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coincide with the views in which this Periodical is established,

and who may feel desirous of contributing such papers—will

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If Painting and Sculpture delight us like other works of

ingenuity, merely from the difficulties they surmount; like an

‘egg in a bottle,’ a tree made out of stone, or a face made of

pigment; and the pleasure we receive, is our wonder at the

achievement; then, to such as so believe, this treatise is not written.

But if, as the writer conceives, works of Fine Art delight us by the

interest the objects they depict excite in the beholder, just as those

objects in nature would excite his interest; if by any association of

ideas in the one case, by the same in the other, without reference to

the representations being other than the objects they represent:—

then, to such as so believe, the following upon ‘SUBJECT’ is

addressed. Whilst, at the same time, it is not disallowed that a

subsequent pleasure may and does result, upon reflecting that the

objects contemplated were the work of human ingenuity.

Now the subject to be treated, is the ‘subject’ of Painter and

Sculptor; what ought to be the nature of that ‘subject,’ how far

that subject may be drawn from past or present time with advantage,

how far the subject may tend to confer upon its embodiment the

title, ‘High Art,’ how far the subject may tend to confer upon its

embodiment the title ‘Low Art;’ what is ‘High Art,’ what is

‘Low Art’?

To begin then (at the end) with ‘High Art.’ However we

may differ as to facts, the principle will be readily granted, that

‘High Art,’ i. e. Art, par excellence, Art, in its most exalted

character, addresses pre-eminently the highest attributes of man,

viz.: his mental and his moral faculties.

‘Low Art,’ or Art in its less exalted character, is that which

addresses the less exalted attributes of man, viz.: his mere sensory

faculties, without affecting the mind or heart, excepting through the

volitional agency of the observer.

These definitions are too general and simple to be disputed; but

before we endeavour to define more particularly, let us analyze the

subject, and see what it will yield.

All the works which remain to us of the Ancients, and this

appears somewhat remarkable, are, with the exception of those by

incompetent artists, universally admitted to be ‘High Art.’ Now

do we afford them this high title, because all remnants of the

antique world, by tempting a comparison between what was, and

is, will set the mental faculties at work, and thus address the highest attributes of man? Or, as this is owing to the agency of

the observer, and not to the subject represented, are we to seek for

the cause in the subjects themselves!

Let us examine the subjects. They are mostly in sculpture; but

this cannot be the cause, unless all modern sculpture be considered

‘High Art.’ This is leaving out of the question in both ages, all

works badly executed, and obviously incorrect, of which there are

numerous examples both ancient and modern.

The subjects we find in sculpture are, in “the round,” mostly

men or women in thoughtful or impassioned action: sometimes they

are indeed acting physically; but then, as in the Jason adjusting

his Sandal, acting by mechanical impulse, and thinking or looking

in another direction. In relievo we have an historical combat,

such as that between the Centaurs and Lapithæ; sometimes a group

in conversation, sometimes a recitation of verses to the Lyre; a

dance, or religious procession.

As to the first class in “the round,” as they seem to appeal to

the intellectual, and often to the moral faculties, they are naturally,

and according to the broad definition, works of ‘High Art.’ Of

the relievo, the historical combat appeals to the passions; and,

being historical, probably to the intellect. The like may be said of

the conversational groups, and lyrical recitation which follow. The

dance appeals to the passions and the intellect ; since the intellect

recognises therein an order and design, her own planning; while

the solemn, modest demeanour in the religious procession speaks to

the heart and the mind. The same remarks will apply to the few

ancient paintings we possess, always excluding such merely deco-

rative works as are not fine art at all.

Thus it appears that all these works of the ancients might rationally

have been denominated works of ‘High Art;’ and here we remark

the difference between the hypothetical or rational, and the historical

account of facts; for though here is reason enough why ancient art

might have been denominated ‘High Art,’ that it was so denomi-

nated on this account, is a position not capable of proof: whereas,

in all probability, the true account of the matter runs thus—The

works of antiquity awe us by their time-hallowed presence; the

mind is sent into a serious contemplation of things; and, the subject

itself in nowise contravening, we attribute all this potent effect to

the agency of the subject before us, and ‘High Art,’ it becomes

then and for ever, with all such as “follow its cut.” But then as

this was so named, not from the abstract cause, but from a result and

effect ; when a new work is produced in a similar spirit, but clothed

in a dissimilar matter, and the critics have to settle to what class of art it belongs,—then is the new work dragged up to fight with

