the vehicle (whether it be the organ of seeing or of hearing) by which
our pleasures are conveyed to the mind. We must take care that the eye
be not perplexed and distracted by a confusion of equal parts, or
equal lights, or offended by an unharmonious mixture of colours, as we
should guard against offending the ear by unharmonious sounds. We may
venture to be more confident of the truth of this observation, since
we find that Shakespeare, on a parallel occasion, has made Hamlet
recommend to the players a precept of the same kind--never to offend
the ear by harsh sounds: _In the very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind
of your passion_, says he, _you must acquire and beget a temperance
that may give it smoothness_. And yet, at the same time, he very
justly observes, _The end of playing, both at the first, and now, was,
and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature_. No one can deny
that violent passions will naturally emit harsh and disagreeable
tones; yet this great poet and critic thought that this imitation of
nature would cost too much, if purchased at the expense of
disagreeable sensations, or, as he expresses it, of _splitting the
ear_. The poet and actor, as well as the painter of genius, who is
well acquainted with all the variety and sources of pleasure in the
mind and imagination, has little regard or attention to common nature,
or creeping after common-sense. By overleaping those narrow bounds, he
more effectually seizes the whole mind, and more powerfully
accomplishes his purpose. This success is ignorantly imagined to
proceed from inattention to all rules, and a defiance of reason and
judgment; whereas it is in truth acting according to the best rules
and the justest reason.
He who thinks nature, in the narrow sense of the word, is alone to be
followed, will produce but a scanty entertainment for the imagination;
everything is to be done with which it is natural for the mind to be
pleased, whether it proceeds from simplicity or variety, uniformity or
irregularity; whether the scenes are familiar or exotic; rude and
wild, or enriched and cultivated; for it is natural for the mind to be
pleased with all these in their turn. In short, whatever pleases has
in it what is analogous to the mind, and is, therefore, in the highest
and best sense of the word, natural.
It is the sense of nature or truth which ought more particularly to be
cultivated by the professors of art; and it may be observed, that many
wise and learned men, who have accustomed their minds to admit nothing
for truth but what can be proved by mathematical demonstration, have
seldom any relish for those arts which address themselves to the
fancy, the rectitude and truth of which is known by another kind of
proof; and we may add, that the acquisition of this knowledge requires
as much circumspection and sagacity as is necessary to attain those
truths which are more capable of demonstration. Reason must ultimately
determine our choice on every occasion; but this reason may still be
exerted ineffectually by applying to taste principles which, though
right as far as they go, yet do not reach the object. No man, for
instance, can deny that it seems at first view very reasonable that a
statue, which is to carry down to posterity the resemblance of an
individual, should be dressed in the fashion of the times, in the
dress which he himself wore: this would certainly be true, if the
dress were part of the man; but after a time, the dress is only an
amusement for an antiquarian; and if it obstructs the general design
of the piece, it is to be disregarded by the artist. Common-sense must
here give way to a higher sense. In the naked form, and in the
disposition of the drapery, the difference between one artist and
another is principally seen. But if he is compelled to exhibit the
modern dress, the naked form is entirely hid, and the drapery is
already disposed by the skill of the tailor. Were a Phidias to obey
such absurd commands, he would please no more than an ordinary
sculptor; in the inferior parts of every art the learned and the
ignorant are nearly upon a level.
These were probably among the reasons that induced the sculptor
of that wonderful figure of Laocoon, to exhibit him naked,
notwithstanding he was surprised in the act of sacrificing to Apollo,
and consequently ought to have been shown in his sacerdotal habits, if
those greater reasons had not preponderated. Art is not yet in so high
estimation with us, as to obtain so great a sacrifice as the ancients
made, especially the Grecians, who suffered themselves to be
represented naked, whether they were generals, lawgivers, or kings.
