During the sixteenth century, the most brilliant pe riod in the history of modern sculpture, the genius of Michael Angelo thus dominated throughout Europe to the utmost capacity of her living arts. The cha racter of that genius we have feebly endeavoured to estimate; and we fear, to indiscriminate admirers our estimate may not be deemed so favourable as the gene ral voice proclaims. An explanation then of the prin ciples on which we have formed our judgment, seems not uncalled for, nor of the standard with which his works have been compared. Irregularities in the productions of genius have not seldom been caused, and are extenuated by an idea too generally entertain ed, that to its genuine efforts no established modes of judging are applicable; in like manner, as rules are inefficient to create its presence. A power certainly resides in superior minds of being a law unto them selves, petinzus dainusque vicissim. This privilege of invention, however, or of departure from the more obvious relations of existence is limited according to the nature of the exercise; in poetry most excursive, in the imitative arts more restrained, and of these, sculpture admits the least deviation from reality; here truth is more especially the criterion of beauty, be cause its imitations are constituted of no illusive ef fects. The objects of this truth are in all the arts two—resemblance and consistency. The former re spects the connection subsisting between the repre sentation and the original; the latter regards the agreement of the composition with itself and with the peculiar mode of imitation. In the first case, art is compared with nature, in the second with itself, and in both sculpture is particularly circumscribed in its elements; in resemblance being restricted to form and expression, while, to be consistent, it must be grave, simple, and uniform. The practice of antiquity also, here exerts so paramount an influence, since the art so exclusively belongs to classic times, that it may be justly questioned how far any modern artist can im prove by deviating from forms, which rest upon the intrinsic excellence of the examples, and on the pre scriptive influence of opinions established lcng and felt universally. An authority thus neither local nor temporary, operates as a precept of immutable taste, as a sentiment of unchangeable feeling, and conse quently assumes the certainty and importance of truth.
But from all of these principles, both of nature and of the antique, Buonaroti has departed. Nor can it with justice be urged, as is done in his favour, that his powers are too original—too mighty for subjection, to these laws; that by no standard can we estimate, by no rules can we judge the most sublime, yet the most daring of modern artists, who hovers on the con fines of possible existence, and in whose labours like contending light and darkness, grandeur, and extrava gance are often blended. This would imply that he was above, because he was ignorant of the principles by which he has been tried. But than Michael An gelo few great names have more extensive obligation to preceding knowledge; he was acquainted with some of the finest specimens of antiquity, while his prede cessors had left instances of beauty yet unexcelled. On what grounds then can we concede to this artist those privileges which Homer, Shakspeare, and others who like them have lived in ignorance of more perfect models, and in the infancy of their respective arts, can alone justly claim? From the antique, Michael Angelo has deviated in one most important respect. Of the two elements of sculptural design—form and expression, the Greek artists selected form as the object of their imitation. The modern has preferred expression, to which we may say he has almost sacrificed form. To this, not only the force of associations springing from the most perfect of human productions was opposed, but the internal proprieties of the art favour the choice of the ancients. In sculpture all is staid, enduring, actual,
movement alone is the only passing object of imitation. Expression, therefore, at least strong expression as the primary characteristic, both as destructive of sym metry, and as implying an effort ungraceful when connected with the unyielding materials, seems not a' legitimate element of higher art. A sweetly-pleasing, a gentle agitating sentiment, or a nobly repressed feeling, is the genuine expression of sculpture.
From nature Michael Angelo has departed further, we will venture to say, than any great name on record, whether in literature or in art. Irregularities and imperfections in almost every other instance of lofty genius arc forgotten amid the deep thrilling pathos or soothing loveliness of natural representation; but amid the awe-inspiring, the commanding, the overpower ing creations of Buonaroti, the soul languishes for na ture and simplicity. His forms arc of superhuman energy—fit habitations of the fierce and resistless spi rits that seem to dwell within; they are not of this world, nor does the heart respond to that interest which with mysterious mastery they exert over the mind; yet their power is confessed—the power of art and imagination. This great sculptor had marked the perplexities and the constraint under which, amid their fidelity and affecting expression, his predecessors had visibly laboured in their endeavours to unite the images of living nature with the grand conceptions of ideal beauty. Overlooking the productions of classic times, in which this union is so happily ac complished, because to his vigorous rather than re lined perceptions its simplicity appeared poverty, he struck fearlessly into a line of art—where art alone was to be admired—w here all was to be new—vehe Even the manual processes necessary to realize these conceptions were to participate in the ardent temperament of the mind, by which they could have been inspired. indeed, forms one of the most powerful spells in the sculpture of this great artist, that between the animated forms, the breathing spi rit of his composition, and the rapid, the impatient execution, there exists the most perfect harmony. The hand seems indignant at the very hardness of the marble that gives to its creations their immor tality. Yet even in this respect we discover many technical peculiarities and imperfections. From hav ing merely sketched, or at most modelled the subject in small; nay, in some instances, with no other sug gestion or guide save the accidental shape of the block, he struck into the marble. While the mind, the eye, the hand, were thus in instant exertion; while propri ety of expression and beauty of outline, mechanical detail and general effect were at once to be studied. error could hardly he avoided. Hence the want of proportion so conspicuous in his works.—hence so few finished, and those commonly presenting one sole point of view. As regards more individual details, in the salient lines of the contours, the circles have rarely their proper value, and the surfaces want their just fulness. Partly to compensate this deficiency in the advancing curves, partly as a characteristic dis tinction, which consists in strongly pronouncing the muscles, the retiring lines or muscular depressions are marked with exaggerated depth. Trusting to mechanical dexterity also, and to profound anatomi cal science, Buonaroti was often seduced to work from memory without reference to the living model. This frequently produces a rigidity, a want of feeling even in his best performances, paving the way for the introduction of those conventional modes which finally superseded the diligent study of nature, leading to the abandonment of every genuine principle of soft, gracious, or correct design.