Plutarch’s Lives.
Pausanias, who is wonderful for giving of great ideas; and chiefly for
such as are to be placed at a distance, or cast behind, and for the
combining of figures. This author, in conjunction with Homer, makes a
good mingle of what is pleasing, and what is perfect.
The Religion of the Ancient Romans, by Du Choul; and in English, Godwin’s
Roman Antiquities.
Trajan’s Pillar, with the discourse which explains the figures on it, and
instructs a painter in those things with which he is indispensably to be
acquainted. This is one of the most principal and most learned books,
which we have for the modes, the customs, the arms, and the religion of
the Romans. Julio Romano made his chief studies on the marble itself.
The books of medals.
The Bass-Reliefs of Perrier, and others, with their explanations at the
bottom of the pages, which give a perfect understanding of them.
Horace’s Art of Poetry, because of the relation which there is betwixt
the rules of poetry, and those of painting.
And other books of the like nature, the reading of which are profitable
to warm the imagination; such as in English, are Spenser’s Fairy Queen;
the Paradise Lost of Milton; Tasso, translated by Fairfax; and the
History of Polybius, by Sir Henry Shere.
Some romances also are very capable of entertaining the genius, and of
strengthening it, by the noble ideas which they give of things: but there
is this danger in them, that they almost always corrupt the truth of
history.
There are also other books which a painter may use upon some particular
occasions, and only when he wants them: Such are, The Mythology of the
Gods; The Images of the Gods; The Iconology; The Tables of Hyginus; The
Practical Perspective; and some others not here mentioned.
Thus it is necessary, that they who are desirous of a name in painting,
should read at leisure times these books with diligence; and make their
observations of such things as they find for their purpose in them,
and of which they believe they may some time or other have occasion.
Let the imagination be employed in this reading, and let them make
sketches, and light touches of those ideas which that reading forms in
their imagination. Quinctilian, Tacitus, or whoever was the author of
that dialogue, which is called in Latin _De Causis corruptæ Eloquentiæ_,
says, “That painting resembles fire, which is fed by the fuel, inflamed
by motion, and gathers strength by burning; for the power of the genius
is only augmented by the abundance of matter to supply it; and it is
impossible to make a great and magnificent work, if that matter be
wanting, or not disposed rightly.” And therefore a painter, who has a
genius, gets nothing, by long thinking, and taking all imaginable care
to make a noble composition, if he be not assisted by those studies
which I have mentioned. All that he can gain by it is only to weary his
imagination, and to travel over many vast countries, without dwelling on
any one thing, which can give him satisfaction.
All the books which I have named may be serviceable to all sorts of
persons, as well as to painters. As for those books which were of
particular use to them, they were unfortunately lost in those ages
which were before the invention of printing. The copiers neglecting
(probably out of ignorance) to transcribe them, as not finding themselves
capable of making the demonstrative figures.[152] In the mean times,
it is evidently known, by the relation of authors, that we have lost
fifty volumes of them at the least. See Pliny in his 35th book; and
Franc Junius, in his 3d chapter of the 2d book of the “Painting of the
Ancients.” Many moderns have written of it with small success, taking a
large compass, without coming directly to the point; and talking much,
without saying any thing; yet some of them have acquitted themselves
successfully enough. Amongst others, Leonardo da Vinci (though without
method); Paulo Lomazzo, whose book is good for the greatest part,
but whose discourse is too diffusive and very tiresome; John Baptist
Armenini, Franciscus Junius, and Monsieur de Cambray, to whose preface I
rather invite you, than to his book. We are not to forget what Monsieur
Felebien has written of the historical piece of Alexander, by the hand
of Monsieur Le Brun: besides that the work itself is very eloquent,
the foundations which he establishes for the making of a good picture
are wonderfully solid. Thus I have given you very near the library of
a painter, and a catalogue of such books as he ought either to read
himself, or have read to him; at least if he will not satisfy himself
with possessing painting as the most sordid of all trades, and not as the
noblest of all arts.
[*†77.]
“It is the business of a painter, in his choice of attitudes,” &c. See
here the most important precept of all those which relate to painting. It
belongs properly to a painter alone, and all the rest are borrowed either
from learning, or from physic, or from the mathematics, or, in short,
from other arts; for it is sufficient to have a natural wit and learning
to make that which we call in painting, a good invention: for the design,
we must have some insight into anatomy: to make buildings, and other
things in perspective, we must have knowledge in the mathematics: and
other arts will bring in their quotas, to furnish out the matter of a
good picture. But for the economy, or ordering of the whole together,
none but only the painter can understand it; because the end of the
artist is pleasingly to deceive the eyes, which he can never accomplish
if this part be wanting to him. A picture may have an ill effect, though
the invention of it be truly understood, the design of it correct, and
the colours of it the most beautiful and fine that can be employed in
it. And, on the contrary, we may behold other pictures ill invented, ill
designed, and painted with the most common colours, which shall have
a very good effect, and which shall more pleasingly deceive. “Nothing
pleases a man so much as order,” says Xenophon;[153] and Horace, in his
“Art of Poetry,” lays it down as a rule,
_Singula quæque locum teneant sortita decenter._
Set all things in their own peculiar place;
And know, that order is the greatest grace.
This precept is properly the use and application of all the rest; for
which reason it requires much judgment. You are therefore in such manner
to foresee things, that your picture may be painted in your head, before
it comes upon the canvas. “When Menander,” says a celebrated author,[154]
“had ordered the scenes of his comedy, he held it to be, in a manner,
already made; though he had not begun the first verse of it.” It is an
undoubted truth, that they who are endued with this foresight, work
with incredible pleasure and facility; others, on the contrary, are
perpetually changing, and rechanging their work, which, when it is ended,
leaves them but anxiety for all their pains. It seems to me, that these
sorts of pictures remind us of those old Gothic castles, made at several
times; and which hold together only as it were by rags and patches.
It may be inferred from that which I have said, that the invention and
the disposition are two several and distinct parts. In effect, though
the last of them depends upon the first, and is commonly comprehended
under it; yet we are to take great care, that we do not confound them.
The invention simply finds out the subjects, and makes a choice of them
suitable to the history which we treat; and the disposition distributes
those things which are thus found, each to its proper place, and
accommodates the figures and the groupes in particular, and the _tout
ensemble_ (or whole together) of the picture in general; so that this
economy produces the same effect in relation to the eyes, as a concert of
music to the ears.
There is one thing of great consequence to be observed in the economy
of the whole work, which is, that at the first sight we may be given to
understand the quality of the subject; and that the picture, at the first
glance of the eye, may inspire us with the principal passion of it: for
example, if the subject which you have undertaken to treat be of joy,
it is necessary that every thing which enters into your picture should
contribute to that passion, so that the beholders shall immediately be
moved with it. If the subject be mournful, let every thing in it have
a stroke of sadness; and so of the other passions and qualities of the
subjects.
[*†81.]
“Let there be a genuine and lively expression of the subject, conformable
to the text of ancient authors,” &c. Take care that the licences of
painters be rather to adorn the history, than to corrupt it. And though
Horace gives permission to painters and poets[155] to dare every thing,
yet he encourages neither of them to make things out of nature or
verisimility; for he adds immediately after,
But let the bounds of licences be fixed;
Not things of disagreeing natures mixed:
Not sweet with sour, nor birds with serpents joined;
Nor the fierce lion with the fearful hind.
