Iphigenia, painted by Jan Steen, a painter of whom I have formerly had
occasion to speak with the highest approbation; and even in this
picture, the subject of which is by no means adapted to his genius,
there is nature and expression; but it is such expression, and the
countenances are so familiar, and consequently so vulgar, and the
whole accompanied with such finery of silks and velvets, that one
would be almost tempted to doubt whether the artist did not purposely
intend to burlesque his subject.
Instances of the same kind we frequently see in poetry. Parts of
Hobbes's translation of Homer are remembered and repeated merely for
the familiarity and meanness of their phraseology, so ill
corresponding with the ideas which ought to have been expressed, and,
as I conceive, with the style of the original.
We may proceed in the same manner through the comparatively inferior
branches of art. There are, in works of that class, the same
distinction of a higher and a lower style; and they take their rank
and degree in proportion as the artist departs more, or less, from
common nature, and makes it an object of his attention to strike the
imagination of the spectator by ways belonging especially to
art--unobserved and untaught out of the school of its practice.
If our judgments are to be directed by narrow, vulgar, untaught, or
rather ill-taught, reason, we must prefer a portrait by Denner, or any
other high finisher, to those of Titian or Vandyke; and a landscape of
Vanderheyden to those of Titian or Rubens; for they are certainly more
exact representations of nature.
If we suppose a view of nature represented with all the truth of the
_camera obscura_, and the same scene represented by a great artist,
how little and mean will the one appear in comparison of the other,
where no superiority is supposed from the choice of the subject! The
scene shall be the same, the difference only will be in the manner in
which it is presented to the eye. With what additional superiority,
then, will the same artist appear when he has the power of selecting
his materials as well as elevating his style? Like Nicholas Poussin,
he transports us to the environs of ancient Rome, with all the objects
which a literary education makes so precious and interesting to man;
or, like Sebastian Bourdon, he leads us to the dark antiquity of the
pyramids of Egypt; or, like Claude Lorrain, he conducts us to the
tranquillity of Arcadian scenes and fairy-land.
Like the history-painter, a painter of landscapes, in this style and
with this conduct, sends the imagination back into antiquity; and, like
the poet, he makes the elements sympathise with his subject: whether the
clouds roll in volumes like those of Titian or Salvator Rosa, or like
those of Claude, are gilded with the setting sun; whether the mountains
have sudden and bold projections, or are gently sloped; whether the
branches of his trees shoot out abruptly in right angles from their
trunks, or follow each other with only a gentle inclination. All these
circumstances contribute to the general character of the work, whether
it be of the elegant or of the more sublime kind. If we add to this the
powerful materials of lightness and darkness, over which the artist has
complete dominion, to vary and dispose them as he pleases; to diminish
or increase them as will best suit his purpose, and correspond to the
general idea of his work; a landscape thus conducted, under the
influence of a poetical mind will have the same superiority over the
more ordinary and common views, as Milton's _Allegra_ and _Penseroso_
have over a cold prosaic narration or description; and such a picture
would make a more forcible impression on the mind than the real scenes,
were they presented before us.
If we look abroad to other arts, we may observe the same distinction,
the same division into two classes; each of them acting under the
influence of two different principles, in which the one follows
nature, the other varies it, and sometimes departs from it.
The theatre, which is said _to hold the mirror up to nature_,
comprehends both those ideas. The lower kind of comedy, or farce, like
the inferior style of painting, the more naturally it is represented,
the better; but the higher appears to me to aim no more at imitation,
so far as it belongs to anything like deception, or to expect that the
spectators should think that the events there represented are really
passing before them, than Raffaelle in his Cartoons, or Poussin in his
Sacraments, expected it to be believed, even for a moment, that what
they exhibited were real figures.
For want of this distinction the world is filled with false criticism.
Raffaelle is praised for naturalness and deception, which he certainly
has not accomplished, and as certainly never intended; and our late
great actor, Garrick, has been as ignorantly praised by his friend
Fielding; who doubtless imagined he had hit upon an ingenious device, by
introducing, in one of his novels (otherwise a work of the highest
merit), an ignorant man mistaking Garrick's representation of a scene in
"Hamlet" for reality. A very little reflection will convince us, that
there is not one circumstance in the whole scene that is of the nature
of deception. The merit and excellence of Shakespeare, and of Garrick,
when they were engaged in such scenes, is of a different and much higher
kind. But what adds to the falsity of this intended compliment is, that
the best stage-representation appears even more unnatural to a person of
such a character, who is supposed never to have seen a play before, than
it does to those who have had a habit of allowing for those necessary
deviations from nature which the Art requires.
