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. THE
WORKS OF
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, KNIGHT;
LATE PRESIDENT OP THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
' qONTA-KlNO
his Discourses, idlers,
A JOURNEY TO FLANDERS AND HOLLAND,
AND HIS COMMENTARY ON DU FRESNOY'S ART OF
PAINTING ;
PRINTED FROM HIS 11EVISED COPIES,
{with his last corrections and additions)
IN THREE VOLUMES.
TO WHICH IS PREFIXED
AN ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THE
AUTHOR.
BY EDMOND MALONE, ESQ.
ONE OF HIS EXECUTORS.
THE FOURTH EDITION CORRECTED.
— SUASI NON EA PRXCIPIAM AUIS, QUE MIHI IPSI DCS -NT. CICERO.
t
VOLUME THE FIRST.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, IN THE SXRAJTD,
By C. and ft. Baldwin, New Bridge-stieet.
1809.

TO
THE KING.

A. HE regular progress of cultivated life is
from necessaries to accommodations, from
accommodations to ornaments. By your
illustrious predecessors were established
Marts for manufactures, and Colleges for
science; but for the arts of elegance, those
arts by which manufactures are embellished,
and science is refined, to found an Academy
was reserved for Your Majesty.
Had such patronage been without effect,
there had been reason to believe that Nature
had, by some insurmountable impediment,
obstructed our proficiency ; but the annual
improvement of the Exhibitions which Your
vol. i. a

DEDICATION.
Majesty has been pleased to encourage,
shows that only, encouragement had been
wanting. To give advice to those who are contend
ing for- royal liberality, has been for some
years the duty of my station in the Academy %
and jthese Discourses hope for Your Majesty's
acceptance, as well-intended endeavours to
incite that emulation which your notice has
kindled, and direct those studies which your
bounty has rewarded.
May it please Your Majesty,
Your Majesty's
Most dutiful servant,
and most faithful subject,
[1778.3 JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

SOME account of
THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
or
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

1 HE Author of the following admirab.
works, having, for near half a century, bee;
well known to almost every person in thL
country who had any pretensions to taste or
literature, to the present age an account oi
him, however brief, may seem wholly un
necessary; nor should the reader be detained,
even for a few minutes, from the pleasure
which awaits him, but that Posterity, while
they contemplate with delight and admiration
those productions of his pencil which place
him on a level with Titian and Vandyck
will naturally wish to know something of th
man, as well as of the painter.
a 2

ir SOME ACCOUNT Of
Joshua Reynolds was born at Plympton
in Devonshire, July 1 6th, 1723 ; the son of
Samuel Reynolds and Theophila Potter.
He was on every side connected with the
Church, for both his father and grandfather
were in holy orders; his mother was the
daughter of a clergyman, and his maternal
grandmother the daughter of the Rev. Mr.
Baker, an eminent mathematician in the last
century, of whom we have an account in the
Biographia Britannica. His father's
elder brother, John, was also a clergyman,
a fellow of Eton College, and Canon of St.
Peter's, Exeter.1
Mr. Samuel Reynolds taught the grammar-
school of Plympton, which could have

1 This gentleman, who died in 1758, left his library, and
the greater part of his fortune, to Exeter College in Ox
ford. — There is a mezzotinto print of him, scraped by
M' Ardell, (from a portrait painted by his nephew, now in
Eton College,) which has erroneously been supposed to
represent the father of the painter. See Bromley 'sCata-
logueof Engraved British Portraits, ^to. 1792, p. 280.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. v
afforded him but a moderate subsistence; nor
was he enabled by any ecclesiastical prefer
ment to provide for his numerous family,
amounting toeleven children in all, of whom
Joshua was the seventh. Five, however, of
these children died in their infancy. — His
father had a notion,* that it might at some
future period of life be an advantage to a
child to bear an uncommon christian name ;
which might recommend him to-the attention
and kindness of some person bearing the same
name, who, if he should happen to have no
natural object of his care, might be led even
by so slight a circumstance to become a
benefactor. Hence our author derived the
scriptural name of Joshua, which though
not very uncommon, occurs less frequently
than many others : of this baptismal name,
however, the Register of Plympton by
some negligence or inaccuracy has deprived
him.' * From Dr. Percy, Lord Bishop of Dromore.
<* In the Register of Plympton, by which itappears that

vi SOME ACCOUNT OF
Under the tuition of Mr. Reynolds he was
for some time instructed in the classicks ;
but at an early age his inclination for that
art of which he afterwards became so illus
trious a professor, began to display itself ;
and his imperfect attempts4 at delineation
were encouraged by his father, who was
himself fond of drawings, and had a small
collection of anatomical and other prints.
The young artist's first essays were made in
copying several little things done by two of
his elder sisters, who had likewise a turn for
he was baptized on the goth of July, he is styled " Joseph
son of Samuel Reynolds, Clerk:" probably in conse
quence of the entry not being made at the time of the
baptism. The name, I suppose, was written originally
on a slip of paper in an abbreviated form — " Jos. son of
Samuel Reynolds," — and was at a subsequent period
entered erroneously by the clergyman or clerk of the
parish. * Lady Inchiquin has one of these very early essays ; a
perspective view of a book-case, under which his father
has written—" Done by Joshua out of pure idleness,"
It is on the back of a Latin exercise. Joshua's idleness
was, his preferring the employment of his pencil to that
of the pen.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. vii
the art; and he afterwards (as he himself
informed me) eagerly copied such prints as
he met with among his father's books, par
ticularly those which were given in the
translation of Plutarch's Lives, published
by Dryden. But his principal fund of imi
tation was Jacob Cats' book of Emblems,
which his great grandmother by the father's
side, a Dutch woman, had brought with her
from Holland. — When he was but eight
years old, he read with great avidity and
pleasure The Jesuit's Perspective, a
book which happened to lie on the window-
seat of his father's parlour; and made him
self so completely master of it, that he never
afterwards had occasion to study any other
treatise on that subject.5 He then attempted
to draw the School at Plympton, a building
elevated on stone pillars ; and he did it so
well, that his father said, *' Now this ex
emplifies what the author of the ' Perspective'
asserts in his Preface, — that, by observing
* From himself in 1786.

viii SOME ACCOUNT OF
the rules laid down in his book, a man may
do wonders ; for this is wonderful."6 From
these attempts he proceeded to draw like
nesses of the friends and relations of his
family, with tolerable success. But what
most strongly confirmed him in his love of
the art, was Richardson's Treatise on Paint
ing ; the perusal of which so delighted and
inflamed his mind, that Raffaelle appeared
to him superior to the most illustrious names
of ancient or modern time ; a notion which,
he loved to indulge all the rest of his life.
His propensity to this fascinating art,
growing daily more manifest, his father
thought fit to gratify his inclination ; and '
when he was not much more than seventeen
years of age, on St. Luke's day, Oct. the
1 8th, 1740, he was placed as a pupil under
his countryman Mr, Hudson,7 who though
6 From the late James Boswell, Esq. to whom this
little circumstance was communicated by our author.

1 Thomas Hudson ; who was the scholar and son-in-l

aw

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS; ix
but an ordinary painter, was the most distin
guished artist of that time. After spending
a few years' in London, which he employed
in acquiring the rudiments of his art, on a
disagreement with his master about a very
slight matter, he in 1743, removed to Devon
shire, where, as he told me, he passed about
three years in company from whom little
improvement could be got : when he recoL
of Richardson the Painter, was born in 1701. " He en
joyed" (says Lord Orford, Anecdotes of Painting,
iv. 122, 8vo.) " for many years the chief business of por
trait-painting in the capital, after the favourite artists, his
master and Jenvas, were gone off the stage ; though
Vanloo first, and Liotard afterwards, for a few years
diverted the torrent of fashion from the established pro
fessor. Still the country gentlemen were faithful to their
compatriot, and were content with his honest similitudes,
and with the fair tied wigs, blue velvet coats, and white
satin waistcoats, which he bestowed liberally on his custo
mers, and which, with complacency, they beheld multi
plied in Faber's mezzotintos. The better taste introduced
by Sir Joshua Reynolds, put an end to Hudson's reign,
who had the good sense to resign the throne soon after
finishing his capital work, the family-piece of Charles,
Duke of Marlborough." [About 1756,] He died, Jan,
*6, 1779, aged 78,

x SOME ACCOUNT OF
lected this period of his life, he always spoke
of it as so much time thrown away, (so far
as related to a knowledge of the world arid
of mankind,) of which he ever afterwards
lamented the loss. However, after some
little dissipation, he sat down seriously to
the study and practice of his art ; and he al
ways considered the disagreement which
induced him to leave Mr. Hudson as a very
fortunate circumstance, since by this means
he was led to deviate from the tameness and
insipidity of his master, and to form a man
ner of his own.
While in this career, the first of his per
formances which brought him into any con
siderable notice, was the portrait of Captain
Hamilton, father of the present Marquis of
Abercorn, which he painted so early as in
the year 1746.8 When at a late period of
8 It is now in the possession of the Marquis of Aber
corn ; and there is a portrait of the same gentleman with
his children around him, a small family-piece, painted

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xi
his life he saw this portrait, he was sur
prised to find it so well done ; and comparing
it with his later works, with that modesty
which always accompanies genius, lamented
that in such a series of years he should not
have made a greater progress in his art.9
On Christmas-day, 1746, his father, a
man highly respected in his native county,
died ; and left our young painter to raise, as
he could, the fabric of his own fortune.
After spending a few more years in the prac
tice of painting, partly in London 10 and
partly in Devonshire, where many of his early
essays yet remain, he became acquainted with
by young Reynolds about the same time, in the Collec
tion of Lord Eliot, at Port Eliot in Cornwall.
9 He made the same observation on viewing the pic
ture of a Boy reading, which he also painted in 1746 ; an
admirable piece, which was sold by auction among other
of his works in 1796, to Sir Henry Englefield, Bart, for
thirty-five guineas.
10 At this period he lived in St. Martin's Lane, which
was then a favourite residence of Artists ; nearly opposite
to May's Buildings. 5

xii SOME ACCOUNT OF
George, the third Lord Edgcumbe and Captain
(afterwards Lord) Keppel, by each of whom
he was warmly patronised ; and the latter
being appointed to the command of a small
squadron on the Mediterranean station,
Mr. Reynolds embraced the opportunity
which his kindness offered, and accompanied
him thither, sailing from Plymouth, May
nth, 1749. In the course of their voyage
(during which he had accommodations
in the captain's own ship,) they touched
at Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Algiers,
and Minorca; and after spending about
two months in Portmahon, the principal
town of that island, in December he sailed
to Leghorn, from which place he proceeded
to Rome.
^.mong our author's loose papers, I have
found some detached and unconnected
thoughts, written occasionally as hints for
a Discourse on a new and singular plan,
which he appears, at a late period of his life,

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xm
to have had it in contemplation to compose
and deliver to the Academy, and which he
seems to have intended as a history of his
mind, so far as concerned his art, and of
his progress, studies, and practice; toge*
ther with a view of the advantages which
he had enjoyed, and the disadvantages he
had laboured under, in the course that he
had run: a scheme from which, however
liable it might be to the ridicule of Wits
and Scoffers, (a circumstance of which, he
says, he was perfectly aware,) he con
ceived the Students might derive some
Useful documents for the regulation of their
own conduct and practice. It is much to
be regretted that he did not live to com
pose such a Discourse ; for, from the hand
of so great and candid an Artist, it could
not but have been highly curious and in
structive. One of these fragments relating
to his feelings when he first went to Italy,
every reader will, I am confident, be pleased
with its insertion.

Xir SOME ACCOUNT OF
•' It has frequently happened, (says this
great painter) as I was informed by the
keeper of the Vatican, that many of those
whom he had conducted through the vari
ous apartments of that edifice, when about
to be dismissed, have asked for the works of
Raffaelle, and would not believe that they
had already passed through the rooms where
they are preserved ; so little impression
had those performances made on them.
One of the first painters now in France
once told nie, that this circumstance hap
pened to himself; though he now looks ora
Raffaelle with that veneration which he de
serves from all painters and lovers of the
art. I remember very well my own disap
pointment, when I first visited the Vati
can; but on confessing my feelings to a
brother- student, of whose ingenuousness I
had a high opinion, he acknowledged that
the works of Raffaelle had the same effect
on him, or rather that they did not pro
duce the effect which he expected. This

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xv
was a great relief to my mind; and on
inquiring further of other students, I found
that those persons only who from natural
imbecility appeared to be incapable of
ever relishing those divine performances,
made pretensions to instantaneous raptures on
first beholding them. — In justice to myself,
however, I must add, that though disap
pointed and mortified at not finding myself
enraptured with the works of this great
master, I did not for a moment conceive
or suppose that the name of Raffaelle, and
those admirable paintings in particular,
owed their reputation to the ignorance and
prejudice of mankind ; on the contrary,
my not relishing them as I was conscious
I ought to have done, was one of the
most humiliating circumstances that ever
happened to me ; I found myself in the
midst of works executed upon principles
with which I was unacquainted : I felt my
ignorance, and stood abashed. All the 'in
digested notions of painting which I had

*v_ SOME ACCOUNT OF
brought with me from England, where the
art was in the lowest state it had ever
been in, (it could not indeed be lower,)
were to be totally done away, and eradi
cated from my mind. It was necessary, as
it is expressed on a very solemn occasion,
that I should become as a little child. — 'Not
withstanding my disappointment, I pro
ceeded to copy some of those excellent
works. I viewed them again and again ; I
even affected to feel their merit, and to
admire them, more than I really did. In
a short time a new taste and new percep
tions began to dawn upon me ; and I was
convinced that I had originally formed a
false opinion of the perfection of art, and
that this great painter was well entitled to
the high rank which he holds in the esti
mation of the world. The truth is, that if
these works had really been what I ex
pected, they would have contained beauties
superficial and alluring, but by no means
such as would have entitled them to the

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Xvii
-great reputation which they have so long
and so justly obtained.
" Having since that period frequently
revolved this subject in my mind, I am
now clearly of opinion, that a relish for
the higher excellencies of art is an ac
quired taste, which no man ever possessed
without long cultivation, and great labour
and attention. On such occasions as that
which I have mentioned, we are often
ashamed of our apparent dulness ; as if
it were to be expected that our minds,
like tinder, should instantly catch fire from
the divine spark of Raffaelle's genius. I
flatter myself that now it would be so,
and that I have a just and lively percep
tion of his great powers : but let it be
always remembered, that the excellence of
his style is not on the surface, but lies deep ;
and at the first view is seen but mistily".
It is the florid style, which strides at once,
and captivates the eye for a time, without
vol. i. b

Mil SOME ACCOtmT OF
ever satisfying the judgement. Nor doe*
painting in this respect differ from other
arts. A just poetical taste* and the acqui
sition of a nice discriminative musical ear,.
are equally the work of time. Even the
eye, however perfect in itself, is often
unable to distinguish between the brilli
ancy of two diamonds ; though the experi
enced jeweller will be amazed at its blind
ness ; not considering that there was a time
when he himself could not have been able
to pronounce which of the two was the
most perfect,, and that his own power of
discrimination was acquired by slow and
imperceptible degrees.
" The man of true genius, instead of
spending all his hours, as many artists do<
while they are at Rome, in measuring statues
and copying pictures-, soon begins to think
for himself, and endeavours to do something
like what he sees. — I consider general copy
ing (iae adds) as a delusive kind of industry t

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ; %lx
. the student satisfies himself with the appear
ance of doing something; he falls into the
.dangerous habit of imitating without selecting,
and of labouring without any determinate
object; as it requires no effort of the mind,
he sleeps over his work, and those powers of
invention and disposition which ought par
ticularly to be called out and put in action,
lie torpid, and lose their energy for want" of
exercise. How incapable of producing any
thing of their own, those ate, who have
spent most of their time in making finished
copies, is an observation well known to all
Who are conversant with our art." lI We may
be assured, therefore, that this great painter
did not fall into the errour here pointed out ; —
did not long continue the practice of copying
the great works ** which were at -this period
*' This observation occurs nearly in the same -words in
the first Discourse.
" Of the few copies which he made while he -was at
Rome, two are now in the possession of the Earl of In-
ehiquin, who married his niece, Miss Palmer ; St. Mi-
b 7,

xx SOME ACCOUNT OF
within his reach ; but rather employed his
time in examining and fixing in his mind
their peculiar and characteristick excellencies.
Instead of copying the touches of the great
masters, he aspired to copy their conceptions.
" From contemplating the works of Titian,
Correggio, &c. (says he in another of his
fragments,) we derive this great advantage ;
we learn that certain niceties of expression
are capable of being executed, which other
wise we might consider as beyond the reach
of art ; this inspires us with some degree of
confidence, and we are thus incited to endea
vour at other excellencies in the same
line." Some account of his particular practice and
habits of study, while'he was in Italy, is, I
know,' much desired by several Artists of the
present day ; but these I have no means of
chael, the Archangel, slaying the Dragon, after Guido;
and the School of Athens, from Raffaelle ; both masterly
performances. 6

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xa
investigating. The method which he fol
lowed when he was at Venice, in order to
ascertain the principles on which the great
masters of colouring wrought, and to attain
the true management of light and shade, he
has himself particularly mentioned in a note
on Du Fresnoy's Poem.'3
While he was in Italy, he occasionally in
dulged himself in Caricatura, which was
much in vogue at that time. Of pieces of this
description, the only one which I have seen
of his hand, is a large picture, '* containing
about twenty figures, being all the English
gentlemen of note who were then at Rome.
This caricatura, however, was not like the
more modern productions in that style, being
done with the consent of . the gentlemen re
presented. It was a/ kind of picturesque
travesty of Raffaelle's School of Athens.
»3 Vol. III. p. 147.
14 In the collection of Joseph Henry, Esq. of Straffan
in the county of Kildare, in Ireland.

XXH: SOME ACCOUNT OF
After an absence of near three years, he
began to think of returning home; anda*
slip-ht circumstance which he used to mention,
may serve to -shovy-, that however gteat may
have been the delight which he derived from
residence in a country that Raffaelle and
Michael Angelo had embellished by their
genius and their works, the prospect of re
visiting his native land was not uripjeasihg.
When he wag at Venice, in compliment to
the English gentlemen then residing there,
the manager of the opera one night ordered
the band to play ah English ballad-tune.
Happening to be the popular air which was
played or sung in almost every street, just
at the time of their leaving London, by sug^
gesting to them that metropolis with all its
connexions and endearing circumstances, it
immediately brought tears into our author's
eyes, as well as into those of his countrymen
who were present.
On his arrival in London in 175a,15 he
very soon attracted the publkk notice ; and

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. **j«
not long afterwards the "whole-length portrait
whieh he painted of his friend and patron,
Admiral Keppel, exhibited such.powers, that
he was not .only universally, acknowledged to
be at the head of his profession, but to be the.
greatest painter that England had seen since
Vandyek. The whole interval between the
time of Charles the First, and thexonclusion
ofthe reign of George the Second, though
distinguished by the performances of Lely,
Riley, and Kneller, seemed to be annihilated ;
arid the only question was, whether the new,
painter, or Vandyek, were the more excel
lent. For several years before the period
we are now speaking of, the painters of por
traits contented themselves with exhibiting
as correct a resemblance as they could ; but
seem not to have thought, or had not the
power, of enlivening the canvas by giving a
¦«* On his return from Italy he hired a large house in
Newport-street, now divided into two houses. Here he
continued to dwell till the year 1761, when he removed
to Leicester-Fields.

xxiv SOME ACCOUNT OF
kind of historick air to their pictures. Mr.
Reynolds very soon saw how much anima
tion might be obtained by deviating from the
insipid manner of his immediate predeces
sors ; i« hence in many of his portraits, par-.
ticularly when combined in family-groups,
we find much of the variety and spirit of a
higher species of art. Instead of confining
himself to mere likeness, in which however
he was eminently happy, he dived, as it
were, into the minds, and habits, and man
ners, of those who sat to him j1' and accord-.
ingly tjie majority of his portraits are so
*<? Dahl, Richardson, Jervas, Thornhill, Hudson,
Slaughter, &c.
s» The various portraits of Mr. Garrick, those of Dr,
Johnson, Dr. Robinson Archbishop of Armagh, Lord
Camden, Dr Goldsmith, Mr. Burke, Mr. Mason* Mr.
Foote, Mr. Sterne, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Gibbon,
Br. Markham Archbishop of York, Lord Mansfield, Lord
Thurlow, Lord Heathfield, the execrable Duke of Orleans,
Lord Richard Cavendish, Mr. Andrew Stewart, Mr. Pott^
lAr. Boswell, Mr. Windham, and Mr. Cholmondeley.
are emiqent instances of the truth of this observation.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Xxy
appropriated and characteristick, that the
many illustrious persons whom he has deli
neated, will be almost as well known to
posterity, as if they had seen and conversed
with them.
Very soon after his return from Italy, his
acquaintance with Dr. Johnson commenced ;
and their intimacy continued uninterrupted
to the time of Johnson's death. Happening
to meet with the Life of Savage in Devon<-
shire, which, though published some years
before, was then new to him, he began to
read it (as Mr. Boswell has informed us)
" while he was standing with his arm lean
ing against a chimney-piece. It seized his
attention so strongly, that, not being able to
lay down the book till he had finished it,
when he attempted to move, he found his
arm totally benumbed."18 Being then unac
quainted with the author, he must naturally
have had a strong desire to see and converse
18 Life of Dr. Samuel Johnson, i. 144.

xxvi SOME ACCOUNT OF
with that extraordinary man; and, as the
same writer relates, he about this time was
introduced to him. *' When Johnson lived
iii Castle-Street, Cavendish-Square, he used
frequently to visit two ladies who lived oppo
site to him ; [Mr. Reynolds ;J19 Miss Cet-
terells, daughters of Admiral Cotterell,
Reynolds used also to visit there, and thus
they met. Mr. Reynolds, as I have obser-"
ved above, had, from the first reading of his
Life of Savage, conceived a very high admi
ration of Johnson's powers of writing. His
conversation no less delighted him, and he
cultivated his acquaintance with the laudable
zeal of one who was ambitious of general
improvement. Sir Joshua indeed was lucky
enough at their very first meeting to make a
remark, which was so much above the com
mon-place style of conversation, that John
son at once perceived that Reynolds had the
habit of thinking for himself. The ladies
were regretting the death of a friend, to
r9 In Newport-strefl.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xxvii
whom they owed great obligations; upon
which Reyftoldfe observed, — '* You have,
however, the comfort of being relieved from
the burden of gratitude." They were
shocked & little at this alleviating suggestion,'
as too selfish j but Johnson defended it in
his clear and forcible manner, and was much
pleased with the mind, the fair view of human
nature, which it exhibited, like some of the
Reflections of Rochefoucault, The conse
quence was, that he went home with Rey
nolds, and supped with him.
" Sir Joshua told me a pleasant charac-
teristical anecdote of Johnson, about the
time of their first acquaintance. When they
were one evening together at the Miss Cot-
terells," the then Duchess of Argyle and
another lady of high rank, came in. John
son, thinking that the Miss Cotterells were
too much engrossed by them, and that he and
his friend were neglected, as low company
of whom they, were somewhat ashamed,

xxviii SOME ACCOUNT OF
grew angry ; and resolving to shock their
supposed pride, by making their great visi
tors imagine they were low indeed, he ad
dressed himself in a loud tone to Mr. Rey
nolds, saying, ' How much do you think
you and I could get in a week, if we were
to work as hard as we could f1 as if they had
been common mechanics." *°
How much he profitted by his acquaintance
with this excellent and extraordinary man,
he intended to have particularly mentioned
in the Discourse which, as I have already
observed, he had it in contemplation to
compose. *' I remember, (says he,) Mr.
Burke, speaking of the Essays of Sir Francis
Bacon, said, he thought them the best of his
works. Dr. Johnson was of opinion, ' that
*° Life of Johnson, i; 217. Johnson, however con
tinued to livein intimacy with these ladies, whom he
frequently mentions in his letters to Baretti. In that
dated Dec. 11, 1762, he says, " Miss Cotterell is still
with Mrs. Porter : Miss Charlotte is married to Dean
Lewis, and has three children." ibid, p, 341. The elder
of these ladies visited him not long before his death.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xxix
their excellence and their value consisted in
being, the observations of a strong mind ope
rating upon life; and in consequence you
find there what you seldom find in other
books.' — It is this kind of excellence which
gives a value to the performances of artists
also. It is the thoughts expressed in the
works of Michael Angelo, Correggio, Raf
faelle, Parmegiano, and perhaps some of
the old Gothick masters, and not the inven
tions of Pietro da Cortona, Carlo Maratti,
Luca Giordano, and others that 1 might
mention, which we seek after with avidity.
From the former we learn to think originally.
May I presume to introduce myself on this
occasion, and even to mention as an instance
of the truth of what I have remarked, the
very Discourses which I have had the ho
nour of delivering from this place. What
ever merit they have, must be imputed, in a
great measure, to the education which I may
he said to have had under Dr. Johnson. I
do not mean to say, though it certainly would

«x .Sf. SOME ACCOUNT OP
be to the credit of these Discourses, if if
could say it with truth.: that he contributed
even a single sentiment to them ; but he qua
lified my mind to think justly. No man
had* like him, the faculty of teaching in
ferior minds the art of thinking. Perhaps
other men might have equal kndwledge.
but few were so communicative. His great
pleasure was to talk to those who looked- up
to him. It was here he exhibited his wan-
tderful powers. In mixed company, and
frequently in company that ought to have
looked up to him, many, thinking, they had
a character for learning to support, consi
dered it as beneath them to enlist in the train
of his auditors ; and to such persons he
certainly did not appear to advantage, being
•often impetuous and overbearing. The de
sire of shining in conversation was in him
indeed a predominant passion ; and if it must
4,
be attributed to vanity, let it at the same
time be recollected, that it produced that lo
quaciousness from which his more intimate

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. , aaai
friend s derived considerable advantage. The
observations which he made on poetry, on
life, and on every thing about us, I applied!
to our art ; with what success others must
judge. Perhaps an artist in his studies
should pursue the same conduct ; and in
stead of patching up a particular work oq
the narrow plan of imitation, rather en
deavour to acquire the art and power of
thinking. On this subject I have often
spoken; but it cannot be too often repeated*
that the general power of composition may
be acquired ; and when acquired, the artist
may then lawfully take hints from his pre
decessors. In reality indeed it appears to
me, that a man must begin by the study of
others. Thus Bacon became a great thinker;
by first entering into and making himself
master of the thoughts of other men."
In consequence of his connexion with
Dr. Johnson, he in 1759 furnished that
iyriter with three Essays on the subject of
5

xxxfi SOME ACCOUNT OF
painting, which appeared in the Idler, and
were, I believe, our author's first literary
performance. But though he derived great advantage
and instruction from this very distinguished
writer, with whom he lived in uninter
rupted intimacy for thirty years, Johnson
was not his original preceptor in the art of
thinking; as has been suggested to me by
our common friend, the late ever-to-be-la
mented Mr. Burke; whose death, which
happened a few months after the firft
edition of these works, would at any time
have been a grievous loss to his country, but
at the present distressful and momentous
period is an irreparable calamity to the whole
civilized world. — " I find," (said this sa
gacious and profound observer, whose ap.,
probation and whose remarks are so inter-
Woven, that I cannot avail myself of the
latter without the former,) " I find but
one thing material which you have omitted

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xxxiif
in the life of our inestimable friend. You
state very properly how much he owed to
the writings and conversation of Johnson ;
and nothing shows more the greatness of Sir
Joshua's parts, than his taking advantage of
both, and making some application of them
to his profession, when Johnson neither un
derstood, nor desired to understand, any
thing of painting, and had no distinct idea
of its nomenclature, even in those parts
which had got most into use in common
life. But though Johnson had done much
to enlarge and strengthen his habit of think
ing, Sir Joshua did not owe his first rudi
ments of speculation to him. He has al
ways told me, that he owed his firft dispo
sition to generalize, and to view things in
the abstract, to old Mr. Mudge, Preben
dary of Exeter, and brother to the celebrated
mechanick of that name. I have myself
seen Mr. Mudge the clergyman, at Sir Jo
shua's house. He was a learned and vene-
vol. i. c

xxxiv SOME ACCOUNT OF
rable old man ; and as I thought, very much
conversant in the Platonic Philosophy, and
very fond of that method of philosophizing.
He had been originally a dissenting minister ;
a description which at that time bred very
considerable men, both among those who
adhered to it, and those who left it. He
had entirely cured himself of the unpleasant
narrowness which in the early part of his
life had distinguished those gentlemen, and
was perfectly free from the ten times more
dangerous enlargement which has been since
then their general characteristick. Sir Jo
shua Reynolds had always a great love for
the whole of that farnily, and took a great
interest in whatever related to them. His
acquaintance with the Mudges ought to be
reckoned among, the earliest of his literary
connections, It was from him that I first
got a view of the few that have been pub
lished of Mr. Mudge's Sermons; and on
conversing afterwards with Mr. Mudge, I
found great traces of Sir Joshua Reynolds in

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xxxv
him, and, if I may say so, much of the
manner of the master." "
a* Letter from the Right Hon. Edmund Burke to the
Editor, dated Bath, May 4, J 7 97-
Our author's early friend and instructor died
April 3, 1769, and his memory was honoured by the
following characteristick encomium, written by Dr.
Johnson, and inserted May 2, (under the article of
Deaths,) in the London Chronicle.
" The Reverend Mr. Zachariah Mudge, Prebendary
of Exeter, and Vicar of St. Andrew's in Plymouth ; a
man equally eminent for his virtues and abilities, and a*
once beloved as a companion, and reverenced as a pastor.
He had that general curiosity to which no kind of know
ledge is indifferent or superfluous, and that general be
nevolence by which no order of men is hated or despised.
" His principles both of thought and action were great
and comprehensive. By a solicitous examination of ob
jections, and judicious comparison of opposite argu
ments, he attained what enquiry never gives but to in
dustry and perspicuity, a firm and unshaken settlement of
conviction. But his firmness was without asperity ; for,
knowing with how much difficulty truth was sometimes
found, he did no* wonder that many missed it.
" The general course of his life was determined by
his profession; he studied tlie sacred volumes in the ori
ginal languages ; with what diligence and success, his
Notes upon the Psalms give sufficient evidence. He
c a

xxxvi SOME ACCOUNT OF
To mark the gradual progress of our illus
trious painter's reputation from year to year, is
not the object of the present memoir; but the
once endeavoured to add the knowledge of Arabick to
that of Hebrew ; but finding his thoughts too much di
verted from other studies, after some time desisted from
his purpose.
" His discharge of parochial duties was exemplary.
How his sermons were composed, may be learned from
the excellent volume which he has given to the publick ;
but how they were delivered, can be known only to those
that heard them ; for as he appeared in the pulpit, words
will not easily describe him. His delivery, though un
constrained, was not negligent, and though forcible, was
not turbulent; disdaining anxious nicety of emphasis,
and laboured artifice of action, it captivated the hearer by
its natural dignity, it roused the sluggish and fixed the
volatile, and detained the mind upon the subject, without
directing it to the speaker.
" The grandeur and solemnity ofthe preacher did not
intrude upon his general behaviour ; at the table of his
friends he was a companion communicative and atten
tive, of unaffected manners, of manly cheerfulness, wil
ling to please, and easy to be pleased. His acquaintance
was universally solicited, and his presence obstructed no
enjoyment which religion did not forbid. Though stu
dious, he was popular ; though inflexible, he was candid ;
and though metaphysical, yet orthodox."
Mr. Mudge's Sermons, which have been so highly and
justly praised, were published in one volume, in 1739.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xxxvii
era ofthe establishment of that Academy which
gave rise to the following Discourses,
forming a memorable epoch in the history of
the Arts, may justly claim particular notice.
The painters of great Britain from about
the year 1750,23 with a view of promoting
their art by painting from living models, as
sociated together in a kind of Academy in
St. Martin's Lane, which they supported by
annual subscription. Their efforts, however,
were not very successful till ten years after
wards ;M when, in imitation of foreign
33 The first effort towards an Institution of this kind in
the present century, was made in 1724, when Sir James
Thornhill opened an Academy for Drawing at his house
in Covent-garden. He had before proposed to Lord
Halifax to obtain the foundation of a Royal Academy, to
be built at the upper end of the Mews, with apartments
for the Professors, &c. See Walpole's Anecdotes of
Paintinc, iv. 45. s
a* Their first Exhibition was in the year 1760. " The
Artists (says Dr. Johnson in a letter to Joseph Baretti,
dated London, June 10, 1761,) have instituted a yearly
Exhibition of pictures and statues, in imitation, as I am
told, of foreign Academies. This year was the second

xxxviii SOME ACCOUNT OF
Academies, they formed a scheme of an an
nual exhibition of their works, which, it
was supposed, would be a probable means
of attracting the publick attention. In this
speculation they were not disappointed ; and
having thus secured a firmer footing, they
afterwards (Jan. 26, 1765,) obtained a royal
charter of incorporation.*5 Not long after
their incorporation, however, the Artists
who were not incorporated, conceiving some
jealousy against this body, resolved no longer
to submit to their regulations, and to under
take an Exhibition of their own : which was
continued for a few years with no great suc
cess. To compose these jarring interests,
Exhibition. They please themselves much with the mul
titude of spectators, and imagine that the English School
will rise in reputation." Boswell's Life of Johnson,
i. 328.
35 The principle artists from whom this scheme ori
ginated, were Mr. Moser, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Penny, Mr.
Hayman, Mr. West. Mr. Sandby, Mr. Stubbs, and Mr.
(afterwards Sir William J Chambers ; whose ready access to
his Majesty, in consequence of his official situation, faci
litated and gave efficacy to his exertions.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xxxix
and to give permanent dignity to a new esta
blishment, his Majesty, in Dec. 176s,86 was
pleased to institute a Royal Academy of
Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, com
posed of " the ablest and most respectable
a* An Academy had been constituted under the royal
patronage in 1767 ; but the plan was more confined, and
the Institution was supported by an Annual Subscription.
The new Royal Establishment instituted in 1768, which
still subsists, was to be supported by the produce of an
annual Exhibition ; and the deficiency (if any) was to be-
supplied out of his Majesty's privy purse. For a few
years the infant institution required the aid of his Ma
jesty's bounty ; who, at various times, was pleased to ad
vance for its support above £oool. The Exhibitions,
however, becoming annually more profitable, in a short
time were more than adequate to support the establish
ment ; in consequence of which the Academy have now
a considerable property in the Stocks, part of which they
have lately appropriated to create a fund for decayed
artists. — From 1769 to 1780 the Exhibitions produced,
at an average, about 1500I. annually ; from 1780 to
j 796, about 2500I. The receipts in 1780, when the
Academy exhibited their works for the first time at
Somerset-place, amounted to more than 3000I. and .those
of 1796 exceeded the sum produced by the Exhibition
of 1780; being the year of the greatest receipt from the
first institution of the Academy.

