It will be useful to pause a little, between the historic sketch I have already made of antique painting, and that which is to follow, of the entire decay, and first faint revival of the Art; and to consider what branches of painting had been chiefly cultivated by the ancients, and whether the ordinary classification of pictures can be satisfactorily applied to their works, or even correctly to the productions of modern painters. It will not be uninteresting either, to consider the materials and colours used by the ancient artists, as compared with those known to the moderns.

I have already shown the probable origin of painting, its earliest application to the service of religion, and its use as a method of recording events among some nations, before the invention of alphabetical writing. While it was confined chiefly to the latter purpose, it remained fixed, and incapable of improvement; but as soon as alphabetical writing was either invented or adopted in any country, the imitative arts became free, and improved in feeling, spirit, and expression, as well as in execution.

While the Grecian states and cities were struggling for national independence and civil freedom, the arts maintained a severe and almost awful character, devoted exclusively to religion and patriotism. But those great objects once attained, society became more polished; a larger space was allotted to the exercise of the imagination. Various sects of Philosophers sprang up: a new race of Poets arose; and the arts losing part of their grandeur with their austerity, began to partake of the blandishments of those luxurious times, that succeeded to the great political struggles of the country.

Painting was capable of assisting the task of the moral teachers, by her power of expressing passion. She illustrated the dreams of the poets with graceful compositions, formed no less of imaginary beings than of real personages; and, for a long period, the Virtues and the Graces equally presided over the painter’s study.

But it was natural that, in the great diversity of tastes, some should seek after the mere ornament that the arts could furnish. Hence the minor walks of painting began to be cultivated apart from the greater. And something was found to gratify every spectator in the various departments of this enchanting art.

It has been the custom to distribute all the various works of art into three or four classes, each comprehending a most incongruous variety[142].

The first place is always allowed to Historic Painting, which, as now understood, means everything that is not portrait, or domestic scenery, or landscape, or flowers, or caricature, from the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, down to a sleeping nymph, or a weeping Magdalene[143].

Portrait comes next, and even those who have seen Giulio II. are not ashamed to place in the same class, the Lord Henrys and Lady Janes, Les Barons de T., or Les Comtesses de V., that annually adorn the walls of the London and Paris exhibitions.

With the Familiar Life class, as now understood, I do not quarrel; if the Dutch and Flemings, two centuries ago, far exceeded all we do in execution, we moderns are much above them in sense and feeling; in having a story to tell and telling it well. Besides, the words familiar life admit at once every variety of subject, from genteel comedy to broad farce. It appears to have been cultivated with some success by the ancients.

But the Landscape class! Surely it is strange to put the Enchanted Castle of Claude, and the Deluge of Poussin, together with views on Hounslow Heath, and scenes in the Waterloo tea gardens! Landscape painting, indeed, seems to be a modern art, as considered by itself; though it must have been practised for the sake of backgrounds by the ancients, as I shall have occasion to notice.

It has pleased the writers upon painting to make a class apart of Animal Painting, and to consider the class as an inferior one. It is right to separate it: but the inferiority will scarcely be allowed by those who know the works of Rubens and Snyders. At any rate, the ancients did not consider it mean, by their praise of the animals of Nicias and Pausias generally, of the horses of Apelles, and the dogs of Protogenes, in particular.

In Fruit, and Flowers, and Still Life, we have again the ancients to support us. How lovely were the fresh flowers in the Stephanopolis of Pausias! Then the grapes of Zeuxis, and the curtain of Parrhasius, how exquisitely finished!

As to the delineations of animals, plants, minerals, &c., for the purposes of natural history, they must be considered as combining the original uses of the graphic art; namely, history writing, with the practical improvement of modern times; and I shall not make any further mention of them[144].

It is evident that this classification is as absurd and inconvenient, as it would be in poetry to place under the same head, Homer’s Iliad and the ballad of Colin and Lucy, because both tell a story.

If, however, in conformity with long usage, we must preserve these classes, they ought to be subdivided, so as to dispose works really of the same order apart from the masses in which they are now confounded.

