Perhaps by mentioning two or three known instances it will be found

that almost every one is farther advanced in the knowledge of this

speculative part of proportion than he imagines; especially he who hath

been used to observe naked figures doing bodily exercise, and more

especially if he be any way interested in the success of them; and

the better he is acquainted with the nature of the exercise itself,

still the better judge he becomes of the figure that is to perform

it. For this reason, no sooner are two boxers stript to fight, but

even a butcher, thus skill'd, shews himself a considerable critic in

proportion; and on this sort of judgment, often gives, or takes the

odds, at bare sight only of the combatants. I have heard a blacksmith

harangue like an anatomist, or sculptor, on the beauty of a boxer's

figure, tho' not perhaps in the same terms; and I firmly believe, that

one of our common proficients in the athletic art, would be able to

instruct and direct the best sculptor living, (who hath not seen, or is

wholly ignorant of this exercise) in what would give the statue of an

English-boxer, a much better proportion, as to character, than is to

be seen, even in the famous group of antique boxers, (or as some call

them, Roman wrestlers) so much admired to this day.

Indeed, as many parts of the body are so constantly kept cover'd, the

proportion of the whole cannot be equally known; but as stockings are

so close and thin a covering, every one judges of the different shapes

and proportions of legs with great accuracy. The ladies always speak

skilfully of necks, hands, and arms; and often will point out such

particular beauties or defects in their make, as might easily escape

the observation of a man of science.

Surely, such determinations could not be made and pronounced with such

critical truth, if the eye were not capable of measuring or judging of

thicknesses by lengths, with great preciseness. Nay more, in order to

determine so nicely as they often do, it must also at the same time,

trace with some skill those delicate windings upon the surface which

have been described in page 64 and 65, which altogether may be observ'd

to include the two general ideas mention'd at the beginning of this

chapter.

If so, certainly it is in the power of a man of science, with as

observing an eye, to go still further, and conceive, with a very

little turn of thought, many other necessary circumstances concerning

proportion, as of what size and in what manner the bones help to make

up the bulk, and support the other parts; as well as what certain

weights or dimensions of muscles are proper (according to the principle

of the steelyard) to move such or such a length of arm with this or

that degree of swiftness or force.

But though much of this matter, may be easily understood by common

observation, assisted by science, still I fear it will be difficult to

raise a very clear idea of what constitutes, or composes the _utmost

beauty of proportion_; such as is seen in the Antinous; which is

allowed to be the most perfect in this respect, of any of the antique

statues; and tho' the lovely likewise seems to have been as much the

sculptor's aim, as in the Venus; yet a manly strength in its proportion

is equally express'd from head to foot in it.

[Illustration: Fig. 6]

Let us try, however, and as this master-piece of art is so well known,

we will set it up before us as a pattern, and endeavour to fabricate,

or put together in the mind, such kind of parts as shall seem to build

another figure like it. In doing which, we shall soon find that it is

chiefly to be effected by means of the nice sensation we naturally

have of what certain quantities or dimensions of parts, are fittest to

produce the utmost strength for moving, or supporting great weights;

and of what are most fit for the utmost light agility, as also for

every degree, between these two extremes.

He who hath best perfected his ideas of these matters by common

observations, and by the assistance of arts relative thereto,

will probably be most precisely just and clear, in conceiving the

application of the various parts and dimensions, that will occur to

him, in the following descriptive manner of disposing of them, in order

to form the idea of a fine-proportion'd figure.

Having set up the Antinous as our pattern, we will suppose there were

placed on one side of it, the unwieldy elephant-like figure of an

Atlas, made up of such thick bones and muscles, as would best fit him

for supporting a vast weight, according to his character of extreme

heavy strength. And, on the other side, imagine the slim figure of a

Mercury, every where neatly formed for the utmost light agility, with

slender bones and taper muscles fit for his nimble bounding from the

ground.--Both these figures must be supposed of equal height, and not

exceeding six foot[8].

[8] If the scale of either of these proportions were to exceed six

foot in the life, the quality of strength in one, and agility in the

other, would gradually decrease, the larger the person grew. There are

sufficient proofs of this, both from mechanical reasonings and common

observation.

Our _extremes_ thus placed, now imagine the Atlas throwing off by

degrees, certain portions of bone and muscle, proper for the attainment

of light agility, as if aiming at the Mercury's airy form and quality,

whilst on the other hand, see the Mercury augmenting his taper figure

by equal degrees, and growing towards an Atlas in equal time, by

receiving to the like places from whence they came, the very quantities

that the other had been casting off, when, as they approach each other

in weight, their forms of course may be imagined to grow more and more

alike, till at a certain point of time, they meet in just similitude;

which being an exact medium between the two extremes, we may thence

conclude it to be the precise form of exact proportion, fittest for

perfect active strength or graceful movement; such as the Antinous we

proposed to imitate and figure in the mind[9].

[9] The jocky who knows to an ounce what flesh or bone in a horse is

fittest for speed or strength, will as easily conceive the like process

between the strongest dray-horse and the fleetest racer, and soon

conclude, that the fine war-horse must be the medium between the two

extremes.

I am apprehensive that this part of my scheme, for explaining exact

proportion, may not be thought so sufficiently determinate as could

be wished: be this as it will, I must submit it to the reader, as my

best resource in so difficult a case: and shall therefore beg leave

to try to illustrate it a little more, by observing, that, in like

manner, any two opposite colours in the _rainbow_, form a third between

them, by thus imparting to each other their peculiar qualities; as for

example, the brightest yellow, and the lively blue that is placed at

some distance from it, visibly approach, and blend by interchangable

degrees, and, as above, _temper_ rather than destroy each other's

vigour, till they meet in one firm compound; whence, at a certain

point, the sight of what they were originally, is quite lost; but in

their stead, a most pleasing green is found, which colour nature hath

chose for the vestment of the earth, and with the beauty of which the

eye is never tired.

From the order of the ideas which the description of the above three

figures may have raised in the mind, we may easily compose between

them, various other proportions. And as the painter, by means of a

certain order in the arrangement of the colours upon his pallet,

readily mixes up what kind of tint he pleases, so may we mix up and

compound in the imagination such fit parts as will be consistent with

this or that particular character, or at least be able thereby to

discover how such characters are composed, when we see them either in

art or nature.

But perhaps even the word _character, as it relates to form,_ may

not be quite understood by every one, tho' it is so frequently used:

nor do I remember to have seen it explained any where. Therefore on

this account--and also as it will further shew the use of thinking of

form and motion together, it will not be improper to observe,--that

notwithstanding a character, in this sense, chiefly depends on a figure

being remarkable as to its form, either in some particular part, or

altogether; yet surely no figure, be it ever so singular, can be

perfectly conceived as a character, till we find it connected with some

remarkable circumstance or cause, for such particularity of appearance;

for instance, a fat bloted person doth not call to mind the character

of a Silenus, till we have joined the idea of voluptuousness with it;

so likewise strength to support, and clumsiness of figure, are united,

as well in the character of an Atlas as in a porter.

When we consider the great weight chairmen often have to carry, do we

not readily consent that there is a propriety and fitness in the tuscan

order of their legs, by which they properly become _characters_ as to

figure?

Watermen too, are of a distinct cast, or character, whose legs are

no less remarkable for their smallness: for as there is naturally the

greatest call for nutriment to the parts that are most exercised, so of

course these that lye so much stretched out, are apt to dwindle, or not

grow to their full size. There is scarcely a waterman that rows upon

the Thames, whose figure doth not confirm this observation. Therefore

were I to paint the character of a Charon, I would thus distinguish

his make from that of a common man's; and, in spite of the word _low_,

venture to give him a broad pair of shoulders, and spindle shanks,

whether I had the authority of an antique statue, or basso-relievo, for

it or not.

May be, I cannot throw a stronger light on what has been hitherto

said of proportion, than by animadverting on a remarkable beauty in

the Apollo-belvedere; which hath given it the preference even to the

Antinous: I mean a super-addition of _greatness_, to at least as much

beauty and grace, as is found in the latter.

These two master-pieces of art, are seen together in the same palace

at Rome, where the Antinous fills the spectator with admiration only,

whilst the Apollo strikes him with surprise, and, as travellers

express themselves, with an appearance of something _more than

human_; which they _of course_ are always at a loss to describe: and

this effect, they say, is the more astonishing, as upon examination

its disproportion is evident even to a common eye. One of the best

sculptors we have in England, who lately went to see them, confirm'd to

me what has been now said, particularly as to the legs and thighs being

too long, and too large for the upper parts. And Andrea Sacchi, one of

the great Italian painters, seems to have been of the same opinion,

or he would hardly have given his Apollo, crowning Pasquilini the

musician, the exact proportion of the Antinous, (in a famous picture of

his now in England) as otherwise it seems to be a direct copy from the

Apollo.

Although in very great works we often see an inferior part neglected,

yet here it cannot be the case, because in a fine statue, just

proportion is one of its essential beauties: therefore it stands

to reason, that these limbs must have been lengthened on purpose,

otherwise it might easily have been avoided.

So that if we examine the beauties of this figure thoroughly, we

may reasonably conclude, that what has been hitherto thought so

unaccountably _excellent_ in its general appearance, hath been owing to

what hath seem'd a _blemish_ in a part of it: but let us endeavour to

make this matter as clear as possible, as it may add more force to what

has been said.

Statues by being bigger than life, (as this is one, and larger than

the Antinous) always gain some nobleness in effect, according to the

principle of quantity[10] but this alone is not sufficient to give what

is properly to be called, _greatness_ in proportion; for were figures

17 and 18, in plate I, to be drawn or carved by a scale of ten feet

high, they would still be but pigmy proportions, as, on the other hand,

a figure of but two inches, may represent a gigantic height.

[Illustration: Figs. 17 and 18]

[10] See Chapter VI.

Therefore _greatness_ of proportion must be considered, as depending

on the application of _quantity_ to those parts of the body where it

can give more scope to its grace in movement, as to the neck for the

larger and swan-like turns of the head, and to the legs and thighs, for

the more ample sway of all the upper parts together.

By which we find that the Antinous's being equally magnified to the

Apollo's height, would not sufficiently produce that superiority of

effect, as to greatness, so evidently seen in the latter. The additions

necessary to the production of this _greatness_ in proportion, as it

there appears added to grace, must then be, by the proper application

of them, to the parts mention'd only.

I know not how further to prove this matter than by appealing to the

reader's eye, and common observation, as before.

The Antinous being allowed to have the justest proportion possible, let

us see what addition, upon the principle of quantity, can be made to

it, without taking away any of its beauty.

If we imagine an addition of dimensions to the head, we shall

immediately conceive it would only deform--if to the hands or feet,

we are sensible of something gross and ungenteel,--if to the whole

lengths of the arms, we feel they would be dangling and aukward--if by

an addition of length or breadth to the body, we know it would appear

heavy and clumsy--there remains then only the _neck_, with the _legs_

and _thighs_ to speak of; but, to these we find, that not only certain

additions may be admitted without causing any disagreeable effect, but

that thereby _greatness_, the last perfection as to proportion, is

given to the human form; as is evidently express'd in the Apollo: and

may still be further confirmed by examining the drawings of Parmigiano,

where these particulars are seen in excess; yet on this account his

works are said, by all true connoisseurs, to have an inexpressible

greatness of taste in them, though otherwise very incorrect.

