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YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Gift of
Rev. T. Lawroson Riggs

THE

LIFE AND DISCOURSES

OP

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, > , i
FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

fmt Smraran $Mttra.

HUDSON, OHIO:
SAWYEK, INGERSOLL AND COMPANY.
1853.

HUDSON, OHIO ;
Stereotyped by William H. Shain, at the Hudson Stereotype Foundry.
Printed by Sawteu, Ingersoll & Co., Steam Press, Pentagon.

LIFE

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS,
BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
Joshua, the son of the Reverend Samuel Reynolds", and Theo-
phila Potter, his wife, was the tenth of eleven children, five of
whom died in infancy. He was born at Plympton, in Devonshire,
on Thursday, July 16th, 1723, three months before the death of Sir
Godfrey Kneller; "thus perpetuating," say some of his biogra
phers, " the hereditary descent of art." This descent of talent
had a better security for continuation than the life of a new-born
child. Wilson was ten years old, and Hogarth had already dis
tinguished himself. The admirers and disciples of Sir Joshua
imagined that the mantle of art remained suspended in the air,
from the day of Kneller's ascent, and refrained from descending
upon other shoulders till their favorite rose to manhood and emi
nence. The pride of Reynolds would have resented in life this
compliment from his friends — he who shared in imagination the
imperial robe of Michael Angelo, would have scorned the meaner
mantle of Godfrey Kneller.
Few men of genius are allowed to be born or baptized in an
ordinary way ; some commotion in nature must mark the hour of
their birth, some strange interposition must determine their name
— the like happened to young Reynolds. His father, a clergyman
of the established church, gave him the scriptural name of Joshua,
in the belief, says Malone, who had the legend from Bishop Percy
of Dromore, that some enthusiast of the same name might be

4 LIFE.
induced to give him a fortune. The family motives, as recorded
by Northcote, had more of the shrewdness of calculation in them.
An uncle, from whom something might be expected, lived in the
neighborhood, and he was a Joshua. Owing to the haste or care
lessness of the clergyman, the church may claim some share in
the marvels which accompanied his birth ; he was baptized in one
name, and entered in the parish register in another — the Joshua
of all the rest of the world is a Joseph at Plympton.
The Reverend Samuel Reynolds, a pious and indolent man,
who performed, without reproach, his stated duties in religion, and
presided with the reputation of a scholar in the public school of
Plympton, seems to have neglected, more than such a parent
ought, the education of his son. It is true that the boy, inspired
(as Johnson intimates in his Life of Cowley) with Richardson'3
Treatise on Painting, appeared, like Hogarth before him, to be
more inclined to make private drawings than public exercises ;
and it is likewise true that his father rebuked those delinquencies,
on one occasion at least, by writing on the back of a prohibited
drawing, " Done by Joshua out of pure idleness." But transient
rebuke will not atone for habitual inattention — the education which
we miss in youth we rarely obtain in age, and a good divine and a
learned parent could not but know how much learning adorns the
highest and brightens the humblest occupation. Northcote, the
pupil, and lately the biographer of Reynolds, reluctantly admits
his master's deficiency in classical attainments. But his incessant
study of nature and practice in art — his intercourse with the
world at large, and familiarity with men of learning and ability,
accomplished in after life much of what his father had neglected
in youth. "The mass of general knowledge by which he was
distinguished," says Northcote, "was the result of much studious
application in his riper years." " I know no man," observed
Johnson to Boswell, "who has passed through life with more
observation than Sir Joshua Reynolds."
His father, however, conceived that he had acquired learning
sufficient for the practice of physic — for to that profession he was
originally destined. He observed to Northcote that if such had
been his career in life, he should have felt the same determination

LIFE. 5
to become the most eminent physician, as he then felt to be the
first painter of his age and country. He believed, in short, that
genius is but another name for extensive capacity, and that inces
sant and well-directed labor is the inspiration which creates all
works of taste and talent.
His inclination to idleness as to reading, and industry in drawing,
began to appear early. " His first essays," says Malone, who had
the information from himself, " was copying some slight draw
ings made by two of his sisters who had a turn for art ; he after
ward eagerly copied such prints as he met with among his father's
books ; particularly those which were given in the translation of
Plutarch's Lives, published by Dryden. But his principal fund
of imitation was Jacob Catt's Book of Emblems, which his great-
grandmother, by the father's side, a Dutch woman, had brought
with her from Holland." The prints in Plutarch are rude and
uncouth ; those in the Book of Emblems are more to tho purpose,
and probably impressed upon him, by the comparison, that admi
ration of foreign art, which grew with his growth, and strength
ened with his strength.
"When he was some eight years old, he read " The Jesuit's
Perspective " with so much care and profit, that he made u, draw
ing of Plympton school, a plain Gothic building, raised partly on
pillars, in which the principles of that art were very tolerably ad
hered to. His father, a simple man and easily astonished, exclaim
ed, when he saw this drawing, " This is what the author of the
Perspective asserts in his preface, that by observing the rules laid
down in this book, a man may do wonders — for this is wonderful."
Had the old man lived to see the great works of his son, in what
words would he have expressed his admiration ?
The approbation of his father, with his own natural love of
art, induced him more and more to devote his time to drawing,
and neglect his studies at school. He drew likenesses of his
sisters and of various friends of the family; his proficiency
increased with practice ; and his ardor kept pace with his
growing skill. Richardson's Treatise on Painting was now
put into his hands, "The perusal of which," says Malone,
" so delighted and inflamed his mind, that Raphael appeared to
1*

6 LIFE.
him superior to the most illustrious names of ancient or modern
times; u notion which he loved to indulge all the rest of his
life." With no other guides but such prints as he could collect, and
little support but his own enthusiasm, Reynolds made many draw
ings and many portraits, in which his friends, who now began to
be attracted by his progress, perceived an increasing accuracy of
outline, and a growing boldness and freedom. Of those boyish
productions no specimen, I believe, is preserved ; he himself prob
ably destroyed them, being little pleased with what he had done ;
but it is inconceivable that a youth like this, who gave so little of
his leisure to other knowledge, should have executed nothing
worthy of remembrance at the age of nineteen. There is no
doubt that, as soon as he had a fair field for the display of his
talents, he showed a mind stored with ready images of beauty,
and a hand capable of portraying them with truth and effect.
A provincial place like Plympton was too contracted for his
expanding powers, and a friend and neighbor, of the name of
Cranch, advised that Joshua should be sent to study and improve
himself in London. To London he was accordingly sent on the
fourteenth of October, 1741, and on the eighteenth of the same
month, the day of St. Luke, the patron saint of painters, he was
placed under the care of Mr. Hudson. Of this propitious circum
stance, his biographers take particular notice ; it keeps the chain
of remarkable circumstances unbroken. This favorite of the
fates was born three months before the death of Kneller ; was
named Joshua in a kind of speculation upon Providence; and
commenced his studies in London on the day of Saint Luke. For
tune having done her best, young Reynolds had nothing more to
do but stand in the way and be pushed silently on to wealth and
reputation. Hudson, the most distinguished portrait-maker of that time,
was nevertheless a man of little skill and less talent, who could
paint a head, but without other aid was unable to place it upon
the shoulders. He was in truth a mere manufacturer of portraits ;
and as the taste and practice of Reynolds lay in the same linej
there was some propriety in the choice. The timely counsel of

LIFE. 7
his neighbor Cranch would have long afterward been rewarded
with the present of a silver cup, had not an accident interfered.
"Death," says Northcote, "prevented this act. of gratitude — I
have seen the cup at Sir Joshua's table." The painter had the
honor of the intention and the use of the cup — a twofold advan
tage, of which he was not insensible.
At this time Hogarth was in the full enjoyment of his fame.
His works were the wonder of every one, and an example to none.
His peculiar excellence, indeed, was of such an order that rivalry
there was hopeless ; and no artist had the sagacity to see, that by
adopting a style more sober and less sarcastic, with a greater in
fusion of beauty, a name as great or greater than his might have
been achieved. Students consumed their time in drawing inces
santly from other men's works, and vainly thought, by gazing
constantly on the unattainable excellence of Raphael and Cor
reggio, to catch a portion of their inspiration. When any one de
parted from such tame and servile rules, he was pronounced a
Gothic dreamer, and unworthy of being numbered among those
happy persons patronised by Saint Luke. This accounts for the
name of Hogarth being rarely or never found in the lectures or
letters of the artists of his own time. Men who are regularly
trained to the admiration of a certain class of works, admit few
into the ranks of painting who have not a kind of academic cer
tificate, and lop carefully away all wild or overflourishing branches
from the tree of regular art. Among persons of this stamp, to
admire Hogarth amounts to treason against the great masters.
The painters of those days were worshippers of the " grand style "
— a term which would seem to mean something alone and unap
proachable, for no man offered to make any approaches to it by
works that partook of either dignity or imagination.
Reynolds proceeded with his studies under Hudson ; but it
seldom happens that a man of no genius and moderate skill can
give sound counsel to one vrho longs for distinction, and has the
talent to obtain it. Instead of studying from the best models, he
caused his pupil to squander time in making careful copies from
the drawings of Guercino. These he executed with so mueh skill,
that it was difficult to distinguish them from the originals ; and

8 LIFE.
some of them are, at this present moment, shown in the cabinets
of the curious as the masterly drawings of Guercino.
While he remained with Hudson he went to a sale of pictures,
and just before the auctioneer commenced, he observed a great
bustle at the door, and heard "Pope! Pope!" whispered round
the room. All drew back to make way for the poet to pass, and
those who were near enough held out their hands for him to touch
as he went along. Reynolds held out his, and had the honor of
a gentle shake, of which he was ever after proud. This was one
of the early anecdotes of his life which he loved to relate ; it
shows the enthusiasm of the young painter, and the popularity of
the great poet.
He continued for two years in the employment of Hudson, and
aequired with uncommon rapidity such professional knowledge as
could then and there be obtained. He painted during that period
various portraits, of which he never gave any account, and made
many sketches and studies which would require a minute descrip
tion to be comprehended. It is enough to say, that in general
they contained the germ of some of his future graces, and dis
played considerable freedom of handling and truth of delineation.
Among ¦ the productions most worthy of remembrance, was the
portrait of an elderly servant-woman of Hudson's, in which, says
Northcote, he discovered a taste so superior to the painters of the
day, that his master, not without displaying a strong feeling of
jealousy, foretold his future eminence. It was accidentally ex
hibited in Hudson's gallery, and obtained general applause. This
was more than the old man could endure. Without any warm or
angry words, a separation took place, and Reynolds returned into
Devonshire. Had his talents been known, and had his works at that period
been publicly exhibited, Reynolds would have remained in London ;
for patronage is ever ready to encourage skill such as his, exerted
in such a department. He returned home, however, in 1743, and
passed three years in company, from which, as he informed Ma
lone, little improvement could be got. Of this misemployment of
his time he always spoke with concern. He had, however, the
good sense to consider his disagreement with Hudson as a bless-

LIFE. 9
ing ; otherwise, he confessed, it might have been very difficult for
him to escape from the tameness and insipidity, from the fair tied
wigs, blue velvet coats, and white satin waistcoats, which his
master bestowed liberally on all customers. Of the use of the
three years in question, Reynolds was certainly a competent judge ;
yet weight must be allowed to the opinion of Northcote, who says,
that during this period he produced many portraits, particularly
one of a boy reading by a reflected light, which were undoubtedly
very fine. And in truth, Sir Joshua himself seems to have ac
knowledged this, when, on seeing some of these pieces at the
distance of thirty years, he lamented that in so great a length of
time, he had made so little progress in his art.
It was indeed impossible for a mind so active, and a hand so
ready, to continue idle ; and there can be no doubt that Reynolds
was silently improving himself, even though he was not satisfied
with the progress. There were few paintings of excellence indeed
near him, but it is not on admirable paintings alone that a painter
should look ; there were beauty and manliness enough in Devon
shire for the purposes of his profession, and when he was weary
of that, there were the images which he had stored away in his
memory, and which his faficy could recall whenever it was desirable.
It is more satisfactory to some of his professional friends to think
that he stedied with profit, the works of William Gandy, of Exeter
— a painter, some of whose portraits Reynolds certainly spoke of
as equal to those of Rembrandt. One of Gaudy's works he particu
larly admired, the portrait of an alderman of Exeter, placed in
one of the public buildings of that place ; and one of his observa
tions he took much pleasure in repeating, namely, that a picture
should have a richness in its texture as if the colors had been
composed of cream or cheese.
When he was two-and-twenty years old, Reynolds and his two
youngest unmarried sisters took a house at the town of Plymouth
Dock. Here he occupied the first floor, and employed his time in
painting portraits. It must be confessed that many of his pro
ductions, up to this period, were carelessly drawn — in common
attitudes, and undistinguished by those excellences of coloring
and power of expression, which have made his name famous. His

10 LIFE.
old master, Hudson, was still strong within him. One hand was
hid in the unbuttoned waistcoat ; the other held the hat, and the
face was looking forwards with that vacant listlessness which is
the mark of a sitter who conceives portrait-painting to resemble
shaving, and that the sine qua non is to keep his features stiff and
composed. One gentleman desired to be distinguished from others,
and was painted with his hat on his head ; yet so inveterate had
the practice of painting in one position become, that— if there be
any truth in a story as yet uncontradicted — when the likeness was
sent home, the wife of the patient discovered that her husband
had not only one hat on his head but another under his arm. It
is, however, well known that, even when his reputation was high,
Reynolds permitted ladies, and gentlemen, too, to select for them
selves the positions they wished to be painted in ; and his Devon
shire patrons of this early period might in all likelihood consider
it as desirable to appear, as much as possible, like their fathers
and their friends. When left to the freedom of his own will, some
of his attitudes, even in these days, were bold enough. A portrait
of himself, which represents him with pencils and palette in
his left hand, and shading the light from his eyes with his right,
was painted at this time, and is, without doubt, a work of great
merit. Miss Chudleigh, a young lady of rare beauty, afterward too
famous as Duchess of Kingston, happened to be on a visit at Sal-
tram in the neighborhood of Plymouth, and sat for her portrait.
This seems to have pleased Reynolds less than another sitter,
whom he obtained at the same time, for he could not foresee that
she would become a duchess. This was the commissioner of
Plymouth Dock ; he wrote to his father with a joy which he sought
not to conceal, that he had painted the likeness of the greatest
man in the place. The performance which obtained him most no
tice was the portrait of Captain Hamilton, of the noble family of
Abercorn. It was painted in 1746.
On Christmas day, in the year 1746, his father died. He was
a man of respectable learning, and remarkable for the innocence
of his heart and the simplicity of his manners. He was what is
called an absent man, and was regarded by his parishioners as a

LIFE. 11
sort of Parson Adams. Of his forgetfulness it is Baid that, in
performing a journey on horseback, one of his boots dropped off
by the way without being missed by the owner ; and of his wit —
for wit also has been ascribed to him — it is related" that, in allusion
to his wife's name, Theophila, he made the following rhyming do
mestic arrangement : When I say The
Thou must make tea —
When I say Offey
Thou must make coffee.
Reynolds was now twenty -three years old, and his name was
beginning to be heard beyond the limits of his native county.
He had acquired the friendship and earnest patronage of the third
Lord Edgcumbe, and of Captain, afterward Lord, Keppel. He
had paid a second visit to London, and lived for u, time in Saint
Martin's Lane, then the favorite residence of artists, and where
something which resembled an academy was established. His
growing fame and skill acquired and secured friends, and his
graceful and unpresuming manners were likely to forward his
success ; he was polite without meanness, and independent with
out arrogance.
Rome, which is in reality to painters what Parnassus is in
imagination to poets, was frequently present to the fancy of Rey
nolds ; and he longed to see with his own eyes the glories in art
of which he heard so much. He desired to pay his homage
to the princes of the profession, and profit, if possible, by study
ing their productions. A visit to the Sistine Chapel confers on an
artist that kind of dignity, which studying at a university be
stows on a scholar ; and one would imagine, from the importance
attached to such » pilgrimage, that excellence in painting could
be acquired like knowledge in Greek. But the power to remem
ber is one thing, and the power to create is another.
In the month of May, 1749, Captain Keppel was appointed
Commodore in the Mediterranean station, for the purpose of pro
tecting the British merohants from the insults of the Algerines,
and he invited Reynolds to accompany him. The young artist
willingly embarked with the full equipment of his profession, and

12 LIFE.
touching at Lisbon, went ashore, and witnessed several religious
processions. He next visited Gibraltar ; and on the 20th of July
landed at Algiers, where he was introduced to the Dey, who be
haved with civility, and dismissed Keppel and his companion with
assurances of amity and good will, which he afterward seemed
disinclined to keep." From Algiers they sailed for Minorca, and
landed at Port Mahon on the 23d of August. The friendship of
Keppel and the kindness of General Blakeney were here very ser
viceable; through their influence and his own skill, Reynolds was
employed to paint portraits of almost all the officers in the garri
son ; and as he lived free of all expense at the governor's table,
he improved his fortune at the same time that he exercised his
talents. Reynolds was detained in Minorca longer than he wished. As
he was taking an airing on horseback, his horse, took fright, and
rushed with him down a precipice, by which his face was severely
cut, and his lip so much bruised that he was compelled to have
some of it cut away. A slight deformity marked his mouth ever
after. His deafness was imputed by some to the same misfortune ;
but that misfortune dated from a dangerous illness in Rome. After
a residence. of three months, he left Port Mahon, landed at Leg
horn, and went directly to Rome.
Of his first sensations in the Metropolis of Art, he has left us
a minute account. " It has frequently happened," says he, " as I
was informed by the keeper of the "Vatican, that many of those
whom he had conducted through the various apartments of that
edifice, when about to be dismissed, have asked for the works of
Raphael, and would not believe that they had already passed
through the rooms where they are preserved ; so little impression
had those performances made on them. One of the first painters
in France once told me that this circumstance happened to him
self ; though he now looks on Raphael with that veneration which
he deserves from all painters and lovers of the art. I remember
very well my own disappointment when I first visited the Vatican ;
but on confessing my feelings to a brother student, of whose in
genuousness I had a high opinion, he acknowledged that the works
of Raphael had the same effect on him, or rather that they did

LIFE. • 13
not produce the effect which he expected. This was a great relief
to my mind ; and on inquiring farther of other students, I found
that those persons only who, from natural imbecility, appeared to
be incapable of relishing those divine performances, made preten
sions to instantaneous raptures on first beholding them. In justice
to myself, however, I must add, that though disappointed and mor
tified at not finding myself enraptured with the works of this great
master, I did not for a moment conceive or suppose that the name of
Raphael, and those admirable paintings in particular, owed their
reputation to the ignorance and prejudice of mankind ; on the con
trary, my not relishing them, as I was conscious I ought to have
done, was one of the most humiliating circumstances that ever
happened to me ; I found myself in the midst of works executed
upon principles with which I was unacquainted ; I felt my igno
rance, and stood abashed. All the indigested notions of painting
which I had brought with me from England, where the art was in
the lowest state it had ever been in, (it could not indeed be lower,)
were to be totally done away and eradicated from my mind. It
was necessary, as it is expressed on a very solemn occasion, that
I should become as a Uttle child. Notwithstanding my disappoint
ment, I proceeded to copy some of those excellent works. I
viewed them again and again ; I even affected to feel their merit
and admire them more than I really did. In a short time a new
taste and a new perception began to dawn upon me, and I was
convinced that I had originally formed a false opinion of the per
fection of art, and that this great painter was well entitled to the
high rank which he holds in the admiration of the world. The
truth is, that if these works had really been what I expected,
they would have contained beauties superficial and alluring, but
by no means such as would have entitled them to the great repu
tation which they have borne so long, and so justly obtained."
That Reynolds had imagined the Vatican filled with works of
another order from what he found there, is only informing us that
in his earlier years he thought differently from Raphael. He had
been accustomed to admire stiff or extravagant attitudes, and to
put faith in works deficient in the sober dignity and majestic sim
plicity which distinguished the illustrious Italian. He saw those
2

14 t LIFE.
noble productions ; and though at first he could not feel their ex
cellence, he, before he left Rome, became one of their daily wor
shippers. All this was very natural ; but the conclusion which
Reynolds draws, viz. that none but an imbecile person can be
alive at first sight to the genius of a Raphael, is certainly rash,
and, most probably, erroneous.
" Having," he says, " since that period frequently revolved the
subject in my mind, I am now clearly of opinion that a relish for
the higher excellences of art is an acquired taste, which no man
ever possessed without long cultivation and great labor and atten
tion. On such occasions as that which I have mentioned, we are
often ashamed of our apparent dulness ; as if it were to be ex
pected that our minds, like tinder, should catch fire from the di
vine spark of Raphael's genius. I flatter myself that now it
would be so, and that I have a just and lively perception of his
great powers ; but let it be always remembered, that the excel
lence of his style is not on the surface, but lies deep ; and at the
first view is seen but mistily. It is the florid style which strikes
at once, and captivates the eye for a time, without ever satisfying
the judgment. Nor does painting in this respect differ from other
arts. A just poetical taste, and the acquisition of a nice discrim
inative musical ear, are equally the work of time. Even the eye,
however perfect in itself, is often unable to distinguish between
the brilliancy of two diamonds ; though the experienced jeweler
will be amazed at its blindness ; not considering that there was a
time when he himself could not have been able to pronounce which
of the two was the more perfect."
I must repeat that I doubt as to all this. True art is nature
exalted and refined ; but it is nature still. We look on a noble
scene — on a high mountain — on a mighty sea — on a troubled sky
— or on any of the splendid pictures which the Lord of the uni
verse spreads before his creatures, and we require no long course
of study, no series of academic lectures on light and shade, to
enable us to feel their grandeur or their beauty. If the study of
many years, and great labor and attention, be absolutely necessa
ry to enable men to comprehend and relish the nobler productions
of the poet and the painter — then who has not judged by guess

LIFE. 15
and admired by random some of the most glorious works of the
human mind ? That it cost Reynolds much time and study to
understand and admire them, is nothing. He had to banish pre
conceived false notions ; to dismiss idolized and merely conven
tional beauties, and strip himself of labored absurdities, with
which he had been bedecking himself from his infancy. He had
to rise out of false art into true nature — and this was not to be done
in a day. But is it necessary that all men should start with a
false theory ? The acquisition of a natural taste in poetry, or a
correct musical apprehension, may be the work of time with some,
but they are as certainly a kind of inspiration in others. Rey
nolds himself seems to have thought with more accuracy when he
wrote as follows :
" The man of true genius," says he, "instead of spending all
his hours, as many artists do while they are at Rome, in measu
ring statues and copying pictures, soon begins to think for him
self, and endeavors to do something like what he sees. I consider
general copying a delusive kind of industry ; the student satisfies
himself with the appearance of doing something ; he falls into the
dangerous habit of imitating without selecting, and of laboring
without any determinate object; as it requires no effor-t of the
mind, he sleeps over his work, and those powers of invention and
disposition, which ought particularly to be called out and put in
action, lie torpid, and lose their energy for want of exercise.
How incapable of producing any thing of their own those are who
have spent most of their time in making finished copies, is an ob
servation well known to all who are conversant with our art."
To Reynold's own written account I may add the testimony of
a friend, who often conversed with him upon the glories of Rome :
" When arrived in that garden of the world" — says Northcote —
" that great temple of the arts, his time was diligently and judi
ciously employed in such a manner as might have been expected
from one of his talents and virtue. He contemplated with unwea
ried attention and ardent zeal the various beauties which marked the
style of different schools and different ages. It was with no com
mon eye that he beheld the productions of the great masters. He
copied and sketched in the Vatican such parts of the works of

16 LIFE.
Raphael and Michael Angelo as he thought would be most condu
cive to his future excellence, and by his well directed study ac
quired, while he contemplated the best works of the best masters,
that grace of thinking, to which he was principally indebted for
his subsequent reputation as a portrait painter."
Much, however, as Reynolds in his lectures inculcates the ne
cessity of constantly copying the great masters— it appears that
he did but little in this way himself. " Of the few copies which
he made while at Rome," says Malone, " two are now in the pos
session of the Earl of Inchquin, who married his niece, Miss
Palmer, St. Michael the Archangel slaying the dragon, after Guido,
and the school of Athens from Raphael — both masterly perform
ances." Rome at that period swarmed with those English con
noisseurs and travelers of taste whom Hogarth so sharply sati
rized and hated so cordially. They were all anxious to have
copies of favorite works made by an artist so able as Reynolds ; .
he felt, however, the folly of multiplying pictures, and eluded
their alluring offers. "While I was at Rome," he says, "I was
very little employed by travelers, and that little I always consid
ered as so much time lost."
Of the character and course of his technical studies in Rome,
he has left a minute account ; which, however, is chiefly valuable
to the student in painting — for the language is that of the craft
Having filled his mind with the character of the great painters,
and possessed himself, as he believed, with no small portion of
their spirit, he proceeded to examine into the mechanical sorcery
of their execution, and to dissect the varied colors which were
blended on their canvass. " The Leda in the Colonna Palace, by
Correggio," he says, " is dead-colored white, and black or ultra
marine in the shadows ; and over that is scumbled thinly and
smooth a warmer tint — I believe caput mortuum. The lights are
mellow, the shadows bluish, but mellow. The picture is painted
on a panel in a broad, large manner, but finished like an enamel ;
the shadows harmonize, and are lost in the ground.
" The Adonis of Titian in the Colonna Palace is dead-colored
white, with the muscles marked bold ; the second painting has
scumbled a light color over it ; the lights a mellow flesh-color ; the

LIFE. 17
shadows in the light parts of a faint purple hue ; at least they
were so at first. That purple hue seems to be occasioned by
blackish shadows under, and the color scumbled over them. I
copied the Titian with white, umber, minio, cinnabar, black ; the
shadows thin of color.
" Poussin's landscapes in the Verospi palace are painted on a
dark ground made of Indian red and black. The same ground
might do for all other subjects as well as landscapes.
" In respect to painting the flesh tint, after it has been finished
with very strong colors, such as ultra-marine and carmine, pass
white over it very, very thin with oil. I believe it will have a
wonderful effect. Make a finished sketch of every portrait you
,t intend to paint, and by the help of that dispose your living model ;
then finish at the first time on a ground made of Indian red and
black." Through all his letters and memorandums there are scattered
allusions to his favorite art, and the works of the chief masters ;
and opinions are given, and a scale of comparative excellence laid
down, in a manner equally clear, candid, and accurate. It is true
that he dictates rules for the guidance of others which he did not
follow himself. When he became acquainted with all the wiles
and stratagems of position and light'and shade, he could dispense
with the practice of making sketches of portraits, and depend on
his experience.
"In comparison with Titian and Paul Veronese," he observes,
" all the other Venetian masters appear hard ; they have in a
degree the manner of Rembrandt — all mezzotinto, occasioned by
scumbling over their pictures with some dark oil or color. There
is little color in the shadows, but much oil — they seem to be made
only of a drying oil composed of red lead and oil. There are
some artists who are diligent in examining pictures, and yet are
not at all advanced in their judgment ; although they can remem
ber the exact color of every figure in the picture ; but not reflect
ing deeply on what they have seen, or making observations to
themselves, they are not at all improved by the crowd of par
ticulars that swim on the surface of their brains ; as nothing
enters deep enough into their minds to do them benefit through
2*

18 LIFE.
digestion. A painter should form his rules from pictures rather
than from books or precepts. Rules were first made from pictures,
not pictures from rules. Every picture' an artist sees, whether
the most excellent or the most ordinary, he should consider from
whence that fine effect, or that ill effect, proceeds ; and then there
is no picture ever so indifferent, but he may look at to his profit."
On our English connoisseurs and travelers of taste, he has
written some sharp and just remarks. This country, at that pe
riod, and long after, exported swarms of men with the malady of
vertu upon them, who brought back long lists of pictures, and
catalogues of artists' names — and set up for dictators here at
home with no other stock. "The manner," says Reynolds, "of
the English travelers in general, and of those who most pique
themselves on studying vertu, is that, instead of examining the
beauties of these works of fame, and why they are esteemed, they
only inquire the subject of the picture and the name of the
painter, the history of a statue, and where it is found, and write
that down. Some Englishmen, while I was in the Vatican, came
there, and spent above six hours in writing down whatever the
antiquary dictated to them. They scarcely ever looked at the
paintings the whole time."
Reynolds extended his inquiries among the remains of ancient
art, and endeavored to ascertain, by what he could glean from the
classic writers, and by what he could discover in the remaining
statues, how far the paintings of ancient Greece resembled those
of modern Rome. His conclusions can only be considered as ex
pressions of belief, on a subject with regard to which we have not
the materials of certain knowledge. He stayed in Rome till his
judgment ripened, and gazed on the productions of Raphael and
Michael Angelo till the mercury of his taste rose to the point of
admiration. He then concluded, that as those works were the
most perfect in the world, the paintings of antiquity must have
been in character the same — in short, that the " grand style " had
descended direct from Apelles to Raphael. From an anecdote in
Pliny of the painter and the partridge, he conceived that a lively
copy of nature was held as a vulgar thing by the painters of
Greece, and that they approached living life no nearer than the

LIFE. 19
sculptor of the Belvedere Apollo. This theory, however, appears
to be contradicted by the Elgin marbles, and by the poetry of the
nation, which is full of graphic images of homely, as well as heroic,
life. These conclusions, and his constant admonition to study the
" grand style," and think of nothing but what is heroic or godlike
as a subject for the pencil, have helped to misdirect the minds of
students, and beget a monotony of composition, through which
nothing but strong and decided genius can break. Few men are
born with powers equal to the divine grandeur of such works —
and many a good painter of domestic life may attribute the labo
rious dulness of his historic compositions to the incessant cry of
all academies about the study of the " grand style." Hear how
Reynolds commends the absence of nature :
" Suppose a person while he is contemplating a capital picture
by Raphael or the Carracci, while he is wrapped in wonder at the
sight of St. Paul preaching at Athens, and the various dispositions
of his audience — or is struck with the distress of the mother in
the Death of the Innocents — or with tears in his eyes beholds the
Dead Christ of Carracci — would it not offend him to have his
attention called off to observe a pieoe of drapery in the picture
naturally represented?"
What is it that drapery ought to resemble — and wherewithal
shall a man be clothed, that his garments may not look too natu
ral ? The living St. Paul himself was under no such apprehen
sion ; nor is it recorded that he failed in any of his missions be
cause the heathen paid more attention to his clothes than his elo
quence. The sentiment and character of the figure will dictate
the drapery, and when these are strong, and true, and natural,
they will always predominate over the accessaries. Had he ad
vised to clothe a figure gayly or gravely according to the style of
the countenance and gesture, Reynolds would have spoken more
in keeping with his own practice.
He seems to have employed his time at Rome chiefly in study
ing all the varieties of excellence, and in acquiring that knowl
edge of effect which he was so soon to display. The severe dignity
of Angelo or Raphael he had no chance of attaining, for he want
ed loftiness of imagination, without which no grand work can

20 LIFE-
ever be achieved ; but he had a deep sense of character, great
skill in light and shade, a graceful softness and an alluring
sweetness, such as none have surpassed. From the works of Leo
nardo da Vinci, Fra. Bartolomeo, Titian, and Velasquez, he ac
quired knowledge which placed fortune and fame within his
reach ; yet of these artists he says little, though he acknowledges
the portrait of Innocent the Tenth, by the last named of them, to
be the finest in the world.
Few original productions came from the hand of Reynolds
while he remained at Rome. He painted a noble portrait of him
self, and left it in that city ; and he also painted a kind of parody
on Raphael's School of Athens, into which he introduced about
thirty likenesses of English students, travelers, and connoisseurs,
and among others that of Mr. Henry, of Straffan, in Ireland, the
proprietor of the picture. "I have heard Reynolds himself say,"
remarks Northcote, " that it was universally allowed that he exe
cuted subjects of this kind with much humor and spirit, yet he
thought it prudent to abandon the practice, since it might corrupt
his taste as a portrait painter, whose duty it was to discover only
the perfections of those whom he represented."
During the period of his studies at Rome, Reynolds was the
companion of John Astley, who had been his fellow pupil in the
sohool of Hudson. This was an indifferent artist and an imper
fect scholar — for he would rather run three miles to deliver a
message by word of mouth than write the shortest note — but his
person attracted the notice of a lady of noble birth, jpho, more
over, brought him a very handsome fortune. Before his marriage
he was poor and nearly destitute ; yet he had a proud heart and
strove to conceal his embarrassments. One summer day, when
the sun was hot, and he, Reynolds, and a few others were indulg
ing themselves in a country excursion, there was a general call to
cast off coats — Astley obeyed with manifest reluctance, and not
until he had stood many sarcasms from his friends. He had
made the back of his waistcoat out of one of his own landscapes,
and when he stripped, he displayed a foaming waterfall, much to
his own confusion, and the mirth of his companions.
From Rome, Reynolds went to Bologna and Genoa. He was

LIFE. 21
not one of those artists who see — or think they see — through all
the deep mysteries of conception and execution at a glance ; he
perused and reperused, and considered and compared with the
assiduity and anxiety of a man ambitious to be counted with the
foremost, and resolved not to fail for want of labor. He was more
frugal of his remarks while at these cities than when he was at
Rome ; nor are the few which he did set down of any value,
either to students or travelers. From Genoa he went to Parma,
and this is his memorandum respecting the painting in the cupola
of the cathedral :
" Relieve the light part of the picture with a dark ground, or
the dark part with a light ground, which ever will have the most
agreeable effect or make the best mass. The cupola of Parma
has the dark objects relieved, and the lights scarcely distinguisha
ble from the ground. Some whole figures are considered as
shadows ; all the lights are of one color. It is in the shadows
only that the colors vary. In general, all the shadows should be
of one color, and the lights only to be distinguished by different
tints ; at least it should be so when the back ground is dark in
the picture." -
From Parma Reynolds went to Florence, where he remained
two months, observing much, but committing few remarks to
writing ; and from thence he proceeded to Venice, where his stay
was still shorter. This is the more remarkable, since the Vene
tian school influenced his professional character far more power
fully than all the other schools of art put together ; and his silence
concerning the excellences of the famous masters of Venice, and
his short abode there, have occasioned some curious speculations.
It has been observed that Reynolds admired one style and painted
another; that with Raphael and Michael Angelo, and " the great
masters " and " the grand style " on his lips, he dedicated his own
pencil to works of a character into which little of the lofty, and
nothing of the divine, could well be introduced. To have explain
ed by what means and by what studies he acquired his own unri
valled skill in art, would have been more to the purpose than
comments upon Correggio, or Raphael, or Michael Angelo. He
has chosen to remain silent, and artists must seek for the knowl-

22 LIFE.
edge which made the fortune of Reynolds elsewhere than in his
counsel. "After an absence," says Malone, "of near three years, he
began to think of returning home ; and a slight circumstance,
which he used to mention, may serve to show that, however great
may have been the delight which he derived from residence in a
country that Raphael and Michael Angelo had embellished hy
their works, the prospect of revisiting his native land was not
unpleasing. When he was at Venice, in compliment to the EngUsh
gentlemen then residing there, the manager of the Opera one
night ordered the band to play an English ballad tune. Happen
ing to be the popular air which was played or sung in almost every
stand just at the time of their leaving London, by suggesting
to them that metropolis with all its endearing circumstances, it
immediately brought tears into Reynold's eyes, as well as into
those of his countrymen who were present." " Thus nature will
prevail," adds Northcote, " and Paul Veronese, Tintoret, and even
Titian, were all given up at the moment, from the delightful pros
pect of again returning to his native land." On his way over
Mount Cenis, he met Hudson and Roubiliac hasting on to Rome.
At Paris, he found Chambers, the architect, who afterward aided
him in founding the Royal Academy. Here he painted the por
trait of Mrs. Chambers, who was eminently beautiful. She is
represented in a hat, which shades part of her face. The picture
was much admired, and must have raised high expectations.
He arrived in England in October, 1752, and after visiting
Devonshire for a few weeks, obeyed the solicitations of Lord
Edgecumbe and his own wishes, and established himself as a pro
fessional man in St. Martin's Lane, London. He found such
opposition as genius is commonly doomed to meet with, and does
not always overcome. The boldness of his attempts, the freedom
of his conceptions, and the brilliancy of his coloring, were con
sidered as innovations upon the established and orthodox system
of portrait manufacture. The artists raised their voices first;
and of these Hudson, who had just returned from Rome, was
loudest. His old master looked for some minutes on a boy in a
turban, which he had just painted, and exclaimed, with the addi-

LIFE. 23
tion of the national oath — "Reynolds, you don't paint so well as
when you left England !" Ellis, an eminent portrait painter, who
had studied under Kneller, lifted up his voice the next — " Ah !
Reynolds, this will never answer. Why, you don't paint in the
least like Sir Godfrey." The youthful artist defended himself
with much ability, upon which the other exclaimed in astonish
ment at this new heresy in art — "Shakspeare in poetry — and
Kneller in painting, damme I" — and walked out of the room. This
sharp treatment, and the constant quotation of the names of Lely
and Kneller, infected the mind of Reynolds with a dislike for the
works of these two popular painters, which continued to the close
of his life.
He thus describes the artists with whom he had to contend in
the commencement of his career. " They have got a set of pos
tures, which they apply to all persons indiscriminately ; the con
sequence of which is, that all their pictures look like so many
sign post paintings ; ' and if they have a history or a family piece
to paint, the first thing they do is to look over their common-place
book, containing sketches which they have stolen from Various
pictures ; then they search their prints over and pilfer one figure
from one print and another from a, second ; but never take the
trouble of thinking for themselves." From the reproach of deal
ing in long-established attitudes, Reynolds himself is by no means
free ; but he never copied a posture" which he failed to make his
own, by throwing over it the charm of a graceful fancy and the
elegance of nature.
The contest with his fellow artists was of short continuance.
The works which had gained him celebrity were not the fortunate
offspring of some happy moment, but of one who could pour out
such pictures in profusion. Better ones were not slow in coming.
He painted the second Duke of Devonshire, and this increased his
fame. He next painted his patron, Commodore Keppel — and pro
duced a work of such truth and nobleness, that it fixed uni
versal attention. This gallant seaman, in pursuing a privateer,
ran his ship aground on the coast of France, and was made priso
ner in the midst of his exertions to save his crew from destruction.
He was released from prison, and acquitted of all blame by a

24 LH'E.
court-martial. The portrait represents him just escaped from
shipwreck. The artist deviated from the formal style of his rivals,
and deviated into excellence. The spirit of a higher species of
art is visible in this performance, yet the likeness was reckoned
perfect. But so unsettled is fashion, so fluctuating is taste, so uncertain
is a man of genius of obtaining the reward he deserves, and so
little can he depend upon the immediate triumph of intellect over
pretension, that the popularity of any contemptible competitor
annoys and disturbs him. So it happened to Reynolds. One Lio-
tard, a native of Geneva, of little skill and of no genius, but pa
tronised by several noblemen, rose suddenly into distinction and
employment Of this, Reynolds spoke and wrote with much im
patience and some bitterness. " The only merit in Liotard's
pictures," he says, "is neatness, which, as a general rule, is the
characteristic of low genius, or rather no genius at all. His pic
tures are just what ladies do when they paint for their amusement ;
nor is there any person, how poor soever their talents may be, but
in a very few years, by dint of practice, may possess themselves
of every qualification in the art which this great man has got."
This is sufficiently severe — it is, however, just. The portraits of
his rival were fac similes of life — they had no vigor, no elegance,
no intellect — they were minute without grace, and labored without
beauty. The friends of Liotard, finding that no honor was reflect
ed back upon them by their patronage, withdrew their protection ;
his name sunk into silence, and he returned to the Continent,
leaving an open field and the honor of the victory to Reynofds —
the first time that a British painter had triumphed in such a con
test. He now removed from Saint Martin's Lane, the Grub street
of artists, and took a handsome house on the north side of Great
Newport street. His portrait of Keppel, and his picture of the
two Grevilles, brother and sister, as Cupid and Psyche — and his
success in the contest for distinction with Liotard, brought busi
ness in abundance, and his apartments were filled with ladies of
quality and with men of rank, all alike desirous to have their per
sons preserved to posterity by one who touched no subject without
adorning it. " The desire to perpetuate the form of self-compla-

LIFE. 25
cency," says Northcote, " crowded the sitting room of Reynolds
with women who wished to be transmitted as angels, and with
men who wished to appear as heroes and philosophers. From his
pencil they were sure to be gratified. The force and felicity of
his portraits not only drew around him the opulence and beauty
of the nation, but happily gained him the merited honor of per
petuating the features of all the eminent and distinguished men
of learning then living. " It is not a little amusing to read Rey
nold's lofty commendations of Raphael and Angelo — to observe
how warmly he poured out his admiration over the severe dignity
of their productions, and how enthusiastically he labored to estab
lish the serene majesty of the " grand style " in opposition to all
other works ; and then to look at him in his own person — com
mencing the regular manufacture of faces as soon as he has leisure
to establish himself. I sincerely believe, however, that in devoting
his pencil to portraits, he not only took the way to fortune, but
followed the scope of his nature. He was deficient in the lofty
apprehension of a subject ; had little power in picturing out
vividly scenes from history or from poetry; and through this
capital deficiency of imagination was compelled to place in reality
before him what others could bring by the force of fancy.
He was now thirty years old, his fame was spread far and
wide, and the number of his commissions augmented daily. In
the force and grace of expression, and in the natural splendor of
coloring, no one could rival him ; success begot confidence in his
own powers ; he tried bolder attitudes and more diversified char
acter, and succeeded in every attempt. A close observer of nature,
he laid hold of every happy attitude into which either negligence
or study threw the human frame. On one occasion, he observed
that a noble person, one of his sitters, instead of looking the way
the painter wished, kept gazing at a beautiful picture by one of
the old masters. The artist instantly pressed this circumstance
into service. " I snatched the moment," he observes, " and drew
him in profile with as much of that expression of a pleasing mel
ancholy as my capacity enabled me to hit off. When the picture
was finished, he liked it, and particularly for that expression,
though, I believe, without reflecting on the occasion of it."
3

26 LIFE.
Some time in the year 1754, he acquired the acquaintance, and
afterward the friendship, of Samuel Johnson. How this happen
ed, is related by Boswell. The artist was visiting in Devonshire,
and in an interval of conversation or study opened the Life of
Savage. While he was standing with his arm leaning against the
ehimney-piece, he began to read, and it seized his attention so
strongly, that, not being able to lay down the book till he had
finished it, when he attempted to move he found his arm totally
benumbed. He was solicitous to know an author, one of whose
books had thus enchanted him, and by accident or design he met
him at the Miss Cotterals In Newport street. It was Reynold's
good fortune also to make a remark which Johnson perceived
could only have arisen in the mind of a man who thought for
himself. The ladies were regretting thg death of » friend, to
whom they owed great obligations ; " You have, however, the
comfort," said Reynolds, " of being relieved from the burden of
gratitude." They were shocked at this selfish suggestion ; but
Johnson maintained that it was true to human nature, and on
going away, accompanied Reynolds home. Thus commenced a
friendship which was continued to old age without much inter
ruption. The rough and saturnine Johnson was very unlike the soft,
the graceful, and flexible Reynolds. The former, the most dis
tinguished man of his time for wit, wisdom, various knowledge,
and original vigor of genius, had lived neglected — nay, spurned
by the opulent and the titled — till his universal fame forced him
on them ; and when, after life was half-spent in toil and sorrow,
he came forth at length from his obscurity, he spread consterna
tion among the polished circles by his uncouth shape and gestures,
more by his ready and vigorous wit, and an incomparable sharp
ness of sarcasm, made doubly keen and piercing by learning.
His circumstances rendered it unnecessary to soothe the proud by
assentation, or the beautiful by fine speeches. He appeared
among men not to win his way leisurely to the first place by smiles
and bows; but to claim it, take it, and keep it, as the distinction
to which he was born, and of which he had been too long defraud
ed. The course which his art required Reynolds to pursue was

LIFE. 27
far different from this. The temper of Hogarth had injured his
practice in portraiture ; the lesson had been recently read, and
the prudent and sagacious Reynolds resolved not to drive fortune
from his door by austerity of manners and surly and intractable
independence of spirit. He who would succeed as a portrait
painter, must practise the patience and the courtesy of a fine lady's
physician. It is not enough to put the sitter into a suitable pos
ture ; he must also by conversation move him into a suitable mood
of mind, and that natural and unembarrassed ease of expression
without which there can be no success. He has, moreover, to
keep him thus, throughout the whole of a tedious operation. No
one will suppose that the difficulties are less with patients of the
softer sex. To the vain and the whimsical, Reynolds opposed
constant courtesy, and soothed them by that professional flattery
to which they are generally accessible. Disappointment and
unmerited neglect had for ever roughened Johnson ; his trade pol
ished Reynolds. The flattery which the latter practised with his
pencil helped to smooth his tongue, and I am surprised that North
cote, a man shrewd and observing, should have been unconscious
of this, when he accuses the former of pride, envy and vulgarity,
and compares the discourtesy of his inquiring, in the presence of
the Duchess of Argyle, "How much, Reynolds, do you think wo
could win in a week, if we were to work as hard as we could ?"
with the graceful and accommodating manners of his old master.
Reynolds, however — whether from that kind of feeling which
induces one man to admire another for what he wants himself, or
from a desire of profiting by the wisdom and the wit, the con
versational eloquence and opulent understanding of Johnson —
cultivated the friendship of the great author assiduously and suc
cessfully ; and of the fruit which he derived from the intercourse
he thus speaks in one of his discourses on art :
" Whatever merit these Discourses may have, must be imputed
in a great measure to the education which I may be said to have
had under Dr. Johnson. I do not mean to say, though it certain
ly would be to the credit of these Discourses, if I could say it
with truth, that he contributed even a single sentiment to them ;
but he qualified my mind to think justly. No man had, like him,

28 LIFE.
the art of teaching inferior minds the art of thinking. Perhaps
other men might have equal knowledge, but few were so commu
nicative. His great pleasure was to talk to those who looked up to
him. It was here he exhibited his wonderful powers. The observ
ations which he made on poetry, on life, and on every thing about
us, I applied to our art — with what success, others must judge."
The price which Reynolds at first received for a head was five
guineas ; the rate increased with his fame, and in the year 1755,
his charge was twelve. Experience about this time dictated tho
following memorandum respecting his art: "For painting the
flesh — black, blue-black, white, lake, carmine, orpiment, yellow-
ochre, ultramarine - and varnish. To lay the pallet — first lay,
carmine and white in different degrees ; second lay, orpiment and
white ditto ; third lay, blue-black and white ditto. The first
sitting, for expedition, make a mixture as like the sitter's com
plexion as you can." Some years afterward I find, by a casual
notice from Johnson, that Reynolds had raised his price for a
head to twenty guineas.
The year 1758 was perhaps the most lucrative of his profession
al career. The account of the economy of his studies, and the dis
tribution of his time at this period, is curious and instructive.
It was his practice to keep all the prints engraved from his portraits,
together with his sketches, in a large portfolio ; these he submitted
to his sitters ; and whatever position they selected, he immediately
proceeded to copy it upon his canvass, and paint the likeness to cor
respond. He received six sitters daily, who appeared in their
turns ; and he kept regular lists of those who sat, and of those who
were waiting until a finished portrait should open a vacancy for
their admission. He painted them as they stood on his list, and
often sent the work home before the colors were dry. Of lounging
visitors he had a great abhorrence, and, as he reckoned up the
fruits of his labors, " Those idle people," said this disciple of the
grand historical school of Raphael and Angelo, " those idle people
do not consider that my time is worth five guineas an hour."
This calculation incidentally informs us, that it was Reynold's
practice, in the height of his reputation and success to paint a
portrait in four hours.

LIFE. 29
His acquaintance with Johnson induced him about this time to
write for the Idler some papers, on exact imitations of nature and
the true conception of beauty. These essays are not remarkable
either for vigor or for elegance ; they set nothing old in a new
light. He claims for painting the privilege of poetry — in select
ing fit subjects for the pencil, in imitating what is pure and lofty,
and avoiding the mechanical drudgery of copying with a servile
accuracy all that nature presents. He asserts that poetry is the
sister of painting ; that both exercise authority over the realms
of imagination ; and that the latter alone adds intellectual energy
to the productions of fancy. Concerning our conceptions of the
beautiful, he says that the productions of nature are all of them
selves beautiful ; and that custom, rather than the surpassing
loveliness of particular objects, directs our admiration. He ex
pended much thought in the composition of these papers, and as
they were required by Johnson to meet some sudden emergency,
he sat up all night, which occasioned a sharp illness that detained
him awhile from his pencil. In these essays, he urges his favorite
theory of contemplating and practising the more grave and serene
ly poetical style of painting, and his love of the religious pro
ductions of the great apostles of Romish art is visible in every
page. His remarks are deficient in that original spirit which
distinguishes the ruder memorandums of Hogarth ; and what is
odd enough, he seems to comprehend less clearly than the other
the scope and character of the works of the great foreign masters,
though he had lived long in the daily contemplation of their
productions. Notwithstanding his professional diligence, and the time which
he was compelled to yield to the attachment of friends and the
curiosity of strangers, he found leisure to note down many useful
remarks concerning his art> some of which seem colored by the
imagination or moulded by the sagacity of Johnson. " The
world," he says, " was weary of the long train of insipid imita
tors of Claude and Poussin, and demanded something new ; Sal-
vator Rosa saw and supplied this deficiency. He struck into a
new and savage sort of composition, which was very striking.
Sannazarius, the Italian poet, for the same reason, substituted
3*

30 LIFE.
fishermen for shepherds, and changed the scene to the sea. Want
of simplicity is a material imperfection either iu conception or in
coloring. There is a pure, chaste, modest, as well as a bold, in
dependent, glaring color ; men of genius use the one, common
minds the other. Some painters think they never can enrich their
pictures enough, and delight in gaudy colors and startling con
trasts. All hurry and confusion in the composition of the picture
should be avoided ; it deprives the work of the majesty of repose.
When I think on the high principle of the art, it brings to my
mind the works of L. Carracci, and the Transfiguration of Ra
phael. There every figure is ardent and animated, yet all is dig
nified. A solemnity pervades the whole picture, which strikes
every one with awe and reverence." No artist ever had a finer
sense of excellence — could distinguish more accurately between
various degrees of merit in all the great productions of the pencil,
or lay down happier rules for composition. He probably never
lived a day without thinking of Raphael or Correggio ; he cer
tainly never wrote a professional memorandum without introducing
their works or their names ; a circumstance which blunts the
sting of those lines in Retaliation —
" When you talked of your Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff."*
The influence of an artist of commanding skill now began to
be manifest. Those who admired the moral scenes of the shrewd
and sarcastic Hogarth, were no less delighted with the works of
one who had all the grace and beauty which Jong acquaintance
with foreign pictures had taught them to admire. It was pleasing
to national pride to see an Englishman measure himself success
fully with Lely or Vandyke ; and personal vanity was hourly
pampered by his hand. Commissions continued to pour in — the
artist engaged several subordinate laborers, who were skilful in
draperies — raised his price in 1760 to twenty-five guineas, and
began to lay the foundation of a fortune.
It has been said that Hogarth observed the rising fame of
Reynolds with vexation and with onvy ; but of this I have ob
served no proofs, either in his works or in his memorandums ; and
as he was not given to dissembling, but a bold, blunt man, it

LIFE. 31
seems likely that he would have taken some opportunity of ex
pressing such feelings, if they had really existed. The cold and
cautious nature of Reynolds rendered him, in the opinion of
Johnson, almost invulnerable ; but I think Hogarth would have
found a way to plague even him, had he been so disposed.
For the envy of Hogarth we have the authority of Nichols, who
lived near those times ; but his assertion is to be received with
caution, if not with distrust ; he was no admirer of the man
whose character he undertook to delineate, and in the same book,
where he depreciated the dead, he deified the living. Hogarth
may have laid himself open to such a suspicion by the manner in
which he opposed the foundation of public lectures and the estab
lishment of an academy.
In the year 1760 a scheme, long contemplated and often agi
tated, was carried into execution — the establishment of an exhi
bition of the works of British artists. Concerning this under
taking, Johnson thus writes to Baretti. "The artists have
established a yearly exhibition of pictures and statues, in imita
tion, I am told, of foreign academies. This year was the second
exhibition. They please themselves much with the multitude of
spectators, and imagine that the English school will rise much in
reputation. Reynolds is without a rival, and continues to add
thousands to thousands, which he deserves, among other excel
lences, by retaining his kindness for Baretti. This exhibition has
filled the heads of the artists and lovers of art. Surely life, if it
be not long, is tediouB ; since we are forced to call in the assist
ance of so many trifles to rid us of our time — of that time which
never can return."
One of the biographers of Reynolds imputes the reflections
contained in the conclusion of this letter, " to that kind of envy,
which perhaps even Johnson felt, when comparing his own annual
gains with those of his more fortunate friends." They are rather
to be attributed to the sense and taste of Johnson, who could not
but feel the utter worthlessness of the far greater part of the
productions with which the walls of the exhibition room were
covered. Artists are very willing to claim for their profession
and its productions rather more than the world seems disposed to

32 LIFE.
concede. It is very natural that this should be so ; but it is also
natural that a man of Johnson's cast should be conscious of the
dignity of his own pursuits, and agree with the vast majority of
mankind in ranking a Homer, a Virgil, a Milton, or a Shakspeare,
immeasurably above all the artists that ever painted or carved.
Johnson, in a conversation with Boswell, defined painting to be an
art " which could illustrate, but could not inform."
The catalogue to this new exhibition was, however, graced
with an introduction from the pen of the doctor — which contains
the following passage : "An exhibition of the works of ait, being
a spectacle new in the kingdom, has raised various opinions and
conjectures among those who are unacquainted with the practice
of foreign nations. Those who set their performances to general
view have too often been considered the rivals of each other; as
men actuated, if not by avarice, at least by vanity, as contending
for superiority of fame, though not for a pecuniary prize. It can
not be denied or doubted that all who offer themselves to criticism
are desirous of praise ; this desire is not only innocent but vir
tuous, while it is undebased by artifice or unpolluted by envy ;
and of envy or artifice, those men can never be accused, who,
already enjoying all the honors and profits of their profession, are
content to stand candidates for public notice with genius yet unex
perienced and diligence yet unrewarded ; who, without any hope
of increasing their own reputation or interest, expose their names
and their works only that they may furnish an opportunity of ap
pearance to the young, the diffident, and the neglected. The pur
pose of this exhibition is not to enrich the artist, but to advance
the art ; the eminent are not flattered with preference, nor the
obscure insulted with contempt ; whoever hopes to deserve publio
favor is here invited to display his merit."
This is very specious and splendid ; but the men of fortune
and reputation who planned and directed this work, were more'
likely to seek stations of importance for their own paintings, than
to be solicitous about obtaining such for the labors of the nameless.
Positions of precedence were likely to be eagerly contended for
among the contributing artists ; and it is probable that Johnson
did not pen these conciliatory paragraphs without a secret smile.

LIFE. 33
In the year 1761, the accumulating thousands which Johnson
speaks of, began to have a visible effect on Reynold's establish
ment. He quitted Newport street, purchased a fine house on the
west side of Leicester Square, furnished it with much taste, added
a splendid gallery for the exhibition of his works, and an elegant
dining room ; and finally taxed his invention and his purse in the
production of a carriage, with wheels carved and gilt, and bearing
on its panels the four seasons of the year. Those who flocked to
see his new gallery were sometimes curious enough to desire a
sight of- this gay carriage, and the coachman, imitating the lackey
who showed the gallery, earned a little money by opening the
coach house doors. His sister complained that it was too showy.
"What!" said the painter, "would you have one like an apothe
cary's carriage?"
By what course of study he attained his skill in art, Reynolds
has not condescended to tell us ; but of many minor matters we
are informed by one of his pupils with all the scrupulosity of
biography. His study was octagonal, some twenty feet long, six
teen broad, and about fifteen feet high. The window was small
and square, and the sill nine feet from the floor. His sitter's
chair moved on castors, and stood above the floor a foot and a
half ; he held his palettes by a handle, and the sticks of his
brushes were eighteen inches long. He wrought standing, and
with great celerity. He rose early, breakfasted at nine, entered
his study at ten, examined designs or touched unfinished portraits
till eleven brought a sitter ; painted till four ; then dressed, and
gave the evening to company .
His table was now elegantly furnished, and round it men of
genius were often found. He was a lover of poetry and poets ;
they sometimes read their productions at his house, and were re
warded by his approbation, and occasionally by their portraits.
Johnson was a frequent and a welcome guest ; though the sage
was not seldom sarcastic and overbearing, he was endured and
caressed, because he poured out the riches of his conversation
more lavishly than Reynolds did his wines. Percy was there too
with his ancient ballads and his old English lore ; and Goldsmith
with his latent genius, infantine vivacity, and plum-colored coat.

34 LIFE.
Burke and his brothers were constant guests, and Garrick was
seldom absent, for he loved to be where greater men were. It was
honorable to this distinguished artist that he perceived the worth
of such men, and felt the honor which their society shed upon
him ; but it stopped not here — he often aided them with his purse,
nor insisted upon repayment. It has, indeed, been said that he
was uncivil to Johnson, and that once on seeing him in his study,
he turned his back on him and walked out ; but to offer such an
insult was as little in the nature of the courtly painter, as to for
give it was in that of the haughty author. Reynolds seems to
have loved the company of literary men more than that of artists ;
he had little to learn in his profession, and he naturally sought the
society of those who had knowledge to impart. They have rewar
ded him with their approbation ; he who has been praised by
Burke, and who was loved by Johnson, has little chance of being
forgotten. He obtained the more equivocal approbation of Sterne, of whom
he painted a very clever portrait, with the finger on the brow and
the head full of thought. The author of Tristram Shandy, speak
ing of his hero's father, says, " Then his whole attitude had been
easy, natural, unforced, Reynolds himself, great and graceful as
he paints, might have painted him as he sat. " The death of
Sterne is said to have been hastened by the sarcastic raillery of a
lady whom he encountered at the painter's table. He offended
her by the grossness of his conversation, and being in a declining
state of health, suffered, if we are to believe the story, so severe
ly from her wit — that he went home and died. That man must be
singularly sensitive whose life is at the mercy of a woman's
sarcasm ; the most of us are content to live long after we are
laughed at*
Reynolds' next work, Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy,
has been highly praised. Figures of flesh and blood, however,
never work well with figures of speech. Shadow and substance
* To poor Sterne there is an inglorious memorial among the nettles of Bays-
water burial ground— a wretched headstone, inscribed with the more wretched
rhymes of a tippling fraternity of Freemasons. The worst is not yet told; bifl
hod/ was sold by his landlady to defray his lodgings, and was recognized on tho
dissecting table by one who had caroused with him, and enjoyed his witty and
licentious conversation.

LIFE". 35
can not enter into any conversation ; the player standing irreso
lute between two such personations is an absurdity which the finest
art — and it is not wanting — can not redeem. The soldier ponder
ing between his Catholic and Protestant doxies, in Hogarth's
March to Finchley, is natural and irresistibly comic ; but David
Garrick between his shadowy heroines is another affair.
Reynolds meditated a larger and more elaborate work — a com
position displaying Garrick in his various powers as a comic and
tragic actor. The principal figure was designed to be David him
self, in his own proper dress, speaking a prologue. A little re
tired were to appear groups of figures in the costume and charac
ter of the various heroes, from Hamlet down to Abel Drugger, in
the representation of which the actor had obtained his fame. All
these were to be portraits, gently modified according to character.
This idea was never probably sketched ; it seems strange and
unnatural ; there could be no unity, as they were all individual
personations, which fitted each other in the ludicrous manner of
the scraps composing a medley. Garrick, however, who labored
under a double load of vanity as actor and author, was charmed
with the idea, and cried out, " That will be the very thing which
I desire ; the only way,  , that I can .be handed down to
posterity." While this eminent actor's portrait was in progress, he men
tioned to Reynolds that he once sat to Gainsborough, whose tal
ents he did not admire, and whom he puzzled by altering the
expression of his face. Every time the artist turned his back the
actor put on a change of countenance, till the former in a passion
dashed his pencils on the floor, and cried, " I believe I am paint
ing from the devil rather than from a man." He sat often to
Reynolds for different portraits ; and on one of these occasions
complained wofully of the unceasing sarcasms of Foote. "Never
mind him," replied the shrewd painter, "he only shows his sense
of his own inferiority ; it is ever the least in talent who becomes
malignant and abusive."
In the year 1762, the health of Reynolds having been impaired
by constant labor, he went into Devonshire, accompanied by John
son. He was wolcomed with something of a silent approbation ;

36 LIFE.
for the populace of England know little, and care less, about
either painting, or poetry, or any such matters. The applause
too of a man's native place is generally the last which he receives ;
for those who knew him in youth will not readily allow that in
capacity he is superior to themselves, and are apt to regard the
coming of his fame among them as an intrusion to be resented.
But Reynolds was a man armed in that philosophic calmness
which no disappointment could ruffle or disturb. He received a
kind welcome from the learned and scientific Mudges, and was
distinguished by the notice of all men remarkable for knowledge
or station. A homage was paid him by one then young and
nameless, who has since risen high. " Mr. Reynolds was pointed
out to me," says Northcote, "at a public meeting, where a great
crowd was assembled. I got as near him as I could, from the
pressure of the people, to touch the skirt of his coat, which I did
with great satisfaction to my mind." All who have souls to feel the
influence of genius will applaud this touch of youthful enthusiasm.
A gentleman whom they visited indulged Johnson with new
honey and clouted cream, of which he swallowed so liberally that
his entertainer grew alarmed. To the prudent and discreet Rey
nolds the same person presented a large jar of very old nut oil — a
professional prize which the painter carried home in his own
coach, regarding it as worthy of his personal attention. He re
turned to London restored to health, and recommenced his inter
rupted labors. ¦
His commissions were now so numerous and important, that he
found it necessary to have several young persons to aid him in
the minor details of his undertakings. It is seldom, however,
that pupils- work sedulously for their master's benefit ; and it is
not to every one who cries, " Go to — I will be an artist," that
nature has been prodigal. One pupil took to drinking, and died
soon ; others in various ways annoyed and disappointed him. He
was, however, a clear-headed man and a zealous instructor, and
seems on the whole to have turned the skill of his young men
to some account. He informed Johnson that he was obtaining by
his profession six thousand pounds a year — a large income in
those days, when portraits brought but twenty-five guineas each.

