days landscapes with great refinement; not the midnight sun
and the precipitous cliffs of the fjords, by which foreigners were
sought to be impressed, but austere, simple nature, as it lies in
deathlike and spectral repose—lonely meres, whose surface is
unruffled by the keel of any boat, where no human being is
visible, where no sound is audible; the hour of twilight, when the
sun has disappeared behind the mountains, and all is chill and
drear; the winter, when an icy blast sweeps over the crisp snowfields;
the spring, almost like winter, with its bare branches
and its thin young shoots. Such were their themes, and
painters like Amaldus Nilsen (b. 1838), Eilif Petersen (b. 1852),
Christian Skredsvig (b. 1854), Fritz Thaulow (b. 1848), and
Gerhard Munthe (b. 1849) arrested public attention by their
exhibition of pictures of this character.
Latterly these painters have become more civilized, and have emancipated themselves from their early uncouthness. Jörgensen, Krohg, Kolstoe, Soot, Gustav Wentzel, no longer paint those herculean sailors and fishermen, those pictures of giants that formerly gave to Norwegian exhibitions their peculiar character. Elegance has taken possession of the Norwegian palette. This transformation began with Fritz Thaulow, and indeed his art threatened to relapse somewhat into routine, and even the ripples of his waters to sparkle somewhat coquettishly. Borgen (b. 1852), Hennig (b. 1871), Hjerlów (b. 1863), and Stenersen (b. 1862) were gifted recruits of the ranks of Norwegian painters, whilst Halfdan Strom (b. 1863), who depicts rays of light issuing from silent windows and streaming and quivering over solitary landscapes, dark blue streams and ponds, nocturnal skies, variegated female dresses, contrasting as spots of colour with dark green meadows, has a delicacy in colouring that recalls Cazin. Gerhard Munthe, who, as we have seen, first made a name by his delicate vernal scenery, has turned his attention to the classical side of art; and, finally Erik Werenskjold (b. 1855), who was also first known by his landscapes and scenes of country life, afterwards gained success as an illustrator of Norwegian folk-lore. (R. Mr.)
Russia
Until late in the 19th century modern Russian painting was unknown to western Europe. What had been seen of it in international exhibitions showed the traditions of primitive European art, with a distinct vein of barbarism. In the early ’fifties, painters were less bent on art than on political agitation; they used the brush as a means of propaganda in favour of some political idea. Peroff showed us the miserable condition of the serfs, the wastefulness and profligacy of the nobility. Vereschagin made himself the advocate of the soldier, painting the horrors of war long before the tsar’s manifesto preached universal disarmament. Art suffered from this praiseworthy misapplication; many pictures were painted, but very few rose to the level of modern achievement in point of technique. It was only by the St Petersburg art journal Mir Iskustwa, and by a small exhibition arranged at Munich in 1892 by a group of Russian landscape painters, that it was realized that a younger Russian school had arisen, fully equipped with the methods of modern technique, and depicting Russian life with the stamp of individuality. At the Paris Exhibition of 1900 the productions of this young Russian school were seen with surprise. A florescence similar to that which literature displayed in Pushkin, Dostoievsky and Tolstoy seemed to be beginning for Russian painting. Some of these young painters rushed into art with unbridled zest, painting with primitive force and boldness. They produced historical pictures, almost barbaric but of striking force; representations of the life of the people full of deep and hopeless gloom; the poor driven by the police and huddled together in dull indifference; the popes tramping across the lonely steppes, prayer-book in hand; peasants muttering prayers before a crucifix. There is great pathos in “The Karamasow Brothers,” or “The Power of Darkness.” At the same time we feel that a long-inherited tradition pervades all Russia. We find a characteristic ecclesiastical art, far removed from the productions of the fin de siècle, in which the rigid tradition of the Byzantines of the 3rd century still survives. And, finally, there are landscapes almost Danish in their bloodless, dreamy tenderness. Among the historical painters Elias Repin is the most impressive. In his pictures, “Ivan the Cruel,” “The Cossacks’ Reply to the Sultan,” and “The Miracle of Saint Nicholas,” may be seen—what is so rare in historical painting—genuine purpose and style. Terror is rendered with Shakespearean power; the boldness with which he has reconstituted the past, and the power of pictorial psychology which has enabled him to give new life to his figures, are equally striking in “Sowing on the Volga” and “The Village Procession.” He was the first to paint subjects of contemporary life, and the work, while thoroughly Russian, has high technical qualities—the sense of oppression, subjection and gloom is all-pervading. But he does not “point the moral,” as Peroff did; he paints simply but sympathetically what he sees, and this lends his pictures something of the resigned melancholy of Russian songs. Even more impressive than Repin is Philippe Maliavine. He had rendered peasants, stalwart figures of powerful build; and, in a picture called “Laughter,” Macbeth-like women, wrapped in rags of fiery red, are thrown on the canvas with astonishing power. Among religious painters Victor Vasnezov, the powerful decorator of the dome in the church of St Vladimir at Kiev, is the most distinguished figure. These paintings seem to have been executed in the very spirit of the Russian church; blazing with gold, they depend for much of their effect upon barbaric splendour. But Vasnezov has painted other things: “The Scythians,” fighting with lance and battle-axe; horsemen making their way across the pathless steppe; and woods and landscapes pervaded by romantic charm, the home of the spirits of Russian legend. Next to Vasnezov is Michael Nesterov, a painter also of monks and saints, but as different from him as Zurbaran from the mosaic workers of Venice; and Valentin Serov, powerful in portraiture and fascinating in his landscape. It is to be remarked that although these artists are austere and unpolished in their figure-painting, they paint landscape with delicate refinement.
Schischkin and Vassiliev were the first to paint their native land in all simplicity, and it is in landscape that Russian art at the present time still shows its most pleasing work. Savrassov depicts tender spring effects; Kuindshi light birch-copses full of quivering light; Sudkovski interprets the solemn majesty of the sea; Albert Benois paints in water-colour delicate Finnish scenery; Apollinaris Vasnezov has recorded the dismal wastes of Siberia, its dark plains and endless primeval forest, with powerful simplicity.
A special province in Russian art must be assigned to the Poles. It is difficult indeed to share to the full the admiration felt in Warsaw for the Polish painters. It is there firmly believed that Poland has a school of its own, owing nothing to Russia, Austria or Germany; an art which embodies all the chivalry and all the suffering of that land. The accessories are Polish, and so are the costumes. Jan Chelminski, Wojcliech Gerson, Constantine Gorski, Apolonius Kendzrierski, Joseph Ryszkievicz and Roman Szvoinicki are the principal artists. We see in their pictures a great deal of fighting, a great deal of weeping; but what there is peculiar to the Poles in the expression or technique of their works it is hard to discover.
Finland, on the other hand, is thoroughly modern. Belonging by descent to Sweden rather than to Russia, its painters’ views of art also resemble those of the “Parisians of the North.” They display no ungoverned power, but rather supple elegance. The play of light and the caprice of sunshine are rendered with much subtlety. Albert Edelfeldt is the most versatile artist of the group; Axel Gallen, at first naturalistic, developed into a decorative artist of fine style; Eero Jaernefelt charms with his airy studies and brilliant landscapes. Magnus Enckell, Pekka Halonen and Victor Vesterholm sustain the school with work remarkable for sober and tasteful feeling. (R. Mr.)
Balkan States
Until quite recent times the Balkan States had no part at all in the history of art. But at the Paris Exhibition of 1900 it was noted with surprise that even in south-eastern Europe
