DR. MACKENZIE ' S TITIAN.
THE object of Dr. MACKENZIE in writing Titian was to introduce into this country, what on the Continent are called Art-Novels—a species of composition, says the Doctor, "which permits the blending of the ideal and the real, in no ordinary degree ; being based upon cir- cumstances not only romantic and picturesque in themselves, but rendered additionally so by their connexion with the fortunes of some of the illustrious who by pen or pencil have achieved renown."
To this dictum we must demur : instead of "the blending of the ideal and the real," a mixture of incongruities seems more likely to result from any attempt to exhibit a real story in the guise of fiction ; and that success must be the exception, failure the rule. With the majority of authors and artists, one great obstacle inter- poses at starting—their exertions are intellectual, their sufferings for the most part endurance ; whereas action and adventure are essential to fiction. Where this drawback is avoided—as it may be in a few cases—the enormous difficulty exists of writing up to the truth in the added parts, so as to preserve a con- sistent and probable whole, and yet produce an interesting ro- mance. Besides which, the mind of the writer ought to be tho- roughly imbued with the spirit of his hero's age, and a knowledge of his art, whatever it may be: in which case, the book will very probably turn out a didactic novel, where criticism and biography take the form of fiction, never improving by the metamorphoses, though in some rare cases they may be made more popular. We are not saying that the Art-Novel cannot succeed—a great genius with a lucky subject may do much : we merely say that failure will be the rule, and that the attempt is only justified by success.
Our a priori view of the subject is not shaken by Titian. The presented incidents of the painter's career are few in number ; neither his early struggles, his subsequent success, nor his general character, are exhibited with much distinctness, or impressed with much force, being oftener told than shown, for which the form of biography is better adapted ; the views of art and artists with which the volume is interspersed, though fluent, are devoid of depth and originality, and their introduction often stops the story, such as it is; whilst the mixture of fiction with fact will confuse the reader, and yet leave him less informed of the painter's history, character, and the state of Italian art, when he found it and when he left it, than a single volume of biography and disquisition. As a novel, Titian is disjointed and lecture- looking. Lovers discourse to their mistresses on the history of art, and even a declaration takes a philosophical form. It is a further defect—not, however, essential to the nature of the Art-Novel—that Dr. MACKENZIE, though an agreeable and well- informed writer, is scarcely equal to his characters and his themes.
The two great subjects or heroes of the work are Titian, and the celebrated scholar, alchemist, and philosopher, or magician, Cornelius .Agrippa. The last goes in disguise to Venice as secre- tary to the Venetian Generalissimo, (who dabbles after the philoso- pher's stone,) in order to play the part of a spy for his master, the Emperor Maximilian. On his journey he meets Titian, who is then struggling with adverse circumstances ; and a friendship springs up between them. This intimacy, however, leads to nothing more than to enable Titian to narrate his early autobiography ; Agrippa to inspect the painter's hand, talk of chiromancy and astrology, and send the artist to a conjuror, who indicates his career in a magic mirror, something after the fashion of the incantation-scene in Macbeth —" show his eyes, and glad his heart." Agrippa then falls in love with his master's niece ; marries her privately ; and, being arrested, escapes from the Pionibi ; after which we see no more of him. The course of the painter is more fully told, some of the more striking events of his life being introduced ; but inartificially, without coherence, and so alternated as it were with contemporary historical circumstances, that the book less resembles a series of illustrative pictures than a lot of sketches on several separate though contemporary subjects. The first Italian invasion of Maximilian brings Titian to an interview with the Em- peror, and some bandits ; the victory of D'Alvaine over the Impe- rialists gives occasion to describe the General's triumph at Venice ; the celebrated exemption of Titian from taxation is of course introduced, with the ceremony at length : but as it is placed at an earlier period than it really occurred, with some other discrepan- cies it wants reality : and this is the want of the work—its truth looks like fiction, and its fiction wants the spirit and power of imaginative productions.
In other respects the book is pleasantly written with some know-
ledge of art and artists, as well as of the works of written, Agrippa ; whilst in the more romantic parts the author displays a good know- ledge of effects. The marriage of Cornelius and Beatrice is well managed; as is the discovery of Titian's mistress. The work is also relieved, though as a fiction not perhaps improved, by anec- dotes connected with art and artists. Here are a few.
A BOLD STROKE IN DISCOVERY.
"The Transmontane belief that the Bellini were pupils of Antonello is in- correct," observed Vecelli. "There was something like retaliation in the way by which Giacomo Bellini, father of the present painters, acquired his knowledge of the mode of working colours in oil. When John of Bruges sent some of his paintings ,to the King of Naples, they were seen by Antonello ; who immediately proceeded to Van Eyck, entered himself as a pupil under a feigned name, and by close observation discovered the secret which has given permanency to modern paintings. Accompanied by Pino of Messina, he Caine to Venice, where he practised the new mode. Giacomo Bellini observed how mellow and brilliant was his colouring, and bow the pale and monotonous tints were, by this process, succeeded by the gradations of light and shade. His person was unknown to Antonello, and he boldly went to him to sit for his portrait. In the second sitting, he discovered the means by %Lel, the new effects were produced, and immediately commenced employing them.
RAPHAEL AND MICHAEL ANGELO.
