The number at the head of every observation serves to find in
the text the particular passage on which the observation was
made.
Transcriber’s Note: This number has been expanded to include
the “asterism” marker to help the reader to locate the
relevant passage.
[*†1.]
Painting and Poesy are two sisters, &c. It is a received truth, that
the arts have a certain relation to each other. “There is no art, (said
Tertullian, in his Treatise of Idolatry,) which is not either the father,
or the near relation of another.” And Cicero, in his oration for Archias
the poet, says, “That the arts, which have respect to human life, have
a kind of alliance amongst themselves, and hold each other (as we may
say) by the hand.” But those arts, which are the nearest related, and
claim the most ancient kindred with each other, are painting and poetry;
and whosoever shall thoroughly examine them, will find them so much
resembling one another, that he cannot take them for less than sisters.
They both follow the same bent, and suffer themselves to be rather
carried away, than led by their secret inclinations, which are so many
seeds of the Divinity. “There is a god within us, (says Ovid, in the
beginning of his sixth book _De Fastis_, there speaking of the poets,)
who by his agitation warms us.” And Suidas says, “That the famous
sculptor Phidias, and Zeuxis that incomparable painter, were both of them
transported by the same enthusiasm which gave life to all their works.”
They both of them aim at the same end, which is imitation. Both of them
excite our passions, and we suffer ourselves willingly to be deceived,
both by the one and by the other; our eyes and souls are so fixed to
them, that we are ready to persuade ourselves, that the painted bodies
breathe, and that the fictions are truths. Both of them are set on fire
by the great actions of heroes; and both endeavour to eternize them. Both
of them, in short, are supported by the strength of their imagination,
and avail themselves of those licences, which Apollo has equally bestowed
on them, and with which their genius has inspired them:
_——“Pictoribus atque poetis_
_Quidlibet audendi, semper fuit æqua potestas.”_
“Painters and poets, free from servile awe,
May treat their subjects, and their objects draw.”
As Horace tells us, in his “Art of Poetry.”
The advantage which painting possesses above poesy is this; that, amongst
so great a diversity of languages, she makes herself understood by all
the nations of the world; and that she is necessary to all other arts,
because of the need which they have of demonstrative figures, which often
give more light to the understanding than the clearest discourses we can
make:
_“Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,_
_Quam quæ sunt oculis commissa fidelibus.”_
“Hearing excites the mind by slow degrees;
The man is warmed at once by what he sees.”
Horace in the same “Art of Poetry.”
[*†9.]
“For both those arts that they might advance,” &c. Poetry, by its hymns
and anthems; and Painting, by its statues, altar-pieces, and by all those
decorations which inspire respect and reverence for our sacred mysteries,
have been serviceable to religion. Gregory of Nice, after having made a
long and beautiful description of Abraham sacrificing his son Isaac, says
these words:—“I have often cast my eyes upon a picture, which represents
this moving object, and could never withdraw them without tears. So well
did the picture represent the thing itself, even as if the action were
then passing before my sight.”
[*†24.]
“So much these divine arts have been always honoured,” &c. “The greatest
lords, whole cities, and their magistrates of old, (says Pliny, lib.
xxxv.) took it for an honour to obtain a picture from the hands of
those great ancient painters.” But this honour is much fallen of late
amongst the French nobility: and if you will understand the cause of
it, Vitruvius will tell you, that it comes from their ignorance of the
charming arts, “_Propter ignorantiam artis, virtutes obscurantur_;” (in
the Preface to his Fifth Book.) Nay more, we should see this admirable
art fall into the last degree of contempt, if our mighty monarch, who
yields in nothing to the magnanimity of Alexander the Great, had not
shown as much love for painting as for valour in the wars; we daily
see him encouraging this noble art, by the considerable presents which
he makes to his chief painter.[143] And he has also founded an academy
for the progress and perfectionating of painting, which his first
minister[144] honours with his protection, his care, and frequent visits;
insomuch that we might shortly see the age of Apelles reviving in our
country, together with all the beauteous arts, if our generous nobility,
who follow our incomparable king with so much ardour and courage in those
dangers, to which he exposes his sacred person, for the greatness and
glory of his kingdom, would imitate him in that wonderful affection,
which he bears to all who are excellent in this kind. Those persons, who
were the most considerable in ancient Greece, either for birth or merit,
took a most particular care, for many ages, to be instructed in the art
of painting; following that laudable and profitable custom, begun and
established by the great Alexander, which was to learn how to design.
