Originally published in The Poet's Magazine (Leonard Lloyd) vol.1 #2 (Sep 1876).
Part II.
It has been well said, that when Poetry languishes High Art dies. This induces the question as to the causes which depress or foster Poetry.
And the law may almost be considered universal, that violent commotions, wars, struggles for liberty, and religious convulsions, are the immediate incentives to poetical inspiration. The Trojan war invoked a Homer. The sweet Psalmist of Israel tuned his harp amid revolution, anarchy, and national enterprise. Thermopylæ and Salamis, the memories of national prowess, kindled into song the Grecian Muse. The conquests of Cæsar were antecedent to Virgil. The era of Dante and Petrarch, Chaucer and Gower, succeeded that of the Crusades. What shall be said to the affluence of poetical inspiration which marked the Elizabethan period—when the spirit of chivalry was immortalised in the "Fairie Queene," and Shakespeare wrote for all nations and for all time? Byron and Scott, Wordsworth and Shelley were born at a period of great political excitement, and their youth was passed amid scenes of anarchy and bloodshed. Thus as war inspired the Muse, and as the Muse inspired Art, the epochs enumerated were immediately followed by a revival of the Fine Arts.
But before glancing at the various ways in which the Poetical Element has influenced modern times, it may be well to consider for a moment the position Art held when Paganism was being supplanted by Christianity.
Up to this period Art had been the one purifying influence amid the debasing corruptions of heathen life or barbaric luxury. But when the light of Christianity burst upon the world and exposed the lie of Paganism, Art, associated as it had been, with all that the converts to the new faith abhorred, became an object of aversion. Many centuries elapsed before the natural instincts of human nature, which in proportion to their culture demand an expression, asserted their prerogative and restored the Fine Arts to their true position, to be the exponents of all that was pure, and noble, and holy, in revealed religion, as before they had been the ministers to a lesser and inferior revolution.
The symbols of the heathen gods were supplanted by types and allegories taken from the Bible, which in its Oriental method of teaching by parables supplied an abundance of subjects, and even many allusions to the old mythology admitted of transposition, and retaining their antique forms survived under the new designations. Till the reign of Constantine all expression of Christian art was confined to the catacombs and similar hiding places of the early converts; but when Christianity became the recognised religion of the State, the Fine Arts were again consecrated to religion, and were employed to beautify and adorn the temples erected in her honour, And thus ancient art adapted itself to the forms of Christianity. Even in its first crude efforts (such as the paintings and sculptures in the catacombs) the higher influence of inspired truth opposed to the legends of Paganism, is shown in the peaceful earnestness of the subjects, and in the simple expression of spiritual meaning; in fact, the early utterances of that poetry of religious art, which in after ages found their fullest expression in Giotto, Fra Angelico, and Perujino.
But to give an example of how Pagan art was grafted into the Christian, and influenced it; St. Mark's at Venice may be cited as the most perfect specimen in this respect of harmonious incongruity.
Founded in the 9th century for the express purpose of receiving the relics of St. Mark, abstracted, rather than translated from Alexandria, it has been the constant pride of the Venetian Republic to add to its embellishment. The influence of Greek art is apparent in its construction, and the architects who designed the building are believed to have studied at Constantinople—hence the rise of the Byzantine school. Like Santa Sophia, the plan is that of a Greek cross, covered by five cupolas, to represent the five sacred wounds, the centre dome being of superior size to the others. Heathen and Christian art here strangely intermingled. The four bronze horses (believed to have been cast in the reign of Nero for the triumphal arch erected in his honour, and subsequently removed to Alexandria by Constantine,) are placed on the central portal of the vestibule, which is enriched by Byzantine work, representing Prophets and Evangelists, trades and occupations, mystical figures, and fabulous monsters. And again within this, strange collection of carved imagery, and framed as it were by it is the more modern mosaic of the Last Judgment, executed in 1650. Inserted in the outer walls are curious tablets, the spoils of heathen temples, representing scenes from the Mythology; while five hundred pillars of precious marbles, of which many of the capitals are exquisitely carved with natural foliage, attest at once the lavish use of costly material and the poetic skill of the artist. Within, the building is the same mixture of barbaric wealth, refined taste and religious feeling. Allusion must also be made to the mosaics which enrich every available space, and are admirable examples of that art in every style of era and development, from the early Byzantine to the decline of the Renaissance.
