Library of the World's Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, volume 05 — Selected excerpts

(1813-1882) We have few personal details of Charles Blanc.

We know that he lived in a luminous world of form and thought, a life in harmony with his work;

we have books containing his conception of art; we know that art was his one absorbing passion: and this should satisfy us, for it was his own opinion that all which does not tend to illustrate an artist's conception of art is of but secondary importance in his life.

Of Franco-Italian extraction, Charles Blanc was born in Castres, France, on the 15th of November, 1813. When in 1830 he and his brother Louis, youths of eighteen and nineteen, came to Paris, their aged father, an ex-inspector of finance whose career had been ruined by the fall of Napoleon, was dependent on them for support.

Louis soon procured work on a newspaper; but Charles, whose ambition from his earliest years was to become a painter, spent his days in the Louvre, or wandering about Paris looking in the old-print-shop windows, and he thus learned much that he afterwards developed in his works.

As his brother's position improved, he was enabled to study drawing with Delaroche and engraving with Calamatta.

His masters gave him but little encouragement, however, and he soon turned his thoughts to literature, his maiden effort being a description of the Brussels Salon of 1836 for his brother's paper.

Exquisite sensitiveness and responsiveness to beauty eminently fitted Charles Blanc for the position of art critic, and gave a charm to his earliest writings.

He brought to his new task the technical knowledge of an artist, and a penetrating critical insight which, aided by study, ripened rapidly.

The evidence of talent afforded by his first art criticism induced Louis Blanc to confide to him successively the editorship of several provincial papers.

But Charles's inclinations were toward the calm atmosphere of art; he was, and ever remained, indifferent to politics, and looked upon the fiery, active Louis with astonishment, even while catching his energy and ambition.

On his return to Paris he began a history of the 'French Painters of the Nineteenth Century,' but one volume of which appeared; and the 'Painters of All Schools,' completed in 1876. Very little was then known of the lives of the painters.

By illustrating each biographical sketch with engravings of the artists' pictures, Blanc met a long-felt want.

As the work was intended for the general reader, it was not overloaded with erudition: but numerous anecdotes, combined with vivacity of style, aroused interest in painting and created a public for the more purely technical works which followed.

Though assisted by others in this undertaking, Blanc himself planned the method of treatment, and wrote the history of the Dutch and French schools; and the work justly retains his name.

The Socialists had taken a prominent part in the events of February, 1848, which led to the overthrow of Louis Philippe; and they yielded to the universal desire by appointing Charles Blanc Director of Fine Arts--a position which he had prophesied to his friends several years before that he would one day fill.

When he assumed office, the position of artists was critical; as, owing to social convulsions, government and private orders had dwindled into insignificance.

Thanks to his energy, work was resumed on public monuments, and the greater part of the sum of 900,000 francs, voted by the National Assembly for the Champs de Mars festival, was devoted to work which gave employment to a legion of decorative painters and sculptors.

After the Salon of 1848, as the government coffers were depleted, he obtained 80,000 francs' worth of Sèvres porcelain from the Minister of Commerce, to give as prizes.

He combated a proposition made by the Committee on Finance to suppress the Louvre studios of molding; he opposed the motion to reduce the corps of professors at the School of Fine Arts, and defended the School of Rome, threatened with suppression.

While Director of Fine Arts, Blanc fought his first and only duel, in defence of his brother, although he had never fired a pistol in his life.

During the political agitation of 1848, Louis was condemned by the National Assembly, and fled to London.

After his departure, he was abused in very insulting language by one Lacombe, and Charles called the latter to account.

In the duel which followed, Lacombe was hit, but the ball struck his pocket-book and glanced off, when Méry, one of the seconds, exclaimed, "That was money well invested!"

and there the matter ended.

Another event, which occurred several years previous, has a certain psychological significance.

One evening Charles Blanc was visiting a friend who resided a distance of one hundred and fifty miles from Paris.

In the midst of conversation, he suddenly grew pale and exclaimed that he had received a shock, adding that something must have happened to Louis.

The next day his fears were confirmed by the receipt of a letter, telling him that the latter had been knocked down in the streets of Paris by a blow across the forehead.

When Dumas père heard of this coincidence, he utilized it in his 'Corsican Brothers.'