And Pliny, who gives testimony to this, in the tenth chapter of his
thirty-fifth book, tells us farther, (speaking of Pamphilius, the master
of Apelles,) “That it was by the authority of Alexander, that, first at
Sicyon, and afterwards through all Greece, the young gentlemen learned,
before all other things, to design upon tablets of boxen-wood; and that
the first place, among all the liberal arts, was given to painting.”
And that which makes it evident, that they were very knowing in this
art, is the love and esteem which they had for painters. Demetrius gave
high testimonies of this, when he besieged the city of Rhodes; for he
was pleased to employ some part of that time, which he owed to the care
of his arms, in visiting Protogenes, who was then drawing the picture
of Ialysus. “This Ialysus (says Pliny,) hindered King Demetrius from
taking Rhodes, out of fear lest he should burn the pictures; and not
being able to fire the town on any other side, he was pleased rather
to spare the painting, than to take the victory, which was already in
his hands.” Protogenes, at that time, had his painting-room in a garden
out of the town, and very near the camp of the enemies, where he was
daily finishing those pieces which he had already begun, the noise of
soldiers not being capable of interrupting his studies. But Demetrius
causing him to be brought into his presence, and asking him, what made
him so bold as to work in the midst of enemies? he answered the king,
“That he understood the war which he made was against the Rhodians, and
not against the arts.” This obliged Demetrius to appoint him guards
for his security, being infinitely pleased that he could preserve that
hand, which by this means he saved from the barbarity and insolence of
soldiers. Alexander had no greater pleasure than when he was in the
painting-room of Apelles, where he commonly was found. And that painter
once received from him a sensible testimony of love and esteem which that
monarch had for him; for, having caused him to paint naked (by reason
of her admirable beauty,) one of his concubines, called Campaspe, who
had the greatest share in his affections, and perceiving that Apelles
was wounded with the same fatal dart of beauty, he made a present of her
to him. In that age, so great a deference was paid to painting, that
they, who had any mastery in that art, never painted on any thing but
what was portable from one place to another, and what could be secured
from burning. “They took a particular care (says Pliny, in the place
above cited,) not to paint any thing against a wall, which could only
belong to one master, and must always remain in the same place, and for
that reason could not be removed in case of an accidental fire. Men were
not suffered to keep a picture, as it were in prison, on the walls. It
dwelt in common in all cities, and the painter himself was respected as a
common good to all the world.” See this excellent author, and you shall
find, that the tenth chapter of his thirty-fifth book is filled with the
praises of this art, and with the honours which were ascribed to it. You
will there find, that it was not permitted to any but those of noble
blood to profess it. Francis the First (as Vasari tells us,) was in love
with painting to that degree, that he allured out of Italy all the best
masters, that this art might flourish in his own kingdom: and, amongst
others, Leonardo da Vinci, who, after having continued for some time in
France, died at Fontainbleau in the arms of that great king, who could
not behold his death without shedding tears over him. Charles the Fifth
has adorned Spain with the noblest pictures which are now remaining in
the world. Ridolphi, in his Life of Titian, says, “That emperor one day
took up a pencil which fell from the hand of that artist, who was then
drawing his picture; and upon the compliment which Titian made him on
this occasion, he said these words:—“Titian has deserved to be served by
Cæsar.” And in the same Life, it is remarkable, “That the emperor valued
himself not so much in subjecting kingdoms and provinces, as that he had
been thrice made immortal by the hand of Titian.” If you will but take
the pains to read this famous Life in Ridolphi, you will there see the
relation of all those honours which he received from Charles the Fifth.
It would take up too much time here to recount all the particulars; I
will only observe, that the greatest lords, who composed the court of
that emperor, not being able to refrain from some marks of jealousy,
upon the preference which he made of the person and conversation of
Titian, to that of all his other courtiers, he freely told them, “That
he could never want a court, or courtiers; but he could not have Titian
always with him.” Accordingly, he heaped riches on him; and whensoever
he sent him money, which, ordinarily speaking, was a great sum, he
always did it with this obliging testimony, “That his design was not to
pay him the value of his pictures, because they were above any price.”
