 1830; it remains -for us to witness the second--the field which is open to your ambition -and your labor. On its very threshold, you have a right to augur well -of your century and of yourselves; for the patient study we have -just terminated shows you that to produce beautiful works, the sole -condition necessary is that which the great Goethe indicated: "Fill -your mind and heart, however large, with ideas and sentiments of your -age, and work will follow." - - -THE END. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Philosophy of Art, by Hippolyte Taine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART *** - -***** This file should be named 52980-0.txt or 52980-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/9/8/52980/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, alo linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Philosophy of Art - -Author: Hippolyte Taine - -Translator: John Durand - -Release Date: September 4, 2016 [EBook #52980] -Last Updated: August 29, 2017 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, alo linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -Images generously made available by the Internet Archive. - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART</h1> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h2>H. TAINE</h2> - -<h4>PROFESSOR OF ÆSTHETICS AND OF THE HISTORY OF ART IN THE -ÉCOLE DES BEAUX-ARTS, PARIS.</h4> - -<h4>TRANSLATED BY</h4> - -<h4>JOHN DURAND</h4> - -<h4><i>Second Edition, Thoroughly Revised by the Translator</i> -</h4> -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>HOLT & WILLIAMS</h5> - -<h5>1873</h5> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4>PUBLISHERS' NOTE.</h4> - - -<p>The now famous name of Taine was first introduced to the American -public by the issue, in 1865, of a small imported edition of this -work. That edition has long been out of print here and in Europe. That -the book is now re-issued may be subject of special satisfaction to -those who already possess the Author's "<i>Ideal in Art</i>" "<i>Art in the -Netherlands</i>" and "<i>Art in Greece</i>" as this work (now published in a -style uniform with others named) is properly the forerunner of them -all; containing, as it does, the principles laid down in the Author's -first course of lectures, and constantly referred to in the later -courses which now form the books before alluded to.</p> - -<p>In preparing this edition for the press, the translator, by bringing -to bear the experience gained in the later works, has made it a great -improvement on the previous edition.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4>PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.</h4> - - -<p>The translation herewith presented to the reader consists of a course -of Lectures delivered during the winter of 1864, before the Students of -Art of the <i>École des Beaux Arts</i> at Paris, by H. Taine, <i>Professeur -d'Esthétique et d' Histoire de l'Art</i> in that institution.</p> - -<p>These lectures, as a system of Æsthetics, consist of an application of -the experimental method to art, in the same manner as it is applied -to the sciences. Whatever utility the system possesses is due to this -principle. The author undertakes to explain art by social influences -and other causes; humanity at different times and places, climate, -and other conditions, furnish the facts on which the theory rests. The -artistic development of any age or people is made intelligible through -a series of historical inductions terminating in a few inferential -laws, constituting what the title of the book declares it to be—<i>the -philosophy of art.</i></p> - -<p>Such a system seems to possess many advantages. Among others, it -tends to emancipate the student of art, as well as the amateur, from -metaphysical and visionary theories growing out of false theories and -traditional misconceptions; he is not misled by an exclusive adherence -to particular schools, masters, or epochs. It also tends to render -criticism less capricious, and therefore less injurious; dictating no -conventional standard of judgment, it promotes a spirit of charity -towards all works. As there is no attempt to do more than explain art -according to natural laws, the reader must judge whether, like all -systems assuming to bring order out of confusion, this one fulfils its -mission.</p> - -<p>Readers familiar with M. Taine's able and original work on English -literature <i>(Histoire de la Littérature Anglaise)</i> will recognize -in the following pages the same theory applied to art as is therein -applied to literature.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 75%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. D.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">LONDON, <i>November 9,</i> 1865.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4>PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.</h4> - - -<p>Since the publication of the first edition of the "<i>Philosophy of Art</i>" -seven years ago, in London, its author has become deservedly popular, -and especially in this country. His writings are sought for, read and -translated both in England and on the continent of Europe, and it would -be but refining gold to say aught in his praise. Like every man of -genius he has, as time moves on, improved in his order of thought and -in his wonderfully artistic style. His latest work, "<i>On Intelligence</i>" -ranks him as high among thinkers, as his former works among men of -letters.</p> - -<p>The present edition is a careful revision of the former one, and -amounts, indeed, to a new translation. Were either to be compared -with the original, no change of sense could probably be detected. The -present edition, however, being much more literal, the translator -considers it an improvement, and hopes that it will be found more -worthy of its gifted author, the publishers, his indulgent critics, and -the public generally.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 75%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. D.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SOUTH ORANGE, N. J. <i>January,</i> 1873.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</a></h4> - - -<p><a href="#ON_THE_NATURE_OF_THE_WORK_OF_ART">PART I.</a></p> - -<p>ON THE NATURE OF THE WORK OF ART.</p> - -<p><a href="#Ia">§ I.</a></p> - -<p>Object of this Study—The Method employed—The search for Aggregates on -which the Work of Art depends.</p> - -<p>First Aggregate, the Entire Production of the Artist—Second Aggregate, -the School to which he belongs; examples, Shakespeare, Rubens. Third -Aggregate, Contemporary Society; examples, Greece, Spain, in the -Sixteenth Century.</p> - -<p>Conditions determining appearance and character of Works of Art; -examples, Greek Tragedy, Gothic Architecture, Dutch Painting, French -Tragedy—Comparison of Climate and Natural Productions with a Moral -Temperature, and its effect—Application of this method to Italian Art.</p> - -<p>Objects and method of Æsthetics—Opposition of the Historic and -Dogmatic Methods—Laws—Sympathy for all Schools—The Analogy between -Æsthetics and Botany, and between the Natural and the Moral Sciences.</p> - -<p><a href="#IIa">§ II.</a></p> - -<p>What is the Object of Art—The Research Experimental and not -Ideal—Comparisons and Eliminations of Works of Art sufficient.</p> - -<p>Division of the Arts into two groups—On the one hand, Painting, -Sculpture and Poesy; and, on the other, Architecture and Music. -First group—Imitation apparently the end of Art—Reasons for this -derived from ordinary experience, and from the lives of great men; -Michael Angelo, Corneille—Reasons derived from the History of Art and -Literature; Pompeii and Ravenna—Classic Style under Louis XIV., and -Academic Style under Louis XV.</p> - -<p><a href="#IIIa">§ III.</a></p> - -<p>Exact Imitation not the end of Art—Illustrations derived from -Casting, Photography, and Stenography—Comparison between Denner -and Van Dyck—Certain Arts purposely Inexact—Comparison between -Antique Statues and Draped Figures in the Churches of Naples and -Spain—Comparison between Prose and Verse—The Two Iphigenias of Goethe</p> - -<p><a href="#IVa">§ IV.</a></p> - -<p>Relationships of Parts the true object of Imitation—Illustrations -derived from Drawing and Literature.</p> - -<p><a href="#Va">§ V.</a></p> - -<p>A Work of Art not confined to Imitating Relationships of -Parts—Modification of the Principle in the greatest Schools; Michael -Angelo, Rubens—The Medici Tomb—The 'Kermesse.'</p> - -<p>Definition of Essential Character: Examples of the Lion and the -Netherlands.</p> - -<p>Importance of Essential Character; Nature imperfectly expressing it, -Art supplies her place—Flanders in the time of Rubens, and Italy in -the time of Raphael.</p> - -<p>Artistic Imagination—Spontaneous Impressions, and their power of -Transformation.</p> - -<p>Retrospect; successive steps of the Method, and Definition of a Work of -Art.</p> - -<p><a href="#VIa">§ VI.</a></p> - -<p>Two Parts in this Definition—How Music and Architecture enter into -it—Opposition of the first and second group of Arts—The first copies -Organic and Moral Dependencies; the second combines Mathematical -Dependencies.</p> - -<p>Mathematical Relationships perceived by the sense of sight—Different -classes of these Relationships—Principle of Architecture.</p> - -<p>Mathematical Relationships perceived by the sense of Hearing—Different -classes of these Relationships—Principle of Music—The second -Principle of Music, Analogy of the Sound and the Cry—Music, on this -side, enters into the first group of Arts.</p> - -<p>The definition given is applicable to all the Arts.</p> - -<p><a href="#VIIa">§ VII.</a></p> - -<p>The Value of Art in Human Life—Selfish Acts for the preservation -of the Individual—Social Acts tending to preserve the -Species—Disinterested Acts having for object the contemplation of -Causes and Essentials—Two ways for attaining this end; Science and -Art—Advantages of Art.</p> - -<p><a href="#PART_II">PART II.</a></p> - -<p>PRODUCTION OF THE WORK OF ART.</p> - -<p><a href="#I">§ I.</a></p> - -<p>General Law for the Production of the Work of Art—First Formula—Two -sorts of Proof, one of Experience, and the other of Reasoning.</p> - -<p><a href="#II">§ II.</a></p> - -<p>General Exposition of the Action of Social Mediums—The Development -of the Plant compared with the Development of Human Activity—Natural -Selection.</p> - -<p><a href="#III">§ III.</a></p> - -<p>The Action of a Moral Temperature—The Influence of Melancholy and -Cheerful States of Mind—The Artist is saddened by his personal share -of misfortune—By the melancholy ideas of his contemporaries—By his -aptitude for defining the salient character of objects, which here is -sadness—He finds suggestions and enlightenment only in melancholy -subjects—The Public comprehends only melancholy subjects.</p> - -<p>An inverse case, state of prosperity and general joy—Intermediate -cases.</p> - -<p><a href="#IV">§ IV.</a></p> - -<p>Real and Historical cases—Four Epochs, and four leading Arts.</p> - -<p><a href="#V">§ V.</a></p> - -<p>Greek Civilization and Antique Sculpture—Comparison of Greek manners -with those of contemporaries—The City—The Citizen—Taste for War—The -Athlete-Spartan Education—The Gymnasium in other parts of Greece.</p> - -<p>Conformity of Customs with Ideas—Nudity—Olympic Games—The Gods -perfect Human Figures.</p> - -<p>Birth of Sculpture; Statues of Athletes and of Gods—Why Statuary -sufficed for the Artist's Conceptions—Immense Number of Statues.</p> - -<p><a href="#VI">§ VI.</a></p> - -<p>The Civilization of the Middle Ages, and Gothic Architecture.</p> - -<p>Decline of Antique Society—Invasions of Barbarians—Feudal -Excesses—Universal Misery.</p> - -<p>Distaste for Life—Exalted Sensibility—The Passion of Love—Power of -the Christian Religion.</p> - -<p>Birth of Gothic Architecture—The Cathedral—Universality of Gothic -Architecture.</p> - -<p><a href="#VII">§ VII.</a></p> - -<p>French Civilization in the Seventeenth Century, and Classic Tragedy.</p> - -<p>The Courtier—Ruling Taste—Tragedy—The Aristocratic Sentiments of -Society—Importation of French Tragedy into other European Countries.</p> - -<p><a href="#VIII">§ VIII.</a></p> - -<p>Contemporary Civilization and Music—The French Revolution—Effect of -Civil Equality, Machinery, and the Comforts of Existence—Decay of -Traditional Authority.</p> - -<p>The Representative Man—Development of Music—Its Origin in Germany and -Italy; and its Dependence on Modern Sentiments.</p> - -<p>Universality of Music.</p> - -<p><a href="#IX">§ IX.</a></p> - -<p>The Law of the Production of Works of Art—The Four Terms of the -Series—Practical Application of the Law to a Study of all the Arts and -of every Literature.</p> - -<p><a href="#X">§ X.</a></p> - -<p>Application of the Law to the Present—The Social Medium renewing -itself constantly, Art renews itself—Hopes for the Future.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="ON_THE_NATURE_OF_THE_WORK_OF_ART" id="ON_THE_NATURE_OF_THE_WORK_OF_ART">ON THE NATURE OF THE WORK OF ART.</a></h3> - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">GENTLEMEN:</p> - -<p>In commencing this course of lectures I wish to ask you two things -of which I stand in great need: in the first place, your attention; -afterwards, and especially, your kind indulgence. The warmth of -your reception persuades me that you will favor me with both. Let -me sincerely and earnestly thank you beforehand. The subject with -which I intend to entertain you this year is the history of art, and, -principally, the history of painting in Italy. Before entering on the -subject itself, I desire to indicate to you its spirit and method.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="Ia" id="Ia">I.</a></h4> - - -<p>The principal point of this method consists in recognizing that a -work of art is not isolated, and, consequently, that it is necessary -to study the conditions out of which it proceeds and by which it is -explained.</p> - -<p>The first step is not difficult. At first, and evidently, a work of -art—a picture, a tragedy, a statue—belongs to a certain whole, that -is to say, to the entire work of the artist producing it. This is -elementary. It is well known that the different works of an artist -bear a family likeness, like the children of one parent; that is to -say, they bear a certain resemblance to each other. We know that every -artist has his own style, a style recognized in all his productions. -If he is a painter, he has his own coloring, rich or impoverished; -his favorite types, noble or ignoble; his attitudes, his mode of -composition, even his processes of execution; his favorite pigments, -tints, models, and manner of working. If he is a writer, he has his -own characters, calm or passionate; his own plots, simple or complex; -his own dénouements, comic or tragic, his peculiarities of style, his -pet periods, and even his special vocabulary. This is so true, that a -connoisseur, if you place before him a work not signed by any prominent -master, is able to recognize, to almost a certainty, to what artist -this work belongs, and, if sufficiently experienced and delicate in his -perceptions, the period of the artist's life, and the particular stage -of his development.</p> - -<p>This is the first whole to which we must refer a work of art. And here -is the second. The artist himself, considered in connection with his -productions, is not isolated; he also belongs to a whole, one greater -than himself, comprising the school or family of artists of the time -and country to which he belongs. For example, around Shakespeare, -who, at the first glance, seems to be a marvellous celestial gift -coming like an aerolite from heaven, we find several dramatists of a -high order—Webster, Ford, Massinger, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Beaumont -and Fletcher—all of whom wrote in the same style and in the same -spirit as he did. There are the same characters in their dramas as -in Shakespeare's, the same violent and terrible characters, the same -murderous and unforeseen occurrences, the same sudden and frenzied -passions, the same irregular, capricious, turgid, magnificent style, -the same exquisite poetic feeling for rural life and landscape, and -the same delicate, tender, affectionate ideals of woman.</p> - -<p>In a similar way Rubens is to be judged. Rubens apparently stands -alone, without either predecessor or successor. On going to Belgium, -however, and visiting the churches of Ghent, Brussels, Bruges, or -Antwerp, you find a group of painters with genius resembling his. -First, there is Crayer, in his day considered a rival; Seghers, Van -Oost, Everdingen, Van Thulden, Quellin, Hondthorst, and others, with -whom you are familiar, Jordaens, Van Dyck—all conceiving painting in -the same spirit, and with many distinctive features, all preserving a -family likeness. Like Rubens, these artists delighted in painting ruddy -and healthy flesh, the rich and quivering palpitation of life, the -fresh and sensuous pulp which is diffused so richly over the surface of -the living being, the real, and often brutal types, the transport and -abandonment of unfettered action, the splendid lustrous and embroidered -draperies, the varying hues of silk and purple, and the display of -shifting and waving folds. At the present day they seem to be obscured -by the glory of their great contemporary; but it is not the less true -that to comprehend him it is necessary to study him amidst this cluster -of brilliants of which he is the brightest gem—this family of artists, -of which he is the most illustrious representative.</p> - -<p>This being the second step, there now remains the third. This family -of artists is itself comprehended in another whole more vast, which -is the world surrounding it, and whose taste is similar. The social -and intellectual condition is the same for the public as for artists; -they are not isolated men; it is their voice alone that we hear at -this moment, through the space of centuries, but, beneath this living -voice which comes vibrating to us, we distinguish a murmur, and, as it -were, a vast, low sound, the great infinite and varied voice of the -people, chanting in unison with them. They have been great through this -harmony, and it is very necessary that it should ever be so. Phidias -and Ictinus, the constructors of the Parthenon and of the Olympian -Jupiter, were, like other Athenians, pagans and free citizens, brought -up in the <i>palæstra,</i> exercising and wrestling naked, and accustomed -to deliberate and vote in the public assemblies; possessing the same -habits, the same interests, the same ideas, the same faith; men of -the same race, the same education, the same language; so that in all -the important acts of their life they are found in harmony with their -spectators.</p> - -<p>This harmony becomes still more apparent if we consider an age nearer -our own. For example, take the great Spanish epoch of the sixteenth -and a part of the seventeenth centuries, in which lived the great -painters, Velasquez, Murillo, Zurbaran, Francisco de Herrera, Alonzo -Cano, and Morales; and the great poets, Lope de Vega, Calderon, -Cervantes, Tirso de Molina, Don Luis de Leon, Guilhem de Castro, -and so many others. You know that at this time Spain was entirely -monarchical and Catholic; that she had over-come the Turks at Lepanto; -that she planted her foot in Africa and maintained herself there; that -she combated the Protestants in Germany, pursued them in France and -attacked them in England; that she subdued and converted the idolaters -of the new world, and chased away Jews and Moors from her own soil; -that she purged her own faith with autodafés and persecutions: that -she lavished fleets and armies, and the gold and silver of her American -possessions, along with her most precious children, the vital blood of -her own heart, upon multiplied and boundless crusades, so obstinately -and so fanatically, that at the end of a century and a half she fell -prostrate at the feet of Europe, but with such enthusiasm, such a -burst of glory, such national fervor, that her subjects, enamored of -the monarchy in which their power was concentrated, and with the cause -to which they devoted their lives, felt no other desire than that of -elevating religion and royalty by their obedience, and of forming -around the Church and the Throne a choir of faithful, militant, and -adoring supporters. In this monarchy of crusaders and inquisitors, -preserving the chivalric sentiments and sombre passions, the ferocity, -intolerance, and mysticism of the middle ages, the greatest artists -are the very men who possessed in the highest degree the faculties, -sentiments, and passions of the public that surrounded them. The most -celebrated poets—Lope de Vega and Calderon—were military adventurers, -volunteers in the Armada, duellists and lovers, as exalted and as -mystic in love as the poets and Don Quixotes of feudal times; they were -passionate Catholics and so ardent that, at the end of their lives, -one became a familiar of the Inquisition, others became priests, and -the most illustrious among them—the great Lope de Vega—fainted on -saying Mass, at the thought of the sacrifice and martyrdom of Jesus. -Everywhere may be found similar examples of the alliance, the intimate -harmony existing between an artist and his contemporaries; and we may -rest assured that if we desire to comprehend the taste or the genius -of an artist, the reasons leading him to choose a particular style of -painting or drama, to prefer this or that character or coloring, and to -represent particular sentiments, we must seek for them in the social -and intellectual conditions of the community in the midst of which he -lived.