1821. Where does the fish stand in the flood? The Poet. Where is mixing wine best understood, The shepherd hesat, and all calmly did take, And stood between them all thyself, Than take from me the smallest thing." And so he turned his horse about, And on over hill and dale rode he, "The sun is rounder than a wheel; Women their beard on their neck do wear, The highest road to Paradise runs, Child Bonved the warrior so brave and And the coldest drink is beneath the stout; ground." For the former part of this Essay, see page 41 of the present Volume. VOL. IV. THE POET. Ar morn, at noon, at eve, and middle night, He passes forth into the charmed air, With Talisman to call up Spirits rare From flower, tree, heath, and fountain. To his sight To the core, and every secret essence there Then, as of old, might inspiration shed 2 H S. C. Wan Winkbooms, his Dogmas for Dilettanti. 7 No. II. GIULIO ROMANO. I like the green plush which your meadows weare, In minde or fortune, thither should retire: A wise man should never resolve upon any thing Habington. *. A man must do according to accidents and emergencies. Selden's Table-Talk. ** He who possessing an active mind is yet deficient in variety and originality of ideas to feed it with, cannot subsist long without books. This we felt so sensibly in our late excursion, that we were forced to relinquish, for a time, our resolution of visiting (which would of course have suggested very pastoral and marine articles), and to return to London, and our indispensable authors and painters. "In height of spring-tide, when heaven's lights are long, we may contrive to drag through the day bookless not amiss. Before breakfast, for instance, one may take a view-if one can; at noon, a sail-if near the sea; and in the evening, a stroll amid the fresh fragrant breath of the furze and heath-if not tired; repeating Collins's lovely ode-if ever learnt, and still retained. By this time it draws towards ten o'clock, and a truss of fine blanched lettuce, a good dig of Stilton, or a slice of ham, and a handsome glass of bottled-porter,-all well-earned by exercise,-carry you comfortably to your white-curtained bed. But as the days begin to draw in, and when the mystical R. renders oysters eatable, and candles necessary, solitude at an inn becomes intolerable; especially since the disuse of coloured prints, samplers, screens, maps, &c. They have no little china pastoralities on the mantleshelves now,-no piping shepherds, in claret-coloured coats and cocked hats, no fallow-deer couching their white breasts among pure lilies, and ideally green herbage,-no Falstaffs, acquered red and yellow,-nor Shak speares, overlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue: crumbled to tinder are those pictorial bed-curtains, visible lectures on ornithology and botany-" all, all are gone, the old familiar faces," and with them is flown half the enjoyment I took in enacting the Tartar. I am certainly an amiable creature; every action of my life emanates from a wish to please. I left the valley of ** last spring to please the painters with my eulogies. I left the sea-weedtangled beach of bidding the thickening waves go foam for other eyes," to please myself. And this morning, I left my most acra sian bed to please the Editor, by penning No. II. of my delightful Dogmas. But in the first place, I must see what there is in this roll. Ah! Mr. Richard Cook, are you here at my call?-The Death of Acis, folio size. This very striking spirited design proves that the painter of Polyphemus groping for the Ithacans at the Mouth of his Cave (engraved for Sharp's elegant edition of the poets), and Douglas grimly louring on the glittering train of James IV., has not fallen off either in animation or refinement. The action of Galatea's hands has great truth and simplicity; but the lower limbs want more energy, or more helplessness; the latter, indeed, would accord better with the convulsive shrink of the arms; a frightened Amor, it is true, appears to urge forward the "faire marine," indicating very plainly her reluctance or incapacity needing such incitement; but the white knees them selves have none of the hesitation and uncertainty of terror arrested by pity; of love combating selfhood; they do not start wildly away, nor bend and knock with joint-loosening dread, nor stiffen rigidly, as if struck into marble-but they are graceful, composed, and elastic. Perhaps this is hyper-criticism. About the Acis I feel more confident, he is carefully drawn, every muscle and bone have their rights well-acknowledged, and the expression of his face is far from tame; but precise marking is of little avail when the outline is pinched and without style. Extraordinary genius may merge the accidental pettiness of parts in the overpowering grandeur of the whole; but an inferior talent, out-balanced by mediocrity, will certainly be smothered as in a quicksand. Mr. Cook then may be a little proud, that not he himself has been able to ruin his own composition, even by such a prominent disfigurement. He has lately been very idle, but I trust we shall meet him again on the high places, raising his ears at the loud twang of Homer's phorminx, and giving chase to the thick-thrilling sounds. This print is etched with artist-like feeling, by the firm hand of William Taylor, a young man struggling for fame under great disadvantages, and whose execution does honour to Mr. Cook's selection. O here is