licence. A painter of portraits retains the individual likeness; a
painter of history shows the man by showing his actions. A painter must
compensate the natural deficiencies of his art. He has but one sentence
to utter, but one moment to exhibit. He cannot, like the poet or
historian, expatiate, and impress the mind with great veneration for the
character of the hero or saint he represents, though he lets us know at
the same time, that the saint was deformed, or the hero lame. The
painter has no other means of giving an idea of the dignity of the mind,
but by that external appearance which grandeur of thought does
generally, though not always, impress on the countenance; and by that
correspondence of figure to sentiment and situation, which all men wish,
but cannot command. The painter, who may in this one particular attain
with ease what others desire in vain, ought to give all that he possibly
can, since there are so many circumstances of true greatness that he
cannot give at all. He cannot make his hero talk like a great man; he
must make him look like one. For which reason, he ought to be well
studied in the analysis of those circumstances, which constitute dignity
of appearance in real life.
As in invention, so likewise in expression, care must be taken not to
run into particularities. Those expressions alone should be given to the
figures which their respective situations generally produce. Nor is this
enough; each person should also have that expression which men of his
rank generally exhibit. The joy, or the grief of a character of dignity,
is not to be expressed in the same manner as a similar passion in a
vulgar face. Upon this principle, Bernini, perhaps, may be subject to
censure. This sculptor, in many respects admirable, has given a very
mean expression to his statue of David, who is represented as just going
to throw the stone from the sling; and in order to give it the
expression of energy, he has made him biting his under-lip. This
expression is far from being general, and still farther from being
dignified. He might have seen it in an instance or two; and he mistook
accident for generality.
With respect to colouring, though it may appear at first a part of
painting merely mechanical, yet it still has its rules, and those
grounded upon that presiding principle which regulates both the great
and the little in the study of a painter. By this, the first effect of
the picture is produced; and as this is performed, the spectator, as he
walks the gallery, will stop or pass along. To give a general air of
grandeur at first view, all trifling or artful play of little lights, or
an attention to a variety of tints, is to be avoided; a quietness and
simplicity must reign over the whole work; to which a breadth of uniform
and simple colour will very much contribute. Grandeur of effect is
produced by two different ways, which seem entirely opposed to each
other. One is, by reducing the colours to little more than chiaroscuro,
which was often the practice of the Bolognian schools; and the other, by
making the colours very distinct and forcible, such as we see in those
of Rome and Florence; but still, the presiding principle of both those
manners is simplicity. Certainly, nothing can be more simple than
monotony; and the distinct blue, red, and yellow colours which are seen
in the draperies of the Roman and Florentine schools, though they have
not that kind of harmony which is produced by a variety of broken and
transparent colours, have that effect of grandeur which was intended.
Perhaps these distinct colours strike the mind more forcibly, from there
not being any great union between them; as martial music, which is
intended to rouse the nobler passions, has its effect from the sudden
and strongly marked transitions from one note to another, which that
style of music requires; whilst in that which is intended to move the
softer passions, the notes imperceptibly melt into one another.
In the same manner as the historical painter never enters into the
detail of colours, so neither does he debase his conceptions with minute
attention to the discriminations of drapery. It is the inferior style
that marks the variety of stuffs. With him, the clothing is neither
woollen, nor linen, nor silk, satin, or velvet: it is drapery; it is
nothing more. The art of disposing the foldings of the drapery makes a
very considerable part of the painter’s study. To make it merely natural
is a mechanical operation, to which neither genius nor taste are
required; whereas it requires the nicest judgment to dispose the
drapery, so that the folds shall have an easy communication, and
gracefully follow each other, with such natural negligence as to look
like the effect of chance, and at the same time show the figure under it
to the utmost advantage.
Carlo Maratti was of opinion, that the disposition of drapery was a more
difficult art than even that of drawing the human figure; that a student
might be more easily taught the latter than the former; as the rules of
drapery, he said, could not be so well ascertained as those for
delineating a correct form. This, perhaps, is a proof how willingly we
favour our own peculiar excellence. Carlo Maratti is said to have valued
himself particularly upon his skill in this part of his art; yet in him,
the disposition appears so ostentatiously artificial, that he is
inferior to Raffaelle, even in that which gave him his best claim to
reputation.
Such is the great principle by which we must be directed in the nobler
branches of our art. Upon this principle, the Roman, the Florentine, the
Bolognese schools, have formed their practice; and by this they have
deservedly obtained the highest praise. These are the three great
schools of the world in the epic style. The best of the French school,
Poussin, Le Sueur, and Le Brun, have formed themselves upon these
models, and consequently may be said, though Frenchmen, to be a colony
from the Roman school. Next to these, but in a very different style of
excellence, we may rank the Venetian, together with the Flemish and the
Dutch schools; all professing to depart from the great purposes of
painting, and catching at applause by inferior qualities.
