Y., A. and R. S. "Pre-Raphaelitism from Different Points of View." Fraser’s Magazine 53.318 (Jun. 1856), 686-693.

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PRE-RAPHAELITISM FROM DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW.*

It is impossible to deny that what is commonly called the pre-Raphaelite school of painting, in spite of its recent development, brief existence, and the youth of those who form its greatest ornaments, has exercised a most important, and in some respects beneficial, influence upon the character of British art. There are several circumstances which have contributed to this rapid progress and increase in popularity. Much has indeed been owing to the self-reliance, perseverance, and talents of such men as Millais and Hunt; but far more is due to the brilliant pen of Mr. Ruskin, their great exponent and defender. Without him, we believe that these pictures would have attracted comparatively little notice. For one man who has seen a picture by either of these artists, a dozen, probably, have read either some of Mr. Ruskin’s numerous works, or abridgments of their contents in magazines or reviews–have been led away by his fascinating eloquence, and are prepared to adopt and defend pre-Raphaelitism, although they may never have attentively examined a single picture belonging to that school, and consequently possess but a vague and superficial knowledge of its peculiar style and treatment.

Few in this country are at present prepared to consider, calmly and dispassionately, this much-talked-of pre-Raphaelite movement. Nor is this to be wondered at: it has been assailed on the one side with so much rancorous abuse, and defended on the other with such enthusiastic and indiscriminate laudation,–one party refusing to acknowledge the possession of any excellence, the other idealizing defects into beauties,--that there are few who care or think about art at all who have not taken a share in the dispute, and permitted their passions in some degree to warp their judgment.

Of the authors whose works we have placed at the head of this article, Mr. Ruskin of course stands forth as the champion of pre-Raphaelitism à l’outrance; while Mr. Ballantyne is its determined opponent; and M. Gautier may be considered a sort of middle-man, holding the balance fairly, and seeking for truth rather than victory. We shall now proceed to examine their various opinions, and endeavour, if possible, to determine the true nature and tendency of this great art-movement.

The term ‘pre-Raphaelitism,’ like many others in common use, does not, unhappily, convey a uniform or exact signification. Different persons interpret it differently: thus one adopts the most obvious meaning–that school which follows in its style the Italian predecessors of Raphael; another believes it to imply distinguished ability in depicting straws, shavings, flowers, and textures; a third, a fondness for hard outlines and crude colouring, and a preference for ugliness over beauty; whilst a fourth understands by it a determination to put nothing into a picture which has not been rigidly copied from nature. Leaving, however, these different interpretations, all containing some truth along with an admixture of error, let us at once apply to Mr. Ruskin for his views upon the subject. What does he mean by this debatable term? And he will answer, that the pre-Raphaelites are those ‘who go to nature in all singleness of heart, and walk with her laboriously and trustingly, having no other thought but how best to penetrate her meaning, rejecting nothing, selecting nothing, and scorning nothing.’ The moderns who have done this resemble the old precursors of Raphael only in their earnestness of purpose and singleness of heart; a love for nature, and a fixed determination to delineate her truths unflinchingly and perseveringly to the utmost of their power, exercising the same ennobling effect upon their paintings, that deep and genuine religious feeling communicated to those of the early Italians. In other respects there is not a shadow of resemblance between the two styles; the modern pre-Raphaelites imitate no pictures, they paint entirely from nature, and they are just as superior to their ancient brethren in skill of manipulation, power of drawing, and knowledge of effect, as inferior to them in grace of design.

The perfect unison of expression, as the painter’s main purpose, with the full and natural exertion of his pictorial power in the details of the work, is found only in the old pre-Raphaelite period, and in the modern pre-Raphaelite school. In the works of Giotto, Angelico, Orcagna, John Bellini, and one or two more, these two conditions of high art are entirely fulfilled, so far as the knowledge of those days enabled them to be fulfilled; and in the modern pre-Raphaelite school they are fulfilled nearly to the uttermost. Hunt’s ‘Light of the World’ is, I believe, the most perfect instance of expressional purpose with technical power which the world has yet produced.*

Mr. Ruskin further tells us that he believes ‘that those bright Turnerian imageries which the European public declared to be ‘dotage,’ and those calm pre-Raphaelite studies which in like manner it pronounced ‘puerility,’ form the first foundation that has ever been laid for true sacred art.’ And he answers the question which he has heard 'querulous readers’ asking–how he could possibly praise styles so opposed and contrasted as those of Turner and the pre-Raphaelites?–by affirming that he has never praised Turner for any other reason than that he gave facts more delicately, more pre-Raphaelitically than any other painter; and that the object of all his writings has uniformly been to impress upon the artist the necessity and duty of being in all respects as like nature as possible; and that both Turner and the pre-Raphaelites are praised for exactly the same excellence–their perfection of truth and finish.