After the example of the worthies of antiquity, who bought the rarest
pictures with bushels of gold, without counting the weight or the number
of the pieces. “_In nummo aureo, mensurâ accepit, non numero_,” says
Pliny, speaking of Apelles. Quinctilian infers from hence, “that there
is nothing more noble than the art of painting;” because other things,
for the most part, are merchandize, and bought at certain rates: “Most
things for this very reason (says he,) are vile, because they have a
price;” “_Pleraque hoc ipso possunt videri vilia, quod pretium habent._”
(See the 34th, 35th, and 36th Books of Pliny.) Many great persons have
loved it with an extreme passion, and have exercised themselves in
it with delight. Amongst others, Lælius Fabius, one of those famous
Romans, who, (as Cicero relates,) after he had tasted painting, and had
practised it, would be called Fabius Pictor; as also Turpilius, a Roman
knight; Labeo, prætor and consul; Quintus Pedius; the poets Ennius and
Pacuvius; Socrates, Plato, Metrodorus, Pyrrho, Commodus, Nero, Vespasian,
Alexander, Severus, Antoninus, and many other kings and emperors, who
thought it not below their majesty to employ some part of their time in
this honourable art.
[*†37.]
“The principal and most important part of painting, is to find out, and
thoroughly to understand, what nature hath made most beautiful, and most
proper to this art,” &c. Observe here the rock on which the greatest
part of the Flemish painters have split: most of that nation know how to
imitate nature, at least as well as the painters of other countries; but
they make a bad choice in nature itself; whether it be, that they have
not seen the ancient pieces, to find those beauties; or that a happy
genius, and the beautiful nature, is not of the growth of their country.
And to confess the truth, that which is naturally beautiful is so very
rare, that it is discovered by few persons; it is difficult to make a
choice of it, and to form to ourselves such an idea of it, as may serve
us for a model.
[*†39.]
“And that a choice of it may be made according to the gust and manner
of the ancients,” &c. That is to say, according to the statues, the
basso-relievos, and the other ancient pieces, as well of the Grecians as
of the Romans. Ancient (or antic) is that which has been made from the
time of Alexander the Great, till that of Phocas; during whose empire the
arts were ruined by war. These ancient works from their beginning have
been the rule of beauty: and in effect, the authors of them have been
so careful to give them that perfection, which is still to be observed
in them, that they made use not only of one single body, whereby they
formed them, but of many, from which they took the most regular parts
to compose from them a beautiful whole. “The sculptors,” says Maximus
Tyrius, in his 7th dissertation, “with admirable artifice, chose out of
many bodies those parts which appeared to them the most beautiful; and
out of that diversity made but one statue: but this mixture is made with
so much prudence and propriety, that they seem to have taken but one
only perfect beauty. And let us not imagine that we can ever find one
natural beauty, which can dispute with statues that art, which has always
somewhat more perfect than nature.” It is also to be presumed, that in
the choice which they made of those parts, they followed the opinion of
the physicians, who at that time were very capable of instructing them
in the rules of beauty; since beauty and health ordinarily follow each
other. “For beauty,” says Galen, “is nothing else but a just accord, and
mutual harmony of the members, animated by a healthful constitution. And
men,” says the same author, “commend a certain statue of Polycletus,
which they call the rule, and which deserves that name, for having so
perfect an agreement in all its parts, and a proportion so exact, that
it is not possible to find a fault in it.” From what I have quoted, we
may conclude, that the ancient pieces are truly beautiful, because they
resemble the beauties of nature; and that nature will ever be beautiful
which resembles those beauties of antiquity. It is now evident upon
what account none have presumed to contest the proportion of those
ancient pieces; and that, on the contrary, they have always been quoted
as models of the most perfect beauty. Ovid, in the twelfth book of his
“Metamorphoses,” where he describes Cyllarus, the most beautiful of all
the Centaurs, says, “That he had so great a vivacity in his countenance,
his neck, his shoulders, his hands, and stomach, were so fair, that it
is certain the manly part of him was as beautiful as the most celebrated
statues.” And Philostratus, in his “Heroics,” speaking of Protesilaus,
and praising the beauty of his face, says, “That the form of his nose was
square, as if it had been of a statue.” And in another place, speaking of
Euphorbus, he says, “That his beauty had gained the affections of all the
Greeks; and that it resembled so nearly the beauty of a statue, that one
might have taken him for Apollo.” Afterwards also, speaking of the beauty
of Neoptolemus, and of his likeness to his father Achilles, he says,
“That, in beauty, his father had the same advantage over him, as statues
have over the beauty of living men.”
