LECTURES 
 
 ON 
 
 PAINTING. 
 
Printed by A. and R. Spottiswoode, 
 Printers-Street, London. 
 
V 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/lecturesonpainti00fuse_1 
 
ri,l:U.v7icd Mav I ,11 v. M I (adOl t nrjiatvj. SOmnlXmdm 
 
LECTURES 
 
 ON 
 
 PAINTING, 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY, 
 
 BY HENRY FUSELI, P.P. 
 WITH ADDITIONAL OBSERVATIONS AND NOTES. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, IN THE STRAND, 
 
 BOOKSELLERS TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY; 
 AND W. BLACKWOOD, EDINGBURGH. 
 
 1820. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It cannot be considered as superfluous or assuming 
 to present the reader of the following" lectures, with 
 a succinct characteristic sketch of the principal 
 technic instruction, ancient and modem, which we 
 possess : I say, a sketch, for an elaborate and me- 
 thodical survey, or a plan well digested and strictly 
 followed, would demand a volume. These observ- 
 ations, less written for the man of letters and culti- 
 vated taste, than for the student who wishes to inform 
 himself of the history and progress of his art, are to 
 direct him to the sources from which my principles 
 are deduced, to enable him, by comparing my authors 
 with myself, to judge how far the theory which I 
 deliver, may be depended on as genuine, or ought 
 to be rejected as erroneous or false. 
 
 I 
 
iv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The works or fragments of works which we 
 possess, are either purely elementary, critically his- 
 torical, biographic, or mixed up of all three. On 
 the books purely elementary, the van of which is led 
 by Lionardo da Vinci and Albert Durer, and the rear 
 by Gherard Lairesse, as the principles which they 
 detail must be supposed to be already in the student's 
 possession, or are occasionally interwoven with the 
 topics of the Lectures, I shall not expatiate, but im- 
 mediately proceed to the historically critical writers ; 
 who consist of all the antients yet remaining, Pavi- 
 sanias excepted. 
 
 We may thank Destiny that, in the general wreck 
 of antient art, a sufficient number of entire and 
 mutilated monuments have escaped the savage rage of 
 barbarous conquest, and the still more savage hand 
 of superstition, not only to prove that the principles 
 which we deliver, formed the body of antient art, bvit 
 to furnish us with their standard of style. For if we 
 had nothing to rely on to prove its existence than the 
 historic and critical information left us, such is the 
 
INTRODUCTION. v 
 
 chaos of assertion and contradiction, such the chro- 
 nologic confusion, and dissonance of dates, that 
 nothing" short of a miracle could guide us through 
 the labyrinth, and the whole would assume a fabul- 
 ous aspect. Add to this the occupation and character 
 of the writers, none of them a professional man. 
 For the rules of Parrhasius, the volumes of Pam- 
 philus, Apelles, Metrodorus, all irrecoverably lost, 
 we must rely on the hasty compilations of a warrior, 
 or the incidental remarks of an orator, Pliny and 
 Quintilian. Pliny, authoritative in his verdicts, a 
 Roman in decision, was rather desirous of knowing 
 much, than of knowing well ; the other, though, as 
 appears, a man of exquisite taste, was too much 
 occupied by his own art to allow ours more than a 
 rapid glance. In Pliny, it is necessary, and for an 
 artist not very difficult, to distinguish when he speaks 
 from himself and when he dehvers an extract, how- 
 ever short ; whenever he does the first, he is seldom 
 able to separate the kernel from the husk ; he is 
 credulous, irrelevant, ludicrous. The Jupiter of Phi- 
 dias, the Doryphorus of Polycletus, the Aphrodite of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Praxiteles, the Demos of Parrhasius, the Venus of 
 Apelles, provoke his admiration in no greater degree 
 than the cord drawn over the horns and muzzle of 
 the bull in the group of Amphion Zetus and Antiopa ; 
 the spires and windings of the serpents in that of the 
 Laocoon, the effect of the foam from the sponge of 
 Protogenes, the partridge in his Jalysus, the grapes 
 that imposed on the birds, and the curtain which de- 
 ceived Zevixis. Such is Pliny when he speaks from 
 himself, or perhaps from the hints of some Dilettante ; 
 but when he delivers an extract, his information is not 
 only essential and important, but expressed by the 
 most appropriate words. Such is his account of the 
 g4azing-method of Apelles, in which, as Reynolds 
 has observed, he speaks the language of an artist ; 
 such is what he says of the manner in which Proto- 
 genes embodied his colours, though it may require 
 the practice of an artist to penetrate his meaning. 
 No sculptor could describe better in many words 
 than he does in one, the manoeuvre by which 
 Nicias gave the decided line of correctness to the 
 models of Praxiteles ; the word circumlitio, shaping. 
 
INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 rounding the moist clay with the finger is evidently 
 a term of art. Thus when he describes the method 
 of Pausias, who, in painting a sacrifice, foreshort- 
 ened the bull and threw his shade on part of 
 the surrounding crowd, he throws before us the 
 depth of the scenery and its forcible chiaro- 
 scuro ; nor is he less happy, at least in my opi- 
 nion, when he translates the deep aphorism by 
 which Eupompus directed Lysippus to recur to 
 Nature, and to animate the rigid form with the 
 air of life. 
 
 In his dates he seldom errs, and sometimes adjusts 
 or corrects the errours of Greek chronology, though 
 not with equal attention ; for whilst he exposes the 
 impropriety of ascribing to Polycletus a statue of 
 Hephestion, the friend of Alexander, who lived a 
 century after him, he thinks it worth his while to 
 repeat that Erynna, the contemporary of Sappho, 
 who lived nearly as many years before him, celebrated 
 in her poems a work of his friend and fellow-scholar 
 Myron of Eleutherae. His text is at the same time so 
 
 a2 
 
viii 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 deplorably mutilated that it often equally defies con- 
 jecture and interpretation. Still, from what is ge- 
 nuine it must be confessed that he condenses in a 
 few chapters the contents of volumes, and fills the 
 whole atmosphere of art. Whatever he tells, whe- 
 ther the most puerile legend, or the best attested fact, 
 he tells with dignity. 
 
 Of Quintilian, whose information is all relative 
 to style, the tenth chapter of the twelfth book, a pas- 
 sage on Expression in the eleventh, and scattered 
 fragments of observations analogous to the process of 
 his own art, is all that we possess ; but what he says, 
 though comparatively small in balk with what we 
 have of Pliny, leaves us to wish for more. His re- 
 view of the revolutions of style in painting, from 
 Polygnotus to Apelles, and in sculpture from Phi- 
 dias to Lysippus, is succinct and rapid ; but though 
 so rapid and succinct, every word is poised by cha- 
 racteristic precision, and can only be the result of 
 long and judicious inquiry, and perhaps even minute 
 examination. His theory and taste savour neither of 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 the antiquary nor the mere Dilettante ; he neither 
 dwells on the infancy of art with doating" fondness, 
 nor melts its essential and solid principles in the cru- 
 cibles of merely curious or voluptuous execution. 
 
 Still less in volume, and still less intentional are the 
 short but important observations on the principles of 
 art and the epochs of style, scattered over nearly all 
 the works of Cicero, but chiefly his Orator and Rhe- 
 toric Institutions. Some of his introductions to thes^ 
 books mig-ht furnish the classic scenery of Poussin 
 with figures ; and though he seems to have had as 
 little native taste for painting and sculpture, and 
 even less than he had taste for poetry, he had a 
 conception of nature ; and, with his usual acumen, 
 comparing the principles of one art with those of 
 another, frequently scattered useful hints, or made 
 pertinent observations. For many of these he might 
 probably be indebted to Hortensius, with whom, 
 though his rival in eloquence, he lived on terms of 
 familiarity, and who was a man of declared taste and 
 
 one of the first collectors of the time. 
 
 7 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Pausanias, the Cappadocian, was certainly no 
 critic, and his credulity is at least equal to his 
 cui'iosity ; he is often little more than a nomenclator, 
 and the indiscriminate chronicler of legitimate tra- 
 dition and legendary trash ; but the minute and 
 scrupulous diligence with which he examined what 
 fell under his own eye, amply makes up for what he 
 may want of method or of judgment. His descrip- 
 tion of the pictures of Polygnotus at Delphi, and of 
 the Jupiter of Phidias at Olympia, are perhaps 
 superiour to all that might have been given by men 
 of more assuming powers, mines of information, 
 and inestimable legacies to our arts. 
 
 The Heroics of the elder, and the Eicones or 
 Picture Galleries of the elder and younger Philos- 
 tratus, though perhaps not expressly written for the 
 artist, and rather to amuse than to instruct, cannot 
 be sufficiently consulted by the epic or dramatic 
 artist. The Heroics furnish the standard of form 
 and habits for the Grecian and Troic warriours, from 
 Protesilaus to Paris and Euphorbus ; and he who 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 wishes to acquaint himself with the hmits the ancients 
 prescribed to invention, and the latitude they allowed 
 to expression, will find no better guide than an 
 attentive survey of the subjects displayed in their 
 g-alleries. ' 
 
 Such are the most prominent features of antient cri- 
 ticism, and those which we wish the artist to be fami- 
 liar with ; the innumerable hints, maxims, anecdotes, 
 descriptions, scattered over Lucian, Aelian, Athenaeus, 
 Achilles Tatius, Tatian, Pollux, and many more^ 
 may be consulted to advantage by the man of tavSte 
 dnd letters, and probably may be neglected without 
 much loss by the student. 
 
 Of modern writers on art, Vasari leads the van ; 
 theorist, artist, critic, and biographer in one. The 
 history of modem art owes no doubt much to Vasari ; 
 he leads us from its cradle, to its maturity, with the 
 anxious diligence of a nurse, but he likewise has her 
 derelictions ; for more loquacious than ample, and 
 less discriminating styles than eager to accumulate 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 descriptions, he is at an early period exhausted by the 
 superlatives lavished on inferiour claims, and forced 
 into frigid rhapsodies and astrologic nonsense to do 
 justice to the greater. He swears by the divinity of 
 M. Agnolo. He tells us himself that he copied every 
 figure of the Capella Sistina and the Stanze of Raf- 
 faello ; yet his memory was either so treacherous (a) , 
 or his rapidity in writing* so inconsiderate, that his ac- 
 count of both is a mere heap of errours and unpar- 
 donable confusion ; and one might almost fancy that 
 he had never entered the Vatican. Of Coreggio he 
 leaves us less informed than of Apelles. Even Bottari, 
 the learned editor of his work, his countryman and 
 advocate against the complaints of Agostino Carracci 
 and Federigo Zucchero, though ever ready to fight 
 his battles, is at a loss to account for his mistakes. 
 He has been called the Herodotus of our art, and if the 
 main simplicity of his narrative, and the desire of heap- 
 
 (fl) There will be an opportunity to notice that incredible dereliction of remi- 
 niscence which prompted him to transfer what he had rightly ascribed to Giorgione, 
 in the Florentine edition, 1550, to the elder Palma in the subsequent ones. See 
 Lecture on Chiaroscuro. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 xiii 
 
 ing" anecdote on anecdote, entitle him in some degree 
 to that appellation, we ought not to forget, that the 
 information of every day adds something to the au- 
 thenticity of the Greek historian, whilst every day 
 furnishes matter to question the credibility of the 
 Tuscan. 
 
 What we find not in Vasari it is useless to search for 
 amid the rubbish of his contemporaries or followers, 
 from Condivi to Ridolfi, and on to Malvasia, whose 
 criticism on the style of Lodovico Carracci and 
 his pupils in the cloisters of St. Michele in Bosco, 
 near Bologna, amount to little more than a sonorous 
 rhapsody of ill applied or empty metaphors and 
 extravagant praise ; till the appearance of Lanzi, 
 who in his * Storia Pittorica della Italia,' has availed 
 himself of all the information existing in his time, 
 has corrected most of those who wrote before him, 
 and though perhaps not possessed of great dis- 
 criminative powers, has accumulated more instructive 
 anecdotes, rescued more deserving names from obli- 
 
 b 
 
iiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 vion, and opened a wider prospect of art than all bis 
 predecessors, {b) 
 
 The French critics composed a complete system of 
 rules. Du Fresnoy spent his life in composing* and 
 revising general aphorisms in Latin classic verse ; 
 some on granted, some on disputable, some on false 
 principles. Though Horace was his model, neither 
 the Poet's language nor method have been imitated by 
 
 (b) It ought not, however, to be disguised, that the history of art, deviating from its 
 real object, has been swelled to a diffuse catalogue of individuals, who, being the 
 nurslings of different schools, or picking something from the real establishers of art, 
 have done little more than repeat or mimic rather than imitate, at second hand, what 
 their masters or predecessors had found in nature, discriminated and applied to art 
 in obedience to its dictates. Without depreciating the merits of that multitude who 
 strenuously passed life in following others, it must be pronounced a task^befow 
 history to allow them more than a transitory glance ; neither novelty nor selection 
 and combination of scattered materials, are entitled to serious attention from him who 
 only investigates the real progress of art, if novelty is proved to have added nothing 
 essential to the system, and selection to have only diluted energy, and by a popular 
 anialgama to have been content with captivating the vulgar. Novelty, without en- 
 larging the circle of fancy, may delight, but is nearer allied to whim than to 
 invention ; and an Eccletic system without equality of parts, as it originated in want 
 of comprehension, totters on the brink of mediocrity, sinks art, or splits it into 
 crafts decorated with the specious name of schools, whose members, authorised by 
 prescript, emboldened by dexterity of hand, encouraged by ignorance, or heading a 
 cabal, subsist on mere repetition, with few more legitimate claims to the honours of 
 history than a rhapsodist to those of the poem which he recites. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 him. From Du Fresnoy himself, we learn not what 
 is essential, what accidental, what superinduced, in 
 style ; from his text none ever rose practically wiser 
 than he sat down to study it : if he be useful, he owes 
 his usefulness to the penetration of his English com- 
 mentator ; the notes of Reynolds, treasures of prac- 
 tical observation, place him among those whom we 
 may read with profit. What can be learnt from pre- 
 cept, founded on prescriptive authority, more than 
 on the verdicts of nature, is displayed in the volumes 
 of De Piles and Felibien ; a system, as it has been fol- 
 lowed by the former students of their academy, and 
 sent out with the successful combatants for the premium 
 to their academic establishment at Rome, to have its 
 efficiency proved by the contemplation of Italian style 
 and execution. The timorous candidates for fame, 
 knowing its rules to be the only road to success at 
 their return, whatever be their individual bent of cha- 
 racter, implicitly adopt them, and the consequence is, 
 as may be supposed, that technical equality, which 
 borders on mediocrity. After an exulting and eager 
 survey of the wonders the place exhibits, they all im- 
 
 b '2 
 
XVI 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 dergo a similar course of study. Six montlis are al- 
 lotted to the Vatican, and in equal portions divided 
 between the Fierte of M. Agnolo, and the more cor- 
 rect graces of RafFaello ; the next six months are in 
 equal intervals devoted to the academic powers of An- 
 nibale Carracci, and the purity of the antique. 
 
 About the middle of the last century the German 
 critics, established at Rome, began to claim the 
 exclusive privilege of teaching the art, and to foi in 
 a complete system of antique style. The verdicts 
 of Mengs and Winkelmann became the oracles of 
 Antiquaries, dilettanti, and artists from the Pyrenees 
 to the utmost North of Europe, have been detailed, 
 and are not without their influence here. Winkel- 
 mann was the parasite of the fragments that fell 
 from the conversation or the tablets of Mengs, a 
 deep scholar, and better fitted to comment a classic 
 than to give lessons on art and style, he reasoned 
 himself into frigid reveries and Platonic dreams on 
 beauty. As far as the taste or the instructions of his 
 tutor directed him, he is right, whenever they are. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 and between his own learnings and the tuition of 
 the other, his history of art dehvers a specious 
 system and a prodigious number of useful observa- 
 tions. He has not, however, in his regulation of 
 epochs, discriminated styles, and masters, with the 
 precision, attention, and acumen, which from the 
 advantages of his situation and habits might have 
 been expected; and disappoints us as often by 
 meagreness, neglect, and confusion, as he offends by 
 laboured and inflated rhapsodies on the most cele- 
 brated monuments of art. To him Germany owes 
 the shackles of her artists, and the narrow limits 
 of their aim ; from him they have learnt to substitute 
 the means for the end, and by a hopeless chace 
 after what they call beauty, to lose what alone can 
 make beauty interesting, expression and mind. The 
 works of Mengs himself are no doubt full of the 
 most useful information, deep observation, and often 
 consummate criticism. He has traced and distin- 
 g-uished the principles of the moderns from those of 
 the ancients ; and in his comparative view of the de- 
 sign, colour, composition, and expression of Raff'aello 
 
xviii 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Correg"gio and Tiziano, with luminous perspicuity and 
 deep precision, pointed out the prerog-ative or inferior- 
 ity of each. As an artist he is an instance of what per- 
 severance, study, experience and encouragement can 
 atchieve to supply the place of genius. 
 
 Of English critics, whose writings preceded the 
 present century, whether we consider solidity of 
 theory or practical usefulness, the last is undoubtedly 
 the first. To compare Reynolds with his predecessors 
 would equally disgrace our judgment and impeach 
 our gratitude. His volumes can never be consulted 
 without profit, and should never be quitted by the 
 student's hand, but to embody by exercise the precepts 
 he gives and the means he points out. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 159. line 4. put a comma arter « life," instead of a "ipmicolon. 
 
 ICO. line 9. put a comma after "genus." 
 
 182. line 5. put a comma after "friend," instead of a full point. 
 
 206. last line, for " alternately," read " alternates." 
 
 212. line 11. for "humorous," read "numerous." 
 
 214. line 12. dele the comma after "lower." 
 
 224. line 3. put a comma after " one." 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 ANCIENT ART. 
 
 Tij av /*.»ju.>)cra(r3«4 §uv«ito ? 
 
 AOYKIANOT :S«jt*. eixovey. 
 
AEGUMENT. 
 
 Introduction. Greece the legitimate parent of the Art. — Summary of the local 
 and political causes. Conjectures on the mechanic process of the Art. Period of 
 preparation — Polygnotus — essential style — Apollodorus — characteristic style. 
 Period of establishment — Zeuxis, Parrhasius, Timanthes. ] Period of refinement 
 — Eupompus — Apelles, Aristides, Euphranor. , 
 
FIRST LECTURE, 
 
 The difficulties of the task prescribed to me, 
 if they do not preponderate are at least equal to the 
 honour of the situation. If, to discourse on any topic 
 with truth, precision, and clearness, before a mixed 
 or fortuitous audience, before men neither initiated 
 in the subject, nor rendered minutely attentive by 
 expectation, be no easy task, how much more ardu- 
 ous must it be to speak systematically on an art, be- 
 fore a select assembly, composed of Professors whose 
 life has been divided between theory and practice, of 
 Critics whose taste has been refined by contempla- 
 tion and comparison, and of Students, who bent on 
 the same pursuit, look for the best and always most 
 compendious method of mastering the principles, to 
 arrive at its emoluments and honours. Your lecturer 
 is to instruct them in the principles of * composition ; 
 
 * to form their taste for design and colouring* ; to 
 
 * strengthen their judgnient ; to point out to them the 
 
 B 
 
 1 
 
2 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 ' beauties and imperfections of celebrated works of 
 ' art ; and the particular excellencies and defects of 
 ' gTeat masters ; and finally, to lead them into the 
 ' readiest and most efficacious paths of study.' * — If, 
 Gentlemen, these directions presuppose in the student 
 a sufficient stock of elementary knowledge, an ex- 
 pertness in the rudiments, not mere wishes but a 
 peremptory will of improvement, and judgment with 
 docility ; how much more do they imply in the person 
 selected to address them — knowledo:e founded on 
 theory, substantiated and matured by practice, a mass 
 of select and well digested materials, perspicuity of 
 method and command of words, imagination to place 
 things in such views as they are not commonly seen 
 m, presence of mind, and that resolution, the re- 
 sult of conscious vigour, which in daring to correct 
 errours, cannot be easily discountenanced. — As con- 
 ditions like these would discourage abilities far supe- 
 rior to mine, my hopes of approbation, moderate as 
 they are, must in a great measure depend on that 
 indulgence which may grant to my will what it would 
 refuse to my powers. 
 
 Before I proceed to the history of style itself, it 
 seems to be necessary that we should agree about the 
 
 * Abstract of the Laws of the Royal Academy, article Professors^: page 21, 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 3 
 
 terms which denote its object and perpetually recur in 
 treating" of it ; that my vocabulary of technic expression 
 should not clash with the dictionary of my audience : 
 mine is nearly that of your late president. I shall 
 confine myself at present to a few of the most import- 
 ant ; the words nature, beauty, grace, taste, copy, 
 imitation, genius, talent. Thus, by nature I under- 
 stand the general and permanent principles of visible 
 objects, not disfigured by accident, or distempered by 
 disease, not modified by fashion or local habits. Nature 
 is a collective idea, and though its essence exist in 
 each individual of the species, can never in its per- 
 fection inhabit a single object. On beauty I do not 
 mean to perplex you or myself with abstract ideas, 
 and the romantic reveries of platonic philosophy, or 
 to inquire whether it be the result of a simple or 
 complex principle. As a local idea, beauty is a des- 
 potic princess, and subject to the anarchies of despo- 
 tism, enthroned to-day, dethroned to-morrow. The 
 beauty we acknowledge is that harmonious whole of 
 the human frame, that unison of parts to one end, 
 which enchants us ; the result of the standard set by 
 the great masters of our art, the ancients, and con- 
 firmed by the svibmissive verdict of modern imitation. 
 By grace I mean that artless balance of motion and 
 repose sprung- from character, founded on propriety, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 which neither falls short of the demands nor overleaps 
 the modesty of nature. Applied to execution, it means 
 that dextrous power which hides the means by which 
 it was attained, the difficulties it has conquered. When 
 we say taste, we mean not crudely the knowledge of 
 what is right in art : taste estimates the degrees ol' 
 excellence, and by comparison proceeds from justness 
 to refinement. Our language, or rather those who 
 use it, generally confound, when speaking of the art, 
 copy with ijmfation, though essentially diffisrent in 
 operation and meaning. Precision of eye and obedi- 
 ence of hand are the requisites of the former, without 
 the least pretence to choice, what to select, what to 
 reject ; whilst choice directed by judgment or taste 
 constitutes the essence of imitation, and alone can 
 raise the most dextrous copyist to the noble rank of 
 an artist. The imitation of the ancients was, essential, 
 characteristic, ideal. The first cleared nature of ac- 
 cident, defect, excrescence ; the second found the 
 stamen which connects character with the central 
 form ; the third raised the whole and the parts to the 
 highest degree of unison. Of genius I shall speak 
 with reserve, for no word has been more indiscrimi- 
 nately confounded ; by genius I mean that power 
 which enlarges the circle of human knowledge, 
 which discovers new materials of nature, or combines 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 5 
 
 the known with novelty, whilst talent arranges, cul- 
 tivates, polishes the discoveries of genius. 
 
 Guided by these preliminaries we now approach 
 that happy coast, where, from an arbitrary hieroglyph, 
 the palliative of ignorance, from a tool of despotism, 
 or a ponderous monument of eternal sleep, art 
 emerged into life, motion and liberty ; where situ- 
 ation, climate, national character, religion, manners 
 and government conspired to raise it on that per- 
 manent basis, which after the ruins of the fabric itself, 
 still subsists and bids defiance to the ravages of time ; 
 as uniform in the principle as various in its appli- 
 cations, the art of the Greeks possessed in itself and 
 propagated, like its chief object Man, the germs of 
 immortality. 
 
 I shall not detail here the reasons and the coincid- 
 ence of fortunate circumstances which raised the 
 Greeks to be the arbiters of form, [a) The standard 
 they erected, the canon they framed, fell not from 
 Heaven : but as they fancied themselves of divine 
 origin, and Religion was the first mover of their art, 
 it followed that they should endeavour to invest their 
 
 (fl) This has been done in a superior manner by J. G. Herder, in his Idee?i zur 
 Pkilosophie der geschichte der Menschheit^ Vol. iii. Book 1 3, a work translated under 
 ihe title of Outlines of a Philosophy of the History of Man, 4to. 
 
6 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 authors with the most perfect form ; and as Man 
 possesses that exchisively, they were led to a complete 
 and intellectual study of his elements and constitution ; 
 this, with their climate, which allowed that form to 
 grow, and to shew itself to the g-reatest advantage; with 
 their civil and political institutions, which established 
 and encouraged exercises and manners best calculated 
 to develop its powers ; and above all that simplicity of 
 their end, that uniformity of pursuit which in all its 
 derivations retraced the great principle from which it 
 sprang, and like a central stamen drew it out into one 
 immense connected web of congenial imitation ; these, 
 I say, are the reasons why the Greeks carried the art 
 to a height which no subsequent time or race has been 
 able to rival or even to approach. 
 
 Great as these advantages were, it is not to be sup- 
 posed that Nature deviated from her gradual progress 
 in the development of human faculties, in favour of 
 the Greeks. Greek Art had her infancy, but the 
 Graces rocked the cradle, and Love taught her to 
 speak. If ever legend deserved our belief, the amor- 
 ous tale of the Corinthian maid, who traced the shade 
 of her departing lover by the secret lamp, appeals to 
 our sympathy, to grant it ; and leads us at the same 
 time to some observations on the first mechanical 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 7 
 
 essays of Painting-, and that linear method which, 
 though passed nearly unnoticed by Winhelmann, 
 seems to have continued as the basis of execution, 
 even when the instmment for which it was chieHy 
 adapted, had long been laid aside. 
 
 The etymology of the word used by the Greeks to 
 express Painting being the same with that which they 
 employ for Writing, makes the similarity of tool, 
 materials, method, almost certain. The tool was a 
 style or pen of wood or metal ; the materials a 
 board, or a levigated plane of wood, metal, stone, 
 or some prepared compound ; the method, letters or 
 lines. 
 
 The first essays of the art were Skiagrams, simple 
 outlines of a shade, similar to those which have been 
 introduced to vulgar use by the students and para- 
 sites of Physiognomy, under the name of Silhouettes ; 
 without any other addition of character or feature 
 but what the profile of the object thus delineated, 
 could afford. 
 
 The next step of the art was the Monogram, out- 
 lines of figures without light or shade, but with some 
 addition of the parts within the outline, and from that 
 
^ FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 to the Monochrom, or paintings of a single colour on 
 a plane or tablet, primed with white, and then cover- 
 ed with what they called punic wax, first amalgamated 
 with a tough resinous pigment, generally of a red, 
 sometimes dark brown, or black colour, /w, or ra- 
 ther through this thin inky ground, the outlines were 
 traced with a firm but pliant style, which they called 
 Cestrum ; if the traced line happened to be incorrect 
 or wrong, it was gently effaced with the finger or 
 with a sponge, and easily replaced by a fresh one. 
 When the whole design was settled, and no farther 
 alteration intended, it was suffered to dry, was covered, 
 to make it permanent, with a brown encaustic var- 
 nish, the lights were worked over again, and ren- 
 dered more brilliant with a point still more delicate, 
 according to the gradual advance from mere outlines 
 to some indications, and at last to masses of light and 
 shade, and from those to the superinduction of differ- 
 ent colours, or the invention of the Polychrom, which 
 by the addittion of the pencil to the style, raised the 
 mezzotinto or stained drawing to a legitimate picture, 
 and at length produced that vaunted harmony, the 
 magic scale of Grecian colour, (h) 
 
 (b) This account is founded on the conjectures of Mr. Riem, in his Treatise on 
 die Mala-ei/ der Alterif or the Painting of the Ancients^ 4to. Berlin, 1787. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 9 
 
 If ihU conjecture, for it is not more, on the pro- 
 cess of linear painting", formed on the evidence and 
 comparison of passag-es always unconnected, and fre- 
 quently contradictory, be founded in fact, the rap- 
 turous astonishment at the supposed momentaneous 
 production of the Herculanean dancers and the figures 
 on the earthen vases of the ancients, will cease ; or ra- 
 ther, we shall no long'er suffer ourselves to be de- 
 luded by palpable impossibility of execution : on a 
 oTound of levig'ated lime or on potters ware, no velo- 
 city or certainty attainable by human hands can con- 
 duct a full pencil with that decree of evenness equal 
 from beoinnins: to end with which we see those 
 fig-ures executed, or if it could, would ever be able to 
 fix the line on the glassy surface without its flowing : 
 to make the appearances we see, possible, we must 
 have recourse to the linear process that has been de- 
 scribed, and transfer our admiration, to the perseve- 
 rance, the correctness of principle, the elegance of 
 taste that conducted the artist's hand, without presum- 
 ing to arm it with contradictory powers : the figures 
 he drew and we admire, are not the magic produce 
 of a winged pencil, they are the result of gradual 
 improvement, exquisitely finished monochroms. 
 
 How long the pencil continued only to assist, when 
 
 c 
 
10 
 
 FIRSX LECTURE. 
 
 it began to engross and when it at last entirely sup- 
 planted the cestruni, cannot in the perplexity of acci- 
 dental report be ascertained. Apollodorus in the 
 93d Olymp. and Zeuxis in the 94th, are said to have 
 used it with freedom and with power. The battle of 
 the Lapithae and the Centaurs, which according- to 
 Fausanias, Parrhasius painted on the shield of the 
 Minerva of Phidias, to be chased by Mys, could be 
 nothing' but a monochroni, and was probably de- 
 signed with the cestruiii, as an instrument of 2Teater 
 accin-acy. (c) Apelles and Protogenes, nearly a cen- 
 tury afterwards, drew their contested lines with the 
 pencil ; and that alone, as delicacy and evanescent 
 subtlety were the characteristic of those lines, may 
 give an idea of their mechanic excellence. And yet 
 in their time the diagraphic process (d), which is the 
 very same with the linear' one we have described, 
 
 (c) Pausanias Attic, c. xxviii. The word used by Fausanias xoLTuy^cc^on, shews 
 that the figures of Parrhasius were intended for a Bassorehevo. They were in 
 profile. This is the sense of the word Catagrapha in PHny, xxxv. c. 8. he translates 
 it " obliquas imagines." 
 
 {d) By the authority chiefly of Pampliilus the master of Apelles, who taught at 
 Sicyon. ' Hujus auctoritate,' says Plinj', xxxv. 10. ' eflPectum est Sicyone primum, 
 deinde et in tota Graecia, ut pueri ingenui ante omnia diagraphicen, hoc est, picturam 
 in buxo, docerentur,' &c. Harduin, contrary to the common editions, reads indeed, 
 and by the authority, he says, of all the MSS. graphiceii, which he translates: ars 
 ' delineandi,' desseigner, but he has not proved that graphice means not more than 
 design ; and if he had, what was it that Pamphilus taught? he was not the inventor 
 of what he had been taught himself. He established or rather renewed a particular 
 method of drawing, which contained the rudiments, and facilitated the method of 
 painting. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 11 
 
 made Ji part of liberal education. And Pausias of 
 Sicyon, the contemporary of Apelles, and perhaps 
 the greatest master of composition amongst the an- 
 cients, when employed to repair the decayed pictures 
 of Polygnotus at Thespiae, was adjudged by general 
 opinion to have egregiously failed in the attempt, be- 
 cause he had substituted the pencil to the cestrum, 
 and entered a contest of superiority with weapons not 
 his own. 
 
 Here it might seem in its place to say something 
 on the Encaustic method used by the ancients ; were 
 it not a subject by ambiguity of expression a^d con- 
 jectural dispute so involved in obscurity that a true 
 account of its process must be despaired of: the most 
 probable idea we can form of it is, that it bore some 
 resemblance to our oil-painting, and that the name 
 was adopted to denote the use of materials, inflam- 
 mable or prepared by fire, the supposed durability of 
 which, whether applied hot or cold, authorised the 
 terms IvsKuva-e and inussit. 
 
 The first great name of that epoch of the prepa- 
 ratory period when facts appear to overbalance con- 
 jecture, is that of Polygnotus of Thasos, who painted 
 the poecile at Athens, and the lesche or public hall at 
 
 c 2 
 
12 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 Delphi. Of these works, but chiefly of the two large 
 pictures at Delphi, which represented scenes subse- 
 quent to the eversion of Troy, and Ulysses consult- 
 ing* the spirit of Tiresias in hades, Pausanias (e) gives 
 a minute and circumstantial detail ; by which we are 
 led to surmise, that what is now called composition 
 was totally wanting in them as a whole : for he be- 
 gins his description at one end of the picture, and 
 finishes it at the opposite extremity, a senseless me- 
 thod if we suppose that a central group, or a principal 
 fio-ure to which the rest were in a certain dearee sub- 
 ordinate, attracted the eye; it appears as plain that 
 they had no perspective, the series of figures on the 
 second or middle ground being described as placed 
 above those on the foreground, and the figures in the 
 distance above the whole : the honest method too 
 which the painter chose of annexing to many of his 
 figures, their names in writing, savours much of the 
 infancy of painting. — We should however be cautious 
 to impute solely to ignorance or imbecility, what 
 might rest on the firm base of permanent principle. 
 The genius of Polygnotus was more than that of any 
 other artist before or after, Phidias perhaps alone 
 excepted, a pviblic genius, his works monumental 
 works, and these very pictures the votive offerings of 
 
 (e) Pausan. Phocicft, c. xxv. seq. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 13 
 
 the Gnidians. The art at that summit, when exert* 
 ing" its powers to record the feats, consecrate the acts^ 
 perpetuate the rites, propagate the rehgion, or to disse* 
 minate the pecuhar doctrines of a nation, heedless of 
 the rules prescrihed to inferior excellence and humbler 
 pursuits, returns to its elements, leaps strict possibi- 
 lity, combines remote causes with present effects, 
 connects local distance and unites separate moments. 
 — Simplicity, parallelism, apposition, take place of 
 variety, contrast and composition. — Such was the 
 Lesche painted by Polygnotus, and if we consider the 
 .variety of powers that distinguished many of the 
 parts, we must incline to ascribe the ])riniitive ar- 
 rangement of the whole rather to the artist's choice 
 and lofty simplicity, than want of comprehension : 
 nature had endowed him with that rectitude of taste 
 which in the individuum discovers the stamen of 
 the genus, hence his style of design was essential with 
 glimpses of grandeur (J-*) and ideal beauty. Polyg- 
 notus, says Aristotle, improves the model. His inven- 
 
 (y) This I take to be the sense of Msys^o; here, which distinguished him, ac- 
 cording to ^Han, Var. Hist. iv. 3. from Dionysius of Colophon. The word TeAeiotj 
 in the same passage: x«» 'ev toi; rsXrioij 'stgyu^ero ra aSx«, I translate : he aimed at-, 
 he sought his praise in the representation of essential proportion ; which leads to ideal 
 beauty. 
 
 The xgeiTT«j, p^eig«j, ofjLomg ; or the /SsXriovaj 15 xa3' ^jtxaj, toihthj, )j y^nqovuc, of 
 Aristotle, Poetic, c. 2. by which he distinguishes Polygnotus, Dionysius, Paiison, 
 confirms the sense given to the passage of ^lian. 
 
 7 
 
14 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 tion reached the conception of undescribed being*, in 
 tlie daemon Eurynomus ; filled the chasm of descrip- 
 tion in Theseus and Pirithous, in Ariadne and Phae- 
 dra ; and improved its terrours in the spectre of 
 Tityus ; whilst colour to assist it, became in his hand 
 an organ of expression ; such was the prophetic glow 
 which still crimsoned the cheeks of his Cassandra in 
 the time of Lucian. [g) The improvements in paint- 
 ing which Pliny ascribes to him, of having dressed 
 the heads of his females in variegated veils and baji- 
 deaus, and robed them in lucid drapery, of having 
 gently opened the lips, given a glimpse of the teeth, 
 and lessened the former monotony of face, such 
 improvements I say were surely the most trifling 
 part of a power to which the age of Apelles and 
 that of Quintilian paid equal homage . nor can it 
 add much to our esteem for him, to be told by Pliny 
 that there existed, in the portico of Pompey, a pic- 
 ture of his with the flgure of a warrior in an attitude 
 so ambiguous as to make it a question whether he 
 
 (g) Tragsisuv to IvsgrU^ej, 6i«v Ty\v Ka(T<roivZguv iv tv) y^^ixyyi 'e-Trotrja-s toic AsX^oi;. 
 Lucian : eixovsj. This, and what Pausanias tells of the colour of Eurynomus in the 
 same picture, together with the coloured draperies mentioned by Pliny : makes it 
 evident, that the ' simplex color' ascribed by Quintilian to Polygnotus and Aglao- 
 phon, implies less a single colour, as some have supposed, than that simplicity always 
 attendant on the infancy of painting, which leaves every colour unmixed and crudely 
 by itself. Indeed the Poecile (r; ttojxiXi; j-oa) which obtained its name from his pic- 
 tures, is alone a sufficient proof of variety of colours. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 13 
 
 were ascending' or descending-. Such a fig-ure could 
 only be the offspring of mental or technic imbecility, 
 even if it resembled the celebrated one of a Diomede 
 carrying" olF the palladium with one and holding* a 
 sword in the other hand, on the intaglio inscribed, 
 I think, with the name of Dioscorides. 
 
 With this simplicity of manner and materials the 
 art seems to have proceeded from Folyg-notus, Agla- 
 ophon, Phidias, Panaenus, Colotes, and Evenor, the 
 father of Parrhasius, during a period of more or less 
 disputed olympiads, to the appearance of ApoUodorus 
 the Athenian, who applied the essential principles of 
 Polygnotus to the dehneation of the species, by investi- 
 gating* the leading forms that discriminate the various 
 classes of human qualities and passions. The acute- 
 ness of his taste led him to discover that as all men 
 were connected by one general form, so thev were 
 separated each by some predominant power, which 
 fixed character and bound them to a class : that in 
 proportion as this specific power partook of individual 
 peculiarities, the farther it was removed from a share 
 in that harmonious system which constitutes nature, 
 and consists in a due balance of all its parts ; thence 
 he drew his line of imitation, and personified the 
 central form of the class, to which his object be- 
 
16 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 longed ; and to which the rest of its quahties admi- 
 nistered without bein^ absorbed : ag-ihty was not 
 suffered to destroy firmness, sohdity or weight ; nor 
 strength and weight agihty ; elegance did not dege- 
 nerate to effeminacy, or grandeur swell to hugeness ; 
 such were his principles of style : his expression ex- 
 tended them to the mind, if we may judge from the 
 two subjects mentioned by Pliny, in which he seems 
 to have personified the characters of devotion and 
 impiety ; that, in the adoring figure of a priest, per- 
 haps of Chryses, expanding his gratitude at the shrine 
 of the God whose arrows avenged his wrongs and 
 restored his daughter : and this, in the figure of Ajax 
 wrecked, and from the sea-swept rock hurling defi- 
 ance unto the murky sky. As neither of these sub- 
 jects can present themselves to a painters mind 
 without a contrast of the most awful and terrific 
 tones of colour, magic of light and shade, and 
 unlimited command over the tools of art, we may 
 with Pliny and with Plutarch consider Apollodorus 
 as the first assertor of the pencil's honours, as the 
 first colourist of his age, and the man who opened 
 the gates of art which the Heracleot Zeuxis en- 
 tered, (h) 
 
 (//) Hie primus species exprlniore instituit, Pliny, xxxv. 36. as species in tlie 
 sense Harduin takes it, ' oris et habitus venustas,' caimot be refused to Polygiiotus, 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 17 
 
 From the essential style of Polyp^notus and the 
 specific discrimination of Apollodorus, Zeuxis, by 
 comparison of what belonged to the genus and what 
 to the class, framed at last that ideal form, which in 
 his opinion, constituted the supreme degree of human 
 beauty, or in other words, embodied possibility, by 
 uniting the various but homogeneous powers scat- 
 tered among many, in one object, to one end. Such 
 a systetu, if it originated in genius, was the con- 
 siderate result of taste refined by the unremitting 
 perseverance with which he observed, consulted, com- 
 pared, selected the congenial but scattered forms of 
 nature. Our ideas are the offspring of our senses, 
 we are not more able create the form of a being, we 
 have not seen, without retrospect to one we know, 
 than we are able to create a new sense. He whose 
 fancy has conceived an idea of the most beautiful 
 form must have composed it from actual existence, 
 
 and the artists immediately preceding Apollodorus, it must mean here tlie subdi- 
 visions of generic form ; the classes. 
 
 At this period we may with probability fix the invention of local colour, and 
 tone ; which, though strictly speaking it be neither the light nor the shade, is regu- 
 lated by the medium which tinges both. This, Pliny calls ' splendoui .' To Apol- 
 lodorus Plutarch ascribes likewise the invention of tints, the mixtures of colour 
 and the gradations of shade, if I conceive the passage rightly : 'AxoXXoScugof o 
 Zcuy^aKpof 'AvS^coTTcov TT^wToj Ifcugcuv ^^oqxv u-!ro)(^q(o<Tiv Sxiaj, (Plutarch, Bellone 
 an pace Ath, &c, 346.) This was the element of the ancient A^ijutoy?), that imper- 
 ceptible transition, which, without opacity, confusion or hardness, united local 
 colour, demitint, shade and reflexes, 
 
 D 
 
18 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 and he alone can comprehend what one degTee of 
 beauty wants to become equal to another, and at last 
 superlative. He who thinks the pretty handsome, will 
 think the handsome a beauty, and fancy he has met 
 an ideal form in a merely handsome one, whilst he 
 who has compared beauty with beauty, will at last 
 improve form upon form to a perfect image ; this 
 was the method of Zeuxis, and this he learnt from 
 Homer, whose mode of ideal composition, according* 
 to Quintilian, he considered as his model. Each in- 
 dividual of Homer forms a class, expresses and is cir- 
 cumscribed by one quality of heroic power ; Achilles 
 alone unites their various but congenial energies. 
 The grace of Nireus, the dignity of Agamemnon, the 
 impetuosity of Hector, the magnitude, the steady 
 prowess of the great, the velocity of the lesser 
 Ajax, the perseverance of Ulysses, th« intrepidity of 
 Diomede, are emanations of energy that reunite in 
 one splendid centre fixed in Achilles. This standard 
 of the unison of homogeneous powers exhibited in 
 successive action by the poet, the painter, invigorated 
 no doubt by the contemplation of the works of 
 Phidias, transferred to his own art and substantiated 
 by Jhrm, when he selected the congenial beauties 
 of Croton to compose a perfect female. Like Phidias 
 too, he appears to have been less pathetic than 
 
 7 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 19 
 
 sublime, and even in his female forms more ample 
 and aug-ust than elegant or captivating* : his principle 
 was epic, and this Aristotle either considered not or 
 did not comprehend, when he refuses him the ex- 
 pression of character in action and feature : Jupiter 
 on his throne encircled by the celestial synod, and 
 Helen, the arbitress of Troy, contained probably the 
 principal elements of his style ; but he could trace 
 the mother's agitation in Alcmena, and in Penelope 
 the pangs of wedded love. 
 