During the first centuries when Christianity was thus struggling with the superstitions of Paganism, the fear of pollution and participation in unhallowed amusement made even the most innocent pleasures appear dangerous to those earnest souls who were striving to convert the world ; so that a severe and monastic influence suppressed the natural emotions. Again, the state of ignorance that succeeded the fall of the Roman empire, prevented all intellectual intercourse, except among the learned few who cultivated the Latin tongue,while these confined their attention to dogmatic teachings and philosophic disputations. But gradually the natural propensities of human nature asserted themselves and required an outlet. In these modern times when the periodical literature of the day allows scope for both pen and pencil to give free expression of opinion and satirical comments upon men and manners, it is difficult to understand how, in the dark ages, these qualities were cribbed and suppressed. And to these causes may be ascribed the introduction of the grotesque and comic element into art. Prior to the Christian era every civilised nation had a literature and a drama, and the spirit of humour found its legitimate expression; but letters being chiefly confined to monastic institutions, the earliest examples of the grotesque with the Poet's element in art are to be found in those illuminated missals which are the glory of the past and the wonder of the present. Wit and humour, as well as reverence and invention found an outlet here, and no cartoon from Punch, no sketch from Figaro, can convey a more satirical commentary upon contemporary manners and customs, than do these illustrations produced by nameless monks in obscure and silent cloisters. To these same causes may also be traced, as its extreme opposite, the ascetic character of early art. And be it remembered, these antagonistic qualities also influenced Sculpture in its combination with Architecture, while there is not a Gothic building yet standing which amid all its deep religious teachings, does not contain humourous allusions or witty sarcasm.
But while the grotesque was allowed, the wild loveliness of Gothic art was never forgotten. Emotional in its simplicity, the true spirit of the Christian religion hallowed natural forms to divine purposes. As under divine inspiration the Jewish Temple was embellished with "palm trees and open flowers" and "wreaths of pomegranates," so in nature, amid all her gentle and manifold creations, the Christian artist sought his subjects. Indeed it is believed that to the interlacing of the branches in an avenue of trees the pointed Gothic owes its origin; and legend still points to a grove near Fountians Abbey, which is believed to have alike served the builders for a model and a shelter during the course of erection.
How exquisite is Gothic tracery! how simple yet complete the carved imagery of capital, corbel, and architrave—in all this luxuriousness of detail—the leaf or flower, now curled in quaint and varied device, now blown gently aside to admit the insect to hover on a feathery spray, or bird to peck at the ripe bunches of fruit, or squirrel to crack the nuts which hang down in clusters from the branches.
Thus, throughout, the emotional character of Art, under the inspiration of Christianity, contrasts with the severe and classic forms of belief of the old world. As prejudice against the Fine Arts subsided, they again became the consecrated handmaids to religion. And thus the emotional character of Christianity produced the best original school, which in architecture is termed the Gothic, and which in painting gave to the South the art of fresco, and to the North that of illumination; influenced for many centuries by the traditions of the Greek School. Byzantine was the earliest outcome in the East of this modern School, while the northern nations instituted the Norman; these two styles met in central Europe, and produced the Lombardic Gothic; which again, under various modifications passed to the North and expanded into Early English, at the same time that in the sunny South it culminated in the Tower of Giotto, at Florence, and inspired the painter to add colour to the noble caskets which were destined to enshrine his more perishable productions.
