that knitting of the brows, that indignant brooding and thoughtfulness in the face of madmen which is generally imagined to characterise their expression, and which is so often given to them in painting. There is a vacancy in their laugh, and a want of meaning in their ferociousness. To learn the character of the countenance, when devoid of human expression, and reduced to the state of brutality, we must have recourse to the lower animals, and study their looks of timidity, of watchfulness, of excitement, and of ferocity. If these expressions are transferred to the human face, I should conceive that they will irresistibly convey the idea of madness, vacancy of mind, and mere animal passion. But these discussions are only for the study of the painter. The subject should be full in his mind, without its being for a moment imagined that such painful or humiliating details are suited to the canvas. If madness is to be represented, it is with a moral aim, to show the consequences of vice and the indulgence of passion. There is a link of connection between all liberal professions. The painter may borrow from the physician. He will require something more than his fancy can supply, if he has to represent a priestess or a sybil. It must be the creation of a mind, learned as well as inventive. He may readily conceive a female form full of energy, her imagination at the moment exalted and pregnant, so that things long past are painted in colours as if they stood before her, and her expression becomes bold and poetical. But he will have a more true and precise idea of what is to be depicted, if he reads the history of that melancholia which undoubtedly, in early times, has given the idea of one possessed with a spirit. A young woman is seen constitutionally pale and languid; and from this inanimate state, no show of affection or entreaty will draw her into conversation with her family. But how changed is her condition, when instead of the lethargy and fixed courin tenance, the circulation is suddenly restored, the blood mounts to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle, while both in mind and body she manifests an unwonted energy, and her whole frame is animated. During the continuance of the paroxysm, she delivers herself with a force of thought and language, and in a tone so greatly altered, that even her parents say, "She is not our child, she is not our daughter, a spirit has entered into her." This is in accordance with the prevailing superstition of antiquity; for how natural to suppose, when this girl again falls into a state of torpor, and sits like a marble statue, pale, exhausted, taciturn, that the spirit has left her. The transition is easy; the priests take her under their care, watch her ravings and give them meaning, until she sinks again into a death-like stupor or indifference. Successive attacks of this kind impress the countenance indelibly. The painter has to represent features powerful, but consistent with the maturity and perfection of feminine beauty. He will show his genius by portraying, not only a fine female form with the grandeur of the antique, but a face of peculiar character; embodying a state of disease often witnessed by the physician, with associations derived from history. If on the dead and uniform paleness of the face he bestows that deep tone of interest which belongs to features inactive, but not incapable of feeling if he can show something of the imprint of long suffering isolated from human sympathy, throw around her the appropriate mantle, and let the fine hair fall on her shoulders, the picture will require no golden letters to announce her character, as in the old paintings of the Sybil or the Pythoness. wh DEATH, AS REPRESENTED IN THE PAINTINGS OF THE OLD MASTERS. Before proceeding, I must repeat, that the convulsions of the body which sometimes accompany the act of dying, are not the effect of pain, but succeed to insensibility. There may remain, after death, for a time, the expression of suffering; but this soon subsides, and the features become placid and composed. Therefore it is that the sorrowing friends are withdrawn, until Death has had the victory, when the features assume the tranquillity of sleep. The observation of Leonardo da Vinci, that contrast is essential in painting, has a fine example in the picture of the "Martyrdom of St. Agnes." * Near the martyr lie two soldiers struck down by a miracle: one of these is in the agony, but not yet dead; the muscles of his neck are convulsed, the mouth extended, and the lips drawn back from the teeth, the brow is furrowed, the eyes almost closed, and the pupils not visible: the other soldier is tumbled over him; his features are fixed in death: with both of these is contrasted the resignation of the martyr. When in Rome, I heard much of the fine statue of St. Cecilia Decollata; † I, therefore, went to the Church of St. Cecilia in Trastevere. Looking for a statue, my surprise was great when it was pointed out where the figure lay, in a crypt or low marble arch, under the great altar. A gold case, containing the heart of the In the Accademia delle Belle Arte, Bologna. ‡ Cardinal Banonius has given us an exact description of the appearance of the body, buried by Pope Paschal (in the 9th century) when exhumed by order of Cardinal Spondati in 1599. was lying not in the manner of one dead and buried, that is. "She saint, hangs from the centre of the arch. St. Cecilia was an early convert to Christianity, and having drawn her brother, and many others to the faith, she suffered martyrdom, and was found in the precise position in which this marble represents her. The body lies on its side, the limbs a little drawn up; the hands are delicate and fine, they are not locked, but crossed at the wrists; the arms are stretched out. The drapery is beautifully modelled, and modestly covers the limbs. The head is enveloped in linen, but the general form is seen, and the artist has contrived to convey by its position, though not offensively, that it is separated from the body. A gold circlet is around the neck to conceal the place of decollation. It is the statue of a lady, perfect in form, and affecting, from the resemblance to reality in the drapery of white marble, and the unexpected appearance of the statue altogether. It lies, as no living body could lie; and yet correctly, as the dead, when left to expire,—I mean in the gravitation of the limbs.* The position of the head will distinguish the dead from the living figure. There is so much difference : on her back, but on her right side, as one asleep and in a very modest attitude; covered with a simple stuff of taffeta, having her head bound with cloth, and at her feet the remains of the cloth of gold and silk which Pope Paschal had found in her tomb." The statue of Mademo agrees exactly with this description.—MRS. JAMESON, Sacred and Legendary Art. *Statua di St. Cecilia.-"Questa graziosa statua giacente, rappresenta un corpo morto come se allora fosse caduto mollemente sul terreno, colle estremità ben disposte e con tutta la decenza nell' assetto dei panneggiamenti, tenendo la testa rivolta all' ingiù e avilluppata in una benda, senza che inopportunamente si scorga l'irrigidire dei corpi freddi per morte. Le pieghe vi sono facile, e tutta la grazia spira dalla persona, che si vede essere giovine e gentile, quantunque asconda la faccia; le forme generali, e le belle estremità che se mostrano, danno a vedere con quanta grazia e con quanta scelta sia stata imitata la natura in quel posare si dolcemente." |