In theatric representation great allowances must always be made for
the place in which the exhibition is represented; for the surrounding
company, the lighted candles, the scenes visibly shifted in your
sight, and the language of blank verse, so different from common
English; which merely as English must appear surprising in the mouths
of Hamlet, and all the court and natives of Denmark. These allowances
are made; but their being made puts an end to all manner of deception:
and further, we know that the more low, illiterate, and vulgar any
person is, the less he will be disposed to make these allowances, and
of course to be deceived by any imitation; the things in which the
trespass against nature and common probability is made in favour of
the theatre being quite within the sphere of such uninformed men.
Though I have no intention of entering into all the circumstances of
unnaturalness in theatrical representations, I must observe that even
the expression of violent passion is not always the most excellent in
proportion as it is the most natural; so, great terror and such
disagreeable sensations may be communicated to the audience, that the
balance may be destroyed by which pleasure is preserved and holds its
predominancy in the mind: violent distortion of action, harsh
screamings of the voice, however great the occasions, or however
natural on such occasions, are therefore not admissible in the
theatric art. Many of these allowed deviations from nature arise from
the necessity which there is, that everything should be raised and
enlarged beyond its natural state; that the full effect may come home
to the spectator, which otherwise would be lost in the comparatively
extensive space of the Theatre. Hence the deliberate and stately step,
the studied grace of action, which seems to enlarge the dimensions of
the actor, and alone to fill the stage. All this unnaturalness, though
right and proper in its place, would appear affected and ridiculous in
a private room: _quid enim deformius quàm scenam, in vitam transferre?_
And here I must observe, and I believe it may be considered as a
general rule, that no Art can be grafted with success on another Art.
For though they all profess the same origin, and to proceed from the
same stock, yet each has its own peculiar modes both of imitating
nature, and of deviating from it, each for the accomplishment of its
own particular purpose. These deviations, more especially, will not
bear transplantation to another soil.
If a Painter should endeavour to copy the theatrical pomp and parade
of dress, and attitude, instead of that simplicity, which is not a
greater beauty in life than it is in Painting, we should condemn such
pictures, as painted in the meanest style.
So, also, Gardening, as far as Gardening is an Art, or entitled to
that appellation, is a deviation from nature; for if the true taste
consists, as many hold, in banishing every appearance of Art, or any
traces of the footsteps of man, it would then be no longer a Garden.
Even though we define it, "Nature to advantage dressed," and in
some sense is such, and much more beautiful and commodious
for the recreation of man; it is, however, when so dressed, no
longer a subject for the pencil of a Landscape-Painter, as all
Landscape-Painters know, who love to have recourse to Nature herself,
and to dress her according to the principles of their own Art;
which are far different from those of Gardening, even when
conducted according to the most approved principles; and such as a
Landscape-Painter himself would adopt in the disposition of his own
grounds, for his own private satisfaction.
I have brought together as many instances as appear necessary to make
out the several points which I wished to suggest to your consideration
in this Discourse; that your own thoughts may lead you further in the
use that may be made of the analogy of the Arts; and of the restraint
which a full understanding of the diversity of many of their
principles ought to impose on the employment of that analogy.
The great end of all those arts is, to make an impression on the
imagination and the feeling. The imitation of nature frequently does
this. Sometimes it fails, and something else succeeds. I think,
therefore, the true test of all the arts is not solely whether the
production is a true copy of nature, but whether it answers the end of
art, which is, to produce a pleasing effect upon the mind.
It remains only to speak a few words of Architecture, which does not
come under the denomination of an imitative art. It applies itself,
like Music (and, I believe, we may add Poetry), directly to the
imagination, without the intervention of any kind of imitation.
There is in Architecture, as in Painting, an inferior branch of art,
in which the imagination appears to have no concern. It does not,
however, acquire the name of a polite and liberal art from its
usefulness, or administering to our wants or necessities, but from
some higher principle; we are sure that in the hands of a man of
genius it is capable of inspiring sentiment, and of filling the mind
with great and sublime ideas.
It may be worth the attention of Artists to consider what materials
are in their hands, that may contribute to this end; and whether this
art has it not in its power to address itself to the imagination with
effect, by more ways than are generally employed by Architects.
To pass over the effect produced by that general symmetry and
proportion, by which the eye is delighted, as the ear is with music,
Architecture certainly possesses many principles in common with Poetry
and Painting. Among those which may be reckoned as the first, is, that
of affecting the imagination by means of association of ideas. Thus,
for instance, as we have naturally a veneration for antiquity,
whatever building brings to our remembrance ancient customs and
manners, such as the castles of the Barons of ancient Chivalry, is
sure to give this delight. Hence it is that _towers and
battlements_[16] are so often selected by the Painter and the Poet to
make a part of the composition of their ideal Landscape; and it is
from hence, in a great degree, that, in the buildings of Vanbrugh, who
was a Poet as well as an Architect, there is a greater display of
imagination than we shall find, perhaps, in any other, and this is the
ground of the effect we feel in many of his works, notwithstanding the
faults with which many of them are justly charged. For this purpose,
Vanbrugh appears to have had recourse to some of the principles of the
Gothic Architecture; which, though not so ancient as the Grecian, is
more so to our imagination, with which the Artist is more concerned
than with absolute truth.