The thoughts of a man endued with good sense, are not of kin to
visionary madness; men in fevers are only capable of such dreams. Treat
then the subjects of your pictures with all possible faithfulness, and
use your licences with a becoming boldness; provided they be ingenious,
and not immoderate and extravagant.
[*†83.]
“Take care that whatsoever makes nothing to your subject,” &c. Nothing
deadens so much the composition of a picture, as figures which are not
appertaining to the subject: we may call them pleasantly enough, _figures
to be let_.
[*†89.]
“This part of painting so rarely met with,” &c. That is to say,
_invention_.
[*†91.]
“Which was stolen by Prometheus,” &c. The poets feign, that Prometheus
formed out of clay so fair a statue, that Minerva one day, having long
admired it, said to the workman, that if he thought there was any thing
in heaven which could add to its perfection, he might ask it of her;
but he being ignorant of what might be most beautiful in the habitation
of the gods, desired leave that he might be carried thither, and being
there, to make his choice. The goddess bore him thither upon her shield,
and so soon as he had perceived, that all celestial things were animated
with fire, he stole a parcel of it, which he carried down to earth, and
applying it to the stomach of his statue, enlivened the whole body.
[*†92.]
“That it happens not to every one to see Corinth,” &c. This is an ancient
proverb, which signifies, that every man has not the genius, nor the
disposition, that is necessary for the sciences; neither yet a capacity
fit for the undertaking of things which are great and difficult. Corinth
was heretofore the centre of all arts, and the place whither they sent
all those whom they would render capable of any thing. Cicero calls it
the light of all Græcia.[156]
[*†95.]
“It arrived at length to that height of perfection,” &c. This was in
the time of Alexander the Great, and lasted even to Augustus, under
whose reign painting fell to great decay. But under the emperors,
Domitian, Nerva, and Trajan, it appeared in its primitive lustre; which
lasted to the time of Phocas the emperor, when vices prevailing over
the arts, and war being kindled through all Europe, and especially
in Lombardy, (occasioned by the irruption of the Huns,) painting was
totally extinguished. And if some few, in the succeeding ages, strained
themselves to revive it, it was rather in finding out the most glaring,
gaudy, and costly colours, than in imitating the harmonious simplicity
of those illustrious painters who preceded them. At length, in the
fourteenth century, some there were, who began to set it again on foot.
And it may truly be said, that about the end of the fifteenth age, and
the beginning of our sixteenth, it appeared in much splendour, by means
of many knowing men in all parts of Italy, who were in perfect possession
of it. Since those happy times, which were so fruitful of the noble arts,
we have also had some knowing painters, but very few in number, because
of the little inclination which sovereign princes have had for painting:
but thanks to the zeal of our great monarch, and to the care of his first
minister, Monsieur Colbert, we may shortly behold it more flourishing
than ever.
[*†103.]
“An attitude therefore must be chosen, according to their taste,” &c.
This is the second part of painting, which is called design, or drawing.
As the ancients have sought as much as possible whatsoever contributes
to the making of a perfect body; so they have diligently examined in what
consists the beauty of good attitudes, as their works sufficiently inform
us.
[*†104.]
“The parts of it must be great,” &c. Yet not so great as to exceed a just
proportion. But he means, that in a noble attitude, the greatest parts
of the body ought to appear foremost, rather than the less, for which
reason, in another passage, he vehemently forbids the foreshortenings,
because they make the parts appear little, though of themselves they are
great. “And large,” &c. To avoid the dry manner, such as is most commonly
the nature which Lucas van Leyden and Albert Durer have imitated.
[*†105.]
“Contrasted by contrary motions, the most noble parts foremost in sight,
and each figure carefully poised on its own centre,” &c. The motions are
never natural, when the members are not equally balanced on their centre;
and these members cannot be balanced on their centre in an equality
of weight, but they must contrast each other. A man who dances on the
rope, makes a manifest demonstration of this truth. The body is a weight
balanced on its feet, as upon two pivots. And though one of the feet
most commonly bears the weight, yet we see that the whole weight rests
centrally upon it. Insomuch, that if, for example, one arm is stretched
out, it must of necessity be either, that the other arm, or the leg, be
cast backward, or the body somewhat bowed on the opposite side, so as to
make an equilibrium, and be in a situation which is unforced. It may be,
though seldom, if it be not in old men, that the feet bear equally; and
for that time half the weight is equally distributed on each foot. You
ought to make use of the same prudence, if one foot bears three parts in
four of the burthen, and that the other foot bears the remaining part.
This, in general, is what may be said of the balance, and the libration
of the body. In particular, there may many things be said which are very
useful and curious, of which you may satisfy yourselves in Leonardo da
Vinci. He has done wonderfully well on that subject; and one may truly
say, that the ponderation is the best and soundest part of all his book
of painting. It begins at the 181st chapter, and concludes at the 273d.
I would also advise you to read Paulo Lomazzo, in his 6th book, chapter
4th, _Del moto del corpo humano_, that is, the motion of a human body.
You will there find many things of great profit. For what concerns the
contrast, I will only say, in general, that nothing gives so much grace
and life to figures. See the 13th precept, and what I say upon it in the
remarks.
[*†107.]
“The parts must be drawn with flowing, glideing outlines,” &c. The reason
of this proceeds from the action of the muscles, which are so many
well-buckets: when one of them acts and draws, it is necessary that the
other must obey; so that the muscles which act, drawing always towards
their principal, and those which obey stretching in length, and on the
side of their insertion; it must needs follow, that the parts must be
designed in waves; but beware, lest in giving this form to the parts, you
do not break the bones which sustain them, and which always must make
them appear firm.
This maxim is not altogether so general, but that actions may be found,
where the masses of the muscles are situate one over against another;
but that is not very common. The outlines, which are in waves, give not
only a grace to the parts, but also to the whole body, when it is only
supported on one leg. As we see in the figures of Antinous, Meleager, the
Venus of Medicis, that of the Vatican, the two others of Borghese, and
that of Flora, of the goddess Vesta, the two Bacchus’s of Borghese, and
that of Ludovisio, and in fine, of the greatest number of the ancient
figures, which are standing, and which always rest more upon one foot
than the other. Besides, that the figures and their parts ought almost
always to have a serpentine and flaming form naturally; these sorts of
outlines have, I know not what of life and seeming motion in them, which
very much resembles the activity of the flame, and of the serpent.
[*†112.]
“According to the rules of anatomy,” &c. This part is nothing known at
present amongst our modern painters. I have shewn the profit, and even
the necessity of it, in the preface of a little epitome which I have
made, and which Monsieur Torrebat has published. I know, there are some,
who think this science a kind of monster, and believe it to be of no
advantage, either because they are mean spirited, or that they have not
considered the want which they have of it; nor reflected, as they ought,
on its importance; contenting themselves with a certain tract, to which
they have been used. But certain it is, that whoever is capable of such a
thought, will never be capable of becoming a great designer.
[*†113.]
“In imitation of the Greek forms,” &c. That is to say, according to the
ancient statues, which for the most part come from Greece.
[*†114.]
“Let there be a perfect relation betwixt the parts and the whole,” &c.,
or let them agree well together, which is the same thing. His meaning
in this place is, to speak of the justness of proportions, and of the
harmony which they make with one another. Many famous authors have
thoroughly treated this matter. Amongst others, Paulo Lomazzo, whose
first book speaks of nothing else; but there are so many sub-divisions,
that a reader must have a good brain not to be turned with them. See
those which our author has remarked in general, on the most beautiful
statues of the ancients. I believe them to be so much the better, as
they are more conformable to those which Vitruvius gives us in the first
chapter of his third book; and which he tells us, that he learned from
the artists themselves; because in the preface to his seventh book, he
makes his boast to have had them from others, and particularly from
architects and painters.
