this judicious and familiar comparison, means, that a painter ought to
collect the objects, and to dispose them in such a manner, as to compose
one whole; the several contiguous parts of which may be enlightened,
many shadowed, and others of broken colours to be in the turnings; as on
a bunch of grapes, many grapes, which are the parts of it, are in the
light, many in the shadow, and the rest faintly coloured to make them go
farther back. Titian once told Tintoret, that in his greatest works, a
bunch of grapes had been his principal rule, and his surest guide.
[*†330.]
“Pure, or unmixed white, either draws an object nearer, or carries it
off to farther distance. It draws it nearer with black, and throws
it backward without it,” &c. All agree, that white can subsist on
the fore-ground of the picture, and there be used without mixture;
the question therefore is to know, if it can equally subsist, and be
placed in the same manner, upon that which is backward, the light being
universal, and the figures supposed in a champaigne and open field.
Our author concludes affirmatively; and the reason on which he
establishes his rule is this; that there being nothing which partakes
more of the light than whiteness, and the light being capable of
subsisting well in remoteness, or at a long distance, as we daily see in
the rising and setting of the sun, it follows, that white may subsist
in the same manner. In painting, the light and a white colour are but
one and the same thing. Add to this, that we have no colour which more
resembles the air than white, and by consequence no colour which is
lighter; from whence it comes, that we commonly say, the air is heavy,
when we see the heavens covered with black clouds, or when a thick fog
takes from us that clearness, which makes the lightness or serenity
of the air. Titian, Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and all those who best
understood lights, have observed it in this manner, and no man can go
against this precept, at least without renouncing any skill in landscape,
which is an undoubted confirmation of this truth. And we see, that all
the great masters of landscape have followed Titian in this, who has
always employed brown and earthy colours upon the fore-part, and has
reserved his greatest lights for remotenesses, and the back parts of his
landscapes.
It may be objected against this opinion, that white cannot maintain
itself in remotenesses, because it is ordinarily used to bring the
objects nearer on the advanced part. It is true that so it is used, and
that to very good purpose, to render the objects more sensible, by the
opposition of the dark, which must accompany it, and which retains it, as
it were, by force, whether the dark serves it for a ground, or whether it
be combined to it. For example, if you would make a white horse on the
fore-ground of your picture, it is of absolute necessity, that the ground
must be of a mixed brown, and large enough, or that the furniture must be
of very sensible colours; or lastly, that some figure must be set upon
it, whose shadows and the colour may bring it forward.
But it seems, say you, that blue is the most flying or transient colour,
because the heavens and mountains, which are at the greatest distance,
are of that colour. It is very true that blue is one of the lightest and
sweetest colours; but it is also true, that it possesses these qualities
so much the more, because the white is mingled in it, as the example of
the distances demonstrate to us. But if the light of your picture be not
universal, and that you suppose your figures in a chamber, then recal to
your memory that theorem which tells you, that the nearer a body is to
the light, and the more directly it is opposed to us, so much the more
it is enlightened, because the light grows languishing the farther it
removes from its original.
You may also extinguish your white, if you suppose the air to be somewhat
thicker, and if you foresee that this supposition will make a good effect
in the economy of the whole work; but let not this proceed so far, as to
make your figures so brown, that they may seem as it were in a filthy
fog, or that they may appear to be part of the ground. See the following
remark.
[*†332.]
“But as for pure black, there is nothing that brings the object nearer
to the sight,” &c. Because black is the heaviest of all colours, the
most earthy, and the most sensible. This is clearly understood by the
qualities of white, which is opposed to it, and which is, as we have
said, the lightest of all colours. There are few who are not of this
opinion; and yet I have known some, who have told me, that the black
being on the advanced part, makes nothing but holes. To this there is
little else to be answered, but that black always makes a good effect,
being set forward, provided it be placed there with prudence. You are
therefore so to dispose the bodies of your pictures which you intend to
be on the fore-ground, that those sorts of holes may not be perceived,
and that the blacks may be there by masses, and insensibly confused. See
the 47th rule.
That which gives the relievo to a bowl, (may some say to me,) is the
quick light, or the white, which appears to be on the side which is
nearest to us, and the black, by consequence, distances the object. We
are here to beware, not to confound the turnings with the distances:
the question is only in respect of bodies, which are separated by some
distance of a backward position; and not of round bodies, which are of
the same continuity: the brown, which is mingled in the turnings of the
bowl, makes them go off rather in confounding them (as we may say) than
in blackening them. And do you not see, that the reflects are an artifice
of the painter, to make the turnings seem more light, and that by this
means the greatest blackness remains towards the middle of the bowl, to
sustain the white, and make it deceive us with more pleasure?
This rule of white and black is of so great consequence, that unless it
be exactly practised, it is impossible for a picture to make any great
effect, that the masses can be disentangled, and the different distances
may be observed at the first glance of the eye, without trouble.
It may be inferred from this precept, that the masses of other colours
will be so much the more sensible, and approach so much the nearer to the
sight, the more brown they bear; provided this be amongst other colours
which are of the same species. For example, a yellow brown shall draw
nearer to the sight than another which is less yellow. I said, provided
it be amongst other colours, which are of the same species; because there
are simple colours, which naturally are strong and sensible, though they
are clear, as vermilion; there are others also, which, notwithstanding
that they are brown, yet cease not to be soft and faint, as the blue of
ultramarine. The effect of a picture comes not only therefore from the
lights and shadows, but also from the nature of the colours. I thought it
was not from the purpose in this place to give you the qualities of those
colours which are most in use, and which are called capital, because they
serve to make the composition of all the rest, whose number is almost
infinite.
Red ochre is one of the most heavy colours.
Yellow ochre is not so heavy, because it is clearer.
And the masticot is very light, because it is a very clear yellow, and
very near to white.
Ultramarine, or azure, is very light, and a very sweet colour.
Vermilion is wholly opposite to ultramarine.
Lake is a middle colour betwixt ultramarine and vermilion, yet it is
rather more sweet than harsh.
Brown-red is one of the most earthy and most sensible colours.
Pink is in its nature an indifferent colour, that is very susceptible of
the other colours by the mixture: if you mix brown-red with it, you will
make it a very earthy colour; but, on the contrary, if you join it with
white or blue, you shall have one of the most faint and tender colours.
Terra verte (or green earth) is light; it is a mean betwixt yellow ochre
and ultramarine.
Umbre is very sensible and earthy; there is nothing but pure black which
can dispute with it.
Of all blacks, that is the most earthy, which is most remote from blue.
According to the principle which we have established of white and black,
you will make every one of these colours before-named more earthy and
more heavy, the more black you mingle with them; and they will be
lighter, the more white you join with them.
For what concerns broken or compound colours, we are to make a judgment
of their strength by the force of those colours which compose them.
All who have thoroughly understood the agreement of colours, have not
employed them wholly pure and simple in their draperies, unless in some
figure upon the fore-ground of the picture; but they have used broken
and compound colours, of which they made a harmony for the eyes, by
mixing those which have some kind of sympathy with each other, to make a
whole, which has an union with the colours which are neighbouring to it.
The painter who perfectly understands the force and power of his colours,
will use them most suitably to his present purpose, and according to his
own discretion.
[*†355.]
“But let this be done relatively,” &c. One body must make another body
fly off in such a manner, that itself may be chased by those bodies which
are advanced before it. “We are to take care, and use great attention,”
says Quinctilian, “not only of one separate thing, but of many which
follow each other, and by a certain relation which they have with each
other, are as it were continued.” In the same manner, as if in a straight
street, we cast our eyes from one end of it to the other, we discover at
once those different things which are presented to the sight, so that we
not only see the last, but whatsoever is relating to the last.