Let us now return to the two general ideas we set out with at the

beginning of this chapter, and recollect that under the first, on

surface, I have shewn in what manner, and how far human proportion

is measureable, by varying the contents of the body, conformable to

the given proportion of two lines. And that under the second and more

extensive general idea of form, as arising from fitness for movement,

&c. I have endeavour'd to explain, by every means I could devise, that

every particular and minute dimension of the body, should conform to

such purposes of movement, &c. as have been first properly considered

and determined: on which conjunctively, the true proportion of every

character must depend; and is found so to do, by our joint-sensation

of bulk and motion. Which account of the proportion of the human

body, however imperfect, may possibly stand its ground, till one more

plausible shall be given.

As the Apollo [Fig. 12 p. I] has been only mention'd on account of

the greatness of its proportion, I think in justice to so fine a

performance; and also as it is not foreign to the point we have been

upon, we may subjoin an Observation or two on its perfections.

[Illustration: Fig. 12]

Besides, what is commonly allow'd, if we consider it by the rules here

given for constituting or composing character, it will discover the

author's great sagacity, in choosing a proportion for this deity, which

has served two noble purposes at once; in that these very dimensions

which appear to have given it so much dignity, are the same that are

best fitted to produce the utmost speed. And what could characterise

the god of day, either so strongly or elegantly, to be expressive in a

statue, as superior swiftness, and beauty dignify'd? and how poetically

doth the action it is put into, carry on the allusion to speed,[11] as

he is lightly stepping forward, and seeming to shoot his arrows from

him; if the arrows may be allowed to signify the sun's rays? This at

least may as well be supposed as the common surmise, that he is killing

the dragon, Python; which certainly is very inconsistent with so erect

an attitude, and benign an aspect[12].

[11]----the sun: which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber,

and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course. Psalm xix. 5.

[12] The accounts given, in relation to this statue, make it so highly

probable that it was the great Apollo of Delphos, that, for my own

part, I make no manner of doubt of its being so.

Nor are the inferior parts neglected: the drapery also that depends

from his shoulders, and folds over his extended arm, hath its treble

office. As first, it assists in keeping the general appearance within

the boundary of a pyramid, which being inverted, is, for a single

figure, rather more natural and genteel than one upon its basis.

Secondly, it fills up the vacant angle under the arm, and takes off the

straightness of the lines the arm necessarily makes with the body in

such an action; and, lastly, spreading as it doth, in pleasing folds,

it helps to satisfy the eye with a noble quantity in the composition

altogether, without depriving the beholder of any part of the beauties

of the naked: in short, this figure might serve, were a lecture to be

read over it, to exemplify every principle that hath been hitherto

advanced. We shall therefore close not only all we have to say on

proportion with it, but our whole lineal account of form, except what

we have particularly to offer as to the face; which it will be proper

to defer, till we have spoken of _light_ and _shade_ and _colour_.

As some of the ancient statues have been of such singular use to me, I

shall beg leave to conclude this chapter with an observation or two on

them in general.

It is allowed by the most skilful in the imitative arts, that

tho' there are many of the remains of antiquity, that have great

excellencies about them; yet there are not, moderately speaking, above

twenty that may be justly called _capital_. There is one reason,

nevertheless, besides the blind veneration that generally is paid

to antiquity, for holding even many very imperfect pieces in some

degree of estimation: I mean that _peculiar taste of elegance_ which

so visibly runs through them all, down to the most incorrect of their

basso-relievos: which _taste_, I am persuaded, my reader will now

conceive to have been entirely owing to the perfect knowledge the

ancients must have had of the use of the precise serpentine-line.

But this cause of _elegance_ not having been since sufficiently

understood, no wonder such effects should have appear'd mysterious, and

have drawn mankind into a sort of religious esteem, and even bigotry,

to the works of antiquity.

Nor have there been wanting of artful people, who have made good profit

of those whose unbounded admiration hath run them into enthusiasm.

Nay there are, I believe, some who still carry on a comfortable

trade in such originals as have been so defaced and maimed by time,

that it would be impossible, without a pair of _double-ground_

connoisseur-spectacles, to see whether they have ever been good or

bad: they deal also in cook'd-up copies, which they are very apt to

put off for originals. And whoever dares be bold enough to detect such

impositions, finds himself immediately branded, and given out as one of

low ideas, ignorant of the true sublime, self-conceited, envious, &c.

But as there are a great part of mankind that delight most in what

they least understand; for ought I know, the emolument may be equal

between the _bubler_ and the _bubled_: at least this seems to have been

Butler's opinion:

Doubtless the pleasure is as great

In being cheated, as to cheat.

CHAPTER XII.

_Of LIGHT and SHADE, and the manner in which objects are explained to

the eye by them_.

Although both this and the next chapter may seem more particularly

relative to the art of painting, than any of the foregoing; yet, as

hitherto, I have endeavour'd to be understood by every reader, so here

also I shall avoid, as much as the subject will permit, speaking of

what would only be well-conceived by painters.

There is such a subtile variety in the nature of appearances, that

probably we shall not be able to gain much ground by this enquiry,

unless we exert and apply the full use of every sense, that will convey

to us any information concerning them.

So far as we have already gone, the sense of feeling, as well as that

of seeing, hath been apply'd to; so that perhaps a man born blind,

may, by his better touch than is common to those who have their sight,

together with the regular process that has been here given of lines, so

feel out the nature of forms, as to make a tolerable judgment of what

is beautiful to sight.

Here again our other senses must assist us, notwithstanding in this

chapter we shall be more confined to what is communicated to the eye by

rays of light; and tho' things must now be consider'd as appearances

only; produced and made out merely by means of _lights, shades,_ and

_colours_.

By the various circumstances of which, every one knows we have

represented on the flat surface of the looking-glass, pictures equal to

the originals reflected by it. The painter too, by proper dispositions

of lights, shades, and colours, on his canvas, will raise the like

ideas. Even prints, by means of lights and shades alone, will perfectly

inform the eye of every shape and distance whatsoever, in which even

lines must be consider'd as narrow parts of shade, a number of them,

drawn or engrav'd neatly side by side, called _hatching_, serve as

shades in prints, and when they are artfully managed, are a kind of

pleasing _succedaneum_ to the delicacy of nature's.

Could mezzo-tinto prints be wrought as accurately as those with the

graver, they would come nearest to nature, because they are done

without strokes or lines.

I have often thought that a landskip, in the process of this way of

representing it, doth a little resemble the first coming on of day.

The copper-plate it is done upon, when the artist first takes it into

hand, is wrought all over with an edg'd-tool, so as to make it print

one even black, like night: and his whole work after this, is merely

introducing the lights into it; which he does by scraping off the rough

grain according to his design, artfully smoothing it most where light

is most required: but as he proceeds in burnishing the lights, and

clearing up the shades, he is obliged to take off frequent impressions

to prove the progress of the work, so that each proof appears like the

different times of a foggy morning, till one becomes so finish'd as to

be distinct and clear enough to imitate a day-light piece. I have given

this description because I think the whole operation, in the simplest

manner, shews what lights and shades alone will do.

As light must always be supposed, I need only speak of such privations

of it as are called shades or shadows, wherein I shall endeavour to

point out and regularly describe a certain order and arrangement in

their appearance, in which order we may conceive different kinds of

softnings and modulations of the rays of light which are said to fall

upon the eye from every object it sees, and to cause those more or

less-pleasing vibrations of the optic nerves, which serve to inform the

mind concerning every different shape or figure that presents itself.

The best light for seeing the shadows of objects truly, is, that which

comes in at a common sized window, where the sun doth not shine; I

shall therefore speak of their order as seen by this kind of light:

and shall take the liberty in the present and following chapter, to

consider colours but as variegated shades, which together with common

shades, will now be divided into two general parts or branches.

The first we shall call PRIME TINTS, by which is meant any colour or

colours on the surfaces of objects; and the use we shall make of these

different hues will be to consider them as shades to one another. Thus

gold is a shade to silver, &c. exclusive of those additional shades

which may be made in any degree by the privation of light.

The second branch may be called RETIRING SHADES, which gradate or go

off by degrees, as figs. [84 and 85 T p. II]. These shades, as they vary

more or less, produce beauty, whether they are occasioned by the

privation of light, or made by the pencilings of art or nature.

[Illustration: Figs. 84 and 85]

When I come to treat of colouring, I shall particularly shew in what

manner the gradating of prime tints serve to the making a beautiful

complexion; in this place we shall only observe how nature hath by

these gradating shades ornamented the surfaces of animals; fish

generally have this kind of shade from their backs downward; birds have

their feathers enriched with it; and many flowers, particularly the

rose, shew it by the gradually-increasing colours of their leaves.

The sky always gradates one way or other, and the rising or setting

sun exhibits it in great perfection, the imitating of which was Claud.

de Loraine's peculiar excellence, and is now Mr. Lambert's: there is so

much of what is called harmony to the eye to be produced by this shade,

that I believe we may venture to say, in art it is the painter's gamut,

which nature has sweetly pointed out to us in what we call the eyes of

a peacock's tail: and the nicest needle-workers are taught to weave it

into every flower and leaf, right or wrong, as if it was as constantly

to be observed as it is seen in flames of fire; because it is always

found to entertain the eye. There is a sort of needle-work called

Irish-stitch, done in these shades only; which pleases still, tho' it

has long been out of fashion.

There is so strict an analogy between shade and sound, that they

may well serve to illustrate each other's qualities: for as sounds

gradually decreasing and increasing give the idea of progression from,

or to the ear, just so do retiring shades shew progression, by figuring

it to the eye. Thus, as by objects growing still fainter, we judge

of distances in prospects, so by the decreasing noise of thunder, we

form the idea of its moving further from us. And with regard to their

similitude in beauty, like as the gradating shade pleases the eye, so

the increasing, or swelling note, delights the ear.

I have call'd it the retiring shade, because by the successive,

or continual change in its appearance, it is equally instrumental

with converging lines[13], in shewing how much objects, or any parts

of them, retire or recede from the eye; without which, a floor, or

horizontal-plane, would often seem to stand upright like a wall. And

notwithstanding all the other ways by which we learn to know at what

distances things are from us, frequent deceptions happen to the eye on

account of deficiencies in this shade: for if the light chances to be

so disposed on objects as not to give this shade its true gradating

appearance, not only spaces are confounded, but round things appear

flat, and flat ones round.

[13] See p. 17. The two converging lines from the ship, to the point C,

under fig. 47, plate I.

[Illustration: Fig. 94]

But although the retiring shade hath this property, when seen with

converging lines, yet if it describes no particular form, as none

of those do in fig. 94, on top of plate II, it can only appear as a

flat-pencil'd shade; but being inclosed within some known boundary or

out-line, such as may signify a wall, a road, a globe, or any other

form in perspective where the parts retire, it will then shew its

retiring quality: as for example, the retiring shade on the floor, in

plate II, which gradates from the dog's feet to those of the dancer's,

shews, that by this means a level appearance is given to the ground:

so when a cube is put into true perspective on paper, with lines only,

which do but barely hint the directions every face of it is meant to

take, these shades make them seem to retire just as the perspective

lines direct; thus mutually compleating the idea of those recessions

which neither of them alone could do.

[Illustration: gradated shade]

Moreover, the out-line of a globe is but a circle on the paper; yet,

according to the manner of filling up the space within it, with this

shade, it may be made to appear either flat, globular, or concave, in

any of its positions with the eye; and as each manner of filling up the

circle for those purposes must be very different, it evidently shews

the necessity of distinguishing this shade into as many species or

kinds, as there are classes or species of lines, with which they may

have a correspondence.

In doing which, it will be found, that, by their correspondency with,

and conformity to objects, either composed of straight, curved, waving,

or serpentine lines, they of course take such appearances of variety as

are adequate to the variety made by those lines; and by this conformity

of shades we have the same ideas of any of the objects composed of

the above lines in their front aspects, as we have of them by their

profiles; which otherwise could not be without feeling them.

Now instead of giving engraved examples of each species of shade, as I

have done of lines, I have found that they may be more satisfactorily

pointed out and described by having recourse to the life.

But in order to the better and more precisely fixing upon what may be

there seen, as the distinct species, of which all the shades of the

retiring kind in nature partake, in some degree or other, the following

scheme is offered, and intended as an additional means of making such

simple impressions in the mind, as may be thought adequate to the four

species of lines described in Chapter VII. Wherein we are to suppose

imperceptible degrees of shade gradating from one figure to another.

The first species to be represented by, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

the second by, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

and the third by, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

gradating from the dots underneath, repeated either way.

As the first species varies or gradates but one way, it is therefore

least ornamental, and equal only to straight lines.

The second gradating contrary ways, doubling the others variety, is

consequently twice as pleasing, and thereby equal to curved lines.

The third species gradating doubly contrary ways, is thereby still

more pleasing in proportion to that quadruple variety which makes it

become capable of conveying to the mind an equivalent in shade, which

expresses the beauty of the waving line, when it cannot be seen as a

line.

The retiring shade, adequate to the serpentine line, now should follow;

but as the line itself could not be expressed on paper, without the

figure of a cone [Fig. 26 p. I], so neither can this shade be described

without the assistance of a proper form, and therefore must be deferred

a little longer.

[Illustration: Fig. 26]

When only the ornamental quality of shades is spoken of, for the sake

of distinguishing them from retiring shades, let them be considered as

pencilings only; whence another advantage will arise, which is, that

then all the intervening mixtures, with their degrees of beauty between

each species, may be as easily conceived, as those have been between

each class of lines.

And now let us have recourse to the experiments in life, for such

examples as may explain the retiring power of each species; since, as

has been before observed, they must be considered together with their

proper forms, or else their properties cannot be well distinguished.

All the degrees of obliquity that planes, or flat surfaces are capable

of moving into, have their appearances of recession perfected by the

first species of retiring shades, which may evidently be seen by

setting opposite a door, as it is opening outwards from the eye, and

fronting one light.

But it will be proper to premise, that when it is quite shut, and

flat or parallel to the eye and window, it will have only a penciling

shade gradating upon it, and spreading all around from the middle, but

which will not have the power of giving the idea of recession any way,

as when it opens, and the lines run in perspective to a point; because

the square figure or parallel lines of the door, do not correspond with

such shade; but let a door be circular in the same situation, and all

without side, or round about it, painted of any other colour, to make

its figure more distinctly seen, and it will immediately appear concave

like a bason, the shade continually retiring; because this circular

species of shade would then be accompanied by its corresponding form, a

circle[14].

[14] Note, if the light were to come in at a very little hole not far

from the door, so as to make the gradation sudden and strong, like what

may be made with a small candle held near a wall or a wainscot, the

bason would appear the deeper for it.

Note also, that when planes are seen parallel to the eye in open

day-light, they have scarce any round gradating or penciling shade

at all, but appear merely as uniform prime tints, because the rays

of light are equally diffused upon them. Nevertheless, give them but

obliquity, they will more or less exhibit the retiring shade.

But to return; we observ'd that all the degrees of obliquity in the

moving of planes or flat surfaces, have the appearances of their

recession perfected to the eye by the first species of retiring shade.

For example, then; when the door opens, and goes from its parallel

situation with the eye, the shade last spoken of, may be observed to

alter and change its round gradating appearance, into that of gradating

one way only; as when a standing water takes a current upon the least

power given it to descend.

Note, if the light should come in at the door-way, instead of the

window, the gradation then would be reversed but still the effect of

recession would be just the same, as this shade ever complies with the

perspective lines.

In the next place, let us observe the _ovolo_, or quarter-round in

a cornice, fronting the eye in like manner, by which may be seen an

example of the second species; where, on its most projecting part, a

line of light is seen, from whence these shades retire contrary ways,

by which the curvature is understood.

And, perhaps, in the very same cornice may be seen an example of the

third species, in that ornamental member called by the architects _cyma

recta_, or talon, which indeed is no more than a larger sort of waving

or ogee moulding; wherein, by the convex parts gently gliding into the

concave, you may see four contrasted gradating shades, shewing so many

varied recessions from the eye; by which we are made as sensible of its

waving form as if we saw the profile out-line of some corner of it,

where it is miter'd, as the joiners term it. Note, when these objects

have a little gloss on them these appearances are most distinct.

Lastly, the serpentine shade may be seen (light and situation as

before) by the help of the following figure, as thus; imagine the horn,

figure 57, plate II, to be of so soft a nature, that with the fingers

only, it might be pressed into any shape; then beginning gently from

the middle of the dotted line, but pressing harder and harder all the

way up the lesser end, by such pressure there would be as much concave

above, as would remain convex below, which would bring it equal in

variety or beauty to the ogee moulding; but after this, by giving the

whole a twist, like figure 58, these shades must unavoidably change

their appearances, and in some measure, twist about as the concave and

convex parts are twisted, and consequently thereby add that variety,

which of course will give this species of shade, as much the preference

to the foregoing, as forms composed of serpentine lines have, to those

composed only of the waving. See Chapter IX and Chapter X.

[Illustration: Figs. 57 and 58]

I should not have given my reader the trouble of compleating, by the

help of his imagination, the foregoing figure, but as it may contribute

to the more ready and particular conception of that intricate variety

which twisted figures give to this species of shade, and to facilitate

his understanding the cause of its beauty, wherever it may be seen on

surfaces of ornament, when it will be found no where more conspicuous

than in a fine face, as will be seen upon further enquiry.

The dotted line [Fig. 97 B p. I], which begins from the concave part,

under the arch of the brow, near the nose, and from thence winding

down by the corner of the eye, and there turning obliquely with the

round of the cheek, shews the course of that twist of shades in a face,

which was before described by the horn; and which may be most perfectly

seen in the life, or in a marble busto, together with the following

additional circumstances still remaining to be described.

[Illustration: Fig. 97]

As a face is for the most part round, it is therefore apt to receive

reflected light on its shadowy side[15], which not only adds more

beauty by another pleasing tender gradation, but also serves to

distinguish the roundness of the cheeks, &c. from such parts as sink

and fall in: because concavities do not admit of reflections, as convex

forms do[16].

[15] Note, though I have advised the observing objects by a front

light, for the sake of the better distinguishing our four fundamental

species of shades, yet objects in general are more advantagiously,

and agreeably seen by light coming side-ways upon them, and therefore

generally chose in paintings; as it gives an additional reflected

softness, not unlike the gentle tone of an echo in music.

[16] As an instance that convex and concave would appear the same, if

the former were to have no reflection thrown upon, observe the ovolo

and cavetto, or channel, in a cornice, placed near together, and seen

by a front light, when they will each of them, by turns, appear either

concave, or convex, as fancy shall direct.

I have now only to add, that as before observed, Chapter IV, page 23,

that the oval hath a noble simplicity in it, more equal to its variety

than any other object in nature; and of which the general form of a

face is composed; therefore, from what has been now shewn, the general

gradation-shade belonging to it, must consequently be adequate thereto,

and which evidently gives a delicate softness to the whole composition

of a face; insomuch that every little dent, crack, or scratch, the

form receives, its shadows also suffer with it, and help to shew the

blemish. Even the least roughness interrupts and damages that soft

gradating play of shades which fall upon it. Mr. Dryden, describing the

light and shades of a face, in his epistle to Sir Godfrey Kneller the

portrait painter, seems, by the penetration of his incomparable genius,

to have understood that language in the works of nature, which the

latter, by means of an exact eye and a strict obeying hand, could only

faithfully transcribe; when he says,

Where light to shades descending, plays, not strives,

Dies by degrees, and by degrees revives.

CHAPTER XIII.

_Of COMPOSITION with regard to LIGHT, SHADE and COLOURS_.

Under this head I shall attempt shewing what it is that gives the

appearance of that hollow or vacant space in which all things move so

freely; and in what manner light, shade and colours, mark or point out

the distances of one object from another, and occasion an agreeable

play upon the eye, called by the painters a fine keeping, and pleasing

composition of light and shade. Herein my design is to consider this

matter as a performance of nature _without_, or before the eye; I mean,

as if the objects with their shades, &c. were in fact circumstanced

as they appear, and as the unskill'd in optics take them to be. And

let it be remarked throughout this chapter, that the pleasure arising

from composition, as in a fine landskip, &c. is chiefly owing to the

dispositions and assemblages of light and shades, which are so order'd

by the principles called OPPOSITION, BREADTH and SIMPLICITY, as to

produce a just and distinct perception of the objects before us.

Experience teaches us that the eye may be subdued and forced into

forming and disposing of objects even quite contrary to what it would

naturally see them, by the prejudgment of the mind from the better

authority of feeling, or some other persuasive motive. But surely this

extraordinary perversion of the sight would not have been suffer'd,

did it not tend to great and necessary purposes, in rectifying some

deficiencies which it would otherwise be subject to (tho' we must own

at the same time, that the mind itself may be so imposed upon as to

make the eye see falsely as well as truly) for example, were it not

for this controul over the sight, it is well known, that we should not

only see things double, but upside down, as they are painted upon the

retina, and as each eye has a distinct sight. And then as to distances;

a fly upon a pane of glass is sometimes imagined a crow, or larger

bird afar off, till some circumstance hath rectified the mistake, and

convinced us of its real size and place.

Hence I would infer, that the eye generally gives its assent to such

space and distances as have been first measured by the feeling, or

otherwise calculated in the mind: which measurements and calculations

are equally, if not more, in the power of a blind man, as was fully

experienced by that incomparable mathematician and wonder of his age,

the late professor Sanderson.

By pursuing this observation on the faculties of the mind, an idea

may be formed of the means by which we attain to the perception or

appearance of an immense space surrounding us; which cavity, being

subject to divisions and subdivisions in the mind, is afterwards

fashioned by the limited power of the eye, first into a hemisphere, and

then into the appearance of different distances, which are pictured to

it by means of such dispositions of light and shade as shall next be

described. And these I now desire may be looked upon, but as so many

_marks_ or _types_ set upon these distances, and which are remember'd

and learnt by degrees, and when learnt, are recurred to upon all

occasions.

If permitted then to consider light and shades as _types of

distinction_, they become, as it were, our materials, of which _prime

tints_ are the principal; by these, I mean the fixed and permanent

colours of each object, as the green of trees, &c. which serve the

purposes of separating and relieving the several objects by the

different strengths or shades of them being opposed to each other [Fig.

86 T p. II].

[Illustration: Fig. 86]

The other shades that have been before spoken of, serve and help to

the like purposes when properly opposed; but as in nature they are

continually fleeting and changing their appearances, either by our or

their situations, they sometimes oppose and relieve, and sometimes not,

as for instance; I once observed the tower-part of a steeple so exactly

the colour of a light cloud behind it, that, at the distance I stood,

there was not the least distinction to be made, so that the spire (of a

lead-colour) seemed suspended in the air; but had a cloud of the like

tint with the steeple, supplied the place of the white one, the tower

would then have been relieved and distinct, when the spire would have

been lost to the view.

Nor is it sufficient that objects are of different colours or shades,

to shew their distances from the eye, if one does not in part hide or

lay over the other, as in fig. 86.

[Illustration: Fig. 90]

For as fig. [90 T p. II] the two equal balls, tho' one were black and

the other white, placed on the separate walls, supposed distant from

each other twenty or thirty feet, nevertheless, may seem both to rest

upon one, if the tops of the walls are level with the eye; but when

one ball hides part of the other, as in the same figure, we begin

to apprehend they are upon different walls, which is determin'd by

the perspective[17]: hence you will see the reason, why the steeple

of Bloomsbury-church, in coming from Hampstead, seems to stand upon

Montague-house, tho' it is several hundred yards distant from it.

[17] The knowledge of perspective is no small help to the seeing

objects truly, for which purpose Dr. Brook Taylor's Linear perspective

made easy to those who are unacquainted with geometry, proposed to be

publish'd soon by Mr. Kirby of Ipswich, may be of most service.

Since then the opposition of one prime tint or shade to another,

hath so great a share in marking out the recessions, or distances in

a prospect, by which the eye is led onward step by step, it becomes a

principle of consequence enough to be further discussed, with regard to

the management of it in compositions of nature, as well as art. As to

the management of it, when seen only from one point, the artist hath

the advantage over nature, because such fix'd dispositions of shades as

he hath artfully put together, cannot be displaced by the alteration

of light, for which reason, designs done in two prime tints only, will

sufficiently represent all those recessions, and give a just keeping to

the representation of a prospect, in a print; whereas, the oppositions

in nature, depending, as has been before hinted, on accidental

situations and uncertain incidents, do not always make such pleasing

composition, and would therefore have been very often deficient, had

nature worked in two colours only; for which reason she hath provided

an infinite number of materials, not only by way of prevention, but to

add lustre and beauty to her works.

By an infinite number of materials, I mean colours and shades of

all kinds and degrees; some notion of which variety may be formed by

supposing a piece of white silk by several dippings gradually dyed to

a black; and carrying it in like manner through the prime tints of

yellow, red, and blue; and then again, by making the like progress

through all the mixtures that are to be made of these three original

colours. So that when we survey this infinite and immense variety, it

is no wonder, that, let the light or objects be situated or changed

how they will, oppositions seldom miss; nor that even every incident

of shade should sometimes be so completely disposed as to admit of no

further beauty, as to composition; and from whence the artist hath by

observation taken his principles of imitation, as in the following

respect.

[Illustration: Fig. 89]

Those objects which are intended most to affect the eye, and come

forwardest to the view, must have large, strong, and smart oppositions,

like the fore-ground in fig. [89 p. II], and what are designed to be

thrown further off, must be made still weaker and weaker, as expressed

in figures 86, 92, and 93, which receding in order make a kind of

gradation of oppositions; to which, and all the other circumstances

already described, both for recession, and beauty, nature hath

added what is known by the name of aerial perspective; being that

interposition of air, which throws a general soft retiring tint over

the whole prospect; to be seen in excess at the rising of a fog. All

which again receives still more distinctness, as well as a greater

degree of variety, when the sun shines bright, and casts broad shadows

of one object upon another; which gives the skilful designer such hints

for shewing broad and fine oppositions of shades, as give life and

spirit to his performances.

[Illustration: Figs. 92 and 93]

BREADTH of SHADE is a principle that assists in making distinction

more conspicuous; thus fig. [87 p. I], is better distinguish'd by its

breadth or quantity of shade, and view'd with more ease and pleasure

at any distance, than fig. [88 p. I], which hath many, and these but

narrow shades between the folds. And for one of the noblest instances

of this, let Windsor-castle be viewed at the rising or setting of the

sun.

[Illustration: Figs. 87 and 88]

Let breadth be introduced how it will, it always gives great repose to

the eye; as on the contrary, when lights and shades in a composition

are scattered about in little spots, the eye is constantly disturbed,

and the mind is uneasy, especially if you are eager to understand every

object in the composition, as it is painful to the ear when any one is

anxious to know what is said in company, where many are talking at the

same time.

SIMPLICITY (which I am last to speak of) in the disposition of a great

variety, is best accomplished by following nature's constant rule,

of dividing composition into three or five parts, or parcels, see

Chapter IV on simplicity: the painters accordingly divide theirs into

fore-ground, middle-ground, and distance or back-ground; which simple

and distinct quantities _mass_ together that variety which entertains

the eye; as the different parts of base, tenor, and treble, in a

composition in music, entertain the ear.

Let these principles be reversed, or neglected, the the light and shade

will appear as disagreeable as fig. [91 T p. II], whereas, was this to

be a composition of lights and shades only, properly disposed, tho'

ranged under no particular figures, it might still have the pleasing

effect of a picture. And here, as it would be endless to enter upon the

different effects of lights and shades on lucid and transparent bodies,

we shall leave them to the reader's observation, and so conclude this

chapter.

[Illustration: Fig. 91]

CHAPTER XIV.

_Of COLOURING_.

By the beauty of colouring, the painters mean that disposition of

colours on objects, together with their proper shades, which appear

at the same time both distinctly varied and artfully united, in

compositions of any kind; but, by way of pre-eminence, it is generally

understood of flesh-colour, when no other composition is named.

To avoid confusion, and having already said enough of retiring

shades, I shall now only describe the nature and effect of the prime

tint of flesh; for the composition of this, when rightly understood,

comprehends every thing that can be said of the colouring of all other

objects whatever.

And herein (as has been shewn in Chapter VIII, of the manner of

composing pleasing forms) the whole process will depend upon the art of

varying; i. e. upon an artful manner of varying every colour belonging

to flesh, under the direction of the six fundamental principles there

spoken of.

But before we proceed to shew in what manner these principles conduce

to this design, we shall take a view of nature's curious ways of

producing all sorts of complexions, which may help to further our

conception of the principles of varying colours, so as to see why they

cause the effect of beauty.

It is well known, the fair young girl, the brown old man, and the

negro; nay, all mankind, have the same appearance, and are alike

disagreeable to the eye, when the upper skin is taken away: now to

conceal so disagreeable an object, and to produce that variety of

complexions seen in the world, nature hath contrived a transparent

skin, called the cuticula, with a lining to it of a very extraordinary

kind, called the cutis; both which are so thin any little scald

will make them blister and peel off. These adhering skins are more

or less transparent in some parts of the body than in others, and

likewise different in different persons. The cuticula alone is like

gold-beaters-skin, a little wet, but somewhat thinner, especially

in fair young people, which would shew the fat, lean, and all the

blood-vessels, just as they lie under it, as through Isinglass, were it

not for its lining the cutis, which is so curiously constructed, as to

exhibit those things beneath it which are necessary to life and motion,

in pleasing arrangements and dispositions of beauty.

The cutis is composed of tender threads like network, fill'd with

different colour'd juices. The white juice serves to make the very fair

complexion;--yellow, makes the brunnet;--brownish yellow, the ruddy

brown;--green yellow, the olive;--dark brown, the mulatto;--black, the

negro;--These different colour'd juices, together with the different

_meshes_ of the network, and the size of its threads in this or that

part, causes the variety of complexions.

A description of this manner of its shewing the rosy colour of the

cheek, and, in like manner, the bluish tints about the temple, &c. see

in the profile [fig. 95 T p. II], where you are to suppose the black

strokes of the print to be the white threads of the network, and where

the strokes are thickest, and the part blackest, you are to suppose the

flesh would be whitest; so that the lighter part of it stands for the

vermilion-colour of the cheek, gradating every way.

[Illustration: Fig. 95]

Some persons have the network so equally wove over the whole body, face

and all, that the greatest heat or cold will hardly make them change

their colour; and these are seldom seen to blush, tho' ever so bashful,

whilst the texture is so fine in some young women, that they redden, or

turn pale, on the least occasion.

I am apt to think the texture of this network is of a very tender

kind, subject to damage many ways, but able to recover itself again,

especially in youth. The fair fat healthy child of 3 or 4 years old

hath it in great perfection; most visible when it is moderately warm,

but till that age somewhat imperfect.

It is in this manner, then, that nature seems to do her work.--And

now let us see how by art the like appearance may be made and penciled

on the surface of a uniform coloured statue of wax or marble; by

describing which operation we shall still more particularly point out

what is to our present purpose: I mean the reason why the order nature

hath thus made use of should strike us with the idea of beauty; which

by the way, perhaps may be of more use to some painters than they will

care to own.

[Illustration: Fig. 94]

There are but three original colours in painting besides black and

white, viz. red, yellow and blue. Green, and purple, are compounded;

the first of blue and yellow, the latter of red and blue: however these

compounds being so distinctly different from the original colours,

we will rank them as such. Fig. [94 T p. II], represents mixt up, as

on a painter's pallet, scales of these five original colours divided

into seven classes--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.--4, is the medium, and most

brillant class, being that which will appear a firm red, when those of

5, 6, 7, would deviate into white, and those of 1, 2, 3, would sink

into black, either by twilight or at a moderate distance from the

eye, which shews 4 to be brightest, and a more permanent colour than

the rest. But as white is nearest to light it may be said to be equal

if not superior in value as to beauty, with class 4. Therefore the

classes 5, 6, 7, have also, almost equal beauty with it too, because

what they lose of their brillancy and permanency of colour, they gain

from the white or light; whereas 3, 2, 1, absolutely lose their beauty

by degrees as they approach nearer to black, the representative of

darkness.

Let us then, for distinction and pre-eminence sake, call class 4 of

each colour, _bloom tints_, or if you please, virgin tints, as the

painters call them; and once more recollect, that in the disposition

of colours as well as of forms, variety, simplicity, distinctness,

intricacy, uniformity and quantity, direct in giving beauty to the

colouring of the human frame, especially if we include the face, where

uniformity and strong opposition of tints are required, as in the eyes

and mouth, which call most for our attention. But for the general hue

of flesh now to be described, variety, intricacy and simplicity, are

chiefly required.

The value of the degrees of colour being thus consider'd and ranged in

order upon the pallet, figure 94, let us next apply them to a busto,

fig. [96 R p. II], of white marble, which may be supposed to let every

tint sink into it, like as a drop of ink sinks in and spreads itself

upon course paper, whereby each tint will gradate all around.

[Illustration: Fig. 96]

If you would have the neck of the busto tinged of a very florid and

lively complexion, the pencil must be dipt in the bloom tints of

each colour as they stand one above another at No. 4.--if for a less

florid, in those of No. 5--if for a very fair, from No. 6--and so on

till the marble would scarce be ting'd at all: let therefore No. 6, be

our present choice, and begin with penciling on the red, as at r, the

yellow tint at y, the blue tint at b, and the purple or lake tint at p.

These four tints thus laid on, proceed to covering the whole neck and

breast, but still changing and varying the situations of the tints with

one another, also causing their shapes and sizes to differ as much as

possible; red must be oftenest repeated, yellow next often, purple red

next, and blue but seldom, except in particular parts as the temples,

backs of the hands, &c. where the larger veins shew their branching

shapes (sometimes too distinctly) still varying those appearances.

But there are no doubt infinite variations in nature, from what may

be called the most beautiful order and disposition of the colours in

flesh, not only in different persons, but in different parts of the

same, all subject to the same principles in some degree or other.

