[c] _History of Ancient Art_, Part V., 6.
NOTE 28. PAGE 74
It is commonly supposed that the vast mult.i.tude of men and women--the toilers in the fields and factories, and their families, do not appreciate great works of art; that rarely they take an interest in any kind of art, and then only in simple representations of everyday incidents. This is so apparently, but it is not strictly true. The great bulk of working people grow up amidst surroundings where they do not have an opportunity of seeing good works of art. They toil from morn to eve during their whole life: their imaginations are almost entirely confined to their means of livelihood, their daily routine of labour, and their household duties. A "mute inglorious Milton" remains mute because he wants the knowledge and experience around which his fancy may roam, and a potential Raphael dies in obscurity from the enforced rigidity of his imagination. But even so, notwithstanding that the nervous activities and the imaginations of the poorer workers remain undeveloped, they are still subservient to the irrevocable laws of nature. Their faculties may be little changed from childhood in respect of matters appertaining to the higher senses, but they still exist. So it comes about that in all times since art has been practised, the paintings and sculptures of the greater masters have been well appreciated by the mult.i.tude when they could come into contact with them. In modern times great works of art are seldom available to the ma.s.ses except in public galleries where their sense perception and minds are quickly confused and fatigued--in fact rendered incapable of legitimate use, but the trend of popular opinion is very decidedly settled by the experience of those business houses which undertake the reproduction of important works. There are many times the demand for prints and cards of pictures belonging to the higher forms of art, as for instance, sacred and historical subjects, and portraits, than for interiors and landscapes, and so incessant is this demand for the better works, that a painter desiring to copy one of the great Raphael or Correggio Madonnas at Florence for reproduction, will usually have to wait three or four years after entering his name, before his turn comes to set up his easel. It is rather the want of intelligent contact with them, than indifference to them, that is due the apparent lack of interest in great works of art on the part of the labouring cla.s.ses.
There is a deal of truth in the incisive remarks of Leo Tolstoy when dealing with this question. He says [a]:
Art cannot be incomprehensible to the great ma.s.ses only because it is very good, as artists of our day are fond of telling us. Rather we are bound to conclude that this art is unintelligible because it is very bad art, or even is not art at all. So that the favourite argument (navely accepted by the cultured crowd), that in order to feel art one has first to understand it (which really means to habituate oneself to it), is the truest indication that what we are asked to understand by such a method, is either very bad art, exclusive art, or is not art at all.
One may observe however that, as a rule, it is only inferior artists who complain of the want of public appreciation of great works of art.
[a] _What is Art?_ Aylmer Maude translation, 1904.
NOTE 29. PAGE 78
According to Lessing and Watts-Dunton, what the former calls the dazzling ant.i.thesis of Simonides--"Poetry is speaking painting, and painting dumb poetry"--has had a wide and deleterious effect upon art criticism. Lessing, who wrote _Laoc.o.o.n_ about 1761, said in his preface in reference to this saying:
It was one of those ideas held by Simonides, the truth of which is so obvious that one feels compelled to overlook the indistinctness and falsehood which accompany it.... But of late many critics, just as though no difference existed, have drawn the crudest conclusions one can imagine from this harmony of painting and poetry.
Watts-Dunton, writing a few years ago, added to this[a]:
It [the saying of Simonides] appears to have had upon modern criticism as much influence since the publication of Lessing"s _Laoc.o.o.n_ as it had before.
Lessing points out that the Greeks confined the saying to the effect produced by the two arts, and (evidently referring to Aristotle) did not forget to inculcate that these arts differed from each other in the things imitated and the manner of imitation.