</p> - -<p>We have therefore to lay down this rule: that, in order to comprehend -a work of art, an artist or a group of artists, we must clearly -comprehend the general social and intellectual condition of the times -to which they belong. Herein is to be found the final explanation; -herein resides the primitive cause determining all that follows it. -This truth, gentlemen, is confirmed by experience. In short, if we pass -in review the principal epochs of the history of art, we find that -the arts appear and disappear along with certain accompanying social -and intellectual conditions. For example, the Greek tragedy—that -of Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides—appears at the time when the -Greeks were victorious over the Persians; at the heroic era of small -republican cities, at the moment of the great struggle by which -they acquired their independence and established their ascendency -in the civilized world; and we see it disappearing along with this -independence and this vigor when a degeneracy of character and the -Macedonian conquest delivered Greece over to strangers. It is the -same with Gothic architecture, developing along with the definitive -establishment of feudalism in the semi-renaissance of the eleventh -century at the period when society, delivered from brigands and -Normans, began to consolidate, and disappearing at the period when -the military system of petty independent barons, with the manners and -customs growing out of it vanished near the end of the fifteenth -century, on the advent of modern monarchies. It is the same with -Dutch painting, which flourished at the glorious period when, -through firmness and courage, Holland succeeded in freeing herself -from Spanish rule, combated England with equal power, and became -the richest, freest, most industrious, and most prosperous state in -Europe: and we see it declining at the commencement of the eighteenth -century, when Holland, fallen into a secondary rank, leaves the first -to England, reducing itself to a well-ordered, safely administered, -quiet, commercial banking-house, in which man, an honest <i>bourgeois,</i> -could live at ease, exempt from every great ambition and every grand -emotion. It is the same, finally, with French tragedy appearing at -the period when a noble and well-regulated monarchy, under Louis -XIV., established the empire of decorum, the life of the court, "the -pomp and circumstance" of society, and the elegant domestic phases -of aristocracy; disappearing when the social rule of nobles and the -manners of the antechamber were abolished by the Revolution.</p> - -<p>I would like to make you more sensible by a comparison of this effect -of the social and intellectual state on the Fine Arts. Suppose you -are leaving the land of the south for that of the north; you perceive -on entering a certain zone a particular mode of cultivation and a -particular species of plant: first come the aloe and the orange; a -little later, the vine and the olive; after these, the oak and the -chestnut; a little further on, oats and the pine, and finally, mosses -and lichens. Each zone has its own mode of cultivation and peculiar -vegetation; both begin at the commencement, and both finish at the -end of the zone; both are attached to it. The zone is the condition -of their existence; by its presence or its absence is determined -what shall appear and what shall disappear. Now, what is this zone -but a certain temperature; in other words, a certain degree of heat -and moisture; in short, a certain number of governing circumstances -analogous in its germ to that which we called a moment ago the social -and intellectual state?</p> - -<p>Just as there is a physical temperature, which by its variations -determines the appearance of this or that species of plant, so is -there a moral temperature, which by its variations determines the -appearance of this or that species of art. And as we study the physical -temperature in order to comprehend the advent of this or that species -of plants, whether maize or oats, the orange or the pine, so is it -necessary to study the moral temperature in order to comprehend the -advent of various phases of art, whether pagan sculpture or realistic -painting, mystic architecture or classic literature, voluptuous music -or ideal poetry. The productions of the human mind, like those of -animated nature, can only be explained by their <i>milieu.</i></p> - -<p>Hence the study I intend to offer you this season, of the history of -painting in Italy. I shall attempt to lay before your eyes the mystic -<i>milieu,</i> in which appeared Giotto and Beato Angelico, and to this end -I shall read passages from the poets and legendary writers, containing -the ideas entertained by the men of those days concerning happiness, -misery, love, faith, paradise, hell, and all the great interests of -humanity. We shall find documentary evidence in the poetry of Dante, -of Guido Cavalcanti, of the Franciscans, in the Golden Legend, in the -Imitation of Jesus Christ, in the Fioretti of St. Francis, in the -works of historians like Dino Campagni, and in that vast collection -of chroniclers by Muratori, which so naively portray the jealousies -and disturbances of the small Italian republics. After this I shall -attempt to place before you in the same manner the pagan <i>milieu</i> -which a century and a half later produced Leonardo da Vinci, Michael -Angelo, Raphael and Titian, and to this end I shall read, either from -the memoirs of contemporaries—Benvenuto Cellini for instance—or from -the diverse chronicles kept daily in Rome and in the principal Italian -cities, or from the despatches of ambassadors, or, finally, from the -descriptions of fêtes, masquerades, and civic receptions, which are -remarkable fragments, displaying the brutality, sensuality, and vigor -of society, as well as the lively poetic sentiment, the love of the -picturesque, the great literary sentiment, the decorative instincts, -and the passion for external splendor which at that time are seen as -well among the people and the ignorant crowd as among the great and the -lettered.</p> - -<p>Suppose now, gentlemen, we should succeed in this undertaking, and -that we should be able to mark clearly and precisely the various -intellectual conditions which have led to the birth of Italian -painting—its development, its bloom, its varieties and decline. -Suppose the same undertaking successful with other countries, and other -ages, and with the different branches of art, architecture, sculpture, -painting, poetry, and music. Suppose, that through the effect of all -these discoveries, we succeed in defining the nature, and in marking -the conditions of existence of each art, we shall then have a complete -explanation of the Fine Arts, and of all in general; that is to say, a -philosophy of the Fine Arts—what is called an <i>æsthetic</i> system. This -is what we aim at, gentlemen, and nothing else. Ours is modern, and -differs from the ancient, inasmuch as it is historic, and not dogmatic; -that is to say, it imposes no precepts, but ascertains and verifies -laws. Ancient Æsthetics gave, at first, a definition of beauty, and -declared, for instance, that the beautiful is the expression of the -moral ideal, or rather is the expression of the invisible, or, rather -still, is the expression of the human passions; then starting hence, -as from an article of a code, they absolved, condemned, admonished, -and directed. It is my good fortune not to have such a formidable -task to meet. I do not wish to guide you—it would embarrass me too -much. Besides, I say with all humility, that, as to precepts, we have -as yet found but two: the first is to be born a genius, an affair of -your parents, and not mine; and the second, which implies much labor -in order to master art, which likewise does not depend on me, but -on yourselves. My sole duty is to offer you facts, and show you how -these facts are produced. The modern method, which I strive to pursue, -and which is beginning to be introduced in all the moral sciences, -consists in considering human productions, and particularly works of -art, as facts and productions of which it is essential to mark the -characteristics and seek the causes, and nothing more. Thus understood, -science neither pardons nor proscribes; it verifies and explains. It -does not say to you, despise Dutch art because it is vulgar, and prize -only Italian art; nor does it say to you despise Gothic art because -it is morbid, and prize only Greek art. It leaves every one free to -follow their own predilections, to prefer that which is germane to -one's temperament, and to study with the greatest care that which -best corresponds to the development of one's own mind. Science has -sympathies for all the forms of art, and for all schools, even for -those the most opposed to each other. It accepts them as so many -manifestations of the human mind, judging that the more numerous they -are, and the more antithetical, the more they show the human mind in -its innumerable and novel phases. It is analogous to botany, which -studies the orange, the laurel, the pine, and the birch, with equal -interest; it is itself a species of botany, applied not to plants, but -to the works of man. By virtue of this it keeps pace with the general -movement of the day, which now affiliates the moral sciences with -the natural sciences, and which, giving to the first the principles, -precautions, and directions of the second, gives to them the same -stability, and assures them the same progress.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IIa" id="IIa">II.</a></h4> - - -<p>I wish to apply at once this method to the first and principal -question by which a course of æsthetics is opened out, and which -is a definition of art. What is art, and in what does its nature -consist? Instead of establishing a formula, I wish to familiarize you -with facts, for facts exist here as elsewhere—positive facts open to -observation; I mean <i>works</i> of <i>art</i> arranged by families in galleries -and libraries, like plants in an herbarium, and animals in a museum. -Analysis may be applied to the one as to the others; a work of art -may be investigated generally, as we investigate a plant or an animal -generally. There is no more need of discarding experience in the first -case than in the second; the entire process consists in discovering, -by numerous comparisons and progressive eliminations, traits common -to all works of art, and, at the same time, the distinctive traits by -which works of art are separated from other productions of the human -intellect.</p> - -<p>To this end we will, among the five great arts of poetry, sculpture, -painting, architecture, and music, set aside the last two, of which -the explanation is more difficult, and to which we will return -afterwards; we shall at present consider only the three first. All, as -you are aware, possess a common character, that of being more or less -<i>imitative</i> arts.</p> - -<p>At the first glance, it seems that this is their principal character, -and their object is imitation as exact as possible. For it is plain -that a statue is meant to imitate accurately a really living man; that -a picture is intended to portray real persons in real attitudes, the -interior of a house and a landscape, such as nature presents. It is no -less evident that a drama, a romance, attempts to represent faithfully -characters, actions, and actual speech, and to give as precise and as -accurate a picture of them as is possible. When, accordingly, the image -is inadequate or inexact, we say to the sculptor, "This breast or this -limb is not well executed;" and to the painter, "The figures of your -background are too large—the coloring of your trees is faulty;" and we -say to the author, "Never did man feel or think as you have imagined -him."</p> - -<p>But there are other proofs, still stronger, and first, every-day -experience. When we behold what takes place in the life of an artist, -we perceive that it is generally divided into two sections. During -the first, in the youth and maturity of his talent, he sees things as -they are, and studies them minutely and earnestly; he fixes his eyes -on them; he labors and worries to express them, and he expresses them -with more than scrupulous fidelity. Arriving at a certain moment of -life, he thinks he understands them thoroughly and discovers no more -novelty in them; he casts aside the living model, and with certain -prescribed rules which he has picked up in the course of his experience -he forms a drama or a romance, a picture or a statue. The first epoch -is that of natural feeling; the second that of mannerism and decline. -If we penetrate the lives of the greatest men, we rarely fail to -discover both. In the life of Michael Angelo, the first period lasted -a long time, a little less than sixty years; all the works belonging -to it disclose the sentiment of force and heroic grandeur. The artist -is imbued with it; he has no other thought. His numerous dissections, -his countless drawings, the unremitted analysis of his own heart, his -study of the tragic passions and of their physical expression, are -for him but the means of manifesting outwardly the militant energy -with which he is carried away. This idea descends upon you from every -corner of the great vault of the Sistine chapel. Enter the Pauline -chapel alongside of it, and contemplate the works of his old age—the -Conversion of St. Paul, the Crucifixion of St. Peter; consider even -the Last Judgment, which he painted in his seventy-seventh year. -Connoisseurs, and those who are not, recognize at once that the two -frescoes are executed according to prescribed rules; that the artist -possessed a certain number of forms, which he used conventionally; -that he multiplied extraordinary attitudes, and ingeniously contrived -foreshortenings; that the lively invention, naturalness, the great -transport of the heart, the perfect truth peculiar to his first works, -have, at least in part, disappeared from the abuse of technique and -the force of routine; and that if he is still superior to others, he is -greatly inferior to himself.</p> - -<p>The same comment may be made on another life—that of our French -Michael Angelo, Corneille. In the first years of his life, Corneille -was likewise struck by the feeling of force, and of moral heroism. -He found it around him in the vigorous passions bequeathed by the -religious wars to the new monarchy; in the daring acts of duellists; -in the proud feeling of honor which still carried away the devotees -of feudalism; in the bloody tragedies which the plots of princes and -the executions of Richelieu furnished as spectacles for the court; and -he created personages like <i>Chimène</i> and the <i>Cid.</i> like <i>Polyeucte</i> -and <i>Pauline,</i> like <i>Cornélie, Sertorius, Émilie,</i> and <i>les Horaces.</i> -Afterwards he produced <i>Pertharite, Attila,</i> and other feeble works, in -which the situations merge into the horrible, and generous emotions -lose themselves in extravagance. In this period the living models he -once contemplated no longer had a social setting; at least he no longer -sought them, he failed to renew his inspiration. He was governed by -prescribed rules due to the memory of processes which he had formerly -found in the heat of enthusiasm, literary theories, dissertations and -distinctions on theatrical catastrophes and dramatic licenses. He -copied and exaggerated himself; learning, calculation and routine shut -out from him the direct and personal contemplation of powerful emotions -and of noble actions; he no longer created, but manufactured.</p> - -<p>It is not alone the history of this or that great man which proves to -us the necessity of imitating the living model, and of keeping the eye -fixed on nature, but rather the history of every great school of art. -Every school (I believe without exception) degenerates and falls, -simply through its neglect of exact imitation, and its abandonment -of the living model. You see it in painting, in the fabricators of -muscles and exaggerated attitudes who succeeded Michael Angelo; in -the sciolists of theatrical decorations and in the brawny rotundities -which have followed the great Venetians; and in the boudoir and alcove -painters which closed the French school of art of the eighteenth -century. The same thing occurs in literature, with the versifiers and -rhetoricians of the Latin decadence; with the sensual and declamatory -playwrights closing the bright period of the English drama, and -with the manufacturers of sonnets, puns, witticisms, and bombast of -the Italian decline. Among these I will cite two striking examples. -The first is the decline of sculpture and painting in antiquity, -of which you obtain a vivid impression by visiting Pompeii, and -afterwards Ravenna. At Pompeii the painting and sculpture belong to -the first century of the present era; at Ravenna the mosaics are of -the sixth century, about the times of the Emperor Justinian. In this -interval of five centuries art becomes irremediably corrupt, and its -degeneracy is wholly due to the neglect of the living model. In the -first century the pagan manners and tastes of the <i>palestra</i> still -existed. Men wore their vestments loose and cast them off easily, -frequented the baths, exercised in a state of nudity, witnessed -the combats of the circus, ever contemplating sympathetically and -intelligently the active movements of the living body. Their sculptors -and painters, surrounded by nude and half-nude forms, were capable of -reproducing them. Accordingly, you will see on the walls of Pompeii, -in the little oratories and in the inner courts, beautiful dancing -females, spirited, supple young heroes, with manly chests, agile -feet, every posture and form of the body rendered with an ease and -accuracy to which the most elaborate study of the present day cannot -attain. During the following five hundred years everything gradually -changes. Pagan manners, the use of the <i>palestra,</i> and the love of -the nude, disappear. The body is no longer exposed, but concealed -under complicated drapery, and under a display of lace, purple, and -oriental magnificence. People no longer esteem the wrestler and the -youthful gymnast,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> but the eunuch, the scribe, the monk, and the woman. -Asceticism gains ground, and with it a love for listless reverie, -hollow disputation, scribbling and wrangling. The worn-out babblers -of the Lower Empire replace the valiant Greek athletes and the hardy -combatants of Rome. By degrees the knowledge and study of the living -model are interdicted. People have discarded it. Their eyes rest only -on the works of ancient masters, and they copy these. Soon copies -are only made of copies, and again copies of these, so that each -generation recedes a step from the original type. The artist ceases to -have his own idea and his own feeling, and becomes a copying machine. -The Fathers declare that he must invent nothing, but must adhere to -lineaments prescribed by tradition and sanctioned by authority. This -separation of the artist from the living model brings art to the -condition in which you see it at Ravenna. At the end of five centuries, -artists can only represent man in two ways—seated and standing; other -attitudes are too difficult, and are beyond their capacity. Hands and -feet appear rigid as if fractured, the folds of drapery are wooden, -figures seem to be mannikins, and heads are invaded by the eyes. Art is -like an invalid sinking under a mortal consumption; it is languishing, -and about to expire.