xl SOME ACCOUNT. OF
Artists resident in great Britain ;"*7 and Mr.
Reynolds, holding unquestionably the first
rank in his profession, was nominated their
President. Soon afterwards he received the
honour of knighthood.
It was no part of the prescribed duty
of his office to read lectures to the Aca
demy ; but our author voluntarily imposed
this task upon himself, for the reasons
which he has assigned in his fifteenth Di3-v
course: " If prizes were to be given, it ap
peared not only proper, but almost indispen
sably necessary, that something should be
said by the President on the delivery of those
prizes ; and the President for his own credit
a? The two principal objects of this Institution, as
stated by the Artists in a Petition to his Majesty, No
vember 28, 1768, were, 1. " the establishment of a well-
regulated School or Academy of Design, for the use
of Students in the Arts ; and 2. an Annual Exhibition
open to all Artists of distinguished merit, where they might
bffer their performances to publick inspection, and acquire
that degree of reputation and encouragement which thev
should be deemed to deserve.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. . xii
would wish to say something more than mere
words of compliment; which, by being
frequently repeated, would soon become
flat and uninteresting, and by being uttered
to many, would at last become a distinction
to none : I thought, therefore, if I were to
preface this compliment with some instruc
tive observations on the art, when we
crowned merit in the artists whom we re
warded, I might do something to animate
and guide them in their future attempts."
Such was the laudable motive which pro
duced the fifteen Discourses, pronounced
by our author between the 2d of Jan. 1769,
and the 10th of Dec. i790:a8 a work which
a8 In the first year the President delivered two Dis
courses ; in the three years following a Discourse annual
ly ; afterwards, only every second year, with the excep
tion of that spoken on the removal of the Royal Acade
my to Somerset-Place.
Previous to the publication of the first edition of these"
works, a wandering rumour had reached me, that the
Discourses delivered by our author were not written by
himself, but by his friend Dr. Johnson. This notion
appearing to me too ridiculous and absurd to be gravely

J»

xiii SOME ACCOUNT OF
contains such a body of just criticism on an
extremely difficult subject, clothed in such
confuted, I took no notice of it : leaving those who
were weak enough to give credit to such an opinion, to
reconcile it with the account given by our author himself
in a former page, in which, while he acknowledges how
much he had profited by the conversation and instruction
of that extraordinary man, who " had qualified his mind
to think justly," he at the same time informs us, that
Johnson had not contributed even a single sentiment, to
his Discourses.
A new hypothesis, however, has been lately suggested :
and among many other statements concerning the late
Mr. Burke, which I know to be erroneous, we have
been confidently told that they were written by that
gentleman. The readers of poetry are not to learn, that a similar
tale has been told of some of our celebrated English poets.
According to some, Denham did not write his admired
Cooper's Hill; and with a certain species of criticks,
bur great moral poet tells us,
" —  'most authors steal their works, or buy ;

" Garth did not write his own Dispensary.
Such insinuations, however agreeable to the envious and
malignant, who may give them a temporary currency, can
have but little weight with the judicious and ingenuous
part of mankind, and therefore in general merit only
silent contempt. But that Mr. Burke was the author of
all such parts of these Discourses as do not relate to painting

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xJfi
perspicuous, elegant, and nervous language,
that it is no exaggerated panegyrick to assert,
and sculpture, (what these are, the discoverer of this pre
tended secret has not informed us,) has lately been so
peremptorily asserted, and so particular an appeal has
been made on this occasion to their editor, that I think it
my duty to refute this injurious calumny, lest posterity
should be deceived and misled by the minuteness of un
contradicted misrepresentation, delivered to the world
with all the confidence of truth. Fortunately I am
able to give a more decisive testimony on this subject,
than could reasonably be expected from any one man
concerning the writings of another.
To the question then, whether I have not found
among my late friend's papers several of his Discourses
in the handwriting of Mr. Burke, or of some other
unnamed person, I answer, that I never saw any one of his
Discourses in the handwriting of that illustrious statesman,
or of any other person whatsoever, except Sir Joshua Rey
nolds ; and secondly I say, that I am as firmly persuaded that
tlie whole body of these admirable works was composed by
Sir Joshua Reynolds, as I am certain that at this moment
I am employing my pen in vindication of his fame. I do
not mean to assert, that he did not avail himself of the
judgment of his critical friends, to render them as perfect
as he could ; or that he was above receiving from them
that species of literary assistance which every candid lite
rary man is willing to receive, and which even that tran
scendent genius, Mr. Burke, in some instances did not
disdain tp accept. Of the early Discourses therefore I

*tiv SOME ACCOUNT OF
that it will last as long as the English tongue,
and contribute no less than the productions
have no doubt that some were submitted to Dr. Johnson,
and some to Mr. Burke for their examination and revi
sion ; and probably each of those persons suggested to
their author some minute verbal improvements. Four
of the latter Discourses, in- his own handwriting, and
warm from the brain, the author did me the honour to
submit fo my perusal ; and with great freedom I suggested
to him some verbal alterations, and some new arrange
ments, in each of them, which he very readily adopted.
Of one I well remember he gave me the general, outline
in conversation, as we returned together from an excur
sion to the country, and before it was yet committed to
paper. He soon afterwards composed that Discourse
conformably to the plan which he had crayoned out, and
sent it to me for such remarks on the language of it as
should occur to me. When he wrote his last Discourse,
I was not in London ; and that Discourse, I know, was
submitted to the critical examination of another friend ;
and that friend was not Mr. Burke. Such was the mighty
aid that our author received from those whom he honoured
with his confidence and esteem !
The reader has before him the testimony of Sir Joshua
Reynolds himself, as far as this calumny relates to Dr.
Johnson ; he has the decisive testimony of Mr. Burke,
both in the passage already quoted and in a further ex
tract from one of his letters to the editor, which will be
Found in a subsequent page ; and, if such high authorities
ean admit of any additional confirmation, he has (what-

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xW
of his pencil to render his name immortal.*9
ever it may be worth) the testimony of the editor also.
Let this plain tale, therefore, for ever seal up the lips of
those who have presumed most injuriously to sully and de
preciate the literary reputation of a man, who is acknow
ledged by the unanimous voice of his contemporaries to
have been a signal ornament of the age in which he lived ;
who : was not less profound in the theory, than excellent
in the practice, of his art ; and whose admirable works,
of each kind, will transmit his name with unfading lustre
to the latest posterity.
29 Some years after the publication of the first seven of
the Discourses, the Author had the honour to receive
from the late Empress of Russia, a gold box with a
basso relievo of her Imperial Majesty in the lid, set round
with diamonds ; accompanied with a note within, written
with her own hand, containing these words : " Pour le
Chevalier Reynolds, en temoignage du cententement que j'ai res-
sentie a la lecture de ses excellens Discours sur la peinturc."
Before he received this mark of her Imperial Majesty's
favour, he had been commissioned to paint an Historical
Picture for her, on any subject that he thought fit. The
subject which he chose was, The Infant Hercules strang
ling the Serpents. For this picture, which is now at St.
Petersburg!), his Executors received from her Imperial
Majesty, fifteen hundred guineas.
The first seven of the Discourses have been translated
into French, and 1 believe into Italian ; and doubtless a
complete translation of all our author's works, in each of
those languages, will soon appear.

xlvi SOME ACCOUNT OF
To the fame of the Academy the President
from its first institution contributed not a lit
tle, by exhibiting every year a considerable
number of his admirable performances ;'° and
he so highly respected Mr. Moser, to whose
unwearied endeavours he conceived this ex
cellent Institution in a great degree owed its
establishment, that on his death in 1783, he
honoured his memory by a publick testimo
nial, which probably appeared in some news
paper of the day, and so well deserves a
more permanent repository, that I shall give
it a place below.31
30 Between 1769 and 1790, inclusive, he exhibited, at
the Roya! Academy, two hundred and forty-four pictures ;
at the Exhibitions previous to the institution of the Aca
demy, between 1760 and 1768, twenty-five. Total 369.
In the whole of this period, the year 1767 was the only
one in which he exhibited nothing.
31 I know not where this eulogy originally appeared ;
probably, however, it was published in some of the daily
papers. It is now printed from a copy in our author's
hand-writing : " Jan. 24, 1783.
" Yesterday died at his apartments in Soraerset-Place.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xlvi.
What were the methods by which, this
great .painter attained to such consummate
George Michael Moser, Keeper of the Royal Academy ;
aged seventy .eight years. He was a native of Switzerland,
but came to England very young, to follow the profession
of a chaser in gold, in which art he has been always con
sidered as holding the first rank. But his skill was not con
fined to this alone ; he possessed a universal knowledge
in all the branches of painting and sculpture, which per
fectly qualified him for the place that he held in the Aca
demy, the business of which principally consists in super-
intending and instructing the Students, who draw or
model from the antique figures.
" His private character deserves a more ample testi
mony than this transient memorial. Few have passed a
more inoffensive, or perhaps a more happy life ; if happi
ness or the enjoyment of life consists in having the mind
always occupied, always intent upon some useful art, by
which fame and distinction may be acquired. Mr. Mo-
ser's whole attention was absorbed eithep in the practice,
or something that related to the advancement, of art.
He may truly be said in every sense to have been the
father of the present race of Artists ; for long before the
Royal Academy was established, he presided over the
little Societies which met first in Salisbury-Court, and
afterwards in St. Martin's Lane, where they drew from
living models. Perhaps nothing that can be said, will
more strongly imply his amiable disposition, than that all
the different Societies with which he has been connected
have always turned their eyes upon him for theirTieasurer
and chief Manager ; when perhaps they would not have

xlviii SOME ACCOUNT OF
.excellence in his profession, it is now, I
fear, too late to inquire ; yet as I find
contentedly submitted to any other authority. His early
society was composed of men whose names are well
known in the world; such as Hogarthv Rysbrach, Rou
biliac, Wills, Ellis, Vanderbank, &c.
" Though he had outlived all the companions of his
youth, he might to the last have boasted of a succession
equally numerous ; for all that knew him were his
friends. •" When he was appointed Keeper of the Royal Aca
demy, his conduct was exemplary, and worthy to be
imitated by whoever shall succeed him in that office. As
he loved the employment of teaching, he could not fail of
discharging that duty with diligence. By the propriety
of his conduct he united the love and respect of -the Stu.
dents : he kept order in the Academy, and made himself
respected without the austerity or importance of office ;
all noise and tumult immediately ceased on his appear
ance ; at the same time there was nothing forbidding in
his manner, which might restrain the pupils from freely
applying to him for advice or assistance.
" All this excellence had a firm foundation: he was a
man of sincere and ardent piety, and has left an illustrious
example of the exactness with which the subordinate
duties may be expected to be discharged by him, whose
first care is to please God.
He has left one daughter behind him, who has dis.
tinguished herself by the admirable manner in which she
paints and composes Pieces of Flowers, of which many

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xlix
among his papers a few slight hints upon
this subject, in which he speaks of his merits
and defects with that candour which strongly
marked his character, though they are only
detached thoughts, and did not receive his
final revision and correction, I am unwilling
to suppress them :
" Not having the advantage of an early
academical education, I never had the faci
lity of drawing the naked figure, which an
artist ought to have. It appeared to me too
late, when I went to Italy and began to feel
my own deficiencies, to endeavour to acquire
that readiness of invention which I observed
others to possess. I consoled myself, how
ever, by remarking that these ready inventors
are extremely apt to acquiesce in imperfection;
and that if I had not their facility, I should
samples have been seen in the Exhibitions. She has had
the honour of being much employed in this way by their
Majesties, and for her extraordinary merit has been re
ceived into the Royal .Academy."
VOL I. d

j SOME ACCOUNT OF
for this very reason be more likely to avoid
the defect which too often accompanies it ;
a trite and common-place mode of invention.
How difficult it is for the artist who pos
sesses this facility, to guard against careless
ness and common-place invention, is well
known, and in a kindred art Metastasio. is an
eminent instance ; who always complained
of the great difficulty he found in attaining
correctness in consequence of having been
in his , youth an Improwisatore . — Having
this defect constantly in my mind, I never
was contented with common-place attitudes32
or inventions of any kind'. —
3* Our great artist's excellence in this respect has been
highly extolled by the late Lord Orford.
" How painting has rekindled from its embers, (says
that lively and ingenious writer,) the works of many
living artists demonstrate. The prints after the works of
Sir Joshua Reynolds have spread his fame to Italy,
where they have not at present [1780] a single painter
that can pretend to rival an imagination so fertile, that the
attitudes of his portraits are as various as those of his
tory. In what age were paternal despair and the hor.-

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ii
" I considered myself as playing a great
game, and, instead of beginning to save
money, I laid it out faster than I got it, in
purchasing the best examples of art that
could be procured ; for ' I even borrowed
money for this purpose. The possessing
portraits by Titian, Vandyek, Rembrandt,
&c. I considered as the best kind of wealth.
By studying carefully the works of great
masters, this advantage is obtained ; we"
find that certain niceties of expression are
capable of being executed, which otherwise
we might suppose beyond the reach of art.
This gives us a confidence in ourselves ; and
we are thus incited to endeavour at not only
the same happiness of execution, but also at
roars of death pronounced with more expressive accents
than in his picture of Count Ugolino ? When was infan
tine loveliness, or embryo-passions, touched with sweeter
truth, than in his portraits of Miss Price and the baby
Jupiter ?" — " The exuberance of his inventions (the
same writer observes, in a note,) will be the grammar of
future painters of portraits." Anecdotes of Paintinc,
&c. vol. iv. Advertisement.
d 2

Iii SOME ACCOUNT OF
other congenial excellencies. Study, indeed*,
consists in learning to see nature, and may
be called the art of using other men's minds*
By this kind of contemplation and exercise,.
we are taught to think in their way, and
sometimes to attain their excellence. Thus,
for instance, if I had never seen any of the
works of Correggio, I should never perhaps.
have remarked in nature the expression
which I find in one of his pieces ; or if J had
remarked it, I might have thought it too
difficult or perhaps impossible to be executed.
Ic My success, and continual improvement
in my art, (if I may be allowed that express
sion,) may be ascribed in a good measure to
a principle which I will boldly recommend
to imitation ? I mean a principle of honesty $
which, in this as in all other instances, is
according to the vulgar proverb, certainly
the best policy .- I always endeavoured to
do my best. Great or vulgar, good subjects
or bad, all had nature ; by the exact repre*

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Iiii
sentation of vvhich, or even by the endeavour
to give such a representation, the painter
cannot but improve in his art. —
" My principal labour was employed on
the whole together p3 and I was never weary
of changing, and trying different modes and
different effects. I bad always some scheme
33 This also, if I recollect right, is said to have been the
principal object of Correggio ; and, however toilsome,
h in various places -strongly recommended by our author.
" A steady attention to the general effect, (as he has ob
served in his fourteenth Discourse,) takes up more time,
arid is much mote laborious to the" mind, than any mode
of high finishing, or smoothness, without such attention."
Again in the eleventh Discourse :
" There is nothing in our art which enforces such con
tinued exertion and circumspection, as an- attention- to the
general effect of the whole. It requires much study and
much practice ; it requires the painter's entire mind ;
whereas the ftarts may be finishing by nice touches
while his mind is engaged on other matters : he may even
hear a play or a novel read without much disturbance.
The Artist who flatters his own indolence, will continu
ally find himself evading this active exertion, and applying
his thoughts to the ease and laziness of highly finishing
the parts ; producing at last what Cowley calls---" labo
rious effects of idleness."

HV SOME ACCOUNT OF
in my -mind, and a perpetual desire to ad
vance. By constantly endeavouring to do
my best, I acquired a power of doing that
with spontaneous facility, which at first was
the effort of my whole mind : and my
reward was threefold ; the satisfaction result
ing from acting on this just principle, im
provement in my art, and the pleasure derived
from a constant pursuit after excellence.
**¦ I was always willing to believe that
my uncertainty of proceeding in my works,
that is, my never being sure of my hand,
and my frequent alterations, arose from a
refined taste, which could not acquiesce in
any thing short of a high degree of excellence.
I had not an opportunity of being early
initiated in the principles of colouring : no
man indeed could teach me. If I have
never been settled with respect to colouring,
let it at the same time be remembered, that
my unsteadiness in this respect proceeded
from an inordinate desire to possess every

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Iv
kind of excellence that I saw in the works
of others, without considering that there is
in colouring, as in style, excellencies which
are incompatible with each other : how
ever, this pursuit, or indeed any similar
pursuit, prevents the artist from being tired
of his art. — We all know how often those
masters who sought after colouring, changed
their manner ; whilst others, merely from not
seeing various modes, acquiesced all their
lives in that with which they set out. On
the contrary, I tried every effect of colour,
and by leaving out every colour in its turn,
showed every colour that I could do without
it. As I alternately left out every colour, I
tried every new colour; and often, as is well
known, failed. The former practice, I am
aware, may be compared by those whose
first object is ridicule, to that of the poet
mentioned in the Spectator, who in a poem
of twenty-four books, contrived in each
book to leave out a letter. But I was influ
enced by no such idle or foolish affecta-

Jvi SOME ACCOUNT OF
tion. My fickleness in the mode of colouring
arose from an eager desire to attain the highest
excellence.34 This is the only merit I can
assume to myself from my conduct in that
yespect." 3* Our author was so anxious to discover the methods
used by the Venetian Painters, that he destroyed some
Valuable ancient pictures by rubbing but the various layers
of colour, in order to investigate and ascertain it.
Shortly hefore the first edition of these works was pub
lished, some hopes were entertained that the process
employed by the great colourists of former times had been
preserved ; and I was furnished by an eminent artist
with an account of the manner in which it had been
discovered. Among the manuscript papers of Captain
Morley, who had travelled into Italy in the beginning of
the last century, was found one supposed to contain
the process of colouring used by Titian, the Bassans, and
other masters of the Venetian School ; which appeared to
several of our principal artists and connoisseurs so likely
to be genuine, that they gave the possessor of these paper&
a valuable consideration for the secret that they con
tained, which was communicated to them under an obliga
tion not to divulge it. As far however as it has hithertq
been tried, this process has not, I conceive, answered the
expectations that were previously entertained concerning it.
After the gross and unparalleled imposition practised
on the publick in the year 1795, by means of forged
^tanuscript^, under the naime of Shakspeare, (the fabri-

sir '-Joshua Reynolds. _vn
Thus ingenuously and modestly has this
great painter spoken of himself in the few
i
cation of which, though detected, found a puny, but per
fectly homogeneous, champion, whose mortified vanity
prompted him to abet and countenance .hat silly fiction,
by confident and groundless assertions, false quotations,
and arguments still more flimsy and absurd than the im
posture itself,) after such a deception, it was not at all
surprising that the cautious inquirer should have been S.OVr
in giving credit to any new discovery of ancient manuscripts :
but the cases were extremely different ; for whether
the process of colouring said to be discovered was the
genuine method of the Venetian School, or at least one
similar in its effects, was a matter of experiment, and
easily ascertained. Some experiments have accordingly
been made, ^nd it seems, with no great success. How
ever ancient therefore these documents may be, they
hitherto appear to be of little value.
It is highly probable that the great Colourists of formet
rimes used certain methods in mixing and laying oil
their colours, which they did not communicate to others,
or at least did not set down in writing ; their scholars con
tenting themselves with adopting as much of the practice
of their masters, as inspection' and close observation would
give them ;¦ and that by being thus Confined to oral tradi
tion, the mode which they followed, has been lost. Ouf
great painter, however, had undoubtedly attained a part of
the ancient process used in the Venetian School ; and by
various methods of his own invention produced a similar,
though perhaps not quite so brilliant an effect of colour.
5

_yi_i SOME ACCOUNT OF
fragments which I have found on this inte
resting subject. On the last topick, he
might with great truth have added, that he
not only always aspired to attain the highest
excellence of colouring, but that in very
many instances he did attain it; there be
ing no one particular in which he left his
contemporaries so far behind him, as the
richness and mellowness of his tints, when
his colours were successful and perma
nent." Had he chosen to walk in the
35 The set of pictures which he painted as designs for
the window of New College Chapel, are 'eminent and
brilliant instances of the truth of this observation. How
ever high expectation may have been raised by Mr.
Warton's very elegant verses on this subject, it will be
fully gratified by the view of these admirable pieces.
They now form a beautiful decoration of that apart
ment, which formerly was appropriated to the exhibi
tion of the various works of this great master, after they
were dismissed from his painting-room.
As the West Window of New College Chapel, deco
rated as it now is, will long continue to add to this great
Painter's reputation, his own observations on this sub
ject may not be unacceptable to ihe numerous visitors
who shall hereafter be induced to view it. The original
scheme, .it appears, was, to distribute the various figures

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Hx
common beaten path, he could have found
no difficulty in following the ordinary me-.
thod pursued by much inferior artists; by
in different places in the Chapel, but this plan was
abandoned, as it should seem on our author's sugges
tion ; and on his suggestion also the stone-work of the
window was altered, so as to admit one large compart
ment for paintings in the centre : an alteration in effect
ing which the gentleman to whom Sir Joshua Reynolds
addresses two letters on this occasion, who was then a
fellow of New College, was actively instrumental. From
these letters,, which were obligingly communicated to
me by Ozias Humphry, Esq. R. A. I subjoin the fol
lowing extracts, in confirmation of what has been now
stated. Leicester-Fields, Dec. 27, 1777.
" I am extremely glad to hear the Society have deter
mined to place all our works together in the West Win
dow, to make one complete whole, instead of being dis
tributed in different parts of the Chapel. In my con
versation with Mr. Jervais about it, he thought it might"
be possible to change the stone-work of the window, so
as to make a principal predominant space in the centre,
without which it will be difficult to produce a great effect.
As Mr. Jervais is now at Oxford, 1 need add no more;
I have already expressed to him how much I wished this
alteration might be practicable." —
In a subsequent letter (Jan. gth, 1778,) he says, —
" Supposing this scheme to take place, [the alteration
above proposed,] my idea, is, to paint in the great space

k SOME account of
deviating from it, he attained that grace
which sheds such a lustre on far the greater
fart of his works.36
in the centre, Christ in the mangef, on the principle that
Correggio has done it, in the famous picture called the
Notte ; making all the light proceed from Christ. These
tricks of the art, as they may be called, seem to be
more properly adapted to glass painting, than any other
kind. This middle space will be filled with the Virgin,
Christ, Joseph, and Angels ; the two smaller spaces
on each side I shall fill with the shepherds coming
to worship ; and the seven divisions below with the
figures of Faith, Hope, and Charity, and the Four Car
dinal Virtues ; which will make a proper rustick base
or foundation for the support of the Christian Religion.
Upon the whole it appears to me, that chance has pre
sented to us materials so well adapted to our purpose,
that if we had the whole window of our own invention
and contrivance, we should not probably have succeeded
better," —
The original Picture of the Nativity, a copy of which
occupies the middle compartment of this window, is in
the collection of the Duke of Rutland.
3* A notion prevails concerning this great painter;
that in the majority of his works the colours have' entirely
faded and perished ; but this is by no means the case :
far the greater part of his pictures have preserved their
original hue, and are in perfect preservation. Those
Which have failed-, have been mentioned again and again,
and thus have been multiplied in the imaginations of

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Jxi
. Though the landscapes which he has given
in the back-ground of many of his portraits,
are eminently beautiful, he seldom exercised
his hand in regular landscape-painting; his
Qnly works of this description, that I know
of, being one in the collection of Sir Brooke
Bopthby, Bart. ; another in that of Lord Pel
ham at Stanmer, and the third a View from
Richmond-Hill, in the collection of the
EaLrJ. of Inchiquin. A few more may per
haps be found in other collections. But ia.
the historical department he took a wider
range ; and by his successful exertions in that
higher branch of his art, he has not only
enriched various cabinets at home, but ex-

eonnoisseurs. — Nor should it ,be forgotten, that the pic
tures of other considerable painters have not been more
durable than his. As many perished pictures of Gains
borough, I have been informed, may be found in cabi
nets, as of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Even the great colour-
ists of antiquity were not entirely free from this defect.
Several pictures of Titian and Vandyek, it is well known,
have wholly lost that brilliancy which, without doubt, they
once possessed.

lxii SOME ACCOUNT OF
tended the fame of the English School to
foreign countries.37

37 The most considerable of his Historical and Mis
cellaneous Pieces are the following ; to which, for the
sake of posterity, I have adjoined the prices paid for them
and the purchasers' names, where I could discover them.

Subjects.

Prices.

Purchasers.

Garrick, between Tragedy
and Comedy  300

Thais [Emily Pott]  100
Cleopatra dissolving the
pearl [Kitty Fisher] .... 
Venus, chiding Cupid for
learning arithmetick . . . 100
Another, — the same subject, too
A Captain of Banditti .... 35
A Shepherd Boy  ^a
Count Ugolino  400
A boy in a Venetian dress . . 
Lesbia,  75
Wang y Tong, a Chinese. 70
A Gipsey telling fortunes . . 350
A boy with a drawing in his
hand  50
Beggar Children  * , 

Gs. the Earl of Hali
fax. Since his
death sold to Mr-
Angerstein, for
250 Guineas.
. . Hon. Mr. Greville.

. . The Earl of Char
lemont.
. . Sir B. Boothby, Bt.
. . John Crewe, Esq.
. . Lord Irwin.
. . The D. of Dorset.
¦ . . Do.
.. Do.
.. Do.
.. Do.
.. Do.
. . Do.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. kite
During the brilliant career which he ran,
his profession did not permit him often to
ipake excursions from town. In the sum
mer, however, he at different periods visited
Subjects. Prices. Purchasers.
Covent-Garden Cupid  — — . . The D. of Dorset,
Cupid, as a link-boy   • • Do,
A boy with a child on his
back, and cabbage-nets in
his hand   . . Do.
The Comick Muse (Mrs.
Abington)   . . Do.
A Bacchante (Me. Baccelli)  . . Do-
A Girl with a bird-cage . .  . . Do.
The calling of Samuel  ^o Gs. Do.
Another, — the same subject. j§ . . Earl of Darnley.
Mr. and Mrs. Garrick, sit
ting on a garden- seat; Mr.
Garrick reading to her. .. 150 .. The Hon. T. Fitz-
maurice.
A Girl with a mouse-trap. . . 50 . . Count D'Ademar.
A Landscape  50 . . Earl of Aylesford.
A sleeping boy  50 . . Do.
A Landscape  50 . . Sir B. Boothby, Bt,
The Marchioness Towns
hend,. Mrs. Gardiner, and
the Hon. Mrs. Beresford,
decorating the statue of
Hymen  450 . . Viscount Mountjoy.
Hope nursing Love   , . Lord Holland.
Another, — the same subject.—— _ . Earl of Inchiquin.

Uv SOME ACCOUNT OF
the seats of the Duke of Marlborough, Lore*
Boringdoni Lord Eliot, Lord Ossory, Lord

Subjects. Prices. • Purchasers.
Another, — the same subject. 150 . . Henry Hope, Esq.
A Strawberry Girl  jo Gs. Earl of Carysfort.
A Nymph [Mrs. Hartley]
and young Bacchus   ... De-
The Snake in the Grass.
[This has been called,
Love untying the zone of
Beauty.]  200 .. Do.
Another  .A present. Henry Hope, Esq.
Another  100 G». Prince Potemkin.
The Continence of Scipio. 500 . . Do.
The Nativity [a design for
the window of New Col
lege Chapel in Oxford.] 1200 . . TheD. of Rutland.
The infant Jupiter  100 .. Do.
An old man reading a ballad.  . . Do.
The Calling of Samuel  100 .. Do.
A boy praying. , . . .  ',50 . . Sent to France by
Mr. Chamier, in
1778.
The Death of Dido  200 . . Mr. Bryant.
The Theory of Painting, ..  <~ .. In the Royal Aca
demy.
Another  „  . . In the collection of
theE. of Inchiquin.
A Shepherd Boy.   . . In the same collec
tion.
A Shepherded with a lamb. — — '¦ . . Do.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. kv
Palmerston, Mr. Burke, and other friends ;'9
and occasionally spent a few days at his villa

Subjects, Prices.
A Girl with a kitten   . .
A Girl with a muff.   . .
Caelia lamenting the death of
her sparrow. [Mrs. Col
ly er.]  ¦
L'Allegro [Mrs. Hale] ; se
veral figures in the back
ground.  ' . .
Robinetta. [the Hon. Mrs,
Tollemache.J  
Diana. [Lady Napier.] .... — —
Diana, [the Duchess of
Manchester.]   . .
Master Wynne, as St. John .
Master Crewe, as Hen. VIII.  . .
Master Herbert, in the cha
racter of Bacchus.  75 Gs
Juno. [Lady Blake.]  
Hebe [Miss Meyer, a whole-
length figure on a half-
length canvass.]  — —
Melancholy [Miss Jones.] 
Young Hannibal [a boy in
armour.]  —
vol. 1. e

Purchasers.
In the collection of
Lord Inchiquin.
Do.

Lord Harewood.