 On those powers of his invention which Lucian 
 relates in the memoir inscribed with the name of 
 Zeuxis, I shall reserve my observations for a fitter 
 moment. Of his colour we know little, but it is 
 not unreasonable to suppose that it emulated the 
 beauties and the grandeur of his design ; and that 
 he extended light and shade to masses, may be 
 implied from his peculiar method of painting mo- 
 nochroms on a black ground, adding the lights in 
 white. (^) 
 
 The correctness of Parrhasius succeeded to the 
 genius of Zeuxis. He circumscribed his ample style, 
 
 (z) ' Pinxit et monochromata ex albo.' Pliny, xxxv. 9. This Aristotle, 
 Poet. C. 6. calls \svxoygx^siv. 
 
 D 2 
 
 » 
 
20 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 and by subtle examination of outline established that 
 standard of divine and heroic form which raised him 
 to the authority of a legislator from whose decisions 
 there was no appeal. He gave to the divine and 
 heroic character in painting-, what Polycletus had 
 given to the human in sculpture, by his Doryphorus, 
 a canon of proportion. Phidias had discovered in 
 the nod of the Homeric Jupiter the characteristic 
 of majesty, inclination of the head : this hinted to 
 him a higher elevation of the neck behind, a bolder 
 protrusion of the front, and the increased perpen- 
 dicular of the profile. To this conception Parrha- 
 sius fixed a maximum ; that point from which 
 descends the ultimate line of celestial beauty, the 
 angle within which moves what is inferior, beyond 
 which what is portentous. From the head con- 
 clude to the proportions of the neck, the limbs, 
 the extremities ; from the father to the race of gods ; 
 all, the sons of one, Zeus ; derived from one source 
 of tradition. Homer ; formed ])y one artist, Phidias : 
 on him measured and decided by Parrhasius. In 
 the simplicity of this principle, adhered to by the 
 succeeding periods, lies the uninterrupted progress 
 and the unattainable superiority of Grecian art. 
 With this prerogative, which evidently implies a 
 profound as well as general knowledge of the parts. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 21 
 
 how are we to reconcile the criticism passed on the 
 intermediate parts of his forms as inferior to their 
 outline ? or hovv could Winkelmann, in contradiction 
 with his own principles, explain it, by a want of 
 anatomic knowledge [k) ? how is it possible to sup- 
 pose that he who decided his outline with such 
 intellig-ence that it appeared ambient, and pro- 
 nounced the parts that escaped the eye, should have 
 been uninformed of its contents? let us rather sup- 
 pose that the defect ascribed to the intermediate 
 forms of his bodies, if such a fault there was, con- 
 sisted in an affectation of smoothness bordering' 
 on insipidity, in something" effeminately voluptuous, 
 which absorbed their character and the idea of elastic 
 vigour ; and this Euphranor seems to have hinted 
 at, when in comparing his own Theseus with that 
 of Parrhasius, he pronounced the Ionian's to have 
 fed on roses, his own on flesh (/) : emasculate soft- 
 ness was not in his opinion, the proper companion 
 of the contour, or flowery freshness of colour 
 
 (k) In lineis extremis palmani adcptus minor tamen videtur, sibi com- 
 
 paratus, in mediis corporibus exprimendis. Pliny, xxxv. 10, Here we find the 
 inferiority of the middle parts merely relative to himself. Compared with himself, 
 Parrhasius was not all equal. 
 
 (/) Theseus, in quo dixit, eumdem apud Parrhasium rosa pastum esse, suuni vero 
 came. Plin. xxxv. 1 1. 
 
22 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 an adequate substitute for the sterner tints of heroic 
 form. 
 
 None of the ancients seem to have united or wished 
 to combine as man and artist, more quahties seem- 
 ingly incompatible than Parrhasius. — The volubility 
 and ostentatious insolence of an Asiatic with Athenian 
 simplicity and urbanity of manners ; punctilious cor- 
 rectness with blandishments of handling- and luxurious 
 colour, and with sublime and pathetic conception, a 
 fancy libidmously sportive (m). If he was not the 
 inventor, he surely was the greatest master of alle- 
 gory, supposing that he really embodied by signs 
 universally comprehended that image of the Athenian 
 AHMOS or people, which was to combine and to 
 express at once its contradictory qualities. Perhaps 
 he traced the jarring branches to their source, the 
 aboriginal moral principle of the Athenian character, 
 which he made intuitive. This supposition alone can 
 shed a dawn of possibility on what else appears im- 
 possible. We know that the personification of the 
 
 (m) The epithet which he gave to himself of 'A^goBiuno;, the delicate, the elegant, 
 and the epigram he is said to have composed on himself, are known : See Athenaeus, 
 1. xii. He wore, says ^lian, Var. Hist. ix. 11. a purple robe and a golden gat land ; 
 he bore a staff' wound round with tendrils of gold, and his sandals were tied to his 
 feet and ancles with golden straps. Of his easy simplicity we may judge from his 
 dialogue with Socrates in Xenophon ; ocTroixvriixovevctrMV, 1. iii. Of his libidinous fancy, 
 beside what Pliny says, from his Archigallus, and the Meleager and Atalanta men- 
 tioned by Suetonius in Tiberio, c. 44. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 2S 
 
 Athenian Ajj^o? was an object of sculpture, and that 
 its imag-es by Lyson and Leochares (n) were publicly 
 set up ; but there is no clue to decide whether they 
 preceded or followed the conceit of Parrhasius. It 
 was repeated by Aristolaus, the son of Pausias. 
 
 The decided forms of Parrhasius, Timanthes the 
 Cythnian, his competitor for fame, attempted to in- 
 spire with mind and to animate with passions. No 
 picture of antiquity is more celebrated than his im- 
 molation of Iphig'enia in Aulis, painted, as Quintilian 
 informs us, in contest with Colotes of Teos, a painter 
 and sculptor from the school of Phidias ; crowned 
 with victory at its rival exhibition, and since, the 
 theme of unlimited praise from the orators and his- 
 torians of antiquity, thouo'h the solidity or justice of 
 their praise relatively to our art, has been questioned 
 by modern criticism. On this subject, which not 
 only contains the gradations of affection from the 
 most remote to the closest link of humanity, but ap- 
 pears to me to offer the fairest specimen of the limits 
 which the theory of the ancients had prescribed to 
 the expression of pathos, I think it my duty the more 
 
 (») In the portico of the Piraeus by Leochares; in the hall of the Five-hun- 
 dred, by Lyson : in the back portico of the Ceraniicus there was a picture of 
 Theseus, of Democracy and the Demos, by Euphranor. Pausan. Attic, i. 3. 
 Aristolaus, according to Pliny was a painter, ' e severissimis.' 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 circumstantially to expatiate, as the censure passed on 
 the method of Timanthes, has been sanctioned by the 
 highest authority in matters of art, that of your late 
 President, in his eighth discourse at the delivery of 
 the academic prize for the best picture painted from 
 this very subject. 
 
 How did Timanthes treat it? Iphigenia, the victint 
 ordained by the oracle, to be offered for the success 
 of the Greek expedition against Troy, was represented 
 standing ready for immolation at the altar, the priest, 
 the instruments of death at her side ; and around her, 
 an assembly of the most important agents or witnesses 
 of the terrible solemnity, from Ulysses, who had dis- 
 engaged her from the embraces of her mother at 
 Mycenae, to her nearest male relations, her uncle Me- 
 nelaus, and her own father, Agamemnon. Timanthes, 
 say Pliny and Quintilian with surprising snnilarity of 
 phrase, when, in gradation he had consumed every 
 image of grief within the reach of art, from the 
 unhappy priest, to the deeper grief of Ulysses, 
 and from that to the pangs of kindred sympathy in 
 Menelaus, unable to express ivith dignity the father's 
 woe, threw a veil, or if you will, a mantle over his 
 face. This mantle, the ])ivot of objection, indis- 
 criminately borrowed, as might easily be supposed, by 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 25 
 
 all the concurrents for the prize, gave rise to the fol- 
 lowing' series of criticisms : 
 
 * Before I conclude, I cannot avoid making one 
 ' observation on the pictures now before us. I have 
 ' observed, that every candidate has copied the cele- 
 ' brated invention of Timanthes in hiding the face of 
 ' Agamemnon in his mantle ; 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 won- 
 
 * dered at, nor blamed. It appears now to be so 
 ' much connected with the subject, that the spectator 
 ' would perhaps be disappointed in not finding united 
 ' in the picture what he always united in his mind, 
 ' and considered 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 imagin- 
 
 E 
 
26 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 ' ation, 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 disagreeable 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 diminish their effect. 
 
 ' Mr. Falconet has observed, in a note on this 
 ' passage in his translation of Pliny, that the cir- 
 ' cumstance of covering the face of Agamemnon 
 
 * was probably not in consequence of any fine 
 ' imagination of the painter, — which he considers 
 ' 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 taken, are these : Agamemnon saw Ijjhigenia 
 ' advance towards the J^atal altar ; he groaned, he 
 " turned aside his head, he shed tears, and covered his 
 
 * J^ace with his robe. 
 
 9 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 27 
 
 ' Falconet does not at all acquiesce in the praise 
 that is bestowed on Timanthes ; not only because it 
 is not his invention, but because he thinks meanly of 
 this trick of concealing", 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 resources : 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 Ag-amemnon ; you 
 have unveiled your own ignorance." 
 
 ^ To what Falconet has said, we may add, that 
 supposing" this method of leaving* the expression of 
 grief to the imagination, 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 difficulties. 
 If difficulties overcome make a g'reat part of the 
 
 E 2 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 ' merit of Art, difficulties evaded can deserve but 
 ' little commendation.' 
 
 To this string- of animadversions, I subjoin with 
 diffidence the following- observations : 
 
 The subject of Timanthes was the immolation of 
 Iphigenia; Iphigenia was the principal figure, and 
 her form, her resignation, or her anguish the painter's 
 principal task ; the figure of Agamemnon, however, 
 important, is merely accessory, and no more necessary 
 to make the subject a completely tragic one, than 
 that of Clytemnestra the mother, no more than that 
 of Priam, to impress us with sympathy at the death of 
 Polyxena. It is therefore a misnomer of the French 
 critic, to call Agamemnon ' the hero' of the subject. 
 
 Neither the French nor the English critic appear 
 to me to have comprehended the real motive of 
 Timanthes, as contained in the words ' decere, jjvo 
 cligiiitate, and digne^'' in the passages of Tully, 
 (^uintilian, and Pliny (o) ; they ascribe to impotence 
 
 (o) Cicero Ora^ore, 73, seq. — In alioque ponatur, aliuJque totum sit, utrum 
 decere an oportere dicas ; oportere enim, perfectionem declarat officii, quo et sem- 
 per utendum est, et omnibus : decere, quasi aptum esse, consentaneumque tempori 
 etpersonae; quod cum in factis saspissime, turn in dictis valet, in vultu denique- 
 et gestu, et incessu. Contraque item dedecere. Quod si poeta fugit, ut maximum 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 29 
 
 what was the forbearance of judgment ; Timanthes 
 felt like a father : he did not hide the face of 
 Agamemnon, because it was beyond the power of 
 his art, not because it was beyond the jmssihiUty , 
 but because it was beyond the dignity of expression, 
 because the inspiring feature of paternal affection at 
 that moment, and the action which of necessity must 
 have accompanied it, would either have destroyed 
 the grandeur of the character and the solemnity of the 
 scene, or subjected the painter with the majority of 
 his judges to the imputation of insensibility. He 
 
 vitium, qui peccat, etiam, cum probam orationem affingit improbo, stultove sapientis : 
 si denique pictor ille vicit, cum immolanda Iphigenia tristis Calchas esset, mocstior 
 Ulysses, moereretMenelaus,obvolvendum caput Agamemnonis esse, quoniam summum 
 ilium luctum pcnicillo, non posset imitaii : si denique histrio, quid deceat quaerit : 
 quid faciendum oratori putemus ? 
 
 M. F. Quintilianus, 1. ii. c. 14. — Operienda sunt quaedam, sive ostendi non 
 debent, sive exprimi pro dignitate non possunt : ut fecit Timanthes, ut opinor, 
 Cithnius, in ea tabula qua Coloten tejum vicit. Nam cum in Iphigeniaj immolatione 
 pinxisset tristem Calcliantem, tristiorem Ulyssem, addidisset Menelao quem summum 
 poterat ars efficere Mocrorem, consumptis alFectibus, non reperiens quo digne 
 modo Patris vultum possit exprimere, velavit ejus caput, et sui cuique animo dedit 
 a;stimandum. 
 
 It is evident to the slightest consideration, that both Cicero and Quintilian lose 
 sight of their premises, and contradict themselves in the motive they ascribe to 
 Timanthes. Their want of acquaintance with the nature of plastic expression made 
 them imagine the face of Agamemnon beyond the power of the artist. They were 
 not aware that by making him waste expression on inferior actors at the expcnce 
 of a principal one, they call him an improvident spendthrift and not a wise 
 <EConomist. 
 
 From Valerius Maximus, who calls the subject ' Luctuosum immolatce Iphigeniae 
 sacrificium' instead of immolandcCy little can be expected to the purpose. Pliny, with 
 the digm of Quintilian has the same confusion of motive. , 
 
30 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 must either have represented him in tears, or con- 
 vulsed at the flash of the rai sed dag'g'er, forgetting the 
 chief in the father, or shown him absorbed by despair, 
 and in that state of stupefaction, vrhich levels all 
 features and deadens expression ; he might indeed 
 have chosen a fourth mode, he might have exhibited 
 him fainting' and palsied in the arms of his attendants, 
 and by this confusion of male and female character, 
 merited the applause of every theatre at Paris. But 
 Timanthes had too true a sense of nature to expose a 
 father's feelings or to tear a passion to rags ; nor had 
 the Greeks yet learnt of Rome to steel the face. If 
 he made Agamemnon bear his calamity as a man, he 
 made him also feel it as a man. It became the leader 
 of Greece to sanction the ceremony with his presence, 
 it did not become the father to see his daughter 
 beneath the dagger's point : the same nature that 
 threw a real mantle over the face of Timoleon, when 
 he assisted at the punishment of his brother, taught 
 Timanthes to throw an imaginary one over the face of 
 Agamemnon ; neither height nor depth, propriety of 
 expression was his aim. 
 
 The critic grants that the expedient of Timanthes 
 may be allowed in * instances of blood,' the supported 
 aspect of which would change a scene of commiser- 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 31 
 
 ation and terror into one of abomination and horror, 
 which ought for ever to be excluded from the province 
 of art, of poetry as well as painting* : and would not 
 the face of Agamemnon, uncovered, have had this 
 effect ? was not the scene he must have witnessed a 
 scene of blood? and whose blood was to be shed? 
 that of his own daughter — and what daughter ? 
 young, beautiful, helpless, innocent, resigned — the 
 very idea of resignation in such a victim, nmst either 
 have acted irresistibly to procure her relief, or thrown 
 a veil over a father's face. A man who is determined 
 to sport wit at the expence of heart alone could 
 call such an expedient ridiculous — ' as ridiculous,' 
 Mr. Falconet continues, * as a poet would be, who in 
 ' a pathetic situation, instead of satisfying my expect- 
 ' ation, to 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 .' 
 And has not Homer, though he does not tell us 
 this, acted upon a similar principle ? has he not, 
 when Ulysses addresses Ajax in Hades, in the most 
 pathetic and conciliatory manner, instead of fiimish- 
 ing him with an answer, made him remain in indig- 
 nant silence during the address, then turn his step 
 and stalk away? has not the universal voice of ge- 
 nuine criticism with Longinus told us, and if it had 
 
32 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 not, would not Nature's own voice tell us, that that 
 silence was characteristic, that it precluded, included, 
 and soaring" above all answer, consigned Ulysses for 
 ever to a sense of inferiority ? Nor is it necessary 
 to render such criticism contemptible to mention the 
 silence of Dido in Virgil, or the Niobe of iEsehylus, 
 who was introduced veiled, and continued mute 
 during her presence on the stage. 
 
 But in hidino' A«'amemnon's face Timanthes loses 
 the honour of invention, as he is merely the imitator 
 of Euripides, who did it before him 1 am not 
 
 prepared with chronologic proofs to decide whether 
 Euripides or Timanthes, who were contemporaries, 
 about the period of the Peloponnesian war, fell first 
 on this expedient ; though the silence of Pliny and 
 Quintilian on that head^ seems to be in favour of the 
 painter, neither of whom could be ignorant of the 
 celebrated drama of Euripides, and would not wil- 
 lingly have suffered the honour of this master-stroke 
 
 (p) It is observed by an ingenious Critic, that in the tragedy of Euripides, the 
 procession is described, and upon Iphigenia's looking back on her father, he groans, 
 and hides his face to conceal his tears ; whilst the picture gives the moment that 
 precedes the sacrifice, and the hiding has a different object and arises from another 
 impression. 
 
 «5j S'streiSsv Ay«ju.=/xv«)v «vaj 
 
 uvs^vjx^z, K«j«,7r«Atv j-gsvl/af ■Ko.qct 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 33 
 
 of an art they were so much better acquainted with 
 than painting", to be transferred to another from its 
 real author, had the poet's claim been prior : nor shall 
 I urge that the picture of Timanthes was crowned 
 with victory by those who were in daily habits of 
 assisting at the dramas of Euripides, without having 
 their verdict impeached by Colotes or his friends, who 
 would not have failed to avail themselves of so fla- 
 grant a proof of inferiority as the want of invention, 
 in the work of his rival; — I shall only ask, what is 
 invention ? if it be the combination of the most im- 
 portant moment of a fact with the most varied effects 
 of the reigning' passion on the characters introduced 
 — the invention of Timanthes consisted in shewing, 
 by the gradation of that passion in the faces of the 
 assistant mourners, the 7'eason why that of the prin- 
 cipal one, was hid. This he performed, and this the 
 poet, whether prior or subsequent, did not and could 
 not do, but left it with a silent appeal to our own 
 mind and fancy. 
 
 In presuming to differ on the propriety of this 
 mode of expression in the picture of Timanthes from 
 the respectable authority I have quoted, I am far from 
 a wish to invalidate the equally pertinent and acute 
 remarks made on the danger of its imitation, though 
 
 F 
 
34 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 I am decidedly of opinion that it is strictly within the 
 limits of our art. If it be a ' trick/ it is certainly 
 one that * has served more than once.' We find it 
 adopted to express the g'rief of a beautiful female 
 figure on a basso-relievo formerly in the palace Valle 
 at Rome, and preserved in the Admiranda of S. Bar- 
 toli ; it is used, though with his own originality, by 
 Michael Angelo in the figure of Abijam, to mark un- 
 utterable woe ; Raphael, to shew that he thought it 
 the best possible mode of expressing remorse and the 
 deepest sense of repentance, borrowed it in the ex- 
 pulsion from Paradise, without any alteration, from 
 Masaccio ; and like him, turned Adam out with both 
 his hands before his face. And how has he repre- 
 sented Moses at the burning bush, to express the as- 
 tonished awe of human in the visible presence of 
 divine nature ? by a double repetition of the same 
 expedient ; once in the ceiling of a Stanza, and again 
 in the loggia of the Vatican, with both his hands be- 
 fore his face, or rather with his face immersed in his 
 hands. As we cannot suspect in the master of ex- 
 pression the unworthy motive of making use of this 
 mode merely to avoid a difficulty, or to denote the 
 insupportable splendour of the vision, which was so 
 far from being the case, that, according to the sacred 
 record, Moses stept out of his way to examine the 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 35 
 
 ineffectual blaze : we must conclude that nature her- 
 self dictated to him this method as superior to all he 
 could express by features ; and that he recognized 
 the same dictate in Masaccio, who can no more be 
 supposed to have been acquainted with the precedent 
 of Timanthes, than Shakspeare with that of Euripides, 
 when he made Macduff draw his hat over his face. 
 
 Masaccio and Raphael proceeded on the principle, 
 Gherard Lairesse copied only the imag-e of Timanthes, 
 and has perhaps incurred by it the charge of what 
 Longinus calls parenthyrsos^ in the ill-timed appli- 
 cation of supreme pathos, to an inadequate call. 
 Agamemnon is introduced covering his face with his 
 mantle, at the death of Polyxena, the captive daughter 
 of Priam, sacrificed to the manes of Achilles, her be- 
 trothed lover, treacherously slain in the midst of the 
 nuptial ceremony, by her brother Paris. The death 
 of Polyxena, whose charms had been productive of 
 the greatest disaster that could befal the Grecian 
 army, could not perhaps provoke in its leader emotions 
 similar to those which he felt at that of his own 
 daughter : it must however be owned that the figure of 
 the chief is equally dignified and pathetic ; and that, 
 by the introduction of the spectre of Achilles at the 
 immolation of the damsel to his manes, the artist's fancy 
 • • F 2 
 
36 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 has in some degree atoned for the want of discrimi- 
 nation in the professor. 
 
 Such were the artists, who according* to the most 
 corresponding data formed the style of that second 
 period, which fixed the end and estabhshed the Hmits 
 of art, on whose firm basis arose the hixuriant fabric 
 of the third or the period of refinement, which added 
 grace and pohsh to the fonns it could not surpass ; 
 amenity or truth to the tones it could not invigourate ; 
 magic and imperceptible transition to the abrupt di- 
 vision of masses ; gave depth and roundness to com- 
 position ; at the breast of nature herself caught the 
 passions as they rose, and familiarized expression : 
 The period of Apelles, Protogenes, Aristides, Eu- 
 phranor, Pausias, the pupils of Pamphilus and his 
 master Eupompus, whose authority obtained what 
 had not been granted to his great predecessor and 
 countryman Polycletus, the new establishment of the 
 school of Sicyon. (q) 
 
 The leading principle of Eupompus may be traced 
 in the advice which he gave to Lysippus, (as pre- 
 served by Pliny,) whom, when consulted on a standard 
 of imitation, he directed to the contemplation of 
 
 {q) Pliny, 1. xxxv. c. 18. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 37 
 
 human variety in the mviltitude of the characters that 
 were passing" by, with the axiom, ' that natm-e her- 
 self was to be imitated, not an artist.' Excellence, 
 said Eupompus, is thy aim, such excellence as that of 
 Phidias and Polycletus ; but it is not obtained by the 
 servile imitation of works, however perfect, without 
 mounting to the principle which raised them to that 
 height ; that principle apply to thy purpose, there 
 lix thy aim. He who, with the same freedom of access 
 to nature as another man, contents himself to ap- 
 proach her only through his medium, has resigned 
 his birth-right and originality together ; his master's 
 manner will be his style. If Phidias and Polycletus 
 have discovered the substance and established the 
 permanent principle of the human frame, they have 
 not exhausted the variety of human appearances and 
 human character ; if they have abstracted the forms 
 of majesty and those of beauty, nature compared with 
 their works will point out a grace that has been left 
 for thee ; if they have pre-occupied man as he is, be 
 thine to give him that air with which he actually 
 ajypears. [r) 
 
 (? ) Lysippum Sicyonium — audendi ratlonem cepisse pictoris Eupompi response. 
 Eum enim interrogatum, quern sequeretur antecedentium, dixisse demonstrata homi- 
 nuni mukitudine, naturam ipsam imitandam esse, non artificem. Noii habet Latinum 
 nomen symmetria, quani diligentissime custodivit, nova intactaque ratione quadratas 
 veterum staturas permutando : Vulgoque dicebat, ab illis factos, quales essent, 
 homines : a se, quales viderentur esse. Plin. xxxiv. 8. 
 
38 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 Such was the advice of Eupompus : less lofty, less 
 ambitious than what the departed epoch of genius 
 would have dictated, but better suited to the times, 
 and better to his pupil's mind. When the spirit 
 of Hberty forsook the public, grandeur had left 
 the private mind of Greece : subdued by Philip, the 
 o'ods of Athens and Olympia had migrated to Pella, 
 and Alexander was become the representative of 
 Jupiter ; still those who had lost the substance 
 fondled the shadow of liberty ; rhetoric mimicked the 
 thunders of oratory, sophistry and metaphysic debate 
 that philosophy, which had guided life, and the grand 
 taste that had dictated to art the monumental stvle, 
 invested gods vs^ith human form and raised individuals 
 to heroes, began to give way to refinements in appre- 
 ciating the degrees of elegance or of resemblance in 
 imitation : the advice of Eupompus however, far from 
 implying the abolition of the old system, recalled his 
 pupil to the examen of the great principle on which 
 it had established its excellence, and to the resources 
 which its inexhaustible variety offered for new com- 
 binations. 
 
 That Lysippus considered it in that light, his de- 
 votion to the Doryphoms of Polycletus, known even 
 to Tully, sufficiently proved. That figure which 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 comprised the pure proportions of juvenile vigour, 
 furnished the readiest apphcation for those additional 
 refinements of variety, character, and fleshy charms, 
 that made the base of his invention : its symmetry 
 directing" his researches amid the insidious play of 
 accidental charms, and the claims of inherent grace, 
 never suffered imitation to deviate into incorrectness ; 
 whilst its squareness and elemental beauty melted in 
 more familiar forms on the eye, and from an object of 
 cold admiration became the glowing* one of sympathy. 
 Such was probably the method formed by Lysippus on 
 the advice of Eupompus, more perplexed than ex- 
 plained by the superficial extract and the rapid phrase 
 of Pliny, 
 
 From the statuary's we may form our idea of the 
 painter's method. The doctrine of Eupompus was 
 adopted by Pamphilus the Amphipolitan, the most 
 scientific artist of his time, and by him communicated 
 to Apelles of Cos, or as Lucian will have it, of 
 Ephesus^, his pupil; in whom, if we believe tra- 
 dition, nature exhibited, once, a specimen what her 
 union with education and circumstances could pro- 
 
 Aouxiava Tregi tqv ju.. 'g. IT. T. A, 
 
40 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 duce. The name of Apelles in Pliny is the synonime 
 of unrivalled and unattainable excellence, but the 
 enumeration of his works points out the modification 
 which we ought to apply to that superiority ; it neither 
 comprises exclusive sublimity of invention, the most 
 acute discrimination of character, the widest sphere 
 of comprehension, the most judicious and best 
 balanced composition, nor the deepest pathos of ex- 
 pression : his gTcat prerogative consisted more in the 
 unison than in the extent of his powers ; he knew 
 better what he could do, what ought to be done, at 
 what point he could arrive, and what lay beyond his 
 reach, than any other artist. Grace of conception and 
 refinement of taste were his elements, and went hand 
 in hand with grace of execution and taste in finish, 
 powerful and seldom possessed singly, irresistible 
 when united : that he built both on the firm basis of 
 the former system, not on its subversion, his well- 
 known contest of lines with Protogenes, not a legen- 
 dary tale, but a well- attested fact, irrefragably proves : 
 what those lines were, drawn with nearly miraculous 
 subtlety in different colours, one upon the other or 
 rather within each other, it would be equally unavail- 
 ing and useless to inquire ; but the corollaries we 
 may deduce from the contest, are obviously these, 
 that the schools of Greece recosnized all one ele^ 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 41 
 
 mental principle : that aciiteness and fidelity of eye 
 and obedience of hand form precision ; precision, pro- 
 portion; proportion, beauty: that it is the Mittle more 
 or less,' imperceptible to vulg-ar eyes, which consti- 
 tutes <^race and establishes the superiority of one 
 artist over another : that the knowledge of the de- 
 grees of thing's, or taste, presupposes a perfect know- 
 ledge of the things themselves: that colour, grace, and 
 taste are ornaments not substitutes of form, expression 
 and character, and when they usurp that title, dege- 
 nerate into splendid faults. 
 
 Such were the principles on which Apelles formed 
 his Venus, or rather the personification of Female 
 Grace, the wonder of art, the despair of artists ; 
 whose outline baffled every attempt at emendation, 
 whilst imitation shrunk from the purity, the force, 
 the brilliancy, the evanescent gradations of her 
 tints, [s) 
 
 The refinements' of the art were by Aristides of 
 Thebes applied to the mind. The passions which tra- 
 dition had organized for Timanthes, Aristides caught 
 as they rose from the breast or escaped from the lips 
 
 (5) Apelles was probably the inventor of what artists call glazing. See Reynolds 
 on Du Fresnoy, note 37. vol. iii. 
 
 G 
 
42 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 of Nature herself; his volume was man, his scene 
 society : he drew the subtle discriminations of mind 
 in every stage of life, the whispers, the simple cry of 
 passion and its most complex accents; Such, as his- 
 tory informs us, was the suppliant whose voice you 
 seemed to hear, such his sick man's half-extinguished 
 eye and labouring breast, such Byblis expiring in the 
 pangs of love, and above all the half-slain mother 
 shuddering lest the eager babe should suck the blood 
 from her palsied nipple. This picture was probably at 
 Thebes, when Alexander sacked that town ; what his 
 feelings were when he saw it, we may guess from his 
 sending it to Pella. Its expression, poised between 
 the anguish of maternal aflPection and the pangs of 
 death, gives to commiseration an image, which nei- 
 ther the infant piteously caressing his slain mother 
 in the group of Epigonus [t), nor the absorbed fea- 
 ture of the Niobe, nor the struggle of the Laocoon,. 
 excite. Timanthes had marked the limits that dis- 
 criminate terrour from the excess of liorrour ; Aris- 
 tides drew the line that separates it from disgust. 
 His subject is one of those that touch the ambiguous 
 line of a squeamish sense. — Taste and smell, as 
 sources of tragic emotion, and in consequence of their 
 power, commanding gesture, seem scarcely admis- 
 
 {t) In matri interfectae infante miserabiliter blandiente. Plin. 1. xxxiv. c. 9. 
 
 7 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 43 
 
 sible in art or on the theatre, because their extremes 
 are nearer alhed to disgust, and loathsome or risible 
 ideas, than to terrour. The prophetic trance of Cas- 
 sandra, who scents the prepared murder of Ag'amem- 
 non at the threshold of the ominous hall ; the despe- 
 rate moan of Macbeth's queen on seeing* the visionary 
 spot still unefFaced infect her hand — are imag-es 
 snatched from the lap of terrour — but soon would 
 cease to be so, were the artist or the actress to inforce 
 the dreadful hint with indiscreet expression or gesture. 
 This, completely understood by Aristides, was as 
 completely missed by his imitators, Raphael (v) in the 
 Morbetto, and Poussin in his plague of the Philis- 
 tines. In the group of Aristides, our sympathy is 
 immediately interested by the mother, still alive 
 though mortally wounded, helpless, beautiful, and 
 forgetting herself in the anguish for her child, whose 
 situation still suffers hope to mingle with our fears ; 
 he is only approaching the nipple of the mother. 
 In the group of Raphael, the mother dead of the 
 plague, herself an object of apathy, becomes one of 
 disgust, by the action of the man, who bending over 
 her, at his utmost reach of arm, with one hand re- 
 moves the child from the breast, whilst the other, 
 
 {v) A design of Raphael, representing the lues of the Trojans in Creta, known by 
 the print of Marc Antonio Raymondi. 
 
 G 2 
 
44 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 applied to his nostrils, bars the effluvia of death. 
 Our feeling's alienated from the mother, come too late 
 even for the child, who by his languor already be- 
 trays the mortal symptoms of the poison he imbibed 
 at the parent corpse. It is curious to observe the 
 permutation of ideas which takes place, as imitation 
 is removed from the sources of nature : Poussin, not 
 content with adopting the gTOup of Raphael, once 
 more repeats the loathsome attitude in the same scene; 
 he forgot, in his eagerness to render the idea of con- 
 tagion still more intuitive, that he was averting our 
 feelings with ideas of disgust. 
 
 The refinements of expression were carried still far- 
 ther by the disciple of Aristides, Euphranor the Isth- 
 mian, who excelled equally as painter and statuary, if 
 we may form our judgment from the Theseus he op- 
 posed to that of Parrhasius and the bronze figure of 
 Alexander Paris, in whom, says Pliny (w), the umpire 
 of the goddesses, the lover of Helen, and yet the 
 murderer of Achilles might be traced. This account, 
 which is evidently a quotation of Pliny's, and not the 
 assumed verdict of a connoisseur, has been translated 
 
 (w)) Reynolds' Disc. V. vol. i. p. 120. Euphranoris Alexandei* Paris est: in quo 
 laudatur quod omnia simul intelligantur, judex dearum, amator Helenae, et tamen 
 Achillis interfector. Plin. 1. xxxiv. 8. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 45 
 
 with an emphasis it does not admit of, to prove that 
 an attempt to express different quaUties or passions at 
 once in the same object, must naturally tend to obli- 
 terate the effect of each. ' Pliny,' says our critic, ' ob- 
 ^ serves, 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 w^hich you endeavour to unite stately 
 
 * dignity, youthful elegance, and stern valour, must 
 
 * surely possess none of these to any eminent degree.' 
 The paraphrase, it is first to be observed, lends itself 
 the mixtures to Pliny it disapproves of ; w^e look in 
 vain for the coalition of ' stately dignity, stern valour, 
 ' and youthful elegance,' in the Paris he describes : 
 the murderer of Achilles was not his conqueror. But 
 may not dignity, elegance, and valour, or any other not 
 irreconcileable qualities, be visible at once in a figure 
 without destroying the primary feature of its charac- 
 ter, or impairing its expression ? Let us appeal to the 
 Apollo. Is he not a figure of character and expres- 
 sion, and does he not possess all three in a supreme 
 degree? Will it imply mediocrity of conception or 
 confusion of character, if we were to say that his 
 countenance, attitude, and form combines divine 
 majesty, enchanting grace, and lofty indignation ? Yet 
 
46 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 not all three, one ideal whole irradiated the mind of 
 the artist who conceived the divine semblance. He 
 gave, no doubt, the preference of expression to the 
 action in which the god is engaged, or rather, from 
 the accomplishment of which he recedes with lofty 
 and contemptuous ease. — This was the first impres- 
 sion which he meant to make upon us : but what 
 contemplation stops here ? what hinders us when we 
 consider the beauty of these features, the harmony of 
 these forms, to find in them the abstract of all his 
 other qualities, to roam over the whole history of his 
 atchievements ? we see him enter the celestial synod, 
 and all the gods rise at his august appearance [y] ; we 
 see him sweep the plain after Daphne ; precede Hec- 
 tor with the aegis and disperse the Greeks ; strike Pa- 
 troclus with his palm and decide his destiny. — And 
 is the figure frigid because its great idea is inexhaust- 
 ible ? might we not say the same of the infant Her- 
 cules of Zeuxis or of Reynolds ? did not the idea of 
 the man inspire the hand that framed the mighty 
 child ? his magnitude, his crushing grasp, his energy 
 of will, are only the germ, the prelude of the power 
 that rid the earth of monsters, and which our mind 
 pursues. Such was no doubt the Paris of Euphranor : 
 he made his character so pregnant, that those who 
 
 (t/) See the Hymn (ascribed to Homer) on Apollo. 
 
FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 47 
 
 knew his history mig-ht trace in it the origin of all his 
 future feats, though first impressed by the expression 
 allotted to the predominant quality and moment. 
 The acute inspector, the elegant umpire of female 
 form receiving the contested pledge with a dignified 
 pause, or with enamoured eagerness presenting it to 
 the arbitress of his destiny, was probably the predo- 
 minant idea of the figure : whilst the deserter of 
 Oenone, the seducer of Helen, the subtle archer, that 
 future murderer of Achilles, lurked under the insidi- 
 ous eyebrow, and in the penetrating glance of beauty's 
 chosen minion. Such appeared to me the character 
 and expression of the sitting Paris in the voluptuous 
 Phrygian dress, formerly in the cortile of the palace 
 Altheims, at Rome. A figure nearly colossal, which 
 many of you may remember, and a faint idea of whom 
 may be gathered from the print among those in the 
 collection published of the Museum Clementinum. 
 A work, in my opinion, of the highest style and wor- 
 thy of Euphranor, though I shall not venture to call 
 it a repetition in marble of his bronze. 
 
 From these observations on the collateral and un- 
 solicited beauties which must branch out from the 
 primary expression of every great idea, it will not, I 
 hope, be suspected, that I mean to invalidate the ne- 
 
48 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 cessity of its unity, or to be the advocate of pedantic 
 subdivision. All such division diminishes, all such 
 mixtures impair the simplicity and clearness of ex- 
 pression : in the gTOup of the Laocoon, the frigid 
 ecstasies of German criticism have discovered pity 
 like a vapour swimming on the father's eyes ; he is 
 seen to suppress in the groan for his children the 
 shriek for himself — his nostrils are drawn upward to 
 express indignation at unworthy sufferings, whilst he 
 is said at the same time to implore celestial help. 
 To these are added the winged effects of the serpent- 
 poison, the writhings of the body, the spasms of the 
 extremities : to the miraculous organization of such 
 expression, Agesander, the sculptor of the Laocoon, 
 was too wise to lay claim. His figure is a class, it 
 characterizes every beauty of virility verging on age ; 
 the prince, the priest, the father are visible, but ab- 
 sorbed in the man serve only to dignify the victim of 
 one great expression ; though poised by the artist, for 
 us to apply the compass to the face of the Laocoon, 
 is to measure the wave fluctuating in the storm : this 
 tempestuous front, this contracted nose, the immer- 
 sion of these eyes, and above all that long-drawn 
 mouth, are, separate and united, seats of convulsion, 
 features of nature struggling within the jaws of death. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 ART OF THE MODERNS. 
 
 'OITINES HFEMONES KAl KOIPANOI HSAN. 
 nAH0YN A* OTK AN Em MT0H:SOMAI OTA' 0N0MHN12 
 OTA' EI MOI AEKA MEN TAilSSAI, AEKA AE 2T0MAT' EIEN, 
 4>12NH A' APPHKT02. 
 
 Homer. Iliad. B.487. 
 
 H 
 
 f 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Introduction — different direction of the art. Preparative style — Masaccio — ■ 
 Lionardo da Vinci. Style of establishment — Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titiano, 
 Corregio. Style of refinement, and depravation. Schools — of Tuscany, Rome, 
 Venice, Lombardy. The Ecclectic school. Machinists. The German school — 
 Albert Durer. The Flemish school — Rubens. The Dutch school — Rembrant. 
 Observations on art in Switzerland. The French school. The , Spanish school. 
 England — Conclusion. 
 
[ 51 ] 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 In the preceding" discourse I have endea- 
 voured to impress you with the general features of 
 ancient art in its different periods of preparation, 
 estabhshment, and refinement. We are now^ arrived 
 at the epoch of its restoration in the fifteenth century 
 of our sera, when rehgion and wealth rousing emula- 
 tion, reproduced its powers, but gave to their exer- 
 tion a very different direction. The reigning church 
 found itself indeed under the necessity of giving more 
 splendour to the temples and mansions destined to re- 
 ceive its votaries, of subduing their senses with the 
 charm of appropriate images and the exhibition of 
 events and actions, which might stimulate their zeal 
 and inflame their hearts : but the sacred mysteries of 
 divine Being, the method adopted by Revelation, the 
 duties its doctrine imposed, the virtues it demanded 
 from its followers, faith, resignation, humility, suffer- 
 ings, substituted a medium of art as much inferior to 
 
 H 2 
 
.52 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 the resources of Pag^anism in a physical sense as in- 
 comparably superior in a spiritual one. Those public 
 customs, that perhaps as much tended to spread the 
 infections of vice as they facilitated the means of art, 
 were no more ; the heroism of the Christian and his 
 beauty were internal, and powerfid or exquisite forms 
 allied him no long-er exclusively to his God. The 
 chief repertory of the artist, the sacred records, fur- 
 nished indeed a sublime cosmog-ony, scenes of patri- 
 archal simplicity and a poetic race, which left nothing- 
 to regret in the loss of heathen mythology ; but the 
 stem of the nation whose history is its exclusive theme, 
 if it abounded in characters and powers fit for the 
 exhibition of passions, did not teem with forms suf- 
 ficiently exalted, to inform the artist and elevate the 
 art. Ingredients of a baser cast mingled their alloy 
 with the materials of grandeur and of beauty. Mo- 
 nastic legend and the rubric of martyrology claimed 
 more than a legitimate share from the labours of the 
 pencil and the chisel, made nudity the exclusive pro- 
 perty of emaciated hermits or decrepit age, and if the 
 breast of manhood was allowed to bare its vigour, or 
 beauty to expand her bosom, the antidotes of terrour 
 and of horrour were ready at their side to check the 
 ap]!rehended infection of their charms. When we 
 add to this the heterogeneous stock on which the 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 53 
 
 reviving system of arts was grafted, a race indeed in- 
 habiting a genial climate, but itself the fceces of l)ar- 
 barity, the remnants of Gothic adventurers, human- 
 ised only by the cross, mouldering amid the ruins of 
 the temples they had demolished, the battered frag- 
 ments of the images their rage had crushed — when 
 we add this, I say, we shall less wonder at the languor 
 of modern art in its rise and progress, than be asto- 
 nished at the vigour by which it adapted and raised 
 materials partly so unfit and defective, partly so con- 
 taminated, to the magnificent system which we are to 
 contemplate. 
 
