"What have you been doing all day, darling? I was half in hopes you would get home before I did, and come to fetch You would have come if you had known in time, wouldn't you ?"

me.

"No; I did come home, Nuna. I came home to dinner. To tell you the truth, I was so savage at the mess I found the room in, and at the damage and mischief done, that I was in no hurry to come home again."

He spoke gravely and as he thought very leniently, considering all he had suffered, and the terrible mistake his wife had made in setting such an outrageous proceeding on foot without duly consulting him; and if Nuna had been sitting indoors moping after her usual fashion, she would have taken his reproof to heart, and expressed due contrition; but the open-air drive, the sight of her friends and their kindness, had brought back her old girlish spirits.

She laughed heartily in Paul's face, and then nestled close up to him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, darling; but, you dear old fidget, why didn't you stay away, and then you never would have known anything? I meant to tell you, of course: she blushed at Paul's look of annoyance. "And I am very, very sorry I was not in when you came, but stay at home to-morrow instead, darling, won't you? and we'll be so happy. It feels all so clean and comfortable; now do sit down and listen; I have so much to tell you still."

Paul sat and listened, while Nuna rattled on full of the sparkle of happy feelings; but he was silent; he was profoundly vexed, and yet too proud to show his vexation.

"There is nothing like association," he said to himself. "A few hours with these commonplace people, and Nuna is quite changed; I could not have believed she would laugh at me when she must have seen I was vexed. I won't damp her spirits now, but I'll take care that this sort of upset is not repeated; if it is, I paint away from home."

"Poor old Will," said Nuna. "I wish you would call on him, darling, and be a little kind to him."

"I don't mind calling," Paul smiled, "but I don't think I can be very pleasant society for him, and to tell you the truth I think he's a lout."

Nuna blushed: she thought Paul the least bit ungenerous. "Poor Will, you

are hard on him; he asked very kindly after you ;" and then she left off talking about the Brights.

She was so thoroughly gay and happy that the evening passed over without any further cloud. Paul wisely kept his eyes

off his treasures: but as soon as he was left alone he took a lamp and gave a rapid glance at the new arrangements.

So far as he could see, everything was much as usual, but when he remembered the clay statuette he felt as angry as ever. "It was unjustifiable. So much mischief might have been done. I wish those confounded Brights had stayed at home. That's the worst of country acquaintance: they come upon you when you wish for them least. Nuna will want to spend every day with that silly old chatterbox."

Next morning was full of sunshine, and Paul even was forced to admit that the studio was all the pleasanter from the absence of dust: he was mollified, too, by finding his wife had carefully stowed away his chief rarities in her own little room— a tiny retreat hardly bigger than a large closet, a striking contrast to Patty's luxurious sitting-room.

It seemed to Paul this morning that he had been unreal and exaggerated in his ideas of Mrs. Downes and himself. There could be no greater harm in his going to Park Lane to paint her portrait, than in the pleasure Nuna showed in talking of Will Bright.

"From what Mr. Beaufort said to me, that fellow will go on loving Nuna in his calf-like way to his dying day, and yet she evidently considers herself free to talk to him and walk with him. The truth is, I am too strait-laced in my notions: I did not know I was such a prig. Why should I lose the money I mean to make that fellow Downes pay for his wife's portrait just for a squeamish scruple? I'm sure she can't care a rap for me, and I can answer for myself. When the picture's done I shall go my way, and Patty will go hers, and I can't see that we shall be the worse for having met again."

He tore up the note he had written at the club to Mr. Downes, and resolved that he would keep the appointment he had made with Patty.

(To be continued.)

never

IN Greek art the love of design seems to predominate over that of.imitation; in Michelangelo's, the two seem to hold an equal place. I do not mean that the Greeks had less of the imitative faculty, but that they kept it in subordination to that of design. Nor do I say that Michelangelo in any way excelled the Greeks in anything that he did in the way of study from Nature; for the work of Phidias is brought to a perfection of truth and beauty which Michelangelo may have striven after, but which he certainly achieved, at all events in his sculpture, though I shall presently allude to one of his painted figures, which, to my mind, equals in perfection of beauty anything done by Phidias, and that out of the force of his own single genius, for the work of Phidias was completely unknown to him. But this I say, that Michelangelo's best work is in no way inferior to the very highest Greek work in point of design, and that his imitative faculty not being kept in subordination, he was enabled to see truths that no Greek ever dreamed of expressing. Above all, his vast imaginative gift, the stormy poetry of his mind, the passionate Italian nature that was in him, the soul of Dante living again in another form and finding its expression in another art, led him to contemplate a treatment of the human form and face which the intellectual Greek considered beyond the range of his art.