The Duke of Man
chester.
John Crew, Esq.
Lord Porchester.

lxvi SOME ACCOUNT OF
on Richmond-Hill; but he had very little
relish for a country life, and was always glad
Subjects, Prices. Purchasers.
Francis, Duke of Bedford,
as St. George; with his
brothers, Lord John and
Lord William Russel . .  — — —
The Fortune-teller. [Lady
Charlotte and Lord H.
Spencer.] .   . . The Duke of Marl
borough.
Miranda [The Hon. Mrs.
Tollemache] and Caliban.  
St. Agnes [Mrs. Quaring-
ton]  go Gs. R. P. Knight, Esq.
The Triumph of Truth. [Dr.
Beattie, with two figures
rep»esenting Truth and
Falsehood]   . . Dr. Beattie.
A boy laughing  5o . . — Bromwell, Esq.
Ariadne  35 . . W. Lock, Esq.
Dionysius, Areopagita .... •  
The Captive. [This has been
called, the Banished Lord,
and Cartouche]  80 . . Charles Long, Esq.
The Calling of Samuel ....  Do.
Lady Sarah Bunbury, sacri
ficing to the Graces ....  . . Sir C. Bunbury. Bt.
The infant Moses in the
bulrushes  125 . . The Duke*of Leeds.
E(Jwin  £5 .. Do*

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. kvii
to return to London, to which he was nob
less attached than Dr. Johnson : with him,
Subjects. ,. Prices; Purchasers.
A child with Angels....  .. The Duke of Leeds.
TheVirgin and Child. [This
picture was not quite
finished]  65 G. Mr. J. Bannister.
The Angel contemplating
The Cross ; being the up
per part of the Nativity.  . . Bequeathed to the
Duke of Portland.
The four Cardinal Virtues,
Justice, Prudence, Tem*
perance, and Fortitude;
and Faith, Hope, and
Charity ; Designs for the
Window of New College.
Oxford, painted by Mr.
Jervais  — — . . Ih the collection of
the Earl oflnchi-
quin.
A Bacchante  56 ..Sir W Hamilton.
Another  75 ..The Earl of Lau
derdale.
A holy family  -,. 506 . . Mr. Macklin, Print,
seller. After-
Wards sold to L.
Gwydir for 700
guineas.
e a

lxvlii SOME ACCOUNT OF
justly considering that metropolis as the
head-quarters of intellectual society. In
Subjects. Prices. Purchasers.
Tuccia, the Vestal Virgin. 300 Gs. Mr. Macklin.
The Gleaners [Mrs. Mack
lin, her daughter, and
Miss Potts]. .......... 300 . . Do.
St. John  150 . . — Willet, Esq,
St. Cecilia [Mrs. Sheridan,
and two daughters of 
Coote Purdon, Esq.] . . . . 150 . . R. B. Sheridan,
Esq.
Two Groups, in the manner
of Paul Veronese; one
containing the portraits of
the Duke of Leeds, Lord
Dundas, Constantine
Lord Mulgrave, Lord
Seaforth, the Hon. C.
Greville, Charles Crowle,
Esq. and the Right Hon.
Sir Joseph Banks, Bart. ;
the other, those of Sir W.
Hamilton, Sir W. W.
Wynne, Bart. Richard
Thompson, Esq. Sir John
Taylor,  Payne Gal
way, Esq. John Smyth,
Esq. and Spencer Stan
hope, Esq.  . . Society of Dilettanti.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. lxk
July 1781, in order to view the most cele
brated productions of the Flemish and Dutch

Subjects. Prices. Purchasers.
A boy with a port-folio. .. 50 Gs. Earl of Warwick.
A studious boy   . . G. Hardinge, Esq.
A pouting girl   . . Do.
The family of George, Duke
of Marlborough  700 . . The Duke of Marl
borough.
Circe  .' . 35 . . Sir C. Bunbury, Bt.
The Children in the Wood. 50 . . Lord Palmerston,
A Girl leaning on a pedestal. 75 .. Do.
The Infant Academy   . . Do. by bequest.
Venus   . . The Earl of Upper
Ossory, by bequest.
Una, from Spencer. [Miss
Beauclerk.]  — — . . . In the collection of
Lord Inchiquin.
King Lear   . . Do.
Heads of Angels, a study.
From a daughter of Lord
William Gordon  100 .. Lord W.. Gordon.
Cardinal Beaufort  500 . . Mr. Aid. Boydelf.
Robert Goodfellow  too . . Do.
The Cauldron-Scene in
Macbeth  1000I . . Do
Resignation, from Gold
smith's Deserted Village. — — . . In the collection of
Lord Inchiquin.

IXX SOME ACCOUNT OF
Schools, in company with his friend Mr.
Metcalfe, he made a tour to the Netherlands
Subjects. Prices. Purchasers.
Venus, and a boy piping . . 250 Gs. J. J. Angerstein,
' Esq.
Mrs. Siddons, in the charac
ter of the Tragick Muse. 700 .. N. Desenfans, Esq.
A Girl with a cat   .. Do.
A Girl with a third's nest ..  .. Do.
, The Infant Hercules in the
Cradle. [A single figure,
painted before the large
picture.] 150 . . Earl Fitzwilliam.
Hercules, strangling the
serpents  1500 . . Empress of Russia,
Cupid and Psyche . . . . . . 250 . . Charles Long, Esq.
Cymon and Ighigenia.[This
was the last fancy-picture
painted by Sir Joshua
Reynolds.]   . . In the collection of
Lord Inchiquin,

38 In a Letter to Mr. Baretti, June 10, 1761, Dr.
Johnson says— " Reynolds is without a rival, and con
tinues to add thousands to thousands." Writing a few
months afterwards to the same person, he says, " Mr.
Reynolds gets six thousand a year."
39 In 176a he spent some weeks in his native county,
Devonshire, accompanied by Dr. Johnson. Of this
visit during whioh they were eatertained at the seats of

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ixxi
and Holland, and the fruit of his travel was
a yery pleasing account of their journey ,4°
containing remarks on the pictures preserved
in the various churches and cabinets that he
visited ; to which he has subjoined a masterly
character of Rubens. His critical observa
tions on the many excellent pieces that he
viewed at Antwerp and Brussels, in the
Dusseldorp Gallery, and at Amsterdam,
many noblemen and gentlemen in the West of England.
Mr. Boswell has given a particular account in his Life of
Johnson, i. 344. 8vo.
+° Of this work Mr. Burke thus writes, in the Letter
already quoted :
" I have read over not only that Life, [the account of
our author prefixed to the first edition,] but some part of
the Discourses with an unusual sort of pleasure; partly
because, being faded a little in my memory, they have a
sort of appearance of novelty ; partly by reviving recol
lections mixed with melancholy and satisfaction. The
Flemish Journal I had never seen before. You trace
in that, every where, the spirit of the Discourses, sup
ported by new examples. He is always the same man ;
the same philosophical, the same artist-like critick, the
same sagacious observer, with the same minuteness, with
out the smallest degree of trifling."

Ixxii SOME ACCOUNT OF
which are now for the first time given to the
world, have since his death acquired an addi
tional value ; for by the baleful success and
ravages of the French plunderers, who since
that period have desolated Europe, many of
the most celebrated works of the Flemish
School in the Netherlands (for I will not
gratify our English republicans by calling it
Belgium) have been either destroyed or car
ried away to that " opprobrious den of
shame," which it is to be hoped no po
lished Englishman will ever visit.-— Many
of the pictures of Rubens being to be sold in
1783, in consequence of certain religious
houses being suppressed by the Emperor,
he again in that year visited Antwerp and
Brussels, and devoted several days to con
templating the productions of that great
painter.41 On his return from his first tour,
41 On viewing the pictures of Rubens a second time,
they appeared much less brilliant than they had done on
the former inspection. He could not for some time ac
count for this circumstance; but when he recollected
6

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ixxiii
his own pieces (as he remarked to Mr.
Metcalfe) seemed to him to want force ; and
the portraits which he painted between that
period and 1789, it is observable, have still
more animation, energy, and brillia.icy of
colouring, than his former works.
In the same year ( 1783) the late Mr. Ma
son having finished his,elegant translation of
Du Fresnoy's Art of Painting, our author
enriched that work with a very ample and
ingenious Commentary, which, together

that when he first saw them, he had his note-book in his
hand, for the purpose of writing down short remarks, he
perceived what had occasioned their now making a less
impression in this respect than they had done formerly.
By the eye passing immediately from the white paper to
the picture, the colours derived uncommon rithness and
warmth. For want of this foil, they afterwards appeared
comparatively cold.
This little circumstance was communicated to me by
Sir George Beaumont, whose good taste and skill disco
vered, that in the two groups mentioned in a former page,
our author had Paul Veronese in view ; which, on the
remark being made, he said was the case,

Ixxiv SOME ACCOUNT OF
with the Poem to which it relates, is now
published with his Discourses; Mr. Ma
son having obligingly permitted his transla
tion to be printed in this collection of his
friend's works. The Annotations, indeed,
without the poem, would not be intelligible,
" The Discourses," as their author has
observed,4" " having scarce any relation to
the mechanical part of the art,4^ these Notes
may be considered as in some measure sup
plying that deficiency ;" and we may with
truth add, that these two works comprise
the whole science and practice of painting.
On the death of Mr. Ramsay in the fol-
lowingyear, our author (nth August, 1784,)
** In a loose fragment.
« A few practical instructions are given in the eighth
and twelfth Discourses ; and in the former towards the
conclusion, some of the means are pointed out, by
which the Venetian painters produced such great effect in
their pictures. Perhaps some useful hints also may be
discovered by the Student dispersed in the other
Discourses.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ixxv
was sworn principal painter in ordinary to
his Majesty; which office he possessed to
his death : and two months afterwards on
St. Luke's Day, he was presented with the
freedom of the Painter's Company, an ho^
nour which, though to him of little value, he
received ' with his usual complacency and
politeness, As posterity may be curious to know what
were the prices paid at various periods to this
great painter for his works, it may not
perhaps be thought too minute to add, that
about the year 1755, his price for a three-
quarters, or as it is popularly called, a head,
was but twelve guineas ; in the beginning of
1758, twenty guineas; soon after 1760,
twenty-five guineas; in 1770, thirty-five
guineas ; and in 1781, fifty guineas; which
continued to be the price till he ceased to
paint. The price of a half-length during
this latter period was one hundred guineas ;
and for a whole-length two hundred guineas

lxxt. SOME ACCOUNT OF
were paid.44 From a paper which I tran
scribed some years ago in the Lord Chamber
lain's Office, from an office-book which
formerly belonged to Philip, Earl of Pem
broke and Montgomery, it appears that
Vandyek in i632 received but twenty-five
pounds for a whole-length picture of Charles
the First ; for a half-length of the Queen,
twenty pounds ; and " for one great piece of
his Majestie, the Queene, and their children,
one hundred pounds:" which, however,
considering the change in the value of money
and the modes of life, may be estimated as
equal to three hundred pounds at this day.
The personal character of Sir Joshua Rey
nolds is well known to many of his survi
ving friends and admirers ; but it would be
44 His pupils were Giuseppe Marchi, who accompa
nied him from Italy ; Mr. Beech, Mr. Baron, Mr. Ber-
ridge, Mr. Parry, (son to the celebrated player on the
harp,) Mr. Gill, Mr; Dusine, Mr. Northcot*, R. A. Mr.
Doughty,, and Mr. Score.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ixxyu
great injustice to him, and an unpardonable
inattention to posterity, not to give in this
place a slight sketch of his manners, habits,
and endowments. He was in stature rather
under the middle size ; of a florid com
plexion, and a lively and pleasing aspect;
well made, and extremely active.45 His ap-
*s The last portrait winch he painted of himself, (with
spectacles) in 1788, is extremely like him, and exhibits
him exactly as he appeared in his latter days, in domestick
life. It is a three-quarters, in the collection of the Earl of
Inchiquin; and his Grace the Duke of Leeds has a dupli
cate of it. There is 3 portrait of him by himself in the
dining-room of the Society of Dilettanti in Pali-Mall, a
three-quarters also ; he is dressed in a loose robe, and has
his own hair. Another, (in which he holds his hand to
his ear, to aid the sound,) painted for Mr. Thrale about
1775> 's 'n possession of Mrs. Piozzi. Another (a half-
length,) is in the Royal Academy, with a cap, and the
gown of a Doctor of the Civil Law : which honour he
received from the University of Oxford, July 9, 1773 : *n
this picture is introduced the bust of Michael Angelo, on
whom he pronounced so high an encomium in his last
Discourse. Another in the same dress, a three-quarters,
is at Belvoir Castle ; and a third in the same dress, is in
the gallery of the Great Duke at Florence. Another
portrait of him is preserved in the Town-Hall at Plymp
ton, also painted and presented by himself; in this pic-

I xxviii SOME ACCOUNT OF
pearance at first sight impressed the spectator
with the idea of a well-born and well-bred

ture a red gown is thrown carelessly about him, and he is
without a cap. One nearly resembling this, and painted
before it, is at Taplow-Court. ' We have another portrait
of our author in the dress of a Shepherd, with Mr. Jervais
the Glass-Painter, in one ofthe pictures painted as designs
for the great window of New College Chapel, in Oxford ;
aud Mf. Farington, R. A. has a portrait of him, by him
self, as a painter, with a canvass, easel, &c. before him.
Another portrait of him, by himself, is in possession of
Robert Lovel Gwatkin, Esq. of Killiow, in Cornwall.
Lord Inchiquin has two portraits of our author when
young, one when he was about thirty years old, in his own
hair; the other younger, (in the manner of Rembrandt,)
in his own hair also, with his great coat and hat on.
Another youthful portrait done before he went to Italy,
is said to be in the possession of Thomas Lane, Esq. of
Coffleat in Devonshire.
There is also a portrait of him, painted by C. G.
Stuart, an American, about the year 1784, in the posses
sion of Mr. Alderman Boydell ; another by Zaffanii, in a
picture representing all the Artists of the Academy about
the year 1770, in the King's Collection; and not long
before his death, when he was much indisposed, he sat to
Mr. Breda, a Swedish painter, whose performance ap
peared a few years ago in the Exhibition.
Soon after Gainsborough settled in London, Sir Joshua
Reynolds thought himself bound in civility to pay him a
visit. That painter, however, (as our author told me,)

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS: Ixxii
English gentleman. With an uncommon
equability of temper, which, however, never
took not the least notice of him for several years ; but at
length called on him, and requested him to sit for his pic
ture. Sir Joshua complied, and sat once to that artist,
but being soon afterwards taken ill, he was obliged to go
to Bath for his health. On his return to London per
fectly restored, he sent Gainsborough word that he was
returned, to which Gainsborough, who was extremely
capricious, only replied, that he was glad to hear that Sir
Joshua Reynolds was well ; and he never afterwards
desired Sir Joshua to sit, nor had any other intercourse
with him, till Gainsborough was dying, when he sent to
request to see him, and thanked him for the very liberal
and favourable manner in which he had always spoken of
his works ; a circumstance which our author has thought
worth recording in his Fourteenth Discourse. The ca
pricious conduct of Gainsborough did not prevent our
author from purckasing from him his well-known picture
of a girl tending pigs, for which one hundred guineas
were paid.
A marble bust of Sir Joshua Reynolds by Cirachi, an
Italian Sculptor, is in possession of the Earl of Inchiquin ;
and another bust modelled from the life, in terra cotta,
more like than the marble bust, which was done from it,
was sold by auction by Greenwood, in 1792. I have a
medallion modelled in wax by Mountstephen, which is
a very faithful representation of this great painter, in his
usual evening dress. It was done in 1790, when he was
in his sixty-seventh year.

l*xx SOME ACCOUNT OF
degenerated into insipidity or apathy, he
possessed a constant flow of spirits, which
The Engravings that have been made from his various
portraits are, 1. By V. Green, in Mezzotinto, from the
picture in the Academy. 2. By J. Collier, from the
same; a small oval. 3. By James Watson, in Mezzo
tinto, from the picture belonging to the Society of Dilet
tanti. 4. By C. Townly, from the picture in the Gallery
at Florence. $. By I. K. Sherwin, from the same pic
ture. 6. By R. Earlom, from Zaffanii's picture of the
Academy. 7. By Pariset, from a drawing by Falconet.
8. By Facius, from the window in New College Chapel.
9 Another, when young, his hand shading his forehead ;
by S. W. Reynolds, from the picture in Mr. Lane's pos
session. 10. By Caroline Kirkley ; from Mr. Gwatkin's
picture. 11. That prefixed to the present edition of his
works ; engraved by Caroline Watson, from the por
trait in the collection of Lord Inchiquin. There is, I
believe, a copy of this by T. Holloway. 12. By  ,
from Mr. Breda's picture.
The tricks which are often practised with engraved
copper-plates, are well known. At the time the person
so justly execrated, and branded with the name of The
Monster, made much noise, the dealers in articles of
this kind were very desirous of some representation of him ;
but not being able suddenly to procure one, they made an
old plate, which had been engraved for a magazine, and
with the aid of the name subjoined was intended to pass
for the portrait of our author, serve their purpose. As
the print had no resemblance to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. jLixxi
rendered him at all times a mo.t pledsing
companion ; always cheerful, and ready to be
amused with whatever was going foi. ward*
and from an ardent thirst of knowledge
anxious to obtain information on every
subject that was presented to his mind.
In conversation, his manner wa"s perfectly
natural, simple, and unassuming. Though
he had Occasionally dipped into many booksf
not having had time for regular and syste-
matick study, some topicks which had beeri
long discussed dnd settled, were new to him %
and hence, merely by the vigour of his ex
cellent uhderst-tndihg, he often suggested
ingenious theories and formed just conclu
sions, which had already been deduced by
the laborious disquisitions bf others. Finding
how little time he could spare from his pro-
fessioni for the puirpose bf acquiring general
knowledge from books, he very e^fly ancl
had irideed a rAostformidabk appearance, by striking but
the original inscription} and substituting Ths Monster
it did very well.
vol. i. £

Isnii SOME ACCOUNT OF
wisely resolved to partake as much as pos*
sible of the society of all the ingenious ajr»d
learned men of his own time tffi in conse
quence of which, and of his cheerful and
convivial habits, his tabled for above thif ty
years exhibited an assemblage of all the
talents of Great-Britain and Ireland p there
being during that period scarce a person
in the three kingdoms distinguished for
his attainments- in literature or the arts>
*6 He has strongly recommended the same practice to
other artists, in his Seventh Discourse, p. 191.
*7 The nodes ccenftque Deum enjoyed at this table, (as-
Mr. Boswell, in the Dedication prefixed to his most in
structive and entertaining Life of Dr. Johnson, has justly
described the symposium of our author,) will be long re
membered by those who had the happiness to partake of
them ; but the remembrance must always be accompanied.
with regret, when it is considered that the death of their
amiable and illustrious host has left a chasm in society, and
that no such common centre of union for the accomplished
and the learned now exists1, or is likely soon- to exist,, in
London. I remember on one occasion to have sat down
at Sir Joshua Reynolds's table with fifteen persons, eleven
or twelve of whom had made a distinguished figure ira
the world.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. lxxxiii
or for his exertions at the bar, in the se
nate, or the field, who was not occasion,-
ally found there. The pleasure and instruc
tion which he derived from such company
induced him, in conjunction with Dr. John*
son, to establish what has been called the
Literary Club, though its members
have never assumed that denomination ; a
society which has now subsisted for more
than forty years, and can boast of having
had enrolled among them many of the most
celebrated characters ofthe present century .*8
48 As Sir Joshua Reynolds was the first proposer, and,
in conjunction with Dr. Johnson, founder of this Club,
a short account of it may not be here improper. It was
founded in the year 1764J and the original scheme was,
that it shouJd consist of only twelve members, and that
they should be men of such talents, and so well known 10
each other, that any two of them, if they should not hap
pen to be joined by more, might be good company to each
other. The original members were, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Dr. Johnson, Mr; Burke, Dr. Nugent, Mr. Laogtpn,
Mr. Antony Chamier, Sir John Hawkins, the Hon.
Topham Beauclerk, and Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Samuel
Dyer, Sir Robert Chambers, and Dr. Percy,, now Lord
fa

kxxiv SOME ACCOUNT OF
¦ In the fifteen years during which I had
the pleasure of living with our author on
Bishop of Dromore, -were soon afterwards elected.
They at first met once a week, on Monday evening, at
the Turk's Head in Gerrard-street. In 1772, the Club
¦still consisted of only twelve members. On its enlarge
ment in March 1773, two new members were added ;
the Earl of Charlemont, and Mr. Garrick ; and not long
afterwards several other members were chosen. About
the year 1775, instead of supping together once a week,
they resolved to dine together once a fortnight during the
sitting of Parliament ; and on that footing this Society
(which has gradually been increased to thirty-five mem
bers, and can never exceed forty,) still subsists. They
now meet at the Thatched House, in St. James's-street.
The total number of persons who have been members
of this Club, is seventy-four. Of these the following
forty-two are dead : Sir J. Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, Mr.
Burke, Dr. Nugent, Mr. Chamier, Mr. Langton, Mr.
Beauclerk, Sir John Hawkins, Mr. Dyer, Dr. Goldsmith,
Sir Robert Chambers, Lord Charlemont, Mr. Garrick,
John Dunning Lord Ashburton, Dr. Adam Smith, Mr.
Colman, Dr. Shipley Bishop of St. Asaph, Mr. Vesey.
Mr. Thomas Warton, Mr. Gibbon, Dr. HincWiffe
Bishop of Peterborough, Sir William Jones, Mr. Richard
Burke, junior, Mr. Boswell, the Marquis of Bath, Dr.
Warren, the Rev. Br. Farmer, the Duke of Leeds, Lord
Lucan, Mr. Steevens, Dr. Joseph Warton, Lord Palmer
ston, Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Marlay Bishop of Waterford, Sis
William Hamilton, Edward Lord Eliot, Lord' Macart-

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ixxxy.
terms of great intimacy and friendship, he
appeared to me the happiest man I have
ever known. Indeed, he acknowledged to a
friend in his last illness, that he had been
fortunate and happy beyond the common lot
of humanity. The dissipated, the needy,
and the industrious, are apt to imagine, that
the idle and the rich are the chosen fa
vourites of heaven, and that they alone pos-
ney, Dr. Barnard Bishop of Limerick, Mr. Charles Fox,
Dr. Horsley Bishop of St. Asaph, Dr. Douglas Bishop
of Salisbury, and Dr. French Laurence.
The present members [March 8, 1809] are, Dr. Percy
Bishop of Drbmore, Sir Charles Bunbury, Mr. Sheridan,
Lord Ossory, Sir Joseph Banks, Mr. Windham, Sir
Wi'h'am Scott, Lord Spencer, Dr. Burney, Mr. Courte-
nay, Sir Charles Blagden, Major Rennel, the Hon. Frede
rick North, Mr. Canning, Mr. Marsden, Mr. Frere, Mr.
Thomas GrenviUe, Dr. Vincent Dean of Westminster,
Mr. William Lock, Mr. George Ellis, Lord Minto, Sir
William Grant Master of the Rolls, Sir George Staunton,
Mr. Charles Wilkins, Mr. Drummond, Dr. Vaughan, Sir
Henry Englefield, Lord Holland, Lord Aberdeen, Mr.
Hatchett, Mr. Charles Vaughan, and the writer of this
account. They are all placed in the order of their elec
tion, except the person last mentioned, who had the ho-
rj.pjjr to be chospn a ipember in 1782.

lixxvi SOME ACCOUNT OF
sess what all mankind are equally anxious to
attain : but, supposing always a decdnt com
petence, the genuine source of happiness is
virtuous employment, pursued with ardour,
and regulated by our own choice. Sir Joshua
Reynolds was constantly employed in
d lucrative profession, the study and prac
tice of which afforded him inexhaustible
entertainment, and left him not one idle or
languid hour j and he enjoyed as much fame
as the most ambitious candidate for popular
approbation could desire. That he should
have beert unconscious of the very high rank
that he held in the publick estimation,
and of the extraordinary excellence which
he had attained in his art, was not to be
expected; but he never shewed any such
consciousness, and was as perfectly free
from vanity and ostentation, as he was from
artifice or affectation of any kind. His ar
dent love of truth, in which respect he was
a zealous disciple of Dr. Johnson, and his
Strong antipathy to all false pretensions, and

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Ixxxvii
to any thing indirect, artificial, or affected,
formed a striking part of his character ; and
were indeed, if I do not greatly deceive
and flatter myself, the congenial sentiments
which principally operated in attaching him
to the person to whose province it has fallen
to pay this slight tribute to his memory.
While engaged in his painting-room, he had
the pleasure of seeing and conversing with
all the beautiful,*' accomplished, and illus
trious characters; of his time ; and when not
employed in his art, his hours were gene
rally passed in the most pleasing and en
lightened society that London could pro
duce. His mind was never torpid -, but al
ways at work on some topick or other. He
had a strong turn and relish for humour, in
all its various forms, and very quickly saw
the weak sides of things. Of the numerous
characters which presented themselves to
him in the mixed companies in which he
*9 He had painted, as he once observed to me, twd
generations of the beauties of England.

lxxxvHi SOME ACCOUNT OF
lived, he was a nice and sagacious observes^
as I " have had frequent occasion to re
mark;50 and I have found among his papers
some very ingeqious, though unfinished, ob
servations on the manners and habits of two,
very eminent men of his acquaintance. He
delighted much in marking the dawning
traits of the youthful mind, and the actions
and bodily movements of young persons ; a
circumstance which probably enabled, him,
to portray children with such exquisite hap
piness and truth. It was one of his fa
vourite maxims, that all the gestures of
children are graceful, and that the reign of
distortion and unnatural attitude commen
ces with the introduction of the dancing-
master. Though from the time, of his returning
50 In confirmation of this remark, I may produce the
testimony of Dr. Johnson, who said to Mr. fioswell, in
1780, that " he knew no man who had passed through
life with more observation than Sir Joshua Reynolds."
I_ife of Johnson, 2nd Edit. iii. 252.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. liufe
from Italy he was very deaf,"51 he contrived
by the aid of an ear-trumpet« to partake of
the conversation of his friends with great
facility arid address ; and such was the se
renity of his temper, that what he did not
hear, he never troubled those with whom he
conversed, to repeat. To this gentle com
posure of mind Goldsmith alluded, when
in describing Sir Joshua Reynolds he employ
ed the epithet bland, a word eminently happy,
and chara£.teristick of his easy and placid
manners ;53, but taking into our consideration *
£I His deafness was originally occasioned by a cold
that he caught in the Vatican, by painting for a long
time near a stove, by which the damp vapours of that edi
fice were attracted, and affected his head. When in com
pany with only one person, he heard very well, without
the aid of a trumpet.
5* Le Sage, the celebrated author of Gilblas, (as Mr.
S,pence mentions in his Anecdotes,) though very deaf,,
enjoyed the conversation of his friends by the same
rneans, (the aid of a comelte,) and was a very pleasing
companion. 53 See Retaliation, a poem by Goldsmith, in which
he has drawn the characters of several of his fr,iends, in the
form pf epitaphs to be placed on their tombs :
1

se SOME ACCOUNT 6F
at once the soundness of his understanding,
and the mildness and suavity of his deport
ment, perhaps Horace's description of fhe
amiable friend of the younger Scipio,— the
mitis sapientia Laeli/3 may convey to posterity
******
" Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind.
" He has not left a wiser or better behind :
" His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ;
" His manners were gentle, complying, and bland:
" Stillborn to improve us in every part,
" His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
" To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, —
** When they judg'd without skill, he was still hard of
hearing ;
" When they talk'd of their Raffaelles, Correggios^.
and stuff,
*' He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff."
******
These were the last lines the author wrote. He had
written half a line more of this character, when he was
seized with the nervous fever which carried him in a few
days to the grave. He intended to have concluded with
his own character.
*3 Even the classical reader may not perhaps immediately
recollect in how mapy points these two celebrated persons'
resemble each other. Each of them certainly had some
qualifications, to which the other had no pretensions ; as
L-c-iius knew nothing of painting, so our author had na

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xci
a more perfect idea of our illustrious painter,
than the unfinished delineation bf his poeticaf
friend, to which I allude.
claim either to the character of a military commander, or
a distinguished orator. But the qualities which they pos
sessed in common are so numerous, as fully to justify
the present juxta-position.
The portrait of Laelius has beendrawn by Mr. Melmoth,
with his usual fidelity. " He seems (says that very elegant
writer) to have united in his character, whether considered
in a moral, a civil, or a philosophical view, all those
talents of the mind and qualities of the heart, that could
justly recommend him to the general esteem of his own
times, and transmit his name with honour to posterity.
There was a politeness and affability in his address, a
sprightliness and vivacity in his conversation, together
with a constant equality in his temper, that wonderfully
recommended him' to all those with whom he had any con
nection; insomuch that what was observed of Socrates,
was equally remarked in Laelius, that he always appeared
with a serene and placid countenance.
" To the advantages of these captivating manners, were
added the ornaments of a most cultivated and improved
understanding: he was not only one of the finest gen
tlemen, but of the first orators, and the most elegant
scholars ofthe age. Laelius and Scipio indeed, united as
they were by genius and talents, no less than by esteem
and affection, equally conspired in refining the taste
and encouraging the literature of their countrymen. They
were the patrons, after having been the disciples, of

xeis SOME ACCOUNT OF
If our author was not much inclined to ex
change the animated scenes of the metropolis,
Pansetius and Polybius; and both the philosopher and the
historian had the honour and happiness of constantly
sharing with them those hours that] were not devoted to
the publick service. But the severer muses did not en
tirely engross those intervals of leisure, which these illus
trious friends occasionally snatched from the great business
of the state : Terence and Lucilius were frequently ad
mitted into these parties ; where wit and wisdom jointly
conspired to render the conversation at once both lively
and instructive." — L_elius, or an Essay on Friend
ship, &c. Remarks, p. 168.
The ingenious writer then proceeds to consider this
celebrated person in a political light ; but as it is not here
necessary to place him in this point of view, I do not trans
cribe that part of his encomium. — He has not quoted the
authorities on which this representation is founded ; I shall
therefore add here such passages (principally from Cicero)
as I suppose he had in contemplation, which may serve
further toillustrate the character in question.
" Erat in C. Laelio multa hilaritas ; in ejus familiarl
Scipione ambitio major, vita tristior." De Off. i. 30,
" >  ! in rebus prosperis, et ad voluntatem nostram
fluentibus, superbiam, fastidium, arrogantiamque magno-.
pere fugiamus : nam ut adversas res, sic secundas immo
derate .ferre, levitatis est ; pratclaraque est aquabilitas in
omni vita, et idem semper vultus, eademque frons ; ut de
Socrale, item de C. L/EUO accepimus." Ibid. i. 26.
" Hujusmodi Scipio ille fuit, quem non pcenitebat

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. iclfc
"for the quiet and retirement of the country,
yet when he was there, (and indeed in other
facere idem quod tu ; habere eruditissimum hominem et
pene divinum, [PanaEtium] domi ; cujus oratione et
prasceptis, quanquam erant eadem ista quee te delectant,
tamen asperior non est factus, sed (ut accept a senibus)
lenissimus. Quis vero C. L.elio comior? quis jucundior,
eodem ex studio isto ? quis, illo gravior? sapientior?"
Orat. pro Murena, 31.
" Ex hoc esse hunc numero, quem patres nostri vide-
runt, divinum hominem Africanum; ex hoc C. L/elium
L. Furium, moderatissimos homines et continentissimos."
Pro Arch. 7.
" — Viriatus Lusitanus, cui quidem etiam exercitus
nostri imperatoresque cesserunt ; quem C. L_elius, is
qui sapiens usurpatur, praetor fregit, et comminuit, fero-
citatemque ejus ita repressit, ut facile bellum reliquis
traderet." DeOff. ii.'n.
" Similemne putas C. I^elii unum consulatum fuisse,
et eum quidem cum repulsa, (si cum sapiens et bonus vir,
qualis ille fuit, suffragiis praeteritur, non populus a bono
consule potius quam rile a vano populo repulsam fert,) sed
tamen utrum malles te, si potestas esset, semel, ut L_£-
LIUM, consulem, an ut Cinnam, quater ?" Tuscul. v. 19.
" Quando enim me in hunc locum deduxit oratio,
docebo, meliora medidicisse de colendis diis immortalibus
jure pontificio, et majorum more, capedunculis iis quas
Numa nobis reliquit, de quibus in ilia aureola orafiunculd
dicit L_£Liu$, quam rationibus Stoicorum." De Nat,
Deor. iii. 17.

xciir SOME ACCOUNT OF
situations, when not engaged in grave em
ployments,) he was as playful as either
"  itaque quos ingenio, quos studio, quos doctrinS

praeditos vident, quorumque vitam constantem et proba-
tam, utCatonis, L_ELII, Scipionis, aliorumque plurium,
viderentur eos esse quales se ipsi velint." Top. 20,
" Saepe ex socero meo audivi, quum is diceret, soce-
rum suum Lselium semper fere cum Scipione solitum
rusticari, eosque incredibiliter repuerascere esse solitos,
quum rus ex urbe, tanquam e vinculis, evolavissent.
Non audeo dicrre de talibus viris, sed tamen ita solet nar-
rare Staevola, conchas eos et umbilicos ad Cajetam et ad
Laurentum legere consuesse, et ad omnem animi remis-
sionem ludumque descendere." De Orat. ii. 6.
An old Scholiast on Horace goes still further, and in
forms us, that these two great men sometimes indulged
themselves in the same kind of boyish playfulness which
has been recorded of the flagitious Cromwell and one of
his fellow-regicides : " Scipio Africanus et L_elius fe-
runtur tarn fuisse familiares et amici Lucilio, ut quodam
tempore Laelio circum lectos triclinii fugienti Lucilius
superveniens, eum obtorta mappa, quasi feriturus,
sequeretur. " Memoria teneo, Smyrna, me ex P. Rutilio Rufo
audisse, quum diceret adol";scentulo se accidisse, ut ex-
Senatus-consulto P. Scipio et D. Brutus, ut opinor, con-
sules, de re atroci magnaque quaererent. Nam quum in
silva Sila facta caedes esset, notique homines interfecti ;
insimulareturque familia, partim etiam liberi societatis
ejus, qua picarias de P. Cornelio, L. Mummio, censori-
7