LIFE. 37
The Literary Club was founded by Johnson in 1764, and,
among other men of eminenoe and talent, it numbered Reynolds.
It is true that he assumed not to himself the distinction which
literature bestows, but his friends knew too well the value of his
presence to lose it by a fastidious observance of the title of their
club. Poets, painters, and sculptors are all brothers ; and even
had he been less eminent in his art, the sense, information, and
manners of Reynolds would have made him an acceptable com
panion in the most intellectual society. He was, however, rather
alarmed on hearing that people spoke of him as " one of the wits,"
and exclaimed, "Why have they named me as a wit? — I never
was a wit in my life." Reynolds had other merits, not unworthy
of the consideration of men so out of favor with fortune at that
time as Johnson, and Goldsmith, and Burke. He had » heavy
purse, and an hospitable table.
In the course of his studies and convivialities he was attacked
with a serious illness, which was equally sudden and alarming. He
was cheered by the anxiety of many friends, and by the solicitude
of Johnson, who wrote from Northamptonshire — "I did not hear
of your sickness till I heard likewise of your recovery, and
therefore escaped that part of your pain which every man must
feel to whom you are known as you are known to me. If the
amusement of my company can exhilarate tho languor of a slow
recovery, I will not delay a day to come to you ; for I know not
how I can so effectually promote my own pleasure as by pleasing
you, or my own interest as by preserving you ; in whom, if I
should lose you, I should lose almost the only man whom I can
call a friend." He to whom Johnson could thus write must have
possessed many noble qualities ; for no one could estimate human
nature more truly than that illustrious man. Our artist recovered
slowly, and resumed his studies. The same year which alarmed
England respecting the health of Reynolds deprived it of Hogarth.
Lady Sarah Bunbury sacrificing to the Graces, Lady Elizabeth
Keppel in the dress she wore when bridesmaid to the Queen, and
Lady "Waldegrave — one of the beauties of the day — appeared from
Reynolds* pencil in 1765, and were regarded by Barry as among
the happiest of his works. He commended them for the greatness
4

38 LIFE.
of the style, the propriety of the characters, the force of light
and shade, and the delicacy of the coloring.
Artists of eminence now rose thick and fast. Barry had made
his appearance under the affectionate patronage of Edmund Burke.
West landed from Italy to exhibit himself in the character of an
historical painter ; and the names of others, of scarcely less note,
. began to be heard of. But the ascendancy of Reynolds was still
maintained ; he had charmed effectually the public eye, and kept
the world chained to him by the strong and enduring link of
vanity. To the Shakspeare of Johnson, published in 1765, Reynolds
furnished some notes, which show his good sense and good feeling,
and are deficient only where no one could have expected him to
excel — black-letter reading and old dramatic lore. He had neither
the daring ingenuity of a Warburton, nor the philosophical saga
city of a Johnson ; but he tasted with as deep a feeling as either
the rich excellence of the great dramatist.
From this period to the establishment of the Royal Academy
in 1768, Reynolds applied himself diligently to portraiture, and,
though he produced few works wherein fancy mingled with and
cheated reality, he executed many fine likenesses, among which
that of Mrs. Molesworth is distinguished for ease and beauty,
and the matronly grace and simplicity of costume. Ramsay,
the son of a more distinguished father, Allan Ramsay, the poet,
and Cotes, another painter of that time, had all the patronage of
the court, and were in good employment. Walpole says of Ram
say, that he was the most sensible man of all living artists. Those
men stood between Reynolds and royal favor ; yet he painted in
1766 the Queen of Denmark, when she was about to go on her un
happy voyage. She seemed impressed with a presentiment of her
coming misfortunes, for the artist always found her in tears. Of
English artists Burke thus writes to Barry, who was studying at
Rome : " Here they are as you left them ; Reynolds now and then
striking out some wonder." He says, in another letter, "I found
that Reynolds' expectation of what would be your great object
of attention were the works of Michael Angelo, whom he consid
ers as tho Homer of painting. I could find that his own study had

LIFE. 39
been much engrossed by that master, whom he still admires most.
He confined himself for months to the Capella Sistina."
The Royal Academy was planned and proposed in 1768 by
Chambers, West, Cotes, and Moser ; the caution or timidity of
Reynolds kept him for some time from assisting. A list of thirty
members was made out ; and West, a prudent and amiable man,
called on Reynolds, and, in a conference of two hours' continu
ance, succeeded in persuading him to join them. He ordered his
coach, and, accompanied by West, entered the room where his
brother artists were assembled. They rose up to a man, and
saluted him " President." He was affected by the compliment,
but declined the honor till he had talked with Johnson and Burke ;
he went, consulted his friends, and having considered the conse
quences carefully, then consented. He expressed his belief at the
same time that their scheme was a mere delusion ; the King, he
said, would not patronise nor even acknowledge them, as his ma
jesty was well known to be the friend of another body — The In
corporated Society of Artists.
The plan of that Society (established in 1765) had failed to
embrace all the objects necessary for the advancement of art ;
several painters of reputation were not of their number ; and the
new institution, now formed for the purpose of extending the use
fulness of such a scheme, was the work of many heads. Much
that was old was adopted, something new was added, and the
whole was carefully matured into • a simple and consistent plan.
The professed objects were, an academy of design for the in
struction of students, and an annual exhibition which should con
tain the works of the academicians, and admit at the same time
all other productions of merit. The funds for the furtherance of
this design were to come from the fruits of the annual exhibition.
The King, who at first looked coldly upon the project, as it seemed
set up in opposition to the elder society, on farther consideration
offered voluntarily to supply all deficiencies annually from his
private purse. This enabled the members to propose rewards for
the encouragement of rising genius ; and at a future period to
bestow annuities on the most promising students, to defray their
expenses during a limited residence at Rome. Johnson was made

40 LIFE.
professor of ancient literature, a station merely honorary— and
Goldsmith professor of ancient history, another office without
labor and without emolument — which secured him a place, says
Percy, at the yearly dinner. Of this honor Goldsmith thus writes
to his brother : "I took it rather as a compliment to the institu
tion than any benefit to myself. Honors to one in my situation
are something like ruffles to a man who wants a shirt." Lastly,
the King, to give dignity to the Royal Academy of Great Britain,
bestowed the honor of knighthood on the President.; and seldom
has any such distinction been bestowed amid more universal ap
probation. Burke, in one of his admirable letters to Barry, says,
" Reynolds is at the head of this academy. From his known
public spirit, and warm desire of raising up art among us, he will,
I have no doubt, contrive this institution to be productive of all
the advantages that could possibly be derived from it ; and while
it is in such hands as his, we shall have nothing to fear from those
shallows and quicksands upon which the Italian and French acade
mies have lost themselves." Johnson was so elated with the
honor of knighthood conferred on his friend, that he drank wine
in its celebration, though he had abstained from it for several
years ; and Burke declared there was a natural fitness in the name
for a title. Of his election as President, Northcote (no hasty
writer) says, what I would fain disbelieve, " that he refused to
belong to the society on any other conditions." How this is to
be reconciled with his confusion and surprise at being hailed
President, as above described, I can not determine. The gentle
man who relates it is cautious and candid, and would not hazard
such an assertion lightly. Of Sir Joshua's capacity to fill the
station of President, and to render it respectable by his courtesy
and embellish it by his talents, no one ever entertained a doubt ;
but it was unworthy of him to stipulate for it.
He voluntarily imposed on himself the task of composing and
delivering discourses for the instruction of students in the princi
ples and practice of their art. Of these he wrote fifteen; all
distinguished for clearness of conception, and for variety of
knowledge. They were delivered during a long succession of
years, and in a manner cold and sometimes embarrassed, and even

LIFE. 41
unintelligible. His deafness, and his abhorrence of oratorical
pomp of utterance, may have contributed to this defect. A noble
man who was present at the delivery of the first of the series,
said, " Sir Joshua, you read your discourse in a tone so low that
I scarce heard a word you said." " That was to my advantage,"
replied the President, with a smile.
He distinguished himself in the first exhibition of the Acade
my by paintings of the Duchess of Manchester and her son, as
Diana disarming Cupid ; Lady Blake, as Juno receiving the cestus
from Venus ; and Miss Morris, as Hope nursing Love. The grace
of design and beauty of coloring in these pictures, could not con
ceal the classical affectation of their titles, and the poverty of
invention in applying such old and exhausted compliments. Poor
Miss Morris was no dandier of babes, but a delicate and sensitive
spinster, unfit for the gross wear and tear of the stage — who
fainted in the representation of Juliet, and died soon after. Of
Lady Blake's title to represent Juno, I have nothing to say — a
modern lord would make an indifferent Jupiter, and what claim a
Duchess of Manchester, with her last-born in her lap, could have
to the distinction of Diana, it is difficult to guess.
Sir Joshua guided his pen with better taste than his pencil, in
the first year of his presidency. He, at the request of Burke,
addressed a letter of advice to Barry, which made a strong impres
sion on the mind of that singular man. " Whoever," says Sir
Joshua, "is resolved to excel in painting, or indeed in any other
art, must bring all his mind to bear upon that one object from the
moment that he rises till he goes to bed ; the effect of every object
that meets a painter's eye, may give him a lesson, provided his mind
is calm, unembarrassed with other objects, and open to instruction.
This general attention, with other studies connected with the art,
which must employ the artist in his closet, will be found sufficient
to fill up life, if it were much longer than it is. Were I in your
place, I would consider myself as playing a great game, and never
suffer the little malice and envy of my rivals to draw off my at
tention from the main object, which if you pursue with a steady
eye, it will not be in the power of all the Cicerones in the world
to hurt you. While they are endeavoring to prevent the gentle-
4*

42 LIFE.
men from employing the young artists, instead of injuring them,
they are in my opinion doing them the greatest service.
"Whoever has great views, I would recommend to him while
at Rome, rather to live on bread and water than lose advantages
which he can never hope to enjoy a second time, and which he
will find only in the Vatican; where, I will engage, no cavalier
sends his student to copy for him. The Capella Sistina is the
production of the greatest genius that was ever employed in the
arts ; it is worth considering by what principles that stupendous
greatness of style is produced, and endeavoring to produce some
thing of your own on those principles, will be a more advanta
geous method of study than copying the St. Cecelia in the Borg-
hese, or the Herodias of Guido, which may be copied to eternity
without contributing a jot towards making a man a more able
painter. If you neglect visiting the Vatican often, and particu
larly the Capella Sistina, you will neglect receiving that peculiar
advantage which Rome can give above all other cities in the
world. In other places you will find casts from the antique, and
capital pictures of the great painters ; but it is there only that
you can form an idea of the dignity of the art, as it is there pnly
that you can see the. works of Michael Angelo and Raphael."
Barry, who at that time was awed by the fame of Reynolds,
received this letter with thankfulness, and acknowledged it with
civility ; but his precipitancy of nature hindered him from profit
ing much by it.
When Goldsmith published his Deserted Village, he inscribed
it to Sir Joshua in a very kind and touching manner. " The only
dedication I ever made," says the author of the Vicar of Wake
field, "was to my brother, because I loved him better than most
other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem
to you." The poet was a frequent guest with Johnson at the table
of the painter, which was adorned and enlivened by tho presence
and the talents of Miss Reynolds — herself a painter and poetess,
and eminent for her good sense and ready wit. This lady was a
great favorite of Johnson, who was fond of her company, and
acknowledged oftener than once the influence of her conversa
tion.

LIFE. 43
I have already said that Reynolds was an admirer of Pope.
A fan, which the poet presented to Martha Blount, and on which
he had painted, with his own hand, the story of Cephalus and
Procris, with the motto "Aura Veni," was to be sold by auction,
and Sir Joshua sent a person to bid for it as far as thirty guineas.
The messenger imagined that he said thirty shillings, and allowed
the relic to go for two pounds ; a profit, however, was allowed to
the purchaser, and it was put into the hand of the painter.
" See," said he to his pupils, who gathered round him, "see the
painting of Pope — this must always be the case when the work is
taken up from idleness, and is laid aside when it ceases to amuse ;
it is like the work of one who paints only for amusement. Those
who are resolved to excel must go to their work, willing or unwill
ing, morning, noon, and night ; they will find it to be no play, but
very hard labor." This fan was afterward stolen out of his study ;
as a relic of that importance can not be openly displayed to the
world by the person who abstracts it, it is not easy to imagine
what manner of enthusiast the thief could be.
At a festive meeting, where Johnson, Reynolds, Burke, Gar
rick, Douglas, and Goldsmith were conspicuous, the idea of com
posing a set of extempore epitaphs on one another was started.
Two very indifferent lines of ordinary waggery by Garrick offend
ed Goldsmith so much that he avenged himself by composing the
celebrated poem of Retaliation, in which he exhibits the characters
of his companions with great liveliness and talent. The character
of Sir Joshua Reynolds is drawn with discrimination and delicacy ;
it resembles, indeed, his own portraits, for the features are a little
softened, and the expression a little elevated ; it is, nevertheless,
as near the truth as the affection of the poet would permit him to
come. The lines have a melancholy interest, from being the last
which the author wrote.
" Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind ;
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart."
That he was an improver of human faces no one could be

44 LIFE.
more conscious than Goldsmith ; his portrait by Reynolds is
sufficiently unlovely, yet it was said by the artist's sister to be the
most flattered likeness of all her brother's works.
In 1771, James Northcote became his pupil. Of his coming
he thus speaks : — " As from the earliest period of my being able
to make any observation, I had conceived Reynolds to be the
greatest painter that ever lived, it may be conjectured what I felt
when I found myself in his house as his scholar." He unites with
Malone in assuring us that such was the gentleness of Sir Joshua's
manners, such his refined habits, such the splendor of his estab
lishment and the extent of his fame — that almost all the men in
the three kingdoms who were distinguished for attainments in
literature, for fame in art, or for exertions at the bar, in the
senate, or the field, were occasionally found feasting at his social
and well-furnished table.
These accounts, however, in as far as regards the splendor of
the entertainments must be received with some abatement. The
eye of a youthful pupil was a little blinded by enthusiasm — that
of Malone was rendered" friendly by many acts of hospitality and
a handsome legacy ; while literary men and artists, who came to
speak of books and paintings, cared little for the most part about
the delicacy of their entertainment, provided it were wholesome.
Take the following description of one of the painter's dinners hy
the skilful hand of Courteney: "There was something singular
in the style and economy of his table, that contributed to pleas
antry and good humor ; a coarse, inelegant plenty, without any
regard to order or arrangement. A table prepared for seven or
eight, often compelled to contain fifteen or sixteen. When this
pressing difficulty was got over, a deficiency of knives and forks,
plates, and glasses succeeded. The attendance was in the same
style ; and it was absolutely necessary to call instantly for beer,
bread or wine, that you might be supplied before the first course
was over. He was once prevailed on to furnish the table with de
canters and glasses for dinners, to save time and prevent the tardy
manoeuvres of two or three occasional undisciplined domestics.
As these accelerating utensils were demolished in the course of
service, Sir Joshua could never be persuaded to replace them.

LIFE. 45
But these trifling embarrassments only served to enhance the
hilarity and singular pleasure of the entertainment. The wine,
cookery, and dishes were but little attended to ; nor was the fish
or venison ever talked of or recommended. Amid this convivial
animated bustle among his guests, our host sat perfectly com
posed, always attentive to what was said, never minding what was
eat or drank, but left every one at perfect liberty to scramble for
himself. Temporal and spiritual peers, physicians, lawyers,
actors, and musicians composed the motley group, and played their
parts without dissonance or discord. At five o'clock precisely,
dinner was served, whether all the invited gueBts were arrived or
not. Sir Joshua was never so fashionably ill-bred as to wait an
hour perhaps for two or three persons of rank or title and put the
rest of the company out of humor by this invidious distinction."
Of the sluttish abundance which covered his table, Courteney
says enough ; as to the character of the guests, we have the testi
mony of Dunning, afterward Lord Ashburton. He had accepted
an invitation to dinner from the artist, and happened to be the first
guest who arrived ; a large company was expected. " Well, Sir
Joshua," he said, " and who have you got to dine with you to
day ? The last time I dined in your house, the company was of
such a sort, that by  I believe all the rest of the world
enjoyed peace for that afternoon." " This observation," says
Northcote, "was by no means ill applied, for as Sir Joshua's
companions were chiefly men of genius, they were often disputa
tious and vehement in argument." Miss Reynolds seems to have
been as indifferent about the good order of her domestics, and the
appearance of her dishes at table, as her brother was about the
active distribution of his wine and venison. Plenty was the splen
dor, and freedom was the elegance which Malone and Boswell
found in the entertainments of the artist.
The masculine freedom of Johnson's conversation was pleasing
in general to Reynolds ; it was not, however, always restrained
by a sense of courtesy or by the memory of benefits. It is re
lated by Mrs. Thrale that once at her table Johnson lamented the
..perishable nature of the materials of painting, and recommended
copper in place of wood or canvass. Reynolds urged the difficul-

.46 LIFE.
ty of finding a plate of copper large enough for historical subjects ;
he was interrupted by Johnson. "What foppish obstacles are
these ; here is Thrale, who has a thousand-tun copper ; you may
paint it all round if you will, I suppose it will serve him to brew
in afterward." When Johnson's pen was in his hand, and it was
seldom out of it, he spoke of painting in another mood, and of
Reynolds with civility and affection. "Genius," he says, "is
chiefly exerted in historical pictures, and the art of the painter
of portraits is often lost in the obscurity of the subject. But it
is in painting as in life ; what is greatest is not always best. 1
should grieve to see Reynolds transfer to heroes and to goddesses,
to empty splendor and to airy fiction, that art which is now em
ployed in diffusing friendship, in renewing tenderness, in quicken
ing the affections of the absent, and continuing the presence of the
dead. Every man is always present to himself, and has, there
fore, little need of his own resemblance ; nor can desire it, but for
the sake of those whom he loves and by whom he hopes to be
remembered. This use of the art is a natural and reasonable
consequence of affection ; and though, like all other human
actions, it is often complicated with pride, yet even such pride is
more laudable than that by which palaces are covered with pic
tures, that, however excellent, neither imply the owner's virtue
nor excite it." By an opinion so critically sagacious, and an
apology for portrait painting, which appeals so effectually to the
kindly side of human nature, Johnson repaid a hundred dinners.
Reynolds now raised his price for a portrait to thirty-five
guineas, admitted some more pupils to the advantages of his
studio, and, leaving them to forward draperies and make copies
of some of his pictures in his absence, made a visit to Paris. Of
the object of this journey there is no account, nor has he made
any note of his own emotions on observing the works of the
French artists. He returned, and resumed his labors — which
were too pressing to permit him to visit Bennet Langton, at his
country seat — though they allowed him to obey the King's wish,
and see the installation of the Knights of the Garter, in Windsor ;
on which occasion his curiosity paid the tax of a new hat and a
gold snuff-box, pilfered in the crowd.

LIFE. 47
Young Northcote acquired skill rapidly under Sir Joshua ; he
ere long painted one of the servants so like nature that a tame
macaw mistook the painting for the original, against whom it had
a grudge, and flew to attack the canvass with beak and wing.
The experiment of the creature's mistake was several times re
peated with the same success, and Reynolds compared it to the
ancient painting where a bunch of grapes allured the birds; "I
see," said he, " that birds and beasts are as good judges of pic
tures as men."
The Ugolino was painted in 1773. The subject is contained in
the Comedia of Dante, and is said by Cumberland to have been
suggested to our artist by Goldsmith. The merit lies in the exe
cution ; and even this seems of a disputable excellence. The lofty
and stern sufferer of Dante appears on Reynold's canvass like a
famished mendicant, deficient in any commanding qualities of in
tellect, and regardless of his dying children who cluster around
his knees. It is indeed a subject too painful to contemplate ; it
has a feeling too deep for art, and certainly demanded a hand
conversant with severer things than the lips and necks of
ladies, and the well dressed gentlemen of England. It is said to
have affected Captain Cooke's Omiah so much, that he imagined it
a scene of real distress, and ran to support the expiring child.
The Duke of Dorset paid the artist four hundred guineas, and
took home the picture. His next piece, the Children in the Wood,
arose from an accident. A beggar's infant, who was his model
for some other picture, overpowered by continuing long in one
position, fell asleep, and presented the image of one of the babes,
which he immediately secured. No sooner had he done this than
the child turned in its sleep, and presented the idea of the other
babe, which he instantly sketched, and from them afterward made
the finished picture. Accident often supplies what study can not
find ; for nature, when unrestrained, throws itself into positions
of great ease and elegance.
In the month of July he visited Oxford, where he was received
with some distinction, and admitted to the honorary degree of
Doctor of Civil Law. At that period he was member of the Royal,
the Antiquarian, and Dilettanti Societies. When he presented

48 LIFE.
himself to the audience, and bowed and took his seat, there was
much applause. Dr. Beattie accompanied him, and received the
same honors. It seems a singular token of respect to salute a
man with a title to which he can neither lay claim by his learning
nor by his pursuits ; but in our own time we have seen Blucher
and Platoff dubbed Doctors of Law in the same venerable place.
From Oxford, Reynolds went to visit a noble Duke, in compliance
with many pressing solicitations. He hastened into his presence,
and was mortified with a cold reception. The artist, it seems, had
the incivility to appear in his boots !
On his return to London, he painted the celebrated picture of
Dr. Beattie in his Oxonian dress as Doctor of Laws, with his book
on the Immutability of Truth below his arm, and the Angel of
Truth beside him overpowering Skepticism, Sophistry, and Infi
delity. One of these prostrate figures has a lean and profligate
look, and resembles Voltaire; in another, which is plump and full
bodied, some one recognized a resemblace to Hume ; nor is it un
likely that the artist had Gibbon in his thoughts when he intro
duced Infidelity. The vexation of Goldsmith, when he saw this
painting, overflowed all bounds. " It is unworthy," he said, " of
a man of eminence like you, Sir Joshua, to descend to flattery
such as this. How could you think of degrading so high a genius
as Voltaire before so mean a writer as Beattie. Beattie and his
book will be forgotten in ten years ; but your allegorical picture
and the fame of Voltaire will live to your disgrace as a flatterer."
There was as much good sense as envy in this. The picture was
an inconsiderate compliment, and arose from the false estimate
which Reynolds had formed of the genius of Beattie. The royal
favor and the applause of the church are excellent in their day,
and may float a man on to fortune ; but posterity is an inexorable
tribunal, which overthrows all false estimates of character — all
unsound reputations, and decides upon merit and genius alone.
Hume, and Voltaire, and Gibbon — injurious as their works have
been to the best interests of mankind — have survived the attack
of Beattie and the insult of Reynolds.
About the close of summer he visited his native place, and was
elected Mayor of Plympton— a distinction so much to his liking

LIFE. 49
that he assured the King, whom he accidentally encountered on
his return, in one of the walks at Hampton court, that it gave
him more pleasure than any other he had ever received — " except
ing (he added — recollecting himself) — excepting that which your
Majesty so graciously conferred on me — the honor of knighthood."
The arts now met with a repulse from the church, which is
often mentioned with sorrow by the painters, and even considered
as an injury deserving annual reprobation. It happened that
Reynolds and West were dining with the bishop of Bristol, who
was also Dean of St. Paul's, and their conversation turned upon
religious paintings, and upon the naked appearance of the English
churches in the absence of such ornaments. "West generously
offered his entertainer a painting of Moses and the Laws for the
Cathedral of St. Paul, and Reynolds tendered a Nativity. As
this offer was in a manner fulfilling the original design of Sir
Christopher Wren, the Dean imagined it would be received with
rapture by all concerned. He waited on the King, who gave his
ready consent; but Terrick, Bishop of London, objected at once,
and no persuasion could move him, no arguments could change his
fixed and determined opposition. A little of the old spirit, which
ejected the whole progeny of saints and Madonnas out of the re
formed church, was strong in this Bishop of London. "No,"
said he, " while I live and have power, no popish paintings shall
enter the doors of the metropolitan church." The project was
dropped, and never again revived.
A portrait of Burke, which Reynolds painted at the request
of Thrale, is the only reason that has ever been assigned for the
hostility which Barry now began to show, first, to Burke, and
afterward to Sir Joshua. Barry was a proud artist and a suspi
cious man; he could not be insensible that the President had
amassed a fortune, and obtained high fame in abiding by the
lucrative branch of the profession, while he had perched upon the
unproductive bough of historical composition, and had not been
rewarded with bread. He followed his own ideas in the course he
pursued, but probably he reflected that he was also obeying the
reiterated injunctions of Sir Joshua, who constantly, in his public
lectures and private counsels, admonished all who loved what was
5

50 LIFE.
noble and sublime, to study the .great masters, and labor at the
grand style. This study had brought Barry to a garret and a
crust ; the neglect of it had spread the table of Reynolds with
that sluttish abundance which Courteney describes, and put him
in a coach with gilded wheels, and the seasons painted on its
panels. To all this was added the close friendship of his patron
Burke with the fortunate painter. Barry fancied — in short— that
his own merits were overlooked, and that something like a com
bination was formed to thwart and depress him. Nor is the mild
and prudent Reynolds himself altogether free from the suspicion
of having felt a little jealousy towards one who spoke well, and
thought well, and painted well, and who might rise to fame and
opulence rivalling his own.
Goldsmith was removed by death, in 1774, from the friendship
of Reynolds, who was deeply affected ; he did not touch his pencil
for a whole day afterward. He acted as executor — an easy trust
—¦for there was nothing left but a large debt and a confused mass
of papers. He directed his funeral, which was respectable and
private, and aided largely in the monument which stands in the
Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey. Nollekens cut the marble ;
Johnson composed the epitaph.
To the society called the Dilettanti Club some ascribe the
origin of all those associations whose object is the encouragement
of art. To this club, as has been duly mentioned, Sir Joshua
belonged, and to his pencil many of the members are indebted for
the transmission of their looks — and names — to posterity. These
portraits are contained in two pictures, in the manner of Paul
Veronese, and amount in all to fourteen. He was more worthily
employed when Johnson sat to him in 1775 ; the picture shows
him holding a manuscript near his face, and pondering as he
reads. The near-sighted "Cham of literature" reproved the
painter in these words : " It is not friendly to hand down to pos
terity the imperfections of any man." Mrs. Thrale interposed,
and said, " You will not be known to posterity for your defects,
though Sir Joshua should do his worst." The artist was right-
he gave individuality and character to the head.
His practice introduced him occasionally to strange acquaint-

LIFE. 51
ances. A gentleman, who returned rich from the East, sat for
his portrait, but was called into the country before it was quite
finished. He apologized by letter for his absence, and requested
that the work might be completed. "My friends," said he, " tell
me of the Titian tint and the Guido air — these you can add with
out my appearance."
Sir Joshua was chosen a member of the Academy of Florence,
and in consequence he painted and presented a portrait of him
self in the dress of his Oxford honors, which is placed in the
gallery of Eminent Artists in that city. This prudent Italian
academy requires by its laws the portrait of every new member,
painted by his own hand ; a regulation which has accumulated a
very curious collection. Sir Joshua's performance raised the rep
utation of English art in Florence.
It was his opinion that no man ever produced more than half
a dozen original works in his whole lifetime ; and when he painted
the Strawberry Girl, he said, " that is one of my originals." On
looking at this work it is not easy to see the cause of the artist's
preference ; but genius sometimes forms curious estimates of its
own productions — some lucky triumph over an obstinate difficulty
— some work produced with great ease in an hour of enjoyment —
or one, the offspring of much consideration, and the crowning of
some new experiment, is apt to impress an idea of excellence on
the maker's mind which his work fails to communicate to the cold
spectator. From secret envy he had not hitherto escaped ; he was now to
experience an open attack, and that from one of his own profes
sion. A painter of the name of Hone — a man of some experience
in portrait painting, but of very moderate talents — sent to the
annual exhibition, " The Pictorial Conjurer, displaying his whole
art of Optical Deception." This was meant as a satire upon the
style of Sir Joshua, and of the use which he was not unwilling to
make of the postures and characters of earlier artists. The in
dignation of the friends of Reynolds was great — they rejected the
offensive picture in the exhibition, and defended him with tongue
and pen. " He has been accused of plagiarism," says one, " for
having borrowed attitudes from ancient masters. Not only can-

52 LIFE.
dor, but criticism must deny the force of this charge. When a
single posture is imitated from an historic picture, and applied to
a portrait in a different dress, this is not plagiarism, but quota
tion ; and a quotation from a great author, with a novel applica
tion of the sense, has always been allowed to be an instance of
parts and taste, and may have more merit than the original."
The parallel entirely fails. To give a new turn to the sense of a
sentence, or avail himself of a line or two from an early author,
is allowed to a modern poet. But should he bring away an entire
character, and employ it with the whole costume of thought unal
tered, then he is a plagiarist ; and such in many instances seems
to have been Sir Joshua. His best defence is, that he borrowed
to improve, and stole that he might show his own power of color
ing. Most of the songs of Burns, works unrivalled for nature
and passion, are constructed on the stray verse or vagrant line
of some forgotten bard. But then the poet only employed those
as the starting notes to his own inimitable strains, and never stole
the fashion and hue of any entire lyric.
An attack such as that of Hone seemed to affect the friends
of the artist more than it did himself; he said nothing, and the
subject passed to oblivion. One of a more serious nature, and
less easy to refute, was made in some of the public prints con
cerning the instability of the colors which he used in painting.
He was accused of employing lake and carmine — colors of a na
ture liable to speedy decay — and, in short, making frequent
experiments at the expense of others. It was urged, that he
knew those glossy and gaudy colors would not endure long;
and it was hinted, that though the experiments which he made
might be for the advancement of art, they were injurious to
individuals, who purchased blooming works, which were destined
to fade in their possession like the flowers of the field.
Of the danger of using such colors Sir Joshua was at length
convinced ; but not until strong symptoms of decay had appeared
in many of his own works ; as yet he zealously defended the pro
priety of his experiments with his pen as well as in conversation.
In one of his memorandums he says, with much complacency, "I
was always willing to believe that my uncertainty of proceeding

LIFE. 53
in my works — that is, my never being sure of my hand, and my
frequent alterations — arose from a refined taste, which could not
acquiesce in any thing short of a high degree of excellence. I
had not an opportunity of being early initiated in the prin
ciples of coloring ; no man indeed could teach me. If I have
never settled with respect to coloring, let it at the same time be
remarked that my unsteadiness in this respect proceeded from an
inordinate desire to possess every kind of excellence that I saw in
the works of others, without considering that there are in color
ing, as in style, excellences which are incompatible with each
other. We all know how often those masters who sought after
coloring changed their manner ; while others, merely from not
seeing various modes, acquiesced all their lives in that with which
they set out. On the contrary, I tried every effect of color, and,
by leaving out every color in its turn, showed each color that I
could do without it. As I alternately left out every color, I tried
every new color ; and often, as is well known, failed. I was influ
enced by no idle or foolish affectation. My fickleness in the mode
of coloring arose from an eager desire to attain the highest excel
lence. This is the only merit I can assume to myself from my
conduct in that respect."
It is to be regretted that he continued these experiments for a
long course of years, and that they infected more or less many of
the finest of his works. He was exceedingly touchy of temper on
the subject of coloring, and reproved Northcote with some sharp
ness for insinuating that Kneller used Vermillion in his flesh color.
' ' What signifies, " said he, ' ' what a man used who could not color ?
— you may use it if you will." He never allowed his pupils to
make experiments, and on observing one of them employing some
unusual compounds, exclaimed, " That boy will never do good
with his gallipots of varnish and foolish mixtures." The secret
of Sir Joshua's own preparations was carefully kept — he permit
ted not even the most favored of his pupils to acquire the knowl
edge of his colors — he had all securely locked, and allowed no
one to enter where these treasures were deposited. What was the
use of all this secresy ? — those who stole the mystery of his colors
could not use it unless they stole his skill and talent also. A man

54 LIFE.
who, like Reynolds, chooses to take upon'himself the double office
of public and private instructor of students in painting, ought
not, surely, to retain to himself a secret in the art which he con
siders to be of real value.
He was fond of seeking into the secrets of the old painters ;
and dissected some of their performances without remorse or
scruple, to ascertain their mode of laying on color and finishing
with effect. Titian he conceived to be the great master spirit in
portraiture ; and no enthusiast in usury ever sought more inces
santly for the secret of the philosopher's stone, than did Reynolds
to possess himself of the whole theory and practice of the Vene
tian. But this was a concealed pursuit ; he disclosed his discov
eries to none ; he leotured on Michael Angelo, and discoursed on
Raphael ; but he studied and dreamed of Titian. " To possess,"
said the artist, " a real fine picture by that great master, I would
sell all my gallery — I would willingly ruin myself." The capital
old paintings of the Venetian school which Sir Joshua's experi
ments destroyed, were not few, and it may be questioned if his
discoveries were a compensation for their loss. The wilful des
truction of a work of genius is a sort of murder, committed for
the sake of art ; and the propriety of the act is very questionable.
"I considered myself," said he, in a private memorandum pre
served by Malone, " as playing a great game, and, instead of be
ginning to save money, I laid it out as fast as I got it in purcha
sing the best examples of art ; I even borrowed money for this
purpose. The possessing portraits by Titian, Vandyke, Rem
brandt, &c, I considered as the best kind of wealth. By this
kind of contemplation we are taught to think in their way, and
sometimes to attain their excellence. If I had never seen any of
the works of Correggio, I should never, perhaps, have remarked
in nature the expression which I find in one of his pieces ; or if I
had remarked it, I might have thought it too difficult, or perhaps
impossible to be executed."
In the summer of 1776, Northcote informed Sir Joshua of his
intention of visiting Italy, to confirm his own notions of excel
lence by studying in the Vatican. This communication, which
deprived him of a profitable assistant, was received with much

LIFE. 55
complacency ; he was sensible of the advantages obtained from
his pupil's pencil, and said so with much freedom and kindness.
" Remember," said the master, to his departing friend, " that
something more must be done than that which did formerly — Knel
ler, Lely, and Hudson, will not do now." He seldom omitted an
opportunity of insulting the memories of Kneller and Lely. He
might have spared them now that the world admitted him to have
excelled them.
He was skilful in compliments. When he painted the portrait
of Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse, he wrought his name on the
border of her robe. The great actress conceiving it to be a piece
of classic embroidery, went near to examine, and seeing the words,
smiled. The artist bowed and said, " I could not lose this op
portunity of sending my name to posterity on the hem of your
garment." He painted his name, in the same manner, on the
embroidered edge of the drapery of Lady Cockburn's portrait
When this picture was taken into the exhibition room, such was
the sweetness of the conception, and the splendor of the color
ing, that the painters who were busied with their own per
formances, acknowledged its beauty by clapping their hands.
Suoh eager admiration is of rare occurrence among brothers of the
trade. The tardy praise which he wrung from artists was amply com
pensated by that of others. The surly applause of Johnson, and
the implied admiration of Goldsmith, were nothing compared to
the open and avowed approbation of Burke. That extraordinary
man possessed a natural sagacity, which opened the door of every
mystery in art or literature ; his praise is always warm, but well
placed ; he feels wisely and thinks in the true spirit. His debt of
gratitude to Sir Joshua was never liquidated by affected rapture.
The artist had reason to be proud of the affection of Burke. He
sometimes asked his opinion on the merit of a work — it was given
readily — Sir Joshua would then shake his head and say, " Well
it pleases you ; but it does not please me ; there is a sweetness
wanting in the expression which a little pains will bestow  there !
I have improved it." This, when translated into the common
language of life, means, " I must not let this man think that he is

56 LIFE.
as wise as myself; but show him that I can reach one step at
least higher than his admiration."
That Reynolds was a close observer of nature, his works suffi
ciently show ; he drew his excellence from innumerable sources ;
paid attention to all opinions ; from the rudest minds he some
times obtained valuable hints, and babes and sucklings- were
among his tutors. It was one of his maxims that the gestures
of children, being all dictated by nature, are graceful ; and that
affectation and distortion come in with the dancing master. He
watched the motions of the children who came to his gallery, and
was pleased when he saw them forget themselves and mimic un
consciously the airs and attitudes of the portraits on the wall.
They were to him more than Raphael had ever been. " I can not
but think," he thus expresses himself in one of his memorandums,
i' that Apelles' method of exposing his pictures for public criticism
was a very good one. I do not know why the judgment of the
vulgar, on the mechanical parts of painting, should not be as good
as any whatever ; for instance, as to whether such or such a part
be natural or not. If one of these persons should ask why half
the face is black, or why there is such a spot of black or snuff, as
they will call it, under the nose, I should conclude from thence
that the shadows are thick or dirtily painted, or that the shadow
under the nose was too mueh resembling snuff, when, if those
shadows had exactly resembled the transparency and color of
nature, they would have no more been taken notice of than the
shadow in nature itself." Such were the sound and sagacious
opinions of this eminent man when he sat down to think for him
self and speak from practice.
He had a decided aversion to loquacious artists ; and spoke
little himself while he was busied at his easel. When artists love
to be admired for what they say, they will have less desire to be
admired for what they paint. He had, in truth, formed a very
humble notion of the abstract meditation which art requires, and
imagined it to be more of a practical dexterity of hand than the
offspring of intellect and skill. He assured Lord Monboddo that
painting scarcely deserved the name of study ; it was more that
sort of work (he said) which employed the mind without fatiguing

LIFE. 57
it, and was thereby more conduoive to individual happiness than
the practice of any other profession. This Northcote pronounces
to be the speech of a mere portrait manufacturer ; but genius,
when congenially employed, is seldom conscious of exertion.
Dr. Johnson, when questioned by Boswell on the merit of por
traits said, " Sir, their chief excellence is being like ; I would
have them in the dress of their times, to preserve the accuracy of
history — truth, sir, is of the greatest value in these things." To
give the exact form and pressure of the man, and animate him
with his natural portion of intellect and no more, requires a skil
ful hand, and a head which the love of flattering is unable to
seduce from the practice of truth. To paint a likeness is, how
ever, a very common effort of a very common mind ; but to bestow
proper expression, just character, and unstudied ease, is infinitely
difficult. Reynolds said he could teach any boy whom chance
might throw in his way to paint a likeness. " To paint like Ve
lasquez is another thing. He did at once, and with ease, what we
can not accomplish with time and labor. Portraits, as well as
written characters of men, should be decidedly marked, otherwise
they will be insipid, and truth should be preferred before freedom
of hand." In 1777 he had delivered seven discourses on art, which he
collected into a volume, and, that they might want no attraction
to recommend them to popularity, he inscribed them to the King
in a dedication written with oare and caution, and neither deficient
in self-approbation, nor unadorned by classical allusion.
He was an ardent lover of his profession, and ever as ready to
defend it when assailed as to add to its honors by the works of his
hands. When Dr. Tucker, the famous Dean of Gloucester, assert
ed before the Society for encouraging Commerce and Manufactures
that a pin-maker was a more useful and valuable member of society
than Raphael, Sir Joshua was nettled, and replied with some as
perity ; " This is an observation of a very narrow mind ; a mind
that is confined to the mere object of commerce — that sees with
a microscopic eye but a part of the great machine of the economy
of life, and thinks that small part which he sees to be the whole.
Commerce is the means, not the end, of happiness or pleasure ;

58 LIFE.
the end is a rational enjoyment by means of arts and sciences.
It is therefore the highest degree of folly to set the means in a
higher rank of esteem than the end. It is as much as to say that
the brickmaker is superior to the architect."
Sir Joshua now painted another portrait of Johnson at the
request of Mr. Thrale. This seems to have been accomplished
without any of those bickerings which distinguished the former
sittings. Reynolds observed once to an acquaintance, that knowl
edge was not the only advantage to be obtained in the company
of such a man — that the importance of truth and the baseness of
falsehood were inculcated more by example than by precept, and
that all who were of the Johnsonian school were remarkable for
a love of truth and accuracy. One day Boswell was speaking in
high commendation of the Doctor's skill and felicity in drawing
characters ; Sir Joshua said — " He is undoubtedly admirable in
this ; but in order to mark the characters which he draws, he
overcharges them, and gives people more than they have, whether
of good or bad." It would be difficult to express more neatly and
simply the character of our artist's own portraiture. He be
stowed beauty and mind with no sparing hand. Every captain
has the capacity of a general, and every lord a soul fit for wielding
the energies of an empire.
Reynolds was now fifty-four years old — he had acquired fame
and amassed a fortune — yet such was his unabated activity, that
he continued to paint with the avidity of one laboring for bread ;
nor is there any proof that he even wished to confine himself to
personages of note and talent. He raised his price to fifty
guineas, without lessening the number of his commissions ; he
was in the wane of life ; the wise were anxious to secure as many
proofs of his genius as they could before he went — and the rich
were glad of the increased price, for it excluded the poor from
indulging in the luxury of vanity.
This fortunate man began now to have warnings of the kind
which wait plentifully on advancing years. Goldsmith had gone ;
Garrick followed — and bodily decay was visibly creeping over
Johnson. Reynolds himself— a frugal liver and a cautious man-
was still hale and robust ; he had painted one generation, was

LIFE. 59
painting a second, and, in the opinion of the third, he promised
to last to give them the benefit of his skill. He had no thought,
indeed, of retiring to spend in leisure the money he had gathered ;
painting was to him enjoyment; and he knew that if he withdrew
from the scene, much of his social distinction would fall from
about him. The powerful and the rich are soon willing to forget
men of genius when they cease to minister to their vanity or their
pleasures, and are no longer the talk of the town. Reynolds was
aware of this — no one had yet appeared capable of disputing with
him the title of first portrait painter of the age ; with this spell
he had opened the doors as well as the purses of the proud and
the far-descended, and taken his seat among the eminent of the
land ; and here he was resolved to remain.
In the year 1780 the Royal Academy was removed to Somerset
House — rooms were prepared for the" reception of the paintings —
and models and apartments selected for the keeper and the secre
tary. Sir Joshua taxed his invention in the embellishment of the
ceiling of the library, and could think of nothing better than
Theory sitting on a cloud — a figure dark and mystical, which fails
to explain its own meaning — nor is the meaning much to the pur
pose when it is explained. To the^exhibition of this year he sent
the portrait of Miss Beauclerc as Spenser's Una — and the heads
of Gibbon the historian and Lady Beaumont. He also painted
for the Royal Academy the portrait of Sir William Chambers, and
that likeness of himself which contains the bust of Michael An
gelo. It was one of the pleasant delusions of his life that the
divinity of Michael Angelo inspired him in his productions — he
was ever calling on his name — invoking him by his works — and
making five guineas an hour in the belief that the severe majesty
of Buonarotti was at least dimly seen among the curls and
flounces, laced waistcoats, and well-powdered wigs of his English
nobility. He was questioned by Northcote on the merits of two French
portraits, by Madame le Brun, which were then exhibited in Lon
don. " Pray what do you think of them, Sir Joshua ?" Rey
nolds — "That they are very fine." Northcote — "How fine?"
Reynolds— " As fine as those of any painter." Northcote — "As

60 LIFE.
fine as those of any painter !— do you mean living or dead V
Reynolds, sharply — " Either living or dead '" Northcote—" Good
God ! what, as fine as Vandyke ?" Reynolds—" Yes, and finer."
Reynolds had seen — as men see now — the wreck of high hopes
and lofty expectations ; he rated vulgar popularity at its worth,
and disdained to interfere with the brief summer of Madame Le
Brun. A series of allegorical figures for the window of New College
Chapel at Oxford employed his pencil during the year 1780, and
for several succeeding years. There are seven personifications in
all — Faith, Hope, Charity, Temperance, Fortitude, Justice, and
Prudence. That Reynolds has conferred a healthier hue and more
splendid colors on those seven abstract personages than some of
them enjoyed before, I readily allow ; but they are a cold and
unnatural progeny, and are regarded only as embellishments.
Without nature there can be no sentiment — without flesh and blood
there can be no sympathy. In the group of Charity a critic dis
covers that the "Fondling of the infant, the importunity of the
boy, and the placid affection of the girl, together with the divided
attention of the mother, are all distinguishably and judiciously
marked with the knowledge of character for which the great artist
who gave this design is so justly celebrated." This passage has
surely been written to show how prettily words may be grouped
together without meaning. Where is the charity in a mother
taking charge of her own children ?
The Nativity, a composition of thirteen figures, and in dimen
sions twelve feet by eighteen, was designed to surmount the Seven
Allegories. This was sold to the Duke of Rutland for 1200
guineas, and was burnt at Belvoir Castle, with many other noble
performances. It had the fault of almost all Sir Joshua's histori
cal works ; it was cold, labored, and uninspired. He had no rev
elations of heavenly things, such as descended on Raphael; the
visions which presented themselves were unembodied or dim, and
flitted before his sight like the shadowy progeny of Banquo. If
angels of light, ministers of grace, and souls of just men made
perfect could have sat for their portraits, who could have painted
them so divinely as Reynolds ?

LIFE. 61
Having painted a Thais with a torch in her hand, a death of
Dido, and a Boy hearkening to a marvellous story, and placed
them in the exhibition, he set off on a tour among the galleries
of the continent. The fame of these three new pictures followed .
him. The Dido, by the loveliness of her face and the rich color
ing of her robes, drew immense crowds to Somerset House.
Meanwhile he pursued his journey. He stopped at Mechlin to see
the celebrated altar-piece by Reubens, of which he was told the
following story : — A citizen commissioned the picture, and Reu
bens, having made his sketch, employed Van Egmont, one of his
scholars, to dead-color the canvass for the full-size painting. On
this the citizen said to Reubens, " Sir, I bespoke a picture from
the hand of the master, not from that of the scholar." " Content
you, my friend," said the artist, " this is but a preliminary pro
cess, which I always intrust to other hands." " The citizen," said
Sir Joshua, " was satisfied, and Reubens proceeded with the pic
ture, which appears to me to have no indications of neglect in
any part ; on the contrary, I think it has been, for it is a little
faded, one of his best pictures, though those who know this cir
cumstance pretend to see Van Egmont's inferior genius through
the touches of Reubens."
At Antwerp he noticed a young artist named De Gree, who
had been designed for the church, but loved painting more, and
pursued it with success. He came afterward to England. Rey
nolds generously gave him fifty guineas, which the young man, as
pious as he was enthusiastic, transmitted home for the use of his
aged parents.
When Reynolds returned to London he found that a new can
didate for fame had made his appearance, and promised to become
fashionable. This was Opie, who, introduced by Wolcot, and re
markable alike by the humility of his birth and the brightness
of his talents, rose suddenly into reputation and employment. It
is true that he had then but moderate skill, and that the works
which the world of fashion applauded were his worst ; but he was
a peasant, and therefore a novelty ; he could paint, and that was
a wonder. So eager were the nobility and gentry to crowd into
his gallery that their coaches became a nuisance ; and the painter
6

62 LIFE.
jestingly said to one of his brethren, " I must plant cannon at my
door to keep the multitude off." This fever soon reached its cold
fit. But a little while — and not a coronetted equipage was to be
seen in his street ; and Opie said to the same friend, with sarcas
tic bitterness, " They have deserted my house as if it were infect
ed with the plague." Sir Joshua, who knew the giddy nature of
popular regard and the hollowness of patronage, regarded all this
bustle with calmness ; nor was he at all annoyed when the young
peasant was employed by the chief nobility of England. He
appreciated Opie's real talents, and, always willing to find a
foreign forerunner for native genius, compared him to Carra-
vaggio. At the age of fifty-eight, and in the full enjoyment of health
and vigor, Sir Joshua was attacked by a paralytic affection. His
friends were more alarmed than himself; and Johnson, to whom at
all times the idea of death was terrific, addressed him in a letter
of solemn anxiety. "I heard yesterday," he says, "of your late
disorder, and should think ill of myself if I heard it without
alarm. I heard Ukewise of your recovery, which I wish to be
complete and permanent. Your country has been in danger of
losing one of its brightest ornaments, and I of losing one of my
oldest and kindest friends ; but I hope you will still live long for
the honor of the nation ; and that more enjoyment of your ele
gance, your intelligence, and your benevolence is still reserved
for, dear sir, your most affectionate — Sam. Johnson." Reynolds
soon recovered from this attack.
A sense of the excellence of his works, or acquaintance with
his bounty, obtained for him the praise of Wolcot, more widely
known by the name of Peter Pindar. In the dearth of good poets
and manly satirists this person rose into reputation. His works
had a wide circulation ; and he was dreaded by all who had a
reputation which would pay for an attack. His commendation,
however, was about as undesirable as his satire. In his eulogiums
on Reynolds, he calls on Reubens and Titian to awake, and see
the new master sailing in supreme dominion, like the eagle of Jove,
above the heads of all other mortals. Those two great, artists are
in no haste to arise to behold the elevation of a maker of por-

LIFE. 63
traits, and are insulted by the poet, and reproached with jealousy.
Simple Portrait stands ready to be limned, and History sighs,
anxious for his pencil. Such are the thoughts and many of the
words in which "Wolcot expressed his admiration of Reynolds.
Nor was he much more successful when he condescended to treat
of him in prose. "I lately breakfasted," he says, "with Sir
Joshua, at his house in Leicester Fields. After some desultory
remarks on the old masters, but not one word of the living artists
— as on that subject no one can ever obtain his real opinion — the
conversation turned on Dr. Johnson. On my asking him how the
club to which he belonged could so patiently suffer the tyranny of
this overbearing man, he replied with a smile, that the members
often hazarded sentiments merely to try his powers in contradic
tion. I think I in some measure wounded the feelings of Rey
nolds by observing that I had often thought that the Ramblers
were Idlers, and the Idlers Ramblers, except those papers which
he (Reynolds) had contributed ; and, farther, that Johnson too
frequently acted the reverse of gipsies ; the gipsies, said I, when
they steal the children of gentlefolks, conceal the theft by beg
garly disguises ; whereas Johnson often steals common thoughts,
disguising the theft by a pomp of language."
Sir Joshua, supreme head, as he was, of the academy, and
unrivalled in fame and influence, was doomed to experience many
crosses and vexations, but his sagacious spirit and tranquil temper
brought him off triumphant. Barry, a man of great natural talents,
and one who flew a flight even beyond Reynolds in his admiration
of Michael Angelo, differed with him in every thing else. Becom
ing Professor of Painting on the resignation of Mr. Penny, he
had it in his power to annoy the Chair, and was not slow in per
ceiving his advantage. Reynolds, in the performance of his duty
as President, could not fail to remark how very backward the
Professor of Painting was in the performance of his undertaking
— he had not delivered the stipulated lectures — and he inquired
if they were composed. Barry, a little man, and full of pride,
rose on tiptoe — it is even said he clenched his fist to give stronger
emphasis to his words — and exclaimed, " If I had only in compo
sing my lectures to produce such poor mistaken stuff as your

64 LIFE.
discourses, I should have my work done, and be ready to read."
To reply, suited neither the dignity nor the caution of Reynolds.
The world praised him for his mildness and moderation, and cen
sured his fiery opponent, on whom they laid the whole blame of
this indecent and unusual scene.
The reformation which the Emperor of Germany wrought
among the monastic establishments, brought before the public
many of the productions of Reubens; and Reynolds, who seldom
missed an opportunity of examining all paintings of eminence,
went over to the Netherlands to see them. He remarked, on
his return from his first tour that his own works were deficient
in force in comparison to those he had seen ; and on his second
tour, "He observed to me," said Sir George Beaumont, "that
the pictures of Reubens appeared much less brilliant than they
had done on the former inspection. He could not for some time
account for this circumstance ; but when he recollected that when
he first saw them he had his note-book in his hand for the pur
pose of writing down short remarks, he perceived what had occa
sioned their now making a less impression than they had done
formerly. By the eye passing immediately from the white paper
to the picture, the colors derived uncommon richness and
warmth ; for want of this foil, they afterward appeared compara
tively cold."
Mason, after having translated Du Fresnoy's Art of Painting,
laid it aside, and had nearly forgotten it when it was brought into
light and life by the inquiries and commendations and illustrative
notes of Sir Joshua. He seems to have been desirous at all times
of obtaining literary distinction for himself ; or at least of obtain
ing the regard of literary men. It is true that some of his admi
rers claim the highest honors of literature for his Discourses,
which Malone, inspired by his friendship and his legacy, calls
" The Golden Discourses." Others, like Wolcot, see an excellence
in his casual essays which those of Johnson never attained ; nor
is Northcote willing to be behind, for, instead of Burke lending
his aid to Reynolds in the composition of those far-famed Dis
courses, he reverses the obligation, and insinuates that Burke had
the help of Sir Joshua in writing his admirable admonition to

LIFE. 65
Barry. To claims such as these it would be unwise to listen.
Johnson and Burke were of a higher order of intellect than Rey
nolds, and displayed a mastery in every subject with which they
grappled. Such men were much more likely to impart than re
ceive aid from him in literary compositions ; and there is nothing
in the letter of Burke which required minute information, or a
mechanical acquaintance with the details of art. It discusses
principles, not practice, and may justly claim the honor of being
the most clear, sagacious, profound, and natural view of the true
objects of painting which has ever been composed.
The notes which Reynolds added to Du Fresnoy may be dis
missed in a few words. They are distinguished by their sagacity
and knowledge — by their shrewd estimates of other men's merits,
and by their modesty concerning his own. I have said that the
President was frugal in his communications respecting the sources
from whence he drew his own practice — he forgets his caution in
one of these notes. He is speaking of the masters of the Vene
tian school, and says: — " "When 1 was at Venice the method I
took to avail myself of their principles was this : When I observed
an extraordinary effect of light and shade in any picture, I took a
leaf out of my pocket-book, and darkened every part of it in the
same gradation of light and shade as the picture, leaving the
white paper untouched to represent the light, and this without
any attention t8 the subject or the drawing of the figures. A few
trials of this kind will be sufficient to give the method of their
conduct in the management of their lights. After a few experi
ments, I found the paper blotted nearly alike; their general prac
tice appeared to be, to allow not above a quarter of the picture
for the light, including in this portion both the principal and
secondary lights ; another quarter to be kept as dark as possible ;
and the remaining half kept in mezzotint, or half-shadow. Reu
bens appears to have admitted rather more light than a quarter,
and Rembrandt much less, scarce an eighth ; by this conduct Rem
brandt's light is extremely brilliant — but it costs too much — the
rest of the picture is sacrificed to this one object. That light will
oertainly appear the brightest which is surrounded with the great
est quantity of shade, supposing equal skill in the artist."
6*

66 LIFE.
Reynolds was commonly humane and tolerant ; he could indeed
afford, both in fame and in purse, to commend and aid the timid
and the needy. When Gainsborough asked sixty guineas for his
Girl and Pigs, Sir Joshua gave him a hundred ; and when another
English artist of celebrity, on his arrival from Rome, asked him
where he should set up a studio, he informed him that the next
house to his own was vacant, and at his service. He could, how
ever, be sharp and bitter on occasion. It is one of the penalties
paid for eminence to be obliged, as a matter of courtesy, to give
opinions upon the attempts of the dull. Sir Joshua had such
visitations in abundance. One morning he became wearied in
contemplating a succession of specimens submitted to his inspec
tion, and, fixing his eye on a female portrait by a young and trem
bling practitioner, he roughly exclaimed : "What's this in your
hand ? A portrait ! you should not show such things. What's
that upon her head — a dish-clout?" The student retired in sor
row, and did not touch his pencils for a month.
Allan Ramsay, the King's painter, died in 1784, and was suc
ceeded in his office by Reynolds — the emolument was little, nor
was the honor important. Wilkes, in his sarcastic attack upon
Hogarth, confounds the station with that of the house painter ;
in short, the place, having been filled by several inferior artists,
had sunk into discredit, like that of city poet. The exertions of
Burke in reforming the expenses of the royal household had re
duced the salary of the king's painter from two hundred pounds
to fifty ; and as Reynolds had no use for the money, and as the
station could confer no new dignity upon him, he could have had
no inducement to take it, save the desire of complying with the
wishes of his benevolent sovereign.
He distinguished himself above all his brother artists this year
by his Fortune Teller, his portrait of Miss Kemble, and his Mrs.
Siddons as the Tragic Muse — all very noble compositions. The
latter conveys a strong image of the great actress, as in the ful
ness of her beauty and her genius, she awed and astonished her
audience, making Old Drury to show " a slope of wet faces from
the pit to the roof." It is, indeed, only a portrait— though Barry,
in one of his kindly moods, claims for it a distinction higher than

LIFE. 67
that arising from resemblance ; but a portrait of Mrs. Siddons
was enough. When fully possessed with the muse, I never beheld
a human being, either in the imaginings of art or in living life,
that seemed so near akin to divinity. The artist valued this mag
nificent painting at a thousand guineas — it is in the gallery of
William Smith, Esq., of Norwich.
Amid the applause which these works obtained for him, the
President'met with a loss which the world could not repair —
Samuel Johnson died on the 13th of December, 1784, full of years
and honors. A long, a warm, and a beneficial friendship had sub
sisted between them. The house and the purse of Reynolds were
ever open to Johnson, and the word and the pen of Johnson were
equally ready for Reynolds. It was pleasing to contemplate this
affectionate brotherhood, and it was sorrowful to see it dissevered.
"I have three requests to make," said Johnson, a day before his
death, " and I beg that you will attend to them, Sir Joshua.
Forgive me thirty pounds which I borrowed from you — read the
Scriptures — and abstain from using your pencil on the Sabbath-
day." Reynolds promised, and, what is better, remembered his
promise. We owe the discovery of an original picture of Milton to the
sagacity of Reynolds. It had belonged to Deborah, the poet's
daughter ; had passed into the family of Sir William Davenant ;
and was found in the possession of a furniture-broker by a dealer
in pictures, who sold it to Sir Joshua for a hundred guineas. It
was painted by Samuel Cooper, the friend and companion of Mil
ton, in 1653. Doubts were raised, and suspicions expressed con
cerning the descent of this portrait, and it must be confessed that
all such discoveries deserve to be inquired into by men acquainted
with the frauds practised in art. The professional experience of
Sir Joshua was the best security against imposition. He was sat
isfied of its authenticity, and defended it successfully in the Gen
tlemen's Magazine.
The works of Reynolds had long supplied daily food for those
critics who swarm in the land — and scatter censure or praise at
least as blindly as Fortune. He was now to be exposed to another
of the same class, equally insidious and subtle, and coming in a

68 LIFE.
-graver shape — a biographer. With so little skill, however, did this
literary undertaker make his approaches, that he at first impress
ed the artist with a notion that his purpose was not to write his
life, but to take it. Now Sir Joshua had long indulged in the
pleasing delusion that Malone, or Boswell, or Beattie, or Burke,
on all of whom he had showered favors, would perform in due time
this friendly office. To them he had opened up all his knowledge,
and for .their use he had made memorandums concerning his
practice, all calculated to direct the pen and shorten the labor of
the biographer. But his chief dependence for his biography was
on Burke, whose talents he rated even above those of Johnson,
and whose service he sought to secure by a donation of four thou
sand pounds. The best laid schemes of mice and men, says the
poetical moralist, are often frustrated ; and so it happened here.
Sir Joshua refused the humble in hopes of the high. When his
pencil could no longer please, nor his pen sign away the thousands
in his purse, he was neglected or forgotten by persons who had
followed and flattered him.
Two pictures, differing much in character, yet of great merit,
came from his pencil during the year 1785. One was Love un
loosing the zone of Beauty — a work which I can not hope to describe
in the language of disoretion, and the other was the portrait of
the Duke of Orleans, infamous under the name of Egalite, of
whom I can not write with temperance.
During the following year, he gave up his thoughts and time to
a picture, commissioned by Catharine of Russia, and after long
choosing, selected a subject at once common-place and obscure —
The Infant Hercules strangling the Serpents. He had imagined
another and a nobler composition, Elizabeth visiting the English
Camp at Tilbury, when the Armada was on the sea ; but he re
linquished the idea, from a wish to paint something illustrative
of the character and undertakings of the empress herself. Now
Catharine was a woman who loved nature, and had no taste for
allegorical subtleties ; and it is probable her Russian connoisseurs
never imagined that her actions were shadowed forth in a chubby
boy choking two snakes. She rewarded the President, however,
with fifteen hundred guineas and a gold box, bearing her portrait

LIFE. 69
set in large diamonds. Beattie calls it an unpromising subject;
Barry commends the light and shade, and Reynolds himself, on
bidding it farewell, said, " there are ten pictures under it, some
better, some worse." So many trials had he made, such had been
his anxiety to produce a masterpiece. The same year he painted
a more simple and more popular picture — a sleeping girl. So
splendid were the colors in which this sleeping beauty was cm-
bodied, that they threw into shade all other works which were
near it in the exhibition.
When Boydell, a name which all lovers of art have learned to
reverence, projected an edition of Shakspeare, embellished with
engravings from the ablest painters, he found Reynolds unex
pectedly cold and backward. A sensible friend undertook the
task of persuasion, and in the midst of his arguments slipped a five
hundred pound note into the artist's hand. This mode of reason
ing was persuasive ; three pictures were promised, imagined,
sketched, and painted. The first was Puck, or Robin Goodfellow,
a singular and a happy production, the very image of that tricksy
sprite, with a hand ready for pleasant mischief, and an eye shi
ning with uncommitted roguery. This poetic picture is in a poet's
keeping — that of Mr. Rogers. The second was Macbeth, with
the witches and the caldron. The figure of the usurper is defi
cient in heroic dignity ; but there is a supernatural splendor
thrown over the hags which can not be contemplated without awe.
The vivid excellence of Shakspeare, however, prevails against the
painter ; the conception is below the execution. The third and
last was the death of Cardinal Beaufort, a work which has re
ceived the highest praise and the deepest censure. I can not help
regarding the conception as a failure. To augment the horrors
of a guilty conscience, the artist has introduced a fiend, who
posts himself at the dying man's head, and excites our disgust,
and carries away our feelings from the departing sinner. Those
who seek a justification of this in the poet will seek in vain ; the
lines quoted in its defence contain only a figure of speech ; one of
those bold figures in which the great dramatist loved to deal.
" 0 thou eternal mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!

70 LIFE.
Oh, beat away the busy meddling fiend
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair."
Those who are unconvinced by these words may look for the fiend
of the artist in the dramatis personse of the poet. Opie praises
this hideous and shapeless supernumerary as " one of the most
signal examples of invention in the artist." The artist received
a thousand guineas for Macbeth, and five hundred for Cardinal
Beaufort. He took commissions of this kind with reluctance ; his
imagination was not a teeming one ; he had numerous trials to
make ; success was never certain ; and when he had finished his
work, he found that the dead were but indifferent patrons ; he
complained, in short, says Northcote, that those subjects "cost
him too dear."
Of his portrait of Elliot, Lord Heathfield, Barry says, "His
object appears to have been to obtain the vigor and solidity of
Titian, and the bustle and spirit of Vandyke, without the excesses
of either." It is a noble and heroic head. There is a calm, mar
tial determination, which corresponds with the rough aspect.
He grasps the key of Gibraltar in his hand, and seems to say,
amid the volleying smoke and fire, " This rock shall melt and run
into the Mediterranean before I yield thee."
Reynolds once observed that it was impossible for two painters
in the same line of art to live in friendship. This was probably
uttered in a moment of peevishness, when he had been thwarted by
some brother of the calling, and was not intended for a deliberate
opinion. It is, nevertheless, nearer the truth than the disciples
of art are willing to admit. What is the secret history of the
Royal Academy but a record of battles and bickerings, of petty
disputes and trifling animosities ? Hogarth lived before it was
founded an object of mingled envy and terror. Gainsborough dis
liked Reynolds, Reynolds had no good will to Gainsborough ; Wil
son also shared in this unamiable feeling, and Barry was unwill
ing to forgive any one who painted better than himself. These are
masters and princes of the calling ; their open feuds and private
warrings would fill a volume ; the animosities of the lesser spirits
are unworthy of notice.