Notwithstanding his fine record as an administrator and his encouragement of talent, Blanc was sacrificed to the spirit of reaction which set in about 1850. His removal displeased the entire art world, so highly was he esteemed for his integrity, his progressive ideas, and his unerring taste.

On his return to private life he resumed his 'History of the Painters.'

'L'Oeuvres de Rembrandt' (1853 to 1863), containing also a life of the artist, was illustrated by the first photographic plates which ever appeared in a book.

The name 'Peintres des Fêtes Galantes' was derived by Blanc from the title conferred on Watteau by the French Academy.

Of the artists therein mentioned, Watteau occupied the realm of poetry; Lancret that of the conventional, the fashionable; Pater that of vulgar, jovial reality;

Boucher, the most distinctively French of artists, that of brilliancy, dash, and vivacity.

These painters are a curious study for the historian interested in the external forms of things.

With the exception of Dupré, Blanc knew all the painters of whom he writes in the 'Artistes de mon Temps' (Artists of My Time).

The work is therefore replete with personal recollections.

Here again the general interest is deepened by the warm interest which the author takes in the men and events of the time.

There are many charming pages devoted to Félix Duban, Delacroix, and Calamatta; to the contemporary medallions of David d'Angers; to Henri Leys, Chenavard, and Troyon; to Corot, the lover of nature who saw her through a veil of poetry; to Jules Dupré and Rousseau, who saw the poetry innate in her.

He introduces us to the caricaturists Grandville and Gavarni; to Barye's lifelike animals.

On reading the lives of these men, one is struck by the fact that they produced their masterpieces at about the age of twenty years.

The 'Treasures of Art in Manchester,' and 'From Paris to Vienna,' were published in 1857. The latter contained curious information about the sale of art works during the seventeenth century, with the prices they brought, and is enlivened with short spirited sketches of artists and amateurs.

In 1867 Blanc became a member of the Academic des Beaux Arts.

The 'Treasures of Curiosity' is a catalogue of pictures and engravings sold between 1830 and the date of the appearance of the book.

Devoted to purely artistic subjects, the Journal des Beaux Arts, founded by Blanc, rendered great service to art by spreading a taste for it among the cultivated classes.

The 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' first appeared in this periodical.

Though given up to a consideration of technical subjects, the work abounds in poetic touches and has great interest for the general reader.

In 1875 it was discussed in the French Academy, when its author competed for the chair left vacant by the death of Vitel.

He was not elected until the following year, though his book met with great success, and led to the revival of engraving in France.

When he began his studies for the life of Ingres, which appeared in 1867, he found many letters of the artist, which enabled him to follow the latter through the various phases of his life: to know the changes of his temper, the inflexibility of his character; his emotions day by day; his momentary discouragements, his great will-power; the heroic efforts he made to reach the heights; his ideas on art, his opinions of others as well as himself: and thanks to these documents, he was enabled to reproduce one of the most remarkable personalities, if not the most original one, of the French school.

In 1870 he was again made Director of Fine Arts.

He introduced several reforms in the organization of the Salon, and founded a 4,000-franc prize.

But the spirit of reaction could not forgive his political antecedents; and in 1873, on the fall of Thiers, he was removed before he could complete his plan for establishing a museum of copies to reproduce the masterpieces of painting.

One well-deserved satisfaction was granted him in 1878 by the creation of a chair of Æsthetics and Art History in the College of France, which he was called by special decree to fill; and there he taught for three years.

The first part of the 'Grammar of the Decorative Arts' appeared in 1881;

the second part, dealing with interior decorations, in 1882. The third part, 'The Decoration of Cities,' was not completed, owing to his sudden death.

Elected President of the French Academy in 1882, he did not enjoy this well-deserved honor long.

A few weeks before his death--which occurred on February 17th, 1882, from the effects of an operation for cancer--he began a catalogue of the collection presented by Thiers to the Louvre.

This was the last work of a pen wielded with unimpaired vigor to the end.

"The great artist," wrote Blanc, "is he who guides us into the region of his own thoughts, into the palaces and fields of his own imagination, and while there, speaks to us the language of the gods;" and to none are these words more applicable than to himself.