[*†361.]
“Let two contrary extremities never touch each other,” &c. The sense of
seeing has this in common with all the rest of the senses, that it abhors
the contrary extremities. And in the same manner as our hands, when they
are very cold, feel a grievous pain when on the sudden we hold them near
the fire; so the eyes, which find an extreme white next to an extreme
black, or a fair cool azure next to a hot vermilion, cannot behold these
extremities without pain, though they are always attracted by the glaring
of two contraries.
This rule obliges us to know those colours which have a friendship
with each other, and those which are incompatible; which we may easily
discover in mixing together those colours of which we would make trial.
And if by this mixture they make a gracious and sweet colour, which is
pleasing to the sight, it is a sign that there is an union and a sympathy
betwixt them; but if, on the contrary, that colour which is produced
by the mixture of the two be harsh to the sight, we are to conclude,
that there is a contrariety and antipathy betwixt these two colours.
Green, for example, is a pleasing colour, which may come from a blue and
a yellow mixed together; and, by consequence, blue and yellow are two
colours which sympathise: and, on the contrary, the mixture of blue with
vermilion, produces a sharp, harsh, and unpleasant colour; conclude then,
that blue and vermilion are of a contrary nature. And the same may be
said of other colours, of which you may make the experiment, and clear
that matter once for all. (See the conclusion of the 332d remark, where
I have taken occasion to speak of the force and quality of every capital
colour.) Yet you may neglect this precept, when your piece consists but
of one or two figures, and when amongst a great number you would make
some one figure more remarkable than the rest; one, I say, which is one
of the most considerable of the subject, and which otherwise you cannot
distinguish from the rest. Titian, in his Triumph of Bacchus, having
placed Ariadne on one of the borders of the picture, and not being able
(for that reason) to make her remarkable by the brightness of light,
which he was to keep in the middle of his picture, gave her a scarf of
a vermilion colour, upon a blue drapery, as well to loosen her from his
ground, which was a blue sea, as because she is one of the principal
figures of his subject, upon which he desired to attract the eye. Paul
Veronese, in his Marriage of Cana, because Christ, who is the principal
figure of the subject, is carried somewhat into the depth of the picture,
and that he could not make him distinguishable by the strength of the
lights and shadows, has clothed him with vermilion and blue, thereby to
conduct the sight to that figure.
The hostile colours may be so much the more allied to each other, the
more you mix them with other colours which mutually sympathise, and which
agree with those colours which you desire to reconcile.
[*†365.]
“It is labour in vain to paint a high-noon,” &c. He said in another
place, “endeavour after that which aids your art, and is suitable to it,
and shun whatsoever is repugnant:” it is the 59th precept. If the painter
would arrive to the end he has proposed, which is to deceive the sight,
he must make choice of such a nature as agrees with the weakness of his
colours; because his colours cannot accommodate themselves to every sort
of nature. This rule is particularly to be observed, and well considered
by those who paint landscapes.
[*†378.]
“Let the field or ground of the picture,” &c. The reason of it is, that
we are to avoid the meeting of those colours which have an antipathy to
each other, because they offend the sight; so that this rule is proved
sufficiently by the 41st, which tells us, that two contrary extremities
are never to touch each other, whether it be in colour, or in light; but
that there ought to be a mean betwixt them, which partakes of both.
[*†382.]
“Let your colours be lively, and yet not look (according to the painters’
proverb) as if they had been rubbed, or sprinkled with meal,” &c. _Donner
dans la farine_, is a phrase amongst painters, which perfectly expresses
what it means; which is to paint with clear or bright colours, and dull
colours together; for being so mingled, they give no more life to the
figures, than if they had been rubbed with meal. They who make their
flesh-colours very white, and their shadows grey, or inclining to green,
fall into this inconvenience. Red colours in the shadows of the most
delicate or finest flesh, contribute wonderfully to make them lively,
shining, and natural; but they are to be used with the same discretion,
that Titian, Paul Veronese, Rubens, and Van Dyck have taught us, by their
example.
To preserve the colours fresh, we must paint by putting in more colours,
and not by rubbing them in after they are once laid; and (if it could be
done) they should be laid just in their proper places, and not be any
more touched, when they are once so placed; because the freshness of the
colours is tarnished and lost, by vexing them with the continual drudgery
of daubing.
All they who have coloured well have had yet another maxim to maintain
their colours fresh and flourishing, which was to make use of white
grounds, upon which they painted, and oftentimes at the first stroke,
without retouching any thing, and without employing new colours. Rubens
always used this way; and I have seen pictures from the hand of that
great person, painted up at once, which were of a wonderful vivacity.
The reason why they made use of those kinds of grounds is, because white
as well preserves a brightness under the transparency of colours, which
hinders the air from altering the whiteness of the ground, as that it
likewise repairs the injuries which they receive from the air, so that
the ground and the colours assist and preserve each other. It is for this
reason, that glazed colours have a vivacity which can never be imitated
by the most lively and most brilliant colours; because, according to the
common way, the different tints are simply laid on, each in its place,
one after another. So true it is, that white with other strong colours
with which we paint at once that which we intend to glaze, are, as it
were, the life, the spirit, and the lustre of it. The ancients most
certainly have found, that white grounds were much the best, because,
notwithstanding that inconvenience, which their eyes received from that
colour, yet they did not forbear the use of it; as Galen testifies, in
his Tenth Book of the Use of the Parts. “Painters,” says he, “when they
work upon their white grounds, place before them dark colours, and others
mixed with blue and green, to recreate their eyes; because white is a
glaring colour, which wearies and pains the sight more than any other.”
I know not the reason why the use of it is left off at present, if it
be not that in our days there are few painters who are curious in their
colouring, or that the first strokes which are begun upon white are not
seen soon enough, and that a more than French patience is required to
wait till it be accomplished; and the ground, which by its whiteness
tarnishes the lustre of the other colours, must be entirely covered, to
make the whole work appear pleasingly.
[*†383.]
“Let the parts which are nearest to us, and most raised,” &c. The reason
of this is, that upon a flat superficies, and as much united as a cloth
can be, when it is strained, the least body is very appearing, and gives
a heightening to the place which it possesses: do not therefore load
those places with colours, which you would make to turn; but let those be
well loaded, which you would have come out of the canvas.
[*†385.]
“Let there be so much harmony, or consent in the masses of the picture,
that all the shadowings may appear as if they were but one,” &c. He
has said in another place, that after great lights, great shadows are
necessary, which he calls reposes. What he means by the present rule is
this, that whatsoever is found in those great shadows, should partake of
the colours of one another; so that the different colours which are well
distinguished in the lights, seem to be but one in the shadows, by their
great union.
[*†386.]
“Let the whole picture be of one piece,” &c. That is to say, of one and
the same continuity of work, and as if the picture had been painted up
all at once: the Latin says, all of one pallet.
[*†387.]
“The looking-glass will instruct you,” &c. The painter must have a
principal respect to the masses, and to the effect of the whole together.
The looking-glass distances the objects, and, by consequence, gives us
only to see the masses, in which all the little parts are confounded.
The evening, when the night approaches, will make you better understand
this observation, but not so commodiously; for the proper time to make it
lasts but a quarter of an hour, and the looking-glass may be useful all
the day.
