Volume I Part 2 (1/2)

At the exhibition this year at the Louvre are many exquisite full-length portraits in oil, of which the canva.s.s measures from eighteen inches to a foot in height, and from a foot to ten inches in width. The composition and style of these beautiful little pictures are often such as to detain one long before them, even though one does not recognise in them the features of an acquaintance. Their un.o.btrusive size must prevent their ever being disagreeably predominant in the decoration of a room; while their delicate and elaborate finish, and the richness of their highly-studied composition, will well reward attention; and even the closest examination, when directed to them, either by politeness, affection, or connoisseurs.h.i.+p, can never be disappointed.

The Catalogue of the exhibition notices all the pictures which have been either ordered or purchased by the king or any of the royal family; and the number is so considerable as to show plainly that the most liberal and widely-extended patronage of art is a systematic object with the government.

The gold medal of the year has been courteously bestowed upon Mr.

Martin for his picture of the Deluge. Had I been the judge, I should have awarded it to Stuben's Battle of Waterloo. That the faculty of imagination is one of the highest requisites for a painter is most certain; and that Mr. Martin pre-eminently possesses it, not less so.

But imagination, though it can do much, cannot do all; and common sense is at least equally important in the formation of a finished artist. The painter of the great day of Waterloo has both. His imagination has enabled him to dive into the very hearts and souls of the persons he has depicted. Pa.s.sion speaks in every line; and common sense has taught him, that, however powerful--nay, vehement, might be the expression he sought to produce, it must be obtained rather by the patient and faithful imitation of Nature than by a bold defiance of her.

The a.s.sa.s.sination of the Duc de Guise, by M. Delaroche, is an admirable and highly popular work. It requires some patient perseverance to contest inch by inch the slow approach to the place where this exquisite piece of finis.h.i.+ng is hung--but it well rewards the time and labour. One or two lovely little pictures by Franquelin made me envy those who have power to purchase, and sigh to think that they will probably go into private collections, where I shall never see them more. There are, indeed, many pictures so very good, that I think it possible the judges may have relieved themselves from the embarra.s.sment of declaring which was best, by politely awarding the palm to the stranger.

I could indulge myself, did I not fear to weary you, by dwelling much longer upon my agreeable recollections of this extensive exhibition--containing, by the way, 2,174 pictures,--and might particularise many very admirable works. Nevertheless, I must repeat, that thus hiding the precious labours of all schools, and of all ages of painting, by the promiscuous productions of the living artists of France during the last year, is a most injudicious device for winning for them the golden opinions of those who throng from all quarters of the world to visit the Louvre.

This exhibition reaches to about three-fourths of the gallery; and where it ceases, a grim curtain, suspended across it, conceals the precious labours of the Spanish and Italian schools, which occupy the farther end. Can anything be imagined more tantalising than this? And where is the living artist who could stand his ground against such cruel odds?

To render the effect more striking still, this dismal curtain is permitted so to hang as to leave a few inches between its envious amplitude and the rich wall--suffering the mellow browns of a well-known Murillo to meet and mock the eye. Certainly not all the lecturers of all the academies extant could point out a more effectual manner of showing the modern French artist wherein he chiefly fails: let us hope he will profit by it.

As I am writing of Paris, it must be almost superfluous to say that the admission to this collection is gratis.

I cannot quit the subject without adding a few words respecting the company, or at least a part of it, whose appearance, I thought, gave very unequivocal marks of the march of mind and of indecorum;--for a considerable sprinkling of very particularly greasy citizens and citizenesses made itself felt and seen at every point where the critical crowd was thickest. But--

”Sweetest nut hath sourest rind;”

and it were treason here, I suppose, to doubt that such a proportion of intellect and refinement lies hid under the soiled _blouse_ and time-worn petticoat, as is at least equal to any that we may hope to find enveloped in lawn, and lace, and broadcloth.

It is an incontrovertible fact, I think, that when the immortals of Paris raised the barricades in the streets, they pulled them down, more or less, in society. But this is an evil which those who look beyond the present hour for their sources of joy and sorrow need not deeply lament. Nature herself--at least such as she shows herself, when man, forsaking the forest, agrees with his fellows to congregate in cities--Nature herself will take care to set this right again.

”Strength will be lord of imbecility;”

and were all men equal in the morning, they would not go to rest till some amongst them had been thoroughly made to understand that it was their lot to strew the couches of the rest. Such is the law of nature; and mere brute numerical strength will no more enable a mob to set it aside, than it will enable the ox or the elephant to send us to plough, or draw out our teeth to make their young one's toys.

For the present moment, however, some of the rubbish that the commotion of ”the Ordonnances” stirred up may still be seen floating about on the surface; and it is difficult to observe without a smile in what chiefly consists the liberty which these immortals have so valiantly bled to acquire. We may truly say of the philosophical population of Paris, that ”they are thankful for small matters;” one of the most remarkable of their newly-acquired rights being certainly the privilege of presenting themselves dirty, instead of clean, before the eyes of their magnates.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Drawn & Etched by A. Hervieu.

LOUVRE.

London, Published by Richard Bentley, 1835.]

I am sure you must remember in days of yore,--that is to say, before the last revolution,--how very agreeable a part of the spectacle at the Louvre and in the Tuileries Gardens was const.i.tuted by the people,--not the ladies and gentlemen--they look pretty much the same everywhere; but by the careful coquetry of the pretty costumes, now a _cauchoise_, and now a _toque_,--the spruce neatness of the men who attended them,--nay, even by the tight and tidy trimness of the ”wee things” that in long waist, silk ap.r.o.n, snow-white cap, and faultless _chaussure_, trotted beside them. All these added greatly to the pleasantness and gaiety of the scene. But now, till the fresh dirt (not the fresh gloss) of the Three Days' labour be worn off, dingy jackets, uncomely _casquettes_, ragged _blouses_, and ill-favoured round-eared caps, that look as if they did duty night and day, must all be tolerated; and in this toleration appears to consist at present the princ.i.p.al external proof of the increased liberty of the Parisian mob.

LETTER VI.

Society.--Morality.--False Impressions and False Reports.--Observations from a Frenchman on a recent publication.

Much as I love the sights of Paris,--including as we must under this term all that is great and enduring, as well as all that is for ever changing and for ever new,--I am more earnestly bent, as you will readily believe, upon availing myself of all my opportunities for listening to the conversation within the houses, than on contemplating all the marvels that may be seen without.

Joyfully, therefore, have I welcomed the attention and kindness that have been offered me in various quarters; and I have already the satisfaction of finding myself on terms of most pleasant and familiar intercourse with a variety of very delightful people, many of them highly distinguished, and, happily for me, varying in their opinions of all things both in heaven and earth, from the loftiest elevation of the _rococo_, to the lowest profundity of the _decousu_ school.

And here let me pause, to a.s.sure you, and any other of my countrymen and countrywomen whose ears I can reach, that excursions to Paris, be they undertaken with what spirit of enterprise they may, and though they may be carried through with all the unrestrained expense that English wealth can permit, yet without the power by some means or other of entering into good French society, they are nothing worth.