In the world of thought he was a man of great originality, though neither architect, painter, nor sculptor.

He had all the artist nature from a boy, and never lost the tender sensibility and _naïf_ admiration for the beautiful in nature and art which give such glow of enthusiasm to his writings.

His 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' founded the scientific method of criticism.

In this work he brought his intellectual qualifications and extensive reading to bear upon a subject until then treated either by philosophical theorizers or eloquent essayists.

He has left one of the purest literary reputations in France.

He was above all an idealist, and made the World Beautiful more accessible to us.

[Illustration: _REMBRANDT AND HIS WIFE_.

Photogravure from the original Painting by Rembrandt.

Dresden Gallery.

] [Illustration] REMBRANDT

From 'The Dutch School of Painters' Rembrandt has taken great pains to transmit to us paintings of his person, or at least of his face, from the time of his youth up to that of shrunken old age.

He was a man at once robust and delicate.

His broad and slightly rounded forehead presented a development that indicated a powerful imagination.

His eyes were small, deep-set, bright, intelligent, and full of fire.

His hair, of a warm color bordering on red and curling naturally, may possibly have indicated a Jewish extraction.

His head had great character, in spite of the plainness of his features; a large flat nose, high cheek-bones, and a copper-colored complexion imparted to his face a vulgarity which, however, was relieved by the form of his mouth, the haughty outline of his eyebrows, and the brilliancy of his eyes.

Such was Rembrandt; and the character of the figures he painted partakes of that of his own person.

That is to say, they have great expression, but are not noble; they possess much pathos, while deficient in what is termed style.

An artist thus constituted could not but be exceedingly original, intelligent, and independent, though selfish and entirely swayed by caprice.

When he began to study nature, he entered upon his task not with that good nature which is the distinctive characteristic of so many of the Dutch painters, but with an innate desire to stamp upon every object his own peculiarity, supplementing imagination by an attentive observation of real life.

Of all the phenomena of nature, that which gave him most trouble was light; the difficulty he most desired to conquer was that of expression.

ALBERT DÜRER'S 'MELANCHOLIA'

From 'The Dutch School of Painters' The love of the extravagant and fantastic observable in Dürer's first pictures never abandoned him.

He has probably expressed the inspiration of his own soul in the figure of Melancholy, who, seated on the sea-shore, seems trying to penetrate with her gaze into infinite space.

For my part, I have this picture always before me.

How could it be possible to forget an engraving of Dürer's, even though seen but once?

I can see her proud and noble head resting thoughtfully upon one hand, her long hair falling in disheveled tresses upon her shoulders; her folded wings emblematic of that impotent aspiration which directs her gaze towards heaven; a book, closed and useless as her wings, resting upon her knee.

Nothing can be more gloomy, more penetrating, than the expression of this figure.

From the peculiar folds of her dress, one would suppose she was enveloped in iron draperies.

Near her is a sun-dial with a bell which marks the hours as they glide away.

The sun is sinking beneath the ocean, and darkness will soon envelop the earth.

Above hovers a strange-looking bat with spreading wings, and bearing a pennon on which is written the word "Melancholia."

All is symbolical in this composition, of which the sentiment is sublime.

Melancholy holds in her right hand a pair of compasses and a circle, the emblem of that eternity in which her thoughts are lost.

Various instruments appertaining to the arts and sciences lie scattered around her; after having made use of them, she has cast them aside and has fallen into a profound revery.

As typical of the mistrust which has crept into her heart with avarice and doubt, a bunch of keys is suspended to her girdle; above her is an hour-glass, the emblem of her transitory existence.

Nothing could be more admirable than the face of Melancholy, both in the severe beauty of her features and the depth of her gaze.

Neither the sentiment of melancholy nor the word which expresses it had appeared in art before the time of Albert Dürer.

* * * * * INGRES

From the 'Life of Ingres' Small of stature, square of figure, rough of manner, devoid of distinction, Ingres's personality afforded a great contrast to the refinement of his taste and the charm of his feminine figures.

I can hardly conceive how a man thus built could show such delicacy in the choice of his subjects; how those short, thick fingers could draw such lovely, graceful forms.

Ingres hated academic conventionality; he mingled the Florentine and Greek schools; he sought the ideal not outside of reality but in its very essence, in the reconciliation of style with nature.