I am aware that, however decided the distinction may be between the great works that must form the example for each subdivision, it will be difficult to keep the limits so clear, that the exact place of any particular work may be known and fixed at once; but that is surely a small evil compared with the present confusion.

The class History, has been felt to be so indefinite, that some of the best writers on art have tacitly divided it into the strictly Historical and the Dramatic[145]. As far as it goes, the division is excellent; but it still leaves such masses to be separated, that I cannot but wish for farther distinctions. For instance, I should wish not to place in the same class, the taking of Troy by Polygnotus, the sacrifice of Iphigenia in Aulis by Timanthes, and the single figure of Ajax by Apollodorus, but to allow each of those to be the example of a separate division; and quite apart from those, I should wish to place all allegorical and didactic subjects, as well as those in which the machinery of superior or inferior natures is introduced.

Thus, those subjects now clumsily thrown together, under the name of History, would come naturally to form four distinct classes, each of which ought, in strictness, to be again broken into subdivisions.

The four classes I should propose to call,

Each of these will admit of farther subdivision. The Ethical subjects should be distributed into—

Of the Epic class I should make but two great divisions, each, however, capable of very marked partition.

The Dramatic class might comprehend the familiar life subjects; but I have thought it better to leave those as they have hitherto stood, by themselves; and to reckon only in this class

In Portrait painting it will be readily allowed that there are strongly marked distinctions between

The Familiar Life class naturally divides into,

Of Landscape, the distinct varieties are,

Animal painters have naturally made two classes:

Of each of these subdivisions, I will point out specimens, which I hope will support what I have said as to the propriety of a more precise classification than has hitherto been adopted. Not that I mean to make a catalogue for every class, though I believe such a thing would have its use.

The difficulty of making such a catalogue would be very great, because the subjects so often force the painter into a greater degree of relation with neighbouring classes than can be reconciled with any thing like a strict classification.

OF THE ETHIC CLASS.

At the head of the first, or purely didactic division of this class, I shall place the picture, or “Table of Cebes,” as it is commonly called. The picture may have been painted, or it may have existed only in the imagination of that amiable disciple of Socrates. In either case his description shows the importance which was attached to painting by the ancients as an instrument of public instruction[146].

He says there was a picture hung in a certain temple, and that one of the persons attached to the temple was always at hand to exhibit it to visiters, and to explain its meaning; and he gives the dialogue between the exhibitor and a visiter at length, that he may introduce a description of the whole composition, as well as an account of the moral end of the picture. The action represented is Human Life as a whole; and the parts are the vicissitudes to which it is subject.

The ground-work of the table seems to have been a landscape in various parts, of which the different situations occur most proper for the purpose of the painter. The landscape is subdivided into separate enclosures, at the first gate of which is placed the Genius of Human Life, ushering in those who are about to begin their pilgrimage. They first meet upon their road with Deception, who offers them the Cup of Error and of Ignorance; then come Opinions, and Appetites, and Pleasures to delude them.

The next great object in the picture is Fortune, who, with her followers, occupies a considerable space, near which are the Vices, who naturally lead to the den of Punishment, where they meet with Sorrow, Anguish, Lamentation, and Despair.

Some, however, happily reach the dwelling of Repentance, and thence set forth to seek Education.

Here again some go astray and entangle themselves with False Education, by whom they are once more betrayed to the Passions and to wrong Opinions; but the Happy, by the assistance of Self Command and Perseverance, reach the mansion of True Education, whom they find with her daughters, Truth and Persuasion. These introduce them to Knowledge and the Virtues, who conduct them to the palace of their mother, Happiness, by whom they are crowned as victors in the race of life.

The Calumny of Apelles, of which I have copied Lucian’s description in a note to a former essay, is another example of this kind of painting among the ancients.

I shall cite one modern fresco work, now nearly effaced from the walls upon which it was painted by Lorenzetti, one of the earliest restorers of painting in the fourteenth century.

In the palace of government, in the city of Sienna, this remarkable picture is still to be traced. In the time of the freedom of the city, the magistrates could not go daily to their public duties without passing through the hall where it was painted, to remind them of the blessings of peace and good government, and the curse of war and misrule.