_The Measures of a Human Body._
The ancients have commonly allowed eight heads to their figures, though
some of them have but seven. But we ordinarily divide the figures into
ten faces;[157] that is to say, from the crown of the head to the sole of
the foot; in the following manner:
From the crown of the head to the forehead, is the third part of a face.
The face begins at the root of the lowest hairs, which are upon the
forehead, and ends at the bottom of the chin.
The face is divided into three proportionable parts; the first contains
the forehead, the second the nose, and the third the mouth and the chin.
From the chin to the pit betwixt the collar-bones, are two lengths of a
nose.
From the pit betwixt the collar-bones to the bottom of the breast, one
face.
[158] From the bottom of the breasts to the navel, one face.
[159] From the navel to the genitories, one face.
From the genitories to the upper part of the knee, two faces.
The knee contains half a face.
From the lower part of the knee to the ankle, two faces.
From the ankle to the sole of the foot, half a face.
A man, when his arms are stretched out, is, from the longest finger of
his right hand, to the longest of his left as broad as he is long.
From one side of the breasts to the other, two faces.
The bone of the arm, called humerus, is the length of two faces from the
shoulder to the elbow.
From the end of the elbow to the root of the little finger, the bone
called cubitus, with part of the hand, contains two faces.
From the box of the shoulder-blade to the pit betwixt the collar-bones,
one face.
If you would be satisfied in the measures of breadth, from the extremity
of one finger to the other, so that this breadth should be equal to
the length of the body, you must observe, that the boxes of the elbows
with the humerus, and of the humerus with the shoulder-blade, bear the
proportion of half a face, when the arms are stretched out.
The sole of the foot is the sixth part of the figure.
The hand is the length of a face.
The thumb contains a nose.
The inside of the arm, from the place where the muscle disappears, which
makes the breast, (called the pectoral muscle,) to the middle of the arm,
four noses.
From the middle of the arm to the beginning of the hand, five noses.
The longest toe is a nose long.
The two utmost parts of the teats, and the pit betwixt the collar bones
of a woman, make an equilateral triangle.
For the breadth of the limbs, no precise measures can be given; because
the measures themselves are changeable, according to the quality of the
persons, and according to the movement of the muscles.
If you would know the proportions more particularly, you may see them
in Paulo Lomazzo; it is good to read them, once at least, and to make
remarks on them; every man according to his own judgment, and according
to the occasion which he has for them.
[*†117.]
“Though perspective cannot be called a perfect rule,” &c. That is to
say, purely of itself, without prudence and discretion. The greatest
part of those who understand it, desiring to practise it too regularly,
often make such things as shock the sight, though they are within the
rules. If all those great painters, who have left us such fair platforms,
had rigorously observed it in their figures, they had not wholly found
their account in it. They had indeed made things more regularly
true, but withal very unpleasing. There is great appearance, that the
architects and statuaries of former times have not found it to their
purpose always; nor have followed the geometrical part so exactly as
perspective ordains. For he who would imitate the frontispiece of the
Rotunda according to perspective, would be grossly deceived; since the
columns which are at the extremities have more diameter than those which
are in the middle. The cornish of the Palazzo Farnese, which makes so
beautiful an effect below, when viewed more nearly, will be found not to
have its just measures. In the pillar of Trajan, we see that the highest
figures are greater than those below; and make an effect quite contrary
to perspective, increasing according to the measure of their distance. I
know there is a rule which teaches a way of making them in that manner;
and which, though it is to be found in some books of perspective, yet
notwithstanding is no rule of perspective; because it is never made use
of, but only when we find it for our purpose: for if, for example, the
figures which are at the top of Trajan’s pillar were but as great as
those which are at the bottom, they would not be for all that against
perspective: and thus we may say, with more reason, that it is a rule of
decorum in perspective, to ease the sight, and to render objects more
agreeable. It is on this general observation, that we may establish in
perspective, the rules of decorum, or convenience, whensoever occasion
shall offer. We may also see another example in the base of the Farnesian
Hercules; which is not upon the level, but on an easy declivity on the
advanced part, that the feet of the figure may not be hidden from the
sight, to the end that it may appear more pleasing; which the noble
authors of these things have done, not in contempt of geometry and
perspective, but for the satisfaction of the eyes, which was the end they
proposed to themselves in all their works.
We must therefore understand perspective as a science which is absolutely
necessary, and which a painter must not want; yet without subjecting
ourselves so wholly to it, as to become slaves of it. We are to follow
it, when it leads us in a pleasing way, and shews us pleasing things;
but for some time to forsake it, if it leads us through mire, or to
a precipice. Endeavour after that which is aiding to your art, and
convenient, but avoid whatsoever is repugnant to it; as the 59th rule
teaches.
[*†126.]
“Let every member be made for its own head,” &c. That is to say, you
ought not to set the head of a young man on the body of an old one;
nor make a white hand for a withered body. Not to habit a Hercules in
taffata, nor an Apollo in coarse stuff. Queens, and persons of the
first quality, whom you would make appear majestical, are not to be too
negligently dressed, or _en dishabillee_, no more than old men; the
nymphs are not to be overcharged with drapery. In fine, let all that
which accompanies your figures, make them known for what effectively they
are.
[*†128.]
“Let the figures to which art cannot give a voice, imitate the mutes in
their actions,” &c. Mutes having no other way of speaking, or expressing
their thoughts, but only by their gestures, and their actions, it is
certain, that they do it in a manner more expressive, than those who have
the use of speech: for which reason, the picture which is mute, ought to
imitate them, so as to make itself understood.
[*†129.]
“Let the principal figure of the subject,” &c. It is one of the greatest
blemishes of a picture, not to give knowledge, at the first sight, of
the subject which it represents. And truly nothing is more perplexing,
than to extinguish, as it were, the principal figure, by the opposition
of some others, which present themselves to us at the first view, and
which carry a greater lustre. An orator, who had undertaken to make a
panegyric on Alexander the Great, and who had employed the strongest
figures of his rhetoric in the praise of Bucephalus, would do quite
the contrary to that which was expected from him; because it would be
believed, that he rather took the horse for his subject, than the master.
A painter is like an orator in this. He must dispose his matter in such
sort, that all things may give place to his principal subject. And if
the other figures, which accompany it, and are only as accessories
there, take up the chief place, and make themselves most remarkable,
either by the beauty of their colours, or by the splendour of the light,
which strikes upon them, they will catch the sight, they will stop it
short, and not suffer it to go farther than themselves, till after some
considerable space of time, to find out that which was not discerned
at first. The principal figure in a picture, is like a king among his
courtiers, whom we ought to know at the first glance, and who ought
to dim the lustre of all his attendants. Those painters who proceed
otherwise, do just like those, who, in the relation of a story, engage
themselves so foolishly in long digressions, that they are forced to
conclude quite another way than they began.
[*†132.]