This ought to be understood of the fairest statues; for amongst the
multitude of sculptors which were in Greece and Italy, it is impossible
but some of them must have been bad workmen, or rather less good; for
though their works were much inferior to the artists of the first
form, yet somewhat of greatness is to be seen in them, and somewhat of
harmonious in the distribution of their parts, which makes it evident,
that, at that time, they wrought on common principles; and that every one
of them availed himself of those principles, according to his capacity
and genius. Those statues were the greatest ornaments of Greece. We need
only open the book of Pausanias to find the prodigious quantity of them,
whether within or without their temples, or in the crossing of streets,
or in the squares and public places, or even the fields, or on the tombs.
Statues were erected to the muses, to the nymphs, to heroes, to great
captains, to magistrates, philosophers, and poets; in short, they were
set up to all those who had made themselves eminent, either in defence
of their country, or for any noble action which deserved a recompence;
for it was the most ordinary and most authentic way, both amongst the
Greeks and Romans, thus to testify their gratitude. The Romans, when
they had conquered Græcia, transported from thence not only their most
admirable statues, but also brought along with them the most excellent
of their sculptors, who instructed others in their art, and have left
to posterity the immortal examples of their knowledge, which we see
confirmed by those curious statues, those vases, those basso-relievos,
and those beautiful columns called by the names of Trajan and Antonine.
These are those beauties which our author proposes to us for our
models, and the true fountains of science, out of which both painters
and statuaries are bound to draw for their own use, without amusing
themselves with dipping in streams which are often muddy, at least
troubled; I mean the manner of their masters, after whom they creep, and
from whom they are unwilling to depart, either through negligence, or
through the meanness of their genius. “It belongs only to heavy minds,”
says Cicero, “to spend their time on streams, without searching for the
springs, from whence their materials flow in all manner of abundance.”
[*†40.]
“Without which, all is nothing but a blind and rash barbarity,” &c. All
that has nothing of the ancient gusto, is called a barbarous or Gothic
manner, which is not conducted by any rule, but only follows a wretched
fancy, which has nothing in it that is noble. We are here to observe,
that painters are not obliged to follow the antique as exactly as the
sculptors; for then the picture would savour too strongly of the statue,
and would seem to be without motion. Many painters, and some of the
ablest amongst them, believing they do well, and taking that precept in
too literal a sense, have fallen thereby into great inconveniencies. It
therefore becomes the painters to make use of those ancient patterns with
discretion, and to accommodate the nature to them in such a manner, that
their figures, which must seem to live, may rather appear to be models
for the antique, than the antique a model for their figures.
It appears, that Raphael made a perfect use of this conduct; and that
the Lombard school have not precisely searched into this precept any
farther, than to learn from thence how to make a good choice of the
nature, and to give a certain grace and nobleness to all their works, by
the general and confused idea which they had of what is beautiful. As
for the rest, they are sufficiently licentious, excepting only Titian,
who, of all the Lombards, has preserved the greatest purity in his works.
This barbarous manner, of which I spoke, has been in great vogue from the
year 611 to 1450. They who have restored painting in Germany (not having
seen any of those fair relics of antiquity,) have retained much of that
barbarous manner. Amongst others, Lucas van Leyden, a very laborious man,
who, with his scholars, has infected almost all Europe with his designs
for tapestry, which, by the ignorant, are called ancient hangings, (a
greater honour than they deserve;) these, I say, are esteemed beautiful
by the greatest part of the world. I must acknowledge, that I am amazed
at so gross a stupidity, and that we of the French nation should have
so barbarous a taste as to take for beautiful those flat, childish,
and insipid tapestries. Albert Durer, that famous German, who was
contemporary to that Lucas, has had the like misfortune to fall into that
absurd manner, because he had never seen any thing that was beautiful.
Observe what Vasari tells us, in the Life of Marc Antonio, (Raphael’s
graver,) having first commended Albert for his skill in graving, and his
other talents:—“And in truth,” says he, “if this so excellent, so exact,
and so universal a man, had been born in Tuscany, as he was in Germany,
and had formed his studies according to those beautiful pieces which are
seen at Rome, as the rest of us have done, he had proved the best painter
of all Italy, as he was the greatest genius, and the most accomplished
which Germany ever bore.”
