DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.51585#0141
RAPHAEL SANZIO d’uRBINO.
137
of the subjects of which they treat; there is au
ease and freedom of manner about them which
brings preternatural characters and situations home
to us with the familiarity of every-day occurrences ;
and while the figures fill, raise, and satisfy the
mind, they seem to have cost the painter nothing.
Everywhere else we see the means, here we arrive
at the end apparently without any means. There
is a spirit at work in the divine creation before us ;
we are unconscious of any steps taken, of any pro-
gress made; we are aware only of comprehensive
results—of whole masses of figures: the sense of
power supersedes the appearance of effort. It is
as if we had ourselves seen these persons and things
at some former state of our being, and that the
drawing certain lines upon coarse paper by some
unknown spell brought back the entire and living
images, and made them pass before us, palpable to
thought, feeling, sight. Perhaps not all this is
owing to genius; something of this effect may be
ascribed to the simplicity of the vehicle employed
in embodying the story, and something to the de-
caying and dilapidated state of the pictures them-
selves. They are the more majestic for being in
ruins. We are struck chiefly with the truth of
proportion, and the range of conception — all
made spiritual. The corruptible has put on incor-
ruption ; and, amidst the wreck of colour and the
mouldering of material beauty, nothing is left but
137
of the subjects of which they treat; there is au
ease and freedom of manner about them which
brings preternatural characters and situations home
to us with the familiarity of every-day occurrences ;
and while the figures fill, raise, and satisfy the
mind, they seem to have cost the painter nothing.
Everywhere else we see the means, here we arrive
at the end apparently without any means. There
is a spirit at work in the divine creation before us ;
we are unconscious of any steps taken, of any pro-
gress made; we are aware only of comprehensive
results—of whole masses of figures: the sense of
power supersedes the appearance of effort. It is
as if we had ourselves seen these persons and things
at some former state of our being, and that the
drawing certain lines upon coarse paper by some
unknown spell brought back the entire and living
images, and made them pass before us, palpable to
thought, feeling, sight. Perhaps not all this is
owing to genius; something of this effect may be
ascribed to the simplicity of the vehicle employed
in embodying the story, and something to the de-
caying and dilapidated state of the pictures them-
selves. They are the more majestic for being in
ruins. We are struck chiefly with the truth of
proportion, and the range of conception — all
made spiritual. The corruptible has put on incor-
ruption ; and, amidst the wreck of colour and the
mouldering of material beauty, nothing is left but