LIFE. 71
Sir Joshua sat to Gainsborough for his portrait ; before it was
finished, he was taken ill and went to Bath ; of his recovery and
return he gave intimation ; but no notice was taken of it, and the
picture was never finished. Some unnatural fit of good will had
brought them together — on reflection they separated, and con
tinued to speak of one another after their own natures ; Gains
borough with open scorn, Reynolds with courteous, cautious insinu
ation. It is true, however, that they at length forgave each other
— that Gainsborough on his death-bed made atonement for his op
position and relinquished all dislike — and that of Gainsborough,
after he was fairly in his grave, Reynolds spoke with truth and
justice. The President was persuaded about this time by Boswell to
attend the execution of a robber at Newgate. The unfortunate
sufferer had been a servant in the family of Thrale, had often
stood behind Sir Joshua's back, and on seeing him in the crowd,
bowed to him with mournful civility. A hero dying in battle, or
a saint in his bed, may be worthy of contemplation ; but what a
Reynolds could have looked for, except disgust and sickness of
heart, in witnessing the mortal agony of a vulgar malefactor, I
am at a loss to conceive. He was sharply admonished at the time
in some of the journals.
Sir Joshua had now reached his sixty-sixth year ; the boldness
and happy freedom of his productions was undiminished ; and the
celerity of his execution and the glowing richness of his coloring,
were rather on the increase than the wane. His life had been
uniformly virtuous and temperate ; and his looks, notwithstanding
the paralytic stroke he had lately received, promised health and
long life. He was happy in his fame and fortune, and in the
society of numerous and eminent friends ; and he saw himself in
his old age without a rival. His great prudence and fortunate
control of temper had prevented him from giving serious offence
to any individual ; and the money he had amassed, and the style
in which he lived, unencumbered with a family, created [a respect
for him among those who were incapable of understanding his
merits. But the hour of sorrow was at hand. One day, in the
month of July, 1789, while finishing the portrait of the Mar-

72 LIFE.
chioness of Hertford, he felt a sudden decay of sight in his left
eye. He laid down the pencil ; sat a little while in mute consid
eration, and never lifted it more.
His sight gradually darkened, and within ten weeks of the
first attack, his left eye was wholly blind. He appeared cheerful,
and endeavored to persuade himself that he was resigned and
happy. But he had been accustomed to the society of the titled
and the beautiful — and from this he was now cut off ; he knew the
world well, and perceived that, as the pencil, which brought the
children of vanity about him as with a charm, could no longer be
used, the giddy tide of approbation would soon roll another way.
His mental sufferings were visible to some of his friends, though
he sought to conceal them with all his might. One read to him
to charm away the time — another conversed with him — and the
social circle, among whom he had so long presided, still assem
bled round the well-spread table. Ozias Humphreys came every
morning and read a newspaper to him ; his niece, afterward Mar
chioness of Thomond, arrived from the country and endeavored
to soothe and amuse him ; and he tried to divert himself by
changing the position of his pictures, and by exhibiting them all
in succession in his drawing-room, so that he at onoe pleased his
friends and gratified himself.
But a man can not always live in society, nor can society always
Bpare time to amuse him ; there are many hours of existence
which he must gladden, as he can, for himself. Cowper took to
the taming of hares ; and Sir Joshua made a companion of a little
bird, which was so tame and docile as to perch on his hand ; and
with this innocent favorite he was often found by his friends pa
cing around his room, and speaking to it as if it were a thing of
sense and information. A summer morning and an open window
were temptations which it could not resist ; it flew away ; and
Reynolds roamed for hours about the square where he resided, in
hopes of reclaiming it.
His rest was invaded by other disturbers than blindness : the
evil spirit of politics appeared in the Literary Club, and made
discord among the brethren ; and, what was worse, a fierce fepd
broke out between Sir Joshua and the Royal Academy. Reynolds

LIFE. 73
wished, through the persuasion of the Earl of Aylesford to obtain
the chair of perspective for Bonomi, an Italian architect ; but as
he did not belong to the Academy, it was necessary that he should
be elected an associate, and then a member, before he could be
proposed as a professor. At the election for associate the numbers
were equal for Bonomi and Gilpin ; the President gave his casting
vote for the former, and thus put him one step in the way towards
the professor's chair. A member soon after died, and the archi
tect was put in nomination along with Fuseli. Reynolds exerted
all his influence to secure the election of the first as royal acade
mician ; he met with unexpected opposition. His zeal in behalf
of Bonomi had been too apparent ; he had pushed him by his
influence faster forward than some thought his talents entitled
him to, and had transgressed a formal rule by producing some
drawings made by the Italian. Fuseli was elected by a majority
of two to one, and Sir Joshua quitted the chair deeply offended.
Nor was this all ; he wrote a warm, indignant letter, resigning his
station as President, and bidding a final farewell to the Academy ;
he thought a little — and burned it — and then wrote a cold and
courteous one to the same effect. The Academy were overwhelmed
with consternation, and endeavored to soothe his pride by submis
sions little short of prostration. Sir William Chambers was the
bearer, too, of a royal wish, saying how happy his majesty would
be if Sir Joshua would continue President Thus assailed, he
relented, and resumed the seat which his good sense should have
prevented him from vacating.
He resumed it, however, only to resign it, which he performed
in kindness, not in anger, after an occupation of twenty-one years.
During all that period he had continued absolute in the realms of
art, and maintained the dignity of his, profession both in the
Academy and in society. He had encountered indeed the rough
hostility of Barry, and the opposition of Gainsborough; but these
were transient and ineffectual, and save these and some uncivil
bickerings respecting twopenny-halfpenny plans of economy, his
reign had been one of prosperity and peace. The other thirty-
nine members, indeed, seem to have regarded him with a degree
of submission amounting to servile fear ; and, generally speaking,
7

74 LIFE.
in the little senate of the Academy he had all his time sat sole
dictator. The last time that Reynolds made his appearance in the Acad
emy was in the year 1790 ; he addressed a speech to the students
on the delivery of the medals, and concluded by expatiating upon
the genius of his favorite master, in such words as a credulous
Catholic may use in praise of a benevolent saint. " I feel," said
he, " a self-congratulation in knowing myself capable of such sen
sations as he intended to excite. I reflect, not without vanity,
that these discourses bear testimony of my admiration of that
truly divine man ; and I should desire that the last words which
I should pronounce in this Academy, and from this, place, might
be the name of Michael Angelo."
His last visit to the Academy seemed once on the point of end
ing tragically. There were present, besides members and students,
a number of persons of rank and importance. The multitude was
large, the weight great, and just as the President was commencing
his discourse, a beam in the floor gave way with a loud crash.
The audience rushed to the door, or to the sides of the room ;
lord tumbled over student, student over lord, and academicians
over both. Sir Joshua sat silent and unmoved in his chair ; and
as the floor only sunk a little, it was soon supported — the compa
ny resumed their seats — and he recommenced his discourse, all
with perfect composure. He afterward remarked, that if the
floor had fallen, the whole company must have been killed, and the
arts in Britain thrown two hundred years back in consequence.
He considered art as an inheritance descending from father to son ;
he believed that each succeeding generation would grow wiser
and better, and that future academicians had only to add the
knowledge of the dead to the genius of the living, and rise higher
and higher ; painting history till it became divine, and portraits
worthy of the gods. That this wild notion was fixed within him
there can be no dispute. " So much will painting improve," said
he, "that the best we can now achieve will appear like the work
of children." That examples of excellence in art might not be wanting, Sir
Joshua offered to the Royal Academy his valuable collection of

LIFE. 75
pictures by the great masters, at a very low price, on the condi
tion that they should purchase a good gallery for their reception.
It was his fortune to meet with many mortifications towards the
close of his career, and this was one ; the Academy, with a par
simony which is left unexplained, declined the purchase. They
could not want money — for the President knew their circum
stances ; but they wanted a proper enthusiasm for art. Among
forty men some two or three sordid souls are sure to be mixed,
whose chief delight is the accumulation of money ; who damp a
generous enthusiasm by their parsimonious calculations, and de
light in tying up the public gains of an institution at a satisfacto
ry per-centage. Disappointed in this, Sir Joshua made an exhi
bition of them in the Haymarket, for the advantage of his faithful
servant, Ralph Kirkley ; but our painter's well known love of
gain excited public suspicion ; he was considered by many as a
partaker in the profits, and reproached by the application of two
lines from Hudibras —
" A squire he had whose name was Ralph,
Who in the adventure went his half."
But he was soon to be removed from the ingratitude of friends
and the malevolence of enemies. He had been on a visit to Mr.
Burke in Buckinghamshire. On his return, he alighted at the inn
at Hayes, and walked five miles on the road, in company with Mr.
Malone, without stopping, and without complaint. He had then,
though sixty-eight years old, the looks of a man of fifty, and
seemed, said Malone, as likely to live ten or fifteen years as any
of his younger friends. Soon after his return home his spirits
became much depressed ; a tumor, which baffled the skill of the
surgeons, began to gather over his left eye, and, feeling the op
pression of infirmities, he at length resigned for ever the situation
of President of the Royal Academy.
A concealed and fatal malady was invading the functions of
life, and sapping his spirits. This was an enlargement of the
liver, which expanded to twice its natural dimensions, defied hu
man skill, and deprived him of all cheerfulness. His friends
were ever with him, and sought to soothe him with hopes of re-

76 LIFE.
covery and with visions of long life ; but he felt, in the simple
language of the old bard,
" That death was with him dealing,"
refused to be comforted, and prepared for dissolution. . " I have
been fortunate," he said, "in long good health and constant suc
cess, and I ought not to complain. I know that all things on earth
must have an end, and now I am come to mine." Sir Joshua ex
pired, without any visible symptoms of pain, on the twenty-third
of February, 1792, in the sixty-ninth year of his age.
" His illness," says Burke, " was long, but borne with a mild
and cheerful fortitude, without the least mixture of any thing
irritable or querulous ; agreeably to the placid and even tenor of
his whole life. He had, from the beginning of his malady, a
distinct view of his dissolution ; and he contemplated it with that
entire composure, which nothing but the innocence, integrity, and
usefulness of his life, and an unaffected submission to the will of
Providence, could bestow."
He was interred in one of the crypts of St. Paul's cathedral,
and accompanied to the grave by many of the most illustrious
men of the land — forty-two coaches conveyed the mourners, and
forty-nine empty carriages of the nobility and gentry added their
encumbrance to the procession. He lies by the side of Sir Chris
topher Wren, architect of the edifice ; and a statue to his memory
by Flaxman has since been placed in the body of the cathedral.
In stature Sir Joshua Reynolds was somewhat below the mid
dle size ; his complexion was florid, his features blunt and round,
his aspect lively and intelligent, and his manners calm, simple,
and unassuming. He was an early mover — a man whom applica
tion could not tire, nor constant labor subdue. In his economy
he was close and saving ; while he poured out his wines, and
spread out his tables to the titled or the learned, he stinted his
domestics to the commonest fare, and rewarded their faithfulness
by very moderate wages. One of his servants, who survived till
lately, described him as a master who exacted obedience in trifles,
was prudent in the matter of pins — a saver of bits of thread — a
man hard and parsimonious, who never thought he had enough
of labor out of his dependents, and always suspected that he

LIFE. 77
overpaid them. To this may be added the public opinion, whioh
pictured him close, cold, cautious, and sordid ; and — on the other
side, we have the open testimony of Burke, Malone, Boswell, and
Johnson, who all represent him as generous, open-hearted, and
humane. The servants and the friends both spoke, I doubt not,
according to their own experience of the man. Privations in early
life rendered strict economy necessary ; and in spite of many acts
of kindness, his mind on the whole failed to expand with his for
tune ; he continued the same system of saving when he was mas
ter of sixty thousand pounds, as when he owned but sixpence.
He loved reputation dearly, and it would have been well for his
fame, if, over and above leaving legacies to such friends as Burke
and Malone, he had opened his heart to humbler people. A little
would have gone a long way — a kindly word and a guinea pru
dently given!
Sir Joshua has a threefold claim upon posterity — for his Dis
courses, his historical and poetical paintings, and his portraits.
Of all these I have already spoken at some length. The Dis
courses were delivered when the annual distribution of medals
took place among the most promising students of the Royal Acad
emy. Their object was to impress upon the minds of his audi
ence a sense of the dignity, and a knowledge of the character and
importance of art — to stimulate them to study and labor — to point
out the way to excellence ; unfold the principles of composition,
and disclose the charms of beauty and the whole mystery of color.
He required lively diligence — continued study and unlimited
belief in the excellence of the chief masters of the calling — in
reward for which he promised distinction and fame. But fame
could be acquired only by study, hard, and, above all, well-
directed — rules were the ornaments, not the fetters, of genius, and
hard labor was the way to eminence, and the only way. The
great painters, when they conceived a subject, first made a variety
of sketches, then a finished drawing of the whole — after that a
more correct drawing of every separate part — then they painted
the picture, and after all retouched it from the life. The pictures
thus wrought with such pains, appeared to be the effect of en
chantment, and as if some mighty genius had struck them off at
7*

78 LIFE.
a blow. Those Discourses were always heard with respect ; and
as the subject was new, the compositions full of knowledge, and
the illustrations numerous and happy, they obtained the approba
tion of skilful judges, and rose to such reputation, that they were
attributed at one time to Johnson, and at another to Burke.
They are distinguished by many beauties, and deformed by
one serious fault — they correspond not with the character of
English art, and the determined taste of this country. " Study,"
exclaimed Reynolds to his students (and I could quote fifty pages
to the same purpose,) " study the great works of the great mas
ters for ever. Study as nearly as you can in the order, in the
manner, on the principles on which they studied. Study nature
attentively, but always with those masters in your company;
consider them as models which you are to imitate, and at the
same time as rivals which you are to combat." Such was his
theory ; we all know what was his practice. He could not be
unaware, while he was lecturing the annual academical crop of
beardless youths upon the necessity of studying in the character,
and laboring in the style of the princes of the Italian school, that
he was sending them forth to seek bread and fame in a pursuit
where neither were to be found ; while he was shutting his lips,
and keeping silence concerning the domestic style and the mystery
of portraiture, in which he himself was unequalled.
It was, I apprehend, too, the province of the President to
point out those natural qualities by which genius for art might be
distinguished from forwardness and presumption, and young men
might see whether they were led by the false light of vanity or by
light from heaven. Every dunce can labor ; but stupidity must
toil like Caliban, while genius works its ready wonders like the
wand of Prospero. It was not enough that he called the students
before him, and set them their stated tasks of smoothing clay or
of coloring canvass — he ought to have admonished, nay, command
ed the dull and unintellectual to retire from a pursuit for which
they were unfit. All men indeed are capable of being artists in a
certain degree, as all men may be versifiers ; but a decent draw
ing is no more a proof of genius in art, than a few smooth and
sounding lines are a proof of the spirit of poetry. The youth who

LIFE. 79
is to be encouraged in the pursuit of poetry should show glimpses
of original power of thought and ready happiness of language ;
and a student in art should display some production of original
and unborrowed talent, before admission to the Academy. A good
eye, a steady hand, and a little practice may enable any young
man to make such a copy of an antique figure as will give him
admission, without genius to rise one step higher.
Sir Joshua's historical paintings have little of the heroic dig
nity which an inspired mind breathes into compositions of that
class. His imagination commonly fails him, and he attempts to
hide his want of wings in the unrivalled splendor of his coloring,
and by the thick-strewn graces of his execution. He is often
defective even where he might have expected to show the highest
excellence ; his faces are formal and cold ; and the picture seems
made up of borrowed fragments, which he had been unable to
work up into an entire and consistent whole.
His single poetic figures are remarkable for their unaffected
ease, their elegant simplicity, and the splendor of their coloring.
Some scores of those happy things he dashed off in the course of
his life, and though they were chiefly portraits, they have all the
charm of the most successful aerial creations. The Shepherd
Boy is one of his happiest. Of children he seems to have been
remarkably fond ; nor can one forbear imagining that he has
romped or ridden with them on the parlor broom, sorrowed with
them over the loss of their favorite birds, smiled with them on
their being endowed with new finery, and enjoyed all the mixed
surprise and triumph expressed in the face of Muscipula on
catching a mouse in a trap. It is true that they are all children
of condition, with their nurses wet and dry — that their clothes
are of the finest texture and the latest fashion — and that we are
conscious of looking at future lords and ladies. But nature over-
p owers all minor feelings, and we can not refrain from doing in
voluntary homage to the genius of the painter who has gladdened
us with the sight of so much innocence and beauty.
To some of his poetic figures I dan not afford such praise,
though the grace of their composition and the singular sweetness
of their looks raise them far above censure. By what he consid-

80 LIFE.
ered a classical refinement upon his professional flattery of im
proved looks and glowing colors, he suffered some of the fairest
of his sitters to be goddesses and nymphs, and painted them in
character. This was the common-place pedantry of painting ; it
had been the fashion for centuries. Lely and Kneller caused the
giddy madams of the courts of the Stuarts to stalk like Minervas
or Junos, though they had naturally the dispositions of Venus or
Danae ; and Reynolds, who had equal loveliness and infinitely
more purity to portray, indulged his beauties with the same kind
of deification. In truth, it is only worthy of a smile.
The portraits of Reynolds are equally numerous and excellent,
and all who have written of their merits have swelled their eulo-
giums by comparing them with the simplicity of Titian, the vigor
of Rembrandt, and the elegance and delicacy of Vandyke. Cer
tainly, in character and expression, and in manly ease, he has
never been surpassed. He is always equal — always natural —
graceful — unaffected. His boldness of posture and his singular
freedom of coloring are so supported by all the grace of art — by
all the sorcery of skill — that they appear natural and noble. Over
the meanest head he sheds the halo of dignity ; his men are all
nobleness, his women all loveliness, and his children all simplicity ;
yet they are all like the living originals. He had the singular art
of summoning the mind into the face, and making sentiment min
gle in the portrait. He could completely dismiss all his precon
ceived notions of academic beauty from his mind, be dead to the
past and living only to the present, and enter into the character
of the reigning beauty of the hour with a truth and a happiness
next to magical. It is not to be denied that he was a mighty flat
terer. Had Colonel Charteris sat to Reynolds, he would, I doubt
not, have given an aspect worthy of a President of the Society
for the Suppression of Vice.
That the admirers of portrait painting are many, the annual
exhibitions show us ; and it is pleasant to read the social and do
mestic affections of the country in these innumerable productions.
In the minds of some they rank with historical compositions ; and
there can be no doubt that portraits which give the form and the
soul of poets and statesmen and warriors, and of all whose actions

LIFE. 81
or whose thoughts lend lustre to the land, are to be received as
illustrations of history. But with the mob of portraits fame and
history have nothing to do. The painter who wishes for lasting
fame must not lavish his fine colors and his choice postures on the
rich and the titled alone ; he must seek to associate his labors
with the genius of his country. The face of an undistinguished
person, however exquisitely painted, is disregarded in the eyes of
posterity. The most skilful posture and the richest coloring can
not create the reputation which accompanies genius, and we turn
coldly away from the head which we happen not to know or to
have heard of. The portrait of Johnson has risen to the value
of five hundred guineas ; while the heads of many of Sir Joshua's
grandest lords remain at their original fifty.
The influence of Reynolds on the taste and elegance of the
island was great, and will be lasting. The grace and ease of his
compositions were a lesson for the living to study, while the sim
plicity of his dresses admonished the giddy and the gay against
the hideousness of fashion. He sought to restore nature in the
looks of his sitters, and he waged a thirty years' war against the
fopperies of dress. His works diffused a love of elegance, and
united with poetry in softening the asperities of nature, in ex
tending our views, and in connecting us with the spirits of the
time. His cold stateliness of character, and his honorable pride
of art, gave dignity to his profession ; the rich and the far-de
scended were pleased to be painted by a gentleman as well as a
genius. Of historical and poetic subjects he painted upwards of one
hundred and thirty. They are chiefly in England, and in the
galleries or chambers of the titled and the opulent. The names
of a few of the most famous may interest the reader: Macbeth
and the Witches ; Cardinal Beaufort ; Holy Family ; Hercules
strangling the Serpents; the Nativity; Count XJgolino ; Cymon
and Iphigenia; the Fortune Teller; Garrick between Tragedy
and Comedy; the Snake in the Grass; the Blackguard Mercury;
Muscipula; Puck; Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse; the Shep
herd Boy ; Venus chiding Cupid for casting accounts.
Of men he painted the portraits of some four-and-twenty,

82 LIFE.
whose names still occupy their station in fame or history ; and
of ladies he painted many remarkable for accomplishments,
mental and personal. Among the former, are Percy, Bishop of
Dromore ; Edmund Burke ; Colonel Tarleton ; Dr. Charles Burney ;
Dr. Hawkesworth; Dr. Robertson; Joseph Warton ; Earl of Mans
field ; Edward Gibbon ; Oliver Goldsmith ; Samuel Johnson ; War
ren Hastings; Lord Anson; Lord Heathfield ; Lord Ligonier ; Lord
Rodney ; Lord Thurlow ; Lord Granby ; Thomas Warton ; Adam
Ferguson ; Sir Joseph Banks ; Sir William Chambers ; Laurence
Sterne ; Dr. Beattie ; Viscount Keppel ; Horace Walpole ; and Sir
Joshua Reynolds.
Let me conclude with the words of Burke. They are a little
loftier than necessary, and somewhat warmer; but much less
can not be said when a colder tale comes to be told.
" Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on many accounts, one of the
most memorable men of his time. He was the first Englishman
who added the praise of the elegant arts to the other glories of his
country. In taste — in grace — in facility — in happy invention —
and in the richness and harmony of coloring, he was equal to the
greatest masters of the renowned ages. In portrait he went be
yond them ; for he communicated .to that description of the art in
which English artists are most engaged, a variety, a fancy, and a
dignity derived from the higher branches, which even those who
professed them in a superior manner, did not always preserve
when they delineated individual nature. His portraits remind
the spectator of the invention and the amenity of landscape. In
painting portraits he appeared not to be raised upon that plat
form, but to descend upon it from a higher sphere.
" In full affluence of foreign and domestic fame, admired by
the expert in art and by the learned in science, courted by the
great, caressed by sovereign powers, and celebrated by dis
tinguished poets, his native humility, modesty, and candor never
forsook him, even on surprise or provocation ; nor was the least
degree of arrogance or assumption visible to the most scrutinizing
eye in any part of his conduct or discourse.
" His talents of every kind, powerful by nature and not
meanly cultivated by letters — his social virtues in all the relations

LIFE. 83
and all the habitudes of life, rendered him the centre of a very
great and unparalleled variety of agreeable societies, which will
be dissipated by his death. He had too much merit not to excite
some jealousy — too much innocence to provoke any enmity.
The loss of no man of his time can be felt with more sincere,
general, and unmixed sorrow. Hail ! and Farewell."

DISCOUKSES.

TO

THE KING.
The regular progress of cultivated life is from necessaries to
accommodations, from accommodations to ornaments. By your
illustrious predecessors were established Marts for manufactures,
and Colleges for science : but for the arts of elegance, those arts
by which manufactures are embellished, and science is refined, to
found an Academy was reserved for Your Majesty.
Had such patronage been without effect, there had been reason
to believe that Nature had, by some insurmountable impediment,
obstructed our proficiency ; but the annual improvement of the
Exhibitions which Your Majesty has been pleased to encourage,
shows that only encouragement had been wanting.
To give advice to those who are contending for royal liberality,
has been for some years the duty of my station in the Academy ;
and these discourses hope for Your Majesty's acceptance, as well
intended endeavors to incite that emulation which your notice has
kindled, and direct those studies which your bounty has rewarded.
May it please Your Majesty,
Your Majesty's
Most dutiful Servant,
And most faithful Subject,
[1778.] JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

TO

THE MEMBERS

OF

THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
GENTLEMEN, That you have ordered the publication of this discourse, is not
only very flattering to me, as it implies your approbation of the
method of study which I have recommended ; but likewise, as this
method receives from that act such an additional weight and
authority, as demands from the Students that deference and re
spect, which can be due only to the united sense of so considerable
a Body of Artists.
I am, with the greatest esteem and respect,
Gentlemen, Your most humble,
And obedient Servant,
JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

CONTENTS.

DISCOURSE I. Page.
The advantages proceeding from the institution of a Royal
Academy. — Hints offered to the consideration of the Pro
fessors and visitors. — That an implicit obedience to the
rules of Art be exacted from the young students. —
That a premature disposition to a masterly dexterity be
repressed.. — That diligence be constantly recommended,
and (that it may be effectual) directed to its proper
object. - ... - 9
DISCOURSE II.
The course and order of study. — The different stages of Art.
— Much copying discountenanced. — The Artist at all times
and in all places should be employed in laying up mate
rials for the exercise of his Art. - - 18

DISCOURSE III.
The great leading principles of the grand style. — Of beauty.
— The genuine habits of nature to be distinguished from
those of fashion. --.-...S3 I*

6 CONTENTS.
DISCOURSE rv. Page.
General ideas the presiding principle which regulates every
part of Art ; Invention, Expression, Coloring, and Dra
pery. — Two distinct styles in history-painting ; the grand
and the ornamental. — The schools in which each is to be
found. — The composite style. — The style formed on local
customs and habits, or a partial view of nature. 48
DISCOURSE V.
Circumspection required in endeavoring to unite contrary
excellencies. — The expression of a mixed passion not to
be attempted. — Examples of those who excelled in the
great style. — Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, those two extra
ordinary men compared with each other. — The charac-
teristical style. — Salvator Rosa mentioned as an example
of that style ; and opposed to Carlo MarattL — Sketch of
the characters of Poussin and Rubens. — These two Paint
ers entirely dissimilar, but consistent with themselves. —
This consistency required in all parts of the Art. - - 69
DISCOURSE VI.
Imitation. — Genius begins where rules end. — Invention: ac
quired by being conversant with the inventions of others.
— The true method of imitating. — Borrowing, how far
allowable. — Something to be gathered from every school. 86
DISCOURSE VII.
The reality of a standard of taste as well as of corporal
beauty— Beside this immutable truth, there are second
ary truths, which are variable ; both requiring the atten
tion of the Artist, in proportion to their stability or their
influence. . _ _ ¦.-.*

CONTENTS. 7
DISCOURSE VIII. Page.
The principles of Art, whether Poetry or Painting, have their
foundation in the mind; such as novelty, variety, and
contrast: these in their excess become defects. — Sim
plicity, its excess disagreeable. — Rules not to be always
observed in their literal sense ; sufficient to preserve the
spirit of the law. — Observations on the Prize Pictures. - 143
DISCOURSE IX.
On the removal of the Royal Academy to Somerset Place. —
The advantages to Society from cultivating intellectual
pleasure. - - .... 168
DISCOURSE X.
Sculpture: has but one style. — Its objects, form, and charac
ter. — Ineffectual attempts of the modem Sculptors to im
prove the art. — El effects of modern dreS's in Sculpture. 172
DISCOURSE XL
Genius : Consists principally in the comprehension of A
whole; in taking general ideas only. - - 188
DISCOURSE XII.
Particular methods of study of little consequence. — Little of
the art can be taught. — Love of method often a love of
idleness. — Pittori improvvisatori apt to be careless and
incorrect; seldom original and striking. This proceeds
from their not studying the works of other masters. - 205
DISCOURSE XIII.
Art not merely imitation, but under the direction of the
Imagination. — In what manner Poetry, Painting, Acting,
Gardening, and Architecture, depart from Nature. - - 227

8 CONTENTS.
DISCOURSE XIV. Page.
Character of Gainsborough; his excellencies and defeets. - 246
DISCOURSE XV.
The President takes leave of the Academy. — A Review of the
Discourses. — The study of the Works of Michael Angelo
recommended. -"- - - - - - - 265

DISCOURSE I.
Delivered at the Opening of the Royal Academy, January 2, 1769.
The advantages proceeding from the institution of a Royal Academy. — Hints
offered to the consideration of the Professors and Visiters. — That an implicit
ohedienco to the rules of Art be exacted from the young students. — That a pre
mature disposition to a masterly dexterity be repressed. — That diligence be
constantly recommended, and (that it may be effectual) directed to its proper
object.
GENTLEMEN, An Academy, in which the Polite Arts may be regu
larly cultivated, is at last opened among us by Eoyal Mu
nificence. This must appear an event in the highest degree
interesting, not only to the Artist, but to the whole nation.
It is indeed difficult to give any other reason, why an
empire like that of Britain should so long have wanted an
ornament so suitable to its greatness, than that slow progres
sion of things, which naturally makes elegance and refine
ment the last effect of opulence and power.
An Institution like this has often been recommended
upon considerations merely mercantile ; but an Academy,
founded upon such principles, can never effect even its own
narrow purposes. If it has an origin no higher, no taste can
ever be -formed in manufactures ; but if the higher Arts of
Design flourish, these inferior ends will be answered of
course. We are happy in having a Prince, who has conceived
the design of such an Institution, according to its true dig
nity ; and who promotes the Arts, as the head of a great, a

10 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
learned, a polite, and a commercial nation ; and I can now
congratulate you, gentlemen, on the accomplishment of your
long and ardent wishes.
The numberless and ineffectual consultations which I
have had with many in this assembly to form plans and
concert schemes for an Academy, afford a sufficient proof
of the impossibility of succeeding but by the influence of
Majesty. But there have, perhaps, been times, when even
the influence of Majesty would have been ineffectual; and
it is pleasing to reflect, that we are thus embodied, when
every circumstance seems to concur from which honor and
prosperity can probably arise.
There are, at this time, a greater number of excellent
artists than were ever known before at one period in this
nation ; there is a general desire among our Nobility to be
distinguished as lovers and judges of the Arts ; there is a
greater superfluity of wealth among the people to reward
the professors; and, above all, we are patronised by a Mon
arch, who, knowing the value of science and of elegance,
thinks every art worthy of his notice, that tends to soften
and humanise the mind.
After so much has been done by His Majesty, it will
be wholly our fault, if our progress is not in some degree
correspondent to the wisdom and generosity of the Institu
tion : let us show our gratitude in our diligence, that, though
our merit may not answer his expectations, yet, at least, our
industry may deserve his protection.
But whatever may be our proportion of success, of this
we may be sure, that the present Institution will at least
contribute to advance our knowledge of the Arts, and bring
us nearer to that ideal excellence, which it is the lot of ge
nius always to contemplate, and never to attain.

the first discourse. 11
The principal advantage of an Academy is, that, besides
furnishing able men to direct the Student, it will be a repos
itory for the great examples of the Art. These are the
materials on which Genius is to work, and without which
the strongest intellect may be fruitlessly or- deviously em
ployed. By studying these authentic models, that idea of
excellence which is the result of the accumulated experience
of past ages may be at once acquired ; and the tardy and
obstructed progress of our predecessors may teach us a
shorter and easier way. The Student receives, at one
glance, the principles which many Artists have spent their
whole lives in ascertaining; and, satisfied with their effect,
is spared the painful investigation by which they came to
be known and fixed. How many men of great natural abil
ities have been lost to this nation, for want of these advan
tages ! They never had an opportunity of seeing those
masterly efforts of genius, which at once kindle the whole
soul, and force it into sudden and irresistible approbation.
Kaffaelle, it is true, had not the advantage of studying
in an Academy ; but all Rome, and the works of Michael
Angelo in particular, were to him an Academy. On the
sight of the Capella Sistina, he immediately, from a dry,
Gothic, and even insipid manner, which attends to the
minute accidental discriminations of particular and indi
vidual objects, assumed that grand style of painting, which
improves partial representation by the general and invariable
ideas of nature.
Every seminary of learning may be said to be surrounded
with an atmosphere of floating knowledge, where every
mind may imbibe somewhat congenial to its own original
conceptions. Knowledge, thus obtained, has always some
thing more popular and useful than that which is forced

12 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
upon the mind by private precepts, or solitary meditation.
Besides, it is generally found, that a youth more easily re
ceives instruction from the companions of his studies, whose
minds are nearly on a level with his own, than from those
who are' much his superiors ; and it is from his equals only
that he catches the fire of emulation.
One advantage, I will venture to affirm, we shall have
in our Academy, which no other nation can boast. We
shall have nothing to unlearn. To this praise the present
race of Artists have a just claim. As far as- they have yet
proceeded, they are right. With us the exertions of genius
will henceforward be directed to their proper objects. It
will not be as it has been in other schools, where he that
travelled fastest only wandered farthest from the right way.
Impressed, as I am, therefore, with such a favorable
opinion of my associates in this undertaking, it would ill
become me to dictate to any of them. But as these Insti
tutions have so often failed in other nations ; and as it is
natural to think with regret, how much might have been
done, I must take leave to offer a few hints, by which those
errors may be rectified, and those defects supplied. These
the Professors and Visiters may reject or adopt as they shall
think proper.
I would chiefly recommend, that an implicit obedienee
to the Rules of Art, as established by the practice of the
great Masters, should be exacted from the young Students.
That those models, which have passed through the approba
tion of ages, should be considered by them as perfect and
infallible guides ; as subjects for their imitation, not their
criticism. I am confident, that this is the only efficacious method
of making a progress in the Arts ; and that he who sets out

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. 13
with doubting, will find life finished before he becomes mas
ter of the rudiments. For it may be laid down as a maxim,
that he who begins by presuming on his own sense, has
ended his studies as soon as he has commenced them. Ev
ery opportunity, therefore, should be taken to discounten
ance that false and vulgar opinion, that rules are the fetters
of genius : they are fetters only to men of no genius ; as
that armor, which upon the strong is an ornament and a
defense, upon the weak and mis-shapen becomes a load, and
cripples the body which it was made to protect.
How much liberty may be taken to break through those
rules, and, as the poet expresses it,
To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,
may be a subsequent consideration, when the pupils become
masters themselves. It is then, when their genius has re
ceived its utmost improvement, that rules may possibly be
dispensed with. But let us not destroy the scaffold, until
we have raised the building.
The Directors ought more particularly to watch over the
genius of those Students, who, being more advanced, are
arrived at that critical period of study, on the nice manage
ment of which their future turn of taste depends. At that
age it is natural for them to be more captivated with what
is brilliant than with what is solid, and to prefer splendid
negligence to painful and humiliating exactness.
A facility in composing, a lively, and what is called a
masterly handling of the chalk or pencil, are, it must be
confessed, captivating qualities to young minds, and become
of course the objects of their ambition. They endeavor to
imitate these dazzling excellencies, which they will find no
great labor in attaining. After much time spent in these
frivolous pursuits, the difficulty will be to retreat; but it

14 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
will be then too late ; and there is scarce an instance of
return to scrupulous labor, after the mind has been de
bauched and deceived by this fallacious mastery.
By this useless industry they are excluded from all
power of advancing in real excellence. Whilst boys, they
are arrived at their utmost perfection : they have taken the
shadow for the substance ; and make the mechanical felicity
the chief excellence of the art, which is only an ornament,
and of the merit of which few but painters themselves are
judges. This seems to me to be one of the most dangerous
sources of corruption ; and I speak of it from experience,
not as an error which may possibly happen, but which has
actually infected all foreign Academies. The directors
were probably pleased with this premature dexterity in
their pupils, and praised their despatch at the expense of
their correctness.
But young men have not only this frivolous ambition
of being thought masters of execution, inciting them on
one hand, but also their natural sloth tempting them on
the other. They are terrified at the prospect before them
of the toil required to attain exactness. The impetuosity
of youth is disgusted at the slow approaches of a regular
siege, and desires, from mere impatience of labor, to take
the citadel by storm. They wish to find some shorter path
to excellence, and hope to obtain the reward of eminence
by other means than those which the indispensable rules of
art have prescribed. They must, therefore, be told again
and again, that labor is the only price of solid fame, and
that whatever their force of genius may be, there is no easy
method of becoming a good painter.
When we read the lives of the most eminent painters,

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. 15
every page informs us that no part of their time was spent
in dissipation. Even an increase of fame served only to
augment their industry. To be convinced with what per
severing assiduity they pursued their studies, we need only
reflect on their method of proceeding in their most celebra
ted works. When they conceived a subject, they first made
a variety of sketches ; then a finished drawing of the whole ;
after that a more correct drawing of every separate part —
heads, hands, feet, and pieces of drapery ; they then painted
the picture, and after all, retouched it from the life. The
pictures, thus wrought with such pains, now appear like the
effect of enchantment, and as if some mighty genius had
struck them off at a blow.
But, whilst diligence is thus recommended to the Stu
dents, the Visiters will take care that their diligence be
effectual; that it be well directed, and employed on the
proper object. A Student is not always advancing because
he is employed ; he must apply his strength to that part of
the art where the real difficulties lie ; to that part which
distinguishes it as a liberal art ; and not by mistaken indus
try lose his time in that which is merely ornamental. The
Students, instead of vying with each other which shall have
the readiest hand, should be taught to contend who shall
have the purest and most correct outline ; instead of striv
ing which shall produce the brightest tint, or curiously
trifling, shall give the gloss of stuffs, so as to appear real,
let their ambition be directed to contend which shall dis
pose his drapery in the most graceful folds, which shall give
the most grace and dignity to the human figure.
I must beg leave to submit one thing more to the con
sideration of the Visiters, which appears to me a matter of
very great consequence, and the omission of which I think

16 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
a principal defect in the method of education pursued in all
the Academies I have ever visited. The error I mean is,
that the Students never draw exactly from the living models
which they have before them. It is not, indeed, their in
tention, nor are they directed to do it. Their drawings
resemble the model only in the attitude. They change the
form according to their vague and uncertain ideas of beau
ty, and make a drawing rather of what they think the
figure ought to be, than of what it appears. I have
thought this the obstacle that has stopped the progress of
many young men of real genius ; and I very much doubt
whether a habit of drawing correctly what we see will not
give a proportionable power of drawing correctly what we
imagine. He who endeavors to copy nicely the figure before
him, not only acquires a habit of exactness and precision,
but is continually advancing in his knowledge of the human
figure; and though he seems to superficial observers to
make a slower progress, he will be found at last capable of
adding (without running into capricious wildness) that
grace and beauty which is necessary to be given to his
more finished works, and which can not be got by the mod
erns, as it was not acquired by the ancients, but by an
attentive and well compared study of the human form.
What I think ought to enforce this method is, that it
has been the practice (as may be seen by their drawings)
of the great Masters in the Art. I will mention a drawing
of Raffaelle, The Dispute of the Sacrament, the print of
which, by Count Cailus, is in every hand. It appears that
he made his sketch from one model; and the habit he had
of drawing exactly from the form before him appears by
his making all the figures with the same cap, such as his
model then happened to wear; so servile a copyist was this

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. 17
great man, even at a time when he was allowed to be at his
highest pitch of excellence.
I have seen also Academy figures by Annibale Caracci,
though he was often sufficiently licentious in his finished
works, drawn with all the peculiarities of an individual
model. This scrupulous exactness is so contrary to the practice
of the Academies, that it is not without great deference,
that I beg leave to recommend it to the consideration of
the Visiters ; and submit to them, whether the neglect of
this method is not one of the reasons why Students so
often disappoint expectation, and, being more than boys at
sixteen, become less than men at thirty.
In short, the method I recommend can only be detri
mental where there are but few living forms to copy; for
then Students, by always drawing from one alone, will by
habit be taught to overlook defects, and mistake deformity
for beauty. But of this there is no danger; since the
Council has determined to supply the Academy with a
variety of subjects;,- and indeed those laws which they
have drawn up, and which the Secretary will presently
read for your confii-mation, have in some measure precluded
me from saying more upon this occasion. Instead, there
fore, of offering my advice, permit me to indulge my wishes,
and express my hope, that this Institution may answer the
expectation of its Royal Founder; that the present age
may vie in Arts with that of Leo the Tenth ; and that the
dignity of the dying Art (to make use of an expression of
Pliny) may be revived under the Reign of George the
Third.

2*

DISCOURSE II.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 11, 1769.
The course and order of study.— The different stages of Art.— Much copying dis
countenanced. — The Artist at all times and in all places should be employed
in laying up materials for the exercise of his Art.
GENTLEMEN, I congratulate you on the honor which you have just
received. I have the highest opinion of your merits, and
could wish to show my sense of them in something which
possibly may be more useful to you than barren praise. I
could wish to lead you into such a course of study as may
render your future progress answerable to your past im
provement; and whilst I applaud you for what has been
done, remind you how much yet remains to attain perfec
tion. I flatter myself, that from the long experience I have
had, and the unceasing assiduity with which I have pur
sued those studies, in which, like you, I have been en
gaged, I shall be acquitted of" vanity in offering some hints
to your consideration. They are, indeed, in a great degree,
founded upon my own mistakes in the same pursuit. But
the history of errors, properly managed, often shortens the
road to truth. And although no method of study, that I
can offer, will of itself conduct to excellence, yet it may
preserve industry from being misapplied.
In speaking to you of the Theory of the Art, I shall

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 19
only consider it as it has a relation to the method of your
studies. Dividing the study of painting . into three distinct pe
riods, I shall address you as having passed through the
first of them, which is confined to the rudiments; includ
ing a facility of drawing any object that presents itself, a
tolerable readiness in the management of colors, and an ac
quaintance with the most simple and obvious rules of com
position. This first degree of proficiency is, in painting, what
grammar is in literature, a general preparation for what
ever species of the art the student may afterwards choose
for his more particular application. The power of draw
ing, modelling, and using colors, is very properly called
the Language of the Art; and in this language, the honors
you have just received prove you to have made no incon
siderable progress.
When the Artist is once enabled to express himself
with some degree of correctness, he must then endeavor to
collect subjects for expression ; to amass a stock of ideas,
to be combined and varied as occasion may require. He is
now in the second period of study, in which his business is
to learn all that has been known and done before his own
time. Having hitherto received instructions from a par
ticular master, he is now to consider the Art itself as his
master. He must extend his capacity to more sublime and
general instructions. Those perfections which lie scattered
among various masters are now united in one general idea,
which is henceforth to regulate his taste, and enlarge his
imagination. With a variety of models thus before him,
he will avoid that narrowness and poverty of conception
which attends a bigoted admiration of a single master, and

20 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
will cease to follow any favorite where he ceases to excel.
This period is, however, still a time of subjection and dis
cipline. Though the Student will not resign himself
blindly to any single authority, when he may have the
advantage of consulting many, he must still be afraid of
trusting his own judgment, and of deviating into any track
where he can not find the footsteps of some former master.
The third and last period emancipates the Student from
subjection to any authority, but what he shall himself
judge to be supported by reason. Confiding now in his
own judgment, he will consider and separate those different
principles to which different modes of beauty owe their
original. In the former period he sought only to know
and combine excellence, wherever it was to be found, into
one idea of perfection : in this he learns, what requires the
most attentive survey, and the most subtle disquisition, to
discriminate perfections that are incompatible with each
other. He is from this time to regard himself as holding the
same rank with those masters whom he before obeyed as
teachers; and as exercising a sort of sovereignty over
those rules which have hitherto restrained him. Compar
ing now no longer the performances of Art with each
other, but examining the Art itself by the standard of
nature, he corrects what is erroneous, supplies what is
scanty, and adds by his own observation what the industry
of his predecessors may have yet left wanting to perfection.
Having- well established his judgment, and stored his
memory, he may now without fear try the power of his
imagination. The mind that has been thus disciplined
may be indulged in the warmest enthusiasm, and venture
to play on the borders of the wildest extravagance. The

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 21
habitual dignity which long converse with the greatest
minds has imparted to him will display itself in all his
.attempts; and he will stand among his instructors, not as
an imitator, but a rival.
These are the different stages of the Art. But as I
now address myself particularly to those Students who have
been this day rewarded for their happy passage through the
first period, I can with no propriety suppose they want any
help in the initiatory studies. My present design is to
direct your view to distant excellence, and to show you the
readiest path that leads to it. Of this I shall speak with
such latitude, as may leave the province of the professor
uninvaded; and shall not anticipate those precepts, which
it is his business to give, and your duty to understand.
It is indisputably evident that a great part of every
man's life, must be employed in collecting materials for the
exercise of genius. Invention, strictly speaking, is little
more than a new combination of those images which have
been previously gathered and deposited in the memory:
nothing can come of nothing : he who has laid up no ma
terials can produce no combinations.
A Student unacquainted with the attempts of former
adventurers is always apt to over-rate his own abilities ; to
mistake the most trifling excursions for discoveries of mo
ment, and every coast new to him for a new-found country.
If by chance he passes beyond his usual limits, he con
gratulates his own arrival at those regions which they who
have steered a better course have long left behind them.
The productions of such minds are seldom distin
guished by an air of originality : they are anticipated in
their happiest efforts ; and if they are found to differ in
any thing from their predecessors, it is only in irregular

22 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
sallies and trifling conceits. The more extensive, there
fore, your acquaintance is with the works of those who
have excelled, the more extensive will be your powers of
invention ; and what may appear still more like a paradox,
the more original will be your conceptions. But the diffi
culty on this occasion is to determine what ought to be
proposed as models of excellence, and who ought to be
considered as the properest guides.
To a young man just arrived in Italy, many of the
present painters of that country are ready enough to
obtrude their precepts, and to offer their own performances
as examples of that perfection which they affect to recom
mend. The modern, however, who recommends himself
as a standard, may justly be suspected as ignorant of the
true end, and unacquainted with the proper object, of the
art which he professes. To follow such a guide will not
only retard the Student, but mislead him.
On whom, then, can he rely, or who shall show him the
path that leads to excellence? The answer is obvious:
those great masters who have travelled the same road with
success are the most likely to conduct others. The works
of those who have stood the test of ages have a claim to
that respect and veneration to which no modern can pre
tend. The duration and stability of their fame is sufficient
to evince that it has not been suspended upon the slender
thread of fashion and caprice, but bound to the human
heart by every tie of sympathetic approbation.
There is no danger of studying too much the works of
those great men : but how they may be studied to advan
tage is an inquiry of great importance.
Some who have never raised their minds to the con
sideration of the real dignity of the Art, and who rate the

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 23
works of an Artist in proportion as they excel or are de
fective in the mechanical parts, look on theory as some
thing that may enable them to talk but not to paint better;
and, confining themselves entirely to mechanical practice,
very assiduously toil on in the drudgery of copying, and
think they make a rapid progress while they faithfully
exhibit the minutest part of a favorite picture. This
appears to me a very tedious, and, I think, a very erroneous,
method of proceeding. Of every large composition, even
of those which are most admired, a great part may be
truly said to be common-place. This, though it takes up
much time in copying, conduces little to improvement. I
consider general copying as a delusive kind of industry:
the Student satisfies himself with the appearance of doing
something : he falls into the dangerous habit of imitating
without selecting, and of laboring without any determinate
object; as it requires no effort of the mind, he sleeps over
his work : and those powers of invention and composition
which ought particularly to be called out, and put in action,
lie torpid, and lose their energy for want of exercise.
How incapable those are of producing any thing of
their own, who have spent much of their time in making
finished copies, is well known to all who are conversant
with our art.
To suppose that the complication of powers, and varie
ty of ideas necessary to that mind which aspires to the first
honors in the Art of Painting, can be obtained by the
frigid contemplation of a few single models, is no less ab
surd, than it would be in him who wishes to be a poet, to
imagine that by translating a tragedy he can acquire to
himself sufficient knowledge of the appearances of nature,
the operations of the passions, and the incidents of life.

24 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
The great use in copying, if it be at all useful, should
seem to be in learning to color; yet even coloring will
never be perfectly attained by servilely copying the model
before you. An eye critically nice can only be formed by
observing well-colored pictures with attention ; and by
close inspection, and minute examination, you will discover,
at last, the manner of handling, the artifices of contrast,
glazing, and other expedients by which good colorists have
raised the value of their tints, and by which nature has
been so happily imitated.
I must inform you, however, that old pictures, de
servedly celebrated for their coloring, are often so changed
by dirt and varnish that we ought not to wonder if they do
not appear equal to their reputation in the eyes of unexpe
rienced painters, or young Students. An artist whose
judgment is matured by long observation considers rather
what the picture once was, than what it is at present. He
has by habit acquired a power of seeing the brilliancy
of tints through the cloud by which it is obscured. An
exact imitation, therefore, of those pictures, is likely
to fill the Student's mind with false opinions, and to
send him back a eolorist of his own formation, with
ideas equally remote from nature and from art, from the
genuine practice of the masters and the real appearances
of things. Following these rules, and using these precautions,
when you have clearly and distinctly learned in what
good coloring consists, you can not do better than to have
recourse to nature herself, who is always at hand, and in
comparison of whose true splendor the best colored pic
tures are but faint and feeble.
However, as the practice of copying is not entirely to

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 25
be excluded, since the mechanical practice of painting is
learned in some measure by it, let those choice parts only
be selected which have recommended the work to notice.
If its excellence consists in its general effect, it would be
proper to make slight sketches of the machinery and gene
ral management of the picture. Those sketches should be
kept always by you for the regulation of your style. In
stead of copying the touches of those great masters, copy
only their conceptions. Instead of treading in their foot
steps, endeavor only to keep the same road. Labor to
invent on their general principles and way of thinking.
Possess yourself with their spirit. Consider with yourself
how a Michael Angelo or a Raffaelle would have treated
this subject; and work yourself into a belief that your
picture is to be seen and criticised by them when com
pleted. Even an attempt of this kind will rouse your
powers. But as mere enthusiasm will carry you but a little way,
let me recommend a practice that may be equivalent to
and will perhaps more efficaciously contribute to your ad
vancement, than even the verbal corrections of those masters
themselves, could they be obtained. What I would propose
is, that you should enter into a kind of competition, by paint
ing a similar subject, and making a companion to any pic-
tare that you consider as a model. After you have finished
your work, place it near the model, and compare them care
fully together. You will then not only see but feel your
own deficiencies more sensibly than by precepts, or any other
means of instruction. The true principles of painting will
mingle with your thoughts. Ideas thus fixed by sensible
objects will be certain and definitive ; and, sinking deep into
the mind, will not only be more just but more lasting than
3

26 THE SEC'OKD I.JfCOURfJ.',
those presented to you by precepts only, which will always
be fleeting, variable, and undetermined.
This method of comparing your own efforts with those
of some great master is indeed a severe and mortifying
task, to which none will submit but such as have great
views, with fortitude sufficient to forego the gratifications
of present vanity for future honor. When the Student
has succeeded in some measure to his own satisfaction,
and has felicitated himself on his success, to go voluntary
to a tribunal where he knows his vanity must be humbled,
and all self-approbation must vanish, requires not only
great resolution but great humility. To him, however,
who has the ambition to be a real master, the solid satis
faction which proceeds from a consciousness of his advance
ment (of which seeing his own faults is the first step) will
very abundantly compensate for the mortification of pre
sent disappointment. There is, besides, this alleviating
circumstance : every discovery he makes, every acquisition
of knowledge he attains, seems to proceed from his own
sagacity : and thus he acquires a confidence in himself
sufficient to keep up the resolution of perseverance.
We all must have experienced how lazily, and, conse
quently, how ineffectually, instruction is received when
forced upon the mind by others. Few have been taught
to any purpose who have not been their own teachers. We
prefer those instructions which we have given ourselves,
from our affection to the instructor; and they are more
effectual, from being received into the mind at the very
time when it is most open and eager to receive them.
With respect to the pictures that you are to choose
for your models, I could wish that you would take the
world's opinion rather than your own. In other words,

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 27
I would have you choose those of established reputation
rather than follow your own fancy. If you should not
admire them at first, you will, by endeavoring to imitate
them, find that the world has not been mistaken.
It is not an easy task to point out those various ex
cellencies for your imitation which lie distributed amongst
the various schools. An endeavor to do this may, perhaps,
be the subject of some future discourse. I will, therefore,
at present, only recommend a model for style in painting,
which is a branch of the art more immediately necessary
to the young Student. Style in painting is the same as
in writing, a power over materials, whether words or
colors, by which conceptions or sentiments are conveyed.
And in this Ludovico Caracci (I mean his best works)
appears to me to approach the nearest to perfection. His
unaffected breadth of light and shadow, the simplicity of
coloring, which, holding its proper rank, does not draw
aside the least part of the attention from the subject, and
the solemn effect of that twilight which seems diffused over
his pictures, appear to me to correspond with grave and
dignified subjects, better than the more artificial brilliancy
of sunshine which enlightens the pictures of Titian ; though
Tintoret thought that Titian's coloring was the model of
perfection, and would correspond even with the sublime of
Michael Angelo ; and that if Angelo had colored like
Titian, or Titian designed like Angelo, the world would
once have had a perfect painter. __
It is our misfortune, however,, that those works of Ca
racci, which I would recommend to the Student, are not
often found out of Bologna. The St. Francis in the Midst
of his Friars, The Transfiguration, The Birth of St. John
the Baptist, The CaUing of St. Matthew, The St. Jerome,

28 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
The Fresco Paintings in the Zampieri palace, are all wor
thy the attention of the Student. And I think those who
travel would do well to allot a much greater portion of
their time to that city than it has been hitherto the
custom to bestow.
In this art, as in others, there are many teachers who
profess to show the nearest way to excellence ; and many
expedients have been invented by which the toil of study
might be saved. But let no man be seduced to idleness
by specious promises. Excellence is never granted to man,
but as the reward of labor. It argues, indeed, no small
strength of mind to persevere in habits of industry, with
out the pleasure of perceiving those advances ; which, like
the hand of a clock, whilst they make hourly approaches
to their point, yet proceed so slowly as to escape observa
tion. A facility of drawing, like that of playing upon a
musical instrument, can not be acquired but by an infinite
number of acts. I need not, therefore, enforce by many
words the necessity of continual application ; nor tell you
that the port-crayon ought to be for ever in your hands.
Various methods will occur to you by which this power
may be acquired. I would particularly recommend, that
after your return from the Academy (where I suppose your
attendance to be constant) you would endeavor to draw
the figure by memory. I will even venture to add, that
by perseverance in this custom you will become able to
draw the human figure tolerably correct, with as little effort
of the mind as is required to trace with a pen the letters
of the alphabet.
That this facility is not unattainable, some members
in this Academy give a sufficient proof. And be assured,
that, if this power is not acquired whilst you are young,

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 29
there will be no time for it afterwards ; at least the attempt
will be attended with as much difficulty as those experience
who learn to read or write after they have arrived at the
age of maturity.
But while I mention the port-crayon as the Student's
constant companion, he must still remember, that the pencil
is the instrument by which he must hope to obtain emi
nence. What, therefore, I wish to impress upon you is,
that, whenever an opportunity offers, you paint your stu
dies instead of drawing them. This will give you such a
facility in using colors, that in time they will arrange
themselves under the pencil, even without the attention
of the hand that conducts it. If one act excluded the
other, this advice could not with any propriety be given.
But if painting comprises both drawing and coloring, and
if by a short struggle of resolute industry, the same ex
pedition is attainable in painting as in drawing on paper,
I can not see what objection can justly be made to the
practice, or why that should be done by parts which may
be done altogether.
If we turn our eyes to the several Schools of Painting,
and consider their respective excellencies, we shall find
that those who excel most in coloring pursued this method.
The Venetian and Flemish schools, which owe much of
their fame to coloring, have enriched the cabinets of the
collectors of drawings with very few examples. Those of
Titian, Paul Veronese, Tintoret, and the Bassans, are in
general slight and undetermined. Their sketches on paper
are as rude as their pictures are excellent in regard to
harmony of coloring. Correggio and Baroccio have left
few, if any, finished drawings behind them. And in the
Flemish school, Rubens and Vandyck made their designs
3*

30 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
for the most part either in colors or in chiaro-oscuro. It
is as common to find studies of the Venetian and Flemish
Painters on canvass as of the schools of Rome and Florence
on paper. Not but that many finished drawings are sold
under the names of those masters. Those, however, are
undoubtedly the productions either of engravers or their
scholars, who copied their works.
These instructions I have ventured to offer from my
own experience ; but as they deviate widely from received
opinions, I offer them with diffidence, and when better are
suggested shall retract them without regret.
There is one precept, however, in which I shall only
be opposed by the vain, the ignorant, and the idle. I am
not afraid that I shall repeat it too often. You must have
no dependence on your own genius. If you have great
talents, industry will improve them : .if you have but
moderate abilities, industry will supply their deficiency.
Nothing is denied to well directed labor : nothing is to he
obtained without it. Not to enter into metaphysical dis
cussions on the nature or essence of genius, I will venture
to assert, that assiduity unabated by difficulty, and a dis
position eagerly directed to the object of its pursuit, will
produce effects similar to those which some call the result
of natural powers.
Though a man can not at all times, and in all places,
paint or draw, yet the mind can prepare itself by laying
in proper materials, at all times, and in all places. Both
Livy and Plutarch, in describing Philopoemen, one of the
ablest generals of antiquity, have given us a striking pic
ture of a mind always intent on its profession, and hy
assiduity obtaining those excellencies which some all then-
lives vainly expect from nature. I shall quote the passage

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 31
in Livy at length, as it runs parallel with the practice I
would recommend to the Painter, the Sculptor and Architect.
" Philopoemen was a man eminent for his sagacity and
experience in choosing ground, and in leading armies; to
which he formed his mind by perpetual meditation, in
times of peace as well as war. When, in any occasional
journey, he came to a strait, difficult passage, if he was
alone, he considered with himself, and if he was in com
pany he asked his friends, what.it would be best to do
if in this place they had found an enemy, either in the
front or in the rear, on the one side or on the other ?
( It might happen,' says he, ' that the enemy to be opposed
might come on drawn up in regular lines, or in a tumultu
ous body formed only by the nature of the place.' He
then considered a little what ground he should take; what
number of soldiers he should use, and what arms he
should give them; where he should lodge his carriages,
his baggage, and the defenseless followers of his camp;
how many guards, and of what kind, he should send to
defend them : and whether it would be better to press
forward along the pass, or recover by retreat his former
station : he would consider likewise where his camp could
most commodiously be formed; how much ground he
should enclose within his trenches; where he should have
the convenience of water, and where he might find plenty
of wood and forage ; and when he should break up his
camp on the following day, through what road he could
most safely pass, and in what form he should dispose his
troops. With such thoughts and disquisitions he had
from his early years so exercised his mind, that on these
occasions nothing could happen which he had not already
been accustomed to consider."

32 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
I can not help imagining that I see a promising young
painter equally vigilant, whether at home or abroad, in
the streets or in the fields. Every object that presents
itself is to him a lesson. He regards all nature with a
view to his profession, and combines her beauties, or cor
rects her defects. He examines the countenance of men
under the influence of passion; and often catches the most
pleasing hints from subjects of turbulence or deformity.
Even bad pictures themselves supply him with useful
documents; and, as Lionardo da Vinci has observed, he
improves upon the fanciful images that are sometimes seen
in the fire, or are accidentally sketched upon a discolored
wall. The Artist who has his mind thus filled with ideas, and
his hand made expert by practice, works with ease and
readiness ; whilst he who would have you believe that he
is waiting for the inspirations of Genius, is in reality at
a loss how to begin ; and is at last delivered of his monsters
with difficulty and pain.
The well-grounded painter, on the contrary, has only
maturely to consider his subjeet, and all the mechanical
parts of his art follow without his exertion. Conscious of
the difficulty of obtaining what he possesses, he makes no
pretensions to secrets, except those of closer application.
Without conceiving the smallest jealousy against others,
he is contented that all shall be as great as himself who
have undergone the same fatigue ; and as his pre-eminence
depends not upon a trick, he is free from the painful sus
picions of a juggler who lives in perpetual fear lest his
trick should be discovered.

DISCOURSE III.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 14, 1770.
Tho great leading principles of the grand style. — Of beauty. — The genuine habits
of nature to be distinguished from those of fashion.
GENTLEMEN, It is not easy to speak with propriety to so many Stu
dents of different ages and different degrees of advance
ment. The mind requires nourishment adapted to its
growth ; and what may have promoted our earlier efforts
might retard us in our nearer approaches to perfection.
The first endeavors of a young painter, as I have re
marked in a former discourse, must be employed in the
attainment of mechanical dexterity, and confined to the
mere imitation of the object before him. Those who have
advanced beyond the rudiments, may, perhaps, find advan
tage in reflecting on the advice which I have likewise given
them, when I recommended the diligent study of the works
of our great predecessors ; but I at the same time endea
vored to guard them against an implicit submission to the
authority of any one master however excellent, or, by a
strict imitation of his manner, precluding' themselves from
the abundance and variety of Nature. I will now add,
that Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There
are excellencies in the art of painting beyond what is com
monly called the imitation of Nature ; and these excellen
cies I wish to point out. The Students who, having passed

34 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
through the initiatory exercises, are more advanced in the
art, and who, sure of their hand, have leisure to exert
their understanding, must now be told, that a mere copier
of nature can never produce any thing great; can never
raise and enlarge the conceptions, or warm the heart of
the spectator.
The wish of the genuine painter must be more exten
sive : instead of endeavoring to amuse mankind with the
minute neatness of his imitations, he must endeavor to
improve them by the grandeur of his ideas; instead of
seeking praise, by deceiving the superficial sense of the
spectator, he must strive for fame, by captivating the im
agination. The principle now laid down, that the perfection of this
art does not consist in mere imitation, is far from being
new or singular. It is, indeed, supported by the general
opinion of the enlightened part of mankind. The poets,
orators, and rhetoricians of antiquity, are continually en
forcing this position — 'that all the arts receive their perfec
tion from an ideal beauty, superior to what is to be found
in individual nature. They are ever referring to the prac
tice of the painters and sculptors of their times, particu
larly Phidias (the favorite artist of antiquity) to illustrate
their assertions. As if they could not sufficiently express
their admiration of his genius by what they knew, they
have recourse to poetical enthusiasm : they call it inspira
tion ; a gift from heaven. The artist is supposed to have
ascended the celestial regions, to furnish his mind with
this perfect idea of beauty. "He," says Proclus,* "who
takes for his model such forms as Nature produces, and
*Lib. 2 in Timseum Platonis, as cited by Junius de Pictura
Veterum. — R

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 35
confines himself to an exact imitation of them, will never
attain to what is perfectly beautiful. For the works of
Nature are full of disproportion, and fall very short of the
true standard of beauty. So that Phidias, when he
formed his Jupiter, did not copy any object ever presented
to his sight, but contemplated only that image which he
had conceived in his mind from Homer's description."
And thus Cicero, speaking of the same Phidias: —
" Neither did this artist," says he, " when he carved the
image of Jupiter or Minerva, set before him any one hu
man figure, as a pattern, which he was to copy ; but having
a more perfect idea of beauty fixed in his mind, this is
steadily contemplated, and to the imitation of this, all his
skill and, labor were directed."
The Moderns are not less convinced than the Ancients
of this superior power existing in the art ; nor less sensible
of its effects. Every language has adopted terms expres
sive of this excellence. The gusto grande of the Italians,
the beau ideal of the French, and the great style, genius,
and taste among the English, are but different appellations
of the same thing. It is this intellectual dignity, they
say, that ennobles the Painter's art; that lays the line
between him and the mere mechanic ; and produces those
great effects in an instant, which eloquence and poetry, by
slow and repeated efforts, are scarcely able to attain.
Such is the warmth with which both the Ancients and
Moderns speak of this divine principle of the art; but, as
I have formerly observed, enthusiastic admiration seldom
promotes knowledge. Though a Student by such praise
may have his attention roused, and a desire excited, of
running in this great career, yet it is possible that what
has been said to excite, may only serve to deter him. He

36 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
examines his own mind, and perceives there nothing of
that divine inspiration with which he is told so many
others have been favored. He never travelled to heaven
to gather new ideas ; and he finds himself possessed of no
other qualifications than what mere common observation
and a plain understanding can confer. Thus he becomes
gloomy amidst the splendor of figurative declamation, and
thinks it hopeless to pursue an object which he supposes
out of the reach of human industry.
But on this, as upon many other occasions, we ought to
distinguish how much is to be given to enthusiasm,
and how much to reason. We ought to allow for, and we
ought to commend, that strength of vivid expression,
which is necessary to convey, in its full force, the highest
sense of the most complete effect of art ; taking care, at
the same time, not to lose in terms of vague admiration
that solidity and truth of principle upon which alone we
can reason, and may be enabled to practice.
It is not easy to define in what this great style consists;
nor to describe, by words, the proper means of acquiring
it, if the mind of the Student should be at all capable of
such an acquisition. Could we teach taste or genius hy
rules, they would be no longer taste and genius. But
though there neither are, nor can be any precise invariable
rules for the exercise, or the acquisition, of these great
qualities, yet we may truly say, that they always operate
in proportion to our attention in observing the works of
Nature, to our skill in selecting, and to our care in digest
ing, methodizing, and comparing our observations. There
are many beauties in our art that seem, at first, to he
without the reach of precept, and yet may easily be
reduced to practical principles. Experience is all in all :

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 37
but it is not every one who profits by experience; and
most people err, not so much from want of capacity to find
their object, as from not knowing what object to pursue.
This great ideal perfection and beauty are not to be sought
in the heavens, but upon the earth. They are about us,
and upon every side of us. But the power of discovering
what is deformed in nature, or, in other words, what is
particular and uncommon, can be acquired only by experi
ence ; and the whole beauty and grandeur of the art con
sists, in my opinion, in being able to get above all singular
forms, local customs, particularities, and details of every
kind. All the objects which are exhibited to our view by
Nature, upon close examination will be found, to have their
blemishes and defects. The most beautiful forms have
something about them like weakness, minuteness, or im
perfection. But it is not every eye that perceives these
blemishes. It must be an eye long used to the contempla
tion and comparison of these forms ; and which, by a long
habit of observing what any set of objects of the same
kind have in common, has acquired the power of discern
ing what each wants in particular. This long, laborious
comparison should be the first study of the painter who
aims at the great style. By this means, he acquires a just
idea of beautiful forms ; he corrects Nature by herself, her
imperfect state by her more perfect. His eye being
enabled to distinguish the accidental deficiencies, excres
cences, and deformities of things, from their general
figures, he makes out an abstract idea of their forms more
perfect than any one original ; and what may seem a para
dox, he learns to design naturally by drawing his figures
unlike to any one object. This idea of the perfect state of
4

38 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
Nature, which the artist calls the Ideal beauty, is the great
leading principle by which works of genius are conducted.
By this Phidias acquired his fame. He wrought upon a
sober principle what has so much excited the enthusiasm
of the world; and by this method you, who have courage
to tread the same path, may acquire equal reputation.
This is the idea which has acquired, and which seems
to have a right to, the epithet of divine j as it may be said
to preside, like a supreme judge, over all the productions
of Nature, appearing to be possessed of the will and inten
tion of the Creator, as far as they regard- the external form
of living beings. When a man once possesses this idea in
its perfection, there is no danger but that he will be suffi
ciently warmed by it himself, and be able to warm and
ravish every one else.
Thus it is from a reiterated experience, and a close
comparison of the objects in Nature, that an artist becomes
possessed of the idea of that central form, if I may so ex
press it, from which every deviation is deformity. But the
investigation of this form, I grant, is painful, and I know
but of one method of shortening the road; this is, by a
careful study of the works of the ancient sculptors ; who,
being indefatigable in the school of Nature, have left
models of that perfect form behind them, which an artist
would prefer as supremely beautiful, who had spent his
whole life in that single contemplation. But if industry
carried them thus far, may not you also hope for the same
reward from the same labor ? We have the same school
opened to us that was opened to them ; for Nature denies
her instructions to none who desire to become her pupils.
This laborious investigation, I am aware, must appear
superfluous to those who think every thing is to be done

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 39
by felicity and the powers of native genius. Even the
great Bacon treats with ridicule the idea of confining pro
portion to rules, or of producing beauty by selection. " A
man can not tell," says he, "whether Apelles or Albert
Durer were the more trifler : whereof the one would make
a personage by geometrical proportions; the other, by
taking the best parts out of divers faces, to make one ex
cellent. . . . The painter," he adds, "must do it by a
kind of felicity .... and not by rule."*
It is not safe to question any opinion of so great a
writer, and so profound a thinker, as undoubtedly Bacon
was. But he studies brevity to excess ; and therefore his
meaning is sometimes doubtful. If he means that beauty
has nothing to do with rule, he is mistaken. There is a
rule, obtained out of general nature, to contradict which
is to fall into deformity. Whenever any thing is done be
yond this rule, it is in virtue of some other rule which is
followed along with it, but which does not contradict it.
Every thing which is wrought with certainty, it is wrought
upon some principle. If it is not, it can not be repeated.
If by felicity is meant any thing of chance or hazard, or
something born with a man, and not earned, I can not
agree with this great philosopher. Every object which
pleases must give us pleasure upon some certain principles :
but as the objects of pleasure are almost infinite, so their
principles vary without end, and every man finds them out,
not by felicity or successful hazard, but by care and sagacity.
To the principle I have laid down, that the idea of
beauty in each species of beings is an invariable one, it
may be objected, that in every particular species there are
various oentral forms, which are separate and distinct from
* Essays, p. 252, edit. 1625.

40 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
each other, and yet are undeniably beautiful ; that in the
human figure, for instance, the beauty of Hercules is one,
of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; which
makes so many different ideas of beauty.
It is true, indeed, that these figures are each perfect in
their kind, though of different characters and proportions ;
but still none of them is the representation of an indi
vidual, but of a class. And as there is one general form,
which, as I have said, belongs to the human kind at large,
so in each of these classes there is one common idea and
central form, which is the abstract of the various individ
ual forms belonging to that class. Thus, though the forms
of childhood and age differ exceedingly, there is a common
form in childhood, and a common form in age, which is
the more perfect, as it is more remote from all peculiarities.
But I must add further, that though the most perfect forms
of each of the general divisions of the human figure are
ideal and superior to any individual form of that class;
yet the highest perfection of the human figure is not to be
found in any one of them. It is not in the Hercules, nor
in the Gladiator, nor in the Apollo; but in that form
which is taken from all, and which partakes equally of
the activity of the Gladiator, of the delicacy of the Apollo,
and of the muscular strength of the Hercules. For perfect
beauty in any species must combine all the characters
which are beautiful in that species. It can not consist in
any one to the exclusion of the rest : no one, therefore,
must be predominant, that no one may be deficient.
The knowledge of these different characters, and the
power of separating and distinguishing them, is undoubted
ly necessary to the painter, who is to vary his compositions
with figures of various forms and proportions, though he is

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 41
never to lose sight of the general idea of perfection in
each kind.
There is, likewise, a kind of symmetry, or proportion,
which may properly be said to belong to deformity. A
figure lean or, corpulent, tall or short, though deviating
from beauty, may still have a certain union of the various
parts, which may contribute to make them on the whole
not unpleasing.
When the Artist has by diligent attention acquired a
clear and distinct idea of beauty and symmetry ; when he
has reduced the variety of nature to the abstract idea; his
next task will be to become acquainted with the genuine
habits of nature, as distinguished from those of fashion.
For in the same manner, and on the same principles, as he
has acquired the knowledge of the real forms of nature,
distinct from accidental deformity, he must endeavor to
separate simple chaste nature, from those adventitious,
those affected and forced airs or actions, with which she is
loaded by modern education.
Perhaps I can not better explain what I mean, than by
reminding you of what was taught us by the Professor of
Anatomy, in respect to the natural position and movement
of the feet. He observed that the fashion of turning
them outwards was contrary to the intent of nature, as
might be seen from the structure of the bones, and from
the weakness that proceeded from that manner of standing.
To this we may add the erect position of the head, the
projection of the chest, the walking with straight knees,
and many such actions, which we know to be merely the
result of fashion, and what nature never warranted, as we
are sure that we have been taught them when children.
I have mentioned but a few of those instances, in
4*

42 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
which vanity or caprice have contrived to distort and dis
figure the human form ; your own recollection will add to
these a thousand more of ill-understood methods, which
have been practised to disguise nature among our dancing-
masters, hair-dressers, and tailors, in their various schools
of deformity.* However the mechanic and ornamental arts may
sacrifice to Fashion, she must be entirely excluded from
the Art of Painting ; the painter must never mistake this
capricious challenging for the genuine offspring of nature;
he must divest himself of all prejudices in favor of his age
or country; he must disregard all local and temporary
ornaments, and look only on those general habits which
are every where and always the same ; he addresses his
works to the people of every country and every age, he
calls upon posterity to be his spectators, and says, with
Zeuxis, In astemitatem pingo.
The neglect of separating modern fashions from the
habits of nature, leads to that ridiculous style which has
been practised by some painters, who have given to Grecian
heroes the airs and graces practised in the court of Louis
XIV. ; an absurdity almost as great as it would have been
to have dressed them after the fashion of that court.
To avoid this error, however, and to retain the true
simplicity of nature, is a task more difficult than at first
sight it may appear. The prejudices in favor of the
fashions and customs that we have been used to, and which
* "Those," says Quintilian, "who are taken with the outward
show of things, think that there is more beauty in persons who
are trimmed, curled, and painted, than uncorrupt nature can
give ; as if beauty were merely the effect of the corruption of
manners." — R

THE THIRD DISCOURSE.

