DOI issue:
Nr. 3-4
DOI article:Gombrich, Ernst H.: Art and history and the republic of learning
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.48916#0200
ERNST HANS GOMBRICH
the discovery that these beautiful wares, in their tum, had
been created in competition with exports from China which
were acknowledged to be unsurpassed. It appears that the
Chinese kept their secret of how to produce porcelain, a
secret that was not lifted before the 18th century. But the
very excellence of the Chinese models inspired the Italian
craftsmen to equal or surpass them. What they could not
imitate - sińce they did not know the techniąue - they could
at least emulate, and it was this aspiration that produced
new forms and new industries. Maybe the creators of
Maiolica in Faenza had never heard of distant China, and
yet it can be argued that their achievements reached them
by a kind of osmosis. Without the glories of Far Eastem
portery Faenza might never have become the centre of
excellence of which its citizens are so justly proud.
It should not be too difficult to prove that a similar
process of osmosis can be observed anywhere, wherever
we examine the great artistic masterpieces of the past. You
don’t have to be an art historian to know the name and
seąuence of the principal styles of European art, of
Romanesąue, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroąue and so on. Any
traveller knows that there are examples of these styles
anywhere in Christendom from Spain to Scandinavia. To be
surę, the great cathedrals and palaces created in these styles
in various countries exhibit a different idiom or dialect, as it
were, but we would not guess their period if the patrons who
commissioned them and the architects who built them had
not been in direct or indirect contact with the original
creators of these styles. And does not the same apply to the
history of the figurative arts? Is not the tradition of sculpture
and painting throughout the Middle Ages permeated by the
memory of ancient art? Or think of those signal inventions
that mark the Renaissance in Europę, such as the
development of perspective and the techniąue of oil
painting, and remember how ąuickly they spread. Their
very existence obviously created a demand among patrons
which artists all over Europę had to satisfy if they were not
to lose their livelihood. There is no local school that did not
sooner or later have to yield to this pressure, and no school
either that never profited from the influences arriving from
outside. Need I even mention the name of the master you cali
El Greco, who left his native Crete and acąuired his skill in
Venice? Remember the career of that great Fleming, Peter
Paul Rubens, who absorbed the mastery of the Italians, and
was no less feted here in Madrid than in his native Belgium,
in France and in England. Or think of the visual discoveries
of Caravaggio and their impact on Europę. To talk of
„influence” here may be to underrate the interest of this
problem. I know it is far from elear how many of his
paintings, or even those of his Neapolitan followers, were
known in Spain or in the Netherlands, but somehow the
process of osmosis worked again, so that the oeuvre of the
two towering masters of the 17th century, Rembrandt and
Velasquez, would certainly have looked different without
them. What, fmally, would Manet have been like without his
contacts with Spain - what indeed would the art of our
century be without Picasso? In our century the world of art
has become a hall of mirrors. Joumals and exhibitions see to
it that any art student in his first year becomes aware ot
what is fashionable in New York or in Parts. It seems to me
quite natural, perhaps inevitable, that this sway of fashion
has led to a healthy reaction on the part of those who wish
to preserve their identity. Let them never forget, however,
that this very identity will only emerge in contact and
conflict, in other words, in the process of choice with which
the arts confront them. „No man is an island”, said the great
English poet John Donnę. Certainly no artist ever was an
island. Even we historians of art can only do our work by
taking cognizance of each other’s works and views. By your
generous initiative, honoured members of the Faculty, you
have madę surę that an art historian from distant lands will
now be able to profit from his welcome contact with Spanish
colleagues. Quad faustum feliciterąue sit.
(translation of introductory passage)
Rector Magnificent, prompted by the needs of the hour and
by my own desire, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude
to the whole faculty. In truth I am only too aware of being
unworthy of so great an honour. I hear your Laudatio with
downeast eyes; dumb-struck, words fail me:
My tongue cleaves to my palate
My body burns...
But then, when I look around me and see this assembly
of noble and well-wishing friends, my courage and
strength return.