Under this head of balancing and choosing the greater reason, or of
two evils taking the least, we may consider the conduct of Rubens in
the Luxembourg gallery, where he has mixed allegorical figures with
the representations of real personages, which must be acknowledged
to be a fault; yet, if the artist considered himself as engaged to
furnish this gallery with a rich, various, and splendid ornament,
this could not be done, at least in an equal degree, without
peopling the air and water with these allegorical figures: he
therefore accomplished all that he purposed. In this case all lesser
considerations, which tend to obstruct the great end of the work, must
yield and give way.
The variety which portraits and modern dresses, mixed with allegorical
figures, produce, is not to be slightly given up upon a punctilio of
reason, when that reason deprives the art in a manner of its very
existence. It must always be remembered that the business of a great
painter is to produce a great picture; he must therefore take especial
care not to be cajoled by specious arguments out of his materials.
What has been so often said to the disadvantage of allegorical
poetry,--that it is tedious, and uninteresting,--cannot with the same
propriety be applied to painting, where the interest is of a different
kind. If allegorical painting produces a greater variety of ideal
beauty, a richer, a more various and delightful composition, and gives
to the artist a greater opportunity of exhibiting his skill, all the
interest he wishes for is accomplished; such a picture not only
attracts, but fixes the attention.
If it be objected that Rubens judged ill at first in thinking it
necessary to make his work so very ornamental, this puts the question
upon new ground. It was his peculiar style; he could paint in no other;
and he was selected for that work, probably because it was his style.
Nobody will dispute but some of the best of the Roman or Bolognian
schools would have produced a more learned and more noble work.
This leads us to another important province of taste, that of weighing
the value of the different classes of the art, and of estimating them
accordingly.
All arts have means within them of applying themselves with success
both to the intellectual and sensitive part of our natures. It cannot
be disputed, supposing both these means put in practice with equal
abilities, to which we ought to give the preference; to him who
represents the heroic arts and more dignified passions of man, or to
him who, by the help of meretricious ornaments, however elegant and
graceful, captivates the sensuality, as it may be called, of our
taste. Thus the Roman and Bolognian schools are reasonably preferred
to the Venetian, Flemish, or Dutch schools, as they address themselves
to our best and noblest faculties.
Well-turned periods in eloquence, or harmony of numbers in poetry,
which are in those arts what colouring is in painting, however highly
we may esteem them, can never be considered as of equal importance
with the art of unfolding truths that are useful to mankind, and which
make us better or wiser. Nor can those works which remind us of the
poverty and meanness of our nature be considered as of equal rank with
what excites ideas of grandeur, or raises and dignifies humanity; or,
in the words of a late poet, which makes the beholder _learn to
venerate himself as man_.[5]
It is reason and good sense, therefore, which ranks and estimates every
art, and every part of that art, according to its importance, from the
painter of animated down to inanimated nature. We will not allow a man,
who shall prefer the inferior style, to say it is his taste; taste here
has nothing, or at least ought to have nothing, to do with the question.
He wants not taste, but sense and soundness of judgment.
Indeed, perfection in an inferior style may be reasonably preferred to
mediocrity in the highest walks of art. A landscape of Claude Lorrain
may be preferred to a history by Luca Giordano; but hence appears the
necessity of the connoisseur's knowing in what consists the excellency
of each class, in order to judge how near it approaches to perfection.
Even in works of the same kind, as in history-painting, which is
composed of various parts, excellence of an inferior species, carried
to a very high degree, will make a work very valuable, and in some
measure compensate for the absence of the higher kinds of merit. It is
the duty of the connoisseur to know and esteem, as much as it may
deserve, every part of painting: he will not then think even Bassano
unworthy of his notice; who, though totally devoid of expression,
sense, grace, or elegance, may be esteemed on account of his admirable
taste of colours, which, in his best works, are little inferior to
those of Titian.
Since I have mentioned Bassano, we must do him likewise the justice to
acknowledge, that though he did not aspire to the dignity of
expressing the characters and passions of men, yet, with respect to
facility and truth in his manner of touching animals of all kinds, and
giving them what painters call _their character_, few have excelled him.