Color he considered of secondary importance; he not only subordinated it voluntarily to drawing, but he did not have a natural gift for it.

Ingres is the artist who has best expressed the voluptuousness not of flesh but of form; who has felt feminine beauty most profoundly and chastely.

CALAMATTA'S STUDIO

From 'Contemporary Artists' I can still see Lamennais, with his worn-out coat, his round back, his yellow, parchment-like face, his eyes sparkling beneath a forehead imprinted with genius, and resembling somewhat Hoffmann's heroes.

George Sand sometimes visited us, and it seemed to me that her presence lighted up the whole studio.

She always spoke to me, for she knew that I was the brother of a distinguished writer, and when she looked over my plate I trembled like a leaf.

Thus our calm sedentary life was enlivened by an occasional sunbeam; and when I was hard at work with my graver, my mind was nourished by the minds of others.

Giannone, the poet, read his commentaries on Shakespeare to us, and Mercure always had a witty retort in that faulty French which is so amusing in an Italian mouth.

Calamatta would listen in silence, his eyes glued to his drawing of the 'Joconde,' at which he worked on his good days.

BLANC'S DÉBUT AS ART CRITIC

From 'Contemporary Artists' In those days things happened just as they do now; the criticism is almost invariably the work of beginners.

A youth who has acquired a smattering of learning, who has caught up the slang of the studios, and pretends to have a system or to defend a paradox, is chosen to write an account of the Salon.

I was that youth, that novice.

And after all, how become a workman unless you work?

how become expert if you do not study, recognize your mistakes and repair them?

Beneath our mistakes truth lies hidden.

So I arrived at Brussels to exercise the trade of critic, and found myself in the presence of two men who were then making a brilliant debut as painters: De Keyser and Henri Leys.

I hope I shall be forgiven if I reproduce my criticism of the latter's 'Massacre of the Magistrates of Louvain.'

"Imagine to yourself a small public square, such as might have existed in Louvain in the fourteenth century; this square filled with angry people demanding satisfaction for the death of their chief, Gautier de Lendes, assassinated by the nobles; the approach to the palace of justice crowded with men armed to the teeth; at the top of the stairs the city magistrates on their way to execution, some as calm as if about to administer justice, others bewailing that the people know not what they do; peasants awaiting them at the foot of the stairs, dagger in hand, a smile upon their lips;

here and there fainting women, dead bodies being stripped, dying men being tortured, and an inextricable confusion of monks, burghers, soldiers, children and horses.

Then if you fancy this scene painted with the warmth and impetuosity of a Tintoretto, or as Hugo would have written it, you will have an idea of Leys's picture.

It may not be prudent to trust an enthusiastic criticism; but my opinion is shared by every one.

I may be rash in praising a young man whose wings may melt in the sun; but when, as is the case with M. Leys, the artist possesses exact knowledge of the times and manners, when he has verve, dash, and deep feeling, he needs only to moderate ardor by reflection, and to ripen inspiration by study, in order to become great."

One must admit that the above was not a bad beginning for an apprentice-connoisseur, and that I was fortunate in praising an unknown artist destined to make a great reputation....

There is something more real than reality in what passes in the soul of a great artist!

* * * * * DELACROIX'S 'BARK OF DANTE'

From 'Contemporary Artists' An admirable and altogether new quality is the weird harmony of color which makes the painting vibrate like a drama; or in other words, that sombre harmony itself is the foundation of the tragedy.

Lyricism is expressed by mere difference in tones, which, heightened by their contrasts and softened by their analogy, become harmonious while clashing with each other.

A new poetry was born of the French school, until then so sober of color, so little inclined to avail itself of the material resources of painting.

And yet the expression thus achieved by Delacroix appeals to the soul as much as to the eyes.

It is not merely optical beauty, but spiritual beauty of the highest order, that is produced by his superb coloring.

In this picture the young painter's genius was revealed unto himself.

He then knew that he had guessed the secret of an art which he was to carry to a perfection undreamed of before,--the orchestration of color....

Delacroix was the hero of Romanticism.

His life was one long revolt in the name of color against drawing, of flesh against marble, of freedom of attitude against traditionary precision.