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS; xcv
Lselius or his illustrious friend, and would as
bus, redemisset; decrevisse senatum, ut de ea re cognos-
cerent et statuerent con&ules : causam pro publicani*
accurate, ut semper solitus esset, eleganterque dixisse
La.lium, Quum consulest, re audita, amplius de con-
silii'sententia pronuntiavissent, parucis interpositis diebus,
iterum La__ium multo diligentius meliusque dixisse ;
iterumque eodem modo a consulibus rem esse prolatam.
Turn Laelium, quum eum socii domum reduxissem,
egissentque gratias, et ne d'efatigaretur oravissent, locu-
tum esse ifa ; se qua; fecisset, honoris eorum cau-a,
studiose, accurateque fecisse ; sed se arbitrari causam illam
a Ser. Galba, quod is in dicendo fortior acriorque esset,
gravius et vehementius posse defendi. Itaque auctoritate
C. Laelii publicanos causam detulisse ad Galbam." —
After informing us that Galba pleaded this cause with
great spirit and vigour, and obtained a decision in favour
of his clients, Cicero adds — " Ex hac Rutiliana narra-
tione suspicari licet, quum duae summse sint in oratore
laudes, una subtiliter disputandi, ad docendum ; altera
graviter agendi, ad animos audientium permovendos ;
multoque plus proficiat is qui inflarnmet jurlicem, quam
ille qui doceat; elegantiam in Laslio, vim in Galba
fuisse." Brut. xxii.
From the foregoing passages, which I have collected
with a view to illustrate the character of Lselius, (though
some of them may seem not perfectly applicable to the
present purpose,) a very competent notion of this celebra
ted person may be formed ; and I trust that the comparison
of these two characters will not appear, like many o£
Plutarch's, forced and constrained into parallelism-

icvi SOME ACCOUNT OP
ireadily have gathered pebbles on the sea*
shore ; and though he was not an orator, if
his studies and pursuits had originally led him
to a popular profession, and he had been
obliged to address a publick assembly, it is
clear from his manners and his writings, that
in the character of his eloquence he would
have resembled the perspicuous and elegant
Laelius, rather than the severeand vehement
Galba. For the rest, the conformity is
greater than at the first view may be sup
posed. As La.lius was the disciple apd pro
tector of. Panaetius, and the patron and com
panion of LuciliuS, Sir Joshua Reynolds was
the scholar and friend of Johnson, and the
friend and benefactor of Goldsmith. What
the illustrious 'Scipio was to Laelius, the all-
knowing and all-accomplished Burke was to
Reynolds. Tot the pleadings and aureola
oratiuncula of the amiable Roman, we have
l. the luminous, I had almost said* the golden
Discourses of our author. As Laelius, ad
mired and respected as he was, was repulsed

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS: xcvii
from the consulate, Sir Joshua Reynolds, in
consequence of an unhappy misunderstanding,
was forced for a short time to relinquish the
Presidency of the Academy. — In publick es
timation, in uniform success in life, ih Mo
deration in prosperity, in the applause and
admiration of contemporaries, in simplicity of
manners and playfulness df humour, in good
sense and elegant attainments, in modesty
and equability of temper, in undeviating in
tegrity, in respect for received and Iong-es-
feablished opinions, in serenity, cheerfulness*
and urbanity, the resemblance must be
allowed to be uncommonly striking and
eXacf. If it should be asked, — amidst so many
excellent and amiable qualities, were there
no failings? I wish to ans\ver the inquiry
in the words of Mr. Burke, who on a paper;
(blotted with his tears) which has been
transmitted to me while these sheets were
passing through the press, has written—
'* I do not know a fault or weakness of hi9
VOL. I. g

jtcvlii SOME ACCOUNT OF
that he did not convert into something that
bordered on a virtue, instead of pushing it
to the confines of a vice."5!
*+ While I wag employed in drawing up an account of
our author's life. I requested Mr. Burke to communicate
to me his thoughts on the subject; but he was then so ill,
that he was able only to set down two or three hints, to be
afterwards enlarged on ; one of which is that given above.
In this paper (which was not found till the former part of
these sheets was Worked off at the press,) he has noticed our
author's disposition to generalize, and his early admiration
of Mr. Mudge, which makes part of the subject of his
subsequent letter, from which an extract has been given
in a former page; but as the observation, as it appears in
this fragment, has somewhat of a different shape and co
louring, I subjoin it, that no particle of so great a writer
may be lost :
" He was a great generalizer, and was fond of redu
cing every thing to one system, more perhaps than the
variety of principles which operate in the human mind
and in every human work, will properly endure. But
this disposition to abstractions, to generalizing arid classi
fication, is the great glory of the human mind, that indeed
which most distinguishes man from other animals ; and
is the source of every thing that can be called science. I
believe, his early acquaintance with Mr. Mudge of Exeter,
a very learned and thinking man, and much inclined to
philosophize in the spirit of the Platonists, disposed hifli
to this habit. He certainly by that means liberalized in a
high degree the theory of his own art ; and if he had been

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. xci*
The detail of his domestick day, however
minute or trifling it may appear at present,
will, I am confident, at a future period not
be unacceptable. He usually rose about
eight o'clock, breakfasted at nine, and was
in' his painting-room before ten. Here he
generally employed an hour on some study,
or on the subordinate parts of whatever
portrait happened to be in hand ; and from
eleven the following five hours were devoted
to those who sat for their pictures : with
occasionally short intervals, during which
he sometimes admitted the visit of a friend.
Such was his love of his art, and such his
ardour to excel, that he often declared he had
during the greater part of his life laboured
as hard with his pencil, as any mechanick
working at his trade for bread." About two
more methodically instituted in the early part of life, and
had possessed more leisure for study and reflection, he
wotild in my opinion have pursued this method with great
success." *» An observation made by Dr. Johnson on Pope, if
extremely applicable to our author, whefl employed in hig
g 2

c SOME ACCOUNT OF
days in the week, during the winter, he
dined abroad _. once, and sometimes oftner,
he had company at home by invitation ; and
during the remainder of the week he dined
with his family, frequently with the addition
of two or three friends. It must not be un
derstood that the days of every week were
thus regularly distributed by a fixed plan ;
but this was the general course. In the
evenings, when not engaged by the Academy,
or in some publick or private assembly, or
at the theatre, he was fond of collecting a
few friends at home, and joining in a party
at whist, which was his favourite game.
In consequence of being acquainted with a
great variety of persons, he frequently col
lected a company of seven or eight at dinner,
in the morning of the day on which they
painting-room. " He was one of those few whose labour
is their pleasure : he was never elevated into negligence,
nor wearied to impatience ; he never passed a fault un
corrected by indifference, nor quitted it by despair. He
laboured his works, first to gain reputation, and afterwards
to keep it." Lives of the Poets, iv. 163.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. ei
met : as the greater part of his friends
were men well known in the world, they
seldom found themselves unacquainted with
each other : and these extemporaneous enter
tainments were often productive of greater
conviviality than more formal and premedi
tated invitations. The marked character of
his table, I think, was, that though there
was always an abundant supply of those
elegancies which the season afforded, the
variety of the courses, the excellence of the
dishes, or the flavour of the Burgundy, made the
least part of the conversation : though the ap
petite was gratified by the usual delicacies, and
the glass- imperceptibly and without solicita
tion was cheerfully circulated, every thing of
this kind appeared secondary and subordinate ;
and there seemed to be a general, though
tacit, agreement among the guests, that mind
should predominate over body'} that the ho
nours of the turtle and the haunch should
give place to the feast of wit, and that for a
redundant flow of wine the flow of squ!

cii SOME ACCOUNT OF
should be substituted. Of a table thus con
stituted, with such a host and such guests,
who would not wish to participate ?
To enumerate all the eulogies which have
been made on our author, would exceed the
limits that I have prescribed to myself in this
short narrative; but I ought not to omit the
testimony borne to his worth by Dr. John
son, who declared him to be "• the most
invulnerable man he knew; whom, if he
should quarrel with him, he should find
the most difficulty how to abuse.' 's6 John
son's well-known and rigid adherence to truth
on all occasions, gives this encomium great
additional value.
He has, however, one claim to praise,
which I think it my duty particularly to
mention, because otherwise his merit in this
respect might perhaps be unknown to future
ages; I mean, the praise to which he is en
s'5 Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson ; — Dedication.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. tin
titled for the rectitude of his judgement con
cerning those pernicious doctrines, that were
made the basis of thgt Revolution which
took place in France not long before his
death. Before the publication of Mr.
Burke's Reflections on that subject "¦ he
had been favoured with a perusal of that in
comparable work, and was lavish in his en
comiums upon it. He was indeed never
weary of expressing his admiration of the
profound sagacity which saw, in their em
bryo state, all the evils with which this
country was threatened by that tremendous
convulsion; he well knew how eagerly all
the wild and erroneous principles of govern
ment attempted to be established by the
pretended philosophers of France, would be
cherished and enforced by those turbulent
and unruly spirits among us, whom no King
could govern , nor no God could please £* and
s» October, 1790.
*8 How justly may we apply the immediately follow
ing lines of the same great Poet, to those demagogues

piy _?OME ACCOUNT OI
long before that book was written, frequent*
ly avowed his contempt of those «' Adam%
wits," who set at nought the accumulated
wisdom of ages, and on all occasions are
desirous of beginning the world anew. He
did not live to see the accomplishment of al
most every one of the predictions of the pro-
phetick and philosophical work alluded to :
fiappily for himself he did not live to partici
pate of the gloom which now saddens every
Virtuous bosom, in consequence of all the
' civilized States of Europe being shaken to
i
their foundations by those " troublers of the
among us, who since the era above mentioned, have not
only on all occasions gratuitously pleaded the cause of the
enemies of their country with the zeal of fee'd advocates,
but by every other mode incessantly endeavoured to
debase and assimilate \kx\ifree and happy country to thp
model of xhtferocious and «.../_.!. ^Republick of France ¦
" These Adam-vyits, toe fortunately free,
»? Began to dream they wanted liberty ;
" And when no rule, no precedent was found
.' Of men, by ]aws less circumscribed and bound,
11 They led their wild desires to woods and caves,
V. And thought that all t^ut savages were slaves,"

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. cy
poor world1 s peace," whom Divine Provi
dence has been pleased to make the scourge
of human kind. Gloomy as our prospect is
(on this account alone,59) and great as is the
danger with which we are threatened, (I
mean internally, for as to external violence,
we are fully equal to any force which our
assailants can bring against us,") I still cherish
a hope that the cloud which hangs over us
will be dispersed, and that we have \ stamina
sufficiently strong to resist the pestilential
r
?9 I say, on this account alone • because in all other
respects England is at present in an unparalleled state of
wealth and prosperity, though there is a temporary dis
tress occasioned by want of the ordinary circulating
medium of commerce. It appears from authentick and
indisputable documents, that the trade of England from
1784 to the present time, has doubled ; and that our Ex
ports in the year 1796 amounted to thirty mil
lions; and it is well known that the rate of the pur
chase of land, contrary to the experience of all for
mer wars, continues nearly as high as it was in the time
of the most profound peace. These facts ought to be
sounded from one end of England to the other, and fur
nish a complete answer to all the seditious declama
tions that have been, or shall be, made on the subject.—
[The foregoing observations, as well as those in the text?
were made in the year 1797.]

ct! SOME ACCOUNT OF
contagion suspended in our atmosphere; and
my confidence is founded on the good sense
and firmness of my countrymen; of whom
far the greater part, justly valuing the bles
sings which they enjoy, will not lightly
hazard their loss ; and rather than suffer the
smallest part of their inestimable Constitution
to be changed, or any one of those detestable
principles to take root in this soil, which
our domestick and foreign enemies with
such mischievous industry have endeavoured
to propagate, will, I trust, risk every thing
that is most dear to man. To be fully appri
sed of our danger, and to show that we are
resolved firmly to meet it, may prove our
best security. If, however, at last we must
fall, let us fall beneath the ruins of that f^-
brick, which has been erected by the wisdom
and treasure of our ancestors, and which they
generously cemented with their blood.
For a very long period Sir Joshua Rey
nolds enjoyed an uninterrupted state of good

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. cvii
health, to which his custom of painting
standing, (a practice which, I believe, he
first introduced,) may be supposed in some
degree to have contributed; at least by this
means he escaped those disorders which are
incident to a sedentary life. He was indeed
in the year 1782 distressed for a short time
by a slight paralytick affection ; which, how
ever, made so little impression on him, that
in a few weeks he was perfectly restored,
and never afterwards suffered any inconveni
ence from that malady. But in July 1789,
when he had very nearly finished the por
trait of lady Beauchamp, (now Marchioness
of Hertford,) the last female portrait he ever
painted,50 he for the first time perceived his
60 The last two portraits 6f gentlemen that he painted,
were those of the Right Honourable William Windham,
and George J. Cholmondeley, Esq. and they are gene
rally thought to be as finely executed as any he ever
painted. In this respect he differed from Titian, whose
latter productions are esteemed much inferior to his for
mer works. He afterwards attempted to finish the por
trait of Lord Macartney, for which that nobleman had sat
some time before : but he found himself unable to pro
ceed.

cviii SOME ACCOUNT OF
sight so much affected, that he found it diffi
cult to proceed ; and in a few months after
wards, in spite of the aid of the most skilful
oculists, he was entirely deprived of the
sight of his left eye. After some struggles,
lest his remaining eye should be also affected,
he determined to paint no more : a resolution
which to him was a very serious misfortune,
since he was thus deprived of an employment
that afforded him constant amusement, and
which he loved much more for its own sake
than on account of the great emolument
with which the practice of his art was attend
ed. Still, however, he retained his usual
spirits, was amused by reading, or hearing
others read to him, and partook of the society
of his friends with the same pleasure as for
merly ;6.' but in October 1791, having strong
61 Early in September, 1791, he was in such health and
spirits, that in our return to town from Mr. Burke's
seat near Beaconsfield, we left his carriage at the inn at
Hayes, and walked five miles on the road, in a warm day,
without his complaining of any fatigue. He had at that
time, though above sijty-eight years of age, the appear.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. six
apprehensions that a tumour accompanied
with an inflamation,62 which took place
over the eye that had perished, might affect
the other also, he became somewhat dejected.
Meanwhile he laboured under a much more
dangerous disease, which deprived him both
of his wonted spirits and his appetite, though
he was wholly unable to explain to his phy
sicians the nature or seat of his disorder.
During this period of great affliction to all his
friends, his malady was by many supposed
to be imaginary: and it was conceived, that,
if he would but exert himself, he could
shake it off. This instance, however, may
serve to show, that the patient best knows
what he suffers, and that few long complain
of bodily ailments without an inadequate
ance of a man not much beyond fifty, and seemed as likely
to live for ten or fifteen years, as any of his younger
friends. 6i This inflammation, after various applications having
been tried in vain, was found to have been occasioned
by extravasated blood ; and had no connection with the
optick nerves.

ex SOME ACCOUNT OF
cause ; for at length (but not till about a fort
night before his death) the seat of his dis
order was found to be in his liver, of which
the inordinate growth, as it afterwards appear
ed,63 had incommoded all the functions of
life ; and of this disease, which he bore with
the greatest fortitude and patience, he died,
after a confinement of near three months, at
his house in Leicester-Fields, on Thursday
evening, Feb. 23, 1792.
He seemed from the beginning of his ill
ness to have had a presentiment of the fatal
termination with which it was finally attend
ed ; and therefore considered all those symp
toms as delusive, on which the ardent wishes
of his friends led them to found a hope of his
recovery. He however continued to use all
the means of restoration proposed by his
«3 On his body being opened, his liver, which ought to
have weighed about five pounds, was found to have in
creased to an extraordinary size, weighing nearly eleven
pounds. It was also somewhat schirrous,.
6

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. tit
physicians, and for some time to converse
daily with his intimate acquaintance; and
when he was at length obliged to confine
himself to his bed, awaited the hour of his
dissolution, (as was observed by one of his
friends soon after his death,) with an equani
mity rarely shown by the most celebrated
Christian philosophers. — On Saturday, the
3d of March, his remains were interred in
the crypt of the cathedral of St. Paul, near
the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren, with
every honour that could be shown to genius
and to worth by a grateful and enlightened
nation ; a great number of the most distin
guished persons attending the funeral cere
mony, and his pall being borne up by three
Dukes, two Marquisses, and five other
noblemen.*4 >v

64 The following account of the ceremonial was written
by a friend the day after the funeral, and published in
several of the Newspapers.
" On Saturday last, at half an hour after three o'clock
was interred the body of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Knt. Doc-

*Xu SOME ACCOUNT OF
Though his friend, Dr. Johnson wasburiec.
in Westminster-Abbey, and it had been de*
tor of Laws in the Universities of Oxford and Dublin,
Principal Painter to his Majesty, President of the Royal
Academy of Paintings Sculpture, and Architecture, Fel
low of the Royal Society, and Fellow of the Society of
Antiquaries. ,<•
" He was interred in the vast crypt of the Cathedrafl
Church of St. Paul, next to the body of Dr. Newton,-
late Bishop of Bristol, himself an eminent critick in
Poetry and Painting, and close by the tomb of the famous
Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of that great edifice.
" The body was conveyed on the preceding night to the
Royal Academy, according to the express orders of his
Majesty, by a condescension highly honourable to the
memory of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and gratifying to the
wishes of that Society of eminent Artists. It lay that
night, and until the beginning sf the funeral procession,
in state, in the Model-room of the Academy.
The company who attended the funeral, assembled iri
the Library and Council-Chamber j the Royal Acade
my in the Exhibition-Room.
,( The company consisted of a great number of the most
distinguished persons, who were emulous in their desire
of paying the last honours to the remains of him, whose
life had been distinguished by the exertions of the Jiighest
talents, and the exercise of every virtue that can make a
man respected and beloved. Many more were prevented
by illness, and unexpected and unavoidable occasions*
which they much regretted, from attending.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. c*i_l
termined to erect a monument to him there,
so desirous, was Sir Joshua Reynolds that St.
•' Never was -a publick solemnity conducted with more"
order, decorum, and. dignity. The procession set out at
half an hour after twelve o'clock. The herse arrived at
the great western gate of St. Paul's, about a quarter after
two, and was there met by the Dignitaries of the church,
and by the gentlemen of the Choir, who chaunted the
proper Psalms, whilst the procession moved to the en
trance of the choir, where was performed,' in a superior
manner, the full-choir evening-service," together with
the famous anthem of Dr. Boyce ; the body remaining
duririg the whole time in the centre of the choir.
" TheChiefMourner and Gentlemen of the Academy,
as of the family, were placed by the Body : . The Chief
Mourner in a chair at the head ; the two attendants at the
feet j the Pall-Bearers and Executors in the seats on the
decanal side^ the other Noblemen and gentlemen on the
cantorial Side; The Bishop of London was in his proper
place, as "were the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs.
" After the service, the body was conveyed into the
crypt, and placed immediately beneath the perforated
brass-plate, under the centre of the dome. Dr. Jefferies,
Canon Residentary, with the Other Canons, arid the
whole Choir, came under the dome ; the grave-digger
attending in the middle with a shovel of mould, which at
the proper time was thrown through the aperture of the
plate, on the coffin. The funeral service was chaunted^
and accompanied on the organ iii a grand and affecting
manner. When the funeral service was ended, the
VOL. II. h

cxi* SOME ACCOUNT OF
Paul's should be decorated by Sculpture,
which he thought would be highly beneficial
Chief Mourners and Executors went into the crypt, and
attended the corpse to the grave, which was dug under the
pavement. The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs honoured the procession
by coming to Somerset-Place, where an officer's guard of
thirty men was placed at the great court-gate. After the
procession had passed through Temple-Bar, the gates
were shut by order of the Lord Mayor, to prevent any
interruption from carriages passing to or from the City.
The spectators, both in the church and in the street,
were innumerable, The shops were shut, the windows.
of every house were filled, and the people in the streets,
who seemed to share in the general sorrow, beheld the
whole with respect and silence.
The Order ofthe Procession was as follows :
The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, and City Marshals. .
The undertaker and ten conductors, on horseback.
A lid with plumes of feathers.
The hearse with six horses.
Ten pall-bearers, viz. ,
The Duke of Dorset, Lord High Steward of his
Majesty's Household.
Duke of Leeds.
Duke of Portland.
Marquis Townshend.
Marquis of Abercorn*
Earl of Carlisle.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, cxy
to the Arts,65 that" he prevailed on those who
were associated with him in the management
Earl of Inchiquin.
Earl of Upper-Ossory,
Lord Viscount Palmerston*
Lord Eliot.
Robert Lovel Gwatkin, Esq. Chief Mourner.
Two Attendants of the Family.
The Rt. Hon. Edmund Burke, ^
Edmond Malone, Esq. > Executors*
Philip Metcalfe, Esq. J
The Royal Academicians and Students.
Bennet Langton, Esq. (Professor in ancient literature.)
James Boswell, Esq. (Secretary for foreign cor
respondence,)
The Archbishop of York. The Marquis of Buckingham,
Earl of Fife. Earl of Carysfort.
Lord St. Asaph. Lord Bishop of London.
Lord Foftescue. Lord Somers.
Lord Lucan. The Dean of Norwich*
Right Hon. W. Windham. Sir Abraham Hume, Bt*
Sir George Beaumont, Bt. Sir Thomas Dundas, Bt.
Sir Charles Bunbury, Bt. Sir William Forbes, Bt.
Dr. George Fordyce, Dr. Ash.
Dr.Brocklesby, Dr. Blagden.
Sir William Scott, M. P. George Rose, Esq. M. P.
John Rolle, Esq. M. P. William Weddell, Esq. M. P.
Reginald Pole Carew, Esq* M. P. Richard Clarke, Esq.
Mat. Montagu, Esq. M. P. Rd. P. Knight, Esq. M. P.
Dudley North, Esq. M. P. Charles Townley, Esq.
ha

cx»i SOME ACCOUNT OP
of Johnson's monument,66 to consent that it
should be placed in that cathedral ; in which,
Abel Moysey, E^q. John Cleveland, Esq, M. P.
John Thomas Batt, Esq . Welbore Ellis Agar, Esq.
Colonel Gwynn, Captain Pole.
Dr. Lawrence, William Seward, Esq.
James Martin, Esq.  Drewe, Esq.
Edward Jerningham, Esq. William Vachel, Esq.
Richard Burke, Esq. Thomas Coutts, Esq.
John Julius Angerstein, Esq. Edward Gwatkin, Esq,
Charles Burney, Esq. John Hunter, Esq.
William Cruikshank, Esq.  -Home, Esq.
John Philip Kemble, Esq. Joseph Hickey, Esq.
Mr. Alderman Boydell, John Devaynes, Esq.
Mr. Poggi, Mr. Breda.
" The company were conveyed in forty-two mourning
coaches ; and forty-nine coaches belonging to the No
blemen and Gentlemen attended empty."
To each ofthe gentlemen who attended on this occasion,
was presented a print engraved by Bartolozzi, represent
ing a female clasping an urn ; accompanied by the Genius
of Painting, holding in one hand an extinguished torch,
and pointing with the other to a sarcophagus, on the tablet
of which is written —
Succedet fama, vivusqueper oraferetur.
65 He wished that St. Paul's should be decorated by
Paintings as well as Sculpture, and has enlarged on this
subject in his "Journey to Flanders, " page 341. A scheme
of this kind was proposed about the year 1774, and warmly

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Civii
I know, some of them reluctantly acquiesced.
In consequence of the ardour which he ex
pressed on this subject, it was thought proper
to deposit his body in the crypt of that
magnificent church; which indeed had
another claim also to the remains of this
great Painter, for in the same ground (though
the ancient building constructed upon it has
given place to another edifice,) was interred,
in the middle of the last century his great
predecessor, Sir Antony Vandyek.
By his last will, which was made on the
5th of November preceding his death, he be
queathed the greater part of his fortune to his
niece, Miss Palmer, now Dowager Marchio
ness of Thorriond ; ten thousand pounds in the
funds to her younger sister, Mrs, Gwatkin,
espoused by our Author ; hut it was prevented from being
carried into execution by Dr. Terrick, then Bishop of
London. Since that time, monuments, under certain re
gulations, have been admitted.
*5 Sir William Scott, Mr. Burke, Sir Joseph Banks,
y\y. Windham, Mr, Metcalf, Mr. Boswell, Mr. Malone.

cxviii SOME ACCOUNT OF
the wife of Robert Lo vel G watkin, Esq. of
Killiow, in the county of Cornwall; a con
siderable legacy to his friend, the Right
Hon. Edmund Burke, with whom he had
lived in great intimacy for more than thirty
years; and various memorials to other
friends.67 61 To the Earl of Upper- Ossory, any picture of his
own painting, remaining undisposed of at his death, that
his lordship should choose.
To Lord Palmerston, " the second choice."
To Sir Abraham Hume, Bart. " the choice of his
Claude Lorraines."
To Sir George Beaumont, Bart, his " Sebastian Bour
don, — the Return of the Arc,"
To the Duke of Portland, " the Angel Contemplation
— the upper part ofthe Nativity,"
To Edmond Malone, Philip Metcalfe, James Boswell,
Esqrs. and Sir William Scott, [now Judge of the Court
of Admiralty,] j£?2oo each, to be laid out. if they should
think proper, in the purchase of some picture at the sale
of his Collection, " to be kept for his sake."
To the Reverend William Mason, " the Miniature of
Milton, by Cooper,"
To Richard Burke, junior, Esq. his Cromwell, by
Cooper. To Mrs. Bunbury, " her son's picture ;" and to Mrs.
Gwyn, •' her own picture with a turban." 0

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. cxix
V
To the brief enumeration that has been
given of the various qualities which rendered
him at once so distinguished an ornament
and so valuable a member of society, it is
almost needless to add, that the death of this
great Painter, and most amiable man, was
not less a private loss, than a publick mis
fortune; and that however that loss may
have been deplored by his numerous friends,
by none of them was it more deeply felt,
than by him, on whom the office of trans
mitting to posterity this imperfect memorial
of his talents and his virtues has devolved*
To his nephew, William Johnston, Esq. of Calcutta,
his watch, &c.
To his old servant, Ralph Kirkley, (who had lived
with hnn twenty-nine years,) one thousand pounds.
Of this Will, he appointed Mr. Burke, Mr. Metcalfe,
and the present writer, Executors,
In March, 1795, his fine Collection of Pictures by
the Ancient Masters, was sold by Auction for 10,319!,
2s. 6d. ; and in April, 1796, various historical and
fancy-pieces of his own painting, together with some un
claimed portraits, were sold for 4505I. 18s, His very
valuable Collection of Drawings and Prints has been since
disposed of.

exx SOME ACCOUNT OF
Its imperfection however will, I trust, be
amply compensated by the following cha-
racteristick eulogy, in which the hand of the
great master, and the affectionate friend, is
so visible, that it is' scarcely necessary tp
inform the reader that it was written by Mr.
Burke, not many hours after the melancholy
event which it commemorates, had taken
place : # $ * '* % *
?' His illness was long, but borne with a
?' mild and cheerful fortitude, without the
" least mixture of any thing irritable, of
*' querulous, agreeably to the placid and
.' even tenour of his whole life. He had
" from the beginning of his malady, a dis-
" tinct view of his dissolution; and he con*
«' templated it with that entire composure*
'« which nothing but the innocence, integrity,
" and usefulness of his life, and an unaffected
*' submission to the will of Providence
V could bestow. In this situation he had

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. cx*i
ft every consolation from family tenderness,
" which his own kindness had indeed well
*c deserved.
f* Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on very many
•" accounts, one of the most memorable men*
!" of his time. He was the first. English-
" man, who added the praise of the elegant
" arts to the other glories of his country.,
" In taste, in grace, in facility, in happy
" invention, and in the richness, and harmony
f of colouring, he was equal to the great
" masters of the renowned ages. In Por-
" trait he went beyond them; for he com-
** municated to that description of the art,
" in which English artists are the most en-
'.' gaged, a variety, a fancy, and a dignity
" derived from the higher branches, which
" even those who professed , them in a su-
*l perior manner, did not always preserve,
" when they delineated individual nature.
V His Portraits remind the spectator of the
ff invention of history, and the amenity of
4

cxxii SOME ACCOUNT OF
** landscape. In painting portraits, he ap*
" peared not to be raised upon that platform,
*' but to descend to it from a higher sphere.
" His paintings illustrate his- lessons, and
" his lessons seem to be derived from his
ft paintings. " He possessed the theory as perfectly as
*' the practice of his art. To be such a
" painter, he was a profound and penetrating
" philosopher. " In full affluence of foreign and domestick
" fame, admired by the expert in art, and
*' by the learned in science, courted by the
" great, caressed by Sovereign Powers, and
*' celebrated by distinguished Poets,6* his
68 Goldsmith, Mason, T. Warton, &c  The encomi
ums on our author in prose, are not less numerous.
When the Discourses were mentioned in a former page,
I did not recollect that they have been very highly com
mended by my learned and ingenious friend, Dr. Joseph
Warton, one of the few yet left among us, of those who
began to be distinguished in the middle of the present

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. cxxiii
*• native humility, modesty, and candour,
" never forsook him, even on surprise ot
*' provocation; nor was the least degree of
century, soon after the death. of Pope, and may now
therefore be considered as the ultimi Romanorum. The
praise of so judicious a critick being too valuable to be
omitted, I shall introduce it here :
" One cannot forbear reflecting on the great progress
the Art of Painting has made in this country, since the
time that Jervas was thought worthy of this panegyrick :
[Pope's Epistle to that Painter, in 1716:] a progress,
that, we trust, will daily increase, if due attention be
paid to the incomparable Discourses that have been
delivered at the Royal Academy ; which Discourses con
tain more solid instruction on that subject, than, I verily
think, can be found in any language. The precepts are
philosophically founded on truth and nature, and illus
trated with the most proper and pertinent examples. The
characters are drawn with ^precision and distinctness, that
we look for in vain in Felibien, De Piles, and even Vasari,
or Pliny himself, Nothing, for example, can be more just
and elegant, as well as profound and scientifick, than the
comparison between Michael Angelo and Raffaelle in the
fifth of these Discourses. Michael Angelo is plainly the
hero of Sir Joshua Reynolds, for the same reason that
Homer by every great mind is preferred to Virgil."
JLssay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, ii. 394.
The foregoing note having been written in 1797,
Doctor Warton is spoken of as " yet living." He died
Feb. 23, 1800,

cxxiv SOME ACCOUNT OF
" arrogance or assumption visible to the most
•• scrutinizing eye, in any part of his con-
" duct or discourse,
** His talents of every kind, powerful
'• from nature, and not meanly cultivated by
" letters, his social virtues in all the relations
" and all the habitudes of life, rendered him
" the centre of a very great and unparalleled
" variety of agreeable societies, which will
" be dissipated by his death. He had too
*' much merit not to excite some jealousy,
" too much innocence to provoke any enmity.
" The loss of no man of his time can be felt
" with more sincere, general, and unmixed
" sorrow. "HAIL! AND FAREWELL 1"

Foley-Plage, March 8, 1809.
[First published in 1797 .J

CONTENTS
OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

DISCOURSE I.
The advantages proceeding from the institution of a
Royal Academy . — Hints offered to the consideration
of the Professors and Visitors ; — That an implicit
obedience to the rules of Art be exacted frem the
young students ; — That a premature disposition to
a masterly dexterity be repressed ; That diligence
be constantly recommended, and (that it may be
effectual) directed to its proper object. . . . page 1
DISCOURSE II.
The course and order of study. — The different stages of
Art. — Much copying discountenanced. — The Artist
at all times and in all places should be employed in
laying up materials for the exercise of his art. p. 23
DISCOURSE III.
The great leading principles ofthe Grand Style. — Of
Beauty. ,-r-The genuine habits of nature to be distin
guished from those of fashion.  , .... p. 51

CONTENT!
DISCOURSE IV.
General Ideas, the presiding principle which regulates
every part of Art]; Invention, Expression, Colouring
and Drapery: Two distinct styles in History-Paint
ing; the Grand, and fhe Ornamental. The Schools
in which each is to be found. The composite style*,
The style formed on local customs and habits, or a
partial view of Nature  p. 79
DISCOURSE V.
Circumspection required in endeavouring to unite con
trary Excellencies. The expression of a mixed
passion not to be attempted.- — Examples of those
who excelled inthe Great Style; Raffaelle, Michael
Angelo. Those two extraordinary men compared
with each other. — The characteristical Style. — Sal-
vator Rosa mentioned as an example of that style ;
and opposed to Carlo Maratti. — Sketch of the cha*
racier s q/*Poussin and Rubens. These two Painters
entirely dissimilar, but consistent with themselves.
This consistency required in all parts of the Art.
p. 31S
/ DISCOURSE VI.
Jmitation. — Genius begins where Rules end. — Inven
tion ; acquired by being, conversant with the inven*
tions of others. — The true method of imitating. — •
Borrowing, how far allowable. — Something to be
gathered from every Schooh  p. 145

CONTENTS.
DISCOURSE VII.
The reality of a standafd ofTaste, as well as of cot'
poral Beauty. Beside this immutable truth, there art
secondary truths, which are variable ; both requiring
the attention of the Artist, in proportion to their
stability or their influence  p. 18Q
DISCOURSE VIII.
The principles of Art, whether Poetry or Painting,
have their foundation in the mind; such as Novelty,
Variety, and Contrast; these in their excess become
defects. — Simplicity. Its excess disagreeable. —Rules
not to be always observed in their literal sense : suf
ficient to preserve the spirit of the law. — Observa
tions on fhe Prize-Pictures.  p. 24S

DISCOURSE I.
DELIVERED AT THE OPENING OF
THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
JANUARY 2, 1769.