43

are justly called a second nature, make it too often difficult
to distinguish that which is natural from that which is the
result of education; they frequently even give a predilec
tion in favor of the artificial mode ; and almost every one
is apt to be guided by those local prejudices, who has not
chastised his mind, and regulated the instability of his
affections by the eternal invariable idea of nature.
Here, then, as before, we must have recourse to the
Ancients as instructors. It is from a careful study of
their works that you will be enabled to attain to the real
simplicity of nature ; they will suggest many observations
which would probably escape you, if your study were con
fined to nature alone. And, indeed, I can not help sus
pecting, that, in this instance, the ancients had an
easier task than the moderns. They had, probably, little
or nothing to unlearn, as their manners were nearly
approaching to this desirable simplicity ; while the modern
artist, before he can see the truth of things, is obliged to
remove a veil, with which the fashion of the times has
thought proper to cover her.
Having gone thus far in our investigation of the great
style in painting ; if we now should suppose that the artist
has found the true idea of beauty, which enables him to
give his works a correct and perfect design ; if we should
suppose, also, that he has acquired a knowledge of the una
dulterated habits of nature, which gives him simplicity;
the rest of his task is, perhaps, less than is generally
imagined. Beauty and simplicity have so great a share in
the composition of a great style, that he who has acquired
them has little else to learn. It must not, indeed, be for-
-gotten, that there is a nobleness of conception, which goes
beyond any thing in the mere exhibition even of perfect

44 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
form; there is an art of animating and dignifying the
figures with intellectual grandeur, of impressing the
appearance of philosophic wisdom, or heroic virtue. This
can only be acquired by him that enlarges the sphere of
his understanding by a variety of knowledge, and warms
his imagination with the best productions of ancient and
modern poetry.
A hand thus exercised, and a mind thus instructed,
will bring the art to a higher degree of excellence than,
perhaps, it has hitherto attained in this country. Such a
student will disdain the humbler walks of painting, which,
however profitable, can never assure him a permanent repu
tation. He will leave the meaner artist servilely to sup
pose that those are the best pictures, which are most likely
to deceive the spectator. He will permit the lower painter,
like the florist or collector of shells, to exhibit the minute
discriminations, which distinguish one object of the same
species from another ; while he, like the philosopher, will
consider nature in the abstract, and represent in every
one of his figures the character of its species.
If deceiving the eye were the only business of the art,
there is no doubt, indeed, but the minute painter would be
more apt to succeed ; but it is not the eye, it is the mind
which the painter of genius desires to address ; nor will he
waste a moment upon those smaller objects which only
serve to catch the sense, to divide the attention, and to
counteract his great design of speaking to the heart.
This is the ambition which I wish to excite in your
minds; and the object I have had in my view, throughout
this discourse, is that one great idea which gives to paint
ing its true dignity, which entitles it to the name of a
liberal art, and ranks it as a sister of poetry.

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 45
It may possibly have happened to many young stu
dents, whose application was sufficient to overcome all diffi
culties, and whose minds were capable of embracing the
most extensive views, that they have, by a wrong direction
originally given, spent their lives in the meaner walks of
painting, without ever knowing there was a nobler to pur
sue. Albert Durer, as Vasari has justly remarked, would
probably have been one of the first painters of his age (and
he lived in an era of great artists) had he been initiated
into those great principles of the art, which were so well
understood and practised by his contemporaries in Italy.
But unluckily having never seen nor heard of any other
manner, he, without doubt, considered his own as perfect.
As for the various departments of painting, which do
not presume to make such high pretensions, they are many.
None of them are without their merit, though none enter
into competition with this universal presiding idea of the
art. The painters who have applied themselves more par
ticularly to low and vulgar characters, and who express
with precision the various shades of passion, as they are
exhibited by vulgar minds (such as we see in the works of
Hogarth) deserve great praise; but as their genius has
been employed on low and confined subjects, the praise
which we give must be as limited as its object. The mer
rymaking or quarreling of the Boors of Teniers ; the same
sort of productions of Brouwer or Ostade, are excellent in
their kind ; and the excellence and its praise will be in
proportion, as, in those limited subjects, and peculiar
forms, they introduce more or less of the expression of
those passions, as they appear in general and more en
larged nature. This principle may be applied to the Bat
tle-pieces of Bourgognone, the French Gallantries of Wat-

46 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
teau, and even beyond the exhibition of animal life, to the
Landscapes of Claude Lorraine, and the Sea-Views of
Vandervelde. All these painters have, in general, the
same right, in different degrees, to the name of a painter,
which a ~ satirist, an epigrammatist, a sonnetteer, a writer
of pastorals, or descriptive poetry, has to that of a poet.
In the same rank, and perhaps of not so great merit, is
the cold painter of portraits. But his correct and just
imitation of his object has its merit. Even the painter of
still life, whose highest ambition is to give a minute repre
sentation of every part of those low objects which he sets
before him, deserves praise in proportion to his attainment;
because no part of this excellent art, so much the orna
ment of polished life, is destitute of value and use.
These, however, are by no means the views to which the
mind of the student ought to be primarily directed.
Having begun by aiming at better things, if from particu
lar inclination, or from the taste of the time and place he
lives in, or from necessity, or from failure in the highest
attempts, he is obliged to descend lower, he will bring into
the lower sphere of art a grandeur of composition and
character, that will raise and ennoble his works far above
their natural rank.
A man is not weak, though he may not be able to
wield the club of Hercules ; nor does a man always prac
tice that which he esteems the best ; but does that which
he can best do. In moderate attempts there are many
walks open to the artist. But as the idea of beauty is of
necessity but one, so there can be but one great mode of
painting; the leading principle of which I have endeavored
to explain. I should be sorry, if what is here recommended should

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 47
be at all understood to countenance a careless or undeter
mined manner of painting. For, though the painter is to
overlook the accidental discriminations of nature, he is to
exhibit distinctly, and with precision, the general forms of
things. A firm and determined outline is one of the char
acteristics of the great style in painting ; and, let me add,
that he who possesses the knowledge of the exact form
which every part of nature ought to have, will be fond of
expressing that knowledge with correctness and precision
in all his works.
To conclude : I have endeavored to reduce the idea of
beauty to general principles ; and I had the pleasure to
observe that the Professor of Painting,. proceeded in the
same method, when he showed you that the artifice of con
trast was founded but on one principle, I am convinced
that this is the only means of advancing science ; of clear
ing the mind from a confused heap of contradictory obser
vations, that do but perplex and puzzle the student, when
he compares them, or misguide him if he gives himself up
to their authority ; bringing them under one general head,
can alone give rest and satisfaction to an inquisitive mind.

DISCOURSE IV.
Delivered lo the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1771.
General ideas the presiding principle -which regulates every part of Art; Inven
tion, Expression, Coloring, and Drapery. — Two distinct styles in history-paint-
ing ; the grand and the ornamental. — The schools in which each is to be found.
— The composite style. — The style formed on local customs and habits, or a
partial view of nature.
GENTLEMEN, The value and rank of every art is in proportion to the
mental labor employed in it, or the mental pleasure pro
duced by it. As this principle is observed or neglected,
our profession becomes either a liberal art, or a mechanical
trade. In the hands of one man, it makes the highest
pretensions, as it is addressed to the noblest faculties : in
those of another, it is reduced to a mere matter of orna
ment; and the painter has but the humble province of
furnishing our apartments with elegance.
This exertion of mind, which is the only circumstance
that truly ennobles our Art, makes the great distinction
between the Roman and Venetian schools. I have for
merly observed that perfect form is produced by leaving
out particularities, and retaining only general ideas : I
shall now endeavor to show that this principle, which I
have proved to be metaphysically just, extends itself to
every part of the Art; that it gives what is called the
grand style, to Invention, to Composition, to Expression,
and even to Coloring and Drapery.

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 49
Invention, in Painting, does not imply the invention
of the subject, for that is commonly supplied by the Poet
or Historian. With respect to the choice, no subject can
be proper that is not generally interesting. It ought to be
either some eminent instance of heroic action or heroic
suffering. There must be something, either in the action
or in the object, 'in which men are universally concerned,
and which powerfully strikes upon the public sympathy.
Strictly speaking, indeed, no subject can be of univer
sal, hardly can it be of general, concern; but there are
events and characters so popularly known in those countries
where our Art is in request, that they may be considered
as sufficiently general for all our purposes. Such are the
great events of Greek and Roman fable and history, which
early education, and the usual course of reading, have
made familiar and interesting to all Europe, without being
degraded by the vulgarism of ordinary life in any country.
Such, too, are the capital subjects of Scripture history,
which, beside their general notoriety, become venerable by
their connection with our religion.
As it is required that the subject selected should be a
general one, it is no less necessary that it should be kept
unembarrassed with whatever may any way serve to divide
the attention of the spectator. Whenever a story is related,
every man forms a picture in his mind of the action and
expression of the persons employed. The power of repre
senting this mental picture on canvass is what we call in
vention in a painter. And as, in the conception of this
ideal picture, the mind does not enter into the minute
peculiarities of the dress, furniture, or scene of action ; so,
when the painter comes to represent it, he contrives those
Uttle necessary concomitant circumstances in such a man-
5

50 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
ner that they shall strike the spectator no more than they
did himself in his first conception of the story.
I am very ready to allow, that some circumstances of
minuteness and particularity frequently tend to give an air
of truth to a piece, and to interest the spectator in an extra
ordinary manner. Such circumstances, therefore, can not
wholly be rejected : but if there be any thing in the Art
which requires peculiar nicety of discernment, it is the
disposition of these minute circumstantial parts; which,
according to the judgment employed in the choice, become
so useful to truth, or so injurious to grandeur.
However, the usual and most dangerous error is on
the side of minuteness; and, therefore, I think caution
most necessary where most have failed. The general idea
constitutes real excellence. All smaller things, however
perfect in their way, are to be sacrificed without mercy to
the greater. The painter will not inquire what things
may be admitted without much censure ; he will not think
it enough to show that they may be there ; he will show
that they must be there ; that their absence would render
his picture maimed and defective.
Thus, though to the principal group a second or third
be added, and a second and third mass of light, care must
be taken that these subordinate actions and lights, neither
each in particular, nor all together, come into any degree
of competition with the principal : they should merely
make a part of that whole which would be imperfect with
out them. To every kind of painting this rule may be
applied. Even in portraits, the grace, and, we may add,
the likeness, consists more in taking the general air, than
in observing the exact similitude of every feature.
Thus figures must have a ground whereon to stand ; they

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 51
must be clothed ; there must be a background : there must
be light and shadow ; but none of these ought to appear
to have taken up any part of the artist's attention. They
should be so managed as not even to catch that of
the spectator. We know well enough, when we ana
lyze a piece, the difficulty and the subtilty with which
an artist adjusts the background drapery, and masses
of light ; we know that a considerable part of the grace
and effect of his picture depends upon them ; but this art
is so much concealed, even to a judicious eye, that no re
mains of any of these subordinate parts occur to the memory
when the picture is not present.
The great end of the art is to strike the imagination.
The painter, therefore, is to make no ostentation of the
means by which this is done ; the spectator is only to feel
the result in his bosom. An inferior artist is unwilling
that any part of his industry should be lost upon the
spectator. He takes as much pains to discover, as the
greater artist does to conceal, the marks of his subordinate
assiduity. In works of the lower kind, every thing appears
studied, and encumbered ; it is all boastful art, and open
affectation. The ignorant often part from such pictures
with wonder in their mouths and indifference in their
hearts. But it is not enough in Invention that the Artist should
restrain and keep under all the inferior parts of his sub
ject; he must sometimes deviate from vulgar and strict
historical truth, in pursuing the grandeur of his design.
How much the great style exacts from its professors to
conceive and represent their subjects in a poetical manner,
not confined to mere matter of fact, may be seen in the
Cartoons of Raffaelle. In all the pictures in which the

52 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
painter has represented the apostles, he has drawn them
with great nobleness ; he has given them as much dignity
as the human figure is capable of receiving ; yet we are
expressly told in Scripture they had no such respectable ap
pearance ; and of St. Paul, in particular, we are told, by
himself, that his bodily presence was mean. Alexander is
said to have been of a low stature : a Painter ought not so
to represent him. Agesilaus was low, lame, and of a mean
appearance : none of these defects ought to appear in a
piece of which he is the hero. In conformity to custom, I
call this part of the art History Painting ; it ought to be
called Poetical, as in reality it is.
All this is not falsifying any fact ; it is taking an
allowed poetical licence. A painter of portraits, retains
the individual likeness; a painter of history, shows the
man by showing his action. A painter must compensate
the natural deficiencies of his art. He has but one sen
tence to utter, but one moment to exhibit. He can not,
like the poet or historian expatiate, and impress the mind
with great veneration for the character of the hero or saint
he represents, though he lets us know, at the same time,
that the saint was deformed, or the hero lame. The painter
has no other means of giving an idea of the dignity of the
mind, but by that external appearance which grandeur of
thought does generally, though not always, impress on the
countenance ; and by that correspondence of figure to sen
timent and situation, which all men wish, but can not
command. The painter who may in this one particular
attain with ease what others desire in vain, ought to give
all that he possibly can, since there are so many circum
stances of true greatness that he can not give at all. He
can not mako his hero talk like a great man; he must

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 53
make him look like one. For which reason he ought to
be well studied in the analysis of those circumstances
which constitute dignity of appearance in real life.
As in Invention, so likewise in Expression, care must
be taken not to run into particularities. Those expressions
alone should be given to the figures which their respective
situations generally produce. Nor is this enough; each
person should also have that expression which men of his
rank generally exhibit. The joy, or the grief, of a char
acter of dignity is not to be expressed in the same manner
as a similar passion in a vulgar face. Upon this principle,
Bernini, perhaps, may be subject to censure. This sculp
tor, in many respects admirable, has given a very mean
expression to his statue of David, who is represented as
just going to throw the stone from the sling; and, in order
to give it the expression of energy, he has made him biting
his under lip. This expression is far from being general,
and still farther from being dignified. He might have seen
it in an instance or two ; and he mistook accident for
generality. With respect to Coloring, though it may appear at first
a part of painting merely mechanical, yet it still has its
rules, and those grounded upon that presiding principle
which regulates both the great and the little in the study
of a painter. By this, the first effect of the picture is
produced; and as this is performed, the spectator, as he
walks the gallery, will stop, or pass along. To give a gen
eral air of grandeur at first view, all trifling, or artful play
of little lights, or an attention to a variety of tints, is to
be avoided ; a quietness and simplicity must reign over the
whole work; to which a breadth of uniform and simple
color will very much contribute. Grandeur of effect is
5*

54 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
produced by two different ways, which seem entirely op
posed to each other. One is, by reducing the colors to
little more than chiaro-oscuro, which was often the practice
of the Bolognian schools ; and the other, by making the
colors very distinct and forcible, such as we see in those
of Rome and Florence; but still, the presiding principle
of both those manners is simplicity. Certainly, nothing
can be more simple than monotony ; and the distinct blue,
red, and yellow colors which are seen in the draperies of
the Roman and Florentine schools, though they have not
that kind of harmony which is produced by a variety of
broken and transparent colors, have that effect of grandeur
which was intended. Perhaps these distinct colors strike
the mind more forcibly, from there not being any great
union between them ; as martial music, which is intended
to rouse the nobler passions, has its effect from the sudden
and strongly marked transitions from one note to another
which that style of music requires ; whilst, in that which
is intended to move the softer passions, the notes impercep
tibly melt into one another.
In the same manner as the historical painter never
enters into the detail of colors, so neither does he debase
his conceptions with minute attention to the discrimina
tions of drapery. It is the inferior style that marks the
variety of stuffs. With him, the clothing is neither wool
len, nor linen, nor silk, satin, or velvet : it is drapery; it
is nothing more. The art of disposing the foldings of the
drapery makes a very considerable part of the painter's
study. To make it merely natural, is a mechanical opera
tion, to which neither genius nor taste are required;
whereas, it requires the nicest judgment to dispose the
drapery, so that the folds shall have an easy communica-

TIE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 55
tion, and gracefully follow each other, with such natural
negligence as to look like the effect of chance, and at the
same time show the figure under it to the utmost advan
tage. Carlo Maratti was of opinion, that the disposition of
drapery was a more difficult art than even that of drawing
the human figure; that a student might be more easily
taught the latter than the former ; as the rules of drapery,
he said, could not be so well ascertained as those for de
lineating a correct form. This, perhaps, is a proof how
willingly we favor our own peculiar excellence. Carlo
Maratti is said to have valued himself particularly upon
his skill in this part of his art ; yet in him, the disposition
appears so ostentatiously artificial, that he is inferior to
Raffaelle, even in that which gave him his best claim to
reputation. Such is the great principle by which we must be direct
ed in the nobler branches of our art. Upon this principle,
the Roman, the Florentine, the Bolognese schools have
formed their practice ; and by this they have deservedly
obtained the highest praise. These are the three great
schools of the world in the epic style. The best of the
French school, Poussin, Le Sueur, and Le Brun, have
formed themselves upon these models, and consequently
may be said, though Frenchmen, to be a colony from the
Roman school. Next to these, but in a very different style
of excellence, we may rank the Venetian, together with
the Flemish and the Dutch schools; all professing to de
part from the great purposes of painting, and catching at
applause by inferior qualities.
I am not ignorant that some will censure me for
placing the Venetians in this inferior class, and many of

56 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
the warmest admirers of painting will think them unjustly
degraded ; but I wish not to be misunderstood. Though I
can by no means allow them to hold any rank with the
nobler schools of painting, they accomplished perfectly the
thing they attempted. But as mere elegance is their prin
cipal object, as they seem more willing to dazzle than to
affect, it can be no injury to them to suppose that their
practice is useful only to its proper end. But what may
heighten the elegant may degrade the sublime. There is a
simplicity, and, I may add, severity, in the great manner,
which is, I am afraid, almost incompatible with this com
paratively sensual style.
Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and others of the Venetian
school, seem to have painted with no other purpose than to
be admired for their skill and expertness in the mechanism
of painting, and to make a parade of that art, which, as I
before observed, the higher style requires its followers to
conceal. In a conference of the French Academy, at which were
present Le Brun, Sebastian Bourdon, and all the eminent
Artists of that age, one of the Academicians desired to
have their opinion on the conduct of Paul Veronese, who,
though a painter of great consideration, had, contrary to
the strict rules of art, in his picture of Perseus and An
dromeda, represented the principal figure in shade. To this
question no satisfactory answer was then given. But I will
venture to say, that, if they had considered the class of
the Artist, and ranked him as an ornamental Painter, there
would have been no difficulty in answering — "It was un
reasonable to expect what was never intended. His inten
tion was solely to produce an effect of light and shadow;
every thing was to be sacrificed to that intent, and the

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 57
capricious composition of that picture suited very well with
the style which he professed."
Young minds are indeed too apt to be captivated by this
splendor of style ; and that of the Venetians is particular
ly pleasing ; for by them, all those parts of the Art that
gave pleasure to the eye or sense, have been cultivated
with care, and carried to the degree nearest to perfection.
The powers exerted in the mechanical part of the Art have
been called the language of painters; but we may say,
that it is but poor eloquence which only shows that the
orator can talk. Words should be employed as the means,
not as the end : language is the instrument, conviction is
the work.
The language of Painting must indeed be allowed
these masters ; but even in that, they have shown more
copiousness than choice, and more luxuriancy than judg
ment. If we consider the uninteresting subjects of their
invention, or at least the uninteresting manner in which
they are treated ; if we attend to their capricious composi
tion, their violent and affected contrasts, whether of figures
or of light and shadow, the richness of their drapery, and,
at the same time, the mean effect which the discrimination
of stuffs gives to their pictures ; if to these we add their
total inattention to expression ; and then reflect on the
conceptions and the learning of Michael Angelo, or the
simplicity of Raffaelle, we can no longer dwell on the com
parison. Even in coloring, if we compare the quietness
and chastity of the Bolognese pencil to the bustle and
tumult that fills every part of a Venetian picture, without
the least attempt to interest the passions, their boasted art
will appear a mere struggle without effect ; a tale told by
an idiot) full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

58 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
Such as suppose that the great style might happily be
blended with the ornamental, that the simple, grave, and
majestic dignity of Raffaelle could unite with the glow and
bustle of a Paolo, or Tintoret, are totally mistaken. The
principles by which each is attained are so contrary to each
other, that they seem, in my opinion, incompatible, and as
impossible to exist together, as that in the mind the„most
sublime ideas and the lowest sensuality should at the same
time be_united. '. •- . , '"" /-^--^CV^- *;',.-!,
The subjects of the Venetian Painters are mostly such
as give them an opportunity of introducing a great number
of figures; such as feasts, marriages, and processions, pub
lic martyrdoms, or miracles. I can easily conceive that
Paul Veronese, if he were asked, would say, that no sub
ject was proper for an historical picture, but such as
admitted at least forty figures ; for in a less number, he
would assert, there could be no opportunity of the
Painter's showing his art in composition, his dexterity of
managing and disposing the masses of light and groups
of figures, and of introducing a variety of Eastern dresses
and characters in their rich stuffs.
But the thing is very different with a pupil of the
greater schools. Annibale Caracci thought twelve figures
sufficient for any story; he conceived that more would con
tribute to no end but to fill space ; that they would be but
cold spectators of the general action, or, to use his own
expression, that they would be figures to let. Besides, it
is impossible for a picture composed of so many parts to
have that effect so indispensably necessary to grandeur,
that of one complete whole. However contradictory it
may be in geometry, it is true in taste, that many Httle
things will not make a great one. The Sublime impresses

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 59
the mind at once with one great idea ; it is a single blow :
the Elegant, indeed, may be produced by repetition; by
an accumulation of many minute circumstances.
However great the difference is between the composi
tion cf the Venetian and the rest of the Italian schools,
there jis full as great a disparity in the effect of their pic
tures/as produced by colors. And though in this respect
tho Venetians must be allowed extraordinary skill, yet
jven that skill, as they have employed it, will but ill cor
respond with the great style. Their coloring is not only
too brilliant, but, I will venture to say, too harmonious, to
produce that solidity, steadiness, and simplicity of effect,
which heroic subjects require, and which simple or grave
colors only can give to a work. That they are to be cau
tiously studied by those who are ambitious of treading the
great walk of history, is confirmed, if it wants confirma
tion, by the greatest of all authorities, Michael Angelo.
This wonderful man, after having seen a picture by Titian,
told Vasari, who accompanied him,* "that he liked much
his coloring and manner;" but then he added, "that
it was a pity the Venetian painters did not learn to draw
correctly in their youth, and adopt a better manner of
study." By this it appears, that the principal attention of the
Venetian painters, in the opinion of Michael Angelo,
seemed to be engrossed by the study of colors, to the
neglect of the ideal beauty of form, or propriety of
expression. But if general censure was given to that
school from the sight of a picture of Titian, how much
* Dicendo, che molto gli piaceva il colorito suo, e la maniera ;
ma che era un peccato, che a Venezia non s'imparasse da prin-
cipio a disegnare bene, e che non havessano que' pittori miglior
modo nello studio. — Vas. torn. iii. p. 226. Vita di Tiziano.

60 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
more heavily and more justly would the censure fall on
Paolo Veronese, and more especially on Tintoret? And
here I can not avoid citing Vasari's opinion of the style
and manner of Tintoret. " Of all the extraordinary
geniuses,"* says he, "that have practised the art of paint
ing, for wild, capricious, extravagant, and fantastical inven
tions, for furious impetuosity and boldness in the execution
of his work, there is none like Tintoret; his strange
whimsies are even beyond extravagance; and his works
seems to be produced rather by chance, than in consequence
of any previous design, as if he wanted to convince the
world that the art was a trifle, and of the most easy attain
ment." For my own part, when I speak of the Venetian
painters, I wish to be understood to mean Paolo Veronese
and Tintoret, to the exclusion of Titian : for though his
style is not so pure as that of many other of the Italian
Schools, yet there is a sort of senatorial dignity about him,
which, however awkward in his imitators, seems to become
him exceedingly. His portraits, alone, from the nobleness
and simplicity of character which he always gave them,
will entitle him to the greatest respect, as he undoubtedly
stands in the first rank in this branch of the art.
It is not with Titian, but with the seducing qualities of
the two former, that I could wish to caution you against
being too much captivated. These are the persons who
*Nelle cose della pittura, stravagante, capriccioso, presto, e
resoluto, et il piu terrible cervello, che habbia havuto mai la pit
tura, come si puo vedere in tutte le sue opere ; e ne' componimen-
ti delle storie, fantastiche, e fatte da lui diversamente, e fuori
dell' uso degli altri pittori : ami ha superato la stjyivaganza, con
le nuove, e capricciose inventioni, e strani ghiribizzi del suo intel-
leto, che ha lavorato a caso, e senza diseg no, quasi nonstrando
che quest' arte e una baia.

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 61
may be said to have exhausted all the powers of florid elo
quence, to debauch the young and unexperienced : and
have, without doubt, been the cause of turning off the
attention of the connoisseur and of the patron of art, as
well as that of the painter, from those higher excellencies
of which the art is capable, and which ought to be required
in every considerable production. By them, and their im
itators, a style merely ornamental has been dissemina
ted throughout all Europe. Rubens carried it to Flan
ders; Voet to France; and Lucca Giordano to Spain and
Naples. The Venetian is indeed the most splendid of the
schools of elegance ; and it is not without reason that the
best performances in this lower school are valued higher
than the second-rate performances of those above them;
for every picture has value when it has a decided character,
and is excellent in its kind. But the student must take
care not to be so much dazzled with this splendor, as to be
tempted to imitate what must ultimately lead from perfec
tion. Poussin, whose eye was always steadily fixed on the
sublime, has been often heard to say, " That a particular
attention to coloring was an obstacle to the student, in his
progress to the great end and design of the art ; and that
he who attaches himself to this principal end, will acquire
by practice a reasonably good method of coloring." *
Though it be allowed that elaborate harmony of color
ing, a brilliancy of tints, a soft and gradual transition from
one to another, present to the eye, what an harmonious

* Que cette application singuleire n'etoit, qu'un obstacle pour
empecher de parvenir au veritable but de la peinture, et celui qui
s'attache au principal, acquiert par la pratique une assez belle
maniere de peindre. — Conference de 1'Acad. Franc.
6

'62 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
concert of music does to the ear, it must be remembered,
that painting is not merely a gratification of the sight.
Such excellence, though properly cultivated, where noth
ing higher than elegance is intended, is weak and unwor
thy of regard when the work aspires to grandeur and
sublimity. The same reasons that have been urged to show that a
mixture of the Venetian style can not improve the great
style, will hold good in regard to the Flemish and Dutch
schools. Indeed the Flemish school, of which Rubens is
the head, was formed upon that of the Venetian; like
them, he took his figures too much from the people before
him. But it must be allowed in favor of the Venetians,
that he was more gross than they, and carried all then-
mistaken methods to a far greater excess. In the Vene
tian school itself, where they all err from the same cause,
there is a difference in the effect. The difference between
Paolo and Bassano seems to be only, that one introduced
Venetian gentlemen into his pictures, and the other the
boors of the district of Bassano, and called them patri
archs and prophets.
The painters of the Dutch school have still more lo
cality. With them, a history-piece is properly a portrait
of themselves ; whether they describe the inside or outside
of their houses, we have their own people engaged in their
own peculiar occupations ; working or drinking, playing or
fighting. The circumstances that enter into a picture of
this kind, are so far from giving a general view of human
life, that they exhibit all the minute particularities of a
nation differing in several respects from the rest of man
kind. Yet, let them have their share of more humble
praise. The painters of this school are excellent in their

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 63
own way; they are only ridiculous when they attempt
general history on their own narrow principles, and debase
great events by the meanness of their characters.
Some inferior dexterity, some extraordinary mechanical
power is apparently that from which they seek distinction.
Thus, we see, that school alone has the custom of repre
senting candle-light not as it really appears to us by night,
but red, as it would illuminate objects to a spectator by
day. Such tricks, however pardonable in the little style,
where petty effects are the sole end, are inexcusable in the
greater, where the attention should never be drawn aside
by trifles, but should be entirely occupied by the subject
itself. The same local principles which characterize the Dutch
school extend even to their landscape painters; and. Ru
bens himself, who has painted many landscapes, has some
times transgressed in this particular. Their pieces in this
way are, I think, always a representation of an individual
spot, and each in its kind a very faithful but a very con
fined portrait. Claude Lorrain, on the contrary, was
convinced, that taking nature as he found it seldom pro
duced beauty. His pictures are a composition of the
various draughts which he had previously made from
various beautiful scenes and prospects. However, Rubens
in some measure has made amends for the deficiency with
which he is charged; he has contrived to raise and animate
his otherwise uninteresting views, by introducing a rain
bow, storm, or some particular accidental effect of light.
That the practice of Claude Lorrain, in respect to his
choice, is to be adopted by Landscape-painters in opposition
to that of the Flemish and Dutch schools, there can be no
doubt, as its truth is founded upon the same principle as

64 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
that by which the Historical Painter acquires perfect form.
But whether landscape painting has a right to aspire so far
as to reject what the pamters call Accidents of Nature, is
not easy to determine. It is certain Claude Lorrain sel
dom, if ever, availed himself of those accidents ; either he
thought that such peculiarities were contrary to that style
of general nature which he professed, or that it would catch
the attention too strongly, and destroy that quietness and
repose which he thought necessary to that kind of
painting. A Portrait-painter likewise, when he attempts history,
unless he is upon his guard, is likely to enter too much
into the detail. He too frequently makes his historical
heads look like portraits ; and this was once the custom
amongst those old painters, who revived the art before gene
ral ideas were practised or understood. A History-painter
paints man in general ; a Portrait-painter, a particular man,
and consequently a defective model.
Thus an habitual practice in the lower exercises of the
art will prevent many from attaining the greater. But
such of us who move in these humbler walks of the profes
sion, are not ignorant that, as the natural dignity of the
subject is less, the more all the little ornamental helps are
necessary to its embellishment. It would be ridiculous for
a painter of domestic scenes, of portraits, landscapes, ani
mals, or still life, to say that he despised those qualities
which has made the subordinate schools so famous. • The
art of coloring, and the skillful management of light and
shadow, are essential requisites in his confined labors. If
we descend still lower, what is the painter of fruit and
flowers without the utmost art in coloring, and what the
painters call handling ; that is, a lightness of pencil that

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 65
implies great practice, and gives the appearance of being
done with ease ? Some here, I believe, must remember a
flower-painter whose boast it was, that he scorned to paint
for the million : no, he professed to paint in the true
Italian taste ; and, despising the crowd, called strenuously
upon the few to admire him. His idea of the Italian
taste was to paint as black and dirty as he could, and to
leave all clearness and brilliancy of coloring to those who
were fonder of money than immortality. The consequence
was such as might be expected. For these petty excellen
cies are here essential beauties ; and without this merit the
artist's work will be more short-lived than the objects of
his imitation. From what has been advanced, we must now be con
vinced that there are two distinct styles in history-paint
ing ; the grand, and the splendid or ornamental.
The great style stands alone, and does not require,
perhaps does not so well admit, any addition from inferior
beauties. The ornamental style also possesses its own
peculiar merit. However, though the union of the two
may make a sort of composite style, yet that style is likely
to be more imperfect than either of those which go to its
composition. Both kinds have merit, and may be excel
lent though in different ranks, if uniformity be preserved,
and the general and particular ideas of nature be not
mixed. Even the meanest of them is difficult enough to
attain ; and the first place being already occupied by the
great artists in each department, some of those who fol
lowed thought there was less room for them ; and feeling
the impulse of ambition and the desire of novelty, and
being at the same time, perhaps, willing to take the short
est way, endeavored to make for themselves a place be-
6*

66 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
tween both. This they have effected by forming an union
of the different orders. But as the grave and majestic
style would suffer by an union with the florid and gay, so
also has the Venetian ornament in some respect been in
jured by attempting an alliance with simplicity.
It may be asserted, that the great style is always more
or less contaminated by any meaner mixture. But it hap
pens in a few instances that the lower may be improved by
borrowing from the grand. Thus if a portrait-painter is
desirous to raise and improve his subject, he has no other
means than by approaching it to a general idea. He leaves
out all the minute breaks and peculiarities in the face, and
changes the dress from a temporary fashion to one more
permanent, which has annexed to it no ideas of meanness
from its being familiar to us. But if an exact resemblance
of an individual be considered as the sole object to be
aimed at, the portrait-painter will be apt to lose more than
he gains by the acquired dignity taken from general na
ture. It is very difficult to ennoble the character of a
countenance but at the expense of the likeness, which is
what is most generally required by such as sit to the
painter. Of those who have practised the composite style, and
have succeeded in this perilous attempt, perhaps the fore
most is Correggio. His style is founded upon modern
grace and elegance, to which is superadded something of
the simplicity of the grand style. A breadth of light and
color, the general ideas of the drapery, an uninterrupted
flow of outline, all conspire to this effect. Next to him,
(perhaps equal to him,) Parmegiano has dignified the gen-
teelness of modern effeminacy, by uniting it with the sim
plicity of the ancients and the grandeur and severity of

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 67
Michael Angelo. It must be confessed, however, that
these two extraordinary men, by endeavoring to give the
utmost degree of grace, have sometimes perhaps exceeded
its boundaries, and have fallen into the most hateful of all
hateful qualities — affectation. Indeed, it is the peculiar
characteristic of men of genius to be afraid of coldness
and insipidity, from which they think they never can be
too far removed. It particularly happens to these great
masters of grace and elegance. They often boldly drive
on to the very verge of ridicule ; the spectator is alarmed,
but at the same time admires their vigor and intrepidity : —
Strange graces still, and stranger nights they had,
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,
As when they touch'd the brink of all we hate.
The errors of genius, however, are pardonable, and
none even of the more exalted painters are wholly free
from them ; but they have taught us, by the rectitude of
their general practice, to correct their own affected or acci
dental deviation. The very first have not been always
upon their guard, and perhaps there is not a fault but
what may take shelter under the most venerable authori
ties ; yet that style only is perfect, in which the noblest
principles are uniformly pursued ; and those masters only
are entitled to the first rank in our estimation who have
enlarged the boundaries of their art, and have raised it to
its highest dignity, by exhibiting the general ideas of
nature. On the whole, it seems to me that there is but one pre
siding principle which regulates and gives stability to every

68 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
art. >The works, whether of poets, painters, morahsts, or
historians, which are built upon general nature, Hve for
ever ; while those which depend for their existence on par
ticular customs and habits, a partial view of nature, or the
fluctuation of fashion, can only be coeval with that which
first raised them from obscurity. Present time and future
may be considered as rivals ; and he who solicits the one
must expect to be discountenanced by the other.

DISCOURSE V.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1772.
Circumspection required in endeavoring to unite contrary excellencies. — The
expression of a mixed passion not to be attempted. — Examples of those who
excelled in the great style. — Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, those two extraordinary
men compared with each other. — The characteristical style. — Salvator Rosa
mentioned as an example of that style ; and opposed to Carlo Maratti. — Sketch
of the characters of Poussin and Rubens. — These two painters entirely dissim
ilar, but consistent with themselves. — This consistency required in all parts of
the Art. x
GENTLEMEN, I purpose to carry on in this discourse the subject
which I began in my last. It was my wish upon that
occasion to incite you to pursue the higher excellencies
of the art. But I fear that in this particular I have been
misunderstood. Some are ready to imagine, when any of
their favorite acquirements in the art are properly classed,
that they are utterly disgraced. This is a very great mis
take : nothing has its proper lustre but in its proper place.
That which is most worthy of esteem in its allotted sphere,
becomes an object, not of respect, but of derision, when it
is forced into a higher, to which it is not suited ; and there
it becomes doubly a source of disorder, by occupying a sit
uation which is not natural to it, and by putting down
from the first place what is in reality of too much magni
tude to become with grace and proportion that subordinate
station, to which something of less value would be much
better suited.

70 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
My advice, in a word, is this : — Keep your principal
attention fixed upon the higher excellencies. If you com
pass them, and compass nothing more, you are still in the
first class. We may regret the innumerable beauties which
you may want ; you may be very imperfect : but still you
are an imperfect artist of the highest order.
If, when you have got thus far, you can add any, or
all, of the subordinate qualifications, it is my wish and
advice that you should not neglect them. But this is as
much a matter of circumspection and caution at least, as
of eagerness and pursuit.
The mind is apt to be distracted by a multiplicity of
objects ; and that scale of perfection which I wish always
to be preserved, is in the greatest danger of being totally
disordered, and even inverted.
Some excellencies bear to be united, and are improved
by union; others are of a discordant nature; and the
attempt to join them, only produces a harsh jarring of in-
congruent principles. The attempt to unite contrary excel
lencies (of form, for instance) in a single figure, can never
escape degenerating into the monstrous, but by sinking
into the insipid ; by taking away its marked character, and
weakening its expression.
This remark is true to a certain degree with regard to
the passions. If you mean to preserve the most perfect
beauty in its most perfect state, you can not express the
passions, all of which produce distortion and deformity,
more or less in the most beautiful faces.
Guido, from want of choice in adapting his subject to
his ideas and his powers, or from attempting to preserve
beauty where it could not be preserved, has in this respect
succeeded very ill His figures are often engaged in sub-

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 71
jects that required .great expression : yet his Judith and
Holofernes, the daughter of Herodias with the Baptist's
head, the Andromeda, and some 'even of the Mothers of
the Innocents, have little more expression than his Venus
attired by the Graces.
Obvious as these remarks appear, there are many writers
on our art, who, not being of the profession, and conse
quently not knowing what can or can not be done, have
been very liberal of absurd praises in their descriptions of
favorite works. They always find in them what they are
resolved to find. They praise excellencies that can hardly
exist together ; and, above all things, are fond of describ
ing, with great exactness, the expression of a mixed pas
sion, which more particularly appears to me out of the
reach of our art.
Such are many disquisitions which I have read on some
of the Cartoons and other pictures of Raffaelle, where the
critics have described their own imaginations; or, indeed,
where the excellent master himself may have attempted
this expression of passions above the powers of the art,
and has, therefore, by an indistinct and imperfect marking,
left room for every imagination, with equal probability to
find a passion of his own. What has been, and what can
be done in the art, is sufficiently difficult ; we need not be
mortified or discouraged at not being able to execute the
conceptions of a romantic imagination. Art has its boun
daries, though imagination has none. We can easily, like
the ancients, suppose a Jupiter to be possessed of all those
powers and perfections which the subordinate deities were
endowed with separately. Yet, when they employed their
art to represent him, they confined his character to majesty
alone. Pliny, therefore, though we are under great obli-

72 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
gations to him for the information he has given us in
relation to the works of the ancient artists, is very fre
quently wrong when he speaks of them, which he does
very often, in the style of many of our modern connoisseurs.
He observes, that in a statue of Paris, by Euphranor, you
might discover, at the same time, three different characters;
the dignity of a Judge of the Goddesses, the Lover of
Helen, and the Conqueror of Achilles. A statue, in which
you endeavor to unite stately dignity, youthful elegance,
and stern valor, must surely possess none of these to any
eminent degree.
From hence it appears, that there is much difficulty, as
well as danger, in an endeavor to concentrate, in a single
subject, those various powers, which, rising from different
points, naturally move in different directions.
The summit of excellence seems to be an assemblage
of contrary qualities, but mixed in such proportions, that
no one part is found to counteract the other. How hard
this is to be attained in every art, those only know who
have made the greatest progress in their respective profes
sions. To conclude what I have to say on this part of the
subject, which I think of great importance, I wish you to
understand, that I do not discourage the younger Students
from the noble attempt of uniting all the excellencies of
art ; but suggest to them, that, beside the difficulties which
attend every arduous attempt, there is a peculiar difficulty
in the choice of the excellencies which ought to be united.
I wish to attend to this, that you may try yourselves,
whenever you are capable of that trial, what you can and
what you can not do ; and that, instead of dissipating your
natural faculties over the immense field of possible excel-

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 73
lence, you may choose some particular walk in which you
may exercise all your powers, in order that each of you
may become the first in his way. If any man shall be
master of such a transcendant, commanding, and ductile
genius, as to enable him to rise to the highest, and to stoop
to the lowest, flights of art, and to sweep over all of them,
unobstructed and secure, he is fitter to give example than
to receive instruction.
Having said thus much on the union of excellencies, I
will next say something of the subordination in which va
rious excellencies ought to be kept.
I am of opinion, that the ornamental style, which, in
my discourse of last year, I cautioned you against consid
ering as principal, may not be wholly unworthy the atten
tion even of those who aim at the grand style, when it is
properly placed and properly reduced.
But this study will be used with far better effect, if its
principles are employed in softening the harshness and
mitigating the rigor of the great style, than if it attempt
to stand forward with any pretensions of its own, to posi
tive and original excellence. It was thus Ludovico Caracci,
whose example I formerly recommended to you, employed
it. He was acquainted with the works both of Correggio
and the Venetian painters, and knew the principles by
which they produced those pleasing effects, which, at the
first glance, prepossesses us so much in their favor ; but he
took only as much from each as would embellish, but not
overpower, that manly strength and energy of style, which
is his peculiar character.
Since I have already expatiated so largely in my former
discourse, and in my present, upon the styles and charac
ters of Painting, it will not be at all unsuitable to my
7

74 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
subject, if I mention to you some particulars relative to
the leading principles, and capital works, of those who
excelled in the great style, that I may bring you from
abstraction nearer to practice, and by exemplifying the
positions which I have laid down, enable you to understand
more clearly what I would enforce.
The principal works of modern art are in Fresco, a
mode of painting which excludes attention to minute
elegancies : yet these works in Fresco, are the productions
on which the fame of the greatest masters depends. Such
are the pictures of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle in the
Vatican; to which we may add the Cartoons; which,
though not strictly to be called Fresco, yet may be put
under that denomination ; and such are the works of Giulio
Romano at Mantua. 1£ these performances were destroyed,
with them would be lost the best part of the reputation of
those illustrious painters; for these are justly considered
as the greatest effort of our art which the world can boast.
To these, therefore, we should principally direct our atten
tion for higher excellencies. As for the lower arts, as they
have been once discovered, they may be easily attained by
those possessed of the former.
Raffaelle, who stands in general foremost of the first
painters, owes his reputation, as I have observed, to his
excellence in the higher parts of the art; his works in
Fresco, therefore, ought to be the first object of our study
and attention. His easel-works stand in a lower degree
of estimation : for though he continually, to the day of
his death, embellished his performances more and more
with the addition of those lower ornaments, which entirely
make the merit of some painters, yet he never arrived at
such perfection as to make him an object of imitation. He

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 75
never was able to conquer perfectly that dryness, or even
littleness of manner, which he inherited from his master.
He never acquired that nicety of taste in colors, that
breadth of light and shadow, that art and management of
uniting light to light, and shadow to shadow, so as to make
the object rise out of the ground, with the plenitude of
effect so much admired in the works of Correggio. When
he painted in oil, his hand seemed to be so cramped and
confined, that he not only lost that facility and spirit, but I
think even that correctness of form, which is so perfect
and admirable in his Fresco-works. I do not recollect any
pictures of his of this kind, except the Transfiguration, in
which there are not some parts that appear to be even
feebly drawn. That this is not a necessary attendant on
Oil-painting, we have abundant instances in more modern
painters. Ludovico Caracci, for instance, preserved in his
works in oil the same spirit, vigor, and correctness which
he had in Fresco. I have no desire to degrade Raffaelle
from the high rank which he deservedly holds; but by
comparing him with himself, he does not appear to me to
be the same man in Oil as in Fresco.
From those who have ambition to tread in this great
walk of the art, Michael Angelo claims the next attention.
He did not possess so many excellencies as Raffaelle, but
those which he had were of the highest kind. He consid
ered the art as consisting of little more than what may be at
tained by sculpture ; correctness of form, and energy of char
acter. We ought not to expect more than an artist intends
in his work. He never attempted those lesser elegancies
and graces in the art. Vasari says, he never painted but
one picture in oil, and resolved never to paint another, say
ing it was an employment only fit for women and children.

76 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
If any man had a right to look down upon the lower
accomplishments as beneath his attention, it was certainly
Michael Angelo ; nor can it be thought strange, that such
a mind should have slighted or have been withheld from
paying due attention to all those graces and embellishments
of art, which have diffused such lustre over the works of
other painters.
It must be acknowledged, however, that together with
these, which we wish he had more attended to, he has
rejected all the false, though specious ornaments, which
disgrace the works even of the most esteemed artists ; and,
I will venture to say, that when those higher excellencies
are more known and cultivated by the artists and patrons
of arts, his fame and credit will increase with our in
creasing knowledge. His name will then be held in the
same veneration as it was in the enlightened age of Leo
the Tenth : and it is remarkable that the reputation of this
truly great man has been continually declining as the art
itself has declined. For I must remark to you, that it has
long been much on the decline, and that our only hope of
its revival will consist in your being thoroughly sensible of
its deprivation and decay. It is to Michael Angelo that
we owe even the existence of Raffaelle ; it is to him that
Raffaelle owes the grandeur of his style. He was taught
by him to elevate his thoughts, and to conceive his subjects
with dignity. His genius, however, formed to blaze and
shine, might, like fire in combustible matter, for ever have
lain dormant, if it had not caught a spark by its contact
with Michael Angelo ; and though it never burst out with
his extraordinary heat and vehemence, yet it must be ac
knowledged to be a more pure, regular, and chaste flame.
Though our judgment must, upon the whole, decide in

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 77
favor of Raffaelle, yet he never takes such a firm hold and
entire possession of the mind as to make us desire nothing
else, and to feel nothing wanting. The effect of the capi
tal works of Michael Angelo perfectly corresponds to what
Bouchardon said he felt from reading Homer ; his whole
frame appeared to himself to be enlarged, and all nature
which surrounded him, diminished to atoms.
D; we put these great artists in a light of comparison
with each other, Raffaelle had more Taste and Fancy ; Mi
chael Angelo, more Genius and Imagination. The one
excelled in beauty, the other in energy. Michael Angelo
has more of the poetical Inspiration ; his ideas are vast
and sublime ; his people are a superior order of beings ;
there is nothing about them, nothing in the air of their
actions, or their attitudes, or the style and cast of their
limbs or features, that reminds us of their belonging to
our own species. Raffaelle's imagination is not so ele
vated; his figures are not so much disjoined from our own
diminutive race of beings, though his ideas are chaste,
noble, and of great conformity to their subjects. Michael
Angelo's works have a strong, peculiar, and marked char
acter ; they seem to proceed from his own mind entirely,
and that mind so rich and abundant, that he never needed,
or seemed to disdain, to look abroad for foreign help.
Raffaelle's materials are generally borrowed, though the
noble structure is his own. The excellency of this extra
ordinary man lay in the propriety, beauty, and majesty of
his characters, the judicious contrivance of his Composi
tion, his correctness of Drawing, purity of Taste, and
skillful accommodation of other men's conceptions to his
own purpose. Nobody excelled him in that judgment,
with which he united to his own observations on Nature,
7*

78 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
the energy of Michael Angelo, and the Beauty and Sim
plicity of the Antique. To the question, therefore, whieh
ought to hold the first rank, Raffaelle or Michael Angelo,
it must be answered, that if it is to be given to him who
possessed a greater combination of the higher qualities of
the art than any other man, there is no doubt but Raffaelle
is the first. But if, as Longinus thinks, the sublime,
being the highest excellence that human composition can
attain to, abundantly compensates the absence of every
other beauty, and atones for all other deficiencies, then
Michael Angelo demands the preference.
These two extraordinary men carried some of the
higher excellencies of the art to a greater degree of per
fection than probably they ever arrived at before. They
certainly have not been excelled, nor equalled since.
Many of their successors were induced to leave this great
road as a beaten path, endeavoring to surprise and please
by something uncommon or new. When this desire of
novelty has proceeded from mere idleness or caprice, it is
not worth the trouble of criticism ; but when it has been
the result of a busy mind of a peculiar complexion, it is
always striking and interesting, never insipid.
Such is the great style, as it appears in those who pos
sessed it at its height : in this, search after novelty, in
conception or in treating the subject, has no place.
But there is another style, which, though inferior to
the former, has still great merit, because it shows that
those who cultivated it were men of lively and vigorous
imagination. This, which may be called the original or
characteristical style, being less referred to any true arche
type existing either in general or particular nature, must
be supported by the painter's consistency in the principles

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 79
whieh he has assumed, and in the union and harmony of
his whole design. The excellency of every style, but of
the subordinate styles more especially, will very much de
pend on preserving that union and harmony between all
the component parts, that they may appear to hang well
together, as if the whole proceeded from one mind. It is
in the works of art as in the characters of men. The
faults or defects of some men seem to become them, when
they appear to be the natural growth, and of a piece with
the rest of their character. A faithful picture of a mind,
though it be not of the most elevated kind, though it be
irregular, wild, and incorrect, yet if it be marked with that
spirit and firmness which characterize works of genius, will
claim attention, and be more striking than a combination
of excellencies that do not seem to unite well together ; or
we may say, than a work that possesses even all excellen
cies, but those in a moderate degree.
One of the strongest-marked characters of this kind,
which must be allowed to be subordinate to the great style,
is that of Salvator Rosa. He gives us a peculiar cast of
nature, which, though void of all grace, elegance, and
simplicity, though it has nothing of that elevation and
dignity which belongs to the grand style, yet has that sort
of dignity which belongs to savage and uncultivated
nature : but what is most to be admired in him, is the per
fect correspondence which he observed between the sub
jects which he chose, and his manner of treating them.
Every thing is of a piece : his Rocks, Trees, Sky, even to
his handling, have the same rude and wild character which
animates his figures.
With him we may contrast the character of Carlo
Maratti, who, in my opinion, had no great vigor of mind

80 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
or strength of original genius. He rarely seizes the imagi
nation by exhibiting the higher excellencies, nor does he
captivate us by that originality which attends the painter
who thinks for himself. He knew and practised all the
rules of art, and from a composition of Raffaelle, Caracci,
and Guido, made up a style, of which the only fault was,
that it had no manifest defects and no striking beauties ;
and that the principles of his, composition are never blend
ed together so as to form one uniform body original in its
kind, or excellent in any view.
I will mention two other painters, who, though entirely
dissimilar, yet by being each consistent with himself, and
possessing a manner entirely his own, have both gained
reputation, though for very opposite accomplishments..
The painters I mean are Rubens and Poussin. Rubens I
mention in this place, as I think him a remarkable instance
of the same mind being seen in all the various parts of the
art. The whole is so much of a piece, that one can scarce
be brought to believe but that if any one of the qualities
he possessed had been more correct and perfect, his works
would not have been so complete as they now appear. If
we should allow him a greater purity and correctness of
Drawing, his want of Simplicity in Composition, Coloring,
and Drapery, would appear more gross.
In his Composition his art is too apparent. His figures
have expression, and act with energy, but without sim
plicity or dignity. His coloring, in which he is eminently
skilled, is notwithstanding too much of what we call
tinted. Throughout the whole of his works, there is a
proportionable want of that nicety of distinction and ele
gance of mind, which is required in the higher walks of
painting : and to this want it may be in some degree

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 81
ascribed, that those qualities which make the excellency of
this subordinate style appear in him with their greatest
lustre. Indeed the facility with which he invented, the
richness of his composition, the luxuriant harmony and
brilliancy of his coloring, so dazzle the eye, that whilst his
works continue before us, we cannot help thinking that all
his deficiencies are fully supplied.*
Opposed to this florid,, careless, loose, and inaccurate
style, that of the simple, careful, pure, and correct style of
Poussin, seems to be a complete contrast. Yet however
opposite their characters, in one thing they agreed; both
of them always preserving a perfect correspondence be
tween all the parts of their respective manners ; insomuch
that it may be doubted whether any alteration of what is
considered as defective in either, would not destroy the
effect of the whole.
Poussin lived and conversed with the ancient statues so
long, that he may be said to have been better acquainted
with them than with the people who were about him. I
have often thought that he carried his veneration for them
so far as to wish to give his works the air of Ancient
Paintings. It is certain he copied some of the Antique
Paintings, particularly the Marriage in the Aldobrandini
Palace at Rome, which I believe to be the best relic of
those remote ages that has yet been found.
No works of any modern have so much the air of An
tique Painting as those of Poussin. His best performan
ces have a remarkable dryness of manner, which though
by no means to be recommended for imitation, yet seems
perfectly correspondent to that ancient simplicity which
*A more detailed character of Eubens may be found in the
"Journey to Flanders and Holland," near the conclusion. — M

82 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
distinguishes his style. Like Polidoro he studied the an
cients so much that he acquired a habit of thinking in
their way, and seemed to know perfectly the actions and
gestures they would use on every occasion.
Poussin in the latter part of his life changed from his
dry manner to one much softer and richer, where there is a
greater union between the figures and ground; as in the
Seven Sacraments in the Duke of Orleans's collection;
but neither these, or any of his other pictures in this man
ner, are at all comparable to many in this dry manner
which we have in England.
The favorite subjects of Poussin were Ancient Fables;
and no painter was ever better qualified to paint such sub
jects, not only from his being eminently skilled in the
knowledge of the ceremonies, customs, and habits of the
Ancients, but from his being so well acquainted with the
different characters which those who invented them gave to
their allegorical figures. Though Rubens has shown great
fancy in his Satyrs, Silenuses, and Fauns, yet they are not
that distinct, separate class of beings, which is carefully
exhibited by the Ancients, and by Poussin. Certainly,
when such subjects of antiquity are represented, nothing
in the picture ought to remind us of modern times. The
mind is thrown back into antiquity, and nothing ought to
be introduced that may tend to awaken it from the illusion.
Poussin seemed to think that the style and the lan
guage in which such stories are told, is not the worse for
preserving some relish of the old way of painting, which
seemed to give a general uniformity to the whole, so that
the mind was thrown back into antiquity not only by the
subject, but the execution.
H Poussin, in imitation of the Ancients, represents

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 83
Apollo driving his chariot out of the sea by way of repre
senting the Sun rising, if he personifies Lakes and Rivers,
it is nowise offensive in him ; but seems perfectly of a
piece with the general air of the picture. On the con
trary, if the figures which people his pictures had a
modern air or countenance, if they appeared like our coun
trymen, if the draperies were like cloth or silk of our
manufacture, if the landscape had the appearance of a
modern view, how ridiculous would Apollo appear instead
of the Sun ; and an old Man, or a nymph with an urn, to
represent a River or a Lake ?
I can not avoid mentioning here a circumstance in por
trait-painting, which may help to confirm what has been
said. When a portrait is painted in the Historical Style,
as it is neither an exact minute representation of an indi
vidual, nor completely ideal, every circumstance ought to
correspond to this mixture. The simplicity of the antique
air and attitude, however much to be admired, is ridiculous
when joined to a figure in a modern dress. It is not to
my purpose to enter into the question at present, whether
this mixed style ought to be adopted or not; yet if it
is chosen, it is necessary it should be complete, and all of
a piece ; the difference of stuffs, for instance, which make
the clothing, should be distinguished in the same degree as
the head deviates from a general idea. Without this
union, which I have so often recommended, a work can
have no marked and determined character, which is the
peculiar and constant evidence of genius. But when this
is accomplished to a high degree, it becomes in some sort
a rival to that style which we have fixed as the highest.
Thus I have given a sketch of the characters of Ru
bens and Salvator Rosa, as they appear to me to have the

84 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
greatest uniformity of mind throughout their whole work.
But we may add to these, all those Artists who are at the
head of a class, and have had a school of imitators from
Michael Angelo down to Watteau. Upon the whole it
appears that, setting aside the Ornamental Style, there axe
two different modes, either of which a Student may adopt
without degrading the dignity of his art. The object of
the first, is to combine the higher excellencies and embel
lish them to the greatest advantage : of the other, to carry
one of these excellencies to the highest degree. But those
who possess neither, must be classed with them, who, as
Shakspeare says,, are men of no mark or lilcelihood.
I inculcate as frequently as I can your forming your
selves upon great principles and great models. Your time
will be much mis-spent in every other pursuit. Small
excellencies should be viewed, not studied ; they ought to
be viewed, because nothing ought to escape a Painter's
observation : but for no other reason.
There is another caution which I wish to give you.
Be as select in those whom you endeavor to please, as in
those whom you endeavor to imitate. Without the love
of fame you can never do any thing excellent : but by an
excessive and undistinguishing thirst after it, you will
come to have vulgar views ; you will degrade your style ;
and your taste will be entirely corrupted. It is certain
that the lowest style will be the most popular, as it falls
within the compass of ignorance itself; and the Vulgar
will always be pleased with what is natural, in the con
fined and misunderstood sense of the word.
One would wish that such depravation of taste should
be counteracted with that manly pride which actuated
Euripides when he said to the Athenians who criticised

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 85
his works, "I do not compose my works in order to be
corrected by you, but to instruct you." It is true, to have
a right to speak thus, a man must be an Euripides. How
ever, thus much may be allowed, that when an Artist is
sure that he is upon firm ground, supported by the authori
ty and practice of his predecessors of the greatest reputa
tion, he may then assume the boldness and intrepidity of
genius ; at any rate he must not be tempted out of the
right path by any allurement of popularity, which always
accompanies the lower styles of painting.
I mention this, because our Exhibitions, while they pro
duce such admirable effects by nourishing emulation, and
calling out genius, have also a mischievous tendency, by
seducing the Painter to an ambition of pleasing indiscrimi
nately the mixed multitude of people who resort to them.

DISCOURSE VI.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1774.
Imitation. — Genius begins where rules end. — Invention : acquired by being con
versant with the inventions of others. — The true method of imitating. — Bor
rowing — how fax allowable. — Something to be gathered from every school.

GENTLEMEN, When I have taken the liberty of addressing you on
the course and order of your studies, I never proposed to
enter into a minute detail of the art. This I have always
left to the several Professors, who pursue the end of our
Institution with the highest honor to themselves, and with
the greatest advantage to the Students.
My purpose in the discourses I have held in the
Academy has been to lay down certain general positions,
which seem to me proper for the formation of a sound
taste : principles necessary to guard the pupils against
those errors into which the sanguine temper common to
their time of life has a tendency to lead them : and which
have rendered abortive the hopes of so many successions
of promising young men in all parts of Europe. I wished
also, to intercept and suppress those prejudices which par
ticularly prevail when the mechanism of painting is come
to its perfection; and which, when they do prevail, are
certain utterly to destroy the higher and more valuable
parts of this literate and liberal profession.
These two have been my principal purposes ; they are
still as much my concern as ever ; and if I repeat my own

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 87
notions on the subject, you who know how fast mistake
and prejudice, when neglected, gain ground upon truth and
reason, will easily excuse me. I only attempt to set the
same thing in the greatest variety of lights.
The subject of this discourse will be Imitation, as far
as a painter is concerned in it. By imitation, I do not
mean imitation in its largest sense, but simply the follow
ing of other masters, and the advantage to be drawn from
the study of their works.
Those who have undertaken to write on our art, and
have represented it as a kind of inspiration, as a gift be
stowed upon peculiar favorites at their birth, seem to insure
a much more favorable disposition from their readers, and
have a much more captivating and liberal air, than he who
attempts to examine, coldly, whether there are any means
by which this art may be acquired ; how the mind may be
strengthened and expanded, and what guides'will show the
way to eminence.
It is very natural for those who are unacquainted with
the cause of any thing extraordinary, to be astonished at
the effect, and to consider it as a kind of magic. They,
who have never observed the gradation by which art is
acquired; who see only what is the full result of long
labor and application of an infinite number and infinite va
riety of acts, are apt to conclude, from their entire ina
bility to do the same at once, that it is not only inaccessible
to themselves, but can be done by those only who have
some gift of the nature of inspiration bestowed upon them.
The travellers into the East tell us, that when the ig
norant inhabitants of those countries are asked concerning
the ruins of stately edifices yet remaining amongst them,
the melancholy monuments of their former grandeur and

88 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
long-lost science, they always answer, that they were built
by magicians. The untaught mind finds a vast gulf be
tween its own powers and those works of complicated art,
which it is utterly unable to fathom ; and it supposes that
such a void can be passed only by supernatural powers.
And, as for artists themselves, it is by no means their
interest to undeceive such judges, however conscious they
may be of the very natural means by which their extraor
dinary powers were acquired; though our art, being in
trinsically imitative, rejects this idea of inspiration, more
perhaps than any other.
It is to avoid this plain confession of the truth, as it
should seem, that this imitation of masters, indeed almost
all imitation, which implies a more regular and progressive
method of attaining the ends of painting, has ever been
particularly inveighed against with great keenness, both by
ancient and modern writers.
To derive all from native power, to owe nothing to
another, is the praise which men who do not much think
on what they are saying, bestow sometimes upon others,
and sometimes on themselves ; and their imaginary dignity
is naturally heightened by a supercilious censure of the
low, the barren, the groveling, the servile imitator. It
would be no wonder if a Student, frightened by these ter
rific and disgraceful epithets, with which the poor imitators
are so often loaded, should let fall his pencil in mere
despair ; conscious as he must be, how much he has been
indebted to the labors of others, how little, how very httle
of his art was born with him ; and consider it as hopeless,
to set about acquiring by the imitation of any human mas
ter, what he is taught to suppose is matter of inspiration
from heaven.

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 89
Some allowance must be made for what is said in the
gaiety of rhetoric. We can not suppose that any one can
really mean to exclude all imitation of others. A position
so wild would scarce deserve a serious answer; for it is
apparent, if we were forbid to make use of the advantages
which our predecessors afford us, the art would be always
to begin, and consequently remain always in its infant
state ; and it is a common observation, that no art was ever
invented and carried to perfection at the same time.
But to bring us entirely to reason and sobriety, let it be
observed, that a painter must not only be of necessity an
imitator of the works of nature, which alone is sufficient to
dispel this phantom of inspiration, but he must be as neces
sarily an imitator of the works of other painters : this ap
pears more humiliating, but is equally true ; and no man
can be an artist, whatever he may suppose, upon any other
terms. However, those who appear more moderate and reason
able, allow, that our study is to begin by imitation; but
maintain that we should no longer use the thoughts of our
predecessors, when we are become able to think for our
selves. They hold that imitation is as hurtful to the more
advanced student, as it was advantageous to the beginner.
For my own part, I confess, I am not only very much
disposed to maintain the absolute necessity of imitation in
the first stages of the art; but am of opinion, that the study
of other masters, which I here call imitation, may be ex
tended throughout our whole lives, without any danger of
the inconveniences with which it is charged, of enfeebling
the mind, or preventing us from giving that original air
which every work undoubtedly ought always to have.
I am on the contrary persuaded "that by imitation only,
8*

90 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
variety, and even originality of invention, is produced. I
will go further ; even genius, at least what generally is so
called, is the child of imitation. But as this appears to
be contrary to the general opinion, I must explain my
position before I enforce it.
Genius is supposed to be a power of producing excel
lencies, which are out of the reach of the rules of art; a
power which no precepts can teach, and which no industry
can acquire.
This opinion of the impossibility of acquiring those
beauties, which stamp the work with the character of ge
nius, supposes that it is something more fixed, than in
reality it is ; and that we always do, and ever did agree in
opinion, with respect to what should be considered as the
characteristic of genius. But the truth is, that the degree
of excellence which proclaims Genius is different, in differ
ent times and different places ; and what shows it to be so
is, that mankind have often changed their opinion upon
this matter.
When the Arts were in their infancy, the power of
merely drawing the likeness of any object, was considered
as one of its greatest efforts. The common people, igno
rant of the principles of art, talk the same language even
to this day. But when it was found that every man could
be taught to do this, and a great deal more, merely by the
observance of certain precepts; the name of Genius then
shifted its application, and was given only to him who
added the peculiar character of the object he represented ;
to him who had invention, expression, grace, or dignity ; in
short, those qualities, or excellencies, the power of pro
ducing which, could not then be taught by any known and
promulgated rules.

