may be said to have been better acquainted with them, than with the
people who were about him. I have often thought that he carried his
veneration for them so far as to wish to give his works the air of
ancient paintings. It is certain he copied some of the antique
paintings, particularly the Marriage in the Aldobrandini Palace at Rome,
which I believe to be the best relic of those remote ages that has yet
been found.
No works of any modern has so much of the air of antique painting as
those of Poussin. His best performances have a remarkable dryness of
manner, which though by no means to be recommended for imitation, yet
seems perfectly correspondent to that ancient simplicity which
distinguishes his style. Like Polidoro, he studied the ancients so much,
that he acquired a habit of thinking in their way, and seemed to know
perfectly the actions and gestures they would use on every occasion.
Poussin in the latter part of his life changed from his dry manner to
one much softer and richer, where there is a greater union between the
figures and ground; as in the Seven Sacraments in the Duke of Orleans’s
collection; but neither these, nor any of his other pictures in this
manner, are at all comparable to many in his dry manner which we have
in England.
The favourite subjects of Poussin were ancient fables; and no painter
was ever better qualified to paint such subjects, not only from his
being eminently skilled in the knowledge of the ceremonies, customs and
habits of the ancients, but from his being so well acquainted with the
different characters which those who invented them gave to their
allegorical figures. Though Rubens has shown great fancy in his Satyrs,
Silenuses, and Fauns, yet they are not that distinct separate class of
beings, which is carefully exhibited by the ancients, and by Poussin.
Certainly when such subjects of antiquity are represented, nothing in
the picture ought to remind us of modern times. The mind is thrown back
into antiquity, and nothing ought to be introduced that may tend to
awaken it from the illusion.
Poussin seemed to think that the style and the language in which such
stories are told, is not the worse for preserving some relish of the old
way of painting, which seemed to give a general uniformity to the whole,
so that the mind was thrown back into antiquity not only by the subject,
but the execution.
If Poussin in imitation of the ancients represents Apollo driving his
chariot out of the sea by way of representing the sun rising, if he
personifies lakes and rivers, it is nowise offensive in him; but seems
perfectly of a piece with the general air of the picture. On the
contrary, if the figures which people his pictures had a modern air or
countenance, if they appeared like our countrymen, if the draperies were
like cloth or silk of our manufacture, if the landscape had the
appearance of a modern view, how ridiculous would Apollo appear instead
of the sun; an old man, or a nymph with an urn, to represent a river or
a lake!
I cannot avoid mentioning here a circumstance in portrait-painting,
which may help to confirm what has been said. When a portrait is painted
in the historical style, as it is neither an exact minute representation
of an individual, nor completely ideal, every circumstance ought to
correspond to this mixture. The simplicity of the antique air and
attitude, however much to be admired, is ridiculous when joined to a
figure in a modern dress. It is not to my purpose to enter into the
question at present, whether this mixed style ought to be adopted or
not; yet if it is chosen, ’tis necessary it should be complete and all
of a piece: the difference of stuffs, for instance, which make the
clothing, should be distinguished in the same degree as the head
deviates from a general idea. Without this union, which I have so often
recommended, a work can have no marked and determined character, which
is the peculiar and constant evidence of genius. But when this is
accomplished to a high degree, it becomes in some sort a rival to that
style which we have fixed as the highest.
Thus I have given a sketch of the characters of Rubens and Salvator
Rosa, as they appear to me to have the greatest uniformity of mind
throughout their whole work. But we may add to these, all those artists
who are at the head of a class, and have had a school of imitators, from
Michael Angelo down to Watteau. Upon the whole it appears, that setting
aside the ornamental style, there are two different modes, either of
which a student may adopt without degrading the dignity of his art. The
object of the first is, to combine the higher excellences and embellish
them to the greatest advantage; of the other, to carry one of these
excellences to the highest degree. But those who possess neither must be
classed with them, who, as Shakspeare says, are _men of no mark or
likelihood_.
I inculcate as frequently as I can your forming yourselves upon great
principles and great models. Your time will be much mis-spent in every
other pursuit. Small excellences should be viewed, not studied; they
ought to be viewed, because nothing ought to escape a painter’s
observation: but for no other reason.
There is another caution which I wish to give you. Be as select in those
whom you endeavour to please, as in those whom you endeavour to imitate.
Without the love of fame you can never do anything excellent; but by an
excessive and undistinguishing thirst after it, you will come to have
vulgar views; you will degrade your style; and your taste will be
entirely corrupted. It is certain that the lowest style will be the most
popular, as it falls within the compass of ignorance itself; and the
vulgar will always be pleased with what is natural, in the confined and
misunderstood sense of the word.