 Sculpture had already produced respectable speci- 
 mens of its reviving powers in the bassorelievos of Lo- 
 renzo Ghiberti, some works of Donato, and the Christ 
 of Philippo Brunelleschi (a), when the first symptoms 
 of imitation appeared in the frescos of Tonnnaso da 
 St. Giovanni, commonly called Masaccio, from the 
 total neglect of his appearance and person (6) : Ma- 
 
 [a) See the account of this in Vasari; vita di P. Brunelleschi, torn. ii. 1 14. It is 
 of wood, and still exists in the chapel of the family Gondi, in the church of S. Maria 
 Novella. I know that near a century before Donato, Giotto is said to have worked 
 in marble two bassorelievos on the campanile of the cathedral of Florence; they 
 probably excel the style of his pictures, as much as the bronze works executed by 
 Andrea Pisani, from his designs, at the door of the Battistcrio. 
 
 (Z>) Masaccio da S. Giovanni di Valdarno born in 1402, is said to have died in 
 1443, He was the pupil of Masolino da Panicale. 
 
54 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 saccio first conceived that parts are to constitute a 
 whole ; that composition ought to have a centre ; ex- 
 pression, truth ; and execution, unity : his hne de- 
 serves attention, though his subjects led him not to 
 investigation of form, and the shortness of his life 
 forbade his extending* those elements w^hich Raphael, 
 nearly a century afterward, carried to perfection — it 
 is sufficiently glorious for him to have been more than 
 once copied by that great master of expression, and 
 in some degree to have been the herald of his style : 
 Masaccio lives more in the figure of Paul preaching 
 on the areopagus, of the celebrated cartoon in our 
 possession, and in the borrowed figure of Adam ex- 
 pelled from paradise in the loggia of the Vatican, 
 than in his own mutilated or retouched remains. 
 
 The essays of Masaccio in imitation and expression, 
 Andrea Mantegna (c) attempted to unite with form ; 
 led by the contemplation of the antique, fragments 
 of which he ambitiously scattered over his works : 
 though a Lombard, and born prior to the discovery 
 of the best ancient statues, he seems to have been ac- 
 quainted with a variety of characters, from forms that 
 
 (c) Andrea Mantegna died at Mantoua, 1 505. A monument erected to his me- 
 mory in 1517, by his sons, gave rise to the mistake of dating his death from that 
 period. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 55 
 
 remind us of the Apollo, Mercury or Meleager, down 
 to the fauns and satyrs : but his taste was too crvide, 
 his fancy too grotesque, and his comprehension too 
 weak to advert from the parts that remained to the 
 whole that inspired them : hence in his figxires of 
 dig-nity or beauty we see not only the meagre forms 
 of common models, but even their defects tacked to 
 ideal Torso's ; and his fauns and satyrs, instead of na- 
 tive luxuriance of growth and the sportive appendages 
 of mixed being, are decorated with heraldic excres- 
 cences and arabesque absurdity. His triumphs are 
 known to you all ; they are a copious inventory of 
 classic lumber, swept together with more industry 
 than taste, but full of valuable materials. Of expres- 
 sion he was not ignorant : his burial of Christ fvn*- 
 nished Raphael with the composition, and some of the 
 features and attitudes in his picture on the same sub- 
 ject in the palace of the Borghese's — the figure of 
 St. John, however, left out by Raphael, proves that 
 Mantegna sometimes mistook grimace for the highest 
 degree of grief. His oil-pictures exhibit little more 
 than the elaborate anguish of missal-painting ; h\is 
 frescoes destroyed at the construction of the Clemen- 
 tine museum, had freshness, freedom and imitation. 
 
56 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 To Luca Sig-norelli, of Cortona (c?), nature more 
 than atoned for the want of those advantages which 
 the study of the antique had offered to Andrea Man- 
 tegna. He seems to have been the first who contem- 
 plated with a discriminating" eye his object, saw what 
 was accident and what essential ; balanced light and 
 shade, and decided the motion of his figures. He 
 foreshortened with equal boldness and intelligence, 
 and thence it is, probably, that Vasari fancies to have 
 discovered in the last judgment of Michael Angelo 
 traces of imitation from the Lunetta, painted by 
 liuca, in the church of the Madonna, at Orvieto ; but 
 the powers which animated him there, and before at 
 Arezzo, are no longer visible in the Gothic medley 
 with which he filled two compartments in the chapel 
 of Sixtus IV. at Rome. 
 
 Such was the dawn of modern art, when Lionardo 
 da Vinci (e) broke forth with a splendour which dis- 
 tanced former excellence : made up of all the elements 
 that constitute the essence of genius, favoured by 
 education and circumstances, all ear, all eye, all grasp ; 
 painter, poet, sculptor, anatomist, architect, engineer, 
 chemist, machinist, musician, man of science, and 
 
 {d) Luca Signorelli died at Cortona 1521, aged S2. 
 
 (<?) Lionardo da Vinci is said to have died in 1517, aged 75, at Paris. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 57 
 
 sometimes empiric [f], he laid hold of every beauty 
 in the enchanted circle, but without exclusive attach- 
 ment to one, dismissed in her turn each. Fitter to 
 scatter hints than to teach by example, he wasted life, 
 insatiate, in experiment. To a capacity which at 
 once penetrated the principle and real aim of the art, 
 he joined an inequality of fancy that at one moment 
 lent him wing's for the pursuit of beauty, and the next. 
 Hung' him on the g-round to crawl after deformity : we 
 owe him chiaroscuro with all its magic, we owe him 
 caricature with all its incongruities. His notions of 
 the most elaborate finish and his want of perseverance 
 were at least equal : — want of perseverance alone 
 could make him abandon his cartoon destined for the 
 great council-chamber at Florence, of which the 
 celebrated contest of horsemen was bvit one group ; 
 
 (f) The flying birds of paste, the lions filled with lilies, the lizards with dragons 
 wings, horned and silvered over, savour equally of the boy and the quack. It is 
 singular enough that there exists not the smallest hint of Lorenzo de Medici having 
 employed or noticed a man of such powers and such early celebrity ; the legend 
 which makes him go to Rome with Juliano de Medici at the access of Leo X, to 
 accept employment in the Vatican, whether sufficiently authentic or not, furnishes a 
 characteristic trait of the man. The Pope passing through the room allotted for 
 the pictures, and instead of designs and cartoons, finding nothing but an apparatus 
 of distillery, of oils and varnishes, exclaimed, Oime, costui non eper for mdla, da che 
 comincia a paisare alia Jine innanzi it principio dell' opera ! From an admirable 
 sonnet of Lionardo, preserved by Lomazzo, he appears to have been sensible of the 
 inconstancy of his own temper, and full of wishes, at least, to correct it. 
 
 Much has been said of the honour he received by expiring in the arms of 
 Francis L It was indeed an honour, by which destiny in some degree atoned to 
 that monarch for his future disaster at Pavia. 
 
 I ' 
 
58 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 for to him who could organize that composition, 
 Michael Ang-elo himself ought rather to have been 
 an object of emulation than of fear : and that he was 
 able to organize it, we may be certain from the 
 remaining imperfect sketch in the * Etruria Pittrice 
 but still more from the admirable print of it by 
 Edelinck, after a drawing of Rubens, who was 
 Lionardo's great admirer, and has said much to im- 
 press us with the beauties of his last supper in the 
 refectory of the Dominicans at Milano, the only one 
 of his great works which he carried to ultimate finish, 
 through all its parts, from the head of Christ to the 
 least important one : it perished soon after him, and 
 we can estimate the loss only from the copies that 
 survive. 
 
 Bartolomeo della Porta, or di S. Marco, the last 
 master of this period [g), first gave gradation to 
 colour, form and masses to drapery, and a grave 
 dignity, till then unknown, to execution. If he was 
 not endowed with the versatility and comprehension 
 of Lionardo, his principles were less mixed with base 
 matter and less apt to mislead him. As a member of 
 a religious order, he confined himself to subjects and 
 characters of piety, but the few nudities which he 
 
 {g) Fra, Bartolomeo died at Florence ISl/j at the age of iS. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 59 
 
 allowed himself to exhibit, show sufficient intellig^ence 
 and still more style : he fore-shortened with truth 
 and boldness, and whenever the figure did admit of 
 it, made his drapery the vehicle of the limb it invests. 
 He was the true master of Raphael, whom his tuition 
 weaned from the meanness of Pietro Perug-ino, and 
 prepared for the mighty style of Michael Angelo 
 Buonarroti. 
 
 Sublimity of conception, grandeur of form, and 
 breadth of manner are the elements of Michael An- 
 gelo's style, (h) By these principles he selected or 
 rejected the objects of imitation. As painter, as 
 sculptor, as architect, he attempted, and above any 
 other man succeeded to unite magnificence of plan 
 and endless variety of subordinate parts with the 
 utmost simplicity and breadth. His line is uniformly 
 grand : character and beauty were admitted only as far 
 as they could be made subservient to grandeur. The 
 child, the female, meanness, deformity, were by him 
 indiscriminately stamped with grandeur. A beggar 
 rose from his hand the patriarch of poverty ; the 
 hump of his dwarf is impressed with dignity ; his 
 women are moulds of generation ; his infants teem 
 
 (A) Michael Angelo Buonarroti born at Castel-Caprese in 1474, died at Rome 
 1564, aged 90. 
 
 I 2 
 
60 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 with the man ; his men are a race of giants. Thi:^ 
 is the ' terribil via' hinted at by Agostino Carracci, 
 thoug-h perhaps as Httle understood by the Bolognese 
 as by the bhndest of his Tuscan adorers, with Vasari 
 at their head. To give the appearance of perfect 
 ease to the most perplexing difficuky, was the ex- 
 chisive power of Michael Angelo- He is the inventor 
 of epic painting, in that sublime circle of the Sistine 
 chapel, which exhibits the origin, the progress, and 
 the final dispensations of theocracy. He has per- 
 sonified motion in the groups of the cartoon of 
 Pisa ; embodied sentiment on the monuments of 
 St. Lorenzo, unravelled the features of meditation in 
 the prophets and sibyls of the Sistine chapel ; and 
 in the last judgment, with every attitude that varies 
 the human body, traced the master-trait of every 
 passion that sways the human heart. Though as 
 sculptor, he expressed the character of flesh more 
 perfectly than all who went before or came after 
 him, yet he never submitted to copy an individual ; 
 Julio the second only excepted, and in him he 
 represented the reigning passion rather than the 
 man. (i) In painting he contented himself with a 
 
 (i) Like Silanion — ' ApoUodorum fecit, fictorem et ipsum, sed inter cunctos dili- 
 
 * gentissimum artis & inimicum sui judicem, crebro perfecta signa frangentem, dum 
 ' satiare cupiditatem nequit artis, et ideo insanum cognorainatum. Hoc in eo ex- 
 
 * pressit, nec hominem ex aere fecit sed Iracundiam.' Piin. 1. xxxiv. 7. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 61 
 
 negative colour, and as the painter of mankind, 
 rejected all meretricious ornament. (A;) The fabric of 
 St. Peter, scattered into infinity of jarring parts by 
 Bramante and his successors, he concentrated ; sus- 
 pended the cupola, and to the most complex gave the 
 air of the most simple of edifices. Such, take him .all 
 in all, was M. Angelo, the salt of art : sometimes he 
 no doubt had his moments of dereliction, deviated 
 into manner, or perplexed the grandeur of his forms 
 with futile and ostentatious anatomy : both met with 
 armies of copyists, and it has been his fate to have 
 been censured for their folly. 
 
 The inspiration of Michael Angelo was followed by 
 the milder genius of Raphael Sanzio (/), the father of 
 
 (k) When M. Angelo pronounced oil-painting to be Arte da donna e da huomini 
 agiati e infingardii a maxim to which the fierce Venetian manner has given an air 
 of paradox, he spoke relatively to fresco : it was a lash on the short-sighted inso- 
 lence of Sebastian del Piombo, who wanted to persuade Paul III. to have the last 
 judgment painted in oil. That he had a sense for the beauties of oil colour, its 
 glow, its juice, its richness, its pulp, the praises which he lavished on Titiano, whom 
 he called the only painter, and his patronage of Fra. Sebastian himself, evidently 
 prove. When young, M. Angelo attempted oil-painting with success ; the picture 
 painted for Angelo Doni is an instance, and probably the only intire work of the 
 kind that remains. The Lazarus, in the picture destined for the cathedral at Nar- 
 bonne, rejects the claim of every other hand. The Leda, the cartoon of which, 
 formerly in the palace of the Vecchietti at Florence, is now in the possession of 
 W. Lock, Esq., was painted in distemper ; (a tempera) ; all small or large oil pictures 
 shown as his, are copies from his designs or cartoons, by Marcello Venusti, Giacopo 
 da Pontormo, Battista Franco, and Sebastian of Venice. 
 
 {I) Raphael Sanzio, of Urbino, died at Rome 1520, at the age of 37. 
 
62 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 dramatic painting", the painter of humanity ; less ele- 
 vated, less vigorous, but more insinuating, more 
 pressing on our hearts, the warm master of our sym- 
 pathies. What effect of human connexion, what fea- 
 ture of the mind, from the gentlest emotion to the 
 most fervid burst of passion, has been left unobserved, 
 has not received a characteristic stamp from that exa- 
 miner of man ? M. Angelo came to nature, nature 
 came to Raphael — he transmitted her features like a 
 lucid glass unstained, unmodified. We stand with 
 awe before M. Angelo, and tremble at the height to 
 which he elevates us — we embrace Raphael, and fol- 
 low him wherever he leads us. Energy, with pro- 
 priety of character and modest grace poise his line 
 and determine his correctness. Perfect human 
 beauty he has not represented ; no face of Raphael's 
 is perfectly beautiful ; no figure of his, in the abstract, 
 possesses the proportions that covdd raise it to a 
 standard of imitation : form to him was only a vehicle 
 of character or pathos, and to those he adapted it in 
 a mode and with a truth which leaves all attempts at 
 emendation hopeless. His invention connects the ut- 
 most stretch of possibility, with the most plausible 
 degree of probability, in a manner that equally sur- 
 prizes our fancy, persuades our judgment, and affects 
 our heart. His composition always hastens to the 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 63 
 
 most necessary point as its centre, and from that dis- 
 seminates, to that leads back as rays, all secondary 
 ones. Group, form, and contrast are subordinate to 
 the event, and common-place ever excluded. His ex- 
 pression, in strict unison with and decided by charac- 
 ter, whether calm, animated, agitated, convulsed, or 
 absorbed by the inspiring passion, unmixed and pure, 
 never contradicts its cause, equally remote from tame- 
 ness and grimace ; the moment of his choice never 
 suffers the action to stagnate or to expire ; it is the 
 moment of transition, the crisis big with the past and 
 pregnant with the future. — If, separately taken, the 
 line of Raphael has been excelled in correctness, ele- 
 gance, and energy ; his colour far surpassed in tone 
 and truth, and harmony ; his masses in roundness, 
 and his chiaroscuro in effect — considered as instru- 
 ments of pathos, they have never been equalled ; 
 and in composition, invention, expression, and the 
 power of telling a story, he has never been ap- 
 proached. , 
 
 Whilst the superiour principles of the art were re- 
 ceiving the homage of Tuscany and Rome, the infe- 
 riour but more alluring charm of colour began to 
 spread its fascination at Venice, from the pallet of 
 
64 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 Giorgione da Castel Franco (7/1), and irresistibly en- 
 tranced every eye that approached the magic of Ti- 
 tian© VeceUi of Cador. (n) To no colonrist before or 
 after him, did nature unveil herself w^ith that dig'nified 
 familiarity in which she appeared to Titiano. His 
 organ, universal and equally fit for all her exhibitions, 
 rendered her simplest to her most compound appear- 
 ances with equal purity and truth. He penetrated 
 the essence and the general principle of the sub- 
 stances before him, and on these established his theory 
 of colour. He invented that breadth of local tint 
 which no imitation has attained ; and first expressed 
 the negative nature of shade : his are the charms of 
 glazing, and the mystery of reflexes, by which he de- 
 tached, rounded, connected, or enriched his objects 
 His harmony is less indebted to the force of light and 
 shade, or the artifices of contrast, than to a due ba- 
 lance of colour, equally remote from monotony and 
 spots. His backgrounds seem to be dictated by na- 
 ture. Landscape, whether it be considered as the 
 transcript of a spot, or the rich combination of con- 
 genial objects, or as the scene of a phoenomenon, dates 
 
 (m) Giorgio Barbarelli, from his size and beauty called Giorgione, was born at 
 Castel Franco, in the territory of Venice, 1478, and died at Venice, 151 1. 
 
 (n) Titiano Vecelli, or as the Venetians call him, Tizian, born at Cador in the 
 Friulese, died at Venice, 1576, aged 99. 
 
 3 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 65 
 
 its orig-in from him : he is the father of portrait paint- 
 ing, of resemblance with form, character with dignity, 
 and costume with subordination. 
 
 Another charm was yet wanting- to complete the 
 round of art — harmony : it apppeared with Antonio 
 Laeti (o) called Correggio, whose works it attended like 
 an enchanted spirit. The harmony and the grace of 
 Correg'g'io are proverbial : the medium which by 
 breadth of gradation unites two opposite principles, 
 the coalition of light and darkness by imperceptible 
 transition, are the element of his style. — This inspires 
 his figures with grace, to this their grace is subordi- 
 nate : the most appropriate, the most elegant attitudes 
 were adopted, rejected, perhaps sacrificed to the most 
 aw^kward ones, in compliance with this imperious 
 principle : parts vanished, were absorbed, or emerged 
 in obedience to it. This unison of a whole, predomi- 
 nates over all that remains of him, from the vastness 
 of his cupolas to the smallest of his oil-pictvn*es. — 
 The harmony of Correggio, though assisted by ex- 
 
 (o) The birth and life of Antonio Allegri, or as he called himself Laeti, surnamed 
 Correggio, is more involved in obscurity than the life of Apelles. Whether he was 
 born in 1490 or 94 is not ascertained ; the time of his death in 1534 is more certain. 
 The best account of him has undoubtedly been given by A. R. Mengs in his Memorie 
 concernenti la vita e le opere di Antonio Allcgri denominato il Correggio. Vol. ii. of his 
 works, published by the Spaniard D. G. Niccola d'Azara. 
 
 K 
 
66 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 quisite hues, was entirely independent of colour : his 
 great organ was chiaroscuro in its most extensive 
 sense ; compared with the expanse in which he floats, 
 the effects of Lionardo da Vinci are little more than 
 the dying' ray of evening, and the concentrated flash 
 of Giorgione discordant abruptness. The bland 
 central light of a globe, imperceptibly gliding through 
 lucid demitints into rich reflected shades, composes 
 the spell of Correggio, and affects us with the soft 
 emotions of a delicious dream. 
 
 Such was the ingenuity that prepared, and such the 
 genius that raised to its height the fabric of modern 
 art. Before we proceed to the next epoch, let us make 
 an observation : 
 
 « 
 
 Form not your judgment of an artist from the 
 exceptions which his conduct may furnish, from the 
 exertions of accidental vigour, some deviations into 
 other walks, or some impremeditated flights of fancy, 
 but from the predominant rule of his system, the 
 general principle of his works. The line and style 
 of Titian's design, sometimes expand themselves like 
 those of Michael Angelo. His Abraham prevented 
 from sacrificing Isaac ; his David adoring over the 
 giant-trunk of Goliah ; the Friar escaping from the 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 67 
 
 murderer of his companion in the forest, equal in 
 loftiness of conception and style of desig-n, their 
 mighty tone of colour and daring execution : the 
 heads and groups of Raphael's fresco's and portraits 
 sometimes glow and palpitate with the tints of Titian, 
 or coalesce in masses of harmony, and undulate with 
 graces superior to those of Correggio ; who in his 
 turn once reached the highest summit of invention, 
 when he embodied silence and personified the mys- 
 teries of lov^e in the voluptuous gToup of Jupiter and 
 lo ; and again exceeded all competition of expression 
 in the divine features of his Ecce-Homo. But 
 these sudden irradiations, these flashes of power are 
 only exceptions from tlieir wonted principles ; pathos 
 and character own Raphael for their master, colour 
 remains the domain of Titian, and harmony the sove- 
 reign mistress of Correggio. 
 
 The resemblance which marked the two flrst pe- 
 riods of ancient and modern art, vanishes altogether 
 as we extend our view to the consideration of the 
 third, or that of refinement, and the origin of schools 
 The pre-eminence of ancient art, as we have obr 
 served, was less the result of superiour powers, than 
 of simplicity of aim and uniformity of pursuit. The 
 Helladic and the Ionian schools appear to have con* 
 
 K 2 
 
68 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 curred in directino' their instruction to the p^rand 
 principles of form and expression : this was the 
 stamen which they drew out into one immense con- 
 nected weh. The talents that succeeded genius, ap- 
 plied and directed their industry and polish to decorate 
 the established system, the refinements of taste, grace, 
 sentiment, colour, adorned l)eauty, g-randeur and ex- 
 pression. The Tuscan, the Roman, the V enetian, 
 and the Lombard schools, whether from incapacity, 
 want of education, of adequate or dignified encourage- 
 ment, meanness of conception, or all these together, 
 separated, and in a short time substituted the medium 
 for the end. Michael Angelo lived to see the electric 
 shock which his design and style had given to ai t, 
 propagated by the Tuscan and Venetian schools, as 
 the ostentatious vehicle of puny conceits and emble- 
 matic quibbles, or the palliative of empty pomp and 
 deg-raded luxuriance of colour. He had been copied 
 but was not imitated by Andrea Vannucchi, surnamed 
 del Sarto, who in his series of pictures on the life of 
 .John the Baptist, in preference adopted the meagre 
 style of Albert Durer. The artist who appears to 
 have penetrated deepest to his mind, was Pelegrino 
 Tibaldi, of Bologna (^;) ; celebrated as the painter of 
 the fresco's in the academic institute of that city, and 
 as the architect of the Escurial under Philip II. The 
 
 (jo) Pelegrino Tibaldi died at Milano in 1592, aged 70. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 69 
 
 compositions, groups, and sing-le fig-ures of the insti- 
 tute exhibit a singular mixture of extraordinary 
 vigour and puerile imbecihty of conception, of cha- 
 racter and caricature, of style and manner. Poly- 
 pbeme groping at the mouth of his cave for Ulysses, 
 and yEolus o-rantino' him favourable winds, are striking' 
 instances of both : than the cyclops, Michael Angelo 
 himself never conceived a form of savage energy, with 
 attitude and limbs more in unison ; whilst the god of 
 winds is degraded to a scanty and ludicrous semblance 
 of Thersites, and Ulysses with his companions tra- 
 vestied by the semibarbarous look and costume of 
 the age of Constantine or Attila; the manner of 
 Michael Angelo is the style of Pelegrino Tibaldi ; 
 from him Golzius, Hemskerk, and Spranger bor- 
 rowed the compendium of the Tuscan's peculiarities. 
 With this mighty talent, however, Michael Angelo 
 seems not to have been acquainted, but by that vmac- 
 countable weakness incident to the greatest powers, 
 and the severe remembrancer of their vanity, he be- 
 came the superintendant and assistant tutor of the 
 Venetian Sebastiano [q), and of Daniel Ricciarelli, 
 of Volterra (r) ; the first of whom, with an exquisite 
 
 {q) Sebastiano, afterwards called Del Piombo from the office of the papal signet, 
 died at Rome in 1 547, aged 62. 
 
 (r) Daniel Ricciarelli, of Volterra, died in 1566, aged 57. 
 
70 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 eye for individual, had no sense for ideal colour^ 
 whilst the other rendered great diligence and much 
 anatomical erudition, useless by meagreness of line 
 and sterility of ideas : how far Michael Angelo suc- 
 ceeded in initiating either in his principles, the far- 
 famed pictures of the resuscitation of Lazarus, 
 by the first, once in the cathedral of Narbonne, 
 and since inspected by us all at the Lyceum 
 here and the fresco of the descent from the 
 cross, in the church of La Trinita del Monte, at 
 Rome, by the second, sufficiently evince : pictures 
 which combine the most heterogeneous principles. 
 The group of Lazams in Sebastian del Piombo's 
 and that of the women, with the figure of Christ, in 
 Daniel Ricciarelli's, not only breathe the sublime con- 
 ception that inspired, but the master-hand that shaped 
 them : offsprings of Michael Angelo himself, models 
 of expression, style, and breadth, they cast on all the 
 rest an air of inferiority, and only serve to prove the 
 incongmity of partnership between unequal powers ; 
 this inferiority however is respectable, when com- 
 pared with the depravations of Michael Angelo's style 
 by the remainder of the Tuscan school, especially 
 those of Giorgio Vasari (s), the most superficial artist 
 
 * Now the first ornament of the exquisite collection of J. J. Angerstein, Esq. 
 (5) Giorgio Vasari, of Arezzo, died in 1584, aged 68. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 71 
 
 and the most abandoned mannerist of his time, but 
 the most acute observer of men and the most dextrous 
 flatterer of princes. He overwhehned the palaces 
 of the Medici and of the popes, the convents and 
 churches of Italy, with a deluge of mediocrity, com- 
 mended by rapidity and shameless ' bravura' of hand : 
 he alone did more work than all the artists of Tus- 
 cany together, and to him may be truly applied, what 
 he had the insolence to say of Tintoretto, that he 
 turned the art into a boy's toy. 
 
 Whilst Michael Angelo was .doomed to lament the 
 perversion of his style, death prevented Raphael from 
 witnessing the gradual decay of his. The exuberant 
 fertility of Julio Pipi called Romano (^), and the less 
 extensive but classic taste of Polydoro da Caravagio 
 deserted indeed the standard of their master, but with 
 a dignity and magnitude of compass which command 
 respect. It is less from his tutored works in the 
 Vatican, than from the colossal conceptions, the 
 pathetic or sublime allegories, and the voluptuous 
 reveries which enchant the palace del T, near Man- 
 toua, that we must form our estimate of Julio's 
 powers ; they were of a size to challenge all com- 
 
 (t) Julio Pipi, called Romano, died at Mantoua in 1546, aged 54. 
 
72 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 petition, had he united purity of taste and dehcacy of 
 mind with energ'y and loftiness of thought ; as they 
 are, they resemble a mighty stream, sometimes flow- 
 ing in a full and limpid vein, but oftener turbid with 
 rubbish. He has left specimens of composition 
 from the most sublime to the most extravagant ; to a 
 primeval simplicity of conception in his mythologic 
 subjects, which transports us to the golden age of 
 Hesiod, he joined a rage for the grotesque ; to un- 
 common powers of expression a decided attachment 
 to deformity and grimace, and to the warmest and 
 most genial imagery, the most ungenial colour. 
 
 With nearly equal, but still more mixed fertilitv, 
 Francesco Primaticcio (u) propagated the style and the 
 conceptions of his master Julio on the gallic side of 
 the Alps, and with the assistance of Nicolo, com- 
 monly called Dell' Abbate after him, filled the pa- 
 laces of Francis I. with mythologic and allegoric 
 works, in fresco's of an energy and depth of tone 
 till then unknown. Theirs was the cyclus of pictures 
 from the Odyssea of Homer at Fontainbleau, a mine 
 of classic and picturesque materials : they are de- 
 stroyed, and we may estimate their loss, even through 
 
 [u) Francesco Primaticcio, made Abbe de St. Martin de Troyes, by Francis I., 
 died in France 1570, aged 80. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 73 
 
 the disguise of the mannered and feeble etchings of 
 Theodore Van Tulden. 
 
 The compact style of Polydoro (x), formed on the 
 antique, such as it is exhibited in the best series of the 
 Roman military bassrelievos, is more monumental, 
 than imitative or characteristic. But the virility of 
 his taste, the impassioned motion of his groups, the 
 simplicity, breadth, and never excelled elegance and 
 probability of his drapery, with the forcible chiaros- 
 curo of his compositions, make us regret the narrow- 
 ness of the walk, to which he confined his powers. 
 
 No painter ever painted his own mind so forcibly 
 as Michael Angelo Amerigi, surnamed II Cara- 
 vaggi. To none nature ever set limits with a 
 more decided hand. Darkness gave him light ; into 
 his melancholy cell light stole only with a pale re- 
 luctant ray, or broke on it, as flashes on a stormy 
 night. The most vulgar forms he recommended by 
 ideal light and shade, and a tremendous breadth of 
 manner. 
 
 (x) Polydoro Caldara da Caravaggio was assassinated at Messina in 1543, aged 51. 
 
 (i/) Michael Angelo Amerigi, surnamed II Caravaggi, knight of Malta, died 
 1609, aged 40. 
 
 L 
 
74 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 The aim and style of the Roman school deserve 
 little further notice here, till the appearance of Nicolas 
 Poussin (z) a Frenchman, but gTafted on the Roman 
 stock. Bred under Quintin V arin a French painter 
 of mediocrity, he found on his arrival in Italy that 
 he had more to unlearn than to follow of his master's 
 principles, renounced the national character, and not 
 only with the utmost ardour adopted, but suffered 
 himself to be wholly absorbed by the antique. Such 
 was his attachment to the ancients, that it may be 
 said he less imitated their spirit than copied their 
 relics and painted sculpture ; the costume, the my- 
 thology, the rites of antiquity were his element ; 
 his scenery, his landscape are pure classic ground. 
 He has left specimens to shew that he was sometimes 
 sublime, and often in the highest degree pathetic, but 
 history in the strictest sense, was his property, and in 
 that he ought to be followed. His agents only ap- 
 pear, to tell the fact, they are subordinate to the 
 story. Sometimes he attempted to tell a story that 
 cannot be told : of his historic dignity the celebrated 
 series of Sacraments ; of his sublimity, the vision he 
 gave to Coriolanus ; of his pathetic power, the infant 
 Pyrrhus ; and of the vain attempt to tell by figures 
 
 (2) Nicolas Poussin, of Andely, died at Rome 1665, aged 71. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 75 
 
 what words alone can tell, the testament of Eudami- 
 das, are striking* instances. His eye, though im- 
 pressed with the tint, and breadth, and imitation of 
 Titiano, seldom inspired him to charm with colour, 
 crudity and patches frequently deform his effects. He 
 is une(]ual in his style of design ; sometimes his com- 
 prehension fails him, he supplies, like Pietro Testa, 
 ideal heads and torso's with limbs and extremities 
 transcribed from the model. Whether from choice 
 or want of power he has seldom executed his con- 
 ceptions on a larger scale than that which bears his 
 name, and which has perhaps as much contributed to 
 make him the darling of this country, as his merit. 
 
 The wildness of Salvator Rosa (a) opposes a 
 powerful contrast to the classic regularity of Poussin. 
 Terrific and grand in his conceptions of inanimate 
 nature, he was reduced to attempts of hiding l)y 
 boldness of hand, his inability of exhibiting her im- 
 passioned, or in the dignity of character : his line 
 is vulgar : his magic visions less founded on prin- 
 ciples of terrour than on mythologic trash and ca- 
 price, are to the probable combinations of nature, 
 what the paroxysms of a fever are to the flights of 
 
 (a) Salvator Rosa, surnamed Salvatoriello, died at Rome 1673, aged 59. 
 
 L 
 
76 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 vig-orous fancy. Though so much extolled and so 
 ambitiously imitated, his banditti are a medley made 
 up of starveling models, shreds and bits of armour 
 from his lumber-room, brushed into notice by a 
 daring pencil. Salvator was a satyrist and a cntic, 
 but the rod which he had the insolence to lift asrainst 
 the nudities of Michael Angelo, and the anachronism 
 of Raphael, would have been better employed in 
 chastising his own misconceptions. 
 
 The principle of Titiano, less pure in itself and less 
 decided in its object of imitation, did not suffer so 
 much from its more or less appropriate application by 
 his successors, as the former two. Colour once in a 
 very high degree attained, disdains subordination and 
 engrosses the whole. Mutual similarity attracts, body 
 tends to body, as mind to mind, and he, who has once 
 gained supreme dominion over the eye, will hardly 
 resign it to court the more coy approbation of mind, 
 of a few opposed to nearly all. Add to this the 
 character of the place and the nature of the en- 
 courasrement held out to the Venetian artists. Venice 
 was the centre of connnerce, the repository of the 
 riches of the globe, the splendid toy-shop of the time : 
 its chief inhabitants princely merchants, or a patrician 
 race elevated to rank by accumidations from trade, or 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 77 
 
 naval prowess ; the bulk of the people mechanics or 
 artisans, administering* the means, and in their turn 
 fed by the produce of luxury. Of such a system, 
 what could the art be more than the parasite ? Re- 
 Hg-ion itself had exchanged its gravity for the allure- 
 ments of ear and eye, and even sanctity disgusted, 
 unless arrayed by the gorgeous hand of fashion. — 
 Such was, such will always be the birth-place and the 
 theatre of colour : and hence it is more matter of 
 wonder that the first and greatest colourists should so 
 long have forborne to overstep the modesty of nature 
 in the use of that alluring medium, than that they 
 yielded by degrees to its golden solicitations. (6) 
 
 (b) Of the portraits which Raphael in fresco scattered over the compositions of 
 the Vatican, we shall find an opportunity to speak. But in oil the real style 
 of portrait began at Venice with Giorgione, flourished in Sebastian del Piombo, and 
 was carried to perfection by Titiano, who filled the masses of the first without en- 
 tangling himself in the minute details of the second. Tintoretto, Bassan, and 
 Paolo of Verona, followed the principle of Titiano. After these, it migrated from 
 Italy to reside with the Spaniard Diego Velasquez ; from whom Rubens and Van- 
 dyck attempted to transplant it to Flanders, France and England, with unequal 
 success. France seized less on the delicacy than on the affectation of Vandyck, 
 and soon turned the art of representing men and women into a mere remembrancer 
 of fashions and airs. England had possessed Holbein, but it was reserved for the 
 German Lely, and his successor Kneller, to lay the foundation of a manner, which, 
 by pretending to unite portrait with history, gave a retrogade direction for near a 
 century, to both. A mob of shepherds and shepherdesses in flowing wigs and 
 dressed curls, ruffled Endymion's, humble Juno's, withered Hebe's, surly Allcgroes, 
 and smirking Pensierosa's, usurped the place of truth, propriety and character. 
 Even the lamented powers of the greatest painter, whom this country and perhaps 
 our age produced, long vainly struggled, and scarcely in the eve of life succeeded to 
 emancipate us from this dastard taste. 
 
78 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 The principle of Corregg io vanished with its author, 
 though it found numerous imitators of its parts. Since 
 him, no eye has conceived that expanse of harmony 
 with which the vohiptuous sensibihty of his mind 
 arranged and enchanted all visible nature. His grace, 
 so much vaunted and so little understood, was adopted 
 and improved to elegance by Francesco Mazzuoli, 
 called il Parmegiano (c), but instead of making her the 
 measure of propriety he degraded her to affectation : 
 in Parmegiano's figures action is the adjective of the 
 posture ; the accident of attitude ; they * make them- 
 selves air, into which they vanish.' That disengaged 
 play of delicate forms, the ' Sueltezza' of the Italians, 
 is the prerogative of Parmegiano, though nearly 
 always obtained at the expence of proportion. His 
 grandeur as conscious as his grace, sacrifices the 
 motive to the mode, simplicity to contrast • his St. 
 John loses the fervour of the apostle in the orator; 
 
 (c) Francesco Mazzuoli, called il Parmegiano, died at Casal Maggiore in 1540, 
 at the age of 36. The magnificent picture of the St. John, we speak of, was begun 
 by order of the Lady Maria Bufalina, and destined for the church of St. Salvadoi'e 
 del Lauro at Citta di CastcUo. It probably never received the last hand of the 
 master, who fled from Rome, where he painted it, at the sacking of that city, 
 under Charles Bourbon, in 1527; it remained in the refectory of the convent 
 (iella Pace for several years, was carried to Citta di CastcUo by Mc^^ser Giulio 
 B'lfalini, and is now in England. The Moses, a figure in fresco at Parma, together 
 widi Raphael's fisrure of God in the vision of Ezekiel, is said, by Mr, Mason, to 
 have furnished Gray with the head and action of his bard: if that was the case, he 
 would have done well, to acquaint us with the poet's method, of making ' Placidis 
 ' coire immitia.' 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 79 
 
 his Moses the dignity of the lawgiver in the savage. 
 With incredible force of chiaroscuro, he united bland 
 effects and fascinating hues, but their frequent ruins 
 teach the important lesson, that the mixtures w^hich 
 anticipate the beauties of time, are big with the seeds 
 of premature decay. 
 
 Such was the state of the art, when, towards the de- 
 cline of the sixteenth century, Lodovico Carracci (d), 
 with his cousins Agostino and i\nnibale, founded at 
 Bologna that ecclectic school, which by selecting the 
 beauties, correcting the faults, supplying the defects 
 and avoiding the extremes of the different styles, 
 attempted to form a perfect system. But as the 
 mechanic part was their only object, they did not 
 perceive that the projected union was incompatible 
 with the leading principle of each master. Let us 
 hear this plan from Agostina Carracci himself, as it is 
 
 {d) Lodovico Carracci died at Eologna 1619, aged G*. 
 
 Agostino Carracci died at Parma in 1602, at the age of 44. His is the St. 
 Girolamo in the Certosa, near Bologna ; his, the Thetis with the nereids, ciipids, and 
 tritons, in the gallery of the palace Farnese. Why, as an engraver, he should 
 have wasted his powers on the large plate from the crucifixion, painted by Tintoretto, 
 in the hospitio of the school of St. Rocco, a picture, of which he could not express 
 the tone, its greatest merit, is not easily unriddled. Annibale Carracci died at Rome 
 in 1609, at the age of 49. 
 
80 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 laid down in his sonnet (e) on the ingredients required 
 to form a perfect painter, if that may be called a son- 
 net, which has more the air of medical prescription. 
 ' Take,* says Agostino, ' the design of Rome, Vene- 
 
 * tian motion and shade, the dignified tone of Lom- 
 
 * hardy's colour, the terrible manner of Michael 
 
 * Angelo, the just symmetry of Raphael, Titiano's 
 
 * truth of nature, and the sovereign purity of 
 
 {e) SONNET OF AGOSTINO CARRACCI. 
 
 Chi farsi un buon Pittor cerca, e desia, 
 II disegno di Roma habbia alia mano, 
 La mossa coll' ombrar Veneziano, 
 E il degno colorir di Lombardia. 
 
 Di Michel' Angiol la terribil via 
 II vero natural di Tiziano, 
 Del Correggio lo stil puro, e sovrano, 
 E di un Rafel la giusta simetria. 
 
 Del Tibaldi il decoro, e il fondamento, 
 Del dotto Primaticcio I'inventare, 
 E un po di gratia del Parmigianino. 
 
 Ma senza tanti studi, e tanto stento, 
 Si ponga I'opre solo ad imitare, 
 Che qui lasciocci il nostro Niccolino. 
 
 Malvasia, author of the Felsina Pittrice, has made this sonnet the text to his 
 drowsy rhapsody on the frescoes of Lodovico Carracci and some of his scholars, in 
 the cloisters of St. Michele in Bosco, by Bologna. He circumscribes the ' Mos&a 
 ' Veneziana; of the sonnet, by « Qiuel strepitoso motivo 8{ quel divincolamento' 
 peculiar to Tintoretto. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 81 
 
 ' Corregio's style : add to these the decorum and 
 ' sohdity of Tibaldi, the learned invention of Prima- 
 ' ticcio, and a little of Parmegiano's grace : bvit 
 ' to save so much study, such weary labour, apply 
 ^ vour imitation to the works which our dear Nicolo 
 ' has left us here.' Of such advice, balanced between 
 the tone of reg-ular breeding" and the cant of an 
 empiric, what could be the result ? excellence or 
 mediocrity ? who ever imag-ined that a multitude 
 of dissimilar threads could compose an uniform tex- 
 ture, that dissemination of spots would make masses, 
 or a little of many things produce a legitimate 
 \^hole ? indiscriminate imitation must end in the 
 exthiction of character, and that in mediocrity — 
 the cypher of art. 
 
 And were the Carracci such ? separate the precept 
 from the practice, the artist from the teacher ; and the 
 Carracci are in possession of my submissive homag-e. 
 Lodovico, far from implicitly subscribing to a master's 
 dictates, was the sworn pupil of nature. To a modest 
 style of form, to a simplicity eminently fitted for those 
 subjects of religious gravity which his taste prefeiTed, 
 he joined that solemnity of hue, that sober twilig-ht, 
 the air of cloistered meditation, which you have so 
 often heard recommended as the proper tone of his- 
 
 M 
 
82 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 toric colour. Too often content to rear the humbler 
 graces of his subject, he seldom courted eleg-ance, but 
 always, when he did, with enviable success. Even 
 now, though nearly in a state of evanescence, the 
 three nymphs in the garden scene of St. Michele in 
 Bosco, seem moulded by the hand, inspired by the 
 breath of love. Agostino, with a singular modesty 
 which prompted him rather to propagate the fame of 
 others by his graver, than by steady exertion to rely on 
 his own power for perpetuity of name, combined with 
 some learning a cultivated taste, correctness, though 
 not elegance of form, and a corregiesque colour. 
 Annibale, superior to both in power of execution and 
 academic prowess, was inferior to either in taste anci 
 sensibility and judgment ; for the most striking proof 
 of this inferiority I appeal to his master-work, the 
 work on which he rests his fame, the gallery of the 
 Farnese palace : a work whose uniform vigour of 
 execution, nothing can equal but its imbecility and 
 incongruity of conception. If impropriety of orna- 
 ment were to be fixed by definition, the subjects of the 
 Farnese gallery might be quoted as the most decisive 
 instances. Criticism has attempted to dismiss Paolo 
 Veronese and Tintoretto from the province of legiti- 
 mate history with the contemptuous appellation of 
 ornamental painters, not for having painted subjects 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 83 
 
 inapplicable to the public and private palaces, the 
 churches and convents, which they were employed to 
 decorate, but because they treated them sometimes 
 without regard to costume, or the simplicity due to 
 sacred, heroic or alleg-oric subjects : if this be just, 
 where shall we class him, who with the Capella 
 Sistina, and the V atican before his eye, fills the man- 
 sion of religious austerity and episcopal dignity, with 
 a chaotic series of trite fable and bacchanalian revelry, 
 without allegory, void of allusion, merely to gratify 
 the puerile ostentation of dauntless execution and 
 academic vigour ? if the praise given to a work be not 
 always transferable to its master ; if, as Milton says, 
 ' the work some praise and some the architect,' let us 
 admire the splendour, the exuberance, the concentra- 
 tion of powers displayed in the Farnese gallery, whilst 
 we lament their misapplication by Annibale Carracci. 
 
