Dante has here clearly no other idea of the highest art than that it should bring back, as in a mirror or vision, the aspect of things passed or absent.  The scenes of which he speaks are, on the pavement, for ever represented by angelic power, so that the souls which traverse this circle of the rock may see them, as if the years of the world had been rolled back, and they again stood beside the actors in the moment of action.  Nor do I think that Dante’s authority is absolutely necessary to compel us to admit that such art as this might, indeed, be the highest possible.  Whatever delight we may have been in the habit of taking in pictures, if it were but truly offered to us, to remove at our will the canvas from the frame, and in lieu of it to behold, fixed for ever, the image of some of those mighty scenes which it has been our way to make mere themes for the artist’s fancy; if, for instance, we could again behold the Magdalene receiving her pardon at Christ’s feet, or the disciples sitting with Him at the table of Emmaus; and this not feebly nor fancifully, but as if some silver mirror that had leaned against the wall of the chamber, had been miraculously commanded to retain for ever the colours that had flashed upon it for an instant,—­would we not part with our picture—­Titian’s or Veronese’s though it might be?

Yes, the reader answers, in the instance of such scenes as these, but not if the scene represented were uninteresting.  Not, indeed, if it were utterly vulgar or painful; but we are not yet certain that the art which represents what is vulgar or painful is itself of much value; and with respect to the art whose aim is beauty, even of an inferior order, it seems that Dante’s idea of its perfection has still much evidence in its favour.  For among persons of native good sense, and courage enough to speak their minds, we shall often find a considerable degree of doubt as to the use of art, in consequence of their habitual comparison of it with reality.  “What is the use, to me, of the painted landscape?” they will ask:  “I see more beautiful and perfect landscapes every day of my life in my forenoon walk.”  “What is the use, to me, of the painted effigy of hero or beauty?  I can see a stamp of higher heroism, and light of purer beauty, on the faces round me, utterly inexpressible by the highest human skill.”  Now, it is evident that to persons of this temper the only valuable picture would, indeed, be mirrors, reflecting permanently the images of the things in which they took delight, and of the faces that they loved.  “Nay,” but the reader interrupts (if he is of the Idealist school), “I deny that more beautiful things are to be seen in nature than in art; on the contrary, everything in nature is faulty, and art represents nature as perfected.”  Be it so.  Must, therefore, this perfected nature be imperfectly represented?  Is it absolutely required of the painter, who has conceived perfection, that he should so paint it as to look only like a picture?  Or is not Dante’s view of the matter right even here, and would it not be well that the perfect conception of Pallas should be so given as to look like Pallas herself, rather than merely like the picture of Pallas?[50]