Mr. Ruskin is exceedingly indignant at the opposition which pre-Raphaelitism has encountered, at the ‘scurrilous abuse,’ and ‘loudness and universality of the howl,’ which has been raised against it; but he does not hesitate to retaliate in the very style which he condemns, and shows that, in intensity and eloquence of vituperation, he is more than equal to the most virulent of his antagonists: thus, he informs us, in his most recent work, that

A large proportion of the resistance to the noble pre-Raphaelite movement of our days has been offered by men who suppose the entire function of the artist, in this world, to consist in laying on colour with a large brush, and surrounding dashes of flake-white with bituminous-brown; men whose entire capacities of brain, soul, and sympathy, applied industriously to the end of their lives, would not enable them at last to paint so much as one of the leaves of the nettles at the bottom of Hunt’s picture of the ‘Light of the World.’

Such we believe to be a fair summary of Mr. Ruskin’s views with regard to pre-Raphaelitism and its opponents. Let us now advert to Mr. Ballantyne’s. His pamphlet, unfortunately, is stiff, incorrect, and feeble in point of style, forming in this respect a striking contrast to the brilliant brochure of Mr. Ruskin. He is also sometimes unfair in his statements, and unjust towards the school of art whose character and tendencies he condemns. Still, however, he has found many a weak point in his opponent’s panoply, and skilfully availed himself of the openings. He insists upon the actual resemblance in style, as well as in spirit, between the early Italians and the modern pre-Raphaelites, and he entirely denies the technical superiority which Mr. Ruskin claims for the latter. He cannot perceive the consistency or propriety of praising both Turner and the pre-Raphaelites, as their styles are in every respect entirely opposed; the former, although a devoted student of nature, having continually availed himself of the knowledge of the past, and having attentively studied the works of his great predecessors, traces of which are frequently apparent in his paintings; whereas the latter professes to study nature only. He censures their neglect to avail themselves of the assistance and improvement to be derived from the study of good pictures, and the folly of the idea, with which they appear to have started–that, in order to portray nature faithfully, no hitherto recognised guiding principles of art are required or admissible. In order more strongly to illustrate and support his opinions, Mr. Ballantyne selects a pre-Raphaelite picture, termed ‘The Carpenter’s Shop,’ which appeared some years ago in the Exhibitions of the Royal Academy, and more recently in that of the Royal Scottish Academy. This he contrasts, in point of feeling and sentiment, with Raphael’s ‘La Belle Jardinière,’ and, in point of finish and technical excellence, with Sir David Wilkie’s ‘Blind Man’s Buff,’ giving, in every respect, the preference to the two latter, and condemning the former as ugly, caricatured, vulgar in form and drawing, and as having an obtrusive prominence given to mean and secondary objects. Although we perfectly agree with Mr. Ballantyne in his condemnation of this picture, which we well remember, we cannot help thinking that it was hardly fair to select one of the worst specimens of pre-Raphaelitism, and to contrast it with, perhaps, the most charming of Raphael’s Madonnas, and one of Wilkie’s most graphic and finished delineations of Scottish peasant life.

Mr. Ballantyne points out, with much truth and good sense, the injustice and partiality of Mr. Ruskin in founding his unlimited and exclusive admiration of the pre-Raphaelites, upon the ground that they alone study nature, overlooking the fact that this has been the practice of the greatest painters in all ages,–including even that immediately following the Raphaelesque,–and in the present age, too.

This constant reference to nature (he goes on to say) is one of the points which we entirely coincide with Mr. Ruskin in regarding as essential in education and in after practice; but it is to the way in which nature is studied and rendered by the so-called pre-Raphaelites, that we enter our protest. It has been well said by Burnet, in his Practical Hints upon Painting, that, ‘the general character of an object is its most important feature, and this is to be preserved at the price of every other quality, if it cannot be retained upon other terms, as it is this which is imprinted on the mind of every one, and which is, therefore, paramount to all its other qualities.’ It is the almost total absence of this quality, in their representations of objects, which makes us averse to the pre-Raphaelites being held up as the founders of a true school of art, or to allow that their works are to be considered useful and safe examples for the guidance of a student; and the more so for the reason that Mr. Ruskin, evidently, would rather have the student study nature through the spectacles of the early painters and those who imitate them, than through those of Raphael. That is a matter of taste; for our own part we would advise the disuse of any spectacles whatever. Let the student look at nature with the naked eye; he will then at least paint only what is visible; and not, like the pre-Raphaelites, render objects which, from their minuteness or distance, would require a microscope at one eye, and a telescope at the other, to make them distinguishable at all.*