 The heterogeneous principle of the ecclectic school 
 soon operated its own dissolution : the great talents 
 which the Carracci had tutored, soon found their 
 own bias, and abandoned themselves to their own 
 peculiar taste. B. Schidone died young in 1615. 
 Barto. Schidone, Guido Reni (^), Giovanni Lan- 
 
 (y) Guido Reni died in 1642, aged 68. Giov. Lanfranco died at Naples in 1647 
 aged 66. Franc. Albani died in 1660, aged 82. Domenico Zampieri, called il 
 
 M 
 
84 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 franco, Francesco Albani, Donienico Zampieri, and 
 V rancesco Bar bieri, called Guercino, differed as mucin 
 in their objects of imitation as their names. Schi- 
 done, all of whose mind was in his eye, embraced, and 
 often to meaner subjects applied the harmony and 
 colour of Correggio, whilst Lanfranco strove, but 
 strove without success, to follow him through the 
 expanse of his creation and masses. Grace attracted 
 Guido, but it was the studied grace of theatres : his 
 female forms are abstracts of antique beavity, at- 
 tended by languishing attitudes, arrayed by voluptu- 
 ous fashions. Flis male forms, transcripts of models, 
 such as are found in a genial climate, are sometimes 
 highly characteristic of dignified manhood or apos- 
 tolic fervour, like his Peter and Paul, formerly in 
 the Zampieri at Bologna : sometimes stately, courte- 
 ous, insipid, like his Paris attending Helen, more 
 with the air of an ambassadour, by proxy, than car- 
 rying her off with a lover's fervour. His Aurora 
 deserved to precede a more majestic sun, and hours 
 less clumsy : his colour varies with his style, some- 
 times bland and harmonious, sometimes vigorous and 
 stern, sometimes flat and insipid. Albani, chiefly 
 
 Domenichino, died in 1641, aged 60. Franc. Barbieri of Cento, called il Guercino, 
 from a cast in his eye, died in 1667, aged 76. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 85 
 
 attracted by soft mythologic conceits, formed nereids 
 and oreads on plump Venetian models, and con- 
 strasted their pearly hues with the rosy tints of loves, 
 the juicy brown of fauns and satyrs, and rich marine 
 or sylvan scenery. Domenichino, more obedient than 
 the rest to his masters, aimed at the beauty of the 
 antique, the expression of Raphael, the vigour of 
 Annibale, the colour of Lodovico, and mixing some- 
 thing* of each, fell short of all ; whilst Guercino broke 
 like a torrent over all academic rules, and with an 
 ungovernable itch of copying whatever lay in his 
 way, sacrificed mind, form and costume, to effects 
 of colour, fierceness of chiaroscuro, and intrepidity 
 of hand. 
 
 Such was the state of art, when the spirit of ma* 
 chinery, in submission to the vanities and upstart 
 pride of papal nepotism, destroyed what yet was left 
 of meaning ; when equilibration, contrast, grouping, 
 engrossed composition, and poured a deluge of gay 
 common-place over the platfonds, pannels, and cu- 
 polas of palaces and temples. Those who could not 
 conceive a figure singly, scattered multitudes ; to 
 count, was to be poor. The rainbow and the seasons 
 were ransacked for their hues, and every eye became 
 the tributary of the great, but abused talents of Pietro 
 
86 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 da Cortona, and the fascinating" but debauched and 
 empty facihty of Luca Giordano, (g) 
 
 The same revolution of mind that had organized 
 the arts of Italy, spread, without visible communi- 
 cation, to Germany, and towards the decline of the 
 fifteenth century, the uncouth essays of Martin Schon, 
 Michael Wolg'emuth, and Albrecht Altorfer, were 
 succeeded by the finer polish and the more dextrous 
 method of Albert Durer. The indiscriminate use of 
 the words genius and talent has perhaps no where 
 caused more confusion than in the classification of 
 artists. Albert Durer was in my opinion a man of 
 great ing-enuity, without being a genius. He studied, 
 and, as far as his penetration reached, established 
 certain proportions of the human frame, but he did 
 not invent a style : every work of his is a proof that 
 he wanted the power of imitation, of concluding' 
 from what he saw, to what he did not see, that he 
 copied rather than selected the forms that surrounded 
 him, and sans remoi'se tacked deformity and meagre- 
 
 {g) Pietro Berretini, of Cortona, the painter of the cieling in the Barherini hall, 
 and of the gallery in the lesser Pamphili palace ; the vernal suavity of whose fresco- 
 tints no pencil ever equalled, died at Rome in 1669, aged 73. Luca Giordano, 
 nick-named Fa-presto, or Dispatch, from the rapidity of his execution, the greatest 
 machinist of his time, died in 1705, aged 76. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 87 
 
 ness to fulness, and sometimes to beauty, (h) Such 
 is his design ; in composition copious without taste, 
 anxiously precise in parts, and unmindfid of the 
 whole, he has rather shewn us what to avoid than 
 what to follow. He sometimes had a glimpse of the 
 sublime, but it was only a glimpse : the expanded 
 agony of Christ on the mount of Olives, and the 
 mystic conception of his figure of Melancholy, are 
 thoughts of sublimity, though the expression of the 
 last is weakened by the rubbish he has thrown about 
 her. His Knight, attended by Death and the Fiend, 
 
 (A) We are informed by the Editor of the Latin translation of Albert Durer's 
 book, on the symmetry of the parts of the human frame, (Parisiis, in officina Ca- 
 roli Perier in vico Bellovaco, sub Bellerophonte, 1557, fol.) that, during Albert's stay 
 at Venice, where he resided for a short time, to procure redress from the Signoria, 
 for the forgery of Marc Antonio, he became familiar with Giovanni Bellini : and 
 that Andrea Mantcgna, who had heard of his arrival in Italy, and had conceived 
 an high opinion of his execution and fertility, sent him a message of invitation to 
 Mantoua, for the express purpose of giving him an idea of that form of which he 
 himself had obtained a glimpse from the contemj^'^ition of the antique. Andrea 
 was then ill, and expired before Albert, who immediately prepared to set out for 
 Mantoua, could profit by his instructions. This disappointment, says my author, 
 Albert never ceased to lament during his life. How fit the Mantouan was to in- 
 struct the German, is not the question here ; but Albert's regret seems to prove 
 that he felt a want which his model could not supply ; and that he had too just an 
 idea of the importance of the art to be proud of dexterity of finger or facility of 
 execution, when employed on objects essentially defective or comparatively trifling. 
 The following personal account of Albert deserves to be given in the Latin Editor's 
 own words : ' E Pannonia oriundum accepimus — Erat caput argutum, oculi 
 ' micantes, nasus honestus & quem Greti Tsr^aycuvov vocant ; proceriusculum 
 < collum, pectus amplum, castigatus venter, femora nervosa, crura stabilia : sed digitis 
 ' nihil dixisses vidisse elegantius.' 
 
 Albert Durer was the scholar of Martin Schiin and Michael Wolgemuth, and 
 died at Nuremberg in 1528, aged 57. 
 
88 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 is more capricious than terrible ; and his Adam and 
 Eve are two common models shut up in a rocky dun- 
 ^-eon. If he approached genius in any part of art, it 
 was in colour. His colour went beyond his ag-e, and 
 as far excelled in truth and breadth and handling* the 
 oil colour of Raphael, as Raphael excels him in every 
 other quality. I speak of easel-pictures — -his dra- 
 pery is broad though much too angular, and rather 
 snapt than folded. Albert is called the father of the 
 German school, though he neither reared scholars, 
 nor was imitated by the German artists of his or the 
 succeeding century. That the exportation of his 
 works to Italy should have effected a temporary 
 change in the principles of some Tuscans who had 
 studied Michael Angelo, of Andrea del Sarto, and 
 Jacopo da Pontormo, is a fact which proves that 
 minds at certain periods may be subject to epidemic 
 influence as well as bodies. 
 
 Lucas of Leyden (i) was the Dutch imitator of Al- 
 bert ; but the forms of Aldegraver, Sebald Beheim, and 
 George Pentz, appear to have been the result of care- 
 ful inspection of Marc Antonio's prints from Raphael, 
 of whom Pentz was probably a scholar ; and ere long 
 
 (i) Lucas Jacob, called Lucas of Leyden, and by the Italians, Luca d'Ollanda, 
 died at Leyden in 1533. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 89 
 
 the style of Michael Angelo, as adopted by Pelegrincf 
 Tibaldi, and spread by the graver of Giorgio Man- 
 tuano, provoked those caravans of German, Dutch 
 and Flemish students, who on their return from Italy, 
 at the courts of Prague and Munich, in Flanders and 
 the Netherlands, introduced that preposterous manner, 
 the bloated excrescence of diseased brains, which in 
 the form of man left nothing human, distorted action 
 and gesture with insanity of affectation, and dressed 
 the gewgaws of children in colossal shapes ; the style 
 of Golzius and Spranger, Heynz and ab Ach : but 
 though content to feed on the husks of Tuscan 
 design, they imbibed the colour of V enice, and spread 
 the elements of that excellence which distinguished 
 the succeeding schools of Flanders and of Holland. 
 
 This frantic pilgrimage to Italy ceased at the ap- 
 parition of the two meteors of art, Peter Paul 
 Rubens (k)y and Rembrandt Van Rhyn ; both of 
 whom disdaining; to acknowledge the usual laws of 
 admission to the temple of fame, boldly forg'ed their 
 own keys, entered and took possession, each, of a 
 
 {k) Peter Paul Rubens, of Cologne, the disciple of Adam Van Ort and Otho 
 Venius, died at or near Antwerp in 1641, aged 63. 
 
 See the admirable character given of him by Sir Joshua Reynolds, annexed to his 
 journey to Flanders, vol, ii. of his works. 
 
 N 
 
90 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 most conspicuous place by his own power. Rubens, 
 born at Cologne, in Germany, but brought up at 
 Antwerp, then the depository oF western commerce, 
 a school of religious and classic learning, and the 
 pompous seat of Austrian and Spanish superstition, 
 met these advantages with an ardour and success of 
 which ordinary minds can fo rm no idea, if we com- 
 pare the period at which he is said to have seriously 
 applied himself to painting, under the tuition of 
 Otho Van Veen, with the unbounded power he had 
 acquired over the instruments of art when he set out 
 for Italy ; where we instantly discover him not as the 
 pupil, but as the successful rival of the masters whose 
 works he had selected for the objects of his emulation. 
 Endowed with a full comprehension of his own 
 character, he wasted not a moment on the acquisition 
 of excellence incompatible with its fervour, but flew 
 to the centre of his ambition, Venice, and soon com- 
 pounded from the splendour of Paolo Veronese and 
 the glow of Tintoretto, that florid system of mannered 
 magnificence which is the element of his art and the 
 principle of his school. He first spread that ideal 
 pallet, which reduced to its standard the variety of 
 nature, and once methodized, whilst his mind tuned 
 the method, shortened or superseded individual imi- 
 tation. His scholars, however dissimilar in them- 
 
SECOND 
 
 LECTURE. 
 
 91 
 
 selves, saw with the eye of their master ; the eye of 
 Rubens was become the substitute of nature : still 
 the mind alone that had balanced these tints, and 
 weig'hed their powers, could apply them to their 
 objects, and determine their use in the pompous 
 display of historic and allegoric magnificence ; for 
 that they were selected, for that the gorgeous nose- 
 gay swelled : but when in the progress of depraved 
 practice they became the mere palliatives of mental 
 impotence, empty representatives of themselves, the 
 supporters of nothing but clumsy forms and clumsier 
 conceits, they can only be considered as splendid im- 
 proprieties, as the substitutes for wants which no 
 colour can palliate and no tint supply. 
 
 In this censure I am under no apprehension of being' 
 suspected to include either the illustrious name of 
 Vandyck(/), or that of Abraham Diepenbeck. Van- 
 dyck, more elegant, more refined, to graces, whicli 
 the genius of Rubens disdained to court, joined that 
 exquisite taste which, in following the general prin- 
 ciple of his master, moderated, and adapted its 
 application to his own pursuits. His sphere was 
 
 (/) Anthony Vandyck died in London, 1641, at the age of 42. — The poetic con- 
 ception of Abraham Diepenbeck may be estimated ft-om the Temple des Muses of 
 Mr. de Marolles ; re-edited but not improved by Bernard Picart. 
 
 N 2 
 
92 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 portrait, and the imitation of Titian o insured him the 
 second place in that. The fancy of Diepenbeck, 
 though not so exuberant, if I be not mistaken, ex- 
 celled in sublimity the imagination of Hubens : his 
 Bellerophon, Dioscuri, Hippolytus, Ixion, Sisyphus, 
 fear no competitor among the productions of his 
 master. 
 
 Rembrandt (m) was, in my opinion, a genius of the 
 first class in whatever relates not to form. In spite 
 of the most portentous deformity, and withovit consi- 
 dering the spell of his chiaroscuro, such were his 
 powers of nature, such the grandeur, pathos, or 
 simplicity of his composition, fi^om the most elevated 
 or extensive arrangement to the meanest and most 
 homely, that the best cultivated eye, the purest sensi- 
 bility, and the most refined taste dwell on them, 
 equally enthralled. Shakspeare alone excepted, no 
 one combined with so much transcendent excellence, 
 so many, in all other men unpardonable faults — and 
 reconciled us to them. He possessed the full empire 
 of light and shade, and of all the tints that float 
 between them : he tinged his pencil with equal 
 success in the cool of dawn, in the noon-day ray, in 
 
 (jb) Rembrandt died, at Amsterdam ? in 1 674, aged 68. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 93 
 
 the livid flash, in evanescent twiHght, and rendered 
 darkness visible. Thoug'h made to bend a stedfast 
 eye on the bolder phenomena of natm-e, yet he knevr 
 how to follow^ her into her calmest abodes, gave 
 interest to insipidity or baldness, and plucked a flower 
 in every desart. None ever like Rembrandt knew to 
 improve an accident into a beauty, or give importance 
 to a trifle. If ever he had a master, he had no fol- 
 lowers ; Holland was not made to comprehend his 
 power. The succeeding' school of colourists were 
 content to tip the cottage, the hamlet, the boor, the 
 ale-pot, the shambles, and the haze of winter, with 
 orient hues, or the glow of setting' summer suns. 
 
 In turning our eye to Switzerland we shall find 
 great powers without great names, those of Hans 
 Holbein (n) and Francis Mola only excepted. But 
 the scrupidous precision, the high finish, and the 
 tizianesque colour of Hans Holbein, make the least 
 part of his excellence for those who have seen his 
 Designs of the Passion, and that series of emblematic 
 groups, known under the name of Holbein's Dance 
 of Death. From Belinzona to Basle, invention ap- 
 
 (n) Hans Holbein, of Basle, died in London, 1544, at the age of 46. Peter 
 Francis Mola, the scholar of Giuseppe d'Arpino and Franc. Albani, was born at the 
 village of Coldre, of the diocese of Balerna, in the bailliage of Mendrisio, in 1621, 
 and died at Rome in 1666. 
 
94 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 pears to have been the characteristic of Helvetic art : 
 the works of Tobias Stimmer, Christopher Murer, 
 Jost Amman, Gotthard Ring-gh, are mines of inven- 
 tion, and exhibit a style of design, equally poised 
 between the emaciated dryness of Albert Durer and 
 the bloated corpulence of Golzius. 
 
 The seeds of mediocrity which the Carracci had 
 attempted to scatter over Italy, found a more benign 
 soil, and reared an abundant harvest in France : to 
 mix up a compound from something of every excel- 
 lence in the catalogue of art, was the principle of 
 their theory and their aim in execution. It is in 
 France where Michael Angelo's right to the title of 
 a painter was first questioned. The fierceness of his 
 line, as they call it, the purity of the antique, and the 
 characteristic forms of Raphael, are only the road to 
 the academic vigour, the librated style of Annibale 
 Carracci, and from that they appeal to the model ; in 
 composition they consult more the artifice of group- 
 ing, contrast and richness, than the svdoject or pro- 
 priety ; their expression is dictated by the theatre. 
 From the uniformity of this process, not to allow that 
 the school of France offers respectable exceptions, 
 would be unjust ; without recurring again to the 
 name of Nicolas Poussin, the works of Eustache le 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 95 
 
 Sueur (o), Charles le Brun, SebavStien Bourdon, and 
 sometimes Pierre Mig-nard, contain original beauties 
 and rich materials. Le Sueur's series of pictures 
 in the Chartreux exhibit the features of contemplative 
 piety, in a purity of style and a placid breadth of 
 manner that moves the heart. His dignified martyr- 
 dom of St. Laurence and the burning: of the mastic 
 books at Ephesus, breathe the spirit of Raphael. The 
 powerful comprehension of a vv^hole, only equalled 
 by the fire which pervades every part of the battles of 
 Alexander, by Charles le Brun, would entitle him to 
 the highest rank in history, had the characters been 
 less mannered, had he not exchanged the Argyraspids 
 and the Macedonian phalanx for the compact legion- 
 aries of the Trajan pillar ; had he distingriished 
 Greeks from barbarians, rather by national feature and 
 form than by accoutrement and armour. The seven 
 works of charity by Seb. Bourdon teem with surpris- 
 ing pathetic and always novel images ; and in the 
 plague of David, by Pierre Mignard, our sympathy 
 is roused by energies of terrour and combinations of 
 woe, which escaped Poussin and Raphael himself. 
 
 (o) Eustache le Sueur, bred under Simon Vouet, died at Paris in 1655, at the 
 age oi' 68. His fellow scholar and overbearing rival Charles le Brun, died in 1690, 
 aged 71. 
 
96 
 
 SECOND LECTURE, 
 
 The obstinacy of" national pride [p), perhaps more 
 than the neglect of {government or the frown of super- 
 stition, confined the labours of the Spanish school, 
 from its obscure origin at Sevilla to its brightest 
 period, within the narrow limits of individual imita- 
 tion. But the degree of perfection attained by Diego 
 Velasquez, Joseph Ribera, and Morillo, in pursuing 
 the same object by means as different as successful, 
 impresses us with deep respect for the variety of their 
 powers. 
 
 That the great style ever received the homage of 
 Spanish genius, appears not ; neither Alfonso Berru- 
 guette, nor Pellegrino Tibaldi, left followers : bvit that 
 the eyes and the taste fed by the substance of Spag- 
 nuoletto and Morillo, should without reluctance have 
 submitted to the gay volatility of Luca Giordano, 
 and the ostentatious flimsiness of Sebastian Conca, 
 would be matter of surprize, did we not see the same 
 principles successfully pursued in the platfonds of 
 Antonio Raphael Mengs, the painter of philosophy, 
 as he is stiled by his biographer D'Azara. The car- 
 toons of the frescoes painted for the royal palace at 
 
 (p) For the best account of Spanish art, see Lettera di A. R. Mengs a Don 
 Antonio Ponz. Opere di Mengs, vol. ii, Mengs was born at Ausig, in Bohemia, 
 in 1728, and died at Rome in 1775). 
 
SECOND 
 
 LECTURE. 
 
 97 
 
 Madrid, representing' the apotheosis of Trajan and 
 the temple of Renown, exhibit less the style of Ra- 
 phael in the nuptials of Cupid and Psyche at the 
 Farnesina, than the g^orgeous but empty bustle of 
 Pietro da Cortona. 
 
 From this \iew of art on the continent, let us cast 
 a glance on its state in this country, from the age oi 
 Henry VIII. to our own. — From that period to this, 
 Britain never ceased pouring its caravans of noble 
 and wealthy pilgrims over Italy, Greece and Ionia, 
 to pay their devotions at the shrines of virtu and 
 taste : not content with adoring the obscure idols, 
 they have ransacked their temples, and none returned 
 without some share in the spoil : in plaister or in 
 marble, on canvas or in gems, the arts of Greece and 
 Italy were transported to England, and what Petro- 
 nius said of Rome, that it was easier to meet there 
 with a god than a man, might be said of London. 
 Without inquiring into the permanent and accidental 
 causes of the inefficacy of these efforts with regard to 
 public taste and support of art, it is observable, that, 
 whilst Francis I . was busied, not to aggregate a mass 
 of painted and chiselled treasures merely to gratify 
 his ovm vanity, and brood over them with sterile 
 avarice, but to scatter the seeds of taste over France, 
 
 o 
 
98 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 by callino^ employmg", enriching* Andrea del Sarto, 
 Riistici, Rosso, Priniaticcio, Cellini, Niccolo ; in 
 England, Holbein and Torreg^iano under Henry, and 
 Federisi'o Zuc chero under Elizabeth, were condemned 
 to gothic work and portrait painting. Charles in- 
 deed called Rubens and his scholars to provoke the 
 latent Eng-lish spark, but the effect was intercepted 
 by his destiny. His son, in possession of the car- 
 toons of Raphael, and with the magnificence of 
 Whitehall before his eyes, suffered V erio to con- 
 taminate the walls of his palaces, or deg-raded Lely 
 to paint the Cymons and Iphigenias of his court ; 
 whilst the manner of Kneller swept completely what 
 yet mi^i'ht be left of taste, under his successors : such 
 was the equally contemptible and deplorable state of 
 English art, till the genius of Reynolds first rescued 
 from the mannered depravation of foreig-ners his own 
 branch, and soon extending his view to the higher 
 departments of art, joined that select body of artists 
 who addressed the ever open ear, ever attentive mind 
 of our Royal Founder, with the first idea of this esta- 
 blishment. His beneficence soon gave it a place and 
 a name, his august patronag-e, sanction, and indi- 
 vidual encourag'ement : the annually increased merits 
 of thirty exhibitions in this place, with the collateral 
 ones contrived by the speculations of commerce. 
 
SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 99 
 
 have told the surprising* effects : a mass of self-taught 
 and tutored powers burst upon the general eye, and 
 unequivocally told the world what might be expected 
 from the concurrence of public encouragement — 
 how far this have been or may be granted or with- 
 held, it is not here my province to surmise : the plans 
 lately adopted and now organizing within these walls 
 for the dignified propagation and support of art, 
 whether fostered by the great, or left to their own 
 energy, must soon decide what may be produced by 
 the unison of British genius and talent, and whether 
 the painters school of that nation which claims the 
 foremost honours of modern poetry, which has pro- 
 duced with Reynolds, Hogarth, Gainsborough and 
 Wilson, shall submit to content themselves with 
 a subordinate place among the schools we have 
 enumerated. 
 
 o 2 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 INVENTION. 
 PART I. 
 
 Tir AP AT *0ONEEi:^, EPIHPON AOIAON 
 
 TEPDEIN, OnnH 01 NOOS OPNYTAl; OT NT T AOIAOI 
 AITIOI, AAAA nO0I ZET2 AITI02, 'OSTE ATAi22lN 
 ANAPASIN AA*H2THSIN, Oni2S E0EAH21N EKA^TllI. 
 
 Homer. Odyss. A. 346. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Introduction. Discrimination of Poetry and Painting. General idea of Invention 
 
 — its right to select a subject from nature itself. Visiones — Theon — Agasias. 
 Cartoon of Pisa — Incendio del Borgo. Specific idea of Invention : Epic subjects 
 
 — Michael Angelo. Dramatic subjects — Raphael. Historic subjects — Poussin, 
 &c. Invention has a right to adopt ideas — examples. Duplicity of subject and 
 moment inadmissible. Transfiguration of Raphael. 
 
[ 103 ] 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 The brilliant antithesis Ascribed to Simonides, 
 that * painting is mute poesy and poetry speakinjj^ 
 painting',' made, I apprehend, no part of the tecbnit 
 systems of antiquity : for this we may depend on the 
 g-eneral practice of its artists, and still more safely on 
 the p hilosophic discrimination of Plutarch (a), who 
 tells us, that as poetry and painting* resemble each 
 other in their uniform address to the senses, for the 
 impression they mean to make on our fancy and by 
 that on our mind, so they differ as essentially in their 
 materials and their modes of application, which are 
 regulated by the diversity of the organs they addret^s, 
 ear and eye. Successive action conmuinicated by 
 
 (a) TAjj xai Tgonot; jxij^tjcfw; Sia^£g«o"(. 
 
 UXuTixg^. n. A$. XOLTX 17. rj xxO' e. svS. 
 
 Sec Lessings Laokoon. Berlin 1766. Svo. 
 
104 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 sounds, and time, are the medium of poetry ; Jbrm 
 displayed in space, and momentaneous energy, are the 
 element of painting. 
 
 As, if these premises be true, the distinct repre- 
 sentation of continued action is reftised to an art which 
 cannot express even in a series of subjects, but by a 
 supposed mental effort in the spectator's mind, the 
 regular succession of their moments, it becomes 
 evident, that instead of attempting to impress us by 
 the indiscriminate usurpation of a principle out of its 
 reach, it ought chiefly to rely for its effect on its 
 great characteristics space and form, singly or in ap- 
 position. In forms alone the idea of existence can 
 be rendered permanent. Sounds die, w^ords perish 
 or become obsolete and obscure, even colours fade, 
 forms alone can neither be extinguished nor miscon- 
 strued ; by application to their standard alone descrip- 
 tion becomes intelligible and distinct. Thus the 
 effectual idea of corporeal beauty can strictly exist 
 only in the plastic arts : for as the notion of beauty 
 arises from the pleasure we feel in the harmonious 
 co-operation of the various parts of some favourite 
 object to one end at once, it implies their immediate 
 co-existence in the mass they compose ; and therefore 
 can be distinctly perceived and conveyed to the mind 
 
 7 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 105 
 
 by the eye alone : hence the representation of form in 
 fig'ure is the physical element of the Art. 
 
 But as bodies exist in time as well as in space ; as 
 the pleasure arising from the mere symmetry of an 
 object is as transient as it is immediate ; as harmony 
 of parts, if the body be the agent of an internal 
 power, depends for its proof on their application, it 
 follows, that the exclusive exhibition of inert and un- 
 employed form, would be a mistake of the medium 
 for the end, and that character or action is required 
 to make it an interesting* object of imitation. And 
 this is the ynoral element of the art. 
 
 Those important moments then which exhibit the 
 united exertion of form and character in a single ob- 
 ject or in participation with collateral beings, at once, 
 and which with equal rapidity and pregnancy give vis 
 a glimpse of the past and lead our eye to what 
 folldws, furnish the true materials of those technic 
 powers, that select, direct, and fix the objects of imi- 
 tation to their centre. 
 
 The most eminent of these, by the explicit ac- 
 knowledgment of all ages, and the silent testimony of 
 every breast, is invention. He whose eve athwart the 
 
 p 
 
106 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 outward crust of the rock penetrates into the compo- 
 sition of its materials, and discovers a g"old mine, is 
 surely superiour to him who afterwards adapts the 
 metal for use. Colombo, when he from astronomic 
 and physical inductions concluded to theexistence of 
 land in the opposite hemisphere, was surely superiour 
 to Amerigo V espucci who took possession of its con- 
 tinent ; and when Newton improving- accident by 
 meditation, discovered and established the laws of 
 attraction, the projectile and centrifuge qualities of 
 the system, he gave the clue to all who after him ap- 
 plied it to the various branches of philosophy, and wa^ 
 in fact the author of all the benefits accruing from 
 their application to society. Homer, when he means 
 to give the principal feature of man, calls him in- 
 ventor {ocX(pris-rig.) 
 
 From what we have said it is clear that the term 
 invention never ought to be so far misconstrued as to 
 be confounded with that of creation, incompatible 
 with our notions of limited being, an idea of pure 
 astonishment, and admissible only when we mention 
 Omnipotence : to invent is to find : to find something, 
 presupposes its existence somewhere, implicitly or 
 explicitly, scattered or in a mass : nor should I have 
 presumed to say so much on a word of a meanmg so 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 107 
 
 plain, had it not been, and were it not daily con- 
 founded, and by fashionable authorities too, with the 
 term creation. 
 
 Form in its widest meaning", the visible universe 
 that envelops our senses, and its counterpart the 
 invisil)le one that agitates our mind with visions bred 
 on sense by fancy, are the element and the realm of 
 invention ; it discovers, selects, combines the possible, 
 the probable, the known, in a mode that strikes with 
 an air of truth and novelty, at once. Possible strictly 
 means an effect derived from a cause, a body com- 
 posed of materials, a coalition of forms, whose union 
 or co-agency imply in themselves no absurdity, no 
 contradiction : applied to our art it takes a wider 
 latitude ; it means the representation of effects derived 
 from causes, or forms compounded from materials, 
 lieterogeneous and incompatible among themselves,' 
 but rendered so plausible to our senses, that the 
 transition of one part to another seems to be accounted 
 for by an air of organization, and the eye glides im- 
 perceptibly or vrith satisfaction from one to the other 
 and over the whole : that this was the condition on 
 which, and the limits within which alone the ancients 
 permitted invention to represent what was strictly 
 speaking impossible, we may with plausibility surmise 
 
 p 2 
 
108 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 from the picture of Zeuxis, described by Lucian in the 
 memoir to which he has prefixed that painter's name, 
 who was probably one of the first adventurers in this 
 species of imagery. — Zeuxis had painted a family of 
 centaurs ; the dam a beautiful female to the middle, 
 with the lower parts gradually sliding into the most 
 exquisite forms of a young Thessalian mare half 
 reclined in playful repose and gently pawing the 
 velvet ground, offered her human nipple to one 
 infant centaur, whilst another greedily sucked the 
 ferine udder below, but both with their eyes turned 
 up to a lyon-whelp held over them by the male cen- 
 taur their father, rising above the hillock on which 
 the female reclined, a grim feature, but whose ferocity 
 was somewhat tempered by a smile. The scenery, 
 the colour, the chiaroscuro, the finish of the whole 
 was no doubt equal to the style and the conception. 
 This picture the artist exhibited, expecting that justice 
 from the penetration of the public which the genius 
 deserved that taught him to give plausibility to a 
 compound of heterogeneous forms, to inspire them 
 with suitable soul, and to imitate the laws of exist- 
 ence : he was mistaken. The novelty of the conceit 
 eclipsed the art that had embodied it, the artist was 
 absorbed in his subject, and the unbounded praise 
 bestowed, was that of idle restless curiosity, gratified. 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 109 
 
 Sick of gods and goddesses, of demigods and pure 
 human combinations, the Athenians panted only for 
 what was new. The artist, as haughty as irritable, 
 ordered his picture to be withdrawn ; cover it, Mic- 
 chio, said he to his attendant, cover it and carry it 
 home, for this mob stick only to the clay of our art. 
 — Such were the limits set to invention by the an- 
 cients ; secure within these, it defied the ridicule 
 thrown on that grotesque conglutination, which 
 Horace exposes ; guarded by these, their mythology 
 scattered its metamorphoses, made every element its 
 tributary, and transmitted the privilege to us, on 
 equal conditions : their Scylla and the Portress of 
 Hell, their daemons and our spectres, the shade of 
 Patroclus and the ghost of Hamlet, their naiads, 
 nymphs, and oreads, and our sylphs, gnomes, and 
 fairies, their furies and our witches, differ less in 
 essence, than in local, temporary, social modifications : 
 their common origin was fancy, operating on the 
 materials of nature, assisted by legendary tradition 
 and the curiosity implanted in us of diving into the 
 invisible (b) ; and they are suffered or invited to mix 
 with or superintend real agency, in proportion of the 
 
 {b) All minute detail tends to destroy terrour, as all minute ornament, grandeur. 
 The catalogue of the cauldron's ingredients in Macbeth, destroys the terrour at- 
 tendant on the mysterious darkness of preternatural agency ; and the seraglio trap- 
 pings of Rubens, annihilate his heroes. 
 
110 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 analog-y which we discover between them and our- 
 selves. Pindar praises Homer less for that ' vringed 
 power' which whirls incident on incident with such 
 rapidity, that absorbed by the whole, and drawn from 
 the impossibility of single parts, we swallow a tale 
 too gross to be believed in a dream ; than for the 
 greater power by which he contrived to connect his 
 imaginary creation with the realities of nature and 
 liuman passions (c) ; without this the fiction of the 
 poet and the painter will leave us stupified rather by 
 its insolence than impressed by its power, it will be 
 considered only as a superior kind of legerdemain, an 
 exertion of ingenuity to no adequate end. 
 
 Before we proceed to the process and the methods 
 of invention, it is not superfluous to advert to a ques- 
 tion which has often been made, and by some has 
 been answered in the neg-ative ; whether it be within 
 the artist's province or not, tojlnd or to combine a sub- 
 ject Jrom himself, without having recourse to tradition 
 
 (e) 'Eyco Se TrXeov eXTO;xa» 
 
 Ata Tov aSus7r>j yevetr^ 'Ofir^qov 
 'Ewsi if'suSeetro'iv oi Trorava ye [let^aivet 
 
 Tlivdag. Ne/x. 7L 
 
THIRD LECTURE. Ill 
 
 or the stores of history and poetry ? Why not, if the 
 subject be within the Hmits of art and the combin- 
 ations of nature, though it should have escaped observ- 
 ation ? shall the immediate avenues of the mind, open 
 to all its observers, from the poet to the novelist, be 
 shut only to the artist ? shall he be reduced to receive 
 as alms from them what he has a right to share as 
 common property? assertions like these, say in other 
 words, that the Laocoon owes the impression he 
 makes on us to his name alone, and that if tradition 
 had not told a story and Pliny fixed it to that work, 
 the artist's conception of a father with his sons, sur- 
 prised and entangled by two serpents within the re- 
 cesses of a cavern or lonesome dell, was inadmissible 
 and transgressed the laws of invention. I am much 
 mistaken, if, so far from losing its power over us 
 with its traditional sanction, it would not rouse our 
 sympathy more forcibly, and press the subject closer 
 to our breast, were it considered only as the represent- 
 ation of an incident common to humanity. The an- 
 cients were so convinced of their right to this dis- 
 puted prerogative that they assigned it its own class, 
 and Theon the Samian is mentioned by Quintilian, 
 whom none will accuse or suspect of confounding the 
 limits of the arts, in his list of primary painters, as 
 owing his celebrity to that intuition into the sudden 
 
112 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 movements of nature, which the Greeks called 
 the Romans visiones, and we might circmnscribe by 
 the phrase of ^ unpremeditated conceptions' the re- 
 production of associated ideas ; he explains what he 
 understood by it in the following' passage adapted to 
 his own profession, rhetoric, [d) ' We give,' says 
 he, ' the name of visions to what the Greeks call 
 ' phantasies ; that power by which the images of ab- 
 ' sent things are represented by the mind with the 
 ^ energy of objects moving" before our eyes : he who 
 ' conceives these rightly will be a master of passions ; 
 ' his is that well-tempered fancy which can imagine 
 
 {d) M. F. Quintilianus, I. xii. 10. — Concipiendis visionibus (quas <I>ANTA!SlA2 
 vocant) Theon Samius — est pr£Estantissinius. 
 
 At quomodo fiet ut afficiamur ? neque enim sunt motus in nostra potestate. Ten- 
 tabo etiam de hoc dicere. Quas 4>«vTacri«5 graeci vocant, nos sane visiones appel- 
 lamus ; per quas imagines rerum absentium ita i-epraesentantur animo, ut eas cernere 
 oculis ac praesentes habere videamur : has quisquis bene conceperit, is erit in affec- 
 tibus potentissimus. Hunc quidam dicunt lu^iavTaa-tajTov, qui sibi res, voces, actus, 
 secundum verum optume fingct : quod quidem nobis volentibus facile continget. 
 
 Nam ut inter otia animorum et spes inanes, et velut somnia quaedam vigilantium, 
 ita nos hae de quibus loquimur, imagines persequuntur, ut peregrinari, navigare, 
 praeliari, populos alloqui, divitiarum quas non habemus, usum videamur disponere ; 
 nec cogitare, sed^facere : hoc animi vitium ad utilitatem non transfcremus ? ut homi- 
 nem occisum querar, non omnia quae in re praesenti accidisse credibile est, in ocuh's 
 habebo? non percussor ille subitus crumpet ? non expavescet circumventus ? excla- 
 niabit, vel I'ogabit, vel fugiet ? non ferientem, non concidentem videbo ? non animo 
 sanguis, et pallor ct gemitus, extremus denique expirantis hiatus insidebit ? 
 
 Idem, 1. vi. c. 1 1, 
 
 Theon numbered with the ' Proceres' by Quintilian, by Pliny with less discrimi- 
 nation is placed among the ' Primis Proximos ;' and in some passage of Plutarch, 
 unaccountably censured for impropriety of subject, aroTrta, in representing the mad- 
 ness of Orestes. 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 113 
 
 ' things, voices, acts, as they really exist, a powei 
 ' perhaps in a great measure dependent on our will. 
 ' For if these images so pursue us, when our minds are 
 ' in a state of rest, or fondly fed by hope, or in a kind 
 ^ of waking dream ; that we seem to travel, to sail, to 
 ' fight, to harangue in public, or to dispose of riches 
 ' we possess not, and all this with an air of reality, 
 ' why should we not turn to use this vice of the mind? 
 ' — Suppose I am to plead the case of a murdered 
 
 * man, why shovdd not every supposable circumstance 
 ^ of the act float before my eyes ? shall I not see the 
 ^ murderer unawares rush in upon him? in vain he tries 
 ' to escape — see how pale he turns — hear you not 
 ' his shrieks, his entreaties ? do you not see him fly- 
 
 * ing, struck, falling* ? will not his blood, his ashy 
 ^ semblance, his groans, his last expiring gasp, seize 
 
 * on my mind ?' 
 
 Permit me to apply this organ of the orator for one 
 moment to the poet's process : by this radiant recol- 
 lection of associated ideas, the spontaneous ebullitions 
 of nature, selected by observation, treasured by me- 
 mory, classed by sensibility and judgment, Shakspeare 
 became the supreme master of passions and the ruler 
 of our hearts ; this embodied his Falstaff and his 
 Shylock, Hamlet and Lear, Juliet and Rosalind. By 
 
 2 
 
114 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 this power he saw Warwick uncover the corpse of 
 Gloster, and swear to his assassination and his tugs 
 for hfe ; hy this he made Banquo see the weird sisters 
 hubble up from earth, and in their own air vanish ; 
 this is the hand that struck upon the bell when 
 Macbeth's drink was readv, and from her chamber 
 pushed his dreaming* wife, once more to methodize 
 the murder of her guest. — 
 
 And this was the power of Theon (e) ; such was 
 the unpremeditated conception that inspired him 
 with the idea of that warriour, who in the words of 
 ^"Ehan, seemed to embody the terril)le graces and the 
 enthusiastic furor of the god of war. Impetuous he 
 rushed onward to oppose the sudden incursion of 
 enemies ; with shield thrown forward and high bran- 
 dished faulchion, his step as he swept on, seemed to 
 devour the ground : his eye flashed defiance ; you 
 fancied to hear his voice, his look denounce perdition 
 and slaughter without mercy. This figure, single 
 and without other accompaniments of war than what 
 
 (^) A(/.(«vou TTOix. KTTOg. 1. ii. c. 44. Qscovo; rov Z,coyga.<^s ttoXXx ftev x«( 
 
 Oju,oXoye( rrjv ^sigsgytixv aya^riv 'uo'a.v, « rag «v xxi toSs to yguix-iji.a. Kai liwej 
 
 av ivTov hv^8<ria.v, w(T^iq 'Agsos fx-ctvevTu,. K«( tr^aTTeiv ^Xsttmv, x«( axa-ejAwv 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 115 
 
 the havock of the distance shewed, Theon deemed 
 sufficient to answer the impression he intended to 
 make on those whom he had selected to inspect it. 
 He kept it covered, till a trumpet, prepared for the 
 purpose, after a prelude of martial symphonies, at 
 once, by his command, blew with invi^ourated fierce- 
 ness, a sig*nal of attack — the curtain dropped, the 
 terrific fig-ure appeared to start from the canvass, 
 and irresistibly assailed the astonished eyes of the 
 assembly. 
 
 To prove the relation of ^lian no hyperbolic 
 leo^end, I need not insist on the maji'ic effect which 
 the union of two sister powers must produce on the 
 senses : of what our art alone .and unassisted may 
 perform, the most unequivocal proof exists within 
 these walls ; your eyes, your feelings, and your fancy 
 have long* anticipated it : whose mind has not now 
 recalled that wonder of a figure, the misnomed 
 gladiator of Agasias, a figure whose tremendous 
 energ-y embodies every element of motion, whilst 
 its pathetic dignity of character enforces sympa- 
 thies, which the undisguised ferocity of Theon's 
 warriour in vain solicits. Bvit the same irradiation 
 which shewed the soldier to Theon, shewed to 
 
116 THIRD LECTURH. 
 
 Agasias the leader : Theon saw the passion, 
 Agasias ( /") its rvile. 
 
 { f) The name of Agasias, the scholar or son of Dositheos, the Ephesian, occurs 
 not in ancient record; and whether he be the Egesias of Quintilian and Phny, or 
 these the same, cannot be ascertained ; though the style of sculpture, and the form 
 of the letters in the inscription are not much at variance with the character which 
 the former gives to the age and style of Calon and Egesias ; ' Signa — duriora et 
 Tuscanicis proxima.' The impropriety of calling this figure a gladiator has been 
 shewn by Winkelmann, and on his remark, that it probably exhibits the attitude of 
 a soldier, who signalized himself in some moment of danger, Lessing has founded a 
 conjecture, that it is the figure of Chabrias, from the following passage of Corn, 
 Nepos : ' Elucet maxime inventum ejus in proelio, quod apud Thebas fecit, cum 
 ' Boctiis subsidio venisset. Namque in eo victoriae fidente summo duce Agesilao, 
 ' fugatis jam ab eo conductitiis catervis, I'eliquam phalangem loco vetuit cedere ; 
 ' obnixoque genu scuto, projectaque hasta, impetum excipere hostium docuit. Id 
 ' novum Agesilaus intuens, progredi non est ausus, suosque jam incurrentes tuba 
 ' revocavit. Hoc usque eo in Grtecia fama celebratum est, ut illo statu Chabrias 
 ' sibi statuam fieri voluerit, quae publice ei ab Athcniensibus in foro constituta est. 
 ' Ex quo factum est, ut postea athletas, coeterique artifices his statibus in statuis 
 ' ponendis uterentur, in quibus victoriam essent adepti ?' 
 