Since the business of both poetry and painting is to throw pictures on the mind, the declaration of Simonides must be accepted, but it has no particular meaning as applied either to criticism or the practice of the arts. It is merely a fact of common knowledge put into the form of a misleading _jeu d"esprit_, though one has a natural reluctance in so describing a time-honoured saying. There is room for doubt whether it really had the effect upon criticism that is alleged. Annibale Carracci varied it slightly into a better form with "Poets paint with words, and painters speak with the pencil," and it was certainly as well known in his time as in the eighteenth century, yet we find no particular evidence of weak art criticism either in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. Moreover allegorical painting was not less common in these centuries than in the century following; and while there was unquestionably a spurt of descriptive poetry in the eighteenth, it is difficult to trace a connection between this phenomenon and general criticism based upon the dictum of Simonides. In regard to later times, the statement of Watts-Dunton wants demonstration.
[a] Article on "Poetry," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th edition.
NOTE 30. PAGE 79
A few distinguished poets have attempted to portray beauty of form by description of features, but they have all been signally unsuccessful.
The best known essay of the kind is Ariosto"s portrait of Araminta, where he closely describes all details of her features and form, using forty lines for the purpose; but put together the pieces as one will, it is quite impossible to gain from them an idea of the beauty of her countenance.[a] This is pointed out by Lessing. The very length of the catalogue is apt to kill the beauty as one endeavours to dovetail the separate elements. Perhaps the lines of Cornelius Gallus to Lydia form the most perfect poetical delineation of a beautiful face known to us, but as will be seen from the translation below, they are quite insufficient to enable us to picture the beauty of the combined features on our minds.[b]
Lydia! girl of prettiest mien, And fairest skin, that e"er were seen: Lilies, cream, thy cheeks disclose; The ruddy and the milky rose; Smooth thy limbs as ivory shine, Burnished from the Indic mine.
Oh, sweet girl! those ringlets spread Long and loose, from all thy head; Glistening like gold in yellow light O"er thy falling shoulders white.
Show, sweet girl! thy starry eyes, And black brows that arching rise: Show, sweet girl! thy rose-bloom cheeks, Which Tyre"s vermillion scarlet streaks: Drop those pouting lips to mine, Those ripe, those coral lips of thine.
[a] _Orlando Furioso_, C. VII.
[b] C. A. Elton translation.
NOTE 31. PAGE 80
If there be one example of descriptive poetry relating to landscape which throws upon the mind a complete natural scene during the process of reading, it is the beautiful chant of the Chorus in _Oedipus Coloneus_. The perfection of form and majestic diction of this poetry are remarkable, but the successful presentation of the picture on the mind is largely due to the simple and direct language used, and the astonishing brevity with which the many features of the scene are described. Green dells, fields, plains, groves, rocks, flowers, fruit, and rushing waters, are all brought in, and the few lines used do not prevent the introduction of the Muses, the jovial Bacchus with the nursing nymphs, and radiant Aphrodite. All modern poetry descriptive of landscape entirely fails in presenting a comprehensive view. It is too discursive--over descriptive, to permit of the mind collecting the details together as one whole. Here is the best prose version of the lines of Sophocles[a]:
Thou hast come, O stranger, to the seats of this land, renowned for the steed; to seats the fairest on earth, the chalky Colonus; where the vocal nightingale, chief abounding, trills her plaintive note in the green dells, tenanting the dark-hued ivy, and the leafy grove of the G.o.d, untrodden, teeming with fruits, impervious to the sun, and unshaken by the winds of every storm; where Bacchus the reveller ever roams attending his divine nurses. And ever day by day the narcissus, with its beauteous cl.u.s.ters, bursts into bloom by heaven"s dew, the ancient coronet of the mighty G.o.ddesses, and the saffron with golden ray; nor do the sleepless founts of Cephisus that wander through the fields fail, but every day it rushes o"er the plains with its limpid wave, fertilizing the bosom of the earth; nor have the choirs of the Muses loathed this clime; nor Aphrodite too, of the golden reign.
[a] Oxford translation.
NOTE 32. PAGE 81
It is perhaps necessary to remind some readers that the term "invention"
is used in two senses in art, referring to the original idea or scheme, or to the preparation of the design embodying the idea. In poetry and fiction the term has the former significance; in painting and sculpture the latter. The restriction in the use of the term in the last named arts is compulsory. (See Chap. III., and Note 33.)
