of the artist, and which might have increased much of the general effect; and we think a fine gradation of passion might have been produced in the countenances of some distant spectators. But we should have lost the fine anatomy of limbs, and, what is of far more consequence, we should have lost all that sublime verity which results from the size and independance of the objects, and that simplicity, which adds intenseness to the feelings, in proportion as it limits their complexity; We have inadvertently expressed an opinion on the loss or gain resulting in the particular case before us from this change of mode, and it was hardly possible to avoid it; but our readers must recollect, that the instance was cited merely to show the nature of the difference which must exist in the operations of the two classes of sculpture. Nor are we to imagine, that the disadvantage will always be found on the side of relief, though they appear to be so most clearly in the case which we happen to have instanced. This is a question which must always be determined by reference to the proposed subject, and to the kind of feeling which it is desired to produce. We have not time to enter as fully into this as we could wish, but, speaking generally, we should say, that wherever the idea to be expressed was simple or abstract, wherever the story easily told itself, wherever the feelings were to be touched immediately and intensely, in all these cases, it should seem, that Sculpture, properly so called, and as distinguished from relief, should be the mode employed. But wherever a general effect is to be produced from a number of conspiring circumstances, or wherever, for some particular purpose, a particular event is to be commemorated, not of universal notoriety, there the artist would do wisely perhaps to employ relief; or, if we may be allowed to impose a designation, picturesque sculpture. Pre It is time to draw these remarks to a conclusion, but before we do so, we may be asked, in what way they tend to ascertain any principles of comparison between the moderns and ancients, or among the moderns between this or that individual. mising that we assign this distinction as important only, and not exclusive of other aids, we answer, that by keeping it clearly. settled in our minds, we are enabled to reduce the subjects of examination to more appropriate and limited standards. It will then appear, that as there are two kinds of sculpture, requiring different materials for excellence, and applicable to different kinds of subjects, so there may well be a different superior in each, as one age or one individual is more furnished than another with the materials for excellence in this, or that, or more conversant with the subjects, to which this or that is applicable. Thus we should say at once, that a knowledge of perspective being absolutely necessary to produce the full effect of relief, it would, on principle, be probable, that modern artists are in that kind superior to the ancient, from the ignorance under which these latter laboured in that respect. And when we come from inferred probabilities to examination, we think there can be no doubt but that this will be found to be the case. Bold and graceful as are the forms, so exquisitely wrought in ancient friezes or vases, yet boldness and grace seem to be all that they possess; they excite little feeling, and that, but too often, merely voluptuous; they give little pleasure but that which arises from the sight of perfect execution. Compare with these, some of the reliefs of Canova; reliefs at present, we believe, only in plaister, and not altogether free from errors of taste; yet in all that relates to lasting pleasure, to that which results from unity of the whole, and the full play of imagination roused in the beholder, there can be no doubt, we think, in an unprejudiced mind, that they are far superior to any production of earlier ages. One of his subjects is the dance of the two sons of Alcinous before Ulysses, we know not whether this appears on any ancient relief, but it is easy from many very similar subjects, to imagine how it would have been treated. Canova has taker as his groundwork the following lines from Homer, Αὐτὰρ ἐπειδὴ σφαίρῃ ἀν ̓ ἰθὺν πειρήσαντο, . Ωρχείσθην δὴ ἔπειτα ποτὶ χθονὶ πολυβολείρη, Od. 377-380. : on which simple foundation he has built what follows. The two youths occupy the centre, and are caught at the very moment, when having bounded at once upwards, both are poised in the air together. This might, at first sight, seem very difficult, if not impossible, to execute with good effect, but there is a springy lightness in their figures, which gives a possibility to it, and then the grace which accompanies the gentle bendings of their bodies, the intertwinement of their feet and arms, and a thin airy veil which they hold each by the hand, and which of *course assumes a graceful curve; all conspire to render that possibility not only probable but very pleasing. Perhaps we should say, if we were disposed to be severe, that there is something meretricious and French like in the taste of this part, of the relief. On the left hand, (looking at the piece,) are thrown in different groupes, a numerous concourse of spectators,-men, women, and children, all animated by different sensations, and in different degrees. Some appear to contemplate the spectacle with unmixed pleasure; others are lost in admiration; and some VOL. IV. NOV. 1815. K k again again may be imagined to repine in despair of ever attaining to the same excellence. Among them, sits the blind Demodocus, harping-this is every way a most delightful figure: the movement of his head and whole body sufficiently indicates his blindness without reference to his extinguished eyes; neither the dance, nor the murmuring sounds of those near him, seem at all to distract his attention; there is no sadness in his countenance, but he sits listening with delight to the sounds of his harp, in which he seems to find an ample recompense for all the evil which the Muse has inflicted on him. ἐρίηρον ἀοιδόν, Τὸν πέρι Μέσ' ἐφίλησε, δίδει δ ̓ ἀγαθόντε, κακόντε, There is something, as Signora d' Albrozzi very well remarks, soothing and cheering in the introduction of this placid, contented, and yet animated old man. The most important personages still remain to be described: on the right, between his wife and daughter Nausicaa, sits the king Alcinous, on a throne, or rather seat, raised on a few steps; a vacant place is also left for Ulysses by the side of the Queen, but he is standing, one hand lightly placed on her shoulder, and bearing, in his fine and dignified countenance, the marks of tempered, yet still corroding sorrow. It is a slight circumstance certainly, yet, as it appears to us, a happy one, the posture of