To Bassano we may add Paul Veronese and Tintoret, for their entire
inattention to what is justly thought the most essential part of our
art, the expression of the passions. Notwithstanding these glaring
deficiencies, we justly esteem their works; but it must be remembered,
that they do not please from those defects, but from their great
excellencies of another kind, and in spite of such transgressions. These
excellencies, too, as far as they go, are founded in the truth of
_general_ nature: they tell the _truth_, though not _the whole truth_.
By these considerations, which can never be too frequently impressed,
may be obviated two errors, which I observed to have been, formerly at
least, the most prevalent, and to be most injurious to artists; that
of thinking taste and genius to have nothing to do with reason, and
that of taking particular living objects for nature.
I shall now say something on that part of _taste_, which, as I have
hinted to you before, does not belong so much to the external form of
things, but is addressed to the mind, and depends on its original
frame, or, to use the expression, the organisation of the soul; I mean
the imagination and the passions. The principles of these are as
invariable as the former, and are to be known and reasoned upon in the
same manner, by an appeal to common-sense deciding upon the common
feelings of mankind. This sense, and these feelings, appear to me of
equal authority, and equally conclusive. Now this appeal implies a
general uniformity and agreement in the minds of men. It would be else
an idle and vain endeavour to establish rules of art; it would be
pursuing a phantom, to attempt to move affections with which we were
entirely unacquainted. We have no reason to suspect there is a greater
difference between our minds than between our forms; of which, though
there are no two alike, yet there is a general similitude that goes
through the whole race of mankind; and those who have cultivated their
taste can distinguish what is beautiful or deformed, or, in other
words, what agrees with or deviates from the general idea of nature,
in one case, as well as in the other.
The internal fabric of our minds, as well as the external form of our
bodies, being nearly uniform, it seems then to follow of course, that
as the imagination is incapable of producing any thing originally of
itself, and can only vary and combine those ideas with which it is
furnished by means of the senses, there will be necessarily an
agreement in the imaginations, as in the senses of men. There being
this agreement, it follows, that in all cases, in our lightest
amusements as well as in our most serious actions and engagements of
life, we must regulate our affections of every kind by that of others.
The well-disciplined mind acknowledges this authority, and submits its
own opinion to the public voice. It is from knowing what are the
general feelings and passions of mankind that we acquire a true idea
of what imagination is; though it appears as if we had nothing to do
but to consult our own particular sensations, and these were
sufficient to ensure us from all error and mistake.
A knowledge of the disposition and character of the human mind can be
acquired only by experience; a great deal will be learned, I admit, by
a habit of examining what passes in our bosoms, what are our own
motives of action, and of what kind of sentiments we are conscious on
any occasion. We may suppose an uniformity, and conclude that the same
effect will be produced by the same cause in the mind of others. This
examination will contribute to suggest to us matters of inquiry; but
we can never be sure that our own sentiments are true and right, till
they are confirmed by more extensive observation. One man opposing
another determines nothing; but a general union of minds, like a
general combination of the forces of all mankind, makes a strength
that is irresistible. In fact, as he who does not know himself, does
not know others, so it may be said with equal truth, that he who does
not know others, knows himself but very imperfectly.
A man who thinks he is guarding himself against prejudices by
resisting the authority of others, leaves open every avenue to
singularity, vanity, self-conceit, obstinacy, and many other vices,
all tending to warp the judgment, and prevent the natural operation of
his faculties. This submission to others is a deference which we owe,
and, indeed, are forced involuntarily to pay. In fact, we never are
satisfied with our opinions, whatever we may pretend, till they are
ratified and confirmed by the suffrages of the rest of mankind. We
dispute and wrangle for ever; we endeavour to get men to come to us
when we do not go to them.
He, therefore, who is acquainted with the works which have pleased
different ages and different countries, and has formed his opinion on
them, has more materials, and more means of knowing what is analogous
to the mind of man, than he who is conversant only with the works of
his own age or country. What has pleased, and continues to please, is
likely to please again: hence are derived the rules of art, and on
this immovable foundation they must ever stand.