Such, then, are Mr. Ballantyne’s views of pre-Raphaelitism, not very complimentary, certainly, and the perfect antithesis of Mr. Ruskin’s; but it is impossible to deny that they possess much truth and justice, especially in refusing to admit the arrogant claims of its disciples to a monopoly of nature. ‘Vixerunt fortes ante Agamemnona multi.’ Many a man studied nature before Mr. Millais, and with all attention and humility, even during that long and melancholy period of sensualism and degradation which, according to Mr. Ruskin, divides the ancient from the modern pre-Raphaelites; those dark ages of painting which intervened between the calm radiance of Angelico, and the more perfect brightness of Mr. Holman Hunt. Even during that dreary time, many painters devoted themselves to nature, and studied her unceasingly in all her varied and ever-changing aspects. Leonardo da Vinci constantly carried a sketchbook at his girdle, in which he noted every face and expression that struck his fancy, and made careful drawings of herbs and foliage. Velasquez very early resolved neither to sketch nor to colour any object without having it before him, and, in order that he might have a model of the human countenance ever at hand, he kept a peasant lad, as an apprentice, who served him for a study in different actions and postures, till he had grappled with every difficulty of expression; and from him he executed an infinite variety of heads, in charcoal and chalk on blue paper, by which he arrived at singular certainty and decision in taking portraits. He also had recourse to nature in order to acquire facility and brilliancy of colouring, studying animals and still-life, and painting all sorts of objects rich in tones and tints, and simple in form,--such as pieces of plate, metal, earthen pots and pans, birds, fishes, and fruits. Salvator Rosa, who is styled by Mr. Ruskin ‘a gross caricaturist, unworthy of any rank in art,’ was wont to leave the studio of his brother-in-law early in the morning, and repair to the woods and mountains, laden with the materials for oil-painting, and spend the whole day in sketching and colouring from nature. Nicolas Poussin was also a most devoted student of nature; and Alessio Marchi even went further than any pre-Raphaelite we have yet heard of–setting fire to a barn in order to obtain a study for a conflagration. W. Vandevelde, with the view of rendering his pictures of sea-fights more perfect and truthful, risked his life in a small boat, and rowed round two hostile fleets during the progress of an engagement; and Rugendas, a distinguished Flemish painter of battle-pieces, dared every danger, whilst engaged in watching the movements of an army, the effects of cannon-shot, and the horrors of the assault, which preceded the capture of the town of Magdeburgh. Our own Constable used to rise early, and repair to the fields with his sketch-book, whence he would return laden with flowers, earths, stones, and fragments of bark. Sir David Wilkie was also most anxious and constant in his reference to nature; so much so that, in order to make the action and form of the hands of his figures easy and natural, he used frequently to stand before a mirror and study attitudes from his own hands, till he saw one expressive of the feeling he wished to convey into his picture. He would then place his model, and make drawing after drawing, and study after study from it, before he felt confidence enough to paint it into his picture. He was no less particular with regard to the still-life of his compositions, of which Mr. Ballantyne relates the following curious anecdote:

On one occasion, when engaged upon one of his Scottish subjects of low life, he wished to paint a biscuit of a particular description, peculiar to some district or other of Scotland, and being unwilling to trust to his memory, he commenced a search for it. After wandering for some time among the bakers’ shops of Kensington unsuccessfully, he at length discovered an intelligent Scotch baker, who remembered having seen the wished-for bread in the land of cakes, and who undertook to bake a specimen for the painter; and Wilkie had the satisfaction, in the course of the day, of painting the biscuit directly from nature.

