The Press. — London, England, 1856-06-14 00:00:00

JUNE 14, 1856. from so profound a judge as the Regius Professor at Cambridge. Modern Painters. Vols. 111. and IV. By John Ruskin, A.M. London : Smith and Elder. WE are not surprised at the hostility with which Mr. Ruskin's later publications have been met. He belongs to what Scott in his day of pride called the Black Hussars of Literature. He neither takes nor gives quar ter. There is one offence in an author which critics of a certain order of mind never can forgive. It is originality of thought. They resent novelty . as heresy, and are especially angry when it i s presented with the earnest ness of conviction. We have more than once expressed our opinion that a writer is to be valued, not by freedom from defects (which is characteristic of mediocrity), but by possession of positive merits; and tried by this standard, Mr. Ruskin, with faults and prejudices which his warmest admirers must admit, will rank with the most eloquent, thoughtful, and sti mulative of modern authors. His influence on the practice of art has been greater than ever critic exercised before. Artists and amateurs decry and wrestle with him, but the rising art-world yields to his st,ream of ideas, and suffers itself to be im pressed with the principles he contends for. It is not to be doubted that on the whole his influence has been eminently beneficial. He is the resolute opponent of sham in every kind in art. He contends for truth with all the energy of his impetuous genius ; and though, from the impulsive character of his intellect,—singularly liable to be mastered and led astray by the vivid nature of his own con ceptions,—this one cardinal principle of his teaching is occasionally lost sight of, it is im possible not to admire the ardour with which he clings to it, nor the intellectual resource, the lovely imagery, the infinite variety of illustration, and the heated eloquence which he employs to display and to recommend its beauties. His mind is so full and so ingenious that his works, independent of their criticism on art, are a delightful exercise for the imagination. He is never dull, never cold. His faculties seem always at a white heat, and throw out brilliant sparks in inexhaustible profusion ; but these sparkles have more than a momen tary lustre. They will bear examination ; their radiance is Tasting; and not a few of them, as the works of the author become more generally diffused, will sink into the thoughts of the people and become incorpo rated with their tongue. Before proceeding, let us give a few examples which we are sure many of our readers will appreciate :-- THE R E S S. h done. It may be that, as with Dante and Leonardo, the finish given to the work daces the evidence of ease, but where the ease is manifest, as in Scott, Turner, and Tin toret, and the thing done is very noble, it is a strong reason for placing the men above those who confessedly work with great pains. Scott writing his chapter or two before break fast,—not retouching; Turner finishing a whole drawing in a forenoon before he goes out to shoot ( providing always the chapter and the drawing be good), are instantly to be set above men who confessedly have spent the day over the work, and think the hours well spent if it has been a little mended between sunrise and sunset. Indeed it is no use for men to think to appear great by walking fast, dashing, and scrawling ; the thing they do must be good and great, cost what time it may ; but if it be so, and they have honestly and unaffectedly done it with no effort, it is probably a greater and better thing than the result of the hardest efforts of others. The chapter from which these passages aro taken (chap. xvi. vol. 3.), contains some of the finest criticism we have met with on modern authors. The characteristics of Scott are delineated with masterly skill ; the sceptical tendencies ascribed to him, however, may perhaps be detected in Shakespeare in an equal degree. He saw clearly what was with out himself; but what was he ? In minds of very large sympathies, intensity of belief, or devotion to one passion or idea, can rarely exist. Their faith takes the form, not of creeds, but of aspiration. Such minds may lose in individual consistence and character m hat they gain in power and freedom of range, as the most subtle pervading elements of nature are themselves destitute of substance and colour. Mr. Ruskin will readily under stand us if we name Turner. His third volume, rightly headed " Many Things," is devoted, if we rightly apprehend its meaning, to define and illustrate those principles of painting of which the fourth volume presents us with specific instances. An inquiry is first instituted—What is the great style in art? And the answer, returned with all the amplitude of illustration which Mr. Ruskin has at his command, is : That the difference between great