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be borne in mind that the luxury would be more spectacular than actual, since it would consist principally of mural hangings, to be colored and recolored at will, of carpets, plants, and of the simplest furniture. Nor can there be any doubt that a collection of works of art thus framed would prove profoundly instructive, not only to the general public, but also to the artists themselves, painters equally with sculptors, goldsmiths, designers of fabrics, glass-workers, and cabinet-makers. The city possessing such an annual Salon might go far in the develop ment of a general Renaissance such as may be observed at various points in the history of art, and inevitably further a growth of lofty ideals and standards which would place her, for a time at least, in the very forefront of intellectual communities. But the experiment should above all be tried in a city not as yet corrupted, as is Paris, Berlin, London, or New York, by the mercenary and secular considerations which have come in these centres to be the prime factors in the activity of the artistic world.-A. S., G. W. C.

The distributing of works of art over walls, about floors, and throughout glazed cases will never be agreeable to the enthusiastic lover of the works of art themselves. But, then, for that matter, it will never be agreeable to the lover of the work of art to have it fixed permanently, kept out of the reach of his changing as to place and as to its angle of light, kept out of the way of his handling that he might turn it over and up and see its inside as well as its more brilliantly adorned exterior, kept out of the sphere of his influence that he might move it into a fuller daylight or put it into a more concentrated beam of light, with a view to bringing out its modelling. Neither the sculpture of large size which never seems at home in a gallery, nor the paintings of importance which must of necessity be injured by their near neighbors, nor the more refined and more exalted works of delicate water-color which are sure to find neighbors even more injurious than do the oil paintings, nor the pieces of bookbindings, of wrought silver, of carved ivory, of enamel or of porcelain, which are of necessity boxed in by sheets of plate glass, through which but a partial view of the charming objects themselves can be had; not one of all these can be enjoyed as well in the public gallery as the man who loves them

thinks he could enjoy them if in his own control. He would put the large scale sculpture into the open air and into a special point of vantage where its own special dignity might tell while its peculiar delicacy, whatever that might be, might not be lost; he would put the large painting upon a wall where nothing else could disturb it, trying gingerly, bit by bit, the neighborhood of this or that minor work of art in hopes that someone, or even several, of these last, might be found rather to gain than to lose by the neighborhood of their formidable neighbor and perhaps be helped by a sort of contrast. And as for the more delicate, the minuter objects, there is only one way to enjoy them, as the true student of such things knows. It is to keep them locked up out of harm's way and bring them out once in a while for examination with the fingers as well as with the eyes. A true lover of Japanese lacquer boxes or of repoussé and enamelled eighteenth century watches-if you have ever watched him enjoy the examination and critical appreciation of this or that piece of his favorite department of art, he will seem to you to perceive as much through his fingertips as through his eyes. If you have had the good fortune to visit the collection of a friend of art with the collector's presence and suggestions to help, you have noticed his eagerness to bid you take and handle the choicest pieces-he having first assured himself that you know how to grasp them firmly and hold them safely.

This freedom to handle and to change the point of view cannot be granted in the case of the public exhibition, permanent or temporary; but the other thing, the collection of works of art, arranged as in a private room and for the delectation of a loving collector, might indeed be attained, though not so very easily nor so very soon. Success in this will come only with time and as the result of experiment. A very singular intelligence on the part of placing committees themselves, and a very singular patience, too, will be found essential to arrange these imagined collections in which each piece helps its neighbors and is itself benefited by the help it gives. And, moreover, there is the certainty of protest from those persons who for the moment are more desirous to learn than to enjoy-more desirous to compare as investigators do than to receive and rejoice as enthusiasts do in their moments of leisure.

In fact, it is to many persons not a moment of leisure nor a moment fitted for tranquil enjoyment when they stand in a hall of temporary exhibition. The opportunity lasts for only a month; the building is a little out of the way; time is precious and engagements are many; it is not likely that more than three or five-visits can be paid-and during the brief hours of those visits as much as possible must be learned-let enjoyment wait for another time, even for the time when memory shall deal with that which is to be learned while the exhibition remains open. So, too often, would the eager student receive your offer to him of a truly artistic combination of pieces in an exhibition of the future.