Since the mirror is the rule and master of all painters, as showing them
their faults by distancing the objects, we may conclude, that the picture
which makes not a good effect at a distance, cannot be well done; and a
painter must never finish his picture, before he has examined it at some
reasonable distance, or with a looking-glass, whether the masses of the
lights and shadows, and the bodies of the colours, be well distributed.
Giorgione and Correggio have made use of this method.
[*†393.]
“As for a portrait, or picture by the life,” &c. The end of portraits is
not so precisely, as some have imagined, to give a smiling and pleasing
air, together with the resemblance; this is indeed somewhat, but not
enough. It consists in expressing the true temper of those persons which
it represents, and to make known their physiognomy. If the person whom
you draw, for example, be naturally sad, you are to beware of giving
him any gaiety, which would always be a thing which is foreign to his
countenance. If he or she be merry, you are to make that good humour
appear, by the expressing of those parts where it acts, and where it
shows itself. If the person be grave and majestical, the smiles, or
laughing, which is too sensible, will take off from that majesty, and
make it look childish and indecent. In short, the painter, who has a
good genius, must make a true discernment of all these things; and if he
understands physiognomy, it will be more easy to him, and he will succeed
better than another. Pliny tells us, “That Apelles made his pictures so
very like, that a certain physiognomist and fortune-teller (as it is
related by Appion the grammarian) foretold, by looking on them, the very
time of their deaths, whom those pictures represented; or at what time
their death happened, if such persons were already dead.”
[*†403.]
“You are to take the utmost care, that broad lights may be joined,” &c.
This must be done tenderly, yet not so as to make your colours die, by
force of tormenting them; but that you should mix them as hastily as you
can, and not retouch the same place, if conveniently you can avoid it.
“Broad lights,” &c. It is in vain to take pains if you cannot preserve
large lights; because without them your work will never make a good
effect at a distance, and also because little lights are confused and
effaced proportionably as you are at a distance from the picture. This
was the perpetual maxim of Correggio.
[*†417.]
“Ought to have somewhat of greatness in them, and their outlines to be
noble,” &c. As the pieces of antiquity will evidently show us.
[*†422.]
“There is nothing more pernicious to a youth,” &c. It is common to place
ourselves under the discipline of a master, of whom we have a good
opinion, and whose manner we are apt to embrace with ease; which takes
root more deeply in us, and augments, the more we see him work, and the
more we copy after him. This happens oftentimes to that degree, and makes
so great an impression in the mind of the scholar, that he cannot give
his approbation to any other manner whatsoever, and believes there is no
man under the cope of heaven, who is so knowing as his master.
But what is most remarkable in this point, is, that nature appears to us
always like that manner which we love, and in which we have been taught;
which is just like a glass through which we behold objects, and which
communicates its colour to them, without our perceiving it. After I
have said this, you may see of what consequence is the choice of a good
master, and of following in our beginning the manner of those who have
come nearest to nature. And how much injury do you think have the ill
manners which have been in France done to the painters of that nation,
and what hindrance have they been to the knowledge of what is well done,
or of arriving to what is so, when once we know it? The Italians say to
those whom they see infected with an ill manner, which they are not able
to forsake, “If you knew just nothing, you would soon learn something.”
[*†433.]
“Search whatsoever is aiding to your art, and convenient; and avoid those
things which are repugnant to it,” &c. This is an admirable rule; a
painter ought to have it perpetually present in his mind and memory. It
resolves those difficulties which the rules beget; it loosens his hands,
and assists his understanding; in short, this is the rule which sets the
painter at liberty; because it teaches him, that he ought not to subject
himself servilely, and be bound, like an apprentice, to the rules of his
art; but that the rules of his art ought to be subject to him, and not
hinder him from following the dictates of his genius, which is superior
to them.
[*†434.]
“Bodies of diverse natures, which are aggrouped, or combined together,
are agreeable and pleasant to the sight,” &c. As flowers, fruits,
animals, skins, sattins, velvets, beautiful flesh, works of silver,
armours, instruments of music, ornaments of ancient sacrifices, and
many other pleasing diversities which may present themselves to the
painter’s imagination. It is most certain, that the diversity of objects
recreates the sight, when they are without confusion, and when they
diminish nothing of the subject on which we work. Experience teaches us,
that the eye grows weary with poring perpetually on the same thing; not
only on pictures, but even on nature itself: for who is he, who would
not be tired in the walks of a long forest, or with beholding a large
plain which is naked of trees, or in the sight of a ridge of mountains,
which, instead of pleasure, give us only the view of heights and bottoms?
Thus to content and fill the eye of the understanding, the best authors
have had the address to sprinkle their works with pleasing digressions,
with which they recreate the minds of readers. Discretion in this, as
in all other things, is the surest guide; and as tedious digressions,
which wander from their subject, are impertinent; so the painter, who,
under pretence of diverting the eyes, would fill his picture with such
varieties as alter the truth of the history, would make a ridiculous
piece of painting, and a mere gallimaufry of his work.
[*†435.]
“As also those things which seem to be slightly touched, and performed
with ease,” &c. This ease attracts our eyes and spirits so much the more,
because it is to be presumed, that a noble work, which appears so easy
to us, is the product of a skilful hand, which is master of its art. It
was in this part, that Apelles found himself superior to Protogenes,
when he blamed him for not knowing when to lay down his pencil, and,
as I may almost say, to make an end of finishing his piece. And it was
on this account he plainly said, “That nothing was more prejudicial to
painters, than too much exactness; and that the greatest part of them
knew not when they had done enough:” as we have likewise a proverb, which
says, “An Englishman never knows when he is well.” It is true, that the
word _enough_ is very difficult to understand. What you have to do, is
to consider your subject thoroughly, and in what manner you intend to
treat it, according to your rules, and the force of your genius; after
this, you are to work with all the ease, and all the speed you can,
without breaking your head so very much, and being so very industrious in
starting scruples to yourself, and creating difficulties in your work.
But it is impossible to have this facility without possessing perfectly
all the precepts of the art, and to have made it habitual to you: for
ease consists in making precisely that work which you ought to make,
and to set every thing in its proper place with speed and readiness,
which cannot be done without the rules; for they are the assured means
of conducting you, to the end that you design, with pleasure. It is then
most certain, (though against the opinion of many,) that the rules give
facility, quiet of mind, and readiness of hand to the slowest genius;
and that the same rules increase and guide that ease in those who have
already received it at their birth, from the happy influence of their
stars.
From whence it follows, that we may consider facility two several ways;
either simply, as diligence, and a readiness of mind, and of the hand;
or, as a disposition in the mind to remove readily all those difficulties
which can arise in the work. The first proceeds from an active temper
full of fire; and the second from a true knowledge and full possession
of infallible rules: the first is pleasing, but it is not always without
anxiety, because it often leads us astray; and, on the contrary, the last
makes us act with a repose of mind and wonderful tranquillity, because
it ascertains us of the goodness of our work: it is a great advantage to
possess the first; but it is the height of perfection to have both in
that manner which Rubens and Van Dyck possessed them, excepting the part
of design, or drawing, which both of them too much neglected.
Those who say, that the rules are so far from giving us this facility,
that, on the contrary, they puzzle and perplex the mind, and tie the
hand, are generally such people who have passed half their lives in an
ill practice of painting, the habit of which is grown so inveterate in
them, that to change it by the rules, is to take, as it were, their
pencils out of their hands, and to put them out of condition of doing any
thing; in the same manner as we make a countryman dumb, whom we will not
allow to speak, but by the rules of grammar.