the old one, like the poor beggar Irus in front of Ulysses; then are

they turned over and applied, each to each, like the two triangles in

Euclid; and then, if they square, fit and tally in every quarter—

with the nude to the draped in the one, as the nude to the draped

in the other—with the standing to the sitting in the one, as the

standing to the sitting in the other—with the fat to the lean in the

one, as the fat to the lean in the other—with the young to the old

in the one, as the young to the old in the other—with head to body,

as head to body; and nose to knee, as nose to knee, &c. &c., (and

the critics have done a great deal)—then is the work oracularly

pronounced one of ‘High Art;’ and the obsequious artist is

pleased to consider it is.

But if, per contra, as in the former case, the works are not to be

literally reconciled, though wrought in the self-same spirit; then

this unfortunate creature of genius is degraded into a lower rank of

art; and the artist, if he have faith in the learned, despairs; or, if

he have none, he swears. But listen, an artist speaks: “If I have

genius to produce a work in the true spirit of high art, and yet am

so ignorant of its principles, that I scarce know whereon the success

of the work depends, and scarcely whether I have succeeded or no;

with this ignorance and this power, what needs your knowledge or

your reasoning, seeing that nature is all-sufficient, and produces a

painter as she produces a plant?” To the artist (the last of his

race), who spoke thus, it is answered, that science is not meant for

him, if he like it not, seeing he can do without it, and seeing, more-

over, that with it alone he can never do. Science here does not

make; it unmakes, wonderingly to find the making of what God has

made—of what God has made through the poet, leading him blindly

by a path which he has not known; this path science follows slowly

and in wonder. But though science is not to make the artist, there

is no reason in nature that the artist reject it. Still, science is pro-

perly the birthright of the critic; 'tis his all in all. It shows him

poets, painters, sculptors, his fellow men, often his inferiors in their

want of it, his superiors in the ability to do what he cannot do;

it teaches him to love them as angels bringing him food which he

cannot attain, and to venerate their works as a gift from the

Creator.

But to return to the critical errors relating to ‘High Art.’

While the constituents of high art were unknown, whilst its

abstract principles were unsought, and whilst it was only recognized

in the concrete, the critics, certainly guilty of the most unpardon-

able blindness, blundered up to the masses of ‘High Art,’ left by antiquity, saying, “there let us fix our observatory,” and here came

out perspective glass, and callipers and compasses; and here they

made squares and triangles, and circles, and ellipses, for, said they,

“this is ‘High Art,’ and this hath certain proportions;” then in

the logic of their hearts, they continued, “all these proportions we

know by admeasurement, whatsoever hath these is ‘High Art,’

whatsoever hath not, is ‘Low Art.’ This was as certain as the

fact that the sun is a globe of glowing charcoal, because forsooth

they both yield light and heat. Now if the phantom of a then

embryon-electrician had arisen and told them that their “high art

marbles possessed an electric influence, which, acting in the brain

of the observer, would awake in him emotions of so exalted a

character, that he forthwith, inevitably nodding at them, must utter

the tremendous syllables ‘High Art;’” he, the then embryon-

electrician, from that age withheld to bless and irradiate the

physiology of ours, would have done something more to the purpose

than all the critics and the compasses.

Thus then we see, that the antique, however successfully it may have

wrought, is not our model; for, according to that faith demanded

at setting out, fine art delights us from its being the semblance of

what in nature delights. Now, as the artist does not work by the

instrumentality of rule and science, but mainly by an instinctive

impulse; if he copy the antique, unable as he is to segregate the

merely delectable matter, he must needs copy the whole, and

thereby multiply models, which the casting-man can do equally

well; whereas if he copy nature, with a like inability to distinguish

that delectable attribute which allures him to copy her, and under the

same necessity of copying the whole, to make sure of this “tenant

of nowhere;” we then have the artist, the instructed of nature,

fulfilling his natural capacity, while his works we have as manifold

yet various as nature's own thoughts for her children.