The Greeks aimed at the perfection of decorative design, and in so much as the study of the human form helped them to arrive at that perfection, they carried it further and to a more consummate point than has ever been done before or since. But they gave themselves small scope for the display of human passion; when they represented it, it was in a cold and dignified manner, which fails to awaken our sympathies. The figures of fighting warriors on the pediment of the temple of Ægina receive and inflict wounds, and meet their death with a fixed smile, which shows that the artist intended to avoid the

*The above is from a lecture by E. J. Poynter, A.R.A., entitled “Beauty and Realism.”—ED. ECLECTIC.

expression of pain or passion. The Greek artists have the supreme right to the title of Idealists; they are the true worshippers of the Ideal; the ideal of beauty once achieved, they cared not to vary it. Witness the most perfect specimen of their decorative art which remains, the most perfect in the whole world—I mean the frieze of the Parthenon. There is not in the hundreds of figures which form the Panathenaic procession, except by accidents of execution, any variation of character in the beautiful ideal forms represented, whether they be of man, woman, or animal; enough remains of the faces to show that they conform to two or three types throughout, without variety of character of expression; all is as perfect as the most profound knowledge, the most skilful workmanship, and the highest sense of beauty can make it. But with the great Florentine, the realistic tendency is obvious from the beginning, not to work up to an ideal of humanity, but to study it in its countless forms of beauty and grandeur, and its ever-varying moods, and to represent these as truthfully as the deepest contemplation of nature could enable him to do.

In Michelangelo we have an instance of a mind gifted with the highest imaginative faculties, and with the most profound love and veneration for all that is most noble, most beautiful, and grandest in Nature, following with unwearying perseverance the road best calculated to develop these faculties, by studying with accurate minuteness the construction of the human form, so as to be able to give the highest reality to his conceptions. Luca Signorelli's imaginative faculty was akin to that of Michelangelo's, and some go so far as to think that this painter's work had an influence on Michelangelo. possibly be true, and no doubt Michelangelo may have admired this painter's work greatly; but I do not see the necessity for supposing that Michelangelo was indebted to him for ideas, when we consider the vastness of his genius. The difference I wish to point out between two men alike in the character of their genius is, that Michelangelo's marvellous knowledge of the human form, in which he

This may

stands alone, enabled him to give that splendid and truthful beauty to his figures, and to dwell on subtleties of modelling and of outline, which are not to be found in Luca Signorelli's work. Astonishing as is the power of Luca Signorelli's imagination, and admirably true as are the action and expression of his figures, he fell short precisely on that point of realism which makes the enormous gulf between him and the greater artist. Michelangelo I consider the greatest realist the world has ever seen. The action, expression, and drawing of his figures, down to the minutest folds of drapery and points of costume, down to the careful finish given to the most trivial accessories (where used), such as the books his figures hold, and the desks they write on, are all studied from the point of view of being as true to Nature as they can be made. He left it to his imitators and followers to make human bodies like the sacks of potatoes I have alluded to; he who never made, never could make, a fault of anatomy in his life, has had such followers, who gloried in thinking how Michelangelesque was their work. It is his followers, again, and not he, who make their saints and prophets write with pens without ink, on scrolls of paper without desks, and suchlike absurdities.

And here there is a very general misconception, which I must dwell on for a short time, as it is so very important that it should be set right. I have heard it said again and again, by artists (who ought to know better) and others, that Michelangelo's works may be grand in style, they may be imaginative, they may even be beautiful (sometimes), but they cannot be said to be true to Nature on account of their exaggeration. You will all recognize that this is the common way in which Michelangelo's works are spoken of. Now, my first notion connected with a lecture was that of vindicating Michelangelo's honor on this point. There are, I think, many reasons, and perhaps some good ones, for this opinion. The best and most universally known of his works is the Last Judgment, in the Sistine Chapel, a work executed when he was sixty years old, by which time his magnificent manner had possibly developed into somewhat of a mannerism; that is to say, that whereas throughout his life the necessities of his subjects, chosen, no doubt,