Now if we imagine this whole process to be made with the tender tints

of class 7, as they are supposed to stand, red, yellow, blue, green and

purple, underneath each other; the general hue of the performance will

be a seeming uniform prime tint, at any little distance, that is a very

fair, transparent and pearl-like complexion; but never quite uniform as

snow, ivory, marble or wax, like a poet's mistress, for either of these

in living-flesh, would in truth be hideous.

As in nature, by the general yellowish hue of the cuticula, the

gradating of one colour into another appears to be more delicately

soften'd and united together; so will the colours we are supposed to

have been laying upon the busto, appear to be more united and mellowed

by the oils they are ground in, which takes a yellowish cast after a

little time, but is apt to do more mischief hereby than good; for which

reason care is taken to procure such oil as is clearest, and will best

keep its colour[18] in oil painting.

[18] Notwithstanding the deep-rooted notion, even among the majority of

painters themselves, that time is a great improver of good pictures,

I will undertake to shew, that nothing can be more absurd. Having

mention'd above the whole effect of the oil, let us now see in what

manner time operates on colours themselves; in order to discover if any

changes in them can give a picture more union and harmony than has been

in the power of a skilful master, with all his rules of art, to do.

When colours change at all it must be somewhat in the manner following,

for as they are made some of metal, some of earth, some of stone,

and others of more perishable materials, time cannot operate on them

otherwise than as by daily experience we find it doth, which is, that

one changes darker, another lighter, one quite to a different colour,

whilst another, as ultramarine, will keep its natural brightness

even in the fire. Therefore how is it possible that such different

materials, ever variously changing (visibly after a certain time)

should accidentally coincide with the artist's intention, and bring

about the greater harmony of the piece, when it is manifestly contrary

to their nature, for do we not see in most collections that much time

disunites, untunes, blackens, and by degrees destroys even the best

preserved pictures.

But if for argument sake we suppose, that the colours were to fall

equally together, let us see what advantage this would give to any sort

of composition. We will begin with a flower-piece: when a master hath

painted a rose, a lily, an african, a gentianella, or violet, with

his best art, and brightest colours, how far short do they fall of

the freshness and rich brillancy of nature; and shall we wish to see

them fall still lower, more faint, sullied, and dirtied by the hand

of time, and then admire them as having gained an additional beauty,

and call them mended and heightened, rather than fouled, and in a

manner destroy'd; how absurd! Instead of mellow and softened therefore,

always read yellow and sullied, for this is doing time the destroyer,

but common justice. Or shall we desire to see complexions, which in

life are often, literally, as brillant as the flowers above-mention'd,

served in the like ungrateful manner. In a landskip, will the water

be more transparent, or the sky shine with a greater lustre when

embrown'd and darken'd by decay? surely no. I own it would be a pity

that Mr. Addison's beautiful description of time at work in the gallery

of pictures, and the following lines of Mr. Dryden, should want a

sufficient foundation;--

For time shall with his ready pencil stand,

Retouch your figures with his ripening hand;

Mellow your colours, and imbrown the tint;

Add every grace which time alone can grant;

To future ages shall your fame convey,

And give more beauties than he takes away. Dryden to Kneller.

were it not that the error they are built upon, hath been a continual

blight to the growth of the art, by misguiding both the proficient,

and the encourager; and often compelling the former, contrary to his

judgment, to imitate the damaged hue of decayed pictures; so that when

his works undergo the like injuries, they must have a double remove

from nature; which puts it in the power of the meanest observer to see

his deficiencies. Whence another absurd notion hath taken rise, viz.

that the colours now-a-days do not stand so well as formerly; whereas

colours well prepared, in which there is but little art or expence,

have, and will always have, the same properties in every age, and

without accidents, as damps, bad varnish, and the like (being laid

separate and pure,) will stand and keep together for many years in

defiance of time itself.

In proof of this, let any one take a view of the cieling at

Greenwich-hospital, painted by Sir James Thornhil, forty years ago,

which still remains fresh, strong and clear as if it had been finished

but yesterday: and altho' several french writers have so learnedly,

and philosophically proved, that the air of this island is too thick,

or--too something, for the genius of a painter; yet France in all

her palaces can hardly boast of a nobler, more judicious, or richer

performance of its kind. Note, the upper end of the hall where the

royal family is painted, was left chiefly to the pencil of Mr. Andrea

a foreigner, after the payment originally agreed upon for the work was

so much reduced, as made it not worth Sir James's while to finish the

whole with his own more masterly hand.

Upon the whole of this account we find, that the utmost beauty of

colouring depends on the great principle of varying by all the means

of varying, and on the proper and artful union of that variety; which

may be farther proved by supposing the rules here laid down, all or any

part of them reversed.

I am apt to believe, that the not knowing nature's artful, and

intricate method of uniting colours for the production of the

variegated composition, or prime tint of flesh, hath made colouring,

in the art of painting, a kind of mystery in all ages; insomuch, that

it may fairly be said, out of the many thousands who have labour'd to

attain it, not above ten or twelve painters have happily succeeded

therein, Corregio (who lived in a country-village, and had nothing but

the life to study after) is said almost to have stood alone for this

particular excellence. Guido, who made beauty his chief aim, was always

at a loss about it. Poussin scarce ever obtained a glimpse of it, as

is manifest by his many different attempts: indeed France hath not

produced one remarkably good colourist[19].

[19] The lame excuse writers on painting have made for the many great

masters that have fail'd in this particular, is, that they purposely

deaden'd their colours, and kept them, what they affectedly call'd

_chaste_, that the correctness of their outlines might be seen to

greater advantage. Whereas colours cannot be too brillant if properly

disposed, because the distinction of the parts are thereby made more

perfect; as may be seen by comparing a marble busto with the variegated

colours of the face either in the life, or well painted: it is true,

uncomposed variety, either in the features or the limbs, as being

daubed with many, or one colour, will so confound the parts as to

render them unintelligible.

Rubens boldly, and in a masterly manner, kept his bloom tints bright,

separate, and distinct, but sometimes too much so for easel or cabinet

pictures; however, his manner was admirably well calculated for great

works, to be seen at a considerable distance, such as his celebrated

cieling at Whitehall-chapel[20]: which upon a nearer view, will

illustrate what I have advanc'd with regard to the separate brightness

of the tints; and shew, what indeed is known to every painter, that

had the colours there seen so bright and separate, been all smooth'd

and absolutely blended together, they would have produced a dirty grey

instead of flesh-colour. The difficulty then lies in bringing _blue_

the third original colour, into flesh, on account of the vast variety

introduced thereby; and this omitted, all the difficulty ceases; and a

common sign-painter that lays his colours smooth, instantly becomes, in

point of colouring, a Rubens, a Titian, or a Corregio.

[20] The front of this building by Inigo Jones, is an additional

exemplification of the principles for varying the parts in building;

(explained by the candlesticks, &c. Chapter VIII) which would appear

to be a stronger proof still, were a building formed of squares, on

squares; with squares uniformly cut in each square to be opposed to it,

to shew the reverse.

CHAPTER XV.

_Of the FACE_.

Having thus spoken briefly of light, shade, and colour, we now return

to our lineal account of form, as proposed (page 91) with regard to

the face. It is an observation, that, out of the great number of faces

that have been form'd since the creation of the world, no two have

been so exactly alike, but that the usual and common discernment of

the eye would discover a difference between them: therefore it is not

unreasonable to suppose, that this discernment is still capable of

further improvements by instructions from a methodical enquiry; which

the ingenious Mr. Richardson, in his treatise on painting, terms _the

art of seeing_.

[Illustration: Fig. 97]

1. I shall begin with a description of such lines as compose the

features of a face of the highest taste, and the reverse. See fig. [97,

B p. I], taken from an antique head, which stands in the first rank of

estimation: in proof of this, Raphael Urbin, and other great painters

and sculptors, have imitated it for the characters of their heroes

and other great men; and the old man's head, fig. [98, L p. I] was

model'd in clay, by Fiamingo (and not inferior in its taste of lines,

to the best antique) for the use of Andrea Sacchi, after which model he

painted all the heads in his famous picture of St. Romoaldo's dream;

and this picture hath the reputation of being one of the best pictures

in the world[21].

[21] Note, I must refer the reader to the casts of both these pieces

of sculpture, which are to be found in the hands of the curious;

because it is impossible to express all that I intend, with sufficient

accuracy, in a print of this size, whatever pains might have been taken

with it; or indeed in any print were it ever so large.

[Illustration: Fig. 98]

These examples are here chosen to exemplify and confirm the force

of serpentine lines in a face; and let it also be observed, that in

these master-pieces of art, all the parts are otherwise consistent

with the rules heretofore laid down: I shall therefore only shew the

effects and use of the line of beauty. One way of proving in what

manner the serpentine line appears to operate in this respect, may be

by pressing several pieces of wire close up and down the different

parts of the face and features of those casts; which wires will all

come off so many serpentine lines, as is partly marked in figure 97, by

the dotted lines. The beard and hair of the head, fig. 98, being a set

of loose lines naturally, and therefore disposable at the painter's or

sculptor's pleasure, are remarkably composed in this head of nothing

else but a varied play of serpentine lines, twisting together in a

flame-like manner.

But as imperfections are easier to be imitated than perfections, we

shall now have it in our power to explain the latter more fully; by

shewing the reverse in several degrees, down to the most contemptible

meanness that lines can be form'd into.

[Illustration: Figs. 99-105]

Figure 99, is the first degree of deviation from figure 97; where the

lines are made straighter, and reduced in quantity; deviating still

more in figure 100, more yet in figure 101, and yet more visibly in

102; figure 103, still more so; figure 104 is totally divested of all

lines of elegance, like a barber's block; and 105 is composed merely

of such plain lines as children make, when of themselves they begin to

imitate in drawing a human face. It is evident, the inimitable Butler

was sensible of the mean and ridiculous effect of such kind of lines,

by the description he gives of the shape of Hudibras's beard, fig. [106

L p. I],

In cut and dye so like a tile,

A sudden view it would beguile.

[Illustration: Fig. 106]

2. With regard to character and expression; we have daily many

instances which confirm the common received opinion, that the face is

the index of the mind; and this maxim is so rooted in us, we can scarce

help (if our attention is a little raised) forming some particular

conception of the person's mind whose face we are observing, even

before we receive information by any other means. How often is it

said, on the slightest view, that such a one looks like a good-natur'd

man, that he hath an honest open countenance, or looks like a cunning

rogue; a man of sense, or a fool, &c. And how are our eyes riveted

to the aspects of kings and heroes, murderers and saints; and as we

contemplate their deeds, seldom fail making application to their looks.

It is reasonable to believe that aspect to be a true and legible

representation of the mind, which gives everyone the same idea at first

sight; and is afterwards confirm'd in fact: for instance, all concur in

the same opinion, at first sight, of a down-right idiot.

There is but little to be seen by childrens faces, more than that

they are heavy or lively; and scarcely that unless they are in motion.

Very handsom faces of almost any age, will hide a foolish or a wicked

mind till they betray themselves by their actions or their words: yet

the frequent aukward movements of the muscles of the fool's face, tho'

ever so handsom, is apt in time to leave such traces up and down it,

as will distinguish a defect of mind upon examination: but the bad

man, if he be a hypocrite, may so manage his muscles, by teaching them

to contradict his heart, that little of his mind can be gather'd from

his countenance, so that the character of an hypocrite is entirely out

of the power of the pencil, without some adjoining circumstance to

discover him, as smiling and stabbing at the same time, or the like.

It is by the natural and unaffected movements of the muscles, caused

by the passions of the mind, that every man's character would in some

measure be written in his face, by the time he arrives at forty years

of age, were it not for certain accidents which often, tho' not always

prevent it. For the ill-natur'd man, by frequently frowning, and

pouting out the muscles of his mouth, doth in time bring those parts to

a constant state of the appearance of ill-nature, which might have been

prevented by the constant affectation of a smile; and so of the other

passions: tho' there are some that do not affect the muscles at all

simply of themselves, as love and hope.

But least I should be thought to lay too great a stress on outward

shew, like a physiognomist, take this with you, that it is acknowledg'd

there are so many different causes which produce the same kind of

movements and appearances of the features, and so many thwartings by

accidental shapes in the make of faces, that the old adage, fronti

nulla fides, will ever stand its ground upon the whole; and for very

wise reasons nature hath thought fit it should. But, on the other

hand, as in many particular cases, we receive information from the

expressions of the countenance, what follows is meant to give a lineal

description of the language written therein.

It may not be amiss just to look over the passions of the mind, from

tranquillity to extreme despair; as they are in order described in the

common drawing-book, called, Le Brun's passions of the mind; selected

from that great master's works for the use of learners; where you may

have a compendious view of all the common expressions at once. And

altho' these are but imperfect copies, they will answer our purpose in

this place better than any other thing I can refer you to; because the

passions are there ranged in succession, and distinctly marked with

lines only, the shadows being omitted.

Some features are formed so as to make this or that expression

of a passion more or less legible; for example, the little narrow

chinese eye suits a loving or laughing expression best, as a large

full eye doth those of fierceness and astonishment; and round-rising

muscles will appear with some degree of chearfulness even in sorrow:

the features thus suiting with the expressions that have been often

repeated in the face, at length mark it with such lines as sufficiently

distinguish the character of the mind.

The ancients in their lowest characters have shewn as much judgment,

and as great a degree of taste in the management and twisting of the

lines of them, as in their statues of a sublimer kind; in the former

varying only from the precise line of grace in some parts where the

character or action required it. The dying gladiator and the dancing

fawn, the former a slave, the latter a wild clown, are sculptored in

as high a taste of lines as the Antinous or the Apollo; with this

difference, that the precise line of grace abounds more in the two

last: notwithstanding which it is generally allow'd there is equal

merit in the former, as there is near as much judgment required for

the execution of them. Human nature can hardly be represented more

debased than in the character of the Silenus, fig. [107 p. I], where

the bulging-line figure 49, No. 7, runs through all the features of the

face, as well as the other parts of his swinish body: whereas in the

satyr of the wood, tho' the ancients have joined the brute with the

man, we still see preserved an elegant display of serpentine lines,

that make it a graceful figure.

[Illustration: Figs. 107 and 49]

Indeed the works of art have need of the whole advantage of this line

to make up for its other deficiencies: for tho' in nature's works the

line of beauty is often neglected, or mixt with plain lines, yet so

far are they from being defective on this account, that by this means

there is exhibited that infinite variety of human forms which always

distinguishes the hand of nature from the limited and insufficient

one of art; and as thus she for the sake of variety upon the whole,

deviates sometimes into plain and inelegant lines, if the poor artist

is but able now and then to correct and give a better taste to some

particular part of what he imitates, by having learnt so to do from

her more perfect works, or copying from those that have, ten to one

he grows vain upon it, and fancies himself a nature-mender; not

considering, that even in these, the meanest of her works, she is never

wholly destitute of such lines of beauty and other delicacies, as are

not only beyond his narrow reach, but are seen wanting even in the most

celebrated attempts to rival her. But to return,

As to what we call plain lines, there is this remarkable effect

constantly produced by them, that being more or less conspicuous in any

kind of character or expression of the face, they bring along with them

certain degrees of a foolish or ridiculous aspect.

It is the inelegance of these lines which more properly belonging to

inanimate bodies, and being seen where lines of more beauty and taste

are expected, that renders the face silly and ridiculous. See Chapter

VI, p. 31.

Children in infancy have movements in the muscles of their faces

peculiar to their age, as an uninformed and unmeaning stare, an open

mouth, and simple grin: all which expressions are chiefly formed of

plain curves, and these movements and expressions ideots are apt to

retain; so that in time they mark their faces with these uncouth lines;

and when the lines coincide and agree with the natural forms of the

features, it becomes a more apparent and confirmed character of an

ideot. These plain shapes last mentioned, sometimes happen to people of

the best sense, to some when the features are at rest, to others when

they are put into motion; which a variety of constant regular movements

proceeding from a good understanding, and fashioned by a genteel

education, will often by degrees correct into lines of more elegance.

That particular expression likewise of the face, or movement of a

feature which becomes one person, shall be disagreeable in another,

just as such expressions or turns chance to fall in with lines of

beauty, or the reverse; for this reason there are pretty frowns and

disagreeable smiles: the lines that form a pleasing smile about the

corners of the mouth have gentle windings, as fig. [108 L p. II],

but lose their beauty in the full laugh, as fig. [109 L p. II], the

expression of excessive laughter, oftener than any other, gives a

sensible face a silly or disagreeable look, as it is apt to form

regular plain lines about the mouth, like a parenthesis, which

sometimes appears like crying; as, on the contrary, I remember to

have seen a beggar who had clouted up his head very artfully, and

whose visage was thin and pale enough to excite pity, but his features

were otherwise so unfortunately form'd for his purpose, that what he

intended for a grin of pain and misery, was rather a joyous laugh.

[Illustration: Figs. 108 and 109]

It is strange that nature hath afforded us so many lines and shapes to

indicate the deficiencies and blemishes of the mind, whilst there are

none at all that point out the perfections of it beyond the appearance

of common sense and placidity. Deportment, words, and actions, must

speak the good, the wise, the witty, the humane, the generous, the

merciful, and the brave. Nor are gravity and solemn looks always signs

of wisdom: the mind much occupied with trifles will occasion as grave

and sagacious an aspect, as if it were charged with matters of the

utmost moment; the balance-master's attention to a single point, in

order to preserve his balance, may look as wise at that time as the

greatest philosopher in the depth of his studies. All that the ancient

sculptors could do, notwithstanding their enthusiastic endeavours to

raise the characters of their deities to aspects of sagacity above

human, was to give them features of beauty. Their god of wisdom

hath no more in his look than a handsom manliness; the Jupiter is

carried somewhat higher, by giving it a little more severity than

the Apollo, by a larger prominency of brow gently bending in seeming

thoughtfulness, with an ample beard, which being added to the noble

quantity of its other lines, invests that capital piece of sculpture

with uncommon dignity, which, in the mysterious language of a profound

connoisseur, is stiled a divine idea, inconceivably great, and above

nature.

3dly and lastly, I shall shew in what manner the lines of the face

alter from infancy upwards, and specify the different ages. We are now

to pay most attention to _simplicity_, as the difference of ages we are

about to speak of, turn chiefly upon the use made of this principle in

a greater or less degree, in the form of the lines.

From infancy till the body has done growing, the contents both of the

body and the face, and every part of their surface, are daily changing

into more variety, till they obtain a certain medium (see page 78 on

proportion) from which medium, as fig. [113 B p. II], if we return back

to infancy, we shall see the variety decreasing, till by degrees that

simplicity in the form, which gave variety its due limits, deviates

into sameness; so that all the parts of the face may be circumscribed

in several circles, as fig. [116 L p. II].

[Illustration: Figs. 113 and 116]

But there is another very extraordinary circumstance, (perhaps never

taken notice of before in this light) which nature hath given us to

distinguish one age from another by; which is, that tho' every feature

grows larger and longer, till the whole person has done growing, the

sight of the eye still keeps its original size; I mean the pupil, with

its iris or ring; for the diameter of this circle continues still the

same, and so becomes a fixt measure by which we, as it were, insensibly

compare the daily perceiv'd growings of the other parts of the face,

and thereby determine a young person's age. You may sometimes find this

part of the eye in a new-born infant, full as large as in a man of six

foot; nay, sometimes larger, see fig. [110 B p. II], [114 B p. II] and

[115 T p. I] which represents three different sizes of the pupil of the

eye; the least, was exactly taken from the eye of a large-featur'd man,

aged 105, the biggest, from one of twenty, who had this part larger

than ordinary, and the other is the common size. If this part of the

eye in the pictures of Charles II. and James II. painted by Vandyke at

Kensington, were to be measured with a pair of compasses, and compared

with their pictures painted by Lilly when they were men, the diameters

would be found in both pictures respectively the same.

[Illustration: Figs. 110, 114 and 115]

In infancy the faces of boys and girls have no visible difference, but

as they grow up the features of the boy get the start, and grow faster

in proportion to the ring of the eye, than those of the girl, which

shews the distinction of the sex in the face. Boys who have larger

features than ordinary, in proportion to the rings of their eyes, are

what we call manly-featured children; as those who have the contrary,

look more childish and younger than they really are. It is this

proportion of the features with the eyes, that makes women, when they

are dressed in mens-cloaths, look so young and boyish: but as nature

doth not always stick close to these particulars, we may be mistaken

both in sexes and ages.

By these obvious appearances, and the differences of the whole size,

we easily judge of ages till twenty, but not with such certainty

afterwards; for the alterations from that age are of a different kind,

subject to other changes by growing fatter or leaner, which it is well

known, often give a different turn to the look of the person, with

regard to his age.

The hair of the head, which encompasses a face as a frame doth a

picture, and contrasts with its uniform colour, the variegated inclosed

composition, adding more or less beauty thereto, according as it is

disposed by the rules of art, is another indication of advanced age.

What remains to be said on the different appearances of ages, being

less pleasing than what has gone before, shall be described with more

brevity. In the age from twenty to thirty, barring accidents, there

appears but little change, either in the colours or the lines of the

face; for tho' the bloom tints may go off a little, yet on the other

hand, the make of the features often attain a sort of settled firmness

in them, aided by an air of acquired sensibility; which makes ample

amends for that loss, and keeps beauty till thirty pretty much upon a

par; after this time, as the alterations grow more and more visible,

we perceive the sweet simplicity of many rounding parts of the face,

begin to break into dented shapes, with more sudden turns about the

muscles, occasioned by their many repeated movements; as also by

dividing the broad parts, and thereby taking off the large sweeps of

the serpentine lines; the shades of beauty also consequently suffering

in their softnesses. Something of what is here meant between the two

ages of thirty and fifty, see in figures [117 and 118 B p. II], and

what further havock time continues to make after the age of fifty, is

too remarkable to need describing: the strokes and cuts he then lays on

are plain enough; however, in spite of all his malice, those lineaments

that have once been elegant, retain their flowing turns in venerable

age, leaving to the last a comely piece of ruins.

[Illustration: Figs. 117 and 118]

CHAPTER XVI.

_Of ATTITUDE_.

Such dispositions of the body and limbs as appear most graceful when

seen at rest, depend upon gentle winding contrasts, mostly govern'd

by the precise serpentine line, which in attitudes of authority, are

more extended and spreading than ordinary, but reduced somewhat below

the medium of grace, in those of negligence and ease: and as much

exaggerated in insolent and proud carriage, or in distortions of pain

(see figure 9, plate I) as lessen'd and contracted into plain and

parallel lines, to express meanness, aukwardness, and submission.

[Illustration: Fig. 9]

The general idea of an action, as well as of an attitude, may be given

with a pencil in very few lines. It is easy to conceive that the

attitude of a person upon the cross, may be fully signified by the two

straight lines of the cross; so the extended manner of St. Andrew's

crucifixion is wholly understood by the X-like cross.