This search and study of the history of the mind ought not to be
confined to one art only. It is by the analogy that one art bears to
another that many things are ascertained, which either were but
faintly seen, or, perhaps, would not have been discovered at all, if
the inventor had not received the first hints from the practices of a
sister art on a similar occasion.[6] The frequent allusions which
every man who treats of any art is obliged to make to others, in order
to illustrate and confirm his principles, sufficiently show their near
connection and inseparable relation.
All arts having the same general end, which is to please; and
addressing themselves to the same faculties, through the medium of the
senses; it follows that their rules and principles must have as great
affinity as the different materials and the different organs or
vehicles by which they pass to the mind will permit them to retain.[7]
We may therefore conclude that the real substance, as it may be
called, of what goes under the name of taste, is fixed and established
in the nature of things; that there are certain and regular causes by
which the imagination and passions of men are affected; and that the
knowledge of these causes is acquired by a laborious and diligent
investigation of nature, and by the same slow progress as wisdom or
knowledge of every kind, however instantaneous its operations may
appear when thus acquired.
It has been often observed, that the good and virtuous man alone can
acquire this true or just relish even of works of art. This opinion
will not appear entirely without foundation, when we consider that the
same habit of mind, which is acquired by our search after truth, in
the more serious duties of life, is only transferred to the pursuit of
lighter amusements. The same disposition, the same desire to find
something steady, substantial, and durable, on which the mind can
lean, as it were, and rest with safety, actuates us in both cases.
The subject only is changed. We pursue the same method in our search
after the idea of beauty and perfection in each; of virtue, by looking
forward beyond ourselves to society, and to the whole; of arts, by
extending our views in the same manner, to all ages and all times.
Every art, like our own, has in its composition fluctuating as well as
fixed principles. It is an attentive inquiry into their difference
that will enable us to determine how far we are influenced by custom
and habit, and what is fixed in the nature of things.
To distinguish how much has solid foundation, we may have recourse to
the same proof by which some hold that wit ought to be tried; whether
it preserves itself when translated. That wit is false which can
subsist only in one language; and that picture which pleases only one
age or one nation owes its reception to some local or accidental
association of ideas.
We may apply this to every custom and habit of life. Thus, the general
principles of urbanity, politeness, or civility, have been the same in
all nations; but the mode in which they are dressed is continually
varying. The general idea of showing respect is by making yourself
less; but the manner, whether by bowing the body, kneeling,
prostration, pulling off the upper part of our dress, or taking away
the lower,[8] is a matter of custom.
Thus, in regard to ornaments,--it would be unjust to conclude, that,
because they were at first arbitrarily contrived, they are therefore
undeserving of our attention; on the contrary, he who neglects the
cultivation of those ornaments acts contrary to nature and reason. As
life would be imperfect without its highest ornaments, the Arts, so
these arts themselves would be imperfect without _their_ ornaments.
Though we by no means ought to rank with these positive and
substantial beauties, yet it must be allowed that a knowledge of both
is essentially requisite towards forming a complete, whole, and
perfect taste. It is in reality from their ornaments that arts receive
their peculiar character and complexion; we may add, that in them we
find the characteristical mark of a national taste; as, by throwing up
a feather in the air, we know which way the wind blows, better than by
a more heavy matter.
The striking distinction between the works of the Roman, Bolognian,
and Venetian schools consists more in that general effect which is
produced by colours than in the more profound excellencies of the art;
at least it is from thence that each is distinguished and known at
first sight. Thus it is the ornaments rather than the proportions of
architecture which at the first glance distinguish the different
orders from each other; the Doric is known by its triglyphs, the Ionic
by its volutes, and the Corinthian by its acanthus.
What distinguishes oratory from a cold narration is a more liberal,
though chaste, use of those ornaments which go under the name of
figurative and metaphorical expressions; and poetry distinguishes
itself from oratory by words and expressions still more ardent and
glowing. What separates and distinguishes poetry is more particularly
the ornament of _verse_; it is this which gives it its character, and
is an essential without which it cannot exist. Custom has appropriated
different metre to different kinds of composition, in which the world
is not perfectly agreed. In England the dispute is not yet settled,
which is to be preferred, rhyme or blank verse. But however we
disagree about what these metrical ornaments shall be, that some metre
is essentially necessary is universally acknowledged.