But reverting to the subject, it was stated at the beginning that

‘Fine Art’ delights, by presenting us with objects, which in nature

delight us; and ‘High Art’ was defined, that which addresses the

intellect; and hence it might appear, as delight is an emotion of

the mind, that ‘Low Art,’ which addresses the senses, is not Fine

Art at all. But then it must be remembered, that it was neither

stated of ‘Fine Art,’ nor of ‘High Art,’ that it always

delights; and again, that delight is not entirely mental. To point

out the confines of high and low art, where the one terminates and

the other commences, would be difficult, if not impracticable without

sub-defining or circumscribing the import of the terms, pain,

pleasure, delight, sensory, mental, psychical, intellectual, objective, subjective, &c. &c.; and then, as little or nothing would be gained

mainly pertinent to the subject, it must be content to receive no

better definitions than those broad ones already laid down, with

their latitude somewhat corrected by practical examples. Yet

before proceeding to give these examples, it might be remarked of

‘High Art,’ that it always might, if it do not always excite some

portion of delight, irrespective of that subsequent delight consequent

upon the examination of a curiosity; that its function is sometimes,

with this portion of delight, to commingle grief or distress, and that

it may, (though this is not its function,) excite mental anguish, and

by a reflex action, actual body pain. Now then to particularize,

by example; let us suppose a perfect and correct painting of a stone,

a common stone such as we walk over. Now although this subject

might to a religious man, suggest a text of scripture; and to the

geologist a theory of scientific interest; yet its general effect upon

the average number of observers will be readily allowed to be more

that of wonder or admiration at a triumph over the apparently

impossible (to make a round stone upon a flat piece of canvass) than

at aught else the subject possesses. Now a subject such as this

belongs to such very low art, that it narrowly illudes precipitation

over the confines of Fine Art ; yet, that it is Fine Art is indis-

putable, since no mere mechanic artisan, or other than one specially

gifted by nature, could produce it. This then shall introduce us to

“Subject.” This subject then, standing where fine art gradually

confines with mechanic art, and almost midway between them; of

no use nor beauty; but to be wondered at as a curiosity; is a subject

of scandalous import to the artist, to the artist thus gifted by nature

with a talent to reproduce her fleeting and wondrous forms. But

if, as the writer doubts, nature could afford a monster so qualified

for a poet, yet destitute of poetical genius; then the scandal attaches

if he attempt a step in advance, or neglect to join himself to those,

a most useful class of mechanic artists, who illustrate the sciences

by drawing and diagram.

But as the subject supposed is one never treated in painting;

only instanced, in fact, to exemplify an extreme; let us consider the

merits of a subject really practical, such as ‘dead game,’ or ‘a

basket of fruit;’ and the first general idea such a subject will

excite is simply that of food, ‘something to eat.’ For though

fruit on the tree, or a pheasant in the air, is a portion of nature and

properly belongs to the section, ‘Landscape,’ a division of art

intellectual enough; yet gather the fruit or bring down the pheasant,

and you presently bring down the poetry with it ; and although

Sterne could sentimentalize upon a dead ass; and though a dead pheasant in the larder, or a dead sheep at a butcher's, may excite

feelings akin to anything but good living; and though they may

there be the excitive causes of poetical, nay, or moral reflexion; yet,

see them on the canvass, and the first and uppermost idea will be

that of ‘ Food,’ and how, in the name of decency, they ever came

there. It will be vain to argue that gathered fruit is only nature

under a certain phase, and that a dead sheep or a dead pheasant is

only a dead animal like a dead ass—it will be pitiably vain and

miserable sophistry, since we know that the dead pheasant in a

picture will always be as food, while the same at he poulterer's will

be but a dead pheasant.

