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My vocation is to love thee, thee alone! I am not a painter, I am thy lover. Perish art and all its secrets!" She looked at him admiringly, happy and captivated by his passion. She reigned; she felt instinctively that the arts were forgotten for her sake, and flung at her feet like grains of incense. "Yet he is only an old man," resumed Poussin. "In you he would see only a woman.
The figure presented such fulness and force of reality that Nicolas Poussin began to comprehend the meaning of the bewildering talk of the old man. The latter looked at the picture with a satisfied but not enthusiastic manner, which seemed to say, "I have done better myself." "There is life in the form," he remarked.
The miraculous pillar is preserved in the cathedral of Saragossa, and the legend appears frequently in Spanish art. Also in a very interior picture by Nicolo Poussin, now in the Louvre. Those visions and miracles with which the Virgin Mary favoured many of the saints, as St. Catherine, St. Francis, St.
Come nearer, and you will see the work more distinctly; if too far off it disappears. See! there, at that point, it is, I think, most remarkable." And with the end of his brush he pointed to a spot of clear light color. Porbus struck the old man on the shoulder, turning to Poussin as he did so, and said, "Do you know that he is one of our greatest painters?"
But when Ingres attributes the excellence of Poussin to the fact that he was a faithful disciple of the ancients we feel that he is talking about the thing that matters, and that he is talking sense. We are deeply interested in our own states of mind: we are all psychologists now.
We have just been told of a little treasure at Bourges, what did they call it? a Poussin, which was in the choir of the cathedral before the Revolution and is now worth, all by itself, thirty thousand francs." "That was not right of you, my nephew," said Jean-Jacques, at a sign from Max, which Joseph could not see.
Here, like one of those lovely forms which decorate the landscapes of Poussin, Waverley found Flora gazing on the waterfall. Two paces further back stood Cathleen, holding a small Scottish harp, the use of which had been taught to Flora by Rory Dall, one of the last harpers of the Western Highlands.
They entered by a massive iron gateway on the Rue Poussin and moved slowly up the ascending Avenue des Tilleuls, past lawns and trees and vine-covered walls, leaving behind the rush and glare of the city and entering a peaceful region of flowers and verdure where Coquenil lived.
The continuity is patent; and, what is much to my purpose, it is Giotto and his successors rather than the artists of the Palaeologie who seem to us to carry on the Byzantine tradition, while the heirs of the Renaissance are not Salvator Rosa and Carlo Dolci, but Claude and Poussin.
They disown the Pompadour in fact; let them disown her in art. An Unpopular Master Nicholas Poussin is one of the great painters of the world; yet it is easier to give reasons for disliking him than for liking him.
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