Put It Aside, And There Is Always Something New And As
Interesting As A Fresh Nest To A Boy.
NATURE IN THE LOUVRE.
Turning to the left on entering the Louvre, I found myself at once among
the sculpture, which is on the ground-floor. Except that the Venus of
Milo was in the collection, I had no knowledge of what I was about to
see, but stepped into an unknown world of statuary. Somewhat
indifferently I glanced up and then down, and instantly my coolness was
succeeded by delight, for there, in the centre of the gallery, was a
statue in the sense in which I understand the word - the beautiful made
tangible in human form. I said at once, 'That is - my - statue. There lies
all Paris for me; I shall find nothing further.' I was then at least
thirty yards distant, with the view partly broken, but it was impossible
to doubt or question lines such as those. On a gradual approach the limbs
become more defined, and the torso grows, and becomes more and more
human - this is one of the remarkable circumstances connected with the
statue. There is life in the wide hips, chest, and shoulders; so
marvellous is the illusion that not only the parts that remain appear
animated, but the imagination restores the missing and mutilated pieces,
and the statue seems entire. I did not see that the hand was missing and
the arms gone; the idea of form suggested by the existing portions was
carried on over these, and filled the vacant places.
Going nearer, the large hips grow from stone to life, the deep folds of
the lower torso have but this moment been formed as she stooped, and the
impulse is to extend the hands to welcome this beautiful embodiment of
loving kindness. There, in full existence, visible, tangible, seems to be
all that the heart has imagined of the deepest and highest emotions. She
stoops to please the children, that they may climb her back; the whole of
her body speaks the dearest, the purest love. To extend the hands towards
her is so natural, it is difficult to avoid actually doing so. Hers is
not the polished beauty of the Venus de Medici, whose very fingers have
no joints. The typical Venus is fined down from the full growth of human
shape to fit the artist's conception of what beauty should be. Her frame
is rounded; her limbs are rounded; her neck is rounded; the least
possible appearance of fulness is removed; any line that is not in exact
accordance with a strict canon is worked out - in short, an ideal is
produced, but humanity is obliterated. Something of the too rounded is
found in it - a figure so polished has an air of the bath and of the
mirror, of luxury; it is - too - feminine; it obviously has a price payable
in gold. But here is a woman perfect as a woman, with the love of
children in her breast, her back bent for their delight. An ideal indeed,
but real and human. Her form has its full growth of wide hips, deep
torso, broad shoulders. Nothing has been repressed or fined down to a
canon of art or luxury. A heart beats within her bosom; she is love; with
her neither gold nor applause has anything to do; she thinks of the
children. In that length of back and width of chest, in that strong
torso, there is just the least trace of manliness. She is not all, not
too feminine; with all her tenderness, she can think and act as nobly as
a man.
Absorbed in the contemplation of her beauty, I did not for some time
think of inquiring into material particulars. But there is a tablet on
the pedestal which tells all that is known. This statue is called the
'Venus Accroupie,' or Stooping Venus, and was found at Vienne, France.
The term 'Venus' is conventional, merely to indicate a female form of
remarkable beauty, for there is nothing in the figure to answer to what
one usually understands as the attributes of the goddess. It is simply a
woman stooping to take a child pick-a-back, the child's little hand
remaining upon the back, just as it was placed, in the act of clinging.
Both arms are missing, and there appears to be some dispute as to the
exact way in which they were bent across the body. The right arm looks as
if it had passed partly under the left breast, the fingers resting on the
left knee, which is raised; while the left arm was uplifted to maintain
the balance. The shoulders are massive rather than broad, and do not
overshadow the width of the hips. The right knee is rounded, because it
is bent; the left knee less so, because raised. Bending the right knee
has the effect of slightly widening the right thigh. The right knee is
very noble, bold in its slow curve, strong and beautiful.
Known of course to students, this wonderful work seems quite overlooked
by the mass of visitors to the Louvre, and its fame has not spread. Few
have even heard its name, for it has not been written and lectured into
the popular mind like the Venus de Medici. While I was studying it
several hundred visitors went straight past, without so much as a casual
glance, on their way direct to the Venus of Milo, of which they had read
in their guide-books, and of which they had seen splendid photographs in
every window. One came along, on the contrary, very slowly, carefully
examining the inscriptions upon the altars and various figures; he
appeared to understand the Latin and Greek, and it might have been
expected that he would stay to look at the Accroupie. He did not; he
worked all round the statue, reading every word legible on the base of
the insignificant figures against the wall, and so onwards down the
- salon - . One of the most complete of the guide-books dismisses the
Accroupie in a single line, so it is not surprising that people do not
seek it.
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