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nated to this. No discord is allowable in Sculpture. It is expanded compositions (works covering much space or time) that demand such departures from normal beauty; but a statue is a simple unit, which neither needs nor admits of relief, and which must be made thoroughly perfect in itself. Its beauty, therefore, must be symmetrical-i. e. perfect simple beauty; and as the perfection of this kind of beauty is seldom found in living figures, it can best be reached by a happy embodiment of the Ideal. Accordingly it was in their statuary that the Ideal beauty of the Greeks specially developed itself; and it is in the works of Flaxman and Canova, rather than in those of our painters, that the divine in form is still to be sought. "If Sculpture," says Diderot, "does not admit of a commonplace idea, no more will it permit of a mediocre execution; so that a slight incorrectness of drawing, which one would hardly deign to notice in a picture, is unpardonable in a statue." There is, moreover, another reason why Ideal Beauty (that divine supplement to the imperfectness of the Real), and excellence of every kind, should be the great aim of the sculptor. For a statue is a very costly thing, and the mind is naturally most intolerant of imperfection where the labour and expense have been great. It also follows from what has been said above, that a bad statue must of all things be the most useless. It cannot be redeemed, as many an indifferent painting is, by the beauty of the story which it tells,-for it tells none; nor by any utilitarian merits, like a work of architecture; nor yet can it even be kept out of the way, like a piece of bad music. There it stands, greeting us morn and eve, night and day,-unflinchingly, imperturbably, -with not a word to say for itself, but ever shocking us by its blemishes, and paining us by the recollection of its cost;while of no conceivable use can it possibly be, save to thrust one's hat on in some day of more than usual disgust.

Thus, perfect beauty of form is the paramount and indispensable requisite of Sculpture. But few people recollect how difficult this is of attainment. The forms in which Sculpture

deals are not those half-figures, with outlines melting into thin air, with which Painting has to do,-which cannot be walked round, and which, fixed immovably upon a plane surface, present but one unchanging aspect to the beholder. On the contrary, a statue stands forth bodily, to be seen and handled all round, -with limbs as perfect, and outlines considerably more definite, than your own. Every step you take round it, brings into view. a new phase of the figure, and a new and ever-varying harmony of outline. This is the crowning difficulty of Sculpture. It is comparatively easy to imagine a fine single aspect of a figure, such as may be needed in Painting; but to imagine a dozen of these, (as a first-class piece of sculpture requires,) each, too, blending beautifully into the others, is a very different task. Of course, if you muffle up the figure in a cloak, you at once rid yourself of, or at least mightily lessen, the difficulty;—for in this case the front aspect is almost all that the sculptor need think of, and for the rest, he has just to copy the folds of his cloak as it hangs in the wardrobe. But such statues are hardly to be considered within the strict domain of Fine Art. It is Art subordinated-I do not say wrongly-to utilitarian purposes. And it ought ever to be recollected by the critics of civic statues, that the real test of the artist's skill in such cases is not the absolute, but the relative, merit of his work; for the real problem which his genius has to solve is simply this,― Given a certain subject and a fixed sum, how to make the most of them?

Such, then, is the great object and the chief difficulties of the Fine Art of Sculpture. Let us now mark one or two of its minor or less definite characteristics. One of these, as I have said, is, that it admits of but little plurality of figures. This is owing to the amazing difficulty of grouping together figures in the hard marble in such a way as to preserve complete symmetry in the composition, without impairing the perfectness and beauty of the component figures,-things not easily reconciled. Accordingly, when the Sculptors of antiquity repre

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sented the Muses, they never attempted to unite or group them in combined action,—they gave each Muse separately, with her appropriate accessories, each statue formed an independent whole; and it was left to the Painter to combine the "tuneful Nine" into one picture. The most successful examples which we have of several figures in one piece of statuary are the Laocöon and the Toro Farnese. And most wonderful and beautiful works they are;-for, as may be mentioned here, I hold that it may be set down as a general rule, that the more you extend the grasp of an Art without sacrificing any of its essential excellencies, the higher will be the character of the work produced. In Bas-reliefs the process of grouping several figures in one symmetrical composition-(in Friezes, although a melody, or beauty of succession, should pervade them, there is seldom any attempt at symmetry or harmony)—may be carried very much further than in Sculpture. The process, in fact, is incomparably easier in the former art than in the latter; for in bas-relief, as in painting, the figures present only one front to the eye,— whereas sculpture can be viewed all round, and must look well from every point. Even in bas-relief, however, grouping labours under great disadvantages; for, owing to the absence of colour, we cannot have that variety in the complexion and dress of the component figures which produces such pleasing effects in painting. Hence bas-relief ever tends towards tameness and monotony, a fault from which Canova's fine group, "The Death of Socrates," is not free. Its very perfection in one important point-namely, the remarkable symmetry which pervades the group,-while justly meriting no common meed of admiration, helps, by the insipidity it produces, to draw attention to the comparatively meagre powers of this hybrid art, which, although producing many very fine things, has neither the full beauty of Sculpture, nor the rich and endless variety of Painting.