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 91
We are very sure that the beauty of form, the expres
sion of the passions, the art of composition, even the power
of giving a general air of grandeur to a work, is at present
very much under the dominion of rules. These excellen
cies were, heretofore, considered merely as the effects of
genius : and justly, if genius is not taken for inspiration,
but as the effect of close observation and experience.
He who first made any of these observations, and
digested them, so as to form an invariable principle for
himself to work by, had that merit, but probably no one
went very far at once ; and generally, the first who gave
the hint, did not know how to pursue it steadily and me
thodically; at least not in the beginning. He himself
worked on it, and improved it; others worked more, and
improved further; until the secret was discovered, and the
practice made as general as refined practice can be made.
How many more principles may be fixed and ascertained,
we can not tell; but as criticism is likely to go hand in
hand with the art which is its subject, we may venture to
say, that as that art shall advance, its powers will be still
more and more fixed by rules.
But by whatever strides criticism may gain ground, we
need be under no apprehension that invention will ever be
annihilated, or subdued ; or intellectual energy be brought
entirely within the restraint of written law. Genius will
still have room enough to expatiate, and keep always at the
same distance from narrow comprehension and mechanical
performance. What we now call Genius, begins, not where rules, ab
stractedly taken, end; but where known vulgar and trite
rules have no longer any place. It must of necessity be,
that even works of Genius, like every other effect, as they

92 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
must have their cause, must likewise have their rules : it
can not be by chance, that excellencies are produced with
any constancy or any certainty, for this is not the nature
of chance; but the rules by which men of extraordinary
parts, and such as are called men of Genius, work, are
either such as they discover by their own peculiar observa
tions, or of such a nice texture as not easily to admit being
expressed in words ; espicially as artists are not very fre
quently skillful in that mode of communicating ideas.
Unsubstantial, however, as these rules may seem, and diffi
cult as it may be to convey them in writing, they are still
seen and felt in the mind of the artist ; and he works from
them with as much certainty, as if they were embodied, as
I may say, upon paper. It is true, these refined principles
can not be always made palpable, like the more gross rules
of art ; yet it does not follow, but that the mind may be
put in such a train, that it shall perceive, by a kind of
scientific sense, that propriety, which words, particularly
words of unpractised writers, such as we are, can but very
feebly suggest.
Invention is one of the great marks of genius : but if
we consult experience, we shall find, that it is by being
conversant with the inventions of others, that we learn to
invent ; as by reading the thoughts of others we learn to
think. Whoever has so far formed his taste, as to be able tu
relish and feel the beauties of the great masters, has gone
a great way in his study ; for, merely from a consciousness
of this relish of the right, the mind swells with an inward
pride, and is almost as powerfully affected, as if it had
itself produced what it admires. Our hearts, frequently
wanned in this manner by the contact of those whom we

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 93
wish to resemble, will undoubtedly catch something of their
way of thinking ; and we shall receive in our own bosoms
some radiation at least of their fire and splendor. That
disposition, which is so strong in children, still continues
with us, of catching involuntarily the general air and man
ner of those with whom we are most conversant ; with this
difference only, that a young mind is naturally pliable and
imitative ; but in a more advanced state it grows rigid, and
must be warmed and softened, before it will receive a deep
impression. From these considerations, which a little of your own
reflection will carry a great way further, it appears, of what
great consequence it is, that our minds should be habituated
to the contemplation of excellence ; and that, far from be*.
ing contented to make such habits the discipline of our
youth only, we should, to the last moment of our lives,
continue a settled intercourse with all the true examples of
grandeur. Their inventions are not only the food of our
infancy, but the substance which supplies the fullest matu
rity of our vigor.
The mind is but a barren soil ; a soil which is soon ex
hausted, and will produce no crop, or only one, unless it be
continually fertilized and enriched with foreign matter.
When we have had continually before us the great
works of Art to impregnate our minds with kindred ideas,
we are then, and not till then, fit to produce something of
the same species. We behold all about us with the eyes
of those penetrating observers whose works we contem
plate ; and our minds, accustomed to think the thoughts of
the noblest and brightest intellects, are prepared for the
discovery and selection of all that is great and noble in
nature. The greatest natural genius can not subsist on its

94 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
own stock : he who resolves never to ransack any mind but
his own, will be soon reduced, from mere barrenness, to the
poorest of all imitations ; he will be obliged to imitate him
self, and to repeat what he has before often repeated.
When we know the subject designed by such men, it will
never be difficult to guess what kind of work is to be pro
duced. It is vain for painters or poets to endeavor to invent
without materials on which the mind may work, "and from
which invention must originate. Nothing can come of
nothing. Homer is supposed to be possessed of all the learning
of his time ; and we are certain that Michael Angelo, and
Raffaelle, were equally possessed of all the knowledge in
the art which had been discovered in the works of then-
predecessors. A mind enriched by an assemblage of all the treasures
of ancient and modern art, will be more elevated and fruit
ful in resources, in proportion to the number of ideas which
have been carefully collected and thoroughly digested.
There can be no doubt but that he who has the most ma
terials has the greatest means of invention ; and if he has
not the power of using them, it must proceed from a feeble
ness of intellect; or from the confused manner in which
those collections have been laid up n his mind.
The addition of other men's judgment is so far from
weakening our own, as is the opinion of many, that it will
fashion and consolidate those ideas of excellence which lay
in embryo, feeble, ill-shaped, and confused, but which are
finished and put in order by the authority and practice of
those whose works may be said to have been consecrated by
having stood the test of ages.

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 95
The mind, or genius, has been compared to a spark of
fire, which is smothered by a heap of fuel, and prevented
from blazing into a flame. This simile, which is made use
of by the younger Pliny, may be easily mistaken for argu
ment or proof. But there is no danger of the mind's being
over-burthened with knowledge, or the genius extinguished
by any addition of images ; on the contrary, these acquisi
tions may as well, perhaps better, be compared, if compari
sons signified any thing in reasoning, to the supply of
living embers, which will contribute to strengthen the
spark, that without the association of more fuel would have
died away. The truth is, he whose feebleness is such, as
to make other men's thoughts an incumbrance to him, can
have no very great strength of mind or genius of his own
to be destroyed ; so that not much harm will be done at
worst. We may oppose to Pliny the greater authority of Cicero,
who is continually enforcing the necessity of this method
of study. In his dialogue on Oratory, he makes Crassus
say, that one of the first and most important precepts is,
to choose a proper model for our imitation. Hoc sit pri-
mum in prseceptis meis, ut demonstremus quern imitemur.
When I speak of the habitual imitation and continued
study of masters, it is not to be understood that I advise
any endeavor to copy the exact peculiar color and complex
ion of another man's mind ; the success of such an attempt
must always be like his, who imitates exactly the air, man
ner, and gestures of him whom he admires. His model
may be excellent, but the copy will be ridiculous : this
ridicule does not arise from his having imitated, but from
his not having chosen the right mode of imitation.
It is a necessary and warrantable pride to disdain to

96 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
walk servilely behind any individual, however elevated his
rank. The true and liberal ground of imitation is an open
field; where, though he who precedes has had the advan
tage of starting before you, you may always propose to
overtake him : it is enough, however, to pursue his course ;
you need not tread in his footsteps, and you certainly have
a right to ourstrip him if you can.
Nor whilst I recommend studying the art from artists,
can I be supposed to mean that nature is to be neglected ;
I take this study in aid, and not in exclusion of the other.
Nature is and must be the fountain which alone is inexhaust
ible, and from which all excellencies must originally flow.
The great use of studying our predecessors is, to open
the mind, to shorten our labor, and to give us the result of
the selection made by those great minds of what is grand
or beautiful in nature ; her rich stores are all spread out
before us ; but it is an art, and no easy art, to know how
or what to choose, and how to attain and secure the object
of our choice. Thus the highest beauty of form must be
taken from nature ; but it is an art of long deduction and
great experience to know how to find it. We must not
content ourselves with merely admiring and relishing; we
must enter into the principles on whieh the work is
wrought : these do not swim on the superficies, and conse
quently are not open to superficial observers.
Art in its perfection is not ostentatious ; it lies hid and
works its effect itself unseen. It is the proper study and
labor of an artist to uncover and find out the latent cause
of conspicuous beauties, and from thence form principles
of his own conduct; such an examination is a continual
exertion of the mind; as great, perhaps, as that of the
artist whose works he is thus studying.

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 97
The sagacious imitator does not content himself with
merely remarking what distinguishes the different manner
or genius of each master ; he enters into the contrivance
in the composition how the masses of lights are disposed,
the means by which the effect is produced, how artfully
some parts are lost in the ground, others boldly relieved,
and how all these are mutually altered and interchanged
according to the reason and scheme of the work. He ad
mires not the harmony of coloring alone, but examines by
what artifice one color is a foil to its neighbor. He looks
close into the tints, examines of what colors they are com
posed, till he has formed clear and distinct ideas, and has
learnt to see in what harmony and good coloring consists.
What is learnt in this manner from the works of others
becomes really our own, sinks deep, and is never forgotten ;
nay, it is by seizing on this clue that we proceed forward,
and get further and further in enlarging the principles and
improving the praetioe of our art.
There can be no doubt but the art is better learnt from
the works themselves, than from the precepts which are
formed upon those works ; but if it is difficult to choose
proper models for imitation, it requires no less circumspec
tion to separate and distinguish what in those models we
ought to imitate.
I can not avoid mentioning here, though it is not my
intention at present to enter into the art and method of
study, an error which Students are too apt to fall into.
He that is forming himself, must look with great caution
and wariness on those peculiarities, or prominent parts,
which at first force themselves upon view; and are the
marks, or what is commonly called the manner, by which
that individual artist is distinguished.
9

98 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
Peculiar marks I hold to be, generally, if not always,
defects; however difficult it may be wholly to escape them.
Peculiarities in the works of art are like those in the
human figure ; it is by them that we are cognizable, and
distinguished one from another, but they are always so
many blemishes ; which, however, both in real life and in
painting, cease to appear deformities to those who have
them continually before their eyes. In the works of art,
even the most enlightened mind, when warmed by beauties
of the highest kind, will by degrees find a repugnance
within him to acknowledge any defects; nay, his enthu
siasm will carry him so far, as to transform them into
beauties and objects of imitation.
It must be acknowledged that a peculiarity of style,
either from its novelty or by seeming to proceed from a pe
culiar turn of mind, often escapes blame ; on the contrary,
it is sometimes striking and pleasing ; but this it is a vain
labor to endeavor to imitate, because novelty and pecu
liarity being its only merit, when it ceases to . be new it
ceases to have value.
A manner, therefore, being a defect, and every painter,
however excellent, having a manner, it seems to follow
that all kinds of faults, as well as beauties, may be learned
under the sanction of the greatest authorities. Even the
great name of Michael Angelo may be used, to keep in
countenance a deficiency, or rather neglect, of coloring, and
every other ornamental part of the art. If the young
Student is dry and hard, Poussin is the same. If his work
has a careless and unfinished air, he has most of the Vene
tian schools to support him. If he makes no selection of
objects, but takes individual 'nature just as he finds it, he
is like Rembrandt. If he is incorrect in the proportions

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 99
of his figures, Correggio was likewise incorrect. If his
colors are not blended and united, Rubens was equally
crude. In short, there is no defect that may not be ex
cused, if it is a sufficient excuse that it can be imputed to
considerable artists; but it must be remembered, that it
was not by these defects they acquired their reputation;
they have a right to our pardon, but not to our admiration.
However, to imitate peculiarities, or mistake defects for
beauties, that man -will be most liable, who confines his
imitation to one favorite master; and even though he
chooses the best, and is capable of distinguishing the real
excellencies of his model, it is not by such narrow practice
that a genius or mastery in the art is acquired. A man is
as httle likely to form a true idea of the perfection of the
art by studying a single artist, as he would be to produce a
perfectly beautiful figure, by an exact imitation of any in
dividual living model. And as1 the painter, by bringing
together in one piece those beauties which are dispersed
among a great variety of individuals, produces a figure
more beautiful than can be found in nature, so that artist
who can unite in himself the excellencies of the various
great painters, will approach nearer to perfection than any
one of his masters. He who confines himself to the imita
tion of an individual, as he never proposes to surpass, so
he is not likely to equal, the object of his imitation. He
professes only to follow ; and he that follows must necessa
rily be behind.
We should imitate the conduct of the great artists in
the course of their studies, as well as the works which
they produced, when they were perfectly formed. Raffa
elle began by imitating implicitly the manner of Pietro
Perugino, under whom he studied ; hence his first works

100 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
are scarce to be distinguished from his master's; but soon
forming higher and more extensive views, he imitated the
grand outline of Michael Angelo ; he learned the manner
of using colors from the works of Leonardo da Vinci, and
Fratre Bartolomeo : to all this he added the contemplation
of all the remains of antiquity that were within his reach,
and employed others to draw for him what was in Greece
and distant places. And it is from his having taken so
many models, that he became himself a model for all suc
ceeding painters ; always imitating, and always original.
H your ambition, therefore, be to equal Raffaelle, you
must do as Raffaelle did, take many models, and not even
Kim for your guide alone, to the exclusion of others.*
And yet the number is infinite of those who seem, if one
may judge by their style, to have seen no other works but
those of their master, or of some favorite, whose manner
is their first wish, and their last.
I will mention a few that occur to me of this narrow,
confined, illiberal, unscientific, and servile kind of imita
tors. Guido was thus meanly copied by Elizabetta, Sira
ni, and Simone Cantarini; Poussin, by Verdier, and
Cheron ; Parmegiano, by Jeronimo Mazzuoli. Paolo
Veronese, and Iacomo Bassan, had for their imitators their
brothers and sons. Pietro da Cortona was followed by
Ciro Ferri, and Romanelli ; Rubens, by Jacques Jordaens,
and Diepenbeke; Guercino, by his own family, the Gen-
nari. Carlo Maratti was imitated by Giuseppe Chiari, and
Pietro de Pietri; and Rembrandt, by Bramer, Eeckhout,
and Flink. All these, to whom may be added a much
longer list of painters, whose works among the ignorant
* Sed non qui maxime imitandus, etiam solus imitandus est
— Quintilian.

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 101
pass for those of their masters, are justly to be censured
for barrenness and servility.
To oppose to this list a few that have adopted a more
liberal style of imitation ;— Pellegrino Tibaldi Rosso, and
Primaticcio, did not coldly imitate, but caught something
of the fire that animates the works of Michael Angelo.
The Caraccis formed their style from Pellegrino Tibaldi,
Correggio, and the Venetian school. Domenichino, Guido,
Lanfranco, Albano, Guercino, Cavidone, Schidone, Tiarini,
though it is sufficiently apparent that they came from the
school of the Caraccis, have yet the appearance of men
who extended their views beyond the model that lay
before them, and have shown that they had opinions of
their own, and thought for themselves, after they had
made themselves masters of the general principles of their
schools. Lo Sueur's first manner resembles very much that of
his master Vouet; but as he soon excelled him, so he
differed from him in every part of the art. Carlo Maratti
succeeded better than those I have first named, and I think
owes his superiority to the extension of his views ; beside
his master Andrea Sacchi, he imitated Raffaelle, Guido,
and the Caraccis. It is true, there is nothing very capti
vating in Carlo Maratti j but this proceeded from a want
which can not be completely supplied; that is, want of
strength of parts. In this certainly men are not equal ;
and a man can bring home wares only in proportion to the
capital with which he goes to market. Carlo, by diligence,
made the most of what he had; but there was undoubtedly
a heaviness about him, which extended itself, uniformly, to
his invention, expression, his drawing, coloring, and the
general effect of his 'pictures. The truth is, he never
9*

102 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
equalled any of his patterns in any one thing and he added
little of his own.
But we must not rest contented even in this general
study of the moderns ; we must trace back the art to its
fountain-head ; to that source from whence they drew their
principal excellencies, the monuments of pure antiquity.
All the inventions and thoughts of the ancients, whether
conveyed to us in statues, bas-reliefs, intaglios, cameos, or
coins, are to be sought after and carefully studied ; the ge
nius that hovers over these venerable relics may be called
the father of modern art.
From the remains of the works of the ancients the
modern arts were revived, and it is by their means that
they must be restored a second time. However it may
mortify our vanity, we must be forced to allow them our
masters : and we may venture to prophesy, that when they
shall cease to be studied, arts will no longer flourish, and
we shall again relapse into barbarism.
The fire of the artist's own genius operating upon these
materials which have been thus diligently collected, will
enable him to make new combinations, perhaps, superior to
what had ever before been in the possession of the art ; as
in the mixture of the variety of metals, which are said to
have been melted and run together at the burning of
Corinth, a new and till then unknown metal was produced,
equal in value to any of those that had contributed to its
composition. And though a curious refiner should come
with his crucibles, analyze and separate its various compo
nent parts, yet Corinthian brass would still hold its rank
amongst the most beautiful and valuable of metals.
We have hitherto considered the advantages of imita
tion as it tends to form the taste, and as a practice by

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 103
which a spark of that genius may be caught, whieh illu
mines those noble works that ought always to be present to
our thoughts.
We come now to speak of another kind of imitation ;
the borrowing a particular thought, an action, attitude, or
figure, and transplanting it into your own work, this will
either come under the charge of plagiarism, or be warrant
able, and deserve commendation, according to the address
with which it is performed. There is some difference,
likewise, whether it is upon the ancients or moderns that
these depredations are made. It is generally allowed, that
no man need be ashamed of copying the ancients ; their-
works are considered as a magazine of common property,
always open to the public, whence every man has a right to
take what materials he pleases ; and if he has the art of
using them, they are supposed to become to all intents and
purposes his own property. The collection of the thoughts __
of the ancients which Raffaelle made with so much trouble,
is a proof of his opinion on this subject. Such collections
may be made with much more ease, by means of an art
scarce known in his time ; I mean that of engraving ; by
which, at an .easy rate, every man may now avail himself
of the inventions of antiquity.
It must be acknowledged that the works of the moderns
are more the property of their authors. He who borrows
an idea from an ancient, or even from a modern artist
not his, contemporary, and so accommodates it to his own
work, that it makes a part of it, with no seam or joining
appearing, can hardly be charged with plagiarism; poets
practise this kind of borrowing without reserve. But an
artist should not be contented with this only; he should
enter into a competition with his original, and endeavor to

104 THE. SIXTH DISCOURSE.
improve what he is appropriating to his own work. Such
imitation is so far from having any thing in it of the ser
vility of plagiarism, that it is a perpetual exercise of the
mind, a continual invention. Borrowing or stealing with
such art and caution, will have a right to the same lenity
as was used by the Lacedemonians ; who did not punish
theft, but the want of artifice to conceal it.
In order to encourage you to imitation, to the utmost
extent, let me add, that very finished artists in the inferior
branches of the art, will contribute to furnish the mind
and give hints, of which a skillful painter, who is sensible
of what he wants, and is in no danger of being infected by
the contact of vicious models, will know how to avail him
self. He will pick up from dunghills what, by a nice
chemistry, passing through his own mind, shall be con
verted into pure gold ; and under the rudeness of Gothic
essays, he will find original, rational, and even sublime in
ventions. The works of Albert Durer, Lucas Van Leyden, the
numerous inventions of Tobias Stimmer, and Jost Ammon,
afford a rich mass of genuine materials, which, wrought
up, and polished to elegance, will add to what, perhaps,
without such aid, could have aspired only to justness and
propriety. In the luxuriant style of Paul Veronese, in the capri
cious compositions of Tintoret, he will find something, that
will assist his invention, and give points, from which his
own imagination shall rise and take flight, when the sub
ject which he treats will with propriety admit of splendid
effects. In every school, whether Venetian, French, or Dutch,
he will find either ingenious compositions, extraordinary

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 105
effects, some peculiar expressions, or some mechanical ex
cellence, well worthy of his attention, and, in some
measure, of his imitation. Even in the lower class of the
French painters, great beauties are often found, united with
great defects. Though Coypel wanted a simplicity of
taste, and mistook a presumptuous and assuming air, for
what is grand and majestic ; yet he frequently has good
sense and judgment in his manner of telling his stories,
great skill in his compositions, and is not without a consid
erable power of expressing the passions. The modern af
fectation of grace in his works, as well as in those of
Bosch and Watteau, may be said to be separated by a very
thin partition, from the more simple and pure grace of
Correggio and Parmegiano.
Among the Dutch painters, the correct, firm, and deter
mined pencil, which was employed by Bamboccio and Jean
Miel, on vulgar and mean subjects, might, without any
change, be employed on the highest; to which, indeed, it
seems more properly to belong. The greatest style, if that
style is confined to small figures, such as Poussin generally
painted, would receive an additional grace by the elegance
and precision of pencil so admirable in the works of
Teniers; and though the school to which he belonged
more particularly excelled in the mechanism of painting;
yet it produced many, who have shown great abilities
in expressing what must be ranked above mechanical ex
cellencies. In the works of Frank Hals, the portrait-
painter may observe the composition of a face, the features
well put together, as the painters express it ; from whence
proceeds that strong-marked character of individual nature,
which is so remarkable in his portraits, and is not found in
an equal degree in any other painter. If he had joined to

106 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
this most difficult part of the art, a patience in finishing
what he had so correctly planned, he might justly have
claimed the place which Vandyke, all things considered, so
justly holds as the first of portrait-painters.
Others of the same school have shown great power in
expressing the character and passions of those vulgar people
which were the subjects of their study and attention.
Among those, Jan Steen seems to be one of the most dili
gent and accurate observers of what passed in those scenes
which he frequented, and which were to him an academy.
I can easily imagine, that if this extraordinary man had
had the good fortune to have been born in Italy, instead
of Holland; had he lived in Rome, instead of Leyden;
and been blessed with Michael Angelo and Raffaelle for
his masters, instead of Brouwer and Van Goyen ; the
same sagacity and penetration which distinguished so accu
rately the different characters and expression in his vulgar
figures, would, when exerted in the selection and imitation
of what was great and elevated in nature, have been equally
successful ; and he now would have ranged with the great
pillars and supporters of our Art.
Men who, although thus bound down by the almost
invincible powers of early habits, have still exerted extra
ordinary abilities within their narrow and confined circle;
and have, from the natural vigor of their mind, given a
very interesting expression, and great force and energy to
their works; though they can not be recommended to be
exactly imitated, may yet invite an artist to endeavor to
transfer, by a kind of parody, their excellencies to his
own performances. Whoever has acquired the power of
making this use of the Flemish, Venetian, and French
schools, is a real genius, and has sources of knowledge

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 107
open to him which were wanting to the great artists who
lived in the great age of painting.
To find excellencies, however dispersed, to discover
beauties, however concealed by the multitude of defects
with which they are surrounded, can be the work only of
him, who having a mind always alive to his art, has ex
tended his views to all ages and to all schools; and has
acquired from that comprehensive mass which he has thus
gathered to himself, a well-digested and perfect idea of his
art, to which every thing is referred. Like a sovereign
judge and arbiter of art, he is possessed of that presiding
power which separates and attracts every excellence from
every school ; selects both from what is great, and what is
little ; brings home knowledge from the East and from the
West; making the universe tributary towards furnishing
his mind, and enriching his works with originality and
variety of inventions.
Thus I have ventured to give my opinion of what ap
pears to me the true and only method by which an artist
makes himself master of his profession; which I hold
ought to be one continued course of imitation, that is not
to cease but with his life.
Those, who either from their own engagements and
hurry of business, or from indolence, or from conceit and
vanity, have neglected looking out of themselves, as far as
my experience and observation reaches, have from that
time, not only ceased to advance and improve in their per
formances, but have gone backward. They may be com
pared to men who have lived upon their principal till they
are reduced to beggary, and left without resources.
I can recommend nothing better, therefore, than that
you endeavor to infuse into your works what you learn

108 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
from the contemplation of the works of others. To recom
mend this, has the appearance of needless and superfluous
advice ; but it has fallen within my own knowledge, that
artists, though they were not wanting in a sincere love for
their art, though they had great pleasure in seeing good
pictures, and were well skilled to distinguish what was ex
cellent or defective in them, yet have gone on in their own
manner, without any endeavor to give a little of those beau
ties which they admired in others, to their own works. It
is difficult to conceive how the present Italian painters, who
live in the midst of the treasures of art, should be con
tented with their own style. They proceed in their com
monplace inventions, and never think it worth while to
visit the works of those great artists with which they are
surrounded. I remember, several years ago, to have conversed at
Rome with an artist of great fame throughout Europe ; he
was not without a considerable degree of abilities, but
those abilities were by no means equal to his own opinion
of them. From the reputation he had acquired, he too
fondly concluded that he stood m the same rank when com
pared with his predecessors, as he held with regard to his
miserable contemporary rivals. In conversation about some
particulars of the works of Raffaelle, he seemed to have,
or to affect to have, a very obscure memory of them. He
told me that he had not set his foot in the Vatican for
fifteen years together ; that he had been in treaty to copy
a capital picture of Raffaelle, but that the business had
gone off: however, if the agreement had held, his copy
would have greatly exceeded the original. The merit of
this artist, however great we may suppose it, I am sure
would have been far greater, and his presumption would

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 109
have been far less, if he had visited the Vatican, as in rea
son he ought to have done, at least once every month of
his life.
I address myself, gentlemen, to you who have made
some progress in the art, and are to be, for the future,
under the guidance of your own judgment and discretion.
I consider you as arrived to that period when you have a
right to think for yourselves, and to presume that every
man is fallible ; to study the masters with a suspicion that
great men are not always exempt from great faults; to
criticise, compare, and rank their works in your own esti
mation, as they approach to, or recede 'from, that standard
of perfection which you have formed in your own minds,
but which those masters themselves, it must be remem
bered, have taught you to make, and which you will cease
to make with correctness, when you cease to study them.
It is their excellencies which have taught you their de
fects. I would wish you to forget where you are, and who it
is that speaks to you, I only direct you to higher models
and better advisers. We can teach you here but very lit
tle ; you are henceforth to be your own teachers. Do this
justice, however, to the English Academy; to bear in
mind, that in this place you contracted no narrow habits,
no false ideas, nothing that could lead you to the imitation
of any living master, who may be the fashionable darling
of the day. As you have not been taught to flatter us, do
not learn to flatter yourselves. We have endeavored to
lead you to the admiration of nothing but what is truly
admirable. If you choose inferior patterns, or if you make
your own former works your patterns for your latter, it ia
your own fault. 10

110 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
The purport of this discourse, and, indeed, of most of
my other discourses, is, to caution you against that false
opinion, but too prevalent among artists, of the imaginary
powers of native genius, and its sufficiency in great works.
This opinion, according to the temper of mind it meets
with, almost always produces, either a vain confidence, or a
sluggish despair, both equally fatal to all proficiency.
Study, therefore, the great works of the great masters,
for ever. Study, as nearly as you can, in the order, in the
manner, and on the principles, on which they studied.
Study nature attentively, but always with those masters in
your company ; consider them as models which you are to
imitate, and at the same time as rivals with whom you
are to contend.

DISCOURSE VII.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1776.
The reality of a standard of tasto, as well aa of corporal beauty. — Beside this
Immediate truth, there are secondary truths, which are variable; both requir
ing tho attention of the Artist, in proportion to their stability or their in
fluence.
GENTLEMEN, It has been my uniform endeavor, sinoe I first address
ed you from this place, to impress you strongly with one
ruling idea. I wished you to be persuaded, that success
in your art depends almost entirely on your own industry ;
but the industry which I principally recommended, is not
the industry of the hands, but of the mind.
As our art is not a divine gift, so neither is it a me
chanical trade. Its foundations are laid in solid science;
and practice, though essential to perfection, can never attain
that to which it aims, unless it works under the direction
of principle. Some writers upon art carry this point too far, and
suppose that such a body of universal and profound learn
ing ia requisite, that the very enumeration of its kinds
is enough to frighten a beginner. Vitruvius, after going
through the many accomplishments of nature, and the
many acquirements of learning, necessary to an architect,
proceeds with great gravity to assert that he ought to be
well skilled in the civil law, that he may not be cheated in

112 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
the title of the ground he builds on. But without such
exaggeration, we may go so far as to assert, that a painter
stands in need of more knowledge than is to be picked off
his pallet, or collected by looking on his model, whether it
be in life or in picture. He can never be a great artist
who is grossly illiterate.
Every man whose business is description, ought to be
tolerably conversant with the poets, in some language or
other ; that he may imbibe a poetical spirit, and enlarge
his stock of ideas. He ought to acquire an habit of com
paring and digesting his notions. He ought not to be
wholly unacquainted with that part of philosophy which
gives an insight into human nature, and relates to the man
ners, characters, passions, and affections. He ought to
know something concerning the mind, as well as a great
deal concerning the body of man. For this purpose, it is
not necessary that he should go into such a compass of
reading, as must, by distracting his attention, disqualify
him for the practical part of his profession, and make him
sink the performer in the critic. Reading, if it can be
made the favorite recreation of his leisure hours, will
improve and enlarge his mind, without retarding his
actual industry. What such partial and desultory readiDg
can not afford, may be supplied by the conversation of
learned and ingenious men, which is the best of all substi
tutes for those who have not the means or opportunities of
deep study. There are many such men in this age ; and
they will be pleased with communicating their ideas to
artists when they see them curious and docile, if they are
treated with that respect and deference which is so justly
their due. Into such society, young artists, if they make
it the point of their ambition, will, by degrees, be admitted.

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 113
There, without formal teaching, they will insensibly come
to feel and reason like those they live with, and find a
rational and systematic taste imperceptibly formed in their
minds, which they will know how to reduce to a standard,
by applying general truth to their own purposes, better,
perhaps, than those to whom they owed the original sen
timent. Of these studies, and this conversation, the desire and
legitimate offspring, is a power of distinguishing right from
wrong ; which power applied to works of art, is denominated
Taste. Let me, then, without further introduction, enter
upon an examination, whether taste be so far beyond our
reach, as to be unattainable by care ; or be so very
vague and capricious, that no care ought to be employed
about it.
It has been the fate of arts to be enveloped in myste
rious and incomprehensible language, as if it was thought
necessary that even the terms should correspond to the idea
entertained of the instability and uncertainty of the rules
which they expressed.
To speak of genius and taste, as in any way connected
with reason or common sense, would be, in the opinion of
some towering talkers, to speak like a man who possessed
neither; who had never felt that enthusiasm, or, to use
their own inflated language, was never warmed by that
Promethean fire, which animates the canvass and vivifies
the marble.
If, in order to be intelligible, I appear to degrade art
by bringing her down from the visionary situation in the
clouds, it is only to give her a more solid mansion upon
the earth. It is necessary that at some time or other we
should see things as they really are, and not impose on
10*

114 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
ourselves by that false magnitude with which objects appear
when viewed indistinctly as through a mist.
We will allow a poet to express his meaning, when his
meaning is not well known to himself, with a certain de
gree of obscurity, as it is one sort of the sublime. But
when, in plain prose, we gravely talk of courting the Muse
in shady bowers; waiting the call and inspiration of Genius,
finding out where he inhabits, and where he is to be invoked
with the greatest success; of attending to times and sea
sons when the imagination shoots with the greatest vigor,
whether at the summer solstice or the vernal equinox;
sagaciously observing how much the wild freedom and lib
erty of imagination is cramped by attention to established
rules ; and how this same imagination begins to grow dim
in advanced age, smothered and deadened by too much
judgment; when we talk such language, or entertain such
sentiments as these, we generally rest contented with mere
words, or at best entertain notions not only groundless but
pernicious. If all this means, what it is very possible was originally
intended only to be meant, that in order to cultivate an art
a man secludes himself from the commerce of the world,
and retires into the country at particular seasons : or that
at one time of the year his body is in better health, and
consequently his mind fitter for the business of hard think
ing than at another time; or that the mind maybe fatigued
and- grow confused by long and unremitted application; this
I can understand. I can likewise believe, that a man emi
nent when young for possessing poetical imagination, may,
from having taken another road, so neglect its cultivation,
as to show less of its powers in his latter life. But I am
persuaded, that scarce a poet is to be found, from Homer

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 115
down to Dryden, who preserved a sound mind in a sound
body, and continued practising his profession to the very
last, whose latter works are not as replete with the fire of
imagination, as those which were produced in his more
youthful days.
To understand literally these metaphors, or ideas ex
pressed in poetical language, seems to be equally absurd as
to conclude, that because painters sometimes represent poets
writing from the dictates of a little winged boy or genius,
that this same genius did really inform him in a whisper
what he was to write ; and that he is himself but a mere
machine, unconscious of the operations of his own mind.
Opinions generally received and floating in the world,
whether true or false, we naturally adopt and make our
own : they may be considered as a kind of inheritance to
which we succeed and are tenants for Ufe, and which we
leave to our posterity very nearly in the condition in which
we received it ; it not being much in any one man's power
either to impair or improve it. The greatest part of these
opinions, like current coin in its circulation, we are used to
take without weighing or examining ; but by this inevitable
inattention many adulterated pieces are received, which,
when we seriously estimate our wealth, we must throw
away. So the collector of popular opinions, when he em
bodies his knowledge, and forms a Bystem, must separate
those which are true from those which are only plausible.
But it becomes more peculiarly a duty to the professors of
art not to let any opinions relating to that art pass unex
amined. The caution and circumspection required in such
examination we shall presently have an opportunity of ex
plaining. Genius and taste, in their common acceptation, appear

116 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
to be very nearly related ; the difference lies only in this,
that genius has superadded to it a habit or power of execu
tion ; or we may say, that taste, when this power is added,
changes its name, and is called genius. They both, in the
popular opinion, pretend to an entire exemption from the
restraint of rules. It is supposed that their powers are in
tuitive; that under the name of genius great works are
produced, and under the name of taste an exact judgment
is given, without our knowing- why, and without our being
under the least obligation to reason, precept, or experience.
One can scarce state these opinions without exposing
their absurdity ; yet they are constantly in the mouths of
men, and particularly of artists. They who have thought
seriously on this subject, do not carry the point so far; yet
I am persuaded, that even among those few who may be
called thinkers, the prevalent opinion allows less than it
ought to the powers of reason ; and considers the princi
ples of taste, which give all their authority to the rules of
art, as more fluctuating, and as having less solid founda
tions, than we shall find, upon examination, they really
have. The common saying, that tastes are not to be disputed,
owes its influence, and its general reception, to the same
error which leads us to imagine this faculty of too high an
original to submit to the authority of an earthly tribunal.
It likewise corresponds with the notions of those who con
sider it as a mere phantom of the imagination, so devoid
of substance as to elude all criticism.
We often appear to differ in sentiments from each
other, merely from the inaccuracy of terms, as we are not
obliged to speak always with critical exactness. Some
thing of this too may arise from want of words in the Ian-

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 117
guage in which we speak, to express the more nice dis
crimination which a deep investigation discovers. A great
deal, however, of this difference vanishes, when each
opinion is tolerably explained and understood by constancy
and precision in the use of terms.
We apply the term Taste to that act of the mind by
which we like or dislike, whatever be the subject. Our
judgment upon an airy nothing, a fancy which has no
foundation, is called by the same name which we give to
our determination concerning those truths which refer to
the most general and most unalterable principles of human
nature ; to the works which are only to be produced by the
greatest efforts of the human understanding. However
inconvenient this may be, we are obliged to take words as
we find them ; all we can do is to distinguish the Things to
which they are applied.
We may let pass those things which are at once sub
jects of taste and sense, and which having as much cer
tainty as the senses themselves, give no occasion to inquiry
or dispute. The natural appetite or taste of the human
mind is for Truth; whether that truth results from the
real agreement or equality of original ideas among them
selves ; from the agreement of the representation of any
object with the thing represented; or from the correspond
ence of the several parts of any arrangement with each
other. It is the very same taste which relishes a demon
stration in geometry, that is pleased with the resemblance
of a picture to an original and touched with the harmony
of music. All these have unalterable and fixed foundations in
nature, and are therefore equally investigated by reason,
and known by study; some with more, some with les3

118 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
clearness, but all exactly in the same way. A picture that
is unlike, is false. Disproportionate ordonnance of parts is
not right ; because it can not be true, until it ceases to be
a contradiction to assert that the parts have no relation to
the wole. Coloring is true, when it is naturally adapted to
the eye, from brightness, from softness, from harmony,
from resemblance; because these agree with their object,
Nature, and therefore are true; as true as mathematical
demonstration; but known to be true only to those who
study these things.
But besides real, there is also apparent truth, or opin
ion, or prejudice. With regard to real truth, when it is
known, the taste which conforms to it is, and must be,
uniform. With regard to the second sort of truth, which
may be called truth upon sufferance, or truth by courtesy,
it is not fixed, but variable. However, whilst these opin
ions and prejudices on which it is founded, continue, they
operate as truth; and the art, whose office it is to please
the mind, as well as instruct it, must direct itself according
to opinion, or it will not attain its end.
In proportion as these prejudices are known to be gen
erally diffused, or long received, the taste which conforms
to them approaches nearer to certainty, and to a sort of
resemblance to real science, even where opinions are found
to be no better than prejudices. And sinoe they deserve,
on account of their duration and extent, to be oonsidered
as really true, they become capable of no small degree of
stability and determination, by their permanent and uni
form nature.
As these prejudices become more narrow, more local,
more transitory, this secondary taste becomes more and
more fantastical; recedes from real science; is less to bo

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 119
approved by reason, and less followed by practice : though
in no case perhaps to be wholly neglected, where it does
not stand, as it sometimes does, in direct defiance of the
most respectable opinions received amongst mankind.
Having laid down these positions, I shall proceed with
less method, because less will serve to explain and apply
them. We will take it for granted, that reason is something
invariable, and fixed in the nature of things ; and without
endeavoring to go back to an account of first principles,
which for ever will elude our search, we will conclude, that
whatever goes under the name of taste, which we can fairly
bring under the dominion of reason, must be considered as
equally exempt from change. If, therefore, in the course
of this inquiry, we can show that there are rules for the
conduct of the artist which are fixed and invariable, it fol
lows, of course, that the art of the connoisseur, or, in other
words, taste, has likewise invariable principles.
Of the judgment which we make on the works of art,
and the preference that we give to one class of art over
another, if a reason be demanded, the question is perhaps
evaded by answering, I judge from my taste ; but it does
not follow that a better answer can not be given, though,
for common gazers, this may be sufficient. Every man is
not obliged to investigate the cause of his approbation or
dislike. The arts would lie open for ever to caprice and casualty,
if those who are to judge of their excellencies had no set
tled principles by whioh they are to regulate their decisions,
and the merit or defect of performances were to be deter
mined by unguided fancy. And indeed we may venture to
assert, that whatever speculative knowledge is necessary to

120 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
the artist, is equally and indispensably necessary to the
connoisseur. The first idea that occurs in the consideration of what
is fixed in art, or in taste, is that presiding principle of
which I have so frequently spoken in former discourses —
the general idea of nature. The beginning, the middle,
and the end of every thing that is valuable in taste, is com
prised in the knowledge of what is truly nature; for what
ever notions are not conformable to those of nature, or
universal opinion, must be considered as more or less capri
cious. My notion of nature comprehends not only the forms
which nature produces, but also the nature and internal
fabric and organization, as I may call it, of the human
mind and imagination. The terms beauty, or nature, which
are general ideas, are but different modes of expressing the
same thing, whether we apply these terms to statues,
poetry, or pictures. Deformity is not nature, but an acci
dental deviation from her accustomed practice. This gen
eral idea therefore ought to be called Nature ; and nothing
else, correctly speaking, has a right to that name. But we
are sure so far from speaking, in common conversation,
with any such accuracy, that, on the contrary, when we
criticise Rembrandt and other Dutch painters, who intro
duced into their historical pictures exact representations of
individual objects with all their imperfections, we say —
though it is not in a good taste, yet it is nature.
This misapplication of terms must be very often per
plexing to the young Student. Is not art, he may say, an
imitation of nature ? Must not he, therefore, who imitates
her with the greatest fidelity, be the best artist ? By this
mode of reasoning Rembrandt has a higher place than

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 121
Raffaelle. But a very little reflection will serve to show
us that these particularities can not be nature ; for how can
that be the nature of man in which no two individuals arc
the same ?
It plainly appears, that as a work is conducted under
the influence of general ideas, or partial, it is principally
to be considered as the effect of a good or a bad taste.
As beauty, therefore, does not consist in taking what
lies immediately before you, so neither, in our pursuit of
taste, are those opinions which we first received and adopt
ed, the best choice, or the most natural to the mind and
imagination. In the infancy of our knowledge we seize
with greediness the good that is within our reach ; it is by
after-consideration, and in consequence of discipline, that
we refuse the present for a greater good at a distance. The
nobility or elevation of all arts, like the excellency of virtue
itself, consists in adopting this enlarged and comprehensive
idea ; and all criticism built upon the more confined view
of what is natural, may properly be called shallow criti
cism, rather than false : its defect is; that the truth is not
sufficiently extensive.
It has sometimes happened, that some of the greatest
men in our art have been betrayed into errors by this con
fined mode of reasoning. Poussin, who upon the whole,
may be produced as an artist strictly attentive to the most
enlarged and extensive ideas of nature, from not having
settled principles on this point, has, in one instance at least,
I think, deserted truth for prejudice. He is said to have
vindicated the conduct of Julio Romano for his inattention
to the masses of light and shade, or grouping the figures
in the battle OF Constantine, as if designedly neglect
ed, the better to correspond with the hurry and confusion
11

122 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
of a battle. Poussin's own conduct in many of his pic
tures, makes us more easily give credit to this report. That
it was too much his own practice, the Sacrifice to She--
nus, and the Triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne,* may
be produced as instances ; but this principle is still more
apparent, and may be said to be even more ostentatiously
displayed in his Perseus and Medusa's HEAD.f
This is undoubtedly a subject of great bustle and
tumult, and that the first effect of the picture may cor
respond to the subject, every principle of composition is
violated; there is no principal figure, no principal light,
no groups ; every thing is dispersed, and in such a state
of confusion, that the eye finds no repose any where. In
consequence of the forbidding appearance, I remember
turning from it with disgust, and should not have looked a
second time, if I had not been called back to a closer in
spection. I then indeed found, what we may expect always
to find in the works of Poussin, correct drawing, forcible
expression, and just character; in short, all the excellencies
which so much distinguish the works of this learned
painter. This conduct of Poussin I hold to be entirely improper
to imitate. A picture should please at first sight, and ap
pear to invite the spectator's attention : if, on the contrary,
the general effect offends the eye, a second view is not
always sought, whatever more substantial and intrinsic
merit it may possess.
Perhaps no apology ought to be received for offenses
committed against the vehicle (whether it be the organ of
* In the Cabinet of the Earl of Ashburnham.
t In the Cabinet of Sir Peter Burrel.

the seventh discourse. 123
seeing or of hearing) by which our pleasures are conveyed
to the mind. We must take care that the eye be not per
plexed and distracted by a confusion of equal parts, or
equal lights, or Offended by an unharmonious mixture of
colors, as we should guard against offending the ear by
unharmonious sounds. We may venture to be more con
fident of the truth of this observation, since we find that
Shakspeare, on a parallel occasion, has made Hamlet recom
mend to the players a precept of the same kind — never to
offend the ear by harsh sounds : In the very torrent, tem
pest, and whirlwind of your passions, says he, you must
acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth
ness. And yet, at the same time, he very justly observes,
The end of playing, both at the first, and now, was and is,
to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. No one can
deny, that violent passions will naturally emit harsh and
disagreeable tones : yet this great poet and critic thought
that this imitation of nature would cost too much, if pur
chased at the expense of disagreeable sensations, or, as he
expresses it, of splitting the ear. The poet and actor, as
well as the painter of genius, who is well acquainted with
all the variety and sources of pleasure in the mind and
imagination, has httle regard or attention to common na
ture, or creeping after common sense. By overleaping
those narrow bounds, he more effectually seizes the whole
mind, and more powerfully accomplishes his purpose. This
success is ignorantly imagined to proceed from inattention
to all rules, and a defiance of reason and judgment; whereas
it is in truth acting according to the best rules and the
justest reason.
He who thinks nature, in the narrow sense of the word,
is alone to be followed, will produce but a scanty enter-

124 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
tainment for the imagination ; every thing is to be done
with which it is natural for the mind to be pleased, whether
it proceeds from simplicity or variety, uniformity or irreg
ularity; whether the scenes are familiar or exotic; rude
and wild, or enriched and cultivated; for it is natural for
the mind . to be pleased with all these in their turn. In
short whatever pleases has in it what is analogous to the
mind, and is, therefore, in the highest and best sense of.the
word, natural.
It is the sense of nature or truth, whieh ought more
particularly to be cultivated by the professors of art; and
it may be observed, that many wise and learned men, who
have accustomed their minds to admit nothing for truth
but what can be proved by mathematical demonstration,
have seldom any relish for those arts which address them
selves to the fancy, the rectitude and truth of which is
known by another kind of proof; and we may add, that
the acquisition of this knowledge requires as much circum
spection and sagacity as is necessary to attain those truths
which are more capable of demonstration. Reason must
ultimately determine our choice on every occasion; but
this reason may still be exerted ineffectually by applying
to taste principles which, though right as far as they go,
yet do not reach the object. No man, for instance, can
deny, that it seems at first view very reasonable, that a
statue which is to carry down to posterity the resemblance
of an individual, should be dressed in the fashion of the
times, in the dress which he himself wore; this would
certainly be true, if the dress were part of the man ; but
after a time, the dress is only an amusement for an antiqua
rian ; and if it obstructs the general design of the piece,
it is to be disregarded by the artist. Common sense must

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 125
here give way to a higher sense. In the naked form, and
in the disposition of the drapery, the difference -between
one artist and another is principally seen. But if he is
compelled to exhibit the modern dress, the naked form is
entirely hid, and the drapery is already disposed by the
skill of the tailor. Were a Phidias to obey such absurd
commands, he would please no more than an ordinary
sculptor ; in the inferior parts of every art, the learned and
the ignorant are nearly upon a level.
These were probably among the reasons that induced
the sculptor of that wonderful figure of Laocoon, to exhibit
him naked, notwithstanding he was surprised in the act of
sacrificing to Apollo, and consequently ought to have been
shown in his sacerdotal habits, if those greater reasons had
not preponderated. Art is not yet in so high estimation
with us, as to obtain so great a sacrifice as the ancients
made, especially the Grecians, who suffered themselves to
be represented naked, whether they were generals, law
givers or kings.
Under this head of balancing and choosing the greater
reason, or of two evils taking the least, we may consider
the conduct of Rubens in the Luxembourg gallery, where
he has mixed allegorical figures with the representations of
real personages, which must be acknowledged to be a fault ;
yet, if the artist considered himself as engaged to furnish
this gallery with a rich, various, and splendid ornament,
this could not be done, at least in an equal degree, without
peopling the air and water with these allegorical figures ;
he therefore accomplished all that he purposed. In this
case all lesser considerations, which tend to obstruct the
great end of the work, must yield and give way.
The variety which portraits and modern dresses, mixed
11*

126 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
with allegorical figures, produce, is not to be slightly given
up upon a punctilio of reason, when that reason deprives
the art in a manner of its very existence. It must always
be remembered that the business of a great painter is to
produce a great picture; he must therefore take especial
care not to be cajoled by specious arguments out of his
materials. What has been so often said to thedisadvantage of alle
gorical poetry — that it is tedious and uninteresting — pan
not with the same propriety be applied to painting, where
the interest is of a different kind. If allegorical painting
produces a greater variety of ideal beauty, a richer, a more
various and delightful composition, and gives to the artist a
greater opportunity of exhibiting his skill, all the interest
he wishes for is accomplished; such a picture not only
attracts, but fixes the attention.
If it be objected that Rubens judged ill at first in think
ing it necessary to make his work so very ornamental, this
puts the question upon new ground. It was his peculiar
style ; he could paint in no other ; and he was selected for
that work probably because it was his style. Nobody will
dispute but some of the best of the Ronjan or Bolognian
schools would have produced a- more learned and more
noble work.
This leads us to another important province of taste,
that of weighing the value of the different classes of the
art, and of estimating them accordingly.
All arts have means within them of applying them
selves with success both to the intellectual and sensitive
part of our natures. It can not be disputed, supposing
both these means put in practice with equal abilities, to
which we ought to give the preference ; to him who repre-

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 127
sents the heroic arts and more dignified passions of man,
or to him who, by the help of meretricious ornaments,
however elegant and graceful, captivates the sensuality, as
it may be called, of our taste. Thus the Roman and Bo
lognian schools are reasonably preferred to the Venetian,
Flemish, or Dutch schools, as- they address themselves to
our best and noblest faculties.
Well turned periods in eloquence, or harmony of num
bers in poetry, which are in those arts what coloring is in
painting however highly we may esteem them, can never
be considered as of equal importance with the art of unfold
ing truths that are useful to mankind, and which make us
better or wiser. Nor can those works which remind us of
the poverty and meanness of our nature, be considered as
of equal rank with what excites ideas of grandeur, or raises
and dignifies humanity; or, in the words of a late poet,
which makes the beholder learn to venerate himself as
man.* It is reason and good sense, therefore, which ranks and
estimates every art, and every part of that art, according to
its importance, from the painter of animated, down to inan-
imated nature. We will not allow a man, who shall prefer
the inferior style, to say it is his taste ; taste here has
nothing, or at least ought to have nothing, to do with the
question. He wants not taste, but sense and soundness of
judgment. Indeed perfection in an inferior style may be reasonably
preferred to mediocrity in the highest walks of art. A
landscape of Claude Lorraine may be preferred to a history
by Luca Giordano ; but hence appears the necessity of the
oonnoisseur's knowing in what consists the excellency of
* Dr. Goldsmith.

128 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
each class, in order to judge how near it approaches to per
fection. Even in works of the same kind, as in history-painting,
which is composed of various parts, excellence of an infe
rior species, carried to a very high degree, will make a
work very valuable, and in some measure compensate for
the absence of the higher kinds of merit. It is the duty
of the connoisseur to know and esteem, as much as it may
deserve, every part of painting : he will not then think
even Bassano unworthy of his notice ; who, though totally
devoid of expression, sense, grace, or elegance, may be
esteemed on account of his admirable taste -of colors, which,
in his best works, are little inferior to those of Titian.
Since I have mentioned Bassano, we must do him like
wise the justice to acknowledge, that though he did not
aspire to the dignity of expressing the characters and pas
sions of men, yet with respect to facility and truth in his
manner of touching animals of all kinds, and giving them
what painters call their character, few have excelled him.
To Bassano we may add Paul Veronese and Tintoret
for their entire inattention to what is justly thought the
most essential part of our art, the expression of the pas
sions. Notwithstanding these glaring deficiencies, we justly
esteem their works ; but it must be remembered, that they
do not please from those defects, but from their great excel
lencies of another kind, and in spite of such transgressions.
These excellencies, too, as far as they go, are founded in
the truth of general nature : they tell the truth, though
not the whole truth.
By these considerations, which can never be too fre
quently impressed, may be obviated two errors, which I
observed to have been, formerly at least, the most preva-

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 129
lent, and to be most injurious to artists ; that of thinking
taste and genius to have nothing to do with reason, and
that of taking particular living objects for nature.
I shall now say something on that part of taste, which
as I have hinted to you before, does not belong so much to
the external form of things, but is addressed to the mind,
and depends on its original frame, or, to use the expression,
the organisation of the soul ; I mean the imagination and
the passions. The principles of these are as invariable as
the former, and are to be known and reasoned upon ih the
same manner, by an appeal to common sense deciding upon
the common feelings of mankind. This sense, and these
feelings appear to me of equal authority, and equally con
clusive. Now this appeal implies a general uniformity and
agreement in the minds of men. It would be else an idle
and vain endeavor to establish rules of art; it would be
pursuing a phantom, to attempt to move affections with
which we were entirely unacquainted. We have no reason
to suspect there is a greater difference between our minds
than between our forms; of which, though there are no
two alike, yet there is a general similitude that goes through
the whole race of mankind ; and those who have cultivated
their taste, can distinguish what is beautiful or deformed,
or, in other words, what agrees with or deviates from the
general idea of nature, in one case, as well as in the other.
The internal fabric of our minds, as well as the exter
nal form of our bodies, being nearly uniform; it seems
then to follow of course, that as the imagination is incapa
ble of producing any thing originally of itself, and can
only vary and combine those ideas with which it is fur
nished by means of the senses, there will be necessarily an
agreement in the imaginations, as in the senses of men.

130 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
There being this agreement, it follows, that in all cases, in
our lightest amusements, as well as in our most serious
actions and engagements of life, we must regulate our
affections of every kind by that of others. The well 'dis
ciplined mind acknowledges this authority, and submits its
own opinion to the public voice. It is from knowing what
are the general feelings and passions of mankind, that we
acquire a true idea of what imagination is ; though it ap
pears as if we had nothing to do but to consult our own
particular sensations, and these were sufficient to ensure us
from all error and mistake.
A knowledge of the disposition and character of the
human mind can be acquired only by experience ; a great
deal will be learned, I admit, by a habit of examining
what passes in our bosoms, what are our own motives of
action, and of what kind of sentiments we are conscious on
any occasion. We may suppose an uniformity, and con
clude that the same effect will be produced by the same
cause in the mind of others. This examination will con
tribute to suggest to us matters of inquiry ; but we can
never be sure that our own sentiments are true and right,
till they are confirmed by more extensive observation. One
man opposing another determines nothing; but a general
union of minds, like a general combination of the forces of
all mankind, makes a strength that is irresistible. In fact,
as he who does not know himself, does not know others, so
it may be said with equal truth, that he who does not know
others, knows himself but very imperfectly.
A man who thinks he is guarding himself against pre
judices by resisting the authority of others, leaves open
every avenue to singularity, vanity, self-conceit, obstinacy,
and many other vices, all tending to warp the judgment,

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 131
and prevent the natural operation of his faculties. This
submission to others is a deference which we owe, and in
deed are forced involuntarily to pay. In fact, we .never
are satisfied with our opinions, whatever we may pretend,
till they are ratified and confirmed by the suffrages of the
rest of mankind. We dispute and wrangle for ever ; we
endeavor to get men to come to us, when we do not go to
them. He therefore who is acquainted with the works which
have pleased different ages and different countries, and has
formed his opinion on them, has more materials and more
means of knowing what is analogous to the mind of man,
than he who is conversant only with the works of his own
age or country. What has pleased, and continues to
please, is likely to please again : hence are derived the
rules of art, and on this immoveable foundation they must
ever stand.
This search and study of the history of the mind ought
not to be confined to one art only. It is by the analogy
that one art bears to another, that many things are ascer
tained, which either were but faintly seen, or, perhaps,
would not have been discovered at all, if the inventor had
not received the first hints from the practices of a sister art
on a similar occasion.* The frequent allusions whieh
every man who treats of any art is obliged to make to
others, in order to illustrate and confirm his principles, suf
ficiently show their near connection and inseparable rela
tion. All arts having the same general end, which is to
please; and addressing themselves to the same faculties
* Nulla ars, non alterius artis, aut mater, aut popinqua est. 
Tertull. as cited by Junius.

132 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
through the medium of the senses ; it follows that their
rules and principles must have as great affinity as the dif
ferent materials and the different organs or vehicles by
which they pass to the mind, will permit them to retain.*
We may therefore conclude, that the real substance, as
it may be called, of what goes under the name of taste, is
fixed and established in the nature of things ; that there
are certain and regular causes by which the imagination
and passions of men are affected ; and that the knowledge
of these causes is acquired by a laborious arid diligent in
vestigation of nature, and by the same slow progress as
wisdom or knowledge of every kind, however instantaneous
its operations may appear when thus acquired.
It has been often observed, that the good and virtuous
man alone can acquire this true or just relish even of
works of art. This opinion will not appear entirely with
out foundation, when we consider that the same habit of
mind, which is acquired by our search after truth, in the
more serious duties of life, is only transferred to the pur
suit of lighter amusements. The same disposition, the
same desire to find something steady, substantial, and du
rable, on which the mind can lean, as it were, and rest
with safety, actuates us in both cases. The subject only is
changed. We pursue the same method in our search after
the idea of beauty and perfection in each; of virtue, by
looking forwards beyond ourselves to society, and to the
whole ; of arts, by extending our views in the same man
ner, to all ages and all times.
Every art, like our own, has in its composition, fluc-
* Omnes artes quas ad humanitatem pertinent, habent quod-
dam commune vinculum, et quasi cognatione inter se oontinentur.
— Cioeeo.

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 133
tuating as well as fixed principles. It is an attentive in
quiry into their difference, that will enable us to determine
how far we are influenced by custom and habit, and what
is fixed in the nature of things.
To distinguish how much has solid foundation, we may
have recourse to the same proof by which some hold that
wit ought to be tried ; whether it preserves itself when
translated. That wit is false, which can subsist only in
one language ; and that picture which pleases only one age
or one nation, owes its reception to some local or accidental
association of ideas.
We may apply this to every custom and habit of life.
Thus, the general principles of urbanity, politeness, or
civility, have been the same in all nations ; but the mode
in which they are dressed is continually varying. The
general idea of showing respect, is by making yourself
less ; but the manner, whether by bowing the body, kneel
ing, prostration, pulling off the upper part of our dress,
or taking away the lower,* is a matter of custom.
Thus, in regard to ornaments, — it would be unjust to
conclude, that, because they were at first arbitrarily con
trived, they are therefore undeserving of our attention ; on
the contrary, he who neglects the cultivation of those orna
ments, acts contrary to nature and reason. As life would
be imperfect without its highest ornaments, the Arts, so
these arts themselves would be imperfect without their or
naments. Though we, by no means, ought to rank with
these positive and substantial beauties, yet it must be al
lowed that a knowledge of both is essentially requisite
towards forming a complete, whole, and perfect taste. It
* Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon
thou standest ia holy ground. — Exodus, iii. 5.
12

134 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
is in reality from their ornaments, that arts receive their
peculiar character and complexion ; we may add, that in
them we find the characteristical mark of a national taste ;
as, by throwing up a feather in the air, we know which way
the wind blows, better than by a more heavy matter.
The striking distinction between the works of the Ro
man, Bolognian, and Venetian schools, consists more in
that general effect which is produced by colors, than in the
more profound excellencies of the art ; at least it is from
thence that each is distinguished and known at first sight.
Thus it is the ornaments, rather than the proportions of
architecture, which at the first glance distinguish the differ
ent orders from each other ; the Doric is known by its tri-
glyphs, the Ionic by its volutes, and the Corinthian by its
acanthus. What distinguishes oratory from a cold narration is a
more liberal, though chaste, use of those ornaments which
go under the name of figurative and metaphorical expres
sions; and poetry distinguishes itself from oratory, by
words and expressions still more ardent and glowing.
What separates and distinguishes poetry, is more particu
larly the ornament of verse ; it is this which gives it its
character, and is an essential without which it cannot exist.
Custom has appropriated different metre to different kinds
of composition, in which the world is not perfectly agreed.
In England the dispute is not yet settled, which is to be
preferred, rhyme or blank verse. But however we disagree
about what these metrical ornaments shall be, that some
metre is essentially necessary, is universally acknowledged.
In poetry or eloquence, to determine how far figurative
or metaphorical language may proceed, and when it begins
to be affectation or beside the truth, must be determined

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 135
by taste ; though this taste, we must never forget, is regu
lated and formed by the presiding feelings of mankind, —
by those works which have approved themselves to all
times and all persons. Thus, though eloquence has un
doubtedly an essential and intrinsic excellence, and im
moveable principles common to all languages, founded in
the nature of our passions and affections ; yet it has its or
naments and modes of address, which are merely arbitrary.
What is approved in the eastern nations as grand and ma
jestic, would be considered by the Greeks and Romans as
turgid and inflated ; and they, in return, would be thought
by the Orientals to express themselves in a cold and insipid
manner. We may add, likewise, to the credit of ornaments, that
it is by their means that Art itself accomplishes its pur
pose. Fresnoy calls coloring, which is one of the chief
ornaments of painting, lena sororis, that which procures
lovers and admirers to the more valuable excellencies of
the art.
It appears to be the same right turn of mind which
enables a man to acquire the truth, or the just idea of
what is right, in the ornaments, as in the more stable prin
ciples of art. It has still the same centre of perfection,
though it is the centre of a smaller circle.
To illustrate this by the fashion of dress, in which there
is allowed to be a good or bad taste. The component parts
of dress are continually changing from great to little, from
short to long; but the general form still remains; it is still
the same general dress, which is comparatively fixed, though
on a very slender foundation; but it is on this which
fashion must rest. He who invents with the most success,
or dresses in the best taste, would probably, from the same

136 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
sagacity employed to greater purposes, have discovered
equal skill, or have formed the same correct taste, in the
highest labors of art.
I have mentioned taste in dress, which is certainly one
of the lowest subjects to which this word is applied ; yet,
as I have before observed, there is a right even here, how
ever narrow its foundation, respecting the fashion of any
particular nation. But we have still more slender means
of determining, to which of the different customs of differ
ent ages or countries we ought to give the preference, since
they seem to be all equally removed from nature. If an
European, when he has cut off his beard, and put false
hair on his head, or bound up his own natural hair in regu
lar hard knots, as unlike nature as he can possibly make
it; and after having rendered them immoveable by the
help of the fat of hogs, has covered the whole with flour,
laid on by a machine with the utmost regularity ; if, when
thus attired, he issues forth, and meets a Cherokee Indian,
who has bestowed as much time at his toilet, and laid on
with equal care and attention his yellow and red ochre on
parts of his forehead or cheeks, as he judges most becom
ing ; whoever of these two despises the other for this at
tention to the fashion of his country, which ever first feels
himself provoked to laugh, is the barbarian.
All these fashions are very innocent ; neither worth
disquisition, nor any endeavor to alter them ; as the change
would, in all probability, be equally distant from nature.
The only circumstance against which indignation may rea
sonably be moved, is, where the operation is painful or de
structive of health ; such as some of the practices at Ota-
heite, and the straight lacing of the English ladies ; of the
last of which practices, how destructive it must be to

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 137
health and long life, the professor of anatomy took an op*
portunity of proving a few days since in this Academy.
It is in dress as in things of greater consequence.
Fashions originate from those only who have the high and
powerful advantages of rank, birth, and fortune. Many
of the ornaments of art, those at least for which no reason
can be given, are transmitted to us, are adopted, and ac
quire their consequence from the company in which we
have been used to see them. As Greece and Rome are the
fountains from whence have flowed all kinds of excellence,
to that veneration which they have a right to claim for the
pleasure and knowledge which they have afforded us, we
voluntarily add our approbation of every ornament and
every custom that belonged to them, even to the fashion of
their dress. For it may be observed that, not satisfied with
them in their own place, we make no difficulty of dressing
statues of modern heroes or senators in the fashion of the
Roman armor or peaceful robe ; we go so far as hardly to
bear a statue in any other drapery.
The figures of the great men of those nations have
come down to us in sculpture. In sculpture remain almost
all the excellent specimens of ancient art. We have so
far associated personal dignity to the persons thus repre
sented, and the truth of art to their manner of representa
tion, that it is not in our power any longer to separate
them. This is not so in painting ; because having no ex
cellent ancient portraits, that connection was never formed.
Indeed we could no more venture to paint a general officer
in a Roman military habit, than we could make a statue in
the present uniform. But since we have no ancient por
traits, to show how ready we are to adopt those kind of
prejudices, we make the best authority among the moderns
12*

138 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
serve the same purpose. The great variety of excellent
portraits with which Vandyke has enriched this nation, we
are not content to admire for their real excellence, but ex
tend our approbation even to the dress which happened to
be the fashion of that age. We all very well remember
how common it was a few years ago for portraits to be
drawn in this fantastic dress ; and this custom is not yet
entirely laid aside. By this means it must be acknowl
edged very ordinary pictures acquired something of the air
and effect of the works of Vandyke, and appeared there
fore at first sight to be better pictures than they really
were ; they appeared so, however, to those only who had
the means of making this association ; and when made, it
was irresistible. But this association is nature, and refers
to that secondary truth that comes from conformity to gene
ral prejudice and opinion ; it is therefore not merely fan
tastical. Besides the prejudice which we have in favor of
ancient dresses, there may be likewise other reasons for the
effect which they produce; among which we may justly
rank the simplicity of them, consisting of little more than
one single piece of drapery, without those whimsical capri
cious forms by which all other dresses are embarrassed.
Thus, though it is from the prejudice we have in favor
of the ancients, who have taught us architecture, that we
have adopted likewise their ornaments ; and though we are
satisfied that neither nature nor reason are the foundation
of those beauties which we imagine we see in that art, yet
if any one, persuaded of this truth, should therefore invent
new orders of equal beauty, which we will suppose to be
possible, they would not please ; nor ought he to complain,
since the old has that great advantage of having custom
and prejudice on its side. In this case we leave what has

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 139
every prejudice in its favor, to take that which will have no
advantage over what we have left, but novelty ; which soon
destroys itself, and at any rate is but a weak antagonist
against custom.
Ancient ornaments, having the right of possession,
ought not to be removed, unless to make room for that
which not only has higher pretensions, but such pretensions
as will balance the evil and confusion which innovation
always brings with it.
To this we may add, that even the durability of the
materials will often contribute to give a superiority to one
object over another. Ornaments in buildings, with which
taste is principally concerned, are composed of materials
which last longer than those of which dress is composed ;
the former, therefore, make higher pretensions to our favor
and prejudice.
Some attention is surely due to what we can no more
get rid of, than we can go out of ourselves. We are crea
tures of prejudice ; we neither can nor ought to eradicate
it; we must only regulate it by reason; which kind of
regulation is indeed little more than obliging the lesser, the
local and temporary prejudices, to give way to those which
are more durable and lasting.
He, therefore, who in his practice of portrait-painting,
wishes to dignify his subject, which we will suppose to be
a lady, will not paint her in the modern dress, the familiari
ty of which alone is sufficient to destroy all dignity. He
takes care that his work shall correspond to those ideas and
that imagination which he knows will regulate the judg
ment of others; and, therefore, dresses his figure some
thing with the general air of the antique for the sake of
dignity, and preserves something of fhe modern for the

140 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
sake of likeness. By this conduct his works correspond
with those prejudices which we have in favor of what we
continually see ; and the relish of the antique simplicity cor
responds with what we may call the more learned and sci
entific prejudice.
There was a statue made not long since of Voltaire,
which the sculptor, not having that respect for the preju
dices of mankind which he ought to have had, made en
tirely naked, and as meagre and emaciated as the original
is said to be. The consequence was what might have been
expected : it remained in the sculptor's shop, though it was
intended as a public ornament and a public honor to Vol
taire, for it was procured at the expense of his contempo
rary wits and admirers.
Whoever would reform a nation, supposing a bad taste
to prevail in it, will not accomplish his purpose by going
directly against the stream of their prujudices. Men's
minds must be prepared to receive what is new to them.
Reformation is a work of time. A national taste, however
wrong it may be, can not be totally changed at once; we
must yield a little to the prepossession which has taken
hold on the mind, and we may then bring people to adopt
what would offend them, if endeavored to be introduced by
violence. When Baptista Franco was employed, in con
junction with Titian, Paul Veronese and Tintoret, to adorn
the library of St. Mark, his work, Vasari says, gave less
satisfaction than any of the others : the dry manner of the
Roman school was very ill calculated to please eyes that
had been accustomed to the luxuriancy, splendor, ahd rich
ness of Venetian coloring. Had the Romans been the
judges of this work, probably the determination would have
been just contrary ; for in the more noble parts of the

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 141
art Battista Franco was perhaps not inferior to any of his
rivals. Gentlemen, It has been the main scope and principal end of this
discourse to demonstrate the reality of a standard in taste,
as well as in corporeal beauty ; that a false or depraved
taste, is a thing as well known, as easily discovered, as any
thing that is deformed, mis-shapen, or wrong, in our
form or outward make; and that this knowledge is de
rived from the uniformity of sentiments among mankind,
from whence proceeds the knowledge of what are the gene
ral habits of nature ; the result of which is an idea of perfect
beauty. If what has been advanced be true, — that beside this
beauty or truth, which is formed on the uniform, eternal,
and immutable laws of nature, and which of necessity can
be but one; that beside this one immutable verity there are
likewise what we have called apparent or secondary truths,
proceeding from local and temporary prejudices, fancies,
fashions or accidental connection of ideas ; if it appears that
these last have still their foundation, however slender, in
the original fabric of our minds ; it follows that all these
truths or beauties deserve and require the attention of the
artist, in proportion to their stability or duration, or as their
influence is more or less extensive. And let me add, that
as they ought not to pass their just bounds, so neither do
they, in a well-regulated taste, at all prevent or weaken the
influence of those general principles, which alone can give
to art its true and permanent dignity.
To form this just taste is undoubtedly in your own
power, but it is to reason and philosophy that you must have

142 the seventh discourse.
course ; from them you must borrow the balance, by which
is to be weighed and estimated the value of every pretension
that intrudes itself on your notice.
The general objection which is made to the introduction
of Philosophy into the regions of taste, is, that it checks
and restrains the flights of the imagination, and gives that
timidity, which an over-carefulness not to err or act con
trary to reason is likely to produce. It is not so. Fear is
neither reason nor philosophy. The true spirit of philoso
phy, by giving knowledge, gives a manly confidence, and
substitutes rational firmness in the place of vain presump
tion. A man of real taste is always a man of judgment in
other respects ; and those inventions which cither disdain or
shrink from reason, arc generally, I fear, more like the
dreams of a distempered brain, than the exalted enthusiasm
of a sound and true genius. In the midst of the highest
flights of fancy or imagination, reason ought to preside from
first to last, though I admit her more powerful operation is
upon reflection.
Let mc add, that some of the greatest names of anti
quity, and those who have most distinguished themselves
in works of genius and imagination, were equally eminent
for their critical skill. Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, and
Horace ; and among the moderns, Boilcau, Corncille, Pope,
and Drydcn, are at least instances of genius not being de
stroyed by attention or subjection to rules and science. I
should hope, therefore, that the natural consequence of
what has been said, would be, to excite in you a desire of
knowing the principles and conduct of the great masters of
our art, and respect and veneration for them when known.