Observe, if you please, that the facility and diligence, of which I
spoke, consists not in that which we call bold strokes, and a free
handling of the pencil, if it makes not a great effect at a distance:
that sort of freedom belongs rather to a writing-master than a painter.
I say yet farther, that it is almost impossible, that things, which are
painted, should appear true and natural, where we observe these sorts of
bold strokes. And all those, who have come nearest to nature, have never
used that manner of painting. Those tender hairs, and those hatching
strokes of the pencil, which make a kind of minced meat in painting, are
very fine, I must confess, but they are never able to deceive the sight.
[*†442.]
“Nor till you have present in your mind a perfect idea of your work,”
&c. If you will have pleasure in painting, you ought to have so well
considered the economy of your work, that it may be entirely made and
disposed in your head, before it be begun upon the cloth. You must, I
say, foresee the effect of the groupes, the ground, and the lights and
shadows of every thing, the harmony of the colours, and the intelligence
of all the subject, in such a manner, that whatsoever you shall put upon
the cloth, may be only a copy of what is in your mind. If you make use of
this conduct, you will not be put to the trouble of so often changing and
rechanging.
[*†443.]
“Let the eye be satisfied, in the first place, even against and above
all other reasons,” &c. This passage has a respect to some particular
licences which a painter ought to take; and, as I despair not to treat
this matter more at large, I adjourn the reader to the first opportunity
which I can get for his farther satisfaction on this point, to the
best of my ability. But in general, he may hold for certain, that
those licences are good which contribute to deceive the sight, without
corrupting the truth of the subject on which the painter is to work.
[*†445.]
“Profit yourself by the counsels of the knowing,” &c. Parrhasius and
Cliton thought themselves much obliged to Socrates for the knowledge
which he gave them of the passions. (See their dialogue in Xenophon,
towards the end of the third book of Memoirs.) “They, who the most
willingly bear reproof,” says Pliny[165] the Younger, “are the very
men, in whom we find more to commend than in other people.” Lysippus
was extremely pleased, when Apelles told him his opinion; and Apelles
as much, when Lysippus told him his. That which Praxiteles said of
Nicias, in Pliny,[166] shews the soul of an accomplished and an humble
man. “Praxiteles being asked, which of all his works he valued most?”
“Those,” says he, “which Nicias has retouched.” So much account he made
of his criticisms and his opinions. You know the common practice of
Apelles; when he had finished any work, he exposed it to the sight of
all passengers, and concealed himself to hear the censure of his faults,
with the prospect of making his advantage of the informations which
unknowingly they gave him; being sensible, that the people would examine
his works more rigorously than himself, and would not forgive the least
mistake.
The opinions and counsels of many together are always preferable to the
advice of one single person. And Cicero wonders, that any are besotted
on their own productions, and say to one another, “Very good, if your
works please you, mine are not unpleasing to me.”[167] In effect, there
are many who, through presumption, or out of shame to be reprehended,
never let their works be seen. But there is nothing can be of worse
consequence; “for the disease is nourished and increases,” says
Virgil,[168] “while it is concealed.” “There are none but fools,” says
Horace, “who, out of shamefacedness, hide their ulcers, which, if shewn,
might easily be healed:
“_Stultorum incurata malus pudor ulcera celat._”[169]
There are others, who have not altogether so much of this foolish
bashfulness, and who ask every one’s opinion with prayers and
earnestness; but if you freely and ingenuously give them notice of their
faults, they never fail to make some pitiful excuse for them; or, which
is worse, they take in ill part the service which you thought you did
them, which they but seemingly desired of you, and out of an established
custom amongst the greatest part of painters. If you desire to get
yourself any honour, and acquire a reputation by your works, there is
no surer way than to shew them to persons of good sense, and chiefly to
those who are critics in the art; and to take their counsel with the same
mildness, and the same sincerity, as you desired them to give it you. You
must also be industrious to discover the opinion of your enemies, which
is commonly the truest; for you may be assured, that they will give you
no quarter, and allow nothing to complaisance.
[*†449.]
“But if you have no knowing friend,” &c. Quinctilian gives the reason
of this, when he says, “that the best means to correct our faults, is
doubtless this, to remove our designs out of sight, for some space of
time, and not to look upon our pictures: to the end, that after this
interval we may look on them as it were with other eyes, and as a new
work, which was of another hand, and not our own”. Our own productions
do but too much flatter us; they are always too pleasing, and it is
impossible not to be fond of them at the moment of their conception. They
are children of a tender age, which are not capable of drawing our hatred
on them. It is said, that apes, as soon as they have brought their young
into the world, keep their eyes continually fastened on them, and are
never weary of admiring their beauty; so amorous is nature of whatsoever
she produces.
[*†458.]
“To the end that he may cultivate those talents which make his genius,”
&c.
_Qui sua metitur pondera, ferre potest._
“That we may undertake nothing beyond our forces, we must endeavour to
know them.” On this prudence our reputation depends. Cicero calls it
“a good grace,” because it makes a man seen in his greatest lustre.
“It is,” says he,[170] “a becoming grace, which we shall easily make
appear, if we are careful to cultivate that which nature has given us in
propriety, and made our own; provided it be no vice, or imperfection. We
ought to undertake nothing which is repugnant to nature in general; and
when we have paid her this duty, we are bound so religiously to follow
our own nature, that though many things which are more serious and more
important, present themselves to us, yet we are always to conform our
studies and our exercises to our natural inclinations. It avails nothing
to dispute against nature, and think to obtain what she refuses; for
then we eternally follow what we can never reach; for, as the proverb
says, there is nothing can please, nothing can be graceful, which we
enterprise in spite of Minerva; that is to say, in spite of nature.
When we have considered all these things attentively, it will then be
necessary that every man should regard that in particular which nature
has made his portion, and that he should cultivate it with care. It is
not his business to give himself the trouble of trying whether it will
become him to put on the nature of another man, or, as one would say,
to act the person of another; there is nothing which can more become
us, than what is properly the gift of nature. Let every one therefore
endeavour to understand his own talent, and, without flattering himself,
let him make a true judgment of his own virtues, and his own defects and
vices, that he may not appear to have less judgment than the comedians,
who do not always chuse the best plays, but those which are best for
them; that is, those which are most in the compass of their acting.
Thus we are to fix on those things for which we have the strongest
inclination. And if it sometimes happens, that we are forced, by
necessity, to apply ourselves to such other things, to which we are no
ways inclined, we must bring it so about, by our care and industry, that
if we perform them not very well, at least we may not do them so very
ill, as to be shamed by them: we are not so much to strain ourselves, to
make those virtues appear in us, which really we have not, as to avoid
those imperfections which may dishonour us.” These are the thoughts and
the words of Cicero, which I have translated, retrenching only such
things as were of no concernment to my subject: I was not of opinion to
add any thing, and the reader, I doubt not, will find his satisfaction in
them.
[*†464.]
“While you meditate on these truths, and observe them diligently,” &c.
There is a great connection betwixt this precept and that other, which
tells you, “That you are to pass no day without a line.” It is impossible
to become an able artist, without making your art habitual to you; and it
is impossible to gain an exact habitude, without an infinite number of
acts, and without perpetual practice. In all arts the rules of them are
learned in little time; but the perfection is not acquired without a long
practice, and a severe diligence. “We never saw, that laziness produced
any thing which was excellent,” says Maximus Tyrius;[171] and Quinctilian
tells us, “That the arts draw their beginning from nature;” the want we
often have of them causes us to search the means of becoming able in
them, and exercise makes us entirely masters of them.
[*†466.]
