Was it a presage of the hour when a sword should
pierce through her own soul? Yet, with this, was there not a solemn
triumph in the thought that she alone, of all women, had been called
to that baptism of anguish? And in that infant face there seemed a
foreshadowing of the spirit which said, "Now is my soul troubled; and
what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour? But for this cause
came I unto this hour."
The deep-feeling soul which conceived this picture has spread over the
whole divine group a tender and transparent shadow of sorrow. It is
this idea of sorrow in heaven - sorrow, for the lost, in the heart of
God himself - which forms the most sacred mystery of Christianity; and
into this innermost temple of sorrow had Raphael penetrated. He is a
sacred poet, and his poetry has precisely that trait which Milton
lacks - tenderness and sympathy. This picture, so unattractive to the
fancy in merely physical recommendations, has formed a deeper part of
my inner consciousness than any I have yet seen. I can recall it with
perfect distinctness, and often return to ponder it in my heart.
In this room there was also the _chef-d'luvre_ of Correggio - his
celebrated Notte, or the Nativity of Jesus; and, that you may know
what I ought to have thought, I will quote you a sentence from Wilkie.
"All the powers of art are here united to make a perfect work. Here
the simplicity of the drawing of the Virgin and Child is shown in
contrast with the foreshortening of the group of angels - the strongest
unity of effect with the most perfect system of intricacy. The
emitting the light from the body of the child, though a supernatural
illusion, is eminently successful. The matchless beauty of the Virgin
and Child, the group of angels overhead, the daybreak in the sky, and
the whole arrangement of light and shadow, give it a right to be
considered, in conception at least, the greatest of his works."
I said before that light and shadow were Correggio's gods - that the
great purpose for which he lived, moved, and had his being, was to
show up light and shadow. Now, so long as he paints only indifferent
objects, - Nymphs, and Fauns, and mythologic divinities, - I had no
objection. Light and shadow are beautiful things, capable of a
thousand blendings, softenings, and harmonizings, which one loves to
have represented: the great Artist of all loves light and shadow; why
else does he play such a magical succession of changes upon them
through all creation? But for an artist to make the most solemn
mystery of religion a mere tributary to the exhibition of a trick of
art, is a piece of profanity. What was in this man's head when he
painted this representation of the hour when his Maker was made flesh
that he might redeem a world?
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