One would wish that such depravation of taste should be counteracted
with that manly pride which actuated Euripides when he said to the
Athenians who criticised his works, “I do not compose my works in order
to be corrected by you, but to instruct you.” It is true, to have a
right to speak thus, a man must be a Euripides. However, thus much may
be allowed, that when an artist is sure that he is upon firm ground,
supported by the authority and practice of his predecessors of the
greatest reputation, he may then assume the boldness and intrepidity of
genius; at any rate he must not be tempted out of the right path by any
allurement of popularity, which always accompanies the lower styles of
painting.
I mention this, because our exhibitions, while they produce such
admirable effects by nourishing emulation, and calling out genius, have
also a mischievous tendency, by seducing the painter to an ambition of
pleasing indiscriminately the mixed multitude of people who resort to
them.
DISCOURSE VI
_Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution of
the Prizes, December 10, 1774._
Imitation.--Genius begins where Rules end.--Invention:--Acquired by
being conversant with the Inventions of Others.--The True Method of
Imitating.--Borrowing, how far allowable.--Something to be gathered
from every School.
GENTLEMEN,
When I have taken the liberty of addressing you on the course and order
of your studies, I never proposed to enter into a minute detail of the
art. This I have always left to the several professors, who pursue the
end of our institution with the highest honour to themselves, and with
the greatest advantage to the students.
My purpose in the discourses I have held in the Academy has been to lay
down certain general positions, which seem to me proper for the
formation of a sound taste: principles necessary to guard the pupils
against those errors, into which the sanguine temper common to their
time of life has a tendency to lead them; and which have rendered
abortive the hopes of so many successions of promising young men in all
parts of Europe. I wished also, to intercept and suppress those
prejudices which particularly prevail when the mechanism of painting is
come to its perfection; and which, when they do prevail, are certain
utterly to destroy the higher and more valuable parts of this literate
and liberal profession.
These two have been my principal purposes; they are still as much my
concern as ever; and if I repeat my own notions on the subject, you who
know how fast mistake and prejudice, when neglected, gain ground upon
truth and reason, will easily excuse me. I only attempt to set the same
thing in the greatest variety of lights.
The subject of this discourse will be Imitation, as far as a painter is
concerned in it. By imitation, I do not mean imitation in its largest
sense, but simply the following of other masters, and the advantage to
be drawn from the study of their works.
Those who have undertaken to write on our art, and have represented it
as a kind of _inspiration_, as a _gift_ bestowed upon peculiar
favourites at their birth, seem to insure a much more favourable
disposition from their readers, and have a much more captivating and
liberal air, than he who attempts to examine, coldly, whether there are
any means by which this art may be acquired; how the mind may be
strengthened and expanded, and what guides will show the way to
eminence.
It is very natural for those who are unacquainted with the _cause_ of
anything extraordinary, to be astonished at the _effect_, and to
consider it as a kind of magic. They, who have never observed the
gradation by which art is acquired; who see only what is the full result
of long labour and application of an infinite number and infinite
variety of acts, are apt to conclude from their entire inability to do
the same at once, that it is not only inaccessible to themselves, but
can be done by those only who have some gift of the nature of
inspiration bestowed upon them.
The travellers into the East tell us, that when the ignorant inhabitants
of those countries are asked concerning the ruins of stately edifices
yet remaining amongst them, the melancholy monuments of their former
grandeur and long-lost science, they always answer, that they were built
by magicians. The untaught mind finds a vast gulf between its own
powers, and those works of complicated art, which it is utterly unable
to fathom; and it supposes that such a void can be passed only by
supernatural powers.
And, as for artists themselves, it is by no means their interest to
undeceive such judges, however conscious they may be of the very natural
means by which their extraordinary powers were acquired; though our art,
being intrinsically imitative, rejects this idea of inspiration, more
perhaps than any other.
It is to avoid this plain confession of truth, as it should seem, that
this imitation of masters, indeed almost all imitation, which implies a
more regular and progressive method of attaining the ends of painting,
has ever been particularly inveighed against with great keenness, both
by ancient and modern writers.
To derive all from native power, to owe nothing to another, is the
praise which men, who do not much think on what they are saying, bestow
sometimes upon others, and sometimes on themselves; and their imaginary
dignity is naturally heightened by a supercilious censure of the low,
the barren, the grovelling, the servile imitator. It would be no wonder
if a student, frightened by these terrific and disgraceful epithets,
with which the poor imitators are so often loaded, should let fall his
pencil in mere despair (conscious as he must be, how much he has been
indebted to the labours of others, how little, how very little of his
art was born with him); and consider it as hopeless, to set about
acquiring by the imitation of any human master, what he is taught to
suppose is matter of inspiration from heaven.
Some allowance must be made for what is said in the gaiety of rhetoric.