 On this passage, simple and unperplexed, if we except the words, ' caeterique 
 ' artifices,' where something is evidently dropped or changed, there can, I trust, 
 be but one opinion — that the manccuvre of Chabrias was defensive, and consisted in 
 giving the phalanx a stationary, and at the same time — impenetrable posture, to 
 check the progress of the enemy ; a repulse, not a victory was obtained ; the Thebans 
 were content to maintain their ground, and not a word is said by the historian, of a 
 pursuit, when Agesilaus, startled at the contrivance, called off his troops : but the 
 warriour of Agasias rushes forward in an assailinc; attitude, whilst with his head and 
 shield turned upwards he seems to guard himself from some attack above him. 
 Lessing, aware of this, to make the passage square with his conjecture, is reduced 
 to a change of punctuation, and accordingly transposes the decisive comma after 
 ' scuto,' to 'genu,' and reads ' obnixo genu,' scuto projectaque hasta, — docuit.' 
 This alone might warrant us to dismiss his conjecture as less solid than daring and 
 acute. 
 
 The statue erected to Chabrias io the Athenian forum was probably of brass, for 
 ' statua' and ' statuarius,' in Pliny at least, will I believe always be found relative 
 to figures and artists in metal ; such were those which at an early period the Athe- 
 nians dedicated to Harmodios and Aristogiton : from them the custom spread in 
 
THIRD LECTURE. Ill 
 
 But the most striking* instance of the eminent place 
 due to this intuitive faculty among* the principal or- 
 gans of invention, is that celebrated performance, 
 which by the united testimony of cotemporary writers, 
 and the evident traces of its imitation, scattered over 
 the works of cotemporary artists, contributed alone 
 more to the restoration of art and the revolution of 
 style, than the united effort of the two centuries that 
 
 every direction, and iconic figures in metal, began, says Pliny, to be the ornaments 
 of every municipal forum. 
 
 From another passage in Nepos, I was once Avilling to find in our figure an Al- 
 cibiades in Phrygia, rushing from the flames of the cottage fired to destroy him, and 
 guarding himself against the javelins and arrows which the gang of Sysamithres and 
 Bagoas showered on him at a distance. ' Ille,' says the historian, ' sonitu flammse 
 ' excitatus, quod gladius ei erat subductus, familiaris sui subalare telum eripuit — et 
 ' — flammse vim transit. Quem, ut Barbari incendium effugisse viderunt, telis 
 ' eminus missis, interfecerunt. Sic Alcibiades annos circiter quadraginta natus, 
 ' diem obiit supremum.' 
 
 Such is the age of our figure, and it is to be noticed that the right arm and hand, 
 now armed with a lance, are modern ; if it be objected, that the figure is iconic, and 
 that the head of Alcibiades, cut off after his death, was carried to Pharnabazus, and 
 his body burned by his mistress ; it might be observed in reply, that busts and figures 
 of Alcibiades must have been frequent in Greece, and that the expression found its 
 source in the mind of Agasias. On this conjecture however I shall not insist : let 
 us only observe that the character, forms and attitude, might be turned to better use 
 than what Poussin made of it. It might form an admirable Ulysses bestriding the 
 deck of his ship to defend his companions from the descending fangs of Scylla, or 
 rather, with indignation and anguish, seeing them already snatched up and writhing 
 an the mysterious gripe : 
 
 TigMgrig Ikoli^ov Se /x.o» o<r(Ts 
 
 'HSt) tcov l)/o>)(ra TroSaj x«( p^eigaj 'u7reg.&ev 
 
 'T\J/Of' defgo/xevwv Odyss. M. 328. seq. 
 
118 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 preceded it : I mean the astonishing^ design com- 
 monly called the cartoon of Pisa, the work of Michael 
 Agnolo Buonarrotti, begun in competition with Lio- 
 nardo da Vinci, and at intervals finished at Florence. 
 This work, whose celebrity subjected those who had 
 not seen it to the supercilious contempt of the luckier 
 ones who had ; which was the common centre of at- 
 traction to all the students of Tuscany and Romagna, 
 from Raphael Sanzio to Bastian da St. Gallo, called 
 Aristotile, from his loquacious descants on its beau- 
 ties ; this inestimable work itself is lost, and its 
 destruction is with too much appearance of truth 
 fixed on the mean villany of Baccio Bandinelli, who, 
 in possession of the key to the apartment where it 
 was kept, during the revolutionary troubles of the 
 Florentine republic, after making what use he thought 
 proper of it, is said to have torn it in pieces. Still 
 we may form an idea of its principal groups from 
 some ancient prints and drawings ; and of its com- 
 position from a small copy now existing at Holkham, 
 the outlines of which have been lately etched. Crude, 
 disguised, or feeble, as these specimens are, they will 
 prove better guides than the half-informed rhapsodies 
 of Vasari, the meagre account of Ascanio Condi vi, 
 better than the mere anatomic verdict of Benvenuto 
 Cellini, who denies that the powers afterward ex- 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 119 
 
 erted in the Capella Sistina, arrive at ' halt* its 
 excellence.' (g) 
 
 It represents an imaginary moment relative to the 
 war carried on by the Florentines against Pisa : and 
 exhibits a numerous group of warriours, roused from 
 their bathing in the Arno, by the sudden signal of a 
 trumpet and rushing to arms. This composition may 
 without exag-geration be said to personify with unex- 
 ampled variety that motion, which Agasias and Theon 
 embodied in sino-le h" ures : in imagining; this tran- 
 
 o o o o 
 
 ig) Stbbene il divino Michel Agnolo fece la gran Cappella di Papa Julio, dappoi 
 non arrivo a questo segno mai alia meta, la sua virtii non aggiunse mai alia forza di 
 quei primi studi. Vita di Benvenuto Cellini, p, 13. — Vasari, as appears from his 
 own account, never himself saw the cartoon : he talks of an ' infinity of com- 
 batants on horseback *,' of which there neither remains nor ever can have existed a 
 trace, if the picture at Holkham be the work of Bastiano da St. Gallo. This 
 he saw, for it was painted, at his own desire, by that master, from his small cartoon 
 in 154'2, and by means of Monsignor Jovio transmitted to Francis I. who highly 
 esteemed it ; from his collection it however disappeared, and no mention is made 
 of it by the French writers for near two centuries. It was probably discovered at 
 Paris, bought and carried to England by the late Lord Leicester. That Vasari, on 
 inspecting the copy, should not have corrected the confused account he gives of the 
 cartoon from hearsay, can be wondered at, only by those, who are unacquainted 
 with his character as a writer. One solitary horse and a drummer on the ima- 
 ginary background of the groups engraved by Agostino Venetiano, are all the 
 cavalry remaining of Vasari's squadrons, and can as little belong to Michel 
 Agnolo as the spot on which they are placed. 
 
 * The following arc his own words : ' Si vedeva dalle divine mani di Michel- 
 ' agnolo chi affrettare lo armarsi per dare ajuto a'compagni, altri aflfibbiarsi la co- 
 ' razza, e molti metter altre armi indosso, ed infiniti combattendo a cavallo comin- 
 ' ciare la zufFa.' Vasari, Vita di M. A. B. p. 183. ed. Bottari. 
 
120 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 sient moment from a state of relaxation to a state of 
 energy, the ideas of motion, to use the bold figure 
 of Dante, seem to have showered into the artist's 
 mind. From the chief, nearly placed in the 
 centre, who precedes, and whose voice accompa- 
 nies the trumpet, every age of human agility, every 
 attitude, every feature of alarm, haste, hurry, exer- 
 tion, eagerness, burst into so many rays, like sparks 
 flying from the hammer. Many have reached, some 
 boldly step, some have leaped on the rocky shore ; 
 here two arms emerging from the water grapple with 
 the rock, there two hands cry for help, and their 
 companions bend over or rush on to assist them ; 
 often imitated, but inimitable is the ardent feature of 
 the grim veteran whose every sinew labours to force 
 over the dripping limbs his cloaths, whilst gnashing he 
 pushes the foot through the rending garment. He is 
 contrasted by the slender elegance of a half averted 
 youth, who, though eagerly buckling the armour to 
 his thigh, methodizes haste ; another swings the 
 high-raised hauberk on his shoulder, whilst one who 
 seems a leader, mindless of dress, ready for combat, 
 and with brandished spear, overturns a third, who 
 crouched to grasp a weapon — one naked himself 
 buckles on the mail of his companion, and he, turned 
 toward the enemy, seems to stamp impatiently the 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 121 
 
 ground. — Experience and rage, old vig-our, young 
 velocity, expanded or contracted, vie in exertions of 
 energy. Yet in this scene of tumult one motive ani- 
 mates the whole, eagerness to engage with subordi- 
 nation to command ; this preserves the dignitv of 
 action, and from a straggling rabble changes the 
 figures to men whose legitimate contest interests our 
 wishes. 
 
 This intuition into the pure emanations of nature, 
 Raphael Sanzio possessed in the most enviable degree, 
 from the utmost conflict of passions, to the enchant- 
 ing round of gentler emotion, and the nearly silent 
 hints of mind and character. To this he devoted the 
 tremendous scenery of that magnificent fresco, known 
 to you all under the name of the Incendio del Sorgo, 
 in which he sacrificed the historic and mystic part of 
 his subject to the efi\ision of the Aarious passions 
 roused by the sudden terrours of nocturnal confla- 
 gration. It is not for the faint appearance of the 
 miracle which approaches with the pontifl' and his 
 train in the back-ground, that Raphael invites our 
 eyes ; the perturbation, necessity, hope, fear, danger, 
 the pangs and eflbrts of aftection grappling" with the 
 enraged elements of wind and fire, displayed on the 
 foreground, furnish the pathetic motives that press on 
 
 R 
 
122 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 our hearts. That mother, who but half awake or 
 rather in a waking trance, drives her children in- 
 stinctively before her ; that prostrate female half co- 
 \ered by her streaming hair, with elevated arms 
 impiorinfi' heaven ; that other who over the flaming- 
 tenement, heedless of her own danger, absorbed in 
 maternal agony, boldly reaches over to drop the babe 
 into the outstretched arms of its father ; that common 
 son of nature, who careless of another's woe, intent 
 only on his own safety, librates a leap from the burn- 
 ing wall ; the vigorous youth who followed by an aged 
 mother bears the palsied father on his shoulder from 
 tlie rushing wreck ; the nimble grace of those helpless 
 females that vainly strive to administer relief — these 
 are the real objects of the painter's aim, and leave 
 the pontiff^ and the miracle, with taper, bell and clergy 
 — unheeded in the distance. 
 
 1 shall not at present expatiate in tracing from this 
 source the novel combinations of afl:ection by which 
 Raphael contrived to interest us in his numerous repe- 
 titions of Madoimas and holy Families, selected from 
 the warmest effusions of domestic endearment, or in 
 Milton's phrase, from ' all the charities of father, son, 
 and mother.' Nor shall I follow it in its more con- 
 taminated descent, to those representations of local 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 123 
 
 manners and national modifications of society, whose 
 characteristic discrimination and humorous exuber- 
 ance, for instance, we admire in Hogarth, but 
 which, hke the fleeting passions of the day, every 
 hour contributes something to obHterate, which soon 
 become vminteUigible by time, or degenerate into 
 caricature, the chronicle of scandal, the history-book 
 of the vuls'ar. 
 
 Invention in its more specific sense receives its sub- 
 jects from poetry or authenticated tradition ; thev are 
 epic or sublime, dramatic or impassioned, histojnc or 
 circumscribed by truth. The first astonishes ; the se- 
 cond moves ; the third informs. 
 
 The aim of the epic painter is to impress one general 
 idea, one great (quality of nature or mode of society, 
 some great maxim, without descending to those sub- 
 divisions, which the detail of character prescribes : he 
 paints the elements with their own simplicity, height, 
 depth, the vast, the grand, darkness, light ; life, death ; 
 the past, the future ; man, pity, love, joy, fear, ter- 
 rour, peace, war, religion, government : and the 
 visible agents are only engines to force one irresistible 
 idea upon the mind and fancy, as the machinery of 
 
 R 2 
 
124 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 Archimedes served only to convey destruction^ and the 
 wheels of a watch serve only to tell time. 
 
 Such is the first and general sense of what is called 
 the sublirney epic, allegoric, lyric substance. Homer, 
 to impress one forcible idea of war, its origin, its pro- 
 gress, and its end, set to work innumerable engines 
 of various magnitude, yet none but what uniformly 
 tends to enforce this and only this idea ; gods and 
 demigods are only actors, and nature but the scene of 
 war ; no character is discriminated but where dis- 
 crimination discovers a new look of war ; no passion 
 is raised but what is blown up by the breath of war, 
 and as soon absorbed in its universal blaze : — As in 
 a conflagration we see turrets, spires, and temples 
 illuminated only to propagate the horrours of destmc- 
 tioii, so through the stormy pag-e of Homer, we see 
 his heroines and heroes, but by the light that blasts 
 them. 
 
 This is the principle of that divine series of frescoes, 
 with which under the pontificates of Julius II. and 
 Paul III. Michael Angelo adorned the lofty compart- 
 ments of the Capella Sistina, and from a modesty or 
 a pride for ever to be lamented, only not occupied the 
 
 whole of its ample sides. Its subject is theocracy or 
 
 1 1 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 125 
 
 the empire of relig-ion, considered as the parent and 
 queen of man ; the origin, the progress, and final 
 dispensation of Providence, as taught by the sacred 
 records. Amid this imagery of primeval simplicity, 
 whose sole object is the relation of the race to its 
 Founder, to look for minute discrimination of cha- 
 racter, is to invert the principle of the artist's in- 
 vention : here is only God with man. The veil of 
 eternity is rent ; time, space, and matter teem in the 
 creation of the elements and of earth ; life issues from 
 God and adoration from man, in the creation of 
 Adam and his mate ; transgression of the precept at 
 the tree of knowledge proves the origin of evil, and 
 of expulsion from the immediate intercourse with 
 God ; the oeconomy of justice and grace commences 
 in the revolutions of the deluge, and the covenant 
 made with Noah ; and the germs of social character 
 are traced in the subsequent scene between him and 
 his sons ; the awful synod of prophets and sibyls are 
 the heralds of the Redeemer, and the host of patri- 
 archs the pedigree of the Son of Man ; the brazen 
 serpent and the fall of Haman, the giant subdued by 
 the stripling in Goliah and David, and the conquerour 
 destroyed bv female weakness in Judith, are types of 
 his mysterious progress, till Jonah pronounces him 
 immortal ; and the magnificence of the last judgment 
 
126 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 by shewing the Saviour in the judge of man, sums up 
 the whole, and reunites the founder and the race. 
 
 Such is the spirit of the Sistine chapel, and the out- 
 line of its general invention, with regard to the cycle 
 of its subjects — as in their choice they lead to each 
 other without intermediate chasms in the transition ; 
 as each preceding one prepares and directs the con- 
 duct of the next, this the following ; and as the in- 
 trinsic variety of all, conspires to the simplicity of one 
 great end. The specific invention of the pictures 
 separate, as each constitutes an independent whole, 
 deserves our consideration next : each has its centre, 
 from which it disseminates, to which it leads back all 
 secondary points ; arranged, hid, or displayed, as they 
 are more or less organs of the inspiring plan : each 
 rigorously is circumscribed by its generic character, 
 no inferiour merely conventional, temporary, local, or 
 disparate beauty, however in itself alluring, is ad- 
 mitted ; each finally turns upon that transient mo- 
 ment, the moment of suspense, big with the past, 
 and pregnant with the future ; the action no where 
 expires, for action and interest terminate together. 
 Thus in the creation of Adam, the Creator borne on 
 a group of attendant spirits, the personified powers 
 of omnipotence, moves on toward his last, best work, 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 127 
 
 the lord of his creation : the immortal spark, issuing- 
 from his extended arm, electrifies the new-formed 
 being, who tremblingly alive, half raised half reclined, 
 hastens to meet his Maker. In the formation of Eve 
 the astonishment of life, just organised, is absorbed in 
 the sublimer sentiment of adoration ; perfect, though 
 not all disengaged from the side of her dreaming mate, 
 she moves with folded hands and humble dignity to- 
 wards the majestic Form whose half raised hand 
 attracts her — what words can express the equally 
 bland and in'esistible velocity of that mysterious 
 Being, who forms the sun and moon, and already 
 past, leaves the earth, compleatly formed, behind 
 him? Here apposition is the symbol of immen- 
 sity, (h) 
 
 From these specimens of invention exerted in the 
 more numerous compositions of this sublime cycle, 
 let me fix your attention for a few moments on the 
 powers it displays in the single figures of the Pro- 
 phets, those organs of embodied sentiment : their 
 expression and attitude, whilst it exhibits the unequi- 
 vocal marks of inspired contemplation in all ; and 
 
 (A) 'O Sc, ircug jajysSuvei to. A«»j«.ovi« ; T>)V 
 
 Longinus, § 9. 
 
128 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 with equal variety, energ-y, and delicacy, stamps cha- 
 racter on each ; exhibits in the occvipation of the 
 present moment the traces of the past and hints of 
 the future. Esaiah, the image of inspiration, subhme 
 and lofty, with an attitude expressive of the sacred 
 trance in which meditation on the Messiah had im- 
 mersed him, starts at the voice of an attendant genius, 
 who seems to pronounce the words, Mo us a child 
 * is born, to us a son is given.' Daniel, the humbler 
 image of eager diligence, transcribes from a volume 
 held by a stripling, with a gesture natural to those 
 who, absorbed in the progress of their subject, are 
 heedless of convenience ; his posture shews that he 
 had inspected the volume from which now he is 
 turned, and shall return to it immediately. Za- 
 chariah personifies consideration, he has read, and 
 ponders on what he reads. Inquiry moves in the 
 dignified activity of Joel ; hastening to open a sacred 
 scrowl, and to compare the scriptures with each 
 other. Ezechiel, the fervid feature of fancy, the 
 seer of resurrection, represented as on the field 
 strewn with bones of the dead, points downward and 
 asks, * can these bones live ?' the attendant angel, 
 borne on the Avind that agitates his locks and the 
 prophet's vestments, with raised arm and finger, pro- 
 nounces, they shall rise ; last, Jeremiah, svibdued by 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 129 
 
 grief and exhausted by lamentation, sinks in silent 
 woe over the ruins of Jerusalem. Nor are the sibyls, 
 those female oracles, less expressive, less individuallv 
 marked — they are the echo, the counterpart of the 
 prophets ; Vigilance, Meditation, Instruction, Divin- 
 ation are personified. If the artist, who absorbed 
 by the uniform power and magnitude of execution, 
 saw only breadth and nature in their figures, must be 
 told that he has discovered the least part of their 
 excellence ; the critic who charges them with affect- 
 ation, can only be dismissed with our contempt. 
 
 On the immense plain of the last judgment, Michael 
 Angelo has wound up the destiny of man, simply 
 considered as the subject of religion, faithful or 
 rebellious ; and in one generic manner has distributed 
 happiness and misery, the general feature of passions 
 is given, and no more. — But had Raphael meditated 
 that subject, he would undoubtedly have applied to 
 our sympathies for his choice of imagery ; he would 
 have combined all possible emotions with the utmost 
 variety of probable or real character : a father meet- 
 ing his son, a mother torn from her daughter, lovers 
 flying into each others arms, friends for ever sepa- 
 rated, children accusing their parents, enemies 
 reconciled ; tyrants dragged before the tribunal by 
 
 s 
 
ISO THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 their subjects, conquerors hiding* themselves from 
 their victims of carnage ; innocence declared, hypo- 
 crisy unmasked, atheism confounded, detected fraud, 
 triumphant resignation ; the most prominent features 
 of connubial, fraternal, kindred connexion. — In a 
 word, the heads of that infinite variety which Dante 
 has minutely scattered over his poem — all domestic, 
 politic, relig'iovis relations ; whatever is not local in 
 virtue and in vice : and the sublimity of the greatest 
 of all events, would have been merely the minister of 
 sympathies and passions (i). 
 
 (i) Much has been said of the loss we have suffered in the marginal drawings 
 which Michael Angelo drew in his Dante. Invention may have suffered in being 
 deprived of them ; they can, however, have been little more than hints of a size too 
 minute to admit of much discrimination. The true terrours of Dante depend as 
 much upon the medium in which he shews, or gives us a glimpse of his figures, as on 
 their form. The characteristic outlines of his fiends, Michael Angelo personified in 
 the daemons of the last judgment, and invigourated the undisguised appetite, ferocity 
 or craft of the brute, by traits of human malignity, cruelty, or lust. The Minos of 
 Dante, in Messer Biagio da Cesena, and his Charon, have been recognized by all ; 
 but less the shivering wretch held over the barge by a hook, and evidently taken 
 from the following passage in the xxiid of the Inferno : 
 
 Et Graffiacan, che gli era piii di contra 
 Gli arronciglio i'impegolate chiome ; 
 E trasse '1 su, che mi parve una lontra. 
 
 None has noticed as imitations of Dante in the xxivth book, the astonishing groups 
 in the Lunetta of the brazen serpent ; none the various hints from the Inferno and 
 Purgatorio scattered over the attitudes and expressions of the figures rising from their 
 graves. In the Lunetta of Haman, we owe the sublime conception of his figure to 
 the subsequent passage in the xviilhc. of Purgatory: 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 131 
 
 If opinions be divided on the respectiv e advantages 
 and disadvantages of these two modes ; if to some it 
 should appear, though from consideration of the plan 
 which guided Michael Angelo, I am far from sub- 
 scribing to their notions, that the scenery of the last 
 judgment, might have gained more by the dramatic 
 introduction of ^ aried pathos, than it would have lost 
 by the dereliction of its generic simplicity : there can, 
 I believe, be but one opinion with regard to the me- 
 thods adopted by him and Raphael in the invention 
 of the moment that characterises the creation of Eve : 
 both artists applied for it to their own minds, but with 
 
 Poi piobbe dentro al' alta phantasia 
 Un Crucifisso, dispettoso e fiero 
 Nella sua vista, e lo qual si moria. 
 
 The bassorelievo on the border of the second rock, in Purgatory, furnished the idea 
 of the Annunziata, painted by Marcello Venusti from his design, in the sacristy of 
 St. Giov. Lateran, by order of Tommaso de' Cavaheri, tlie select friend and fa- 
 vourite of Michael Angelo. 
 
 We arc told that Michael Angelo represented the Ugolino of Dante, inclosed in 
 the tower of Pisa; if he did, his own work is lost: but if, as some suppose, the 
 bassorelievo of that subject by Pierino da Vinci, be taken from his idea, notwith- 
 standing the greater latitude, which the sculptor might claim, in divesting the 
 figures of drapery and costume; he appears tome, to have erred in the means 
 employed to rouse our sympathy. A sullen but muscular character, with groups of 
 muscular bodies and forms of strength, about him, with the allegoric figure of the 
 Arno at their feet, and that of Famine hovering over their heads, are not the fierce 
 Gothic chief, deprived of revenge, brooding over despair in the stony cage ; are not 
 the exhausted agonies of a father, petrified by the helpless groans of an expiring 
 family, offering their own bodies for his food, to prolong his life. 
 
 s 2 
 
132 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 very different success : the elevation of Michael 
 An^elo's soul, inspired by the operation of creation 
 itself, furnished him at once with the feature that 
 stamps on human nature its most glorious prero^i^a- 
 tive : whilst the characteristic subtilty, rather than 
 sensibility of Raphael's mind, in this instance, offered 
 nothing' but a frigid succedaneum ; a symptom incident 
 to all, when after the subsided astonishment on a erreat 
 and sudden event, the mind recollecting itself, pon- 
 ders on it with inquisitive surmise. In Michael 
 Angelo, all self-consideration is absorbed in the subli- 
 mity of the sentiment which issues from the august 
 Presence that attracts Eve ; ' her earthly,' in Milton's 
 expression, * by his heavenly overpowered,' pours 
 itself in adoratioii : whilst in the inimitable cast of 
 Adam's figure, we trace the hint of that half conscious 
 moment when sleep began to give way to the vivacity 
 of the dream inspired. In Raphael, creation is com- 
 plete — Eve is presented to Adam, now awake : but 
 neither the new-born charms, the submissive grace 
 and virgin purity of the beauteous image ; nor the 
 awful presence of her Introdvictor, draw him from his 
 mental trance into effusions of love or gratitude ; at 
 ease reclined, with fingers pointing at himself and his 
 new mate, he seems to methodize the surprising event 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 133 
 
 that took place during" his sleep, and to whisper the 
 words * flesh of my flesh/ 
 
 Thus, but far better adapted, has Raphael personi- 
 fied Dialogue, moved the lips of Soliloquy, unbent or 
 wrinkled the features, and arranged the limbs and 
 gesture of Meditation, in the pictvires of the Parnassus 
 and of the school of Athens, parts of the immense 
 allegoric drama that fills the stanzas, and displays the 
 brightest ornament of the Vatican ; the immortal 
 monument of the towering ambition, unlimited pa- 
 tronage, and refined taste of Julius II. and Leo X. , 
 its cycle represents the origin, the progress, extent, 
 and final triumph of church eiiipire, or ecclesiastic 
 government ; in the first subject, of the Parnassus, 
 Poetry led back to its origin and first duty, the herald 
 and interpreter of a first Cause, in the universal lan- 
 guage of imagery addressed to the senses, unites man, 
 scattered and savage, in social and religious bands. 
 What was the surmise of the eye and the wish of hearts, 
 is gradually made the result of reason, in the charac- 
 ters of the school of Athens, by the researches of 
 philosophy, which from bodies to mind, from cor- 
 poreal harmony to moral fitness, and from the duties 
 of society, ascends to the doctrine of God and hopes 
 
134 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 of immortality. Here revelation in its stricter sense 
 commences, and conjecture becomes a glorious 
 reality : in the composition of the dispute on the 
 sacrament, the Saviour after ascension seated on his 
 throne, the attested son of God and Man, surrounded 
 by his types, the prophets, patriarchs, apostles and 
 the hosts of heaven, institutes the mysteries and 
 initiates in his sacrament the heads and presbyters of 
 the church militant, who in the awful presence of 
 their Master and the celestial synod, discuss, explain, 
 propound his doctrine. That the sacred mystery 
 shall clear all doubt and subdue all heresy, is taught 
 in the miracle of the blood-stained wafer ; that with- 
 out arms, by the arm of Heaven itself, it shall release 
 its votaries, and defeat its enemies, the deHverance 
 of Peter, the overthrow of Heliodorus, the flight of 
 Attila, the captive Saracens, bear testimony ; that 
 nature itself shall submit to its power and the ele- 
 ments obey its mandates, the checked conflagration 
 of the Borgo, declares : till hastening to its ultimate 
 triumphs, its union with the state, it is proclaimed by 
 the vision of Constantine, confirmed by the rout 
 of Maxentius, established by the imperial pupil's 
 receiving baptism, and submitting to accept his crown 
 at the feet of the mitred pontiff. 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 135 
 
 Such is the rapid outline of the cycle painted or 
 designed by Raphael on the compartments of the 
 stanzas sacred to his name. Here is the mass of his 
 powers in poetic conception and execution, here is 
 every period of his style, his emancipation from the 
 narrow shackles of Pietro Perugino, his discri- 
 minations of characteristic form, on to the heroic 
 ii-randeur of his line. Here is that master-tone of 
 fresco painting', the real instrument of history, which 
 with its silver purity and breadth unites the glow of 
 Titiano and Correggio's tints. Every where we meet 
 the superiority of genius, but more or less impressive, 
 with more or less felicity in proportion as each subject 
 was more or less susceptible of dramatic treatment. 
 From the bland enthusiasm of the Parnassus, and the 
 sedate or eager features of meditation in the school 
 of Athens, to the sterner traits of dogmatic contro- 
 versy in the dispute of the sacrament, and the symp- 
 toms of religious conviction or inflamed zeal at the 
 mass of Bolsena. Not the miracle, as we have ob- 
 served, the fears and terrours of humanity inspire and 
 seize us at the conflagration of the Borgo : if in the 
 Heliodorus the sublimity of the vision balances sym- 
 pathy with astonishment, we follow the rapid ministers 
 of grace to their revenge, less to rescue the temple 
 from the gripe of sacrilege, than inspired by the pal- 
 
136 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 pitating' graces, the helpless innocence, the defenceless 
 beauty of the females and children scattered around ; 
 and thus we forget the vision of the labarum, the 
 angels and Constantine in the battle, to plunge in 
 the wave with Maxentius, or to share the agonies 
 of the father who recognizes his own son in the enemy 
 he slew. 
 
 With what propriety Raphael introduced portrait, 
 though in its most dignified and elevated sense, into 
 some compositions of the great work which we are con- 
 templating, I shall not now discuss ; the allegoric part 
 of the work may account for it : he has, however, by 
 its admission, stamped that branch of painting at once 
 with its essential feature, character, and has assigned 
 it its place and rank ; ennobled by character, it rises 
 to dramatic dignity, destitute of that, it sinks to mere 
 mechanic dexterity, or floats, a bubble of fashion. 
 Portrait is to historic painting in art, what physiog- 
 nomy is to pathogiiomy in science ; that shews the 
 character and powers of the being which it deli- 
 neates, in its formation and at rest : this shews it in 
 exertion. Bembo, Bramante, Dante, Gonzaga, 
 Savonarola, Raphael himself may be considered in 
 the inferior light of mere characteristic ornament ; 
 but Julius the second authenticating the miracle at 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 137 
 
 the mass of Bolsena, or borne into the temple, rather 
 to authorize than to witness the punishment inflicted 
 on its spoiler ; Leo with his train calmly facing Attila, 
 or deciding" on his tribunal the fate of the captive 
 Saracens, tell us by their presence that they are the 
 heroes of the drama, that the action has been con- 
 trived for them, is subordinate to them, and has been 
 composed to illustrate their character. For as in the 
 epic, act and agent are subordinate to the maxim, and 
 in pure history are mere organs of the fact ; so the 
 drama subordinates both fact and maxim to the 
 agent, his character and passion ; what in them was 
 end is but the medium here. 
 
 Such were the principles on which he treated the 
 beautiful tale of Amor and Psyche : the allegory of 
 Apuleius became a drama under the hand of Raphael, 
 though it must be owned, that with every charm of 
 scenic gradation and lyric imagery, its characters, as 
 exquisitely chosen as acutely discriminated, exhibit 
 less the obstacles and real object of affection, and its 
 final triumph over mere appetite and sexual instinct, 
 than the voluptuous history of his own favourite 
 passion. The faint light of the maxim vanishes 
 in the splendour which expands before our fancy the 
 
 T 
 
13S 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 enchanted circle of wanton dalliance and amorous 
 attachment. 
 
 But the power of Raphael's invention exerts itself 
 chiefly in subjects where the drama, divested of epic 
 or allegoric fiction, meets pure history, and elevates, 
 invigourates, impresses the pregnant moment of a real 
 
 fact, with character and pathos: The summit of these 
 is that magnificent series of coloured designs com- 
 monly called the cartoons, so well known to you all, 
 part of which we happily possess ; formerly when com- 
 plete and united, and now, in the copies of the tape- 
 stry annually exhibited in the colonnade of the Vati- 
 can, they represent in thirteen compositions the origin, 
 sanction, oeconomy and progress of the Christian re- 
 ligion. In whatever light we consider their invention, 
 as parts of one whole relative to each other, or inde- 
 pendent each of the rest, and as single subjects, there 
 can be scarcely named a beauty or a mystery of which 
 the cartoons furnish not an instance or a clue ; they 
 are poised between perspicuity and pregnancy of mo- 
 ment ; we shall have opportunities to speak of all or 
 the greater part of them, but that of Paul on the 
 areopagus, will furnish us at present with conclusions 
 for the remainder. 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 139 
 
 It represents the Apostle announcing' his God from 
 the height of the areopagus. Enthusiasm and curiosity 
 make up the subject ; simpHcity of attitude invests the 
 speaker with sublimity ; the parallelism of his action 
 invigorates his energy ; situation gives him command 
 over the v^^hole ; the light in which he is placed, at- 
 tracts the first glance ; he appears the organ of a su- 
 perior Power. The assembly, though selected with 
 characteristic art for the purpose, are the natural off- 
 spring of place and moment. The involved medita- 
 tion of the Stoic, the Cynic's ironic sneer, the incredu- 
 lous smile of the elegant Epicurean, the eager disput- 
 ants of the Academy, the elevated attention of Plato's 
 school, the rankling malice of the Rabbi, the Magi- 
 cian's mysterious glance, repeat in louder or in lower 
 tones the novel doctrine ; but whilst curiosity and 
 meditation, loud debate and fixed prejudice, tell, pon- 
 der on, repeat, reject, discuss it, the animated gesture 
 of conviction in Dionysius and Damaris, announce 
 the power of its tenets, and hint the established be- 
 lief of immortality. 
 
 But the powers of Raphael in combining* the drama 
 with pure historic fact, are best estimated when com- 
 pared with those exerted by other masters on the same 
 subject. For this we select fi*om the series we exa 
 
 T 2 
 
140 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 mine that which represented the massacre, as it is 
 called, of the innocents, or of the infants at Bethlem ; 
 an original, precious part of which still remains in the 
 possession of a friend of art among us. On this sub- 
 ject Baccio Bandinelli, Tintoretto, Rubens, Le Brun, 
 and Poussin, have tried their various powers. 
 
 The massacre of the infants by Baccio Bandinelli, 
 contrived chiefly to exhibit his anatomic skill, is a 
 complicated tableau of every contorsion of human at- 
 titude and limbs that precedes dislocation ; the ex- 
 pression floats between a studied imagery of frigid 
 horrour and loathsome abomination. 
 
 The stormy brush of Tintoretto swept individual 
 woe away in general masses. Two immense wings 
 of light and shade divide the composition, and hide 
 the want of sentiment in tumult. 
 
 To Rubens magnificence and contrast dictated the 
 actors and the scene. A loud lamenting dame, in 
 velvet robes, with golden locks dishevelled, and wide 
 extended arms, meets our first glance. Behind, a 
 group of steel-clad satellites open their rows of spears 
 to admit the nimble, naked ministers of murder, 
 charged with their infant prey, within their ranks, 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 141 
 
 ready to close ag-ain against the frantic mothers who 
 pursue them : the pompous gloom of the palace in 
 the middle ground is set off by cottages and village 
 scenery in the distance. 
 
 Le Brun surrounded the allegoric tomb of Rachel 
 with rapid horsemen, receiving the children whom 
 the assassins tore from their parents arms, and strew- 
 ed the field with infant-slaughter. 
 
 Poussin tied in one vigorous group what he con- 
 ceived of blood-trained villany and maternal frenzy. 
 Whilst Raphael, in dramatic gradation, disclosed all 
 the mother through every image of pity and of 
 terrour ; through tears, shrieks, resistance, revenge, 
 to the stunned look of despair ; and traced the villain 
 from the palpitations of scarce initiated crime to the 
 sedate grin of veteran murder. 
 
 History, strictly so called, follows the drama : 
 fiction now ceases, and invention consists only in 
 selecting and fixing with dignity, precision, and sen- 
 timent, the moments of reality. Suppose that the 
 artist choose the death of Germanicus — He is not to 
 give us the highest images of general grief which 
 impresses the features of a people or a family at the 
 
142 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 death of a beloved chief or father ; for this would be 
 epic imagery : we should have Achilles, Hector, 
 Niobe. He is not to mix up characters which ob- 
 servation and comparison have pointed out to him as 
 the fittest to excite the gradations of sympathy ; not 
 Admetus and Alceste, not Meleager and Atalanta ; 
 for this would be the drama. He is to give us the 
 idea of a Roman dying amidst Romans, as tradition 
 gave him, with all the real modifications of time and 
 place, which may serve unequivocally to discriminate 
 that moment of grief from all others. Germanicus, 
 Agrippina, Caius, Vitellius, the legates, the cen- 
 turions at Antioch ; the hero, the husband, the father, 
 the friend, the leader, the struggles of nature and 
 sparks of hope must be subjected to the phisiognomic 
 character and the features of Germanicus, the son of 
 Drusus, the Caesar of Tiberius. Maternal, female, 
 connubial passion must be tinged by Agrippina, the 
 woman absorbed in the Roman, less lover than com- 
 panion of her husband's grandeur : even the bursts of 
 friendship, attachment, allegiance, and revenge, must 
 be stamped by the military, ceremonial, and dis- 
 tinctive costume of Rome. 
 
 The judicious observation of all this does not re- 
 duce the historic painter to the anxiously minute 
 
 « 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 143 
 
 detail of a copyist. Firm he rests on the true basis 
 of art, imitation : the fixed character of things deter- 
 mines all in his choice, and mere floating accident, 
 transient modes and whims of fashion, are still ex- 
 cluded. If defects, if deformities are represented, 
 they must be permanent, they must be inherent in 
 the character. Edward the first and Richard the 
 third must be marked, but marked, to strengthen 
 rather than to diminish the interest we take in the 
 man ; thus the deformity of Richard will add to hi? 
 terrour, and the enormous stride of Edward to his 
 dignity. If my limits permitted, your own recol- 
 lection would dispense me from expatiating in ex- 
 amples on this more familiar branch of invention. 
 The history of our own times and of our own 
 country has produced a specimen, in the death of a 
 military hero, as excellent as often imitated, which, 
 though respect forbids me to name it, cannot, I 
 trust, be absent from your mind. 
 
 Such are the stricter outlines of general and spe- 
 cific invention in the three principal branches of our 
 art ; but as their near alliance allows not always a 
 strict discrimination of their limits ; as the mind and 
 fancy of men, upon the whole, consist of mixed 
 (qualities, we seldom meet with a human performance 
 
144 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 exclusively made up of epic, dramatic, or pure his- 
 toric materials. 
 
 Novelty and feelings will make the rigid historian 
 sometimes launch out into the marvellovis, or warm 
 his bosom and extort a tear ; the dramatist, in gazing 
 at some tremendous feature, or the pomp of su- 
 periour agency, will drop the chain of sympathy and 
 be absorbed in the sublime ; whilst the epic or lyric 
 painter forgets his solitary grandeur, sometimes de- 
 scends and mixes with his agents. Thus Homer 
 gave the feature of the drama in Hector and Andro- 
 mache, in Irus and Ulysses ; the spirit from the 
 prison house stalks like the shade of Ajax, in Shak- 
 speare ; the daughter of Soranus pleading for her 
 father, and Octavia encircled by centurions, melt like 
 Ophelia and Alceste, in Tacitus ; thus Raphael per- 
 sonified the genius of the river in Joshua's passage 
 through the J ordan, and again at the ceremony of So- 
 lomon's inauguration ; and thus Poussin raised before 
 the scared eye of Coriolanus, the frowning vision of 
 Rome, all armed, with her attendant, Fortune. 
 
 These general excursions from one province of the 
 art into those of its congenial neighbours, granted by 
 judicious invention to the artist, let me apply to the 
 
 2 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 145 
 
 grant of a more specific licence (k) : Horace, the 
 most judicious of critics, when treating* on the use of 
 poetic words, tells his pupils, that the adoption of an 
 old word, rendered novel by a skilful construction with 
 others, will entitle the poet to the praise of original 
 diction. The same will be granted to the judicious 
 adoption of figures in ai*t. 
 
 Far from impairing the originality of invention, 
 the unpremeditated discovery of an appropriate atti- 
 tude or figure in the works of antiquity, or of the 
 great old masters after the revival, and its adoption, 
 or the apt transposition of one misplaced in some 
 inferiour work, will add lustre to a performance of 
 commensurate or superiour power, by a kind coa- 
 lition with the rest, immediately furnished by nature 
 and the subject. In such a case it is easily dis- 
 covered whether a subject have been chosen merely 
 to borrow an idea, an attitude or figure, or whether 
 their eminent fitness procured them their place. 
 An adopted idea or figure in a work of genius is a 
 foil or a companion of the rest ; but an idea of genius 
 borrowed by mediocrity, tears all associate shreds, it 
 
 {k) Dixeris egregie, notum si callida yerbum 
 
 Reddiderit junctura novum. 
 
 Q. Horat. Flacci de A. P. v. 47. 
 
 U 
 
146 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 is the g-iant's thumb by which the pigmy offered the 
 measm'e of his own httleness. We stamp the pla- 
 g-iary on the borrower, who, without fit materials or 
 adequate conceptions of his own, seeks to sheker 
 impotence under purloined vigour ; we leave him 
 with the full praise of invention, who by the harmony 
 of a whole proves that what he adopted might have 
 been his own offspring" thoug-h anticipated by another. 
 If he take now, he soon may g-ive. Thus Michael 
 Angelo scattered the Torso of Apollonius in every 
 view, in every direction, in groups and single figures, 
 over the composition of the last judgment ; and in 
 the Lunetta of Judith and her maid gave an original 
 turn to figures adopted from the gem of Pier Maria 
 da Pescia ; if the figure of Adam dismissed from 
 Paradise, by Raphael, still own Masaccio for its 
 inventor, he can scarcely be said to have furnished 
 more than the hint of that enthusiasm and energy 
 which we admire in Paul on the areopagus : in the 
 picture of the covenant with Noah, the sublimity 
 of the vision, and the graces of the mother entangled 
 by her babes, find their originals in the Sistine chapel, 
 but they are equalled by the fervour which conceived 
 the Patriarch who, with the infant pressed to hii 
 bo^om, with folded hands, and prostrate on his knees. 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 147 
 
 adores. What fig'ure or what gesture in the cartoon 
 of Pisa, has not been imitated? Raphael, Parme- 
 ^iano, Poussin, are equally indebted to it ; in the 
 sacrament of baptism, the last did little more than 
 transcribe that knot of powers, the fierce feature of 
 the veteran who, eager to pull on his cloaths, pushes 
 his foot throug-h the rending garment. — Such are the 
 indulgences which invention grants to fancy, taste, 
 and judgment. 
 