I am not ignorant that some will censure me for placing the Venetians in
this inferior class, and many of the warmest admirers of painting will
think them unjustly degraded; but I wish not to be misunderstood. Though
I can by no means allow them to hold any rank with the nobler schools of
painting, they accomplished perfectly the thing they attempted. But as
mere elegance is their principal object, as they seem more willing to
dazzle than to affect, it can be no injury to them to suppose that their
practice is useful only to its proper end. But what may heighten the
elegant may degrade the sublime. There is a simplicity, and, I may add,
severity, in the great manner, which is, I am afraid, almost
incompatible with this comparatively sensual style.
Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and others of the Venetian school, seem to have
painted with no other purpose than to be admired for their skill and
expertness in the mechanism of painting, and to make a parade of that
art, which, as I before observed, the higher style requires its
followers to conceal.
In a conference of the French Academy, at which were present Le Brun,
Sebastian Bourdon, and all the eminent artists of that age, one of the
Academicians desired to have their opinion on the conduct of Paul
Veronese, who, though a painter of great consideration, had, contrary to
the strict rules of art, in his picture of Perseus and Andromeda,
represented the principal figure in shade. To this question no
satisfactory answer was then given. But I will venture to say, that if
they had considered the class of the artist, and ranked him as an
ornamental painter, there would have been no difficulty in
answering--“It was unreasonable to expect what was never intended. His
intention was solely to produce an effect of light and shadow;
everything was to be sacrificed to that intent, and the capricious
composition of that picture suited very well with the style which he
professed.”
Young minds are indeed too apt to be captivated by this splendour of
style; and that of the Venetians is particularly pleasing; for by them,
all those parts of the art that gave pleasure to the eye or sense, have
been cultivated with care, and carried to the degree nearest to
perfection. The powers exerted in the mechanical part of the art have
been called _the language of painters_; but we may say, that it is but
poor eloquence which only shows that the orator can talk. Words should
be employed as the means, not as the end: language is the instrument,
conviction is the work.
The language of painting must indeed be allowed these masters; but even
in that, they have shown more copiousness than choice, and more
luxuriancy than judgment. If we consider the uninteresting subjects of
their invention, or at least the uninteresting manner in which they are
treated; if we attend to their capricious composition, their violent and
affected contrasts, whether of figures or of light and shadow, the
richness of their drapery, and at the same time the mean effect which
the discrimination of stuffs gives to their pictures; if to these we add
their total inattention to expression; and then reflect on the
conceptions and the learning of Michael Angelo, or the simplicity of
Raffaelle, we can no longer dwell on the comparison. Even in colouring,
if we compare the quietness and chastity of the Bolognese pencil to the
bustle and tumult that fills every part of a Venetian picture, without
the least attempt to interest the passions, their boasted art will
appear a mere struggle without effect; _a tale told by an idiot, full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing_.
Such as suppose that the great style might happily be blended with the
ornamental, that the simple, grave and majestic dignity of Raffaelle
could unite with the glow and bustle of a Paolo, or Tintoret, are
totally mistaken. The principles by which each is attained are so
contrary to each other, that they seem, in my opinion, incompatible, and
as impossible to exist together, as that in the mind the most sublime
ideas and the lowest sensuality should at the same time be united.
The subjects of the Venetian painters are mostly such as give them an
opportunity of introducing a great number of figures; such as feasts,
marriages, and processions, public martyrdoms, or miracles. I can easily
conceive that Paul Veronese, if he were asked, would say, that no
subject was proper for an historical picture, but such as admitted at
least forty figures; for in a less number, he would assert, there could
be no opportunity of the painter’s showing his art in composition, his
dexterity of managing and disposing the masses of light and groups of
figures, and of introducing a variety of Eastern dresses and characters
in their rich stuffs.
But the thing is very different with a pupil of the greater schools.
Annibale Caracci thought twelve figures sufficient for any story: he
conceived that more would contribute to no end but to fill space; that
they would be but cold spectators of the general action, or, to use his
own expression, that they would be _figurers to be let_. Besides, it is
impossible for a picture composed of so many parts to have that effect
so indispensably necessary to grandeur, that of one complete whole.
However contradictory it may be in geometry, it is true in taste, that
many little things will not make a great one. The sublime impresses the
mind at once with one great idea; it is a single blow: the elegant
indeed may be produced by repetition; by an accumulation of many minute
circumstances.