“Let the parts be brought together, and the figures disposed in groupes,”
&c. I cannot better compare a groupe of figures, than to a concert of
voices, which, supporting themselves altogether by their different parts,
make a harmony, which pleasingly fills the ears, and flatters them; but
if you come to separate them, and that all the parts are equally heard
as loud as one another, they will stun you to that degree, that you would
fancy your ears were torn in pieces. It is the same of figures; if you
so assemble them, that some of them sustain the others, and make them
appear, and that altogether they make but one entire whole, then your
eyes will be fully satisfied; but if, on the contrary, you divide them,
your eyes will suffer by seeing them altogether dispersed, or each of
them in particular. Altogether, because the visual rays are multiplied
by the multiplicity of objects. Each of them in particular; because, if
you fix your sight on one, those which are about it will strike you, and
attract your eyes to them, which extremely pains them in this sort of
separation and diversity of objects. The eye, for example, is satisfied
with the sight of one single grape; and is distracted, if it carries
itself at one view to look upon many several grapes, which lie scattered
on a table. We must have the same regard for the members; they aggroupe,
and contrast each other in the same manner as the figures do. Few
painters have observed this precept as they ought, which is a most solid
foundation for the harmony of a picture.
[*†137.]
“The figures in the groupes ought not to have the same inflections of the
body,” &c. Take heed in this contrast, to do nothing that is extravagant;
and let your postures be always natural. The draperies, and all things
that accompany the figures, may enter into the contrast with the members,
and with the figures themselves; and this is what our poet means in these
words of his verses, _cætera frangant_.
[*†145.]
“One side of the picture must not be void, while the other is filled,”
&c. This sort of symmetry, when it appears not affected, fills the
picture pleasingly, keeps it in a kind of balance, and infinitely
delights the eyes, which thereby contemplate the work with more repose.
[*†152.]
“As a play is seldom good, in which there are too many actors,” &c.
Annibal Caracci did not believe that a picture could be good, in which
there were above twelve figures. It was Albano who told our author this,
and from his mouth I had it. The reasons which he gave were, first, that
he believed there ought not to be above three great groupes of figures
in any picture; and secondly, that silence and majesty were of necessity
to be there, to render it beautiful; and neither the one nor the other
could possibly be in a multitude and crowd of figures. But nevertheless,
if you are constrained by the subject, (as for example, if you painted
the day of judgment, the massacre of the innocents, a battle, &c.) on
such occasions, you are to dispose things by great masses of lights and
shadows, and union of colours, without troubling yourself to finish every
thing in particular, independently one of the other, as is usual with
painters of a little genius, and whose souls are incapable of embracing a
great design, or a great composition.
_Æmilium circa ludum, faber imus et ungues_
_Exprimet, et molles imitabitur ære capillos;_
_Infelix operis summâ: quia ponere totum_
_Nesciet._
The meanest sculptor in the Æmilian square,
Can imitate in brass the nails and hair;
Expert in trifles, and a cunning fool,
Able to express the parts, but not dispose the whole.
Says Horace in his “Art of Poetry.”
[*†162.]
“The extremities of the joints must be seldom hidden, and the extremities
or end of the feet never,” &c. These extremities of the joints are as it
were the hafts, or handles of the members. For example, the shoulders,
the elbows, the thighs, and the knees. And if a drapery should be
found on these ends of the joints, it is the duty of science, and of
decorum, to mark them by folds, but with great discretion; for what
concerns the feet, though they should be hidden by some part of the
drapery, nevertheless, if they are marked by folds, and their shape be
distinguished, they are supposed to be seen. The word _never_, is not
here to be taken in the strictest sense; he means but this,—so rarely,
that it may seem we should avoid all occasions of dispensing with the
rule.
[*†164.]
“The figures which are behind others, have neither grace nor vigour,” &c.
Raphael and Julio Romano have perfectly observed this maxim; and Raphael
especially in his last works.
[*†169.]
“Avoid also those lines and outlines which are equal, which make
parallels,” &c. He means principally to speak of the postures so ordered,
that they make together those geometrical figures which he condemns.
[*†176.]
“Be not so strictly tied to nature,” &c. This precept is against two
sorts of painters; first, against those who are so scrupulously tied
to nature, that they can do nothing without her; who copy her, just as
they believe they see her, without adding, or retrenching any thing,
though never so little, either for the nudities, or for the draperies.
And secondly, against those who paint every thing by practice, without
being able to subject themselves to retouch any thing, or to examine
by the nature. These last, properly speaking, are the libertines of
painting; as there are libertines of religion, who have no other law
but the vehemence of their inclinations, which they are resolved not
to overcome: and in the same manner the libertines of painting have
no other model but a rhodomontado genius, and very irregular, which
violently hurries them away. Though these two sorts of painters are both
of them in vicious extremes, yet nevertheless the former sort seems to
be the more supportable; because though they do not imitate nature, as
she is accompanied by all her beauties, and her graces; yet at least they
imitate that nature, which we know, and daily see. Instead of which, the
others shew us a wild or savage nature, which is not of our acquaintance,
and which seems to be of a quite new creation.
[*†178.]
“Whom you must have always present, as a witness to the truth,” &c.
This passage seems to be wonderfully well said. The nearer a picture
approaches to the truth, the better it is; and though the painter, who
is its author, be the first judge of the beauties which are in it, he is
nevertheless obliged not to pronounce it, till he has first consulted
Nature, who is an irreproachable evidence, and who will frankly, but
withal truly, tell you its defects and beauties, if you compare it with
her work.
[*†183.]
“And of all other things which discover to us the thoughts and inventions
of the Grecians,” &c. As good books, such as are Homer and Pausanias. The
prints which we see of the antiquities, may also extremely contribute to
form our genius, and to give us great ideas; in the same manner as the
writings of good authors are capable of forming a good style, in those
who are desirous of writing well.
[*†193.]
“If you have but one single figure to work upon,” &c. The reason of this
is, that there being nothing to attract the sight but this only figure,
the visual rays will not be too much divided by the diversity of colours
and draperies; but only take heed to put in nothing, which shall appear
too sharp, or too hard; and be mindful of the 41st precept, which says,
that two extremities are never to touch each other, either in colour, or
in light; but that there must be a mean, partaking of the one and of the
other.
[*†195.]
“Let the draperies be nobly spread upon the body; let the folds be
large,” &c. As Raphael practised, after he had forsaken the manner of
Pietro Perugino, and principally in his latter works.
[*†196.]
“And let them follow the order of the parts,” &c. As the fairest
pieces of antiquity will shew us. And take heed, that the folds do not
only follow the order of the parts, but that they also mark the most
considerable muscles; because that those figures, where the drapery and
the naked part are seen both together, are much more graceful than the
other.
[*†200.]