The Barbaric splendour of those Asiatic Buildings, which are now
publishing by a member of this Academy,[17] may possibly, in the same
manner, furnish an Architect, not with models to copy, but with hints of
composition and general effect, which would not otherwise have occurred.
It is, I know, a delicate and hazardous thing (and, as such, I have
already pointed it out) to carry the principles of one art to another,
or even to reconcile in one object the various modes of the same art,
when they proceed on different principles. The sound rules of the
Grecian Architecture are not to be lightly sacrificed. A deviation
from them, or even an addition to them, is like a deviation or
addition to, or from, the rules of other Arts--fit only for a great
master, who is thoroughly conversant in the nature of man, as well as
all combinations in his own Art.
It may not be amiss for the Architect to take advantage _sometimes_ of
that to which I am sure the Painter ought always to have his eyes
open--I mean the use of accidents: to follow when they lead, and to
improve them, rather than always to trust to a regular plan. It often
happens that additions have been made to houses, at various times, for
use or pleasure. As such buildings depart from regularity, they now
and then acquire something of scenery by this accident, which I should
think might not unsuccessfully be adopted by an Architect, in an
original plan, if it does not too much interfere with convenience.
Variety and intricacy is a beauty and excellence in every other of the
arts which address the imagination: and why not in Architecture?
The forms and turnings of the streets of London and other old towns
are produced by accident, without any original plan or design, but
they are not always the less pleasant to the walker or spectator on
that account. On the contrary, if the city had been built on the
regular plan of Sir Christopher Wren, the effect might have been, as
we know it is in some new parts of the town, rather unpleasing; the
uniformity might have produced weariness, and a slight degree of
disgust.
I can pretend to no skill in the detail of Architecture. I judge now
of the art, merely as a Painter. When I speak of Vanbrugh, I mean to
speak of him in the language of our art. To speak, then, of Vanbrugh
in the language of a painter, he had originality of invention, he
understood light and shadow, and had great skill in composition. To
support his principal object, he produced his second and third groups
or masses; he perfectly understood in his art what is the most
difficult in ours, the conduct of the background; by which the design
and invention is set off to the greatest advantage. What the
background is in Painting, in Architecture is the real ground on which
the building is erected; and no Architect took greater care than he
that his work should not appear crude and hard; that is, it did not
abruptly start out of the ground without expectation or preparation.
This is a tribute which a Painter owes to an Architect who composed
like a painter; and was defrauded of the due reward of his merit by
the wits of his time, who did not understand the principles of
composition in poetry better than he; and who knew little, or nothing,
of what he understood perfectly--the general ruling principles of
Architecture and Painting. His fate was that of the great Perrault;
both were the objects of the petulant sarcasms of factious men of
letters; and both have left some of the fairest ornaments which to
this day decorate their several countries; the façade of the Louvre,
Blenheim, and Castle Howard.
Upon the whole it seems to me, that the object and intention of all
the Arts is to supply the natural imperfection of things, and often to
gratify the mind by realising and embodying what never existed but in
the imagination.
It is allowed on all hands, that facts, and events, however they may
bind the Historian, have no dominion over the Poet or the Painter.
With us, History is made to bend and conform to this great idea of
Art. And why? Because these Arts, in their highest province, are not
addressed to the gross senses; but to the desires of the mind, to that
spark of divinity which we have within, impatient of being
circumscribed and pent up by the world which is about us. Just so much
as our Art has of this, just so much of dignity, I had almost said of
divinity, it exhibits; and those of our Artists who possessed this
mark of distinction in the highest degree, acquired from thence the
glorious appellation of DIVINE.
FOOTNOTES:
16:
"Towers and Battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees."--MILTON, L'ALL.
17: Mr. Hodges.
DISCOURSE XIV.
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 10, 1788._
CHARACTER OF GAINSBOROUGH:--HIS EXCELLENCIES AND DEFECTS.