[*†45.]
“We love what we understand,” &c. This period informs us, that though
our inventions are never so good, though we are furnished by nature with
a noble genius, and though we follow the impulse of it, yet this is not
enough, if we learn not to understand what is perfect and beautiful in
nature; to the end, that, having found it, we may be able to imitate it,
and by this instruction we may be capacitated to observe those errors
which she herself has made, and to avoid them, so as not to copy her
in all sorts of subjects, such as she appears to us, without choice or
distinction.
[*†50.]
“As being the sovereign judge of his own art,” &c. This word, sovereign
judge, or arbiter of his own art, presupposes a painter to be fully
instructed in all the parts of painting; so that being set as it were
above his art, he may be the master and sovereign of it, which is no easy
matter. Those of that profession are so seldom endowed with that supreme
capacity, that few of them arrive to be good judges of painting; and I
should many times make more account of their judgment, who are men of
sense, and yet have never touched a pencil, than of the opinion which is
given by the greatest part of painters. All painters, therefore, may be
called arbiters of their own art; but to be sovereign arbiters, belongs
only to knowing painters.
[*†52.]
“And permit no transient beauties to escape his observation,” &c. Those
fugitive or transient beauties, are no other than such as we observe in
nature, with a short and transient view, and which remain not long in
their subjects. Such are the passions of the soul. There are of this
sort of beauties which last but for a moment; as the different airs of
an assembly upon the sight of an unexpected and uncommon object, some
particularity of a violent passion, some graceful action, a smile, a
glance of an eye, a disdainful look, a look of gravity, and a thousand
other such-like things; we may also place in the catalogue of these
flying beauties, fine clouds, such as ordinarily follow thunder, or a
shower of rain.
[*†54.]
“In the same manner that bare practice, destitute of the lights of
art,” &c. We find in Quinctilian, that Pythagoras said, “The theory
is nothing without the practice.” “And what means,” says the younger
Pliny, “have we to retain what has been taught us, if we put it not in
practice?” We would not allow that man to be an orator, who had the
best thoughts imaginable, and who knew all the rules of rhetoric, if he
had not acquired, by exercise, the art of using them, and of composing
an excellent discourse. Painting is a long pilgrimage, what avails it
to make all the necessary preparatives for our voyage, or to inform
ourselves of all the difficulties in the road? If we do not actually
begin the journey, and travel at a round rate, we shall never arrive at
the end of it. And as it would be ridiculous to grow old in the study of
every necessary thing in an art, which comprehends so many several parts;
so, on the other hand, to begin the practice without knowing the rules,
or at least with a light tincture of them, is to expose ourselves to the
scorn of those who can judge of painting, and to make it apparent to
the world that we have no care of our reputation. Many are of opinion,
that we need only work, and mind the practical part, to become skilful
and able painters; and that the theory only encumbers the mind, and ties
the hand. Such men do just like the squirrel, who is perpetually turning
the wheel in her cage; she runs apace, and wearies herself with her
continual motion, and yet gets no ground. “It is not enough for doing
well to walk apace,” says Quinctilian, “but it is enough for walking
apace to do well.” It is a bad excuse to say, I was but a little while
about it. That graceful easiness, that celestial fire which animates
the work, proceeds not so much from having often done the like, as from
having well understood what we have done. See what I shall farther
say, on the 60th rule, which concerns easiness. Others there are, who
believe precepts and speculation to be of absolute necessity; but as
they were ill instructed, and what they knew, rather entangled, than
cleared their understanding, so they oftentimes turn short; and if they
perform a work, it is not without anxiety and pain. And in truth, they
are so much the more worthy of compassion, because their intentions are
right; and if they advance not in knowledge as far as others, and are
sometimes cast behind, yet they are grounded upon some sort of reason;
for it is belonging to good sense, not to go over fast, when we apprehend
ourselves to be out of the way, or even where we doubt which way we ought
to take. Others, on the contrary, being well instructed in good maxims,
and in the rules of art, after having done fine things, yet spoil them
all, by endeavouring to make them better, which is a kind of overdoing;
and they are so intoxicated with their work, and with an earnest desire
of being above all others, that they suffer themselves to be deceived
with the appearance of an imaginary good. “Apelles, one day admiring the
prodigious labour which he saw in a picture of Protogenes, and knowing
how much sweat it must have cost him, said, that Protogenes and himself
were of equal strength; nay, that he yielded to him, in some parts of
painting; but in this he surpassed him, that Protogenes never knew when
he had done well, and could never hold his hand. He also added, in the
nature of a precept, that he wished all painters would imprint this
lesson deeply in their memory, that with overstraining and earnestness of
finishing their pieces, they often did them more harm than good.”[145]
“There are some,” says Quinctilian, “who never satisfy themselves,
never are contented with their first notions and expressions, but are
continually changing all, till nothing remains of their first ideas.