The part that is sufficiently preserved for the design to be intelligible, is immediately opposite the window. In the centre, the Almighty Ruler sits, holding a globe; over his head are Faith, Hope, and Charity; on his left hand are Magnanimity and Justice; on his right, Prudence, Fortitude, and Peace, each with her several attributes. Beyond Peace, sits Diligence; above whom is Wisdom. Two scales hang, one on each side of Diligence, from which angels are distributing riches and honour to the followers of Diligence and Wisdom. On the side where Justice and Magnanimity are placed, enough of the design remains to show the punishment of Crime—the absolving of Innocence, and generous forgiveness where lenity is possible. Below these figures a procession of the citizens of Sienna appears to be moving towards the Almighty Ruler and Protector of their state. Upon the wall to the left are traced the effects of good government and public security; on one side cultivated fields, with a busy and cheerful peasantry, and hard by, a flourishing city, with persons engaged in trade and commerce, and other occupations of peace. The rest of the wall is filled up with cheerful landscape, in various parts of which the social amusements of dancing, hawking, riding, &c., are enjoyed. The opposite wall did contain a representation of all the evils of bad government, Vain Glory, War, Famine, Beggary, and Cruelty[147].

The second division of the Ethical class of pictures comprises emblems and allegories.

I have already mentioned two remarkable emblematical pictures of the ancients: the Demos of Athens by Parrhasius, and Euphranor’s popular estate. To these I will add the allegories of the shield of Achilles, and the emblems so beautifully imagined on medals, coins, and gems, besides the innumerable pictures chiefly upon vases referring to the mysteries of the Pagan worship, particularly as connected with the passage of the soul from this life, through death, to another.

The modern painters have also dealt largely in allegory. Not to go farther back among Christian painters than Giotto, his marriage of St. Francis with Poverty at Assisi is a striking example; and so are the figures of the Virtues and Vices, so beautifully designed by him in the chapel of the Nunziata dell’ Arena, at Padua.

But passing over innumerable pictures of the kind, I will go at once to the Sistine Chapel, where Michael Angelo’s Prophets and Sybils demand, at the first view, a class apart from ordinary historical subjects, and, as moderns, to stand at the head of that class. Then follow Prophets and Sybils by Raffaelle; Peruzzi’s all but sublime Sybil at Sienna, and a thousand more, among which the Allegories of Rubens claim a distinguished place[148]; not, indeed, for refinement of thought, but for skill in composition.

The third division into which I desire to break the class of Ethical pictures comprehends the higher caricature.

The ancients certainly practised this species of painting, but I do not know that the description of any has been preserved.

There is, however, in Fortefiocca’s life of Cola di Rienzi a very remarkable account of some which that extraordinary man caused to be painted, in order to stir up the Romans of his time to a sense of their degradation[149]. One was painted upon the wall of the palace of the Capitol, looking towards the Forum; the other near St. Angelo. In both, the nobles and magistrates of Rome were treated with bitter satire, and the city and commonwealth represented as in the lowest state of misery. The effect these caricatures had upon the people may be read in the original life of Rienzi, written in the vernacular idiom of Rome in his own time.

It would be most unjust not to consider, as preeminent in this walk of art, Hogarth, whose satirical pencil was employed in the chastisement of vice, and the promotion of virtue. His works are a school in themselves; and are as far removed, as a “greatest is from least,” from the mean and filthy caricatures that libel private life, and from the evanescent exaggerations of political squibs.

Epic Pictures.

The examples for the first division of this class, containing supernatural agents of a Christian character, must, of course, be taken exclusively from modern works.

First of these, the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo will occur to every imagination. With it I will name a work that he himself looked upon with the highest admiration; the chapel, painted by Luca Signorelli, at Orvieto, many of the figures of which were adopted by Buonarotti himself, who, perhaps scarcely ever surpassed in expression the group of blasphemers struck by the thunderbolt[151].

Nor can I omit Raffaelle’s Heliodorus in the Temple: these are instances of the terrible in this class.