“The morning is the best and most proper part of the day,” &c. Because
then the imagination is not clouded with the vapours of meat, nor
distracted by visits, which are not usually made in the morning. And the
mind, by the sleep of the foregoing night, is refreshed and recreated
from the toils of former studies. Malherbe says well to this purpose,
_Le plus beau de nos jours, est dans leur matinee._
The sprightly morn is the best part of day.
[*†468.]
“Let no day pass over you, without a line,” &c. That is to say, without
working, without giving some strokes of the pencil or the crayon. This
was the precept of Apelles; and it is of so much the more necessity,
because painting is an art of much length and time, and is not to be
learned without great practice. Michael Angelo, at the age of fourscore
years, said, “That he learned something every day.”
[*†473.]
“Be ready to put into your table-book,” &c. As it was the custom of
Titian and the Carraches. There are yet remaining in the hands of some
who are curious in painting, many thoughts and observations, which those
great men have made on paper, and in their table-books, which they
carried continually about them.
[*†475.]
“Wine and good cheer are no great friends to painting; they serve only
to recreate the mind, when it is opprest and spent with labour,” &c.
“During the time,” says Pliny,[172] “that Protogenes was drawing the
picture of Jalysus, which was the best of all his works, he took no other
nourishment than lupines, mixed with a little water, which served him
both for meat and drink, for fear of clogging his imagination, by the
luxury of his food;” Michael Angelo, while he was drawing his Day of
Judgment, fed only on bread and wine at dinner; and Vasari observes in
his life, that he was so sober, that he slept but little, and that he
often rose in the night to work, as being not disturbed by the vapours of
his thin repasts.
[*†478.]
“But delights in the liberty which belongs to the bachelors estate,”
&c. We never see large, beautiful, and well-tasted fruits, proceeding
from a tree which is encompassed round, and choked with thorns and
briars. Marriage draws a world of business on our hands, subjects us
to law-suits, and loads us with multitudes of domestic cares, which
are as so many thorns that encompass a painter, and hinder him from
producing his works in that perfection of which otherwise he is capable.
Raphael, Michael Angelo, and Hannibal Carrache, were never married: and
amongst the ancient painters we find none recorded for being married,
but only Apelles, to whom Alexander the Great made a present of his own
mistress Campaspe; which yet I would have understood, without offence
to the institution of marriage; for that calls down many blessings
upon families, by the carefulness of a virtuous wife. If marriage be
in general a remedy against concupiscence, it is doubly so in respect
of painters, who are more frequently under the occasions of sin, than
other men, because they are under a frequent necessity of seeing nature
bare-faced. Let every one examine his own strength upon this point: but
let him prefer the interest of his soul, to that of his art, and of his
fortune.
[*†480.]
“Painting naturally withdraws from noise and tumult,” &c. I have said at
the end of the first remark, that both poetry and painting were upheld
by the strength of imagination. Now there is nothing which warms it more
than repose and solitude; because, in that estate, the mind being freed
from all sorts of business, and in a kind of sanctuary, undisturbed by
vexatious visits, is more capable of forming noble thoughts, and of
application to its studies:
_Carmina secessum scribentis, et otia quærunt._
Good verse recess and solitude requires:
And ease from cares, and undisturbed desires.
We may properly say the same of painting, by reason of its conformity
with poetry, as I have shewn in the first remark.
[*†484.]
“Let not the covetous design of growing rich,” &c. We read in Pliny,
that Nicias refused sixty talents from king Attalus, and rather chose to
make a free gift of his picture to his country. “I enquired of a prudent
man,” says a grave author,[173] “in what times those noble pictures were
made, which now we see; and desired him to explain to me some of their
subjects, which I did not well understand. I asked him likewise the
reason of that great negligence, which is now visible amongst painters;
and from whence it proceeded, that the most beautiful arts were now
buried in oblivion; and principally painting, a faint shadow of which is
at present remaining to us? To which he thus replied, that the immoderate
desire of riches had produced this change: for of old, when naked virtue
had her charms, the noble arts then flourished in their vigour; and if
there was any contest amongst men, it was only who should be the first
discoverer of what might be of advantage to posterity. Lysippus and
Myron, those renowned sculptors, who could give a soul to brass, left
no heirs, no inheritance, behind them; because they were more careful
of acquiring fame than riches. But as for us of this present age, it
seems, by the manner of our conduct, that we upbraid antiquity for being
as covetous of virtue as we are of vice; wonder not so much, therefore,
if painting has lost its strength and vigour, because many are now of
opinion, that a heap of gold is much more beautiful than all the pictures
and statues of Apelles and Phidias, and all the noble performances of
Greece.”
I would not exact so great an act of abstinence from our modern painters;
for I am not ignorant, that the hope of gain is a wonderful sharp spur
in arts, and that it gives industry to the artist; from whence it was,
that Juvenal said, even of the Greeks themselves, who were the inventors
of painting, and who first understood all the graces of it, and its whole
perfection,
_Græculus esuriens, in Cœlum, jusseris, ibit._
A hungry Greek, if bidden, scales the skies.
But I could heartily wish, that the same hope which flatters them, did
not also corrupt them; and did not snatch out of their hands a lame
imperfect piece, rudely daubed over with too little reflection, and too
much haste.
[*†487.]
“The qualities requisite to form an excellent painter,” &c. It is to
be confessed, that very few painters have those qualities which are
required by our author, because there are very few who are able painters.
There was a time, when only they who were of noble blood were permitted
to exercise this art; because it is to be presumed, that all these
ingredients of a good painter are not ordinarily found in men of vulgar
birth. And, in all appearance, we may hope, that though there be no
edict in France, which takes away the liberty of painting, from those
to whom nature has refused the honour of being born gentlemen, yet at
least that the Royal Academy will admit henceforward only such, who being
endued with all the good qualities, and the talents which are required
for painting, those endowments may be to them instead of an honourable
birth. It is certain, that which debases painting, and makes it descend
to the vilest and most despicable kind of trade, is the great multitude
of painters, who have neither noble souls, nor any talent for the art,
nor even so much as common sense. The origin of this great evil is, that
there have always been admitted into the schools of painting, all sorts
of children promiscuously, without examination of them, and without
observing (for some convenient space of time) if they were conducted to
this art by their inward disposition, and all necessary talents, rather
than by a foolish inclination of their own, or by the avarice of their
relations, who put them to painting, as a trade which they believe to be
somewhat more gainful than another. The qualities properly required are
these following:—
A good judgment, that they may do nothing against reason and verisimility.
A docile mind, that they may profit by instructions, and receive, without
arrogance, the opinion of every one, and principally of knowing men.
A noble heart, that they may propose glory to themselves, and reputation
rather than riches.
A sublimity and reach of thought, to conceive readily, to produce
beautiful ideas, and to work on their subjects nobly, and after a lofty
manner, wherein we may observe somewhat that is delicate, ingenious, and
uncommon.
A warm and vigorous fancy, to arrive at least to some degree of
perfection, without being tired with the pains and study which are
required in painting.
Health, to resist the dissipation of spirits, which are apt to be
consumed by pains-taking.
Youth, because painting requires a great experience, and a long practice.
Beauty, or handsomeness, because a painter paints himself in all his
pictures; and nature loves to produce her own likeness.
A convenient fortune, that he may give his whole time to study, and
may work cheerfully, without being haunted with the dreadful image of
poverty, ever present to his mind.
Labour, because the speculation is nothing without the practice.
A love for his art, we suffer nothing in the labour which is pleasing to
us; or if it happen that we suffer, we are pleased with the pain.