DISCOURSE V1IL
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1778.
The principles of Art, whether Poetry or Painting, have their foundations in the
mind; such as novelty, variety, and contrast; these in their excess become de
fects. — Simplicity, its excess disagreeable.— Rules not to be always observed in
their literal sense ; sufficient to preserve the spirit of the law.— Observations on
the Prize Pictures.
GENTLEMEN,
I have recommended in former* .discourses, that Artists
should learn their profession by endeavoring to form an idea
of perfection from the different excellencies which lie dis
persed in the various schools of painting. Some difficulty
will still occur, to know what is beauty, and where it may
be found : one would wish not to be obliged to take it en
tirely on the credit of fame ; though to this, I acknowledge,
the younger students must unavoidably submit. Any sus
picion in them of the chance of their being deceived, will
have more tendency to obstruct their advancement, than even
an enthusiastic confidence in the perfection of their models.
But to the more advanced in the art, who wish to stand on
more stable and firmer ground, and to establish principles on
stronger foundation than authority, however venerable or
powerful, it may be safely told that there is still a higher
tribunal, to which those great masters themselves must sub
mit, and to which indeed every excellence in art must be
ultimately referred. He who is ambitious to enlarge the
Discourses II. and VI.

144 the eighth discourse.
boundaries of his art, must extend his views, beyond the
precepts which are found in books or may be drawn from
the practice of his predecessors, to a knowledge of those
precepts in the mind, those operations of intellectual na
ture, — to which every thing that aspires to please, must
be proportioned and accommodated.
Poetry having a more extensive power than our art, ex
erts its influence over almost all the passions ; among those
may be reckoned one of our most prevalent dispositions, anx
iety for the future. Poetry operates by raising our curiosity,
engaging the mind by degrees to take an interest in the
event, keeping that event suspended, and surprising at last
with an unexpected catastrophe.
The painter's art is more confined, and has nothing that
corresponds with, or perhaps is equivalent to, this power
and advantage of leading the mind on, till attention is to
tally engaged. What is done by Painting, must be done
at one blow ; curiosity has received at once all the satisfac
tion it can ever have. There are, however, other intellec
tual qualities and dispositions which the Painter can satisfy
and affect as powerfully as the poet; among those we may
reckon our love of novelty, variety, and contrast; these
qualities, on examination, will be found to refer to a certain
activity and restlessness which has a pleasure and delight
in being exercised and put in motion. Art, therefore, only
administers to those wants and desires of the mind.
It requires no long disquisition to show, that the dispo
sitions which I have stated actually subsist in the human
mind. Variety re-animates the attention, which is apt to
languish under a continual sameness. Novelty makes a
more forcible, impression on the mind, than can be made by
the representation of what we have often seen before ; and

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 145
contrasts rouse the power of comparison by opposition. All
this is obvious ; but, on the other hand, it must be remem
bered, that the mind, though an active principle, has like
wise a disposition to indolence ; and though it loves exer
cise, loves it only to a certain degree, beyond which it is
very unwilling to be led, or driven ; the pursuit therefore
of novelty and variety may be carried to excess; When
variety entirely destroys the pleasure proceeding from uni
formity and repetition, and when novelty counteracts and
shuts out the pleasure arising from old habits and customs,
they oppose too much the indolence of our disposition : the
mind, therefore, can bear with pleasurs but a small portion
of novelty at a time. The main part of the work must be
in the mode to which we have been used. An affection to
old habits and customs I take to be the predominant dispo
sition of the mind, and novelty comes as an exception ;
where all is novelty, the attention, the exercise of the mind
is too violent. Contrast, in the same manner, when it ex
ceeds certain limits, is as disagreeable as a violent and per
petual opposition ; it gives to the senses, in their progress,
a more sudden change than they can bear with pleasure.
It is then apparent, that those qualities, however they
contribute to the perfection of Art, when kept within cer
tain bounds, if they are carried to excess, become defects,
and require correction : a work, consequently, will not pro
ceed better and better as it is more varied ; variety can
never be the ground-work and principle of the performance
— it must be only employed to recreate and relieve.
To apply these general observations which belong
equally to all arts, to ours in particular. In. a composition,
when the objects are scattered and divided into many equal
parts, the eye is perplexed and fatigued, from not knowing
13

146 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
where to find the principal action, or which is the principal
figure ; for where all are making equal pretensions to notice,
all are in equal danger of neglect.
The expression which is used very often, on these occa
sions is, the piece wants repose ; a word which perfectly ex
presses a relief of the mind from that state of hurry and
anxiety which it suffers^ when looking at a work of this
character. On the other hand, absolute unity, that is, a large work,
consisting of one group or mass of light only, would be as
defective as an heroic poem without episode, or any collat
eral incidents to recreate the mind with that variety which
it always requires.
An instance occurs to me of two painters, (Rembrandt
and Poussin,) of characters totally opposite to each other
in every respect, but in nothing more than in their mode
of composition, and management of light and shadow. Rem
brandt's manner is absolute unity ; he often has but one
group, and exhibits little more than one spot of light in the
midst of a large quantity of shadow : if he has a second
mass, that second bears no proportion to the principal.
Poussin, on the contrary, has scarce any principal mass of
light at all, and his figures are often too much dispersed,
without sufficient attention to place them in groups.
The conduct of these two painters is entirely the reverse
of what might be expected from their general style and char
acter ; the works of Poussin being as much distinguished for
simplicity, as those of Rembrandt for combination. Even
this conduct of Poussin might proceed from too great an
affection to simplicity of another kind; too great a desire to
avoid that ostentation of art, with regard to light and shadow,
on which Rembrandt so much wished to draw the attention j

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 147
#
however, each of them ran into contrary extremes, and it is
difficult to determine which is the most reprehensible, both
being equally distant from the demands of nature, and the
purposes of art.
The same just moderation must be observed in regard
to ornaments; nothing will contribute more to destroy
repose than profusion, of whatever kind, whether it con
sists in the multiplicity of objects, or the variety and
brightness of colors. On the other hand, a work without
ornament, instead of simplicity, to which it makes preten
sions, has rather the appearance of poverty. The degree
to which ornaments are admissible must be regulated by
the professed style of the work ; but we may be sure of
this truth — that the most ornamental style requires repose
to set off even its ornaments to advantage. I can not avoid
mentioning here an instance of repose, in that faithful and
accurate painter of nature, Shakspeare ; the short dialogue
between Duncan and Banquo, whilst they are approaching
the gates of Macbeth's castle. Their conversation very
naturally turns upon the beauty of its situation, and the
pleasantness of the air : and Banquo, observing the mart
lets' nests in every recess of the cornice, remarks, that
where those birds most breed and haunt, the air is delicate.
The subject of this quiet and easy conversation gives that
repose so necessary to the mind, after the tumultuous
bustle of the preceding scenes, and perfectly contrasts the
scene of horror that immediately succeeds. It seems as if
Shakspeare asked himself, what is a prince likely to say to
his attendants on such an occasion ? The modern writers
seem, on the contrary, to be always searching for new
thoughts, such as never could occur toman in the situation
represented. This is also frequently the practice of Ho-

148 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
mer; who, from the midst of battles and horrors, relieves
and refreshes the mind of the reader, by introducing some
quiet rural image, or picture of familiar domestic life. The
writers of every age and country, where taste has begun to
decline, paint and adorn every object they touch; are al
ways on the stretch ; never deviate or sink a moment from
the pompous and the brilliant. Lucan, Statius, and Clau-
dian, (as a learned critic has observed,) are Examples of
this bad taste and want of judgment : they never soften
their tones, or condescend to be natural ; all is exaggera
tion and perpetual splendor, without affording repose of
any kind.
As we are speaking of excesses, it will not be remote
from our purpose to say a few words upon simplicity;
which, in one of the senses in which it is used, is con
sidered as the general corrector of excess. We shall at
present forbear to consider it as implying that exact con
duct which proceeds from an intimate knowledge of simple
unadulterated nature, as it is then only another word for
perfection, which neither stops short of, nor oversteps,
reality and truth.
In our inquiry after simplicity, as in many other in
quiries of this nature, we can best explain what is right,
by showing what is wrong ; and, indeed, in this case it
seems to be absolutely necessary : simplicity, being only a
negative virtue, can not be described or defined. We must
therefore explain its nature, and show the advantage and
beauty which is derived from it, by showing the deformity
which proceeds from its neglect.
Though instances of this neglect might be expected to
be found in practice, we should not expect to find in the
works of critics, precepts that bid defiance to simplicity

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 149
and every thing that relates to it. Du Piles recommends
to us portrait painters, to add grace and dignity to the
characters of those whose pictures we draw : so far, he is
undoubtedly right ; but, unluckily, he descends to particu
lars, and gives his own idea of grace and dignity; "If,"
says he, "you draw persons of high character and dignity,
they ought to be drawn in such an attitude that the Por
traits must seem to speak to us of themselves; and, as it
were, to say to us, 'Stop, take notice of me, I am that in
vincible King, surrounded by Majesty:' lI am that valiant
commander, who struck terror every where :' lI am that
great minister, who knew all the springs of politics:' 'I am
that magistrate of consummate wisdom and probity.' " He
goes on in this manner with all the characters he can think
on. We may contrast the tumor of this presumptuous lof
tiness with the natural, unaffected air of the portraits of
Titian, where dignity, seeming to be natural and inhe
rent, draws spontaneous reverence, and instead of being
thus vainly assumed, has the appearance of an unalien
able adjunct; whereas such pompous and labored inso
lence of grandeur is so far from creating respect, that
it betrays vulgarity and meanness, and new-acquired con
sequence. The painters, many of them at least, have not been
backward in adopting the notions contained in these pre
cepts. The portraits of Rigaud are perfect examples of
an implicit observance of these rules of Du Piles ; so that
though he was a painter of great merit in many respects,
yet that merit is entirely overpowered by a total absence
of simplicity in every sense.
Not to multiply instances, which might be produced for
this purpose, from the works of history painters, I shall
13*

150 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
mention only one — a picture which I have seen, of the
Supreme Being, by Coypell. «>
This subject the Roman Catholic painters have taken
the liberty to represent, however indecent the attempt,
and however obvious the impossibility of any approach to
an adequate representation ; but here the air and character
which the Painter has given, and he has doubtless given
the highest he could conceive, are so degraded by an at
tempt at such dignity as Du Piles has recommended, that
we are enraged at the folly and presumption of the artist,
and consider it as little less than profanation.
As we have passed to a neighboring nation for instances
of want of this quality, we must acknowledge at the same
time, that they have produced great examples of simplicity,
in Poussin and Le Sueur. But as we are speaking of the
most refined and subtle notion of perfection, may we not
inquire, whether a curious eye can not discern some faults,
even in those great men ? I can fancy, that even Poussin,
by abhorring that affectation and that want of simplicity,
which he observed in his countrymen, has, in certain partic
ulars, fallen into the contrary extreme, so far as to approach
to a kind of affectation : to what, in writing would be
called pedantry.
When simplicity, instead of being a corrector, seems
to set up for herself; that is, when an artist seems to value
himself solely upon this quality; such an ostentatious dis
play of simplicity becomes then as disagreeable and nause
ous as any other kind of affectation. He is, however, in
this case, likely enough to sit down contented with his own
work, for though he finds the world look at it with indiffer
ence or dislike, as being destitute of every quality that can
recreate or give pleasure to the mind, yet he consoles him-

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.

151

self that it has simplicity, a beauty of too pure and chaste
a nature to be relished by vulgar minds
It is in art as in morals ; no character would inspire us
with an enthusiastic admiration of his virtue, if that virtue
consisted only in an absence of vice; something more is
required : a man must do more than merely his duty, to be
a hero. Those works of the ancients, which are in the highest
esteem, have something beside mere simplicity to recom
mend them. The Apollo, the Venus, the Laoeoon, the
Gladiator, have a certain composition of action, have con
trasts sufficient to give grace and energy in a high degree ;
but it must be confessed of the many thousand antique
statues which we have, that their general characteristic is
bordering at least on inanimate insipidity.
Simplicity, when so very inartificial as to seem to evade
the difficulties of art, is a very suspicious virtue.
I do not, however, wish to degrade simplicity from the
high estimation in whieh it has been ever justly held. It
is our barrier against that great enemy to truth and nature,
Affectation, which is ever clinging to the pencil, and ready
to drop in and poison every thing it touches.
Our love and affection to simplicity proceeds in a great
measure from our aversion to every kind of affectation.
There is likewise another reason why so much stress is laid
upon this virtue ; the propensity which artists have to fall
into the contrary extreme ; we therefore set a guard on that
side .which is most assailable. When a young artist is
first told that his composition and his attitudes must be
contrasted, that he must turn the head contrary to the posi
tion of the body, in order to produce grace and animation ;
that his outline must be undulating, and swelling, to give

152 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
grandeur ; and that the eye must be gratified with a variety
of colors; when he is told this, with certain animating
words of Spirit, Dignity, Energy, Grace, greatness of Style,
and brilliancy of Tints, he becomes suddenly vain of his
newly acquired knowledge, and never thinks he can carry
those rules too far. It is then that the aid of simphcity
ought to be called in to correct the exuberance of- youthful
ardor. The same may be said in regard to coloring, which in
its pre-eminence is particularly applied to flesh. An artist
in his first essay of imitating nature, would make the whole
mass of one color, as the oldest painters did; till he is
taught to observe not only the variety of tints, which are
in the object itself, but the differences produced by the
gradual decline of light to shadow; he then immediately
puts his instruction in practice, and introduces a variety of
distinct colors. He must then be again corrected and
told, that though there is this variety, yet the effect of the
whole upon the eye must have the union and simplicity of
the coloring of nature.
And here we may observe, that the progress of an indi
vidual student bears a great resemblance to the progress
and advancement of the Art itself. Want of simplicity
would probably be not one of the defects of an artist who
had studied nature only, as it was not of the old masters,
who lived in the time preceding the great Art of Painting ;
on the contrary, their works are too simple and too in
artificial. The Art in its infancy, like the first work of a student,
was dry, hard, and simple. But this kind of barbarous
simplicity would be better named Penury, as it proceeds
from mere want; from want of knowledge, want of

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 153
resources, want of abilities to be otherwise ; their simphcity
was the offspring, not of choice, but necessity.
In the second stage they were sensible of this poverty ;
and those who were the most sensible of the want, were
the best judges of the measure of the supply. There were
painters who immerged from poverty without falling into
luxury. Their success induced others, who probably never
would of themselves have had strength of mind to discover
the original defect, to endeavor at the remedy by an abuse ;
and they ran into the contrary extreme. But however they
may have strayed, we can not recommend to them to return
to that simplicity which they have justly quitted ; but to
deal out their abundance with a more sparing hand, with that
dignity which makes no parade, either of its riches, or of its
art. It is not easy to give a rule which may serve to fix this
just and correct medium ; because when we may have fixed,
or nearly fixed the middle point, taken as a general principle,
circumstances may oblige us to depart from it, either on the
side of Simplicity, or on that of Variety and Decoration.
I thought it necessary in a former discourse, speaking
of the difference of the sublime and ornamental style of
painting, — in order to excite your attention to the more
manly, noble, and dignified manner— to leave perhaps an
impression too contemptuous of those ornamental parts of
our Art, for which many have valued themselves, and many
works are much valued and esteemed.
I said then, what I thought it was right at that time
to say ; I supposed the disposition of young men more in
clinable to splendid negligence, than perseverance in labor
ious application to acquire correctness : and therefore did as
we do in making what is crooked straight, by bending it the
contrary way, in order that it may remain straight at last.

154 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
For this purpose, then, and to correct excess or neglect
of any kind, we may here add, that it is not enough that a
work be learned ; it must be pleasing ; the painter must add
grace to strength, if he desires to secure the first impression
in his favor. Our taste has a kind of sensuality about it,
as well as a love of the sublime ; both these qualities of the
mind are to have their proper consequence, as far as they
do not counteract each other ; for that is the grand error
which much care ought to be taken to avoid.
There are some rules, whose absolute authority, like
that of our nurses, continues no longer than while we are in
a state of childhood. One of the first rules, for instance,
that I believe every master would give to a young pupil,
respecting his conduct and management of light and sha
dow, would be what Lionardo da Vinci has actually given;
that you must oppose a light ground to the shadowed side
of your figure, and a dark ground to the light. If Lionardo
had lived to see the superior splendor and effect which has'
been since produced by the exactly contrary conduct, — by
joining light to light and shadow to shadow, — though with
out doubt he would have admired it, yet, as it ought not,
so probably it would not be the first rule with which he
would have begun his instructions.
Again ; in the artificial management of the figures, it is
directed that they shall contrast each other according to the
rules generally given : that if one figure opposes his front
to the spectator, the next figure is to have his back turned,
and that the limbs of each individual figure be contrasted ;
that is, if the right leg be put forward, the right arm is to
be drawn back.
It is very proper that those rules should be given in the
Academy; it is proper the young students should be in-

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. "155
formed that some research is to be made, and that they
Bhould be habituated to consider every excellence as reduci
ble to principles. Besides, it is the natural progress of in
struction to teach first what is obvious and perceptible to
the senses, and from hence proceed gradually to notions
large, liberal, and complete, such as comprise the more re
fined and higher excellencies in Art. But when students
are more advanced, they will find that the greatest beauties
of character and expression are produced without contrast ;
nay more, that this contrast would ruin and destroy that
natural energy of men engaged in real action, unsolicitous
of grace. St. Paul, preaching at Athens, in one of the car
toons, far from any academical contrast of limbs, stands
equally on both legs, and both hands are in the same atti
tude : add contrast, and the whole energy and unaffected
grace of the figure is destroyed. Elymas the sorcerer
stretches both hands forward in the same direction, which
gives perfectly the expression intended. Indeed you never
will find in the works of Raffaelle any of those school-boy
affected contrasts. Whatever contrast there is, appears
without any seeming agency of art, by the natural chance
of things. What has been said of the evil of excesses of all kinds,
whether of simplicity, variety, or contrast, naturally suggests
to the painter the necessity of a general inquiry into the
true meaning and cause of rules, and how they operate on
those faculties to which they are addressed : by knowing
their general purpose and meaning, he will often find that
he need not confine himself to the literal sense ; it will be
sufficient if he preserve the spirit of the law. Critical re
marks are not always understood without examples : it may
not be improper, therefore, to give instances where the

156 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
rule itself, though generally received, is false, or where a nar
row coneeption of it may lead the artists into great errors.
It is given as a rule by Fresnoy, that the principal
figure of a subject must appear in the midst of the picture,
under the principal light, to distinguish it from the rest.
A painter who should think himself obliged secretly to fol
low this rule, would encumber himself with needless diffi
culties ; he would be confined to great uniformity of compo
sition, and be deprived of many beauties which are incom
patible with its observance. The meaning of this rule
extends, or oughKto extend, no further than this : — That
the principal figure should be immediately distinguished at
the first glance of the eye ; but there is no necessity that the
principal light should fall on the principal figure, or that
the principal figure should be in the middle of the picture.
It is sufficient that it be distinguished by its place, or by
the attention of other figures pointing it out to the specta
tor. So far is this rule from being indispensable, that it is
very seldom practised ; other considerations of greater conse
quence often standing in the way. Examples in opposition
to this rule, are found in the Cartoons, in Christ's Charge
to Peter, the Preaching of St. Paul, and Elymas the Sor
cerer, who is undoubtedly the principal object in that pic
ture. In none of those compositions is the principal figure
in the midst of the picture. In the very admirable composi
tion of the Tent of Darius, by Le Brun, Alexander is not in
the middle of the picture, nor does the principal light fall
on him ; but the attention of all the other figures immedi
ately distinguishes him, and distinguishes him more pro
perly ; the greatest light falls on the daughter of Darius,
who is in the middle of the picture, where it is more neces
sary the principal light should be placed.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 157
It is very extraordinary that Felibien, who has given a
very minute description of this picture, but indeed such a
description as may be called rather panegyric than criticism,
thinking it necessary (according to the precept of Fres
noy) that Alexander should possess the principal light, has
accordingly given it to him ; he might with equal truth
have said that he was placed in the middle of the picture,
as he seemed resolved to give this piece every kind of excel
lence which he conceived to be necessary to perfection. His
generosity is here unluckily misapplied, as it would have
destroyed, in a great measure, the beauty of the compo
sition. Another instance occurs to me, where equal liberty may
be taken in regard to the management of light. Though
the general practice is, to make a large mass about the mid
dle of the picture surrounded by shadow, the reverse may
be practised, and the spirit of the rule may still be pre
served. Examples of this principle reversed may be found
very frequently in the works of the Venetian School. In
the great composition of Paul Veronese, the Marriage
at Cana, the figures are, for the most part, in half shadow ;
the great light is in the sky ; and indeed, the general effect
of this picture, which is so striking, is no more than what
we often see in landscapes, in small pictures of fairs and
country feasts ; but those principles of light and shadow,
being transferred to a large scale, to a space containing near
a hundred figures as large as life, and conducted to all appear
ance with as much facility, and with an attention as stead
ily fixed upon the whole together, as if it were a small pic
ture immediately under the eye, the work justly excites our
admiration ; the difficulty being increased as the extent is
enlarged. 14

158 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
The various modes of composition are infinite ; some
times it shall consist of one large group in the middle of
the picture, and the smaller groups on each side ; or a plain
space in the middle, and the groups of figures ranked round
this vacuity.
Whether this principal broad light be in the middle
space of ground, as in the School oe Athens ; or in the
sky, as in the Marriage at Cana, in the Andromeda,
and in most of the pictures of Paul Veronese ; or whether
the light be on the groups ; whatever mode of composition
is adopted, every variety and license is allowable : this only
is indisputably necessary, that to prevent the eye from be
ing distracted and confused by a multiplicity of objects of
equal magnitude, those objects, whether they consist of lights,
shadows, or figures, must be disposed in large masses and
groups properly varied and contrasted ; that to a certain
quantity of action a proportioned space of plain ground is
required; that light is to be supported by sufficient shadow;
and we may add, that a. certain quantity of cold colors
is necessary to give value and lustre to the warm colors :
what those proportions are, can not be so well learnt by pre
cept as by observation on pictures, and in this knowledge
bad pictures will instruct as well as good. Our inquiry
why pictures have a bad effect, may be as advantageous as
the inquiry why they have a good effect ; each will corrob
orate the principles that are suggested by the other.
Though it is not my business to enter into the detail of
our Art, yet I must take this opportunity of mentioning
one of the means of producing that great effect which we
observe in the works of the Venetian painters, as I think
it is not generally known or observed. It ought, in my ¦
opinion, to be indispensably observed, that the masses of

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 159
light in a picture be always of a warm mellow color, yellow,
red, or a yellowish-white ; and that the blue ; the grey, or
the green colors be kept almost entirely out of these
masses, and be used only to support and set off these warm
colors; and for this purpose, a small proportion of cold
colors will be sufficient.
Let this conduct be reversed ; let the light be cold, and
the surrounding colors warm, as we often see in the works
of the Roman and Florentine painters, and it will be out of
the power of art, even in the hands of Rubens or Titian,
to make a picture splendid and harmonious.
Le Brun and Carlo Maratti were two painters of great
merit, and particularly what may be called Academical
Merit, but were both deficient in this management of
colors; the want of observing this rule is one of the
causes of that heaviness of effect which is so observable in
their works. The principal light in the Picture of Le
Brun, which I just now mentioned, falls on Statira, who is
dressed very injudiciously in a pale blue drapery : it is true,
he has heightened this blue with gold, but that is not
enough; the whole picture has a heavy air, and by no
means answers the expectation raised by the print. Pous
sin often made a spot of blue drapery, when the general
hue of the picture was inclinable to brown or yellow ; which
shows sufficiently, that harmony of coloring was not a part
of the art that had much engaged the attention of that
great painter.
The conduct of Titian in the picture of Bacchus and
Ariadne, has been much celebrated, and justly, for the
harmony of coloring. To Ariadne is given (say the critics)
a red scarf, to relieve the figure from the sea, which is be
hind her. It is not for that reason, alone, but for another

160 THE eighth discourse.
of much greater consequence ; for the sake of the general
harmony and effect of the picture. The figure of Ariadne
is separated from the great group, and is dressed in blue,
which added to the color of the sea, makes that quantity of
cold color which Titian thought necessary for the support and
brilliancy of the great group ; which group is composed, with
very little exception, entirely of mellow colors. But as
the picture in this case would be divided into two distinct
parts, one half cold, and the other warm, it was necessary
to carry some of the mellow colors of the great group into
the cold part of the picture, and a part of the cold into the
great group; accordingly Titian gave Ariadne a red scarf,
and to one of the Bacchante a little blue drapery.
The light of the picture, as I observed, ought to be of
a warm color ; for though white may be used for the prin
cipal light, as was the practice of many of the Dutch and
Flemish painters, yet it is better to suppose that white
illumined by the yellow rays of the setting sun, as was
the manner of Titian. The superiority of which manner
is never more striking than when in a collection of pictures
we chance to see a portrait of Titian's hanging by the side
of a Flemish picture (even though that should be of the
hand of Vandyck) which, however admirable in other res
pects, becomes cold and grey in the comparison.
The illuminated parts of objects are in nature of a
warmer tint than those that are in the shade ; what I have
recommended, therefore, is no more than that the same
conduct be observed in the whole, which is acknowledged
to be necessary in every individual part. It is presenting
to the eye the same effect as that which it has been
accustomed to feel, which, in this case, as in every other,
will always produce beauty; no principle therefore, in

TnE EIGHTH discourse. 161
our art can be more certain, or is derived from a higher
source. When I just now mentioned the supposed reason why
Ariadne has part of her drapery red, gives me occasion
here to observe, that this favorite quality of giving objects
relief, and which Du Piles and all the Critics have con
sidered as a requisite of the utmost importance, was not
one of those objects which much engaged the attention of
Titian; painters of an inferior rank have far exceeded
him in producing this effect. This was a great object of
attention, when art was in its infant state ; as it is at present
with the vulgar and ignorant, who feel the highest satisfac
tion in seeing a figure, which, as they say, looks as if they
could walk round it. But however low I may rate this
pleasure of deception, I should not oppose it, did it not op
pose itself to a quality of a much higher kind, by counter
acting entirely that fullness of manner which is so difficult to
express in words, but which is found in perfection in the best
works of Correggio, and we may add, of Rembrandt. This
effect is produced by melting and losing the shadows in a
ground still darker than those shadows ; whereas that relief is
produced by opposing and separating the ground from the
figure, either by light, or shadow, or color. This conduct of
in-laying, as it may be called, figures on their ground, in
order to produce relief, was the practice of the old Painters,
such as Andrea Mantegna, Pietro Perugino, and Albert
Durer; and to these we may add the first manner of Lion
ardo da Vinci, Giorgione, and even Correggio ; but these
three were among the first who began to correct themselves
in dryness of style, by no longer considering relief as a prin
cipal object. As those two qualities, relief and fullness of
effect, can hardly exist together, it is not very difficult to
14*

162 the eighth discourse.
determine to which we ought to give the preference. An
artist is obliged forever to hold a balance in his hand, by
which he must determine the value of different qualities ;
that, when some fault must be committed, he may choose
the least. Those painters who have best understood the art
of producing a good effect, have adopted one principle that
seems perfectly conformable to reason ; that a part may be
sacrificed for the good of the whole. Thus, whether the
masses consist of light or shadow, it is necessary that they
should be compact and of a pleasing shape : to this end,
some parts may be made darker and some lighter, and re
flections stronger than nature would warrant. Paul Vero
nese took great liberties of this kind. It is said, that being
once asked why certain figures were painted in shade, as no
cause was seen in the picture itself, he turned off the inquiry
by answering, "una nuevola chepassa," a cloud is passing,
which has overshadowed them.
But I can not give a better instance of this practice than
a picture which I have of Rubens ; it is a representation of
a Moonlight. Rubens has not only diffused more light over
the picture than is in nature, but has bestowed on it those
warm glowing colors by which his works are so much dis
tinguished. It is so unlike what any other painters have
given us of Moonlight that it might be easily mistaken, if
he had not likewise added stars, for a fainter setting sun.
Rubens thought the eye ought to be satisfied in this case,
above all other considerations ; he might, indeed, have
made it more natural, but it would have been at the expense
of what he thought of much greater consequence, the har
mony proceeding from the contrast and variety of colors.
This same picture will furnish us with another instance,
where we must depart from nature for a greater advantage.

the eighth discourse. 163
The Moon in this picture does not preserve so great a
superiority in regard to its lightness over the subject which
it illumines, as it does in nature ; this is likewse an in
tended deviation, and for the same reason. If Rubens had
preserved the same scale of gradation of light between the
Moon and the objects, which is found in nature, the picture
must have consisted of one small spot of light only, and at a
little distance from the picture nothing but this spot would
have been seen. It may be said, indeed, that this being the
case, it is a subject that ought not to be painted; but then,
for the same reason, neither armor, nor any thing shining,
ought ever to be painted ; for though pure white is used
in order to represent the greatest light of shining objects,
it will not in the picture preserve the same superiority over
flesh, as it has in nature, without keeping that flesh-color
of a very low tint. Rembrandt, who thought it of more
consequence to paint light than the objects that are seen
by it, has done this in a picture of Achilles which I have.
The head is kept down to a very low tint, in order to pre
serve this due gradation and distinction between the armor
and the face ; the consequence of which is, that upon the
whole, the picture is too black. Surely too much is sacri
ficed here to this narrow conception of nature ; allowing the
contrary conduct a fault, yet it must be acknowledged a less
fault than making a picture so dark that it can not be seen
without a peculiar light, and then with difficulty. The
merit or demerit of the different conduct of Rubens and
Rembrandt in those instances which I have given, is not to
be determined by the narrow principles of nature, separated
from its effect on the human mind. Reason and common
sense tell us, that before, and above all other considera
tions, it is necessary that the work should be seen, not only

164 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
without difficulty or inconvenience, but with pleasure and
satisfaction ; and every obstacle which stands in the way of
this pleasure and convenience must be removed.
The tendency of this Discourse, with the instances
which have been given, is not so much to place the Artist
above rules, as to teach him their reason ; to prevent him
from entertaining a narrow, confined conception of Art ; to
clear his mind from a perplexed variety of rules and their
exceptions, by directing his attention to an intimate ac
quaintance with the passions and affections of the mind,
from which all rules arise, and to which they are all refera
ble. Art effects its purpose by their means ; an accurate
knowledge, therefore, of those passions and dispositions of
the mind is neeessary to him who desires to affect them
upon sure and solid principles.
A complete essay or inquiry into the connection between
the rules of Art, and the eternal and immutable disposi
tions of our passions, would be indeed going at once to the
foundation of criticism ; * but I am too well convinced what
extensive knowledge, what subtle and penetrating judg
ment would be required, to engage in such an undertaking ;
it is enough for me, if in the language of painters, I have
produced a slight sketch of a part of this vast composition,
but that sufficiently distinct to show the usefulness of such
a theory, and its practicability.
Before I conclude, I can not avoid making one observa
tion on the pictures now before us. I have observed, that
every candidate has copied the celebrated invention of
Timanthes in hiding the face of Agamemnon in his mantle ;
* This was inadvertently said. I did not recollect the admira
ble treatise On the Sublime and Beautiful.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 165
indeed, such lavish encomiums have been bestowed on this
thought, and that too by men of the highest character in
critical knowledge, — Cicero, Quintilian, Valerius, Maximus,
and Pliny, — and have been since re-echoed by almost every
modern that has written on the Arts, that your adopting it
can neither be wondered at, nor blamed. It appears now
to be so much connected with the subject, that the specta
tor would perhaps be disappointed in not finding United in
the picture what he always united in his mind, and consid
ered as indispensably belonging to the subject. But it may
be observed, that. those who praise this circumstance were
not painters. They use it as an illustration only of their
own art ; it served their purpose, and it was certainly not
their business to enter into the objections that lie against it
in another Art. I fear we have but very scanty means of
exciting those powers over the imagination which make
so very considerable and refined a part of poetry. It is a
doubt with me, whether we should even make the attempt.
The chief, if not the only occasion, which the painter has
for this artifice, is, when the subject is improper to be more
fully represented, either, for the sake of decency, or to
avoid what would be disagreable to be seen ; and this is
not to raise or increase the passions, which is the reason
that is given for this practice, but on the contrary to di
minish thejr effect.
It is true, sketches, or such drawings as painters gener
ally make for their works, give this pleasure of imagination
to a high degree. From a slight, undetermined drawing,
where the ideas of the composition and character are, as I
may say, only just touched upon, the imagination supplies
more than the painter himself, probably, could produce ;
and we accordingly often find that the finished work disap-

166 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
points the expectation that was raised from the sketch ; and
this power of the imagination is one of the causes of the
great pleasure we have in viewing a collection of drawings
by great painters. These general ideas, which are express
ed in sketches, correspond very well to the art often used
in Poetry. A great part of the beauty of the celebrated
description of Eve in Milton's Paradise Lost, consists in
using only general indistinct expressions, every reader
making out the detail according to his own particular im
agination ; — his own idea of beauty, grace, expression, dig
nity, or loveliness : but a painter, when he represents Eve
on a canvass, is obliged to give a determined form, and his
own idea of beauty distinctly expressed.
We can not on this occasion, nor indeed on any other,
recommend an undeterminate manner or vague ideas of any
kind, in a complete and finished picture. This notion,
therefore, of leaving any thing to the imagination, opposes
a very fixed and indispensable rule in our art, that every
thing shall be carefully and distinctly expressed, as if the
painter knew, with correctness and precision, the exact form
and character of whatever is introduced into the picture.
This is what with us is called Science, and Learning : which
must not be sacrificed and given up for an uncertain and
doubtful beauty, which, not naturally belonging to our Art,
will probably be sought for without success.
Mr. Falconet has observed, in a note on this passage in
his translation of Pliny, that the circumstance of covering
the face of Agamemnon was probably not in consequence
of any fine imagination of the painter, — which he consid
ers as a discovery of the critics, — but merely copied from
the description of the sacrifice, as it is found in Euripides.
The words from which the picture is supposed to be

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 167
taken, are these : Agamemnon saw Iphigenia advance
towards the fatal altar ; he groaned, he turned aside his
head, he shed tears, and covered his face with his robe.
Falconet does not at all acquiesce in the praise that is.
bestowed on Timanthes ; not only because it is not his in
vention, but because he thinks meanly of this trick of con
cealing, except in instances of blood, where the objects
would be too horrible to be seen ; but, says he, " in an
afflicted Father, in a King, in Agamemnon, you, who are a
painter, conceal from me the most interesting circumstance,
and then put me off with sophistry and a veil. You are
(he adds) a feeble Painter, without resource : you do not
know even those of your Art : I care not what veil it is,
whether closed hands, arms raised, or any other action that
conceals from me the countenance of the Hero. You think
of veiling Agamemnon; you have unveiled your own
ignorance. A Painter who represents Agamemnon veiled,
is as ridiculous as a Poet would be, who in a pathetic situ
ation, in order to satisfy my expectations, and rid himself
of the business, should say, that the sentiments of his
hero are so far above whatever can be said on the occasion,
that he shall say nothing."
To what Falconet has said, we may add, that supposing
this method of leaving the expression of grief to the im
agination, to be, as it was thought to be, the invention of
the painter, and that it deserves all the praise that has-
been given it, still it is a trick that will serve but once ;
whoever does it a second time, will not only want novelty,
but be justly suspected of using artifice to evade difficul
ties. If difficulties overcome make a great part of the
merit of Art, difficulties evaded can deserve but little
commendation.

DISCOURSE IX.
Delivered at the Opening of the Royal Academy, in Somerset Place,
October 16, 1780.
On the removal OT the Royal Academy to Somerset Place. — The advantages to
Society from cultivating intellectual pleasure.
GENTLEMEN, The honor which the Arts acquire by being permitted
to take possession of this noble habitation, is one of the
most considerable of the many instances we have received
of His Majesty's protection; and the strongest proof of
his desire to make the Academy respectable.
Nothing has been left undone, that might contribute to
excite our pursuit, or to reward our attainments. We have
already the happiness of seeing the Arts in a state to
which they never before arrived in this nation. This
Building, in which we are now assembled, will remain to
many future ages an illustrious specimen of the Archi
tect's* abilities. It is our duty to endeavor that those who
gaze with wonder at the structure may not be disappointed
when they visit the apartments. It will be no small addi
tion to the glory which this nation has already acquired
from having given birth to eminent men in every part of
science, if it should be enabled to produce, in consequence
of this institution, a School of English Artists. The esti
mation in which we stand in respect to our neighbors, will
be in proportion to the degree in which we excel or are
inferior to them in the acquisition of intellectual excel-
* Sir William Chambers.

THE NINTH DISCOURSE. 169
lence, of which Trade and its consequential riches must be
acknowledged to give the means; but a people whose whole
attention is absorbed in those means, and who forget the
end, can aspire but little above the rank of a barbarous
nation. Every establishment that tends to the cultivation
of the pleasures of the. mind, as distinct from those of
sense, may be considered as an inferior school of morality,
where the mind is polished and prepared for higher attain
ments. Let us for a moment take a short survey of the pro
gress of the mind towards what is, or ought to be, its true
object of attention. Man, in his lowest state, has no
pleasures but those of sense, and no wants but those of
appetite ; afterwards, when society is divided into different
ranks, and some are appointed to labor for the support of
others, those whom their superiority sets free from labor
begin to look for intellectual entertainments. Thus, whilst
the shepherds were attending their flocks, their masters
made the first astronomical observations ; so music is said
to have had its origin from a man at leisure listening to
the strokes of a hammer.
As the senses, in the lowest state of nature, are neces
sary to direct us to our support, when that support is once
secure there is danger in following them further ; to him
who has no rule of action but the gratification of the
senses, plenty is always dangerous : it is therefore neces
sary to the happiness of individuals, and still more neces
sary to the security of society, that the mind should be
elevated to the idea of general beauty, and the contempla
tion of general truth : by this pursuit the mind is always
carried forward in search of something more excellent than
it finds, and obtains its proper superiority over the common
15

170 TnE NINTH DISCOURSE.
senses of life, by learning to feel itself capable of higher
aims and nobler enjoyments. In this gradual exaltation
of human nature, every art contributes its contingent to
wards the general supply of mental pleasure. Whatever
abstracts the thoughts from sensual gratifications, what
ever teaches us to look for happiness within ourselves,
must advance in some measure the dignity of our nature.
Perhaps there is no higher proof of the excellency t)f
man than this — that to a mind properly cultivated whatever
is bounded is little. The mind is continually laboring to
advance, step by step, through successive gradations of ex
cellence, towards perfection, which is dimly seen, at a
great, though not hopeless, distance, and which we must
always follow, because we never can attain ; but the pur
suit rewards itself; one truth teaches another, and our
store is always increasing, though nature can never be ex
hausted. Our art, like all arts which address the imagina
tion, is applied to a somewhat lower faculty of the mind,
which approaches nearer to sensuality : but through sense
and fancy it must make its way to reason ; for such is the
progress of thought, that we perceive by sense, we com
bine by fancy, and distinguish by reason : and without car
rying our art out of its natural and true character, the moie
we purify it from every thing that is gross in sense, in that
proportion we advance its use and dignity ; and in propor
tion as we lower it to mere sensuality, we pervert its na
ture, and degrade it from the rank of a liberal art; and this
is what every artist ought well to remember. Let him re
member also, that he deserves just so much encouragement
in the state as he makes himself a member of it virtuously
useful, and contributes in his sphere to the general purpose
and perfection of society.

THE NINTH DISCOURSE. 171
The Art which we profess has beauty for its object;
this it is our business to discover and to express; the
beauty of which we are in quest is general and intellectual;
it is an idea that subsists only in the mind ; the sight
never beheld it, nor has the hand expressed it ; it is an
idea residing in the breast of the artist, which he is always
laboring to impart, and which he dies at last without im
parting; but which he is yet so far able to communicate as
to raise the thoughts, and extend the views of the specta
tor ; and which, by a succession of art, may be so far dif
fused that its effects may extend themselves imperceptibly
into public benefits, and be among the means of bestowing
on whole nations refinement of taste : which, if it does not
lead directly to purity of manners, obviates at least their
greatest depravation, by disentangling the mind from appe
tite, and conducting the thoughts through successive stages
of excellence, till that contemplation of universal rectitude
and harmony which began by Taste, may, as it is exalted
and refined, conclude in Virtue.

DISCOURSE X.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 11, 1780.
Sculpture : — has but one style. — Its objects, form, and character. — Ineffectual at
tempts of the modern Sculptors to improve the art. — IU effects of modern
dress in Sculpture.
GENTLEMEN, I shall now, as it has been customary on this day,
and on this occasion, communicate to you such observations
as have occurred to me on the Theory of Art.
If these observations have hitherto referred principally
to Painting, let it be remembered that this Art is much
more extensive and complicated than Sculpture, and affords
therefore a more ample field for criticism; and as the
greater includes the less, the leading principles of Sculp
ture are comprised in those of Painting.
However, I wish now to make some remarks with par
ticular relation to Sculpture; to consider wherein, or in
what manner, its principles and those of Painting agree or
differ ; what is within its power of performing, and what
it is vain or improper to attempt ; that it may be clearly
and distinctly known what ought to be the great purpose
of the Sculptor's labors.
Sculpture is an art of much more simplicity and uni
formity than Painting ; it can not, with propriety and the
best effect, be applied to many subjects. The object of its
pursuit may be comprised in two words, Form and Charac
ter; and those qualities are presented to us but in one
manner, or in one style only; whereas the powers of

THE tenth discourse. 173
Painting, as they are more various and extensive, so they
are exhibited in as great a variety of manners. The Ro
man, Lombard, Florentine, Venetian, and Flemish Schools,
all pursue the same end by different means. But Sculp
ture having but one style, can only to one style of Paint
ing have any relation ; and to this (which is indeed the
highest and most dignified that Painting can boast,) it
has a relation so close that it may be said to be almost
the same art operating upon different materials. The
Sculptors of the last age, from not attending sufficient
ly to this discrimination of the different styles of Paint
ing, have been led into many errors. Though they well
knew that they were allowed to imitate, or take ideas for
the improvement of their own Art from the grand style of
Painting, they were not aware that it was not permitted to
borrow in the same manner from the ornamental. When
they endeavor to copy the picturesque effects, contrasts, or
petty excellencies of whatever kind, which not improperly
find a place in the inferior branches of Painting, they
doubtless imagine themselves improving and extending the
boundaries of their art by this imitation ; but they are in
reality violating its essential character, by giving a dif
ferent direction to its operations, and proposing to them
selves either what is unattainable, or at best a meaner ob
ject of pursuit. The grave and austere character of
Sculpture requires the utmost degree of formality in com
position ; picturesque contrasts have here no place ; every
tiling is carefully weighed and measured, one side making
almost an exact equipoise to the other : a child is not a
proper balance to a full grown figure, nor is a figure sitting
or stooping a companion to an upright figure.
The excellence of every art must consist in the com-
15*

174 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
plete accomplishment of its purpose ; and if, -by a false
imitation of nature, or mean ambition of producing a pic
turesque effect or illusion of any kind, all the grandeur
of ideas which this art endeavors to excite, be degraded
or destroyed, we may boldly oppose ourselves to any such
innovation. If the producing of a deception is the sum
mit of this art, let us at once give to statues the addition
of color; which will contribute more towards accomplish
ing this end, than all those artifices which have been intro
duced and professedly defended, on no other principle but
that of rendering the work more natural. But as color is
universally rejected, every practice liable to the same ob
jection must fall with it. If the business of Sculpture
were to administer pleasure to ignorance, or a mere enter
tainment to the senses, the Venus of Medicis might cer
tainly receive much improvement by color; but the char
acter of Sculpture makes it her duty to afford delight of a
different, and, perhaps, of a higher kind ; the delight re
sulting from the contemplation of perfect beauty : and
this, which is in truth an intellectual pleasure, is in many
respects incompatible with what is merely addressed to the
senses, such as that with which ignorance and levity con
template elegance of form.
The Sculptor may be safely allowed to practice every
means within the power of his art to produce a deception,
provided this practice does not interfere with or destroy
higher excellencies ; on these conditions he will be forced,
however loth, to acknowledge that the boundaries of his
art have long been fixed, and that all endeavors will be
vain that hope to pass beyond the best works which remain
of ancient Sculpture.
Imitation is the means, and not the end of art : it is

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 175
employed by the Sculptor as the language by which his
ideas are presented to the mind of the spectator. Poetry
and elocution of every sort make use of signs, but those
signs are arbitrary and conventional. The sculptor em
ploys the representation of the thing itself; but still as a
means to a higher end — as a gradual ascent always ad
vancing towards faultless form and perfect beauty. It
may be thought at the first view, that even this form, how
ever perfectly represented, is to be valued and take its
rank only for the sake of a still higher object, that of con
veying sentiment and character, as they are exhibited by
attitude, and expression of the passions. But we are sure
from experience, that the beauty of form alone, without
the assistance of any other quality, makes of itself a great
work, and justly claims our esteem and admiration. As a
proof of the high value we set on the mere excellence of
form, we may produce the greatest part of the works of
Michael Angelo, both in painting and sculpture as well as
most of the antique statues, which are justly esteemed in
a very high degree, though no very marked or striking
character or expression of any kind is represented.
But, as a stronger instance that this excellence alone
inspires sentiment, what artist ever looked at the Torso
without feeling a warmth of enthusiasm, as from the high
est efforts of poetry? From whence does this proceed?
What is there in this fragment that produces this effect,
but the perfection of this science of abstract form ?
A mind elevated to the contemplation of excellence,
perceives in this defaced and shattered fragment, disjecta
membra poetse, the traces of superlative genius, the
reliques of a work on which succeeding ages can only gaze
with inadequate admiration.

176 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
It may be said that this pleasure is reserved only to
those who have spent their whole life in the study and con
templation of this art ; but the truth is, that all would feel
its effects, if they could divest themselves of the expectation
of deception, and look only for what it really is, a, partial
representation of nature. The only impediment of their
judgment must then proceed from their being uncertain to
what rank, or rather kind of excellence, it aspires ; and to
what sort of approbation it has a right. This state of dark
ness is, without doubt, irksome to every mind ; but by at
tention to works of this kind the knowledge of what is aimed
at comes of itself, without being taught, and almost without
being perceived.
The Sculptor's art is limited in comparison of others, but
it has its variety and intricacy within its proper bounds.
Its essence is correctness : and when to correct and perfect
form is added the ornament of grace, dignity of character,
and appropriate expression, as in the Apollo, the Venus,
the Laocoon, the Moses of Michael Angelo, and many others,
this art may be said to have accomplished its purpose.
What Grace is, how it is to be acquired or conceived, are
in speculation difficult questions ; but causa latct, res est no-
tissima : without any perplexing inquiry, the effect is hourly
perceived. I shall only observe, that its natural foundation
is correctness of design ; and though grace may be some
times united with incorrectness, it can not proceed from it.
But to come nearer to our present subject. It has been
said that the grace of the Apollo depends on a certain degree
of incorrectness ; that the head is not anatomically placed
between the shoulders ; and that the lower half of the figure
is longer than just proportion allows.
I know that Correggio and Parmegiano are often produced

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 177
as authorities to support this opinion ; but very httle attention
will convince us, that the incorrectness of some parts which
we find in their works, does not contribute to grace, but rather
tends to destroy it. The Madonna, with the sleeping In
fant, and beautiful group of Angels, by Parmegiano, in the
Palazzo Piti, would not have lost any of its excellence, if
the neck, fingers, and indeed the whole figure of the Virgin,
instead of being so very long and incorrect, had preserved
their due proportion.
In opposition to the first of these remarks, I have the
authority of a very able Sculptor of this Academy, who has
copied that figure, consequently measured and carefully ex
amined it, to declare, that the criticism is not true. In regard
to the last, it must be remembered that Apollo is here in the
exertion of one of his peculiar powers, which is swiftness ; he
has therefore that proportion which is best adapted to that
character. This is no more incorrectness, than when there is
given to an Hercules an extraordinary swelling and strength
of muscles. The art of discovering and expressing grace is difficult
enough of itself, without perplexing ourselves with what is in
comprehensible. A supposition of such a monster as Grace,
begot by Deformity, is poison to the mind of a young
Artist, and may make him neglect what is essential to his
art, correctness of Design, in order to pursue a phantom,
which has no existence but in the imagination of affected
and refined speculators.
I can not quit .the Apollo, without making one observa
tion on the character of this figure. He is supposed to have
just discharged his arrow at the Python ; and, by the head
retreating a little toward the right shoulder, he appears at
tentive to its effect. What I would remark is the difference

178 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
of this attention from that of the Discobolus, who is engaged
in the same purpose, watching the effect of his Discus.
The graceful, negligent, though animated, air of the one,
and the vulgar eagerness of the other, furnish a signal
instance of the judgment of ancient sculptors in their nice
discrimination of character. They are both equally true
to nature and equally admirable.
It may be remarked, that Grace, Character, and Ex
pression, though words of different sense and meaning, and
so understood when applied to the works of Painters, are
indiscriminately used when we speak of Sculpture. This
indecision we may suspect to proceed from the undetermined
effects of the Art itself; those qualities are exhibited in
Sculpture rather by form and attitude, than by the features,
and can therefore be expressed but in a very general man
ner. Though the Laocoon and his two sons have more ex
pression in the countenance than perhaps any other antique
statues, yet it is only the general expression of pain ; and
this passion is still more strongly expressed by the writhing
and contortion of the body than by the features.
It has been observed in a late publication, that if the
attention of the Father in this group had been occupied
more by the distress of his children, than by his own suffer
ings, it would have raised a much greater interest in the
spectator. Though this observation comes from a person
whose opinion, in every thing relating to the Arts, carries
with it the highest authority, yet I can not but suspect that
such refined expression is scarce within the province of this
Art ; and in attempting it, the Artist will run great risk of
enfeebling expression, and making it less intelligible to the
spectator.

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 179
As the general figure presents itself in a more conspicu
ous manner than the features, it is there we must princi
pally look for expression or character ; patuit in corpore
vultus; and, in this respect, the Sculptor's art is not unlike
that of dancing, where the attention of the spectator is prin
cipally engaged by the attitude and action of the performer,
and it is there he must look for whatever expression that art
is capable of exhibiting. The dancers themselves acknowledge
this, by often wearing masks, with little diminution in the ex
pression. The face bears so very inconsiderable a proportion
to the effect of the whole figure, that the ancient Sculptors
neglected to animate the features, even with the general
expression of the passions. Of this the group of the Box
ers is a remarkable instance ; they are engaged in the most
animated action with the greatest serenity of countenance.
This is not recommended for imitation (for there can be no
reason why the countenance should not correspond with the
attitude and expression of the figure,) but is mentioned m
order to infer from hence, that this frequent deficiency in
ancient Sculpture could proceed from nothing but a habit
of inattention to what was considered as comparatively im
material. Those who think Sculpture can express more than we
have allowed, may ask, by what means we discover, at the
first glance, the character that is represented in a Bust,
Cameo, or Intaglio ? I suspect it will be found, on close
examination, by him who is resolved not to see more than
he really does see, that the figures are distinguished by their
insignia more than by any variety of form or beauty. Take
from Apollo his Lyre, from Bacchus his Thirsus and Vine-
leaves, and Meleager the Boar's Head, and there will re
main little or no difference in their characters. In a Juno,

180 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
Minerva, or Flora, the idea of the artist seems to have gone
no further than representing perfect beauty, and afterwards
adding the proper attributes, with a total indifference to
which they gave them. Thus John de Bologna, after he
had finished a group of a young man holding up a young
woman in his arms, with an old man at his feet, called his
friends together, to tell him what name he should give it,
and it was agreed to call it The Rape of the Sabines* ; and
this is the celebrated group which now stands before the
old Palace at Florence. The figures have the same gen
eral expression which is to be found in most of the antique
Sculpture ; and yet it would be no wonder if future critics
should find out delicacy of expression which was never in
tended ; and go so far as to see in the old man's counte
nance the exact relation which he bore to the woman who
appears to be taken from him.
Though Painting and Sculpture are, like many other
arts, governed by the same general principles, yet in the
detail, or what may be called the by-laws of each art,
there seems to be no longer any connection between them.
The different materials upon which those two arts exert
their powers, must infalhbly create a proportional difference
in their practice. There are many petty excellencies
which the Painter attains with ease, but which are imprac
ticable in Sculpture; and which, even if it could accom
plish them, would add nothing to the true value and
dignity of the work.
Of the ineffectual attempts which the modern Sculp
tors have made by way of improvement, these seem to be
the principal :
* See "II Reposo di Baffaelle Borghird."

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 181
The practice of detaching drapery from the figure, in
order to give the appearance of flying in the air;
Of making different plans in the same bas-relievos ;
Of attempting to represent the effects of perspective :
To these we may add the ill effect of figures clothed in
a modern dress.
The folly of attempting to make stone sport and flutter
in the air, is so apparent, that it carries with it its own
reprehension ; and yet to accomplish this, seemed to be the
great ambition of many modern Sculptors, particularly
Bernini : his art was so much set on overcoming this diffi
culty, that he was for ever attempting it, though by that
attempt he risked every thing that was valuable in the art.
Bernini stands in the first class of modern Sculptors,
and therefore it is the business of criticism to prevent the
ill effects of so powerful an example.
From his very early work of Apollo and Daphne, the
world justly expected he would rival the best productions
of ancient Greece; but he soon strayed from the right
path. And though there is in his works something which
always distinguishes him from the common herd, yet he
appears in his latter performances to have lost his way.
Instead of pursuing the study of that ideal beauty with
which he had so successfully begun, he turned his mind to
an injudicious quest of novelty, attempted what was not
within the province of the art, and endeavored to overcome
the hardness and obstinacy of his materials ; which even
supposing he had accomplished, so far as to make this
species of drapery appear natural, the ill effect and con
fusion occasioned by its being detached from the figure to
which it belongs, ought to have been alone a sufficient
reason to have deterred him from that wactice.
16

182 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
We have not, I think, in our Academy, any of Ber
nini's works, except a cast of the head of his Neptune :*
this will be sufficient to serve us for an example of the
mischief produced by this attempt of representing the
effects of the wind. The locks of the hair are flying abroad
in all directions, insomuch that it is not a superficial view
that can discover what the object is which is represented,
or distinguish those flying locks from the features, as
they are all of the same color, of equal solidity, and conf
sequently project with equal force.
The same entangled confusion which is here occasioned
by the hair, is produced by drapery flying off; which the
eye must, for the same reason, inevitably mingle and con
found with the principal parts of the figure.
It is a general rule, equally true in both Arts, that the
form and attitude of the figure should be seen clearly, and
without any ambiguity, at the first glance of the eye. This
the Painter can easily do by color, by losing parts in the
ground, or keeping them so obscure as to prevent them
from interfering with the more principal objects. The
sculptor has no other means of preventing this confusion
than by attaching the drapery for the greater part close to
the figure ; the folds of which, following the order of the
limbs, whenever the drapery is seen, the eye is led to trace
the form and attitude of the figure at the same time.
The drapery of the Apollo, though it makes a large
mass, and is separated from the figure, does not affect the
present question, from the very circumstance of its being
so completely separated ; and from the regularity and sim-
* Some years after this Discourse was written, Bernini's Nep
tune was purchased for our author at Rome, and brought to Eng
land. After his death it was sold by his executors for £500 to
Charles Anderson Pelham, Esq., now Lord Y/arborough.

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 183
plicity of its form, it does not in the least interfere with a
distinct view of the figure. In reality, it is no more a part
of it than a pedestal, a trunk of a tree, or an animal, which
we often see joined to statues.
The principal use of those appendages is to strengthen
and preserve the statue from accidents; and many are
of opimon, that the mantle which falls from the Apollo's
arm is for the same end ; but surely it answers a much
greater purpose, by preventing that dryness of effect which
would inevitably attend a. naked arm, extended almost at
full length, to which we may add, the disagreeable effect
which would proceed" from, the body and arm making a
right angle.
The Apostles, in the church of St. John Lateran, ap
pear to me to fall under the censure of an injudicious im
itation of the manner of the painters. The drapery of
those figures, from being disposed in large masses, gives
undoubtedly that air of grandeur which magnitude or
quantity is sure to produce. But though it should be ac
knowledged, that it is managed with great skill and intelli
gence, and contrived to appear as light as the materials
will allow, yet the weight and solidity of stone was not to
be overcome. Those figures are much in the style of Carlo Maratti,
and such as we may imagine he would have made, if he
had attempted Sculpture ; and when we know he had the
superintendance of that work, and was an intimate friend
of one of the principal Sculptors, we may suspect that his
taste had some influence, if he did not even give the de
signs. No man can look at those figures without recogni
sing the manner of Carlo Maratti. They have the same
defect which his works so often have, of being overlaid

184 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
with drapery, and that too artificially disposed. I can not
but believe, that if Ruscono, Le Gros, Monot, and the rest
of the Sculptors employed in that work, had taken for their
guide the simple dress, such as we see in the antique
statues of the philosophers, it would have given more real
grandeur to their figures, and would certainly have been
more suitable to the characters of the Apostles.
Though there is no remedy for the ill effect of those
solid projections which flying drapery in stone must always
produce in statues, yet in bas-relievos it is totally different ;
those detached parts of drapery the Sculptor has here as
much power over as the Painter, by uniting and losing it
in the ground, so that it shall not in the least entangle and
confuse the figure.
But here again the Sculptor, not content with this suc
cessful imitation, if it may be so called, proceeds to repre
sent figures or groups of figures on different plans; that is,
some on the foreground, and some at a greater distance, in
the manner of- Painters in historical compositions. To do
this he has no other means than by making the distant
figures of less dimensions, and relieving them in a less
degree from the surface ; but this is not adequate to the
end ; they will still appear only as figures on a less scale,
but equally near the eye with those in the front of the
piece. Nor does the mischief of this attempt, which never
accomplishes its intention, rest here : by this division of
the work into many minute parts, the grandeur of its
general effect is inevitably destroyed.
Perhaps the only circumstance in which the Modern
have excelled the Ancient Sculptors, is the management
of a single group in basso-relievo; the art of gradually

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 185
raising the group from the flat surface, till it imperceptibly
emerges in alto-relievo. Of this there is no ancient exam
ple remaining that discovers any approach to the skill
which Le Gros has shown in an altar in the Jesuits'
Church at R*me. Different plans or degrees of relief in
the same group have, as we see in this instance, a good
effect, though the contrary happens when the groups are
separated, and are at some distance behind each other.
This improvement in the art of composing a group in
basso-relievo was probably first suggested by the practice
of the modern Painters, who relieve their figures, or groups
of figures, from their ground, by the same gentle grada
tion'; and it is accomplished in every respect by the same
general principles ; but as the marble has no color, it is the
composition itself that must give its light and shadow.
The ancient Sculptors could not borrow this advantage
from their Painters, for this was an art with which they
appear to have been entirely unacquainted : and in the
bas-relievos of Lorenzo Ghiberti, the casts of which we
have in the Academy, this art is no more attempted than
it was by the Painters of his age.
The next imaginary improvement of the moderns, is
the representing the effects of Perspective in bas-relief.
Of this, little need be said ; all must recollect how ineffec
tual has been the attempt of modern Sculptors to turn- the
buildings which they have introduced as seen from their
angle, with a view to make them appear to recede from the
eye in perspective. This, though it may show indeed their
eager desire to encounter difficulties, shows at the same
time how inadequate their materials are even to this their
humble ambition.
The Ancients, with great judgment, represented only
16*

186 THE TENTH DISCOURSE.
the elevation of whatever architecture they introduced
into their bas-reliefs, whieh is composed of little more than
horizontal or perpendicular lines; whereas the interrup
tion of 'crossed lines, or whatever causes a multiplicity of
subordinate parts, destroys that regularity and firmness of
effect on which grandeur of style so much depends.
We come now to the last consideration ; in what man
ner Statues are to be dressed, which are made in honor of
men either now living or lately departed.
This is a question which might employ a long discourse
of itself; I shall at present only observe, that he who
wishes not to obstruct the Artist, and prevent his exhibit
ing his abilities to their greatest advantage, will certainly
not desire a modern dress.
The desire of transmitting to posterity the shape of
modern dress must be acknowledged to be purchased at a
prodigious price, even the price of every thing that is valu
able in art.
Working in stone is a very serious business; and it
seems to be scarce worth while to employ such durable
materials in conveying to posterity a fashion of which the
longest existence scarce exceeds a year.
However agreeable it may be to the Antiquary's prin
ciples of equity and gratitude, that as he has received great
pleasure from the contemplation of the fashions of dress
of former ages, he wishes to give the same satisfaction to
future Antiquaries ; yet, methinks, pictures of an inferior
style, or prints, may be considered as quite sufficient,
without prostituting this great art to such mean pur
poses. In this town may be seen an Equestrian Statue in a
modern dress, which may be sufficient to deter future

THE TENTH DISCOURSE. 187
artists from any such attempt : even supposing no other
objection, the famiharity of the modern dress by no means
agrees with the dignity and gravity of Sculpture.
Sculpture is formal, regular, and austere; disdains all
familiar objects, as incompatible with its dignity; and is
an enemy to every species of affectation, or appearance of
academical art. All contrast, therefore, of one figure to
another, or of the limbs of a single figure, or even in the
folds of the drapery, must be sparingly employed. In
short, whatever partakes of fancy or caprice, or goes under
the denomination of Picturesque, (however to be admired
in its proper place,) is incompatible with that sobriety and
gravity which is peculiarly the characteristic of this art.
There is no circumstance which more distinguishes a
well-regulated and sound taste, than a settled uniformity
of design, where all the parts are compact, and fitted to
each other, every thing being of a piece. This principle
extends itself to all habits of life, as well as to all works of
art. Upon this general ground, therefore, we may safely
venture to pronounce, that the uniformity and simplicity
of the materials on which the Sculptor labors, (which are
only white marble,) prescribes bounds to his art, and
teaches him to confine himself to a proportionable sim
plicity of design.

DISCOURSE XI.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1782.
Genius. — Consists principally in the comprehension of a "whole ; in taking general
ideas only.
GENTLEMEN, The highest ambition of every Artist is to be thought
a man of Genius. As long as this flattering quality is
joined to his name, he can bear with patience the imputa
tion of carelessness, incorrectness, or defects of whatever
kind. So far, indeed, is the presence of Genius from implying
an absence of faults, that they are considered by many as
its inseparable companions. Some go such lengths as to
take indication from them, and not only excuse faults on
account of Genius, but presume Genius from the existence
of certain faults.
It is certainly true, that a work may justly claim the
character of Genius, though full of errors ; and it is equally
true, that it may be faultless, and yet not exhibit the least
spark of Genius. This naturally suggests an inquiry, a
desire at least of inquiring, what qualities of a work and of
a workman may justly entitle a Painter to that character.
I have in a former discourse* endeavored to impress
you with a fixed opinion, that a comprehensive and critical
knowledge of the works of nature is the only source of
beauty and grandeur. But when we speak to Painters, we
* Discourse III.

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 189
-must always consider this rule, and all rules, with a refer
ence to the mechanical practice of their own particular Art.
It is not properly in tbe learning, the taste, and the dignity
of the ideas, that Genius appears as belonging to a Painter.
There is a Genius particular and appropriated to his own
trade, (as I may call it,) distinguished from all others.
For that power, which enables the Artist to conceive his
subject with dignity, may be said to belong to general edu
cation : and is as much the Genius of a Poet, or the profes
sor of any other liberal Art, or even a good critic in any of
those arts, as of a Painter. Whatever sublime ideas may
fill his mind, he is a Painter, only as he can put in prac
tice what he knows, and communicate those ideas by visible
representation. If my expression can convey my idea, I wish to distin
guish excellence of this kind by calling it the Genius of
mechanical performance. This Genius consists, I conceive
in the power of expressing that which employs your pencil,
whatever it may be, as a whole ; so that the general effect
and power of the whole may take possession of the mind,
and for a while suspend the consideration of the subordinate
and particular beauties or defects.
The advantage of this method of considering objects, is
what I wish now more particularly to enforce. At the same
time I do not forget, that a Painter must have the power
of contracting as well as dilating his sight; because, he
that does not at all express particulars, expresses nothing ;
yet it is certain, that a nice discrimination of minute cir
cumstances, and a punctilious delineation of them, whatever
excellence it may have, (and I do not mean to detract from
it,) never did confer on the Artist the character of Genius.
Beside those minute differences in things which are fre-

190 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
quently not observed at all, and when they are, make little
impression, there are in all considerable objects great char
acteristic distinctions, which press strongly on the senses,
and therefore fix the imagination. These are by no means,
as some persons think, an aggregate of all the small dis
criminating particulars : nor will such an accumulation of
particulars ever express them. These answer to what I
have heard great lawyers call the leading points in a case, or
the leading cases relative to those points.
The detail of particulars, which does not assist the ex
pression of the main characteristic, is worse than useless, it
is mischievous, as it dissipates the attention, and draws it
from the principal point. It may be remarked, that the
impression which is left on our mind even of things which
are familiar to us, is seldom more than their general effect ;
beyond which we do not look in recognising such objects.
To express this in Painting, is to express what is conge
nial and natural to the mind of man, and what gives him
by reflection his own mode of conceiving. The other pre
supposes nicety and research, which are only the business
of the curious and attentive, and therefore does not speak to
the general sense of the whole species ; in which common,
and, as I may so call it, mother tongue, every thing grand
and comprehensive must be uttered.
I do not mean to prescribe what degree of attention
ought to be paid to the minute parts ; this it is hard to set
tle. We are sure that it is expressing the general effect of
the whole, which alone can give to objects their true and
touching character; and wherever this is observed, whatever
else may be neglected, we acknowledge the hand of a
Master. We may even go further, and observe, that when
the general effect only is presented to us by a skilful hand,

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 191
it appears to express the object represented in a more lively
manner than the minutest resemblance would do.
These observations may lead to very deep questions,
which I do not mean here to discuss ; among others, it may
lead to an inquiry. Why we are not always pleased with
the most absolute possible resemblance of an imitation to
its original object ? Cases may exist in which such a re
semblance may be even disagreeable. I shall only observe
that the effect of figures in wax-work, though certainly a
more exact representation than can be given by Painting or
Sculpture, is a sufficient proof that the pleasure we receive
from imitation is not increased merely in proportion as it
approaches to minute and detailed reality ; we are pleased,
on the contrary by seeing ends accomplished by seemingly
inadequate means.
To . express protuberance by actual relief — to express
the softness of flesh by the softness of wax, seems rude and
inartificial, and creates no grateful surprise. But to express
distance on a plain surface, softness by hard bodies, and
particular coloring by materials which are not singly of that
color, produces that magic which is the prize and triumph
of art. Carry this principle a step further. Suppose the effect
of imitation to be fully compassed by means still more in
adequate ; let the power of a few well-chosen strokes, which
supersede labor by judgment and direction, produce a com
plete impression of ail that the mind demands in an object;
we are charmed with such an unexpected happiness of exe
cution, and begin to be tired with the superfluous diligence,
which in vain solicits an appetite already satiated.
The properties of all objects, as far as a Painter is con
cerned with them, are, the outline or drawing, the color,

192 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
and the light and shade. The drawing gives the form, the
color its visible quality, and the light and shade its solidity.
Excellence in any one of these parts of art will never
be acquired by an artist, unless he has the habit of looking
upon objects at large, and observing the effect which they
have on the eye when it is dilated, and employed upon the
whole, without seeing any one of the parts distinctly. It
is by this that we obtain the ruling characteristic, and that
we learn to imitate it by short and dexterous methods. I
do not mean by dexterity a trick or mechanical habit, formed
by guess, and established by custom ; but that science,
which, by a profound knowledge of ends and means, disco
vers the shortest and surest way to its own purpose.
If we examine with a critical view the manner of those
painters whom we consider as patterns, we shall find that
their great fame does not proceed from their works being
more highly finished than those of other artists, or from a
more minute attention to details, but from that enlarged
comprehension which sees the whole object at once, and
that energy of art which gives its characteristic effect by
¦ adequate expression.
Raffaelle and Titian are two names which stand the
highest in our art ; one for Drawing, the other for Painting.
The most considerable and the most esteemed works of
Raffaelle are the Cartoons, and his Fresco works in the
Vatican ; those, as we all know, are far from being minutely
finished : his principal care ahd attention seems to have
been fixed upon the adjustment of the whole, whether it
was the general composition, or the composition of each in
dividual figure ; for every figure may be said to be a lesser
whole, though in regard to the general work to which it
belongs, it is but a part ; the same may be said of the head,

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 193
of the hands, and feet. Though he possessed this art of
seeing and comprehending the whole, as far as form is con
cerned, he did not exert the same faculty in regard to the
general effect, which is presented to the eye by color, and
light and shade. Of this the deficiency of his oil pictures,
where this excellence is more expected than in Fresco, is a
sufficient proof.
It is to Titian we must turn our eyes to find excellence
with regard to color, and light and shade, in the highest de
gree. He was both the first and the greatest master of this
art. By a few strokes he knew how to mark the general im
age and character of whatever object he attempted; and pro
duced, by this alone, a truer representation than his master
Giovanni Bellino, or any of his predecessors, who finished
every hair. His great care was to express the general color,
to preserve the masses of light and shade, and to give by op
position the idea of that solidity which is inseparable from
natural objects. When those are preserved, though the
work should possess no other merit, it will have in a proper
place its complete effect ; but where any of these are want
ing, however minutely labored the picture may be in the
detail, the whole will have a false and even an unfinished
appearance, at whatever distance, or in whatever light, it
can be shown.
It is in vain to attend to the variation of tints, if, in
that attention, the general hue of flesh is lost ; or to finish
ever so minutely the parts, if the masses are not observed,
or the whole not well put together.
Vasari seems to have had no great disposition to favor
the Venetian Painters, yet he every where justly commends
il modo di fare, la maniera, la bella practica ; that is, the
admirable manner and practice of that school. On Titian,
17

194 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
in particular, he bestows the epithets of giudicioso, bello, e
stupendo. This manner was then new to the world, but that un
shaken truth on which it is founded, has fixed it as a model
to all succeeding Painters ; and those who will examine into
the artifice, will find it to consist in the power of generali
sing, and in the shortness and simplicity of the means
employed. Many artists, as Vasari likewise observes, have igno-
rantly imagined they are imitating the manner of Titian
when they leave their colors rough, and neglect the detail ;
but, not possessing the principles on which he wrought,
they have produced what he calls gaffe pitture, absurd
foolish pictures ; for such will always be the consequence
of affecting dexterity without science, without selection, and
without fixed principles.
Raffaelle and Titian seem to have looked at nature for
different purposes ; they both had the power of extending
their view to the whole ; but one looked only for the gener
al effect as produced by form, the other as produced by
color. We can not entirely refuse to Titian the merit of -attend
ing to the general form of his object, as well as color;
but his deficiency lay, a deficiency at least when he is com
pared with Raffaelle, in not possessing the power like him
of correcting the form of his model by any general
idea of beauty in his own mind. Of this his St. Sebas
tian is a particular instance. This figure appears to be a
most exact representation both of the form and the color
of the model, which he then happened to have before him ;
it has all the force of nature, and the coloring is flesh
itself; but, unluckily, the model was of a bad form, es-

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 195
pecially the legs. Titian has with as much care preserved
these defects, as he has imitated the beauty and brilliancy
of the coloring. In his coloring he was large and general,
as in his design he was minute and partial : in the one he
was a genius, in the other not much above a copier. I do
not, however, speak now of all his' pictures : instances
enough may be produced in his works, where those ob
servations on his defects could not with any propriety be
applied; but it is in the manner or language, as it may be
called, in which Titian and others of that school express
themselves, that their chief excellence lies. This manner
is in reality, in. painting, what language is in poetry; we
are all sensible how differently the imagination is affected
by the same sentiment expressed in different words, and
how mean or how grand the same object appears when pre
sented to us by different Painters. Whether it is the hu
man figure, an animal, or even inanimate objects, there is
nothing, however unpromising in appearance, but may be
raised into dignity, convey sentiment and produce emotion,
in the hand of a Painter of genius. What was said of
Virgil, that he threw even the dung about the ground with
an air of dignity, may be applied to Titian : whatever he
touched, however naturally mean,' and habitually familiar,
by a kind of magic he invested with grandeur and impor
tance. I must here observe, that I am not recommending a
neglect of the detail ; indeed it would be difficult, if not
impossible, to prescribe certain bounds, and tell how far,
or when, it is to be observed or "negleeted ; much must, at
last, be left to the taste and judgment of the artist. I am
well aware that a judicious detail will sometimes give the
force of truth to the work, and consequently interest the

196 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
spectator. I only wish to impress on your minds the true
distinction between essential and subordinate powers; and
to show what qualities' in the art claim your chief atten
tion, and what may, with the least injury to your reputa
tion, be neglected. Something, perhaps, always must be
neglected; the lesser ought then to give way to the
greater ; and since every work can have but a limited time
allotted to it, (for even supposing a whole life to be em
ployed about one picture, it is still -limited,) it appears
more reasonable to employ that time to the best advantage,
in contriving various methods of composing the work, —
in trying different effect of light and shadow, — and em
ploying the labor of correction in heightening by a judi
cious adjustment of the parts the effects of the whole, —
than that the time should be taken up in minutely finish
ing those parts.
But there is another kind of high finishing, which may
safely be condemned, as it seems to counteract its own pur
pose; that is, when the artist, to avoid that hardness
which proceeds from the outline cutting against the ground,
softens and blends the colors to excess ; this is what the
ignorant call high finishing, but which tends to destroy the
brilliancy of color, and the true effect of representation ;
which consists very much in preserving the same propor
tion of sharpness and bluntness that is found in natural
objects. This extreme softening, instead of producing the
effect of softness, gives the appearance of ivory, or some
other hard substance, highly polished.
The portraits of Cornelius Jansen appear to have this
defect, and consequently want that suppleness which is
the characteristic of flesh ; whereas, in the works of Van
dyck we find the true mixture of softness and hard-

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 197
ness perfectly observed. The same defect may be found
in the manner of Vanderwerf, in opposition to that of
Teniers; and such also, we may add, is the manner
of Raffaelle in his oil pictures, in comparison with that of
Titian. The name which Raffaelle has so justly maintained as
the first of Painters, we may venture to say was not ac
quired by this laborious attention. His apology may be
made by saying that it was the manner of his country ;
but if he had expressed his ideas with the facility and elo
quence, as it may be called, of Titian, his works would
certainly not have been less excellent; and that praise,
which ages and nations have poured out upon him, for
possessing Genius in the higher attainments of art, would
have been extended to them all.
Those who are not conversant in works of art, are often
surprised at the high value set by connoisseurs on drawings
which appear careless, and in every respect unfinished ; but
they are truly valuable ; and their value arises from this,
that they give the idea of an whole; and this whole is often
expressed by a dexterous facility which indicates the true
power of a Painter, even though roughly exerted ; whether
it consists in the general composition, or the general form
of each figure, or the turn of the attitude which bestows
grace and elegance. All this we may see fully -exemplified
in the very skilful drawings of Parmegiano and Correggio.
On whatever account we value these drawings, it is cer
tainly not for high finishing, or a minute attention to par
ticulars. Excellence in every part, and in every province of our
art, from the highest style of history down to the resem
blances of still life, will depend on this power of extending
17*

198 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
the attention at once to the whole, without which the
greatest diligence is vain.
I wish you to bear in mind, that when I speak of an
whole, I do not mean simply an whole as belonging to
composition, but an whole with respect to the general style
of coloring ; an whole with regard to the light and shade ;
an whole of every thing which may separately become the
main object of a Painter.
I remember a Landscape-painter in Rome, who was
known by the name of Studio, from his patience in high
finishing, in whieh he thought the whole excellence of art
consisted ; so that he once endeavored, as he said, to repre
sent every individual leaf on a tree. This picture I never
saw ; but I am very sure that an artist, who looked only at
the general character of the species, the order of the
branches, and the masses of the foliage, would in a few
minutes produce a more true resemblance of trees than
this Painter in as many months.
A Landscape-painter certainly ought to study ana
tomically (if I may use the expression) all the objects
which he paints ; but when he is to turn his studies to use,
' his skill, as a man of genius, will be displayed in showing
the general effect, preserving the same degree of hardness
and softness which the objects have in nature; for he
applies himself to the imagination, not to the curiosity,
and works not for the Virtuoso or the Naturalist, but for
the common observer of life and nature. When he knows
his subject, he will know not only what to describe, but
what to omit : and this skill in leaving out is, in all things,
a great. part of knowledge and wisdom.
The same excellence of manner which Titian displayed
in History or Portrait-painting, is equally conspicuous in

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 199
his Landscapes, whether they are professedly such, or
serve only as backgrounds. One of the most eminent of
this latter kind is to be found in the picture of St. Pietro
Martire. The large trees, which are here introduced, are
plainly distinguished from each other by the different
manner with which the branches shoot from their trunks,
as well as by their different foliage ; and the weeds in the
foreground are varied in the same manner, just as much as
variety requires, and no more. When Algarotii, speaking
of this picture, praises it for the minute discriminations of
the leaves and plants, even, as he says, to excite the admi
ration of a Botanist, his intention was undoubtedly to
give praise even at the expense of truth ; for he must have
known that this is not the character of the picture ; but
connoisseurs will always find in pictures what they think
they ought to find : he was not aware that he was giving a
description injurious to the reputation of Titian.
Such accounts may be very hurtful to young artists,
who never have had an opportunity of seeing the work
described ; and they "may possibly conclude that this great
Artist acquired the name of the Divine Titian from his
eminent attention to such trifling circumstances, which in
reality would not raise him above the level of the most
ordinary Painter.
We may extend these observations even to what seems
to have but a single, and that an individual object. The
excellence of Portrait-painting, and, we may add, even the
likeness, the character, and countenance, as I have ob
served in another place, depend more upon the general
effect produced by the Painter, than on the exact expres
sion of the peculiarities, or minute discrimination of the
parts. The chief attention of the artist is therefore em-

200 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
ployed in planting the features in their proper places,
which so much contributes to giving the effect and true
impression of the whole. The very peculiarities may be
reduced to classes and general descriptions ; and there are
therefore large ideas to be found even in this contracted
subject. He may afterwards labor single features to what
degree he thinks proper, but let him not forget continually
to examine, whether in finishing the parts he is not de
stroying the general effect.
It is certainly a thing to be wished, that all excellence
were applied to illustrate subjects that are interesting and
worthy of being commemorated ; whereas, of half the pic
tures that are in the world, the subject can be valued only
as an occasion which set the artist to work ; and yet, our
high estimation of such pictures, without considering, or
perhaps without knowing the subject, shows how much our
attention is engaged by the art alone.
Perhaps nothing that we can say will so clearly show
the advantage and excellence of this faculty, as that it con
fers the character of Genius on works that pretend to no
other merit ; in which is neither expression, character, or dig
nity, and where none are interested in the subject. We can
not refuse the character of Genius to the Marriage of Paulo
Veronese, without opposing the general sense of mankind,
(great authorities have called it the triumph of Painting,)
or to the Altar of St. Augustine at Antwerp, by Rubens,
which equally deserves that title, and for the same reason.
Neither of those pictures have any interesting story to sup
port them. That of Paulo Veronese is only a representa
tion of a great concourse of people at a dinner; and the
subject of Rubens, if it may be called a subject where
nothing is doing, is an assembly of various Saints that lived

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 201
in different ages. The whole excellence of those pictures
consists in mechanical dexterity, working, however, under
the influence of that comprehensive faculty which I have so
often mentioned.
It is by this, and this alone, that the mechanical power
is ennobled, and raised much above its natural rank. And
it appears to me, that with propriety it acquires this char
acter, as an instance of that superiority with which mind
predominates over matter, by contracting into one whole
what nature has made multifarious.
The great advantage of this idea of a whole is, that a
greater quantity of truth may be said to be contained and
expressed in a few lines or touches, than in the most labo
rious finishing of the parts where this is not regarded. It
is upon this foundation that it stands ; and the justness of
the observation would be confirmed by the ignorant in art,
if it were possible to take their opinions unsedueed by some
false notion of what they imagine they ought to see in a
Picture. As it is an art, they think they ought to be
pleased in proportion as they see that art ostentatiously dis
played; they will, from this supposition, prefer neatness,
high-finishing, and gaudy coloring, to the truth, simplicity,
and unity of nature. Perhaps, too, the totally ignorant be
holder, like the ignorant artist, can not comprehend an whole
nor even what it means. But if false notions do not anti
cipate their perceptions, they who are capable of observation,
and who, pretending to no skill, look only straight forward,
will praise and condemn in proportion as the Painter has
succeeded in the effect of the whole. Here, general satis
faction, or general dislike, though perhaps despised by the
Painter, as proceeding from the ignorance of the principles
of art, may yet help to regulate his conduct, and bring back

202 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
his attention to that which ought to be his principal object,
and from which he has deviated for the sake of minuter
beauties. An instance of 'this right judgment I once saw in a
child, in going through a gallery where there were many
portraits of the last ages, which, though neatly put out
of hand, were very ill put together. The child t paid
no attention to the neat finishing or naturalness of any
bit of drapery, but appeared to observe only the un-
gracefulness of the persons represented, and put herself
in the posture of every figure which she saw in a forced
and awkward attitude. The censure of nature, uninform
ed, fastened upon the greatest fault that could be in a
picture, because it related to the character and manage
ment of the whole.
I should be sorry, if what has been said should be un
derstood to have any tendency to encourage that careless
ness which leaves work in an unfinished state. I commend
nothing for the want of exactness ; I mean to point out
that kind of exactness which is the best, and which is alone
truly to be so esteemed.
So far is my disquisition from giving countenance to
idleness, that there is nothing in our art which enforces
such continual exertion and circumspection, as an attention
to the general effect of the whole. It requires much study
and much practice; it requires the Painter's entire mind;
whereas the parts may be finishing by nice touches, while
his mind is engaged on other matters'; he may even hear
a play or a novel read without much disturbance. The
artist who flatters his own indolence, will continually find
himself evading this active exertion, and applying his
thoughts to the ease and|laziness of highly finishing the

THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE. 2G3
parts; producing at last what Cowley calls "laborious
effects of idleness."
No work can be too much finished, provided the dili
gence employed be directed to its proper object ; but I
have observed that an excessive labor in the detail has, nine
times in ten, been pernicious to the general effect, even
when it has been the labor of great masters. It indicates
a bad choice, which is an ill setting out in any underta
king. To give a right direction to your industry has been
my principal purpose in this discourse. It is this, which I
am confident often makes the difference between two Stu
dents of equal capacities, and of equal industry. While
the one is employing his labor on minute objects of little
consequence, the other is acquiring the art, and perfecting
the habit, of seeing nature in an extensive view, in its
proper proportions, and its due subordination of parts.
Before I conclude, I must make one observation suffi
ciently connected with the present subject.
The same extension of mind which gives the excellence
of Genius to the theory and mechanical practice of the art,
will direct him likewise in the method of study, and give
him the superiority over those who narrowly follow a more
confined track of partial imitation. Whoever, in order to
finish his education, should travel to Italy, and spend his
whole time there only in copying pictures, and measuring
statues or buildings, (though these things are not to be neg
lected, )'would return with little improvement. He that
imitates the Iliad, says Dr. Young, is not imitating Homer.
It is not by laying up in the memory the particular details
of any of the great works of art, that any man becomes a
great artist, if he stops without making himself master of

204 THE ELEVENTH DISCOURSE.
the general principles on which these works are conducted.
If he even hopes to rival those whom he admires, he must
consider their works as the means of teaching him the true
art of seeing nature. When this is acquired, he then may be
said to have appropriated their powers, or at least the foun
dation of their powers, to himself; the rest must depend
upon his own industry and application. The great business
of study is, to form a mind, adapted and adequate to all
times and all occasions ; to which all nature is then laid
open, and which may be said to possess the key of her in
exhaustible riches.

DISCOURSE XII.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1784.
Particular methods of study of little consequence. — Little of the Art can be
taught. — Love of method often a love of idleness. — Pittori improvvisatori apt
to be careless and incorrect ; seldom original and strildng. — This proceeds from
their not studying the works of other masters.
GENTLEMEN, In consequence of the situation in which I have the honor
to be placed in this Academy, it has often happened, that I
have been consulted by the young Students who intend to
spend some years in Italy, concerning the method of reg
ulating their studies. I am, as I ought to be, solicitously
desirous to communicate the entire result of my experience
and observation ; and though my openness and facility in
giving my opinions might make some amends for whatever
was defective in them, yet I fear my answers have not often
given satisfaction. Indeed I have never been sure, that I
understood perfectly what they meant, and was not without
some suspicion that they had not themselves very distinct
ideas of the object of their inquiry.
If the information required was, by what means the
path that leads to excellence could be discovered ; if they
wished to know whom they were to take for their guides ;
what to adhere to, and what to avoid ; where they were to
bait, and where they were to take up their rest ; what was
to be tasted only, and what should be their diet; such gen
eral directions are certainly proper for a Student to ask,
18

206 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
and for me, to the best of my capacity, to give ; but these
rules have been already given ; they have, in reality, been
the subject of almost all my Discourses from this place.
But I am rather inclined to think that by method of study,
it was meant, (as several do mean,) that the times and the
seasons should be prescribed, and the order settled, in
which every thing was to be done : that it might be useful
to point out to what degree of excellence one part of the
Art was to be carried, before the Student proceeded to the
next ; how long he- was to continue to draw from the ancient
statues, when to begin to compose, and when to apply to
the study of coloring.
Such a detail of instruction might be extended with a
great deal of plausible and ostentatious amplification. But
it would at best be useless. Our studies will be for ever,
in a very great degree, under the direction of chance ; like
travelers, we must take what we can get, and when we can
get it ; whether it is or is not administered to us in the most
commodious manner, in the most proper place, or at the
exact minute when we would wish to have it.
Treatises on education, and method of study, have al
ways appeared to me to have one general fault. They pro
ceed upon a false supposition of life ; as if we possessed not
only a power over events and circumstances, but had a
greater power over ourselves than I believe any of us will
be found to possess. Instead of supposing ourselves to be
perfect patterns of wisdom and virtue, it seems to me more
reasonable to treat ourselves (as I am sure we must now and
then treat others) like humorsome children, whose fancies are
often to be indulged, in order to keep them in good humor
with themselves and their pursuits. It is necessary to use
some artifice of this kind in all processes which by their

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 207
very nature are long, tedious, and complex, in order to
prevent our taking that aversion to our studies, which the
continual shackles of methodical restraint are sure to
produce. I would rather wish a student, as soon as he goes abroad,
to employ himself upon whatever he has been incited to by
any immediate impulse, than to go sluggishly about a pre
scribed task ; whatever he does in such a state of mind, lit
tle advantage accrues from it, as nothing sinks deep enough
to leave any lasting impression ; and it is impossible that
any thing should be well understood, or well done, that is
taken into a reluctant understanding, and executed with a
servile hand.
It is desirable, and indeed is necessary to intellectual
health, that the mind should be recreated and refreshed
with a variety ih our studies ; that in the irksomeness of
uniform pursuit we should be relieved, and, if I may so say,
deceived, as much as possible. Besides, the minds of men
are so very differently constituted, that it is impossible to
find one method which shall be suitable to all. It is of no
use to prescribe to those who have no talents ; and those
who have talents will find methods for themselves — methods
dictated to them by their own particular dispositions, and
by the experience of their own particular necessities.
However, I would not be understood to extend this doc
trine to the younger students. The first part of the life of
a student, like that of other school-boys, must necessarily
be a life of restraint. The grammar, the rudiments, how
ever unpalatable, must at all events be mastered. After a
habit is acquired of drawing correctly from the model (what
ever it may be) which he has before him, the rest, I think,
may be safely left to chance ; always supposing that the stu-

208 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
dent is employed, and that his studies are directed to the
proper object.
A passion for his art, and an eager desire to excel, will
more than supply the place of method. By leaving a stu
dent to himself, he may possibly indeed be led to undertake
matters above his strength ; but the trial will at least have
this advantage, it will discover to himself his own deficien
cies ; and this discovery alone, is a very considerable acqui
sition. One inconvenience, I acknowledge, may attend bold
and arduous attempts; frequent failure may discourage.
This evil, however, is not more pernicious than the slow
proficiency which is the natural consequence of too easy
tasks. Whatever advantages method may have in dispatch of
business, (and there it certainly has many,) I have but ht
tle confidence of its efficacy in acquiring excellence in any
art whatever. Indeed, I have always strongly suspected,
that this love of method, on which some persons appear to
place so great dependence, is, in reality, at the bottom, a
love of idleness, a want of sufficient energy to put themselves
into immediate action : it is a sort of an apology to them
selves for doing nothing. I have known artists who may
truly be said to have spent their whole lives, or at least the
most precious part of their lives, in planning methods of
study, without ever beginning ; resolving, however, to put
it all in practice at some time or other, — when a certain
period arrives, — when proper conveniences are procured, —
or when they remove to a certain place better calculated for
study. It is not uncommon for such persons to go abroad
with the most honest and sincere resolution of studying
hard, when they shall arrive at the end of their journey.
The same want of exertion, arising from the same cause

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 209
which made them at hdme put off the day of labor until
they had found a proper scheme for it, still continues in
Italy, and they consequently return home with little, if any,
improvement. In the practice of art, as well as in morals, it is neces
sary to keep a watchful and jealous eye over ourselves ; idle
ness, assuming the specious disguise of industry, will lull
to sleep all suspicion of our want of an active exertion
of strength. A provision of endless apparatus, a bustle of
infinite inquiry and research, or even the mere mechanical
labor of copying, may be employed, to evade and shuffle off
real labor, — the real labor of thinking.
I have declined, for these reasons, to point out any par
ticular method and course of study to young Artists on their
arrival in Italy. I have left it to their own prudence, a
prudence which will grow and improve upon them in the
course of unremitted, ardent industry, directed by a real
love of their profession, and an unfeigned admiration of
those who have been universally admitted as patterns of
excellence in the art.
In the exercise of that general prudence, I shall here
submit to their consideration such miscellaneous observa
tions as have occurred to me on considering the mistaken
notions or evil habits, which have prevented that progress
toward excellence, which the natural abilities of several
Artists might otherwise have enabled them to make.
False opinions and vicious habits have done far more
mischief to students, and to Professors too, than any wrong
methods of study.
Under the influence of sloth, or of some mistaken no
tion, is that disposition which always wants to lean on other
men. Such students are always talking of the crodigious
18*

210 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
progress they should make, if they could but have the ad
vantage of being taught by some particular eminent Master.
To him they would wish to transfer that care, which they
ought and must take of themselves. Such are to be told,
that after the rudiments are past, very little of our Art can
be taught by others. The most skilful Master can do little
more than put the end of the clue into the hands of his
Scholar, by which he must conduct himself.
It is true, the beauties and defects of the works of our
predecessors may be pointed out ; the principles on which
their works are conducted may be explained ; the great ex
amples of Ancient Art may be spread out before them ; but
the most sumptuous entertainment is prepared in vain, if
the guests will not take the trouble of helping themselves.
Even the Academy itself, where every convenience for
study is procured, and laid .before them, may, from that
very circumstance, from leaving no difficulties to be en
countered in the pursuit, cause a remission of their indus
try. It is not uncommon to see young artists, whilst they
are struggling with every obstacle in their way, exert them
selves with such success as to outstrip competitors possessed
of every means of improvement. The promising expectation
which was formed, on so much being done with so little
means, has recommended them to a Patron, who has sup
plied them with every convenience of study ; from that time
their industry and eagerness of pursuit has forsaken them ;
they stand still, and see others rush on before them.
Such men are like certain animals, who will feed only
when there is but little provender, and that got at with
difficulty through the bars of a rack, but refuse to touch it
when there is an abundance before them.
Perhaps, such a falling off may proceed from the fac-

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 211
ulties bo'' .g overpowered by the immensity of the materials ;
as the traveller dc. airs ever to arrive at the end of his
journey, wher the , hf'e ^xtentof the road which he is to
pass is at once displayed to his view.
Among the first moral qualities, therefore, which a
Student ought to cultivate, is a just and manly confidence
in himself, or rather in the effects of that persevering indus
try which he is resolved to possess.
When Raffaelle, by means of his connection with Bra-
mante, the Pope's Architect, was fixed upon to adorn the
Vatican with his works, he had done nothing that marked
in him any great superiority over his contemporaries; though
he was then but young, he had under his direction the
most considerable Artists of his age ; and we know what
kind of men those were ; a lesser mind would have sunk
under such a weight ; and if we should judge from the meek
and gentle disposition which we are told was the character
of Raffaelle, we might expect this would have happened to
him ; but his strength appeared to increase in proportion as
exertion was required ; and it is not improbable that we are
indebted to the good fortune which first placed him in that
conspicuous situation, for those great examples of excellence
which he has left us.
The observations to which I formerly wished, and now
desire, to point your attention, relate not to errors which are
committed by those who have no claim to merit, but to those
inadvertencies into which men of parts only can fall by the
over-rating or the, abuse of some real, though perhaps sub
ordinate, excellence. The errors last alluded to are those
of backward, timid characters ; what I shall now speak of,
belong to another class; to those Artists who are distin
guished for the readiness and facility of their invention. It

212 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
is undouotedly a splendid and desirable accomplishment to
be able to design instantaneously any given subject. It is
an excellence that I believe every Artist would wish to pos
sess ; but unluckily, the manner in which this dexterity is
acquired, habituates the mind to be contented with first
thoughts without choice or selection. The judgment, after
it has been long passive, by degrees loses its power of be
coming active when exertion is necessary.
Whoever, therefore, has this talent, must in some mea
sure undo what he has had the habit of doing, or at least
give a new turn to his mind : great works, which are to live
and stand the criticism of posterity, are not performed at a
heat. A proportionable time is required for deliberation
and circumspection. I remember when I was at Rome
looking at the fighting Gladiator, in company with an emi
nent Sculptor, and I expressed my admiration of the skill
with which the whole is composed, and the minute attention
of the Artist to the change of every muscle in that mo
mentary exertion of strength : he was of opinion that a work
so perfect required nearly the whole life of man to perform.
I believe, if we look around us, we shall find, that in
the sister art of Poetry, what has been soon done, has been
as soon forgotten. The judgment and practice of a great
Poet on this occasion is worthy attention. Metastasio, who
has so much and justly distinguished himself throughout
Europe, at his outset was an Improvvisatore, or extempore
Poet, a description of men not uncommon in Italy : it is not
long since he was asked by a friend, if he did not think the
custom of inventing and reciting extempore, which he prac
ticed when a boy in his character of an Improvvisatore,
might not be considered as a happy beginning of his educa
tion ; he thought it. on the contrary, a disadvantage to him :

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 213
he said that he had acquired by that habit a carelessness and
incorrectness, which it cost him much trouble to overcome,
and to substitute in the place of it a totally different habit,
that of thinking with selection, and of expressing himself
with correctness and precision.
However extraordinary it may appear, it is certainly
true, that the inventions of the Pittori improvvisatori, as
they may be called, have, — notwithstanding the common
boast of their authors that all is spun from their own brain,
— very rarely any thing that has in the least the air of
originality; — their compositions are generally common
place, uninteresting, without character or expression ; like
those flowery speeches that we sometimes hear, which im
press no new ideas»on the mind.
I would not be thought, however, by what has been said,
to oppose the use, the advantage, the necessity there is, of
a Painter's being readily able to express his ideas by sketch
ing. The evil to be apprehended is, his resting there, and
not correcting them afterwards from nature, or taking the
trouble to look about him for whatever assistance the works
of others will afford him.
We are not to suppose, that when a Painter sits down
to deliberate on any work, he has all his knowledge to seek ;
he must not only be able to draw extempore the human
figure in every variety of action, but he must be acquainted
likewise with the general principles of composition, and
possess a habit of foreseeing, while he is composing, the effect
of the masses of light and shadow, that will attend such a
disposition. His mind is entirely occupied by his attention
to the whole. It is a subsequent consideration to determine
the attitude and expression of individual figures. It is in
this period of his work that I would recommend to every

214 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
artist to look over his portfolio, or pocket-book, in which he
has treasured up all the happy inventions, all the extraor
dinary and expressive attitudes, that he has met with in
the course of his studies ; not only for the sake of borrowing
from those studies whatever may be applicable to his own
work, but likewise on account of the great advantage he will
receive by bringing the ideas of great Artists more distinctly
before his mind, which will teach him to invent other fig
ures in a similar style.
Sir Francis Bacon speaks with approbation of the pro-
visionary methods Demosthenes and Cicero employed to as
sist- their invention ; and illustrates their use by a quaint
comparison after his manner. These particular Studios
being not immediately connected with our art, I need not
cite the passage I allude to, and shall only observe that such
preparation totally opposes the generally received opinions
that are floating in the world, concerning genius and inspi
ration. The same great man, in another place, speaking of
his own essays, remarks, that they treat of " those things,
wherein both men's lives and persons are most conversant,
whereof a man shall find much in experience, but little in
books :" they are then what an artist would naturally call
invention, and yet we may suspect that even the genius of
Bacon, great as it was, would never have been enabled to
have made those observations, if his mind had not been
trained and disciplined by reading the observations of others.
Nor could he without such reading have known that those
opinions were not to be found in other books.
I know there are many Artists of great fame who ap
pear never to have looked out of themselves, and who prob
ably would think it derogatory to their character, to be
supposed to borrow from any other Painter. But when we

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 215
recollect, and compare the works of such men with those
who took to their assistance the inventions of others, we
shall be convinced of the great advantage of this latter
practice. The two men most eminent for readiness of invention,
that occur to me, are Luca Giordano and La Fage; one in
painting and the other in drawing.
To such extraordinary powers as were possessed by both
of those Artists, we can not refuse the character of Genius ;
at the same time, it must be acknowledged, that it was that
kind of mechanic Genius which operates without much
assistance of the head. In all their works, which are (as
might be expected) very numerous, we may look in vain for
any thing that can be said to be original and striking ; and
yet, according to the ordinary ideas of originality, they
have as good pretensions as most Painters ; for they bor
rowed very little from others, and still less will any Artist,
that can distinguish between excellence and insipidity, ever
borrow from them.
To those men, and all such, let us oppose the practice
of the first of Painters. I suppose we shall all agree, that
no man ever possessed a greater power of invention, and
stood less in need of foreign assistance, than Raffaelle ; and
yet, when he was designing one of his greatest as well as
latest works, the Cartoons, it is very apparent that he - had
the studies which he had made from Masaccio before him.
Two noble- figures of St. Paul, which he found there, he
adopted in his own work : one of them he took for St. Paul
preaching at Athens : and the other for the same Saint,
when chastising the sorcerer Elymas. Another figure in
the same work, whose head is sunk in his breast, with his
eyes shut, appearing deeply wrapt up in thought, was intro-

216 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
duced amongst the listeners to the preaching of St. Paul.
The most material alteration that is made in those two fig
ures of St. Paul, is the addition of the left hands, which are
not seen in the original. It is a rule that Raffaelle ob
served, (and indeed ought never to be dispensed with,) in a
principal figure, to show both hands ; that it should never
be a question, what is become of the other hand. For the
sacrifice at Lystra, he took the whole ceremony much as it
stands in an ancient Basso-relievo, since published in the
Admiranda. I have given examples from those pictures only of
Raffaelle which we have among us, though many other
instances might be produced of this great painter's not
disdaining assistance; indeed his known wealth was so
great, that he might borrow where he pleased without loss
of credit. It may be remarked that this work of Masaccio, from
which he has borrowed so freely, was a public work, and at
no farther distance from Rome than Florence ; so that if
he had considered it a disgraceful theft, he was sure to be
detected ; but he was well satisfied that his character for
Invention would be little affected by such a discovery;
nor is it, except in the opinion of those who are ignorant
of the manner in which great works are built.
Those who steal from mere poverty; who, having
nothing of their own, can not exist a minute without
making such depredations ; who are so poor that they have
no place in which they can even deposit what they have
taken ; to men of this description nothing can be said :
but such artists as those to whom I suppose myself now
speaking, men whom I consider as competently provided
with all the necessaries and conveniences of art, and who

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 217
do not desire to steal baubles and common trash, but wish
only to possess peculiar rarities which they select to orna
ment their cabinets, and take care to enrich the general
store with materials of equal or of greater value than what
they have taken; such men surely need not be ashamed of
that friendly intercourse which ought to exist among
artists, of receiving from the dead and giving to the living,
and perhaps to those who are yet unborn.
The daily food and nourishment of the mind of an
artist is found in the great works of his predecessors.
There is no other way for him to become great himself.
Serpens, nisi serpentem comederit, non fit draco,* is a
remark of a whimsical natural history, which I have read,
though I do not recollect its title : however false as to
dragons, it is applicable, enough to artists.
Raffaelle, as appears from what has been said, had
carefully studied the works of Masaccio; and, indeed,
there was no other, if we except Michael Angelo, (whom
he likewise imitated,) so worthy of his attention; and
though his manner was dry and hard, his compositions
formal, and not enough diversified according to the custom
of Painters in that early period, yet his works possess that
grandeur and simplicity which accompany, and even some
times proceed from, regularity and hardness of manner.
We must consider the barbarous state of the Arts before
his time, when skill in drawing was so little understood
that the best of the painters could not even foreshorten
the foot, but every figure appeared to stand upon its toes ;
and what served for drapery, had, from the hardness
* In Ben Jonson's Catiline we find this aphorism, with a slight
variation: — 6
"A serpent, ere he comes to he a dragon,
Must eat a bat.'' — JM.
19

218 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
and smaUness of the folds, too much the appearance of
cords clinging round the body. He first introduced large
drapery, flowing in an easy and natural manner : indeed he
appears to be the first who discovered the path that leads
to every excellence to which the Art afterwards arrived,
and may, therefore, be justly considered as one of the
great Fathers of the modern Art.
Though I have been led on to a longer digression
respecting this great Painter than I intended, yet I can not
avoid mentioning another excellence which he possessed in
a very eminent degree : he was as much distinguished
among his contemporaries for his diligence and industry,
as he was for the natural faculties of his mind. We are
told that his whole attention was absorbed in the pursuit
of his art, and that he acquired the name of Masaccio,*
from his total disregard to his dress, his person, and all the
common concerns of life. He is, indeed, a signal instance
of what well-directed diligence will do in a short time ; he
lived but twenty-seven years ; yet in that short space
carried the art so far beyond what it had before reached,
that he appears to stand alone as a model for his succes
sors. Vasari gives a long catalogue of Painters and
Sculptors, who formed their taste, and learned their art,
by studying his works ; among those, he names Michael
Angelo, Leonardi da Vinci, Pietro Perugino, Raffaelle,
Bartolomeo, Andrea del Sarto, H Rosso, and Pierino del
Vaga. The habit of contemplating and brooding over the
ideas of great geniuses, till you find yourself warmed by
the contact, is the true method of forming an artist-like
* The addition of accio denotes some deformity or imperfection
attending that person to whom it is applied. — R.

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 219
mind; it is impossible, in the presence of those great men,
to think, or invent in a mean manner ; a state of mind is
acquired that receives those ideas only which relish of
grandeur and simplicity.
Besides the general advantage of forming the taste by
such an intercourse, there is another of a particular kind,
which was suggested to me by the practice of Raffaelle,
when imitating the work of which I have been speaking.
The figure of the Proconsul, Sergius Paulus, is taken from
the Felix of Masaccio, though one is a front figure, and
the other seen in profile ; the action is likewise somewhat
changed ; but it is plain Raffaelle had that figure in his
mind. There is a circumstance indeed, which I mention
by the by, which marks it very particularly ; Sergius Pau
lus wears a crown of laurel ; this is hardly reconcileable to
strict propriety, and the costume, of which Raffaelle was in
general a good observer ; but he found it so in Masaccio,
and he did not bestow so much pains in disguise as to
change it. It - appears to me to be an excellent practice,
thus to suppose the figures which you wish to adopt in the
works of those great Painters to be statues ; and to give, as
Raffaelle has here given, another view, taking care to pre
serve all the spirit and grace you find in the -original.
I should hope, from what, has been lately said, that it
is not necessary to guard myself against any supposition of
recommending an entire dependence upon former masters.
I do not desire that you should get other people to do your
business, or to think" for you ; I only wish you to consult
with, to call in as counsellors, men the most distinguished
for their knowledge and experience, the result of which
counsel must ultimately depend upon yourself. Such con
duct in the commerce of life has never been considered as

220 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
disgraceful, or in any respect to imply intellectual imbe
cility ; it is a sign rather of that true wisdom, which feels
individual imperfection ; and is conscious to itself how
much collective observation is necessary to fill the immense
extent, and to comprehend the infinite variety of nature. I
recommend neither self-dependence nor plagiarism. I ad
vise you only to take that assistance which every human
being wants, and which, as appears from the examples that
have been given, the greatest painters have not disdained
to accept. Let me add, that the diligence required in the
search, and the exertion subsequent in accommodating those
ideas to your own purpose, is a business which idleness will
not, and ignorance can not, perform. But in order more
distinctly to explain what kind of borrowing I mean, when
I recommend so anxiously the study of the works of great
masters, let us, for a minute, return again to Raffaelle, con
sider his method of practice, and endeavor to imitate him,
in his manner of imitating others.
The two figures of St. Paul which I lately mentioned,
are so nobly conceived by Masaccio, that perhaps it was
not in the power even of Raffaelle himself to raise and im
prove them, nor has he attempted it; but he has had the
address to change in some measure without diminishing the
grandeur of their character; he has substituted, in the
place of a serene composed dignity, that animated expres
sion which was necessary to the more active employment
he assigned them.
In the same manner he has given more animation to
the figure of Sergius Paulus, and to -that which is intro
duced in the picture of St. Paul preaching, of which little
more than hints are given by Masaccio, which Raffaelle has
finished. The closing the eyes of this figure, which in Ma-

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 221
Baccio might be easily mistaken for sleeping, is not in the
least ambiguous in the Cartoon : his eyes indeed are closed,
but theyare closed with such vehemence, that the agita
tion of a mind perplexed in the extreme is seen at the first
glance ; but what is most extraordinary, and I think par
ticularly to be admired, is, that the same idea is continued
through the whole figure, even to the drapery, which is so
closely muffled about him, that even his hands are not
seen; by this happy correspondence between the expres- •
sion of the countenance, and the disposition of the parts,
the figure appears to think from head to foot. Men of
superior talents alone are capable of thus using and adapt
ing other men's minds to their own purposes, or are able
to make out and finish what was only in the original a hint
or imperfect conception. A readiness in taking such hints,
which escape the dull and ignorant, makes in my opinion
no inconsiderable part of that faculty of the mind which is
called Genius.
It often happens that hints may be taken and employed
in a situation totally different from that in which they were
originally employed. There is a figure of a Bacchante
leaning backward, her head thrown quite behind her, which
seems to be a favorite invention, as it is so frequently re
peated in basso-relievos, cameos, and intaglios; it is in
tended to express an enthusiastic frantic kind of joy. This
figure Baccio Bandinelli, in a drawing that I have of that
Master of the Descent from the Cross, has adopted (and he
knew very well what was worth borrowing) for one of the
Marys, to express frantic agony of grief. It is curious to
observe, and it is certainly true, that the extremes of con
trary passions are with very little variation expressed by
the game action. 19*

222 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
If I were to recommend method in any part of the
study of a Painter, it would be in regard to invention; that
young Students should not presume to think themselves
qualified to invent, till they were acquainted with those
stores of invention the world already possesses, and had by
that means accumulated sufficient materials for the mind
to work with. It would certainly be no improper method
of forming the mind of a young artist, to begin with such
exercises as the Italians call a Pasticcio composition of the
different excellencies which are dispersed in all other works
of the same kind. It is not supposed that he is to stop
here, but that he is to acquire by this means the art of
selecting, first what is truly excellent in Art, and then what
is still more excellent in Nature ; a task which, without this
previous study, he will be but ill qualified to perform.
The doctrine which is here advanced, is acknowledged
to be new, and to many may appear strange. But I only
demand for it the reception of a stranger ; a favorable and
attentive consideration, without that entire confidence which
might be claimed under authoritative recommendation.
After you have taken a figure, or any idea of a figure,
from any of those great Painters, there is another operation
still remaining, which I hold to be indispensably necessary,
that is, never to neglect finishing from nature every part of
the work. What is taken from a model, though the first
idea may have been suggested by another, you have a just
right to consider as your own property. And here I can
not avoid mentioning a circumstance in placing the model,
though to some it may appear trifling. It is better to pos
sess the model with the attitude you require, than to place
him with your own hands : by this means it happens often
that the model puts himself in an action superior to your

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 223
own imagination. It is a great matter to be in the way of
accident, and to be watchful and ready to take advantage
of it : besides, when you fix the position of a model, there
is danger of putting him in an attitude into which no man
would naturally fall. This extends even to drapery. We
must be cautious in touching and altering a fold of the stuff,
which serves as a model, for fear of giving it inadvertently
a forced form ; and it is perhaps better to take the chance
of another casual throw, than to alter the position ih which
it was at first accidentally cast.
Rembrandt, in order to take the advantage of accident,
appears often to have used the pallet-knife to lay his colors
on the canvass, instead of the pencil. Whether it is the
knife or any other instrument, it suffices if it is something
that does not follow exactly the will. Accident in the hands
of an artist who knows how to take the advantage of its
hints, will often produce bold and capricious beauties of
handling and facility, such as he would not have thought
of, or ventured, with his pencil, under the regular restraint
of his hand. However, this is fit only on occasions where
no correctness of form is required, such as clouds, stumps
of trees, rocks, or broken ground. Works produced in an
accidental manner will have the same free unrestrained air
as the works of nature, whose particular combinations seem
to depend upon accident.
I agajn repeat, you are never to lose sight of nature ;
the instant you do, you are all abroad, at the mercy of every
gust of fashion, without knowing or seeing the point to
which you ought to steer. Whatever trips you make, you
must still have nature in your eye. Such deviations as art
necessarily requires, I hope in a future Discourse to be able
to explain. In the mean time, let me recommend to you,

224 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
not to have too great dependence on your practice or mem
ory, however strong those impressions may have heen which
are there deposited. They are for ever wearing out, and
will be at last obliterated, unless they are continually re
freshed and repaired.
It is not uncommon to meet with artists who, from a
long neglect of cultivating this necessary intimacy with
Nature, do not even know her when they see her ; she ap
pearing a stranger to them, from their being so long habit
uated to their own representation of her. I have heard
Painters acknowledge, though in that acknowledgment no
degradation of themselves was intended, that they could do
better without Nature than with her ; or, as they expressed
it themselves, that it only put them out. A painter with
such ideas and such habits, is indeed in a most hopeless
state. The art of seeing Nature, or, in other words, the
art of using Models, is in reality the great object, the point
to which all our studies are directed. As for the power
of being able to do tolerably well, from practice alone, let
it be valued according to its worth. But I do not see in
what manner it can be sufficient for the production of cor
rect, excellent, and finished Pictures. Works deserving this
character never were produced, nor ever will arise, from
memory alone ; and I will venture to say, that an artist who
brings to his work a mind tolerably furnished with the gen
eral principles of Art, and a taste formed upon the works of
good Artists, in short, who knows in what excellence con
sists, will, with the assistance of Models, which we will
likewise suppose he has learnt the art of using, be an over
match for the greatest painter that ever lived who should
be debarred such advantages.
Our neighbors, the French, are much in this practice of

THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE. 225
extempore invention, and their dexterity is such as even to
excite admiration, if not envy: but how rarely can this
praise be given to their finished pictures !
The late Director of their Academy, Boucher, was emi
nent in this way. When I visited him some years since in
France, I found him at work on a very large Picture, with
out drawings or models of any kind. On my remarking
this particular circumstance, he said, when he was young,
studying his art, he found it necessary to use models ; but
he had left them off for many years.
Such Pictures as this was, and such as I fear always will
be produced by those who work solely from practice or
memory, may be a convincing proof of the necessity of the
conduct which I have recommended. However, in justice
I can not quit this Painter without adding, that in the for
mer part of his life, when he was in the habit of having re
course to nature, he was not without a considerable degree
of merit, — enough to make half the Painters of his country
his imitators; he had often grace and beauty, and good
skill in composition ; but I think all under the influence of
a bad taste : his imitators are indeed abominable.
Those Artists who have quitted the service of nature,
(whose service, when well understood, is perfect freedom,')
and have put themselves under the direction of I know not
what capricious fantastical mistress, who fascinates and over
powers their whole mind, and from whose dominion there
are no hopes of their being ever reclaimed, (since they ap
pear perfectly satisfied, and not at all conscious of their for
lorn situation,) like the transformed followers of Comus, —
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement ;
But boast themselves more comely than before.
Methinks, such men, who have found out so short a

226 THE TWELFTH DISCOURSE.
path, have no reason to complain of the shortness of life,
and the extent of art ; since life is so much longer than is
wanted for their improvement, or indeed is necessary for
the accomplishment of their idea of perfection. On the con
trary, he who recurs to nature, at every recurrence renews
his strength. The rules of art he is never likely to forget;
they are few and simple ; but nature is refined, subtle, and
infinitely various, beyond the power and retention of mem
ory ; it is necessary, therefore, to have continual recourse to
her. In this intercourse, there is no end of his improve
ment ; the longer he lives, the nearer he approaches to the
true and perfect idea of art.

DISCOURSE XIII.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 11, 1786.
Art not merely Imitation, hut under the direction of the Imagination. — In what
manner Poetry, Painting, Acting, Gardening, and Architecture, depart from
Nature.
GENTLEMEN, To discover beauties, or to point out faults, in the works
of celebrated Masters, and to compare the conduct of one
Artist with another, is certainly no mean or inconsidera
ble part of criticism ; but this is still no more than to
know the art through the Artist. This test of investiga
tion must have two capital defects ; it must be narrow, and
it must be uncertain. To enlarge the boundaries of the
Art of Painting, as well as to fix its principles, it will be
necessary that that art, and those principles, should be con
sidered in their correspondence with the principles of the
other arts, which, like this, address themselves primarily
and principally to the imagination. When those connected
and kindred principles are brought together to be com
pared, another comparison will grow out of this ; that is,
the comparison of them all with those of human nature,
from whence arts derive the materials upon which they are
to produce their effects.
When this comparison of art with art, and of all arts
with the nature of man, is once made with success,- our
guiding lines are as well ascertained and established as
they can be in matters of this description.

228 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
This, as it is the highest style of criticism, is at the
same time the soundest ; for it refers to the eternal and
immutable nature of things.
You are not to imagine that I mean to open to you
at large, or to recommend to your research, the whole of
this vast field of science. It is certainly much above my
faculties to reach it : and though it may not be above
yours to comprehend it fully,- if it were fully and properly
brought before you, yet perhaps the most perfect criticism
requires habits of speculation and abstraction, not very
consistent with the employment which ought to occupy,
and the habits of mind which ought to prevail in a prac
tical Artist. I only point out to you these things, that
when you do criticise, (as all who work on a plan will
criticise more or less,) your criticism may be built on the
foundation of true principles ; and that though you may
not always travel a great way, the way that you do travel
may be the right road.
I observe, as a fundamental ground, common to all the
Arts with which we have any concern in this discourse,
that they address themselves only to two faculties of the
mind, its imagination and its sensibility.
All theories which attempt to direct or to control the
Art, upon any principles falsely called rational, which we
form to ourselves upon a supposition of what ought in
reason to be the end or means of Art, independent of the
known first effect produced by objects on the imagination,
must be false and delusive. For though it may appear
bold to say it, the imagination is here the residence of
truth. If the imagination be affected, the conclusion is
fairly drawn ; if it be not affected, the reasoning is erro
neous, because the end is not obtained ; the effect itself

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 229
being the test, and the only test, of the truth and efficacy
of the means.
There is in the commerce of life, as in Art, a sagacity
which is far from being contradictory to right reason, and
is superior to any occasional exercise of that faculty ; which
supersedes it ; and does not wait for the slow progress of
deduction, but goes at once, by what appears a kind of in
tuition, to the conclusion. A man endowed with this
faculty, feels and acknowledges the truth, though it is not
always in his power, perhaps, to give a reason for it;
because he can not recollect and bring before him all the
materials that gave birth to his opinion ; for very many
and very intricate considerations may unite to form the
principle, even of small and minute parts, involved in, or
dependent on a great system of things : though these in
process of time are forgotten, the right impression still
remains fixed in his mind.
This impression is the result of the accumulated expe
rience of our whole life, and has been collected, we do not
always know how, or when. But this mass of collective
observation, however acquired, ought to prevail over that
reason, which however powerfully exerted on any par
ticular occasion, will probably comprehend but a partial
view of the subject ; and our conduct in life, as well as in
the Arts, is, or ought to be, generally governed by this
habitual reason : it is our happiness that we are enabled to
draw on such funds. If we were obliged to enter into a
theoretical deliberation on every occasion, before we act,
life would be at a stand, and Art would be impracticable.
It appears to me, therefore, that our first thoughts,
that is, the effect which any thing produces on our minds,
on its first appearance, is never to be forgotten; and it
20

230 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
demands for that reason, because it is the first, to be laid
up with care. If this be not done, the Artist may happen
to impose on himself by partial reasoning ; by a cold con
sideration of those animated thoughts which proceed, not
perhaps from caprice or rashness, (as he may afterwards
conceit,) but from the fullness of his mind, enriched with
the copious stores of all the various inventions which he
had ever seen, or had ever passed in his mind. These
ideas are infused into his design, without any conscious
effort ; but if he be not on his guard, he may reconsider
and correet them, till the whole matter is reduced to a
common-place invention.
This is sometimes the effect of what I mean to caution
you against ; that is to say, an unfounded distrust of the
imagination and feeling, in favor of narrow, partial, eon-
fined, argumentative theories ; and of principles that seem
to apply to the design in hand ; without considering those
general impressions on the fancy in which real principles
of sound reason, and of mueh more weight and impor
tance, are involved, and, as it were, lie hid, under the
appearance of a sort of vulgar sentiment.
Reason, without doubt, must ultimately determine
every thing; at this minute it is required to inform us
when that very reason is to give way to feeling.
Though I have often spoken of that mean conception
of our art which confines it to mere imitation, I must add,
that it may be narrowed to such a mere matter of experi
ment, as to exclude from it the application of science,
which alone gives dignity and compass to any art. But to
find proper foundations for science is neither to narrow or
to vulgarise it; and this is sufficiently exemplified in the
success of experimental philosophy. It is the false system

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 231
of reasoning, grounded on a partial view of things, against
which I would most earnestly guard you. And I do it the
rather, because those narrow theories, so coincident with
the poorest and most miserable practices, and which are
adopted to give it countenance, have not had their origin
in the poorest minds, but in the mistakes, or possibly in
the mistaken interpretations, of great and commanding -
authorities. We are not, therefore, in this case, misled by
feeling, but by false speculation.
When such a man as Plato speaks of Painting as only
an imitative art, and that our pleasure proceeds from
observing and acknowledging the truth of the imitation, I
think he misleads us by a partial theory. It is in this
poor, partial, and so far, false view of the art, that Cardi
nal Bembo has chosen to distinguish even Raffaelle him
self, whom our enthusiasm honors with the name of
Divine. The same sentiment is adopted by Pope in his
epitaph on Sir Godfrey Kneller ; and he turns the pane
gyric solely on imitation, as it is a sort of deception.
I shall not think my time misemployed, if by any
means I may contribute to confirm your opinion of what
ought to be the object of your pursuit ; because, though
the best critics must always have exploded this strange
, idea, yet I know that there is a disposition towards a per
petual recurrence to it, on account of its simplicity and
superficial plausibility. For this reason I shall beg leave
to lay before you a few thoughts on this subject; to throw
out some hints that may lead your minds to an opinion,
(which I take to be the truth,) that Painting is not only to
be considered as an imitation, operating by deception, but
that it is, and ought to be, in many points of view, and
strictly speaking, no imitation at all of external nature.

2-"2 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
Perhaps it ought to be as far removed from the vulgar idea
of imitation, as the refined civilized state in which we live,
is removed from a gross state of nature ; and those who
have not cultivated their imaginations, which the majority
of mankind certainly have not, may be said, in regard to
arts, to continue in this state of nature. Such men will
always prefer imitation to that excellence which is ad
dressed to another faculty that they do not possess ; but
these are not the persons to whom a Painter is to look, any
more than a judge of morals and manners ought to refer
controverted points upon those subjects to the opinions of
people taken from the banks of the Ohio, or from New
Holland. It is the lowest style only of arts, whether of Painting,
Poetry, or Music, that may be said, in the vulgar sense, to
be naturally pleasing. The higher efforts of those arts, we
know by experience, do not affect minds wholly unculti
vated. This refined taste is the consequence of education
and habit : we are born only with a capacity of entertain
ing this refinement, as we are born with a disposition to
receive and obey all the rules and regulations of society;
and so far it may be said to be natural to us, and no
further. What has been said, may show the Artist how neces
sary it is, when he looks about him for the advice and
criticism of his friends, to make some distinction of the
character, taste, experience, and observation in this Art, of
those, from whom it is received. An ignorant uneducated
man may, like Apelles' critic, be a competent judge of the
truth of the representation of a sandal ; or, to go somewhat
higher, like Moliere's old woman, may decide upon what is
nature, in regard to comic humor; but a critic in the higher

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 233
style of art ought to possess the same refined taste which
directed the Artist in his work.
To illustrate this principle by a comparison with other
Arts, I shall now produce some instances to show that they,
as well as our own Art, renounce the narrow idea of nature,
and the narrow theories derived from that mistaken prin
ciple, and apply to that reason only which informs us not
what imitation is — a natural representation of a given
object — but what it is natural for the imagination to be
delighted with. And perhaps there is no better way of
acquiring this knowledge, than by this kind of analogy :
each art will corroborate and mutually reflect the truth on
the other. Such a kind of juxtaposition may likewise have
this use, that whilst the Artist is amusing himself in the
contemplation of other Arts, he may habitually transfer
the. principles of those Arts to that which he professes :
which ought to be always present to his mind, and to which
every thing is to be referred.
So far is Art from being derived from, or having any
immediate intercourse with, particular nature as its model,
that there are many Arts that set out with a professed de
viation from it.
This is certainly not so exactly true in regard to Paint
ing and Sculpture. Our elements are laid in gross com
mon nature — an exact imitation of what is before us : but
when we advance to the higher state, we consider this
power of imitation, though first in the order of acquisition,
as by no means the highest in the scale of perfection.
Poetry addresses itself to the same faculties and the
same dispositions as Painting, though by different means.
The object of both is to accommodate itself to all the natu
ral propensities and inclinations of the mind. The very
20*

234 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
existence of Poetry depends on the license it assumes of
deviating from actual nature, in order to gratify natural pro
pensities by other means, which are found by experience
full as capable of affording such gratification. It sets out
with a language in the highest degree artificial, a construc
tion of measured words, such as never is, nor ever was, used
by man. Let this measure be what it may, whether hex
ameter or any other metre used in Latin or Greek, — or
Rhyme, or Blank Verse varied with pauses and accents, in
modern languages, — they are all equally removed from na
ture, and equally a violation of common speech. When
this artificial mode has been established as the vehicle of
sentiment, there is another principle in the human mind, to
which the work must be referred, which still renders it more
artificial, carries it still further from common nature, and
deviates only to render it more perfect. That principle is
the sense of congruity, coherence, and consistency, which is
a real existing principle in man ; and it must be gratified.
Therefore, having once adopted a style and a measure not
found in common discourse, it is required that the senti
ments also should be in the same proportion elevated above
common nature, from the necessity of there being an agree
ment of the parts among themselves, that one uniform
whole may be produced.
To correspond, therefore, with this general system of
deviation from nature, the manner in which poetry is offered
to the ear, the tone in which it is recited, should be as far
removed from the tone of conversation, as the words of
which that Poetry is composed. This naturally suggests
the idea of modulating the voice by art, which I suppose
may be considered as accomplished to the highest degree of
excellence in the recitative of the Italian Opera ; as we may

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 235
conjecture it was in the Chorus that attended the ancient
drama. And though the most violent passions, the highest
distress, even death itself, are expressed in singing or reci
tative, I would not admit as sound criticism the condemna
tion of such exhibitions on account of their being un
natural. If it is natural for our senses, and our imaginations, to
be delighted with singing, with instrumental music, with
poetry, and with graceful action, taken separately (none of
them being in the vulgar sense natural, even in that sepa
rate state ;) it is conformable to experience, and therefore
agreeable to reason as connected and referred to experience,
that we should also be delighted with this union of music,
poetry, and graceful action, joined to every circumstance of
pomp and magnificence calculated to strike the senses of
the spectator. Shall reason stand in the way, and tell us
that we ought not to like what we know we do like, and
prevent us from feeling the full effect of this complicated
exertion of art ? This is what I would understand by poets
and painters being allowed to dare every thing ; for what
can be more daring, than accomplishing the purpose and
end of art, by a complication of means, none of which have
their archetypes in actual nature ?
So far, therefore, is servile imitation from being neces
sary, that whatever is familiar, or in any way reminds us
of what we see and hear every day, perhaps does not belong
to the higher provinces of art, either in poetry or painting.
The mind is to be transported, as Shakspeare expresses it,
beyond the ignorant present, to ages past. Another and a
higher order of beings is supposed ; and to those beings
every thing which is introduced into the work must corres
pond. Of this conduct, under these circumstances, the

236 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
Roman and Florentine schools afford sufficient examples.
Their style by this means is raised and elevated above all
others ; and by the same means the compass of art itself is
enlarged. We often see grave and great subjects attempted by
artists of another school ; who though excellent in the lower
class of art, proceeding on the principles which regulate
that class, and not recollecting, or not knowing, that they
were to address themselves to another faculty of the mind,
have become perfectly ridiculous.
The picture which I have at present in my thoughts is
a sacrifice of Iphigenia, painted by Jan Steen, a painter of
whom I have formerly had occasion to speak with the high
est approbation; and even in this picture, the subject of
which is by no means adapted to his genius, there is nature
and expression ; but it is such expression, and the counte
nances are so familiar, and consequently so vulgar, and the
whole accompanied with such finery of silks and velvets,
that one would be almost tempted to doubt whether the
artist did not purposely intend to burlesque his subject.
Instances of the same kind we frequently see in poetry.
Parts of Hobbes' translation of Homer are remembered and
repeated merely for the familiarity and meanness of their
phraseology, so ill corresponding with the ideas which ought
to have been expressed, and as I conceive, with the style
of the original.
We may proceed in the same manner through the com
paratively inferior branches of art. There are, in works of
that class, the same distinction of a higher and a lower
style ; and they take their rank and degree in proportion as
the artist departs more, or less, "from common nature, and
makes it an object of his attention to strike the imagination

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 237
of the spectator by ways belonging especially to art, — un
observed and untaught out of the school of its practice.
If our judgments are to be directed by narrow, vulgar,
untaught, or rather ill-taught, reason, we must prefer a
portrait by Denner, or any other high finisher, to those of
Titian or Vandyck ; and a landscape of Vanderheyden to
those of Titian or Rubens; for they are certainly more
exact representations of nature.
If we suppose a view of nature represented with all the
truth of the camera obscura, and the same scene represented
by a great artist, how little and mean will the one appear
in comparison of the other, where no superiority is supposed
from the choice of the subject ! The scene shall be the
same, the difference only will be in the manner in which it
is presented to the eye. With what additional superiority
then will the same artist appear when he has the power of
selecting his materials as well as elevating his style ? Like
Nicolas Poussin, he transports us to the environs of ancient
Rome, with all the objects which a literary education makes
so precious and interesting to man ; or, like Sebastian
Bourdon, he leads us to the dark antiquity of the pyramids
of Egypt; or, like Claude Lorrain, he conducts us to the
tranquillity of Arcadian scenes and fairy-land.
Like the history-painter, a painter of landscapes in this
style and with this conduct, sends the imagination back into
antiquity ; and, like the poet, he makes the elements sym
pathise with his subject : whether the clouds roll in volumes
like those of Titian or Salvator Rosa, — or, like those of
Claude, are gilded with the setting sun ; whether the moun
tains have sudden and bold projections, or are gently sloped;
whether the branches of his trees shoot out abruptly in
right angles from their trunks, or follow each other with

238 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
only a gentle inclination. All these circumstances contri
bute to the general character of the work, whether it be of
the elegant, or of the more sublime kind. If we add to
this the powerful materials of lightness and darkness, over
which the artist has complete dominion, to vary and dispose
them as he pleases; to diminish or increase them as will
best suit his purpose, and correspond to the general idea of
his work ; a landscape thus conducted, under the influence
of a poetical mind will have the same superiority over the
more ordinary and common views, as Milton's Allegro and
Penseroso have over a cold prosaic narration or description ;
and such a picture would make a more forcible impression
on the mind than the real scenes, were they presented be
fore us.
If we look abroad to other arts, we may observe the
same distinction, the same division into two classes ; each
of them acting under the influence of two different princi
ples, in which the one follows nature, the other varies it,
and sometimes departs from it.
The theatre, which is said to hold the mirror up to na
ture, comprehends both those ideas. The lower kind of
comedy, or farce, like the inferior style of painting, the more
naturally it is represented, the better ; but the higher ap
pears to me to aim no more at imitation, so far as it belongs
to any thing like deception, or to expect that the spectators
should think that the events there represented are really
passing before them, than Raffaelle in his Cartoons, or
Poussin in his Sacraments, expected it to be believed, even
for a moment, that what they exhibited were real figures.
For want of this distinction, the world is filled with false
criticism. Raffaelle is praised for naturalness and decep
tion, which he certainly has not accomplished, and as cer-

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 239
tainly never intended; and our late great actor, Garrick,
has been as ignorantly praised by his friend Fielding; who
doubtless imagined he had hit upon an ingenious device, by
introducing, in one of his novels (otherwise a work of the
highest merit,) an ignorant man, mistaking Garrick's repre
sentation of a scene in Hamlet for reality. A very little
reflection will convince us, that there is not one circum
stance in the whole scene that is of the nature of deception.
The merit and excellence of Shakspeare, and of Garrick,
when they were engaged in such scenes, is of a different
and much higher kind. But what adds to the falsity of
this intended compliment, is, that the best stage-represen
tation appears even more unnatural to a person of such a
character, who is supposed never to have seen a play before,
than it does to those who have had a habit of allowing for
those necessary deviations from nature which the Art re
quires. In theatric representation, great allowances must always
be made for the place in which the exhibition is represented ;
for the surrounding company, the lighted candles, the scenes
visibly shifted in your sight, and the language of blank
verse, so different from common English ; which merely as
English must appear surprising in the mouths of Hamlet
and all the court and natives of Denmark. These allow
ances are made ; but their being made puts an end to all
manner of deception : and further ; we know that the more
low, illiterate, and vulgar any person is, the less he will be
disposed to make these allowances, and of course to be de
ceived by any imitation ; the things in which the trespass
against nature and common probability is made in favor of
the theatre, being quite within the sphere of such unin
formed men.