Of that sublime, the key to which is stillness[152], Raffaelle’s dispute of the Sacrament is the most perfect example. Though in the Spanish Chapter-House of St. Maria Novella, in Florence, that elder painter, Taddeo Gaddi, in a subject of the same kind, has in one or two figures reached the grand and the awful.

To the Christian division of the Epic class also belong all those magnificent pictures which represent the Ascension of Christ, the Assumption of the Virgin, the Martyrdoms and the Miracles of Saints, with their supernatural appearances, and also many of the subjects taken from the Old Testament.

Michael Angelo’s Creator, in the several acts of calling light out of darkness, and enduing man with life; and the other great conceptions in the roof of the Sistine chapel, occupy the first rank among these works of genius. Raffaelle’s Vision of Ezekiel is conceived in the same spirit, and his Madonna of San Sisto[153], in my mind, far exceeds all other Madonnas in glory, though the place is a high one, which may justly be claimed for Titian’s Assumption[154]. The same painter’s Peter Martyr[155], Domenichino’s Saint Jerome[156], Francia’s Saint Sebastian[157], may be named as some of the most important works which form this grand and very distinct division of the Epic class of pictures; it also comprehends Raffaelle’s lovely Madonna del Pesce[158], Christ’s Agony in the Garden by Correggio[159], and all those pictures where angelic natures are introduced.

Of examples for the second division, the best and greatest, as far as we may judge from description, were the works of Polygnotus. When he introduced the tutelary deity and protecting heroes of Athens into the battle of Marathon, he was inspired by the same genius that led Raffaelle in the Stanze to send forth Saint Peter and Saint Paul to turn back the host of barbarians from Rome.

The descent of Ulysses to the kingdom of Pluto, is another example of which I have already spoken. The Wars with the Giants of Mycon, and some other artists, and all subjects of apotheosis belong to this class.

I cannot cite the Wars of the Giants by Julio Romano, in Mantua, as a successful example of a modern rendering of the subject. And, in truth, after the Pagan gods ceased to be objects of devotion, the Greek and Roman mythologies were of infinitely too gay a character to inspire a painter with any but the most jocund and graceful compositions.

The Parnassus of Raffaelle, and his Psyche of the Farnesina[160], are charming examples of this. But these should form the chief of a very delightful class of pictures which cannot justly be called Epic, but which have fully as little title to their old name of historical pictures.

Reynolds called his exquisite pictures of children, fancy subjects. But the term FANCY, in this sense is grown, very undeservedly, as I think, into disrepute; or I should say it would designate perfectly the pictures I am now seeking a name for. Among them are Titian’s whole families of Dianas and Venuses, of Loves and Graces; the rival Auroras of Guido and Guercino; Paulo Veronese’s and Luini’s Europas; Annibale Caracci’s Farnese; Poussin’s classical compositions, and some others which seem to deserve a place very near the Venus Anadyomene of Apelles and Zeuxis’ Helen.

I am aware that I am not adhering strictly to my own classification, but I have not the presumption to propose an absolute rule. That must be for some one who, with the authority of a critic and an artist, can command attention and reverence enough to enforce a new arrangement.

I must therefore be content to leave the FANCIES as an appendix to the mythological division of the epic class, and proceed to cite examples of the three great branches of legitimate historical pictures.

Historical Pictures.

Here I know that in the very outset I shall shock all the sticklers for the unities; for my very first section must consist of whole histories represented in the same picture; admitting not only a variety of actions belonging to the history, but even a repetition of the persons engaged in it when it is essential, or even when it is convenient for the narrative.

The second section contains those histories which are related in a series of compositions, each forming a whole in itself, though belonging to a cycle.

And the third section includes those works in which a single point in history makes the picture.

First of the first section, I must name the taking of Troy by Polygnotus, painted in fresco on the walls of the Lesche, at Delphi. The description I have already given after Pausanias renders any further account of it unnecessary.

The next example I shall cite is of the highest character and of the highest authority. It is the most glorious justification of the breach of the cold rules of critics, and shows that in some cases to abide by the unities would destroy the spirit and sublimity of the work.