</p> - -<p>In a different branch of art amongst ourselves, and in a neighboring -century, we find again a similar decline, and brought about by -similar causes. In the age of Louis XIV., literature attained to a -perfect style, to a purity, to a precision, to a sobriety of which -we have no example; dramatic art, especially, created a language and -a style of versification deemed by all Europe a masterpiece of the -human intellect. This is due to the fact of writers finding their -models around them and constantly observing them. The language of -Louis XIV. was perfect, displaying a dignity, eloquence, and gravity -truly royal. We know by the letters, despatches, and memoirs of the -court personages of that time, that an aristocratic tone, sustained -elegance, propriety of terms, dignified manners, and the art of correct -speaking, were as common to courtiers as to monarch; so that the writer -frequenting their society, had but to draw on his memory and experience -in order to obtain the very best materials of his art.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> ἔφηβος.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IIIa" id="IIIa">III.</a></h4> - - -<p>Is this true in every particular, and must we conclude that absolutely -exact imitation is the end of art?</p> - -<p>If this were so, gentlemen, absolutely exact imitation would produce -the finest works. But, in fact, it is not so. In sculpture, for -instance, casting is the process by which a faithful and minute -impression of a model is obtained, and certainly a good cast is not -equal to a good statue. Again, and in another domain, photography -is the art which completely reproduces with lines and tints on a -flat surface, without possible mistake, the forms and modelling of -the object imitated. Photography is undoubtedly a useful auxiliary -to painting, and is sometimes tastefully employed by cultivated and -intelligent men; but after all, no one thinks of comparing it with -painting. And finally, as a last illustration, if it were true that -exact imitation is the supreme aim of art, let me ask what would be the -best tragedy? the best comedy? the best drama? A stenographic report -of a criminal trial, every word of which is faithfully recorded. It -is clear, however, that if we sometimes encounter in it flashes of -nature and occasional outbursts of sentiment, these are but veins of -pure metal in a mass of worthless dross; it may furnish a writer with -materials for his art, but it does not constitute a work of art.</p> - -<p>Some may possibly say, that photography, casting, and stenography are -mechanical processes, and that we ought to leave mechanism out of the -question, and accordingly limit our comparisons to man's work. Let us, -therefore, select works by artists conspicuous for minute fidelity. -There is a canvas in the Louvre by Denner. This artist worked -microscopically, taking four years to finish a portrait. Nothing in his -heads is overlooked—the finest lines and wrinkles, the faintly mottled -surface of the cheeks, the black specks scattered over the nose, the -bluish flush of imperceptible veins meandering under the skin, nor the -reflection of objects in the vicinity on the eye. We are struck with -astonishment. This head is a perfect illusion; it seems to project -out of the frame. Such success and such patience are unparalleled. -Substantially, however, a broad sketch by Van Dyck is a hundredfold -more powerful. Beside, neither in painting nor in any other art are -prizes awarded to deceptions.</p> - -<p>A second and stronger proof, that exact imitation is not the end of -art, is to be found in this fact, that certain arts are purposely -inexact. There is sculpture, for instance. A statue is generally -of one color, either of bronze or of marble; and again, the eyes -are without eyeballs. It is just this uniformity of tint, and this -modification of moral expression, which completes its beauty. Examine -corresponding works, in which imitation is pushed to extremity. The -churches of Naples and Spain contain draped statues, colored; saints in -actual monastic garb, with yellow earthy skins, suitable to ascetics, -and bleeding hands and wounded sides characteristic of the martyred. -Alongside of these appear madonnas, in royal robes, in festive dresses, -and in bright silks, crowned with diadems, wearing precious necklaces, -brilliant ribbons, and magnificent laces, and with rosy complexions, -glittering eyes, and eyeballs formed of carbuncles. By this excess -of literal imitation, the artist gives no pleasure, but repugnance, -often disgust, and sometimes horror.</p> - -<p>It is the same in literature. The best half of dramatic poetry, every -classic Greek and French drama, and the greater part of Spanish and -English dramas, far from literally copying ordinary conversation, -intentionally modify human speech. Each of these dramatic poets makes -his characters speak in verse, casting their dialogue in rhythm, and -often in rhyme. Is this modification prejudicial to the work? Far from -it. One of the great works of the age, the "Iphigenia" of Goethe, which -was at first written in prose and afterwards re-written in verse, -affords abundant evidence of this. It is beautiful in prose, but in -verse what a difference! The modification of ordinary language, in the -introduction of rhythm and metre, evidently gives to this work its -incomparable accent, that calm sublimity, that broad, sustained tragic -tone, which elevates the spirit above the low level of common life, and -brings before the eye the heroes of ancient days—that lost race of -primitive souls—and, among them, the august virgin, interpreter of the -gods, custodian of the laws, and the benefactress of mankind, in whom -is concentrated whatever is noble and good in human nature, in order to -glorify our species and renew the inspiration of our hearts.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IVa" id="IVa">IV.</a></h4> - - -<p>It is essential, then, to closely imitate something in an object; -but not everything. We have now to discover what imitation should -be applied to. Anticipating an answer to this, I reply, "To the -relationships and mutual dependence of parts." Excuse this abstract -definition—I will make my meaning clearer to you.</p> - -<p>Imagine yourselves before a living model, man or woman, with a pencil, -and a piece of paper twice the dimensions of your hand, on which to -copy it. Certainly, you cannot be expected to reproduce the magnitude -of the limbs, for your paper is too small; nor can you be expected to -reproduce their color, for you have only black and white to work with. -What you have to do is to reproduce their <i>relationships,</i> and first -the proportions, that is to say, the relationships of magnitude. If -the head is of a certain length, the body must be so many times longer -than the head, the arm of a length equally dependent on that, and -the leg the same; and so on with the other members. Again, you are -required to reproduce forms, or the relationships of position: this or -that curve, oval, angle, or sinuosity in the model must be repeated -in the copy by a line of the same nature. In short, your object is to -reproduce the aggregate of relationships, by which the parts are linked -together, and nothing else; it is not the simple corporeal appearance -that you have to give, but the <i>logic</i> of the whole body.</p> - -<p>Suppose, in like manner, you are contemplating some actual character, -some scene in real life, high or low, and you are asked to furnish -a description of it. To do this you have your eyes, your ears, your -memory, and, perhaps, a pencil, to dot down five or six notes—no -great means, but ample for your purpose. What is expected of you is, -not to record every word and motion, all the actions of the personage, -or of the fifteen or twenty persons that are figured before you, -but, as before, to note proportions, connections, and relationships; -you are expected, in the first place, to keep exactly the proportion -of the actions of the personage, in other words, to give prominence -to ambitious acts, if he is ambitious, to avaricious acts, if he is -avaricious, and to violent acts, if he is violent; after this, to -observe the reciprocal connection of these same acts; that is to -say, to provoke one reply by another, to originate a resolution, a -sentiment, an idea by an idea, a sentiment, a preceding resolution, -and moreover by the actual condition of the personage; in addition to -that, still by the general character bestowed on him. In short, in -the literary effort, as in the pictorial effort, it is important to -transcribe, not the visible outlines of persons and events, but the -aggregate of their relationships and interdependencies, that is to say, -their logic.</p> - -<p>As a general rule, therefore, whatever interests us in a real -personage, and which we entreat the artist to extract and render, is -his outward or inward logic; in other terms, his structure, composition -and action.</p> - -<p>We have here, as you perceive, corrected the first definition given; -it is not cancelled, but purified. We have discovered a more elevated -character for art, which thus becomes intellectual, and not mechanical.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="Va" id="Va">V.</a></h4> - - -<p>Does this suffice us? Do we find works of art simply confined to a -reproduction of the relationships of parts? By no means, for the -greatest schools are justly those in which actual relationships are -most modified. Consider, for example, the Italian school in its -greatest artist, Michael Angelo, and, in order to give precision to -our ideas, let us recall his principal work, the four marble statues -surmounting the tomb of the Medicis at Florence. Those of you who -have not seen the originals, are at least familiar with copies of -them. In the figures of these men, and especially in the reclining -females, sleeping or waking, the proportions of the parts are certainly -not the same as in real personages. Similar figures exist nowhere, -even in Italy. You will see there young, handsome, well-dressed men, -peasants with bright eyes and a fierce expression, academy models -with firm muscles and a proud bearing; but neither in a village nor at -festivities, nor in the studios of Italy or elsewhere, at the present -time or in the sixteenth century, does any real man or woman resemble -the indignant heroes and the colossal despairing virgins which this -great artist has placed before us in this funereal chapel. Michael -Angelo found these types in his own genius and in his own heart. In -order to create them it was necessary to have the soul of a recluse, -of a meditative man, of a lover of justice; the soul of an impassioned -and generous nature bewildered in the midst of enervated and corrupt -beings, amidst treachery and oppression, before the inevitable -triumph of tyranny and injustice, under the ruins of liberty and of -nationality, himself threatened with death, feeling that if he lived -it was only by favor, and perhaps only by a short respite, incapable -of sycophancy and of submission, taking refuge entirely in that -art by which, in the silence of servitude, his great heart and his -great despair still spoke. He wrote on the pedestal of his sleeping -statue—"Sleep is sweet, and yet more sweet is it to be of stone, while -shame and misery last. Fortunate am I not to see—not to feel. Forbear -to arouse me! Ah! speak low!"</p> - -<p>This is the sentiment which revealed to him such forms. To express -it, he has changed the ordinary proportions; he has lengthened the -trunk and the limbs, twisted the torso upon the hips, hollowed out the -sockets of the eyes, furrowed the forehead with wrinkles similar to -the lion's frowning brow, raised mountains of muscles on the shoulder, -ridged the spine with tendons, and so fastened the vertebras that it -resembles the links of an iron chain strained to their utmost tension -and about to break.</p> - -<p>Let us consider, in like manner, the Flemish school; and in this -school the great Fleming, Rubens, and one of the most striking of -his works, the "Kermesse." In this work, no more than in those of -Michael Angelo, will you find an imitation of ordinary proportions. -Visit Flanders, and observe the types of mankind about you, even -at feastings and revellings, such as the fêtes of Gayant, Antwerp, -and other places. You will see comfortable-looking people eating -much and drinking more; serenely smoking, cool, phlegmatic bodies; -dull-looking, and with massive, irregular features, strongly resembling -the figures of Teniers. As to the splendid brutes of the "Kermesse," -you meet nothing like them! Rubens certainly found them elsewhere. -After the horrible religious wars, this rich country of Flanders, -so long devastated, finally attained peace and civil security. The -soil is so good, and the people so prudent, comfort and prosperity -returned almost at once. Everybody enjoyed this new prosperity and -abundance; the contrast between the past and the present led to the -indulgence of rude and carnal instincts let loose like horses and -cattle after long privation in fresh, green fields, abounding in the -richest pasture. Rubens himself was sensible of them; and the poetry -of gross, sumptuous living, of satisfied and redundant flesh, of -brutal, inordinate merry-making, found a ready outlet in the shameless -sensualities and voluptuous ruddiness, in the whiteness and freshness -of the nudities of which he was so prodigal. In order to express all -this in the "Kermesse" he has expanded the trunk, enlarged the thighs, -twisted the loins, deepened the redness of the cheeks, dishevelled -the hair, kindled in the eyes a flame of savage, unbridled desire, -unloosed the demons of disorder in the shape of shattered glasses, -overturned tables, holdings and kissings, a perfect orgie, and the -most extraordinary culmination of human bestiality ever portrayed upon -canvas.</p> - -<p>These two examples show you that the artist, in modifying the -relationships of parts, modifies them understandingly, purposely, in -such a way as to make apparent the <i>essential character</i> of the object, -and consequently its leading idea according to his conception of it. -This phrase, gentlemen, requires attention; this <i>essential character</i> -is what philosophers call the <i>essence</i> of things; and because of this -they say that it is the aim of art to manifest the <i>essence</i> of things. -We will not retain this term essence, which is technical, but simply -state that it is the aim of art to manifest a predominant character, -some salient principal quality, some important point of view, some -essential condition of being in the object.</p> - -<p>We here approach the true definition of art, and accordingly need to -be perfectly clear. We must insist on and precisely define essential -character. I would premise at once that it is <i>a quality from which -all others, or at least most other qualities, are derived according to -definite affinities.</i> Grant me again this abstract definition: a few -illustrations will make it plain to you.</p> - -<p>The essential character of a lion, giving him his rank in the -classifications of natural history, is that of a great flesh-eater; -nearly all his traits, whether physical or moral, as I am about to -prove to you, are derived from this trait as their fountain-head. -First, there are physical traits: his teeth move like shears; he has -a jaw constructed to tear and to crush; and necessarily, for, being -carnivorous, he has to nourish himself with, and prey upon, living -game; in order to manoeuvre this formidable instrument he requires -enormous muscles, and for their insertion, temporal sockets of -proportionate size. Add to the feet other instruments, the terrible -contractile claws, the quick step on the extremity of the toes, a -terrible elasticity of the thighs acting like a powerful spring, and -eyes that see best at night, because night is the best hunting-time. A -naturalist, pointing to a lion's skeleton, once said to me, "There is a -jaw mounted on four paws."</p> - -<p>The moral points of the lion are likewise in harmony. At first, -there is the sanguinary instinct—the craving for fresh flesh, and a -repugnance for every other food; next, the strength and the nervous -excitement through which the lion concentrates an enormous amount of -force at the instant of attack and defence; and on the other hand, his -somniferous habits, the grave, sombre inertia of moments of repose, -and the long yawnings after the excitement of the chase. All these -traits are derived from his carnivorous character, and on this account -we call it his essential character.</p> - -<p>Let us now consider a more difficult case, that of an entire country, -with its innumerable details of structure, aspect, and cultivation; -its plants, animals, inhabitants, and towns; as, for example, the Low -Countries. The essential character of this region is its <i>alluvial</i> -formation; that, is to say, a formation due to vast quantifies of -earth brought down by streams and deposited about their mouths. From -this single term spring an infinity of peculiarities, summing up the -entire nature of the country, not only its physical outlines, what it -is in itself, but again the intellectual, moral, and physical qualities -of its inhabitants, and of their works. At first, in the inanimate -world, come its moist and fertile plains, the necessary consequence -of numerous broad rivers and vast deposits of productive soil. These -plains are always green, because broad, tranquil, and sluggish streams, -and the innumerable canals so easily constructed in soft, flat ground, -maintain perennial verdure. You can readily imagine, and on purely -rational principles, the aspect of such a country—a dull, rainy sky, -constantly streaked with showers, and even on fine days veiled as if -by gauze with light vapory clouds rising from the wet surface, forming -a transparent dome, an airy tissue of delicate, snowy fleeces, over -the broad verdant expanse stretching out of sight and rounded to the -distant horizon. In the animated kingdom these numerous luxuriant -pastures attract countless herds of cattle, who recline tranquilly on -the grass, or ruminate over their cud, and dot the flat green sward -with innumerable spots of white, yellow, and black. Hence the rich -stores of milk and meat, which, added to the grains and vegetables -raised on this prolific soil, furnish its inhabitants with cheap and -abundant supplies of food. It might well be said that in this country -water makes grass, grass makes cattle, cattle make cheese, butter, -and meat; and all these, with beer, make the inhabitant. Indeed, out -of this fat living, and out of this physical organization saturated -with moisture, spring the phlegmatic temperament, the regular habits, -the tranquil mind and nerves, the capacity to take life easily -and prudently, unbroken contentment and love of well-being, and, -consequently, the reign of cleanliness and the perfection of comfort. -These consequences extend so far as even to affect the aspect of towns. -In an alluvial country there is no stone; building material consists -of terra-cotta bricks, and tiles. Rains being frequent and heavy, -roofs are very sloping, and as dampness lasts a long time, their fronts -are painted and varnished. A Flemish town, therefore, is a net-work -of brown or red edifices always neat, occasionally glittering and -with pointed gables; here and there rises an old church constructed -of shingle or of rubble; streets in the best of order run between two -scrupulously clean lines of sidewalk. In Holland the sidewalks are laid -in brick, frequently intermingled with coarse porcelain: domestics may -be seen at an early hour in the morning on their knees cleaning them -off with cloths. Cast your eyes through the dazzling window-panes; -enter a club-room decked with green branches, with its floor powdered -with sand constantly renewed; visit the taverns, brightly painted, -where rows of casks display their brown rotund sides, and where the -rich yellow beer foams up out of glasses covered with quaint devices. -In all these details of common life, in all these signs of inward -contentment and enduring prosperity, you detect the effects of the -great underlying characteristic which is stamped upon the climate and -the soil, upon the vegetable kingdom and the animal kingdom, upon man -and his works, upon society and the individual.