In the study of our art, as in the study of all arts, something is the
result of _our own_ observation of nature; something, and that not a
little, the effect of the example of those who have studied the same
nature before us, and who have cultivated before us the same art, with
diligence and success. The less we confine ourselves in the choice of
those examples, the more advantage we shall derive from them; and the
nearer we shall bring our performances to a correspondence with nature
and the great general rules of art. When we draw our examples from
remote and revered antiquity--with some advantage, undoubtedly, in that
selection--we subject ourselves to some inconveniencies. We may suffer
ourselves to be too much led away by great names, and to be too much
subdued by overbearing authority. Our learning, in that case, is not so
much an exercise of our judgment as a proof of our docility. We find
ourselves, perhaps, too much overshadowed; and the character of our
pursuits is rather distinguished by the tameness of the follower than
animated by the spirit of emulation. It is sometimes of service that our
examples should be _near_ us; and such as raise a reverence, sufficient
to induce us carefully to observe them, yet not so great as to prevent
us from engaging with them in something like a generous contention.
We have lately lost Mr. Gainsborough, one of the greatest ornaments of
our Academy. It is not our business here to make Panegyrics on the
living, or even on the dead who were of our body. The praise of the
former might bear the appearance of adulation; and the latter of
untimely justice; perhaps of envy to those whom we have still the
happiness to enjoy, by an oblique suggestion of invidious comparisons.
In discoursing, therefore, on the talents of the late Mr. Gainsborough,
my object is, not so much to praise or to blame him, as to draw from his
excellencies and defects matter of instruction to the Students in our
Academy. If ever this nation should produce genius sufficient to acquire
to us the honourable distinction of an English School, the name of
Gainsborough will be transmitted to posterity, in the history of the
art, among the very first of that rising name. That our reputation in
the Arts is now only rising must be acknowledged; and we must expect our
advances to be attended with old prejudices, as adversaries, and not as
supporters; standing in this respect in a very different situation from
the late artists of the Roman School, to whose reputation ancient
prejudices have certainly contributed; the way was prepared for them,
and they may be said rather to have lived in the reputation of their
country than have contributed to it; whilst whatever celebrity is
obtained by English Artists can arise only from the operation of a fair
and true comparison. And when they communicate to their country a share
of their reputation, it is a portion of fame not borrowed from others,
but solely acquired by their own labour and talents. As Italy has
undoubtedly a prescriptive right to an admiration bordering on
prejudice, as a soil peculiarly adapted, congenial, and, we may add,
destined to the production of men of great genius in our Art, we may
not unreasonably suspect that a portion of the great fame of some of
their late artists has been owing to the general readiness and
disposition of mankind to acquiesce in their original prepossessions in
favour of the productions of the Roman School.
On this ground, however unsafe, I will venture to prophesy, that two
of the last distinguished painters of that country, I mean Pompeio
Battoni and Raffaelle Mengs, however great their names may at present
sound in our ears, will very soon fall into the rank of Imperiale,
Sebastian Concha, Placido Constanza, Masaccio, and the rest of their
immediate predecessors; whose names, though equally renowned in their
lifetime, are now fallen into what is little short of total oblivion.
I do not say that those painters were not superior to the artist I
allude to, and whose loss we lament, in a certain routine of practice,
which, to the eyes of common observers, has the air of a learned
composition, and bears a sort of superficial resemblance to the manner
of the great men who went before them. I know this perfectly well; but
I know likewise, that a man looking for real and lasting reputation
must unlearn much of the commonplace method so observable in the works
of the artists whom I have named. For my own part, I confess, I take
more interest in and am more captivated with the powerful impression
of nature which Gainsborough exhibited in his portraits and in his
landscapes, and the interesting simplicity and elegance of his little
ordinary beggar-children, than with any of the works of that School,
since the time of Andrea Sacchi, or perhaps we may say Carlo Maratti;
two painters who may truly be said to be ULTIMI ROMANORUM.
I am well aware how much I lay myself open to the censure and ridicule
of the academical professors of other nations, in preferring the
humble attempts of Gainsborough to the works of those regular
graduates in the great historical style. But we have the sanction of
all mankind in preferring genius in a lower rank of art to feebleness
and insipidity in the highest.
It would not be to the present purpose, even if I had the means and
materials, which I have not, to enter into the private life of Mr.
Gainsborough. The history of his gradual advancement, and the means by
which he acquired such excellence in his art, would come nearer to our
purposes and wishes, if it were by any means attainable; but the slow
progress of advancement is in general imperceptible to the man himself
who makes it; it is the consequence of an accumulation of various
ideas which his mind has received, he does not perhaps know how or
when. Sometimes, indeed, it happens that he may be able to mark the
time when, from the sight of a picture, a passage in an author, or a
hint in conversation, he has received, as it were, some new and
guiding light, something like inspiration, by which his mind has been
expanded; and is morally sure that his whole life and conduct has been
affected by that accidental circumstance. Such interesting accounts we
may, however, sometimes obtain from a man who has acquired an uncommon
habit of self-examination, and has attended to the progress of his own
improvement.