But Mr. Ruskin has an answer ready to meet all these, and innumerable other examples which might easily be adduced, of the devout and unwearied study of nature by the great painters of those ages, whose practice of art and methods of study he has chosen so sweepingly to condemn. He admits, indeed, that these men did sometimes go to nature, but he asserts that they did so in an improper spirit, and without the necessary humility and self-abnegation; they made her the interpreter of their own prejudices, and lent to her aspects the colouring of their own thoughts and feelings, instead of endeavouring to portray simply, faithfully, and unselfishly, that which she placed before them. But what right has Mr. Ruskin thus to deny to Raphael, Titian, and Correggio, to Poussin and Vandevelde, the praise which he unhesitatingly claims for Millais and Hunt? and how does he know that the former studied nature in a more partial and prejudiced spirit than the latter? There is no proof of

this; on the contrary, as we have shown, the history of art informs us that these men, and others of their era, took at least as much pains as the pre-Raphaelites to depict the varied forms and aspects of nature; and surely, in the absence of positive proof to the contrary, we are bound to believe that they did so with intentions as pure, and spirits as earnest and devout.

Mr. Ruskin everywhere insists upon the absolute necessity of going to nature humbly and trustingly, as the painter’s best and only guide; and holds him greatest who has given in his pictures the greatest number of her facts, with the largest amount of truth and finish. But, in the third volume of Modern Painters he has laid down a principle which we are utterly at a loss to reconcile with this doctrine, and which appears to us directly to contradict it, and to encourage and inculcate that idolatry which he eloquently condemns, in the following passage from his Pre-Raphaelitism–*

We begin by telling the youth of fifteen or sixteen, that nature is full of faults, and that he is to improve her; but that Raphael is perfection, and that the more he copies Raphael the better; that after much copying of Raphael, he is to try what he can do himself in a Raphaelesque but yet original manner; that is to say, he is to try to do something very clever, all out of his own head, but yet this clever something is to be properly subjected to Raphaelesque rules, is to have a principal light occupying one-seventh of its space, and a principal shadow, occupying one-third of the same; that no two people’s heads are to be turned the same way, and that all the personages represented are to possess ideal beauty of the highest order, which ideal beauty consists, partly in a Greek outline of nose, partly in proportions expressible in decimal fractions between the lips and chin; but partly also in that degree of improvement which the youth of sixteen is to bestow upon God’s work in general. This, I say, is the kind of teaching which, through various channels, Royal Academy lecturings, press criticisms, public enthusiasm, and not least by solid weight of gold, we give to our young men. And we wonder that we have no painters!

Modern Academical teaching is thus severely taken to task for making our youth bow before the shrine of Raphael instead of that of nature, and one would reasonably infer that any other human idol would be as hateful to Mr. Ruskin as the great Roman; but no such thing: if our youth will only consent to view nature through Turnerian spectacles (a Claude Lorraine glass is Mr. Ruskin’s abhorrence), he will give them his benediction, and bid them God speed. That this is no unwarranted statement, no exaggerated picture, the following passage from the third volume of Modern Painters will amply prove–

And then, lastly, it is another advantage possessed by the picture, that in these various differences from reality it becomes the expression of the power and intelligence of a companionable human soul. In all this choice, arrangement, penetrative sight, and kindly guidance, we recognise a supernatural operation, and perceive, not merely the landscape or incident, as in a mirror, but, beside, the presence of what, after all, may perhaps be the most wonderful piece of divine work in the whole matter–the great human spirit through which it is manifested to us. So that, although with regard to many important scenes, it might, as we saw above, be one of the most precious gifts that could be given to us to see them with our own eyes, yet also in many things it is more desirable to be permitted to see them with the eyes of others; and, although, to the small, conceited, and affected painter, displaying his narrow knowledge and tiny dexterities, our only word may be,--‘Stand aside from between that nature and me;’ yet to the great imaginative painter–greater a million times in every faculty of soul than we–our word may wisely be, ‘Come between this nature and me--this nature which is too great and too wonderful for me; temper it for me, interpret it to me; let me see with your eyes, and hear with your ears, and have help and strength from your great spirit.

Surely such teaching and such views of art are sectarian rather than catholic, and mark the blind zeal of a partisan rather than the enlarged and enlightened spirit of a reformer, while they inculcate an idolatry quite as gross as that which he condemns in our modern academies, varied merely by the substitution of Turner for Raphael, which few would be inclined to agree with Mr. Ruskin in deeming a change for the better. For ourselves, we prefer to contemplate nature without such assistance, believing that she appeals to the sympathies and hearts of all; that she was intended to make us happier, wiser, and better, if we will but listen to, and accept her teaching; and that she may be best appreciated and enjoyed without dictation and without interpreter.