Mr. Golding's long ex pected Princess Charlotte, after Sir Thomas. I have mentioned this pic ture in terms of the warmest admiration (see account of the last Exhi bition) and am not the least inclined to retract, though my opinion has been strongly opposed by several who ought to know better than my self; and when I consider how little Sir Thomas's favourites, the old Ita lian masters, and the antique, are appreciated among our artists and connoisseurs, I feel quite satisfied that 419 the refinement, suavity, and graceful delicate chastity of this portrait, form its essential bars to popularity. With respect to the copy, or translation, by Mr. Golding, it is decidedly inferior to no line engraving of the present English school. The first essential of a print is implicit fidelity to the original,* (which of course we suppose worthy of multiplication); where the want of this is acknowledged the real connoisseur will reject the misrepresentation with contempt. Therefore, the possession of this qualification should, of itself, render the present plate valuable to all admirers of Lawrence; if Golding had not also flattered the eye of the print collector by the most varied and appropriate workmanship, firm, delicate, solid, airy, clear, rich, and brilliant. The pathetic tenderness of the eyes, the great attraction of the large drawing (formerly alluded to), is not so perceptible in the plate; but its omission is rather the graver's misfortune than its fault. The expression, though true, was too subtle and ethereal to bear the touch of steel.-But who is the author of this large Dentatus, from Mr. Haydon's well-known pic ture? I am quite ignorant of his style-where is my glass?" Drawn and engraved on wood by Harvey!" On wood! So it is by Jupiter! Truly this is the most effectively elaborate performance that I ever met with; and can it be the work of the very young man I have had pointed out to me as the co-pupil of the Landseers and young Bewick? His ardour for excellence, and unwearied perseverance under the most harrassing privations, were not unknown to me; but who could suppose that raw twenty-one should thus shame experienced fifty, and create a new era in xylography? Up to this day, our historical wood-cutters have thought it much to follow in some fashion those lines ready pencilled by the inventor on the blocks; but here a good-fornothing fellow, taking it into his head to break through all the established customs of the craft, copies a picture, and a complex one too, on an out-ofthe-way sized piece of box; with skill in drawing, knowledge of anatomy, fire of expression, character of touch, and general feeling, beseeming much rather a practised inventor than an inexperienced engraver!What is not to be apprehended to modern art, if such an innovating and radical example is to be spread over all the print windows in town? I see only one way, which is for all reform-hating loyal people to follow my example, and unite in buying up his whole edition; and, no doubt, this will be so discouraging to Mr. Harvey, as to induce him (more Dibdini) to shatter his block. Seriously, you to whom a guinea is a mite not missed, think, if ye can think, of the super-wretched situation of the young artist; who, in that trying season when uncertain of either future fame, or even the means of a miserable subsistence, devotes all his energies to preparatory study by day, while his dim lamp burns till four in the morning, that the few shillings afforded by an obscure publisher for some little designs, may procure him the means of appearing among his companions with decency. Exhausted in mind, chilled with cold and hunger, he throws his weak fevered limbs on a hard old flock-bed, from which he awakes to act anew that most pitiable of all characters, the poor gentleman! I am very far from wishing the public to take up every man who chooses to fancy himself a painter; but when there is real and great merit suffering under sickness of heart and body, shall we refuse ourselves a hundred pounds worth of pleasant feelings for the sake of a guinea, which a glass of Madeira the less for a day or two will amply make up to us? Recollect this you, who lightly salving your consciences by the plea of necessary economy, refuse a shilling or two towards a poor family's dinner, and yet that very evening will carouse deep in "rich-glowing cups." In the present instance, I can furnish you with three incitements. 1st. You will enable a most deserving aspirant to pursue his studies with more attention to a delicate constitution; which, secondly, I take it will give you some very comfortable sensations; and, thirdly, your portfolio or boudoir will be enriched with nearly the largest, and certainly the most astonishingly tooled wood engraving that England has ever produced: and, whoever does me the honour to find my judgment amiss, I beg leave to inform him that my name is Van Vinkbooms, and that I carry a pen! I have nothing more to say just now about recent publications, except to recommend the new volume (5th) of Mr. Daniel's Coasting Tour, as fully equal in interest to the fourth. Also, an excellent large folio etching of Windsor, from the forest, by Mr. Delamotte, whose Studies from Nature about Sandhurst (2 Nos. 4to.) are the most genuine things of the kind ever published in this country, though a little too painter-like for beginners. From Germany I believe nothing has arrived lately, but Mr. Bohte has