“Without sitting too straight upon them,” &c. Painters ought not to
imitate the ancients in this circumstance. The ancient statuaries made
their draperies of wet linen, on purpose to make them sit close and
straight to the parts of their figures; for doing which they had great
reason, and in following which the painters would be much in the wrong;
and you shall see upon what grounds. Those great geniuses of antiquity,
finding that it was impossible to imitate with marble the fineness of
stuffs or garments which is not to be discerned but by the colours, the
reflexes and more especially by the lights and shadows; finding it, I
say, out of their power to dispose of those things, thought they could
not do better, nor more prudentially, than to make use of such draperies,
as hindered not from seeing, through their folds, the delicacy of the
flesh, and the purity of the outlines; things which, truly speaking, they
possessed in the last perfection, and which in all appearance were the
subject of their chief study. But painters, on the contrary, who are to
deceive the sight, quite otherwise than statuaries, are bound to imitate
the different sorts of garments, such as they naturally seem; and such as
colours, reflexes, lights, and shadows, (of all which they are masters,)
can make them appear. Thus we see, that those who have made the nearest
imitations of nature, have made use of such stuffs or garments which are
familiar to our sight; and these they have imitated with so much art,
that in beholding them we are pleased that they deceive us: such were
Titian, Paul Veronese, Tintoret, Rubens, Van Dyck, and the rest of the
good colourists, who have come nearest to the truth of nature. Instead
of which, others, who have scrupulously tied themselves to the practice
of the ancients, in their draperies, have made their works crude and
dry; and by this means have found out the lamentable secret, how to make
their figures harder than even the marble itself; as Andrea Mantegna,
and Pietro Perugino have done; and Raphael also had much of that way in
his first works, in which we behold many small foldings often repleated,
which look like so many whipcords. It is true these repetitions are seen
in the ancient statues, and they are very proper there: because they who
made use of wet linen, and close draperies, to make their figures look
more tender, reasonably foresaw, that the members would be too naked,
if they left not more than two or three folds, such as those sorts of
draperies afford them, and therefore have used those repetitions of
many folds; yet in such a manner, that the figures are always soft and
tender, and thereby seem opposite to the hardness of marble. Add to
this, that in sculpture, it is almost impossible, that a figure, clothed
with coarse draperies, can make a good effect on all the sides; and that
in painting, the draperies, of what kind soever they be, are of great
advantage, either to unite the colours and the groupes, or to give such a
ground, as one would wish to unite, or to separate; or farther to produce
such reflections as set off; or for filling void spaces; or, in short,
for many other advantages, which help to deceive the sight, and which are
no ways necessary to sculptors, since their work is always of relievo.
Three things may be inferred from what I have said, concerning the rule
of draperies. First, that the ancient sculptors had reason to clothe
their figures as we see them. Secondly, that painters ought to imitate
them in the order of their folds, but not in their quality, nor in their
number. Thirdly, that sculptors are obliged to follow them as much as
they can, without desiring to imitate unprofitably, or improperly,
the manner of the painters, by making many ample folds, which are
insufferable hardnesses, and look more like a rock, than a natural
garment.—See the 211th remark, about the middle of it.
[*†202.]
“And if the parts be too much distant from each other,” &c. It is with
intent to hinder (as we have said in the rule of groupes) the visual
rays from being too much divided; and that the eyes may not suffer, by
looking on so many objects, which are separated. Guido was very exact in
this observation. See in the text the end of the rule, which relates to
draperies.
[*†204.]
“And as those limbs and members which are expressed by few and large
muscles,” &c. Raphael, in the beginning of his painting, has somewhat
too much multiplied the folds; because, being with reason charmed with
the graces of the ancients, he imitated their beauties somewhat too
regularly; but having afterwards found, that this quantity of folds
glittered too much upon the limbs, and took off that repose and silence,
which in painting are so friendly to the eyes, he made use of a contrary
conduct, in the works which he painted afterwards; which was at that
time when he began to understand the effect of lights, of groupes, and
the oppositions of the lights and shadows; so that he wholly changed
his manner, (this was about eight years before his death,) and though
he always gave a grace to whatsoever he painted, yet he made appear in
his latter works, a greatness, a majesty, and a harmony, quite other
than what we see in his first manner: and this he did by lessening the
number of his folds, making them more large, and more opposing them,
and by making the masses of the lights and shadows greater, and more
disentangled. Take the pains to examine these his different manners in
the prints which we see of that great man.
[*†210.]
“As, supposing them to be magistrates, their draperies ought to be
large,” &c. Yet make not your draperies so large, that they may be big
enough to clothe four or five figures, as some there are who follow that
method. And take heed, that the foldings be natural, and so disposed,
that the eye may be directed to discover the folds, from the beginning of
them to the end. By magistrates he means all great and grave persons, and
such as are advanced in age.
[*†211.]
“If ladies or damsels, light and soft,” &c. By this name of ladies,
maids, or damsels, he means all young persons, slender, finely shaped,
airy, and delicate. Such as are Nymphs and Naiades, and Fountains.
Angels are also comprehended under this head, whose drapery should be of
pleasing colours, and resembling those which are seen in the heavens, and
chiefly when they are suspended in the air. They are only such sorts of
light habits as are subject to be ruffled by the winds, which can bear
many folds; yet so, that they may be freed from any hardnesses. It is
easy for every one to judge, that betwixt the draperies of magistrates,
and those of young maids, there must be some mediocrity of folds, such
as are most commonly seen and observed; as in the draperies of a Christ,
of a Madonna, of a King, a Queen, or a Duchess, and of other persons
of consideration and majesty; and those also who are of a middle age;
with this distinction, that the habits must be made more or less rich,
according to the dignity of the persons; and that cloth garments may
be distinguished from those of silk, sattin from velvets, brocard from
embroidery, and that, in one word, the eye may be deceived by the truth,
and the difference of the stuffs. Take notice, if you please, that the
light and tender draperies having been only given to the female sex,
the ancient sculptors have avoided, as much as they could, to clothe
the figures of men, because they thought (as we have formerly said)
that, in sculpture garments could not be well imitated, and that great
folds made a very bad effect. There are almost as many examples of this
truth, as amongst the ancients there are statues of naked men. I will
name only that of Laocoon, which, according to all probability, ought
to have been clothed. And in effect, what likelihood can there be, that
the son of a king, and the priest of Apollo, should appear naked in the
actual ceremony of sacrifice? for the serpents passed from the Isle of
Tenedos to the Trojan shore, and surprised Laocoon, and his sons, while
they were sacrificing to Neptune on the sea-shore, as Virgil witnesses
in the second of his Æneids. Notwithstanding which, the sculptors,[160]
who were authors of this noble work, had well considered, that they could
not give vestments suitable to the quality of the persons represented,
without making as it were a heap of stones, whose mass would rather be
like a rock, than those three admirable figures, which will ever be the
admiration of all ages. And for this reason of two inconveniences, they
judged that of draperies to be greater than that which was against the
truth itself.
This observation well confirms what I have said in the 200th remark. It
seems to me, that it deserves you should make some reflection on it; and
to establish it the better in your mind, I will tell you, that Michael
Angelo, following this maxim, has given the prophets which he painted
in the chapel of the pope, such draperies, whose folds are large, and
whose garments are coarse; instead of which, the Moses, which he has
made in sculpture, is habited with a drapery much more close to the
parts, and holding more of the ancients. Nevertheless, he is a prophet,
as well as those in the chapel, a man of the same quality, and to whom
Michael Angelo ought to have given the same draperies, if he had not been
hindered by those very reasons, which have been given you.
[*†215.]
“The marks or ensigns of virtues,” &c. That is to say, of the sciences
and arts. The Italians call a man a _virtuoso_, who loves the noble
arts, and is a critic in them. And amongst our French painters, the word
_vertueux_ is understood in the same signification.
[*†217.]
“But let not the work be too much enriched with gold or jewels,” &c.
Clemens Alexandrinus relates,[161] “That Apelles having seen a Helena,
which a young scholar of his had made, and adorned with a great quantity
of golden ornaments and jewels, said to him, My good friend, though
thou couldst not make her beautiful, at least thou hast made her rich.”