Others there are,” continues he, “who dare never trust themselves, nor
resolve on any thing; and who being, as it were, entangled in their
own genius, imagine it to be a laudable correctness, when they form
difficulties to themselves in their own work. And, to speak the truth, it
is hard to discern, whether of the two is in the greatest error; he, who
is enamoured of all he does; or he, whom nothing of his own can please.
For it has happened to young men, and often even to those of the greatest
wit, to waste their spirits, and to consume themselves with anxiety and
pain of their own giving, so far as even to doze upon their work with too
much eagerness of doing well. I will now tell you, how a reasonable man
ought to carry himself on this occasion. It is certain, that we ought to
use our best endeavour to give the last perfection to our works; yet it
is always to be understood, that we attempt no more than what is in the
compass of our genius, and according to our vein. For, to make a true
progress, I grant that diligence and study are both requisite; but this
study ought to have no mixture, either of self-opinion, obstinacy, or
anxiety; for which reason, if it blows a happy gale, we must set up all
our sails, though in so doing it sometimes happens, that we follow those
motions where our natural heat is more powerful than our care and our
correctness, provided we abuse not this license, and suffer not ourselves
to be deceived by it; for all our productions cannot fail to please us at
the moment of their birth, as being new to us.”[146]
[*†61.]
“Because the greatest beauties cannot always be expressed for want of
terms,” &c. I have learned from the mouth of Monsieur du Fresnoy, that
he had oftentimes heard Guido say, “that no man could give a rule of the
greatest beauties; and that the knowledge of them was so abstruse, that
there was no manner of speaking which could express them.” This comes
just to what Quinctilian says,[147] “That things incredible wanted words
to express them; for some of them are too great, and too much elevated,
to be comprehended by human discourse.” From hence it proceeds, that the
best judges, when they admire a noble picture, seem to be fastened to it;
and when they come to themselves, you would say, they had lost the use of
speech.
“_Pausiacâ torpes, insane, tabellâ_,” says Horace;[148] and Symmachus
says,[149] “that the greatness of astonishment hinders men from giving a
just applause.” The Italians say, “_Opera da stupire_,” when a thing is
wonderfully good.
[*†63.]
“Those master-pieces of antiquity, which were the chief examples of this
art,” &c. He means the most knowing and best painters of antiquity; that
is to say, from the last two ages to our times.
[*†66.]
“And also moderates that fury of the fancy,” &c. There is in the Latin
text, “which produces only monsters,” that is to say, things out of
all probable resemblance. Such things as are often found in the works
of Pietro Testa. “It often happens,” says Dionysius Longinus, a grave
author, “that some men, imagining themselves to be possessed with a
divine fury, far from being carried into the rage of Bacchanalians, often
fall into toys and trifles, which are only puerilities.”
[*†69.]
“A subject beautiful and noble,” &c. Painting is not only pleasing
and divertising, but is also a kind of memorial of those things which
antiquity has had the most beautiful and noble in their kinds, replacing
the history before our eyes; as if the thing were at this very time
effectually in action; even so far, that, beholding the pictures wherein
those noble deeds are represented, we find ourselves stung with a desire
of endeavouring somewhat, which is like that action, there expressed, as
if we were reading it in the history. The beauty of the subject inspires
us with love and admiration for the pictures, as the fair mixture causes
us to enter into the subject which it imitates, and imprints it the more
deeply into our imagination, and our memory. These are two chains which
are interlinked, which contain, and are at the same time contained, and
whose matter is equally precious and estimable.
[*†72.]
“And ingenious,” &c. _Aliquid salis_, somewhat that is well seasoned,
fine, and picquant, extraordinary, of a high relish, proper to instruct,
and to clear the understanding. “The painters ought to do like the
orators,” says Cicero;[150] “let them instruct, let them divertise, and
let them move us;” this is what is properly meant by the word _salt_.