especially for the purpose, obliged him to depict the human form in every beautiful variety of action and position, in his later years this pleasure of exercising his ingenuity in inventing and correctly representing difficulties of foreshortening seemed to grow upon him, and in some parts of the Last Judgment, especially in the upper part, outweighed the more simple dignity with which most of it is invested. The stupendous work which does most to make his name immortal is on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, executed twenty years before the Last Judgment, which is on the end wall of the same chapel, was done; and it is on this work that I take my stand in placing Michelangelo as the chief of realistic painters; not so much on the Last Judgment, tremendous as it is both in conception and execution. Another, and the most important reason, for the charge of exaggeration, is that from some cause or another no great man has ever suffered so much at the hands of the engravers. All with one accord have taken it into their heads that Michelangelo's work cannot be properly copied unless limbs and muscles are exaggerated in a way which they would never dream of using with another man's work; in fact, they think it necessary to import into their work every exaggerated defect which they find in the works of his imitators, or rather the defects of exaggeration to be found in the preposterous school formed upon Raphael. Raphael indeed himself is not exempt from having made exaggerated imitations of the great master. The "Incendio del Borgo" is perhaps the beginning of that lumpy and inflated style so different from the simple and elegant work of Michelangelo. Engravers, at all events, find that Michelangelo is not so Michelangelesque as they expected, so they try to improve upon him; and the greatest master of drawing the world has ever seen has had the most ill-drawn travesties of his finest works passed off on those who are unable to visit the originals and judge for themselves. Still those who have eyes to see can very plainly make out from the wretched stuff that engravers have given us what manner of man it was whose work was thus travestied. It is obvious that the mind which could conceive figures so amazingly grand in intention could not be guilty of altering Nature for the purpose of producing the grotesque forms and

I, for

faces shown us by the engravers. I, fortunately, a little time ago, had the opportunity of verifying for myself what I had surmised to be true, but much as I expected in the way of beauty before entering the Sistine, I was prepared rather to be overwhelmed by a magnificent grandeur of imagination and design than to be charmed by refined beauties of form and face; and another element of beauty I found which I had not expected, for the engravers carefully avoid representing it in their copies, and on a point of excellence for which the palm has generally been given to another painter-I mean the amazing subtlety, variety, and truth of expression in the faces of the Titanic beings who sit enthroned over one's head in that amazing work. Raphael has been considered the master of expression and beauty of face; Michelangelo of grandeur of form. I find the latter supreme in all. He it was who found in Nature what beauty and what grandeur lie in the most trivial actions, and first had the power to depict them. Raphael's receptive mind seized at once on the idea, adapted it to his style, and followed close on the great master's steps. The possibility of verifyign the truth of what I say is now fortunately within reach of all amateurs of art, for within the last eighteen months this amazing work of which I am speaking, in which the variety is so great that Vasari may well say, "That no man who is a painter now cares to seek new inventions, attitudes, draperies, originality, and force of expression"-this great work has been reproduced in all its details in photography; the enterprising German who has rendered this most important service having taken no less than one hundred and forty negatives, all (with the exception of seven or eight from the Last Judgment) being taken from the ceiling. These photographs are a revelation in art. No one until now who has not seen the original has had the slightest idea of what Michelangelo's work is.

I will allude first to the naked figures which sit in pairs on the architectural projections which form the sides of the prophets' thrones. Each pair of these holds between them a large medallion, on which, in imitation of a relief in bronze and gold, is painted a subject from the Book of Kings, or supports a ponderous festoon of leaves and acorns-a common feature of NEW SERIES.-VOL. XIV., No. 3.

decoration in classical architecture, but employed in a totally new way by Michelangelo, which the original inventor of the idea was far from dreaming of. For there are no less than twenty of these figures, and Michelangelo has taken advantage of their employment to represent not only almost every kind of action of which the . position of these figures could suggest to his great genius, but for the display of every variety and mood of the human mind. One of them seems the very type of life and activity: he laughs as he shifts the ribbon, by which he supports his medallion, from one shoulder to the other; he is in the act of uncrossing his legs as he does it, and the great master of design has arrested him in the middle of this complicated, and to any other artist almost impossible, movement. An instantaneous photograph could not seize on the action with more absolute accuracy; and there is that look of life in his light and active limbs which almost makes you expect him to continue his movement. More grand is another, as he sits calmly reposing on his ponderous burden, profoundest and most melancholy thought reflected on his god-like face. Others seem to catch some faint sound of the inspiration which the cherubs of God are whispering in the ear of the prophet or sybil below, and start with affrighted and awe-stricken looks. There is another laughing figure even more beautiful than the one described; he lifts with ease his heavy weight of leaves and acorns, while his fellow looks at him. with an angry glance as he struggles to raise his own share which has slipped from his shoulder. There is a pair who converse over their task, and another pair perform it with careless indifference, as if weary and uninterested; and all these various figures are depicted with a realism of expression and action, a beauty of form and face, an absolute accuracy of anatomical expression, a splendor of light and shade, a roundness of modelling and minuteness of finish to the perfect drawing of every nail on hand or foot, and the graceful turn of every lock of hair, which never flags for a moment, and which is never at fault. The beauty of the heads of these figures is beyond all that ever was done in art; nothing of Raphael's to my mind approaches them; and on one point he has utterly surpassed the Greeks-while giving to many of his faces the beautiful refine