Besides, that these glittering things in painting, as precious stones
prodigally strewed over the habits, are destructive to each other,
because they draw the sight to several places at the same time, and
hinder round bodies from turning, and making their due effect; it is
the very quantity which often makes us judge that they are false. And
besides, it is to be presumed, that precious things are always rare.
Corinna, that learned Theban lady, reproached Pindar, whom she had five
times overcome in poetry, that he scattered through all his works the
flowers of Parnassus too prodigally; saying to him, “That men sowed with
the hand, and not with the sack;”[162] for which reason, a painter ought
to adorn his vestments with great discretion. And precious stones look
exceedingly well, when they are set in those places which we would make
to come out of the picture; as for example, on a shoulder, or an arm,
to tie some drapery, which of itself is of no strong colouring. They do
also perfectly well with white, and other light colours, which are used
in bringing the parts or bodies forward; because jewels make a show, and
glitter through the opposition of the great lights in the deep brown,
which meet together.
[*†220.]
“It is very expedient to make a model of those things which we have
not in our sight, and whose nature is difficult to be retained in the
memory,” &c. As, for example, the groupes of many figures, the postures
difficult to be long kept, the figures in the air, in cielings, or much
raised above the sight; and even of animals, which are not easily to be
disposed.
By this rule we plainly see, how necessary it is for a painter to know
how to model, and to have many models of soft wax. Paul Veronese had so
good store of them, with so great a quantity of different sorts, that he
would paint a whole historical composition on a perspective plan, how
great and how diversified soever it were. Tintoret practised the same;
and Michael Angelo (as Giovan. Bapt. Armenini relates) made use of it,
for all the figures of his Day of Judgment. It is not that I would advise
any one, who would make any very considerable work, to finish after these
sorts of models; but they will be of vast use and advantage to see the
masses of great lights, and great shadows, and the effect of the whole
together. For what remains, you are to have a layman[163] almost as big
as the life, for every figure in particular, besides the natural figure
before you, on which you must also look, and call it for a witness, which
must first confirm the thing to you, and afterwards to the spectators as
it is in reality.
You may make use of these models with delight, if you set them on a
perspective plan, which will be in the manner of a table made on purpose.
You may either raise, or let it down, according to your convenience; and
if you look on your figures, through a hole, so contrived, that it may be
moved up and down, it will serve you for a point of sight, and a point of
distance, when you have once fixed it.
The same hole will farther serve you, to set your figures in the cieling,
and disposed upon a grate of iron-wire, or supported in the air by little
strings raised at discretion, or by both ways together.
You may join to your figures what you see fitting, provided, that the
whole be proportioned to them; and, in short, what you yourself may judge
to be of no greater bigness than theirs. Thus, in whatsoever you do,
there will be more of truth seen, your work itself will give you infinite
delight, and you will avoid many doubts and difficulties, which often
hinder you; and chiefly for what relates to lineal perspective, which you
will there infallibly find, provided that you remember to proportion all
things to the greatness of your figures, and especially the points of
sight and of distance; but for what belongs to aërial perspective, that
not being found, the judgment must supply it. Tintoret (as Ridolphi tells
us in his Life) had made chambers of board and pasteboard, proportioned
to his models, with doors and windows, through which he distributed on
his figures artificial lights, as much as he thought reasonable, and
often passed some part of the night, to consider and observe the effect
of his compositions. His models were two feet high.
[*†221.]
“We are to consider the places where we lay the scene of the picture,”
&c. This is what Monsieur de Chambray calls, to do things according to
_decorum_. See what he says of it, in the interpretation of that word,
in his book of the Perfection of Painting. It is not sufficient, that in
the picture there be nothing found which is contrary to the place, where
the action which is represented, passes; but we ought, besides, to mark
out the place, and make it known to the spectator by some particular
address, that his mind may not be put to the pains of discovering it;
as whether it be Italy, or Spain, or Greece, or France; whether it be
near the sea-shore, or the banks of some river; whether it be the Rhine,
or the Loire; the Po, or the Tyber; and so of other things, if they
are essential to the history. “Nealces, a man of wit, and an ingenious
painter,” as Pliny tells us,[164] “being to paint a naval fight betwixt
the Egyptians and the Persians, and being willing to make it known that
the battle was given upon the Nile, whose waters are of the same colour
with the sea, drew an ass drinking on the banks of the river, and a
crocodile endeavouring to surprise him.”
[*†222.]
“Let a nobleness and grace,” &c. It is difficult enough to say what this
grace of painting is; it is to be conceived and understood much more
easily than to be explained by words. It proceeds from the illuminations
of an excellent mind, (not to be acquired,) by which we give a certain
turn to things, which makes them pleasing. A figure may be designed
with all its proportions, and have all its parts regular; which,
notwithstanding all this, shall not be pleasing, if all those parts are
not put together in a certain manner, which attracts the eye to them,
and holds it fixed upon them; for which reason, there is a difference to
be made betwixt grace and beauty. And it seems that Ovid had a mind to
distinguish them, when he said, speaking of Venus,
_Multaque cum formâ gratia mixta fuit._
A matchless grace was with her beauty mixed.
And Suetonius, speaking of Nero, says, he was rather beautiful than
graceful: _Vultu pulchro, magis quam venusto_. How many fair women do we
see, who please us much less than others, who have not such beautiful
features? It is by this grace, that Raphael has made himself the most
renowned of all the Italians, as Apelles by the same means carried it
above all the Greeks.
[*†233.]
“This is that in which the greatest difficulty consists,” &c. For
two reasons; first, because great study is to be made, as well upon
the ancient beauties, and noble pictures, as upon nature itself; and
secondly, because that part depends entirely on the genius, and seems to
be purely the gift of heaven, which we have received at our birth: upon
which account our author adds, “Undoubtedly we see but few, whom in this
particular Jupiter has regarded with a gracious eye; so that it belongs
only to those elevated souls, who partake somewhat of divinity, to work
such mighty wonders.” Though they, who have not altogether received
from heaven this precious gift, cannot acquire it without great labour;
nevertheless, it is needful, in my opinion, that both the one and the
other should perfectly learn the character of every passion.
All the actions of the sensitive appetite are in painting called
passions, because the soul is agitated by them, and because the body
suffers through them, and is sensibly altered. They are those divers
agitations and different motions of the body in general, and of every
one of its parts in particular, that our excellent painter ought to
understand; on which he ought to make his study, and to form to himself
a perfect idea of them. But it will be proper for us to know, in the
first place, that the philosophers admit eleven, love, hatred, desire,
shunning, joy, sadness, hope, despair, boldness, fear, and anger. The
painters have multiplied them not only by their different degrees, but
also by their different species; for they will make, for example, six
persons in the same degree of fear, who shall express that passion all of
them differently. And it is that diversity of species which distinguishes
those painters who are able artists, from those whom we may call
mannerists, and who repeat five or six times over in the same picture the
same airs of a head. There are a vast number of other passions, which
are as the branches of those which we have named; we might, for example,
under the notion of love, comprehend grace, gentleness, civility,
caresses, embraces, kisses, tranquillity, sweetness, &c.; and without
examining whether all these things which painters comprize under the
name of passions, can be reduced to those of the philosophers, I am of
opinion, that every one may use them at his pleasure, and that he may
study them after his own manner; the name makes nothing. One may even
make passions of majesty, fierceness, dissatisfaction, care, avarice,
slothfulness, envy, and many other things like these. These passions (as
I have said) ought to be learnt from the life itself, or to be studied
on the ancient statues, and excellent pictures; we ought to see, for
example, all things which belong to sadness, or serve to express it; to
design them carefully, and to imprint them in our memories, after such
a manner, as we may distinctly understand seven or eight kinds of them
more or less, and immediately after, draw them upon paper, without any
other original than the image which we have conceived of them. We must be
perfect masters of them, but above all, we must make sure of possessing
them throughly. We are to know, that it is such or such a stroke, or
such a shadow, stronger or weaker, which makes such or such a passion,
in this or that degree. And thus if any one should ask you, what makes,
in painting, the majesty of a king, the gravity of a hero, the love of a
Christ, the grief of a Madonna, the hope of the good thief, the despair
of the bad one, the grace and beauty of a Venus, and, in fine, the
character of any passion whatsoever; you may answer positively, on the
spot, and with assurance, that it is such a posture, or such lines in
the parts of the face, formed of such or such a passion, or even the one
and the other both together; for the parts of the body, separately, make
known the passions of the soul, or else conjointly one with the other.