Indeed I must blush for my ignorance of your Spanish
tongue. Yet how sweet and pleasing to my ears are the
words of this venerable ceremony! For Latin was the
language of the oath I swore at the University of Vienna,
when I received my doctorate (not for honour, but for
effort). And again, at the Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge, where once I held a Chair, Latin is the
language in which they conduct their ceremonies. Nothing
could be morę fitting: seeing that it is this glorious tongue
which, for so many centuries, was shared by all the
members of the Republic of Letters: that same Republic of
which kind Fate madę me a Citizen. For, forced to flee
Austria, my native land, I was offered refuge by the
178
the discovery that these beautiful wares, in their tum, had
been created in competition with exports from China which
were acknowledged to be unsurpassed. It appears that the
Chinese kept their secret of how to produce porcelain, a
secret that was not lifted before the 18th century. But the
very excellence of the Chinese models inspired the Italian
craftsmen to equal or surpass them. What they could not
imitate - sińce they did not know the techniąue - they could
at least emulate, and it was this aspiration that produced
new forms and new industries. Maybe the creators of
Maiolica in Faenza had never heard of distant China, and
yet it can be argued that their achievements reached them
by a kind of osmosis. Without the glories of Far Eastem
portery Faenza might never have become the centre of
excellence of which its citizens are so justly proud.
It should not be too difficult to prove that a similar
process of osmosis can be observed anywhere, wherever
we examine the great artistic masterpieces of the past. You
don’t have to be an art historian to know the name and
seąuence of the principal styles of European art, of
Romanesąue, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroąue and so on. Any
traveller knows that there are examples of these styles
anywhere in Christendom from Spain to Scandinavia. To be
surę, the great cathedrals and palaces created in these styles
in various countries exhibit a different idiom or dialect, as it
were, but we would not guess their period if the patrons who
commissioned them and the architects who built them had
not been in direct or indirect contact with the original
creators of these styles. And does not the same apply to the
history of the figurative arts? Is not the tradition of sculpture
and painting throughout the Middle Ages permeated by the
memory of ancient art? Or think of those signal inventions
that mark the Renaissance in Europę, such as the
development of perspective and the techniąue of oil
painting, and remember how ąuickly they spread. Their
very existence obviously created a demand among patrons
which artists all over Europę had to satisfy if they were not
to lose their livelihood. There is no local school that did not
sooner or later have to yield to this pressure, and no school
either that never profited from the influences arriving from
outside. Need I even mention the name of the master you cali
El Greco, who left his native Crete and acąuired his skill in
Venice? Remember the career of that great Fleming, Peter
Paul Rubens, who absorbed the mastery of the Italians, and
was no less feted here in Madrid than in his native Belgium,
in France and in England. Or think of the visual discoveries
of Caravaggio and their impact on Europę. To talk of
„influence” here may be to underrate the interest of this
problem. I know it is far from elear how many of his
paintings, or even those of his Neapolitan followers, were
known in Spain or in the Netherlands, but somehow the
process of osmosis worked again, so that the oeuvre of the
two towering masters of the 17th century, Rembrandt and
Velasquez, would certainly have looked different without
them. What, fmally, would Manet have been like without his
contacts with Spain - what indeed would the art of our
century be without Picasso? In our century the world of art
has become a hall of mirrors. Joumals and exhibitions see to
it that any art student in his first year becomes aware ot
what is fashionable in New York or in Parts. It seems to me
quite natural, perhaps inevitable, that this sway of fashion
has led to a healthy reaction on the part of those who wish
to preserve their identity. Let them never forget, however,
that this very identity will only emerge in contact and
conflict, in other words, in the process of choice with which
the arts confront them. „No man is an island”, said the great
English poet John Donnę. Certainly no artist ever was an
island. Even we historians of art can only do our work by
taking cognizance of each other’s works and views. By your
generous initiative, honoured members of the Faculty, you
have madę surę that an art historian from distant lands will
now be able to profit from his welcome contact with Spanish
colleagues. Quad faustum feliciterąue sit.
(translation of introductory passage)
Rector Magnificent, prompted by the needs of the hour and
by my own desire, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude
to the whole faculty. In truth I am only too aware of being
unworthy of so great an honour. I hear your Laudatio with
downeast eyes; dumb-struck, words fail me:
My tongue cleaves to my palate
My body burns...
But then, when I look around me and see this assembly
of noble and well-wishing friends, my courage and
strength return.
Indeed I must blush for my ignorance of your Spanish
tongue. Yet how sweet and pleasing to my ears are the
words of this venerable ceremony! For Latin was the
language of the oath I swore at the University of Vienna,
when I received my doctorate (not for honour, but for
effort). And again, at the Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge, where once I held a Chair, Latin is the
language in which they conduct their ceremonies. Nothing
could be morę fitting: seeing that it is this glorious tongue
which, for so many centuries, was shared by all the
members of the Republic of Letters: that same Republic of
which kind Fate madę me a Citizen. For, forced to flee
Austria, my native land, I was offered refuge by the
178