</p> - -<p>Through these innumerable effects, you judge of the importance of this -essential character. It is this which art must bring forward into -proper light, and if this task devolves upon art, it is because nature -fails to accomplish it. In nature, this essential character is simply -dominant; it is the aim of art to render it predominant. It moulds -real objects, but it does not mould them completely: its action is -restricted, impeded by the intervention of other causes; its impression -on objects bearing its stamp is not sufficiently strong to be clearly -visible. Man is sensible of this deficiency, and to remove it he has -invented art.</p> - -<p>Let us again take up Rubens' "Kermesse." These blooming merry wives, -these roystering drunkards, these busts and visages of burly unbridled -brutes, probably found counterparts in the carousals of the day. -Over-nourished and exuberant nature aimed at producing such gross forms -and such coarse manners, but she only half accomplished her task; other -causes intervened to stay this excess of a carnal jovial energy. There -is, at first, poverty. In the best of times, and in the best countries, -many people have not enough to eat, and fasting, at least partial -abstinence, misery, and bad air, all the accompaniments of indigence, -diminish the development and boisterousness of native brutality. A -suffering man is not so strong, and more sober. Religion, law, police -regulations, and habits due to steady labor, operate in the same -direction; education does its part. Out of a hundred subjects who, -under favorable conditions, might have furnished Rubens with models, -only five or six, perhaps, could be of any service to him. Suppose now -that these five or six figures in the actual festivities which he might -have seen were lost in a crowd of people more or less indifferent and -common; consider again, that at the moment they came under his eye -they exhibited neither the attitude, the expression, the gestures, -the abandonment, the costume, or the disorder requisite to make this -teeming excitement apparent. Through all these draw-backs nature called -art to its aid; she could not clearly distinguish the character; it was -necessary that the artist should supplement her.</p> - -<p>Thus is it with every superior work of art. While Raphael was painting -his "Galatea," he wrote that, beautiful women being scarce, he was -following a conception of his own. This means that, looking at human -nature from a certain point of view, its repose, its felicity, its -gracious and dignified sweetness, he found no living model to express -it satisfactorily. The peasant or laboring girl who posed for him, -had hands deformed by work, feet spoiled by their covering, and eyes -disordered by shame, or demoralized by her calling. His "Fornarina" has -drooping shoulders, a meagre arm above the elbow, a hard and contracted -expression.<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> If he painted her in the Farnesini Palace, he completely -transformed her, developing a character in his painted figure of which -the real figure only contributed parts and suggestions.</p> - -<p>Thus the province of a work of art is to render the essential -character, or, at least, some capital quality, the predominance of -which must be made as perceptible as possible. In order to accomplish -this the artist must suppress whatever conceals it, select whatever -manifests it, correct every detail by which it is enfeebled, and recast -those in which it is neutralized.</p> - -<p>Let us no longer consider works but artists, that is to say, the way in -which artists feel, invent, and produce: you will find it consistent -with the foregoing conception of the work of art. There is one gift -indispensable to all artists; no study, no degree of patience, supplies -its place; if it is wanting in them they are nothing but copyists and -mechanics. In confronting objects the artist must experience <i>original -sensation</i>; the character of an object strikes him, and the effect -of this sensation is a strong, peculiar impression. In other words, -when a man is born with talent his perceptions—or at least a certain -class of perceptions—are delicate and quick; he naturally seizes and -distinguishes, with a sure and watchful tact, relationships and shades; -at one time the plaintive or heroic sense in a sequence of sounds, at -another the listlessness or stateliness of an attitude, and again the -richness or sobriety of two complimentary or contiguous colors. Through -this faculty he penetrates to the very heart of things, and seems to be -more clear-sighted than other men. This sensation, moreover, so keen -and so personal, is not inactive—by a counter-stroke the whole nervous -and thinking machinery is affected by it. Man involuntarily expresses -his emotions; the body makes signs, its attitude becomes mimetic; -he is obliged to figure externally his conception of an object; -the voice seeks imitative inflections, the tongue finds pictorial -terms, unforeseen forms, a figurative, inventive, exaggerated style. -Under the force of the original impulse the active brain recasts -and transforms the object, now to illumine and ennoble it, now to -distort and grotesquely pervert it; in the free sketch, as in the -violent caricature, you readily detect, with poetic temperaments, the -ascendency of involuntary impressions. Familiarize yourselves with the -great artists and great authors of your century; study the sketches, -designs, diaries, and correspondence of the old masters, and you will -again everywhere find the same inward process. We may adorn it with -beautiful names; we may call it genius or inspiration, which is right -and proper; but if you wish to define it precisely you must always -verify therein the vivid spontaneous sensation which groups together -the train of accessory ideas, master, fashion, metamorphose and employ -them in order to become manifest.</p> - -<p>We have now arrived at a definition of a work of art. Let us, for a -moment, cast our eyes backward, and review the road we have passed -over. We have, by degrees, arrived at a conception of art more and more -elevated, and consequently more and more exact. At first we thought -that the object of art was to <i>imitate sensible appearances.</i> Then -separating material from intellectual imitation, we found that what -it desired to reproduce in sensible appearances is the <i>relationships -of parts. </i> Finally, remarking that relationships are, and ought to -be, modified in order to obtain the highest results of art, we proved -that if we study the relationships of parts it is <i>to make predominant -an essential character.</i> No one of these definitions destroys its -antecedent, but each corrects and defines it. We are consequently -able now to combine them, and by subordinating the inferior to the -superior, thus to sum up the result of our labor:—"The end of a work -of art is to manifest some essential or salient character, consequently -some important idea, clearer and more completely than is attainable -from real objects. Art accomplishes this end by employing a group of -connected parts, the relationships of which it systematically modifies. -In the three imitative arts of sculpture, painting, and poetry, these -groups correspond to real objects."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See the two portraits of the "Fornarina," in the Sciarra -and the Borghese palaces.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VIa" id="VIa">VI.</a></h4> - - -<p>That established, gentlemen, we see, on examining the different -parts of this definition, that the first is essential and the second -accessory. An aggregate of connected parts is necessary in all art -which the artist may modify so as to portray character; but in every -art it is not necessary that this aggregate should correspond with -real objects; it is sufficient that it exists. If we therefore meet -with aggregates of connected parts which are not imitations of real -objects, there will be arts which will not have imitation for their -point of view. This is the case, and it is thus that architecture and -music are born. In short, besides connections, proportions, moral and -organic dependencies, which the three imitative arts copy, there are -mathematical relationships which the two others, imitating nothing, -combine.</p> - -<p>Let us, at first, consider the mathematical relationships perceived by -the sense of sight. Magnitudes sensible to the eye may form amongst -each other aggregates of parts connected by mathematical laws. For -instance, a piece of wood or stone may have geometrical form, that of -a cube, a cone, a cylinder, or a sphere, which establishes regular -relationships of distance between the different points of its outline. -Furthermore, its dimensions may be quantities mutually related in -simple proportions which the eye can seize readily; height, may be -two, three, or four times greater than thickness or breadth: this -constitutes a second series of mathematical relationships. Finally, -many of these pieces of wood or stone may be placed symmetrically -on the top or by the side of each other, according to distances and -angles mathematically combined. Architecture is established on this -aggregate of connected parts. An architect conceiving some dominant -character, either serenity, simplicity, strength, or elegance, as -formerly in Greece or Rome, or the strange, the varied, the infinite, -the fantastic, as in Gothic times, may select and combine connections, -proportions, dimensions, forms, and positions—in short, the -relationships of materials, that is to say, certain visible magnitudes -in such a way as to display the character aimed at.</p> - -<p>By the side of magnitudes perceived by sight there are magnitudes -perceived by the hearing,—I mean the velocities of sonorous -vibrations; and these vibrations being magnitudes may also form -aggregates of parts connected by mathematical laws. In the first place, -as you are aware, a musical sound is composed of continuous vibrations -of equal velocity, and this equality already places between them -a mathematical relationship; in the second place, two sounds being -given, the second may be composed of vibrations, two, three, or four -times the rapidity of the first; accordingly, there is between these -two sounds a mathematical relationship, which is figured by placing -them at an equal distance from each other on the musical stave. If, -consequently, instead of taking two, we take a number of sounds, and -place them at equal distances,—we form a scale, which scale is the -gamut, all the sounds being thus bound together according to their -relative position on the gamut. You can now establish these connections -either between successive or simultaneous sounds, the first order of -sounds constituting melody, and the second harmony. This is music: it -has two essential parts, based, like architecture, on mathematical -relationships, which the artist is free to combine and modify.</p> - -<p>Music, however, possesses a second property, and this new element gives -it a peculiar quality and no ordinary scope. Besides its mathematical -qualities, sound is analogous to the cry, and by this title it directly -expresses with unrivalled precision, delicacy and force, suffering, -joy, rage, indignation—all the agitations and emotions of an animated -sensitive being, even to the most secret and most subtle gradations. -From this point of view it is similar to poetic declamation, furnishing -a specific type of music, called the music of expression, like that of -Gluck and the Germans, in opposition to the music of melody, that of -Rossini and the Italians. Let the composer's point of view be what it -may, the two styles of music are nevertheless related to each other, -sounds always forming aggregates of parts linked together at once by -their mathematical relationship and by the correspondence which they -have with the passions and the various internal states of the moral -being. The musician, therefore, who conceives a certain salient, -important feature of things, let it be sadness or joy, tender love or -passionate rage, any idea or sentiment whatever, may freely select and -combine in such a way in these mathematical and moral relationships as -to manifest the character which he has conceived.</p> - -<p>All the arts are thus included in the definition above presented. In -architecture and music, as in sculpture, painting, and poetry, it is -the object of a work of art to manifest some essential character, and -to employ as means of expression an aggregate of connected parts, the -relationship of which the artist combines and modifies.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VIIa" id="VIIa">VII.</a></h4> - - -<p>Now that we know the nature of art, we can comprehend its importance. -Previously we were only sensible of its effect; it was a matter of -instinct, and not of reason: we were conscious of respecting and -esteeming art, but were not qualified to account for our respect and -esteem. Our admiration for art can now be justified, and we can mark -its place in the order of life.</p> - -<p>Man, in many respects, is an animal endeavoring to protect himself -against nature and against other men. He is obliged to provide himself -with food, clothing, and shelter, and to defend himself against -climate, want, and disease. To do this he tills the ground, navigates -the sea, and devotes himself to different industrial and commercial -pursuits. Furthermore, he must perpetuate his species, and secure -himself against the violence of his fellow-men; to this end, he forms -families and states, and establishes magistracies, functionaries, -constitutions, laws, and armies. After so many inventions and such -labor, he is not yet emancipated from his original condition; he is -still an animal, better fed and better protected than other animals; -he still thinks only of himself, and of his kindred. At this moment -a superior life dawns on him—that of contemplation, by which he -is led to interest himself in the creative and permanent causes on -which his own being and that of his fellows depend, in the leading -and essential characters which rule each aggregate, and impress their -marks on the minutest details. Two ways are open to him for this -purpose. The first is Science, by which, analyzing these causes and -these fundamental laws, he expresses them in abstract terms and precise -formula; the second is Art, by which he manifests these causes and -these fundamental laws no longer through arid definitions, inaccessible -to the multitude, and only intelligible to a favored few, but in a -sensible way, appealing not alone to reason, but also to the heart and -senses of the humblest individual. Art has this peculiarity, that it is -at once <i>noble</i> and <i>popular,</i> manifesting whatever is most exalted, -and manifesting it to all.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II">PART II.</a></h4> - -<h3>ON THE PRODUCTION OF THE WORK OF ART.</h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="I" id="I">I.</a></h4> - -<p>Having investigated the nature of the work of art, there now remains -a study of the law of its production. This law, in general terms, may -be thus expressed:—<i>A work of art is determined by an aggregate which -is the general state of the mind and surrounding circumstances.</i> I -have stated this principle in the foregoing section, and have now to -establish it.</p> - -<p>This law rests on two kinds of proof: the one that of experience, and -the other that of reason. The former consists of an enumeration of the -many instances in which the law verifies itself. Some of these I have -already presented to you, and others will soon follow. One may assert, -moreover, that no case is known to which the law is not applicable; it -is strictly so to those hitherto examined, and not merely in a general -way, but in detail; not only to the growth and extinction of great -schools, but again to all the variations and oscillations to which -art is subject. The second order of proof consists in showing this -dependence to be not only rigorous in point of fact, but, again, that -it is so through necessity. We will accordingly analyze what we have -called the general state of the mind and surrounding circumstances; -we shall seek, according to the ordinary standard of human nature the -effects which a like state must produce on the public, on artists, and -consequently on works of art. Hence we draw a forced connection and a -definite concordance, and we establish a necessary harmony which we had -observed as simply fortuitous. The second proof <i>demonstrates</i> what the -first had averred.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a id="II"></a>II.</h4> - -<p>In order to make this harmony apparent let us resume a comparison -already of service to us, that between a plant and a work of art, and -note the circumstances in which a plant, or a species of plant, say -the orange, may be developed and propagated in a certain soil. Let -us suppose all kinds of grain and seed borne by the wind and sown at -random; on what conditions can those of the Lorange germinate, become -trees, blossom, yield fruit, spread, and cover the ground with a -numerous family?</p> - -<p>Many favorable circumstances are essential to this end. And at first -the soil must be neither too light nor too meagre: otherwise, the roots -lacking depth and grasp, the tree would fall at the first gale of wind. -Next, the soil must not be too dry; otherwise the tree will wither -where it stands deprived of the moisture of springs and streams. -Moreover, the climate must be warm; or the tree, which is delicate, -will freeze, or at least droop, and never put forth sprouts; the summer -must be long, in order that the fruit, which is slow in ripening, may -fully mature; and the winter mild, so that January frosts may not blast -or shrivel the oranges that remain green on its branches. Finally, -the soil must not be too favorable for other plants, lest the tree, -left to itself, might be stifled by the competition and infringement -of a more vigorous vegetation. When all these conditions concur, the -little orange will grow, become mature, and produce others again to -reproduce themselves. Storms will undoubtedly occur, stones fall, and -browsing goats will destroy certain plants; but on the whole, in spite -of accidents which kill individuals, the species will be propagated, -cover the ground, and in a few years display a nourishing grove of -orange trees. All this is to be seen in the admirably sheltered gorges -of Southern Italy, in the environs of Sorrento and Amain, on the -shores of the gulfs, and in the small, watered valleys, freshened by -streams descending from the mountains, and caressed by the beneficent -breezes of the sea. This concourse of circumstances was necessary in -order to produce those beautiful round tops, those lustrous domes of a -bright deep green, those innumerable golden apples, and that exquisite -fragrant vegetation which, in mid-winter, makes this coast the richest -and loveliest of gardens.</p> - -<p>Let us now reflect on the manner in which things moved in this example. -We have just observed the effect of circumstances and of physical -temperature. Strictly speaking, these have not produced the orange; -the seeds were given, and these alone contained the vital force. The -circumstances described, however, were necessary in order that the -plant might flourish and be propagated; had these failed, the plant -likewise would have failed.