I speak now of the transgression and chastisement of man in the roof of the Sistine chapel, by Michael Angelo.

In that composition there are not only two parts of the same history told in the same picture, but the principal figures themselves are repeated with equal force; and rendered, as to the picture, of equal importance. And in what other way could the crime and its punishment have been so closely, so awfully connected?

It is impossible to go into that chapel without feeling that the pictures there are formed to make the rule for art, not to receive it; and that the folly of confining genius by the flimsy laws of ordinary criticism, is only equalled by that of the tyrant of old, who is reported to have paved the bed of the ocean where it rolled beneath his capital with gilded tiles, and to have expected it to reverence the boundaries of his work.

But a number of those great men who had laboured in the long neglected field of painting, and had stirred and loosened the soil, and prepared it for the hands of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle, appear to have disregarded the unities whenever the nature of the subject rendered it convenient, and with excellent effect, as I hope to show when I come to give an account of their works.

There is one picture of this kind by an ancient Flemish artist of such transcendant merit, that I shall endeavour to describe it as a model for this treatment of historical subjects. The picture is by Hemelink, and is now in the possession of the King of Bavaria[161].

The shape of the picture is long and narrow, and the horizon is placed very high, by which means room is given for the different actions represented. One rich and varied landscape fills the whole picture, forming the back ground to the groupes of actors in the history, which are placed with consummate skill, and so ordered by means of linear and aërial perspective, as to produce a most attractive whole, while each part is carefully dealt with.

The subject is usually called the Journey of the Three Kings or Wise Men to worship the Infant Jesus; but the picture has two episodes, the Adoration of the Shepherds, and the Resurrection and Ascension, one of which occupies the right side, and the other the left.

The extreme distance is formed of a ridge of hills, a little in advance of which three mounts are distinguished, and the ridge is farther broken by an inlet of the sea, over which the sun is rising in splendour. The shape of the bay is graceful, and it is enlivened by ships; the shore has wood and sand, and the termination of a great road to diversify it. One of the mounts forms a promontory to the left of the mouth of the bay, which is on the right of the picture. Between it and the second mount is seen the star, not interfering with the splendour of the sun, but having a bright distinct light of its own.

We may suppose it discovered at once by three groupes, apparently engaged in worship, on the summits of the three mounts. On account of their great distance, they are just indicated; the only thing distinguishable in each, being a coloured banner.

At the foot of the first mount a river winds through the country, and appears as if it found an outlet to the bay behind a rising ground near the middle of the picture, on the slope of which, forming also the middle distance, stands the city of Bethlehem; and outside of the gates, quite in the foreground, is the place of the Nativity.

From the country of the kings, a road which crosses the river by a bridge, leads to Bethlehem, and along this road the kings are seen advancing, each with his proper attendants, armour, and banner. Baldassar, the Moor, has a white banner, on which a negro in red is painted; Melchior, the eldest king, has a blue banner, distinguished by a golden moon; and Caspar, the third king, has a banner also blue, but speckled with white stars.

These, with their retinue, all meet near the bridge, which they cross, and enter Bethlehem together. The figures are repeated at the meeting and at the city gates. While in the town, the train of the wise men disperse themselves through the streets, mixing with the inhabitants, while in an open corridor, the three kings are seen eagerly conversing with Herod. Once more they are seen taking leave of him before they are finally brought to the feet of the infant Saviour, who, seated on the lap of his virgin mother, receives them with a benignity and grace worthy of the pencil of Raffaelle himself.

Of the skilful grouping of the central subject, commonly called the Wise Men’s Offering, of the beautiful and true action of each person, the rich dresses of the attendants, the drawing of the figures, and also that of the horses and camels, it is not my province to speak any more than of the exquisitely finished execution. Yet all these assist the history powerfully, and we might have been satisfied that all was told.

But the painter did not rest here. On a broad road, winding along a rocky valley, the kings are once more seen, after having paid their homage to the Christ, going to their own land by a different way. Some of their attendants have already reached the shores of the distant bay, and are preparing the ships to receive their masters.