We cannot suppose that anyone can really mean to exclude all imitation
of others. A position so wild would scarce deserve a serious answer; for
it is apparent, if we were forbid to make use of the advantages which
our predecessors afford us, the art would be always to begin, and
consequently remain always in its infant state; and it is a common
observation, that no art was ever invented and carried to perfection at
the same time.
But to bring us entirely to reason and sobriety, let it be observed,
that a painter must not only be of necessity an imitator of the works of
nature, which alone is sufficient to dispel this phantom of inspiration,
but he must be as necessarily an imitator of the works of other
painters: this appears more humiliating, but is equally true; and no man
can be an artist, whatever he may suppose, upon any other terms.
However, those who appear more moderate and reasonable allow that our
study is to begin by imitation; but maintain that we should no longer
use the thoughts of our predecessors, when we are become able to think
for ourselves. They hold that imitation is as hurtful to the more
advanced student, as it was advantageous to the beginner.
For my own part, I confess, I am not only very much disposed to maintain
the absolute necessity of imitation in the first stages of the art; but
am of opinion, that the study of other masters, which I here call
imitation, may be extended throughout our whole lives, without any
danger of the inconveniences with which it is charged, of enfeebling the
mind, or preventing us from giving that original air which every work
undoubtedly ought always to have.
I am on the contrary persuaded, that by imitation only, variety, and
even originality of invention, is produced. I will go further; even
genius, at least what generally is so called, is the child of imitation.
But as this appears to be contrary to the general opinion, I must
explain my position before I enforce it.
Genius is supposed to be a power of producing excellences, which are out
of the reach of the rules of art; a power which no precepts can teach,
and which no industry can acquire.
This opinion of the impossibility of acquiring those beauties, which
stamp the work with the character of genius, supposes that it is
something more fixed than in reality it is; and that we always do, and
ever did agree in opinion, with respect to what should be considered as
the characteristic of genius. But the truth is, that the _degree_ of
excellence which proclaims _genius_ is different, in different times and
different places; and what shows it to be so is, that mankind have often
changed their opinion upon this matter.
When the arts were in their infancy, the power of merely drawing the
likeness of any object was considered as one of its greatest efforts.
The common people, ignorant of the principles of art, talk the same
language even to this day. But when it was found that every man could be
taught to do this, and a great deal more, merely by the observance of
certain precepts; the name of genius then shifted its application, and
was given only to him who added the peculiar character of the object he
represented; to him who had invention, expression, grace, or dignity; in
short, those qualities, or excellences, the power of producing which
could not _then_ be taught by any known and promulgated rules.
We are very sure that the beauty of form, the expression of the
passions, the art of composition, even the power of giving a general air
of grandeur to a work, is at present very much under the dominion of
rules. These excellences were, heretofore, considered merely as the
effects of genius; and justly, if genius is not taken for inspiration,
but as the effect of close observation and experience.
He who first made any of these observations, and digested them, so as to
form an invariable principle for himself to work by, had that merit, but
probably no one went very far at once; and generally, the first who gave
the hint, did not know how to pursue it steadily and methodically; at
least not in the beginning. He himself worked on it, and improved it;
others worked more, and improved further; until the secret was
discovered, and the practice made as general, as refined practice can be
made. How many more principles may be fixed and ascertained, we cannot
tell; but as criticism is likely to go hand in hand with the art which
is its subject, we may venture to say, that as that art shall advance,
its powers will be still more and more fixed by rules.
But by whatever strides criticism may gain ground, we need be under no
apprehension, that invention will ever be annihilated, or subdued; or
intellectual energy be brought entirely within the restraint of written
law. Genius will still have room enough to expatiate, and keep always at
the same distance from narrow comprehension and mechanical performance.
What we now call genius begins, not where rules, abstractedly taken,
end; but where known vulgar and trite rules have no longer any place. It
must of necessity be, that even works of genius, like every other
effect, as they must have their cause, must likewise have their rules;
it cannot be by chance, that excellences are produced with any constancy
or any certainty, for this is not the nature of chance; but the rules by
which men of extraordinary parts, and such as are called men of genius,
work, are either such as they discover by their own peculiar
observations, or of such a nice texture as not easily to admit being
expressed in words; especially as artists are not very frequently
skilful in that mode of communicating ideas. Unsubstantial, however, as
these rules may seem, and difficult as it may be to convey them in
writing, they are still seen and felt in the mind of the artist; and he
works from them with as much certainty, as if they were embodied, as I
may say, upon paper. It is true, these refined principles cannot be
always made palpable, like the more gross rules of art; yet it does not
follow, but that the mind may be put in such a train, that it shall
perceive, by a kind of scientific sense, that propriety, which words,
particularly words of unpractised writers, such as we are, can but very
feebly suggest.
Invention is one of the great marks of genius; but if we consult
experience, we shall find, that it is by being conversant with the
inventions of others, that we learn to invent; as by reading the
thoughts of others we learn to think.
