take delight in pure fiction, should consistently be disgusted by Turner's fidelity and truth.

Hitherto, however, we have been speaking of vividness of pure color, and showing that it is used by Turner only where nature uses it, and in no less degree. But we have hitherto,

§ 13. Turner scarcely ever uses pure or vivid color.

Το

therefore, been speaking of a most limited and uncharacteristic portion of his works; for Turner, like all great colorists, is distinguished not more for his power of dazzling and overwhelming the eye with intensity of effect, than for his power of doing so by the use of subdued and gentle means. There is no man living more cautious and sparing in the use of pure color than Turner. say that he never perpetrates anything like the blue excrescences of foreground, or hills shot like a housekeeper's best silk gown, with blue and red, which certain of our celebrated artists consider the essence of the sublime, would be but a poor compliment. I might as well praise the portraits of Titian because they have not the grimace and paint of a clown in a pantomime; but I do say, and say with confidence, that there is scarcely a landscape artist of the present day, however sober and lightless their effects may look, who does not employ more pure and raw color than Turner; and that the ordinary tinsel and trash, or rather vicious and perilous stuff, according to the power of the mind producing it, with which the walls of our Academy are half covered, disgracing, in weak hands, or in more powerful, degrading and corrupting our whole school of art, is based on a system of color beside which Turner's is as Vesta to Cotytto-the chastity of fire to the foulness of earth. Every picture of this great colorist has, in one or two parts of it, (key-notes of the whole,) points where the system of each individual color is concentrated by a single stroke, as pure as it can come from the pallet; but throughout the great space and extent of even the most brilliant of his works, there will not be found a raw color; that is to say, there is no warmth which has not gray in it, and no blue which has not warmth in it; and the tints in which he most excels and distances all other men, the most cherished and inimitable portions of his color, are, as with all perfect colorists they must be, his grays.

It is instructive in this respect, to compare the sky of the

Iercury and Argus with the various illustrations of the sereny, space, and sublimity naturally inherent in blue and pink, of hich every year's exhibition brings forward enough and to pare. In the Mercury and Argus, the pale and vaporous blue f the heated sky is broken with gray and pearly white, the gold olor of the light warming it more or less as it approaches or tires from the sun; but throughout, there is not a grain of ure blue; all is subdued and warmed at the same time by the ingling gray and gold, up to the very zenith, where, breaking rough the flaky mist, the transparent and deep azure of the y is expressed with a single crumbling touch; the key-note of he whole is given, and every part of it passes at once far into owing and aerial space. The reader can scarcely fail to reember at once sundry works in contradistinction to this, with eat names attached to them, in which the sky is a sheer piece plumber's and glazier's work, and should be valued per yard, ith heavy extra charge for ultramarine.

4. The basis of y, under all

vivid hues.

Throughout the works of Turner, the same truthful prinple of delicate and subdued color is carried out with a care and bor of which it is difficult to form a conception. He gives a dash of pure white for his highest light; but all the other whites of his picture are pearled down with gray or gold. He gives a fold of pure crimn to the drapery of his nearest figure, but all his other crimns will be deepened with black, or warmed with yellow. In e deep reflection of his distant sea, we catch a trace of the rest blue; but all the rest is palpitating with a varied and licate gradation of harmonized tint, which indeed looks vivid ue as a mass, but is only so by opposition. It is the most fficult, the most rare thing, to find in his works a definite ace, however small, of unconnected color; that is, either of a ue which has nothing to connect it with the warmth, or of a arm color which has nothing to connect it with the grays of e whole; and the result is, that there is a general system and der-current of gray pervading the whole of his color, out of hich his highest lights, and those local touches of pure color, hich are, as I said before, the key-notes of the picture, flash th the peculiar brilliancy and intensity in which he stands

one.

and fulness even

tones.