But although we cannot consent to accept Turner as the infallible high priest and interpreter of nature, nor admit that Holman Hunt is a greater painter than Raphael, Titian, or Correggio, we are quite prepared to acknowledge the transcendent genius of the first, and the talent and industry of the last of these artists; and to confess that to him, and to the school to which he belongs, may be imputed much of the careful finish and attentive study of nature which characterize the present practice of British painting; though perhaps the invention and improvement of the art of Photography, which has enabled the artist to obtain transcripts of nature unrivalled in fidelity and minuteness, may fairly claim an equal share in producing these desirable effects. At the same time, we quite coincide with Mr. Ballantyne in the remarks which he makes with regard to the method of working practised by the pre-Raphaelites, and in thinking that its general adoption ought to be strongly deprecated. When standing before some pictures of this school, and observing middle distances and foregrounds struggling for precedence, accessories as highly finished, and as separately studied as principals, hard outlines, awkward positions, and crude unbroken colours, we have been irresistibly reminded of the humorous lines of Peter Pindar:–

Give me a pencil whose amazing style

Makes a bird’s beak appear at twenty mile,

And, to my view, eyes, legs, and claws will bring,

With every feather of his tail and wing.

But we had almost forgotten that M. Théophile Gautier is waiting for an audience, in order to give us his views with regard to the pre-Raphaelites. He saw some of the best paintings of the two great leaders of the school at the Parisian Exhibition of 1855, and no exception can be taken to the impartiality of his decisions, either on the ground of academical prejudice or imperfect opportunities of judging. The pictures which he saw and examined were ‘The Order of Release,’ ‘Ophelia,’ and the ‘Return of the Dove to the Ark,’ by Millais; and Hunt’s ‘Strayed Sheep,’ ‘Claudio and Isabella,’ and ‘The Light of the World,’ which, as we have already stated, Mr. Ruskin considers to be not only the masterpiece of the school, but the greatest religious picture ever painted. Here is what M. Gautier says of the former of these distinguished artists.

If Mulready descends directly from Hogarth and Wilkie as a true English painter of the old stock, possessing the excellences and defects of his race, except in the individual peculiarities which mark him out from his ancestors, M. Millais attaches himself by no tie either to the past or the present of the British school; he stands apart, completely isolated in his own originality, as in an inaccessible tower; and there, under the Gothic mouldings of the vaulted circular apartment which serves him as an atelier, illuminated by a ray of the sun struggling through the narrow loophole, he works, with the pious simplicity of Hemmeling, the glassy colour of Van Eyck, and the minute realism of Holbein, as if, since their era, time had not four or five times turned his secular sand-glass. Like certain archaic Germans, M. Millais would be quite capable of keeping Raphael at the gate of paradise, under pretence of worldliness and mannerism. The three pictures of M. Millais are undoubtedly the most remarkable in the Universal Exposition, and it is impossible, even for the most careless visitor, to pass them by. Many painters of our era, especially beyond the Rhine, wavering amidst the multitude of theories, have sought ‘the new in art,’ but no one has pushed his system to the same extremity. That which distinguishes the works of M. Millais from attempts of the same nature, is, that he does not content himself with copying ancient pictures more or less successfully, but that he studies nature with the soul and eyes of an artist of the fifteenth century. Nothing can be more unlike the manner of Overbeck, who has also tried to re-ascend the stream of ages, and throw off modern science as a profane covering, in order to substitute for it the narrow robe of catholic asceticism. By a singular power of abstraction, M. Millais has placed himself out of his age.

After these preliminary remarks, M. Gautier proceeds to make a careful analysis of Mr. Millais’s three pictures, commenting upon his singular method of working in ‘The Order of Release,’ and the impossibility of determining whether it is in oils, water colours, or distemper, or painted on panel, canvas, or paper; he also adverts to the difficulty of deciding by what criterion to judge of a work so strange and eccentric, that, at first sight, it appears detestable as well as wonderful, although by degrees its fascinations attract the very eyes which were at first shocked by its extravagance. ‘The Return of the Dove to the Ark’ is still more highly praised for the indefatigable patience displayed in working out the details, the brilliancy of its colouring, and the freshness and purity of expression in the female heads. As to the ‘Ophelia,’ M. Gautier says that, from a distance, it looks like a doll floating in a basin, but that on a nearer approach the eye is ravished by the exuberant prodigality of the details.