and mean art lies, not in definable methods of handling, or styles of represents. tion, or choices of subjects, but wholly in the nobleness of the end to which the effort of the painter is addressed. But to understand this definition it is to be read by the light of the commentary and with all the qualifications attached to it in chapters i. ii. and iii. Then Mr. Ruskin, with his search ing and scathing tests, dives into the depths of the false ideal, showing how it lacks in its forms the first element of vitality, truth, and afterwards rises to an examination of the true ideal. The " naturalist ideal " is the style which he determines as worthy of the highest admiration—natural because real, or studied from nature, and ideal because com bined or arranged in a certain manner by the powers of the imagination. Here is his main principle : All the great men see what they paint before they paint it--see it in a perfectly passive manner--cannot help seeing it if they would ; whether in their mind's eye, or in bodily fact, does not matter ; very often the mental vision is, I believe, in men of imagination clearer than the bodily one ; but vision it is of one kind or another; the whole scene, character, or incident passing before them as in second sight, whether they will or no, and requiring them to paint it as they see it, they not daring, under the might of its presence, to alter one jot or tittle of it as they write it down or paint it down ; it being to them in its own kind and degree always a true vision or apocalypse, and invariably accompanied in their hearts by a feeling corre spondent to the words, " Write the things which thou host seen, and the things which are." And the whole power whether of painter or poet, to de scribe rightly what we call au ideal thing, depends upon its being thus to him not an ideal but a real thing. No man ever did or ever will work well, but either from actual sight or sight of faith ; and all that we call ideal in Greek or any other art, because to us it is false and visionary, wan to the makers of it true and existent. The heroes of Phidias are simply representations of such noble human persona as he every day saw, and the gods of Phidias simply representations cf such noble divine persons as he thoroughly believed to exist, and did in mental vision truly behold. Hence I said in the second preface to the " Seven Lamps of Architecture," " All great art represents some thing that it sees or believes in; nothing unseen or un credited." Is Mr. Ruskin himself quite clear as to the mean ing of the above passage? What does he under stand by mental vision ? Is he afraid to carry out his principle of reality to its legitimate extent? The fear is unworthy of him. His " mental vision " can be, according to the whole scope of his philosophy, and according to truth, only the mind acting on the impres sions it has received from nature, and exagge rating those proportions which are character istic of peculiar properties or principles. The •. gods of Phidias are but the heroes of Phidias, magnified in those qualities in which the heroes were superior to ordinary men ; and to comprehend how far this may be done, so as to elevate without caricaturing common forms of nature, belongs to the rarest and finest facul ties of imaginative power• The subject is cleverly discussed in "Haydon's Lectures," and the broad principle indisputably established. Into caricature the Greeks themselves often ran in their efforts to be ideal. In the natural style, truth, the author con tends, can never be vulgar : There is never vulgarity in a whole truth, however com monplace. it may be unimportant or painful. It cannot be vulo.r. Vulgarity is only in concealment of truth or affectation. That is to say, we conceive that there may be vulgarity in fact, which is a partial kind of truth, but not in the truth which universalises facts of a class. The author proceeds to show that a great artist works, and is com pelled to work, according to the conditions and perceptions of his being. This kind of unconsciousness, which in a bee we term in stinct, the author insists on calling " inspira tion" in intellect. The term is only eo far objectionable, as it leaves no single word applicable to Divine-inspiration. But the compound will do. The whole chapter (vii.), full of collateral anecdote and art illustration, is eminently instructive. The chapter (ix.) on " Finish " is a mas tarly essay of itself. Finish in art he defines to be not great delicacy, not more polish, according to what we suppose would be East lake's definition, but—the hand of the master is here—in the addition of truth. His plates in this chapter are most convincing examples of his principles. He remarks on one of his.i instances : 4 This piece of work is more finished than any of the _ others, nut because it is more delicate or more skilful, but siinply it tells more