And to be under the discipline of a knowing master, &c. Because all
depends on the beginnings; and because commonly they take the manner
of their master, and are formed according to his gusto. See verse 422,
and the remark upon it. All these good qualities are insignificant, and
unprofitable to the painter, if some outward dispositions are wanting to
him. By which I mean favourable times, such as are times of peace, which
is the nurse of all noble arts: there must also some fair occasion offer
to make their skill manifest, by the performance of some considerable
work within their power; and a protector, who must be a person of
authority, one who takes upon himself the care of their fortune, at least
in some measure, and knows how to speak well of them in time and place
convenient. “It is of much importance,” says the younger Pliny, “in what
times virtue appears. And there is no wit, howsoever excellent it may
be, which can make itself immediately known; time and opportunity are
necessary to it, and a person who can assist us with his favour, and be a
Mæcenas to us.”
[*†496.]
“And life is so short, that it is not sufficient for so long an art,” &c.
Not only painting but all other arts, considered in themselves, require
almost an infinite time to possess them perfectly. It is in this sense,
that Hippocrates begins his Aphorisms with this saying, “That art is
long, and life is short.” But if we consider arts as they are in us, and
according to a certain degree of perfection, sufficient enough to make it
known, that we possess them above the common sort, and are comparatively
better than most others, we shall not find that life is too short on that
account, provided our time be well employed. It is true, that painting
is an art which is difficult, and a great undertaking; but they who are
endued with the qualities that are necessary to it, have no reason to
be discouraged by that apprehension. “Labour always appears difficult
before it is tried.”[174] The passages by sea, and the knowledge of
the stars, have been thought impossible, which notwithstanding have
been found and compassed, and that with ease, by those who endeavoured
after them. “It is a shameful thing,” says Cicero,[175] “to be weary of
enquiry, when what we search is excellent.” That which causes us to lose
most of our time, is the repugnance which we naturally have to labour,
and the ignorance, the malice, and the negligence of our masters: we
waste much of our time in walking, and talking to no manner of purpose,
in making and receiving idle visits; in play, and other pleasures which
we indulge; without reckoning those hours which we lose in the too great
care of our bodies; and in sleep, which we often lengthen out till the
day is far advanced; and thus we pass that life which we reckon to be
short, because we count by the years which we have lived rather than by
those which we have employed in study. It is evident, that they who lived
before us, have passed through all those difficulties, to arrive at that
perfection which we discover in their works; though they wanted some of
the advantages which we possess, and none had laboured for them as they
have done for us. For it is certain, that those ancient masters, and
those of the last preceding ages, have left such beautiful patterns to
us, that a better and more happy age can never be than ours; and chiefly
under the reign of our present king, who encourages all the noble arts,
and spares nothing, to give them the share of that felicity, of which he
is so bountiful to his kingdom; and to conduct them with all manner of
advantages to that supreme degree of excellence, which may be worthy of
such a master, and of that sovereign love which he has for them. Let us
therefore put our hands to the work, without being discouraged by the
length of time, which is requisite for our studies; but let us seriously
contrive how to proceed with the best order, and to follow a ready,
diligent, and well understood method.
[*†500.]
“Take courage, therefore, O ye noble youths! ye legitimate offspring of
Minerva, who are born under the influence of a happy planet,” &c. Our
author intends not here to sow in a barren, ungrateful ground, where
his precepts can bear no fruit: he speaks to young painters, but to
such only who are born under the influence of a happy star; that is to
say, those who have received from nature the necessary dispositions of
becoming great in the art of painting; and not to those who follow that
study through caprice, or by a sottish inclination; or for lucre, who are
either incapable of receiving the precepts, or will make a bad use of
them when received.
[*†503.]
“You will do well,” &c. Our author speaks not here of the first rudiments
of design; as, for example, the management of the pencil, the just
relation which the copy ought to have to the original, &c. He supposes,
that before he begins his studies, one ought to have a facility of hand,
to imitate the best designs, and the noblest pictures and statues; that,
in few words, he should have made himself a key, wherewith to open the
closet of Minerva, and to enter into that sacred place, where those fair
treasures are to be found in all abundance, and even offer themselves to
us, to make our advantage of them, by our care and genius.
[*†509.]
“To begin with geometry,” &c. Because that is the ground of perspective,
without which nothing is to be done in painting. Besides, geometry is of
great use in architecture, and in all things which are of its dependence;
it is particularly necessary for sculptors.
[*†510.]
“Set yourself on designing after the antient Greeks,” &c. Because they
are the rule of beauty, and give us a good gusto; for which reason it is
very proper to tie ourselves to them, I mean generally speaking; but the
particular fruit which we gather from them, is what follows: To learn by
heart four several airs of heads; of a man, a woman, a child, and an old
man. I mean those which have the most general approbation; for example,
those of the Apollo, of the Venus de Medecis, of the little Nero, (that
is, when he was a child,) and of the god Tiber. It would be a good means
of learning them, if when you have designed one after the statue itself,
you design it immediately after from your own imagination, without seeing
it; and afterwards examine, if your own work be conformable to the first
design; thus exercising yourself on the same head, and turning it on ten
or twelve sides. You must do the same to the feet, to the hands, to the
whole figure. But to understand the beauty of these figures, and the
justness of their outlines, it will be necessary to learn anatomy. When I
speak of four heads, and four figures, I pretend not to hinder any one
from designing many others, after this first study; but my meaning is,
only to show by this, that a great variety of things undertaken at the
same time, dissipates the imagination, and hinders all the profit; in
the same manner, as too many sorts of meat are not easily digested, but
corrupt in the stomach, instead of nourishing the parts.
[*†511.]
“And cease not day or night from labour, till by your continual
practice,” &c. In the first principles, the students have not so much
need of precepts as of practice; and the antique statues being the
rule of beauty, you may exercise yourselves in imitating them, without
apprehending any consequence of ill habits and bad ideas, which can be
formed in the soul of a young beginner. It is not as in the school of a
master, whose manner and whose gusto are ill, and under whose discipline
the scholar spoils himself the more he exercises.
[*†514.]
“And when afterwards your judgment shall grow stronger,” &c. It is
necessary to have the soul well formed, and to have a right judgment to
make the application of his rules upon good pictures, and to take nothing
but the good. For there are some who imagine, that whatsoever they find
in the picture of a master who has acquired reputation, must of necessity
be excellent: and these kind of people never fail, when they copy, to
follow the bad, as well as the good things, and to observe them so much
the more, because they seem to be extraordinary, and out of the common
road of others, so that at last they come to make a law and precept of
them. You ought not also to imitate what is truly good in a crude and
gross manner, so that it may be found out in your works, that whatsoever
beauties there are in them, come from such or such a master. But, in
this, imitate the bees, who pick from every flower that which they find
most proper in it to make honey. In the same manner, a young painter
should collect from many pictures what he finds to be the most beautiful;
and from his several collections form that manner which thereby he makes
his own.
[*†520.]
“A certain grace, which was wholly natural and peculiar to him,” &c.
Raphael in this may be compared to Apelles, who, in praising the works of
other painters, said, “That gracefulness was wanting to them;” and that,
without vanity, he might say, it was his own peculiar portion. See the
Remark on the 218th verse.
[*†522.]
“Julio Romano, educated from his childhood in the country of the Muses,”
&c. He means in the studies of the _belle lettre_, and above all in
poesy, which he infinitely loved. It appears, that he formed his ideas,
and made his gusto, from reading Homer; and in that imitated Zeuxis and
Polygnotus, who, as Maximus Tyrius relates, treated their subjects in
their pictures as Homer did in his poetry.