 But a limited fragment of observations must not 
 presume to exhaust what in itself is inexhaustible ; the 
 features of invention are multiplied before me as my 
 powers decrease : I shall therefore no longer trespass 
 on your patience, than by fixing your attention for a 
 few moments on one of its boldest flig'hts, the trans- 
 figuration of Raphael ; a performanue equally cele- 
 brated and censured ; in which the most judicious of 
 inventors, the painter of propriety, is said to have not 
 only wrestled for extent of information with the his- 
 torian, but attempted to leap the boundaries, and, 
 with a less discriminating than daring hand, to remove 
 the established limits of the art, to have arbitrarily 
 combined two actions, and consequently two different 
 moments. 
 
 u 2 
 
148 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 Were this charge founded, I mig'ht content myself 
 with observing', that the transfiguration, more than 
 any other of Raphael's oil-pictures, was a public per- 
 formance, destined by Julio de Medici, afterward 
 Clement VII. for his archiepiscopal church at Nar- 
 bonne ; that it was painted in contest with Sebastian 
 del Piombo, assisted in his rival-picture of Lazarus by 
 Michael Angelo ; and thus, considering it as framed 
 on the simple principles of the monumental style, 
 established in my first discourse, on the pictures of 
 Polygnotus at Delphi, I might frame a plausible ex- 
 cuse for the modern artist ; but Raphael is above the 
 assistance of subterfuge, and it is sufficient to examine 
 the picture, in order to prove the futility of the 
 charge. Raphael has connected with the transfigur- 
 ation not the cure of the maniac, but his presentation 
 for it; if, according to the (/) Gospel record, this 
 happened at the foot of the mountain, whilst the 
 apparition took place at the top, what improbability 
 is there in assigning the same moment to both ? 
 
 Raphael's design was to represent Jesus as the Son 
 of God, and at the same time as the reliever of human 
 
 {I) Matt. 17.5.6. See Fiorillo, geschiclite, &c. 104. seq. 
 
 4. 
 
THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 149 
 
 misery, by an unequivocal fact. The transfiguration 
 on Tabor, and the miraculous cure which followed the 
 descent of Jesus, united, furnished that fact. The 
 difticulty was how to combine two successive actions 
 in one moment : he overcame it by sacrificino- the 
 moment of the cure to that of the apparition, by im- 
 plying* the lesser miracle in the greater. In subord- 
 inating the cure to the vision he obtained sublimity, 
 in placing the crowd and the patient on the fore- 
 ground, he gained room for the full exertion of his 
 dramatic powers ; it was not necessary that the 
 dsemoniac should be represented in the moment of 
 recovery, if its certainty could be expressed by other 
 means : it is implied, it is placed beyond all doubt by 
 the glorious apparition abo\ e ; it is made nearly in- 
 tuitive by the viplifted hand and finger of the apostle 
 in the centre, who without hesitation, undismayed by 
 the obstinacy of the daemon, unmoved by the clamour 
 of the crowd and the pusillanimous scepticism of some 
 of his companions, refers the father of the maniac in 
 an authoritative manner for certain and speedy help 
 to his master (in) on the mountain above, whom. 
 
 [m) The vision on Tabor, as represented here, is the most characteristic produced 
 by modern art. Whether we consider the action of the apostles overpowered by 
 the divine effulgence and divided between adoration and astonishment ; or the 
 
150 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 though unseen, his attitude at once connects with all 
 that passes helow ; here is the point of contact, here 
 is that union of the two parts of the fact in one mo- 
 ment, which Richardson and Falconet could not 
 discover. 
 
 forms of the prophets ascendhig like flame, and attracted by the lucid centre, or 
 the majesty of Je&us himself, whose countenance, is the only one we know, ex- 
 pressive of his superhuman nature. That the unison of such powers, should not, 
 for once, have disarmed the burlesque of the French critic, rouses equal surprise 
 and indignation. 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 INVENTION. 
 PART 11. 
 
 *0ONEPA A' AAAO:^ 'ANHP BAEOIiN, 
 TNilMAN KENEAN SKOTOI KTAINAEI 
 XAMAinETOlSAN. 
 
 niNAAP. NEM. EIA. A. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Choice of subjects ; divided into positive, negative, repulsive. — Observations on the 
 Parerga, or Accessories of Invention. 
 
[ 153 ] 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 The imitation of Nature, as it presents itself in 
 space and figure, being" the real sphere of plastic 
 Invention, it follows, that whatever can occupy a 
 place and be circumscribed by lines, characterised by 
 form, substantiated by colour and light and shade, 
 without provoking incredulity, shocking our concep- 
 tion by absurdity, averting our eye by loathsomeness 
 or horrour, is strictly within its province : but though 
 all Nature seem to teem with objects of imitation, 
 the ' Choice' of subjects is a point of great import- 
 ance to the Artist ; the conception, the progress, the 
 finish, and the success of his work depend upon 
 it. An apt and advantageous subject rouses and 
 elevates Invention, invigourates, promotes, and adds 
 delight to labour ; whilst a dull or repulsive one 
 breeds obstacles at every step, dejects and wearies 
 — the Artist loses his labour, the spectator his ex^ 
 pectation. 
 
 X 
 
154 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 The first demand on every work of art is that it 
 constitute one whole, that it fnlly pronounce its own 
 meanings that it tell itself ; it ought to be inde- 
 pendent ; the essential part of its subject ought to be 
 comprehended and understood without collateral 
 assistance, without borrowing its commentary from 
 the historian or the poet ; for as we are soon wearied 
 with a poem whose fable and motives reach us only 
 by the borrowed light of annexed notes, so we turn 
 our eye discontented from a picture or a statue whose 
 meaning depends on the charity of a Cicerone, or 
 must be fetched from a book. 
 
 As the condition that each work of art should fully 
 and essentially tell its own tale, undoubtedly narrows 
 the quantity of admissible objects, singly taken, to 
 remedy this, to enlarge the range of subjects. In- 
 vention has contrived by a Cyclus or series to tell the 
 most important moments of a long story, its begin- 
 ning, its middle, and its end : for though some of 
 these may not, in themselves, admit of distinct discri- 
 mination, they may receive and impart light by 
 connection. 
 
 Of him who undertakes thus to personify a tale, 
 the lirst demand is, that his Invention dwell on the 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 155 
 
 firm basis of the story, on its most important and 
 significant moments, or its principal actors. Next, 
 as the nature of the art which is confined to the 
 apparition of single moments forces him to leap 
 many intermediate ones, he cannot be said to have 
 invented with propriety, if he neglect imperceptibly 
 to fill the chasm occasioned by their omission ; and, 
 finally, that he shall not interrupt or lose the leading 
 thread of his plan in quest of episodes, in the display 
 of subordinate or adventitious beauties. On the observ- 
 ation of these rules depends the perspicuity of his work, 
 the interest we take in it, and, consequently, all that 
 can be gained by the adoption of a historic series. 
 
 When form, colour, with conception and execution, 
 are deducted from a work, its subject, the un wrought 
 stuff only, the naked materials remain, and these we 
 divide into three classes. 
 
 The first are positive, advantageous, commensurate 
 with and adapted for the art. The whole of the 
 work lies prepared in their germ, and spontaneously 
 meets the rearing hand of the Artist. 
 
 The second class, composed of subjects negative 
 and uninteresting in themselves, depends entirely on 
 
 X 2 
 
156 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 the manner of treating" ; such subjects owe what they 
 can be to the genius of the Artist. 
 
 The repulsive, the subjects which cannot pro- 
 nounce their own meaning, constitute the third class. 
 On them genius and talent are eqvially wasted, be- 
 cause the art has no medium to render them intelli- 
 gible. Taste and execution may recommend them 
 to our eye, but never can make them generally im- 
 pressive, or stamp them with perspicuity. 
 
 To begin with advantageous subjects, immediately 
 above the scenes of vulgar life, of animals, and 
 common landscape, the simple representation of 
 actions purely human, appears to be as nearly related 
 to the art as to ourselves ; their effect is immediate ; 
 they want no explanation ; from them, therefore, we 
 begin our scale. The next step leads us to pure 
 historic subjects, singly or in a series ; beyond these 
 the delineation of character, or, properly speaking, 
 the drama, invites ; inmiediately above this we place 
 the epic with its mythologic, allegoric, and symbolic 
 branches. 
 
 On these four branches of Invention, as I have 
 treated diffusely in the lecture pubhshed on this 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 157 
 
 subject, and since successively in these prelections, 1 
 shall not at present circumstantially dwell, but as 
 succinctly as possible remind you only of their specific 
 difference and elements. 
 
 The first class, which, without much boldness of 
 metaphor, may be said to draw its substance immedi- 
 ately from the lap of Nature, to be as elemental as 
 her emotions, and the passions by which she sways 
 us, finds its echo in all hearts, and imparts its charm 
 to every eye ; from the mutual caresses of maternal 
 aflPection and infant simplicity, the whispers of 
 love or eruptions of jealousy and revenge, to the 
 terrours of life, struggling" with danger, or grappling 
 with death. The Madonnas of Raphael ; the Ugo- 
 lino, the Paolo and Francesca of Dante ; the confla- 
 gration of the Borgo ; the Niobe protecting her 
 daughter ; Hsemon piercing his own breast, with 
 Antigone hanging dead from his arm (a), owe the 
 sympathies they call forth to their assimilating power, 
 and not to the names they bear : without names, 
 without reference to time and place, they would 
 impress with equal energy, because they find their 
 
 (a) The group in the Ludovisi, ever since its discovery, absurdly misnamed Paetus 
 and Arria, notwithstanding some dissonance of taste and execution, may with more 
 plausibility claim the title of Hsemon and Antigone. 
 
158 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 counterpart in every breast, and speak the language 
 of mankind. Such were the Phantasiae of the an- 
 cients, which modern art, by indiscriminate laxity of 
 application, in what is called Fancy-Pictures, has 
 more debased than imitated. A mother's and a 
 lover's kiss acquire their value from the lips they 
 press, and suffering deformity mingles disgust with 
 pity. 
 
 Historic Invention administers to truth. History, 
 as contradistinguished from arbitrary or poetic nar- 
 ration, tells us not what might be, but what is or 
 was ; circumscribes the probable, the grand, and the 
 pathetic, with truth of time, place, custom ; gives 
 " local habitation and a name :" its agents are the 
 pure organs of a fact. Historic plans, when suffici- 
 ently distinct to be told, and founded on the basis of 
 human nature, have that prerogative over mere 
 natural imagery, that whilst they bespeak our sym- 
 pathy, they interest our intellect. We were pleased 
 wdth the former as men, we are attracted by this 
 as members of society : bound round with public 
 and private connections and duties, taught curiosity 
 by education, we wish to regulate our conduct by 
 comparisons of analagous situations and similar 
 modes of society : these History furnishes ; trans- 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 159 
 
 plants us into other times ; empires and revolutions 
 of empires pass before us with memorable facts and 
 actors in their train, the legislator, the philosopher, 
 the discoverer, the polishers of life ; the warriour, 
 the divine, are the principal inhabitants of this soil : 
 it is perhaps unnecessary to add, that nothing trivial, 
 nothing grovelling or mean, should be suffered to 
 approach it. This is the department of Tacitus and 
 Poussin. The exhibition of character in the conflict 
 of passions with the rights, the rules, the prejudices 
 of society, is the legitimate sphere of dramatic 
 invention. It inspires, it agitates us by reflected 
 self-love, with pity, terrour, hope, and fear ; what- 
 ever makes events, and time and place, the ministers 
 of character and pathos, let fiction or reality compose 
 the tissue, is its legitimate claim : it distinguishes and 
 raises itself above historic representation by laying the 
 chief interest on the actors^ and moulding the J^act 
 into mere situations contrived for their exhibition : 
 they are the end, this the medium. Such is the in- 
 vention of Sophocles and Shakspeare, and imiformly 
 that of Raphael. The actors, who in Poussin and 
 the rest of historic painters, shine by the splendour 
 of the fact, reflect it in Raphael with unborrowed 
 rays ; they are the luminous object to which the action 
 points. 
 
160 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 Of the epic plan, the loftiest species of human con- 
 ception, the aim is to astonish whilst it instructs ; it 
 is the sublime allegory of a maxim. Here Invention 
 arranges a plan by general ideas, the selection of the 
 most prominent features of Nature, or favourable 
 modes of society, visibly to substantiate some great 
 maxim. If it admits history for its basis, it hides 
 the limits in its grandeur ; if it select characters to 
 conduct its plan, it is only in the genus their features 
 reflect, their passions are kindled by the maxim, and 
 absorbed in its universal blaze : at this elevation 
 heaven and earth mingle their boundaries, men are 
 raised to demigods, and gods descend. This is the 
 sphere of Homer, Phidias, and Michael Agnolo. 
 
 Allegory, or the personification of invisible physic 
 and metaphysic ideas, though not banished from the 
 regions of Invention, is equally inadmissible in pure 
 epic, dramatic, and historic plans, because, wherever 
 it enters, it must rule the whole, [b) It rules with 
 
 (b) The whole of the gallery of Luxemburg by Rubens is but a branch of its 
 magnificence : general as the elements, universal and permanent as the affections of 
 human nature, allegory breaks the fetters of time, it unites with boundless sway, my- 
 tholoo^ic, feodal, local incongruities, fleeting modes of society and fugitive fashions : 
 thus, in the picture of Rubens, Minerva, who instructs, the Graces that surround 
 the royal maiden at the poetic fount, are not what they are in Homer, the real 
 tutress of Telemachus, the real dressers of Venus, they are the symbols only of the 
 education which the princess received. In that sublime design of Michael Agnolo, 
 where a figure is roused by a descending genius from his repose on a globe, on whicli 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 161 
 
 propriety the mystic drama of the Vatican, where the 
 characters displayed are only the varied instruments 
 of a mystery by which the church was established, 
 and Julio and Leone are the alleg-oric imag-e, the re- 
 presentatives of that church ; but the epic, dramatic, 
 and historic painter embellish with poetry or delineate 
 with truth, what either was or is supposed to be real ; 
 they must therefore conduct their plans by personal 
 and substantial agency, if they mean to excite that 
 credibility, without which it is not in their power to 
 create an interest in the spectator or the reader. 
 
 That great principle, the necessity of a moral ten- 
 dency or of some doctrine useful to mankind in the 
 whole of an epic performance, admitted, are we 
 therefore to sacrifice the uniformity of its parts, and 
 thus to lose that credibility which alone can impress 
 us with the importance of the maxim that dictated 
 to the poet narration and to the artist imagery ? 
 Are the agents sometimes to be real beings, and 
 sometimes abstract ideas? Is the Zeus of Homer, 
 of whose almighty will the bard, at the very threshold 
 
 he yet reclines, and with surprize discovers the phantoms of the passions which he 
 courted, unmasked in wild confusion flitting round him, M. Agnolo was less am- 
 bitious to express the nature of a dream, or to bespeak our attention to its picturesque 
 effect and powerful contrasts, than to impress us with the lesson, that all is vanity and 
 life a farce, unless engaged by virtue and the pursuits of mind. 
 
 Y 
 
162 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 of his poem, proclaims himself only the herald, bv 
 the purblind acuteness of a commentator, to be 
 turned into ^ther ; and Jvmo, just arriving from her 
 celestial toilet, chang-ed into air, to procure from 
 their mystic embraces the allegoric offspring of vernal 
 impregnation ? When Mhierva, by her weight, makes 
 the chariot of Diomede groan, and Mars wounded, 
 roars with the voice of ten thousand, are they no- 
 thing but the symbol of military discipline, and the 
 sound of the battle's roar? or Ate, seized by her 
 hair, and by Zeus dashed from the battlements of 
 heaven, is she only a metaphysic idea? Forbid it, 
 Sense ! As well might we say, that Milton, when he 
 called the porteress of hell, Satan's daughter. Sin, 
 and his son and dread antagonist. Death, meant only 
 to impress us with ideas of privation and nonentity, 
 and sacrificed the real agents of his poem to an 
 unskilful choice of names? Yet it is their name 
 that has bewildered his commentator and biographer 
 in criticisms equally cold, repugnant and incongru- 
 ous, on the admissibiUty and inadmissibility of alle- 
 gory in poems of supposed reality. What becomes 
 of the interest the poet and the artist mean to 
 excite in us, if, in the moment of reading or con- 
 templating, we do not believe what the one tells and 
 the other shews ? It is that magic which places on 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 163 
 
 the same basis of existence, and amalgamates the 
 mythic or superhuman, and the human parts of the 
 IHas, of Paradise Lost, and of the Sistine chapel, that 
 enraptures, agitates, and whirls us along as readers 
 or spectators. 
 
 When Poussin represented Coriolanus in the Vol- 
 scian camp, he placed before him in suppliant atti- 
 tudes his mother, wife, and children, with a train of 
 Roman matrons kneeling, and behind them the erect 
 and frowning form of an armed female, accompanied 
 by another with streaming hair, recumbent on a wheel. 
 On these two, unseen to all else, Coriolanus, perplexed 
 in the extreme, in an attitude of despair, his sword 
 half drawn, as if to slay himself, fixes his scared eyes : 
 who discovers not that he is in a trance, and in the 
 female warriour recognises the tutelary genius of 
 Rome, and her attendant Fortune, to terrify him into 
 compliance ? Shall we disgrace with the frigid con- 
 ceit of an allegory the powerful invention which dis- 
 closed to the painter's eye the agitation in the Roman's 
 breast and the proper moment for fiction ? Who is 
 not struck by the sublimity of a vision which, without 
 diminishing the credibility of the fact, adds to its im- 
 portance, and raises the hero, by making him submit 
 
 Y 2 
 
164 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 not to the impulse of private ties, but to the imperious 
 destiny of his country ? 
 
 Among" the paltry subterfuges contrived by dullness 
 to palliate the want of invention, the laborious pe- 
 dantry of emblems ranks foremost, by which arbitrary 
 and conventional signs have been substituted for cha- 
 racter and expression. If the assertion of S. Johnson, 
 that the plastic arts * can illustrate, but cannot in- 
 form,' be false as a general maxim, it gains an air of 
 truth with regard to this hieroglyphic mode of ex- 
 changing substance for signs ; and the story which he 
 adds in proof, of a young girl's mistaking the usual 
 re of Justice with a steel-yard for a cherry-woman, 
 becomes here appropriate. The child had seen many 
 stall and market-women, and always with a steel-yard 
 or a pair of scales, but never a figure of Justice ; and 
 it might as well be pretended that one not initiated in 
 the Egyptian mysteries, should discover in the Scara- 
 baeus of an obelisk the summer solstice, as that a 
 child, a girl, or a man not acquainted with Caesar 
 Kipa, or some other emblem-coyner, should find 
 in a female holding a balance over her eyes, in an- 
 other with a bridle in her hand, in a third leaning 
 on a broken pillar, and in a fourth loaded with 
 children, the symbols of Justice, Temperance, Forti- 
 
J^OURTH LECTURE. 
 
 165 
 
 tude and Charity. If these signs be at all admissible, 
 they ought, at least, to receive as much light from 
 the form, the character, and expression of the figures^ 
 they accompany, as they reflect on them, else they 
 become burlesque, instead of being attributes. Though 
 this rage for emblem did not become epidemic 
 before the lapse of the sixteenth century, when 
 the Cavalieri of the art, the Zucchari, Vasari and 
 Porta's undertook to deliver more w^ork than their 
 brains could furnish with thought, yet even the phi- 
 losophers of the art, in the classic days of Julio 
 and Leo, cannot be said to have been entirely free 
 from it. What analogy is there between an ostrich 
 at the side of a female with a balance in her hand, 
 and the idea of J ustice ? Yet thus has Raphael re- 
 presented her in a stanza of the Vatican. Nor has 
 he been constant to the same emblem, as on the 
 ceiling of another stanza, he has introduced her with 
 a scale, and armed with a sword. The Night of 
 M. Agnolo, on the Medicean tombs, might certainly 
 be taken for what she professes to be, without the 
 assistance of the mask, the poppies, and the owl at 
 her feet, for the dominion of sleep is personified in 
 her expression and posture : perhaps even her 
 beautiful companion, whose faintly stretching atti- 
 tude and half-opened eyes, express the symptoms of 
 
166 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 approaching- moim, might be conceived for its repre- 
 sentative^ ; but no stretch of fancy can, in their male 
 associates, reach the symbols of Jiill day and eve, or 
 in the females of the monument of Julio II. the 
 ideas of contemplative and active life. 
 
 To means so arbitrary, confused and precarious, 
 the ancients never descended : their general ideas had 
 an uniform and general typus, which invention never 
 presumed to alter or to transgress ; but this typus lay 
 less in the attributes than in the character and form. 
 The inverted torch and moon-flower were the accom- 
 paniments, and not the substitutes, of Death and 
 Sleep ; neither Psyche nor Victory depended on her 
 wings. Mercury was recognized without the caduceus 
 or purse, and Apollo without his bow or lyre ; various 
 and similar, the branches of one family, their leading 
 lines descended from that full type of majesty which 
 Phidias, the architect of gods, had stamped on his 
 Jupiter. Whether we ought to consider the son of 
 Charmidas as the inventor or the regulator of this 
 supreme and irremovable standard, matters not, from 
 him the ancient writers date the epoch of mythic 
 invention ; no revolutions of style changed the cha- 
 racter of his forms, talent only polished with more 
 or less success what his laws had established. 
 
 * L' Aurora Sonnacchiosa. 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 167 
 
 Phidias, says Quintilian, was framed to form gods ; 
 Phidias, says Pliny, gave in his Jupiter a new motive 
 to religion. 
 
 Whether or not, after the restoration of art, the 
 Supreme Being, the eternal essence of incompre- 
 hensible perfection, ought ever to have been ap- 
 proached by the feeble efforts of human conception, it 
 is not my office to discuss, perhaps it ought not — 
 but since it has, as the Roman church has embodied 
 divine substance, and called on our arts for an aux- 
 iliary, it was to be expected that, to make assistance 
 effectual, a full type, a supreme standard of form, 
 should have been established for the author and the 
 agents of the sacred circle : but, be it from the 
 of religious barbarians, or inability, or to avoid the 
 imputation of copying each other, painters and 
 sculptors, widely differing among^ themselves in the 
 conception of divine or sainted form and character, 
 ajrree in nothino; but attributes and symbols ; trian- 
 glilar glories, angelic ministry and minstrelsy, the 
 colours of the drapery ; the cross, the spear, the 
 stigmata ; the descending dove ; in implements of 
 ecclesiastic power or instruments of martyrdom. 
 
 The Biblic expression, as it is translated, * of the 
 Ancient of Days' — which means ' He that existed 
 
 tyranny 
 
168 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 before time,' furnished the primitive artists, instead 
 of an image of supreme majesty, only with the hoary 
 image of age : and such a figure borne along by a 
 globe of angels, and crowned with a kind of episcopal 
 mitre, recurs on the bronzes of Lorenzo Ghiberti. 
 The sublime mind of M. Agnolo, soaring beyond the 
 idea of decrepitude and puny formality, strove to form 
 a type in the elemental energy of the Creator of 
 Adam, and darted life from His extended hand, but 
 in the Creator of Eve sunk again to the idea of age. 
 Raphael strove to compound a form from M. Angelo 
 and his predecessors, to combine energy and rapidity 
 with age : in the Loggia he follows M. Agnolo, in the 
 Stanza the prior artists ; here his gods are affable and 
 mild, there rapid, and perhaps more violent than 
 energetic. After these two great names, it were 
 profanation to name the attempts of their sue-? 
 cessors. 
 
 The same fluctuation perplexes the efiigy of the 
 Saviour. Lionardo da Vinci attempted to unite 
 power with calm serenity, but in the Last Supper 
 alone presses on our hearts by humanity of counter 
 nance. The Infant Christ of M. Agnolo is a super- 
 human conception, but as Man and Redeemer with 
 his cross, in the Minerva, he is a figure as mannered 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 169 
 
 in form and attitude, as averting by stern severity ; 
 and, as the Judg-e of Mankind in the Last Judgment, 
 he seems to me as unworthy of the artist's mind as of 
 his master-hand. The Christs of Raphael, as infants, 
 are seldom more than lovely children ; as a man, the 
 painter has poised His form between church tradition 
 and the dignified mildness of his own character. 
 
 Two extremes appear to have co-operated to im- 
 pede the estabhshment of a type in the formation of 
 the Saviour : by one He is converted into a character 
 of mythology, the other debases Him to the dregs of 
 mankind. 
 
 ' The character corresponding with that of Christ,' 
 says Mengs (c), * ought to be a compound of the 
 ' characters of J upiter and of Apollo, allowing only 
 ' for the accidental expression of the moment.' What 
 magic shall amalgamate the superhuman airs of 
 Rhea's and Latona's sons, with patience in suffering 
 ?ind resignation ? The critic in his exultation forgot 
 the leading feature of his Master — condescending 
 humility. In the race of Jupiter majesty is often 
 
 (c) Speaking of the figure of Christ by Raphael in the Madonna del Spasirao, he 
 calls it ' Una Figura d'un Carattere fra quel di Giove, e quello d' Apollo ; quale 
 ' effettivamente deve esser quello, che corrisponde a Cristo, aggiungendovi goltanto 
 ' I'espressione accidentale della passione, in cui si rappresenta.' Opere 11.83. 
 
 Z 
 
170 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 tempered by emanations of beauty and of grace, but 
 never softened to warm humanity. Here lies the 
 knot : 
 
 The Saviour of mankind extending* his arm to 
 relieve, w^ithout visible means, the afflicted, the hope- 
 less, the dying, the dead, is a subject that visits 
 with awe the breast of every one who calls himself 
 after His name ; the artist is in the sphere of 
 adoration. 
 
 An exalted sage descending to every beneficent office 
 of humanity, instructing ignorance, not only forgiving 
 but excusing outrage, pressing his enemy to his breast, 
 commands the sympathy of every man, though he be 
 no believer ; the artist is in the sphere of sentiment. 
 
 But a mean man, marked with the features of a 
 mean race, surrounded by a beggarly, ill-shaped 
 rabble and stupid crowds — may be mistaken for a 
 juggler, that claims the attention of no man. Of 
 this let Art beware. 
 
 From these observations on 'positive we now pro- 
 ceed to the class of negative subjects. Negative we 
 call those which in themselves possess little that is 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 171 
 
 significant, historically true or attractive, pathetic or 
 sublime, which leave our heart and fancy listless and 
 in apathy, though by the art with which they are 
 executed they allure and retain the eye : here, if ever, 
 the artist creates his own work, in raising*, by in- 
 genious combination, that to a positive subject which 
 in its parts is none, or merely passive. 
 
 The first rank among* these claims that mystic class 
 of monumental pictures, allusive to mysteries of 
 religion and religious institutions, asylums, charities ; 
 or votive pictures of those who dedicate offerings of 
 gratitude for life saved or happiness conferred : in 
 these the male and female patrons of such creeds, 
 societies and persons, prophets, apostles, saints, 
 warriours and doctors, with and without the donor 
 or the suppliant, combine in apposition or groups, 
 and are sufi^ered to flank each other without incurring* 
 the indignation due to Anachronism, as they are 
 always placed in the presence of the Divine Being*, 
 before whom the distance of epochs, place, and races; 
 the customs, dress, and habits of different nations, are 
 supposed to vanish ; and the present, past, and future 
 to exist in the same moment. 
 
 These, which the simplicity of primitive art dis- 
 missed without more invention than elevating the 
 
 z 2 
 
172 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 Madonna with the infant Saviour, and arranginc,- the 
 saints and suppUants in formal parallels beneath, the 
 genius of g-reater masters often, though not always, 
 transformed to organs of sublimity, or connected in 
 an assemblage of interesting- and highly pleasing' 
 gTOups, by inventing a congTuous action or scenery, 
 which spread warmth over a subject that, simply 
 considered, threatened to freeze the beholder. Let 
 us give an instance. 
 
 The Madonna, called Dell' Lnpannato by Raphael, 
 is one of these : it is so called because he introduced, 
 in the back-ground, the old Italian linen or paper 
 window. Maria is represented standing or raising 
 herself to offer the Infant to St. Edizabeth, who 
 stretches out her arms to receive him. Mary 
 Magdalen behind, and bending over her, points to 
 St. John, and caresses the child ; he with infantine 
 joy escapes from her touch, and looking at her, leaps 
 up to his mother's neck. St. John, as the principal 
 figure, is placed in the fore-ground on a leopard's 
 skin, and with raised hand seems to prophesy of 
 Christ ; he appears to have eight or ten years, Christ 
 scarcely two. At this anachronism, or the much 
 bolder one committed in the admission of M. Mag- 
 dalen, who was probably younger than Christ, those 
 only will be shocked who have not considered the 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 173 
 
 nature of a votive picture : this was dedicated to 
 St. John, as the tutelary saint of Florence, and 
 before it was transferred to the Pitti Gallery, was 
 the altar-piece in a domestic chapel of the Medicean 
 family, (c/) 
 
 The greater part of this audience are acquainted, 
 some are familiar with the celebrated painting* of 
 Correggio, formerly treasured in the Pilotta (3f 
 Parma ; transported to the Louvre and again re- 
 placed. In the invention of this work, which exhibits 
 St. Jerome, to whom it was dedicated, presenting his 
 translation of the Scriptures, by the hand of an angel, 
 to the infant seated in the lap of the Madonna, the 
 patron of the piece, is sacrificed in place to the 
 female and angelic group which occupies the middle. 
 The figure that chiefly attracts, has, by its suavity, 
 for centuries, attracted, and still absorbs the general 
 eye, is that charming one of the Magdalen, in a 
 half kneeling, half recumbent posture, pressing the 
 foot of Jesus to her lips. By doing this, the painter 
 has, undoubtedly, offered to the Graces the boldest 
 and most enamoured sacrifice which they ever re- 
 ceived from art. He has been rewarded, accordino^ly, 
 for the impropriety of her usurping the first glance 
 
 {d) It is engraved by Villamena, 
 
174 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 which ought to fix itself on the Divinity, and the 
 Saint vanishes in the amorous gaze on her charms. 
 If the Magdalen has long- possessed the right of 
 heiiig present where the Madonna presides, she ought 
 to assist the purpose of the picture in subordinate 
 entreaty ; her action should have been that of suppli- 
 cation ; as it is, it is the effusion of fondling, un^ 
 mixed love. 
 
 The true medium between dry apposition and 
 exuberant contrast, appears to have been kept by 
 Titian, in an altar-piece of the Franciscans, or Frari, 
 in spite of French selection, stiU at Venice ; and of 
 which the simple grandeur has been balanced by 
 Reynolds against the artificial splendour of Rubens 
 in a similar subject. It probably was what it repre^ 
 sents, the thanks-offering of a noble family, for some 
 victory obtained, or conquest made in the Morea. 
 The heads of the family, male and female, presented 
 by St. Francis, occupy the two wings of the compo^ 
 sition, kneeling", and with hands joined in prayer, in 
 attitudes nearly parallel. Elevated in the centre, 
 St. Peter stands at the altar, between two columns, 
 his hand in the Gospel-book, the keys before him, 
 addressing the suppliants. Above him, to the rig-ht, 
 appears the Madonna, holding the infant, and with 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 175 
 
 benign countenance, seems to sanction the ceremony. 
 Two stripling" cherubs on an airy cloud, right over 
 the centre, rear the cross ; an armed warriour with 
 the standard of victory, and behind him a turbaned 
 Turk or Moor, approach from the left and round 
 the whole. 
 
 Such is the invention of a work, which, whilst 
 it fills the mind, refuses utterance to words ; of which 
 it is difficult to say, whether it subdue more by sim- 
 plicity, command by dignity, persuade by propriety, 
 assuage by repose, or charm by contrast. A great 
 part of these groups consists of portraits in habili- 
 ments of the time, deep, vivid, brilliant ; but all are 
 completely subject to the tone of gravity that ema- 
 nates from the centre, a sacred silence enwraps the 
 whole ; all g-leams and nothing flashes. Steady to 
 his purpose, and penetrated by his motive, though 
 brooding over every part of his work, the artist 
 appears no where, (e) 
 
 Next to this higher class of negative subjects, 
 though much lower, may be placed the magnificence 
 of ornamental painting, the pompous machinery of 
 
 ((?) The composition, and in some degree the lines, but neither its tone nor effect, 
 may be found among the etchings of Le Fevre. 
 
176 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 Paolo Veronese, Pietro da Cortona, and Rubens^. 
 Splendour, contrast, and profusion, are the sprins>\s of 
 its invention. The painter, not the story, is the 
 principal subject here. Dazzled by piles of Palla- 
 dian architecture, tables set out with reo;al luxury, 
 terrasses of plate, crowds of Venetian nobles, pag-es, 
 dwarfs, i> old- collared Moors, and choirs of vocaF 
 and instrumental music, embrowned and tuned by 
 meridian skies, what eye has time to discover, in 
 the brilliant chaos, the visit of Christ to Simon the 
 Pharisee, or the sober nuptials of Canah ? but when 
 the charm dissolves, thouo'h avowedly wonders of 
 disposition, colour, and unlimited powers of all-o rasp- 
 iivj!^ execution, if considered in any other lig'ht than 
 as the luxurious trappings of ostentatious wealth, 
 judgment must pronounce them ominous pledges of 
 iri'eclaimable depravity of taste, glittering- masses of 
 portentous incongruities and colossal baubles. 
 
 The next place to representation of pomp among* ne- 
 gative subjects, but far below, we assign to Portrait. Not 
 that characteristic portrait by which Silanion, in the 
 face of ApoUodorus, personified habitual indig-nation ; 
 Apelles in Alexander superhuman ambition ; Raphael 
 in Julio the lid. pontifical fierceness; Titian in Paul 
 I lid. testy age with priestly subtlety ; and in Machi-^ 
 
 i 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 177 
 
 avelli and Caesar Borgia the wily features of conspiracy 
 and treason. — Not that portrait by which Rubens con- 
 trasted the physiognomy of philosophic and classic 
 acuteness with that of genius in the conversation-piece 
 of Grotius, Meursius, Lipsius, and himself ; not the 
 nice and delicate discriminations of Vandyk, nor that 
 power which, in our days, substantiated humour in 
 Sterne, comedy in Garrick, and mental and corporeal 
 strife, to use his own words, in Samuel Johnson. On 
 that broad basis, portrait takes its exalted place be- 
 tween history and the drama. The portrait I mean 
 is that common one as widely spread as confined in 
 its principle ; the remembrancer of insignificance, 
 mere human resemblance, in attitude without action, 
 features without meaning, dress without drapery, and 
 situation without propriety. The aim of the artist 
 and the sitter's wish are confined to external likeness ; 
 that deeper, nobler aim, the personification of cha- 
 racter, is neither required, nor, if obtained, recog- 
 nised. The better artist, condemned to this task, can 
 here only distinguish himself from his duller brother 
 by execution, by invoking the assistance of back- 
 ground, chiaroscuro and picturesque effects, and thus, 
 sometimes produces a work which delights the eye 
 and leaves us, whilst we lament the misapplication, 
 
 A A 
 
178 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 with a strong" impression of his power ; him we see, 
 not the insignificant individual that usurps the centre, 
 one we never saw, care not if we never see, and if 
 we do, remember not, for his head can personify 
 nothing but his opvilence or his pretence ; it is fur- 
 niture. 
 
 If any branch of art be once debased to a mere 
 article of fashionable furniture, it will seldom elevate 
 itself above the taste and the caprice of the owner, 
 or the dictates of fashion ; for its success depends on 
 both ; and though there be not a bauble thrown 
 by the sportive hand of fashion which taste may not 
 catch to advantage, it will seldom be allowed to do 
 it, if fashion dictate the mode. Since liberty and 
 commerce have more levelled the ranks of society, 
 and more equally diffused opulence, private import- 
 ance has been increased, family connections and at- 
 tachments have been more numerously formed, and 
 hence portrait painting, which formerly was the ex- 
 clusive property of princes, or a tribute to beauty, 
 prowess, genius, talent, and distinguished character, 
 is now become a kind of family calendar, engrossed 
 by the mutual charities of parents, children, brothers, 
 nephews, cousins, and relatives of all colours. 
 
♦ 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 179 
 
 To portrait painting", thus circumstanced, we sub- 
 join, as the last branch of uninteresting- subjects, that 
 kind of landscape which is entirely occupied with the 
 tame delineation of a given spot ; an enumeration of 
 hill and dale, clumps of trees, shrubs, water, mea- 
 dows, cottages and houses, what is commonly called 
 Views. These, if not assisted by nature, dictated by 
 taste, or chosen for character, may delight the owner 
 of the acres they enclose, the inhabitants of the spot, 
 perhaps the antiquary or the traveller, but to every 
 other eye they are little more than topography. The 
 landscape of Titian, of Mola, of Salvator, of the 
 Poussins, Claude, Rubens, Elzheimer, Rembrandt and 
 Wilson, spurns all relation with this kind of mapwork. 
 To them nature disclosed her bosom in the varied 
 light of rising, meridian, setting* suns ; in twilight, 
 night and dawn. Height, depth, solitude, strike, ter- 
 rify, absorb, bewilder in their scenery. We tread on 
 classic or romantic ground, or wander through the 
 characteristic groups of rich congenial objects. The 
 usual choice of the Dutch school, which frequently 
 exhibits no more than the transcript of a spot, bor- 
 ders, indeed, nearer on the negative kind of land- 
 scape ; but imitation will not be entitled to the plea- 
 sure we receive, or the admiration we bestow, on 
 
 *A A 2 
 
180 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 their g-enial works, till it has learnt to give an air of 
 choice to necessity, to imitate their hues, spread their 
 masses, and to rival the touch of their pencil. 
 
 Subjects w^hich cannot, in their w^hole compass, be 
 brought before the eye, w^hich appeal for the best part 
 of their meaning", to the erudition of the spectator, 
 and the refinements of sentimental enthusiasm, seem 
 equally to defy the powers of invention. The labour 
 of disentangling the former, dissolves the momentary 
 magic of the first impression, and leaves us cold : the 
 second evaporates under the grosser touch of sensual 
 art. It may be more than doubted whether the re- 
 signation of Alcestis can ever be made intuitive ; the 
 pathos of the story consists in the heroic resolution of 
 Alcestis to save her husband's life by resigning her 
 own. N ow the art can shew no more than Alcestis 
 dying : the cause of her death, her elevation of mind, 
 the disinterested heroism of her resolution to die, are 
 beyond its power. 
 
 RafFaelle's celebrated donation of the keys to St. 
 Peter in the cartoon before us, as ineffectually strug- 
 gles with more than the irremovable obscurity, with 
 the ambiguity of the subject : a numerous group of 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 181 
 
 grave and devout characters, in attitudes of anxious 
 debate and eager curiosity, press forward to w^itness 
 the behests of a person who, with one hand, seems 
 to have consigned two massy keys to their foremost 
 companion on his knees, and with the other hand 
 points to a flock of sheep, grazing behind. What as- 
 sociating power can find the connexion between 
 those keys and the pasturing herd ? or discover in an 
 obtrusive allegory the only real motive of the emo- 
 tions that inspire the apostolic group ? the artist's 
 most determined admirer, if not the slave of pontifical 
 authority, ready to transubstantiate whatever comes be- 
 fore him, must confine his homage to the power that 
 interests us in a composition without a subject. 
 
 Poussin's extolled picture of the testament of Eu- 
 damidas is another proof of the inefficacy to represent 
 the enthusiasm of sentiment by the efforts of art. 
 The figures have simplicity, the expression energy, it 
 is well composed, in short, it possesses every requisite 
 but that which alone could make it what it pretends 
 to be : — you see an elderly man on his death-bed ; 
 a physician, pensive, with his hand on the man's 
 breast, his wife and daughter desolate at the foot of 
 the bed ; one, who resembles a notary, eagerly writ- 
 ing ; a buckler and a lance on the wall ; and the 
 
182 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 simple implements of the scene, tell us the former oc- 
 cupation and the circmnstances of Eudamidas — hut 
 his legacy — the secure reliance on the friend to whom 
 
 . he bequeaths his daughter — the noble acceptance 
 and magnanimity of that friend. These we ought to 
 see, and seek in vain for them ; what is represented 
 in the picture may be as well applied to any other 
 man who died, made a will, and left a daughter and 
 
 ' a wife, as to the Corinthian Eudamidas. 
 
 This is not the only instance in which Poussin has 
 mistaken erudition and detail of circumstances for evi- 
 dence. The exposition of Infant Moses on the Nile, 
 is a picture as much celebrated as the former : a wo- 
 man shoves a child placed in a basket from the shore. 
 A man mournfully pensive walks off followed by a boy 
 who turns towards the woman and connects the 
 groups ; a girl in the back-ground, points to a dis- 
 tance, where we discover the Egyptian princess, and 
 thus anticipate the fate of the child. The statue of a 
 river god recumbent on the sphinx, a town with lofty 
 temples, pyramids and obelisks tell Memphis and the 
 Nile ; and smoaking brick-kilns still nearer allude to 
 the servitude and toil of Israel in Egypt : not one 
 circumstance is omitted that could contribute to ex- 
 plain the meaning of the whole ; but the repulsive 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 183 
 
 subject completely baffled the painter's endeavour to 
 shew the real motive of the action. We cannot pe- 
 netrate the cause that forces these people to expose 
 the child on the river, and hence our sympathy and 
 participation languish, we turn from a subject that 
 j^ives us danger without fear, to admire the expres- 
 sion of the parts, the classic elegance, the harmony 
 of colours, the mastery of execution. 
 