However great the difference is between the composition of the Venetian
and the rest of the Italian schools, there is full as great a disparity
in the effect of their pictures as produced by colours. And though in
this respect the Venetians must be allowed extraordinary skill, yet even
that skill, as they have employed it, will but ill correspond with the
great style. Their colouring is not only too brilliant, but, I will
venture to say, too harmonious, to produce that solidity, steadiness,
and simplicity of effect, which heroic subjects require, and which
simple or grave colours only can give to a work. That they are to be
cautiously studied by those who are ambitious of treading the great walk
of history is confirmed, if it wants confirmation, by the greatest of
all authorities, Michael Angelo. This wonderful man, after having seen a
picture by Titian, told Vasari, who accompanied him,[4] “that he liked
much his colouring and manner”; but then he added, “that it was a pity
the Venetian painters did not learn to draw correctly in their early
youth, and adopt a better _manner of study_.”
By this it appears, that the principal attention of the Venetian
painters, in the opinion of Michael Angelo, seemed to be engrossed by
the study of colours, to the neglect of the _ideal beauty of form_, or
propriety of expression. But if general censure was given to that school
from the sight of a picture of Titian, how much more heavily and more
justly, would the censure fall on Paolo Veronese, and more especially on
Tintoret? And here I cannot avoid citing Vasari’s opinion of the style
and manner of Tintoret. “Of all the extraordinary geniuses,”[5] says he,
“that have practised the art of painting, for wild, capricious,
extravagant and fantastical inventions, for furious impetuosity and
boldness in the execution of his work, there is none like Tintoret; his
strange whimsies are even beyond extravagance, and his works seem to be
produced rather by chance, than in consequence of any previous design,
as if he wanted to convince the world that the art was a trifle, and of
the most easy attainment.”
For my own part, when I speak of the Venetian painters, I wish to be
understood to mean Paolo Veronese and Tintoret, to the exclusion of
Titian; for though his style is not so pure as that of many other of the
Italian schools, yet there is a sort of senatorial dignity about him,
which, however awkward in his imitators, seems to become him
exceedingly. His portraits alone, from the nobleness and simplicity of
character which he always gave them, will entitle him to the greatest
respect, as he undoubtedly stands in the first rank in this branch of
the art.
It is not with Titian, but with the seducing qualities of the two
former, that I could wish to caution you against being too much
captivated. These are the persons who may be said to have exhausted all
the powers of florid eloquence, to debauch the young and inexperienced;
and have, without doubt, been the cause of turning off the attention of
the connoisseur and of the patron of art, as well as that of the
painter, from those higher excellences of which the art is capable, and
which ought to be required in every considerable production. By them,
and their imitators, a style merely ornamental has been disseminated
throughout all Europe. Rubens carried it to Flanders; Voet to France;
and Lucca Giordano to Spain and Naples.
The Venetian is indeed the most splendid of the schools of elegance; and
it is not without reason, that the best performances in this lower
school are valued higher than the second-rate performances of those
above them: for every picture has value when it has a decided character,
and is excellent in its kind. But the student must take care not to be
so much dazzled with this splendour, as to be tempted to imitate what
must ultimately lead from perfection. Poussin, whose eye was always
steadily fixed on the sublime, has been often heard to say, “That a
particular attention to colouring was an obstacle to the student, in his
progress to the great end and design of the art; and that he who
attaches himself to this principal end, will acquire by practice a
reasonable good method of colouring.”[6]
Though it be allowed that elaborate harmony of colouring, a brilliancy
of tints, a soft and gradual transition from one to another, present to
the eye, what an harmonious concert of music does to the ear, it must be
remembered, that painting is not merely a gratification of the sight.
Such excellence, though properly cultivated, where nothing higher than
elegance is intended, is weak and unworthy of regard, when the work
aspires to grandeur and sublimity.
The same reasons that have been urged to show that a mixture of the
Venetian style cannot improve the great style, will hold good in regard
to the Flemish and Dutch schools. Indeed the Flemish school, of which
Rubens is the head, was formed upon that of the Venetian; like them, he
took his figures too much from the people before him. But it must be
allowed in favour of the Venetians, that he was more gross than they,
and carried all their mistaken methods to a far greater excess. In the
Venetian school itself, where they all err from the same cause, there is
a difference in the effect. The difference between Paolo and Bassano
seems to be only, that one introduced Venetian gentlemen into his
pictures, and the other the boors of the district of Bassano, and called
them patriarchs and prophets.
The painters of the Dutch school have still more locality. With them, a
history-piece is properly a portrait of themselves; whether they
describe the inside or outside of their houses, we have their own people
engaged in their own peculiar occupations; working or drinking, playing
or fighting. The circumstances that enter into a picture of this kind
are so far from giving a general view of human life, that they exhibit
all the minute particularities of a nation differing in several respects
from the rest of mankind. Yet, let them have their share of more humble
praise. The painters of this school are excellent in their own way; they
are only ridiculous when they attempt general history on their own
narrow principles, and debase great events by the meanness of their
characters.