But of all the parts, the head is that which gives the most of life, and
the most of grace to the passion, and which alone contributes more to it
than all the rest together. The others separately can only express some
certain passions, but the head expresses all of them. Nevertheless, there
are some which are more particular to it; as, for example, humility,
which it expresses by the stooping or bending of the head; arrogance,
when it is lifted, or, as we say, tossed up; languishment, when we
hang it on one side, or lean it upon one shoulder; obstinacy, (or, as
the French call it, _opiniâtretè_,) with a certain stubborn, unruly,
barbarous humour, when it is held upright, stiff, and poised betwixt the
shoulders. And of the rest, there are many marks, more easily conceived
than they can be expressed; as bashfulness, admiration, indignation,
and doubt. It is by the head that we make known more visibly our
supplications, our threatenings, our mildness, our haughtiness, our love,
our hatred, our joy, our sadness, our humility; in fine, it is enough to
see the face, and to understand the mind at half a word. Blushing and
paleness speak to us, as also the mixture of them both.
The parts of the face do all of them contribute to expose the thoughts
of our hearts; but above the rest, the eyes, which are as it were the two
windows through which the soul looks out and shows itself. The passions
which they more particularly express, are pleasure, languishment,
disdain, severity, sweetness, admiration, and anger. Joy and sadness
may bear their parts, if they did not more especially proceed from
the eyebrows and the mouth. And the two parts last named agree more
particularly in the expression of those two passions; nevertheless, if
you join the eyes as a third, you will have the product of a wonderful
harmony for all the passions of the soul.
The nose has no passion which is particular to it; it only lends its
assistance to the other before-named, by the stretching of the nostrils,
which is as much marked in joy, as it is in sadness. And yet it seems,
that scorn makes us wrinkle up the nose, and stretch the nostrils also,
at the same time drawing up the upper lip to the place which is near the
corners of the mouth. The ancients made the nose the seat of derision;
_eum subdolæ irrisioni dicaverunt_, says Pliny; that is, they dedicated
the nose to a cunning sort of mockery. We read in the 3d satire of
Persius,
_Disce, sed ira cadat naso, rugosaque sanna._
Learn, but let your anger fall from your nose, and the sneering wrinkles
be dismounted. And Philostratus in the picture of Pan, whom the Nymphs
had bound, and scornfully insulted over, says of that god, “That, before
this, he was accustomed to sleep with a peaceable nose, softening in his
slumbers the wrinkles of it, and the anger which commonly mounted to that
part; but now his nostrils were widened to the last degree of fury.” For
my own part, I should rather believe, that the nose was the seat of
wrath in beasts than in mankind; and that it was unbecoming of any god
but only Pan, who had very much of the beast in him, to wrinkle up his
nose in anger, like other animals. The moving of the lips ought to be but
moderate, if it be in conversation, because we speak much more by the
tongue than by the lips: and if you make the mouth very open, it is only
when you are to express the violence of passion, and more properly of
anger.
For what concerns the hands, they are the servants of the head, they
are his weapons and his auxiliaries; without them the action is weak,
languishing, and half dead. Their motions, which are almost infinite,
make innumerable expressions. Is it not by them, that we desire, that
we hope, that we promise, that we call towards us, and that we reject?
Besides, they are the instruments of our threats, of our petitions, of
the horror which we show for things, and of the praises which we give
them. By them we fear, we ask questions, we approve, and we refuse,
we show our joy and our sadness, our doubts and our lamentations, our
concernments of pity, and our admirations. In short, it may be said, that
they are the language of the dumb, that they contribute not a little to
the speaking of the universal tongue common to all the world, which is
that of painting.
Now, to tell you how these parts are to be disposed, so as to express
the different passions, is impossible; no precise rules can be given of
it, both because the task itself is infinite, and also because every
one is left to the conduct of his own genius, and to the fruit of his
former studies; only remember to be careful, that all the actions of your
figures must be natural. “It seems to me,” says Quinctilian, speaking of
the passions, “that this part, which is so noble, and so great, is not
altogether inaccessible, and that an easy way may be found to it; it is
to consider nature, and to copy her; for the spectators are satisfied,
when in artificial things they can discern that nature, which they are
accustomed to behold.” This passage of Quinctilian is perfectly explained
by the words of an excellent master, which our author proposes to us
for a rule. They are these which follow: “That the studied motions of
the soul are never so natural, as those which we see in the transport
of a true passion.” These motions will better be expressed, and be
much more natural, if we enter into the same thoughts, become of the
same piece, and imagine ourselves to be in the same circumstances with
those whom we would represent. “For nature,” says Horace, in his Art
of Poetry, “disposes the inside of mankind to all sorts of fortunes;
sometimes she makes us contented, sometimes she drives us into choler,
and sometimes she so oppresses us with grief, that she seems to tread us
down, and plunge us into mortal anxieties; and on all these occasions,
she drives outwards the motions of the heart by the tongue, which is
her interpreter.” Now, instead of the tongue, let the painter say by
the actions, which are her interpreters. “What means have we,” says
Quinctilian, “to give a colour to a thing, if we have not the same
colour? It is necessary that we ourselves should first be touched with a
passion before we endeavour to move others with it. And how,” continues
he, “can we be touched, since the passions are not in our power? This is
the way, in my opinion; we must form to ourselves the visions and images
of absent things, as if they were in reality before our eyes; and he
who conceives these images with the greatest strength of imagination,
shall possess that part of the passions with the most advantage, and the
greatest ease.” But we must take care, (as I have already said,) that in
these visions the motions may be natural; for there are some who imagine
they have given abundance of light to their figures, when they have made
them do violent and extravagant actions; which we may more reasonably
call the convulsions, or contortions of the body, than the passions of
the mind; and by this means they often put themselves to much pains, to
find a strong passion, where no passion is required. Add to all that I
have said concerning the passions, that we are to have a very serious
regard to the quality of the persons who are to be expressed in passions.
The joy of a king ought not to resemble that of a serving-man; and the
fierceness of a private soldier must not be like that of an officer. In
these differences consists all the fineness and delicacy of the passions.
Paulo Lomazzo has written at large on every passion in particular, in his
second book; but beware you dwell not too long upon it, and endeavour not
to force your genius.
[*†247.]
“Some relicts of it took sanctuary under ground,” &c. All the ancient
painting that was in Italy perished in the invasion of the Huns and
Goths, excepting those works which were hidden under ground, or there
painted; which, by reason they had not been much exposed to view, were
preserved from the insolence of those barbarians.