Whoever has so far formed his taste, as to be able to relish and feel
the beauties of the great masters, has gone a great way in his study;
for, merely from a consciousness of this relish of the right, the mind
swells with an inward pride, and is almost as powerfully affected, as if
it had itself produced what it admires. Our hearts, frequently warmed in
this manner by the contact of those whom we wish to resemble, will
undoubtedly catch something of their way of thinking; and we shall
receive in our own bosoms some radiation at least of their fire and
splendour. That disposition, which is so strong in children, still
continues with us, of catching involuntarily the general air and manner
of those with whom we are most conversant; with this difference only,
that a young mind is naturally pliable and imitative; but in a more
advanced state it grows rigid, and must be warmed and softened, before
it will receive a deep impression.
From these considerations, which a little of your own reflection will
carry a great way further, it appears, of what great consequence it is,
that our minds should be habituated to the contemplation of excellence;
and that, far from being contented to make such habits the discipline of
our youth only, we should, to the last moment of our lives, continue a
settled intercourse with all the true examples of grandeur. Their
inventions are not only the food of our infancy, but the substance which
supplies the fullest maturity of our vigour.
The mind is but a barren soil; a soil which is soon exhausted, and will
produce no crop, or only one, unless it be continually fertilised and
enriched with foreign matter.
When we have had continually before us the great works of art to
impregnate our minds with kindred ideas, we are then, and not till then,
fit to produce something of the same species. We behold all about us
with the eyes of those penetrating observers whose works we contemplate;
and our minds, accustomed to think the thoughts of the noblest and
brightest intellects, are prepared for the discovery and selection of
all that is great and noble in nature. The greatest natural genius
cannot subsist on its own stock: he who resolves never to ransack any
mind but his own, will be soon reduced, from mere barrenness, to the
poorest of all imitations; he will be obliged to imitate himself, and to
repeat what he has before often repeated. When we know the subject
designed by such men, it will never be difficult to guess what kind of
work is to be produced.
It is vain for painters or poets to endeavour to invent without
materials on which the mind may work, and from which invention must
originate. Nothing can come of nothing.
Homer is supposed to be possessed of all the learning of his time: and
we are certain that Michael Angelo and Raffaelle were equally possessed
of all the knowledge in the art which had been discovered in the works
of their predecessors.
A mind enriched by an assemblage of all the treasures of ancient and
modern art will be more elevated and fruitful in resources, in
proportion to the number of ideas which have been carefully collected
and thoroughly digested. There can be no doubt but that he who has the
most materials has the greatest means of invention; and if he has not
the power of using them, it must proceed from a feebleness of intellect,
or from the confused manner in which those collections have been laid up
in his mind.
The addition of other men’s judgment is so far from weakening our own,
as is the opinion of many, that it will fashion and consolidate those
ideas of excellence which lay in embryo, feeble, ill-shaped, and
confused, but which are finished and put in order by the authority and
practice of those, whose works may be said to have been consecrated by
having stood the test of ages.
The mind, or genius, has been compared to a spark of fire, which is
smothered by a heap of fuel, and prevented from blazing into a flame.
This simile, which is made use of by the younger Pliny, may be easily
mistaken for argument or proof. But there is no danger of the mind’s
being overburdened with knowledge, or the genius extinguished by any
addition of images; on the contrary, these acquisitions may as well,
perhaps better, be compared, if comparisons signified anything in
reasoning, to the supply of living embers, which will contribute to
strengthen the spark, that without the association of more fuel would
have died away. The truth is, he whose feebleness is such, as to make
other men’s thoughts an incumbrance to him, can have no very great
strength of mind or genius of his own to be destroyed; so that not much
harm will be done at worst.
We may oppose to Pliny the greater authority of Cicero, who is
continually enforcing the necessity of this method of study. In his
dialogue on Oratory, he makes Crassus say, that one of the first and
most important precepts is, to choose a proper model for our imitation.
_Hoc sit primum in præceptis meis, ut demonstremus quem imitemur._
When I speak of the habitual imitation and continued study of masters,
it is not to be understood, that I advise any endeavour to copy the
exact peculiar colour and complexion of another man’s mind; the success
of such an attempt must always be like his, who imitates exactly the
air, manner, and gestures, of him whom he admires. His model may be
excellent, but the copy will be ridiculous; this ridicule does not arise
from his having imitated, but from his not having chosen the right mode
of imitation.
It is necessary and warrantable pride to disdain to walk servilely
behind any individual, however elevated his rank. The true and liberal
ground of imitation is an open field; where, though he who precedes has
had the advantage of starting before you, you may always propose to
overtake him: it is enough, however, to pursue his course; you need not
tread in his footsteps; and you certainly have a right to outstrip him
if you can.