Ulysses; he was not merely a pilgrim about to depart, but a pilgrim, whose heart was wasting away with the longing desire to continue his journey, and reach the end of it, who referred whatever he saw of happiness, or grace, or beauty, or lovely youth, to his own Ithaca, and the treasures it contained for him; a mind so occupied, we think, would naturally express itself by standing rather than sitting. Arete regards her children with all a mother's simple delight, forgetful and regardless of all other admirers, in the countenance of Alcinous, who seems to watch the effect produced on his guest; there is some mixture of paternal pride with paternal pleasure; Nausicaa, half-turned towards Ulysses also, appears wholly unconscious of the spectacle, which occupies every one else; the grace and beauty bestowed by Minerva on the wanderer, have had their full effect on her mind, and she regards him with somewhat of despairing, yet ardent love. Our readers well know how difficult it is by the cold, and consecutive process of description, to produce the effect which immediately results from painting or sculpture; yet we think that even from what we have imperfectly stated, they will be enabled to perceive the beauty and unity of this design. Admitting for a moment, that its execution should be inferior, yet we have no hesitation hesitation in saying, that it would imply a more advanced state of the art of relief, thau could be inferred from the most exquisite vase of antiquity. This is not the only subject which Homer has furnished to Canova; he has executed in the same manner, and with the same happiness, the Consignment of Briseis from the hands of Patroclus to the Heralds, and the Offering of the Trojan Matrons, from the Iliad; and the Return of Telemachus, from the Odyssea; the second book of the Æneid has been the ground-work for a Death of Priam; Euripides has supplied a Mad Hercules destroying his own children, in which the countenance of the maniac, and the various attitudes, situations, and ages of the children are most exquisitely delineated; and the illustrious disciples of Socrates have occasioned four pieces commemorative of that great philosopher, with the following titles: Socrates saving the Life of Alcibiades, Socrates near his Death dismisses from him his Family, Socrates in the act of drinking the Poison, and Socrates dead; all evidently subjects well adapted to relief, but totally out of the reach of any other kind of sculpture. The groupes and single figures of Canova are very numerous; from the time that he devoted himself to sculpture alone (for in early life he seems to have hesitated between the sister arts of poetry and sculpture), he has been very regular and industrious in his application, and he executes with great rapidity. A catalogue of his works, however, would give no idea of their num ber, as the same piece has been frequently repeated, either from his own partiality, or the preference of those who have employed him. We shall speak of none which we have not some personal knowledge of; and, as our limits admonish us, we shall be brief in our observations on these. The general character of Canova's style is marked by great freedom and decision, consistent with a respectful adherence to the models found among the legacies of antiquity. Perhaps in some instances this adherence has been carried too far; to us it seems a little too learned to give Helen a bald and oval crown to her head; and we object, though we know that we tread even upon the heels of Phidias himself when we venture to object, to the golden frontlet on the brow of Hebe, and the golden urn in her hand. We are aware that no usage is more consecrated by the practice of all antiquity, yet it does appear to us a most inconsistent one. It has of late become usual to vary the shades of a profile, to give lightness to the hair, and whiteness to the shirt and cravat. It is said that this is an improvement, and an advancement towards a miniature painting; and so it is an advancement which makes the thing itself neither profile nor painting; and the effect produced by this this change of colours is, to make that attended to, which it is the very essence of profile to disregard; and as the shirt, white in reality, is given white on the paper, we naturally infer that the face black on the paper, is also black in reality. The attempt to give reality to any part of a whole which is intended for imitation, seems to involve the same absurdity in sculpture, as that to which we have alluded in profile drawing. If, because Hebe really poured nectar from a golden urn, her statue is also to have a golden urn instead of a marble copy in its hand, by the same rule some liquor as like nectar as may be, should be placed in the urn; by the same rule, colour should be given to her cheeks, and a muslin or gauze robe thrown round her for drapery. It it easy to see that this practice consistently followed, would end in the total destruction of sculpture as a fine art. No one, we presume, will defend the busts so often exhibited, in which marbles of different colours are adapted to the different parts of the head and dress; no one can behold without a prophane smile, the misdirected devotion, which, in small Catholic churches, is suffered to dress up the pictures of the Virgin and child with real ornaments and clothes; yet both these practices may be well defended, if Phidias or Canova be right in theirs; but the inconsistency to which they necessarily lead, and the false principle on which they are founded, are manifest in all three. As compared with sculptors of elder times, Canova is remarkable for the superior interest which he throws into faces of repose or beauty; in this respect, perhaps the very faultless harmony of features observable in antient statues, becomes itself a fault, as diminishing the interest of spectators. Canova was employed to supply a Venus for the Florentine Gallery, in place of the celebrated de Medicis; the substitute stands now with the other choice treasures of that inestimable collection, in the octagon room of the Tribuna, and it may be matter of speculation for the gallantry of the Dilettanti to determine how to disposé of her, when the original Goddess herself returns to her long abandoned shrines. Ipsa Paphum sublimis abit, sedesque revisit Lata suas; ubi templum illi, centumque Sabao Our reason for mentioning the Venus of Canova, was to illustrate the remark preceding. It would be invidious to compare the two statues, and the modern artist has with great judgment put it out of our power, by the size and drapery of his own work; but there can be no question, that in beauty of face, if expression be the life of beauty, he has a decided superiority. Another peculiarity of his style, we imagine, consists in the |