moment imagined that such humiliating or disgusting details are
suited to the canvas. If he has to represent madness, it is with
a moral to show the consequences of vice and the indulgence of
passion.
There are, however, subjects allied to this, which belong both
to sacred and to classical painting—“ And when the unclean spirit
had torn him, and cried with a loud voice, he came out of him”—-
“ And when the devil had thrown him in the midst, he came out
of him.”—By what aids is the painter to represent this demoniac
phrensy; is it by the mere violence and extravagance of convulsion,
or shall it be a creation from a mind learned as well as inventive ?
There is a link of connexion betwixt all liberal professions.
The painter should sometimes borrow from the physician. If he
has to represent a priestess or sibyl, he will require something more
than his imagination can supply; he will readily conceive that the
figure is full of energy, the imagination at the moment exalted
and pregnant, and the expression bold and poetical—so that things
long past are painted in colours as if they stood before her. But
he will have a more precise and true idea of what is to be depicted,
if he reads the history of that melancholia which undoubtedly in
early times has given the idea of one possessed with a spirit. A
young woman is constitutionally pale and languid, and from this
inanimate state, no show of affection or entreaty will draw her into
conversation with her family. But how changed is her condition
when the blood mounts into her cheeks, and the. eyes are dry and
sparkling, the whole figure animated, and the voice possessed of
new force, and with a tone so greatly altered that even a parent
declares she does not know her child. How natural is then the
belief that a spirit has entered into the inanimate body, and that
this force of imagination and of language is not hers. The transition
is easy; the priests assume the care of her, watch her ravings
and give them meaning, until she is exhausted and sinks again into
a death-like stupor or indifference.
Successive attacks of this kind indelibly impress the countenance.
The painter has to represent features powerful, but consistent
with the maturity and perfection of feminine beauty. His
genius will be evinced, in his bestowing upon the countenance that
deep tone of interest which belongs to features inactive but not
lost to feeling. In the dead and uniform paleness of the face he
will show something of that imprint of deep and long suffering
without human sympathy—throw around her the appropriate
mantle—let the fine hair descend on her shoulders^-and the picture
will not require golden letters to announce her character, as
we see in old paintings of the Sibyl.