When allusion is made to painting, so vast a field is spread before the imagination, that any attempt to consider the subject in detail would far exceed the limits of this little sketch; but some reference may be made to three great masters, not only because they excercised unlimited power in their department of art, but also because the works of all three may be studied under the same roof—that of the Sistine Chapel at Rome. To Michael Angelo belongs power, to Raphael fame, to Fra Angelico the religious ideal. In the first nature is violently forced for the creation of a mighty representation; in the second, the perfection of drawing, of colour, and the mechanism of art is everywhere apparent; while in the third, soul speaks to soul, and his tender, holy pencil refines, satisfies and exalts.
The last named comes first in chronological order. Born in 1387, Fra Angelico became at an early age a Dominican monk in St. Mark's, at Florence, which he enriched with many of his noblest efforts. From the beginning to the end of his career, one unvarying principle actuated him; and of all painters, before or since, he is the exponent of the sublimest ideas and gentlest forms that religious art has inspired. He lived in an atmosphere of holiness. Vesari relates that he was wont to say "that the practice of art required repose and holy thoughts, and that he who would depict the acts of Christ, must learn to live with Christ." And his biographer adds, "Some go so far as to say that he never took up his brush without first humbling himself in prayer." As his art was inborn and inspired, so Fra Angelico adapted to his religious feelings the means best suited to their expression. Full of the gentlest emotions, combined with implicit faith, every subject that emanated from his pencil was complete in tenderness, purity, and holy fervour; while his latest productions are as full of vivacity happiness, and imagination as those painted in middle life, when his powers were at maturity.
Michael Angelo stands forth in direct opposition to every characteristic of Fra Angelico, the religious element alone excepted. He lived in stirring times, when liberty of thought and action was struggling with superstition and tyrannical power, and in him is embodied the very Prometheus of the Christian era. With him, it is the fierce struggle of the mortal after immortality, striving to snatch from Heaven the vivifying flame for no selfish aim, no ignoble purpose, and though frustrated and baffled, and beaten back, still unfaltering in his faith in ultimate good, unswerving in the rectitude of his purpose, content to suffer and to endure, yet conscious of a divine power superior to the fate that enthralled him, and in patient trust looking onward to the consummation of his aspirations. In this marvellous Titan the creative element was so strong that every material seemed too weak and puny for his vast conceptions. No plan was large enough for his architectural design,—no wall-space sufficient for the exercise of his brush,—and it is said that he was wont to chisel the marble with such force, that masses were struck off in so reckless a manner, that it appeared incredible that the blow should answer the sculptor's intentions.
To see the full development of his genius in this latter branch of art, Sculpture, reference need only be made to his monuments to the Medicis at Florence. In the statue of Lorenzo it has been observed, that though it bears resemblance to the antique, it rivals those excellencies in which the ancients most excelled—repose and dignity. While the very spirit of Prometheus seems enshrined in those mysterious forms which rest upon the cenotaphs beneath. There, in those four creations—Twilight, Night, Dawn, and Day, appear embodied all thought, all identity; gathering into one complexity the doubts and aspirations of the period in which Michael Angelo lived.
Twilight is represented as calm and unemotional, content to rest upon the traditions of the past, with no aspirations for the future. To this succeeds Sleep, but it is a troubled slumber, the unquiet rest which needs awakening. The tragic mask has fallen from her nerveless grasp, the benumbing poppy entwines her brow, a tortoise lies at her feet,—but Dawn is near—calm in the witness of the mysterious future that gleams dimly through the mists of ignorance, superstition, and tyranny—for have not the purple mountain tops flashed back the rays of the rising sun, and Day appears?—clothed in giant form, basking in inherent light. But here the sculptor feels the impotency of his art, and as his eye cannot meet the sun in his strength, so his daring hand may not give features to the impersonation of Light, and while the limbs are finished with comsumate skill, the features are merely indicated—left vague and indistinct, yet sublime in intention and grand in their incompleteness.