For we have not one only, but numerous general ideas annexed

to every object in nature. Thus one of the series may be that that

object is matter, one that it is individual matter, one that it is

animal matter, one that it is a bird, one that it is a pheasant, one

that it is a dead pheasant, and one that it is food. Now, our

general ideas or notions are not evoked in this order as each new

object addresses the mind; but that general idea is first elicited

which accords with the first or principle destination of the object:

thus the first general idea of a cowry, to the Indian, is that of

money, not of a shell; and our first general idea of a dead pheasant

is that of food, whereas to a zoologist it might have a different effect:

but this is the exception. But it was said, that a dead pheasant in

a picture would always be as food, while the same at the poulterer's

would be but a dead pheasant: what then becomes of the first

general idea? It seems to be disposed of thus: at the first sight of

the shop, the idea is that of food, and next (if you are not hungry,

and poets never are), the mind will be attracted to the species of

animal, and (unless hunger presses) you may be led on to moralize

like Sterne: but, amongst pictures, where there is nothing else to

excite the general ideas of food, this, whenever adverted to, must

over re-excite that idea; and hence it appears that these esculent

subjects might be poetical enough if exhibited all together, i.e., they

must be surrounded with eatables, like a possibly-poetical-pheasant

in a poulterer's shop.

Longer stress has been laid upon this subject, “Still Life,” than

would seem justified by its insignificance, but as this is a branch of

art which has never aspired to be ‘High Art,’ it contains something

definite in its character which makes it better worth the analysis

than might appear at first sight; but still, as a latitude has been

taken in the investigation which is ever unavoidable in the handling

of such mercurial matter as poetry (where one must spread out a

broad definition to catch it wherever it runs), and as this is ever incomprehensible to such as are unaccustomed to abstract thinking,

from the difficulty of educing a rule amidst an infinite array of

exceptions, and of recognising a principle shrouded in the obscurity

of conflicting details; it appears expedient, before pursuing the

question, to reinforce the first broad elementary principles with

what definite modification they may have acquired in their progress

to this point in the argument, together with the additional data

which may have resulted from analytic reference to other correlative

matter.

First then, as Fine Art delights in proportion to the delectating

interest of the objects it depicts, and, as subsequently stated, grieves

or distresses in proportion as the objects are grievous or distressing,

we have this resultant: “Fine Art excites in proportion to the

excitor influence of the object;” and then, that “ fine art excites

either the sensory or the mental faculties, in a like proportion to

the excitor properties of the objects respectively.” Thus then we

have, definitely stated, the powers or capabilities of Fine Art, as

regulated and governed by the objects it selects, and the objects it

selects making its subject. Now the question in hand is, “what

the nature of that subject should be,” but the subject must be ac-

cording to what Fine Art proposes to effect; all then must depend

upon this proposition. For if you propose that Fine Art shall

excite sensual pleasure, then such objects as excite sensual pleasure

should form the subject of Fine Art; and those which excite sensual

pleasure in the highest degree, will form the highest subject —‘High

Art.’ Or if you propose that Fine Art shall excite a physical ener-

getic activity, by addressing the sensory organism, which is a phase

of the former proposition, (for what are popularly called sensual

pleasures, are only particular sensory excitements sought by a phy-

sical appetite, while this sensory-organic activity is physically appe-

tent also,) then the subjects of art ought to be draw form such ob-

jects as excite a general activity, such as field-sports, bull-fights,

battles, executions, court pageants, conflagrations, murders; and

those which most intensely excite this sensory-organic activity, by

expressing most of physical human power or suffering, such as battles,

executions, regality, murder, would afford the highest subject of Fine

Art, and consequently these would be “ High Art.” But if you propose

(with the writer) that Fine Art shall regard the general happiness

of man, but addressing those attributes which are peculiarly human,

by exciting the activity of his rational and benevolent powers (and

the writer would add, man's religious aspirations, but omits it as

sufficiently evolvable from the proposition, and since some well-

willing men cannot at present recognize man as a religious animal), then the subject of Fine Art should be drawn from objects which