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, let the temperature be different, and the species of plant -will be different. Suppose conditions entirely opposite to those just -mentioned; take the summit of a mountain swept by violent winds, with a -thin scanty soil, a cold climate, a short summer, and snow during the -winter; not only will the orange not thrive here, but the greater part -of other trees will perish. Of all the seeds scattered haphazard by the -wind only one will survive, and you will see but one species to endure -and be propagated, the only one adapted to these severe conditions; the -fir and the pine will cover the lonely crags, the abrupt precipices, -and long, rocky ridges, with their stiff colonnades of tall trunks and -vast mantles of sombre green, and there, as in the Vosges, in Scotland -and in Norway, you may travel league after league, under silent arches, -on a carpet of crisp leaves, among gnarled roots obstinately clinging -to the rocks, the domain of the patient energetic plant which alone -subsists under the incessant attacks of gales, and the hoar-frosts of -long winters.</p> - -<p>We may accordingly regard temperature and physical circumstances -as <i>making a choice</i> amongst various species of trees, all owing a -certain species to subsist and propagate, to the exclusion, more or -less complete, of all others. Physical temperature acts by elimination -and suppression, in other words, by <i>natural selection.</i> Such is the -great law by which we now explain the origin and structure of diverse -existing organisms—a law as applicable to moral as to physical -conditions, to history as well as to botany and zoology, to genius and -to character, as well as to plant and to animal.</p> - -<p>In short, there is a <i>moral</i> temperature, consisting of the general -state of minds and manners, which acts in the same way as the other. -Properly speaking, this temperature does not produce artists; talent -and genius are gifts like seeds; what I mean to say is, that the same -country at different epochs probably contains about the same number -of men of talent, and of men of mediocrity. We know, in fact, through -statistics, that in two successive generations nearly the same number -of men are found of the requisite stature for the conscription and the -same number of men too small for soldiers. In all probability, it is -with minds as with bodies. Nature is a sower of men, and putting her -hand constantly in the same sack, distributes nearly the same quantity, -the same quality, the same proportion of seed. But in these handfuls -of seed which she scatters as she strides over time and space, not all -germinate. A certain moral temperature is necessary to develop certain -talents; if this is wanting, these prove abortive. Consequently, as -the temperature changes, so will the species of talent change; if it -becomes reversed, talent will become reversed, and, in general, we may -conceive moral temperature as <i>making a selection</i> among different -species of talent, allowing only this or that species to develope, to -the exclusion more or less complete of others. It is through some such -mechanism that you see developed in schools at certain times and in -certain countries the sentiment of the ideal, that of the real, that -of drawing and that of color. There is a prevailing tendency which -constitutes the spirit of the age. Talent seeking to force an outlet -in another direction, finds it closed; and the force of the public -mind and surrounding habits repress and lead it astray, by imposing on -it a fixed growth.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="III" id="III">III.</a></h4> - -<p>The foregoing comparison may serve you as a general indication; let us -now enter into details, and study the action of the moral temperature -on works of art.</p> - -<p>For the sake of greater clearness we will take a very simple case, -that of a certain mental condition, in which melancholy predominates. -This supposition is not arbitrary, for such a condition has frequently -occurred in the life of humanity: five or six centuries of decadence, -depopulation, foreign invasion, famine, pests, and aggravated misery, -are amply sufficient to produce it. Asia experienced such a state of -things in the sixth century before Christ, and Europe in the period of -the first ten centuries of our own era. In times like these men lose -both courage and hope, and regard life as a burden.</p> - -<p>Let as contemplate the effect of such a mental condition, together with -the circumstances which engender it, on the artists of an epoch like -this. We admit that nearly the same number of melancholy and joyous -temperaments, as well as a mixture of both, are met in this as at other -times; how and in what sense does the prevailing situation effect their -transformation?</p> - -<p>It must be borne in mind that the misfortunes that afflict the public -also afflict the artist; he is one of the flock, and he suffers as -the rest suffer. For example, if invasions of barbarians occur, and -pests, famines, and calamities of all sorts prolonged for centuries and -spread over the entire country; not only one, but countless miracles, -would be necessary to save him harmless in the general inundation. On -the contrary, it is probable, and even certain, that he will have his -share of public misfortune; that he will be ruined, beaten, wounded, -and led into captivity like others; that his wife, children, relatives -and friends will share the common fate, and that he will suffer and be -subject to fears on their account, as well as on his own. During this -long-continued flood of personal misery he will, if he is gay, become -less gay, and, if melancholy, still more melancholy. This is the first -effect of his social medium.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, if the artist is raised among melancholy companions, -the ideas he receives in infancy, with those acquired afterwards, -are melancholy. The dominant religion, accommodating itself to the -lugubrious order of things, teaches him that the earth is a place -of exile, the world a prison-house, life an evil, and that all that -concerns him is to deserve to get out of it. Philosophy, forming its -morality according to the lamentable spectacle of man's degeneracy, -proves to him that it would have been better for him not to have -been born Ordinary conversation teems with only mournful events, -the invasion of a province, the destruction of some monument, the -oppression of the weak, and civil wars among the strong. Daily -observation reveals to him only images of discouragement and grief, -beggars, and cases of starvation, a bridge left to decay, abandoned, -crumbling houses, fields going to waste, and the black walls of -dwellings ravaged by fire. All these impressions sink deep in his mind -from the first year of his life to the last, incessantly aggravating -whatever melancholy sentiment arises out of his own misfortunes.</p> - -<p>They aggravate him so much the more proportionately to the intensity -of his artistic feeling. What makes him an artist is the practice of -imitating the essential character of things, the salient points of -objects; other men only see portions, while he sees the whole and the -spirit of them. And as in this case the salient characteristic is -melancholy, he accordingly perceives nothing else. Moreover, through -this excess of imagination and this instinct of exaggeration peculiar -to artists, he amplifies and expands it to the utmost; he becomes -impregnated with it, and charges his work with it, so that he commonly -sees and paints things in much darker colors than would be employed by -his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>It must be added also that he finds them of great assistance to -him in his work. You know that a man who paints or writes remains -not alone face to face with his canvas or his writing-desk. On the -contrary, he goes out and talks to people and looks about him; he -listens to the hints of his friends or rivals, and seeks suggestions -in books and from surrounding works of art. An idea resembles a -seed: if the seed requires, in order to germinate, develope and -bloom, the nourishment which water, air, sun and soil afford it, the -idea, in order to complete and shape itself into form, requires to be -supplemented and aided by other minds. Accordingly, in these epochs -of melancholy, what sort of suggestions are other minds capable of -furnishing? Only melancholy ones, for only on this side do men labor. -As their experience provides them only with painful sensations and -sentiments, they can only note the shades of difference, and record -discoveries made on the path of suffering: the heart is the only field -of observation, and if this is filled with sorrow, sorrow is all -that men contemplate. They are, therefore, conscious only of grief, -dejection, chagrin and despair. If the artist demands instruction of -them this is all the return they can make. To seek in them any idea -or any information on the different kinds or different expressions of -joy would be labor lost; they can only furnish what they possess. For -this reason let him attempt to portray happiness, cheerfulness, or -gayety, and he stands alone, deprived of all support, left to his own -resources, and which in an isolated man amounts to nothing. His labor -will likewise be stamped with mediocrity. On the other hand, when he -would paint melancholy sentiments his century would come to his aid. -He finds materials prepared for him by preceding schools; he finds a -ready-made art, consisting of known processes and a beaten track. A -church ceremony, a piece of furniture, a conversation, suggests to him -a form, a color, a phrase, or a character still unknown to him; his -work, to which millions of unknown co-laborers have contributed, is -all the more beautiful, because, in addition to his own labor and his -own genius, it embodies the labor and genius of surrounding society, -and of generations that have gone before it.</p> - -<p>There is still another reason, and the strongest of all, which draws -him to melancholy subjects; it is that his work, once exposed to the -public eye, finds appreciation only as it expresses melancholy ideas. -Men, indeed, can only comprehend sentiments analogous to those they -have themselves experienced. Other sentiments, no matter how powerfully -expressed, do not affect them; the look with their eyes, but the heart -is dormant and directly their eyes are averted. Imagine a man losing -his fortune, country, children, health and liberty, one manacled in -a dungeon for twenty years, like Pellico or Andryane, whose spirit -by degrees is changed and broken, and who becomes melancholy and a -mystic, and whose discouragement is incurable; such a man entertains -a horror of cheerful music, and has no disposition to read Rabelais; -if you place him before the merry brutes of Rubens, he will turn aside -and place himself before the canvases of Rembrandt; he will enjoy only -the music of Chopin and the poetry of Lamartine or Heine. The same -thing happens to the public and to individuals; their taste depends -on their situation; their sadness gives them a taste for melancholy -works; cheerful productions are accordingly repudiated, and the artist -is censured or neglected. Now an artist composes mostly in order to -obtain appreciation and applause; this is his ruling passion. Hence, -therefore, betides other causes, his ruling passion, added to the -pressure of public opinion, leads him, pushes him, and constantly -brings him back to the expression of melancholy, and barring the ways -to him which would lead him to the portrayal of gayety and happiness.</p> - -<p>Through this series of obstacles every passage would be closed for -works of art manifesting joy. If an artist overcomes one obstacle, -he is arrested by others. If he meets with joyous natures he will -be saddened <i>by</i> their personal misfortunes. Education and current -conversation fill their minds with gloomy ideas. The artists' faculties -by which they detach and amplify the leading traits of objects, will -find for their exercise none but melancholy ones. The experience and -labor of others provide them with suggestions and are co-operative only -in melancholy subjects. Finally, the earnest and decisive will of the -public allows them to produce only melancholy subjects. Consequently, -the class of artists and their works suitable for the expression of -gayety and joyousness disappear, or end by becoming reduced to almost -nothing.</p> - -<p>Consider, now, the opposite case, that of a general condition of -cheerfulness. That occurs in renaissance epochs, when order, wealth, -population, comfort, prosperity, and useful and beautiful discoveries -are constantly increasing. By reversing its terms the analysis we have -just made is applicable word for word; the same process of reasoning -proves that the works of art of such a period will all, more or less, -express a joyous character.</p> - -<p>Consider, now, an intermediary case, that is to say, a commingling of -this or that phase of joy or sadness, which is the ordinary condition -of things. By a proper modification of terras, the analysis is equally -pertinent; the same reasoning demonstrates that works of art express -corresponding combinations, and a corresponding species of joy and -melancholy.</p> - -<p>Let us conclude, therefore, that in every simple or complex state, the -social medium, that is to say, the general state of mind and manners, -determines the species of works of art in suffering only those which -are in harmony with it, and in suppressing other species, through a -series of obstacles interposed, and a series of attacks renewed, at -every step of their development.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IV" id="IV">IV.</a></h4> - - -<p>Let us now leave supposed cases, simplified to give clearness to -the exposition, and take up real ones. You will see in glancing at -the most important of a historical series, a verification of the -law. I will select four which are the four great cycles of European -civilization—Greek and Roman antiquity, the feudal and Christian -middle ages, the well-regulated aristocratic monarchies of the -seventeenth century, and the industrial democracies of the present day, -directed by the sciences. Each of these periods has its own art, or -some department of art peculiar to it, either sculpture, architecture, -the drama or music, or some determined phase of each of these -great arts; in every case a distinct, singularly rich and complete -vegetation, which, in its leading features, reflects the principal -traits of the art and the nation. Let us, accordingly, consider turn -the different soils, and we shall that all produce different flowers.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="V" id="V">V.</a></h4> - -<p>About three thousand years ago there appeared on the shores and islands -of the Ægean Sea a remarkably handsome, intelligent race, viewing life -in quite a new way. It did not allow itself to be absorbed by a great -religious conception like the Hindoos and Egyptians, nor by a great -social organization like the Assyrians and Persians, nor by great -industrial and commercial usages after the fashion of the Phoenicians -and Carthagenians. Instead of a theocracy and a hierarchy of caste, and -instead of a monarchy and a hierarchy of functionaries and of great -trading and commercial establishments, the men of that race had an -invention of their own called the city, which city, in sending forth -branches, gave birth to others of the same description. One of these, -Miletus, produced three hundred towns, and colonized the entire coast -of the Black Sea. Others did the same, the Mediterranean Sea being -encircled with a garland of flourishing cities, extending from Cyrene -to Marseilles, along the gulfs and promontories of Spain, Italy, -Greece, Asia Minor and Africa.</p> - -<p>What was the life of this city?<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> A citizen performed but little -manual labor; he was generally supported by his subjects and -tributaries, and always served by slaves. The poorest man in the place -had one to keep house for him. Athens counted four for each citizen; -and lesser cities, like Ægina and Corinth, possessed from four to five -hundred thousand. Servants, of course, abounded. The citizen, however, -needed but little help. Like all the finely-built races of the south, -he was abstemious, a meal consisting of three or four olives, a bit of -garlic, and the head of a fish.<a name="FNanchor_2_4" id="FNanchor_2_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_4" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> His wardrobe consisted of sandals, -a small shirt, and a large mantle, like that of a shepherd. His house -was a narrow, frail, ill-constructed tenement, into which robbers -could penetrate by piercing the walls,<a name="FNanchor_3_5" id="FNanchor_3_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_5" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and which he only used for -sleeping; a bed and two or three beautiful vases were the principal -articles of furniture. The citizen had few wants, and he passed the day -in the open air.</p> - -<p>How did he dispose of his leisure? Serving neither king nor priest, -he was, as far as he was concerned, free and sovereign in the city. -He elected his own pontiffs and magistrates, and he himself, in -turn, could be elected to sacerdotal and other offices; whether -blacksmith or currier, he judged the most important political cases -in the tribunals, and decided the gravest of affairs of state in the -assemblies; his occupation consisted, substantially, of public business -and war. To be a politician and a soldier was a part of his duty; other -pursuits were of little importance to him; the attention of a free man, -in his opinion, ought to be applied to these two employments. And he -was right, for, at that time, human life was not protected as it is in -ours; human societies had not acquired the stability which they now -have. Most of these cities, built and scattered along the Mediterranean -shores, were surrounded by barbarians eager to prey upon them; the -citizen was obliged to be under arms, like the European of the present -day in Japan and in New Zealand; if not, Gauls, Libyans, Samitites -and Bithynians would soon have pitched their camps amid the ruins -of battered walls and devastated temples. Besides all this, these -cities were inimical to each other. The rights of war were atrocious; -a vanquished city was often devoted to destruction; a wealthy noted -man might any day see his dwelling in ashes, his property pillaged, -his wife and daughters sold to recruit places of prostitution; he -himself, and his sons, enslaved, would be buried in mines, or compelled -by the lash to turn a mill. With such perils before him it is natural -for a man to be interested in affairs of state, and be qualified for -battle: he has to become a politician under penalty of death. Ambition, -however, and love of glory are equal stimulants. Every city aspired to -reduce or humble every other city, to acquire vassals, to conquer or to -make profitable the persons of others.<a name="FNanchor_4_6" id="FNanchor_4_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_6" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> The citizen passed his life -in the public thoroughfares, discussing the best means for preserving -and aggrandizing his city, canvassing its alliances, treaties, laws and -constitution; now listening to orators, and again acting as one himself -up to the very moment of going aboard his vessel in order to wage war -in Thrace or in Egypt, against other Greeks, against the barbarians, or -against the Great King.</p> - -<p>To reach this point, they had systematized a peculiar discipline. As -there were no industrial facilities in those days, the machinery of -war was unknown. War was a combat between man and man; consequently, -the essential thing to insure victory was not to transform soldiers -into marshalled automatons, as in our day, but to render each soldier -the most resistant, the strongest, and the most agile body possible; -in short, a highly-tempered gladiator, capable of the utmost physical -endurance.