VOL. I. b

TO

THE MEMBERS

OF

THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
GENTLEMEN, A HAT you have ordered the pub
lication of this discourse, is not only very
flattering to me, as it implies your approba
tion of the method of study which I have
recommended ; but likewise, as this method
receives from that act such an additional
weight and authority, as demands from the
Students that deference and respect, which
b a

can be due only to the united sense of so con*
sjderable a Body of Artists,
I am,
With the greatest esteem and respect,
©ENTLEMEN, Your most humble,
and obedient Servant,
Joshua Reynolds,

DISCOURSE I.

;4"he Advantages Proceeding from the institutioH
of a royal academy. — hints offered to the
consideration of the professors and visitors ;
—that an implicit obedience to the rules of
art be exacted from the young students : — >
that a premature i-isposltion to a masterly
dexterity ee repressed ;  that diligence be
constantly recommended, and (that it may
ee effectual) directed to its proper object.
GENTLEMEN,
A.N Academy, in which the Polite Artl
may be regularly cultivated, is at last opened
among us by Royal Munificence. This
must appear an event in the highest degree
interesting, not only to the Artists, but to
the whole nation.
It is indeed difficult to give any other
reason, why an empire like that of Bri
tain should so long have wanted an orna
ment so suitable to its greatness, than that
slow progression of things, which naturally

6 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
makes elegance and refinement the last eflfeet
of opulence and power.
An Institution like this has often been re
commended upon considerations merely mer
cantile; butan Academy, founded upon such
principles, can never effect even its own narrow
purposes. If it has an origin no higher, no
taste can ever be formed in manufactures j.
but if the higher Arts of Design flourish, these
inferior ends will be answered of course.
We are happy in having a Prince, who*
has conceived the design of such an institution,
aceordingto its true dignity; and who promotes
the Arts, as the head of a great, a learned, a
polite, and a commercial nation; and I can now
congratulate you, Gentlemen, on the accom
plishment of your long and ardent wishes.
The numberless and ineffectual consulta-
tations which I have had with many in thi&
assembly to form plans and concert schemes
for an Academy, afford a sufficient proof of
the impossibility of succeeding but by the
influence of Majesty. But there have

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. *
; perhaps, been times, when even the influence.
of Majesty would have been ineffectual i
and it is pleasing to reflect, that we are thus
embodied, when every circumstance seems to
concur from which honour and prosperity can
probably arise.
There are, at this time, a greater number
of excellent artists than were ever known
before at one period in this nation; there is
a general desire among our Nobility to be dis
tinguished as lovers and judges of the Arts ;
there is a greater superfluity of wealth among
the people to reward the professors ; and.
above all, we are patronized by a Monarch,
who, knowing the value of sciehce and of
elegance, thinks every art worthy of his notice,
that tends to soften and humanise the mind.
After so much has been done by His
Majesty, it will be wholly our fault, if
our progress is not in some degree correspon
dent to the wisdom and generosity of the In
stitution : let us shew our gratitude in our
diligence, that, though our merit may not

& THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
answer his expectations, yet, at least, our
industry may deserve his protection.
But whatever may be our proportion of
success, of this we may be sure, that the
present Institution will at least contribute to
advance our knowledge of the Arts, and
bring us nearer to that ideal excellence, which
it is fhe lot of genius always to contemplate
and never to attain.
The principal advantage of an Academy
is, that, besides furnishing able m'en to direct
the Student, it will be a repository for the
great examples of the Art. These are the
materials on which Genius is to work, and
without which the strongest intellect may
be fruitlessly or deviously employed. By
studying these authentick models, that idea
of excellence which is the result of the accu
mulated experience of past ages, may be at
once acquired ; and the tardy and obstructed
progress of our predecessors may teach us
a shorter and easier way. The Student
receives, at one glance, the principles which
many Artists have spent their whole lives in

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. 9
ascertaining; and, satisfied with their effect,
is spared the painful investigation by which
they came to be known and fixed. How
many men of great natural abilities have been
lost to this nation, for want of these advan
tages ! They never had an opportunity of
seeing those masterly efforts of genius, which
at once kindle the whole soul, and force it
into sudden and irresistible approbation.
Raffaelle, it is true, had not the ad
vantage of studying in an Academy ; but
all Rome, and the works of Michael Angelo
in particular, were to him an Academy.
On the sight of the Capella Sistina, he
immediately from a dry, Gothick, and even
insipid manner, which attends to the minute
accidental discriminations of particular and
individual objects, assumed that grand style
of painting, which improves partial repre
sentation by the general and invariable ideas
of nature.
Every seminary of learning may be said
to be surrounded with an atmosphere of
floating knowledge, where every mind may

10 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
imbibe somewhat congenial to its own origi
nal conceptions. Knowledge, thus obtained,
has always something more popular and use
ful than that which is forced upon the mind
by private precepts, or solitary meditation.
'Besides, it is generally found, that a youth
more easily receives instruction from the
companions of his studies, whose minds are
nearly on a level with his own, than from
those who are much his superiors ; and it is
from his equals only that he catches the fire
of emulation.
One advantage, I will venture to affirm,
we shall have in our Academy, which no
other nation can boast. We shall have no
thing to unlearn. To this praise the present
race of Artists have a just claim. As faras
they have yet proceeded, they are right.
With us the exertions of genius will hence
forward be directed to their proper objects.
It will not be as it has been in other schools,
where he that travelled fastest, only wan
dered farthest from the right way.
Impressed, as I arn, therefore, with

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. M
such a favourable opinion of my associates in
this undertaking, it would ill become me to
dictate to any of them. But as these Insti
tutions have so often failed in other nations ;
and as it is natural to think with regret, how
much might have been done, I must take
leave to offer a few hints, by which those
errors may be rectified, and those defects
supplied. These the Professors and Visi
tors may reject or adopt as they shall
think proper.
I would chiefly recommend, that an
implicit obedience to the Rules of Art, as
established by the practice of the great Mas
ters, should be exacted from the young
Students. That those models, which have
passed through the approbation of ages,
should be considered by them as perfect and
infallible guides ; as subjects for their imita
tion, not their criticism.
I am confident, that this is the only effica
cious method of making a progress in the
Arts ; and that he who sets out with doubt
ing, will find life finished before he becomes

12 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
master of the rudiments. For it may be laid
down as a maxim, that he who begins by
presuming on his own sense, has ended his
studies as soon as he has commenced them.
Every opportunity, therefore, should be
taken to discountenance that false and vulgar
opinion, that rules are the fetters of genius;
they are fetters only to men of no genius ;
as that armour, which upon the strong is an
ornament and a defence, upon the weak and
mis-shapen becomes a load, and cripples the
body which it was made to protect.
How much liberty may be taken to break
through those rules, and, as the Poet ex
presses it,
To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
may be a subsequent consideration, when
the pupils become masters themselves. It is
then, when their genius has received its ut
most improvement, that rules may possibly
be dispensed with. But let us not destroy
the scaffold, until we have raised the
building.

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. J3
The Directors ought more particularly tp
watch over the genius of those Students,
who, being more advanced, are arrived at
that critical period of study, on the nice
management of which their future turn of
taste depends. At that age it is natural for
them to be more captivated with what is
brilliant, than with what is solid, and to
prefer splendid negligence to painful and
humiliating exactness,
A facility in composing, — a lively, and
what is called a masterly, handling, of
the chalk or pencil, are, it must be confessed,
captivating qualities to young minds, and
become of course the objects of their ambi
tion. They endeavour to imitate these
dazzling excellencies, which they will find
no great labour in attaining. After much
time spent in these frivolous pursuits, the
difficulty will be to retreat ; but it will be
then too late; and there is scarce an instance
of return to scrupulous labour, after the mind
has been debauched and deceived by this
fallacious mastery.

14. THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
By this useless industry they are excluded
from all power of advancing in real excel
lence. Whilst boys, they are arrived at their
utmost perfection ; they have taken the sha
dow for the substance ; and make the me
chanical felicity the chief excellence of the
art, which is only an ornament, and of the
merit of which few but painters themselves
are judges.
This seems to me to be one of the most
dangerous sources of corruption ; and I speak
of it from experience, not as an error which
may possibly happen, but which has actually
infected all foreign Academies. The direc
tors were probably pleased with this prema
ture dexterity in their pupils, and praised
their dispatch at the expence of their cor
rectness. But young men have not only this frivo
lous ambition of being thought masters of
execution, inciting them on one hand, but
also their natural, sloth tempting them on the
other. They are terrified at the prospect
before them, of the toil required to attain

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. 15
exactness. The impetuosity of youth is
disgusted at the slow approaches of a regular
siege, and desires, from mere impatience of
labour, to take the citadel by storm. They
wish to find some shorter path to excellence,
and hope to obtain the reward of eminence
by other means than those, which the indis
pensable rules of art have prescribed. They r
must therefore be told again and again, that'
labour is the only price of solid fame, and.
that whatever their force of genius may be,
there is no easy method of becoming a good
Painter. When we read the lives of the most emi
nent Painters, every page informs us, that no
part of their time was spent in dissipation.
Even an increase of fame served only to aug
ment their industry. To be convinced with
what persevering assiduity they pursued
their studies, we need only reflect on their
method of proceeding in their most celebrated
works. When they conceived a subject,
they first made a variety of sketches ; then a
finished drawing of the whole ; after that a
pnore correct drawing of every separate part,

16 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
— heads, hands, feet, and pieces of drapery j
they then painted the picture, and after all
re-touched it from the life. The pictures,
thus wrought with such pains, now appear
like the effect of enchantment, and as if some
mighty Genius had struck them off at a blow.
But, whilst diligence is thus recommended
to the Students, the Visitors will take care
that their diligence be effectual ; that it be
well directed, and employed on the proper
object. A Student is not always advancing
because he is employed ; he must apply his
strength to that part of the art where the real
difficulties lie; to that part which distin
guishes it as a liberal art ; and not by
mistaken industry lose his time in that which
is merely ornamental. The Students, instead
of vying with each other which shall have
the readiest hand, should be taught to contend
who shall have the purest and most correct
out-line ; instead of striving which shall pro
duce the brightest tint, or curiously trifling,
shall give the gloss of stuffs, so as to appear
real, let iheir ambition be directed to contend,
which shall dispose his drapery in the most

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. 17
graceful folds, which shall give the most
grace and dignity to the human figure.
I must beg leave to submit one thing
more to the consideration of the Visitors,
which appears to me a matter of very great
consequence, and the omission of which I
think a principal defect in the method of
education pursued in all the Academies I
have ever visited. The error I mean is,
that the students never draw exactly from
the living models which they have before
them. It is not indeed their intention ; nor
are they directed to do it. Their drawings
resernble the model only in the attitude.
They change the form according to their
vague and uncertain ideas of beauty, and
make a drawing rather of what they think
the figure ought to be, than of what it ap
pears. I have thought this the obstacle that
has stopped the progress of many young men
of real genius; and I very much doubt,
whether a habit of drawing correctly what
we see, will not give a proportionable power
of drawing correctly what we imagine. He
who endeavours to copy nicely the figure
vol. i. c

18 THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
before him, not only acquires a habit of
exactness and precision, but is continually
advancing in his knowledge "of the human
figure ; and though he seems to superficial
observers to mak£ a slower progress, he will
be found at last capable of adding (without
running into capricious wildness) that grace
and beauty, which is necessary to be given
to his more finished works, and which can
not be got by the moderns, as it was not
acquired by the ancients, but by an atten
tive and well compared study of the human
form. What I think ought to enforce this me
thod is, that it has been the practice (as
may be seen by their drawings) of the great
Masters in the Art. I will mention a draw
ing bf Raffaelle, The Dispute of the Sacra
ment, the print of which, by Count Cailus,
is in every hand. It appears, that he made
his sketch from one model ; and the habit
he had of drawing exactly from the form
before him appears by his making all the
figures with the same cap, such as his mo
del then happened to wear; so servile a

THE FIRST DISCOURSE. ,19
Copyist was this great man, even at ajime
when he was allowed to be at his highest
pitch of excellence.
I have seen also Academy figures by
Annibale Caracci, though he was often suf
ficiently licentious in his finished works,
drawn with all the peculiarities of an indivi
dual model.
This scrupulous exactness is so contrary
to the practice of the Academies, that it is
not without great deference, that I beg leave
to recommend it to the consideration of the
Visitors ; and submit to them, whether the
neglect of this method is not one of the rea
sons why Students so often disappoint expec
tation, and, being more than boys at sixteen*
become less than men at thirty.
In short, the method 1 recommend can
only be detrimental where there are but few
living forms to copy ; for then Students,
by always drawing from one alone, will by
habit be taught to overlook defects, and
mistake deformity for beauty. But of this
c %

2ft THE FIRST DISCOURSE.
there is no danger ; since the Council has
determined to supply the Academy with a
variety of subjects ; and indeed those laws
which they have drawn up, and which the
Secretary will presently read for your con
firmation, have in some measure precluded
me from saying more upon this occasion.
Instead, therefore, of offering my advice,
permit me to indulge my wishes, and ex
press my hope, that this institution may
answer the expectation of its Royal Foun
der; that the present age may vie in Arts
with that of Leo the Tenth; and that the
dignity of the dying Art (to make use of an
expression of Pliny) may be revived under
the Reign of GEORGE THE THIRD.

DISCOURSE II.
DELIVERED TO THE STUDENTS OF
THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
OK TAB
DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES.
DECEMBER 11, 1769.

DISCOURSE II.

THE COURSE AND ORDER OF STUDY. — THE DIFFERENT
STAGES OF ART. — MUCH COPYING DISCOUNTENANCED.
 THE ARTIST AT ALL TIMES AND IN ALL PLACES
SHOULD BE EMPLOYED IN LAYING UP MATERIALS FOR
THE EXERCISE OF HIS ART.
GENTLEMEN,
A Congratulate you on the honour which
you have just received. I have the highest
opinion of your merits, and could wish to
show my sense of them in something which
possibly may be more useful to you than
barren praise. I could wish to lead you into
such a course of study as may render your
future progress answerable to your past im
provement; and, whilst I applaud you for
what has been done, remind you how much
yet remains to attain perfection.
I flatter myself, that from the long ex
perience I have had, and the unceasing as
siduity with which I have pursued those

24 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
studies, in which, like you, I have been en-r
gaged, I shall be acquitted of vanity in offer
ing some hints to your consideration. They"
are indeed in a great degree founded upon
my own mistakes in the same pursuit. But
the history of errors, properly managed, often
shortens the road to truth- And although no
method of study, that I can offer, will of
itself conduct to excellence, yet it may pre
serve industry from being misapplied.
In speaking to you of the Theory of the
Art, I shall only consider it as it has a relaT
tion to the method of vour studies.
Dividing the study of painting into three
distinct periods, I shall address you as having
passed through the first of them, which is
confined to tbe rudiments ; including a faci
lity of drawing any object that presents it
self, a tolerable readiness in the management
of colours, and an acquaintance with the most
simple and obvious rules of composition.
This first degree of proficiency is, in
painting, what grammar is in literature, a •

THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
general preparation for whatever species of
the art the student may afterwards choose for
his more particular application. The power
of drawing, modelling, and using colours,
is very properly called the Language of the
art ; and in this language, the honours you
have just received prove you to have made
no inconsiderable progress.
When the Artist is once enabled to express
himself with some degree of correctness,
he must then endeavour to collect subjects
for expression ; to amassva stock of ideas, to
be combined and varied as occasion may re
quire. £le is now in the second period of
study, in which his business is to learn all
that has been l<;nown and done before his own
time. Having hitherto received instructions
from a particular master, he is now to con
sider the Art itself as his master. He must
extend his capacity to more sublime and
general instructions. Those perfections
which he scattered among various masters,
are now united in one general idea, which
is henceforth to regulate his taste, and en
large his imagination. With a variety of

26* THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
models thus before him, he will avoid that
narrowness and poverty of conception which
attends a bigotted admiration of a single
master, and will cease to follow any favourite
where he ceases to excel. This period is,
however, still a time of subjection and dis
cipline. Though the Student will not re
sign himself blindly to any single authority,
when he may have the advantage of consult
ing many, he must still be afraid of trusting
his own judgment, and of deviating into any
track where he cannot find the footsteps of
some former master.
The third and last period emancipates
the Student from subjection to any authority,
but what he shall himself judge to be sup
ported by reason. Confiding now in his
own judgment, he will consider and sepa
rate those different principles to which diffe
rent modes of beauty owe their original. Ih
the former period he sought only to know
and combine excellence, wherever it was to
be found, into one idea of perfection : in
this he learns, what requires the] most au
tentive survey, and the most subtle disquisi-

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 2f
tion, to discriminate perfections that are in
compatible with each other.
He is from this time to regard himself
as holding the same rank with those masters
whom he before obeyed as teachers; and
as exercising a sort of sovereignty over those
rules which have hitherto restrained him.
Comparing now no longer the perform
ances of Art with each other, but examining
the Art itself by the standard of nature, he
corrects what is erroneous, supplies what
is scanty, and adds by his own observation
what the industry of his predecessors may
have yet left wanting to perfection. Hav
ing well established his judgment, and stored
his memory, he may now without fear try
the power of his imagination. The mind
that has been thus disciplined, may be in
dulged in the warmest enthusiasm, a(nd ven
ture to play on the borders of the wildest
extravagance. The habitual dignity which
long converse with the greatest minds has
imparted to him, will display itself in all his
attempts ; and he will stand among his in
structors, not as an imitator, but a rival.

28 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
These are the different stages of the Art.
But as I now address myself particularly to
those Students who have been this day re
warded for their happy passage through the
first period, I can with no propriety sup
pose they want any help in the initiatory
studies. My present design is to direct your
view to distant excellence, and to show you
the readiest path that leads to it. Of this I
shall speak with such latitude, as may leave
the province of the professor uninvaded ;
and shall not anticipate those precepts, which
it his business to give, and your duty to
understand. It is indisputably evident that a great part
of every man's life must be employed in
collecting materials for the exercise of ge
nius. Invention, strictly speaking, is little
more than a new combination of those images
which have been previously gathered and de
posited in the memory : nothing can come
of nothing : he who has laid up no mate
rials, can produce no combinations.
A Student unacquainted with the attempts

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 2<>
of former adventurers, is always apt to
over-rate his own abilities ; to mistake the
most trifling excursions for discoveries of
moment, and every coast new to him, for a
new-found country. If by chance he passes
beyond his usual limits, he congratulates
his own arrival at those regions which they
who have steered a better course have long
left behind them.
The productions of such minds are sel
dom distinguished by an air of originality :
they are anticipated in their happiest efforts ;
and if they are found to differ in any thing
from their predecessors, it is only in irregu
lar sallies, and trifling conceits. The more
extensive therefore, your acquaintance is with
the works of those who have excelled, the
more extensive will be your powers of inven
tion ; and what may appear still more like
a paradox, the more original will be your
conceptions. But the difficulty on this oc
casion is to determine what ought to be pro
posed as models of excellence, and who
ought to be considered as the properesf
guides.

3© THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
To a young man just arrived in Italy .
many of the present painters of that coun-s
try are ready enough to obtrude their pre
cepts, and to offer their own performances as
examples of that perfection which they affect
to recommend. The Modern, however,
who recommends himself as a standard, may
justly be suspected as ignorant of the true
end, and unacquainted with the proper ob
ject, ofthe art which he professes. To fol
low such a guide, will not only retard the
Student, but mislead him.
On whom then can he rely, or who shall
show him the path that leads to excellence?
the answer is obvious : those great masters
who have travelled the same road with suc
cess are the most likely to conduct others.
The works of those who have stood the
test of ages, have a claim to that respect
and veneration to which no modern can
pretend. The duration and stability of their
fame, is sufficient to evince that it has not
been suspended upon the slender thread
of fashion and caprice, but bound to the
5

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 31
human heart by every tie of sympathetick
approbation. There is no danger of studying too much
the works of those great men; but how they
may be studied to advantage is an enquiry
of great importance.
Some who have never raised their minds
to the consideration of the real dignity of the
Art, and who rate the works of an Artist in
proportion as they excel or are defective in
the mechanical parts, look on theory as
something that may enable them to talk but
not to paint better; and confining themselves
entirely to mechanical practice, very assidu
ously toil on in the drudgery of copying ; and
think they make a rapid progress while they
faithfully exhibit the minutest part of a
favourite picture. This appears to me a very
tedious, and I think a very erroneous method
of proceeding. Of every large composition,
even of those which are most admired, a
great part may be truly said to be common
place. This, though it takes up much time
in copying, conduces little to improvement.

32 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
I consider general copying as a delusive kind
of industry ; the Student satisfies himself
with the appearance of doing something;
he falls into the dangerous habit of imitating
without selecting, and of labouring with
out any determinate object , as it requires
no effort of rhe mind, he sleeps over his
work: and those powers of invention and
composition which ought particularly to be
called out, and put in action, lie torpid, and
lose their energy for want of exercise.
How incapable those are of producing
any thing of their own, who have spent
much of their time in making finished copies,
is well known to all who are conversant with
our art.
To suppose that the complication of pow
ers, and variety of ideas necessary to that
mind which aspires to the first honours
in the Art of Painting, can be obtained by
the frigid contemplation of a few single
models, is no less absurd, than it would be
in him who wishes to be a Poet, to imagine
that by translating a tragedy he can acquire

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 33
to himself sufficient ; knowledge of the ap
pearances of nature, the operations of the
passions, and the incidents of life.
The great use in copying, if it be at all
useful, should seem to be in learning to
colour ; yet even colouring will never be per
fectly attained by servilely copying the model
before you. An eye critically nice, can only
be formed by observing well-coloured pic
tures with attention : and by close inspec
tion, and minute examination, you will
discover, at last, the manner of handling,
the artifices of contrast, glazing, and other
expedients, by which good colourists have
raised the value of their tints, and by which
nature has been so happily imitated.
I must inform you, however, that old
pictures, deservedly celebrated for their co
louring, are often so changed by dirt and
varnish, that we ought not to wonder if
they do not appear equal to their reputa
tion in the eyes of unexperienced painters,
or young students. An artist whose judg
ment is matured by long observation, con-
VOL. I. B

34 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
siders rather what the picture once was, than
what it is at present, He -has by habit ac
quired a power of seeing the brilliancy of
tints through the cloud by which it is obscu
red. An exact imitation, therefore, of those
pictures, is likely :to fill the student's mind
-with false opinions ; and to send him back
a colourist of his own formation, with ideas
equally remote from nature and from art,
from the genuine practice of the masters, and
the real appearances of things.
Following these rules, and using these
precautions, when you have clearly and dis
tinctly learned, in what good colouring con
sists, you cannot- do better than have re
course to nature herself, who is always at
hand, and in comparison of whose true
splendour the best coloured pictures are but
faint and feeble.
However, as the practice of copying is
not entirely to be excluded, since the mecha
nical practice of painting is learned in some
measure by it, let those choice parts only
be selected which .have recommended the

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 35
work to notice. If its excellence consists
in its general effect, it would be proper to
make slight sketches of the machinery and
general management of the picture. Those
sketches should be kept always by you for
the regulation of your style. Instead of
copying the touches of those great masters,
copy only their conceptions. Instead of
treading in their footsteps, endeavour only
to keep the same road. Labour to invent on
their general principles and way of thinking.
Possess yourself with their spirit. Con
sider with yourself how a Michael Angelo
or a Raffaelle would have treated this sub
ject : and work yourself into a belief that
your picture is to be seen and criticised by
them when completed. Even an attempt of
this kind will rouse your powers.
But as mere enthusiasm will carry you but
a little way, let me recommend a practice that
may be equivalent to, and will perhaps more
efficaciously contribute to your advancement,
than even the verbal corrections of those mas
ters themselves, could they be obtained.
What I would propose is, that you should
d a

36 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
enter into a kind of competition, by painting
a similar subject, and making a companion
to any picture that you consider as a model.
After you have finished your work, place it
near the model, and compare them carefully
together. You will then not only see, but
feel your own deficiencies more sensibly than
by precepts, or any other means of instruc
tion. The true principles of painting will
mingle with your thoughts. Ideas thus fixed
by sensible objects, will be certain and defi
nitive ; and sinking deep into the mind, will
not only be more just, but more lasting than
those presented to you by precepts only;
which will always be fleeting, variable, and
undetermined. This method of comparing your own efforts
with those of some great master, is indeed
a severe and mortifying task, to which none
will submit, but such as have great views,
with fortitude sufficient to forego the gratifi
cations of present vanity for future honour.
When the Student has succeeded in some
measure to his own satisfaction, and has
felicitated himself on his success, to go volun-

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. -37
tarily to a tribunal where he knows his vanity
must be humbled, and all self-approbation
must vanish, requires not only great resolu
tion, but great humility. To him, however,
who has the ambition to be a real master, the
solid satisfaction which proceeds from a con
sciousness of his advancement, (of which
seeing his own faults is the first step,) will
very abundantly compensate for the mortifi
cation of present disappointment. There is,
besides, this alleviating circumstance. Every
discovery he makes,, every acquisition of
knowledge he attains, seems to proceed from
his own sagacity ; and thus he acquires a
confidence in himself sufficient to keep up
the resolution of perseverance.
We all must have experienced how lazily,
and consequently how ineffectually, instruc
tion is received when forced upon the mind
by others. Few have been taught to any
purpose, who have not been their own teach^
ers. We prefer those instructions which we
have given ourselves, from our affection to
the instructor ; and they are more effectual,
from being; received into the mind at the very

38 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
time when it is most open and eager to receive
them. With respect to the pictures that you are
to choose for your models, I could wish that
you would take the world's opinion rather
than your own. In other words, I would
have you choose those of established reputa
tion, rather than follow your own fancy. If
you should not admire them at first, you will,
by endeavouring to imitate them, find that
the world has not been mistaken.
It is not an easy task to point out those
various excellencies for your imitation, which
lie distributed amongst the various schools.
An endeavour to do this may perhaps be the
subject of some future discourse. I will,
therefore, at present only recommend a model
for style in Painting, which is a branch of the
art more immediately necessary to the young
student Style in painting is the same as in
writing, a power over materials, whether
words or colours, by which conceptions or
sentiments are conveyed. And in this Ludo-
vico Caracci (I mean in his best works)

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 39
appears to me to approach the nearest to
perfection. His unaffected breadth of light
and shadow, the simplicity of colouring,
which, holding its proper rank, does not
draw aside the least part of the attention from
the subject, and the solemn effect of that
twilight which seems diffused over his pic
tures, appear to me to correspond with grave
and dignified subjects, better than the more
artificial brilliancy of sunshine which enlight
ens the pictures of Titian : though Tintoret
thought that Titian's colouring was- the mo
del of perfection , and would correspond, even
with the sublime of Michael Angelo-; and
that if Angelo had coloured: like Titian, or
Titian designed like Angelo, the world would
once have had a perfect painter.
It is our misfortune, however, that those
works of Caracci which I would recommend
to the Student, are not often found out of
Bologna. The St. Francis in the midst of his
Friars, The Transfiguration , The Birth of
St. John the Baptist, The Calling of St. Mat*
thew; The St. Jerome, The Fresco Paintings
in the Zampieri palace, are all worthy the
6

4,0 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
attention of the student. And I think those
who travel would do well to allot a much
greater portion of their time to that city, than
it has been hitherto the custom to bestow.
In this art, as in others, there are many
teachers who profess to show the nearest
way to excellence ; and many expedients
have been invented by which the toil of study
might be saved. But let no man be seduced
to idleness by specious promises. Excellence
is never granted to man, but as the reward
of labour. It argues indeed no small strength
of mind to persevere in habits of industry,
without the pleasure of perceiving those
advances; which, like the hand of a clock,
whilst they make hourly approaches to their
point, yet proceed so slowly as to escape
observation. A facility of drawing, like
that of playing upon a musical instrument,
cannot be acquired but by an infinite number
of acts. I need not, therefore, enforce by
many words the necessity of continual appli
cation; nor tell you that the port-crayon
ought to be for ever in your hands. Various
methods will occur to you by which this
5 "

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 41
power may be acquired. I would particu
larly recommend, that after your return from
the Academy, (where I suppose your atten
dance to be constant,) you would endeavour
to draw the figure by memory. 1 will even
venture to add, that by perseverance in this
custom, vou will become able to draw the
human figure tolerably correct, with as little
effort of the mind as is required to trace
with a pen the letters of the alphabet.
That this facility is not unattainable, some
members in this Academy give a sufficient
proof. And be assured, that if this power is
not acquired whilst you are young, there will
be no time for it afterwards : at least the
attempt will be attended with as much diffi
culty as those experience, who learn to read
or write after they have arrived to the age of
maturity. ,
But while I mention the port-crayon as the
Student's constant companion, he must still
remember, that the pencil is the instrument
by which he must hope to obtain eminence.
What, therefore, I wish to impress upon you

45 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
is, that whenever an opportunity offers, you
paint your studies instead of drawing them.
This will give you such a facility in using
colours, that in time they will arrange them
selves under the pencil, even without the
attention of the hand that conducts it. If
one act excluded the other, this advice could
not with any propriety be given. But if
Painting comprises both drawing and colour
ing, and if by a short struggle of resolute
industry, the same expedition is attainable in
Painting as in drawing on paper, I cannot
see what objection can justly be made to the
practice; or why that should be done by
parts, which may be done all together.
If we turn our eyes to the several Schools
of Painting, and consider their respective
excellencies, we shall find that those who
excel most in colouring, pursued this method.
The Venetian and Flemish schools, which
owe much of their fame to colouring, have
enriched the cabinets of the collectors of
drawings, with very few examples. Those
of Titian, Paul Veronese, Tintoret, and the
Bassans, are in general slight and undeter-

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 43
mined. Their sketches on paper are as rude
as their pictures are excellent in regard to
harmony of colouring. Correggio and Ba.-
roccio have left few, if any finished drawings
behind them. And in the Flemish school,
Rubens and Vandyek made their designs for
the most part either in colours, or in chiaro-
oscuro. It is as common to find studies of
the Venetian and Flemish Painters on canvass,
as of the schools of Rome and Florence on
paper. Not but that many finished drawings
are sold under the names of those masters.
Those, however, are undoubtedly the produc
tions either of engravers or their scholars,
who copied their works.
These instructions I have ventured to offer
from my own experience ; but as they deviate
widely from received opinions, I offer them
with diffidence ; and when better are sug
gested, shall retract them without regret.
There is one precept, however, in which I
shall only be opposed by the vain, the ig
norant, and the idle. I am not afraid that I
shall repeat it too often. You must have no

44 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
dependence on your own genius. If you have
great talents, industry will improve them ; if
you have but moderate abilities, industry will
supply their deficiency. Nothing is denied
to well-directed labour : nothing is to be ob
tained without it. Not to enter into me
taphysical discussions on the nature or
essence of genius, I will venture to assert,
that assiduity unabated by difficulty, and
a disposition eagerly directed to the object
of its pursuit, will produce effects similar to
those which some call the result of natural
powers. Though a man cannot at all times, and in
all places, paint or draw, yet the mind can
prepare itself by laying in proper materials,
at all times, and in all places. Both Livy
and Plutarch, in describing Philopoemen,
one of the ablest generals of antiquity, have
given us a striking picture of a mind always
intent on its profession, and by assiduity
obtaining those excellencies which some all
their lives vainly expect from nature. I shall
quote the passage in Livy at length, as it
runs parallel with the practice I would re-

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 45
commend to the Painter, Sculptor, and
Architect.

" Philopoemen was a man eminent for
his sagacity and experience in choosing
ground, and in leading armies; to which he
formed his mind by perpetual meditation, in
times of peace as well as war. When, in
any occasional journey, he came to a strait
difficult passage, if he was alone, he consi
dered with himself, and if he was in com
pany he asked his friends, what it would be
best to do if in this place they had found an
enemy, either in the front, or in the rear, on
the one side or on the other. ' It might
happen,' says he, ' that the enemy to be op
posed might come on drawn up in regular
lines, or in a tumultuous body, formed only
by the nature of the place.' He then con
sidered a little what ground he should take ;
what number of soldiers he should use, and
what arms he should give them ; where he
should lodge his carriages, his baggage, and
the defenceless followers of his camp ; how
many guards, and of what kind, he should
send to defend them ; and whether it would

46 THE SECOND DISCOURSE,
be better to press forward along the pass, or
recover by retreat his former station : he
would consider likewise where his camp
could most commodiously be formed ; how
much ground he should inclose within his
trenches ; where he should have the conve
nience of water, and where he might find
plenty of wood and forage ; and when he
should break up his camp on the following
day, through what road he could most safely
pass, and in what form he should dispose his
troops. With such thoughts and disquisi
tions he had from his early years so exercised
his mind, that on these occasions nothing
could happen which he had not been already
accustomed to consider -
I cannot help imagining that I see a pro
mising young painter equally vigilant,
whether at home, or abroad, in the streets,
or in the fields. Every object that presents
itself, is to him a lesson. He regards all
Nature with a view to his profession ;
and combines her beauties, or corrects her
defects. He examines the countenance
of men under the influence of passion;

THE SECOND DISCOURSE. 4f
and often catches the most pleasing hints
from subjects of turbulence or deformity.
Even bad pictures themselves supply him
with useful documents; and, as Lionardo
da Vinci has observed, he improves upon
the fanciful images that are sometimes seen
in the fire, or are accidentally sketched upon
a discoloured wall.
The Artist who has his mind thus filled
with ideas, and his hand made expert by
practice, works with ease and readiness ;
whilst he who would have you believe that
he is waiting for the inspirations of Genius,
is in reality at a loss how to begin ; and is
at last delivered of his monsters, with diffi
culty and pain.
The well-grounded painter, on the con
trary, has only maturely to consider his
subject, and all the mechanical parts of his
art follow without his exertion. Conscious
of the difficulty of obtaining what he pos
sesses, he makes no pretensions to secrets,
except those of closer application. Without
conceiving the srriallest jealousy against

48 THE SECOND DISCOURSE.
others he is contented that all shall be as
great as himself, who have undergone the
same fatigue ; and as his pre-eminence de
pends not upon a trick, he is free from the
painful suspicions of a juggler, who lives in
perpetual fear lest his trick should be dis
covered .