Thus, as two or three lines at first are sufficient to shew the

intention of an attitude, I will take this opportunity of presenting

my reader (who may have been at the trouble of following me thus far)

with the sketch of a country-dance, in the manner I began to set out

the design; in order to shew how few lines are necessary to express the

first thoughts, as to different attitudes; see fig. [71 T p. II], which

describe in some measure, the several figures and actions, mostly of

the ridiculous kind, that are represented in the chief part of plate II.

[Illustration: Fig. 71]

The most amiable person may deform his general appearance by throwing

his body and limbs into plain lines, but such lines appear still in

a more disagreeable light in people of a particular make, I have

therefore chose such figures as I thought would agree best with my

first score of lines, fig. 71.

[Illustration: The dancers]

The two parts of curves next to 71, served for the figures of the old

woman and her partner at the farther end of the room. The curve and

two straight lines at right angles, gave the hint for the fat man's

sprawling posture. I next resolved to keep a figure within the bounds

of a circle, which produced the upper part of the fat woman, between

the fat man and the aukward one in the bag wig, for whom I had made

a sort of an X. The prim lady, his partner, in the riding-habit, by

pecking back her elbows, as they call it, from the waste upwards, made

a tolerable D, with a straight line under it, to signify the scanty

stiffness of her peticoat; and a Z stood for the angular position the

body makes with the legs and thighs of the affected fellow in the

tye-wig; the upper part of his plump partner was confin'd to an O, and

this chang'd into a P, served as a hint for the straight lines behind.

The uniform diamond of a card, was filled up by the flying dress, &c.

of the little capering figure in the spencer-wig; whilst a double L

mark'd the parallel position of his poking partner's hands and arms:

and lastly, the two waving lines were drawn for the more genteel turns

of the two figures at the hither end.

The best representation in a picture, of even the most elegant dancing,

as every figure is rather a suspended action in it than an attitude,

must be always somewhat unnatural and ridiculous; for were it possible

in a real dance to fix every person at one instant of time, as in a

picture, not one in twenty would appear to be graceful, tho' each were

ever so much so in their movements; nor could the figure of the dance

itself be at all understood.

[Illustration: The statues and pictures]

The dancing-room is also ornamented purposely with such statues and

pictures as may serve to a farther illustration. Henry viii. fig. [72

p. II], makes a perfect X with his legs and arms; and the position of

Charles the first, fig. [51 p. II], is composed of less-varied lines

than the statue of Edward the sixth, fig. [73 p. II]; and the medal

over his head is in the like kind of lines; but that over Q. Elizabeth,

as well as her figure, is in the contrary; so are also the two other

wooden figures at the end. Likewise the comical posture of astonishment

(expressed by following the direction of one plain curve, as the dotted

line in a french print of Sancho, where Don Quixote demolishes the

puppet shew, fig. [75 R p. II])is a good contrast to the effect of the

serpentine lines in the fine turn of the Samaritan woman, fig. [74 L p.

II], taken from one of the best pictures Annibal Carrache ever painted.

[Illustration: Figs. 75 and 74]

CHAPTER XVII.

_Of ACTION_.

To the amazing variety of forms made still infinitely more various in

appearance by light, shade and colour, nature hath added another way

of increasing that variety, still more to enhance the value of all her

compositions. This is accomplished by means of action; the fullest

display of which is put into the power of the human species, and which

is equally subject to the same principles with regard to the effects of

beauty, or the reverse, as govern all the former compositions; as is

partly seen in Chapter XI on proportion. My business here shall be, in

as concise a manner as possible, to particularise the application of

these principles to the movement of the body, and therewith finish this

_system_ of variety in forms and actions.

There is no one but would wish to have it in his power to be genteel

and graceful in the carriage of his person, could it be attained with

little trouble and expence of time. The usual methods relied on for

this purpose among well-bred people, takes up a considerable part of

their time: nay even those of the first rank have no other resource in

these matters, than to dancing-masters, and fencing-masters: dancing

and fencing are undoubtedly proper, and very necessary accomplishments;

yet are they frequently very imperfect in bringing about the business

of graceful deportment. For altho' the muscles of the body may

attain a pliancy by these exercises, and the limbs, by the elegant

movement in dancing, acquire a facility in moving gracefully, yet for

want of knowing the meaning of every grace, and whereon it depends,

affectations and misapplications often follow.

Action is a sort of language which perhaps one time or other, may

come to be taught by a kind of grammar-rules; but, at present, is only

got by rote and imitation: and contrary to most other copyings or

imitations, people of rank and fortune generally excel their originals,

the dancing-masters, in easy behaviour and unaffected grace; as a sense

of superiority makes them act without constraint; especially when their

persons are well turn'd. If so, what can be more conducive to that

freedom and necessary courage which make acquired grace seem easy and

natural, than the being able to demonstrate _when_ we are actually just

and proper in the least movement we perform; whereas, for want of such

certainty in the mind, if one of the most finish'd gentlemen at court

was to appear as an actor on the public stage, he would find himself

at a loss how to move properly, and be stiff, narrow, and aukward, in

representing even his own character: the uncertainty of being right

would naturally give him some of that restraint which the uneducated

common people generally have when they appear before their betters.

It is known that bodies in motion always describe some line or other

in the air, as the whirling round of a fire-brand apparently makes a

circle, the water-fall part of a curve, the arrow and bullet, by the

swiftness of their motions, nearly a straight line; waving lines are

formed by the pleasing movement of a ship on the waves. Now in order

to obtain a just idea of action at the same time to be judiciously

satisfied of being in the right in what we do, let us begin with

imagining a line formed in the air by any supposed point at the end

of a limb or part that is moved, or made by the whole part, or limb;

or by the whole body together. And that thus much of movements may be

conceived at once is evident, on the least recollection, for whoever

has seen a fine arabian war-horse, unback'd and at liberty, and in a

wanton trot, cannot but remember what a large waving line his rising,

and at the same time pressing forward, cuts through the air; the equal

continuation of which, is varied by his curveting from side to side;

whilst his long mane and tail play about in serpentine movements.

After thus having form'd the idea of all movements being as lines, it

will not be difficult to conceive, that grace in action depends upon

the same principles as have been shewn to produce it in forms.

The next thing that offers itself to our consideration is the force of

_habit_ and custom in action; for a great deal depends thereon.

The peculiar movements of each person, as the gate in walking, are

particularised in such lines as each part describes by the habits they

have contracted. The nature and power of habit may be fully conceived

by the following familiar instance, as the motions of one part of the

body may serve to explain those of the whole.

Observe that whatever habit the fingers get in the use of the pen,

you see exactly delineated to the eye by the shapes of the letters.

Were the movements of every writer's fingers to be precisely the same,

one hand-writing would not be known from another, but as the fingers

naturally fall into, or acquire different habits of moving, every

hand-writing is visibly different. Which movements must tally with

the letters, tho' they are too quick and too small to be as perfectly

traced by the eye; but this shews what nice differences are caused, and

constantly retained by habitual movements.

It may be remark'd, that all useful habitual motions, such as are

readiest to serve the necessary purposes of life, are those made up of

plain lines, i. e. straight and circular lines, which most animals have

in common with mankind, tho' not in so extensive a degree: the monkey

from his make hath it sufficiently in his power to be graceful, but as

reason is required for this purpose, it would be impossible to bring

him to move genteelly.

Though I have said that the ordinary actions of the body are performed

in plain lines, I mean only comparatively so with those of studied

movements in the serpentine line, for as all our muscles are ever ready

to act, when one part is moved, (as an hand, or arm, by its proper

movers, for raising up or drawing down) the adjacent muscles act in

some degree in correspondence with them: therefore our most common

movements are but seldom performed in such absolutely mean lines, as

those of jointed dolls and puppets. A man must have a good deal of

practice to be able to mimic such very straight or round motions, which

being incompatible with the human form, are therefore ridiculous.

Let it be observed, that graceful movements in serpentine lines,

are used but occasionally, and rather at times of leisure, than

constantly applied to every action we make. The whole business of life

may be carried on without them, they being properly speaking, only

the ornamental part of gesture; and therefore not being naturally

familiarised by necessity, must be acquired by precept or imitation,

and reduced to habit by frequent repetitions. _Precept_ is the means I

should recommend as the most expeditious and effectual way. But before

we proceed to the method I have to propose, for the more ready and sure

way of accustoming the limbs to a facility in the ornamental way of

moving; I should observe, that quick time gives it spirit and vivacity,

as slow time, gravity, and solemnity, and further, that the latter of

these allows the eye an opportunity of seeing the line of grace to

advantage, as in the address of heroes on the stage, or in any solemn

act of ceremony; and that although time in movement is reduced to

certain rules for dancing, it is left more at large and at discretion

for deportment.

We come now to offer an odd, but perhaps efficacious method of

acquiring a habit of moving in the lines of grace and beauty.

[Illustration: Figs. 119 and 120]

1. Let any one chalk the line fig. [119 L p. II], on a flat surface,

beginning at either end, and he will move his hand and arm in a

beautiful direction, but if he chalks the same sort of line on an

ogee-moulding of a foot or two in breadth, as the dotted line on figure

[120 L p. II], his hand must move in that more beautiful direction,

which is distinguished by the name of grace; and according to the

quantity given to those lines, greatness will be added to grace, and

the movement will be more or less noble.

Gentle movements of this sort thus understood, may be made at any time

and any where, which by frequent repetitions will become so familiar to

the parts so exercised, that on proper occasion they make them as it

were of their own accord.

The pleasing effect of this manner of moving the hand, is seen when a

snuff-box, or fan is presented gracefully or genteely to a lady, both

in the hand moving forward and in its return, but care must be taken

that the line of movement be but gentle, as No. 3, fig. 49, plate I,

and not too S-like and twirling, as No. 7 in the same figure: which

excess would be affected and ridiculous.

[Illustration: Fig. 49]

Daily practising these movements with the hands and arms, as also with

such other parts of the body as are capable of them, will in a short

time render the whole person graceful and easy at pleasure.

2. As to the motions of the _head_; the awe most children are in

before strangers, till they come to a certain age, is the cause of

their dropping and drawing their chins down into their breasts, and

looking under their foreheads, as if conscious of their weakness,

or of something wrong about them. To prevent this aukward shyness,

parents and tutors are continually teasing them to hold up their heads,

which if they get them to do it is with difficulty, and of course

in so constrain'd a manner that it gives the children pain, so that

they naturally take all opportunities of easing themselves by holding

down their heads; which posture would be full as uneasy to them were

it not a relief from restraint: and there is another misfortune in

holding down the head, that it is apt to make them bend too much in

the back; when this happens to be the case, they then have recourse

to steel-collars, and other iron-machines; all which shacklings are

repugnant to nature, and may make the body grow crooked. This daily

fatigue both to the children and the parents may be avoided, and an

ugly habit prevented, by only (at a proper age) fastening a ribbon to a

quantity of platted hair, or to the cap, so as it may be kept fast in

its place, and the other end to the back of the coat, as fig. [121 L

p. II], of such a length as may prevent them drawing their chins into

their necks; which ribbon will always leave the head at liberty to move

in any direction but this aukward one they are so apt to fall into.

[Illustration: Fig. 121]

But till children arrive at a reasoning age it will be difficult by any

means to teach them more grace than what is natural to every well made

child at liberty.