NOTE 33. PAGE 81
Apparently Lessing did not observe that inasmuch as the painter cannot present the beginning and end of an incident, he must necessarily take his moment of action from the literary arts or from nature. The critic notices that the painter does not invent the action he depicts, but states that this is due to his indifference towards invention, developed by the natural readiness of the public to dispense with the merit of invention in his case. That is to say, the public expects the painter to take his idea from the poet or from nature, and looks to him only for correct design and execution: hence the painter is under no necessity to invent his own scheme.
It is curious that a reason of this kind for the practice of the painter should be put forward by so keen a critic as Lessing, but it is not altogether surprising when we remember the discussion as to whether Virgil drew his representation of the Laoc.o.o.n incident from the celebrated sculptured group, or the sculptors adopted the device of the poet. Lessing definitely settled the point in favour of the poet as the author of the design, and since his time this decision has been confirmed over and over again by practical evidence. But the conclusion of Lessing seems obvious in the absence of any such evidence. As we must exclude the possibility of both poet and sculptors taking the design from the same original source, it is clear that the poet could only have imitated the sculptors on the supposition that they had so widely varied the legend as to necessitate a new beginning and end of the story, these being provided by the poet. Consideration of such a series of events is not permissible, as it would reflect upon the common sense of the sculptors, and actually degrade the poet.
Consequent upon the inability of the painter to originate a scheme for a picture, the famous proposition of Lessing as to the relative importance of invention and execution with the poet and painter, must fall to the ground. The critic states that our admiration of Homer would be less if we knew that he took certain of his work from pictures, and asks[a]:
How does it happen that we withdraw none of our esteem from the painter when he does no more than express the words of the poem in forms and colours?
He suggests as an answer to this:
With the painter, execution appears to be more difficult than invention: with the poet on the other hand the case seems to be reversed, and his execution seems to be an easier achievement than the invention.
The word "invention" is to be taken here in the sense of plot or fable, and not as the details of design invented by the painter for the purpose of representing the action described by the poet. The premisses of Lessing"s argument therefore will not stand, for the painter cannot originate a fable by means of a picture. And sequential to this of course, the painter can be of no service to the poet. Homer could not draw an original scheme from a painting. Nor may the poet take a detail from the painter, for this has already been borrowed. A poet may vary a detail in a legend because he can make the successive parts of his relation fit in with the variation, but the painter can only deal with a single moment of action, and if this does not correspond with an accepted legend, then his design appears to be untrue.
It may be said in regard to painting, that the relative difficulty of the invention (the work of gathering and arranging the signs) and the execution, varies with the character of the art. In the higher forms, as sacred and historical work, the invention is the more difficult; in ordinary scenes of life and labour the trouble involved in invention would about equal that in execution; while in the lower forms, as landscape and still-life, the execution is obviously the more difficult.
In the case of the poet, the idea or fable is the hardest part of his work, but the relative difficulty of the arrangement of the parts, and the execution, would naturally depend upon the general character of the composition, and the form of the poem.
[a] _Laoc.o.o.n_, Phillimore translation.
NOTE 34. PAGE 82
The works here referred to are those designed for the purpose of achieving a political or social aim, or conveying instruction or moral lessons. There are many examples of good art where advocacy of a social or administrative reform is presented by way of incident or accessory, though the art itself is never, and cannot be, a.s.sisted thereby.
"Didactic Art," if such a term may be appropriately used, is practically a thing of the past, but judging from certain conventions the opinion seems to be rather widely held that art should point a moral when possible, and an opinion of Aristotle is not infrequently called in to support this view. But when Aristotle connected morals with art, he evidently did not mean to suggest that art should have a moral purpose, but that it should have a moral tendency in not being morally harmful, for art which is not morally harmful must necessarily be morally beneficial. The general connection of the good with the beautiful in ancient Greece seems to have merely implied that what is good is beautiful, and what is beautiful is good, or should be good, and not that goodness is a manifestation of beauty, or beauty of goodness. It was admitted that the two things may not coincide.
NOTE 35. PAGE 85