address and excite the activity of man's rational and benevolent

powers, such as:—acts of justice—of mercy—good government—

order—acts of intellect—men obviously speaking or thinking ab-

stract thoughts, as evinced by one speaking to another, and looking

at, or indicating, a flower, or a picture, or a star, or by looking on

the wall while speaking—or, if the scene be from a good play, or

story, or another beneficent work, then not only of men in abstract

thought or meditation, but, it may be, in simple conversation, or in

passion—or a simple representation of a person in a play or story,

as of Jacques, Ferdinand, or Cordelia; or, in real life, portraits of

those who are honestly beautiful; or expressive of innocence, happi-

ness, benevolence, or intellectuality, but not of gluttony, wantonness,

anger, hatred, or malevolence, unless in some cases of justifiable

satire—of histrionic or historic portraiture—landscape—natural

phenomena—animals, not indiscriminately—in some cases, grand or

beautiful buildings, even without figures—any scene on sea or land

which induces reflection—all subjects from such parts of history as

are morally or intellectually instructive or attractive—and therefore

pageants—battles—and even executions—all forms of thought and

poetry, however wild, if consistent with rational benevolence—all

scenes serious or comic, domestic or historical—all religious subjects

proposing good that will not shock any reasonable number of reason-

able men—all subjects that leave the artist wiser and happier—and

none which intrinsically act otherwise—to sum all, every thing or

incident in nature which excites, or may be made to excite, the

mind and the heart of man as a mentally intelligent, not as a brute

animal, is a subject for Fine Art, at all times, in all places, and in

all ages. But as all these subjects in nature affect our hearts or our

understanding in proportion to the heart and understanding we

have to apprehend and to love them, those will excite us most

intensely which we know most of and love most. But as we may

learn to know them all and to love them all, and what is dark to-

day may be luminous to-morrow, and things, dumb to-day, to-morrow

grow voiceful, and the strange voice of to-day be plain and reproach

us to-morrow; who shall adventure to say that this or that is the highest?

And if it appear that all these subjects in nature may affect us with

equal intensity, and that the artist's representations affect as the

subjects affect, then it follows, with all these subjects, Fine Art may

affect us equally; but the subjects may all be high; therefore, all

Fine Art may be High Art.

Before any knowledge of painting was brought to Florence, there

were already painters in Lucca, and Pisa, and Arezzo, who feared

God and loved the art. The keen, grave workmen from Greece,

whose trade it was to sell their own works in Italy and teach

Italians to imitate them, had already found rivals of the soil with

skill that could forestall their lessons and cheapen their crucifixes

and addolorate, more years than is supposed before the art came at

all into Florence. The pre-eminence to which Cimabue was raised

at once by his contemporaries, and which he still retains to a wide

extent even in the modern mind, is to be accounted for, partly by

the circumstances under which he arose, and partly by that extra-

ordinary purpose of fortune born with the lives of some few, and

through which it is not a little thing for any who went before, if

they are even remembered as the shadows of the coming of such an

one, and the voices which prepared his way in the wilderness. It is

thus, almost exclusively, that the painters of whom I speak are

now known. They have left little, and but little heed is taken of

that which men hold to have been surpassed; it is gone like time gone

—a track of dust and dead leaves that merely led to the fountain.

Nevertheless, of very late years, and in very rare instances, some

signs of a better understanding have become manifest. A case in

point is that of the tryptic and two cruciform pictures at Dresden,

by Chiaro di Messer Bello dell' Erma, to which the eloquent pam-

phlet of Dr. Aemmster has at length succeeded in attracting the stu-

dents. There is another, still more solemn and beautiful work, now

proved to be by the same hand, in the gallery at Florence. It is

the one to which my narrative will relate.

This Chiaro dell' Erma was a young man of very honorable

family in Arezzo; where, conceiving art almost, as it were, for him-

self, and loving it deeply, he endeavored from early boyhood towards

the imitation of any objects offered in nature. The extreme longing

after a visible embodiment of his thoughts strengthened as his years

increased, more even than his sinews or the blood of his life; until

he would feel faint in sunsets and at the sight of stately persons.

When he had lived nineteen years, he heard of the famous Giunta

Pisano; and, feeling much of admiration, with, perhaps, a little of

that envy which youth always feels until it has learned to measure

success by time and opportunity, he determined that he would seek

out Giunta, and, if possible, become his pupil.

Having arrived in Pisa, he clothed himself in humble apparel,

being unwilling that any other thing than the desire he had for

knowledge should be his plea with the great painter; and then,

leaving his baggage at a house of entertainment, he took his way

along the street, asking whom he met for the lodging of Giunta. It

soon chanced that one of that city, conceiving him to be a stranger

and poor, took him into his house, and refreshed him; afterwards

directing him on his way.

When he was brought to speech of Giunta, he said merely that

he was a student, and that nothing in the world was so much at

his heart as to become that which he had heard told of him with

whom he was speaking. He was received with courtesy and con-

sideration, and shewn into the study of the famous artist. But the

forms he saw ther