"In Rome, only a few weeks ago, I saw this feeling in full operation between Michael Angelo and Raphael Sanzio. You must know that Raphael, although much younger than yourself, has many pupils, who assist him in his paintings at the Vatican, for Pope Julius. Some of these are younger than himself—a few have reached years more mature. From his courteous manners and oblig- ing disposition, few men have had more success than Raphael in winning the affection of those who are in any manner connected with him. His pupils, therefore, view him with feelings of esteem and pride; and it is a pleasing sight to behold him, surrounded by them, walking through the Eternal City, and pausing now and then to expatiate upon the picturesque effects which are exhibited by the yet splendid ruins of its ancient and magnificent architecture. Sometimes this retinue is swelled by the attendance of other friends, who— even as I have often done—take pleasure in listening to the eloquence into which, on such occasions, he warms as he speaks of the glory of old Rome. Nothing can more completely contrast with the crowd of pupils and friends thus accompanying Raphael, than the solitary and gloomy manner in which Michael Angelo passes through the streets. The first, brilliantly dressed like a noble, draws attention even more by his great personal beauty than his rich attire; the other, in the plainest garb, with his cap drawn over his face, as if to conceal the harsh expression and rugged character of its features. Yet Raphael, who is robed in velvets and furs and glitters with jewels, is the son of an in- different artist, of Urbino; while Michael Angelo, attired more like an artisan than a cavalier' is of the blood of one of the old and noble houses of Florence." "I had heard that he was singular in his manner, and unsociable in his habits."
" Uncivil, and you will be nearer the mark. Not long ago, as I was telling you, Raphael and Michael Angelo accidentally met in one of the streets of Rome. I happened to be present at the moment, and paused, with others, to watch their mutual greeting. Raphael, in all the pride of youth and beauty, advanced from among the circle of friends and pupils which surrounded him, and gracefully took off his plumed cap as Michael Angelo came near, without any companion. Subdued by the courtesy of the action, and considering it, as it was meant, as a public tribute of respect from the more youthful to the more mature artist, Michael Angelo acknowledged it by extending his hand ; which Raphael coldly touched : indeed, it seemed to me as if he had expected no acknowledgment of his salute, or an uncivil one. They were rasing on, amid a murmur of applause—for the Romans are readily touched by such circum- stances as these—when one of Raphael's friends not meaning wrong, and glad that they had thus exchanged courtesies, said aloud, that he rejoiced they had not passed each other without this mutual recognition. How could I fail to recognize Raphael Sanzio,' answered Michael Angelo, ' when I knew that he walked the streets like a provost, with all his sergeants around him ? " And how,' exclaimed Raphael, while the hot blood flushed his cheek and his dark blue eye flashed with strong and sudden excitement, how could I fail to dis- tinguish Michael Angelo Buonarotti, when he marches through the streets, gloomy and alone, like an executioner!" The following passage may be taken as an example of Dr. MAC- KENZIE'S description and will remind the tourist to Venice, not to forget
THE CAMPANILE.
A square, narrow tower of brick, ornamented with cornices and small marble columns, it springs to the height of nearly three hundred feet, and is ascended, not by steps, but by a winding passage within the walls; an ascent so gradual, that there is a tradition of one of the French Kings who visited Venice, having ridden up to the first gallery of the bells. From ;his part of the Campanile, nearly two hundred feet above the level of the sea, Agrippa loved to view Venice, with her Lagunes and Lido ; the fortresses and ports of DIalamocco and Chiozza; the Adriatic, washing the coasts of Italy and Dalmatia; the distant outlines of the lstrian and Friulian mountains, and the coast of Terra Firma. From each side of the open gallery of the Campanile is an admirable bird's-eye view of sea-shore and city ; and our wonder is, that some artist has not, ere this, availed himself of such a position. We have innumerable views of the Campanile; the novelty would be a glance from it. Open to all who pleased to ascend it, and yet not much frequently visited even y strangers at that time, the Campanile was an especial place of resort for Agrippa. Sometimes he beheld the prospect in the sunshine of noon, in which light the distances are as distinct as the foregrounds. Then, when the full tide swept on, covering the Lagunes, Venice well merited her name of the City of the Sea. Looking down towards the base of that tall tower, (which, nearly a century later, had the distinction of being used as an observatory by "the starry Galileo,") he could see a panorama composed of such picturesque details as are grouped in no place else: the Piazza, with its tesselated pave- ment, on which, as a special compliment to Petrareh, a tournament had once been exhibited; the Merceria beyond it, with its labyrinth of narrow streets and its wealth of business; the Basilica of St. Mark, with its mosque-like minarets and domes, its crowd of porphyry pillars, its bright mosaics, and the celebrated Grecian horses over its central portico ; the Piazzetta, with the Ducal Palace upon one side, and the buildings of the Procuratorie on the other, and in the centre, n.ar the quay, the two ophite columns, crowned with the winged lion of St. Mark, and the statue of St. Theodore, which had been brought from Constantinople when Sebastiano Ziani was Doge. Then, too, the silence in the city, (for the crowds did not come out until the sultry mid- day heat was past); the sea, dotted As ith many a sail ; the standard of St. Mark heavily waving from the armed galeass, which was continually stationed oppo- site the isle of San Giorgio Maggiore, with the prow turned between the great columns of the Piazzetta, next the quay of which the galley was moored; the godolieri,
"Raffling with many an oar the crystal deep," their gay dresses relieved by the green of the water and the azure of the sky; the sunshine bringing out the colouring with dazzling brilliancy, and the very shadows illuminated by the reflected brightness from the waves, "making light in light," as Goethe has described it ; and the pigeons, in hundreds, flut- tering on quick pinions from the roof of the Ducal Palace to the cupola of the Basilica, thence dashing at full speed through the open galleries of the Cam- panile, unawed by the presence of man in that lofty solitude, and retreating .
back to their nests in the Piombi—free and fearless their flight, sometimes the only living things the eye could see in that meridian sunshine.
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