from the negation of nature. And out of this darkness, and this indefinite vagueness, first arose in the history of art the element of the mysterious and the unknown. At the present moment, when in our own school minute detail is more and more taken as the test of excellence, and a picture becomes successful on the Exhibition walls in proportion likewise as it is light in key, a wholesome lesson may be learned from these works of Rembrandt, dark and undefined, yet, just in the same measure, suggestive, grand, mysterious. Not that we uphold these pictures for direct imitation; they are too anomalous and individual for implicit adoption; arising in the history of art without antecedent, they stand alone in isolated originality, their defects being, in fact, not less striking than their merits. Yet, strange to say, a mind so plebeian, loving ugliness for its own sake, choosing darkness rather than light, nevertheless succeeds in painting pictures which, in some sense, are poems-affording another example, among the many to be found in this exhibition, of the wide universality of art; art being, like that other creation, nature, wondrously prolific, bringing into life, not only things of beauty, but forms uncouth and strange. Take, for instance, in this Exhibition, Rembrandt's "Daniel before Nebuchadnezzar" (676). The figure of Daniel is so short and thickset, so unutterably Dutch, that we only wonder how the king and his attendants preserve a judicial gravity; the only possible explanation being that they are also Dutch themselves. Yet the two creations, whether of nature or of art, take due care to redeem, by compensating merit, defects which otherwise must prove self-destructive; and thus this picture, in the strong demarcation of character, by the elaboration of expressive detail, by the rich harmony of its colour, and by unity in tone and chiaroscuro, is rescued from the contempt belonging to the ridiculous. When we come to the more special consideration of landscape-art-the comparison of the "large landscape" by Rembrandt (664), with the grand rainbow-picture by Rubens (21), in

the Hertford portion of the Exhibition, will be not less instructive than the contrast between the historic works of these two masters. The rainbow in Rubens, which is indeed the keynote to the picture, involving the laws and art-management of prismatic colours, as contrasted with the solemn chiaroscuro in the Rembrandt, constitutes, in fact, the point of the comparison, showing, what we have already stated, that the genius of Rubens was colour, that of Rembrandt shadow.

The galleries devoted to the arts of Germany, of Holland, and of Belgium, find a fitting finale in Vandyck's equestrian portrait of Charles I.; a work in which are so intimately associated the fame of the painter and the fate of the king. How far portraits of this high order throw around royalty a prestige and a halo, arousing or maintaining the enthu siasm or the sympathy of their subjects, it is not easy nor needful to determine. The unfortunate king was at least fortunate in obtaining such a painter. The genius of Vandyck seems to have been specially akin to the better character of Charles; their features even have something in common. Vandyck threw the type of himself into his royal patron, and the king, in turn, seems to have become the artist's own ideal. rejoiced to do his master honour. Right royally has he mounted the monarch on noble steed, and the adherents of the fallen dynasty had been fortunate could they have trusted the issue of their cause to the greatness of this work.

He

In this connection of the schools, their analogies and their contrasts, the Spanish style holds close relation with the English. Spanish pictures are undoubtedly more akin to the English character than the school of Italy. Less ideal, subtle, and recondite, Spanish art is at the same time more robust and naturalistic, and possesses pre-eminently that element which we have termed the popular. This school, examples of which are seldom seen in the galleries of Europe, is here in Manchester better represented than in any city out of Spain itself. We have examples of the rare Roelas (998), the

robust Ribalta (1089), and the solemn and ascetic Zurburan. By the last master we would specially call attention to the full-length figure of St. Francis (1003), broad in drapery, deep in shade, subdued in colour, in aspect and expression, in the Mendicant, the Recluse, and the rapt Saint combined. Murillo, in his successive styles, the earlier hard and dry, the latterv aporous, is here represented by not less than thirty-one works, comprising Assumptions, Adorations, Holy Families, Infant St. Johns, together with examples of his landscape art. Nowhere save in Seville and Madrid can his genius be so fully estimated. The "St. Thomas" (2) in the Hertford department of the Exhibition, some of the figures in which are identical with those in the well-known picture of the same subject in Seville, is a striking example of that indescribable spell by which Murillo transmutes rags, disease, and poverty, into a charming and all but an elevating art. Over boyhood his mastery was unrivalled. This picture contains examples of his well-known beggar wretchedness in city life, or rather perhaps of that happiness in rags which belongs to the south of Europe; while in such gems as "St. John with the Lamb," childhood becomes once again refined and innocent, enjoying a pastoral life of happiness and health. The large picture of "Joseph carried by his Brethren to the mouth of the Well" corresponds in general effect and treatment to the grand picture of "Moses striking the Rock" in the Caridad at Seville. In colour and chiaroscuro it belongs to that vaporous and mellowed manner by which the commonest forms-Spanish beggar boys grown into men, serving for the brethren of Joseph-are so refined by the witcheries of art, that critical judgment is carried captive in the intoxication of the senses. The forms and figures of Murillo are essentially plebeian; his "Holy Families" are mere humble domestic groups; his " Madonnas," peasant girls; his "Assumptions," and "Immaculate Conceptions," commonplace women caught up into mid air certainly from no innate virtue, or beauty of their own; yet does he throw around them so much of halo and of