</p> - -<p>To this end, Sparta which, about the eighth century, gave the example -and the impulse to all Greece, had a very complicated and no less -efficacious military system. She herself was a camp without walls, -situated, like our camps in Kabyle, amidst enemies and a conquered -people, wholly military, and devoted to attack and self-defence. In -order to have a perfect military, it was necessary to have a splendid -race; it was managed as in stock-breeding. All deformed children were -deprived of life. The law, moreover, prescribed the age for marriage -and selected the most suitable time and circumstances for proper -breeding. An old man happening to have a young wife was obliged to give -her over to a young man in order to have a good healthy offspring. A -middle-aged man having a friend whose beauty and character he admired, -might give him the use of his wife.<a name="FNanchor_5_7" id="FNanchor_5_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_7" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> After having constituted the -race, they shaped the individual. Young men were enrolled, drilled, -and accustomed to live in common like a troop of children. They were -divided into two rival bands, who inspected each other, and fought -together with their feet and their fists. They slept in the open -air, bathed in the cool waters of the Eurotas, went marauding, ate -sparingly, fast and badly, rested on beds of rushes, drank nothing but -water, and endured every inclemency of climate. Young girls exercised -in the same manner, and the matured were restricted to almost the same -routine. The rigor of this antique discipline was undoubtedly less, or -was mitigated, in other cities; nevertheless, with these mitigations, -the same road conducted to the same end. Young people passed the -greater part of the day in the gymnasia, wrestling, jumping, boxing, -racing, pitching quoits; fortifying and rendering supple their naked -muscles. It was their aim to produce strong, robust bodies, the most -beautiful and the nimblest possible, and no system of education ever -succeeded better in obtaining them.<a name="FNanchor_6_8" id="FNanchor_6_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_8" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<p>These peculiar customs of the Greeks gave birth to peculiar ideas. -In their eyes the ideal man was not the man of thought, or a man of -delicate sensibility, but the naked man, the man of a fine stock and -growth, well-proportioned, active and accomplished in all physical -exercises. This mode of thinking was manifested by a variety of traits. -In the first place, whilst the Carians and the Lydians around them, and -their barbarian neighbors generally, were ashamed to appear naked, they -stripped without embarrassment in order to wrestle and run races.<a name="FNanchor_7_9" id="FNanchor_7_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_9" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> -The young girls of Sparta were in the habit of exercising almost -naked. You will perceive that gymnastic exercises had suppressed, or -at least transformed, modesty. In the second place, the great national -festivals of the Greeks, the Olympian, Pythian, and Nemean games, -consisted of a display and triumph of the naked figure. The youth of -the first families resorted to these from all parts of Greece, and -from the remotest Grecian colonies. They, prepared themselves for them -a long time beforehand by special training and the severest labor, -and there, under the eyes and applause of the whole nation, stripped -of their clothing, they wrestled, boxed, pitched quoits, and raced -on foot or in the chariot. Victories of this class, which we of the -present day leave to a Hercules in a circus, they regarded as of the -first importance. The victorious athlete in the foot-race gave his -name to the Olympiad; his praises were chanted by the greatest poets; -Pindar, the most illustrious lyric poet of antiquity, sang only of -chariot races. On returning to his native city the victorious athlete -was received in triumph, and his strength and agility became the pride -of the place. One of these, Milo of Crotona, who was invincible at -wrestling, was chosen general, and led his fellow-citizens to battle, -clad in a lion's skin and armed with a club like Hercules, to whom he -was compared. It is related that a certain Diagoras saw his two sons -crowned on the same day, and was carried around by them in triumph -before the assembled multitude. Deeming a like happiness too great for -one mortal, the people cried out to him. "Die, Diagoras, for thou -canst not now become a god!" Diagoras, suffocated with emotion, did -indeed expire in the arms of his children. In his eyes, as in the eyes -of all Greece, to see his sons possessing the most vigorous fists and -the nimblest legs was the height of terrestrial bliss. Whether this -be truth or legend, such a judgment proves the excessive degree of -admiration entertained by the Greeks for the perfection of the human -form.</p> - -<p>On this account they were not afraid to expose it before the gods on -solemn occasions. They had a formal system of attitudes and actions, -called <i>orchestrique,</i> which regulated and taught them beautiful -postures of the sacred dances. After the battle of Salamis the tragic -poet Sophocles, then fifteen years old, and celebrated for his beauty, -stripped himself of his clothing in order to dance and chant the pæan -before the trophy. One hundred years later, Alexander, on passing -through Asia Minor to contend with Darius, cast aside his garments, -along with his companions, for the purpose of honoring the tomb of -Achilles with races. But the Greeks went still further; they considered -the perfection of the human form as attesting divinity. In a town in -Sicily a young man of extraordinary beauty was worshipped, and after -death, altars were erected in his honor.<a name="FNanchor_8_10" id="FNanchor_8_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_10" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> In Homer, which is the -Grecian Bible, you will find everywhere that the gods had a human body -which the flesh-lance could pierce, flowing red blood, instincts, -passions and pleasures similar in every respect to our own, and to such -an extent that heroes become the lovers of goddesses, and gods beget -children of mortal mothers. Between Olympus and the earth there is no -abyss; they descend from, and we ascend to, it; if they surpass us, -it is because they are exempt from death, because their wounds heal -quicker, and they are stronger, handsomer and happier than we. In other -respects, they eat, drink and quarrel as we do, all enjoying the same -senses, and employing the same corporeal functions. Greece has so well -worked out its model of the beautiful human animal that it has made its -idol of it, and glorifies it on earth, by making a divinity of it in -heaven.</p> - -<p>Out of this conception statuary is born, and we can mark every -moment of its growth. On the one hand, an athlete, once crowned, was -entitled to a statue; crowned a third time, he was awarded an iconical -statue—that is to say, an effigy bearing his portrait. On the other -hand, the gods being only human forms, more serene and more perfect -than others, it was natural to represent them by statues. For that -purpose there is no need of a forced dogma. The marble or bronze effigy -is not an allegory, but an exact image; it does not give to the god -muscles, bones, and a heavy covering which it has not; it represents -the reclothing of flesh which covers it, and the living form which is -its substance. It suffices, in order to be a truthful portrait, that it -should be the most beautiful, and reproduce the immortal calm by which -the god is exalted above mortals.</p> - -<p>The statue is now blocked out—is the sculptor qualified to produce -it? Dwell a moment on his preparation. Men in those days studied the -body naked and in action, in the baths, in the gymnasia, in the sacred -dances and at the public games; they observed and preferred such forms -and such attitudes as denoted vigor, health, and activity; they -labored with all their might to impress on it these forms and to shape -it to these attitudes. For three or four hundred years they were thus -correcting, purifying, developing their idea of physical beauty. It is -not surprising that they finally discovered the ideal type of the human -form. We of the present day that are familiar with it owe our knowledge -of it to them. When Nicholas of Pisa and other early sculptors at -the end of the Gothic period abandoned the meagre, bony, and ugly -forms of hieratic tradition, it was because they took an example from -Greek bas-reliefs, preserved or exhumed; and if to-day, forgetting -our distorted and defective bodies, as plebeians or thinkers, we wish -to find again some type of the perfect form, it is in these statues, -monuments of a noble, unoccupied, gymnastic life, that we must seek our -instruction.</p> - -<p>Not only the form of it is perfect, but again, which is unique, it -suffices for the thought of the artist. The Greeks, having assigned -to the body a dignity of its own, were not tempted, like the moderns, -to subordinate it to the head. A chest breathing healthily, a trunk -solidly resting on the thighs, a nervous supple leg impelling the -body forward with ease; they did not occupy themselves solely with -the breadth of a thoughtful forehead, with the frown of an irritated -brow, or the turn of a sarcastic lip. They could limit themselves to -the conditions of perfect statuary, which leaves the eye without an -iris, and the head without expression; which prefers quiet personages, -or those occupied by insignificant action; which commonly employs -only a uniform tint, either of marble or cf bronze; which leaves the -picturesque to painting, and abandons dramatic interest to literature; -which, confined to, but ennobled by, the nature of its materials -and its limited domain, avoids the representation of details, of -physiognomy, of the casualties of human agitation, in order to detach -the pure and abstract form, and thus illuminate the sanctuaries with -motionless, peaceful, august effigies in which human nature recognized -its heroes and its gods.</p> - -<p>Statuary, accordingly, is the central art of Greece; other arts are -related to it, accompany it, or imitate it. No other art has so well -expressed the national life; no other was so cultivated or so popular. -In the hundred small temples around Delphi, in which the treasures of -the cities were kept, "a whole world of marble, gold, silver, brass, -and bronze, twenty different bronzes, and of all tints, thousands of -glorified dead in irregular groups, seated and standing, radiated the -veritable subjects of the god of light."<a name="FNanchor_9_11" id="FNanchor_9_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_11" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> When Rome, at a later day, -despoiled the Greek world of its treasures, this vast city possessed a -population of statues almost equal to that of its living inhabitants. -At the present time, after so many centuries and such devastation, it -is estimated that more than sixty thousand statues have been discovered -at Rome and in its surrounding Campagna. A like harvest of sculpture -has never been seen, such a prodigious abundance of flowers,—a display -of flowers so perfect, a growth so natural, so continuous and varied. -You have just seen the cause of it, in digging up the earth layer by -layer, and in observing that all the foundations of the human soil, -institutions, manners, ideas, have contributed to sustain it.</p> - - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Grote, <i>History of Greece—</i>Boeckh, <i>Political Economy of -the Athenians</i>—Wullon, <i>Slavery in Antiquity.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_4" id="Footnote_2_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_4"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The Frogs of Aristophanes; the Cock of Lucian.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_5" id="Footnote_3_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_5"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Their proper name was wall-piercers.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_6" id="Footnote_4_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_6"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Thucydides, Book I. See the divers expeditions of the -Athenians between the peace of Cimon and the Peloponnesian war.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_7" id="Footnote_5_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_7"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Xenophon. The Lacedemonian Republic, <i>passim. </i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_8" id="Footnote_6_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_8"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The Dialogues of Plato. The Clouds of Aristophanes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_9" id="Footnote_7_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_9"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> The Lacedemonians adopted this custom about the 14th -Olympiad.—Plato.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_10" id="Footnote_8_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_10"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Herodotus.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_11" id="Footnote_9_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_11"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Michelet.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VI" id="VI">VI.</a></h4> - - -<p>This military organization common to all the cities of antiquity -at length had its effect,—a sad effect. War being the natural -condition of things, the weak were over-powered by the strong, and, -more than once, one might have seen formed states of considerable -magnitude under the control or tyranny of a victorious or dominant -city. Finally one arose, Rome, which, possessing greater energy, -patience, and skill, more capable of subordination and command, of -consecutive views and practical calculations, attained, after seven -hundred years of effort, in incorporating under her dominion the -entire basin of the Mediterranean and many great outlying countries. -To gain this point she submitted to military discipline, and, like a -fruit springing from its germ, a military despotism was the issue. -Thus was the Empire formed. Towards the first century of our era, the -world, organized under a regular monarchy, seemed at last to have -attained to order and tranquillity. It issued only in a decline. In -the horrible destruction of conquest cities perished by hundreds and -men by millions. During an entire century the conquerors themselves -massacred each other, and the civilized world having lost its free -men, lost the half of its inhabitants.<a name="FNanchor_1_12" id="FNanchor_1_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_12" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Citizens, converted into -subjects, and no longer pursuing noble ends, abandoned themselves to -indolence and luxury, refused to marry and to have children. Machinery -being unknown, and the hand the only instrument of labor, the slaves, -whose lot it was to provide for the pleasures, pomp, and refinements -of society, disappeared under a burden too heavy for them to bear. -At the expiration of four hundred years the enervated, depopulated -empire had not sufficient men or energy to repel the barbarians. The -barbarous wave entered, sweeping away the dykes; after the first, a -second, then a third, and so on for a period of five hundred years. -The evils they inflicted cannot be described: people exterminated, -monuments destroyed, fields devastated, and cities burnt; industry, -the fine arts, and the sciences mutilated, degraded, forgotten; fear, -ignorance, and brutality spread everywhere and established. They were -complete savages, similar to the Hurons and Iroquois suddenly encamped -in the midst of a cultivated and thinking world like ours. Imagine a -herd of wild bulls let loose amid the furniture and decorations of a -palace, and after this another herd, so that the ruins left by the -first perished under the hoofs of the second, and, scarcely installed -in disorder, each troop of brutes had to arouse itself in order to -battle with its horns a bellowing, insatiable troop of invaders. When -at last, in the tenth century, the last horde had made its lair and -glutted itself, men seemed to be in no better condition. The barbarian -chiefs becoming feudal barons, fought amongst themselves, pillaging -peasants and burning their crops, robbing the merchants, and wantonly -robbing and maltreating their miserable serfs. The land remained waste, -and provisions became scarce. In the eleventh century forty out of -seventy years were years of famine. A monk, Raoul Glaber, relates that -it got to be common to eat human flesh; a butcher was burnt alive for -exposing it for sale in his stall. Add to this universal poverty and -filth, and a total neglect of the simplest of hygienic principles, and -you can well understand how leprosy, pests, and epidemics, becoming -acclimated, raged as if upon their native soil. People degenerated -to the condition of the anthropophagi of New Zealand, to the ignoble -brutality of the Papuans and Caledonians, to the lowest depths of the -human cesspool, seeing that reminiscences of the past trenched on the -misery of the present, and since some thinking heads, still reading -the ancient language felt in a confused way the immensity of the fall, -the whole depth of the abyss into which the human species had been -engulphed for a thousand years.</p> - -<p>You may divine the sentiments which such a condition of things, so -extreme and so lasting, implanted in people's breasts. At first there -was weakness, disgust of life, and the deepest melancholy; "the -world," said a writer of that day, "is nothing but an abyss of vice and -immodesty." Life seemed a foretaste of hell. Many withdrew from it, -and not alone the poor, the feeble, and women, but sovereign lords, -and even kings; such as possessed delicate and noble natures preferred -the tranquillity and monotony of the cloister. On the approach of the -year one thousand a general belief in the extinction of the world -prevailed, and many, seized with fright, made over their property -to churches and convents. On the other hand, and coupled with this -terror and despondency, there arose an extraordinary degree of nervous -exaltation. When men are very miserable they become excitable, like -invalids and prisoners; their sensibility increases, and acquires a -feminine delicacy; their heart is filled with caprices, agitations -and despondency, excesses and effusions from which they are free in a -healthy state. They depart from moderate sentiments which alone can -maintain continuous masculine action. They indulge in re very, burst -into tears, sink down on their knees, become incapable of providing for -themselves, imagine infinite sweet and tender transports, yearning to -diffuse the excessive refinements and enthusiasm of their over-wrought -intemperate imaginations; in short, they are prone to love. Hence, we -see them developed with an enormous exaggeration, a passion unknown -to the stern and virile souls of antiquity, namely, the chivalric -mystic love of the middle ages. The calm rational love of wedlock was -subordinated to the ecstatic and unruly love encountered outside of -wedlock. Its subtleties were carefully defined and embodied in the -maxims of tribunals presided over by ladies. It was decreed there -that "love could not exist between spouses," and that "love could -refuse nothing to love.