Meantime, the effects of Herod’s disappointment are discoverable. On the other side of the town of Bethlehem, towards the bridge, the murder of the innocents takes place; it is distant enough to veil its horrors, near enough to distinguish the facts. But we are assured that the child, and his mother, and Joseph, are safe; for we see them on the road to Egypt, on the same side of the picture whence the southern king arrived. As they pass, an idol, placed upon a column, bows and falls,

And thus the history of the Adoration of the Three Kings, or Wise Men, with its immediate consequences, is completed.

Of the two episodes, the smaller preparatory one to the left contains three scenes, divided from each other by portions of woody landscape. The most distant is the Annunciation; the middle is the Angel appearing to the Shepherds; and the nearest, the Adoration of the Shepherds. All composed and finished, as carefully as the scenes of the main action, but by skilful management never interfering with it.

The greater or supplementary episode begins near the foreground, in a recess of the hills through which the road leads, by which the kings depart from Bethlehem. Christ is risen, and appears with the banner of salvation, freed from the garments of the dead! Farther off he appears to Mary Magdalene in the garden, and then to his mother; and farther still he walks with the disciples towards Emmaus, where he breaks bread and blesses it. Hard by, on the mount of the Ascension, the disciples are kneeling, while the form of Christ is faintly seen through the glory that mingles with the sky. But the purpose of his being on earth would not be shown, were not the descent of the Holy Spirit seen on the right hand. The event in itself has produced a beautiful picture, and taken, as it should be, along with the great whole to which it belongs, completes and perfects the history.

To the three remarkable works I have quoted as examples of histories, with a variety of events treated in one and the same picture, I might add many more; but I will content myself with naming a work, too much neglected by modern travellers, in the chapel of San Felice, in the great church of St. Anthony, at Padua. It is by Aldighieri, a pupil of Giotto, and is, unfortunately, darkened by the erection of a huge insulated marble altar-piece before it. The subject is the Crucifixion. The journey of Christ to Calvary forms one great preparatory incident, the crucifixion itself, and its attendant miracles, the main action: and the casting lots for the sacred vestments, is the concluding scene.—This is not the place to speak of the pathos Aldighieri has thrown into the first division, the dignity amounting to grandeur in the main action, or the skilful grouping and expression of the last scene. But I think it will be allowed that the painter has done well to unite the two minor actions with the greater, and thus complete the history. The examples of one history carried on through a series of pictures, are so numerous that the difficulty lies in choosing the most striking. Cimabue’s and Giotto’s lives of Saint Francis at Assisi, where each event is the subject of a separate picture; and Giotto’s life of Christ and of the Virgin at Padua, may be thought by some readers too antiquated to form authorities for the practice.

To such, therefore, I will recommend the example of Raffaelle in the Loggie, where the history of the Old Testament is carried on in that beautiful series of designs which ranges in order along the ceiling of those magnificent corridors[162].

Luini’s series of pictures at Saronno, Andrea del Sarto’s at Florence, and those of Domenichino at Grotto Ferrata, are among the finest works of these great masters. Every series contains a history.

Luini’s are the life of the Virgin.

Those of Andrea del Sarto relate to the life of Saint John the Baptist, and are among the most admired of his compositions.

In one of the pictures at Grotto Ferrata, where Saint Nilus, the hero of the series, casts out the evil spirit from the demoniac boy, Domenichino strives not unsuccessfully against the demoniac in the Transfiguration, where, for once, it must be allowed, that Raffaelle has fallen below Domenichino in truth of expression.

My third section of historical paintings is acknowledged by even those who object to the others. It contains such pictures as show a single action complete in itself.

I shall name a few examples among the antique painters, such as the Ajax struck with the thunderbolt by Apollodorus, and the Infant Hercules of Zeuxis. I am not sure whether to place the Contest of Ulysses and Ajax for the Armour of Achilles, in this or the next class. The pictures of Apelles appear to have been all either portraits or belonging to the fancies. The Battle of Alexander and Darius, by Philoxenus, seems, from description, to belong strictly to this section, and no doubt there are very many others; but, as we are no where told how many of the subjects were treated, it is impossible to class them.