The same qualities which distinguish Michael Angelo as a sculptor are observable in him as a painter; witness his frescoes in the Sistine Chapel: and as an architect, it need hardly be added that he designed St. Peter's at Rome. The fragments of verse left by him explain the intensely poetical and imaginative character of all his artistic productions.
Raphael is so familiarized to all by cartoons and engravings that any reference to his style is superfluous, except to remark, that if the greatest, he was yet the last original painter of religious subjects. It must ever be borne in mind, in considering the subject, the Poetical element in art, that the distinction between the poetical and the prosaic does not consist in technical execution, or in the subject selected, or in the vehicle employed ; but in the sentiment which inspires it. Domenichino can translate a scene from Ovid into literal prose, while Rembrandt may elevate the commonest object into ideal beauty. The homely Dutch housewife with her fair stolid countenance, surrounded by cabbages and onions, burnishing up her pots and pans to the perfection of polish, may be as poetical a production as far as the motive goes as any painting by an Italian master—the handling of the subject lifts it out of common place—the chiaroscuro, the unity of design the harmony of detail, and the exquisite finish combine to satisfy the mind as well as the eye, and it is pronounced a master-piece of art. Thus, while so much is said about specific styles in art, they will be found to arise from these causes—some element of beauty or sentiment is made the means of conveying mental pleasure or moral interest. And in considering the special form of any one of the Fine Arts as distinguished from the rest, the perfection of each will be found, not to depend upon qualities which it has in common with its rival, but from qualities peculiar to itself. All outside influences, such as the character of a nation, school, or individual, the circumstances of climate and of locality, combine to modify style, while it leaves the poetic element unchanged. And the power of manual expression is only limited by the brain-power which directs it. Our modern Flaxman, in his illustrations to Homer and Dante, has displayed as great imaginative power as that which inspired their muse. In the hands of a Foley or a Woolner the modern frock coat may be made to convey sentiments more elevated and poetical than the Roman toga, or the classic drapery of the so-called Idealistic School.
Thus, when free intercourse was established throughout the world, the distinctions between nations became less apparent, and the Fine Arts were more universal in their character. The result is shown in modern times by the many-sidedness of art. The Renaissance was the last grand effort to revive the classic and to found a new school, which was split up into fragments, each fragment forming a nucleus, which again became a centre throwing out smaller offshoots. Hence the degradation and decline of the Fine Arts during what is termed the modern Augustine age; when in our own country Whitmarsh reigned supreme—and Vanbrugh designed buildings after the most approved Grecian models, and West filled his acres of canvas with religious subjects, and sculptors turned every soldier into a Mars or sailor into a Neptune, and clothed or unclothed their sitters with reckless impartiality, provided it was after the antique, or in Graeco-Roman disguise.
Were the question asked, what is the prevailing style of poetry in the present day? the reply would be multifarious—but of all, the subjective or reflective element is most cultivated. And so with art. Architecture, sculpture, and painting, partake of the revival of all schools, ancient and modern, modified by this peculiar leaning to the metaphysical and the naturalistic, shown in extreme development, by the Pre-raphaelite School on the one hand, and the Sensational School on the other.
But on the whole, the tone in Art in this country is sounder and more healthy than it has ever been. As Mr. Ruskin truly says, "There is but one way for a nation to obtain good art—to enjoy it." And never were there so many facilities offered for acquiring at once a taste for the Fine Arts, or of indulging that taste when once acquired. The schools opened throughout the kingdom are educating the public to appreciate Art, and museums and galleries are ever open for the public gratification. Painting has attained an excellence never dreamed of before—yet it may be alleged that genius is diffused through too many channels to be singly or originally great. Be it so. The many, not the few, are enlightened therewith. Poetry is a golden thread running through the web of human life, and Art in all her endless variety, is the tangible and material expression of that yearning after the Beautiful, which is but another name for Perfection. And as this can only find its completion in Him who is the source and centre of all perfection—so the cultivation of the Fine Arts must purify and elevate the heart, and exercise a beneficent influence upon society in general.
A. E. G.