[*†256.]
“The cromatic part, or colouring,” &c. The third and last part of
painting, is called the cromatic, or colouring. Its object is colour; for
which reason, lights and shadows are therein also comprehended, which
are nothing else but white and brown, (or dark,) and by consequence
have their place among the colours. Philostratus says, in his life of
Apollonius, “That that may be truly called painting, which is made only
with two colours, provided the lights and shadows be observed in it;
for there we behold the true resemblance of things with their beauties;
we also see the passions, though without other colours; so much of life
may be also expressed in it, that we may perceive even the very blood;
the colour of the hair, and of the beard, are likewise to be discerned;
and we can distinguish, without confusion, the fair from the black, and
the young from the old, the differences betwixt the white and the flaxen
hair; we distinguish with ease betwixt the Moors and the Indians, not
only by the Camus noses of the blacks, their woolly hair, and their high
jaws, but also by that black colour which is natural to them.” We may add
to what Philostratus has said, that with two colours only, (the light
and the dark,) there is no sort of stuff, or habit, but may be imitated.
We say then, that the colouring makes its observations on the masses or
bodies of the colours, accompanied with lights and shadows, more or less
evident by degrees of diminution, according to the accidents. First, of
a luminous body; as, for example, the sun, or a torch. Secondly, of a
diaphanous or transparent body, which is betwixt us and the object, as
the air, either pure or thick, or a red glass, &c. Thirdly, of a solid
body illuminated, as a statue of white marble, a green tree, a black
horse, &c. Fourthly, from his part, who regards the body illuminated, as
beholding it either near, or at a distance, directly in a right angle, or
aside in an obtuse angle, from the top to the bottom, or from the bottom
to the top. This part, in the knowledge which it has of the virtue of
colours, and the friendship which they have with each other, and also
their antipathies, comprehends the strength, the relievo, the briskness,
and the delicacy which are observed in good pictures. The management of
colours, and the labour, depend also on this last part.
[*†263.]
“Her sister,” &c. That is to say, the design or drawing, which is
the second part of painting; which, consisting only of lines, stands
altogether in need of the colouring to appear. It is for this reason,
that our author calls this part her sister’s procurer, that is, the
colouring shows us the design, and makes us fall in love with it.
[*†267.]
“The light produces all kinds of colours,” &c. Here are three theorems
successively following, which our author proposes to us, that from thence
we may draw some conclusions. You may likewise find others, which are in
the nature of so many propositions, to which we ought to agree, that from
thence we may draw the precepts contained in the following part of this
treatise: they are all founded on the sense of seeing.
[*†280.]
“Which should be the most,” &c. See the remark of number 152.
[*†283.]
“That light bodies may have a sufficient mass, or breadth of shadow, to
sustain them,” &c. That is properly to say, that after the great lights,
there must be great shadows, which we call reposes; because, in reality,
the sight would be tired, if it were attracted by a continuity of
glittering objects. The lights may serve for a repose to the darks, and
the darks to the lights. I have said in another place, that a groupe of
figures ought to be considered as a choir of music, in which the basses
support the trebles, and make them to be heard with greater pleasure.
These reposes are made two several ways, one of which is natural, the
other artificial. The natural is made by an extent of lights or of
shadows, which naturally and necessarily follow solid bodies; or the
masses of solid bodies aggrouped, when the light strikes upon them. And
the artificial consists in the bodies of colours, which the painter
gives to certain things, such as pleases him; and composes them in such
a manner, that they do no injury to the objects which are near them.
A drapery, for example, which is made yellow, or red, on some certain
place, in another place may be brown and will be more suitable to it, to
produce the effect required. We are to take occasion, as much as possibly
we can, to make use of the first manner, and to find the repose of which
we speak, by the light and by the shadow, which naturally accompany solid
bodies. But since the subjects on which we work are not always favourable
to dispose the bodies as we desire, a painter in such a case may take his
advantage by the bodies of colours, and put into such places as ought
to be darkened, draperies, or other things, which we may suppose to be
naturally brown and sullied, which will produce the same effect, and give
him the same reposes as the shadows would do, which could not be caused
by the disposition of the objects.
Thus an understanding painter will make his advantages both of the one
manner and the other. And if he makes a design to be graved, he is to
remember, that the gravers dispose not their colours as the painters do;
and that by consequence he must take occasion to find the reason of his
design, in the natural shadows of the figures, which he has disposed
to cause the effect. Rubens has given us a full information of this in
those prints of his, which he caused to be engraved; and I believe that
nothing was ever seen more beautiful in that kind; the whole knowledge
of groupes, of the lights and shadows, and of those masses, which Titian
calls a bunch of grapes, is there exposed so clearly to the sight, that
the view of those prints, and the careful observation of them, might very
much contribute to the forming of an able painter. The best and fairest
of them are graven by Vosterman, Pontius, and Bolsvert, all of them
admirable gravers, whose works Rubens himself took care to oversee; and
which, without doubt, you will find to be excellent, if you examine them.
But expect not there the elegance of design, nor the correctness of the
outlines.
It is not but the gravers can, and ought to imitate the bodies of the
colours by the degrees of the lights and shadows, as much as they shall
judge that this imitation may produce a good effect. On the contrary,
it is impossible, in my opinion, to give much strength to what they
grave, after the works of the school of Venice, and of all those who
have had the knowledge of colours, and of the contrast of the lights
and shadows, without imitating in some sort the colour of the objects,
according to the relation which they have to the degrees of white and
black. We see certain prints of good gravers different in their kinds,
where these things are observed, and which have a wonderful strength. And
there appears in public, of late years, a gallery of archduke Leopold,
which, though very ill graven, yet shows some part of the beauty of its
originals, because the gravers who have executed it, though otherwise
they were sufficiently ignorant, have observed, in almost the greatest
parts of their prints, the bodies of colours, in the relation which they
have to the degrees of the lights and shadows. I could wish the gravers
would make some reflection upon this whole remark: it is of wonderful
consequence to them; for when they have attained to the knowledge of
these reposes, they will easily resolve those difficulties which many
times perplex them; and then chiefly, when they are to engrave after a
picture, where neither the lights and shadows, nor the bodies of the
colours, are skilfully observed, though in its other parts the picture
may be well performed.
[*†286.]
“As in a convex mirror the collected rays strike stronger,” &c. A convex
mirror alters the objects which are in the middle, so that it seems to
make them come out from the superfices. The painter must do in the same
manner, in respect of the lights and shadows of his figures, to give them
more relievo, and more strength.
[*†290.]
“While the goings off are more and more broken and faint, as they
approach to the extremities,” &c. It is the duty of a painter, even in
this also, to imitate the convex mirror, and to place nothing which
glares either in colour or in light, at the borders of his picture: for
which there are two reasons; the first is, that the eye at the first view
directs itself to the midst of the object, which is presented to it, and
by consequence must there necessarily find the principal object, in order
to its satisfaction; and the other reason is, that the sides or borders
being overcharged with a strong and glittering work, attract the eyes
thither, which are in a kind of pain, not to behold a continuity of that
work, which is on the sudden interrupted by the borders of the picture;
instead of which, the borders being lightened, and eased of so much work,
the eye continues fixed on the centre of the picture, and beholds it with
greater pleasure. It is for the same reason, that, in a great composition
of figures, those which, coming most forward, are cut off by the bottom
of the picture, will always make an ill effect.
[*†329.]