truth and admits fewer fallacies. That which conveys most information with least inaccuracy is always the highest finish Follow that beauty [the beauty of nature] as far as you can, remembering that just as far as you see, know, and represent it, just so far your work is finished ; as far as you fall short of it, your work is unfinished, and as far as you substitute any other thing for it, your work is spoiled. Again : No truly great man can be named in the arts,—but it is that of one who finished to the utmost. Take Leonardo, Michael Angelo, and Raphael for a kind to begin with. They all completed their detail with such subtlety of touch , and gradation, that in a careful drawing by any of the three you cannot see where the pencil ceased to touch the paper ; the stroke of it is so tender, that when you look close to the drawing you can see nothing ; you only see the effect of it a little way back! Thus tender in execution, and so complete in detail, that Leonardo must needs draw every several vein in the little agates and pebbles of the gravel under the feet of the St. Anne in the Louvre. On this very minute execution we shall here after have something to say. In this chapter there are some exquisitely skilful illustrations of Turner's "finish." They cannot be studied too attentively. The succeeding chapters of the volume are mainly occupied with the definition of princi ples, very important to the due comprehen sion of the author's whole scheme, and most enticing from their profusion of literary exam ple ; but we cannot hope in our bare sketch to follow the broad yet subtle and variegated current of Mr. Ruskin's ideas. We quote but one more passage illustrative of the polestar of his teaching : If we now take final and full view of find that the love of nature, wherever been a faithful and sacred element of ' is to say, supposing all circumstances with respect to two individuals, the one most will be always found to have more the other. We had intended to confink on these truly noble voluine article. But we have a few notice which would extend it therefore beg leave to contin next week. Sermons in Stones; or, Scripture Geology. By Dominick M'CY don : Bentley. No one will contend, we suppose, tific research should in any wa' through fear that it should adverse to biblical record. Tli the collection and arrangement ir • • , . . • • ..• . • _ JUNE 14, 1856. THE PRESS. 569 ..' L ......- .........................._. from so profound a judge as the Regius is done. It may be that, as with Dante and Leonardo, the gods of Phidias are b'it the heroes of Phidias, Professor at Cambridge. finish given to the work effaces the evidence of ease, but magnified in those qualities in which the where the ease is manifest, as in Scott, Turner, and Tin- _ toret, atd the thi ng d one i s very no b le , i t i s a strong reason heroes were superior to ordina r y men ; a nd t o Modern Painters. Vols. 111. and IV. By for placing th s e men ave those who confessedly work with comprehend how far this may be done, so RS to John Ruskin, A.M. London : Smith and Le t a t pnaoi fast,—not s. retouching;cot t writing4ttrh Turner se rchapterfinishing or t w a o w before brea k . - elevate without caricaturing common forms of belongs to the rarest and finest &cut- Elder. in a forenoon before he goes out toshoot (providingg nature , - always the chapter and the drawing be good), are instantly ties of imaginative power. The subject is WE are not surprised at the hostility with to be set above men who confessedly have spent the day cleverly discussed in "Haydon's Lectures," and which Mr. Ruskin's later publications have over the work, and think the hours well spent if it has the broad principle indisputably established. been a little mended b e t ween sunr i se an d sunset . Indeed been met. He belongs to what Scott in his Into caricature the Greeks themselves often it is no u h se for men to think to appear great by walking ran in their efforts to be ideal. day of pride called the Black Hussars of ast, as ing, and scrawling ; the thing they do must be Literature. He neither takes nor gives quer- In the natural style, truth, the author con- good and great, cast what time it may • but if it be so and see. There is one offence in an author which they have honestly and unaffectedly done' it with no effort, tends, can never be vulgar : critics of a certain order of mind never can it is probably a greater and better thing than the result of There is never vulgarity in a whole truth, however corn- the hardest efforts of oth ers . forgive. It is originality of thought. They monplace. it may be unimportant or painful. It cannot res ent novelty as heresy, and are especially The chapter from whi c h th ese p assages aro be vulgar. Vulgarity is only in c oncea l men t o f trut h or angry when it is presented with the earnest- taken (chap. xvi. vol. 3.), contains