The seventeenth century thus rose with few favorable presages for sculpture. The Group of Hercules and the Centaur, set up in Florence the last year of the former era, serves to show a considerable falling off in the intellectual qualities, while it displays also many improvements and facilities introduced into the technical principles and modes of mechanical operation. These are the last beauties to linger in the lapse of talent. External circumstances, also, both moral and political, had become less favorable. The states of Italy were either no longer alive to the same motives which had induced a cultivation of sculpture, or, with the loss of liberty, had lost also the desire of prosecuting the measures of public aggrandizement. The ascendancy of painting, likewise, was hostile to the recovery of a manly and accurate style of design in the sister art; while the spirit of philosophical inquiry, which came abroad in the seventeenth century, was inimical to the fine arts generally. It must, however, be acknowledged, that the great sources of decline originated in the state of the art itself. Indeed, when a high degree of excellence has been attained in any art, a rapid and sudden retrogression will always be found to indicate the operation of external influences; at the same time, such falling off must always be preceded by, and is in part the result of, internal corruption in the principles of composition or of criticism.

A crowd of undistinguished names followed the dissolution of the great Tuscan school. And when at length an artist of decided talent appeared, instead of retracing the steps of his predecessors, he struck into a new path, conducting still more pronely to error. Bernini, born at Naples in 1598, though immeasurably inferior to the mighty master of the last century in majesty and energy of mind, possessed most of the requisites for becoming one of the greatest of modern sculptors. Unfortunately, he neglected, or was ignorant of, the species of invention which belongs to an imitative art; and choosing rather to be the founder of a sept, than rank among the fathers of regular art, he employed his endowments only to throw a meretricious splendour round the caprices of a silly and affected manner. His powers of execution were wonderful, his fertility of fancy exuberant, but they were under control neither of regulated judgment nor of manly taste. To Bernini, the conceptions of ancient simplicity seemed poverty and meagreness. The compositions of Michael Angelo he deemed more forcible, but too severe in character. His aim consequently was, to erect a third style, which should possess distinctive qualities, displaying greater strength and energy than, to his taste, the former presented, while it surpassed the latter in suavity and grace. In pursuit of these imaginary excellences, he deviated, and by his talents or patronage carried art along with him, still farther from the simple, the true, and the natural. To produce effect, by whatever means of startling attitude, voluminous drapery, forced expression, became the sole object of study—means the most improper for sculpture. The works of Bernini are very numerous, for his opportunities as master of the works to several successive Popes were extensive. All are composed in the same false and flattering taste.

Contemporaries were generally imitators. Algard and Fiammingo, however, preserved the dignity of independent, and, in a certain degree, merited the praise of original minds. The former has produced the largest, but not the best, relievo of modern art; the latter is most happy in the representation of children, which, to use the words of Rubens, 'Nature, rather than art, appears to have sculptured; the marble seems softened into life.'

To Bernini, who died in 1680, Camilla Rusconi, a Milanese, succeeded in the throne of sculpture during the remainder of the seventeenth, and a considerable portion of the early part of the eighteenth century. Following the same principles as his greater predecessor, but with talents much inferior, in the hands of Rusconi deterioration of taste became proportionably more rapid, while the influence of external circumstances was also adverse. Italy was already filled with statues, and no undertakings of magnitude presenting, the art continued to languish during the greater part of the last century, suffering both from defect of principle, and poverty of means.

During the time that has elapsed, Transalpine sculpture scarcely demands our notice. In France, we first discover the art separately and extensively practised: for in other countries it was associated with ornamental architecture. The expeditions of Charles VIII. and the personal predilections of Francis, had introduced among their subjects some knowledge of Italian refinement; and so early as the middle of the sixteenth century, French sculptors of considerable eminence appear. Jean Gougon completed the celebrated Fountain of the Innocents in 1550. The works of a contemporary, Jean Cousin, show some grace and delicacy, but want strength and correctness. German Pilon assimilates very closely to the style of the Tuscan masters in energetic detail, but is destitute of simplicity and natural expression. Jacques D'Angouleme had merit, but not enough to warrant the statement of native historians, that he defeated Michael Angelo in a trial of skill. Towards the conclusion of this century, Giovanni di Bologna filled the whole of France with the principles of his former master; and his own pupils continued to maintain similar, though inferior, practice to the golden age of refinement in France—the reign of Louis XIV. Of this school, two artists, Girardon and Puget, claim to be the head. The former, though we cannot say with Voltaire, 'il a ÉgalÉ tout ce que l'antiquitÉ a de plus beau,' has yet great merit. His manner of design, with a degree of hardness, is yet noble, and though cold, is more correct than that of his contemporaries, as appears from the tomb of Richelieu. Puget, in every respect the opposite as to intellectual temperament, is the favorite of his countrymen. Sculpteur, Architecte, et Peintre, as they, after the historian of Louis XIV., are fond of representing him, for the sake of comparison with Buonarotti, though what he painted, or what he built, does not appear, is yet not dissimilar in the fiery energetic character of his composition, and in his handling, bold and full of movement; but his expression is studied, his science inaccurate, his forms wanting in nobleness and grace. Sarasin was a most esteemed contemporary, and, in the Caryatides of the Louvre, has equalled the best sculpture of France. To the schools of the two first mentioned, however, and especially of Puget, in style at least, are to be referred the succeeding artists of France, as Les Gros, Theodon, Le Peintre, Desjardins, Coysevaux Vaucleve, the two Coustous, all flourishing at the close of the seventeenth, and during the early part of the eighteenth century. The last of this list is Bouchardon, under Louis XV.; for though his unfortunate successor inclined to patronise talent, the excesses of the Revolution proved not less injurious to living art, than destructive of ancient monuments. Among the latest works previous to this horrid outbreaking, was the statue of Voltaire, by Pigal, now in the library of the Institute, and upon which the following severe epigram was composed:—

