spite of Ingres’s refinement and Flandrin’s
elevation—in Prudhon. Prudhon is the
link between the last days of the classic supremacy
and the rise of romanticism. Like Claude, like
Chardin, he stands somewhat apart; but he has distinctly
the romantic inspiration, constrained and regularized
by classic principles of taste. He is the French
Correggio in far more precise parallelism than Lesueur
is the French Raphael. With a grace and lambent
color all his own—a beautiful mother-of-pearl
and opalescent tone underlying his exquisite violets
and graver hues; a color-scheme, on the one hand, and
a sense of design in line and mass more suave and graceful
than anything since the great Italians, on the other—he
recalls the lovely chiaro-oscuro of the exquisite
Parmesan as it is recalled in no other modern painter.
Occupying, as incontestably he does, his own niche
in the pantheon of painters, he nevertheless illustrates
most distinctly and unmistakably the slipping away
of French painting from classic formulas as well as
from classic extravagance, and the tendency to new
ideals of wider reach and greater tolerance—of
more freedom, spontaneity, interest in “life
and the world”—of a definitive break
with the contracting and constricting forces of classicism.
During its next period, and indeed down to the present
day, French painting will preserve the essence of
its classic traditions, variously modified from decade
to decade, but never losing the quality in virtue of
which what is French is always measurably the most
classic thing going; but of this next period certainly
Prudhon is the precursor, who, with all his classic
serenity, presages its passion for “storms, clouds,
effusion, and relief.”
II
ROMANTIC PAINTING
I
When we come to Scott after Fielding, says Mr. Stevenson,
“we become suddenly conscious of the background.”
The remark contains an admirable characterization
of romanticism; as distinguished from classicism,
romanticism is consciousness of the background.
With Gros, Gericault, Paul Huet, Michel, Delacroix,
French painting ceased to be abstract and impersonal.
Instead of continuing the classic detachment, it became
interested, curious, and catholic. It broadened
its range immensely, and created its effect by observing
the relations of its objects to their environment,
of its figures to the landscape, of its subjects to
their suggestions even in other spheres of thought;
Delacroix, Marilhat, Decamps, Fromentin, in painting
the aspect of Orientalism, suggested, one may almost
say, its sociology. For the abstractions of classicism,
its formula, its fastidious system of arriving at perfection
by exclusions and sacrifices, it substituted an enthusiasm
for the concrete and the actual; it revelled in natural
phenomena. Gautier was never more definitely
the exponent of romanticism than in saying “I