Of modern pictures belonging to this section, the first and greatest is the Raising of Lazarus by Sebastian del Piombo[163], one of the finest oil pictures in the world; Raffaelle’s Entombment of Christ[164]; his Spassimo[165]; Titian’s Christ scourged[166]; Correggio’s Nativity[167]; Fra Bartolomeo’s Presentation of Christ in the Temple[168]; Daniel da Volterra’s Descent from the Cross[169]; Albertinelli’s Salutation[170]; Spagnoletto’s Entombment[171]; the small picture by Rembrandt of the Adoration of the Shepherds[172]; Rubens’ famous Descent from the Cross at Antwerp; and a thousand others, that a moment’s recollection will bring to every body’s remembrance. There are also a number of profane subjects treated so as to bring them under this class; particularly Poussin’s Death of Germanicus, and his Testament of Eudamidas. The great rival designs of Leonardo da Vinci and Michael Angelo, namely, the Battle of the Standard and the Surprise at the Bridge, now lost, were, if we may trust descriptions, and some few remaining fragments, so treated, as to bring them also into this section[173]; and I think no German would forgive me if I were to omit Albert Durer’s Massacre of the Christian Legions by Sapor the second[174].

Connected with this class, in the same manner as the Fancies are with the Epic pictures, is a whole class composed of single figures of an historical character. Among the first of these is Bellini’s Christ[175]: several of Raffaelle’s Madonnas find their place here. His Apostles certainly do[176], as well as his Saint Margaret[177]. There are many beautiful examples of this kind of picture by Giotto at Florence, by Luini at Milan and Soronno, and by Bellini at Venice, especially one in the little church of Santa Maria del Fiore. The Judith of Allori is likewise a fine specimen[178]; but among the very finest are Fra Bartolomeo’s Christ, and his Saint Mark[179]. These will not belong to the pictures where supernatural beings are introduced, they have too much the character of portraits, and might indeed be called imaginary portraits; and no doubt the feeling intended to be excited by the earliest of them was, the belief in their being true representations of the objects of veneration. Among pictures of this character are many Ecce Homos, of which the most afflicting to look upon is that of Cigoli[180]; and we must also class here Coreggio’s beautiful Magdalene[181].

The imaginary heads called Sybils, by Domenichino, Guido, and Guercino, the Magdalenes of Guido, the Cleopatras, Sophonisbas, and Lucretias, are surely left near enough to their old dignity of historical pictures, when ranged under the same head with those I have just named.

DRAMATIC PICTURES.

This class is naturally divided into two sections: the higher Tragedy, and Drama of a mixed character.

The ancients, from what we learn by description, cultivated both kinds. For examples of the first we have the Iphigenia of Timanthes; the Theban mother of Aristides, and the Medea of Timomachus.

Of the second kind, there were the Feigned Madness of Ulysses by Euphranor; the Great Sacrifice by Pausias, and several others, which we can now never know but by description.

When I speak of the higher tragedy, I do not mean such only where blood is shed before the spectator, but that grave kind which brings all the inmost serious thoughts together, and prepares the mind for the sublime and the terrible.

I do not fear to name the Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci first in this class. Seen only in its decay, and only to be studied in separate drawings of the heads, or in Uggione’s copy[182], it still obtains a power over the imagination that few other works of art ever reach. The sublime calmness of the Saviour in pronouncing that one of them shall betray him, allows us for the moment to sympathise with the heart-struck apostles, who, according to their various characters, self-confident, or self-doubting, are ready with the words, “Lord! is it I?” or, “though I die with thee I will not betray thee.” Never was expression more intense, or action more true. Again we turn to the Saviour, and feel that in his soul the sacrifice was already complete, the bitterness of death had been tasted, and the full agony of the cross endured[183].

At Viterbo there is in the church of the Franciscans an altar-piece, designed by Michael Angelo, and painted by Sebastian del Piombo. It is composed of two figures only. A very pale moonlight shows the figure of the Virgin seated on the earth, and pressed close to the body of her crucified son, which is extended on a white linen cloth before her: her face is turned upwards in the attitude of prayer. Words cannot convey an idea of the awful and reverential feelings excited by this picture.