<a name="FNanchor_2_13" id="FNanchor_2_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_13" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Woman was no longer considered as flesh -and blood like man, but was converted into a divinity; man was only -too well compensated in the privilege of adoring: and serving her. -Human love was regarded as a celestial sentiment leading to divine -love and confounded with it. Poets transformed their mistresses into -supernatural virtue, and implored them to guide them through the -empyrean to the tabernacle of God. You can easily appreciate the hold -the Christian faith derived from such sentiments. Disgust for the -world, a tendency to ecstacy, habitual despair and infinite craving -for tender sympathy, naturally impelled men to a doctrine representing -the earth as a vale of tears, the present life a period of trial, -rapturous union with the Divinity as supreme happiness, and the love -of God as the first of duties. Morbid or trembling sensibility found -its support in the infinitude of terror and of hope, in pictures of -flaming pits and eternal perdition, and in conceptions of a radiant -paradise and of ineffable bliss. Thus supported, Christianity ruled all -souls, inspired art, and gave employment to artists. "Society," says a -contemporary, "divested itself of its old rags in order to clothe its -churches in robes of whiteness." Gothic architecture accordingly made -its appearance.</p> - -<p>Let us observe the growth of the new Gothic edifice. In opposition to -the religions of antiquity, which were all local, belonging to castes -or to families, Christianity is a universal religion which appeals -to the multitude, and summons all men to salvation. It was necessary -accordingly for this new edifice to be very large and capable of -containing the entire population of any one city or district—the -women, the children, the serfs, the artisans, and the poor as well as -the nobles and sovereigns. The small <i>cella</i> which contains the statue -of the Greek god, and the portico where the procession of free citizens -was displayed, were not sufficient for this immense crowd. An enormous -vault was required, lofty naves multiplied and crossed by others, and -measureless arches and colossal columns; generations of workmen flocked -in crowds for centuries to labor here for the salvation of their souls, -displacing mountains before the monument could be completed.</p> - -<p>The men who enter here have sorrowing souls, and the ideas they come -in quest of are mournful. They meditate on this miserable life, so -troubled and confined by such an abyss, on hell and its punishments, -endless, measureless and unintermittent, on the sufferings and passion -of Christ crucified, and those of persecuted and tortured saints and -martyrs. Listening to such religious teaching, and under the burden of -their own fears, they could ill accommodate themselves to the simple -beauty and joyous effect of pure light; the clear and healthy light -of day is accordingly excluded; the interior of the edifice remains -subject to cold and lugubrious shadow; light only comes in transformed -by stained glass into purple and crimson tints, into the splendors of -topaz and amethyst, into the mystic gleams of precious stones, into -strange illuminations, seeming to afford glimpses of paradise.</p> - -<p>Delicate over-excited imaginations like these are not content with -simple architectural forms. And first, form in itself is not sufficient -to interest them. It must be a symbol of and designate some august -mystery. The edifice with its transverse naves represents the cross -on which Christ died; its circular window with its brilliant petals -figures the rose of eternity, the leaves of which are redeemed souls; -all the dimensions of its parts correspond to sacred numbers. Again, -these forms in their richness, strangeness, boldness, delicacy and -immensity, harmonize with the intemperance and curiosity of a morbid -fancy. Vivid sensations—manifold, changing, bizarre and extreme—are -necessary to such souls. They reject the column, the horizontal and -transverse beams, the round arch, in short, the solid construction, -balanced proportions, and beautiful simplicity of antique architecture; -they do not sympathize with those noble creations that seem to have -been born without pain and to last without effort, which attain to -beauty the same time as to life, and the finished excellence of which -needs neither addition nor ornament.</p> - -<p>They adopt for type, not the plain half-circle of the arcade, or -the simple angle formed by the column and the architrave, but the -complicated union of two curves intersected by each other, forming the -ogive. They aspire to the gigantic, covering square acres of ground -with piles of stone, binding pillars together in monstrous columns, -suspending galleries in the air, elevating arches to the skies, and -stage upon stage of belfry until their spires are lost in the clouds. -They exaggerate the delicacy of forms; they surround doors with -series of statuettes, and festoon the sides with trefoils, gables and -gargoyles; they interlace the tortuous tracery of mullions with the -motley hues of stained glass; the choir seems to be embroidered with -lace, while tombs, altars, stalls and towers are covered with mazes of -slender columns and fringes of leaves and statues. It seems as if they -wished to attain at once infinite grandeur and infinite littleness, -seeking to overwhelm the mind on either side, on the one hand with -the vastness of a mass, and on the other with a prodigious quantity -of details. Their object was evidently to produce an extraordinary -sensation; they aimed to dazzle and bewilder.</p> - -<p>Proportionately, therefore, to the development of this style of -architecture, it becomes more and more paradoxical. In the fourteenth -and fifteenth centuries, the age of the flamboyant Gothic of Strasburg, -Milan, York, Nuremburg, and the Church of Brou, solidity seems to -have been wholly abandoned for ornament. At one time it bristles with -a profusion of multiplied and superposed pinnacles; at another its -exterior is draped with a lacework of mouldings. Walls are hollowed -out, and almost wholly absorbed by windows; they lack strength, and -without the buttresses raised against them the structure would fall; -ever disintegrating, it is necessary to establish colonies of masons -about them constantly to repair their constant decay. This embroidered -stonework, more and more frail as it ascends the spire, cannot sustain -itself; it has to be fastened to a skeleton of iron, and as iron rusts, -the blacksmith is summoned to contribute his share towards propping up -this unstable, delusive magnificence. In the interior the decoration is -so exuberant and complex, the groinings so richly display their thorny -and tangled vegetation, and the stalls, pulpit, and railings, swarm -with such intricate, tortuous, fantastic arabesques, that the church -no longer seems to be a sacred monument, but a rare example of the -jewellers art. It is a vast structure of variegated glass, a gigantic -piece of filigree work, a festive decoration as elaborated as that of -a queen or a bride; it is the adornment of a nervous, over-excited -woman, similar to the extravagant costumes of the day, whose delicate -and morbid poesy denotes by its excess the singular sentiments, the -feverish, violent, and impotent aspiration peculiar to an age of -knights and monks.</p> - -<p>For this architecture, which has lasted four centuries, is not confined -to one country or to one description of edifice; it is spread over -all Europe, from Scotland to Sicily, and is employed in all civil and -religious and public and private monuments. Not only do cathedrals and -chapels bear its imprint, but fortresses, palaces, costumes, dwellings, -furniture, and equipments. Its universality, accordingly, expresses -and attests the great moral crisis, at once morbid and sublime, which, -during the whole of the middle ages, exalted, and at the same time -disordered, the human intellect.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_12" id="Footnote_1_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_12"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Rome, thirty years B. C,</i> by Victor Durny.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_13" id="Footnote_2_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_13"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Andre le Chapelain.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h4> - - -<p>Human institutions, like living bodies, are made and unmade by their -own forces; and their health passes away or their cure is effected -by the sole effect of their nature and their situation. Among these -feudal chiefs who ruled and plundered men in the middle-ages one was -found in each country, stronger, more politic, and better placed than -others, who constituted himself conservator of public order; sustained -by public sentiment, he by degrees weakened and subdued, subordinated -and rallied the others, and, organizing a systematic obedient -administration, became under the name of king the head of the nation. -Towards the fifteenth century, the barons, formerly his equals, were -only his officers, and towards the seventeenth century they were simply -his courtiers.</p> - -<p>Note the significance of this term. A courtier is a member of the -king's court; that is to say, a person charged with some function or -domestic duty in the palace—either chamberlain, equerry, or gentleman -of the antechamber—receiving a salary, and addressing his master with -all the deference and ceremonial obsequiousness proper to such an -employment. But this person is not a valet, as in oriental monarchies, -for his ancestor, the grandfather of his grandfather, was the equal, -the companion, the peer of the king; and on this account he himself -belongs to a privileged class, that of noblemen. He does not serve -his prince solely through personal interest; his devotion to him is a -point of honor. The prince in his turn never neglects to treat him with -consideration. Louis XIV. threw his cane out of the window in order not -to be tempted to strike Lauzun, who had offended him. The courtier is -honored by his master, and regarded as one of his society. He lives in -familiarity with him, dances at his balls, dines at his table, rides -in the same carriage, sits in the same chairs, and frequents the same -<i>salon.</i> From such a basis court life arose; first in Italy and Spain, -subsequently in France, and afterwards in England, in Germany, and in -the north of Europe. France was its centre, and Louis XIV. gave to it -its principal <i>éclat.</i></p> - -<p>Let us study the effect of this new state of things on minds and -characters. The kings <i>salon</i> is the first in the country, and is -frequented by the most select society; the most admired personage, -therefore, the accomplished man whom everybody accepts for a model, is -the nobleman enjoying familiarity with his sovereign. This nobleman -entertains generous sentiments; he believes himself of a superior -race, and he says to himself, <i>noblesse oblige.</i> He is more sensitive -than other men on the point of honor, and freely risks his life at the -slightest insult. Under Louis XIII. four thousand noblemen were killed -in duels. Contempt of danger, in the eyes of this nobleman, is the -first obligation of a soul nobly born. The dandy, the worldling, so -choice of his ribbons, so careful of his perruque, is ready to encamp -in Flanders mud, and expose himself to bullets for hours together at -Neerwinden. When Luxembourg announces that he is about to give battle, -Versailles is deserted; all these young perfumed gallants hasten off -to the army as if they were going to a ball. Finally, and through a -remnant of the spirit of ancient feudalism, our nobleman regards the -monarch as his natural legitimate chief: he knows he is bound to him, -as the vassal formerly was to his suzerain, and at need will give -him his blood, his property, and his life. Under Louis XYI. noblemen -voluntarily placed themselves at the king's disposal, and on the 10th -of August many were slain in his behalf.</p> - -<p>But they are nevertheless courtiers, that is to say, men of the world, -and in this respect perfectly polite. The King himself sets them an -example. Louis XIV. even doffed his hat to a chambermaid, and the -Memoirs of St. Simon mention a duke who saluted so frequently that he -was obliged to cross the courts of Versailles bareheaded. The courtier, -for the same reason, is accomplished in all that appertains to good -breed-ins; language never fails him in difficult circumstances; he -is a diplomat, master of himself, an adept in the art of disguising, -concealing, flattering and managing others, never giving offence, and -often pleasing. All these qualifications and these sentiments proceed -from an aristocratic spirit refined by the usages of society; they -attain to perfection in this court and in this century. Anybody of -the present time disposed to admire the choice flowers of this lost -and delicate species need not look for them in our equalized, rude -and mixed society, but must turn to the elegant, formal, monumental -parterres in which they formerly flourished.</p> - -<p>You can imagine that people so constituted must have chosen pleasures -appropriate to their character. Their taste, indeed, like their -persons, was noble; for they were not only noble by birth, but also -through their sentiments; and correct because they were educated to -practise and respect what was becoming to them. It was this taste -which, in the seventeenth century, fashioned all their works of -art—the serious, elevated, severe productions of Poussin and Lesueur, -the grave, pompous, elaborate architecture of Mansart and Perrault, -and the stately symmetrical gardens of LeNotre. You will find its -traces in the furniture, costumes, house decoration, and carriages of -the engravings and paintings of Perelle, Sebastian Leclerc, Eigaud, -Nanteuil, and many others. Versailles, with its groups of well-bred -gods, its symmetrical alleys, its my theological water-works, its -large artificial basins, its trimmed and pruned trees modelled into -architectural designs, is a masterpiece in this direction; all its -edifices and parterres, everything belonging to it, was constructed -for men solicitous about their dignity, and strict observers of the -recognized standard of social propriety. But the imprint is still -more visible in the literature of the epoch. Never in France or in -Europe has the art of fine writing been carried to such perfection. -The greatest of French authors, as you are aware, belong to this -epoch—Bossuet, Pascal, La Fontaine, Molière, Corneille, Racine, La -Rochefoucauld, Madame de Sévigné, Boileau, La Bruyère, Bourdalone, and -others. Great men not only wrote well, but almost everybody; Courier -asserted that a chambermaid of those days knew more about style than -a modern academy. In fact, a good style at that time pervaded the -air, people unconsciously inhaling it; it prevailed in correspondence -and in conversation; the court taught it; it entered into the ways of -people of the world. The man who aimed to be polished and correct in -deportment, got to be so likewise in the attributes of language and -of style. Among so many branches of literature there is one, tragedy, -which reached a singular degree of perfection, and which more than -all the rest furnishes at that time the most striking example of the -concordance which links together man and his works, manners and the -arts.</p> - -<p>The general features of this tragedy first claim attention; they are -all calculated to please noblemen and members of the court. The poet -does not fail in the blandishment, of truth, which by its nature is -often crude; he allows no murders on the stage; he disguises brutality -and repudiates violence, such as blows, butcheries, yells, and groans, -everything that might offend the senses of a spectator accustomed to -moderation and the elegancies of the <i>salon.</i> For the same reason he -excludes disorder, never abandoning himself to the caprices of fancy -and imagination like Shakespeare; his plan is regular, he admits no -unforeseen incidents, no romantic poesy. He elaborates his scenes, -explains entrances, graduates the interest of his piece, prepares -the way for sudden turns of fortune, and skilfully anticipates and -directs dénouements. Finally, he diffuses throughout the dialogue, -like a uniform brilliant varnish, a studied versification composed -of the choicest terms and the most harmonious rhymes. If we seek the -costume of this drama in the engravings of the time we find heroes -and princesses appearing in furbelows, embroideries, bootees, swords -and plumes—a dress, in short, Greek in name, but French in taste and -fashion; such as the king, the dauphin, and the princesses paraded in, -to the music of violins, at the court performances of ballets.</p> - -<p>Note, moreover, that all his personages are courtiers, kings and -queens, princes and princesses of royal blood, ambassadors, ministers, -officers of the guard, <i>menins,</i><a name="FNanchor_1_14" id="FNanchor_1_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_14" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> dependants and confidants. The -associates of princes are not here, as in ancient Greek tragedy, -slaves of the palace and nurses born under their master's roof, but -ladies-in-waiting, equerries, and gentlemen of the antechamber, -charged with certain duties in the royal household; we readily detect -this in their conversational ability, in their skill in flattery, in -their perfect education, in their exquisite deportment, and in their -monarchical sentiments as subjects and vassals. Their masters, like -themselves, are French noblemen of the seventeenth century, proud -and courteous, heroic in Corneille and noble in Racine; they are -gallants with the ladies, faithful to their name and race, capable of -sacrificing their dearest interests and strongest affections to their -honor, and incapable of uttering a word or an act which the most rigid -courtesy would not authorize. Iphigenia, in Racine, delivered up by her -father to her executioners, does not regret life, weeping like a girl, -as in Euripides, but thinks it her duty to obey her father and her king -without a murmur, and to die without shedding a tear, because she is a -princess. Achilles, who in Homer stamps, still unappeased, on the body -of the dying Hector, feeling like a lion or wolf, as if he would "eat -the raw flesh" of his vanquished antagonist, is, in Racine, a Prince of -Condé, at once brilliant and seductive, passionate concerning honor, -devoted to the fair, impetuous, it is true, and irritable, but with -the reserved vivacity of a young officer who, even when most excited, -maintains good breeding and never stoops to brutality. All these -characters are models of polite address, and show a knowledge of the -world never at fault. Head, in Racine, the first dialogue of <i>Oreste</i> -and <i>Pyrrhus,</i> and the whole of the part of <i>Acomat</i> and of <i>Ulysse;</i> -nowhere is greater tact or oratorical dexterity apparent; nowhere -more ingenious compliments and flatteries, exordiums so well poised, -such a quick revelation, such an ingenious adjustment, such a delicate -insinuation of appropriate motives. The wildest and most impetuous -lovers—<i>Hippolyte, Britannicus, Pyrrhus, Oreste,</i> and <i>Xipharès</i> -—are accomplished cavaliers who turn a madrigal and bow with the -utmost deference. However violent their passions may be, <i>Hermione, -Andromaqne, Boxane,</i> and <i>Bérénice,</i> preserve the tone of the best -society. <i>Mithridate, Phèdre,</i> and <i>Athalie,</i> when expiring, express -themselves in correct periods, for a prince has to be a prince to the -last, and die in due form. This drama might be called a perfect picture -of the fashionable world. Like Gothic architecture, it represents a -positive complete side of the human mind, and this is why, like that, -it has become so universal. It has been imported into, or imitated by, -along with its accompanying taste, literature, and manners, every court -of Europe—in England, after the restoration of the Stuarts; in Spain, -on the advent of the Bourbons; and in Italy, Germany, and Russia, in -the eighteenth century. We are warranted in saying that at this epoch -France was the educator of Europe; she was the source from which was -derived all that was elegant and agreeable, whatever was proper in -style, delicate in ideas, and perfect in the art of social intercourse. -If a savage Muscovite, a dull German, a stolid Englishman, or any -other uncivilized or half-civilized man of the North quit his brandy, -pipe, and furs, his feudal or hunting or rural life, it was to French -<i>salons</i> and to French books he betook himself, in order to acquire the -arts of politeness, urbanity, and conversation.