LETTER XXXI.
Dear Charles,—You say that in my last I not only
“began with Izzard, but ended there.” True: but you contrived
to raise on that izzardine epistle more questions than
can be answered in a dozen
letters, with or without punning.
I shall not, however, intrust your reverence with “the
outlines of what was to be a chef-d'ouvre of drama;”
because, in the first place, the conception is too lean, or perhaps
ethereal in its consistency, to be seen fairly. The
effect would be the same as if I admitted you to the skeleton
of a most beauteous maiden that was to be painted or placed
as a statue; you would say with Lucian's underground
philosopher: “Is that skeleton Helen?”
And because, sir, some of your inquisitive club, from
whom none of my richly charged letters are concealed, might
steal my skeleton drama, and dress it according to his vitiated
taste; and thence would follow two inevitable evils: the
drama would be spoiled, and Mr. C. would not be able to
do it in his own way, when his ship-load of books comes in.
I do, indeed, agree with you, Charles, that the Bible contains
subjects innumerable for poetry and the fine arts: and
yet moral lessons are not always taught by the finest productions
of the pencil and the chisel. Nor is morality a necessary
consequence of hearing or playing the most ethereal or
spirituel music.
Refinement, elevation, and a certain indescribable longing
after something more excellent than is found in the world,
may attend the beholding of paintings and statues, and the
hearing of music; and in some minds this sense of want
thus awakened, may possibly lead to seeking after “things
more excellent and of good report.” But most commonly,
the mind merely luxuriates in a misty and dreamy land of
playful and beauteous fancies, and returns with more of distaste
to the monotonous drudgery of the tangible and visible
life. Far from us, in such remarks, is any intention of discouraging
the labors of artists; yet we ought not to overrate
the effects of their work, or perhaps entirely mistake them:
—a thing may be very proper, if it does not necessarily
preach a sermon or suggest a prayer.
I grant also, Charles, and freely, that by some persons,
and without counteracting efforts of mind, and by others,
with the aid of virtuous resistance, nudities in statuary and
painting may be contemplated and studied, with no present
evil. Doubtless many artists and connoisseurs may be so absorbed
by the
creation itself, as to be inattentive to the incidentally
suggestive; and in some
creations the
suggestive may
so far be in favor of innocence and childlike artlessness, as
to
blunt the opposite impressions, or possibly nearly prevent
such: yet after all, as a general remark with rare exceptions,
nudities should be confined to the garden of Paradise.
They seem not at home when they wander away down
among the sons and daughters of men in this evil generation.
We, indeed, blush not in beholding their innocence; but
they certainly must blush at being thus exposed to the gaze
of the fallen! Nudities pertain to a state of spotless excellence,
of entire purity, of generous disinterestedness; and
so small power has their exhibition to lift up and purify the
debased spirit of the world, that it is better to look on Innocence
in silk or satin, especially when the pattern of the garment
is not
à la danseuse.
It is not very improbable, Charles, that multitudes of persons
who say they suffer no detriment to their morals, by the
exhibitions in question, may be rather deficient in delicate
moral sensibility. Many mere artists and connoisseurs—to
say nothing of the fashionable and gay—deem entire perfection
of purity in thought not only an impracticability in attainment,
but all attempts towards even an approximation a
puritanical prudery. My friend, this puritanism is that of
the Scriptures; and it must be soiled more or less by an
ordinary contemplation of the nudities. It may have, it
does have, a recuperative power beyond the impuritanism of
the worldly; yet does it feel in the faint stirrings of an almost
dormant sensuality, the awakening of what, if not once
more resolutely mastered, will become again apostacy from
God! It therefore shudders, and where possible, avoids.
To such reasoning the world says, “Pshaw!—too refined!—
affectation!” But puritanism thinks, “Blessed is he that
feareth always.”
Charles, good men have learned that the heart which
cannot be stormed by open assault of worldliness, may be
secretly and effectually sapped by insidious and winning
arts. The very refinements and polished beauteousness that
prevents us from being hurt by vulgarity or disgustful sin,
are often no barrier to the evil that will steal into the unguarded
and relaxed spirit along with the welcomed entrance
of all that is admirable and innocent in the fine arts.
When you ask, “whether all beholding of certain paintings
and statues, is ever forbidden, and therefore sinful?”
my reply is, that each person must answer that question for
himself. I now only express fear for myself. I dare not, if
allowed, dictate ex cathedra on such points. Many virtuous
persons of both sexes, both separately and in company with
one another, do contemplate and even criticise classic nudities;
and deference to their affirmation and judgment
seems to render unwarrantable the assertion that all this is
ever and uniformly wrong.
Grand ends of a political and literary nature are answered
by cultivating the fine arts. The fine arts are, indeed,
fraught with usefulness to individuals and to the world.
Hence here, as in other things, we may risk the incidental
evil that may or must attach to their cultivation. In physiology
and anatomy we are compelled to see, and even study
some things, that must not ordinarily be thought about; yet
what sober man will say that these sciences must, for that
reason, be abandoned? If a science must exist, or an art
be practised, because of its many and allowable advantages,
the good so vastly preponderating, then does it seem that we
may incur the incidental evil.
I wish, however, to show that we puritans have something
to say in defence of our caution. And I wish to say that,
to all persons who look not on the nudities as artists, or
who perceive not the sentiment embodied, the sight is perilous.
Now how few can appreciate the design in these creations
of art? Without intending a pun, we all know that a
nude figure is a species of metaphor: hence like words they
may have a double sense—the literal and the suggestive
meaning. The nude figure, if understood literally, will,
therefore, almost of necessity do harm; when in its metaphorical
sense, it may really do good. But, Charles, men in
the gross—as well as gross men—are more prone to look to
the literal in these sights, than to the metaphorical. The
few only are enough refined to see the etherealness of the
idea, when incorporated and incarcerated in the voluptuous
and earthly form. And these forms may become a part of
“the pride of life and lust of the eye,” by which our souls
are taken captive.
In concluding this letter, I cannot forbear expressing my
surprise that no painter or statuary has ever taken the death
of Dido as a subject. My very limited acquaintance with
the history of the fine arts, will account for my ignorance, if
that subject have been presented: for certainly that cannot
have been overlooked! For myself, Charles, I never read
the Poet's description of that wonderfully moving scene,
without the deepest emotion, and sometimes even with tears.
So imbued is my spirit with its pathos, that were I master of
the pencil or chisel, oh! Charles, how I would entrance
you! That scene is before me now!—the beauteous dying
queen—wronged—betrayed—deserted! her head pillowed
on Anna's bosom!—her eyes searching for the light in the
horror of that darkness!—the gaping wound!—I hear the
“stridet,” but cannot express it! What moans of the frantic
sister! See the court in all the regal shade and magnificence
of the east—the altar—the pile—the “monumenta
viri”—the maidens in attendance—their attitudes—their
despairing shrieks! All are before me—and were I a master,
that scene should live on canvass or in marble!
Perhaps some one has immortalized himself with this
subject—if I have not heard it, attribute my ignorance partly
to my departed library.