DISCOURSE III.

DELIVERED TO THE' STUDENTS OP

THE ROYAL ACADEMY,

DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES.
DECEMBER 14, 17'0.

VOL. I.

DISCOURSE III.

THE GREAT LEADING PRINCIPLES OF Ti/e GRAND
style. — of beauty.  the genuine habits of
nature to be distinguished . from those of
fashion; GENTLEMEN.,
JT is not easy to speak with propriety to
so many students of different ages and dif
ferent degrees of advancement. The mitid
requires nourishment adapted to its growth ;
and what may have promoted our earlier
efforts, might retard us in our hearer ap
proaches to perfection.
The fitst endeavours of a young Painter,
as I have remarked in a former discourse,
must be employed in the attainment of me
chanical dexterity, and confined to the mere
imitation of the object before him. Those
who have advanced beyond the rudiments,
may, perhaps, find advantage in reflecting
©n the advice which I have likewise given
E 2

52 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
them, when I recommended the diligent
study of the works of our great predeces
sors ; but I at the same time endeavoured
to guard them against an implicit submis
sion to the authority of any one master
however excellent : or by a strict imitation
of his manner, precluding themselves from
the abundance and variety of Nature. I
will now add, that Nature herself is not
to be too closely copied. There are excel
lencies in the art of painting beyond what is
commonly called the imitation of nature;
and these excellencies I wish to point out.
The students who, having passed through
the initiatory exercises, are more advanced
in the art, and who, sure of their hand,
have leisure to exert their understanding,
i must now be told, that a mere copier of na-
f ture can never produce any thing great; can
never raise and enlarge the conceptions, or
warm the heart of the spectator.
The wish of the genuine painter must be
more extensive : instead of endeavouring
to amuse mankind with the minute neatness
of his imitations, he must endeavour to im-

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. £3
prove them by the gr^deur of his ideas;
instead of seeking praise, by deceiving the
superficial sense of the spectator, he must
strive for fame, by captivating the imagi
nation. The principle now laid down, that the
perfection of this art does not consist in
mere imitation, is far from being new or
singular. It is, indeed, supported by the
general opinion of the enlightened part of
mankind. The poets, orators, and rheto
ricians of antiquity, are continually enfor
cing this position ; that all the' arts receive
their perfection from an ideal beauty, supe
rior to what is to be found in individual
nature. They are ever referring to the prac
tice of the painters and sculptors of their
times, particularly Phidias, (the favourite
artist of antiquity,) to illustrate their asser
tions. As if they could not sufficiently ex
press their admiration of his genius by what
they knew, they have recourse to poetical
enthusiasm : they call it inspiration ; a gift
from heaven. The artist is supposed to have
ascended the celestial regions, to furnish his
mind with this perfect idea of beauty.

S4 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
" He," says Proclus *, '" who takes for his
?' model such forms as nature produces, and
*' confines himself to an exact imitation of
*' them, will never attain to what is perfectly
" beautiful. For the works of nature are full
" of disproportion, and fall very short of the
" true standard of beauty. So that Phidias,
*' when he formed his Jupiter, did not copy
**i any object ever presented to his sight ; but
V 'contemplated only that image which he
" had conceived in his mind from Homer's
«' description." And thus Cicero, speaking
of the same Phidias: " Neither did this
" artist," says he, " when he carved the
* ' image of Jupiter or Minerva, set before
" him any one human figure, as a pattern,
" which he was to copy; but having a
*' more perfect idea of beauty fixed in his
'-' mind, this he steadily contemplated, and
" to the imitation of this, all his skill and
** labour were directed."
The Moderns are not less convinced than
the Ancients of this superior power existing
in the art; nor less sensible of its effects.
* Lib, 2. in Timasum Platonis, as cited by Junius d$
Pictura Veterum. R.

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 55
Every language has adopted terms expressive
of this excellence. The gusto grande of the
Italians, the beau ideal oi the French, and
the great style, genius, and taste among the
English, are but different appellations of
the same thing. It is this intellectual dig
nity, they say, that ennobles the painter's
art ; that lays the line between him and the
mere mechanick ; and produces those great
effects in an instant, which eloquencei and
poetry, by slow and repeated efforts, are
scarcely able to attain,
Such is the warmth with which both the
Ancients and Moderns speak of this divine
principle of the art; but, as I have for
merly observed, enthusiastick admiration sel
dom promotes knowledge. Though a stu
dent by such praise may have his attention
roused, and a desire excited, of running in
this great career ; yet it is possible that what
has been said to excite, may only serve to
deter him. He examines his own mind,
and perceives there nothing of that divine
inspiration, with which he is told so many
Others have been favoured. He never tvo.-

56" THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
veiled to heaven to gather new ideas ; and
he finds himself possessed of no other qua
lifications than what mere common obser
vation and a plain understanding can confer.
Thus he becomes gloomy amidst the splen
dour of figurative declamation, and thinks it
hopeless to pursue an object which he sup
poses out of the reach of human industry.
But on this, as upon many other occa
sions, we ought to distinguish how much is
to be given to enthusiasm, and how much
to reason. We ought to allow for, and we
ought to commend that strength of vivid
expression, which is necessary to convey, in
its full force, the highest sense of the most
complete effect of art ; taking care at the
same time, not to lose in terms of vague
admiration, that solidity and truth of prin
ciple, upon which alone we can reason, and
may be enabled to practise.
It is not easy to define in what this great
style consists; nor to describe, by words,
the proper means of acquiring it, if the
mind of the student should be at all capable

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 57
of such an acquisition. Could we teach
taste or genius by rules, they would be no
longer taste and genius. But though there
neither are, nor can be, any precise invaria
ble rules for the exercise, or the acquisition,
of these great qualities, yet we may truly
say, that they always operate in proportion
to our attention in observing the works of
nature, to our skill in selecting, and to our
care in digesting, methodizing, and compa
ring our observations. There are many
beauties in our art, that seem, at first, to
lie without the reach of precept, and yet
may easily be reduced to practical principles.
Experience is all in all ; but it is not every one
who profits by experience ; and most people
err, not so much from want of capacity to
find their object, as from not knowing
what object to pursue. This great ideal
perfection and beauty are not to be sought in
the heavens, but upon the earth. They are
about uSj and upon every side of us. But
the power of discovering what is deformed in
nature, or in other words, what is particular
andj^commpn, can be acquired only by ex
perience : and the whole beauty and grandeur

58 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
of the art consists, in my opinion, in being
able to get above all singular forms, local cus
toms, particularities, and details of every kind.
All the objects which are exhibited to our
view by nature, upon close examination will
be found to have their blemishes and defects.
The most beautiful forms have something
about them like weakness, minuteness, or
imperfection. But it is not every eye that
perceives these blemishes. It must be an
eye long used to the contemplation and com
parison of these forms ; and which by a long
habit of observing what any set of objects
of the same ki^djiavc in common, has ac
quired the power of discerning what each
wants in particular. This long laborious
comparison should be the first study of the
painter, who aims at the greatest style. By
this means, he acquires a just idea of beau-.
tiful forms ; he corrects nature by herself,
her imperfect state by her more perfect.
His eye being enabled to distinguish the ac
cidental deficiencies, ^excrescences, and defor
mities of things, from their general figures,
he makes out an abstract idea of theirfbrm^

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 50
more perfect than any one original ; and
what may seem a paradox, he learns to de-.
sign naturally by drawing his figures unlike /
to any one object. This idea of the per
fect state_of_n.ature, which the Artist calls
the Ideal Beauty, is the great leading prin
ciple by which works of genius are con
ducted. By this Phidias acquired his fame.
He wrought upon a sober principle what
has so much excited the enthusiasm of the
world; and by this method you, who have
courage to tread the same path, may acquire
equal reputation.
This is the idea which has acquired, and
which seems to have a right to the epi
thet of divine ; as it may be said to pre
side, like a supreme judge, over all the
productions of nature appearing to be pos
sessed of the will and intention of the Cre
ator, as far as they regard the external form of
living beings. When a man once possesses
this idea in its perfection, there is no danger
but that he will be sufficiently warmed by
it himself, and be able to warm and ravish
-every orie else,

6» THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
Thus it is from a reiterated experience,
and a close comparison of the objects in
nature, that an artist becomes possessed of
the idea of that central form, if I may so ex
press it, from which every deviation is
deformity. But the investigation of this
form, I grant, is painful, and I know but
of one method of shortening the road ;
this is, by a careful study of the works
of the ancient sculptors ; who, being inde
fatigable in the school of nature, have left
models of that perfect form behind them,
which an artist would prefer as supremely
beautiful, who had spent his whole life in
that single contemplation. But if industry
carried them thus far, may not you also
hope for the same reward from the same
labour ? we have the same school opened to
us, that was opened to them ; for nature
denies her instructions to none, who desire
to become her pupils.
This laborious investigation, I am aware,
must appear superfluous to those who think
every thing is to be done by felicity, and
the powers of native genius. Even the

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. • €l
great Bacon treats with ridicule the idea of
confining proportion to rules, or of produ
cing beauty by selection. " A man cannot
' tell, (says he,) whether Apelles or Albert
' Durer were the more trifler : whereof the
' one would make a personage by geome-
' trical proportions ; the other, by taking
' the best parts out of divers faces, to make
' one excellent  The painter, (he
' adds,) must do it by a kind of felicity,
' . . . and not by rule*."

It is not safe to question any opinion
of so great a writer, and so profound a
thinker, as undoubtedly Bacon was. But
he studies brevity to excess ; and there
fore his meaning is sometimes doubtful.
If he means that beauty has nothing to do
with rule, he is mistaken. There is a
rule, obtained out of general nature, to
contradict which is to fall into deformity.
Whenever any thing is done beyond this
rule, it is in virtue of some other rule which I
* Essays, p. 252. edft. 1625.

6<t the Third discourse.
is followed along with it, but which does not
contradict it.' Every thing which is wrought
with certainty, is wrought upon some prin-*
ciple. If it is not, it cannot be repeated.
If by felicity is meant any thing of chance
or hazard, or something born with a man,
and not earned, I cannot agree with this
great philosopher. Every object which
pleases must give us pleasure upon some
certain principles : but as the objects of
pleasure are almost infinite, so their princi
ples vary without end, and every man finds
them out, not by felicity or successful hazard,
but by care and sagacity.
To the principle I have laid down, that
the idea of beauty in each species of beings'
is an invariable one, it may be. objected,'
that in every particular species there are
various central forms^ which are separate
and distinct from each other, and yet are un
deniably beautiful ; that in the human figure,
for instance, the beauty of Hercules is one,
of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo an
other ; which makes so many different ideas-
of beauty. 4

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 63
It is true, indeed, that these figures are
each perfect in their kind, though of differ
ent characters and proportions ; but still nolle
of them is the representation of an indi
vidual, but of a jdiis^. And as there is one
general form, which, as I have said, be
longs to the human kind at large, so in each
of these classes there is onejcommon idea
^and central form, which is the. abstract of
the various individual forms belonging to
that class. Thus, though the .forms of child
hood and age differ exceedingly, there is a
common form in childhood, and a common
form in age, which is the more perfect, as
it is more remote from all peculiarities.
But I must add further, that though the
most perfect forms of each of the general
divisions of the human figure are ideal, and
superior to any individual form of that class ;
yet the highest perfection of the human fi
gure is not to be found in any one of them.
It is not in the Hercules, nor in the Gladia
tor, nor in the Apollo; but in that form
which is taken from all, and which par
takes equally of the activity of the Gladiator,
of the delicacy of the Apollo, and of the

& THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
muscular strength of the Hercules. For
perfect beauty in any species must combine
all the characters which are beautiful in that
species. It cannot consist in any one to the
exclusion of the rest: no one, therefore,
must be predominant, that no one may be
deficient. The knowledge of these different charac
ters, and the power of separating and distin
guishing them, is undoubtedly necessary to
the painter, who is to vary his compositions
with figures of various forms and propor
tions, though he is never to lose sight
of the general idea of perfection in each
kind. There is, likewise, a kind of symmetry,
or proportion, which may properly be said to
belong to deformity. A figure lean or cor
pulent, tall or short, though deviating from
beauty, may still have a certain union of the
various parts, which may contribute to make
them on the whole not unpleasing.
When the Artist has by diligent attention

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. €5
acquired a clear and distinct idea of beauty
and symmetry ; when he has reduced the
variety of nature to the abstract idea ; his
next task will be to become acquainted with
the genuine habits of nature, as distinguished
from those of fashion. For in the same
manner, and on the same principles, as he
has acquired the knowledge of the real forms
of nature, distinct from accidental derormity,
he must endeavour to separate simple chaste
nature, from those adventitious, those affect
ed and forced airs or actions, with which
she is loaded by modern education.
Perhaps I cannot better explain what I
mean, than by reminding you of what was
taught us by the Professor of Anatomy, in
respect to the natural position and movement
of the feet. He observed, that the fashion
of turning them outwards was contrary to
the intent of nature, as might be seen from
the structure of the bones, and from the
weakness that proceeded" from that manner
of standing. To this we may add the erect
position of the head, the projection of the
chesT, ' the-^iking with straight knees, and
VOL. I. f

$6 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
many such actions, which we know to be
merely the result of fashion, and what nature
never warranted, as we are sure that we have
been taught them when children.
I have mentioned but a few of thosfe
instances, in which vanity or caprice have
contrived to distort and disfigure the human
form; your own recollection will add to
these a thousand more of ill-understood
methods, which have been practised to dis
guise nature among our dancing-masters,
hair-dressers, and tailors, in their various
schools of deformity*.
However the mechanick and ornamental
arts may sacrifice to fashion, she must be
entirely excluded from the Art of Painting ;
the painter must never mistake this capri
cious changeling for the genuine offspring of
* " Those," says Quintiliap, " who are taken with
" the outward show of things, think that there is more
" beauty in persons, who are trimmed, curled, and
" painted, than uncorrupt nature can give ; as if beauty
" were merely the effect of the corruption of man-
" ners." R.

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 67
nature ; he must divest himself of all pre
judices in favour of his age or country ; he
must disregard all local and temporary orna
ments, and look only on those general habits
which are everywhere and always the same,
he addresses his works to the people of every
country and every age, he calls upon pos
terity to be his spectators, and says with
Zeuxis, in ceternitatem pingo.
The neglect of separating modern fashions
from the habits of nature, leads to that ridicu
lous style which has been practised by some
painters, who have given to Grecian Heroes
the airs and graces practised in the court
of Lewis the Fourteenth ; an absurdity
almost as great as it would have been to
have dressed them after the fashion of. that
court. v
To avoid this error, however, and to
retain the true simplicity of nature* is a task
more difficult than at first sight it may
appear. The prejudices in favour of the
fashions and customs that we have been used
to, and which are justly called a second
F 2

68 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
nature, make it too often difficult to distin
guish that which is natural from that which
is the result of education ; they frequently
even give a predilection in favour of the arti
ficial mode ; and almost every one is apt to
be guided by those local prejudices, who has
not chastised his mind, and regulated the
instability of his affections by the eternal
invariable idea of nature.
Here then, as before, we must have re
course to the Ancients as instructors. It is
from a careful study of their works that you
will be enabled to attain to the real simplicity
of nature ; they will suggest many observa
tions, which would probably escape you, if
your study were confined to nature alone,
And, indeed, I cannot help suspecting, that
in tffis instance the ancients had an easier task
than the moderns. They had, probably,
little or nothing to unlearn, as their manners
were nearly approaching to this desirable
simplicity ; while the modern artist, before
- he can see the truth of things, is obliged to
remove a veil, with which the fashion ofthe
times has thought proper to cover her.

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 69
Having gone thus far in our investigation I
of the great style in painting; if we now^
should suppose that the artist has found the
true idea of beauty, which enables him to
give his works a correct and perfect design ;
if we should suppose also, that he has ac
quired a knowledge of the unadulterated
habits of nature; which gives him simpli
city; the rest of his task is, perhaps, less
than is generally imagined. Beauty and
simplicity have so .great a share in the com
position of a great style, that he who has
acquired them has little else to learn. It
.must not, indeed, be forgotten, that there
is a nobleness of conception, which goes
beyond any thing in the mere exhibition even
of perfect form ; there is an art of animating
and dignifying the figures with intellectual
grandeur, of impressing the appearance of
philosophick wisdom, or heroic virtue.
This can only be acquired by hirr^ that
enlarges the sphere of his understanding by a
variety of knowledge, and warms his ima
gination with the best productions of ancient
and modern poetry.

70 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
A hand thus exercised, and a mind thus
instructed, will bring the art to a higher
degree of excellence than, perhaps, it has
hitherto attained in this country. Such a
student will disdain the humbler walks of
painting, which, however profitable, can
never assure him a permanent reputation.
He will leave the meaner artist servilely
to suppose that those are the best pictures,
which are most likely to deceive the spec
tator. He will permit the lower painter,
like the florist or collector of shells, to
exhibit the minute discriminations, which
distinguish one object of the same species
from another ; while he, like the philoso
pher, will consider nature_in the abstract, and
represent in every one of his figures the cha
racter of its species.
If deceiving the eye were the only business
ofthe art, there is no doubt, indeed, but the
minute painter would be more apt to succeed ;
but it is not the eye, it is the mind, which
the painter of genius desires to address ;
nor will he waste a moment upon those
smaller objects, which only serve to catch

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 7i
the sense, to divide the attention, and to
counteract his great design of speaking to the
heart. ^ This is the ambition which I wish to ex
cite in your minds ; and the object I have
had in my view, throughout this discourse,
is that one great idea which gives to painting
its true dignity, which entitles it to the name
of a Liberal Art, and ranks it as a sister of
poetry. It may possibly have happened to many
young students, whose application was suf
ficient to overcome all difficulties, and whose
minds were capable of embracing the most
extensive views, that they have, by a wrong
direction originally given, spent their lives
in the meaner walks of painting, without ever
knowing there was a nobler to pursue.
Albert Durer, as Vasari has justly remarked,
would, probably have been one of the first
painters of his age, (and he lived in an era of
great artists,) had he been initiated into those
great principles of the art, which, were so
well understood and practised by his contem-

72 THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
poraries in Italy. But unluckily having never
seen or heard of any other manner, he, with
out doubt, considered his own as perfect.
As for the various departments of painting,
which do not presume to make such high
pretensions, they are many. None of them
are without their merit, though none enter
into competition with this universal presiding
idea of the art. The painters who have
applied themselves more particularly to low
and vulgar characters, and who express with
precision the various shades of pas'sion, as
they are exhibited by vulgar minds, (such
as we see in the works of Hogarth,) deserve
great praise ; but as their genius has been
employed on low and confined subjects, the
praise which we give must be as limited as its
object. The merry-making, or quarrelling
of the Boors of Teniers ; the same sort of
productions of Brouwer, or Ostade, are ex
cellent in their kind ; and the excellence and
its praise will be in proportion, as, in those
limited subjects, and peculiar forms, they in
troduce more or less ofthe expression of those
passions, as they appear in general and more

THE THIRD DISCOURSE. 73
enlarged nature. This principle may be ap-*
plied to the Battle-pieces of Bourgognone,
the French Gallantries of Watteau, and even
beyond the exhibition of animal life, to the
Landscapes of Claude Lorraine, and the Sea-
Views of Vandervelde. All these painters
have, in general, the same right, in different
degrees, to the name of a painter, which a
satirist, an epigrammatist, a sonneteer, a
writer of pastorals, or descriptive poetry,
has to that of a poet.
In the same rank, and perhaps of not so
great merit, is the cold painter of portraits.
But his correct and just imitation of his ob
ject has its merit. Even the painter of still
life, whose highest ambition is to give a
minute representation of every part of those
low objects which he sets before him, de
serves praise in proportion to his attainment;
because no part of this excellent art, so much
the ornament of polished life, is destitute of
value and use. These, however, are by no
means the views to which the mind of the
student ought to be primarily directed. Hav
ing begun by aiming at better things, if from

7* THE THIRD DISCOURSE.
particular inclination, or from the taste of
fhe time and place he lives in, or from ne
cessity, or from failure in the highest at
tempts, he is obliged to descend lower, he
will bring into the lower sphere of art a gran
deur of composition and character, that will
raise and ennoble his works far above their
natural rank.
A man is not weak, though he may not be
able to wield the club of Hercules ; nor does
a man always practise that which he esteems
the best ; but does that which he can best do.
In moderate attempts, there are many walks
open to the artist. But as the idea of beauty
is of necessity but one, so there can be but
one great mode of painting; the leading
principle of which I have endeavoured to
explain. I should be sorry, if what is here recom
mended, should be at all understood to coun
tenance a careless or undecermined manner of
j painting. For though the painter is to over
look the accidental discriminations of nature,
he is to exhibit distinctly, and with precision,

DISCOURSE IV.
DELIVERED TO THE STUDENTS OF
THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
ON THE
DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES.
DECEMBER 10, 1771.

DISCOURSE IV.

GENERAL IDEAS, THE PRESIDING PRINCIPLE WHICH
REGULATES EVERY TART , OF ART ; INVENTION, EX
PRESSION, COLOURING, AND DRAPERY. — TWO DIS
TINCT STYLES IN HISTORY-PAINTING ; THE GRAND,
AND THE ORNAMENTAL.  THE; SCHOOLS IN WHICH
EACH IS TO RE FOUND.: — THE COMPOSITE STYLE.—-
THE STYLE FORMED ON LOCAL CUSTOMS AND HABITS,
OR A PARTIAL VIEW:OF NATURE,
GENTLEMEN,
A HE value and rank of every art is in pro
portion to the mental labour employed in it,
or the mental pleasure produced by it. As
this principle is observed or neglected, our
profession becomes either a liberal art, or a
mechanical trade. In the hands of one mar$
it makes the highest pretensions, as it is ad
dressed to the noblest faculties : in those of
another it is reduced to a mere matter of or
nament ; and the painter has but the humble
province of furnishing our apartments with
elegance.

80 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
This exertion of mind, which is the only
circumstance that truly ennobles our Art,
makes the great distinction between the Ro
man and Venetian schools. I have formerly
observed that perfect form is produced by
leaving out particularities , and retaining only
general ideas : I shall now endeavour to show
that this principle, which I have proved to
be metaphysically just, extends itself to
every part of the Art ; that it gives what is
called the grand style, to Invention, to Com
position, to Expression, and even to Colour
ing and Drapery.
Invention in Painting does not imply the
invention of the subject; for that is commonly
supplied by the Poet or Historian. With re
spect to the choice, no subject can be proper
that is not generally interesting. It ought to
be either some eminent instance of heroick
action, or heroick suffering. There must be
something either in the action, or in the ob
ject, in which men are universally concerned,
and which powerfully strikes upon the pub.
lick sympathy.
Strictly speaking, indeed, no subject can

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 81
be of universal, hardly can it be of general *
concern ; but there are events and charac
ters so popularly known in those countries
where our Art is in request, that they may
be considered as sufficiently general for all
our purposes. Sueh are the great events of
Greek and Roman fable and history, which
early education, and the usual course of
reading, have made familiar and interesting
to all Europe, without being degraded by
the vulgarism of ordinary life in any country.
Such too are the capital subjects of scrip
ture history, which, beside their general no
toriety, become venerable by their connec
tion with our religion.
As it is required that the subject selected
should be a general one, it is no less neces
sary that it should be kept unembarrassed
with whatever may any way serve to divide
the attention of the spectator. Whenever a
story is related, every man forms a picture,
in his mind of the action and expression
of the persons employed. The power of
representing this mental picture on canvass •
is what we call invention in a- Painter. And
vox. I. g

U THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
as in the conception of this ideal picture,
the mind does not enter into the minute pe
culiarities of the dress, furniture, or scene of
action ; so when the Painter comes to represent
it, he contrives, those little necessary concomi
tant circumstances in such a manner, that they
shall strike the spectator no more than they
did himself in his first conception of the story.
I am very ready to allow, that some cir
cumstances of minuteness and; particularity
frequently tend to give an air of truth to a
piece, and to interest the spectator in an
extraordinary manner. Such circumstances
therefore cannot wholly be rejected: but if
there be any thing in the Art which requires
peculiar nicety of discernment, it is the dis
position of these minute circumstantial parts ;
which, according to the judgement em
ployed in the choice, become so useful to
truth, or so injurious to grandeur.
However, the usual and most dangerous
error is on the side ofminuteness; and there
fore I think caution most necessary where
most have failed. The general idea consti-

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. a'5
lutes reaf excellence. All smaller things,
however perfect in their way,1 are to be sa
crificed without mercy to the greater. The
Painter will not inquire what things may
be admitted without much censure : he will
not think it enough to show that they rriay
be there ; he will Show that they must be
there; that their absence would render his
picture' maimed and defective.
Thus, though to the principal' group a
second or third be added, and a second and
third mass of light, care must be taken
that these subordinate actions and lights,
neither each in particular, nor all together,
come into any degree of competition with
the principal : they should merely make a
part of that whole which would be imper
fect without them. To every kind of paint
ing this rule may be applied. Even in por
traits, the grace, and, we may add, the
likeness, consists more in taking the general
air, than in observing the exact similitude of
every" feature.
Thus figure's' must'have a ground Where-
g 2

14 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
on to stand ; they must be cloathed : there-
must be a back-ground; there must be
light and shadow ; but none of these ought
to appear to have taken up any part of
the artist's attention. They should be so
mar_aged as not even to catch that of the
spectator. We know well enough, when
we analyze a piece, the difficulty and the
subtilty with which an artist adjusts the
back-ground, drapery, and masses of light ;
we. know that a considerable part of the
grace and effect of his picture depends upon
them ; but this art is so much concealed,
even to a judicious eye, that no remains of
any of these subordinate parts occur to the
memory when the picture is not present-
The great end of the art is to strike the
imagination.. The Painter therefore is to
make no ostentation of the means by which
this is done ; the spectator is only to feel the
result in his bosom. An inferior artist is
unwilling that any part of his industry
should be lost upon the spectator. He takes
as much pains to discover, as the greater ar
tist does to conceal, the marks of his subor-

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 86
dinate assiduity. In works ,of the lower
kind, every thing appears studied, and en-.
cumbered ; it is all boastful art, and open
affectation. The ignorant often part from
such pictures with wonder in their mouths,
and indifference in their hearts.
But it is not enough in Invention that the
Artist should restrain and keep under all the
inferior parts of his subject ; he must some
times deviate from vulgar and strict historical
truth, in pursuing the grandeur of his design.
How much the great style exacts from its
professors to conceive and represent their
subjects in a poetical manner, not confined
to mere matter of fact, may be seen in the
Cartoons of Raffaelle. In all the pictures in
which the painter has represented the apostles,
he has drawn them with great nobleness ; he
has given them as much dignity as the human
figure is capable of receiving ; yet we are ex
pressly told in scripture they had no such
respectable appearance ; and of St. Paul in
particular, we are told by himself, that his
bodily presence was mean. Alexander is said

&6 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
to have been of alow stature : a Painter ought
not so to represent him. Agesilaus was low,
lame, and of a mean appearance : none of
these defects ought to appear in a piece of
which he is the hero. In conformity to
custom, I call this part of the art History
Painting ; it ought to be called Poetical, as in
reality.it is.
All this is not falsifying any fact ; it is
taking an allowed poetical licence. A painter
of portraits retains the individual likeness; a
painter of history shows the man by showing
his actions. A painter must compensate the
natural deficiencies of his art. He has but
one sentence to. utter, but one moment to ex-r
hibit. He cannot, like the poet or historian,
expatiate, and impress the mind with great
veneration for the character of the hero or
saint he represents, though he lets us know
at the sariie time, that the saint was deformed,
or the hero lame. The Painter has no other
means of giving an idea of the dignity of the
mind, but by that external appearance which
grandeur of thought does generally, though
not always, impress on the countenance ; and

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 8?
by that correspondence of figure to senti
ment and situation, which all men wish, but
cannot comrriand. The Painter who may
in this one particular attain with ease what
others desire in vain, ought to give all that
he possibly can, since there are so many cir
cumstances of true greatness that he cannot
give at all. He cannot make his hero talk
like a great man ; he must make him look
like one. For which reason, he ought to be
well studied in the analysis of those circum
stances which constitute dignity of appear
ance in real life.
As in Invention, So likewise in Expression,
care must be taken not to run into particu
larities. Those expressions alone should be
given to the figures which their respective
situations generally produce. Nor is this
enough ; each person should also have that
expression which men of his rank gene
rally exhibit. The joy, or the grief of a
character of dignity is not to be expressed in
the same manner as a similar passion in a
vulgar face. Upon this principle, Bernini,
perhaps, may be subject to censure. This

<« THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
sculptor, in many respects admirable, has
given a very mean expression to his statue
of David, who is represented as just going
to throw the stone from the sling ; and in
order to give it the expression of energy , he
has made him biting his under-lip. This
expression is far from being general, and still
farther from being dignified. He might
have seen it in an instance or two ; and he
mistook accident for generality,
With respect to Colouring, though it may
appear at first a part of painting merely me
chanical, yet it still has its rules, and those
grounded upon that presiding principle which
regulates both the great and the little in the
study of a painter. By this, the first effect
of the picture is produced ; and as this is
performed, the spectator as he walks the gal
lery, will stop, or pass along. To give a
general air of grandeur at first view, all tri
fling or artful play of little lights, or an at
tention to a variety of tints is to be avoided ;
a quietness and simplicity must reign over
the whole work ; to which a breadth of uni
form, and simple colour, will very much con-*
5

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 89
tribute. Grandeur of effect is produced by
two different ways, which seem entirely op
posed to each other. One is, by reducing
the colours to little more than chiara oscuro,
which was often the practice of the Bo-
lognian schools ; and the other, by making
the colours very distinct and forcible, such as
we see in those of Rome and Florence ; but
still, the presiding principle of both those
manners is simplicity. Certainly, nothing
can be more simple than monotony ; and the
distinct blue, red, and yellow colours which
are seen in the draperies of the Roman and
Florentine schools, though they have not that
kind of harmony which is produced by a va
riety of broken and transparent colours, have
that effect of grandeur which was intended.
Perhaps these distinct colours strike the mind
more forcibly, from there not being any great
union between them; as martial musick,
which is intended to rouse the nobler passions,
has its effect from the sudden and strongly
marked transitions from one note to another,
which that style of musick requires ; whilst
in that which is intended to move the softer
passions, the notes imperceptibly melt into
one another.

$0 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
In the same manner as the historical Painter
never enters into the detail of colours, so nei
ther does he debase his conceptions with mi
nute attention to the discriminations of Dra
pery. It is the inferior style that marks the
variety of stuffs. With him, the cloathing
is neither woollen, nor linen, nor silk, satin,
or velvet : it is drapery ; it is nothing more.
The art of disposing the foldings of the dra
pery makes a very considerable part of the
painter's study. To make it merely natural,
is a mechanical operation, to which neither
genius nor taste are required ; whereas, it re
quires the nicest judgment to dispose the
drapery, so that the folds shall have an easy
communication, and gracefully follow each
other, with such natural negligence as to look
like the effect of chance, and at the same
time show the figure under it to the utmost
advantage. Carlo Maratti was of opinion, that the dis
position of drapery was a more difficult art
than even that of drawing the human figure ;
that a Student might be more easily taught
the latter than the former ; as the rules of

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. gi
drapery, he said, could not be so well ascer
tained as those for delineating a correct form.
This, perhaps, is a proof how willingly we
favour our own peculiar excellence. Carlo
Maratti is said to have valued himself parti
cularly upon his skill in this part of his art j
yet in him, the disposition appears so osten
tatiously artificial, that he is inferior to Raf
faelle, even in that which gave him his best
claim to reputation.
Such is the great principle by which we
must be directed in the nobler branches of
our art. Upon this principle, the Roman,
the Florentine, the Bolognese schools, have
formed their practice ; and by this they have
deservedly obtained the highest praise. These
are the three great schools of the world in
the epick style. The best of the French
school, Poussin, Le Sueur, and Le Brun,
have formed themselves upon these models,
and consequently maybe said, though French
men, to be a colony from the Roman school.
Next to these, but in a very different style of
excellence, we may rank the Venetian, toge
ther with the Flemish and the Dutch schools ;

92 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
all professing to depart from the great pur
poses of painting, and catching at applause
by inferior qualifies.
I am not ignorant that some will censure
me for placing the Venetians in this inferior
class, and many of the warmest admirers of
painting will think them unjustly degraded ;
but I wish not to be misunderstood. Though
I can by no means allow them to hold any
rank with the nobler schools of painting,
they accomplished perfectly the thing they
attempted. But as mere elegance is their
principal object, as they seem more willing
to dazzle than to affect, it can be no injury
to them to suppose that their practice is use
ful only to its proper end. But what may
heighten the elegant may degrade the sub
lime. There is a simplicity, and I may add,
severity, in the great manner, which is, I
am afraid, almost incompatible with this
comparatively sensual style.
Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and others of
the Venetian school, seem to have painted
with no other purpose than to be admired for

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. ,gs
their skill and expertness in the mechanism
of painting, and to make a parade of that art,
which, as I before observed, the higher style
requires its followers to conceal.
In a conference of the French Academy,
at which were present Le Brun, Sebastian,
Bourdon, and all the eminent Artists of that
age, one of the academicians desired to have
their opinion on the conduct of Paul Vero
nese,, who, though a Painter of great consi
deration, had, contrary to the strict rules of
art, in his picture of Perseus and Andromeda,
represented the principal figure in shade.
To this question no satisfactory answer was
then given. But I will venture to say, that if
they had considered the class ofthe Artist, and
tanked him as an ornamental Painter, there
would have been no difficulty in answering
*« — It was uareasonable to expect what was
" never intended. His intention was solely
«' to produce an effect of light and shadow ;
" every thing was to be sacrificed to that
** intent, and the capricious composition of
*• that picture suited very well with the style
" which he professed."