But Raffaelle is above all others a Dramatic painter. The Miracle of Bolsena in the Stanze is a marvellous scene. The officiating priest; the self-convicted, and now convinced, doubter; the reasoning, calculating spectators on one side; the enthusiastic believers on the other, all conduce to the great event which is to produce a further and permanent effect.

The Incendio del Borgo is another strikingly tragic composition, and were this a proper place, it would be easy to prove the claims of the Cartoons to a high rank in the class, but for my purpose it is enough to name them as belonging to it.

The Crucifixion by Tintoret is among the grandest Dramatic pictures I have seen[184]; and there is a picture at Venice which accident prevented my seeing, but which, if it deserves Vasari’s description, ranks among the first of this class. “A picture (by Giorgione) in the college of San Marco, where the turbid sky thunders, the very canvass trembles, and the figures start and disperse themselves through the scene in the darkness of the shadow[185].” The subject was the bringing of the body of Saint Mark to Venice on board of ship.

A picture by Caravaggio, less seen than it deserves to be, must be named here. It is in the chapel of Saint John the Baptist attached to the great church at Malta, and represents the decollation of the saint. Saint John and the executioner occupy the immediate foreground: a woman leaving the court of the prison, where the scene is placed, applies her hands to her ears that she may not hear the fall of the axe; while two prisoners are looking, with the curiosity of terror, from the grated window of the gaol. The composition, colour, and expression are all terrible and highly dramatic.

To the second, or mixed class of Dramatic pictures, belong many of Paul Veronese’s great works, such as the Great Supper of Saint Gregory in the Refectory of the Servites, at Santa Maria del Monte, near Vicenza: his Marriage at Cana; the pictures in the church of Saint Sebastian at Venice, and many others. A great number of Tintoret’s pictures also find their proper place here[186]. Here also I would place Titian’s Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple[187]; and here some of Bonifaccio’s beautiful pictures, particularly the Feasting of the Prodigal Son, a work that, for composition, colour, and expression, is among the most beautiful I know[188]. I must not omit Andrea Mantegna’s Triumphs[189], nor Rubens’ imitations of them. Poussin’s Triumphs of David[190] are certainly dramatic, and so, perhaps, are his Sacraments[191].

But it is time to consider the variety of character among the Portraits, and to endeavour to class them.

OF PORTRAIT.

By historical portrait, I do not mean merely the likenesses of persons whose names are to be found in history, or Lely’s and Kneller’s works would have a chance of overpowering Raffaelle and Titian. But such portraits as Apelles painted of Alexander, or Protogenes of the tragic writer, Philiscus, sitting musing in his study, or as Raffaelle painted of Giulio II[192], and Cæsar Borgia[193], or Titian of Charles V.[194], and the Doge Grimani[195], or Andrea del Sarto of the astute Machiavelli[196], or Velasquez of Pope Innocent X[197], and King Philip[198], to say nothing of Rembrandt’s Burgomasters, or Rubens’ Duke of Alva, or Vandyke’s Charles I. and his unhappy Queen, and scarcely less unhappy courtiers. These are all single portraits historically treated.

The second division of portraits must comprehend those so treated, and composed of more than one figure. Such are the Leo X. and his secretaries at Florence by Raffaelle; Titian’s unfinished Leo with his two attendants at Naples, and his Cornaro family[199]; Paul Veronese’s Pisani family in the characters of the family of Darius[200]; Rubens’ Conversation piece, composed of Grotius, Muersins, Lipsius, and himself; Vandyke’s Charles I. with his Children; and such is also Holbein’s family of Sir Thomas Moore.

But even the nameless persons painted by great men have often a character and style which belong to historic treatment, and must not be confounded with what Fuseli aptly calls “the remembrancers of insignificance,” a class, however, not without merit, for it often gratifies the affection of friendship, recals pleasing recollections, and at worst, affords the painter occasions for the study of nature.

PICTURES OF FAMILIAR LIFE

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