some of the affectation. ness of conviction. We have more than once finest criticism we have met with on modern That is to say, we conceive that there may expressed our opinion that a writer is to be authors. The characteristics of Scott are be vulgarity in fact, which is a partial kind of valued, not by freedom from defects (which is delineated with masterly skill ; the sceptical truth, but not in the truth which universalises characteristic of mediocrity), but by possession tendencies ascribed to him, however, may facts of a class. The author proceeds to of positive merits; and tried by this standard, perhaps be detected in Shakespeare in an show that a great artist works, and is com- Mr. Ruskin, with faults and prejudices which equal degree. He saw clearly what was with- pelled to work, according to the c o nditi ons his warmest admirers must admit, will rank out himself ; but what was he ? In minds of and perceptions of his being. This kind of with the most eloquent, thoughtful, and sti- very large sympathies, intensity of belief, or unconsciousness, which in a bee we term in- mulative of modern authors. devotion to one passion or idea, can rarely stinct, the author insists on calling " inspira- His influence on the practice of art has exist. Their faith takes the form, not of tion "in intellect. The term is only so far been greater than ever critic exercised before. creeds, but of aspiration. Such minds may objectionable, as it leaves no single word Artists and amateurs decry and wrestle with lose in individual consistence and character applicable to Divine-inspiration. But the him, but the rising art-world yields to his m hat they gain in power and freedom of range, compound will do. The whole chapter (vii.), stream of ideas, and suffers itself to be ims as the most subtle pervading elements of full of collateral anecdote and art illustration, pressed with the principles he contends for. nature are themselves destitute of substance is eminently instructive. It is not to be doubted that on the whole his and colour. Mr. Ruskin will readily under- The chapter (ix.) on " Finish "is a mas- influence has been eminently beneficial. He stand us if we name Turner. tarly essay of itself. Finish in art he defines is the resolute opponent of sham in every His third volume, rightly headed " Many to be not great delicacy, not more polish, kind in art. He contends for truth with all Things," is devoted, if we rightly apprehend according to what we suppose would be East- . \‘. the energy of his impetuous genius ; and its meaning, to define and illustrate those lake's definition, but—the hand of the master i t though, from the impulsive character of his principles of painting of which the fourth is here—in the addition of truth. His plates in intellect,—singularly liable to be mastered and volume presents us with specific instances. this chapter are most convincing examples of i led astray by the vivid nature of his own con- An inquiry is first instituted—What is the his principles. He remarks on one of his.; ( ceptions,—this one cardinal principle of his great style in art? And the answer, returned instances : 4 teaching is occasionally lost sight of, it is im- with all the amplitude of illustration which This piece of work is more finished than any of the _ possible not to admire the ardour with which Mr. Ruskin has at his command, is : others, nut because it is more delicate or more skilful, but ) he clings to it, nor the intellectual resource, That the difference between great and mean art lies, not stlitz t t o h nn an a d tdo a n dni w ita tth few le e ae r t fa t l u la a c eo ies ura . That . Yittells more e t j• the lovely imagery, the infinite variety of in definable methods of handling, or styles of represents- a w lways the conveys ighest finish Follow that beauty lion, or choices of subjects, but wholly in the nobleness of illustration, and the heated eloquence which [the beauty of nature] as far as you can, remembering the end to which the effort of the painter is addressed. I i that just as far as you see, know, and represent it, just so he employs to display and to recommend its But to understand this definition it is to be far your work is finished; as far as you fall short of it, your beauties. read by the light of the commentary and with work is unfinished, and as far as you substitute any other l His mind is so full and so ingenious that his all the qualifications attached to it in chapters thing for it, your work is spoiled. works, independent of their criticism on art, i. ii. and iii. Then Mr. Ruskin, with his search- Again : are a delightful exercise for the imagination. He is never dull, never cold. His faculties ing and scathing tests, dives into the depths of N o tru l y grea t man can be name d i n th e ar t s ,—b a t i t i s the false ideal, showing how it lacks in that of one who finished to the utmost. Take Leonardo, seem always at a white heat, and throw out its forms the first element of vitality, truth, Michael Angelo, and Raphael for a kind to begin with. brilliant sparks in inexhaustible profusion ; and afterwards rises to an examination of the but these sparkles have more than a momen- and gradation, that in a careful drawing by any of the true ideal. The " naturalist ideal " is the tart' lustre. They will bear examination ; three you cannot see where the pencil ceased to touch the' their radiance is lasting; and not a few of style which he determines as worthy of the p a p er; the s t ro k e o f it i s so t en d er , th a t w h en y ou l oo k them as the works of the author become highest admiration—natural because real, or close to the drawing you can see nothing ; you only see the , studied from nature, and ideal because corn- effect of it a little way back! Thus tender in execution, more generally diffused, will sink into the .. and so complete in detail, that Leonardo must needs draw biped or arranged in a certain manner by the thoughts of the people and become incorpo- every several vein in the little agates and pebbles of the powers of the imagination. Here is his main I rated with their tongue. Before proceeding, gravel under the feet of the St. Anne in the Louvre. : let us giv e a f ew exam pl es w hi c h we are sure principle On this very minute execution we shall here- manyAll the great men see what they paint before they paint of our readers will appreciate :-- after have something to say. In this chapter it—see it in a perfectly passive manner—cannot help there are some exquisitely skilful illustrations DECLINE OF MIRTH. see i ng it if t h e y w ou ld ; w h e th e r in their mind's eye, or On the whol e , th ese are muc h sa dd er ages t h an t h e i n b od il y f act , d oes not matter ; very o f ten t h e menta l of Turner's " finish.' They cannot be studied early ones ; not sadder in a noble and deep way, but in a vision is, I believe, in men of imagination clearer than the too attentively. deep wearied way—the way of ennui, and jaded intellect, bodily one ; but vision it is of one kind or another; the The succeeding chapters of the volume are and uncomfortableness of soul and body. The Middle whole scene, character, or incident passing before them as mainly occupied with the definition of princi- ' Ages had their wars and agonies, but also intense delights. in second sight, whether they will or no, and requiring plea, • very important to the due comprehen- Their g old was d as h e d w i th bl ood , b ut ours i s sprinkled them to paint it as they see it, they not daring, under the with dust. The life was inwoven with white and purple ; might of its presence, to alter one jot or tittle of it as they sion of the author's whole scheme, and most ours is one seamless stuff of brown. Not that we are write it down or paint it down; it being to them in its own enticing from their profusion of literary exam- without apparent festivity, but festivity more or less forced, kind and degree always a true vision or apocalypse, and plc ; but we cannot hope in our bare sketch mistaken, embittered, incomplete—not of the heart. How invariably accompanied in their hearts by a feeling COrre• to follow the broad yet subtle and variegated wonderfully sinc e Sh a k es p eare ' s ti me h are we l os t th e p ower snon d ent to t h e wor d s , " write the things which thou has, current of Mr. Ruskin ' s ideas. We quote but laughing at bad jests. The very finish of our wit belies seen, and the things which are." our gaiety. And the whole power whether of painter or poet, to de- one more passage illustrative of the polestar HUMILITY ONE SIGN OF GREATNESS. scribe rightly what we call au ideal thing, depends upon of his teaching : I believe the first test of a truly great man is his hu- its being thus to him not an ideal but a real thing. No If we now take final and full view of the matter we shall niility. Ido not mean by humility doubt of his own power man ever did or ever will work well, but either from actual find that the love of nature, wherever it has existed, bas or hesitation in speaking his opinions ; but a right under- sight or sight of faith; and all that we call ideal in Greek been a faithful and sacred element of human feeling; that standing of the relation between what he can do and say, or any other art, because to us it is false and visionary, is to say, supposing all circumstances otherwise the same and the rest of the world's sayings and doings. All great wan to the makers of it true and existent. The heroes of with respect to two individuals, the one who loves nature men not only know their business, but usually know that Phidias are simply re p rese ntations o f suc h noble human most will be always found to have more faith in God than they know i t ; an d are not on l y right in their main opinions, persons as he every day saw, and the gods of Phidias the other. but they usually know that they are right in them ; only simply representations cf such noble divine persons as he We had intended to confine our remarks they do not think much of themselves on that account. thoroughly believed to exist, and did in mental vision truly on these truly noble volumes to a single Arnolfo k nows t h at h e can b u il d a goo d d ome at Fl orence ; b e hold. Hence I said in the second preface to the " Seven Albert Durer w r i tes ca l m l y to one w h o h a d f ou nd f au l t Lamps of Architecture," " All great art represents some- article. But we have a few points yet to with his work, "It cannot be better done ; " Sir Isaac thing that it sees or believes in; nothing unseen or un- notice which would extend it too far; and we Newton knows that he has worked out a problem or two credited." therefore beg leave to continue the subject that would have puzzled anyone else; only they do not Is Mr. Ruskin himself quite clear as to the mean- next week. t expect their fellow-men theretore to fall down and worship i ng o f th e a b ove pa s s a ge? What does he under- them em ; they have a curious undersense of powerlessness, is in but feeling that th e greatness not them through th em ; out his principle of reality to its legitimate Viet they could not do or be anything else than God made Geology. By Dominick M`Causland. Lon. them. And they see something divine and God•made in extent? The fear is unworthy of him. His don : Bentley. every ot h er man they meet, and are endlessly, foolishly, " menta l v i s i on " can b e , accor di ng t o th e incredibly merciful The slightest manifes• whole scope of his philosophy, and according No one will contend, we suppose, that scien- tation o f jealousy or self complacency is enough to mark a to truth, only the mind acting on the impress tific research should in any way be fettered second-rate character of the intellect. sione it has received from nature, and exagge- through fear that it should disclose results EASE IN WORK A MARK OF SUPERIORITY. Another very i m p ortant , t h oug h not i n f a llibl e , tes t o f rating those proportions which are character- adverse to biblical record. The geologist in greatness is the appearance of ease with which the thing is tic of peculiar properties or principles. The the collection and arrangement of facts, and f the matter we shall it has existed, bee human feeling; that s otherwise the same e who loves nature la./4A in God than le our remarks es to a single v points yet to too far; and we 'me the subject re Confirmed by Dausland. Lon. ose, that scien- way be fettered disclose results rhe geologist in nt of facts, and DECLINE OF MIRTH. On the whole, these are much sadder ages than the early ones ; not sadder in a noble and deep way, but in a deep wearied way—the way of ennui, and jaded intellect. and uncomfortableness of soul and body. The ➢liddle Ages had their wars and agonies, but also intense delights. Their gold was dashed with blood, but ours is sprinkled with dust. The life was inwoven with white and purple ; ours is one seamless stuff of brown. Not that we are without apparent festivity, but festivity more or less forced, mistaken, embittered, incomplete—not of the heart. How wonderfully since Shakespeare's time hare we lost the power of laughing at bad jests. The very finish of our wit belies our gaiety. lIURILITY ONE SIGN OF GREATNESS. I believe the first test of a truly great man is his hu mility. Ido not mean by humility doubt of his own power or hesitation in speaking his opinions ; but a right under standing of the relation between what he can do and say, and the rest of the world's sayings and doings. All great men not only know their business, but usually know that they know it ; and are not only right in their main opinions, but they usually know that they are right in them ; only they do not think much of themselves on that account. Arnolfo knows that he can build a good dome at Florence ; Albert Durer writes calmly to one who had found fault with his work, "It cannot be better done ; " Sir Isaac Newton knows that he has worked out a problem or two that would have puzzled anyone else ; only they do not expect their fellow-men therefore to fall down and worship them ; they have a curious undersense of powerlessness, feeling that the greatness is not in them but through them ; Viet they could not do or be anything else than God made them. And they see something divine and God•made in every other man they meet, and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful The slightest manites• Cation of jealousy or self-complacency is enough to mark a second-rate character of the intellect. EASE IN WORK A MALRK OF SUPERIORITY. Another very important, though not infallible, test of greatness is the appearanoe of ease with which the thing