The grace of the upper parts of the body is most engaging, and

sensible well made people in any station naturally have it in a great

degree, therefore rules unless they are simple and easily retain'd and

practis'd, are of little use; nay, rather are of disservice.

Holding the head erect is but occasionally right, a proper recline of

it may be as graceful, but true elegance is mostly seen in the moving

it from one position to another.

And this may be attain'd by a sensibility within yourself, tho' you

have not a sight of what you do by looking in the glass, when with your

head assisted by a sway of the body in order to give it more scope, you

endeavour to make that very serpentine line in the air, which the hands

have been before taught to do by the help of the ogee-moulding: and I

will venture to say, a few careful repetitions at first setting out

will make this movement as easy to the head as to the hands and arms.

The most graceful bow is got by the head's moving in this direction,

as it goes downward and rises up again. Some aukward imitators of this

elegant way of bowing, for want of knowing what they were about, have

seem'd to bow with wry necks. The low solemn bow to majesty should

have but a very little twist, if any, as more becoming gravity and

submission. The clownish nod in a sudden straight line is quite the

reverse of these spoken of.

The most elegant and respectful curtesy hath a gentle, or small degree

of the above graceful bowing of the head as the person sinks, and

rises, and retreats. If it should be said, that a fine curtesy consists

in no more than in being erect in person at the time of sinking and

rising; Madam Catherine in clock-work, or the dancing bears led about

the streets for a shew, must be allow'd to make as good a curtesy as

anybody.

N. B. It is necessary in bowing and curtesying to shun an exact

sameness at all times; for however graceful it may be on some

occasions, at other times it may seem formal and improper. Shakespear

seems to have meant the above spoken of ornamental manner of bowing, in

Enobarbus's description of Cleopatra's waiting-women.----

----And made their bends adornings. Act 2.

3. Of _Dancing_. The minuet is allowed by the dancing-masters

themselves to be the perfection of all dancing. I once heard an

eminent dancing-master say, that the minuet had been the study of

his whole life, and that he had been indefatigable in the pursuit of

its beauties, yet at last he could only say with Socrates, _he knew

nothing_: adding, that I was happy in my profession as a painter, in

that some bounds might be set to the study of it. No doubt, as the

minuet contains in it a composed variety of as many movements in the

serpentine lines as can well be put together in distinct quantities, it

is a fine composition of movements.

[Illustration: Fig. 122]

The ordinary undulating motion of the body in common walking (as may

be plainly seen by the waving line, which the shadow a man's head

makes against a wall as he is walking between it and the afternoon

sun) is augmented in dancing into a larger quantity of _waving_ by

means of the minuet-step, which is so contrived as to raise the body

by gentle degrees somewhat higher than ordinary, and sink it again in

the same manner lower in the going on of the dance. The figure of the

minuet-path on the floor is also composed of serpentine lines, as fig.

[122 T p. II], varying a little with the fashion: when the parties by

means of this step rise and fall most smoothly in time, and free from

sudden starting and dropping, they come nearest to Shakespear's idea of

the beauty of dancing, in the following lines,

----What you do,

Still betters what is done,----

----When you do dance, I wish you

A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do

Nothing but that; move still, still so,

And own no other function. WINTER'S TALE.

The other beauties belonging to this dance, are the turns of the head,

and twist of the body in passing each other, as also gentle bowing and

presenting hands in the manner before described, all which together,

displays the greatest variety of movements in serpentine lines

imaginable, keeping equal pace with musical time.

There are other dances that entertain merely because they are composed

of variety of movements and performed in proper time, but the less

they consist of serpentine or waving lines, the lower they are in the

estimation of dancing-masters: for, as has been shewn, when the form of

the body is divested of its serpentine lines it becomes ridiculous as a

human figure, so likewise when all movements in such lines are excluded

in a dance, it becomes low, grotesque and comical; but however, being

as was said composed of variety, made consistent with some character,

and executed with agility, it nevertheless is very entertaining. Such

are Italian peasant-dances, &c. But such uncouth contortions of the

body as are allowable in a man would disgust in a woman; as the extreme

graceful, so very alluring in this sex, is nauseous in the other; even

the minuet-grace in a man would hardly be approved, but as the main

drift of it represents repeated addresses to the lady.

There is a much greater consistency in the dances of the Italian

theatre than of the French, notwithstanding dancing seems to be the

genius of that nation; the following distinctly marked characters were

originally from Italy; and if we consider them lineally as to their

particular movements, we shall see wherein their humour consists.

The attitudes of the harlequin are ingeniously composed of certain

little, quick movements of the head, hands, and feet, some of which

shoot out as it were from the body in straight lines, or are twirled

about in little circles.

Scaramouch is gravely absurd as the character is intended, in

over-stretch'd tedious movements of unnatural lengths of lines: these

two characters seem to have been contrived by conceiving a direct

opposition of movements.

Pierrott's movements and attitudes, are chiefly in perpendiculars and

parallels, so is his figure and dress.

Punchinello is droll by being the reverse of all elegance, both as to

movement, and figure, the beauty of variety is totally, and comically

excluded from this character in every respect; his limbs are raised and

let fall almost altogether at one time, in parallel directions, as if

his seeming fewer joints than ordinary, were no better than the hinges

of a door.

Dances that represent provincial characters, as these above do,

or very low people, such as gardeners, sailors, &c. in merriment,

are generally most entertaining on the stage: the Italians have

lately added great pleasantry and humour to several french dances,

particularly the wooden-shoe dance, in which there is a continual

shifting from one attitude in plain lines to another; both the man

and the woman often comically fix themselves in uniform positions,

and frequently start in equal time, into angular forms, one of which

remarkably represents two W's in a line, as over figure 122, plate II,

these sort of dances a little raised, especially on the woman's side,

in expressing elegant wantonness (which is the true spirit of dancing)

have of late years been most delightfully done, and seem at present to

have got the better of pompous unmeaning grand ballets; serious dancing

being even a contradiction in terms.

[Illustration: Fig. over Fig. 122]

4thly, Of _Country Dancing_. The lines which a number of people

together form in country or figure dancing, make a delightful play

upon the eye, especially when the whole figure is to be seen at one

view, as at the playhouse from the gallery; the beauty of this kind of

mystic dancing, as the poets term it, depends upon moving in a composed

variety of lines, chiefly serpentine, govern'd by the principles of

intricacy, &c. The dances of barbarians are always represented without

these movements, being only composed of wild skiping, jumping, and

turning round, or running backward and forward, with convulsive shrugs,

and distorted gestures.

One of the most pleasing movements in country dancing, and which

answers to all the principles of varying at once, is what they call the

hay; the figure of it altogether, is a cypher of S's, or a number of

serpentine lines interlacing, or intervolving each other, which suppose

traced on the floor, the lines would appear as fig. [123 T p. II].

Milton in his Paradise lost, describing the angels dancing about the

sacred hill, pictures the whole idea in words;

Mystical dance!----

----Mazes intricate,

Eccentric, intervolv'd, yet regular

Then most, when most irregular they seem.

[Illustration: Fig. 123]

I shall venture, lastly, to say a word or two of stage-action. From

what has been said of habitually moving in waving lines, it may

possibly be found that if stage-action, particularly the graceful,

were to be studied lineally, it might be more speedily and accurately

acquired by the help of the foregoing principles than the methods

hitherto taken. It is known that common deportment, such as may

pass for elegant and proper off the stage, would no more be thought

sufficient upon it than the dialogue of common polite conversation,

would be accurate or spirited enough for the language of a play. So

that trusting to chance only will not do. The actions of every scene

ought to be as much as possible a compleat composition of well varied

movements, considered as such abstractedly, and apart from what may

be merely relative to the sense of the words. Action consider'd with

regard to assisting the authors meaning, by enforcing the sentiments

or raising the passions, must be left entirely to the judgment of the

performer, we only pretend to shew how the limbs may be made to have an

equal readiness to move in all such directions as may be acquired.

What I would have understood by action, abstractedly and apart from

its giving force to the meaning of the words, may be better conceived

by supposing a foreigner, who is a thorough master of all the effects

of action, at one of our theatres, but quite ignorant of the language

of the play; it is evident his sentiments under such limitations,

would chiefly arise from what he might distinguish by the lines of the

movements belonging to each character; the actions of an old man, if

proper, or not, would be visible to him at once, and he would judge of

low and odd characters, by the inelegant lines which we have already

shewn to belong to the characters of punch, harlequin, pierrott, or

the clown; so he would also form his judgment of the graceful acting

of a fine gentleman, or hero, by the elegance of their movements in

such lines of grace and beauty as have been sufficiently described. See

chapters V, VI, VII, VIII, on the composition of forms. Where note,

that as the whole of beauty depends upon _continually varying_ the same

must be observed with regard to genteel and elegant acting: and as

plain space makes a considerable part of beauty in form, so cessation

of movement in acting is as absolutely necessary; and in my opinion

much wanted on most stages, to relieve the eye from what Shakespear

calls, _continually sawing the air_.

The actress hath sufficient grace with fewer actions, and those in

less extended lines than the actor; for as the lines that compose the

Venus are simpler and more gently flowing, than those that compose the

Apollo, so must her movements be in like proportion.

And here it may not be improper to take notice of a mischief that

attends copied actions on the stage; they are often confin'd to certain

sets and numbers, which being repeated, and growing stale to the

audience, become at last subject to mimickry and ridicule, which would

hardly be the case, if an actor were possest of such general principles

as include a knowledge of the effects of all the movements that the

body is capable of.

The comedian, whose business it is to imitate the actions belonging

to particular characters in nature, may also find his account in the

knowledge of lines; for whatever he copies from the life, by these

principles may be strengthened, altered, and adjusted as his judgment

shall direct, and the part the author has given him shall require.

FINIS.

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FIGURES _referr'd to in the_ BOOK.

PLATE I.

Figure Page

1, 3

2, 10, 77

3-4, 15

Fig. over Fig. 4, xix

6, vi, viii, 20, 81, 82, 83, 86, 88, 128

7, viii, 20

9, 22, 135

10-11, 23

12, 66, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 128, 153

13, 66, 152

14, 25, 26

15, 27

16, 31

17-18, 31, 87

19-20, 31

21, 36

22, 33

Fig. bet'n 22 & 105 viii

23, 37

24-25, 38

26, 38, 39, 100

29, 40

30-32, 41

33-37, 42

38, 43

39-42 44

43, xix, 44

44-46 44

47, xix, 19

Fig. bet'n 47 & 88, 17, 97

48, 46

49, 49, 128, 143

Fig. under 49, 4

50, 49

53, 49, 50

54, v, 20, 64

55, 20, 76

65, 56, 60

66-67, 57

Fig. near 67, 68

68, 58, 76

87-88, 111

97, 104, 123, 124

98, 123, 124

99-105, 124

106, 125

107, 128

115, 133

PLATE II.

Figure Page

51, 137

52, x

56, 51

57, 51, 103

58, 51, 55, 103

59, 53

60-63, 55

64, 56

69-70, 78

71, 136

72, 20, 137

73, 137

74, 138

75, 137

76, 62, 64

77, 62, 63, 64

78, 63, 64

79-80, 63

81, 64

82-83, 65

84-85, 96

86, 108, 109, 111

89, 111

90, 109

91, 112

92, 111

93, 111

94, 98, 116, 117, 118

95, 115

96, 117

108-109, 130

110, 133

113, 132

114, 133

116, 132

117-118, 134

119-120, 143

121, 144

122, 147

123, 151

End of Project Gutenberg's The Analysis of Beauty, by William Hogarth