To these remarks I have annexed the opinions of our author, upon the best
and chiefest painters of the two foregoing ages. He tells you candidly,
and briefly, what were their excellencies, and what their failings.
[*†541.]
“I pass in silence many things which will be more amply treated in the
ensuing Commentary.” It is evident by this, how much we lose, and what
damage we have sustained by our author’s death, since those commentaries
had undoubtedly contained things of high value and of great instruction.
[*†544.]
“To intrust with the Muses,” &c. That is to say, to write in verse;
poetry being under their protection, and consecrated to them.
THE JUDGMENT OF CHARLES ALPHONSE DU FRESNOY, ON THE WORKS OF THE
PRINCIPAL AND BEST PAINTERS OF THE TWO LAST AGES.
Painting was in its perfection amongst the Greeks. The principal schools
were at Sycion, afterwards at Rhodes, at Athens, and at Corinth, and at
last in Rome. Wars and luxury having overthrown the Roman empire, it was
totally extinguished, together with all the noble arts, the studies of
humanity, and the other sciences.
It began to appear again, in the year 1450, amongst some painters of
Florence, of which Domenico Chirlandaio was one, who was master to
Michael Angelo, and had some kind of reputation, though his manner was
Gothic, and very dry.
Michael Angelo, his disciple, flourished in the times of Julius the
Second, Leo the Tenth, and of seven successive popes. He was a painter,
a sculptor, and an architect, both civil and military. The choice which
he made of his attitudes was not always beautiful or pleasing; his gusto
of design was not the finest, nor his outlines the most elegant; the
folds of his draperies, and the ornaments of his habits, were neither
noble nor graceful. He was not a little fantastical and extravagant in
his compositions; he was bold, even to rashness, in taking liberties
against the rules of perspective. His colouring is not over true, or
very pleasant. He knew not the artifice of the lights and shadows; but
he designed more learnedly, and better understood all the knittings of
the bones, with the office and situation of the muscles, than any of the
modern painters. There appears a certain air of greatness and severity
in his figures; in both which he has oftentimes succeeded. But above
the rest of his excellencies, was his wonderful skill in architecture,
wherein he has not only surpassed all the moderns, but even the ancients
also. The St Peters of Rome, the St Johns of Florence, the Capitol, the
Palazzo Farnese, and his own house, are sufficient testimonies of it. His
disciples were Marcello Venusti, Il Rosso, Georgio Vasari, Fra. Bastiano,
who commonly painted for him, and many other Florentines.
Pietro Perugino designed with sufficient knowledge of nature; but he is
dry, and his manner little. His disciple was,
Raphael Santio, who was born on Good Friday, in the year 1483, and died
on Good Friday, in the year 1520, so that he lived only thirty-seven
years complete. He surpassed all modern painters, because he possessed
more of the excellent parts of painting than any other: and it is
believed that he equalled the ancients, excepting only that he designed
not naked bodies with so much learning as Michael Angelo; but his gusto
of design is purer, and much better. He painted not with so good, so
full, and so graceful a manner as Correggio; nor has he any thing of the
contrast of the lights and shadows, or so strong and free a colouring
as Titian; but he had a better disposition in his pieces, without
comparison, than either Titian, Correggio, Michael Angelo, or all the
rest of the succeeding painters to our days. His choice of attitudes,
of heads, of ornaments; the suitableness of his drapery, his manner of
designing, his varieties, his contrasts, his expressions, were beautiful
in perfection; but above all, he possessed the graces in so advantageous
a manner, that he has never since been equalled by any other. There are
portraits, or single figures, of his, which are finished pieces. He was
an admirable architect. He was handsome, well made, and tall of stature,
civil and well-natured, never refusing to teach another what he knew
himself. He had many scholars, amongst others, Julio Romano, Polydore,
Gaudenzio, Giovanni d’Udine, and Michael Coxis. His graver was Marc
Antonio, whose prints are admirable for the correctness of their outlines.
Julio Romano was the most excellent of all Raphael’s disciples. He had
conceptions which were more extraordinary, more profound, and more
elevated, than even his master himself. He was also a great architect;
his gusto was pure and exquisite. He was a great imitator of the
ancients; giving a clear testimony in all his productions, that he was
desirous to restore to practice the same forms and fabrics which were
ancient. He had the good fortune to find great persons, who committed
to him the care of edifices, vestibules, and porticos, all tetrastyles,
xistes, theatres, and such other places as are not now in use. He was
wonderful in his choice of attitudes. His manner was drier and harder
than any of Raphael’s school. He did not exactly understand the lights
and shadows, or the colours. He is frequently harsh and ungraceful. The
folds of his draperies are neither beautiful nor great, easy nor natural;
but all extravagant, and too like the habits of fantastical comedians.
He was very knowing in human learning. His disciples were Pirro Ligorio,
(who was admirable for ancient buildings, as for towns, temples, tombs,
and trophies, and the situation of ancient edifices,) Æneas Vico,
Bonasone, Georgio Mantuano, and others.
Polydore, a disciple of Raphael, designed admirably well, as to the
practical part, having a particular genius for freezes, as we may see
by those of white and black which he has painted at Rome. He imitated
the ancients; but his manner was greater than that of Julio Romano;
nevertheless, Julio seems to be the truer. Some admirable groupes are
seen in his works, and such as are not elsewhere to be found. He coloured
very seldom, and made landscapes of a reasonable good gusto.
Gio. Bellino, one of the first who was of any consideration at Venice,
painted very drily, according to the manner of his time. He was very
knowing, both in architecture and perspective. He was Titian’s first
master, which may easily be observed in the first painting of that noble
disciple; in which we may remark, that propriety of colours which his
master has observed.
About this time, Georgione, the contemporary of Titian, came to excel in
portraits, or face-painting, and also in great works. He first began to
make choice of glowing and agreeable colours, the perfection and entire
harmony of which were afterwards to be found in Titian’s pictures. He
dressed his figures wonderfully well; and it may be truly said, that, but
for him, Titian had never arrived to that height of perfection, which
proceeded from the rivalship and jealousy of honour betwixt those two.
Titian was one of the greatest colourists who was ever known. He designed
with much more ease and practice than Georgione. There are to be seen
women and children of his hand, which are admirable, both for the design
and colouring. The gusto of them is delicate, charming, and noble, with
a certain pleasing negligence of the head dresses, the draperies, and
ornaments of habits, which are wholly peculiar to him. As for the figures
of men, he has designed them but moderately well. There are even some of
his draperies which are mean, and savour of a little gusto. His painting
is wonderfully glowing, sweet, and delicate. He made portraits, which
were extremely noble; the attitudes of them being very graceful, grave,
diversified, and adorned after a very becoming fashion. No man ever
painted landscape with so great a manner, so good a colouring, and with
such a resemblance of nature. For eight or ten years space, he copied
with great labour and exactness whatsoever he undertook; thereby to make
himself an easy way, and to establish some general maxims for his future
conduct. Besides the excellent gusto which he had of colours, in which
he excelled all mortal men, he perfectly understood how to give every
thing the touches which were most suitable and proper to them; such as
distinguished them from each other, and which gave the greatest spirit,
and the most of truth. The pictures, which he made in his beginning and
in the declension of his age, are of a dry and mean manner. He lived
ninety-nine years. His disciples were Paulo Veronese, Giacomo Tintoret,
Giacomo da Ponte Bassano, and his sons.