 The importance of some secondary points of inven- 
 tion, of scener]^ back-ground, drapery, ornament, is 
 frequently such, that, independent of the want of more 
 essential parts, if possessed in a very eminent degree, 
 they have singly raised from insignificance to esteem, 
 names that had few other rights to consideration ; and 
 neglected, in spite of superiour comprehension, in the 
 choice or conception of a subject, in defiance of style 
 and perhaps of colour, of expression, and sometimes 
 composition, often have left little but apathy to the 
 contemplation of works produced by men of superiovir 
 grasp and essential excellence. Fewer would admire 
 Poussin were he deprived of his scenery, though I 
 shall not assert with Mengs, that in his works the 
 subject is more frequently the appendix than the prin- 
 ciple of the back-ground ; what right could the 
 
184 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 greater part of Andrea del Sarto's historic composi- 
 tions claim to our attention, if deprived of the paral- 
 lelism, the repose and space in which his figures are 
 arranged, or the ample draperies that invest them, 
 and hide with solemn simplicity their vulgarity of cha- 
 racter and limbs : it often requires no inconsiderable 
 degree of mental power and technic discrimination to 
 separate the sublimity of Michael Agnolo, and the pa- 
 thos of RafFaelle from the total neglect or the incon- 
 gruities of scenery and back-ground, which frequently 
 involve or clog their conceptions, to add by fancy 
 the place on which their figures ought to stand, the 
 horizon that ought to elevate or surround them, and 
 the masses of light and shade indolently neglected or 
 sacrificed to higher principles. How deeply the im- 
 portance of scenery and situation, with their proper 
 degree of finish, were felt by Tiziano, before and after 
 his emancipation from the shackles of Giov. Bellino, 
 every work of his during the course of nearly a cen- 
 tenary practice proves : to select two from all, the 
 Martyrdom of the Dominican Peter, that summary of 
 his accumulated powers, and the presentation of the 
 Virgin, one of his first historic essays, owe, if not all, 
 their greatest effect, to scenery : loftiness and solitude 
 of site, assist the sublimity of the descending vision 
 to consecrate the actors beyond what their characters 
 and style of hmbs could claim, and render the first an 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 185 
 
 object of submissive admiration, whilst its simple 
 grandeur renders the second one of cheerful and in- 
 dulgent acquiescence ; and reconciles us to a detail of 
 portrait-painting, and the impropriety of associating 
 domestic and vulgar imagery with a consecrated 
 subject. 
 
 It is for these reasons that the importance of sce- 
 nery and back-ground has been so much insisted on 
 by Reynolds ; who frequently declared, that whatever 
 preparatory assistance he might admit in the drape- 
 ries or other parts of his figures, he always made it a 
 point to keep the arrangement of the scenery, the 
 disposition and ultimate finish of the back -ground to 
 himself. 
 
 By the choice and scenery of the back-ground we 
 are frequently enabled to judge how far a painter en- 
 tered into his subject, whether he understood its na- 
 ture, to what class it belonged, what impression it 
 was capable of making, what passion it was calcu- 
 lated to rouse : the sedate, the solemn, the severe, the 
 awful, the terrible, the sublime, the placid, the soli- 
 tary, the pleasing, the gay, are stamped by it. Some- 
 times it ought to be negative, entirely subordinate, 
 receding or shrinking into itself, sometimes more 
 
 B B 
 
186 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 positive, it acts, invig'ourates, assists the subject, and 
 claims attention ; sometimes its forms, sometimes its 
 colour ought to command. — A subject in itself bor- 
 dering on the usual or common, may become sublime 
 or pathetic by the back-ground alone, and a sublime or 
 pathetic one may become trivial and uninteresting* by 
 it : a female leaning her head on her hand on a rock 
 might easily suggest itself to any painter of portrait, 
 but the means of making this figure interesting to 
 those w^ho are not concerned in the likeness, w^ere not 
 to be picked from the mixtures of the palette, Rey- 
 nolds found the secret in contrasting the tranquillity 
 and repose of the person by a tempestuous sea and a 
 stormy shore in the distance ; and in another female 
 contemplating a tremulous sea by a placid moonlig*ht, 
 he connected elegance with sympathy and desire. 
 
 Whatevei* connects the individual with the ele- 
 ments, whether by abrupt or imperceptible means, is 
 an instrument of sublimity, as, whatever connects it in 
 the same manner with, or tears it from the species, 
 may become an organ of pathos : in this discrimina- 
 tion lies the rule by which our art, to astonish or 
 move, ought to choose the scenery of its subjects. 
 It is not by the accumulation of infernal or magic ma- 
 chinery, distinctly seen, by the introduction of Hecate 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 187 
 
 and a chorus of female daemons and witches, by 
 surrounding" him with sviccesssive apparitions at once, 
 and a range of shadows moving" above or before him, 
 that Macbeth can be made an object of terrour, — to 
 render him so you must place him on a ridg-e, his 
 down-dashed eye absorbed by the murky abyss ; sur- 
 round the horrid vision with darkness, exchide its 
 limits, and shear its light to glimpses. 
 
 This art of giving to the principal figure the com- 
 mand of the horizon, is perhaps the only principle by 
 which modern art might have gained an advantage 
 over that of the antients, and improved the dignity of 
 composition, had it been steadily pursued by its g-reat 
 restorers, the painters of Julio II. and Leone X. 
 thou2'h we find it more attended to in the monumen- 
 tal imagery of the Capella Sistina, than in the Stanze 
 and the cartoons of Raffaello, which being oftener 
 pathetic or intellectual than sublime, suffered less by 
 ne selecting it. 
 
 The same principle which has developed in the 
 cone, the form generally most proper for composing 
 a single figure or a group, contains the reason why 
 the principal figure or group should be the most 
 elevated object of a composition, and locally command 
 
 B B 2 
 
188 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 the accidents of scenery and place. The Apollo of 
 Belvedere, smg-ly or in a group, was surely not com- 
 posed to move at the bottom of a valley, nor the 
 Zeus of Phidias to be covered with a roof. 
 
 The improprieties attendant on the neglect of this 
 principle are, perhaps, in no work of eminence more 
 offensively evident than in the celebrated resuscitation 
 of Lazarus by Sebastian del Piombo, whose compo- 
 sition, if composition it deserve to be called, seems to 
 have been dictated by the back-ground. It usurps the 
 first glance ; it partly buries, every where throngs, 
 and in the most important place squeezes the subject 
 into a corner. The horizon is at the top, Jesus, Ma- 
 ria, and Lazarus at the bottom of the scene. Thoug-h 
 its plan and groups recede in diminished forms, they 
 advance in glaring opaque colour, nor can it avail 
 in excuse of the artist, to say that the multitude of 
 figures admitted are characters chosen to shew in dif- 
 ferent modes of expression the effect of the miracle, 
 whilst their nundjer gives celebrity to it and discrimi- 
 nates it from the obscure trick of a juggler : all this^ 
 if it had been done, though perhaps it has not, for 
 by far the greater part are not spectators, might have 
 been done with subordination : the most authentic 
 proof of the reality of the miracle ought to have 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 189 
 
 beamed from the countenance of Him who per- 
 formed it, and of the restored man's sister. — In 
 every work something must be first, something' 
 last ; that is essential, this optional ; that is present 
 by its own right, this by courtesy and convenience, (a) 
 
 The rival picture of the resuscitation of Lazarus, 
 the Transfiguration of Christ by Raffaello, avoids the 
 inconvenience of indiscriminate crowding, and the 
 impertinent luxuriance of scenery which we have 
 censured, by the artifice of escaping from what is 
 strictly called back-ground, and excluding it alto- 
 gether : the action on the fore-ground is the basis 
 and Christ the apex of the cone, and what they might 
 have sufi^ered from diminution of size is compensated 
 by elevation and splendour. In sacrificing^ to this 
 principle the rules of a perspective which he was so 
 well acquainted with, Raffaello succeeded to unite the 
 beginning, the middle, and the end of the event which 
 he represented in one moment ; he escaped every 
 
 (a) I cannot quit this picture without observing, that it presents the most incon- 
 trovertible evidence of the incongruities arising from the jari'ing coalition of the 
 grand and ornamental styles. The group of Lazarus may be said to contain the 
 most valuable relic of the classic time of modern, and perhaps the only specimen left 
 of M. Agnolo's oil-painting : an opinion which will scarcely be disputed by him, 
 who has examined the manner of the Sistine chapel, and in his mind compared it 
 with the group of the Lazarus, and that with the style and treatment of the other 
 parts. 
 
190 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 atom of common-place or unnecessary embellishmeht, 
 with a simplicity and so artless an air, that few but 
 the dull, the petulant, and the pedant, can refuse him 
 their assent, admiration and sympathy ; if he has not, 
 strictly speaking", embodied possibility, he has perhaps 
 done more, he has done what Homer did, by hiding- 
 the unmanageable but less essential part of his 
 materials, he has transformed it to probability. 
 
 I have said that by the choice of scenery alone, we 
 may often, if not always, judge how far an artist has 
 penetrated his subject, what emotion in treating it he 
 meant to excite. No subjects can elucidate this with 
 so much perspicuity, as those generally distinguished 
 by the name of Madonnas : subjects stamped with a 
 mystery of religion, and originally contrived under 
 the bland images of maternal fondness to subdue the 
 heart. In examining the considerable number of 
 those by Raffaello, we find generally some reciprocal 
 feature of filial and parental love, * the charities of 
 * father, son, and mother,' sometimes varied by infant 
 play and female caresses, sometimes dignified by 
 celestial ministry and homage ; the endearments of 
 the nursery selected and embodied by forms more 
 charming than exalted, less beautiful than genial — 
 accordingly the choice of scenery consists seldom in 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 191 
 
 more than a pleasing* accompaniment : the flower and 
 the shrub, the rivulet and grove, enamel the seat or 
 embower the repose of the sacred pilgrims under 
 the serenity of a placid sky, expanded or breaking 
 through trees, or sheltering ruins ; whilst in those 
 surrounded by domestic scenery, a warm recess veils 
 the mother, now hiding' her darling from profane 
 aspect, now pressing him to her bosom, or contem- 
 plating in silent rapture his charms displayed on her 
 lap — accompaniments and actions, though appro- 
 priate, without allusion to the mysterious personages 
 they profess to exhibit — to discriminate them 
 the chair, the window, the saddle on which Joseph 
 sits in one, the flowers which he kneeling pre- 
 sents in another, the cradle, the bath, are called 
 on. Raffaello was less penetrated by a devout 
 than by an amorous principle ; his design was 
 less to stamp maternal affection with the seal of 
 religion than to consecrate the face he adored ; 
 his Holy Families, with one exception, are the 
 apotheosis of his Fornarina. 
 
 This exception, as it proves what had been ad- 
 vanced of the rest, so it proves, likewise, that the 
 omission of its beauties in them was more a matter 
 of choice than want of comprehension. Than the 
 
192 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 face and attitude of the Madonna of Versailles, 
 known from a print by Edelinck, copied by Giac. 
 Frey, nature and art combined never offered to 
 the sense and heart a more exalted sentiment, or more 
 correspondent forms. The face still, indeed, offers 
 his favourite lines, lines not of supreme beauty, 
 but they have assumed a sanctity which is in vain 
 looked for in all its sister faces ; serious without 
 severity, pure without insipidity, humble though 
 majestic, charming* and modest at once, and without 
 affectation graceful ; face and figure unite what we 
 can conceive of maternal beauty, equally poised 
 between effusion of affection and the mysterious 
 sentiment of superiority in the awful Infant, whom 
 she bends to receive from his slumbers. 
 
 The bland imagery of Raffaello was exalted to 
 a type of devotion by M. Angelo, and place and 
 scenery are adjusted with allegoric or prophetic 
 ornament : thus in the picture painted for Angelo 
 Doni, where the enraptured mother receives the 
 Infant from the hands of Joseph, the scene behind 
 exhibits the new sacrament in varied groups of 
 Baptists, immersing themselves or issuing' from 
 the fount. In another, representing the annun- 
 ciation, we discover in the awful twilight of a recess, 
 
 6 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 193 
 
 the figure of Moses breaking* the tables he receiv- 
 ed on Sinai, an allusion to the abolition of the 
 old law — an infringement of Jewish habits, for 
 the figure is not an apparition, but a statue, readily 
 forgiven to its allegoric beauty. Even in those 
 subjects relating to Christ and his family, where the 
 back-ground is destitute of allusive ornament, it 
 appears the seat of meditation or virgin purity, 
 and consecrates the sentiment or action of the figures, 
 as in the salutation of St. Giovanni in Laterano, and 
 in that where Maria contemplates her son spread in 
 her lap, and seems to bend under the presentiment of 
 the terrible moment vvhich shall spread him at her 
 feet, under the cross ; but in that monumental 
 image of Jesus expired on the cross, with the Ma- 
 donna and John on each side, what is the scenery 
 but the echo of the subject? The surrounding ele- 
 ment sympathises with the woe of the sufferers in the 
 two mourning Genii emerging from the air — a sublime 
 conception, which ^^asari fancied to have successfully 
 imitated and perhaps improved, when in a repetition 
 of the same subject, he travestied them to Phoebus 
 and Diana extinguishing^ their orbs, as symbols of 
 sun and moon eclipsed. (/) 
 
 (/) In a picture which he painted at Rome for Bindo Altoviti, it represented 
 ' Un Cristo quanto il vivo, levato di croce, e posto in terra a' piedi deJla Madre ; 
 
 c c 
 
194 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 What has been said of the luxuriance of Poussin's 
 scenery, leads to that intemperate abuse which allots 
 it a greater space, a more conspicuous situation, a 
 higher finish and effect than the importance of the 
 subject itself permits — by which, unity is destroyed, 
 and it becomes doubtful to what class a work belongs, 
 whether it be a mixture of two or more, or all, where 
 portrait with architecture, landscape with history, 
 for " mastery striving, each mles a moment.' It 
 cannot be denied that some of the noblest works of 
 art are liable to this imputation, and that the fond 
 admiration of the detailed beauties in the scenery of 
 the Pietro Martire of Titian, if it does not detract 
 from the main pvirpose for which the picture was or 
 ought to have been painted, certainly adds nothing to 
 its real interest — nature finishes all, but an attempt to 
 mimic nature's universality palsies the hand of art ; 
 the celebrated * Cene,' or Supper-Scenes of Paolo 
 Cagliari can escape this imputation only by being' 
 classed as models of ornamental painting ; and were 
 
 ' e neir aria Febo, che oscura la faccia del sole, e Diana quella della Luna. Nel 
 ' paese poi, oscurato da queste Tenebre, si veggiono spezzarsi alcuni monti di pietra, 
 « mossi dal terremoto, e certi corpi morti di santi risorgendo, uscire de sepolcri in 
 ' vari modi ; il quale quadro, finito che fu, per sua grazia non dispiacque al maggior 
 ' pittore, scultore, e architetto, che sia stato a' tempi nostri passati ?' The compli- 
 ment was not paid to M. Agnolo himself, for the word ' passati' tells that he was no 
 more, but it levied a tribute on posterity. 
 
 Vita di Giorgio Vasari. 
 
FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 195 
 
 it not known, that notwithstanding their grandeur, 
 propriety, and pathos of composition, the Cartoons 
 of Raffaello had been originally destined, still more 
 for popular amusement, than the poised admiration 
 of select judges, it would be difficult to excuse or 
 to account for the exuberance, not seldom the impro- 
 priety of accompaniment and of scenery, with which 
 some of them are loaded : in the Cartoon of the 
 miraculous draught of fishes, perhaps Giovanni d' 
 Vdine would not have been allowed to treat us 
 with fac-similes of the herons of the lake on its 
 fore-ground ; in that of Paul on the Areopagus, 
 there would probably have been less agglomeration 
 of finished, unfinished, or half-demolished buildings ; 
 in the miracle of Peter and John, the principal 
 agents would scarcely have been hemmed in by a 
 barbaric colonnade, loaded with profane ornament ; 
 or in the Massacre of the Infants, the humble 
 cottages of Bethlehem been transformed to piles 
 of Ionian architecture, girt with gods in inter- 
 columnar niches, and the metropolitan pomp of 
 Rome. 
 
 c c 2 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 COMPOSITION, EXPRESSION. 
 
 nOAAA A' EN 
 KAPAIAI^ ANAPaN EBAAON 
 'iiPAI nOATAN0EMOI AP 
 
 XAIA SO^ISMAe*. 'AHAN A' ETPONTOS €PrON. 
 
 niNAAP. oATMn. n. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Elements of Composition ; Grouping; M. Agnolo; Correggio; Raffaello; Breadth; 
 — Expression ; its Classes, its Limits, 
 
[ 199 ] 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Invention is followed by Composition. Composition, 
 in its stricter sense, is the dresser of Invention, it su- 
 perintends the disposition of its materials. 
 
 Composition has physical and moral elements : those 
 are Perspective and Light with shade ; these, Unity, 
 Propriety and Perspicuity ; without Unity it cannot 
 span its subject ; without Propriety it cannot tell the 
 story ; without Perspicuity it clouds the fact with 
 confusion ; destitute of lig-ht and shade it misses the 
 effect, and heedless of perspective it cannot find a 
 place. 
 
 Composition, like all other parts of style, had a 
 gradual progress ; it began in monotony and apposi- 
 tion, emerged to centre and depth, established itself 
 on harmony and masses, was debauched by contrast 
 and by grouping, and finally supplanted by machinery, 
 common-place, and manner. 
 
200 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Of sculpture as infant painting had borrowed its 
 first theory of forms, so it probably borrowed its me- 
 thod of arranging- them; and this is Apposition, a col- 
 lateral arrangement of figures necessary for telling a 
 single or the scattered moments of a fact. If statu- 
 ary indulged in the combination of numerous groups, 
 such as those of the Niobe, it might dispose them in 
 composition, it might fix a centre and its rays, and so 
 produce an illusion as far as colourless form is capable 
 of giving it. But sculpture, when it was first con- 
 sulted by painting", was not yet arrived at that period 
 which allowed the display of such magnificence ; a 
 single figure or a single group could not sufficiently 
 inform the painter ; he was reduced to consult basso- 
 relievo, and of that Apposition is the element. 
 
 And in this light we ought to contemplate a great 
 part of the Capella Sistina. Its plan was monu- 
 mental, and some of its compartments were allotted 
 to Apposition, not because M. Agnolo was a sculptor, 
 but because it was a more comprehensive medium lo 
 exhibit his general plan than the narrower scale of 
 composition. He admitted and like a master treated 
 composition, whenever his subject from the primeval 
 siniplicitv of elemental nature retreated within the 
 closer bounds of society : his Patriarchs, his Prophets 
 
 4 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 201 
 
 and his Sibyls, singly considered or as groups, the 
 scenery of the Brazen Serpent, of David and of Judith, 
 of Noah and his sons, are models of the roundest and 
 grandest composition. What principle of composi- 
 tion do we miss in the creation of Adam and of Eve ? 
 Can it grasp with more unity, characterise with 
 more propriety, present with brighter perspicuity, 
 give greater truth of place or round with more effect ? 
 If collateral arrangement be the ruling plan of the Last 
 Judgment, if point of sight and linear and aerial per- 
 spective in what is elevated, comes forward or recedes, 
 if artificial masses and ostentatious roundness, on the 
 whole, be absorbed by design or sacrificed to higher 
 principles, what effects has the greatest power of 
 machinery ever contrived to emidate the conglobation 
 of those struggling groups where light and shade 
 administered to terrour or sublimity? What, to 
 emulate the boat of Charon disemboguing its crew 
 of criminals, flung in a murky mass of shade across 
 the pallid concave and bleak blast of light that blows 
 it on us ? A meteor in the realms of chiaroscuro 
 which obscures whatever the most daring servants of 
 that power elsewhere produced. 
 
 If the plan of M. Agnolo must be estimated by 
 other principles, his process must be settled by other 
 rules than the plan and process of Correggio at 
 
 D D 
 
202 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Parma. Though the first and greatest, Correggio was 
 no more than a Machinist. It was less the Assump- 
 tion of the Virgin, less a monument of triumphant 
 Religion he meditated to exhibit by sublimity of con- 
 ception or characteristic composition, than by the 
 ultimate powers of linear and aerial perspective at an 
 elevation which demanded eccentric and violent fore- 
 shortening, set off and tuned by magic light and 
 shade, to embody the medium in which the actors 
 were to move ; and to the splendour and loftiness of 
 that he accommodated the subject and subordinated 
 the agents. Hence his work, though moving in a 
 flood of harmony, is not legitimate Composition. 
 The synod that surrounds the glory, the glory itself 
 that embosoms the Virgin and her angelic choir, 
 Christ who precipitates himself to meet the glory, are 
 equally absorbed in the bravura of the vehicle, they 
 radiate reflect and mass, but shew us little more than 
 limbs. This makes the cupola of Correggio less 
 epic or dramatic than ornamental. The technic part 
 of Composition alone, though carried to the highest 
 pitch of perfection, if its ostentation absorb the sub- 
 ject, stamps inferiority on the master. Take away 
 Homer's language, and you take much, but you leave 
 the epic poet unimpaired ; take it from Virgil, strip 
 him of the majesty, the glow, the propriety of his 
 diction, and the remainder of his claim to epic poetry 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 203 
 
 will nearly be reduced to what he borrowed from 
 Homer's plan. What is it we remember when we 
 leave the cupolas of Correggio, what when we leave 
 the chapel of Sixtus ? There, a man who trans- 
 ferred to a colossal scale the dictates of his draped 
 or naked model, applied them with a compre- 
 hensive eye and set them off by magic hght and 
 shade and wide expanded harmony of tone ; here an 
 epic plan combined and told in simple modes of 
 i>'randeur. Each man gave what he had, Correggio 
 limbs and effect, M. Agnolo being, form and meaning. 
 If the cupola of Correggio be in its kind, unequalled 
 by earlier or succeeding plans, if it leave far behind 
 the effusions of Lanfiranchi and Pietro da Cortona, it 
 was not the less their model ; the ornamental style of 
 machinists dates not the less its origin from him. 
 
 Various are the shapes in which Composition em- 
 bodies its subject and presents it to our eye. The 
 cone or pyramid, the globe, the grape, flame and 
 stream, the circle and its segments, lend their figure 
 to elevate, concentrate, round, diffuse themselves or 
 undulate in its masses. It towers in the Apollo, it 
 darts its flame forward in the warriour of Agasias, its 
 lambent spires wind upward with the Laocoon ; it 
 
 inverts the cone in the Hercules of Glycon, it doubles 
 
 T) D '2 
 
204 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 it, or undulates in Venus and the Graces. In the 
 bland central light of a globe imperceptibly gliding- 
 through lucid demi-tints into rich reflected shades, it 
 composes the spell of Correggio and entrances like a 
 delicious dream ; whilst like a torrent it mshes from 
 the hand of Tintorett over the trembling canvass in 
 enormous wrings of light and shade, and sweeps all 
 individual importance in general efi^ects. But whe- 
 ther its groups be imbrowned on a lucid sky, or 
 emerge from darkness, whether it break like a meri- 
 dian sun on the reflected object with Rubens, or from 
 Rembrandt, flash on it in lightning, whatever be its 
 form or its efl*ect, if it be more or less than what 
 it ought to be — a vehicle, if it branch not out of 
 the subject as the produce of its root, if it do not 
 contain all that distinguishes it from other subjects, 
 if it leave out aught that is characteristic and exclu- 
 sively its own, and admit what is superfluous or 
 common-place — it is no longer Composition, it is 
 grouping only, an ostentatious or useless scafiblding 
 about an edifice without a base ; such was not the 
 Composition of Raflaello. 
 
 The leading principle of Raflaello's composition is 
 that simple air, that artlessness which persuades us 
 that his figures have been less composed by skill than 
 grouped by Nature, that the fact must have happened 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 205 
 
 as we see it represented. Simplicity taught him to 
 grasp his subject, propriety to give it character and 
 form, and perspicuity to give it breadth and place. 
 The School of Athens in the Vatican, the Death of 
 Ananias, and the Sacrifice at Lystra, among the car- 
 toons may serve as instances. 
 
 A metaphysical composition, if it be numerous, 
 will be oftener mistaken for dilapidation of frag- 
 ments than regular distribution of materials. The 
 School of Athens communicates to few more than 
 an arbitrary assemblage of speculative groups. Yet 
 if the subject be the dramatic representation of Philo- 
 sophy, as it prepares for active life, the parts of the 
 building are not connected with more regular gra- 
 dation than those groups. Archimedes and Pytha- 
 goras, Plato and Socrates, Aristotle and Democritus, 
 Epictetus, Diogenes and Aristippus, in different de- 
 grees of characteristic modes, tell one great doctrine, 
 that, fitted by physical and intellectual harmony, man 
 ascends from himself to society, from society to God. 
 For this, group balances group, action is contrasted 
 by repose, each weight has its counterpoise ; unity 
 and variety shed harmony over the whole. 
 
 In the cartoon of Ananias, at the first glance, 
 and even before we are made acquainted with the 
 
206 FIFTH LECTURE, 
 
 particulars of the subject, we become partners of 
 the scene. The disposition is amphitheatric, the 
 scenery a spacious haO, the heart of the action is 
 the centre, the wings assist, elucidate, connect it 
 with the ends. The apoplectic man before us, is 
 evidently the victim of a supernatural power, in- 
 spiring- the apostolic figures, who on the raised 
 platform with threatening arm, pronounced, and 
 with the word enforced his doom. The terrour oc- 
 casioned by the sudden stroke is best expressed by 
 the features of youth and middle age on each side of 
 the sufferer ; it is instantaneous, because its shock has 
 not yet spread beyond them, a contrivance not to 
 interrupt the dignity due to the sacred scene, and to 
 stamp the character of devout attention on the as- 
 sembly. What preceded and what followed is equedly 
 implied in their occupation, and in the figure of a 
 matron entering and absorbed in counting money, 
 though she approaches the fatal centre, and whom 
 we may suppose to be Sapphira, the accomplice and 
 the wife of Ananias, and the devoted partner of his 
 fate. In this composition of near thirty figures, none 
 can be pointed out as a figure of common place or 
 mere convenience ; legitimate offsprings of one sub- 
 ject, they are linked to each other, and to the centre 
 by one common chain, all act and all have room to 
 act, repose alternately with energy. 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 207 
 
 The Sacrifice at Lystra, though as a whole it has 
 more of collateral arrang'ement than depth of Com- 
 position, as it traces in the moment of its choice the 
 motive that produced and shews the disappointment 
 that checks it, has collected actors and faces the most 
 suitable to express both : actors and features of godlike 
 dignity, superstitious devotion and eager curiosity : the 
 scene is the vestibule of the temple of Hermes, and 
 Paul the supposed representative of that deity, though 
 not placed in the centre or a central light, by his ele- 
 vation, gesture, and the whole of the composition 
 streaming toward him, commands the first glance. 
 At the very onset of the ceremony the sacrificer is 
 arrested ,in the act of smiting the victim, by the out- 
 stretched arm of a young man bursting through the 
 hymning throng of priests and victim arii, observing* 
 Paul indignant rending his garment in horrour of the 
 idolatrous perversion of his miracle, (m) The miracle 
 itself is personified in that characteristic figure of the 
 healed man, who with eyes flashing joy and gratitude 
 on the Apostle, and hands joined in adoration, rushes 
 in, accompanied by an aged man of gravity and rank, 
 who, lifting up part of the garment that covered his 
 
 thigh, attests him to have been the identic owner of 
 
 {m) A miracle means an act performed by virtue of an unknown law of Nature. 
 
208 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 those crutches that formerly supported him, though 
 now as useless thrown on the pavement. 
 
 Among the cartoons which we do not possess, and 
 probably exist only in the tapestries of Rome and 
 Madrid, and engravings copied from them, the Re- 
 surrection of Christ and his Ascension, equally mark 
 Raphael's discriminative powers in their contrasted 
 compositions. The Resurrection derives its interest 
 from the convulsive rapidity, the Ascension from its 
 calmness of motion. In that, the hero like a ball of 
 fire shoots up from the bursting tomb and sinking 
 cearments, and scatters astonishment and dismay. 
 What apprehension dared not to suspect, what fancy 
 could not dream of, no eye had ever beheld and no 
 tongue ever uttered, blazes before us ; the passions 
 dart in rays resistless from the centre. Fear, terrour, 
 conviction, wrestle with dignity and courage in the 
 centurion ; convulse brutality, overwhelm violence, 
 enervate resistance, absorb incredulity in the guard. 
 The whole is tempestuous. The Ascension is the 
 majestic last of many similar scenes : no longer with 
 the rapidity of a conqueror, but with the calm se- 
 renity of triumphant power, the Hero is borne up in 
 splendour, and gradually vanishes from those, vs^ho 
 by repeated visions had been taught to expect what- 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 209 
 
 ev^er was amazing". Silent and composed, with eyes 
 more absorbed in adoration than wonder they follow 
 the g-lorious emanation ; till addressed by the white- 
 robed messengers of their departed king, they relapse 
 to the feelings of men. 
 
 We have considered hitherto the mental part of 
 Raffaello's composition, let us say a word of the 
 technic. His excellence m this is breadth of masses, 
 and of positive light and shade. 
 
 Breadth, or that quality of execution which makes 
 a whole so predominate over the parts as to excite 
 the idea of unintermpted unity amid the greatest 
 variety, modern art, as it appears to me, owes to 
 M. Agnolo. The breadth of M. Agnolo resembles 
 the tide and ebb of a mighty sea ; waves approach, 
 arrive, retreat, but in their rise and fall, emerging' or 
 absorbed, impress us only with the image of the 
 power that raises, that directs them ; whilst the disr 
 crepance of obtruding parts in the works of the 
 infant Florentine, Venetian and German schools, dis- 
 tracts our eye like the numberless breakers of a 
 shallow river, or as the brambles and creepers that 
 entangle the paths of a wood, and instead of shewing 
 us our road, perplex us only with themselves. By 
 
 E E 
 
210 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 breadth the artist puts us into immediate possession 
 of the whole, and from that, gently leads us to the 
 examination of the parts according to their relative 
 importance : hence it follows, that in a representation 
 of organized surfaces, breadth is the judicious display 
 of fullness, not a substitute of vacuity. Breadth 
 might be easily obtained if emptiness could give it. 
 Yet even in that degraded state, if gratification of the 
 eye be a first indispensable duty of an art, that can 
 impress us only by that organ, it is preferable to the 
 laboured display of parts ambitiously thronging for 
 admittance at the expence of the whole ; to that per- 
 plexed diligence, which wearies us with impediment 
 before we can penetrate a meaning or arrive at the 
 subject whose clear idea must be first obtained before 
 We can judge of the propriety or impropriety of parts. 
 The principle which constitutes the breadth of Raphael 
 was neither so absolute nor so comprehensive as that 
 of M. Agnolo's. But his perspicacity soon discovered 
 that great, uninterrupted masses of light and shade, 
 bespeak, satisfy, conduct and give repose to the eye ; 
 that opposition of light and shade gives perspicuity. 
 Convinced of this, he let their mass fall as broad on 
 his figures as their importance, attitude and relation 
 to each other permitted, and as seldom as possible, 
 interrupted it. Masses of shade he opposed to Hght, 
 
 6 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 211 
 
 and lucid ones to shade. The strict observation of 
 this rule appears to be the cause why every figure of 
 RafFaello, however small, even at a considerable 
 distance, describes itself, and strikes the eye with dis- 
 tinctness ; so, that even the comparatively diminutive 
 figures of his Loggia are easily discriminated from 
 the Cortile below. To this maxim he remained faith- 
 ful in all his works, a few instances excepted, when 
 instead of light and shade he separated figures by 
 reflexes of a different colour ; exceptions more dic- 
 tated by necessity than choice, and which serve 
 rather to confirm than to impair the rule. 
 
 It cannot be denied that, if this positive opposition 
 gave superior distinctness, it occasioned sometimes 
 abruptness. Each part is broad, but separation is 
 too visible. Reflexes he uniformly neglects, and from 
 whatever cause is often inattentive to transition ; he does 
 not sufficiently connect with breadth of demi-tint the 
 two extremes of his masses ; and, though much less in 
 fresco than in oil, seems not always to have had a dis- 
 tinct idea of the gradations required completely to 
 round as well as to spread a whole ; to have been more 
 anxious to obtain breadth itself than its elemental 
 harmony. 
 
 £ E 2 
 
212 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 It does not appear that the great masters ot 
 legitimate composition in the sixteenth century, 
 attended to or understood the advantages which 
 elevation of site and a low horizon are capable of 
 giving to a subject. They place vis in the gallery to 
 behold their scenes ; but from want of keeping the 
 horizontal line becomes a perpendicular, and drops 
 the distance on the fore-ground ; the more remote 
 groups do not approach, but fall or stand upon the 
 foremost actors. As this impedes the principles of 
 unity and grandeur in humorous composition, so it 
 impairs each individual form ; which, to be grand, 
 ought to rise upward in moderate foreshortening, 
 command the horizon, or be in contact with the sky. 
 Reverse this plan in the composition of Pietro 
 Martyre by Tizian, let the horizontal line be raised 
 above the friar on the fore-ground, space, loftiness, 
 and unity, vanish together. What gives sublimity to 
 Rembrandt's Ecce Homo more than this principle? 
 A composition, which though complete, hides in its 
 grandeur the limits of its scenery. Its form is as a 
 pyramid whose top is lost in the sky as its base in 
 tumultuous murky waves. From the fluctuating 
 crowds who inundate the base of the tribunal, we 
 rise to Pilate, surrounded and perplexed by the 
 varied ferocity of the sanguinary synod, to whose 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 213 
 
 remorseless gripe he surrenders his wand ; and from 
 him we ascend to the subUme resignation of inno- 
 cence in Christ, and regardless of the roar below, 
 securely repose on his countenance. Such is the 
 g-randeur of a conception, which in its blaze absorbs 
 the abominable detail of materials too vulgar to be 
 mentioned ; had the materials been equal to the 
 conception and composition, the Ecce Homo ol 
 Rembrandt, even unsupported by the magic of its 
 lig-ht and shade, or his spell of colours, wovild have 
 been an assemblage of superhuman powers. 
 
 Far, too far, from having* answered all the demands 
 of composition, my limits force me, and my subject 
 requires, to g-ive a faint sketch of the most prominent 
 features of Expression, its assistant and interpreter. 
 They interweave themselves so closely with each 
 other, and both with Invention, that we can scarcely 
 conceive one without supposing* the presence of the 
 rest, and applying the principles of each to all ; 
 still they are separate powers, and may be pos- 
 sessed singly. The fig-ure of Christ by M. Agnolo in 
 the Minerva, embracing his cross and the instruments 
 of suffering, is sublimely conceived, powerfully ar- 
 ranged ; but neither his features or expression are 
 those of Christ. 
 
214 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Expression is the vivid imag'e of the passion that 
 affects the mind ; its language, and the portrait of its 
 situation. It animates the features, attitudes, and 
 gestures, which Invention selected and Composition 
 arranged ; its principles, like theirs, are simplicity, 
 propriety, and energy. 
 
 It is important to distinguish the materials and the 
 spirit of expression. To give this we must be masters 
 of the forms and of the hues that embody it. Without 
 tmth of line no true expression is possible ; and the 
 passions, whose inward energy stamped form on 
 feature, equally reside, fluctuate, flash or lower, on it 
 in colour, and give it energy by light and shade. 
 
 To make a face speak clearly and with propriety, 
 it must not only be well constructed, but have its own 
 exclusive character. Though the element of the 
 passions be the same in all, they neither speak in all 
 with equal energy nor are circumscribed by equal 
 limits. Though joy be joy, and anger anger, the 
 joy of the sanguine is not that of the phlegmatic, 
 nor the anger of the melancholy that of the fiery 
 character ; and the discriminations established by 
 complexion are equally conspicuous in those of ch- 
 mate, habit, education, and rank. Expression has its 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 215 
 
 classes. Decebalus and Syphax, though both deter- 
 mined to die, meet death with eye as different as hues. 
 The tremulous emotion of Hector's breast when he 
 approaches Ajax, is not the palpitation of Paris when 
 he discovers Menelaus ; the frown of the Hercynian 
 Phantom may repress the ardour, but cannot subdue 
 the dignity of Drusus ; the fear of Marius cannot 
 sink to the panic of the Cimber, who drops the dag - 
 g-er at entering his prison, nor the astonishment of 
 Hamlet degenerate into the fright of vulgar fear. 
 
 Le Sueur was not aware of this when he painted his 
 Alexander. Perhaps no picture is, in spite of common 
 sense, oftener quoted for its expression than Alexander 
 sick on his bed, with the cup at his lips, observing 
 the calumniated physician. The manner in which he 
 is represented is as inconsistent with the story as inju- 
 rious to the character of the Macedonian hero. The 
 Alexander of Le Sueur has the prying look of a spy. 
 He who was capable of that look would no more have 
 ventured on quaffing a single drop of the suspected 
 medicine, than on the conquest of the Persian empire* 
 If Alexander, when he drank the cup, had not the 
 most positive faith in the incorruptibility of Philippus, 
 he was more than an ideot, he was a felon against 
 himself and a traitour to his army, whose safety 
 
216 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 depended on the success of the experiment. His 
 expression ought to be open and unconcerned confi- 
 dence — as that of his physician, a contemptuous 
 smile, or curiosity suspended by indignation, or the 
 indifference of a mind conscious of innocence, and 
 fully relying on its being known to his friend. Le 
 Sueur, instead of these, has given him little more 
 than a stupid stare and vulgar form. 
 
 The emanations of the passions, which pathognomy 
 has reduced to the four principal sources of calm 
 emotion ; joy ; grief simple, or with pain ; and 
 terrour ; — may be divided into internal and external 
 ones : those hint their action only, they influence a 
 feature or some extremity ; these extend their sway 
 over the whole frame — they animate, agitate, 
 depress, convulse, absorb form. The systematic 
 designers of pathognomy have given their element, 
 their extremes, the mask ; the ancients have esta- 
 blished their technic standard, and their degrees of 
 admissibility in art. The Apollo is animated ; the 
 warriour of Agasias is agitated ; the dying gladiator 
 or herald suffers in depression ; the Laocoon is con- 
 vulsed ; the Niobe is absorbed. The greater the 
 mental vigour, dignity, or habitual self-command of 
 a person, the less perceptible to superficial observation 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 217 
 
 or vulgar eyes, will be the emotion of his mind. The 
 greater the predominance of fancy over intellect, the 
 more ungovernable the conceits of self-importance, so 
 much the more will passion partake of outward and 
 less dignified energy. The Jupiter of Homer mani- 
 fests his will and power by the mere contraction of his 
 eyebrows ; Socrates in the school of Athens onK 
 moves his finger, and Ovid in the Parnassus only lays 
 it over his lips, and both say enough ; but Achilles 
 throws himself headlong, and is prevented from slay- 
 ing himself by the grasp of his friend. Only then, 
 when passion or suffering become too big for utter- 
 ance, the wisdom of ancient art has borrowed a 
 feature from tranquillity, though not its air. For 
 ^very being seized by an enormous passion, be it joy 
 or grief, or fear sunk to despair, loses the character of 
 its own individual expression, and is absorbed by the 
 power of the feature that attracts it. Niobe and her 
 family are assimilated by extreme anguish ; Ugolino 
 is petrified by the fate that swept the stripling at his 
 foot, and sweeps in pangs the rest. The metamor- 
 phoses of ancient mythology are founded on this 
 principle, are allegoric. Clytia, Biblis, Salmacis, 
 Narcissus, tell only the resistless power of sympathetic 
 attraction „ 
 
 F F 
 
218 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Similar principles award to Ralfaello the palm of 
 expression among^ the moderns : driven to extremes 
 after his demise by J ulio Romano and a long interval 
 of languor, it seemed to revive in Domenichino ; I 
 say seemed, for his sensibility was not supported by 
 equal comprehension, elevation of mind, or dignity of 
 motion ; his sentiment wants propriety, he is a man- 
 nerist in feeling, and tacks the imagery of Theocritus 
 to the subjects of Homer. A detail of petty though 
 aniiable conceptions, is rather calculated to diminish 
 than to enforce the energy of a pathetic whole : a lovely 
 child taking refuge in the lap or bosom of a lovely 
 mother, is an idea of nature, and pleasing in a lowly, 
 pastoral, or domestic subject ; but, perpetually recur- 
 ring, becomes common-place, and amid the terrours 
 of martyrdom, is a shred sewed to a purple robe. In 
 touching the characteristic circle that surrounds the 
 Ananias of Raffaello, you touch the electric chain, a 
 genuine spark irresistibly darts from the last as from 
 the first, penetrates, subdues ; at the Martyrdom of 
 St. Agnes by Domenichino, you saunter among the 
 adventitious mob of a lane, where the silly chat of 
 neighbouring gossips announces a topic as silly, till 
 you find with indignation, that instead of a broken 
 pot or a petty theft, you are to witness a scene for 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 219 
 
 which heaven opens, the angels descend, and Jesus 
 rises from his throne. 
 