Intimately associated with this toning down and connection of the colors actually used, is his inimitable power of varying and blending them, so as never to give a quarter of an inch of § 15. The variety canvas without a change in it, a melody as well as of his most simple a harmony of one kind or another. Observe, I am not at present speaking of this as artistical or desirable in itself, not as a characteristic of the great colorist, but as the aim of the simple follower of nature. For it is strange to see how marvellously nature varies the most general and simple of her tones. A mass of mountain seen against the light, may, at first, appear all of one blue; and so it is, blue as a whole, by comparison with other parts of the landscape. But look how that blue is made up. There are black shadows in it under the crags, there are green shadows along the turf, there are gray half-lights upon the rocks, there are faint touches of stealthy warmth and cautious light along their edges; every bush, every stone, every tuft of moss has its voice in the matter, and joins with individual character in the universal will. Who is there who can do this as Turner will? The old masters would have settled the matter at once with a transparent, agreeable, but monotonous gray. Many among the moderns would probably be equally monotonous with absurd and false colors. Turner only would give the uncertainty-the palpitating, perpetual change the subjection of all to a great influence, without one part or portion being lost or merged in it-the unity of action with infinity of agent. And I wish to insist on this the more particularly, because it is one of the eternal the infinite and principles of nature, that she will not have one line variety of nature. nor color, nor one portion nor atom of space without a change in it. There is not one of her shadows, tints, or lines that is not in a state of perpetual variation: I do not mean in time, but in space. There is not a leaf in the world which has the same color visible over its whole surface; it has a white high light somewhere; and in proportion as it curves to or from that focus, the color is brighter or grayer. Pick up a common flint from the roadside, and count, if you can, its changes and hues of color. Every bit of bare ground under your feet has in it a thousand such-the gray pebbles, the warm ochre, the green of incipient vegetation, the grays and blacks of its reflexes and

16. Following

unapproachable

shadows, might keep a painter at work for a month, if he were obliged to follow them touch for touch: how much more, when the same infinity of change is carried out with vastness of object and space. The extreme of distance may appear at first monotonous; but the least examination will show it to be full of every kind of change that its outlines are perpetually melting and appearing again-sharp here, vague there-now lost altogether, now just hinted and still confused among each otherand so forever in a state and necessity of change. Hence, wherever in a painting we have unvaried color extended even over a small space, there is falsehood. Nothing can be natural which is monotonous; nothing true which only tells one story. The brown foreground and rocks of Claude's Sinon before Priam are as false as color can be: first, because there never was such a brown under sunlight, for even the sand and cinders volcanic tufa) about Naples, granting that he had studied from hese ugliest of all formations, are, where they are fresh fracured, golden and lustrous in full light compared to these ideals of crag, and become, like all other rocks, quiet and gray when weathered; and secondly, because no rock that ever nature tained is without its countless breaking tints of varied vegetaion. And even Stanfield, master as he is of rock form, is apt n the same way to give us here and there a little bit of mud, nstead of stone.

ess for the op

nd black. The

ature in this

espect.

What I am next about to say with respect to Turner's color, should wish to be received with caution, as it admits of disute. I think that the first approach to viciousness of color in 17. His dislike of any master is commonly indicated chiefly by a urple and fond prevalence of purple, and an absence of yellow. I osition of yellow think nature mixes yellow with almost every one inciples of of her hues, never, or very rarely, using red without it, but frequently using yellow with scarcely ny red; and I believe it will be in consequence found that her avorite opposition, that which generally characterizes and gives one to her color, is yellow and black, passing, as it retires, into -hite and blue. It is beyond dispute that the great fundanental opposition of Rubens is yellow and black; and that on his, concentrated in one part of the picture, and modified in arious grays throughout, chiefly depend the tones of all his

finest works. And in Titian, though there is a far greater tendency to the purple than in Rubens, I believe no red is ever mixed with the pure blue, or glazed over it, which has not in it a modifying quantity of yellow. At all events, I am nearly certain that whatever rich and pure purples are introduced locally, by the great colorists, nothing is so destructive of all fine color as the slightest tendency to purple in general tone; and I am equally certain that Turner is distinguished from all the vicious colorists of the present day, by the foundation of all his tones being black, yellow, and the intermediate grays, while the tendency of our common glare-seekers is invariably to pure, cold, impossible purples. So fond indeed is Turner of black and yellow, that he has given us more than one composition, both drawings and paintings, based on these two colors alone, of which the magnificent Quillebœuf, which I consider one of the most perfect pieces of simple color existing, is a most striking example; and I think that where, as in some of the late Venices, there has been something like a marked appearance of purple tones, even though exquisitely corrected by vivid orange and warm green in the foreground, the general color has not been so perfect or truthful: my own feelings would always guide me rather to the warm grays of such pictures as the Snow Storm, or the glowing scarlet and gold of the Napoleon and Slave Ship. But I do not insist at present on this part of the subject, as being perhaps more proper for future examination, when we are considering the ideal of color.

The above remarks have been made entirely with reference to the recent Academy pictures, which have been chiefly attacked for their color. I by no means intend them to apply to the early works of Turner, those which the enlightened newspaper critics are perpetually talking about as characteristic of a time when Turner was

§ 18. His early works are false

in color.

66

really great." He is, and was, really great, from the time when he first could hold a brush, but he never was so great as he is now. The Crossing the Brook, glorious as it is as a composition, and perfect in all that is most desirable and most ennobling in art, is scarcely to be looked upon as a piece of color; it is an agreeable, cool, gray rendering of space and form, but it is not color; if it be regarded as such, it is thoroughly false and vapid,