In poetry or eloquence, to determine how far figurative or
metaphorical language may proceed, and when it begins to be
affectation or beside the truth, must be determined by taste; though
this taste, we must never forget, is regulated and formed by the
presiding feelings of mankind--by those works which have approved
themselves to all times and all persons. Thus, though eloquence has
undoubtedly an essential and intrinsic excellence, and immovable
principles common to all languages, founded in the nature of our
passions and affections; yet it has its ornaments and modes of
address, which are merely arbitrary. What is approved in the eastern
nations as grand and majestic would be considered by the Greeks and
Romans as turgid and inflated; and they, in return, would be thought
by the Orientals to express themselves in a cold and insipid manner.
We may add, likewise, to the credit of ornaments, that it is by their
means that Art itself accomplishes its purpose. Fresnoy calls
colouring, which is one of the chief ornaments of painting, _lena
sororis_, that which procures lovers and admirers to the more valuable
excellencies of the art.
It appears to be the same right turn of mind which enables a man to
acquire the _truth_, or the just idea of what is right, in the
ornaments, as in the more stable principles of art. It has still the
same centre of perfection, though it is the centre of a smaller circle.
To illustrate this by the fashion of dress, in which there is allowed
to be a good or bad taste. The component parts of dress are
continually changing from great to little, from short to long; but
the general form still remains; it is still the same general dress,
which is comparatively fixed, though on a very slender foundation; but
it is on this which fashion must rest. He who invents with the most
success, or dresses in the best taste, would probably, from the same
sagacity employed to greater purposes, have discovered equal skill, or
have formed the same correct taste, in the highest labours of art.
I have mentioned taste in dress, which is certainly one of the lowest
subjects to which this word is applied; yet, as I have before
observed, there is a right even here, however narrow its foundation,
respecting the fashion of any particular nation. But we have still
more slender means of determining to which of the different customs of
different ages or countries we ought to give the preference, since
they seem to be all equally removed from nature. If an European, when
he has cut off his beard, and put false hair on his head, or bound up
his own natural hair in regular hard knots, as unlike nature as he can
possibly make it; and after having rendered them immovable by the help
of the fat of hogs, has covered the whole with flour, laid on by a
machine with the utmost regularity; if, when thus attired, he issues
forth, and meets a Cherokee Indian, who has bestowed as much time at
his toilet, and laid on, with equal care and attention, his yellow and
red ochre on particular parts of his forehead or cheeks, as he judges
most becoming; whoever of these two despises the other for this
attention to the fashion of his country, whichever first feels himself
provoked to laugh, is the barbarian.
All these fashions are very innocent; neither worth disquisition, nor
any endeavour to alter them; as the change would, in all probability,
be equally distant from nature. The only circumstance against which
indignation may reasonably be moved, is, where the operation is
painful or destructive of health; such as some of the practices at
Otaheite, and the strait-lacing of the English ladies; of the last of
which practices, how destructive it must be to health and long life
the professor of anatomy took an opportunity of proving a few days
since in this Academy.
It is in dress as in things of greater consequence. Fashions originate
from those only who have the high and powerful advantages of rank,
birth, and fortune. Many of the ornaments of art, those at least for
which no reason can be given, are transmitted to us, are adopted, and
acquire their consequence from the company in which we have been used
to see them. As Greece and Rome are the fountains from whence have
flowed all kinds of excellence, to that veneration which they have a
right to claim for the pleasure and knowledge which they have afforded
us we voluntarily add our approbation of every ornament and every
custom that belonged to them, even to the fashion of their dress. For
it may be observed that, not satisfied with them in their own place,
we make no difficulty of dressing statues of modern heroes or senators
in the fashion of the Roman armour or peaceful robe; we go so far as
hardly to bear a statue in any other drapery.