He is an essentially modern genius inflamed by the poetry of Christianity, and he added tumultuous passions and feverish emotions to the antique serenity of art.

In those days youth was entirely given up to noble aspirations, to dreams of glory, to enthusiasm for beauty of expression and feeling, to an ardent love of liberty.

Men were indifferent to stock quotations, but they rated spiritual values high.

Mere theories inspired passion;

quarrels on the subject of style and painting were common; men became enthusiastic over poetry and beauty--the ideal!

GENESIS OF THE 'GRAMMAR'

At dinner one day with the dignitaries of one of the largest cities of France, conversation turned upon the arts.

All of the guests spoke of them, and well; but each intrenched himself behind his own personal views, in virtue of the adage "One cannot argue about tastes."

I

protested in vain against this false principle, saying that it was inadmissible, and that the classic Brillat-Savarin would have been shocked at such blasphemy.

Even his name had no weight, and the guests separated gayly, after uttering heresies that made you shiver.

Among the eminent men present there was one, however, who seemed somewhat mortified that he had not the most elementary idea of art; and he asked me if there was not some book in which its principles were presented in a clear and brief form.

I replied that no such book existed, and that on leaving college I should have been only too happy to find such a work;

and thereupon determined to write one.

MORAL INFLUENCE OF ART

From 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' Painting purifies people by its mute eloquence.

The philosopher writes his thoughts for those who can think and read.

The painter shows his thought to all who have eyes to see.

That hidden and naked virgin, Truth, the artist finds without seeking.

He throws a veil over her, encourages her to please, proves to her that she is beautiful, and when he has reproduced her image he makes us take her, and takes her himself, for Beauty.

In communicating to us what has been seen and felt by others, the painter gives new strength and compass to the soul.

Who can say of how many apparently fugitive impressions a man's morality is composed, and upon what depends the gentleness of his manners, the correctness of his habits, the elevation of his thoughts?

If the painter represents acts of cruelty or injustice, he inspires us with horror.

The 'Unhappy Family' of Proudhon moves the fibres of charity better than the homilies of a preacher....

Examples of the sublime are rare in painting, as the painter is compelled to imprison every idea in a form.

It may happen, nevertheless, that moved by thoughts to which he has given no form, the artist strikes the soul as a thunderbolt would the ear.

It is then by virtue of the thought perceived, but not formulated, that the picture becomes sublime.

POUSSIN'S 'SHEPHERDS OF ARCADIA'

From 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' In a wide, heavily wooded country, the sojourning-place of that happiness sung by the poets, some peasants have discovered a tomb hidden by a thicket of trees, and bearing this brief inscription: "Et in Arcadia ego" (I too lived in Arcadia).

These words, issuing from the tomb, sadden their faces, and the smiles die upon their lips.

A young girl, carelessly leaning upon the shoulder of her lover, seems to listen, mute and pensive, to this salutation from the dead.

The thought of death has also plunged into reverie a youth who leans over the tomb with bowed head, while the oldest shepherd points out the inscription he has just discovered.

The landscape that completes this quiet picture shows reddened leaves upon arid rocks; hillocks that melt in the vague horizon, and in the distance, something ill-defined that resembles the sea.

The sublime in this painting is that which we cannot see; it is the thought that hovers over it, the unexpected emotion that fills the soul of the spectator, transported suddenly beyond the tomb into the infinite unknown.

* * * * * LANDSCAPE

From 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' The poetry of the fields and forests is inseparable from truth.

But the painter must idealize this truth by making it express some sentiment;

faithfulness of imitation alone would not suffice.

The artist, master of reality, enlightens it with his eyes, transfigures it according to his heart, and makes it utter what is not in it--sentiment; and that which it neither possesses nor understands--thought.

* * * * * STYLE

From 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' Drawing is a work of the mind; every drawing is the expression of a thought or sentiment, and is charged with showing us something superior to the apparent truth when that reveals neither sentiment nor thought.

But what is this superior truth?

It is sometimes the character of the object drawn, sometimes the character of the designer, and in high art is what we call style.

The artist sees in the creations of nature what he himself carries in the depth of his soul, tints them with the colors of his imagination, lends them the witchery of his genius.