incense, such delicate harmony of colour, such dream-like vanishing and dissolving of actual form and hard outline, that common-place is sanctified, and endowed at least for the multitude with a charm not recognised in the cold, hard manner of an Italian ideal. In these works of Murillo we have a further example of the universality of art, and of the incominunicable originality of genius. Thus Murillo, like Rembrandt, stands a fresh creation, an originating power, each constituting a distinct and anomalous phenomenon in the history of art. The relation which Murillo, Rembrandt, and such self-originating men, hold to anterior and subsequent epochs, is necessarily slight; but the relation they institute and open with a common and universal human nature, is important and vast. An Exhibition like the present indeed specially shows how great men, from time to time, came into the worldtold mankind through their works of beauties not yet known-calling forth high sympathies and ennobling pleasures, which else had remained dormant; thus expanding the capabilities of human nature just in proportion as they enlarged the sphere of art.

Velasquez is another of the great men who stand out prominently in the history of art, one who served pre-eminently, indeed, to render the art of his country national and historic. To comprehend the greatness and the originality of his genius, it has hitherto been necessary to travel to Madrid; now a visit to Manchester will answer sufficiently well. Here are examples of his rude, vigorous peasant-life (1065), similar to the celebrated "Bebedores" of the Madrid Gallery; naturalism handled most naturally, the characteristic and telling points seized and transcribed by the most vigorous yet with the fewest possible strokes. Then we have the proud, black-draped, black-haired, deep-shadowed Spanish portrait (1056), something between the senatorial dignity of Titian, and the bandit ruffianism of Salvator. Then, again, there is an example of his bold, spirited, equestrian portraits, "Duke Olivarez on Horseback" (1066)—the horse in power, fire, boldness of ac

tion, surpassing the Vandyck, as in Madrid the equestrian Velasquez has more of action and spirit than the corresponding Titian. Other pictures are there-sacred, mythological, and landscape-which will serve to show the limits and boundaries beyond which even the genius of Velasquez could not extend. Of that genius, power over the portrait was the key-stone. He painted nature as she was, Raphael as she should be. Putting the two opposite methods to the test of the works here exhibited of these two masters, we regret to say that naturalism under Velasquez has the

best of it.

The art of portrait painting, in which Velasquez reigns a king, was never elsewhere in the world's history so grandly and so universally represented. This doubtless arises in great measure from the fact that art-patronage in this country was for long exclusively that of portraiture. We need not tell the reader of the complete collection of miniatures here brought together, some of which are rare, many of which choice, as works of art, all of which full of interest as portrait illustrations to the history of England. We have here three miniatures of Mary Queen of Scots in close proximity with her rival Elizabeth. There are several heads of Oliver Cromwell in the midst of the men of the Commonwealth. Then we have Queen Anne, Madame de Maintenon, George I., Queen Charlotte, and Napoleon. It will thus be seen that in historic toleration, the promoters of this Exhibition are not surpassed by their art catholicity. The "British Portrait Gallery" is, equally with the miniatures, bold in its contrasts, and inclusive in its characters. It opens with Henry IV., and closes with John Keats; Elizabeth is placed next to the Earl of Essex; and we were somewhat agreeably astonished that the hangers could so far surrender effect and contrast to the delicacy of loyal decorum as to forego the malice of placing Holbein's picture of Henry VIII. in the midst of his six wives. In this remarkable portrait-series we find the Chandos Shakespeare, Laud the archbishop, Hobbs the metaphysician, Blake the admiral,

