uch as I
dread the enunciation of anything that may seem like a conventional
rule, I have no hesitation in asserting, that no work of any art, in
which this expression of infinity is possible, can be perfect, or
supremely elevated without it, and that in proportion to its presence,
it will exalt and render impressive even the most tame and trivial
themes. And I think if there be any one grand division, by which it is
at all possible to set the productions of painting, so far as their
mere plan or system is concerned, on our right and left hands, it is
this of light and dark background, of heaven light or of object light.
For I know not any truly great painter of any time, who manifests not
the most intense pleasure in the luminous space of his backgrounds, or
who ever sacrifices this pleasure where the nature of his subject admits
of its attainment, as on the other hand I know not that the habitual use
of dark backgrounds can be shown as having ever been co-existent with
pure or high feeling, and, except in the case of Rembrandt, (and then
under peculiar circumstances only,) with any high power of intellect. It
is however necessary carefully to observe the following modifications of
this broad principle.

Sec. 7. Conditions of its necessity.

The absolute necessity, for such indeed I consider it, is of no more
than such a mere luminous distant point as may give to the feelings a
species of escape from all the finite objects about them. There is a
spectral etching of Rembrandt, a presentation of Christ in the temple,
where the figure of a robed priest stands glaring by its gems out of the
gloom, holding a crosier. Behind it there is a subdued window light seen
in the opening between two columns, without which the impressiveness of
the whole subject would, I think, be incalculably brought down. I cannot
tell whether I am at present allowing too much weight to my own fancies
and predilections, but without so much escape into the outer air and
open heaven as this, I can take permanent pleasure in no picture.

Sec. 8. And connected analogies.

And I think I am supported in this feeling by the unanimous practice, if
not the confessed opinion, of all artists. The painter of portrait is
unhappy without his conventional white stroke under the sleeve, or
beside the arm-chair; the painter of interiors feels like a caged bird,
unless he can throw a window open, or set the door ajar; the landscapist
dares not lose himself in