sent me some outline compositions from the Eleusinian Mysteries which have much spirit and elegance. The classical scholar will be highly pleased with them, and their price is moderate. In a pocket book edited by La Motte Fouqué, are inserted ten or twelve prints illustrative of Undine, Hieronymus Von Stauf, &c. very characteristic of the German school. From the former most bewitching of tales, C. F. Schultze has made fourteen designs in outline, which I shall notice some time or other; though perhaps more for the delight of recurring to their ever-fresh source than on their own account. though by no means equal to Retsch, the decorator of Goethe's wonderful dramatic poem, Schultze has in several instances risen far above mediocrity. Take, for example, the inimitable stunted Gnome, in plate 6; and Kühleborn among the reeds of the Black Valley, plate 12; two figures pronounced unimprovable by a judgment which I have found infallible. Still, The present tendency of British art is towards mean, bald matter of fact; which is just coming round again to the first state of painting, when simple undiscriminative imitation was the sole object; if the eye was dazzled and deceived, no care was taken for the satisfaction of the mind.* This tendency, far from depressing, fills me with great hopes, when I consider that Michael Angelo, and Raffaello, rose from the ruins of similar barbarity. Art is grown old and imbecile a second time, and must, like the phoenix, devote its crazy shell to the re-production of one stronger and better able to exhibit its in-dwelling, never-dying flame. This is the course of nature, where life ever springs from death; a truth beautifully shadowed forth in the fable of Medea, who, unable to re-invigorate the ruin of what once was son, was forced to decompose, reduce to its original atoms, and, as it were, create anew. Though in England the principle of life is still inert, and does not yet feel the influence of the regenerative fermentation now working so perceptibly in Germany, I do not deem it altogether impertinent to endeavour to prepare a few minds to receive patiently and unpetulantly, the tender shoots which will, I trust, spring up in the good time. There are many reasons why the moderns can never succeed in the pure classical execution of any given subject, except at second hand; and, as the expected outbreak will be necessarily somewhat wild and licentious, I think it better to dispose the public to indulgence, by accustoming them to the flights of the romantic masters, than to harden their hearts and judgments by insisting on extreme correctness, and nice propriety. With such intention, I endeavoured to call more real and general notice towards the suavity, amorous languor, and serpentine grace of Correggio, most commonly obtained by the sacrifice of drawing and truth (once or twice even of appropriateness and common sense); and, in furtherance of it, I shall try to reconcile the intendenti to the somewhat repelling inventions of a painter apparently far more extravagant, though, in reality, more correct and legitimate; not with any wish to hold up these derelictions for imitation or praise, but merely to prevent sterling genius from neglect and ridicule, on account of some superficial eccentricities. I mean Giulio Pippi, surnamed Romano, the favourite disciple, and, in mythic subjects, the successful rival of D'Urbino; and also the head of a separate school, honoured by the names of Francesco Primaticcio, Teodoro Ghisi, Rinaldo Mantovano, Battista Bertano, and Giulio Campi, the Cremonese. The pictures occasionally exhibited in England as the works of this master, will certainly not bear me out in the following observations on his style; neither will the frescos executed in the Vatican, from the cartoons of Raffaello; but if you will turn over the folios of Messrs. Woodburne, Molteno, and Colnaghi, I think we shall not materially disagree. Poussin is vulgarly considered the most eminent in Grecian fable:the visitors to Mantua know otherwise, and that the agility, untrammelled motions, vigour, and earnestness of Giulio's actors, show a far deeper penetration into the spirit of the traditional days,―of the age of the demi-gods,-than the painted statuary of the Frenchman, classical, and "high-thoughts-creating" as it is. "We must form our estimate of Giulio's powers," says Fuseli, (2d lecture) "less from his tutored works at Rome, than from the colossal conceptions, the pathetic or sublime allegories, and the voluptuous reveries, which enchant in the Palazzo del T. near Mantua. Whatever be the dimension, the subject, or the scenery, minute or colossal, simple, or complex, terrible, or pleasing; we trace a mind bent to surprise, or to dazzle by poetic splendour. But, sure to strike by the originality of his conception, he often neglects propriety in the conduct of his subjects, considered as a series; and, in the arrangement, or choice of the connecting parts, hurried into extremes by the torrent of a fancy more lyric than epic, he disdains to fill the intermediate chasms, and, too often leaves the task of connexion to the spectator." If the embellishments of this palace testify the inexhaustibility of his fancy, and the universality of his pencil, his diversified attain To simplify and be perspicuous it is necessary to make this broad opposition of terms, though it is neither sufficiently delicate, nor indeed strictly philosophical. |