Harvey the doctor, Newton the philosopher, Tonson the bookseller, ending with a galaxy, among whom are Addison, Steele, Dryden, Johnson, Burns, and Scott. With the marked exception of the numerous works of Holbein and Vandyck, the series is valuable historically rather than pietorially. We have no great admiration for the Sir Peter Lely gallery of beauties, which may be aptly typified by his portrait of Nell Gwynne (197) in lowest dress, fondling a lamb, by way of anomalous contrast. The portraits by Kneller, which are likewise numerous, have more straightforwardness and vigour, and, in some examples, may rank as works of art. With Reynolds, at least, in this portrait gallery, we were disappointed, especially in the servile manner with which he approaches royalty. In his portraits of "George III.," and "Queen Charlotte," he lays aside his innate simplicity and refinement, and, forgetful of the respect due to himself and to his art, sinks into a mere court-flatterer, and, as a consequence, paints two of the worst pictures in the Exhibition. Fortunately, other works vindicate his reputation. is an instructive lesson to walk through the Exhibition and mark with what truth or with what adulation portraiture has dealt with royalty. We should suppose, for example, that Holbein could not flatter if he would: there are no indications of the sycophant in his head of Henry VIII. Vandyck, on the contrary, protably was so well skilled in the delicate finesse of portrait flattery, that compliments from his hand might be received for truth. Then contrast this courtier art with the uncompromising Velasquez, too proud for sycophaney, who represented an idiot race as idiots, and took no pains for drapery to conceal the ill-shaped tottering leg, or the too lank figure. He would not, for his sitters, assume a virtue when they had it not.

It

We have already said that this Exhibition is a school for the por trait-painter. In it he may find almost every possible method of treating the human face; and from the varied examples here brought together, may be illustrated the rules, both mental and material, upon which

portrait-painting as an art depends. It is indeed remarkable that what professes to be a literal transcript of the human face, can admit of treatment so widely diversified. Take for example the valuable series of Holbein's chiefly in "The British Portrait Gallery." Here we have a style (48-52) remarkable for its strongly-marked individuality of character, almost amounting to the grotesque, combining all the severity, ill-humour, and careworn age which photographs, in like manner, impose as the penalty of minutest accuracy. Contrast these works, or the somewhat analogous portrait by Albert Durer, of his father (462), with the large generalised manner of Raphael's "Joanna of Aragon" (135), or the duplicate here exhibited of Leonardo's celebrated portrait of "Mona Lisa" (88) in the Louvre. Then coming down to the Venetian school, look once more at Titian's "Portrait of Ariosto" (236), where a likeness becomes a luxury: no dry hard chronicle, but an enthusiastic glowing eulogy; flesh is here, not, as in Holbein, parchment, but full of warm passionate blood, life being indeed health and enjoy ment. Again, turn to Rubens (586), where colour becomes intoxicated excess, and the red in the cheek is the wine from the glass. As a contrast, ance more turn to Vandyck, whose faces are "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," whose delicate hands, long and tapering in the finger, lie in languid elegance without the nerve for action, the whole figure and bearing that of refined noble birth and accomplished dilettantism. Contrast again the Dutch and Rembrandt manner (672, 706, 712), wherein the sitters are made less of gentlemen-the Snob for the first time entering into art and portraiture. Here we have the city merchant swelling with the self-importance of suddenly-created wealth, somewhat of the bully and the brag, that well-to-do, prosperous, and withal honest man, out of whom in England we make the city alderman. The style of Vandyck was fitted for the royal Stuarts and the Cavaliers; that of Rembrandt and the Dutch for the Roundheads and the people.

Velasquez, again, though allied to the Dutch rather than to Vandyck, differs from either; the spirit of Chivalry enters into his art even more than into that of the painter of Charles I.; his characters are señors and grandees, who emphatically carry a sword, to avenge with proud spirit their honour and dignity. Thus, in an Exhibition like the present, portrait-art becomes an illustrated biography, in which, as in written biography, we sometimes value the work for the sake of the hero, sometimes chiefly for the skill in its treatment; thus, in some of the examples adduced, the worth of the portrait lies in the importance of the sitter, in others, exclusively in the merit of the painter and his art.