22

ment of a woman's, he has never sacrificed one atom of the manliness. The figure before us, with all the melancholy tenderness of its face, has nothing but the character of a man, and the limbs are massive as rock, with all the beauty of their forms. Not so the Greeks, who made their Apollos so effeminate that it is often difficult to tell from the head whether a man or woman is represented. The beauty of the heads of these figures is, as I say, beyond all that ever was done, but it is hardly more extraordinary than the beauty of the bodies and limbs; the heads and feet especially are most perfect, and being the most difficult part of the figure, are, in contrast to most of our modern work, precisely the parts that are always the most perfectly done and the most finished. But more wonderful than all is the harmony of design; the figures being in pairs, and facing each other, they are made to a certain extent to correspond. The perfectly natural way in which this is done, without forcing the action of the figures into similar forms, is not the least astounding part of the work. One pair is in action, another in repose, and yet it never occurs to the spectator, till he begins to examine the work as a composition, that this is a matter of most careful arrangement. The lines of composition, too, of each figure are not only most harmonious in themselves, but in perfect harmony with every figure round it. And what shall I say when I come to speak of the inspired beings, sybils and prophets, who sit enthroned below? The realization of these sublime forms is carried to the highest pitch. Nothing so true as their expression and action, down to the most trivial points, has been achieved in painting. The most magnificent of these figures, to my thinking, is the prophet Isaiah; he receives inspiration from a cherub, who, with excited looks, is pointing behind him, his flying drapery indicating that he had come, like the winged Mercury of the pagans, with a message direct from heaven; with all the grandeur of this figure, the movement and expression are as exactly true as any painter of child-life could desire. Turn to the prophet himself; what a subtle combination of expressions on his face! His right hand drawing forth the book wherein he records the inspirations he receives from heaven, he listens to the divine message with a

L

mingled expression of attention and wonder. His downcast eyes have a fixed look, as though they saw not; his brow is half raised in wonder, half frowning in deepest thought, and a slight look of bewilderment plays hesitating round his mouth, as with his left hand he seems to indicate that he has received the message, and turns with the intention of recording it. The massive grandeur of his features is in accordance with the dignified repose of the action, and over all there is the lofty look of the prophet not unaccustomed to hold intercourse with his God. I believe this to be the most triumphant realization of a complicated expression and action, combined with the most consummate grandeur of face and form, ever achieved in art. The first impression on the sight of this figure in its gigantic size on the ceiling, sixty feet above one's head, is that of amazement at the mighty art that produced it; in this case Nature really seems to have been surpassed, and a new creation made. And the imagination of the artist-how justly called divine!

rises to yet higher flights when he treats of the creation of the world, and the history of our first parents, in the centre compartments of the ceiling. But throughout, from beginning to end, through all the hundreds of groups and figures which make up this triumph of the decorative art, there is this one predominant fact, that no matter how supremely difficult the position or action of the figures, no matter whether he be representing prophet, cherub, or ordinary mortal, or even those scenes where the Almighty manifests his glory in acts of creation, the expression of face and figure is realized with the utmost attention to truth. The draperies take not the least important place in this expression; they clothe and express the forms of the limbs without affectation, and in the most natural manner; as the figure moves so the drapery moves, as the figure rests so the drapery falls. Everything is in perfect balance; the turn of the shoulders follows the movement of the head, the limbs answer for and balance each other exactly as in Nature; and thus the figures have a more absolute vitality than any other artist has ever been able to give. All other painters-except perhaps Raphael, and he only when he had caught the inspiration from Michelangelo is to be excepted-seem to place their figures in