240 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
Though I have no intention of entering into all the
circumstances of unnaturalness in theatrical representa
tions I must observe that even the expression of violent
passion is not always the most excellent in proportion as it
is the most natural ; so, great terror and such disagreeable
sensations may be communicated to the audience, that the
balance may be destroyed by which pleasure is preserved,
and holds its predominancy in the mind : violent distortion of
action, harsh screamings of the voice, however great the
occasion, or however natural on such occasions, are there
fore not admissible in the theatric art. Many of these
allowed deviations from nature arise from the necessity
which there is, that every thing should be raised and en
larged beyond its natural state ; that the full effect may
come home to the spectator, which otherwise would be lost
in the comparatively extensive space of the Theatre. Hence
the deliberate and stately step, the studied grace of action,
which seems to enlarge the dimensions of the actor, and
alone to fill the stage. All this unnaturalness, though right
and proper in its place, would appear affected and ridiculous
in a private room : quid enim deformius quam scenam in
vitam transferre f
And here I must observe, and I believe it may be con
sidered as a general rule, that no Art can be grafted with
suocess on another art. For though they all profess the
same origin, and to proceed from the same stock, yet each
has its own peculiar modes both of imitating nature, and of
deviating from it, each for the accomplishment of its own
particular purpose. These deviations, more especially, will
not bear transplantation to another soil.
If a Painter should endeavor to copy the theatrical
pomp and parade of dress, and attitude, instead of that sim-

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 241
plicity, which is not a greater beauty in life than it is in
Painting, we should condemn such pictures, as painted in
the meanest style.
So, also; Gardening, as far as Gardening is an Art, or
entitled to that appellation, is a deviation from nature ; for
if the true taste consists, as many hold, in banishing every
appearance of Art, or any traces of the footsteps of man, it
would then be no longer a Garden. Even though we define
it, " Nature to advantage dressed," and in some sense is
such, and much more beautiful and commodious for the re
creation of man ; it is, however, when so dressed, no longer
a subject for the pencil of a Landscape-Painter, as all Land-
scape-Painters know, who love to have recourse to Nature
herself, and to dress her according to the principles of their
own Art ; which are far different from those of Gardening,
even when conducted according to the most approved prin
ciples;" and such as a Landscape-Painter himself would
adopt in the disposition of his own grounds, for his own
private satisfaction.
I have brought together as many instances as appear
necessary to make out the several points which I wished to
suggest to your consideration in this Discourse ; that your
own thoughts may lead you further in the use that may be
made of the analogy of the Arts ; and of the restraint which
a full understanding of the diversity of many of their
principles ought to impose on the employment of that
analogy. The great end of all those arts is, to make an impression
on the imagination and the feeling. The imitation of na
ture frequently does this. Sometimes it fails, and some
thing else succeeds. I think, therefore, the true test of all
the arts is not solely whether the production is a true copy
21

242 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
of nature, but whether it answers the end of art, which is,
to produce a pleasing effect upon the mind.
It remains only to speak a few words of Architecture,
which does not come under the denomination of an imita
tive art. It applies itself, like Blusic (and, I believe, we
may add poetry,) directly to the imagination, without the
intervention of any kind of imitation.
There is in Architecture, as in Painting, an inferior branch
of art, in which the imagination appears to have no concern.
It does not, however, acquire the name of a polite and liberal
art from its usefulness, or administering to our wants or ne
cessities, but from some higher principle ; we are sure that in
the hands of a man of genius it is capable of inspiring sen
timent, and of filling the mind with great and sublime ideas.
It may be worth the attention of Artists to consider
what materials are in their hands, that may contribute to
this end ; and whether this art has it not in its power to
address itself to the imagination with effect, by more ways
than are generally employed by Architects.
To pass over the effect produced by that general sym
metry and proportion, by which the eye is delighted, as the
ear is with music, Architecture certainly possesses many
principles in common with Poetry and Painting. Among
those which may be reckoned as the first, is, that of affect
ing the imagination by means of association of ideas. Thus,
for instance, as we have naturally a veneration for antiquity,
whatever building brings to our remembrance ancient cus
toms and manners, such as the castles of the Barons of
ancient Chivalry, is sure to give this delight. Hence it is
that towers and battlements* are so often selected by the
* Towers and Battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees. — Milton, L'All. — E.

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 243
Painter and the Poet to make a part of the composition of
their ideal Landscape ; and it is from hence, in a great de
gree, that, in the buildings of Vanbrugh, who was a Poet
as well as an Architect, there is a greater display of imagi
nation, than we shall find perhaps in any other, and this is
the ground of the effect we feel in many of his works, not
withstanding the faults with which many of them are justly
charged. For this purpose, Vanbrugh appears to have had
recourse to some of the principles of the Gothic Architec
ture ; which, though not so ancient as the Grecian, is more
so to our imagination, with which the Artist is more con
cerned than with absolute truth.
The Barbaric splendor of those Asiatic Buildings, which
are now publishing by a member of this Academy,* may
possibly, in the same manner, furnish an Architect, not
with models to copy, but with hints of composition and
general effect, which would not otherwise have occurred.
It is, I know, a delicate and hazardous thing (and, as
such, I have already pointed it out) to carry the principles
of one art to another, or even to reconcile in one object the
various modes, of the same art, when they proceed on differ
ent principles. The sound rules of the Grecian Architec
ture are not to be lightly sacrificed. A deviation from
them, or even an addition to them, is like a deviation or
addition to, or from, the rules of other Arts, — fit only for a
great master, who is thoroughly conversant in the nature of
man, as well as all combinations in his own Art.
It may not be amiss for the Architect to take advantage
sometimes of that to which I am sure the Painter ought al
ways to have his eyes open, I mean the use of accidents ;
to follow when they lead, and to improve them, rather than
* Mr. Hodges.

244 THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE.
always to trust to a regular plan. It often happens that
additions have been made to houses, at various times, for
use or pleasure. As such buildings depart from regularity,
they now and then acquire something of scenery by this
accident, which I should think might not unsuccessfully be
adopted by an Architect, in an original plan, if it does not
too much interfere with convenience. Variety and intri
cacy is a beauty and excellence in every other of the arts
which address the imagination; and why not in Archi
tecture ?
The forms and turnings of the streets of London and
other old towns are produced by accident, without any ori
ginal plan or design, but they are not always the less plea
sant to the walker or spectator, on that account. On the
contrary, if the city had been built on the regular plan of
Sir Christopher Wren, the effect might' have been, as we
know it is in some new parts of the town, rather unpleasing ;
the uniformity might have produced weariness, and a slight
degree of disgust.
I can pretend to no skill in the detail of Architecture.
I judge now of the art, merely as a Painter. When I speak
of Vanbrugh, I mean to speak of him in the language of
our art. To speak then of Vanbrugh in the language of a
painter, he had originality of invention, he understood light
and shadow, and had great skill in composition. To sup
port his principal object, he produced his second and third
groups or masses ; he perfectly understood in his art what
is the most difficult in ours, the conduct of the back-ground ;
by which the design and invention is set off to the greatest
advantage. What the back-ground is in Painting, in Archi
tecture is the real ground on which the building is erected ;
and no Architect took greater care than he that his work

THE THIRTEENTH DISCOURSE. 245
should not appear crude and hard; that is, it did not
abruptly start out of the ground without expectation or
preparation. This is a tribute which a Painter owes to an Architect
who composed like a painter; and was defrauded of the due
reward of his merit by the wits of his time, who did not
understand the principles of composition in poetry better
than he ; and who knew little, or nothing, of what he under
stood perfectly, the general ruling principles of Architecture
and Painting. His fate was that of the great Perrault;
both were the objects of the petulant sarcasms of factious
men of letters ; and both have left some of the fairest orna
ments which to this day decorate their several countries ;
the facade of the Louvre, Blenheim, and Castle Howard.
Upon the whole it seems to me, that the object and in
tention of all the Arts is to supply the natural imperfection
of things, and often to gratify the mind by realising and
embodying what never existed but in the imagination.
It is allowed on all hands, that facts, and events, how
ever they may bind the Historian, have no dominion over
the Poet or the Painter. With us, History is made to bend
and conform to this great idea of Art. And why ? Because
these Arts, in their highest province, are not addressed to
the gross senses ; but to the desires of the mind, to that-
spark of divinity which we have within, impatient of being
circumscribed and pent up by the world which is about us.
Just so much as our Art has of this, just so much of dig
nity, I had almost said of divinity, it exhibits ; and those of
our Artists who possessed this mark of distinction in the
highest degree, acquired from thence the glorious appel
lation of Divine.

21*

DISCOURSE XIV.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1788.
Character of Gainsborough: — His Excellence and Defects.
GENTLEMEN, In the study of our art, as in the study of all arts,
something is the result of our own observation of nature ;
something, and that not a little, the effect of the example
of those who have studied the same nature before us, and
who have cultivated before us the same art, with diligence
and success. The less we confine ourselves in the choice
of those examples, the more advantage we shall derive from
them ; and the nearer we shall bring our performances to
a correspondence with nature and the great general rules
of art. When we draw our examples from remote and re
vered antiquity — with some advantage undoubtedly in that
selection — we subject ourselves to some inconveniencies.
We may suffer ourselves to be too much led away by great
names, and to be too much subdued by overbearing au
thority. Our learning, in that case, is not so much an
exercise of our judgment, as a proof of our docility. We
find ourselves, perhaps, too much overshadowed; and the
character of our pursuits is rather distinguished by the
tameness of the follower, than animated by the spirit of
emulation. It is sometimes of service, that our. examples
should be near us ; and such as raise a reverence, sufficient

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 247
to induce us carefully to observe them, yet not so great as
to prevent us from engaging with them in something like a
generous contention.
We have lately lost Mr. Gainsborough, one of the great
est ornaments of our Academy. It is not our business here,
to make panegyrics on the living, or even on the dead who
were of our body. The praise of the former might bear
the appearance of adulation; and the latter of untimely
justice ; perhaps of envy to those whom we have still the
happiness to enjoy, by an oblique suggestion of invidious
comparisons. In discoursing, therefore, on the talents of
the late Mr. Gainsborough, my object is, not so much to
praise or to blame him, as to draw from his excellencies
and defects, matter of instruction to the Students in our
Academy. If ever this nation should produce genius suffi
cient to acquire to us the honorable distinction of an Eng
lish School, the name of Gainsborough will be transmitted
to posterity, in the history of the art, among the very first
of that rising name. That our reputation in the Arts is
now only rising, must be acknowledged; and we must ex
pect our advances to be attended with old prejudices, as
adversaries, and not as supporters ; standing in this respect
in a very different situation from the late artists of the Ro
man School, to whose reputation ancient prejudices have
certainly contributed : the way was prepared for them, and
they may be said rather to have lived in the reputation of
their country, than to have contributed to it ; whilst what
ever celebrity is obtained by English Artists, can arise
only from the operation of a fair and true comparison.
And when they communicate to their country a share of
their reputation, it is a portion of fame not borrowed from
others, but solely acquired by their own labor and talents.

248 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
As Italy has undoubtedly a prescriptive right to an admir
ation bordering on prejudice, as a soil peculiarly adapted,
congenial, and, we may add, destined to the production of
men of great genius in our Art, we may not unreasonably
suspect that a portion of the great fame of some of their
late artists has been owing to the general readiness and dis
position of mankind, to acquiesce in their original prepos
sessions in favor of the productions of the Roman School.
On this ground, however unsafe, I will venture to pro
phesy, that two of the last distinguished painters of that
country, I mean Pompeio Battoni and Raffaelle Mengs,
however great their names may at present sound in our
ears, will very soon fall into the rank of Imperiale, Sebas
tian Concha, Placido Constanza, Masaccio, and the rest of
their immediate predecessors ; whose names, though equally
renowned in their lifetime, are now fallen into what is little
short of total oblivion. I do not say that those painters
were not superior .to the artist I allude to, and whose loss
we lament, in a certain routine of practice, which, to the
eyes of common observers, has the air of a learned compo
sition, and bears a sort of superficial resemblance to the
manner of the great men who went before them. I know
this perfectly well ; but I know likewise, that a man look
ing for real and lasting reputation, must unlearn much of
the common-place method so observable in the works of the
artists whom I have named. For my own part, I confess,
I take more interest in and am more captivated with the
powerful impression of nature, which Gainsborough exhibit
ed in his portraits and in his landscapes, and the interest
ing simplicity and elegance of his little ordinary beggar-
children, than with any of the works of that School, since
the time of Andrea Sacchi, or perhaps we may say Carlo

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 249
Maratti ; two painters who may truly be said to be Ultimi
Romanorum.
I am well aware how much I lay myself open to the
censure and ridicule of the academical professors of other
nations, in preferring the humble attempts of Gainsborough
to the works of those regular graduates in the great histor
ical style. But we have the sanction of all mankind in
preferring genius in a lower rank of art, to feebleness and
insipidity in the highest.
It would not be to the present purpose, even if I had
the means and materials, which I have not, to enter into
the private life of Mr. Gainsborough. The history of his
gradual advancement, and the means by which he acquired
such excellence in his art, would come nearer to our pur
poses and wishes, if it were by any means attainable ; but
the slow progress of advancement is in general imperceptible
to the man himself who makes it ; it is the consequence of
an accumulation of various ideas which his mind has re
ceived, he does not perhaps know how or when. Some
times indeed it happens, that he may be able to mark the
time when from the sight of a picture, a passage in an au
thor, or a hint in conversation, he has received, as it were,
some new and guiding light, something like inspiration, by
which his mind has been expanded ; and is morally sure
that his whole life and conduct has been affected by that
accidental circumstance. Such interesting accounts, we
may however sometimes obtain from a man who has ac
quired an uncommon habit of self-examination, and has
attended to the progress of his own improvement.
It may not be improper to make mention of some of the
customs and habits of this extraordinary man ; points which
come more within the reach of an observer ; I however mean

250 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
such only as are connected with his art, and indeed were,
as I apprehend, the causes of his arriving to that high de
gree of excellence, which we see and acknowledge in his
works. Of these causes we must state, as the fundamental,
the love whieh he had to his art ; to which, indeed, his whole
mind appears to have been devoted, and to which every
thing was referred ; and this we may fairly conclude from
various circumstances of his life, which were known to his
intimate friends. Among others, he had a habit of contin
ually remarking to those who happened to be about him,
whatever peculiarity of countenance, whatever accidental
combination of figure, or happy effects of light and shadow,
occurred in prospects, in the sky, in walking the streets, or
in company. If, in his walks, he found a character that he
liked, and whose attendance was to be obtained, he ordered
him to his house : and from the fields he brought into his
painting-room, stumps of trees, weeds, and animals of vari
ous kinds ; and designed them, not from memory, but im
mediately from the objects. He even framed a kind of
model of landscapes on his table ; composed of broken stones,
dried herbs, and pieces of looking glass, which he magnified
and improved into rocks, trees, and water. How far this
latter practice may be useful in giving hints, the professors
of landscape can best determine. Like every other techni
cal practice, it seems to me wholly to depend on the gene
ral talent of him who uses it. Such methods may be nothing
better than contemptible and mischievous trifling ; or they
may be aids. I think, upon the whole, unless we constantly
refer to real nature, that practice may be more likely to do
harm than good. I mention it only, as it shows the solici
tude and extreme activity which he had about every thing
that related to his art; that he wished to have his objects

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 251
embodied as it were, and distinctly before him ; that he
neglected nothing which could keep his faculties in exercies,
and derived hints from every sort of combination.
We must not forget, whilst we are on this subject, to
make some remarks on his custom of painting by night,
which confirms what I have already mentioned — his great
affection to his art ; since he could not amuse himself in
the evening by any other means so agreeable to himself. I
am indeed much inclined to believe that it is a practice
very advantageous and improving to an artist : for by this
means he will acquire a new and a higher perception of
what is great and beautiful in nature. By candlelight, not
only objects appear more beautiful, but from their being
in a greater breadth of light and shadow, as well as having
a greater breadth and uniformity of color, nature appears
in a higher style ; and even the flesh seems to take a
higher and richer tone of color. Judgment is to direct
us in the use to be made of this method of study ; but the
method itself is, I am very -sure, advantageous. I have
often imagined that the two great colorists, Titian and Cor
reggio, though I do not know that they painted by night,
formed their high ideas of coloring from the effects of objects
by this artificial light : but I am more assured that whoever
attentively studies the first and best manner of Guercino,
will be convinced that he either painted by this light, or
formed his manner on this conception.
Another practice Gainsborough had, which is worth
mentioning, as it is certainly worthy of imitation ; I mean
his manner of forming all the parts of his picture together ;
the whole going on at the same time, in the same manner
as nature creates her works. Though this method is not
uncommon to those who have been regulary educated, yet

252 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
probably it was suggested to him by his own natural saga
city. That this custom is not universal, appears from the
practice of a painter whom I have just mentioned, Pompeio
Battoni, who finished his historical pictures part after part,
and in his portraits completely finished one feature before
he proceeded to another. The consequence was, as might
be expected; the countenance was never well expressed ;-
and, as the painters say, the whole was not well put to
gether. The first thing required to excel in our art, or I beheve
in any art, is not only a love for it, but even an enthusi
astic ambition to excel in it. This never fails of success
proportioned to the natural abilities with which the artist
has been endowed by Providence. Of Gainsborough, we
certainly know, that his passion was not the acquirement of
riches, but excellence in his art; and to enjoy that honor
able fame which is sure to attend it. That he felt this
ruling passion strong in death, I am myself a witness. A
few days before he died, he wrote me a letter, to express
his acknowledgements for the good opinion I entertained
of his abilities, and the manner in which (he had been in
formed) I always spoke of him ; and desired he might see
me once more before he died. I am aware how flattering
it is to myself to be thus connected with the dying testi
mony which this excellent painter bore to his art. But I
can not prevail on myself to suppress that I was not con
nected with him, by any habits of familiarity : if any little
jealousies had subsisted between us, they were forgotten
in those moments of sincerity ; and he turned towards me
as one who was engrossed by the same pursuits, and who
deserved his good opinion, by being sensible of his excel
lence. Without entering into a detail of what passed at

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 253.
this last interview, the impression of it upon my mind was,
that his regret at losing life, was principally the regret of
leaving his art; and more especially as he now began, he
said, to see what his deficiencies were ; which, he said he
flattered himself in his last works were in some measure
supplied. When such a man as Gainsborough arrives to great
fame, without the assistance of an academical education,
without traveling to Italy, or any of those preparatory studies
which have been so often recommended, he is produced as
an instance how little such studies are necessary, since so
great excellence may be acquired without them. This is
an inference not warranted by the success of any individual ;
and I trust it will not be thought that I wish to make this
use of it.
It must be remembered that the style and department
of art which Gainsborough chose, and in which he so much
excelled, did not require that he should go out of his own
country for the objects of his study; they were everywhere
about him ; he found them in the streets, and in the fields,
and from the models thus accidentally found, he selected
with great judgment such as suited his purpose. As his
studies were directed to the living world principally, he did
not pay a general attention to the works of the various
masters, though they are, in my opinion, always of great
use, even when the character of our subject requires us to
depart from some of their principles. It can not be denied,
that excellence in the department of the art which he pro
fessed may exist without them ; that in such subjects, and
in the manner that belongs to them, the want of them is
supplied, and, more than supplied, by natural sagacity, and a
minute observation of particular nature. If Gainsborough did
22

254 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
not look at nature with a poet's eye, it must be acknowledged
that he saw her with the eye of a painter ; and gave a faith
ful, if not a poetical, representation of what he had before
him. Though he did not much attend to the works of the
great historical painters of former ages, yet he was well
aware that the language of the art — the art of imitation —
must be learned somewhere; and as he knew that he could
not learn it in an equal degree from his contemporaries, he
very judiciously applied himself to the Flemish School,
who are undoubtedly the greatest masters of one necessary
branch of art ; and he did not need to go out of his own
country for examples of that school : from that he learnt
the harmony of coloring, the management and disposition
of light and shadow, and every means which the masters
of it practiced, to ornament and give splendor to their
works. And to satisfy himself as well as others, how well
he knew the mechanism and artifice which they employed
to bring out that tone of color which we so much admire in
their works, he occasionally made copies from Rubens,
Teniers, and Vandyck, which it would be no disgrace to the
most accurate connoisseur to mistake, at the first sight, for
the works of those masters. What he thus learned, he ap
plied to the originals of nature, which he saw with his own
eyes ; and imitated, not in the manner of those masters, but
in his own.
Whether he most excelled in portraits, landscapes, or
fancy-pictures, it is difficult to determine : whether his
portraits were most admirable for exact truth of resemblance,
or his landscapes for a portrait-like representation of nature,
such as we see in the works of Rubens, Ruysdaal, and
others of those schools. In his fancy pictures, when he had

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 255
fixed on his object of imitation, whether it was the mean
and vulgar form of a wood-cutter, or a child of an interest
ing character, as he did not attempt to raise the one, so
neither did he lose any of the natural grace and elegance,
of the other ; such a grace, and such an elegance, as are
more frequently found in cottages than in courts. This
excellence was his own, the result of his particular obser
vation and taste; for this he was certainly not indebted
to the Flemish School, nor indeed to any School ; for his
grace was not academical or antique, but selected by him
self from the great school of nature ; and there are yet a
thousand modes of grace, which are neither theirs, nor his,
but lie open in the multiplied scenes and figures of life, to
be brought out by skilful and faithful observers.
Upon the whole, we may justly say, that whatever he
attempted he carried to a high degree of excellence. It is
to the credit of his good sense and judgment, that he never
did attempt that style of historical painting, for which his
previous studies had made no preparation.
And here it naturally occurs to oppose the sensible con
duct of Gainsborough, in this respect, to that of our late
excellent Hogarth, who, with all his extraordinary talents,
was not blessed with this knowledge of his own deficiency ;
or of the bounds which were set to the extent of his own
powers. After this admirable artist had spent the greater
part of his life in an active, busy, and we may add, success
ful attention to the ridicule of life ; after he had invented a
new species of dramatic painting, in which probably he will
never be equalled, and had stored his mind with infinite
materials to explain and illustrate the domestic and familiar
scenes of common life, which were generally, and ought to
have been always, the subject of his pencil ; he very impru-

256 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
dently, or rather presumptuously, attempted the great his
torical style, for which his previous habits had by no means
prepared him : he was indeed so entirely unacquainted with
the principles of this style, that he was not even aware
that any artificial preparation was at all necessary. It is to
be regretted, that any part of the life of such a genius
should be fruitlessly employed. Let his failure teach us not
to indulge ourselves in the vain imagination, that by a mo
mentary resolution we can give either dexterity to the hand,
or a new habit to the mind.
I have, however, little doubt, but that the same saga
city, which enabled those two extraordinary men to dis
cover their true object, and the peculiar excellence of that
branch of art which they cultivated, would have been
equally effectual in discovering the principles of the higher
style, if they had investigated those principles with the
same eager industry which they exerted in their own de
partment. As Gainsborough never Attempted the heroic
style so neither did he destroy the character and uniform
ity of his own style, by the idle affectation of introducing
mythological learning in any of his pictures. Of this boy
ish folly we see instances enough, even in the works of
great painters. When the Dutch School attempt this poetry
of our art in their landscapes, their performances are be
neath criticism; they become only an object of laughter.
This practice is hardly excusable, even in Claude Lorrain,
who had shown more discretion, if he had never meddled
with such subjects.
Our late ingenious Academician, Wilson, has, I fear,
been guilty, like many of his predecessors, of introducing
gods and goddesses, ideal beings, into scenes which were by
no means prepared to receive such personages. His land-

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 257
scapes were in reality too near common nature to admit
supernatural objects. In consequence of this mistake, in a
very admirable picture of a storm, which I have seen of
his hand, many figures are introduced in the foreground,
some in apparent distress, and some struck dead, as a spec
tator would naturally suppose, by the lightning, had not
the painter injudiciously (as I think) rather chosen that
their death should be imputed to a little Apollo, who ap
pears in the sky, with his bent bow, and that those figures
should be considered as the children of Niobe.
To manage a subject of this kind, a peculiar style of
art is required : and it can only be done without impro
priety or even without ridicule, when we adapt the charac
ter of the landscape, and that too, in all its parts, to the
historical or poetical representation. This is a very diffi
cult adventure, and it requires a mind thrown back two
thousand years, and as it were naturalized in antiquity, like
that of Nicolo Poussin, to achieve it. In the picture allu
ded to, the first idea that presents itself is that of wonder,
at seeing a figure in so uncommon a situation as that in
which the Apollo is placed ; for the clouds on which he
kneels have not the appearance of being able to support
him ; they have neither the substance nor the form fit for
the receptacle of a human figure; and they do not possess
in any respect that romantic character which is appropri
ated to such an object, and which alone can harmonize with
poetical stories.
It appears to me, that such conduct is no less absurd,
than if a plain man, giving a relation of real distress oc
casioned by an inundation accompanied with thunder and
lightning, should, instead of simply relating the event, take
it into his head, in order to give a grace to his narration, to
22* ' '¦

258 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
talk of Jupiter Pluvius, or Jupiter and his thunderbolts, or
any other figurative idea ; an intermixture which, though in
poetry, with its proper preparations and accompaniments,
it might be managed with effect, yet in the instance before
us would counteract the purpose of the narrator, and, in
stead of being interesting, would be only ridiculous.
The Dutch and Flemish style of landscape, not even
excepting those of Rubens, is unfit for poetical subjects : but
to explain in what this ineptitude consists, or to point out
all the circumstances that give nobleness, grandeur, and the
poetic character, to style, in landscape, would require a long
discourse of itself; and the end would be then perhaps but
imperfectly attained. The painter who is ambitious of this
perilous excellence must catch his inspiration from those
who have cultivated with success the poetry, as it may be
called, of the art; and they are few indeed.
I can not quit this subject without mentioning two ex
amples which occur to me at present, in which the poetical
stylo of landscape may be seen happily executed : the one is
Jacob's Dream by Salvator Rosa, and the other the return
of tho Ark from Captivity, by Sebastian Bourdon.* With
whatever dignity those histories are presented to us in the
language of Scripture, this style of painting possesses the
same power of inspiring sentiments of grandeur and sub
limity, and is able to communicate them to subjects which
appear by no means adapted to receive them. A ladder
against the sky has no very promising appearance of poss
essing a capacity to excite any heroic ideas ; and the Ark,
in the hands of a second-rate master, would have little more
* This fine picture was in our author's collection ; and was be
queathed hy him to Sir George Beaumont, Bart. — M.

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 259
effect than a common wagon on the highway : yet those
subjects are so poetically treated throughout, the parts have
such a correspondence with each other, and the whole and
every part of the scene is so visionary, that it is impossible
to look at them, without feeling, in some measure, the en
thusiasm which seems to have inspired the painters.
By continual contemplation of such works, a sense of
the higher excellencies of art will by degrees dawn on the
imagination ; at every review that sense will become more
and more assured, until we come to enjoy a sober certainty
of the real existence (if I may so express myself) of those
almost ideal beauties ; and the artist will then find no diffi
culty in fixing in his mind the principles by which the im
pression is produced ; which he will feel and practice, though
they are perhaps too delicate and refined, and too peculiar
to the imitative art, to be conveyed to the mind by any
other means.
To return to Gainsborough : the peculiarity of his man
ner, or style, or we may call it — the language in which he
expressed his ideas, has been considered by many as his
greatest ^defect. But without altogether wishing to enter
into the discussion — whether this peculiarity was a defect
or not, intermixed, as it was, with great beauties, of some
of which it was probably the cause, it becomes a proper
subject of criticism and inquiry to a painter.
A novelty and peculiarity of manner, as it is often a
cause of our approbation, so likewise it is often a ground of
censure ; as being contrary to the practice of other painters,
in whose manner we have been initiated, and in whose favor
we have perhaps been prepossessed from our infancy ; for,
fond as we are of novelty, we are upon the whole creatures
of habit. However, it is certain, that all those odd

260 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
scratches and marks, which, on a close examination, are so
observable in Gainsborough's pictures, and whieh even to
experienced painters appear rather the effect of accident
than design : this chaos, this uncouth and shapeless appear
ance, by a kind of magic, at a certain distance assumes
form, and all the parts seem to drop into their proper
places, so that we can hardly refuse acknowledging the full
effect of diligence, under the appearance of chance and
hasty negligence. That Gainsborough himself considered
this peculiarity in his manner, and the power it possesses
of exciting surprise, as a beauty in his works, I think may
be inferred from the eager desire which we know he always
expressed, that his pictures, at the Exhibition, should be
seen near, as well as at a distance.
The slightness which we see in his best works can not
always be imputed to negligence. However they may ap
pear to superficial observers, painters know very well that a
steady attention to the general effect takes up more time,
and is much more laborious to the mind,- than any mode of
high finishing, or smoothness, without such attention. His
handling, the manner of leaving the colors, or, in other
words, the methods he used for producing the effect, had
very much the appearance of the work of an artist who had
never learned from others the usual and regular practice
belonging to the art ; but still, like a man of strong intui
tive perception of what was required, he found out a way
of his own to accomplish his purpose.
It is no disgrace to the genius of Gainsborough, to com
pare him to such men as we sometimes meet with, whose
natural eloquence appears even in speaking a language which
they can scarce be said to understand; and who, without
knowing the appropriate expression of almost any one idea

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 261
contrive to communicate the lively and forcible impressions
of an energetic mind.
I think some apology may reasonably be made for his
manner without violating truth, or running any risk of
poisoning the minds of the younger students, by propaga
ting false criticism, for the sake of raising the character of
a favorite artist. It must be allowed, that this hatching
manner of Gainsborough did very much contribute to the
lightness of effect which is so eminent a beauty in his pic
tures ; as, on the contrary, much smoothness, and uniting
the colors, is apt to produce heaviness. Every artist must
have remarked, how often that lightness of hand which was
in his dead color, or first painting, escaped in the finishing
when he had determined the parts with more precision ; and
another loss he often experiences, which is of greater con
sequence ; whilst he is employed in the detail, the effect of
the whole together is either forgotten or neglected. The
likeness of a portrait, as I have formerly observed, consists
more in preserving the general effect of the countenance,
than in the most minute finishing of the features, or any
of the particular parts. Now, Gainsborough's portraits
were often little more, in regard to finishing, or determin
ing the form of the features, than what generally attends a
dead color ; but as .he was always attentive to the general
effect, or whole together, I have often imagined that this
unfinished manner contributed even to that striking resem
blance for which his portraits are so remarkable. Though
this opinion may be considered as fanciful, yet I think a
plausible reason may be given, why such a mode of paint
ing should have such an effect. It is pre-supposed that in
this undetermined manner there is the general effect; enough
to remind the spectator of the original ; the imagination sup-

262 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
plies the rest, and perhaps more satisfactorily to himself,
if not more exactly, than the artist, with all his care, could
possibly have done. At the same time it must be acknowl
edged there is one evil attending this mode ; that if the
portrait were seen previous to any knowledge of the origi
nal, different persons would form different ideas, and all
would be disappointed at not finding the original corres
pond with their own conceptions ; under the great latitude
which indistinctness gives to the imagination to assume
almost what character or form it pleases.
Every artist has some favorite part, on which he fixes
his attention, and which he pursues with such eagerness,
that it absorbs every other consideration ; and he often falls
into the opposite error of that which he would avoid, which
is always ready to receive him. Now, Gainsborough, having
truly a painter's eye for coloring, cultivated those effects of
the art which proceed from colors : and sometimes appears
to be indifferent to or to neglect other excellencies. What
ever defects are acknowledged, let him still experience from
us the same candor that we so freely give upon 'similar oc
casions to the ancient masters ; let us not encourage that
fastidious disposition, which is discontented with every thing
short of perfection, and unreasonably require, as we some
times do, a union of excellencies, not perhaps quite com
patible with each other. We may, on this ground, say even
of the divine Raffaelle, that he might have finished his pic
ture as highly and as correctly as was his custom, without
heaviness of manner ; and that Poussin might have preserved
all his precision without hardness or dryness.
To show the difficulty of uniting solidity with lightness
of manner, we may produce a picture of Rubens in the
church of St. Gudule, at Brussels, as an example ; the sub-

THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE. 263
ject is, Christ's Charge to Peter ; which as it is the high
est and smoothest finished picture I remember to have
seen of that master, so it is by far the heaviest ; and if I
had found it in any other place, I should have suspected it
to be a copy ; for painters know very well, that it is princi
pally by this air of facility, or the want of it, that originals
are distinguished from copies. A lightness of effect pro
duced by color, and that produced by facility of handling,
are generally united ; a copy may preserve something of the
one, it is true, but hardly ever of the other ; a connoisseur
therefore finds it often necessary to look carefully into the
picture before he determines on its originality. Gainsbo
rough possessed this quality of lightness of manner and effect,
1 think, to an unexampled degree of excellence; but it
must be acknowledged, at the same time, that the sacrifice
which he made to this ornament of our art, was too great ;
it was, in reality, preferring the lesser excellencies to the
greater. To conclude. However we may apologise for the defi
ciencies of Gainsborough (I mean particularly his want of
precision and finishing,) who so ingeniously contrived to
cover his defects by his beauties ; and who cultivated that
department of art, where such defects are more easily ex
cused ; you are to remember, that no apology can be made
for this deficiency, in that style which this Academy teaches,
and which ought to be the object of your pursuit. It will
be necessary for you, in the first place, never to lose sight
of the great rules and principles of the art, as they are col
lected from the full body of the best general practice, and
the most constant and uniform experience ; this must be
the groundwork of all your studies : afterwards you may
profit, as in this case I wish you to profit, by the peculiar

264 THE FOURTEENTH DISCOURSE.
experience and personal talents of artists living and dead;
you may derive lights, and catch hints, from their practice ;
but the moment you turn them into models, you fall infi
nitely below them ; you may be corrupted by excellencies,
not so much belonging to the art, as personal and appropri
ated to the artist ; and become bad copiers of good painters,
instead of excellent imitators of the great universal truth
of things.

DISCOURSE XV.
Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy, on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1790.
The President takes leave of the Academy. — A Review of the Discourses. — The
Study of the Works of Michael Angelo recommended.
GENTLEMEN, The intimate connection which I have had with the
Royal Academy ever since its establishment, the social
duties in which we have all mutually engaged for so many
years, make any profession of attachment to this Institution,
on my part, altogether superfluous ; the influence of habit
alone in such a connection would naturally have produced
it. Among men united in the same body, and engaged in
the same pursuit, along with permanent friendship occasional
differences will arise. In these disputes men are naturally
too favorable to themselves, and think perhaps too hardly
of their antagonists. But composed and constituted as we
are, those little contentions will be lost to others, and they
ought certainly to be lost amongst ourselves in mutual es
teem for talents and acquirements : every controversy ought
to be, and I am persuaded will be, sunk in our zeal for the
perfection of our common Art.
In parting with the Academy, I shall remember with
pride, affection, and gratitude, the support with which I
have almost uniformly been honored from the commence
ment of our intercourse. I shall leave you, Gentlemen,
with unaffected cordial wishes for your future concord, and
23

266 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
with a well-founded hope, that in that concord the auspi
cious and not obscure origin of our Academy may be for
gotten in the splendor of your succeeding prospects.
My age, and my infirmities still more than my age,
make it probable that this will be the last time I shall have
the honor of addressing you from this place. Excluded as
I am, spatiis iniquis, from indulging my imagination with
a distant and forward perspective of life, I may be excused
if I turn my eyes back on the way which I have passed.
We may assume to ourselves, I should hope, the credit
of having endeavored, at least, to fill with propriety that
middle station which we hold in the general connection of
things. Our predecessors have labored for our advantage,
we labor for our successors ; and though we have done no
more in this mutual intercourse and reciprocation of bene
fits, than has been effected by other societies formed in this
nation for the advancement of useful and ornamental knowl
edge, yet there is one circumstance which appears to give
us an higher claim than the credit of merely doing our duty.
What I at present allude to, is the honor of having been,
some of us, the first contrivers, and all of us the promoters
and supporters, of the annual Exhibition. This scheme
could only have originated from Artists already in possession
of the favor of the public ; as it would not have been so
much in the power of others to have excited curiosity. It
must be remembered, that for the sake of bringing forward
into notice concealed merit, they incurred the risk of pro
ducing rivals to themselves ; they voluntarily entered the
lists, and ran the race a second time for the prize which
they had already won.
When we take a review of the several departmenst of
the Institution, I think we may safely congratulate our-

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 267
selves on our good fortune in having hitherto seen the chairs
of our Professors filled with men of distinguished abilities,
and who have so well acquitted themselves of their duty in
their several departments. I look upon it to be of import
ance, that none of them should be ever left unfilled : a neg
lect to provide for qualified persons, is to produce a neglect
of qualifications. In this honorable rank of Professors, I have not pre
sumed to class myself; though in the Discourses which I
have had the honor of delivering from this place, while in
one respect I may be considered as a volunteer, in another
view it seems as if I was involuntarily pressed into this
service. If prizes were to be given, it appeared not only
proper, but almost indispensably necessary, that something
should be said by the President on the delivery of those
prizes : and the President for his own credit would wish to
say something more than mere words of compliment, which,
by being frequently repeated, would soon become flat and
uninteresting, and by being uttered to many, would at last
become a distinction to none ; I thought, therefore, if I
were to preface this compliment with some instructive ob
servations on the Art, when we crowned merit in the Artists
whom we rewarded, I might do something to animate and
guide them in their future attempts.
I am truly sensible how unequal I have been to the
expression of my own ideas. To develope the latent excel
lencies, and draw out the interior principles, of our art, re
quires more skill and practice in writing, than is likely to
be possessed by a man perpetually occupied in the use of the
pencil and the pallet. It is for that reason, perhaps, that
the sister Art has had the advantage of better criticism.
Poets are naturally writers of prose. They may be said to

268 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
be practicing only an inferior department of their own art
when they are explaining and expatiating upon its most re
fined principles. But still such difficulties ought not to
deter Artists, who are not prevented by other engagements,
from putting their thoughts in order as well as they can,
and from giving to the public the result of their experience.
The knowledge which an Artist has of his subject will
more than compensate for any want of elegance in the man
ner of treating it, or even of perspicuity, which is still more
essential ; and I am convinced that one short essay written
by a Painter, will contribute more to advance the theory of
our art, than a thousand volumes such as we sometimes
see : the purpose of whieh appears to be rather to display
the refinement of the Author's own conceptions of impos
sible practice, than to convey useful knowledge or instruc
tion of any kind whatever. An Artist knows what is, and
what is not, within fhe province of his art to perform ; and
is not likely to be for ever teazing the poor Student with the
beauties of mixed passions, or to perplex him with an im
aginary union of excellencies incompatible with each other.
To this work, however, I could not be said to come to
tally unprovided with materials. I had seen much, and I
had thought much upon what I had seen ; I had something
of an habit of investigation, and a disposition to reduce all
that I observed and felt in my own mind, to method and
system ; but never having seen what I myself knew, dis
tinctly placed before me on paper, I knew nothing correctly.
To put those ideas into something like order was, to my
inexperience, no easy task. The composition, the ponere
totum even of a single Discourse, as well as of a single
statue, was the most difficult part, as perhaps it is of every
other art, and most requires the hand of a master.
23*

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 269
For the manner, whatever deficiency there was, I might
reasonably expect indulgence; but I thought it indispensa
bly necessary well to consider the opinions which were to be
given out from this place, and under the sanction of a Royal
Academy ; I therefore examined not only my own opinions,
but likewise the opinions of others. I found in the course
of this research, many precepts and rules established in our
art, which did not seem to me altogether reconcileable with
each other, yet each seemed in itself to have the same claim
of being supported by truth and nature ; and this claim, ir-
reconcileable as they may be thought, they do in reality
alike possess.
To clear away those difficulties, and reconcile those
contrary opinions, it became necessary to distinguish the
greater truth, as it may be called, from the lesser truth ;
the larger and more liberal idea of nature from the more
narrow and confined ; that which addresses itself to the im
agination, from that which is solely addressed to the eye.
In consequence of this discrimination, the different branches
of our art, to which those different truths were referred,
were perceived to make so wide a separation, and put on so
new an appearance, that they seemed scarcely to have pro
ceeded from the same general stock. The different rules
and regulations, which presided over each department of
art, followed of course : every mode of excellence, from the
grand style of the Roman and Florentine Schools down to
the lowest rank of still life, had its due weight and value,
— fitted some class or other; and nothing was thrown
away. By this disposition of our art into classes, that per
plexity and confusion, which I apprehend every Artist has
at some time experienced from the variety of styles, and the
variety of excellence with which he is surrounded, is, I
23*

270 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
should hope, in some measure removed, and the student
better enabled to judge for himself, what peculiarly belongs
to his own particular pursuit.
In reviewing my Discourses, it is no small satisfaction
to be assured that I have, in no part of them, lent my as
sistance to foster newly-hatched unfledged opinions, or en
deavored to support paradoxes, however tempting may have
been their novelty, or however ingenious I might, for the
minute, fancy them to be ; nor shall I, I hope, any where
be found to have imposed on the minds of young Students
declamation for argument, a smooth period for a sound pre
cept. I have pursued a plain and honest method: I have
taken up the art simply as I found it exemplified in the
practice of the most approved Painters. That approbation
which the world has uniformly given, I have endeavored to
justify by such proofs as questions of this kind will admit ;
by the analogy which Painting holds with the sister Arts,
and consequently by the common congeniality which they
all bear to our nature. And though in what has been done
no new discovery is pretended, I may still flatter myself,
that from the discoveries which others have made by their
own intuitive good sense and native rectitude of judgment,
I have succeeded in establishing the rules and principles of
our art on a more firm and lasting foundation than that on
which they had formerly been placed.
Without wishing to divert the Student from the practice
of his Art to speculative theory, to make him a mere con
noisseur instead of a Painter, I can not but remark, that he
will certainly find an account in considering once for all,
on what ground the fabric of our art is built. Uncertain,
confused, or erroneous opinions are not only detrimental to
an Artist in their immediate operation, but may possibly

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 271
have very serious consequences ; affect his conduct, and give
a peculiar character (as it may be called) to his taste, and
to his pursuits, through his whole life.
I was acquainted at Rome in the early part of my life,
with a Student of the French Academy, who appeared to
me to possess all the qualities requisite to make a great
Artist, if he had suffered his taste and feelings, and I may
add even his prejudices, to have fair play. He saw and
felt the excellencies of the great works of Art with which
we were surrounded, but lamented that there was not to be
found that Nature whieh is so admirable in the inferior
schools ; and he supposed with Felibien, Du Piles, and other
theorists, that such an union of different excellencies would
be the perfection of Art. He was not aware, that the nar
row idea of nature, of which he lamented the absence in
the works of those great Artists, would have destroyed the
grandeur of the general ideas which he admired, and which
was indeed the cause of his admiration. My opinions
being then confused and unsettled, I was in danger of being
borne down by this kind of plausible reasoning, though I
remember I then had a dawning of suspicion that it was
not sound doctrine ; and at the same time I was unwilling
obstinately to refuse assent to what I was unable to confute.
That the young Artist may not be seduced from the
right path, by following, what, at first view, he may think
the light of Reason, and which is indeed Reason in part,
but not in the whole, has been much the object of these
Discourses. I have taken every opportunity of recommending a ra
tional method of study, as of the last importance. The
great, I may say the sole use of an Academy is, to put, and
for some time to keep, Students in that course, that too

272 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
much indulgence may not be given to peculiarity, and that
a young man may not be taught to believe, that what is
generally good for others is not good for him.
I have strongly inculcated in my former Discourses, as
I do in this, my last, the wisdom and necessity of previously
obtaining the appropriated instruments of the Art, in a first
correct design, and a plain manly coloring before any thing
more is attempted. But by this I would not wish to cramp
and fetter the mind, or discourage those who follow (as
most of us may at one time have followed) the suggestion
of a strong inclination : something must be conceded to
great and irresistible impulses : perhaps every Student must
not be strictly bound to general methods, if they strongly
thwart the peculiar turn of his own mind. I must confess
that it is not absolutely of much consequence, whether he
proceeds in the general method of seeking first to acquire
mechanical accuracy, before he attempts poetical flights,
provided he diligently studies to attain the full perfection
of the style he pursues ; whether like Parmegiano, he en
deavors at grace and grandeur of manner before he has
learned correctness of drawing, if like him he feels his own
wants, and will labor, as that eminent artist did, to supply
those wants ; whether he starts from the East or from the
West, if he relaxes in no exertion to arrive ultimately at
the same goal. The first public work of Parmegiano is the
St. Eustachius, in the church of St. Petronius in Bologna,
and was done when he was a boy ; and one of the last of
his works is the Moses breaking the tables in Parma. In
the former there is certainly something of grandeur in the
outline, or in the conception of the figure, which discovers
the dawnings of future greatness, of a young mind impreg
nated with the sublimity of Michael Angelo, whose style

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 273
he here attempts to imitate, though he could not then draw
the human figure with any common degree of correctness.
But this same Parmegiano, when in his more mature age
he painted the Moses, had so completely supplied his first
defects, that we are here at a loss which to admire most,
the correctness of drawing, or the grandeur of the concep
tion. As a confirmation of its great excellence, and of the
impression which it leaves on the minds of elegant spec
tators, I may observe, that our great Lyric Poet, when he
conceived his sublime idea of the indignant Welsh Bard,
acknowledged, that though many years had intervened, he
had warmed his imagination with the remembrance of this
noble figure of Parmegiano.
When we consider that Michael Angelo was the great
archetype to whom Parmegiano was indebted for that gran
deur which we find in his works, and from whom all his
contemporaries and successors have derived whatever they
have possessed of the dignified and the majestic; that he
was the bright luminary, from whom Painting has bor
rowed a new lustre ; that under his hands it assumed a
new appearance, and is become another and superior art;
I may be excused if I take this opportunity, as I have
hitherto taken every occasion, to turn your attention to
this exalted Founder and Father of Modern Art, of which
he was not only the inventor, but which, by the divine
energy of his own mind, he carried at once to its highest
point of possible perfection.
The sudden maturity to which Michael Angelo brought
our Art, and the comparative feebleness of his followers and
imitators, might perhaps be reasonably, at least plausibly
explained, if we had time for such an examination. At
present I shall only observe, that the subordinate parts of

274 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
our Art, and perhaps of other Arts, expand themselves by
a slow and progressive growth ; but those which depend on
a native vigor of imagination generally burst forth at once
in fulness of beauty. Of this Homer probably, and Shak
speare more assuredly, are signal examples. Michael Angelo
possessed the poetical part of our art in a most eminent de
gree ; and the same daring spirit, which urged him first to
explore the unknown regions of the imagination, delighted
with the novelty, and animated by the success of his disco
veries, could not have failed to stimulate and impel him
forward in his career beyond those limits, which his follow
ers, destitute of the same incentives, had not strength to
pass. To distinguish between correctness of drawing, and that
part which respects the imagination, we may say the one
approaches to the mechanical, (which in its way too may
make just pretensions to genius,) and the other to the
poetical. To encourage a solid and vigorous course of
study, it may not be amiss to suggest, that perhaps a con
fidence in the mechanic produces a boldness in the poetic.
He that is sure of the goodness of his ship and tackle, puts
out fearlessly from the shore ; and he who knows that his
hand can execute whatever his fancy can suggest, sports
with more freedom in embodying the visionary forms of
his own creation. I will not say Michael Angelo was emi
nently poetical, only because he was greatly mechanical ;
but I am sure that mechanic excellence invigorated and
emboldened his mind to carry painting into the regions of
poetry, and to emulate that art in its most adventurous
flights. Michael Angelo equally possessed both qualifica
tions. Yet of mechanic excellence there were certainly
great examples to be found in Ancient Sculpture, and par-

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 275
ticularly in the fragment known by the name of the Torso
of Michael Angelo ; but of that grandeur of character, air,
and attitude, which he threw into all his figures, and which
so well corresponds with the grandeur of his outline, there
was no example ; it could therefore proceed only from the
most poetical and sublime imagination.
It is impossible not to express some surprise, that the
race of Painters who preceded Michael Angelo, men of ac
knowledged great abilities, should never have thought of
transferring a little of that grandeur of outline which they
could not but see and admire in Ancient Sculpture, into
their own works ; but they appear to have considered Sculp
ture as the later Schools of Artists look at the inventions
of Michael Angelo, — as something to be admired, but with
which they have nothing to do : quod super nos, nihil ad
nos. The Artists of that age, even Raffaelle himself, seemed
to be going on very contentedly in the dry manner of Pietro
Perugino ; and if Michael Angelo had never appeared, the
Art might still have continued in the same style.
Beside Rome and Florence, where the grandeur of this
style was first displayed, it was on this Foundation that the
Caracci built the truly great Academical Bolognian school,
of which the first stone was laid by Pellegrino Tibaldi. He
first introduced this style among them ; and many instances
might be given in which he appears to have possessed as by
inheritance, the true, genuine, noble and elevated mmd of
Michael Angelo. Though we can not venture to speak of
him with the same fondness as his countrymen, and call
him, as the Caracci did, Nostro Michael Angelo riformato;
yet he has a right to be considered amongst the first and
greatest of his followers; there are certainly many drawings
and inventions of his, of which Michael Angelo himself

276 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
might not disdain to be supposed the author, or that they
should be, as in fact they often are, mistaken for his. I
will mention one particular instance, because it is found in
a book which is in every young Artist's hand ; — Bishop's
Ancient Statues. He there has introduced a print, repre
senting Polyphemus, from a drawing of Tibaldi, and has
inscribed it with the name of Michael Angelo, to whom he
has also in the same book attributed a Sybil of Raffaelle.
Both these figures, it is true, are professedly in Michael
Angelo's style and spirit, and even worthy of his hand.
But we know that the former is painted in the Institute
a Bologna by Tibaldi, and the other in the Pace by
Raffaelle. The Caracci, it is acknowledged, adopted the mechanical
part with sufficient success. But the divine part which ad
dresses itself to the imagination, as possessed by Michael
Angelo or Tibaldi, was beyond their grasp : they formed,
however, a most respectable school, a style more on the
level, and calculated to please a greater number ; and if
excellence of this kind is to be valued according to the
number, rather than the weight and quality of admirers, it
would assume even a higher rank in art. The same, in
some sort, may be said of Tintoret, Paulo Veronese, and
others of the Venetian Painters. They certainly much ad
vanced the dignity of their style by adding to their fasci
nating [powers of coloring something of the strength of
Michael Angelo ; at the same time it may still be a doubt,
how far their ornamental elegance would be an advanta
geous addition to his grandeur. But if there is any man
ner of Painting which may be said to unite kindly with his
style, it is that of Titian. His handling, the manner in
which his colors are left on the canvass, appears to proceed

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 277
(as far as that goes) from a congenial mind, equally dis
dainful of vulgar criticism.
Michael Angelo's strength thus qualified, and made
more palatable to the general taste, reminds me of an ob
servation which I heard a learned critic* make, when it
was accidentally remarked, that our translation of Homer,
however excellent, did not convey the character, nor had
the grand air of the original. He replied, that if Pope had
not clothed the naked Majesty of Homer with the graces
and elegancies of modern fashions, — though the real dignity
of' Homer was degraded by such a dress, his translation
would not have met with such a favorable reception, and
he must have been contented with fewer readers.
Many of the Flemish painters, who studied at Rome in
that great era of our art, such as Francis Rloris, Hemskirk,
Michael Coxis, Jerom Cock, and others, returned to their
own country with as much of this grandeur as they could
carry. But like seeds falling on a soil not prepared or
adapted to their nature, the manner of Michael Angelo
thrived but little with them ; perhaps, however, they con
tributed to prepare the way for that free, unconstrained,
and liberal outline, which was afterwards introduced by
Rubens through the medium of the Venetian Painters.
The grandeur of style has been in different degrees dis
seminated over all Europe. Some caught it by living at
the time, and coming into contact with the original author,
whilst others received it at second hand ; and being every
where adopted, it has totally changed the whole taste and
style of design, if there could be said to be any style before
his time. Our art, in consequence, now assumes a rank to
* Dr. Johnson.
24

278 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
which it could never have dared to aspire, if Michael Angelo
had not discovered to the world the hidden powers which
it possessed. Without his assistance we never could have
been convinced, that Painting was capable of producing an
adequate representation of the persons and actions of the
heroes of the Iliad.
I would ask any man qualified to judge of such works,
whether he can look with indifference at the personification
of the Supreme Being in the centre of the Capella Sestina,
or the figures of the Sybils which surround that chapel,
to which we may add the statue of Moses ; and whether
the same sensations are not excited by those works, as
what he may remember to have felt from the most sublime
passages of Homer? I mention those figures more particu
larly, as they come nearer to a comparison with his Jupiter,
his demi-gods, and heroes ; those Sybils and Prophets being
a kind of intermediate beings between men and angels.
Though instances may be produced in tbe works of other
Painters, which may justly stand in competition with those
I have mentioned, such as the Isaiah, and the vision of
Ezekiel, by Raffaelle, the St. Mark of Frate Bartolomeo,
and many others ; yet these, it must be allowed, are inven
tions so much in Michael Angelo's manner of thinking,
that they may be truly considered as so many rays, which
discover manifestly the centre from whence they emanated.
The sublime in Painting, as in Poetry, so overpowers,
and takes such a possession of the whole mind, that no,
room is left for attention to minute criticism. The little
elegancies of art in the presence of these great ideas thus
greatly expressed, lose all their value, and are, for the
instant at least, felt to be unworthy of our notice. The
correct judgment, the purity of taste which characterise

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 279
Raffaelle, the exquisite grace of Correggio and Parme
giano, all disappear before them.
That Michael Angelo was capricious in his inventions,
can not be denied ; and this may make some circumspection
necessary in studying his works ; for though they appear
to become him, an imitation of them is always dangerous,
and will prove sometimes ridiculous. " Within that circle
none durst walk but he." To me, I confess, his caprice
does not lower the estimation of his genius, even though
it is sometimes, I acknowledge, carried to the extreme :
and however those eccentric excursions are considered, we
must at the same time recollect that those faults, if they
are faults, are such as never could occur to a mean and
vulgar mind : that they flowed from the same source which
produced his greatest beauties, and were therefore such as
none but himself was capable of committing : they were
the powerful impulses of a mind unused to subjection of
any kind, and too high to be controlled by cold criticism.
Many see his daring extravagance, who can see nothing
else. A young Artist finds the works of Michael Angelo
so totally different from those of his own master, or of
those with whom he is surrounded, that he may be easily
persuaded to abandon and neglect studying a style which
appears to him wild, mysterious, and above his comprehen
sion, and which he therefore feels no disposition to admire ;
a good disposition, which he concludes that he should
naturally have, if the style deserved it. It is necessary,
therefore, that students should be prepared for the disap
pointment which they may experience at their first setting
out; and they must be cautioned, that probably they will
not, at first sight, approve.
It must be remembered, that this great style itself is

280 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
artificial in the highest degree : it presupposes in the spec
tator, a cultivated and prepared artificial state of mind. It is
an absurdity therefore, to suppose that we are born with this
taste, though we are with the seeds of it, which, by the heat
and kindly influence of this genius, may be ripened in us.
A late Philosopher and Critic* has observed, speaking
of taste, that we are on no account to expect that fine things
should descend to us — our taste, if possible, must be made to
ascend to them. The same learned writer recommends to
us even to feign a relish, till we find a relish come; and
feel, that what began in fiction, terminates in reality. If
there be in our Art any thing of that agreement or compact,
such as I apprehend there is in music, with which the
Critic is necessarily required previously to be acquainted,
in order to form a correct judgment : the comparison with
this art will illustrate what I have said on these points, and
tend to show the probability, we may say the certainty, that
men are not born with a relish for those arts in their most
refined state, which as they can not understand, they can
not be impressed with their effects. This great style of
Michael Angelo is as far removed from the simple repre
sentation of the common objects of nature, as the most re
fined Italian music is from the inartificial notes of nature,
from whence they both profess to originate. But without
such a supposed compact, we may be very confident that
the highest state of refinement in either of those arts will
not be relished without a long and industrious attention.
In pursuing this great Art, it must be acknowledged
that we labor under greater difficulties than those who were
born in the age of its discovery, and whose minds from their
* * James Harris, Esq.— E.

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 281
infancy were habituated to this style ; who learned it as
language, as their mother tongue. They had no mean taste
to unlearn ; they needed no persuasive discourse to allure
them to a favorable reception of it, no abstruse investigation
of its principles to convince them of the great latent truths
on which it is founded. We are constrained, in these latter
days, to have recourse to a sort of Grammar and Dictionary,
as the only means of recovering a dead language. It was
by them learned by rote, and perhaps better learned that
way than by precept.
The style of Michael Angelo, which I have compared to
language, and which may, poetically speaking, be called
the language of the gods, now no longer exists, as it did in
the fifteenth century ; yet, with the aid of diligence, we may
in a great measure supply the deficiency which I mentioned
— of not having his works so perpetually before our eyes —
by having recourse to casts from his models and designs in
Sculpture ; to drawings, or even copies of those drawings ;
to prints, which, ' however ill executed, still convey some
thing by which this taste may be formed, and a relish may
be fixed and established in our minds for this grand style
of invention. Some examples of this kind we have in the
Academy; and I sincerely wish there were more, that the
younger students might in their first nourishment imbibe
this taste ; whilst others, though settled in the practice of
the common-place style of Painters, might infuse, by this
means, a grandeur into their works.
I shall now make some remarks on the course which
I think most proper to be pursued in such a study. I wish
you not to go so much to the derivative streams, as to the
fountain-head; though the copies are not to be neglected;
because they may give you hints in what manner you
24*

282 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
may copy, and how the genius of one man may be made to
fit the peculiar manner of another.
To recover this lost taste, I would recommend young
Artists to study the works of Michael Angelo, as he him
self did the works of the ancient Sculptors; he began
when a child, a copy of a mutilated Satyr's head, and
finished in his model what was wanting in the original.
In the same manner, the first exercise that I would recom
mend to the young artist when he first attempts invention,
is, to select every figure, if possible, from the inventions
of Michael Angelo. If such borrowed figures will not
bend to his purpose, and he is constrained to make a
change to supply a figure himself, that figure will necessa
rily be in the same style with the rest ; and his taste will
by this means be naturally initiated, and nursed in the lap
of grandeur. He will sooner perceive what constitutes
this grand style by one practical trial than by a thousand
speculations, and he will in some sort procure to himself
that advantage which in these later ages has been denied
him ; the advantage of having the greatest of Artists for
his master and instructor.
The next lesson should be, to change the purpose of
the figures without changing the attitude, as Tintoret has
done with the Samson of Michael Angelo. Instead of the
figure which Samson bestrides, he has placed an eagle
under him; and instead of the jaw-bone, thunder and
lightning in his right hand ; and thus it becomes a Jupiter,
Titian, in the same manner, has taken the figure which
represents God dividing the light from the darkness in
the vault of the Capeila Sestina, and has introduced it in
the famous battle of Cadore, so much celebrated by Va
sari; and extraordinary as it may seem, it is here con-

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 283
verted to a general, falling from his horses A real judge
who should look at this picture, would immediately pro
nounce the attitude of that figure to be in a greater style
than any other figure of the composition. These two
instances may be sufficient, though many more might be
given in their works, as well as in those of other great
Artists. When the Student has been habituated to this grand
conception of the Art, when the relish for this style is
established, makes a part of himself, and is woven into his
mind, he will, by this time, have got a power of selecting
from whatever occurs in nature that is grand, and corre
sponds with that taste which he has now acquired, and will
pass over whatever is common-place and insipid. He may
then bring to the mart such works of his own proper
invention as may enrich and increase the general stock of
invention in our Art.
I am confident of the truth and propriety of the advice
which I have recommended ; at the same time I am aware,
how much by this advice I have laid myself open to the
sarcasms of those critics who imagine our Art to be a
matter of inspiration. But I should be sorry it should
appear even to myself that I wanted that courage which I
have recommended to the Students in another way : equal
courage perhaps is required in the adviser and the advised;
they both must equally dare and bid defianoe to narrow
criticism and vulgar opinion.
That the Art has been in a gradual state of decline,
from the age of Michael Angelo to the present, must be
acknowledged ; and we may reasonably impute this declen
sion to the same cause to which the ancient Critics and
Philosophers have imputed the corruption of eloquence.

284 THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
Indeed the safte causes are likely at all times and in all
ages to produce the same effects; indolence — not taking
the same pains as our great predecessors took — desiring to
find a shorter way — are the general imputed causes. The
words of Petronius* are very remarkable. After opposing
the natural chaste beauty of the eloquence of former ages
to the strained inflated style then in fashion, " neither,"
says he, "has the Art of Painting had a better fate, after
the boldness of the Egyptians had found out a compen
dious way to execute so great an art."
By compendious, I understand him to mean a mode of
Painting, such as has infected the style of the later Painters
of Italy and France ; common-place, without thought, and
with as little trouble, working as by a receipt ; in contra
distinction to that style for which even a relish can not be
acquired without care and long attention, and most certainly
the power of executing can not be obtained without the most
laborious application.
I have endeavored to stimulate the ambition of Artists
to tread in this great path of glory, and, as well as I can,
have pointed out the track which leads to it, and have at
the same time told them the price at which it may be ob
tained. It is an ancient saying, that labor is the price
which the gods have set upon every thing valuable.
The great Artist who has been so much the subject of
the present Discourse, was distinguished even from his
infancy for his indefatigable diligence ; and this was con
tinued through his whole life, till prevented by extreme old
age. The poorest of men, as he observed himself, did not
labor from necessity, more than he did from choice. In-
* Pictura quoque non alium exitum fecit, postquam iEgyptio-
rum audacia tarn magnre artis compendiariam invenit. — R.

THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE. 285
deed, from all the circumstances related of his life, he
appears not to have had the least conception that his art was
to be acquired by any other means than great labor ; and
yet he, of all men that ever lived, might make the greatest
pretensions to the efficacy of native genius and inspiration.
I have no doubt that he would have thought it no disgrace,
that it should be said of him, as he himself said of
Raffaelle, that he did not possess his art from nature, but
by long study.* He was conscious that the great excellence
to which he arrived was gained by dint of labor, and was
unwilling to have it thought that any transcendant skill,
however natural its effects might seem, could be purchased
at a cheaper price than he had paid for it. This seems to
have been the true drift of his observation. We can not
suppose it made with any intention of depreciating the
genius of Raffaelle, of whom he always spoke, as Condivi
says, with the greatest respect : though they were rivals, no
such illiberality existed between them ; and Raffaelle on his
part entertained the greatest veneration for Michael Angelo,
as appears from the speech which is recorded of him, that he
congratulated himself, and thanked God, that he was born
in the same age with that painter.
If the high esteem and veneration in which Michael
Angelo has been held by all nations and in all ages, should
be put to the account of prejudice, it must still be granted
that those prejudices, could not have been entertained with
out a cause : the ground of our prejudice then becomes
the source of our admiration. But from whatever it pro
ceeds, or whatever it is called, it will not, I hope, be thought
presumptuous in me to appear in the train, I can not say of
* Che Raffaelle non ebbe quest' arte da natura, ma per longo stu
dio.— R. *

286 -THE FIFTEENTH DISCOURSE.
his imitators, but of his admirers. I have taken another
course, one more suited to my abilities, and to the taste
of the times in which I live. Yet, however unequal I feel
myself to that attempt, were I now to begin the world
again, I would tread in the steps of that great master : to
kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the slightest of his
perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for an
ambitious man.
I feel a self-congratulation in knowing myself capable
of; such sensations as he intended to excite. I reflect, not
without vanity, that these Discourses bear testimony of my
admiration of that truly divine man ; and I should desire
that the last words which I should pronounce in this Acad
emy, and from this place, might be the name of — Michael
Angelo.*
* Unfortunately for mankind, these were the last words pro
nounced by this great Painter from the Academical chair. He
died about fourteen months after this Discourse was delivered. — M.

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