The historical connection between the south gallery of old masters and the north gallery of English pictures is perhaps to be found chiefly in portrait-art. Vandyck may be taken as the connecting link; it is he who joins Italy to Belgium, and Belgium to England. In him is traced the influence of Raphael, of the Venetians, and of Rubens; and let us trust, therefore, that through him we likewise, as Englishmen,come in for the rich inheritance. It must be admitted, however, that the transition from the old masters to our English school is, in its first commencement, necessarily painful and humiliating. An infant art in its earlier days, with not sufficient time for growth into nationality, is here opposed to the collected riches of schools the most renowned, of countries the most illustrious in the history of art. It is, therefore, not surprising, that in this unequal contest, West's historical pictures (113 and 116) should seem an abomination; that Northcote (117 and 122) should be coarse, dirty in colour, and wanting in knowledge; that Fuseli should be mannered and extravagant; and that Barry, in his Pandora (158), ambitious of the grand style, should, like the other men, prove unequal to the bold attempt. The English school at this early period of its growth was successful just in proportion as it consented to be simple and unpretending. Its promise, as sufficiently shown in this collection,

was not in high and ambitious flights, not where it would connect itself in sacred and historic works with the gallery of great masters we have just quitted, but where, as in portrait and in landscape-art it simply and truthfully went to nature. Not indeed that, in these portrait or landscape works, it threw off allegiance to the past; fortunately the knowledge and the art which, as we have seen, had been the growth of centuries, was here again inherited; and thus arose an art which was at once national and international, connecting England with Europe, and originating a new and vital school out of the prolific growth of preceding ages. Thus do we find in the grand and beautiful landscapes of Wilson, in "The Niobe" (32), and in "The View on the Arno" (39), the link which connects Gasper Poussin and Claude with that subsequent and present school of landscape-art, which, in some respects, is without equal in the experience of the world. In like manner the true historic relation between the old masters and the new-born English art was not in the unsuccessful attempts of West, Fuseli, and Barry, to rival the grand schools in subject, sacred and historic, but rather in the humbler walk of portrait-art, which Reynolds and Gainsborough, as here seen, practised with such marked success. Take, for instance, the three admirable works which stand at the head of the English Gallery. Reynolds's "Portrait of Mrs. Anderson Pelham feeding Chickens" (155); Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" (156), "painted to disprove the opinion of Sir Joshua Reynolds, that the predominance of blue in a picture is incompatible with a good effect of colour;" and, lastly, Gainsborough's "Portrait of Mrs. Graha," which, perhaps, equally refutes the notion that the elaboration of satins and silks is irreconcilable with the highest walks of art. These three works, and others not inferior, serve in portrait-art, as the pictures of Wilson in landscape, to connect, as we have said, the older masters with the modern, the works of Vandyck, of Lely, and Kneller, with the existing school of portrait-art. Of that living school we have like

wise in this Gallery illustrious examples. Gordon in his noble head of Professor Wilson (5); Knight in the portrait of "Rev. Mr. Locke" (82) full of character; and Grant in his "Lord John Russell," all worthily bring down the history of portrait art to the day in which we now live. The art of this country may not be ambitious, but it is at least sound, and its health and its truth are not a little dependent on the sure basis it has laid in portraiture. An artist who cannot execute a portrait cannot paint a history. It argued well, then, for the future of the English school that it commenced truthfully, and comparatively humbly, with Gains borough and Reynolds.

That future, and indeed the living present, here expands before us. After passing in review, then, the historie series of other nations, and examining the credentials of our earliest Academicians, we naturally inquire, on entering this more advanced English school of the nineteenth century, whence and how did it arise, to what masters does it owe dependence, how far is it of foreign origin, and to what extent indigenous? To Italy at least it would seem to claim little allegiance. At the outset we at once see, for example, that the modern pre-Raphaelite works, whatever be the theory of their origin, are practically, in their relation to past Italian art, a grotesque parody, evincing more self-will than humble historic teaching. Again, the school of West, Fuseli, and Barry, is fortunately extinct, and high art, so called, having in England under these men once failed, is now, with few exceptions, no longer attempted. Thus the school of Rome, the art of the Sistine and of the Vatican, has here not a single representative. But, on the other hand, the more decorative and seductive Venetian manner, nurtured by merchant princes, not cradled in the Church, was at once fostered and naturalised in our land of commerce. Accordingly Etty, ambitious in subject and in canvass eschews the dark sky and the cold mists of northern Europe; and, disporting in the glowing palette of Veronese and Rubens, perpetuates the nude simplicity of Eden, and knows of no zone north of the tropics. With some such doubtful exceptions,