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_14" id="Footnote_1_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_14"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Foster-brother, school-companion, or other intimate of -this class.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII.</a></h4> - - -<p>This brilliant society did not last; it was its own development -which caused its dissolution. The government being absolute, ended -in becoming negligent and tyrannical; and, besides this, the king -bestowed the best offices and the greatest favor only on such of the -nobles of his court as enjoyed his intimacy. This appeared unjust to -the <i>bourgeoisie</i> and to the people, who, having greatly increased -in numbers, wealth and intelligence, felt their power augment in -proportion to the growth of their discontent. The French Revolution was -accordingly their work; and after ten years of trial they established -a system of democracy and equality, in which, according to a fixed -order of promotion, all civil employments were ordinarily accessible -to everybody. The wars of the empire and the contagion of example -gradually spread this system beyond the frontiers of France, and -whatever may be local differences and temporary delays, it is now -evident that the tendency of the whole of Europe is to imitate it. The -new construction of society, coupled with the invention of industrial -machinery, and the great abatement of rudeness in manners and customs, -has changed the condition as well as the character of man. Henceforth, -man is exempt from arbitrary measures, and is protected by a good -police. However lowly born, all careers are open to him; an enormous -increase of useful articles, places within reach of the poorest, -conveniences and pleasures of which, two centuries ago, the rich were -entirely ignorant. Again, the rigor of authority is mitigated, both -in society and in the family; a father is now the companion of his -children, and the citizen has become the equal of the noble. Human -life, in short, displays a lesser degree of misery, and a lighter -degree of oppression.</p> - -<p>But, as a counterpart of this, Ave see ambition and cupidity spreading -their wings. Accustomed to comfort and luxuries, and obtaining here and -there glimpses of happiness, man begins to regard happiness and comfort -as his due. The more he obtains, the more exacting he becomes, and the -more his pretensions exceed his acquisitions. The practical sciences -also having made great progress, and instruction being diffused, -liberated thought abandons itself to all daring enterprises; hence it -happens that men, relinquishing the traditions which formerly regulated -their beliefs, deem themselves capable, through intellect alone, of -attaining to the highest truths. Questions of every kind are mooted, -moral, political and religious; men seek knowledge by groping their -way in every direction. For fifty years past we behold this strange -conflict of systems and sects, each tendering us new creeds and perfect -theories of happiness.</p> - -<p>Such a state of things has a wonderful effect on minds and ideas. -The representative man, that is to say, the character who occupies -the stage, and to whom the spectators award the most interest and -sympathy, is the melancholy, ambitious dreamer—René, Faust, Werther -and Manfred—a yearning heart, restless, wandering and incurably -miserable. And he is miserable for two reasons. In the first place he -is over-sensitive, too easily affected by the lesser evils of life; he -has too great a craving for delicate and blissful sensations; he is -too much accustomed to comfort; he has not had the semi-feudal and -semi-rustic education of our ancestors; he has not been roughly handled -by his father, whipped at college, obliged to maintain respectful -silence in the presence of great personages, and had his mental growth -retarded by domestic discipline; he has not been compelled, as in -ancient times, to use his own arm and sword to protect himself, to -travel on horseback, and to sleep in disagreeable lodgings. In the soft -atmosphere of modern comfort and of sedentary habits, he has become -delicate, nervous, excitable, and less capable of accommodating himself -to the course of life which always exacts effort and imposes trouble.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, he is skeptical. Society and religion both being -disturbed—in the midst of a pêle-mêle of doctrines and an irruption -of new theories—his precocious judgment, too rapidly instructed, -and too soon unbridled, precipitates him early and blindly off the -beaten track made smooth for his fathers by habit, and which they -have trodden, led on by tradition and governed by authority. All the -barriers which served as guides to minds having fallen, he rushes -forward into the vast, confusing field which is opened out before his -eyes; impelled by almost superhuman ambition and curiosity he darts off -in the pursuit of absolute truth and infinite happiness. Neither love, -glory, knowledge nor power, as we find these in this world, can satisfy -him; the intemperance of his desires, irritated by the incompleteness -of his conquests and by the nothingness of his enjoyments, leaves -him prostrate amid the ruins of his own nature, without his jaded, -enfeebled, impotent imagination being able to represent to him the -<i>beyond</i> which he covets, and the unknown <i>what</i> which he has not. -This evil has been styled the great malady of the age. Forty years -ago it was in full force, and under the apparent frigidity or gloomy -impassibility of the positive mind of the present day it still subsists.</p> - -<p>I have not the time to show you the innumerable effects of a like state -of mind on works of art. You may trace them in the great development of -the lyrical, sentimental and philosophical poetry of France, Germany -and England; again, in the corruption and enrichment of language and -in the invention of new classes and of new characters in literature; -in the style and sentiments of all the great modern writers, from -Chateaubriand to Balzac, from Goethe to Heine, from Cowper to Byron, -and from Alfieri to Leopardi. You will find analogous symptoms in the -arts of design if you observe their feverish, tortured and painfully -archeological style, their aim at dramatic effect, psychological -expression, and local fidelity; if you observe the confusion which has -befogged the schools and injured their processes; if you pay attention -to the countless gifted minds who, shaken by new emotions, have opened -out new ways; if you analyze the profound sympathy for scenery which -has given birth to a complete and original landscape art. But there -is another art, Music, which has suddenly reached an extraordinary -development. This development is one of the salient characteristics of -our epoch, and the dependence of this on the modern mind, the ties by -which they are connected, I shall endeavor to point out to you.</p> - -<p>This art was born, and necessarily, in two countries where people -sing naturally, Italy and Germany. It was gestating for a century and -a half in Italy, from Palestrina to Pergolese, as formerly painting -from Giotto to Massaccio, discovering processes and feeling its -way in order to acquire its resources. At the commencement of the -eighteenth century it suddenly burst forth, with Scarlatti, Marcello -and Handel. This is a most remarkable epoch. Painting at this time -ceased to nourish in Italy, and in the midst of political stagnation, -voluptuous, effeminate customs prevailed, furnishing an assembly of -sigisbés, Lindors and amorous ladies for the roulades and tender -sentimental scenes of the opera. Grave, ponderous Germany, at that time -the latest in acquiring self-consciousness, now succeeds in displaying -the severity and grandeur of its religious sentiment, its profound -knowledge, and its vague melancholy instincts in the sacred music of -Sebastian Bach, anticipating the evangelical epic of Klopstock. Tn the -old and in the new nation the reign and expression of <i>sentiment</i> is -beginning. Between the two, half-Germanic and half-Italian, is Austria, -conciliating the two spirits, producing Haydn, Gluck and Mozart. Music -now becomes cosmopolite and universal on the confines of that great -mental convulsion of souls styled the French Revolution, as formerly -painting under the impulse of the great intellectual revival known -under the name of the Renaissance. We need not be astonished at the -appearance of this new art, for it corresponds to the appearance of a -new genius—that of the ruling, morbid, restless, ardent character I -have attempted to portray for you. It is to this spirit that Beethoven, -Mendelssohn and Weber formerly addressed themselves, and to which -Meyerbeer, Berlioz and Verdi are now striving to accommodate themselves.</p> - -<p>Music is the organ of this over-refined excessive sensibility and -vague boundless aspiration; it is expressly designed for this service, -and no art so well performs its task. And this is so because, on the -one hand, music is founded on a more or less remote imitation of a cry -which is the natural, spontaneous, complete expression of passion, and -which, affecting us through a corporeal stimulus, instantly arouses -involuntary sympathy, so that the tremulous delicacy of every nervous -being finds in it its impulse, its echo, and its ministrant. On the -other hand, founded on relationships of sounds which represent no -living form, and which, especially in instrumental music, seem to be -the reveries of an incorporeal soul, it is better adapted than any -other art to express floating thoughts, formless dreams, objectless -limitless desires, the grandiose and dolorous mazes of a troubled heart -which aspires to all and is attached to nothing. This is why, along -with the discontent, the agitations, and the hopes of modern democracy, -music has left its natal countries and diffused itself over all Europe; -and why you see at the present time the most complicated symphonies -attracting crowds in France, where, thus far, the national music has -been reduced to the song and the melodies of the Vaudeville.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IX" id="IX">IX.</a></h4> - - -<p>The foregoing illustrations, gentlemen, seem to me sufficient to -establish the law governing the character and creation of works of -art. And not only do they establish it, but they accurately define -it. In the beginning of this section I stated that <i>the work of art -is determined by an aggregate which is the general state of the mind -and surrounding manners.</i> We may now advance another step, and note -precisely in their order each link of the chain, connecting together -cause and effect.</p> - -<p>In the various illustrations we have considered, you have remarked -first, a <i>general situation,</i> in other words, a certain universal -condition of good or evil, one of servitude or of liberty, a state of -wealth or of poverty, a particular form of society, a certain species -of religious faith; in Greece, the free martial city, with its slaves; -in the middle ages, feudal oppression, invasion and brigandage, and -an exalted phase of Christianity; the court life of the seventeenth -century; the industrial and studied democracy of the nineteenth, guided -by the sciences; in short, a group of circumstances controlling man, -and to which he is compelled to resign himself.</p> - -<p>This situation developes in man corresponding needs, distinct -<i>aptitudes</i> and <i>special sentiments</i>—physical activity, a tendency -to revery; here rudeness, and there refinement; at one time a martial -instinct, at another conversational talent, at another a love of -pleasure, and a thousand other complex and varied peculiarities. In -Greece we see physical perfection and a balance of faculties which no -manual or cerebral excess of life deranges; in the middle ages, the -intemperance of over-excited imaginations and the delicacy of feminine -sensibility; in the seventeenth century, the polish and good-breeding -of society and the dignity of aristocratic <i>salons</i>; and in modern -times, the grandeur of unchained ambitions and the morbidity of -unsatisfied yearnings.</p> - -<p>Now, this group of sentiments, aptitudes and needs, constitutes, when -concentrated in one person and powerfully displayed by him, <i>the -representative man,</i> that is to say, a model character to whom his -contemporaries award all their admiration and all their sympathy; -there is, for instance, in Greece, the naked youth, of a fine race and -accomplished in all bodily exercise; in the middle ages, the ecstatic -monk and the amorous knight; in the seventeenth century, the perfect -courtier; and in our days, the melancholy insatiable Faust or Werther.</p> - -<p>Moreover, as this personage is the most captivating, the most important -and the most conspicuous of all, it is he whom artists present to the -public, now concentrated in an ideal personage, when their art, like -painting, sculpture, the drama, the romance or the epic, is imitative; -now, dispersed in its elements, as in architecture and in music, -where art excites emotions without incarnating them. All their labor, -therefore, may be summed up as follows: they either represent this -character, or address themselves to it; the symphonies of Beethoven -and the "storied windows" of cathedrals are addressed to it; and it -is represented in the Niobe group of antiquity and in the Agamemnon -and Achilles of Racine. <i>All art, therefore, depends on it,</i> since the -whole of art is applied only to conform to, or to express it.</p> - -<p>A general situation, provoking tendencies and special faculties; -a representative man, embodying these predominant tendencies and -faculties; sounds, forms, colors, or language giving this character -sensuous form, or which comport with the tendencies and faculties -comprising it, such are the four terms of the series; the first carries -with it the second, the second the third, and the third the fourth, -so that the slightest variation of either involves a corresponding -variation in those that follow, and reveals a corresponding variation -in those that precede it, permitting abstract reasoning in either -direction in an ascending or descending scale of progression.<a name="FNanchor_1_15" id="FNanchor_1_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_15" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> As far -as I am capable of judging, this formula embraces everything. If, now, -we insert between these diverse terms the accessory causes occurring -to modify their effects; if, in order to explain the sentiments of -an epoch, we add an examination of race to that of the social medium; -if, in order to explain the works of art of any age, we consider, -besides the prevailing tendencies of that age, the particular period of -the art, and the particular sentiments of each artist, we shall then -derive from the law not only the great revolutions and general forms -of man's imagination, but, again, the differences between national -schools, the incessant variations of various styles, and the original -characteristics of the works of every great master. Thus followed out, -such an explanation will be complete, since it furnishes at once the -general traits of each school, and the distinctive traits which, in -this school, characterize individuals. We are about to enter upon this -study in relation to Italian art; it is a long and difficult task, and -I have need of your attention in order to pursue it to the end.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_15" id="Footnote_1_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_15"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This law may be applied to the study of all literatures -and to every art. The student may begin with the fourth term, -proceeding from this to the first, strictly adhering to the order of -the series.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="X" id="X">X.</a></h4> - - -<p>Before proceeding further, gentlemen, there is a practical and personal -conclusion due to our researches, and which is applicable to the -present order of things.</p> - -<p>You have observed that each situation produces a certain state of -mind followed by a corresponding class of works of art. This is why -every new situation must produce a new state of mind, and consequently -a new class of works; and therefore why the social medium of the -present day, now in the course, of formation, ought to produce its own -works like the social mediums that have gone before it. This is not -a simple supposition based on the current of desire and of hope; it -is the result of a law resting on the authority of experience and on -the testimony of history. From the moment a law is established it is -good for all time; the connections of things in the present, accompany -connections of things in the past and in the future. Accordingly, -it need not be said in these days that art is exhausted. It is true -that certain schools no longer exist and can no longer be revived; -that certain arts languish, and that the future upon which we are -entering does not promise to furnish the aliment that these require. -But art itself, which is the faculty of perceiving and expressing the -leading character of objects, is as enduring as the civilization of -which it is the best and earliest fruit. What its forms will be, and -which of the five great arts will provide the A'ehicle of expression -of future sentiment, we are not called upon to decide we have the -right to affirm that new forms will arise, and an appropriate mould -be found in which to cast them. We have only to open our eyes to see -a change going on in the condition of men, and consequently in their -minds, so profound, so universal, and so rapid that no other century -has witnessed the like of it. The three causes that have formed the -modern mind continue to operate with increasing efficacy. You are -all aware that discoveries in the positive sciences are multiplying -daily; that geology, organic chemistry, history, entire branches of -physics and zoology, are contemporary productions; that the growth of -experience is infinite, and the applications of discovery unlimited; -that means of communication and transport, cultivation, trade, -mechanical contrivances, all the elements of human power, are yearly -spreading and concentrating beyond all expectation. None of you are -ignorant that the political machine works smoother in the same sense; -that communities, becoming more rational and humane, are watchful of -internal order, protecting talent, aiding the feeble and the poor; -in short, that everywhere, and in every way, man is cultivating his -intellectual faculties and ameliorating his social condition. We cannot -accordingly deny that men's habits, ideas and condition transform -themselves, nor reject this consequence, that such renewal of minds and -things brings along with it a renewal of art. The first period of this -evolution gave rise to the glorious French school of 1830; it remains -for us to witness the second—the field which is open to your ambition -and your labor. On its very threshold, you have a right to augur well -of your century and of yourselves; for the patient study we have -just terminated shows you that to produce beautiful works, the sole -condition necessary is that which the great Goethe indicated: "Fill -your mind and heart, however large, with ideas and sentiments of your -age, and work will follow."</p> - - -<p>THE END.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Philosophy of Art, by Hippolyte Taine - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHY OF ART *** - -***** This file should be named 52980-h.htm or 52980-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/9/8/52980/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, alo linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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