The temperament of the artist modifies the character of objects, and even that of living figures.

But this power of taking possession is the appanage of great hearts, of great artists, of those whom we call masters,--who, instead of being the slaves of reality, dominate it.

These have a style; their imitators have only a manner.

Aside from the style peculiar to every great master, there is in art something still superior and impersonal, which is style proper.

Style is truth aggrandized, simplified, freed from all insignificant details, restored to its original essence, its typical aspect.

This "style" _par excellence_, in which instead of recognizing the soul of an artist we feel the breath of the universal soul, was realized in the Greek sculpture of the time of Pericles.

THE LAW OF PROPORTION IN ARCHITECTURE

From 'Grammar of Painting and Engraving' Man, from the fact that he is the only intelligent being in creation, desires to show his intelligence in his works.

In order to do so he makes them resemble himself in a measure, by impressing upon them the characteristic of his intelligence, which is logic, and that of his body, which is proportion.

Architecture employs inorganic matter alone--stone, marble, brick, iron, wood, when the sap has been dried out of it and it ceases to be an organic substance; and yet, under the hand of the architect, this inert matter expresses sentiments and feelings.

By subjecting it to the laws of order, symmetry, and proportion, in a manner which appeals to the eye, he lends them a semblance of life and an organism conceived after his own image.

By this artificial proportion, inert matter is raised to the dignity of the animal kingdom;

it is rendered eloquent and capable of expressing the soul of the artist, and often that of a race.

But human monuments have still another point in common with the body.

Order, symmetry, and proportion are needed rigorously only on the exterior.

Within, general beauty no longer dominates, but individual life.

If we look at the interior of the human body we find no symmetry, no arrangement but that demanded by the function of the organs.

The brain, it is true, has two symmetrical lobes, because the brain is destined to a life of relation, to the life of intelligence.

But in their individual functions the life of the internal organs presents another aspect.

The stomach is a shapeless bag; the heart is a single muscle which is not even placed in the centre; the left lung is longer and narrower than the right; the spleen is a ganglion placed on the left side without any corresponding organ; but all this mechanism, which scientists consider wonderful in its irregularity, is hidden beneath a layer of similar members which repeat each other and correspond at equal distances from a central line, and constitute symmetry in animals, beauty in man.

Similar in this respect to the human body, architectural monuments have a double life and a double aspect.

On the exterior, it is meet that they should be regular, symmetrical--but symmetrical from left to right like man, not from top to bottom nor from face to back.

Their resemblance to man is further shown by openings, which are as the eyes and ears of the persons who inhabit them; their entrance occupies the centre of the edifice, as the mouth is placed on the central line of the face; they have rounded or angular forms according as they have been built to express strength, a virile idea, or grace, a feminine one; lastly, they have proportion, for there is a harmonious relation between their apparent members, and a mutual dependence which subordinates the variety of the parts to the unity of the whole, and which constitutes the necessary conditions of the beautiful in art.

The interior is not subjected to the necessity for duplicate members, to regularity of façade, nor to unity of appearance.

Thus when the artist who has designed the monument performs its autopsy,--so to say,--we see, as in the human body, unequal dimensions, irregular shapes, disparities which resemble disorder to the eye, but which constitute the individuality of the edifice.

Within reigns relative beauty, free, with fixed rule; without reigns a necessary beauty subjected to its own laws.

In man, character is the soul's expression.

In architecture, character is the moral physiognomy o£ a building.

As a portrait without character is but a vain shadow of the person represented, so a monument which does not appeal to the intelligence, which evokes no thought, is merely a pile of stones, a body without a soul.

The soul of architecture is the thought it expresses.

Character tends towards beauty in man as well as in his works.

If we glance at human society, we see faces which appear to be nothing more than a sketch.

Parsimonious nature has given them only sufficient life to move in a narrow circle; they are mere individuals; they represent nothing but themselves.

However, in the midst of the crowd, some men are noticeable for an abundance of vitality, whom favorable events have developed along their natural tendencies: they impersonate many individuals in one; their unity is equal to numbers; for good or evil, they have a character.

In proportion as an individuality becomes more enriched, more pronounced, it attains character; in proportion as character loses its roughness it becomes beauty.

This is also true of architecture.