DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.49256#0107
RUYSDAEL.
5
clouds and falls upon this field of death. The light of this sunbeam is dazzling ; the whiteness
of the funereal stones, which are vividly illumined, receives additional value from the strong
shadows which ce ver the other objects. The scene might be designated life and death ; but the
splendeur of this light bas something in it cold and wan which it is impossible to define. In
vain the dazzling luminary sheds its light and beat upon the tombs of the departed :
“ Le soleil des vivants n’echauffe plus les morts !”*
What a stern elegy, and how much may not be said with the pencil ! The sky, above ail,
has a character of désolation beyond the power of language to express. It is vciled like the
earth in a funereal tint. What grave and pions thoughts must fill the minds of those thrcc
Jews, clothed in long robes, who are wandering yondcr on the narrow path between the tombs !
How touchingly suggestive ! The great painter has represented soaring above those men, so
faithful to those who are no more, a flock of swallows, birds of remembrance, whose nests may be
found every year in the same spot.
Two years ago, in going through the Gallcry of Dresden, we were struck with the melancholy
aspect of this sublime and extraordinary picture, which so eloquently reminded us of the dark
history of a race everywhere anathematised and proscribed. In the midst of ail those paintings
of the Dutch school, ranged there upon factitious panels, which form a prolongation of the
window recesses, surrounded by ail those small subjects, graceful, familiar, and pacifie of the
Mieris, the Metsus, the Peter de Hooghes, and the smiling pastorals of Karel and of Van der
Does, this majestic picture imparts a shock to the mind. By the side of those Dutch skies, so
soft and so pale, we are only the more forcibly struck by the sunbeam which shincs upon thèse
tombs, and whitens a large broken stone, on which are engraved certain illegible characters.
There is nothing more solemn than such a spectacle, and nothing more sad. The epitaphs
become green there under the weeping willow. A dead and naked trunk elevates its leafless
head near these tombs, which are already themselves in a state of ruin, offering a strong contrast
to a fine group of trees which rise vigorous and verdant, as if to remind us in the very bosom of
death of the ever-springing youth of nature. There is in tliis picture an abyss of melancholy,
and to render it still more overpowering, the painter has introduced into it the fall of a torrent,
which disturbs the silence of the tombs with the dashing of its waters.
Independent of the powerful émotion which Ruysdael has infused into his picture from the
deep recesses of his own mind, and which so vividly interests the spectator, we found it
impossible to shako off the thought that Ru*ysdael himsolf belonged, perhaps, to that persecuted
race, which, at that period sheltered in Holland, produced so many illustrions men. In fact, it
appeared to us that in this pathetic picture there was something more than the feeling of a great
artist, and that so fine a work must hâve been inspired by the sensibility of one of the faithful
over the tombs of his brethren. We know to what an extent the Jews carry their respect for
the graves of the dead, and that this feeling is amongst the number of their most cherished
traditions. Mourning amongst them was always excessively rigid ; they beat their breasts,
rent their clothes, covered their heads with ashes ; and, mingled as they are with the Christian
nations of the west, they still preserve amongst them the vivacity of manifestation peculiar to
the Oriental races. Whethcr Ruysdael really belonged to the Hcbrew nation, whose burial-
place he so devoutly painted, so often and with such a marked prédilection, is a point of history
which must still continue in obscurity, since our conjectures are not bascd upon any other data •
but the lives of painters are often written in their works more feelingly than in books ; and how
* The sun of life can warm the dead no more !
53
5
clouds and falls upon this field of death. The light of this sunbeam is dazzling ; the whiteness
of the funereal stones, which are vividly illumined, receives additional value from the strong
shadows which ce ver the other objects. The scene might be designated life and death ; but the
splendeur of this light bas something in it cold and wan which it is impossible to define. In
vain the dazzling luminary sheds its light and beat upon the tombs of the departed :
“ Le soleil des vivants n’echauffe plus les morts !”*
What a stern elegy, and how much may not be said with the pencil ! The sky, above ail,
has a character of désolation beyond the power of language to express. It is vciled like the
earth in a funereal tint. What grave and pions thoughts must fill the minds of those thrcc
Jews, clothed in long robes, who are wandering yondcr on the narrow path between the tombs !
How touchingly suggestive ! The great painter has represented soaring above those men, so
faithful to those who are no more, a flock of swallows, birds of remembrance, whose nests may be
found every year in the same spot.
Two years ago, in going through the Gallcry of Dresden, we were struck with the melancholy
aspect of this sublime and extraordinary picture, which so eloquently reminded us of the dark
history of a race everywhere anathematised and proscribed. In the midst of ail those paintings
of the Dutch school, ranged there upon factitious panels, which form a prolongation of the
window recesses, surrounded by ail those small subjects, graceful, familiar, and pacifie of the
Mieris, the Metsus, the Peter de Hooghes, and the smiling pastorals of Karel and of Van der
Does, this majestic picture imparts a shock to the mind. By the side of those Dutch skies, so
soft and so pale, we are only the more forcibly struck by the sunbeam which shincs upon thèse
tombs, and whitens a large broken stone, on which are engraved certain illegible characters.
There is nothing more solemn than such a spectacle, and nothing more sad. The epitaphs
become green there under the weeping willow. A dead and naked trunk elevates its leafless
head near these tombs, which are already themselves in a state of ruin, offering a strong contrast
to a fine group of trees which rise vigorous and verdant, as if to remind us in the very bosom of
death of the ever-springing youth of nature. There is in tliis picture an abyss of melancholy,
and to render it still more overpowering, the painter has introduced into it the fall of a torrent,
which disturbs the silence of the tombs with the dashing of its waters.
Independent of the powerful émotion which Ruysdael has infused into his picture from the
deep recesses of his own mind, and which so vividly interests the spectator, we found it
impossible to shako off the thought that Ru*ysdael himsolf belonged, perhaps, to that persecuted
race, which, at that period sheltered in Holland, produced so many illustrions men. In fact, it
appeared to us that in this pathetic picture there was something more than the feeling of a great
artist, and that so fine a work must hâve been inspired by the sensibility of one of the faithful
over the tombs of his brethren. We know to what an extent the Jews carry their respect for
the graves of the dead, and that this feeling is amongst the number of their most cherished
traditions. Mourning amongst them was always excessively rigid ; they beat their breasts,
rent their clothes, covered their heads with ashes ; and, mingled as they are with the Christian
nations of the west, they still preserve amongst them the vivacity of manifestation peculiar to
the Oriental races. Whethcr Ruysdael really belonged to the Hcbrew nation, whose burial-
place he so devoutly painted, so often and with such a marked prédilection, is a point of history
which must still continue in obscurity, since our conjectures are not bascd upon any other data •
but the lives of painters are often written in their works more feelingly than in books ; and how
* The sun of life can warm the dead no more !
53