Some inferior dexterity, some extraordinary mechanical power is
apparently that from which they seek distinction. Thus, we see, that
school alone has the custom of representing candle-light not as it
really appears to us by night, but red, as it would illuminate objects
to a spectator by day. Such tricks, however pardonable in the little
style, where petty effects are the sole end, are inexcusable in the
greater, where the attention should never be drawn aside by trifles, but
should be entirely occupied by the subject itself.
The same local principles which characterise the Dutch school extend
even to their landscape-painters; and Rubens himself, who has painted
many landscapes, has sometimes transgressed in this particular. Their
pieces in this way are, I think, always a representation of an
individual spot, and each in its kind a very faithful but a very
confined portrait. Claude Lorrain, on the contrary, was convinced, that
taking nature as he found it seldom produced beauty. His pictures are a
composition of the various drafts which he had previously made from
various beautiful scenes and prospects. However, Rubens in some measure
has made amends for the deficiency with which he is charged; he has
contrived to raise and animate his otherwise uninteresting views, by
introducing a rainbow, storm, or some particular accidental effect of
light. That the practice of Claude Lorrain, in respect to his choice, is
to be adopted by landscape-painters in opposition to that of the Flemish
and Dutch schools, there can be no doubt, as its truth is founded upon
the same principle as that by which the historical painter acquires
perfect form. But whether landscape-painting has a right to aspire so
far as to reject what the painters call accidents of nature, is not easy
to determine. It is certain Claude Lorrain seldom, if ever, availed
himself of those accidents; either he thought that such peculiarities
were contrary to that style of general nature which he professed, or
that it would catch the attention too strongly, and destroy that
quietness and repose which he thought necessary to that kind of
painting.
A portrait-painter likewise, when he attempts history, unless he is upon
his guard, is likely to enter too much into the detail. He too
frequently makes his historical heads look like portraits; and this was
once the custom amongst those old painters, who revived the art before
general ideas were practised or understood. A history-painter paints man
in general; a portrait-painter, a particular man, and consequently a
defective model.
Thus an habitual practice in the lower exercises of the art will prevent
many from attaining the greater. But such of us who move in these
humbler walks of the profession, are not ignorant that, as the natural
dignity of the subject is less, the more all the little ornamental helps
are necessary to its embellishment. It would be ridiculous for a painter
of domestic scenes, of portraits, landscapes, animals, or still life, to
say that he despised those qualities which have made the subordinate
schools so famous. The art of colouring, and the skilful management of
light and shadow, are essential requisites in his confined labours. If
we descend still lower, what is the painter of fruit and flowers without
the utmost art in colouring, and what the painters call handling; that
is, a lightness of pencil that implies great practice, and gives the
appearance of being done with ease? Some here, I believe, must remember
a flower-painter whose boast it was, that he scorned to paint for the
_million_: no, he professed to paint in the true Italian taste; and
despising the crowd, called strenuously upon the _few_ to admire him.
His idea of the Italian taste was to paint as black and dirty as he
could, and to leave all clearness and brilliancy of colouring to those
who were fonder of money than immortality. The consequence was such as
might be expected. For these petty excellences are here essential
beauties; and without this merit the artist’s work will be more
short-lived than the objects of his imitation.
From what has been advanced, we must now be convinced that there are two
distinct styles in history-painting: the grand, and the splendid or
ornamental.
The great style stands alone, and does not require, perhaps does not so
well admit, any addition from inferior beauties. The ornamental style
also possesses its own peculiar merit. However, though the union of the
two may make a sort of composite style, yet that style is likely to be
more imperfect than either of those which go to its composition. Both
kinds have merit, and may be excellent though in different ranks, if
uniformity be preserved, and the general and particular ideas of nature
be not mixed. Even the meanest of them is difficult enough to attain;
and the first place being already occupied by the great artists in each
department, some of those who followed thought there was less room for
them, and feeling the impulse of ambition and the desire of novelty, and
being at the same time perhaps willing to take the shortest way,
endeavoured to make for themselves a place between both. This they have
effected by forming a union of the different orders. But as the grave
and majestic style would suffer by a union with the florid and gay, so
also has the Venetian ornament in some respect been injured by
attempting an alliance with simplicity.
It may be asserted, that the great style is always more or less
contaminated by any meaner mixture. But it happens in a few instances,
that the lower may be improved by borrowing from the grand. Thus if a
portrait-painter is desirous to raise and improve his subject, he has no
other means than by approaching it to a general idea. He leaves out all
the minute breaks and peculiarities in the face, and changes the dress
from a temporary fashion to one more permanent, which has annexed to it
no ideas of meanness from its being familiar to us. But if an exact
resemblance of an individual be considered as the sole object to be
aimed at, the portrait-painter will be apt to lose more than he gains by
the acquired dignity taken from general nature. It is very difficult to
ennoble the character of a countenance but at the expense of the
likeness, which is what is most generally required by such as sit to the
painter.