In no classic picture or statue is there anything akin
to that divine affinity that is apparent in the Madonnas of the Italian
masters of the sixteenth century, investing them with a charm that
lingers like an autumn sunset In the recollection of long-departed
years. Compare the loveliest of the Madonnas of Correggio and Raphael
with the Venus of Cos, and we perceive the inferiority of mere physical
perfection to that spiritual beauty that exalts the soul of the
beholder, and awakens the slumber of his immortal longings.
Faultless finish, harmonious outlines, and voluptuous proportions are
only the result of mechanical skill, that a good imitator or copyist can
for the most part achieve by the aid of his master's model. But the
sentiment, emotion, passion, the _character_, so to speak, of the
statue, is the creation of the artist, the offspring of his quickened
brain.
It is to express the aesthetic idea struggling in the soul of genius,
that the marble takes its form, the canvas its color, sweet sounds
combine in melody, and language weaves itself into the wreath of song.
The same divine impulse, the same grasping after a higher excellence
inspires the sculptor, the painter, the composer, and the poet, but some
chance bent of nature has decided them to choose different mediums of
expression.
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