The next remark I would make brings us upon delicate ground. I have said that Sculpture, of all the Fine Arts, is the one most characterised by Simplicity,-it having little to work with; and

it must now be added, in some measure as a corollary to this, that sculpture is the Art of all others peculiarly fitted for the representation of Repose: just as Painting, on the other hand, with its infinite powers of telling a story, is peculiarly suited for the representation of Action. The one, comparatively limited to the sphere of Form, deals pre-eminently with physical beauty and symmetry, which are ever found nearest perfection in states. of repose; whereas the manifold resources of the other compel it (for an Art never fully satisfies unless it work up to its full powers) to deal chiefly with mental beauty and the charms of expression, which are best shown when the figures are engaged in picturesque action. There is something in the very mechanical qualities of Sculpture which tends to limit its representation of motion and emotion. Its solid figures and limbs, so different from the coloured figments of painting, being subject like living beings to the laws of gravitation, renders attitudes which might be tolerable in the one art, not so in the other. The hardness and rigidity of the material, too-marble or bronze-renders it not very suitable for the representation of violent (i. e. spasmodic and transitory) action or expression; because imparting to such flitting attitudes and aspects a degree of stiffness and permanence much greater than painting would do,—or, as M. Guizot says, it makes them "more eternal." Moreover, there is something in the sight of suspended action-an action incomplete, and without its result-which always troubles and breaks the repose of the mind. It has the disquieting, though not the jarring, effect of a discord; and like a discord, the mind (especially in solid sculpture) ever longs to have it resolved, finished. Cautiously used, it will produce a pleasurable excitement in the mind, but when in excess only dissatisfaction. Lastly, and what is a still more important consideration is this, that as physical beauty, or perfection of form, is the great object of the Sculptor's art, and as all violent action or expression involves a sacrifice of this kind of beauty, there are manifestly certain limits in the representation of Action beyond which he cannot with propriety go.

Emotion, for instance, may be allowed to wreathe the face into becoming smiles, but the distorting action of violent Passion upon the features ought to be avoided. Indeed, so supreme is beauty of Form in this art, that in the group of the Laocöon, the sculptor has been careful not to represent the legs and arms of the children as being in any way crushed or distorted by the coils of the serpents,—although, in fact, no such roundness of the limb could, under such circumstances, be preserved. Thus even Truth itself can hardly be tolerated in sculpture when it involves a sacrifice of Beauty. As for such pieces of sculpture as that which represents Milo caught in the cleft tree, with the wolf tearing at him, they are to me unbearable. It violates both Art and common feeling to see helpless and unbeauteous agony eternised in stone.

The beauty of repose, therefore, I repeat, is most peculiarly the province of Sculpture. But, then, this kind of beauty is the most lifeless of all; and a sculptor of genius will not be content with this. He will seek to extend the compass of his art as far as possible; and, accordingly, he will aim at infusing into his figures as much of life and feeling as is compatible with the paramount claims of physical beauty. Thus only, in my opinion, can Ideal Sculpture be carried to its highest power, or produce that "something of the divine" which lives in the masterpieces of Grecian art. How far this union of the opposite qualities of Symmetry and Expression can be carried, will, of course, depend entirely upon the genius of the individual artist. But I would lay down unhesitatingly, as the grand canon of the Sculptor's art,-that he should seek to combine in his figures the greatest amount of Life and Mind, with the least deviation from a posture of Repose.

In holding these opinions, I differ from M. Guizot, who inculcates much too unqualifiedly the preservation of repose in statuary. Chantrey used to express similar, and even stronger opinions. But I am persuaded that the fault in both cases was due, not to any deficiency of taste in either of

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