he "Mercury
and Woodman," by Salvator Rosa, than which nothing can be more untrue
to the original. He asserts that Salvator painted the distant
mountains, "throughout, without one instant of variation. But what is
its colour? _Pure_ sky-blue, without one grain of grey, or any
modifying hue whatsoever;--the same brush which had just given the
bluest parts of the sky, has been more loaded at the same part of the
pallette, and the whole mountain throw in with unmitigated
ultramarine." Now the fact is, that the picture has, in this part,
been so injured, that it is hard to say what colour is under the dirty
brown-asphaltum hue and texture that covers it. It is certainly not
blue now, not "pure blue"--unless pictures change like the cameleon.
We know the picture well, and have seen another of the same subject,
where the mountains have variety, and yet are blue. We believe a great
sum was given for this picture--far more than its condition justifies.
We must return--we left the graduate discussing ideas of truth. There
is a chapter to show that the truth of nature is not to be discerned
by the uneducated senses. As we do not perceive all sounds that enter
the ear, so do we not perceive all that is cognizable by the eye--we
have, that is, a power of nullifying an impression; that this habit is
so common, that from the abstraction of their minds to other subjects,
there are probably persons who never saw any thing beautiful.
Sensibility to the power of beauty is required--and to see rightly,
there should be a perfect state of moral feeling. Even when we think
we see with our eyes, our perception is often the result of memory, of
previous knowledge; and it is in this way he accounts for the mistake
painters and others make with respect to Italian skies. What will Mr
Uwin and his followers in blue say to this, alas--Italian skies are
not blue? "How many people are misled by what has been said and sung
of the serenity of Italian skies, to suppose they must be more blue
than the skies of the north, and think that they see them so; whereas
the sky of Italy is far more dull and grey in colour than the skies of
the north, and is distinguished only by its intense repose of light."
Benevenuto Cellini speaks of the mist of Italy. "Repose of light" is
rather a novelty--he is fond of it. But then Turner paints with pure
white--for ourselves we are with the generality of mankind who prefer
the "repose" of shade. "Ask a connoisseur, who has s