There is another difficulty to be met that is a two-fold one. It is the same difficulty that attends the organization and policing of our great modern agglomerations of men and women which we call cities, or-in a very modern phrase-metropolitan districts, and the like. It is a two-fold difficulty-the vast number of works of art which offer themselves for exhibition and the great crowds of people who come to look at them. Unless abundant space can be provided, the exhibitions of the twentieth century will suffer like those of the nineteenth century from the crowd, often of well-chosen works of art, and from the throng, which cannot be kept out, of even well-meaning visitors. Much system, much form and order must be maintained, or these crowds of works of art and of students of art will inevitably clash. It would seem as if the paintings must still hang on walls, and that the minor works of art must needs be arranged in somewhat a formal way on tables; and then the multitude, which tries to move slowly on before the pictures, will be impa

tient with the tables, and eagerly seek for their removal. As for sculpture, unless the abundant space of the old Parisian Palais d'Industrie, with its green sward and winding paths, with statues and busts on pedestals standing here and there without apparent system;-unless that abundant accommodation can be provided, the statues and busts will still have to be arranged in rows, greatly to the injury of their effect, no doubt, but perhaps inevitably so. The ideal exhibition will be, as it has been, the small onethat in which only a few pieces are on view at any one time, and those are put into full light and can be seen without the severe elbowing of your neighbors. But at that rate the year would not be long enough to hold the exhibitions which succeed one another. And the immediate remedy seems to lie somewhere in combination of all the exhibitions of the great city into what might be considered a single exhibition--single, because simultaneous. A dozen societies can provide more room for their exhibitions than a single one; and if those many associations agree to build their galleries in close connection with one another, and, if they agree further to hold exhibitions simultaneously, such liberty of choice would be given, such abundant opportunity of passing restfully from one intellectual excitement to another, that the fatiguing mass of a great exhibition in a single line of thought would be partially removed. Whether out of such a collected exhibition the more freely combined display of works of art might find its origin we cannot assert in advance. The tendency might not be exactly in that way, but it would assuredly be a tendency toward opportunities for more enjoyment and more intelligent study.-R. S.

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VOL. XXX

DECEMBER, 1901

NO. 6

AMERICAN PORTRAITURE OF CHILDREN

T

By Harrison S. Morris

HE plant finds joy in its buds, the race lives anew in its offspring; and hence childhood, with its helpless little needs, its tiny mimicry, its confidence, and the simple purity of its conceptions, is the supreme human interest. All are engaged in rearing it. Even the unwilling bachelor has his economic share. The whole race exists for its preservation and thinks itself well paid if there is a scant glance of affection now and then, or a little arm stolen round the neck.

What wonder if the ancient painters we endearingly, though somewhat vaguely, call the old masters found in motherhood an endless source of impulse? They were thinking much about the larger facts of life, and their art was a language in which to give forth praise. Motherhood, childhood, the Madonna, were at once mysteries and revelations, and it was ordained that they, masters of color and form, seers of beauty, should interpret by tenderness and loveliness the subtile meaning of the relationship.

Color and design are by no means bad vehicles for the expression of insight. They convey compactly what has been observed, and they have a way of rendering it unmistakably. But when you add to this the simplicity of a deep conviction and the approach of a reverent spirit there is something more profound than a mere record-there is creation.

Those pious old worshippers with the brush created once and forever a Madonna which was lifted out of the realities by its sacred fervor. It was a mother and child, to be sure, but sublimated and ennobled by the intensity of devotion which produced it. All the gifts they

possessed, all the sights common to their daily vision, all the thoughts of their exalted moments, and the attentive study of the sacred texts were concentrated on this spiritual rendition of a Mother and Child.

But the conception, whence came it? Surely it had a fireside or wayside origin. One of those devout ancestors of art walked abroad some morning and saw a mother caressing her baby under the twinkling sunlight of a Florentine garden. Another, by a northerly hearthside, watched, with parental emotion, the little child he loved lie sleeping in its mother's arms. Botticelli painted the child and mother of Italy, touched with a charm which had come to him as guerdon for light-heartedness and love of beauty for its own sake. Michelangelo modelled a serener Madonna whose face bespoke the profundity of his own insight. Raphael's conception was angelic in its spirituality. He saw far into the Heaven of his faith, and lifted his type up to that exalted revelation. Rubens found his ideal at the threshold, and it keeps warm that homelier association.

As you go through the list it is plain that each master discovered a motive among his own surroundings, and those divine types of the Madonna we prize as the heirlooms of a world, are, after all, only the everlasting childhood interpreted by genius. The wonder is that such devout passion ever abated; that what was so universal in appeal should have lost its power to stir and inspire. But with the relaxing grasp of the simple old faith in revelation the Madonna was effaced from among the painter's ideals. It had ceased

Copyright, 1901, by Charles Scribner's Sons. All rights reserved.

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