ichael Angelo, is very good, and we earnestly refer the reader to it.
He thinks the genius of Michael Angelo more generic in its aim--that of
Raffaelle more specific. That as M. Angelo's aim was the "destiny of
man, simply considered as the subject of religion, faithful or
rebellious," admitting only a "general feature of the passions;" so, in
the hands of Raffaelle, the subject would have teemed with a choice of
imagery to excite our sympathies; "he would have combined all possible
emotions with the utmost variety of probable or real character; all
domestic, politic, religious relations--whatever is not local in virtue
and in vice; and the sublimity of the greatest events would have been
merely the minister of sympathies and passions." The latter mode of
representing the subject, that of Raffaelle, he considers dramatic. The
distinction is, however, doubtful: we do not see why the mode of M.
Angelo may not be held to be equally dramatic. The criticism on the
comparison between Raffaelle's and Michael Angelo's Adam and Eve, if not
quite just, is striking. "The elevation of Michael Angelo's soul,
inspired by the operation of creation itself, furnished him at once with
the feature that stamped on human nature its most glorious prerogative;
whilst the characteristic subtility, rather than sensibility, of
Raffaelle's mind, in this instance, offered nothing but a frigid
succedaneum--a symptom incident to all, when, after the subsided
astonishment on a great and sudden event, the mind, recollecting itself,
ponders on it with inquisitive surmise. In Michael Angelo, all
self-consideration is absorbed in the sublimity of the sentiment which
issues from the august presence that attracts Eve; 'her earthly,' in
Milton's expression, 'by his heavenly overpowered,' pours itself in
adoration; whilst, in the inimitable cast of Adam's figure, we trace the
hint of that half-conscious moment, when sleep began to give way to the
vivacity of the dream inspired. In Raffaelle, creation is complete--Eve
is presented to Adam, now awake; but neither the new-born charms, the
submissive grace, and virgin purity, of the beauteous image; nor the
awful presence of her Introductor, draw him from his mental trance, into
effusions of love or gratitude; at ease reclined, with fingers pointing
at himself and his new mate, he seems to methodize the surprising event
that took place during his sleep, and to whisper the words--'flesh of my
flesh.'" Not subscribi