Bermudez, the historian of Spanish art, enumerates a splendid list of native sculptors from the commencement of the sixteenth century. This, however, is scarcely consistent with the fact, that not till 1558, in consequence of a royal edict, was this esteemed a liberal profession, or admitted to any privileges as such. It is easy to perceive indeed, that national partiality, or that adventitious magnitude which every subject is apt to acquire in the estimation of the writer, has led, in this instance, to consider as artists, those who have with remarkable success been employed in ornamenting the fine ecclesiastical edifices in Spain, beyond which they are little known. Berruguete, a pupil of Michael Angelo, appears to have founded the first regular school, of which Paul de Cespides was the ornament, as he is of the national sculpture.

Before the seventeenth century, Germany makes no appearance in a general history of sculpture; and even now she is more celebrated for her writers on the philosophy, than for her artists in the practice, of the art. Still the genius of the nation we should be inclined to estimate as highly favorable to its future advancement. In Vienna, RauchmÜller; in Silesia, Leigebe; at Berlin, Schluter, Millich, Barthel, and others, have proved this estimate not unfounded. While our more immediate contemporaries, Ohnmacht, Sonnenschein, Nahl, the two Shadofs, especially the younger, whose Spinning Girl is one of the most exquisite imitations of simple nature which modern art can show, do not discourage this hope; if indeed artists be not carried away by that unnatural striving after marvellous effect, which has wrought so much injury to common sense and right feeling in German literature.

On reviewing the history of modern sculpture during its rise and perfection, to the decline immediately antecedent to the present century, we find that, from the commencement of the fifteenth century, when the art began to rank among national causes of exertion and feeling, progress towards perfection, and in the most direct path, was rapid. Hence it has been the singular distinction of the sculptors of this period, to have left models in their own works, while their previous discoveries enabled those who immediately followed also to produce models. They have thus remained original in an age of originality. During the sixteenth century, causes more remotely connected with real patriotism—an ostentatious desire of splendour, not an unaffected love of refinement—operated in the promotion of the arts; and in Sculpture, in particular, the artificial excitement imparted a portion of its spirit to its effects. From the age of Michael Angelo inclusive, we find that the desire of novelty, a continued endeavor to extend the boundaries of art, by the introduction of imaginary perfections inconsistent with its real character and excellence, were the rocks on which was made fatal shipwreck of truth, of simplicity, and of beauty. These imagined improvements were directed to the acquisition of two grand objects. A style of composition was aimed at, more purely ideal, less connected with nature, than is to be found in the remains of the ancient, or in the works of the early modern masters. Genius hovered on the very confines of credibility and of the impossible, deriving the elements of its creations from imaginings awful and imposing, embodied in forms of gloomy sublimity and power, overwhelming—not awakening—to the human sympathies. As characteristics of this imaginative style, the proportions are enlarged, the expressions forced, and action and energy are given, destructive of grace and reality. Art is raised to regions where nature is unknown, and where the very highest exertions of intellect and fancy could hardly sustain interest. This was more especially the style of the Tuscan school, and it fell with its great founder, who had placed the art on this dangerous height. But, in the second place, sculpture was sought to be assimilated to painting, and merit was estimated by the extent to which imitation was carried—in difficulty and variety of effect, in complicated detail, in volume of drapery, and, latterly, even in facility of production. This taste first began decidedly in the school of Bernini, and exclusively cherished the powers of mechanical execution, in preference to the unobtrusive but essential beauties of purity and correctness of design. Hence the rapid decline; for statues soon became merely confused masses of drapery, without drawing, and without science. Still the chisel was wielded with great mechanical dexterity; but before the middle of the eighteenth century, every moral beauty, sentiment, truth, feeling, had disappeared from the labours of the sculptor.