Paulo Veronese was wonderfully graceful in his airs of women, with
great variety of shining draperies, and incredible vivacity and ease.
Nevertheless, his composition is sometimes improper, and his design is
incorrect; but his colouring, and whatsoever depends on it, is so very
charming in his pictures, that it surprises at the first sight, and makes
us totally forget those other qualities which are wanting in him.
Tintoret was the disciple of Titian, great in the practical part of
design, but sometimes also sufficiently extravagant. He had an admirable
genius for painting, if he had had as great an affection to his art, and
as much patience in undergoing the difficulties of it, as he had fire and
vivacity of nature. He has made pictures not inferior in beauty to those
of Titian. His composition, and his dresses, are, for the most part,
improper, and his outlines are not correct; but his colouring, and the
dependencies of it, like that of his master, are most admirable.
The Bassans had a more mean and poor gusto in painting than Tintoret,
and their designs were also less correct than his: they had, indeed, an
excellent gusto of colours, and have touched all kinds of animals with an
admirable manner, but were notoriously imperfect in the composition and
design.
Correggio painted at Parma two large cupolas in fresco, and some
altar-pieces. This artist found out certain natural and unaffected
graces, for his Madonnas, his Saints, and Little Children, which were
peculiar to him. His manner is exceeding great, both for the design and
for the work, but withal is very incorrect. His pencil was both easy and
delightful; and, it is to be acknowledged, that he painted with great
strength, great heightning, great sweetness, and liveliness of colours,
in which none surpassed him.
He understood how to distribute his lights in such a manner as was wholly
peculiar to himself; which gave a great force and great roundness to
his figures. This manner consists in extending a large light, and then
making it lose itself insensibly in the dark shadowings which he placed
out of the masses; and those give them this great roundness, without
our being able to perceive from whence proceeds so much of force, and
so vast a pleasure to the sight. It is probable, that, in this part,
the rest of the Lombard school copied him. He had no great choice of
graceful attitudes, nor of distribution for beautiful groupes; his design
oftentimes appears lame, and the positions are not much observed in them.
The aspects of his figures are many times unpleasing; but his manner of
designing heads, hands, feet, and other parts, is very great, and well
deserves our imitation. In the conduct and finishing of a picture, he has
done wonders; for he painted with so much union, that his greatest works
seemed to have been finished in the compass of one day, and appear as if
we saw them from a looking-glass. His landscape is equally beautiful with
his figures.
At the same time with Correggio, lived and flourished Parmegiano; who,
besides his great manner of well colouring, excelled also both in
invention and design, with a genius full of gentleness and of spirit,
having nothing that was ungraceful in his choice of attitudes, and in
the dresses of his figures, which we cannot say of Correggio. There are
pieces of his to be seen, which are both beautiful and correct.
These two painters last mentioned had very good disciples, but they
are known only to those of their own province; and besides, there is
little to be credited of what his countrymen say; for painting is wholly
extinguished amongst them.
I say nothing of Leonardo da Vinci, because I have seen but little of
his, though he restored the arts at Milan, and had many disciples there.
Ludovico Carrache, cousin of Hannibal and Augustine, studied at Parma
after Correggio; and excelled in design and colouring with such a
gracefulness, and so much candour, that Guido, the scholar of Hannibal,
did afterwards imitate him with great success. There are some of his
pictures to be seen, which are very beautiful and well understood. He
made his ordinary residence at Bologna; and it was he who put the pencil
into the hands of Hannibal his cousin.
Hannibal, in a little time, excelled his master in all parts of painting.
He imitated Correggio, Titian, and Raphael, in their different manners
as he pleased; excepting only, that you see not in his pictures the
nobleness, the graces, and the charms of Raphael; and his outlines
are neither so pure nor so elegant as his. In all other things he is
wonderfully accomplished, and of an universal genius.
Augustine, brother to Hannibal, was also a very good painter, and an
admirable graver. He had a natural son, called Antonio, who died at the
age of thirty-five, and who (according to the general opinion) would have
surpassed his uncle Hannibal; for by what he left behind him, it appears
that he was of a more lofty genius.
Guido chiefly imitated Ludovico Carrache, yet retained always somewhat
of the manner which his master, Denis Calvert, the Fleming, taught him.
This Calvert lived at Bologna, and was competitor and rival to Ludovico
Carrache. Guido made the same use of Albert Durer as Virgil did of old
Ennius; borrowed what pleased him, and made it afterwards his own; that
is, he accommodated what was good in Albert to his own manner; which he
executed with so much gracefulness and beauty, that he alone got more
money and more reputation in his time than his own masters and all the
scholars of the Carraches, though they were of greater capacity than
himself. His heads yield no manner of precedence to those of Raphael.
Sisto Badolocchi designed the best of all his disciples, but he died
young.
Domenichino was a very knowing painter, and very laborious, but otherwise
of no great natural endowments. It is true, he was profoundly skilled in
all the parts of painting, but wanting genius, (as I said,) he had less
of nobleness in his works than all the rest who studied in the school of
the Carraches.
Albani was excellent in all that belonged to painting, and adorned with
variety of learning.
Lanfranc, a man of a great and sprightly wit, supported his reputation
for a long time with an extraordinary gusto of design and colouring. But
his foundation being only on the practical part, he at length lost ground
in point of correctness; so that many of his pieces appear extravagant
and fantastical. And after his decease the school of the Carraches went
daily to decay in all the parts of painting.
Gio. Viola was very old before he learned landscape; the knowledge of
which was imparted to him by Hannibal Carrache, who took pleasure to
instruct him, so that he painted many of that kind, which are wonderfully
fine, and well coloured.
If we cast our eyes towards Germany and the Low Countries, we may there
behold Albert Durer, Lucas Van Leyden, Holbein, Aldegrave, &c. who were
all contemporaries. Amongst these, Albert Durer and Holbein were both
of them wonderfully knowing, and had certainly been of the first form
of painters, had they travelled into Italy; for nothing can be laid to
their charge, but only that they had a Gothic gusto. As for Holbein, he
performed yet better than Raphael; and I have seen a portrait of his
painting, with which one of Titian’s could not come in competition.
Amongst the Flemings, we had Rubens, who derived from his birth, a
lively, free, noble, and universal genius: a genius which was capable
not only of raising him to the rank of the ancient painters, but also
to the highest employment in the service of his country; so that he was
chosen for one of the most important embassies of our age. His gusto of
design savours somewhat more of the Fleming than of the beauty of the
antique, because he staid not long at Rome. And though we cannot but
observe in all his paintings somewhat of great and noble, yet, it must
be confessed, that, generally speaking, he designed not correctly; but,
for all the other parts of painting, he was as absolute a master of them,
and possessed them all as thoroughly as any of his predecessors in that
noble art. His principal studies were made in Lombardy, after the works
of Titian, Paul Veronese, and Tintoret; whose cream he has skimmed, (if
you will allow the phrase,) and extracted from their several beauties
many general maxims and infallible rules, which he always followed, and
by which he has acquired in his works a greater facility than that of
Titian; more of purity, truth, and science, than Paul Veronese; and more
of majesty, repose, and moderation, than Tintoret. To conclude: his
manner is so solid, so knowing, and so ready, that it may seem this rare
accomplished genius was sent from heaven to instruct mankind in the art
of painting.
His school was full of admirable disciples, amongst whom, Van Dyck was he
who best comprehended all the rules and general maxims of his master; and
who has even excelled him in the delicacy of his colouring, and in his
cabinet-pieces; but his gusto, in the designing part, was nothing better
than that of Rubens.