9* THE FOURTH EttSCOURSl..
Young minds are indeed too apt to be cap^
tivated by this splendour of style ; and that
of the Venetians is particularly pleasing ; for
by them, all those parts of the Art that gave
pleasure to the eye or sense, have been culti
vated with care, and carried to the degree
nearest to perfection. The powers exerted
in the mechanical part of the Art have been
called the language of Painters ; but we may
say, that ic is but poor eloquence which only
shows that the orator can talk. Words
should be employed as the means, not as the
end : language is the instrument, conviction
is the work.
The language of Painting must indeed be
allowed these masters ; but even in that, they
have shown more copiousness than choice;
and more luxuriancy than judgment. If we
consider the uninteresting subjects of their
invention, or at least the uninteresting
manner in which they are treated ; if we
attend to their capricious composition, their
violent and affected contrasts, whether of
figures or of light and shadow, the richness
pf their drapery, and at the same time, the

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. $5
mean effect which the discrimination of
stuffs gives to their pictures ; if to these we
add their total inattention to expression ; and
then reflect on the conceptions and the learn
ing of Michael Angelo, or the simplicity of
Raffaelle, we can no longer dwell on the
comparison. Even in colouring, if we com
pare the quietness and chastity of the Bolog-
nese pencil to the bustle and tumult that fills
every part of a Venetian picture, without the
least attempt to interest the passions, their
boasted art will appear a mere struggle with
out effect ; a tale told by an idiot, full of sound
and' fury, signifying nothing.
Such as suppose that the great style might
happily be blended with the ornamental,
that the simple, grave and majestick dignity
of Raffaelle could unite with the glow and
bustle of a Paolo, or Tintoret, are totally
mistaken. The principles by which each is
attained are so contrary to each other, that
they seem, in my opinion, incompatible, and
as impossible to exist together, as that in the
mind the most sublime ideas and the lowest
sensuality should at the same time be united,

96 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
The subjects of the Venetian Painters are*
mostly such as give them an opportunity of
introducing a great number of figures ; such
as feasts, marriages, and processions, publick
martyrdoms,, or miracles. I can easily con
ceive that Paul Veronese, if he were asked,
would say, that no subject was proper for art
historical picture, but such as admitted at
least forty figures : for in a less number, he
would assert, there could be no opportunity
of the Painter's showing his art in compo
sition, his dexterity of managing and dispo
sing the masses of light and groups of figures,
and of introducing a variety of Eastern dresses
and characters in their rich stuffs.
But the thing is very different with a pupil
of the greater schools. Annibale Caracci
thought twelve figures sufficient for any
story ; he conceived that more would contri
bute to no end but to fill space ; that they
would be but cold spectators of the general
action, or, to use his own expression, that
they would befgurers to be let. Besides, it
is impossible for a picture composed of so
many parts to have that effect so indispensa-

THE frOURTJH DISCOURSE. sf
bly necessary to grarideur, that of one com
plete whole. However contradictory it may1
be in geometry, it is true in taste, that many
little things will not make a great one.
The Sublime impresses the mind at once /
with one great idea ; it is a single blow : the ''
Elegant incked may be produced by repeti
tion ; by an accumulation of many minute
circumstances. However great the difference is between
the composition of the Venetian, and the
rest of the Italian schools, there is full as
great a disparity in the effect ctf their pic
tures as produced by colours. And thougli
iti this jrespect the Venetians must be al
lowed extraordinary skill, yet even that
skill, as they have employed it, "Will but
ill correspond with the great style. Their
colouring is not only too brilliant, but, I will
venture to say, too hajmonious, to produce
that solidity, steadiness, -and simplicity of
effect, which heroick subjects require, and
which simple or grave colours only can
give to a work. That they are to be cau
tiously studied by those who are ambitious
vol. I. H

38 THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
of treading the great walk of history is
confirmed, if it wants confirmation, by the'
greatest of all authorities, Michael Angelo.
This wonderful man, after having seen a
picture by Titian, told Vasaro, who accom
panied him* " that he liked much his
" colouring and manner;" but then he
added, " that it was a pity the Venetian
" painters did not learn to draw correctly in
" their early youth, and adopt a better man-
" ner of study. "
By this it appears, that the principal at
tention of the Venetian painters, in the opi
nion of Michael Angelo, seemed to be en
grossed by the study of colours, to the neg
lect of the ideal beauty of form, or propriety
of expression. But if general censure was
given to that school from the sight of a pic
ture of Titian, how much more heavily
and more justly would the censure fall on
* Dicendo, che molto gli piaceva il colorito suo, e
la manrera ; ma che era un peccato, che a Venezia non
s'imparasse da principio a disegnare bene, e che non ha-
vessano que' pittori miglior modo nello studio. Vas. torn.
iii, p. 226. Vita di Tiziano.

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. * 99
Paolo Veronese, - and more especially on
Tintoret ? And here I cannot avoid citing
Vasari's opinion of the style and manner of
Tintoret. " Of all the extraordinary geni-
" uses*," sayshe, " that havepractised the
*• art of painting, fof wild, capricious, ex-
" travagant, and fantastical inventions, for
tl furious impetuosity and boldness in the
" execution of his work, there is none like
<c Tintoret; his strange whimsies are even
" beyond extravagance, and his works seem
" to be produced rather by chance, than in
" consequence of any previous design, as
<c if he wanted to convince the world that
" the art was a trifle, and of the most easy
" attainment."
For my own part, when I speak of the
* Nelle cose della pittura, stravagante, cap.iccios:),
presto, e resoluto, et il piu terrible cervello, che habbia
havuto mai la pittura, come si pu6 vedere in tutte le sue
opere ; e ne' componimenti delle storie, fantastiche, e
fatte da lui diversamente, e fuori dell' uso degli altri
pittori : anzi ha superato la gtravaganza, con le nuove,
e capricciose inventioni, e strani ghiribizzi del suo
intelleto, che ha lavorato a casb, e senza disegno, quasi
tnonstrando che quest' arte e una baia.
| " H %

10* THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
Venetian painters, I wish to be understood
to mean Paolo Veronese and Tintoret, ta
the exclusion of Titian ; for though his
style is not so pure as that of many other of
the Italian schools, yet there is a sort of se
natorial dignity about him, which, however
awkward in his imitators, seems to be
come him exceedingly. His portraits alone,
from the nobleness and simplicity of cha
racter which he always gave them, will
entitle him to the greatest respect, as he
undoubtedly stands in the first rank in this
branch of the art.
It is not with Titian, but with the sedu
cing qualities of the two former, that I
could wish to caution you against being too
much captivated. These are the persons
who may be said to have exhausted all the
powers of florid eloquence, to debauch the
young and unexperienced ; and have, with
out doubt, been the cause of turning off the
attention of the connoisseur and of the
patron of art, as well as that of the painter,
from those higher excellencies of which the
art is capable., and which ought to be re-

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 101
quired in every considerable production. By
them, and their imitators, a style merely
ornamental has been disseminated through
out all Europe. Rubens carried it to Flan
ders : Voet to France ; and Lucca Giordano,
to Spain and Naples.
The Venetian is indeed the most splendid
of the schools of elegance; and it i9 not
without reason, that the best performances
in this Iower school are valued higher than
the second-rate performances of those above
them ; for every picture has value when it
has a decided character, and is excellent in
its kind. But the student must take care
not to be so much dazzled with this splen
dour, as to be tempted to imitate what
must ultimately lead from perfection. Pous-
sin, whose eye was always steadily fixed on
the Sublime, has been often heard to say,
" That a particular attention to colouring
'* was an obstacle to the student, in hisj.ro-
" gress to the great end and design of the
' ' art ; and thifr he who attaches himself
to this principal end, will acquire hy

n

102 THE FOURTH. DISCOURSE;
<c practice a reasonable goody method of
" colouring*." .^.jB.imi v.zih bru, ,-;¦-•._
~rh> <-,.•;.:_¦ 'b3i.j-r;!.'na?rib ri.sn «;rf Sj....:_! -.f -r.^
n Though it be allowed that, elaborate • har-i
many- of colouring, a; brilliancy of tints, a
soft and gradual transition .' from one to an-.
other, present to the eye, what an harmo
nious concert' of musick does to the ear, it
must be remembered, that rpainting is not
merely. a gratification of 'the: sight. ... Such
excellence,! though;, properly ^cultivated,
where nothing higher than elegance is in
tended, is . weak and unworthy,, of regard,
when: the work aspires to j grandeur., and
sublimity. ..:;.;! t._9 ':¦<..-¦. «.... ' ij.!fl .bnbl l..
<:Mqe cifh _:.Lv. !.''%s:!) damn 02' ad o. .on
:¦; .i The- same [reasorfe that have been urged to
show that la.. -.mixture., of the Venetian' style
cannot improve the great style, will hold
good in regard to » the -Flemish and Dutch
schools. _. rlndeed the Flemish school, of
0': ¦; Ail W. ,. sobii? '? ?5 'V; t.b_i_?d. 2' <V
* Que cette application singuliere n'etoit qu'un ohsta,
cle pour empecher de parvenir au veritable but de la
peinture,' & celui qui s'attathe au principal, acquiert par
la pratique une asSez belle maniere depeintjre. Conference
tie l'Acad. Franc,

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 103
which Rubens is the head, was formed
upon that of the Venetian ; like them, he
took his figures too much from the people
before him. But it must be allowed in
favour of the Venetians, that he was more
gross than they, and carried all their mis
taken methods to a far greater excess. In the
Venetian school itself, where they all err
from the same cause, there is a difference in
the effect. The difference between Paolo
and Bassano seems to be only, that one in
troduced Venetian gentlemen into his pic
tures, and the other the boors of the district
of Bassano, and called them patriarchs and
prophets. The painters of the Dutch school have
still more locality. With them, a history-
piece is properly a portrait of themselves ;
whether they describe the inside or outside
of their houses, we have their own peo
ple engaged in their own peculiar occupa
tions ; working or drinking, playing or
fighting. The circumstances that enter into
a picture of this kind, are so far from giving
a general view of human life, that they ex-

10* THE FOURTH DISCOUR&E.
hibit all the minute particularities of a na
tion differing in several respects from the
rest of mankind. Yet, let them have their
sha*e of more humble praise. The painters
of this school are excellent in their own
xvzf; they are only ridiculous when they
attempt general history on their own narrow
principles, and debase great events by the
meanness of their characters.
Some inferior dexterity, some extraordi
nary mechanical power is apparently that
from which they seek distinction. Thus, we
see, that school alone has the custom of repre
senting candle-light not as it really appears
to us by night, but red, as it would illu
minate objects to a spectator by day. S«ch
tricks, however pardonable in the little
style, where petty effects are the sole end,
are inexcusable in the greater, where the
attention should never be drawn aside by
trifles, but should be entirely occupied by
the Subject itsejf.
The same local principles which charac
terize the Dutch school extend even to their
i

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 105
landscape painters ; and Rubens himself,
who has painted many landscapes, has
sometimes transgressed in this particular.
Their pieces in this way are, I think, always
a representation of an individual spot, and
each in its kind a very faithful but a very
confined portrait. Claude Lorrain, on the
contrary, was convinced, that taking nature
as he found it seldom produced beauty. His
pictures are a composition of the various
draughts which he had previously made
from various beautiful scenes and prospects.
However, Rubens in some measure has
made amends for the deficency with which
he is charged; he has contrived to raise
and animate his otherwise uninteresting
views, by introducing a rainbow, storm, or
some particular accidental effect of light.
That the practice of Claude Lorrain, in re
spect to his choice, is to be adopted by
Landscape painters in opposition to that
of the Flemish and Dutch schools, there
can be no doubt, as its truth is founded
upon the same principle as that by which
the Historical Painter acquires perfect form.
J3ut whether landscape painting has a right

t<S$ THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
to aspire so far as to . reject what the
painters call Accidents of Nature, is not
easy to determine. It is certain Claude
Lorrain seldom, if ever, availed himself .of
those, accidents ; either he thought that such
peculiarities were contrary to that style of
general nature :which he professed, or, that
it gWqnld catch the attention too strongly,
^nd destroy that quietness and " repose
whicti , he thought necessary to that kind of
painting; .
A Portrait-painter likewise, when he at
tempts history, unless he is upon his guard,
is likely to enter too much into the detail.
He too frequently makes his historical. heads
look like portraits ; and this was once the
custom amongst those old painters, who re
vived the art before general ideas were prac
tised pr understood. An History -painter
paints man in general ; a Portrait-painter, a
particular man', and consequently a defective
jnodel,. Thus an habitual practice in the lower
exercises of the art will prevent many from

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. 307
attaining the greater.. But such of us. who
move in these humbler walks of the profes
sion, are not ignorant that, as the natural dig
nity of the subject is less, the more all the
little, ornamental helps are necessary to its
embellishment. It: would be ridiculous for
a painter of domestick scenes, of portraits,
landscapes, animals, or still life, to say that
he despised those qualities which has made
the subordinate schools so famous. The art
ef colouring, and ..the skilful3 management
of light and shadowy are essential requisites
in his confined labours. If we descend still
lower, what is the painter of fruit and flowers
without the utmost aft in colouring, and what
the painters call handling; that is, a lightness
of 'pencil that implies great practice, and
gives the appearance of being done with ease?
Some here, I believe, must" rerhember a
flower-painter whose boast it was, that he
scorned 'to paint for the million: ho, he pro
fessed to paint in the true Italian taste ; and
despising the crowd, called strenuously upon
the few to admire him. His idea of the
Italian taste was to paint as black and dirty
as he could, and to leave all clearness and

las THE FQjJRTH DISCOURSE.
brilliancy of colouring to those who were
fonder of money than immortality. The
consequence was such as might be expected.
Far these petty excellencies are here essential
beauties ; and without this merit the artist's
work will be more short-lived than the ob
jects of his imitation.
From what has been advanced, we must
now be convinced that there are two distinct
styles in history -painting : the grand, and
the splendid or ornamental.
The great style stands alone, and does not
require, perhaps does not so well admit, any
addition from inferior beauties. The orna
mental style also possesses its own peculiar
merit. However, though the union of the
two may make, a sort of composite style, yet
that style is likely to be more imperfect than
either of those which go to its composition.
Both kinds have merit, and may be excellent
though in different ranks, if uniformity be
preserved, and the general and particular ideas
of nature be not mixed. Even the meanest
of them is difficult enough to attain,; and the

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. log
first place being already occupied by the great
artists in each department, some of those who
followed thought there was less room for
them, and feeling the impulse of ambition
and the desire of novelty, and being at the
same time perhaps willing to take the shortest
way, endeavoured to make for themselves a
place between both. This they have effected
by forming an union of the different orders.
But as the grave and majestick style would
suffer by an union with the florid and gay,
so also has the Venetian ornament in some
respect been injured by attempting an alliance
with simplicity.
It may be asserted, that the great style is
always more or less contaminated by any
meaner mixture. But it happens in a few
instances, that the lower may be inaproved
by borrowing from the grand. Thus if a
portrait-painter is desirous to raise and im
prove his subject, he has no other means than
by approaching it to a general idea. He
leaves out all the minute breaks and peculia
rities in the face, and changes the dress from
a temporary fashion to one more permanent,

_..• THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
which has annexed to if no ideas' of means
ness from its being familiar to us. But if an
exact resemblance of an individual be consi
dered as the sole object to be aimed at, the
portrait-painter will be apt to lose more than
he gains by the acquired dignity taken from
general nature. It is very difficult to ennoble
the character of a countenance but at the
expense of the likeness, which is what is
most generally required by such as sit to the
painter. Of those who have practised the compo
site style, and have succeeded in this perilous
attempt, perhaps the foremost is Correggio.
His. style is founded upon modern grace and
elegance, to which is superadded something
of the simplicity of the grand style. A
breadth of light and colour, the general ideas
of the drapery, an uninterupted flow of out
line, all conspire to this effect. Next to
him (perhaps equal to him) Parmegiano has
dignified the genteelness of modern effemi
nacy, by uniting it with the simplicity of the
ancients and the grandeur and severity of
Michael Angelo. It must ba confessed,

THE FOURTH DISCOURSE. l_i
however, that these two extraordinary men,
by endeavouring to give the utmost degree of
grace, have sometimes perhaps exceeded its
boundaries, and have fallen into the most
hateful of all hateful qualities, affectation.
Indeed, it is the peculiar characteristick of
men of genius to be afraid of coldness and
insipidity, from which they think they never
can be too far removed. It particularly
happens to these great masters of grace and
elegance. They often boldly drive on to the
very verge of ridicule ; the spectator is
alarmed, but at the same time admires their •
vigour and intrepidity: ' .h
Strange graces still, and stranger flights they had,"
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create,
As when they touch 'd the brink of all we hate.
The errors of genius, however, are par
donable, and none even of the more exalted
painters are wholly free from them; but they
have taught us, by the rectitude of their.
general practice, to correct their own affected
or accidental deviation. The very first have
not been always upon their guard, and per-

IlSl THE FOURTH DISCOURSE.
haps there is not a fault, but what may take
shelter under the most venerable authorities ;
yet that style only is perfect, in which the
noblest principles are uniformly pursued ;
and those masters only ar« entitled to the
first rank in our estimation, who have "en
larged the boundaries of their art, and have
raised it to its highest dignity, by exhibiting
the general ideas of nature.
On the whole, it seems to me that there is
I but one presiding principle, which regulates,
|; and gives stability to every art. The. works,
f whether of poets, painters, moralists, or
f historians, which are built upon general
| nature, live forever; while those "which
depend for their existence on particular cus
toms and habits, a partial view of nature, or
') the fluctuation of fashion, can only be coeval
with that which first raised them from ob
scurity. Present time and future may be
considered as rivals, and he who solicits the
| one must expect fo be discountenanced by
the other-

DISCOURSE V.
DELIVERER TO THE STUDENTS Of
THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
OV THE
DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES.
* DECEMBER 10, 1772.

VOL. I.

DISCOURSE V.

circumspection required in endeavouring to
Unite contrary excellencies. — the expression
of a mixed passion not to be attempted.— e__-«
ampi.es of those who excelled in the great.
stylej-<-raffaelle, michael angelo, those two
extraordinary men compared with each other.
—^the characteristical style,— -salvator rosa
mentioned as an example of that style. j an_>
opposed to carlo maratti. — sketch of the cha*-
r
RACTERS OF POUSSIN AND RUBENS. THESE TWO
PAINTERS ENTIRELY DISSIMILAR, BUT CONSISTENT
WITH THEMSELVES. — THIS CONSISTENCY REQUIRED
IN ALL PARTS OF THE ART.
GENTLEMEN,
1 PURPOSE to carry on in this discourse
the subject which I began in my last. It
was my wish upon that occasion to incite you
to pursue the higher excellencies of the art.
But I fear that in this particular I have been
misunderstood. Some are ready to imagine
when any of their favourite acquirements in
the art are properly classed, that they are
i 2

116 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
utterly disgraced. This is a very great mis
take : nothing has its proper lustre but in its
proper place. That which is most worthy
of esteem in its allotted sphere, becomes an
object, not of respect, hutof derision, when
it is forced into a higher, to which it is not
suited ; and there it becomes doubly a source
of disorder, by occupying a situation which is
not natural to it, and by putting down from
the first place what is in reality of too much
magnitude to become with grace and propor
tion that subordinate station, to which some
thing of less value would be much better
suited. My advice in a word is this : keep your
principal attention fixed upon the higher ex
cellencies. If you compass them, and com
pass nothing more, yoy. are stijl in the first
class. We may regret the innumerable beau
ties which you may want ; you may be very
imperfect : but still, you are an imperfect
jartist of the highest order.
If, when you have got thus far, you can
add any, or all* of the subordinate qualifir-

THE FIFTfr DISCOURSE." 117
cations, it is my wish and advice that you
should not neglect them. But this is as
much a matter of circumspection and caution
at least, as of eagerness and pursuit.
The mind is apt to be distracted- by a mul
tiplicity of objects ; and that scale of perfec
tion which I wish always to be preserved, is
in the greatest danger of being totally dis
ordered, and even inverted.
Some excellencies bear to be united, and
are improved by union ; others are of a dis
cordant nature ; and the attempt to join them;
only produces a harsh jarring of incongruent
principles. The attempt to unite contrary
excellencies (of form, for instance) in a single
figure, can never escape degenerating into the
monstrous, but by sinking into the insipid;
by taking away its marked character, and
weakening its expression.
This remark is true to a certain degree
with regard to the passions. If you mean to
preserve the most perfect beauty in its most
perfect state, you cannot express the passions,
all pf which produce distortion and defor-

IH THE FfFTH DISCOURSE.
mity, more or less, in the most beautiful
faces. Guido, from want of choice in adapting
his subject to his ideas and his powers, or from
attempting to preserve beauty where it could
not be preserved, has in this respect suc
ceeded very ill. His figures are often engaged
in subjects that • required great expression :
yet his Judith and Holofernes, the daughter
of Herodias with the Baptist's head, the An
dromeda, and some even of the Mothers of
the Innocents, have little more expression
than his Venus attired by the Graces.
Obvious as these remarks appear, there are
many writers on our art, who, not being of
the profession, and consequently not know
ing what can or cannot be done, have been
very liberal of absurd praises in their descrip
tions of favourite works. They always find
in them what they are resolved to find. They
praise excellencies that can hardly exist to
gether ; and above all things are fond of de
scribing with great exactness the expression
of a mixed passion, which more particularly
appears to me out of the reach of our art,

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. UJ>
Such are many disquisitions which I have
read on some of the Cartoons and other pic
tures of Raffaelle, where the Criticks have
described their own imaginations ; or indeed
where the excellent master himself may have
attempted this expression of passions above
the powers ofthe art ; and has, therefore, by
an indistinct and imperfect marking, left room
for every imagination, with equal probabi
lity to find a passion of his own. What
has been, and what can be done in the art, is
sufficiently difficult ; we need not be morti
fied or discouraged at not being able to exe
cute the conceptions of a romantick imagina
tion. Art has its boundaries, though ima
gination has none. We can easily, like the
ancients, suppose a Jupiter to be possessed of
all those powers and perfections which the
subordinate Deities were endowed with sepa
rately. Yet, when they employed their art
to represent him, they confined his charac
ter to majesty alone. Pliny, therefore, though
we are under great obligations to him for the
information he has given us in relation to the
works ofthe antient artists, is very frequently
wrpng when he speaks of them, which he

120 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE,
does very often in the style of many of our
modern connoisseurs. He observes, that in
a statue of Paris, by Euphranor, you might
discover at the same time three different cha
racters ; the dignity of a Judge of the God
desses, the Lover of Helen, and the Con
queror of Achilles. A statue in which you
endeavour to unite stately dignity, youthful
elegance, and stern valour, most surely pos
sess none of these to any eminent degree.
From hence it appears, that there is much
difficulty as well as danger, in an endeavour
to concentrate in a single subject those various
powers, which rising from different points,
naturally move in different directions.
The summit of excellence seems to be an
assemblage of contrary qualities, but mixed,
in such proportions",' that no one part is found
to counteract the other. How hard this is
to be attained in every art, those only know,
who have made the greatest progress in their
respective professions.
To conclude what I have to say on this

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 121*
part of the subject, which I think of great
importance, I wish you to understand, that I
do not discourage the younger Students from
the noble attempt of uniting all the excellen
cies of art ; but suggest to them, that, beside
the difficulties which attend every arduous
attempt, there is a peculiar difficulty in the
choice of the excellencies which ought to b&
united, I wish you to attend to this, that
you may try yourselves, whenever you are
capable of that trial, what you can, and what-
you cannot do ; and that, instead of dissi
pating your natural faculties over the im
mense field of possible excellence, you may<
choose some particular walk in which yoxt>
may exercise all your powers : in order that
each of you may become the first in his way.
If any man shall be master of such a trans-
cendant, commanding, and ductile genius, as
to enable him to rise to the highest, and to
stoop to the lowest, flights of art, and to
sweep over all of them unobstructed and
secure, he is fitter to give example than to
receive instruction,
Having said thus much on the union of

122 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
excellencies, I will next say something of
the subordination in which various excel
lencies ought to be kept,
I am of opinion, that the ornamental style,
which in my discourse of last year I cau
tioned you against considering it as principal,
may not be wholly unworthy the attention
even of those who aim at the grand style,
when it is properly placed and properly re
duced. But this study will be used with far better
effect, if its principles are employed in soft
ening the harshness and mitigating the rigour
ofthe great style, than if it attempt to stand
forward with any pretensions of its own to
positive and original excellence. It was thus
Lodovico Caracci, whose example I for
merly recommended to you, employed it. He
was acquainted with the works both of Cor-
reggio and the Venetian painters, and knew
the principles by which they produced those
pleasing effects which at the first glance pre
possess us so much in their favour ; but he
took only as much frpm each as would em-

''THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 12!*'
hellish, but not over-power, that manly
strength and energy of style, which is -his
peculiar character.
Since I have already expatiated so largely
in my former discourse, and in my present,
upon the styles and characters of Painting, it
will not be at all unsuitable to my subject if
I mention to you some particulars relative to
the leading principles, and capital works of
those who excelled in the great style; that I
may bring you from abstraction nearer to
practice, and by exemplifying the positions
which I have laid down, enable you to under
stand more clearly what I would enforce.
The principal works of modern art are in
Fresco, a mode of painting which excludes
attention to minute elegancies : yet these
works in Fresco, are the productions on which.
the fame of the greatest masters depends :
such are the pictures of Michael Angelo and
Raffaelle in the Vatican ; to which we may
add the Cartoons ; which, though not strictly
to be called Fresco, yet may be put under

fm THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
that denomination ; and such are the works
oi Giulio Romano at Mantua. If these per
formances were destroyed, with them would
be lost the best part of the reputation of those
illustrious painters; for these are justly con
sidered as the greatest efforts of our art which
the world can boast. To these, therefore,
we should principally direct our attention for
higher excellencies. As for the lower arts,
as they have been once discovered, they may
be easily attained by those possessed of the
former. Raffaelle, who stands in general foremost
of thefirst painters, owes his reputation, as I
Jiave observed, to his excellence in the higher
parts of the art : his works in Fresco, there
fore, ought to be the first object of our study
and attention. His easel- works stand in a
lower degree of estimation : forthough he con
tinually, to the day of his death, embellished
his performances more and more with the ad
dition of those lower ornaments , whi ch entirely
make the merit of some painters, yet he never
arrived at such perfection as to make him an

THE FIFTH D1SG0URSE. l*S
object of imitation. He never was able to
conquer perfectly that dryness, or even lit
tleness of manner, which he inherited from
his master. He never acquired that nicety
of taste in colours, that breadth of light and
shadow, that art and management of uniting
light to light, and shadow to shadow , so as to
make the object rise out of the ground with
the plenitude of effect so much admired in
the works of Correggio. When he painted
in oil, his hand seemed to be so cramped and
confined, that he not only lost that facility
and spirit, but I think even that correctness
of form, which is so perfect and admirable
in his Fresco- works. I do not recollect any
pictures of his of this kind, except perhaps
the Transfiguration, in which there are not
some parts that appear to be even feebly
drawn. That this is not a necessary attend
ant on Oil-painting, we have abundant in
stances in more modern painters. Ludovico
Caracci, for instance, preserved in his works
in oil the same spirit, vigour, and correctness
which he had in Fresco. I have no desire
to degrade Raffaelle from the high rank which
he deservedly holds : but by comparing him

m THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
with himself, he does not appear to me to be
the same man in Oil as in Fresco.
From those who have ambition to tread irt
this great walk of the art, Michael Angelo
claims the next attention. He did not pos
sess so many excellencies as Raffaelle, but
those which he had were of the highest kind.
He considered the art as consisting of little
more than what may be attained by sculp
ture : correctness of form, and energy of
character. We ought not to expect more
than an artist intends in his work. He
never attempted those lesser elegancies and
graces in the art. Vasari says, he never
painted but one picture in oil, and resolved
never to paint another, saying, it was an em
ployment only fit for women and children.
If any man had a right to look down upon
the Iower accomplishments as beneath his
attention, it was certainly Michael Angelo ;
nor can it be thought strange, that such a
mind should have slighted or have been with
held from paying due attention to all those
graces and.embellishments of art, which have

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 127
diffused such lustre over the works of other
painters. It must be acknowledged, however, that
together with these, which we wish he had
more attended to, he has rejected all the false,
though specious ornaments, which disgrace
the works even of the most esteemed artists ;
and I will venture to say, that when those
higher excellencies are more known and cul
tivated by the artists and the patrons of arts,
his fame and credit will increase with our
increasing knowledge. His name will then
be held in the same veneration as it was in
the enlightened age of Leo the Tenth : and
it is remarkable that the reputation of this
truly great man has been continually declin
ing as the art itself has declined. For I must
remark to you, that it has long been much
on the decline, and that our only hope of its
revival will consist in your being thoroughly
sensible of its depravation and decay. It is
to Michael Angelo, that we owe even the
existence of Raffaelle } it is to him Raffaelle
owes the grandeur of his style. He was
taught by him to elevate his thoughts, and

m the fifth discourse.
to conceive his subjects with dignity. Hist
genius, however formed to blaze and to
shine, might, like fire in combustible matter,
for ever have lain dormant, if it had not
caught a spark by its contact with Michael
Angelo ; and though it never hurst out with
his extraordinary heat and vehemence, yet it
must he acknowledged to be a more pure,
regular, and chaste flame. Though our
judgement must upon the whole decide in
favour of Raffaelle, yet he never takes such
a firm hold and entire possession of the
mind as to make us desire nothing else, and
to feel nothing wanting. The effect of the
capital works of Michael Angelo perfectly
corresponds to what Bouchardon said he
felt from reading Homer; his whole frame
appeared to himself to be enlarged, and ali
nature which surrounded him, diminished to
atoms. If we put these great artists in a light of
comparison with each other, Raffaelle had
snore Taste and Fancy, Michael Angelo
' more Genius and Imagination. The one
excelled in beauty, the other in energy.

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 129
Michael Angelo has more of the Poetical
Inspiration; his ideas are vast and sub
lime ; his people are a superior order of
beings ; there is nothing about them, no
thing in the air of their actions or their
attitudes, or the style and cast of their limbs
cr features, that reminds us of their be
longing to our own species. Raffaelle's
imagination is not so elevated ; his figures
are not so much disjoined from our own
diminutive race of beings, though his ideas
are chaste, noble, and of great conformity
to their subjects. Michael Angelo's works
have a strong, peculiar, and marked cha
racter : they seem to proceed from his own
mind entirely; and that mind so rich and.
abundant, that he never needed, or seemed
to disdain, to look abroad for foreign help.
Raffaelle's materials are generally borrowed,
though the noble structure is his own. The
excellency of this extraordinary man lay in
the propriety, beauty, and majesty of his
characters, the judicious contrivance of his
Composition, his correctness of Drawing,
purity of Tasfe, and skilful accommoda
tion of other men's conceptions to his own
VOL. I. K.