What a moist freshness, what a mass of pale green water-plants; what a dark blue profound under the pendent branches! What a bath for elves and nixies! The willow, in the foreground, projects its gnarled and knotty trunk, and crown of branches, whose points ruffle the gliding water; the cresses drink, the water-lily displays its broad leaves, the lemna grows green as moss, the myosotis opens its turquoise eyes, the ribbon-like reed spreads out its long filaments, the willow-herb shakes its purple spikes, the eglantine sheds its petals, the blue-flowered iris trembles, the dragon-flies wheel in airy circles, the robin displays his scarlet breast, and the kingfisher skims the water, which sparkles in pearly drops upon the lapis-lazuli of his wing. The stream is gliding along, you have only to float with the current, which invites you with a soft murmur. It is a phantasy wrought out with consummate patience, and the most fastidious botanist could not find, in all that prodigality of vegetable life, a single leaf, curve, petal, or pistil, incorrect or unfinished.

M. Gautier seems to us to have formed a very accurate judgment with regard both to the beauties and defects of Mr. Holman Hunt’s greatest work; the following are his remarks upon it:–

The head of ‘The Light of the World’ breathes a soft melancholy, a sadness full of pity, such as one might find in an unknown god. As to the details, they are of an unimaginable finish, such as, after long toil, Albert Durer, Schoorel, and the most precious of the early German masters, would have rendered them; one discerns even the drops of dew on the blades of grass which reflect the light of the lantern. Our modern Germans have never gone so far; if once we admit that art has a right not to be contemporary, and to choose at pleasure a medium, an age, a belief, then we must admire without reserve the work of Mr. Hunt, as we would assuredly do were we to meet with it in the Cathedral of Cologne, or the collection of the Brothers Boissère.

It will at once be apparent from these quotations, that although aware of their defects and eccentricities, the vivacious and eloquent Frenchman is an ardent admirer of the pre-Raphaelites; for even Mr. Ruskin himself could scarcely be more complimentary in his criticisms. He is, however, decidedly of opinion that they have attempted to carry finish too far, and that the present tendency of the school is dangerous, which, indeed, Mr. Ruskin admits in his Pre-Raphaelitism; where he cautions the disciples of that creed against working too hard and too carefully, and thus losing the breadth and freedom of nature, which can only be imitated by a similar freedom of handling on the part of the artist. Even under the skilful guidance of Messrs. Millais and Hunt, this excessive and indiscriminate elaboration and minuteness has impaired the general effect of their pictures, while in the hands of inferior painters of their school it has produced a mannerism singularly disagreeable and repulsive.

We cannot better close the present paper than by quoting M. Gautier’s remarks on this important matter, which seem to us equally true and pointed, showing clearly that the pre-Raphaelites are at present striving after the attainment of a physical impossibility, have engaged in an unequal duel with nature, in which they must inevitably be defeated; and that in this vain pursuit of the imaginary and impossible, they are sacrificing time, genius, and industry, as well as the real and enduring beauties which a better direction of these gifts would enable them to attain. M. Gautier tells us that while rendering to the pre-Raphaelites the justice which they deserve, and which is perhaps not generally accorded to them, on account of their strange appearance and offensive originality, he fears that they must succumb in their hand-to-hand contest with nature, and that this apprehension is caused by an examination of Mr. Hunt’s picture of ‘The Strayed Sheep,’ whose marvellous finish and painful rendering of the most minute facts make it a miracle of execution.

Only (he goes on to observe) as the painter, resolved to make no sacrifices, cannot, in spite of all his skill, reduce mathematically a league of horizon within the limits of a canvas a foot square, it follows that the details acquire that exaggerated importance which the microscope gives to objects, and that a blade of grass draws attention as much as a tree. Singular phenomenon! There is not, perhaps, in the salon any picture so deceiving to the eye as the ‘Strayed Sheep;’ the painting which appears the falsest is precisely the most true.

A. Y.–R. S.

* Pre-Raphaelitism. By the Author of Modern Painters. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. 1851.

What is Pre-Raphaelitism? By John Ballantyne, A.R.S.A. William Blackwood and Sons. 1856.

Les Beaux Arts en Europe. Par Théophile Gautier. Première Série. Paris, 1855.

† Preface to Pre-Raphaelitism.

* See Modern Painters, vol. m. p. 30.

† Ibid. vol. m. p. 6o.

‡ Ibid. vol. m. p. 133.

* Modern Painters, vol. m. p. 79.

* Pre-Raphaelitism, pp. 22-3.

Modern Painters, vol. m. pp. 144-5.


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Copyright © 1999 Thomas J. Tobin.

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