[*†74.]
“On which the sketch, as it may be called, of the picture is to be
disposed,” &c. It is not without reason, nor by chance, that our author
uses the word _machina_. A machine is a just assembling or combination
of many pieces, to produce one and the same effect. And the disposition
in a picture is nothing else but an assembling of many parts, of which
we are to foresee the agreement with each other, and the justness to
produce a beautiful effect, as you shall see in the 4th precept, which is
concerning the economy. This is also called the composition, by which is
meant the distribution and orderly placing of things, both in general,
and in particular.
[*†75.]
“Which is what we properly call invention,” &c. Our author establishes
three parts of painting; the _invention_; the _design_, or _drawing_;
and the _colouring_, which in some places he also calls the _cromatic_.
Many authors who have written of painting, multiply the parts according
to their pleasure; and without giving you, or myself, the trouble of
discussing this matter, I will only tell you, that all the parts of
painting which others have named, are reducible into these three which
are mentioned by our author.
For which reason, I esteem this division to be the justest: and as these
three parts are essential to painting, so no man can be truly called a
painter, who does not possess them all together: in the same manner that
we cannot give the name of man to any creature which is not composed of
body, soul, and reason, which are the three parts necessarily constituent
of a man. How therefore can they pretend to the quality of painters, who
can only copy and purloin the works of others, who therein employ their
whole industry, and with that only talent would pass for able painters?
And, do not tell me, that many great artists have done this; for I can
easily answer you, that it had been their better course to have abstained
from so doing; that they have not thereby done themselves much honour,
and that copying was not the best part of their reputation. Let us then
conclude, that all painters ought to acquire this part of excellence;
not to do it, is to want courage, and not dare to shew themselves. It is
to creep and grovel on the ground; it is to deserve this just reproach,
_O imitatores, servum pecus!_ It is with painters, in reference to their
productions, as it is with orators: a good beginning is always costly
to both; much sweat and labour is required, but it is better to expose
our works, and leave them liable to censure for fifteen years, than to
blush for them at the end of fifty. On this account, it is necessary
for a painter to begin early to do somewhat of his own, and to accustom
himself to it by continual exercise; for so long as, endeavouring to
raise himself, he fears falling, he shall be always on the ground. See
the following observation.
[*†76.]
“Invention is a kind of Muse, which being possessed of the other
advantages common to her sisters,” &c. The attributes of the Muses are
often taken for the Muses themselves; and it is in this sense, that
Invention is here called a Muse. Authors ascribe to each of them in
particular, the sciences which they have, say they, invented; and in
general the Belles Lettres, because they contain almost all the others.
These sciences are those advantages of which our author speaks, and with
which he would have a painter furnish himself sufficiently: and in truth,
there is no man, though his understanding be very mean, who knows not,
and who finds not of himself, how much learning is necessary to animate
his genius, and to complete it. And the reason of this is, that they who
have studied, have not only seen and learned many excellent things, in
their course of studies; but also they have acquired, by that exercise,
a great facility of profiting themselves, by reading good authors. They
who will make profession of painting, must heap up treasures out of
their reading: and there they will find many wonderful means of raising
themselves above others, who can only creep upon the ground; or if they
elevate themselves, it is only to fall from a higher place, because
they serve themselves of other men’s wings, neither understanding their
use, nor their virtue. It is true, that it is not the present mode for
a painter to be so knowing: and if any of them, in these times, be
found to have either a great wit, or much learning, the multitude would
not fail to say, that it was great pity; and that the youth might have
come to somewhat in the practical part of the law, or it may be in the
treasury, or in the families of some noblemen. So wretched is the destiny
of painting in these latter ages. By learning, it is not so much the
knowledge of the Greek and Latin tongue, which is here to be understood;
as the reading of good authors, and understanding those things of which
they treat: for translations being made of the best authors, there is
not any painter who is not capable, in some sort, of understanding those
books of humanity, which are comprehended under the name of the Belles
Lettres. In my opinion, the books which are of the most advantage to
those of the profession, are these which follow:
The Bible.
The History of Josephus.
The Roman History of Coeffeteau, for those who understand the French; and
that of Titus Livius, in Latin.
Homer, whom Pliny calls the fountain-head of invention and noble thoughts.
Virgil, and in him particularly his Æneis.
The Ecclesiastical History of Godeau, or the Abridgment of Baronius.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses.