' Some of the
rarest of his literary productions, as well as the scarcest among his
drawings, are owned in America, chiefly by two private collectors in
the Eastern States.
rarest of his literary productions, as well as the scarcest among his
drawings, are owned in America, chiefly by two private collectors in
the Eastern States.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v04 - Bes to Bro
"
«< Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain! A hundred golden
guineas on his head, and half for you. Think of your father,
my dear, and Sunday gowns. And you must have a young man
by-and-by, you know-such a beautiful maid as you are. And
you might get a leather purse, and give it to him. Mary, on
your duty, now? »
«< Captain, you drive me so, what can I say? I cannot bear
the thought of betraying anybody. "
"Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you. He must be
half a mile off by this time. You could never hurt him now;
and you can tell your father that you have done your duty to
the king. "
-
"Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too
late to catch him, I can tell you all about him. But remember
your word about the fifty guineas. "
"Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may
say to it. Quick! quick! Which way did he run, my dear? "
"He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was
too tired. "
"To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox. We have been two
hours after him; he could not run; no more can we. But which
way did he go, I mean? "
"I will not say anything for certain, sir; even for fifty guin-
eas. But he may have come up here-mind, I say not that
he did - and if so, he might have set off again for Sewerby.
Slowly, very slowly, because of being tired. But perhaps, after
all, he was not the man you mean.
>>>>
«Forward, double-quick! We are sure to have him! " shouted
the lieutenant for his true rank was that- flourishing his cut-
lass again, and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his
limp. "Five guineas every man Jack of you. Thank you, young
mistress-most heartily thank you. Dead or alive, five guineas! "
-
―
## p. 2038 (#232) ###########################################
2038
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one
of the party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked
back with great mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of
women than this, that he never could believe even his own wife.
And he knew that it was mainly by the grace of womankind
that so much contraband work was going on. Nevertheless, it
was out of his power to act upon his own low opinions now.
The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit,
was informed by her guilty conscience of that nasty man's sus
picions, and therefore gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord
Keppel, impelling him to join, like a loyal little horse, the pur-
suit of his Majesty's enemies. But no sooner did she see all the
men dispersed, and scouring the distance with trustful ardor,
than she turned the pony's head toward the sea again, and rode
back round the bend of the hollow. What would her mother
say if she lost the murrey skirt, which had cost six shillings at
Bridlington fair? And ten times that money might be lost much
better than for her father to discover how she lost it. For Mas-
ter Stephen Anerley was a straight-backed man, and took three
weeks of training in the Land Defense Yeomanry, at periods not
more than a year apart, so that many people called him "Cap-
tain" now; and the loss of his suppleness at knee and elbow had
turned his mind largely to politics, making him stiffly patriotic,
and especially hot against all free-traders putting bad bargains
to his wife, at the cost of the king and his revenue. If the bar-
gain were a good one, that was no concern of his.
Not that Mary, however, could believe, or would even have
such a bad mind as to imagine, that any one, after being helped
by her, would be mean enough to run off with her property.
And now she came to think of it, there was something high and
noble, she might almost say something downright honest, in the
face of that poor persecuted man. And in spite of all his pant-
ing, how brave he must have been, what a runner, and how
clever, to escape from all those cowardly coast-riders shooting
right and left at him! Such a man steal that paltry skirt that
her mother made such a fuss about! She was much more likely
to find it in her clothes-press filled with golden guineas.
Before she was as certain as she wished to be of this (by rea-
son of shrewd nativity), and while she believed that the fugitive
must have seized such a chance and made good his escape
toward North Sea or Flamborough, a quick shadow glanced
## p. 2039 (#233) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2039
across the long shafts of the sun, and a bodily form sped after
it. To the middle of the Dike leaped a young man, smiling, and
forth from the gully which had saved his life. To look at him,
nobody ever could have guessed how fast he had fled, and how
close he had lain hid. For he stood there as clean and spruce
and careless as ever a sailor can be wished to be.
Limber yet
stalwart, agile though substantial, and as quick as a dart while
as strong as a pike, he seemed cut out by nature for a true
blue-jacket; but condition had made him a smuggler, or, to put
it more gently, a free-trader. Britannia, being then at war with
all the world, and alone in the right (as usual), had need of such
lads, and produced them accordingly, and sometimes one too
many. But Mary did not understand these laws. This made
her look at him with great surprise, and almost doubt whether
he could be the man, until she saw her skirt neatly folded in
his hand, and then she said, "How do you do, sir? "
The free-trader looked at her with equal surprise. He had
been in such a hurry, and his breath so short, and the chance of
a fatal bullet after him so sharp, that his mind had been astray
from any sense of beauty, and of everything else except the
safety of the body. But now he looked at Mary, and his breath
again went from him.
"You can run again now; I am sure of it," said she; "and
if you would like to do anything to please me, run as fast as
possible. "
"What have I to run away from now? " he answered, in a
deep sweet voice. “I run from enemies, but not from friends. ”
"That is very wise. But your enemies are still almost within
call of you.
They will come back worse than ever when they
find you are not there. "
"I am not afraid, fair lady, for I understand their ways. I
have led them a good many dances.
When they cannot
take another step, they will come back to Anerley for breakfast. "
"I dare say they will; and we shall be glad to see them. My
father is a soldier, and his duty is to nourish and comfort the
forces of the King. "
"Then you are young Mistress Anerley? I was sure of it
before. There are no two such. And you have saved my life.
It is something to owe it so fairly. "
The young sailor wanted to kiss Mary's hand; but not being
used to any gallantry, she held out her hand in the simplest
manner to take back her riding skirt; and he, though longing in
. •
## p. 2040 (#234) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2040
his heart to keep it, for a token or pretext for another meeting,
found no excuse for doing so.
And yet he was not without some
resource.
For the maiden was giving him a farewell smile, being quite
content with the good she had done, and the luck of recovering
her property; and that sense of right which in those days formed.
a part of every good young woman said to her plainly that she
must be off. And she felt how unkind it was to keep him any
longer in a place where the muzzle of a gun, with a man behind
it, might appear at any moment. But he, having plentiful breath
again, was at home with himself to spend it.
"Fair young lady," he began, for he saw that Mary liked to
be called a lady, because it was a novelty, "owing more than I
ever can pay you already, may I ask a little more? Then it is
that on your way down to the sea, you would just pick up (if
you should chance to see it) the fellow ring to this, and perhaps
you will look at this to know it by. The one that was shot away
flew against a stone just on the left of the mouth of the Dike,
but I durst not stop to look for it, and I must not go back that
way now. It is more to me than a hatful of gold, though nobody
else would give a crown for it. "
"And they really shot away one of your earrings? Careless,
cruel, wasteful men! What could they have been thinking of? "
"They were thinking of getting what is called 'blood-money. '
One hundred pounds for Robin Lyth. Dead or alive-one hun-
dred pounds. "
"Then are you the celebrated Robin Lyth-the new Robin
Hood, as they call him? The man who can do almost anything? "
"Mistress Anerley, I am Robin Lyth; but, as you have seen,
I cannot do much.
They have missed the best chance
they ever had at me; it will make their temper very bad. If
they shot at me again, they could do no good. Crooked mood
makes crooked mode. "
•
You may
"You forget that I should not see such things.
like very much to be shot at; but-but you should think of
other people. "
"I shall think of you only-I mean of your great kindness,
and your promise to keep my ring for me. Of course you will
tell nobody. Carroway will have me like a tiger if you do.
Farewell, young lady-for one week, farewell. "
With a wave of his hat he was gone, before Mary had time
to retract her promise; and she thought of her mother.
## p. 2041 (#235) ###########################################
2041
WILLIAM BLAKE
(1757-1827)
OET-PAINTER, visionary, and super-mystic in almost all capaci-
ties, William Blake was born in London in 1757.
the second son of humble people-his father but a stock-
He was
Su
ing merchant. An "odd little boy," he was destined to be recog-
nized as "one of the most curious and abnormal personages of the
later eighteenth and earlier nineteenth centuries. " Allan Cunning-
ham describes him by saying that Blake at ten years of age was an
artist and at twelve a poet. He seems really to have shown in
childhood his double gift. But the boy's
education was rudimentary, his advantages
not even usual, it would seem. To the end
of his life, the mature man's works betray
a defective common-schooling, a lament-
able lack of higher intellectual training —
unless we suspect that the process would
have disciplined his mind, to the loss of
bizarre originality. Most of what Blake
learned he taught himself, and that at hap-
hazard. The mistiness and inexplicability
of his productions is part of such a pro-
cess, as well as of invincible temperament.
WILLIAM BLAKE
In 1767 Blake was studying drawing
with Mr. Pars, at the sometime famous Strand Academy, where he
was reckoned a diligent but egotistical pupil. At fourteen he be-
came apprenticed, for a livelihood,-afterward exchanged for the
painter's and illustrator's freer career,-to James Basire, an academic
but excellent engraver, whose manner is curiously traceable through
much of Blake's after work. Even in the formal atmosphere of the
Royal Academy's antique school, Blake remained an opinionated and
curiously "detached" scholar, with singular critical notions, with half-
expressed or very boldly expressed theories as to art, religion, and
most other things. In 1782 he married a young woman of equally
humble derivation, who could not even sign the marriage register.
He developed her character, educated her mind, and made her a
devoted and companionable wife, full of faith in him. Their curious
and retired ménage was as happy in a practical and mundane aspect
as could be hoped from even a normal one.
## p. 2042 (#236) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2042
(
In 1780 he began to exhibit, his first picture being The Death of
Earl Godwin. ' After exhibiting five others, however, ending with
'Jacob's Dream,' he withdrew altogether from public advertisement.
Several devoted patrons-especially Mr. Linnell, and a certain Mr.
Thomas Butts, who bought incessantly, anything and everything,-
seized upon all he drew and painted. In his literary undertakings
he was for the most part his own editor and printer and publisher.
His career in verse and prose began early. In 1783 came forth
the charming collection Poetical Sketches,' juvenile as the fancies of
his boyish days, but full of a sensitive appreciation of nature worthy
of a mature heart, and expressed with a diction often exquisite.
The volume was not really public nor published, but printed by the
kindly liberality of two friends, one of them Flaxman. In 1787,
"under the direction of the spirit of his dead brother," Robert, he
decided on publishing a new group of lyrics and fancies, Songs
of Innocence,' by engraving the text of the poems and its marginal
embellishments on copper-printing the pages in various tints, color-
ing or recoloring them by hand, and even binding them, with his
wife's assistance. The medium for mixing his tints, by the by, was
"revealed to him by Saint Joseph. "
With this volume-now a rarity for the bibliophile - began
Blake's system of giving his literary works and many of his ex-
traordinary artistic productions their form and being.
Like a poet-
printer of our own day, Mr. William Morris, Blake insisted that each
page of text, all his delicate illustrations, every cover even, should
pass through his own fingers, or through those of his careful and
submissive helpmeet. The expense of their paper was the chief one
to the light purse of the queerly assorted, thrifty pair.
<
In 1789 appeared another little volume of verses, Songs of Inno-
cence. ' This also was ushered into existence as a dual book of
pictures and of poetry. In 1794 came the Songs of Experience,'
completing that brief lyrical trio on which rests Blake's poetical
reputation and his claim on coming generations of sympathetic read-
ers. To these early and exquisite fruits of Blake's feeling succeeded
a little book For Children,' the mystic volume The Gates of
Paradise,' 'The Visions of the Daughters of Albion,' 'America, a
Prophecy,' Part First of his Book of Urizen,' and a collection of
designs without text, treated in the methods usual with him, besides
other labors with pencil and pen.
But the wonderful and disordered imagination of the artist and
poet now embodied itself in a strange group of writings for which
no parallel exists. To realize them, one must imagine the most
transcendent notions of Swedenborg mingled with the rant of a
superior kind of Mucklewrath. Such poems as 'The Book of Thel,'
## p. 2043 (#237) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2043
in spite of beautiful allegoric passages; 'The Gates of Paradise';
'Tiriel,' an extended narrative-fantasy in irregular unrhymed verses;
even the striking 'Marriage of Heaven and Hell,'-may be reckoned
as mere prologues to such productions as 'Jerusalem,' 'The Emana-
tion of the Giant Albion,' 'Milton,' and the "prophecies" embodied in
the completed Urizen,' the 'Europe,' 'Ahania,' and 'The Book of
Los. ' Such oracular works Blake put forth as dictated to him by
departed spirits of supreme influence and intellectuality, or by angelic
intelligences, quite apart from his own volition; indeed, only with his
"grateful obedience. » Such claims are not out of place in the
instance of one who "saw God"; who often "conversed familiarly
with Jesus Christ "; who "was" Socrates; who argued conclusions for
hours at a time with Moses, with Milton, with Dante, with the
Biblical prophets, with Voltaire; who could "see Satan" almost at
will-all in vivid conceptions that sprang up in his mind with such
force as to set seemingly substantial and even speaking beings before
him. In his assumption of the seer, Blake was not a charlatan: he
believed fully in his supernatural privileges. To him his modest
London lodging held great company, manifest in the spirit.
Blake's greater "prophetic" writings ended, he busied himself
with painting and illustration. He was incessant in industry; indeed,
his ordinary recreation at any time was only a change of work
from one design to another. So were wrought out the (incomplete)
series of plates for Young's 'Night Thoughts'; the drawings for Hay-
ley's 'Life of Cowper,' and for the same feeble author's 'Ballads on
Anecdotes relating to Animals'; the 'Dante' designs; the 'Job'
series of prints; a vast store of aquarelle and distemper paintings
and plates, and a whole gallery of "portraits» derived from sitters
of distinction in past universal history. These sitters, it is needless
to say, were wholly invisible to other eyes than Blake's. The sub-
jects vary from likenesses of Saint Joseph and the Virgin Mary to
those of Mahomet and Shakespeare. Sundry of the old masters,
Titian included, reviewed his efforts and guided his brush! Such
assertions do not ill accord with the description of his once seeing
a fairy's funeral, or that he first beheld God when four years old.
But all his fantasies did not destroy his faith in the fundamentals
of orthodoxy. He never ceased to be a believer in Christianity.
His convictions of a revealed religion were reiterated. While inces-
sant in asserting that he had a solemn message-spiritual to his day
and generation, he set aside nothing significant in the message of
the Scriptures. There is something touching in the anecdote of him
and his devoted Kate told by the portrait-painter Richmond. Him-
self discouraged with his imperfect work, Richmond one day visited
Blake and confessed his low mood. To his astonishment, Blake
## p. 2044 (#238) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2044
turned to his wife suddenly, and said, "It is just so with us, is it
not, for weeks together, when the visions forsake us! What do we
do then, Kate ? " "We kneel down and pray, Mr. Blake. "
So passed Blake's many years, between reality and dream, labors
and chimeras. The painter's life was not one of painful poverty.
He and his Kate needed little money; and the seer-husband's pencils
and burin, or the private kindness so constantly shown him, provided
daily bread. Despite the visions and inspirations and celestial phe-
nomena that filled his head, Blake withal was sane enough in every-
day concerns. He lived orderly, even if he thought chaos. Almost
his last strokes were on the hundred water-colors for the 'Divina
Commedia,' the 'Job' cycle, the Ancient of Days' drawing, or a
"frenzied sketch" of his wife which he made, exclaiming in begin-
ning it, "Stay! Keep as you are! You have ever been an angel to
me. I will draw you. " Natural decay and painful chronic ailments
increased. He seldom left his rooms in Fountain Court, Strand,
except in a visit to the Linnells, at Hampstead. He died gently in
1827, "singing of the things he saw in Heaven. " His grave, to-day
unknown, was a common one in Bunhill Fields Cemetery. Many
friends mourned him. With all his eccentricities and the extrava-
gances of his "visions" and "inspirations," he was loved. His ardor
of temperament was balanced by meekness, his aggressiveness by
true politeness. He was frank, abstemious, a lover of children,
who loved him,—devout in prayer, devoid of vice. Yet whenever
he was in contact with his fellow-men, he was one living and walk-
ing apart.
As an influence in literature he is less considerable than
in painting. In the latter art, a whole group of contemporary nota-
bles, intellectualists, and rhapsodists of greater or less individuality
have to do with him, among whom Dante Gabriel Rossetti was in
much his literary child, still more his child in art.
A brief and early 'Life' of Blake, prepared by his intimate
friend Allan Cunningham, appeared in 1829. In 1839, for the first
time, his works were really given to the public. Mr. Gilchrist's
invaluable biography and study appeared in 1863; revised and en-
larged in an edition of 1880. Mr. Swinburne's critical essay on him
is a notable aid to the student. The artist-poet's complete works
were edited by Mr. William Michael Rossetti in 1874, with a com-
plete and discriminating memoir. More recent contributions to Blake
literature are the Ellis and Yeats edition of his works, also with a
Memoir and an Interpretation; and Mr. Alfred J. Story's volume on
'The Life, Character, and Genius of William Blake.
' Some of the
rarest of his literary productions, as well as the scarcest among his
drawings, are owned in America, chiefly by two private collectors in
the Eastern States.
-
## p. 2045 (#239) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
Μ'
SONG
Y SILKS and fine array,
My smiles and languished air,
By love are driven away,
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave:
Such end true lovers have.
His face is fair as heaven
When springing buds unfold;
Oh, why to him was 't given,
Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is Love's all-worshiped tomb,
Where all Love's pilgrims come.
Bring me an axe and spade,
Bring me a winding-sheet;
When I my grave have made,
Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay:
True love doth never pass away.
L
SONG
OVE and harmony combine
And around our souls entwine,
While thy branches mix with mine
And our roots together join.
Joys upon our branches sit,
Chirping loud and singing sweet;
Like gentle streams beneath our feet,
Innocence and virtue meet.
Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
I am clad in flowers fair;
Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
And the turtle buildeth there.
There she sits and feeds her young;
Sweet I hear her mournful song;
And thy lovely leaves among,
There is Love: I hear his tongue.
2045
## p. 2046 (#240) ###########################################
2046
WILLIAM BLAKE
There his charmed nest he doth lay,
There he sleeps the night away,
There he sports along the day,
And doth among our branches play.
THE TWO SONGS
HEARD an Angel singing
When the day was springing:
"Mercy, pity, and peace,
Are the world's release. "
So he sang all day
Over the new-mown hay,
Till the sun went down,
And the haycocks looked brown.
I heard a devil curse
Over the heath and the furse:
«< Mercy could be no more
If there were nobody poor,
And pity no more could be
If all were happy as ye:
And mutual fear brings peace.
Misery's increase
Are mercy, pity, peace. "
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.
NIGHT
From 'Songs of Innocence >
THE
HE sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine,
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles in the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves
Where flocks have ta'en delight;
## p. 2047 (#241) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2047
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest,
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm;
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful,
The angels most heedful
Receive each wild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold;
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold,
Saying, "Wrath by His meekness,
And by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.
"And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee and weep.
For washed in life's river,
My bright mane forever
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o'er the fold. "
## p. 2048 (#242) ###########################################
2048
WILLIAM BLAKE
THE PIPER AND THE CHILD
Introduction to Songs of Innocence ›
PIPI
IPING down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:-
"Pipe a song about a lamb. »
So I piped with merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again:"
So I piped; he wept to hear.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer:"
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
«< Piper, sit thee down and write,
In a book that all may read. "-
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed;
And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
―
HOLY THURSDAY
From Songs of Innocence>
TWA
WAS on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Came children walking two and two, in red and blue and
green:
Gray-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
## p. 2049 (#243) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2049
M
A CRADLE SONG
From 'Songs of Experience>
LEEP, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
S
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek and o'er thy breast,
Where thy little heart doth rest.
Oh, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart shall wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break.
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
From Songs of Innocence >
Y MOTHER bore me in the Southern wild,
And I am black, but oh, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissèd me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:-
"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
"And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
IV-129
## p. 2050 (#244) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2050
"For when our souls have learned the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his voice,
Saying, 'Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice. »»
Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,
And thus I say to little English boy:
When I from black, and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
THE TIGER
From Songs of Experience>
Τ
IGER! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Framed thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burned that fire within thine eyes?
On what wings dared he aspire?
What the hand dared seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
When thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand formed thy dread feet?
What the hammer, what the chain,
Knit thy strength and forged thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dared thy deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
## p. 2051 (#245) ###########################################
2051
CHARLES BLANC
(1813-1882)
W
E 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 con-
ception of art; we know that art was hi 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.
masters gave him but little encouragement, however, and he soon
turned his thoughts to literature, his maiden effort being a descrip-
tion 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 suc-
cessively 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 ap-
peared; 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
## p. 2052 (#246) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2052
anecdotes, combined with vivacity of style, aroused interest in paint-
ing and created a public for the more purely technical works which
followed. Though assisted by others in this undertaking, Blanc him-
self 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 Feb-
ruary, 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 convul
sions, 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 sculp-
tors. After the Salon of 1848, as the government coffers were de-
pleted, 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, threat-
ened 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 cer-
tain psychological significance. One evening Charles Blanc was visit
ing 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 en-
couragement of talent, Blanc was sacrificed to the spirit of reaction
## p. 2053 (#247) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2053
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 re-
sumed his 'History of the Painters. '. 'L'Euvres 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 vul-
gar, 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
Académie des Beaux Arts. The Treasures of Curiosity' is a cata-
logue 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.
## p. 2054 (#248) ###########################################
2054
CHARLES BLANC
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 docu-
ments, he was enabled to reproduce one of the most remarkable per-
sonalities, 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 cop-
ies to reproduce the masterpieces of painting. One well-deserved
satisfaction was granted him in 1878 by the creation of a chair of
Esthetics 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 col-
lection 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 intel-
lectual qualifications and extensive reading to bear upon a subject
until then treated either by philosophical theorizers or eloquent essay-
ists. 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.
## p. 2055 (#249) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2055
REMBRANDT
From The Dutch School of Painters >
R
EMBRANDT 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 fore-
head presented a development that indicated a powerful imagina-
tion. 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 com-
plexion 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 ori-
ginal, 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
HE love of the extravagant and fantastic observable in Dürer's
first pictures never abandoned him. He has probably ex
pressed the inspiration of his own soul in the figure of
Melancholy, who, seated on the sea-shore, seems trying to pene-
trate with her gaze into infinite space. For my part, I have this
picture always before me. How could it be possible to forget an
## p. 2056 (#250) ###########################################
2056
CHARLES BLANC
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 com-
passes 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 transi-
tory 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 ex-
presses it had appeared in art before the time of Albert Dürer.
INGRES
From the Life of Ingres
SMALL
MALL 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 Floren-
tine and Greek schools; he sought the ideal not outside of reality
but in its very essence, in the reconciliation of style with nature.
## p. 2057 (#251) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2057
Color he considered of secondary importance; he not only sub-
ordinated it voluntarily to drawing, but he did not have a natural
gift for it. Ingres is the artist who has best expressed the volup-
tuousness 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 be-
neath 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 criti-
cism 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.
was that youth, that novice. And after all, how become a work-
man unless you work? how become expert if you do not study,
recognize your mistakes and repair them? Beneath our mistakes
truth lies hidden.
I
So I arrived at Brussels to exercise the trade of critic, and
found myself in the presence of two men who were then making
## p. 2058 (#252) ###########################################
2058
CHARLES BLANC
a brilliant début 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 peo-
ple 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 tor-
tured, 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!
Α
N
DELACROIX'S BARK OF DANTE›
From Contemporary Artists'
ADMIRABLE and altogether new quality is the weird har-
mony of color which makes the painting vibrate like a
drama; or in other words, that sombre harmony itself is
the foundation of the tragedy.
«< Mary, my dear, the very biggest villain! A hundred golden
guineas on his head, and half for you. Think of your father,
my dear, and Sunday gowns. And you must have a young man
by-and-by, you know-such a beautiful maid as you are. And
you might get a leather purse, and give it to him. Mary, on
your duty, now? »
«< Captain, you drive me so, what can I say? I cannot bear
the thought of betraying anybody. "
"Of course not, Mary dear; nobody asks you. He must be
half a mile off by this time. You could never hurt him now;
and you can tell your father that you have done your duty to
the king. "
-
"Well, Captain Carroway, if you are quite sure that it is too
late to catch him, I can tell you all about him. But remember
your word about the fifty guineas. "
"Every farthing, every farthing, Mary, whatever my wife may
say to it. Quick! quick! Which way did he run, my dear? "
"He really did not seem to me to be running at all; he was
too tired. "
"To be sure, to be sure, a worn-out fox. We have been two
hours after him; he could not run; no more can we. But which
way did he go, I mean? "
"I will not say anything for certain, sir; even for fifty guin-
eas. But he may have come up here-mind, I say not that
he did - and if so, he might have set off again for Sewerby.
Slowly, very slowly, because of being tired. But perhaps, after
all, he was not the man you mean.
>>>>
«Forward, double-quick! We are sure to have him! " shouted
the lieutenant for his true rank was that- flourishing his cut-
lass again, and setting off at a wonderful pace, considering his
limp. "Five guineas every man Jack of you. Thank you, young
mistress-most heartily thank you. Dead or alive, five guineas! "
-
―
## p. 2038 (#232) ###########################################
2038
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
With gun and sword in readiness, they all rushed off; but one
of the party, named John Cadman, shook his head and looked
back with great mistrust at Mary, having no better judgment of
women than this, that he never could believe even his own wife.
And he knew that it was mainly by the grace of womankind
that so much contraband work was going on. Nevertheless, it
was out of his power to act upon his own low opinions now.
The maiden, blushing deeply with the sense of her deceit,
was informed by her guilty conscience of that nasty man's sus
picions, and therefore gave a smack with her fern whip to Lord
Keppel, impelling him to join, like a loyal little horse, the pur-
suit of his Majesty's enemies. But no sooner did she see all the
men dispersed, and scouring the distance with trustful ardor,
than she turned the pony's head toward the sea again, and rode
back round the bend of the hollow. What would her mother
say if she lost the murrey skirt, which had cost six shillings at
Bridlington fair? And ten times that money might be lost much
better than for her father to discover how she lost it. For Mas-
ter Stephen Anerley was a straight-backed man, and took three
weeks of training in the Land Defense Yeomanry, at periods not
more than a year apart, so that many people called him "Cap-
tain" now; and the loss of his suppleness at knee and elbow had
turned his mind largely to politics, making him stiffly patriotic,
and especially hot against all free-traders putting bad bargains
to his wife, at the cost of the king and his revenue. If the bar-
gain were a good one, that was no concern of his.
Not that Mary, however, could believe, or would even have
such a bad mind as to imagine, that any one, after being helped
by her, would be mean enough to run off with her property.
And now she came to think of it, there was something high and
noble, she might almost say something downright honest, in the
face of that poor persecuted man. And in spite of all his pant-
ing, how brave he must have been, what a runner, and how
clever, to escape from all those cowardly coast-riders shooting
right and left at him! Such a man steal that paltry skirt that
her mother made such a fuss about! She was much more likely
to find it in her clothes-press filled with golden guineas.
Before she was as certain as she wished to be of this (by rea-
son of shrewd nativity), and while she believed that the fugitive
must have seized such a chance and made good his escape
toward North Sea or Flamborough, a quick shadow glanced
## p. 2039 (#233) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2039
across the long shafts of the sun, and a bodily form sped after
it. To the middle of the Dike leaped a young man, smiling, and
forth from the gully which had saved his life. To look at him,
nobody ever could have guessed how fast he had fled, and how
close he had lain hid. For he stood there as clean and spruce
and careless as ever a sailor can be wished to be.
Limber yet
stalwart, agile though substantial, and as quick as a dart while
as strong as a pike, he seemed cut out by nature for a true
blue-jacket; but condition had made him a smuggler, or, to put
it more gently, a free-trader. Britannia, being then at war with
all the world, and alone in the right (as usual), had need of such
lads, and produced them accordingly, and sometimes one too
many. But Mary did not understand these laws. This made
her look at him with great surprise, and almost doubt whether
he could be the man, until she saw her skirt neatly folded in
his hand, and then she said, "How do you do, sir? "
The free-trader looked at her with equal surprise. He had
been in such a hurry, and his breath so short, and the chance of
a fatal bullet after him so sharp, that his mind had been astray
from any sense of beauty, and of everything else except the
safety of the body. But now he looked at Mary, and his breath
again went from him.
"You can run again now; I am sure of it," said she; "and
if you would like to do anything to please me, run as fast as
possible. "
"What have I to run away from now? " he answered, in a
deep sweet voice. “I run from enemies, but not from friends. ”
"That is very wise. But your enemies are still almost within
call of you.
They will come back worse than ever when they
find you are not there. "
"I am not afraid, fair lady, for I understand their ways. I
have led them a good many dances.
When they cannot
take another step, they will come back to Anerley for breakfast. "
"I dare say they will; and we shall be glad to see them. My
father is a soldier, and his duty is to nourish and comfort the
forces of the King. "
"Then you are young Mistress Anerley? I was sure of it
before. There are no two such. And you have saved my life.
It is something to owe it so fairly. "
The young sailor wanted to kiss Mary's hand; but not being
used to any gallantry, she held out her hand in the simplest
manner to take back her riding skirt; and he, though longing in
. •
## p. 2040 (#234) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2040
his heart to keep it, for a token or pretext for another meeting,
found no excuse for doing so.
And yet he was not without some
resource.
For the maiden was giving him a farewell smile, being quite
content with the good she had done, and the luck of recovering
her property; and that sense of right which in those days formed.
a part of every good young woman said to her plainly that she
must be off. And she felt how unkind it was to keep him any
longer in a place where the muzzle of a gun, with a man behind
it, might appear at any moment. But he, having plentiful breath
again, was at home with himself to spend it.
"Fair young lady," he began, for he saw that Mary liked to
be called a lady, because it was a novelty, "owing more than I
ever can pay you already, may I ask a little more? Then it is
that on your way down to the sea, you would just pick up (if
you should chance to see it) the fellow ring to this, and perhaps
you will look at this to know it by. The one that was shot away
flew against a stone just on the left of the mouth of the Dike,
but I durst not stop to look for it, and I must not go back that
way now. It is more to me than a hatful of gold, though nobody
else would give a crown for it. "
"And they really shot away one of your earrings? Careless,
cruel, wasteful men! What could they have been thinking of? "
"They were thinking of getting what is called 'blood-money. '
One hundred pounds for Robin Lyth. Dead or alive-one hun-
dred pounds. "
"Then are you the celebrated Robin Lyth-the new Robin
Hood, as they call him? The man who can do almost anything? "
"Mistress Anerley, I am Robin Lyth; but, as you have seen,
I cannot do much.
They have missed the best chance
they ever had at me; it will make their temper very bad. If
they shot at me again, they could do no good. Crooked mood
makes crooked mode. "
•
You may
"You forget that I should not see such things.
like very much to be shot at; but-but you should think of
other people. "
"I shall think of you only-I mean of your great kindness,
and your promise to keep my ring for me. Of course you will
tell nobody. Carroway will have me like a tiger if you do.
Farewell, young lady-for one week, farewell. "
With a wave of his hat he was gone, before Mary had time
to retract her promise; and she thought of her mother.
## p. 2041 (#235) ###########################################
2041
WILLIAM BLAKE
(1757-1827)
OET-PAINTER, visionary, and super-mystic in almost all capaci-
ties, William Blake was born in London in 1757.
the second son of humble people-his father but a stock-
He was
Su
ing merchant. An "odd little boy," he was destined to be recog-
nized as "one of the most curious and abnormal personages of the
later eighteenth and earlier nineteenth centuries. " Allan Cunning-
ham describes him by saying that Blake at ten years of age was an
artist and at twelve a poet. He seems really to have shown in
childhood his double gift. But the boy's
education was rudimentary, his advantages
not even usual, it would seem. To the end
of his life, the mature man's works betray
a defective common-schooling, a lament-
able lack of higher intellectual training —
unless we suspect that the process would
have disciplined his mind, to the loss of
bizarre originality. Most of what Blake
learned he taught himself, and that at hap-
hazard. The mistiness and inexplicability
of his productions is part of such a pro-
cess, as well as of invincible temperament.
WILLIAM BLAKE
In 1767 Blake was studying drawing
with Mr. Pars, at the sometime famous Strand Academy, where he
was reckoned a diligent but egotistical pupil. At fourteen he be-
came apprenticed, for a livelihood,-afterward exchanged for the
painter's and illustrator's freer career,-to James Basire, an academic
but excellent engraver, whose manner is curiously traceable through
much of Blake's after work. Even in the formal atmosphere of the
Royal Academy's antique school, Blake remained an opinionated and
curiously "detached" scholar, with singular critical notions, with half-
expressed or very boldly expressed theories as to art, religion, and
most other things. In 1782 he married a young woman of equally
humble derivation, who could not even sign the marriage register.
He developed her character, educated her mind, and made her a
devoted and companionable wife, full of faith in him. Their curious
and retired ménage was as happy in a practical and mundane aspect
as could be hoped from even a normal one.
## p. 2042 (#236) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2042
(
In 1780 he began to exhibit, his first picture being The Death of
Earl Godwin. ' After exhibiting five others, however, ending with
'Jacob's Dream,' he withdrew altogether from public advertisement.
Several devoted patrons-especially Mr. Linnell, and a certain Mr.
Thomas Butts, who bought incessantly, anything and everything,-
seized upon all he drew and painted. In his literary undertakings
he was for the most part his own editor and printer and publisher.
His career in verse and prose began early. In 1783 came forth
the charming collection Poetical Sketches,' juvenile as the fancies of
his boyish days, but full of a sensitive appreciation of nature worthy
of a mature heart, and expressed with a diction often exquisite.
The volume was not really public nor published, but printed by the
kindly liberality of two friends, one of them Flaxman. In 1787,
"under the direction of the spirit of his dead brother," Robert, he
decided on publishing a new group of lyrics and fancies, Songs
of Innocence,' by engraving the text of the poems and its marginal
embellishments on copper-printing the pages in various tints, color-
ing or recoloring them by hand, and even binding them, with his
wife's assistance. The medium for mixing his tints, by the by, was
"revealed to him by Saint Joseph. "
With this volume-now a rarity for the bibliophile - began
Blake's system of giving his literary works and many of his ex-
traordinary artistic productions their form and being.
Like a poet-
printer of our own day, Mr. William Morris, Blake insisted that each
page of text, all his delicate illustrations, every cover even, should
pass through his own fingers, or through those of his careful and
submissive helpmeet. The expense of their paper was the chief one
to the light purse of the queerly assorted, thrifty pair.
<
In 1789 appeared another little volume of verses, Songs of Inno-
cence. ' This also was ushered into existence as a dual book of
pictures and of poetry. In 1794 came the Songs of Experience,'
completing that brief lyrical trio on which rests Blake's poetical
reputation and his claim on coming generations of sympathetic read-
ers. To these early and exquisite fruits of Blake's feeling succeeded
a little book For Children,' the mystic volume The Gates of
Paradise,' 'The Visions of the Daughters of Albion,' 'America, a
Prophecy,' Part First of his Book of Urizen,' and a collection of
designs without text, treated in the methods usual with him, besides
other labors with pencil and pen.
But the wonderful and disordered imagination of the artist and
poet now embodied itself in a strange group of writings for which
no parallel exists. To realize them, one must imagine the most
transcendent notions of Swedenborg mingled with the rant of a
superior kind of Mucklewrath. Such poems as 'The Book of Thel,'
## p. 2043 (#237) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2043
in spite of beautiful allegoric passages; 'The Gates of Paradise';
'Tiriel,' an extended narrative-fantasy in irregular unrhymed verses;
even the striking 'Marriage of Heaven and Hell,'-may be reckoned
as mere prologues to such productions as 'Jerusalem,' 'The Emana-
tion of the Giant Albion,' 'Milton,' and the "prophecies" embodied in
the completed Urizen,' the 'Europe,' 'Ahania,' and 'The Book of
Los. ' Such oracular works Blake put forth as dictated to him by
departed spirits of supreme influence and intellectuality, or by angelic
intelligences, quite apart from his own volition; indeed, only with his
"grateful obedience. » Such claims are not out of place in the
instance of one who "saw God"; who often "conversed familiarly
with Jesus Christ "; who "was" Socrates; who argued conclusions for
hours at a time with Moses, with Milton, with Dante, with the
Biblical prophets, with Voltaire; who could "see Satan" almost at
will-all in vivid conceptions that sprang up in his mind with such
force as to set seemingly substantial and even speaking beings before
him. In his assumption of the seer, Blake was not a charlatan: he
believed fully in his supernatural privileges. To him his modest
London lodging held great company, manifest in the spirit.
Blake's greater "prophetic" writings ended, he busied himself
with painting and illustration. He was incessant in industry; indeed,
his ordinary recreation at any time was only a change of work
from one design to another. So were wrought out the (incomplete)
series of plates for Young's 'Night Thoughts'; the drawings for Hay-
ley's 'Life of Cowper,' and for the same feeble author's 'Ballads on
Anecdotes relating to Animals'; the 'Dante' designs; the 'Job'
series of prints; a vast store of aquarelle and distemper paintings
and plates, and a whole gallery of "portraits» derived from sitters
of distinction in past universal history. These sitters, it is needless
to say, were wholly invisible to other eyes than Blake's. The sub-
jects vary from likenesses of Saint Joseph and the Virgin Mary to
those of Mahomet and Shakespeare. Sundry of the old masters,
Titian included, reviewed his efforts and guided his brush! Such
assertions do not ill accord with the description of his once seeing
a fairy's funeral, or that he first beheld God when four years old.
But all his fantasies did not destroy his faith in the fundamentals
of orthodoxy. He never ceased to be a believer in Christianity.
His convictions of a revealed religion were reiterated. While inces-
sant in asserting that he had a solemn message-spiritual to his day
and generation, he set aside nothing significant in the message of
the Scriptures. There is something touching in the anecdote of him
and his devoted Kate told by the portrait-painter Richmond. Him-
self discouraged with his imperfect work, Richmond one day visited
Blake and confessed his low mood. To his astonishment, Blake
## p. 2044 (#238) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2044
turned to his wife suddenly, and said, "It is just so with us, is it
not, for weeks together, when the visions forsake us! What do we
do then, Kate ? " "We kneel down and pray, Mr. Blake. "
So passed Blake's many years, between reality and dream, labors
and chimeras. The painter's life was not one of painful poverty.
He and his Kate needed little money; and the seer-husband's pencils
and burin, or the private kindness so constantly shown him, provided
daily bread. Despite the visions and inspirations and celestial phe-
nomena that filled his head, Blake withal was sane enough in every-
day concerns. He lived orderly, even if he thought chaos. Almost
his last strokes were on the hundred water-colors for the 'Divina
Commedia,' the 'Job' cycle, the Ancient of Days' drawing, or a
"frenzied sketch" of his wife which he made, exclaiming in begin-
ning it, "Stay! Keep as you are! You have ever been an angel to
me. I will draw you. " Natural decay and painful chronic ailments
increased. He seldom left his rooms in Fountain Court, Strand,
except in a visit to the Linnells, at Hampstead. He died gently in
1827, "singing of the things he saw in Heaven. " His grave, to-day
unknown, was a common one in Bunhill Fields Cemetery. Many
friends mourned him. With all his eccentricities and the extrava-
gances of his "visions" and "inspirations," he was loved. His ardor
of temperament was balanced by meekness, his aggressiveness by
true politeness. He was frank, abstemious, a lover of children,
who loved him,—devout in prayer, devoid of vice. Yet whenever
he was in contact with his fellow-men, he was one living and walk-
ing apart.
As an influence in literature he is less considerable than
in painting. In the latter art, a whole group of contemporary nota-
bles, intellectualists, and rhapsodists of greater or less individuality
have to do with him, among whom Dante Gabriel Rossetti was in
much his literary child, still more his child in art.
A brief and early 'Life' of Blake, prepared by his intimate
friend Allan Cunningham, appeared in 1829. In 1839, for the first
time, his works were really given to the public. Mr. Gilchrist's
invaluable biography and study appeared in 1863; revised and en-
larged in an edition of 1880. Mr. Swinburne's critical essay on him
is a notable aid to the student. The artist-poet's complete works
were edited by Mr. William Michael Rossetti in 1874, with a com-
plete and discriminating memoir. More recent contributions to Blake
literature are the Ellis and Yeats edition of his works, also with a
Memoir and an Interpretation; and Mr. Alfred J. Story's volume on
'The Life, Character, and Genius of William Blake.
' Some of the
rarest of his literary productions, as well as the scarcest among his
drawings, are owned in America, chiefly by two private collectors in
the Eastern States.
-
## p. 2045 (#239) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
Μ'
SONG
Y SILKS and fine array,
My smiles and languished air,
By love are driven away,
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave:
Such end true lovers have.
His face is fair as heaven
When springing buds unfold;
Oh, why to him was 't given,
Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is Love's all-worshiped tomb,
Where all Love's pilgrims come.
Bring me an axe and spade,
Bring me a winding-sheet;
When I my grave have made,
Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay:
True love doth never pass away.
L
SONG
OVE and harmony combine
And around our souls entwine,
While thy branches mix with mine
And our roots together join.
Joys upon our branches sit,
Chirping loud and singing sweet;
Like gentle streams beneath our feet,
Innocence and virtue meet.
Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
I am clad in flowers fair;
Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
And the turtle buildeth there.
There she sits and feeds her young;
Sweet I hear her mournful song;
And thy lovely leaves among,
There is Love: I hear his tongue.
2045
## p. 2046 (#240) ###########################################
2046
WILLIAM BLAKE
There his charmed nest he doth lay,
There he sleeps the night away,
There he sports along the day,
And doth among our branches play.
THE TWO SONGS
HEARD an Angel singing
When the day was springing:
"Mercy, pity, and peace,
Are the world's release. "
So he sang all day
Over the new-mown hay,
Till the sun went down,
And the haycocks looked brown.
I heard a devil curse
Over the heath and the furse:
«< Mercy could be no more
If there were nobody poor,
And pity no more could be
If all were happy as ye:
And mutual fear brings peace.
Misery's increase
Are mercy, pity, peace. "
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.
NIGHT
From 'Songs of Innocence >
THE
HE sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine,
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles in the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves
Where flocks have ta'en delight;
## p. 2047 (#241) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2047
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest,
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm;
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful,
The angels most heedful
Receive each wild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold;
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold,
Saying, "Wrath by His meekness,
And by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.
"And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee and weep.
For washed in life's river,
My bright mane forever
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o'er the fold. "
## p. 2048 (#242) ###########################################
2048
WILLIAM BLAKE
THE PIPER AND THE CHILD
Introduction to Songs of Innocence ›
PIPI
IPING down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:-
"Pipe a song about a lamb. »
So I piped with merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again:"
So I piped; he wept to hear.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer:"
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
«< Piper, sit thee down and write,
In a book that all may read. "-
So he vanished from my sight;
And I plucked a hollow reed;
And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
―
HOLY THURSDAY
From Songs of Innocence>
TWA
WAS on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Came children walking two and two, in red and blue and
green:
Gray-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
## p. 2049 (#243) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2049
M
A CRADLE SONG
From 'Songs of Experience>
LEEP, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
S
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek and o'er thy breast,
Where thy little heart doth rest.
Oh, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart shall wake,
Then the dreadful light shall break.
THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
From Songs of Innocence >
Y MOTHER bore me in the Southern wild,
And I am black, but oh, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissèd me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:-
"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
"And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
IV-129
## p. 2050 (#244) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLAKE
2050
"For when our souls have learned the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his voice,
Saying, 'Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice. »»
Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,
And thus I say to little English boy:
When I from black, and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
THE TIGER
From Songs of Experience>
Τ
IGER! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Framed thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burned that fire within thine eyes?
On what wings dared he aspire?
What the hand dared seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
When thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand formed thy dread feet?
What the hammer, what the chain,
Knit thy strength and forged thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dared thy deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
## p. 2051 (#245) ###########################################
2051
CHARLES BLANC
(1813-1882)
W
E 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 con-
ception of art; we know that art was hi 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.
masters gave him but little encouragement, however, and he soon
turned his thoughts to literature, his maiden effort being a descrip-
tion 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 suc-
cessively 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 ap-
peared; 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
## p. 2052 (#246) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2052
anecdotes, combined with vivacity of style, aroused interest in paint-
ing and created a public for the more purely technical works which
followed. Though assisted by others in this undertaking, Blanc him-
self 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 Feb-
ruary, 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 convul
sions, 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 sculp-
tors. After the Salon of 1848, as the government coffers were de-
pleted, 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, threat-
ened 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 cer-
tain psychological significance. One evening Charles Blanc was visit
ing 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 en-
couragement of talent, Blanc was sacrificed to the spirit of reaction
## p. 2053 (#247) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2053
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 re-
sumed his 'History of the Painters. '. 'L'Euvres 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 vul-
gar, 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
Académie des Beaux Arts. The Treasures of Curiosity' is a cata-
logue 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.
## p. 2054 (#248) ###########################################
2054
CHARLES BLANC
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 docu-
ments, he was enabled to reproduce one of the most remarkable per-
sonalities, 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 cop-
ies to reproduce the masterpieces of painting. One well-deserved
satisfaction was granted him in 1878 by the creation of a chair of
Esthetics 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 col-
lection 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 intel-
lectual qualifications and extensive reading to bear upon a subject
until then treated either by philosophical theorizers or eloquent essay-
ists. 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.
## p. 2055 (#249) ###########################################
CHARLES BLANC
2055
REMBRANDT
From The Dutch School of Painters >
R
EMBRANDT 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 fore-
head presented a development that indicated a powerful imagina-
tion. 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 com-
plexion 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 ori-
ginal, 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
HE love of the extravagant and fantastic observable in Dürer's
first pictures never abandoned him. He has probably ex
pressed the inspiration of his own soul in the figure of
Melancholy, who, seated on the sea-shore, seems trying to pene-
trate with her gaze into infinite space. For my part, I have this
picture always before me. How could it be possible to forget an
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CHARLES BLANC
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 com-
passes 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 transi-
tory 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 ex-
presses it had appeared in art before the time of Albert Dürer.
INGRES
From the Life of Ingres
SMALL
MALL 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 Floren-
tine and Greek schools; he sought the ideal not outside of reality
but in its very essence, in the reconciliation of style with nature.
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CHARLES BLANC
2057
Color he considered of secondary importance; he not only sub-
ordinated it voluntarily to drawing, but he did not have a natural
gift for it. Ingres is the artist who has best expressed the volup-
tuousness 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 be-
neath 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 criti-
cism 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.
was that youth, that novice. And after all, how become a work-
man unless you work? how become expert if you do not study,
recognize your mistakes and repair them? Beneath our mistakes
truth lies hidden.
I
So I arrived at Brussels to exercise the trade of critic, and
found myself in the presence of two men who were then making
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CHARLES BLANC
a brilliant début 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 peo-
ple 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 tor-
tured, 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!
Α
N
DELACROIX'S BARK OF DANTE›
From Contemporary Artists'
ADMIRABLE and altogether new quality is the weird har-
mony of color which makes the painting vibrate like a
drama; or in other words, that sombre harmony itself is
the foundation of the tragedy.