 It is however but justice to observe, that there is a 
 subject in which Donienichino has not unsuccessfully 
 wrestled, and, in my opinion, even excelled Raffaello ; 
 I mean the demoniac boy among the series of frescos 
 at Grotto Ferrata : that inspired figure is evidently 
 the organ of an internal, superiour, preternatural 
 agent, darted upward without contorsion, and con- 
 sidered as unconnected with the story, never to be con- 
 founded with a merely tumultuary distorted maniac, 
 which is not perhaps the case of the boy in the 
 Transfiguration ; the subject too being within the 
 range of Domenichino's powers, domestic, the whole 
 of the persons introduced is characteristic : awe, with 
 reliance on the saint who operates the miracle or 
 cure, and terrour at the redoubled fviry of his son, 
 mark the rustic father; nor could the agonizing- 
 female with the infant in her arm, as she is the 
 mother, be exchanged to advantage, and with pro- 
 priety occupies that place which the fondling females 
 in the pictures of St. Sebastian, St. Andrew, and St. 
 Agnes, only usurp. ' 
 
 F ¥ 2 
 
220 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE- 
 
 The martyrdom, or rather the brutally ostentation* 
 murder of St. Agnes leads us to the limits of express 
 sion : sympathy and disgust are the irreconcileable 
 parallels that must for ever separate legitimate terrour 
 and pity from horrour and aversion. We cannot 
 sympathise with what we detest or despise, nor 
 fully pity what we shudder at or loath. So little 
 were these limits understood by the moderns, M. Ag- 
 nolo excepted, that even the humanity and delicacy 
 of Raffaello did not guard him from excursions into 
 the realms of horrour and loathsomeness : it is difficult 
 to conceive what could provoke him to make a 
 finished design of the inhumanities that accompany 
 the martyrdom of St. Felicitas at which even descrip- 
 tion shudders ? a design made on purpose to be dis- 
 persed over Evirope, perpetuated and made known to 
 all by the graver of Marc Antonio : was it to prove 
 to Albert D\irer and the Germans of his time that 
 they had not exhausted the sources of abomination ? 
 He made an equal mistake in the Morbetto, where, 
 though not with so lavish a hand as Poussin after 
 him, instead of the moral effects of the plague, he 
 has personified the effluvia of putrefaction. What 
 he had not penetration to avoid could not be ex- 
 pected to be shunned by his scholars. Julio Romano 
 delighted in studied images of torture as well as of the 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 221 
 
 most abandoned licentiousness. Among his contem* 
 poraries, Correg'gio even attempted to give a zest to 
 the most wanton cruelty by an affectation of grace in 
 the picture of the Saints Placido and Flavia : but the 
 enamoured trance of Placido with his neck half cut, 
 and the anthem that quivers on the lips of Flavia 
 whilst a sword is entering her side, in vain bespeak 
 our sympathy, for whilst we detest the felons who 
 slaughter them, we loath to inspect the actual 
 process of the crime ; mangling is contagious, 
 and spreads aversion from the slaughterman to the 
 victim. If St. Bartholemew and St. Erasmus are 
 subjects for painting, they can only be so before, and 
 neither under nor after the operation of the knife or 
 windlass. A decollated martyr represented with his 
 head in his hand, as Rubens did, and a headless 
 corpse with the head lying by it, as Correggio, can 
 only prove the brutality, stupidity, or bigotry of the 
 employer and the callus or venality of the artist. 
 
 The gradations of expression within, close to, and 
 beyond its limits cannot perhaps be elucidated with 
 greater perspicuity than by comparison ; and the 
 different moments which Julio Romano, Vandyke 
 and Rembrandt, have selected to represent the sub- 
 ject of Samson betrayed by DeUlah, offers one of the 
 
 7 
 
222 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 fairest specimens furnished by art. Considering it as 
 a drama, we may say that JuUo forms the plot, Van- 
 dyke unravels it, and Rembrandt shews the extreme 
 of the catastrophe. 
 
 In the composition of Julio, Samson, satiated with 
 pleasure, plunged into sleep, and stretched on the 
 g-round, rests his head and presses with his arm the 
 thigh of Delilah on one side, whilst on the other a 
 nimble minion busily but with timorous caution fin- 
 gers and clips his locks ; such is his fear, that, to be 
 firm, he rests one knee on a foot-stool tremblingly 
 watching the sleeper, and ready to escape at his least 
 motion. Delilah seated between both, fixed by the 
 weight of Samson warily turns her head toward a 
 troop of warriours in the back ground, with the left 
 arm stretched out she beckons their leader, with the 
 finger of the right hand she presses her lip to enjoin 
 silence and noiseless approach. The Herculean make 
 and lion port of Samson, his perturbed though pon- 
 derous sleep, the quivering agility of the curled 
 favourite employed, the harlot graces and meretricious 
 elegance contrasted by equal firmness and sense of 
 danger in Dehlah, the attitude and look of the grim 
 veteran who heads the ambush, whilst they give us 
 the clue to all that followed, keep us in anxious sus- 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 223 
 
 pense, we palpitate in breathless expectation ; this is 
 the plot. 
 
 The terrours which Julio made us forbode, Van- 
 dyke summons to our eyes. The mysterious lock is 
 cut ; the dreaded victim is roused from the lap of 
 the harlot-priestess. Starting unconscious of his 
 departed power, he attempts to spring forward, 
 and with one effort of his mighty breast and ex- 
 panded arms to dash his foes to the ground and fling 
 the alarmed traitress from him — in vain, shorn of his 
 strength he is borne down by the weight of the mailed 
 chief that throws himself upon him, and overpowered 
 by a throng of infuriate satellites. But though over- 
 powered, less aghast than indignant, his eye flashes 
 reproach on the perfidious female whose wheedling 
 caresses drew the fatal secret from his breast ; the 
 plot is unfolded, and what succeeds, too horrible for 
 the sense, is left to fancy to brood upon, or drop it. 
 
 This moment of horrour the gigantic but bar- 
 barous genius of Rembrandt chose, and, without a 
 metaphor, executed a subject, which humanity, judg- 
 ment and taste taught his rivals, only to treat; he 
 displays a scene which no eye but that of Domitian 
 or Nero could wish or bear to see. Samson stretched 
 
224 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 on the ground is held by one Philistine under him^i 
 whilst another chains his right arm, and a third clench- 
 ing his beard with one drives a dagger into his eye 
 with the other hand. The pain that blasts him, darts 
 expression from the contortions of the mouth and his 
 gnashing teeth to the crampy convulsions of the leg 
 dashed hig-h into the air. Some fiend-like features 
 glare through the gloomy light which discovers De- 
 lilah, her work now done, sliding off, the shears in 
 her left, the locks of Samson in her right hand. 
 If her figure, elegant, attractive, such as Rem- 
 brandt never conceived before or after, deserve our 
 wonder rather than our praise ; no words can do jus- 
 tice to the expression that animates her face, and 
 shews her less shrinking from the horrid scene than 
 exulting in being its cause. Such is the work whose 
 magic of colour, tone and chiaroscuro irresistibly 
 entrap the eye, whilst we detest the brutal choice of 
 the moment, (n) 
 
 (n) The form, but not the soul, of Julio's composition has been borrowed by 
 Rubens, or the master of the well known picture in the gallery of Dulwich college. 
 Few can be unacquainted with the work of Vandyke, spread by the best engravers of 
 that school. The picture of Rembrandt is the chief ornament of the collection in the 
 garden-house of the Schiinborn family, in one of the suburbs of Vienna : has been 
 etched on a large scale, and there is a copy of it in the gallery at Cassel. A circum- 
 stantial account of it may be found in the Eighth Letter, vol. iii. of Kuttner'a 
 Travels. 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 225 
 
 Let us in conclusion contrast the stem pathos of 
 this scenery with the placid emotions of a milder sub- 
 ject, in the celebrated pictures which represent the 
 Communion or death of St. Jerome by Agostino 
 Caracci and his scholar Domenichino, that an 
 altar-piece in the Certosa near Bologna, this in the 
 church of St. Girolamo della Carita at Rome ; but for 
 some time both exhibited in the gallery of the Louvre 
 at Paris. What I have to say on the Invention, Ex- 
 pression, Characters, Tone and Colour of either is 
 the result of observations lately made on both in that 
 gallery, where then they were placed nearly opposite 
 to each other. 
 
 In each picture, St. Jerome brought from his cell 
 to receive the sacrament is represented on his knees, 
 supported by devout attendants ; in each the officiat- 
 ing priest is in the act of administering to the dying- 
 saint ; the same clerical society fills the portico of the 
 temple in both, in both the scene is witnessed from 
 above by infant angels. 
 
 The general opinion is in favour of the Pupil, 
 but if in the economy of the whole Domenichino svu'- 
 passes his master, he appears to me greatly inferiour 
 both in the character and expression of the hero. 
 
 G G 
 
I 
 
 226 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Domenichino has represented Piety scarcely strug- 
 gling' with decay, Agostino triumphant over it, his 
 saint becomes in the place where he is, a superiour 
 being, and is inspired by the approaching god : that 
 of Domenichino seems divided between resignation, 
 mental and bodily imbecility and desire. The saint 
 of Agostino is a lion, that of Domenichino a lamb. 
 
 In the sacerdotal figure administering the viati- 
 \ cum, Domenichino has less improved than corrected 
 the unworthy choice of his master. The priest of 
 Agostino is one of the Frati Godenti of Dante, before 
 they received the infernal hood ; a gross, fat, self- 
 conceited terrestrial feature, a countenance equally 
 proof to elevation, pity or thought. The priest of 
 Domenichino is a minister of grace, stamped with 
 the sacred humility that characterized his master, and 
 penetrated by the function of which he is the instin- 
 ment. 
 
 We are more impressed with the graces of youth 
 than the energies of manhood verging on age : in 
 this respect, as well as that of contrast with the de- 
 crepitude of St. Jerome, the placid contemplative 
 beauty of the young deacon on the foreground of 
 Domenichino, will probably please more, than the 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 227 
 
 poetic trance of the assistant friar with the Hghted 
 taper in the foreground of Agostino. This must 
 however be observed, that as Domenichino thoug'ht 
 proper to introduce supernatural witnesses of the 
 ceremony in imitation of his master, their effect 
 seems less ornamental and more interwoven with 
 the plan, by being* perceived by the actors them- 
 selves. 
 
 If the attendant characters in the picture of Agos- 
 tino are more numerous, and have on the whole, 
 furnished the hints of admission to those of Dome- 
 nichino, this, with one exception, may be said to 
 have used more propriety and judgment in the choice. 
 Both have introduced a man with a turban, and 
 opened a portico to characterise an Asiatic scene. 
 
 With regard to composition, Domenichino un- 
 doubtedly gains the palm. The disposition on the 
 whole he owes to his master, though he reversed it, 
 but he has cleared it of that oppressive bustle which 
 rather involves and crouds the principal actors in 
 Agostino than attends them. He spreads tranquil- 
 lity with space and repose without vacuity. 
 
 G G 2 
 
228 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 With this corresponds the tone of the whole. The 
 ev^enino'-freshness of an oriental day tinges every 
 part ; the medium of Agostino partakes too much of 
 the fumigated inside of a catholic chapel. 
 
 The draperies of hoth are characteristic and unite 
 subordination with dignity, but their colour is chosen 
 with more judgment by Domenichino, the imbrowned 
 gold and ample folds of the robe of the administering* 
 priest are more g-enial than the cold blue, white and 
 yellow on the priest of his master ; in both, perhaps, 
 the white draperies on the foreground figures have 
 too little strength for the central colours, but it is 
 more perceived in Carracci than in Domenichino. 
 
 The forms of the saint in Carracci are grander and 
 more ideal than in the saint of Domenichino, some have 
 even thought them too vigorous ; both, in my opinion 
 are in harmony with the emotion of the face and ex- 
 pression of either. The eagerness that animates the 
 countenance of the one may be supposed to spread a 
 momentary vigour over his frame. The mental dere- 
 liction of countenance in the other with equal pro- 
 priety relaxes and palsies the limbs which depend 
 on it. 
 
 1 
 
FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 229 
 
 The colour of Carracci's saint is much more cha- 
 racteristic of fleshy though nearly bloodless substance, 
 than that chosen by his rival, which is withered, 
 shrivelled, leathery in the lights, and earthy in the 
 shades ; but the head of the officiating priest in Do- 
 menichino, whether considered as a specimen of co- 
 lour independent of the rest, or as set olF by it, for ' 
 truth, tone, freshness, energy, is not only the best 
 Domenichino ever painted, but perhaps the best that 
 can be conceived. 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 C H I A R O S C U R O. 
 
 Noa fumuni ex fiilgoie, sed ex fumo dare luceui. 
 
 Horat. de Arte Pott. L. 1 4 
 
I 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 Definilion. — Lionardo da Vinci. — Giorgione. — Antonio da Correggb. 
 
i 233 ] 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 The term Chiaroscuro, adopted from the ItaHan, in 
 its primary and simplest sense, means the division of 
 a single object into light and shade, and in its widest 
 compass comprises their distribution over a whole 
 composition : whether the first derive its splendour 
 by being exposed to a direct light, or from colours in 
 its nature luminous ; and whether the second owe 
 their obscurity directly to the privation of light, or be 
 produced by colours in themselves opaque. Its ex- 
 clusive power is, to give substance to form, place to 
 figure and to create space. It may be considered as 
 legitimate or spurious : it is legitimate when, as the 
 immediate offspring of the subject, its disposition, 
 extent, strength or sweetness are subservient to 
 form, expression, and invigourate or illustrate charac- 
 ter, by heightening the primary actor or actors, and 
 subordinating the secondary ; it is spurious when 
 from an assistant aspiring to the rights of a principal, 
 
 H H 
 
234 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 it becomes a substitute for indispensible or more 
 essential demands. As such, it has often been em- 
 ployed by the machinists of different schools, for 
 whom it became the refuge of ignorance, a palliative 
 for an incurable disease, and the asylum of empti- 
 ness ; still, as even a resource of this kind proves a 
 certain vigour of mind, it surprises into something- 
 like unwilling admiration and forced applause. 
 
 Of every subject Unity is the soul : unity, of course, 
 is inseparable from legitimate chiaroscuro : hence 
 the individual light and shade of every figure that 
 makes part of a given or chosen subject, whether 
 natural or ideal, as well as the more compound one 
 of the different intermediate groups, must act as so 
 many rays emanating from one centre and terminate, 
 blazing, evanescent, or obscured, in rounding it to 
 the eye. 
 
 Truth is the next requisite of chiaroscuro, what- 
 ever be the subject. Some it attends without 
 ambition, content with common effects, some it 
 invigourates or inspires : but in either case, let 
 the effect be that of usual expanded day-light, or 
 artificial and condensed, it ought to be regulated by 
 truth in extent, strength, brilliancy, softness and 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 235 
 
 above all, by simplicity in its positive and purity in 
 its negative parts. As shade is the mere absence 
 of light, it cannot, except from reflexes, possess 
 any hue or colour of its ow^n, and acquires all its 
 charms from transparency. 
 
 But to the rules which art prescribes to Chiaros- 
 curo, to round each figure of a composition vs^ith 
 truth, to connect it with the neighbouring groups, 
 and both with the whole — it adds, that all this 
 should be done with strict adherence to propriety, 
 at the least possible expence of the subordinate parts, 
 and with the utmost attainable degree of effect 
 and harmony — demands which it is not my duty 
 to inquire, whether they entered ever with equal 
 evidence the mind of any one artist, ancient or 
 modern : whether, if it be granted possible that they 
 did, they were ever balanced with equal impartiality ; 
 and grant this, whether they ever were or could be 
 executed with equal felicity. A character of equal imi- 
 versal power is not a human character — and the 
 nearest approach to perfection can only be in carrying 
 to excellence one great quality with the least ahoy of 
 defects. Thus in the School of Athens, Raffaello's 
 great aim being to embody on the same scene, the gra- 
 dations, varieties and utmost point of human culture 
 
 H H 2 
 
236 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 as it proceeds Jrom the individual to society y and Jrom 
 that ascends to God; he sufFeretl expression and cha- 
 racter to preponderate over effect and combination of 
 masses, and contriving' to unite the opposite wrings 
 with the centre by entrance and exit at each extremity, 
 as far as expression could do it, succeeded, to make 
 what in itself is little more than apposition of single 
 figures or detached groups, one grand whole. — I say, 
 as far as expression could satisfy a mind qualified to 
 contemplate and penetrate his principle, however un- 
 satisfied a merely picturesque eye might wander over 
 a scattered assemblage of figures equally illuminated 
 and unconnected by a commanding mass of lig-ht and 
 shade. 
 
 From this deficiency of effect in the composition 
 we speak of, it is evident, that mere natural light and 
 shade, however separately or individually true, is not 
 always legitimate Chiaroscuro in art. Nature sheds or 
 withholds her ray indiscriminately, and every object 
 has what share it can obtain by place and position, 
 which it is the business of art to arrange by fixing- a 
 centre and distributing the rays according to the more 
 or less important claims of the subject : as long as it 
 regulates itself by strict observance of that principle, 
 it matters not whether its principal mass radiate from 
 the middle, wind in undulating shapes, dart in de- 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 237 
 
 cided beams from the extremities ; emanate from one 
 source, or borrow additional effect from subordinate 
 ones : let it mount like flame or descend in li^htnino-; 
 dash in stern tones terrovu' on the eye, emeri^ent from 
 a dark or luminous medium ; through twiHti^ht im- 
 merse itself in impenetrable gloom or oradually 
 vanish in voluptuous repose, guided by the subject 
 the most daring" division of light and shade, becomes 
 natural and legitimate, and the most regular, spurious 
 and illegitimate without it. 
 
 To attain in the execution the highest possible and 
 widest expanded effect of light, with equal depth and 
 transparence in the shade, brilliancy of colour is less 
 required than unison : a sovereign tone must pervade 
 the whole, which though arbitrary and dependent on 
 choice, decides all subordinate ones, as the tone of the 
 first instrument in a regular concert tunes all the 
 rest ; their effect intirely depends on being in unison 
 with it, and discord is produced whenever they revolt : 
 by thus uniting itself with the whole, the simplest 
 tone well managed may become, not only harmoni- 
 ous, but rich and splendid, it is then the tone of 
 nature : whilst the most brilHant one, if contradicted 
 or disappohited by the detail of the inferiour, may 
 become heavy, leathern, and discordant. 
 
238 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 Though every work of Correggio is an illustration 
 of this principle, and none with brighter evidence 
 than his * Notte,' in which the central light of the 
 infant irradiates the whole ; perhaps the most deci- 
 sive, because most appropriate proof of it is in its 
 companion the less known picture of St. Sebastian, at 
 Dresden ; in which the central light of a glory, not 
 only surprises the eye with all the splendour of a sun, 
 though its colour is a yellow comparatively faint, and 
 terminates in brown, but tinges the whole, perfectly 
 transparent, with its emanation. 
 
 That not before the lapse of two hundred years 
 after the resurrection of Art, the discovery of Chi- 
 aroscuro, as a principle of beauty in single figures 
 and of effect in composition, should be awarded to 
 Lionardo da Vinci, a patriarch of that school which 
 time has shewn of all others the least inclined to ap- 
 preciate its advantages, is at once a proof of the sin- 
 gularity that marks the local distribution of powers, 
 and of the inconceivable slowness which attends 
 human perception in the progress of study : but 
 without generally admitting what has been said with 
 more energy than judgment or regard to truth, that 
 modern art literally sprang from the loins of Lionardo, 
 it must be granted that no work anterior or contem- 
 
 4 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 239 
 
 porary with his essays in Chiaroscuro now exist to 
 disprove his claim to the first vision of its harmony ; 
 its nia^ic lent the charm, hy which his females allure, 
 to forms neither ideal nor much varied ; sisters of one 
 family they attract by the light in which they radiate, 
 by the shade that veils them — for the features of 
 Giotto's or Memmi's Madonnas or virgin-saints float- 
 ing* in the same medivnn, would require little more to 
 be their equals. 
 
 This principle Lionardo seems seldom if ev er to 
 have extended to relieve or recommend his larger 
 compositions and male figures, if we except the group 
 of contending horsemen which made or was intended 
 for some part of his rival cartoon in the Sala del 
 Consio'lio : a knot of supreme powers in Composition 
 and Chiaroscuro ; though, as we know it chiefly from 
 a copy of P. P. Rvibens engraved by Edelinck, the 
 
 «'ross evidence of Flemish liberties taken with the 
 
 ft 
 
 style, makes it probable that the original simplicity of 
 lio ht and shade has been invigourated by the artificial 
 contrasts of the copyist. Lionardo's open scenery, 
 tinged with the glareless evenness of plain daylight, 
 seldom warrants effects so concentrated. Unosten- 
 tatious gravity marks the characters of his Last Sup- 
 per, and in sober evening tones marked probably 
 
240 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 the Chiaroscviro of the grovips and scenery, if we may 
 be allowed to form our judgment from the little that 
 remains unimpaired by the ravag-es of time and the 
 more barbarous ones of renovators. 
 
 To the discovery of central radiance the genius of 
 Lionardo with equal penetration added its counter- 
 part, purity of shade and the coalescence of both 
 through imperceptible demi-tints. Whatever tone of 
 light he chose, he never forgot that the shade in- 
 tended to set it off, was only its absence and not a 
 positive colour, and that both were to be harmonised 
 by demi-tints composed of both ; a principle of which 
 no school anterior to him has left a trace. 
 
 That the discovery of a principle big with advan- 
 tages as obvious as important to art should have 
 been reserved for the penetration of LioucU'do, how- 
 ever sing'ular, is less strange than that, when dis- 
 covered and its powers demonstrated, it should, with 
 the exception of one name, have not only met 
 with no imitators, but with an ambig'uous and even 
 discouraging reception from the pupils of his own 
 school, and some next alHed to it. Vasari, his pane- 
 gyrist rather than biographer, talks of it more as 
 a singular phfCnomenon than as an evident ])rin- 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 241 
 
 ciple, and avowing- that he introduced a certain depth 
 of shade into oil-painting*, which enabled succeeding 
 artists to relieve their fig'ures more forcibly (a), perse- 
 vered to discolour walls and pannels with washy flat 
 insipidity. Bartolomeo della Porta alone appears to 
 have had sufficient compass of mind to grasp its energy 
 and connect it with colour : from him, through An- 
 drea del Sarto down to Pietro Berettini, who owed his 
 effects rather to opposition of tints than to legitimate 
 Chiaroscuro, the Tuscan school gradually sufi^ered it to 
 dwindle into evanescence. Unless we were to con- 
 sider its astonishing effects in some of Michael Angelo's 
 works in the light of imitations rather than as eman- 
 ations of his own genius ; which perhaps we are the 
 less warranted to presume as he seems to have paid 
 no attention to Lionardo's discovery in its brightest 
 period ; for the groups of his celebrated cartoon ex- 
 hibit little more than individual light and shade. 
 
 What the Tuscan school treated with neglect the 
 Roman appears not to have been eager to adopt : if 
 Raffaello did not remain a stranger to the theories of 
 Lionardo and Fra. Bartolomeo, he suffered the prin- 
 
 {u) Nella arte della pittura aggiunse cestui alia maniera del colorire ad olio, una 
 certa oscurita ; donde hanno dato i moderni gran forza e rilievo alle Loro figure. 
 Vasari vita di Lion, da Vinci, p. 559. ed. 1550. 
 
 I I 
 
242 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 ciple to lie dormant ; for no production of his during 
 his intercourse with them is marked bv concentration of 
 hght or purity of shade or subordinate masses : nor is 
 the interval between his last departure from Florence 
 and his entrance of the Vatican discriminated by any 
 visible progress in massing and illuminating a whole : 
 the upper and lower parts of the dispute on the 
 Sacrament, cut sheer asunder, as a whole, are little 
 relieved in either ; and if the Parnassus and the school 
 of Athens have the beginning, middle, and end of 
 legitimate Composition, they owe it to expression 
 and feeling ; nor can the more vigorous display of 
 Chiaroscuro in the works of the second stanza, the 
 Deliverance of Peter, the Fall of Heliodorus, the 
 Attila, the Mass of Bolsena be referred to a principle 
 of imitation, when we see it neglected in a subject 
 where it might have ruled with absolute sway, in the 
 Incendio del Borgo, and on the whole in every Com- 
 position of the third and fourth stanza ; a series of 
 evidence that RafFaello considered Chiaroscuro as a 
 subordinate vehicle, and never suffered its blandish- 
 ments or energies to absorb meaning or to supplant 
 expression and form (a) : but the harmony which 
 
 {a) In the greater part of the cartoons, it does not appear that chiaroscuro had 
 more than an ordinary share of attention : 
 
 In the Miraculous Draught plain day-light prevails. 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 243 
 
 immediately after him Giulio Pipi, and Polydoro only 
 excepted, the rest of his pupils had sacrificed or con- 
 secrated to higher beauties, their successors, the sub- 
 sequent Roman school from the Zuccari through 
 Giuseppo Cesari down to C. Maratta, if they did not 
 entirely lose in a heavy display of academic pedantry, 
 or destroy by the remorseless ' bravura' of mannered 
 practice, they uniformly polluted by bastard theories 
 and adulterated methods of shade. 
 
 When I say that the Roman school uniformf^ 
 erred in their principle of shade, I have not forgot 
 M. Angelo da Caravaggio, w^hose darks are in such 
 perfect unison w^ith the lights of his chiaroscuro, that 
 A. Caracci declared he did not grind colour but flesh 
 itself for his tints che macinava carne'), and whom 
 for that reason and on such authority I choose rathep 
 to consider as the head of his own school than as 
 
 In the miracle at the Temple-gate a more forcible and more sublime effect would 
 have been obtained from a cupola-light and pillars darkened on the foreground. 
 
 In the exceccation of Elymas, composition and expression owe little of their round- 
 ness and evidence to chiaroscuro. 
 
 Apposition seems to have arranged the Sacrifice at Lystra. 
 
 If Dionysius and Damaris, in the cartoon of the Areopagus, had more forcibly 
 refracted by dark colours or shade, the light against the speaker, effect and subject 
 would have gained. 
 
 Considered individually or in masses, the chiaroscuro in the cartoon of Ananias 
 appears to be perfect ; but the Donation of the Keys owes what impression it makes 
 on us in a great measure to the skilful distribution of its light and shade. 
 
 I I 2 
 
244 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 the member of another : in some of his surviving' 
 works, but far more frequently in those which with- 
 out sufficient authenticity are ascribed to him, an 
 abrupt transition from Hght to darkness, without an 
 intervening demi-tint, has offended the eye and pro- 
 voked the sarcasm of an eminent critic : but as long* 
 as the picture of the entombing of Christ in the 
 Chiesa Nuova at Rome may be appealed to ; as long- 
 as the Pilgrim's kneeling before the Madonna with 
 the child in her arms, of St. Agostino at Rome, shall 
 retain their tone ; or the Infant Jesus, once in the 
 Spada palace, crushing the Serpent's head, shall resist 
 the ravages of time — it will be difficult to produce 
 in similar works of any other master or any other 
 school, from Lionardo down to Rembrandt, a system 
 of chiaroscuro which shall equal the severe yet mel- 
 low energy of the first ; the departing evening' ray 
 and veiled glow of the second ; or, with unimpaired 
 harmony, the bold decision of masses and stern light 
 and shade of the third. 
 
 The homage sparingly granted or callously re- 
 fused to chiaroscuro by the two schools of design 
 was with implicit devotion paid to it by the nurse of 
 colour, the school of Venice. Whether as tradition 
 on the authority of Vasari maintains, they received it 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 245 
 
 as a principle of imitation from the perspicacity, or as 
 a native discovery from the g-enius of Giorgione Bar- 
 barelli, though from what has been advanced on 
 both sides of the question, it would be presumptuous 
 positively to decide on either, it must be allowed, 
 that if the Venetian received a hint from the Floren- 
 tine, he extended it through a system, the harmony 
 of which was all his own, and excelled in breadth and 
 amenity the light which it could not surpass in splen- 
 dour, added transparence to purity of shade, rounded 
 by reflexes and discovered by the contrast of deep 
 with aerial colour, that energy of effect which mere 
 chiaroscuro could not have reached, and which was 
 carried near perfection by Paolo Cagliari. 
 
 Among the varied mischief poured into this coun- 
 try by the rapacious sophistry of traders and the 
 ambitions cullibility of wealthy collectors, no hand 
 perhaps has been more destructive to the genuine 
 appreciation of original styles than the baptism of 
 pictures with names not their own : by this prolific 
 method worse ones than those of Luini, Aretusi, 
 Timoteo della Vite, Bonifacio, are daily graced with 
 the honours due to Lionardo, Correggio, Raffaello, 
 Tizian ; though none have suffered more by the mul- 
 tiplication than Giorgione, whom shortness of life, a 
 
 4 * 
 
246 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 peculiar fatality of circumstances, and the ravages of 
 time, have conspired to render one of the scarcest as 
 well as least authenticated artists even in Italy : to 
 whom his earliest and latest biographers have been 
 as critically unjust as chronologically inattentive ; 
 V asari by transferring to another his principal work ; 
 Fiorillo by making him paint the portrait of Calvin 
 the Reformer, (b) 
 
 To form our opinion therefore of Giorgione's chia- 
 roscuro from a few portraits or single figures, if 
 legitimate, often restored, or from the crumbhnp- 
 remnants of his decayed frescoes, would be to form 
 an estimate of a magnificent fabric from some loose 
 fragment or stone : to do full jvistice to his powers 
 we must have recourse to his surprising work in 
 the school of St. Marco at Venice ; a composition 
 whose terrific graces Vasari descants on with a fer- 
 vour inferior only to the artist's own inspiration. 
 
 {b) In the following absurd description of the well-known picture in the palace 
 Pitti : ' It consists of three half- figures, one of which represents Martin Luther 
 
 * in the habit of an Augustin Monk, who plays on a harpsichord ; Calvin stands by 
 
 * him in a chorister's dress, with a violin in his hand : opposite you see a young 
 
 * lively girl in a bonnet with a plume of while feathers; by her Giorgione meant to 
 ' represent the noted Catharine, Luther's mistress and wife,' &c. Fiorillo, vol. ii. 
 p. 63. To expose the ignorant creduUty which dictated this passage, it is sufficient 
 to observe, that Giorgione died 1511, and that Calvin was born 1508. 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 247 
 
 though he unaccountably ascribes it to the elder 
 Palnia. (c) ^ 
 
 ' In the school of S. Marco he painted the story 
 
 * of the ship which conducts the body of S. Mark 
 
 * through a horrible tempest, with other baro-es 
 
 * assailed by furious winds ; and besides, groups oi 
 
 * aerial apparitions, and various forms of fiends who 
 
 * vent their blasts against the vessels, that by dint oi' 
 
 * oars and energy of arms strive to force their way 
 
 * through the mountainous and hostile waves which 
 
 * threaten to submero-e them. You hear the howliuii 
 blast, you see the grasp and fiery exertion of the 
 
 * men, the fluctuation of the waves, the lightning 
 
 * that bursts the clouds, the oars bent by the flood, 
 ' the flood broke by the oars, and dashed to spray 
 
 * by the sinews of the rowers. What more? In 
 ' vain I labour to recollect a picture that equals the 
 
 * terrours of this, whose design, invention, and 
 ' colour make the canvass tremble ! Often when he 
 ^ finishes, an artist, absorbed in the contemplation of 
 
 (c) In every edition of the Vite subsequent to his own of 1.550. The following- 
 passage deserves to be given in his own words : ' Giorgione di Castel franco ; il 
 
 * quale sfumo le sue pitture e dette una terribil' movenzia a certe cose come e una 
 
 * storia nella scuola di san Marco a Venezia, dove e un tempo turbido che tuona, 
 ' et trema il dipinto, et le figure si muovono & si spiccano da la tavola per una ccrta 
 
 * oscurita di ombre bene intese.' Proemio della terza Parle delle Vite, p. 558. 
 
248 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 ' parts, forgets the main point of a design, and as the 
 
 ' spirits cool, loses the vein of his enthusiasm ; but 
 
 ' this man never losing sight of the subject, guided 
 
 * his conceit to perfection.' 
 
 The effect of this work, when it drew such a stream 
 of eulogy from lips else so frugal in Venetian praise, 
 may be guessed at from the impression it makes in its 
 present decay — for even now, it might defy the com- 
 petition of the most terrific specimens in chiaroscuro, 
 the boat of Charon in M. Angelo's Last Judgment, 
 perhaps only excepted. Yet its master was defrauded 
 of its glory by his panegyrist, whilst it was exciting 
 the wonder and curiosity of every beholder : Lanzi 
 is the only historian who notices its remains, and 
 the real author (d) ; we look in vain for it in 
 liidolfi, who in his Life of Giorgione treats us instead 
 of it with a delectable account of a night-piece which 
 he painted, exhibiting the tragi-comedy of castrating 
 a cat. 
 
 It has been treated as a mistake to confine the 
 hiaroscuro of a subject exclusively to one source ; nor 
 can it be doubted that often it is and has been proved to 
 
 (d) A La Scuola di S. Marco La Tempesta Sedata dal Santo, ove fra Le altre cose 
 sono tre remiganti ignudi, pregiatissimi pel disegno, e per le attitudini. Lanzi 
 storia,&c. Tomo IL parte prima. Scuola Veneta. 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. ' 249 
 
 be both necessary and advantag-eous to admit more ; 
 this is however a licence to be granted with con- 
 
 o 
 
 siderable caution, and it appears to be the privilege of 
 siiperiour powers to raise a subject, by the admission 
 of subordinate, sometimes diverging*, sometimes oppo- 
 site streams of light, to assist and invigourate the 
 effect of the primary one, without impairing that unity 
 which, alone can ensure a breadth of effect, without 
 ' which each part, for mastery striving, soon would be 
 lost in confusion, or crumble into fragments. The 
 best instances of the advantages gained by the super- 
 induction of artificial light, appear to be the Pietro 
 Martire and the S. Lorenzo of Tiziano ; if selection 
 can be made from the works of a master, where to 
 count is to choose. In the first, the stern light of 
 evening far advanced in the back-ground, is com- 
 manded by the celestial emanation bursting from 
 above, wrapping the summit in splendour, and 
 diffusing itself in rays more or less devious over the 
 scenery. The subject of S. Lorenzo, a nocturnal 
 scene, admits light from two sources — the fire 
 beneath the saint, and a raised torch : but receives 
 its principal splendour from the aerial reflex of the 
 vision on high, which sheds its mitigating ray on 
 the martyr. 
 
 K K 
 
250 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 The nocturnal studies of Tintoretto from models 
 and artificial groups have been celebrated : these, 
 prepared in wax or clay, he arranged, raised, sus- 
 pended, to produce masses, foreshortening", and 
 variety of effect : it vras thence he acquired that 
 decision of chiaroscuro unknown to more expanded 
 day-light, by which he divided his bodies, and those 
 wings of obscurity and light by which he separated 
 the groups of his composition, though the mellow- 
 ness of his eye nearly always instrvicted him to 
 connect the two extremes by something intermediate 
 that partook of both, as the extremes themselves by 
 reflexes with the back-ground or the scenery. The 
 general rapidity of his process, by which he baffled 
 his competitors and often overwhelmed himself, did 
 not indeed always permit him to attend deliberately to 
 this principle, and often hurried him into an abuse of 
 practice, which in the lights turned breadth into 
 mannered or insipid flatness, and in the shadows into 
 total extinction of parts : of all this, he has in the 
 schools of S. Rocco and Marco given the most unques- 
 tionable instances ; the Resurrection of Christ and the 
 Massacre of the Innocents, comprehend every charm 
 by which chiaroscuro fascinates its votaries : in the 
 vision, dewy dawn melts into deep but pellucid shade, 
 itself rent or reflected by celestial splendor and 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 251 
 
 angelic hues : whilst in the Infant-massacre at Beth- 
 lehem alternate sheets of stormy light, and agitated 
 gloom, dash horrom* on the astonished eye. 
 
 He pursued, however, another method to create, 
 without more assistance from chiaroscuro than indivi- 
 dual light and shade, an effect equivalent and perhaps 
 superiour to what the utmost stretch of its powers 
 could have produced, in the crucifixion of the Al- 
 bergo, or guest-room of S.Rocco, the largest and most 
 celebrated of his works. The multitudinous rabble 
 dispersed over that picture, (for such, rather than 
 composition, one group excepted, that assemblage 
 of accidental figures deserves to be called), he con- 
 nected by a sovereign tone, ingulphing the whole in one 
 mass of ominous twilight, an eclipse, or what precedes 
 a storm, or hurricane, or earthquake ; nor suffering the 
 captive eye to rest on any other object than the faint 
 gleam hovering over the head of the Saviour in the 
 centre, and in still fainter tones dying on the sainted 
 group gathered beneath the cross. Yet this nearly 
 superhuman contrivance which raises above admira- 
 tion a work whose incongruous parts else must have 
 sunk it beneath mediocrity, Agostino Carracci in his 
 print, with chalcographic callus, has totally overlooked; 
 for notwithstanding the iron sky that overhangs the 
 
 K K 2 
 
252 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 whole, he has spread, if not sunshine, the most de- 
 clared daylig-ht from end to end, nor left the eye unin- 
 formed of one motley article, or one blade of grass. 
 
 With lacopo Robusti may be named, though 
 adopted by another school, Belisario Corenzio an 
 Achaean Greek, his pupil, his imitator in the magic 
 of chiaroscuro, and with still less compunction his 
 rival in dispatch and rapidity of hand : the immense 
 compositions in which he overflowed, he encompassed^ 
 and carried to irresistible central splendour by streams 
 of shade, and hemmed his glories in with clouds, or 
 showery, or pregnant with thunder. The monasteries 
 and churches of Naples and its dependencies abound 
 in his frescos. 
 
 The more adscititious effects of chiaroscuro pro- 
 duced by the opposition of dark to lucid, opaque to 
 transparent bodies, and cold to warm tints, though 
 fully understood by the whole Venetian school, were 
 nearly carried to perfection by Paolo Cagliari. There 
 is no variety of harmonious or powerful combination 
 in the empire of colour, as a substitute of light and 
 shade, which did not emanate from his eye, variegate 
 his canvas, and invigourate his scenery. Many of his 
 works, however, and principally the masses scattered 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 253 
 
 over his suppers, prove that he was master of that 
 leg-itimate chiaroscuro w^hich, independent of colour, 
 animates composition : but the gaiety of his mind 
 w^hich inspired him with subjects of magnificence and 
 splendour, of numerous assemblies canopied by serene 
 skies or roving lofty palaces, made him seek his 
 effects oftener in opposed tints, than in powerful 
 depths of light and shade. 
 
 But all preceding, contemporary, and subsequent 
 schools, with their united powers of chiaroscuro, were 
 far excelled both in compass and magnitude of its 
 application by the genius of Antonio Allegri from the 
 place of his nativity, surnamed Correggio. To them 
 light and shade was only necessary as the more or 
 less employed, or obedient attendant on design, com- 
 position and colour : but design, composition and 
 colour, were no more than the submissive vehicles, or 
 inchanted ministers of its charms to Correggio. If, 
 strictly speaking', he was not the inventor of its 
 element, he fully spanned its measure, and expanded 
 the powers of its harmony through Heaven and earth ; 
 in his eye and hand it became the organ of sublimity ; 
 the process of his cupolas made it no longer a ques- 
 tion whether an art circumscribed by lines and fig-ure 
 could convey ideas of reality and immensity at once. 
 
254 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 Entranced by his spell, and lap'd in his elysium, we 
 are not aware of the wide difference between the 
 conception of the medium, the place, space and mode 
 in which certain beings ought, or may be supposed to 
 move, and that of those beings themselves ; and forget, 
 though fully adequate to the first, that Correggio was 
 unequal to the second ; that though he could build 
 Heaven he could not people it. If M. Agnolo 
 found in the depth of his mind and in grandeur of 
 line the means of renderinc: the immediate effect of 
 will and power intuitive in the creation of Adam, by 
 darting life from the finger of Omnipotence, the coa- 
 lition of light and darkness opened to the entranced 
 eye of Correggio the means of embodying the Mosaic. 
 * Let there be Hght,' and created light in that stream 
 of glory which, issuing from the divine infant in his 
 Notte, proclaims a god. If Thought be personified 
 in the prophets and Sybils of the Sistine chapel, he 
 has made silence audible in the slumbering twilight 
 that surrounds the Zingara ; and filled the gloom 
 which enbosoms Jupiter and lo, with the whispers of 
 Love. 
 
 And though perhaps we should be nearer truth by 
 ascribing the cause of Correggio's magic to the happy 
 conformation of his organs, and his calm serenity of 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 255 
 
 mind, than to Platonic ecstacies, a poet might at least 
 be allowed to say * that his soul, absorbed by the 
 ' contemplation of infinity, soared above the sphere 
 ' of measurable powers, knowing" that every object 
 ' whose limits can be distinctly perceived by the 
 
 * mind, must be within its grasp ; and however grand, 
 
 * magnificent, beautiful or terrific, fall short of the 
 ' conception itself, and be less than sublime.' — In 
 this, from whatever cause, consists the real spell of 
 Correggio — which neither Parmegiano nor Annibale 
 Caracci seem to have been able to penetrate : the Bo- 
 lognese certainly not ; for if we believe himself in his 
 letters to Ludovico, expressive of his emotions at the 
 first sight of Correggio's cupolas, he confines his 
 admiration to the foreshortening and grace of forms, 
 the successful imitation of fle^h, and rigorous per- 
 spective. 
 
 Of Correggio's numerous pretending imitators Lo- 
 dovico Caracci appears to be the only one who pe- 
 netrated his principle : the axiom, that the less the 
 traces appear of the means, by which a work has 
 been produced, the more it resembles the operations 
 of nature, is not an axiom likely to spring from 
 the infancy of art. The even colour, veiled splen- 
 dour, the solemn twilight ; that tone of devotion and 
 
256 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 cloistered meditation, which Lodovico Caracci spread 
 over his works could arise only from the contempla- 
 tion of some preceding style, analogous to his own 
 feeling's and its comparison with nature, and where 
 could that he met with in a degree equal to what 
 he found in the infinite unity and variety of Cor- 
 reggio's effusions ? They inspired his frescos in the 
 cloisters of St. Michele in Bosco : the foreshortenings 
 of the muscular labourers at the Hermitage, and of 
 the ponderous dtemon that mocks their toil, the war- 
 like splendour in the homage of Totila, the nocturnal 
 conflagration of Monte Cassino, the wild graces of 
 deranged beauty, and the insidious charms of the sister 
 nymphs in the garden scene, equally proclaim the 
 pupil of Correggio. 
 
 His triumph in oil is the altar piece of St. John 
 preaching in a chapel of the Certosa at Bologna, 
 whose lights seem embrowned by a golden veil, and 
 the shadowy gleam of Vallombrosa ; though he 
 sometimes indulged in tones austere, pronounced and 
 hardy : such is the Flagellation of Christ in the same 
 church, whose tremendous depth of flesh-tints con- 
 trasts the open wide-expanded sky, and less conveys 
 than dashes its terrours on the astonished sense. 
 
SIXTH LECTURE. 257 
 
 The Schools of Bologna, Parma, Milano, with more 
 or less g-eniality, imitated their predecessors, but added 
 no new featm-es to the theory of light and shade. — As 
 to its progress on this side of the Alps, it is better 
 to say nothing than little on the wide range of Rubens 
 and the miracles of Rembrandt. 
 
Printed by A. and R; Spottiswoode, 
 Printers-Street, London.