J30 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE;;
purpose. Nobody excelled ' him in thai?
judgement, with which he united to his
own observations on Nature, the Energy of
Michael, Angelo, and the Beauty and Sim
plicity of the Antique- To the question
therefore, which- ought to hold, the first,
rank, "Raffaelle. or Michael Angelo, it must
be answered, that if it is to be given to him
who possessed a greater combination of the
higher qualities of the art than any other
man, there is no doubt but Raffaelle is the
first. But if, as Longinus thinks, the sub
lime,., being the 'TiTghest-, excellence that
human composition can attain to, abundantly
compensates the absence of every other
beauty, . and atones for all other deficien
cies,, then Michael Angelo demands the pre
ference. These two extraordinary men carried
some of the higher -excellencies of the art
to a greater degree of perfection than pro
bably they ever arrived at before. They
certainly have not been >excelled, nor equal
led since. Many- of their successors were
induced to leave this great road as a beaten

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. hi
path, endeavourifig to Surprise and please
by something uncommon or new. . When
this desire of novelty has, proceeded from
mere idleness or caprice, it is not worth the
trouble of criticism ; but when it has been
the result of a busy mind of a peculiar com
plexion, it is always striking and interesting,
never insipid.
Such is the great style, as it appears in
those who possessed it at its height : in this,
search after novelty ,< in conception or in treat
ing the subject i has no place.
But there is another style, which, though
inferior to the former, has still great merit,
hecause it shows that those who cultivated
it were men of lively and vigorous imagi
nation. This, which may be called the
original or characteristical style, being less
referred to any true archetype existing either
in general or particular nature, must be
supported by the painter's consistency ki
the principles which he has assumed, and
in the union and harmony of his whole de
sign. The excellency of every style, but of
K-2

132 ttH, FIFtH DISCOURSE.
the subordinate styles more especially, will
very much depend on preserving that uniofi
and harmony between all the component
parts, that they may appear to hang well
together, as if the whole proceeded from one
mind. It is in the works of art, as in the
characters of men. The faults or defects of
some men seem to become them, when they
appear to be the natural growth, and of a
piece with the rest of their character. A
faithful picture of a mind, though it be
not of the most elevated kind, though it be
irregular, wild, and incorrect, yet, if it be
marked with that spirit and firmness which
characterises works of genius, will claim
attention, and be more striking than a com
bination of excellencies that do not seem to
unite well together _ or we may say, than a
work that possesses even all excellencies,
but those in a moderate degree.
One of the strongest-marked characters of
this kind, which must be allowed to be
subordinate to the great style, is that of
Salvator kosa. He gives us a peculiar cast
of nature* which, though void of all grace,

THE FIFTH p^SCQUJSpE. 133
elegance, and simplicity, though it has no
thing of that elevation and dignity which
belongs to the grand style, yet, has that sort
of dignity which belongs to savage and un
cultivated nature : but what is most to be
admired in him, is, the perfect correspond
ence which he observed between the subjects
which he chose and his manner of treating
them. Every thing is of a piece : his Rocks,
Trees, Sky, even to his handling, have the
same rude and wild character which animates
his figures.
With him we may contrast the character
of Carlo Maratti, who, in my opinion, had
no great vigour of mind or strength of ori
ginal genius. He rarely seizes the ima
gination by exhibiting the higher excellen
cies, nor does he captivate us by that ori
ginality which attends the painter who
thinks for himself. He knew and practised
all the rules of art, and from a composi
tion of Raffaelle, Caracci, and Guido, made
up a style, of which the only fault was,
that it had no manifest defects and no
striking beauties ; and that the principles of

134 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
his composition are never blended together,
so as to form one uniform body original in
its kind, or excellent in any view.
I will mention two other painters, who,
though entirely dissimilar, yet by being each
consistent with himself, and possessing a
manner entirely his own, have both gained
reputation, though for very opposite accom
plishments. The painters I mean, are Ru
bens and Poussin. Rubens I mention in this
place, as I think him a remarkable instance
of the same mind being seen in all the vari
ous parts of the art. The whole is so much
of a piece, that one can scarce be brought
to believe but that if any one of the qua
lities he possessed had been more correct
and perfect, his works would not have been
so complete as they now appear. :iIf we
should allow him a greater purity and cor
rectness of Drawing, his want of Simplicity
in Composition, Colouring, and Drapery,
wpuld appear more gross.
In his Composition his art is tap apparent.
£Iis figure^ have expression, and ^ct with

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 135'
energy, but without simplicity or dignity.
JpCis Colouring, in which he is eminently
skilled, is notwithstanding too much of
what we call tinted. Throughout the whole
of his. works, there is a proportionable want
of that nicety of distinction and elegance of
mind, which is required in the higher
walks of painting? and to this Want it
may be in some degree ascribed, that those
qualities which make the excellency of this
subordinate style, appear in him with their
greatest lustre. Indeed the facility with
which he invented ; the richness of his com
position, the luxuriant harmony and brilli
ancy of his colouring, so dazzle the eye,
that whilst his works continue before us, we
cannot help thinking that all his deficiencies
are fully supplied *.
Opposed to this florid, careless, loose, and
inaccurate style, that of the simple, careful,
pure, and correct style of Poussin seems to
* A more detailed character of Rubens may be found
in the " Journey to Flanders arid Holland," near the
conclusion, M.

136 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
be a complete contrast. Yet however oppo
site their characters, in one thing they agreed;
both of them always preserving a .perfect
correspondence between all the parts of their
respective manners : insomuch that it may
be doubted whether any alteration of what
is considered as defective in either, would
not destroy the effect of the "whole.
Poussin lived and conversed with the
ancient statues so long, that he may be said
to have been better acquainted with them
than with the people who were about him.
I have often thought that he carried his vene
ration for them so far as to wish to give his
works the air of Ancient Paintings. It is
certain he copied some of the Antique Paint
ings, particularly the Marriage in the Aldo-
brandini-Palace at Rome, which I believe to
be the best relique of those remote ages that
has yet been found.
No works of any modern has so much of
the air of Antique Painting as those of Pous
sin. His best performances have a remark
able dryness of manner, which though by tio

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. % 37
means to be recommended for imitation, yet
seems perfectly correspondent to that ancient
simplicity which distinguishes his style.
Like Polidoro he studied the ancients so
much that he acquired a habit of thinking in
their way, and seemed to know perfectly the
actions and gestures they would use on every
occasion. Poussin in the latter part of his life changed
from his dry manner to one much softer and
richer, where there is a greater union between
the figures and ground ; as in the Seven Sa
craments in the Duke of Orleans's collection ;
but neither these, nor any of his other pic
tures in this manner, are at all comparable to
many in his dry manner which we have in
England. The favourite subjects of Poussin were
Ancient Fables ; and no painter was ever
better qualified to paint such subjects, inot
only from his being eminently skilled in the
knowledge of the ceremonies, customs and
habits of the Ancients, .but .-from his being so
\vell acquainted with the .different characters

JS8 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE.
which those who invented them gave to theii*
allegorical figures. Though Rubens has
shown great fancy in his Satyrs, Silenuses,
and Fauns, yet they are not that distinct
separate class of beings, which is carefully
exhibited by the Ancients, and by Poussin.
Certainly when such subjects of antiquity
ajje represented, nothing in the picture ought
to remind us of modern times. The mind
is thrown back into antiquity, and nothing
ought to be introduced that may tend to
awaken it from the illusion.
Poussin seemed to think that the style and
'the language in which such stories are told,
is not the worse for preserving some relish
of the old way of painting, which seemed to
give a general uniformity to the whole, so
that the mind was thrown back into antiquity
not only by the; subject, but the execution,
If, Poussin in imitation of the Ancients
represents Apollo driving his chariot out of
the sea by way of representing the Sun rising,
if he personifies Lakes and Rivers, it is no
wise offensive in him ; but seems perfectly of

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. 13?
a piece with the general air of the picture.
On the contrary, if the Figures which people
his pictures had a modern air or countenance,
if they appeared like our countrymen, if the
draperies* were like cloth or silk of our manu
facture, if the landscape had the appearance of
a modern view, how ridiculous would Apollo
appear instead of the Sun ; an old Man, or
a, Nymph with an urn, to represent a River
or a Lake ?
I cannot avoid mentioning here a circum
stance in portrait-painting, which may help
to confirm wfyat has been said, When a
portrait is painted in the Historical Style, as
it is neither an exact minute representation of
an individual, nor completely ideal, every
circumstance ought to correspond to this
mixture. The simplicity of the antique air
and attitude, however much to be admired,
is ridiculous when joined to a figure in a
modern dress. It is not to my purpose to
enter into the question at present, whether
this mixed style ought to be adopted or not ;
yet if it is chosen, 'tis necessary it should be
complete and all of a piece : the difference of

140 THE FIFTH DI8C0URSE.
stu|Fs, for instance, which make the cloath
ing, should be distinguished in the same de
gree as the head deviates from a general idea.
Without this union, which I have so often
recommended, a work can have no marked
and determined character, which is the pecu
liar and constant evidence of genius. But
when this is accomplished to a high degree,
it becomes in some sort a rival to that style
which we have fixed as the highest.
Thus I have given a sketch of the cha
racters of Rubens and Salvator Rosa, as they
appear to me to have the greatest uniformity
of mind throughout their whole work. But
we may add to these, all those Artists who
are at the head of a class, and have had a
school of imitators from Michael Angelo
down to Watteau. Upon the whole it appears,
that setting aside the Ornamental Style, there
are two different modes, either of which a
Student may adopt without degrading the
dignity of his art. The object of the first
is, rto combine the higher excellencies and
embellish them to the greatest advantage ;
ofthe other, to carry one pf these excellencies

THE FIFTH DISCOURSE. UI
to the highest degree. But those who possess
neither must be classed with them, who, as
Shakspeare says, axemen of no mark or likelihood.
I inculcate as frequently as I can your form
ing yourselves upon great principles and great
models. Your time will be much mis-spent in
every other pursuit. Small excellencies should
be viewed, not studied; they ought to be
viewed, because nothing ought to escape a
Painter's observation : but for no other reason.
There is another caution which I wish to
give you. Be as select in those whom you
endeavour to please, as in those whom you
endeavour to imitate. Without the love of
fame you can never do any thing excellent ;
but by an excessive and undistinguishing
thirst after it, you will come to have vulgar
views ; you will degrade your style* and your
taste will be entirely corrupted. Ic is certain
that the lowest style will be the most popular,
as it falls within the compass of ignorance
itself; and the Vulgar will always be pleased
with what is natural, in the confined and
misunderstood sense ofthe word.

142 THE FIFTH DISCOURSE/
One would wish that such depravation of
taste should be counteracted with that manly
pride which actuated Euripides when he said
to the Athenians who criticised his works,
** I do not compose my works in order to be
" corrected by you, but to instruct you." It
is true to have a right to speak thus, a man
must be an Euripides. However, thus much
may be allowed, that when an Artist is sure
that he is upon firm ground, supported by the
auchority and practice of his predecessors of
the greatest reputation, he may then assume
the boldness and intrepidity of genius ; at any
rate he must not be tempted out of the right
path by any allurement of popularity, which
always accompanies the lower styles ot
painting. •
I mention this, because our Exhibitions..
while they produce such admirable effects by
nourishing emulation, and callings out genius,
have also a mischievous tendency, by seduc
ing the Painter to an ambition of pleasing
indiscriminately the mixed multitude of peo
ple who resort to them.

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EVERY SCHOOL.
GENTLEMEN,
W HEN I have taken the liberty of addfess-
ingyou on thecotirseand orderof your studies,
I never proposed to enter into a minute detail
of the art. This I .have always left to the
several Professors, who pursue the end of
our institution with the highest honour to
themselves, and with the greatest advantage
to the Students.
My purpose in the discourses I have held
in the Academy has been to lay down certain
general positions, which seem to me proper
for the formation of a sound taste : principles
necessary to guard the pupils against those
vol, I. L

146 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
errprs, into which the sanguine temper com
mon to their time of life has a tendency to
lead them ; and which have rendered abor
tive the hopes of so marty Successions of pro
mising young men in all parts of Europe.
I wished also, to intercept and suppress those
prejudices which particularly prevail when
the mechanisn of painting is come to its
perfection ; and which, when they do pre
vail, are certain utterly to destroy the higher
and more valuable parts of this literate and
liberal profession.
These two hive beefl my principal pur
poses ; they are still as much my concern as
ever ; and if I repeat my own notions On the
subject, you who know how fast mistake and
prejudice, when neglected, gain ground upon
truth and reason, will easily excuse me. I
only attempt to set the same thing in the
greatest variety of lights.
The subject of this discourse will be Imi
tation, as far as a painter is concerned in
it. By imitation, I do not mean imitation
in its largest sense, but simply the following

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. ity
bf other masters, and the advantage to be
drawn from the' study of their works.
Those who have undertaken to write on
our art, and have represented it as d kind of
inspiration, as a. gift bestowed upon peculiar ,
favourites at their birth, seem to inSufe a
much more favourable disposition from their
readers, and have a much more captivating
and liberal air, than he who attempts to ex
amine, coldly, whether there are any means
by which this art may be acquired ; how the
mind may be strengthened and expanded, and
what guides will show the way to eminence.
It is very natural for those who are unac
quainted with the cause of any thing extra
ordinary, to be astonished at the effect, and
to consider it as a kind of magick. They,
who have never observed the gradation by
which art is acquired ; who see only what
is the full result of long labour and applica
tion of an infinite number and infinite variety
of acts, are apt to conclude from their entire
inability to do the same at once, that it is not
only inaccessible to themselves, but can be
l a

148* THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
done by those only who have some gift of
the nature of inspiration bestowed upon them.
The travellers into the East tell us, that
when the ignorant inhabitants of those coun
tries are asked concerning the ruins of stately
edifices yet remaining amongst them, the
melancholy monuments of their former gran
deur and long-lost science, they always an
swer, that they were built by magicians.
The untaught mind finds a vast gulph be
tween its own powers, and those works of
complicated art, which it is utterly unable to
fathom; and it supposes that such a void
can be passed only by supernatural powers.
And, as for artists themselves, it is by no
means their interest to undeceive such judges,
however conscious they may be of the very
natural means by which their extraordinary
powers were acquired ; though our art, be
ing intrinsically imitative, rejects this idea of
inspiration, more perhaps than any other.
It is to avoid this plain confession of truth,
as it should seem, that this imitation of mas-

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. Uf>
ters, indeed almost all imitation, which im
plies a more regular and progressive method
of attaining the ends of painting, has ever
been particularly inveighed against with
great keenness, both by ancient and modern
writers. To derive all from native power, to owe
nothing to another, is the praise which men,
who do not much think on what they are
saying, bestow sometimes upon others, and
sometimes on themselves ; and their ima
ginary dignity is naturally heightened by a
supercilious censure of the low, the barren,
the groveling, the servile imitator. It would
be no wonder if a student, frightened by
these terrifick and disgraceful epithets, with
which the poor imitators are so often loaded,
should let fall his pencil in mere despair;
(conscious as he must be, how much he has
been indebted to the labours of others, how
little, how very little of his art was born
with him ;) and consider it as hopeless, to
set about acquiring by the imitation of any
human master, what he is taught to suppose
is matter of inspiration from heaven.

UO THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
Some allowance must be made for what is
said in the gaiety of rhetorick. We cannot
suppose that any one can really mean to ex
clude all imitation of others. A position so
wild would scarce deserve a serious answer;
for it is apparent, if we were forbid to make
use of the advantages which our predecessors
afford us, the art would be always to begin,
and consequently remain always in its infant
state; and it is a common observation, that
no art was ever invented and carried to per
fection at the.same time.
But to bring us entirely to reason and
sobriety, let it be observed, that a painter
must not only be of necessity an imitator of
the works of nature, which alone is sufficient
to dispel this phantom of inspiration, but he,
must be qs necessarily ^n ijnitatpr pf the
works of other painters : this appears more
humiliating, but is equally true ; and no man,
can be an artist, whatever he may s.uppose,
upon any other terms.
However, those who appear more moder
fate and feasonable, allow, that our §tuoy i$

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 151
to begin by imitation ; but maintain that
we should no longer use the thoughts of our
predecessors, when we are become able to
think for ourselves. They hold that imi
tation is as hurtful to the more advanced
student, as it was advantageous to the be
ginner. For my own part, I confess, I am not only
very much disposed to maintain the absolute
necessity of imitation in the first stages of
the art; but am of opinion, that the study
of other masters, which I here call imitation,
may be extended throughout our whole lives,
without any danger of the inconveniencies
with which it is charged, of enfeebling the
mind, or preventing us from giving that ori
ginal a,ir which every work undoubtedly
ought always to have,
I am on the contrary persuaded, that by
imitation only, variety, and even originality
of invention, is produced. I will go further ;
even genius, at least what generally is so
called, is the child of imitation. But as this
appears to be contrary to the general opinion,

152 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
I must explain my ' position before I en
force it.

Genius is supposed to be a power of pro
ducing excellencies, which are out ofthe reach
ofthe rules of art ; a power which no precepts
can teach, and which no industry can acquire.
This opinion of the impossibility of ac
quiring those beauties, which stamp the
work with the character of genius, supposes
that it is something more fixed, than in
reality it is ; and that we always do, and
ever 'did agree in opinion, with respect to
what should be considered as the characte
ristick of genius. But the truth is, that the
degree of excellence which proclaims Genius
is different, in different times and different
places ; and what shows it to be so is, that
mankind have often changed their opinion
upon this matter.
When the Arts were in their infancy, the
power of merely drawing the likeness of any
object, was considered as one of its greatest
efforts. The common people, ignorant of
6

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 153
the principles of art, talk the same language
even to this day. But when it was found
that every man could be taught to do this,
and a great deal more, merely by the observ
ance of certain precepts ; the name of Genius
then shifted its application, and was given
only to him who added the peculiar charac
ter of the object he represented ; to him who
had invention, expression, grace, or dignity ;
in short, those qualities, or excellencies, the
power of producing which, could not then be
taught by any known and promulgated rules.
We are very sure that the beauty of form,
the expression of the passions, the art of
composition, even the power of giving a
general air of grandeur to a work, is at pre
sent very much under the' dominion of rules.
These excellencies were, heretofore, con
sidered merely as the effects of genius ; and
justly, if genius is not taken for inspiration,
but as the effect of close observation and
experience. He who first made any of these observa
tions, and digested them, so as to form an

15* THE SIXTH DISCOURSE,
invariable principle for himself to work by,
had that, merit, but probably no one went
very far at once; and generally, the first who
gave the hint, did not know how to pursue
it steadily and methodically ; at least not in
the beginning. He himself worked on it,
and improved it ; Others worked more, and
improved further; until the secret was dis
covered, and the practice made as general, as
refined practice can be made. How many
mpre principles may be fixed and ascertained,
we cannot tell ; but as criticism is likely to
go hand in hand with the art which is its
subject, we may venture to say, that as that
art shall advance, its powers will be still
more and more fixed by rules.
But by whatever strides criticism may gain
ground, we need be under no apprehension,
that invention will ever be annihilated, or
subdued ; or intellectual energy be brought
entirely within the restraint of written law.
Genius will still have room enough to ex
patiate, and keep always at the same distance
from narrow comprehension and mechanical
performance.

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 155
What we now call Genius, begins, not
where rules, abstractedly taken, end; but
where known vulgar and trite rules have no
longer any place. It must of necessity, be,
that even works of Genius, like every other
effect, as they must have their cause, must
likewise have their rules ; it cannot be by
chance, that excellencies are produced with
any constancy or any certainty, for this is not
the nature of chance ; but the rules by which
men of extraordinary farts, and such as are
called men of Genius, work, are either such
as they discover by their own peculiar obser
vations, or of such a nice texture as not easily
to admit being expressed in words ; espe
cially as artists are not very frequently skil
ful in that mode of communicating ideas.
Unsubstantial, however, as these rules may
seem, and difficult as it may be to convey
them in writing, they are still seen and felt
in the mind of the artist ; and he works from
therrj with as much certainty, as if they were
embodied, as I may say, upon paper. It is
true, these refined principles cannot be always
made palpable, like the more gross rules pf
art; yet it does not follow, but that the mind

156 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE,
may be put in such a train, that it shall per
ceive, by a kind of scientifick sense, that
propriety, which words, particularly words
of unpractised writers, such as we are, can
but very feebly suggest.
Invention is one of the great marks of
genius ; but if we consult experience, we
shall find, that it is by being conversant with
the inventions of others, that we learn to in
vent ; as by reading the thoughts of others we
learn to think.
Whoever has so far formed his taste, as to
be able to relish and feel the beauties of the
great masters, has gone a great way in his
study ; for, merely from a consciousness of
this relish of the right, the mind swells with
an inward pride, and is almost as powerfully
affected, as if it had itself produced what it
admires. XDur hearts, frequently warmed in
h is manner by the contact of those whom
we wish to resemble, will undoubtedly catch
something of their way of thinking; and we
shall receive in our own bosoms some radia
tion at least of their fire and splendour. That

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 157
disposition, which is so strong in children,
still continues with us, of catching involun
tarily the general air and manner of those
with whom we are most conversant ; with
this difference only, that a young mind is na
turally pliable and imitative ; but in a more
advanced state it grows rigid, and must be
warmed and softened, before it will receive a
deep impression.
From these considerations, which a little
of your own reflection will carry a great way
further, it appears, of what great consequence
it is, that our minds should be habituated to
the contemplation of excellence; and that,
far from being contented to make such ha
bits the discipline of our youth only, we
should, to the last moment of our lives, con
tinue a settled intercourse with all the true
examples of grandeur. Their inventions are*
not only the food of our infancy, but the sub
stance which supplies the fullest maturity of
our vigour.
The mind is but a barren soil; a soil which
is soon exhausted, and will produce no crop,

158 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
or only one, unless it be continually fertilized
and enriched with foreign matter.
When we have had continually before us
the great works of Art to impregnate our
minds with kindred ideas, we are then, and
not till then, fit to produce something of the
Same species. We behold all about us with
the eyes of those penetrating observers whose
works we contemplate ; asd our minds, ac
customed to think the thoughts of the no
blest and brightest intellects, are prepared fer
the discovery and selection of all that is great
and noble in nature. The greatest natural
genius cannot subsist on its own stock : he
who resolves never to ransack any mind but
his own, will be soon reduced, from mere
barrenness, to the poorest of all imitations;
he will be obliged to imitate himself, and to
repeat what he has before often repeated.
When we know the subject designed by such
men, it will never be difficult to guess what
kind of work is to be produced.
It is vain for painters or poets to endea
vour to invent without materials on which
7

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 159
the mind may work, and from which inven
tion must originate. Nothing can come of
nothing. Homer is supposed to be possessed of all
the learning of his time ; and we are certain
that Michael Angelo, and Raffaelle, were
equally possessed of all the knowledge in
the art which had been discovered in the
works of their predecessors.
A mind enriched by an . assemblage of all
the treasures of ancient and modern art, will
be more elevated and fruitful in resources, in
proportion to the number of ideas which
have been carefully collected and thoroughly
digested. There can be no doubt but that he
who has the most materials has the greatest
means of invention ; and if he has not the
power of using them, it must proceed from
a feebleness of intellect; or from the con
fused manner in which those collections have
been laid up in his mind.
The addition of other men's judgement is
so far from weakening our own, as is the

160 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
opinion of many, that it will fashiofi and
consolidate those ideas of excellence which
lay in embryo, feeble, ill-shaped, and con
fused, but which are finished and put in order
by the authority and practice of those, whose
works may be said to have been consecrated
by having stood the test of ages.
The mind, or genius, has been compared
to a spark of fire, which is smothered by a
heap of fuel, and prevented from blazing
into a flame. This simile, Which is made
use of by the younger Pliny, may be easily
mistaken for argument Or proof. But there
is no danger of the mind's being ovef-bur-
thened with knowledge, or the genius extin
guished by any addition of images ; on the
contrary, these acquisitions may as well,
perhaps better, be compared, if comparisons
signified any thing in reasoning, to the supply
of living embers, which will contnhufe to
strengthen the Spark, that without the asso
ciation of more fuel would have died away.
The truth is, he whose feebleness is such, as
to make other men's thbughts an incumbrance
to him, eaft have no very great strength of

THE, SIXTH DISCOURSE; 151
fcnind or genius of his own to be destroyed;
so that not much harm will be done at
worst. We may oppose to Pliny the greater au
thority of Cicero, who is continually enforc
ing the necessity of this method of study;
In his dialogue on Oratory, he makes Crassus
say, that one of the first and most important
precepts is, to choose a proper model for our
imitation. Hoc sit primum in praceptismeist
ut demonstremus quem imitemuri
When I speak of the habitual imitation
and continued study of masters, it is not to
be understood, that I advise any endeavour
to copy the exact peculiar colour and com*
plexion of another man's mind ; the success
of such an attempt must always be like his*
who imitates exactly the air, manner, and
gestures, of him whom he admires. His
model may be excellent, but the copy will
be ridiculous: this -ridicule does not arise
from his having imitated, but from his not
having chosen the right mode of imita
tion. vol. i, M

162 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
It is a necessary and warrantable pride to
disdain to walk servilely behind any indivi
dual, however elevated his rank. The true
and liberal ground of imitation is an open
field ; where, though he who precedes has
had the advantage of starting before you, you
may always propose to overtake him : it is
enough however to pursue his course ; you
need not tread in his footsteps; and you
certainly have a right to outstrip him if you
can. Nor whilst I recommend studying the art
from artists, can I be supposed to mean, that
nature is to be neglected : I take this study
in aid, and not in exclusion, of the other.
Nature is, and must be the fountain which
alone is inexhaustible ; and from which all
excellencies must originally flow.
The great use of studying our predecessors
is, to open the mind to shorten our labour,
and to give us the result of the selection
made by those great minds of what is grand
or beautiful in nature; her rich stores are al$
spread out before us ; but it is an art, and no

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. I63
easy art to know how or what to choose,
and how to attain and secure the object of
our choice. Thus the highest beauty of
form must be taken from nature ; but it is
an art of long deduction and great expe*
rience, to know how to find it. We must
not content ourselves with merely admiring
and relishing; we must enter into the prin
ciples on which the work is Wrought .
these do not sw#m on the superficies, and
consequently are not open to superficial
observers. Art in its perfection is not ostentatious ; it
lies hid, and works its effect, itself unseen.
It is the proper study and labour of an artist
to uncover and find out the latent cause of
conspicuous beauties, and from thence form
principles of his own conduct : such an
examination is a continual exertion of the
mind ; as great, perhaps, as that of the artist
whose works he is thus studying.
The sagacious imitator does not content
himself with merely remarking what dis
tinguishes the different manner or genius of
m a

16* THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
each master ; he enters into the contrivance
in the composition how the masses of lights
are disposed, the means by which the effect
is produced, how artfully some parts are lost
in the ground, others boldly relieved, and
how all these are mutually altered and inter
changed according to the reason and scheme
of the work. He admires not the harmony
of colouring alone, but examines by what
artifice one colour is a foil to its neighbour.
He looks close into the tints, examines of
what colours they are composed, till he has
formed clear and distinct ideas, and haslearnt
to see in what harmony and good colouring
consists. What is learnt in this manner
from the works of others becomes really our
own, sinks deep; and is never forgotten;
nay, it is by seizing on this clue .that we
proceed forward, and get further and fur
ther in enlarging the principles and improv
ing the practice of our art.
There can be no doubt, but the art is better
learnt from the works themselves, than from
the precepts which are formed upon those
works ; but if it is difficult to choose proper

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE, 16.5
models for imitation, it requires no less cir
cumspection to separate and distinguish what
in those models we ought to imitate.
I cannot avoid mentioning here, though it
is not my intention at present to enter into the
art and method of study, an error which
students are too apt to fall into. He^hat is
forming himself, must look with great caution
and wariness on those peculiarities, or pror
minent parts, which at first force themselves
upon view ; and are the marks, or what is
commonly called the manner, by which that
individual artist is distinguished.
Peculiar marks, I hold to be, generally, if
not always, defects ; however difficult it may
be wholly to escape them.
?
Peculiarities in the works of art, are like
those in the human figure : it is by them that
we are cognizable and distinguished one
from another, but they are always so many
blemishes : which, however, both in real life
and in painting, cease to appear deformities,
to those who have them continually before

166 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.'
their eyes. In the works of art, even the
most enlightened mind, when warmed by
beauties of fhe highest kind, will by degrees
find a repugnance within him to acknowledge
any defects ; nay, his enthusiasm will carry
him so far, as to transform them into beau
ties, and objects of imitation.

t

It must be acknowledged, that a peculia
rity of style, either from its novelty, or by
seeming to proceed from a peculiar turn of
mind, often escapes blame ; on the contrary,
it is sometimes striking and pleasing : but
this it is a vain labour to endeavour to imi
tate ; because novelty and peculiarity being
its only merit, when it ceases to be pew, it
ceases to have value.
A manner therefore being a defect, and
every painter, however excellent, having a
manner, it seems to follow, that all kinds of
faults, as well as beauties, may be learned
under the sanction of the greatest authorities.
Even the great name of Michael Angelo may
be used, to keep in countenance a deficiency
of rather neglect of colouring, and every

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 1G7
other ornamental part of the art. If the
young student is dry and hard, Poussin is
the same. If his work has a careless and
unfinished air, he has most of the Venetian
school to support him. If he makes no
selection of objects, but takes individual
nature just as he finds it, he is like Rem
brandt. If he is incorrect in the proportions
of his figures, Correggio was likewise in
correct. If his colours are not blended and
united, Rubens was equally crude. In short,
there is no defect that may not be excused,
if it is a sufficient excuse that it can be
imputed to considerable artists ; but it must
be remembered, that it was not by these
defects they acquired their reputation ; they
have a right to our pardon, but not to our
admiration. However, to imitate peculiarities or mis
take defects for beauties, that man will be
most liable, who confines his imitation to one
favourite master; and even though he chooses
the best, and is capable of distinguishing the
real excellencies of his model, it is not by
such narrow practice, that a genius or

1(58 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
mastery in the art is acquired. A man is as
little likely to form a true idea of the per
fection of the art, by studying a single artist,
as he would be to produce a perfectly beauti
ful figure, by an exact imitation of any indi
vidual living model. And as the painter,
by bringing together in one piece, those
beauties which are dispersed among a great
variety of individuals, produces a figure
more beautiful than can be found in nature,
SO that artist who can unite in himself the
excellencies of the various great painters,
will approach nearer to perfection than any
one of his masters. He, who confines him
self to the imitation of an individual, as he
never proposes to surpass, so he is not likely
to equal, the object pf his imitation. He
professes only to follow ; and he that follows
must necessarily be behind.
We should imitate the conduct of the great
artists in the course of their studies, as well
as the works which they produced, when
they were perfectly formed. Raffaelle began
by imitating implicitly the mannet of Pietro
fWugino, under whom he studied ; hence

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 1«&
his first works are scarce to be distinguished
from his master's ; but soon forming highe*
and more extensive views, he imitated the
grand outline of Michael .Angelo ; he learned
the manner of using colours from the works
of Leonardo da Vinci, and Fratre Bartolo*
meo : to all this he added the contemplation
of all the remains of antiquity that were -
within his reach ; and employed others "to
draw for him what was in Greece and dis
tant places. And it is from his having takeq
so many models, that he became himself a
model for all succeeding painters ; always
imitating, and always original,
If your ambition, therefore, be to equal
Raffaelle, you must do as Raffaelle did, take
many models, and not even him for your "
guide alone, to the exclusion of others *.
And yet the number is infinite of those who
seem, if one may judge by their style, to
have seen no other works but those of their

* Bed non qui maxime imltandus, etiarrj solus imitan-
^us est. Ouintilian, .

179 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
master, or of some favourite, whose manner
is their first wish, and their last.
I will mention a few that occur to me of
this narrow, confined, illiberal, unscienti-
fick, and servile kind of imitators. Guido
was thus meanly copied by Elizabetta, Sirani,
and Simone Cantarini ; Poussin, by Verdier,
and Cheron; Parmeggiano, by Jeronimo
Mazzuoli. Paolo Veronese, and lacomo
Bassan, had for their imitators their brothers
and sons. Pietro da Cortona was followed
by Ciro Ferri, and Romanelli ; Rubens, by
Jacques Jordaens, and Diepenbeke ; Guer-
cino, by his own family, the Gennari. Carlo
JMaratti was imitated by Giuseppe Chiari,
and Pietro de Pietri ; and Rembrandt, by
Bramer, Eeckhout, and Flink. All these, to
whom may be added a much longer list of
painters, whose works among the ignorant
pass for those of their masters, are justly to
be censured for barrenness and servility.
To oppose to this list a few that have
adopted a more liberal style of imitation ; —
Pellegrino Tibaldi Rosso, and Primaticcio,

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. i|"i
did not coldly imitate, but caught something
of the fire that animates the works of Michael
Angelo. The Caraccis formed their style
from Pellegrino Tibaldi, Correggio, and tl^e
Venetian School. Domenichinof Guido,
Lanfranco, Albano, Guercino, Cavidone,
Schidone, Tiarini, though it is sufficiently
apparent that they came frorn the school of
the Caraccis, have yet the appearance of
men who extended their views beyond the
model that lay before them, and have shown
that they had opinions .of their,' own, and
thought for themselves, after they had made
themselves masters of the general principles
of their schools.
Le Suer's first manner resembles very
much that of his master Voliet : but as he
soon excelled him, so he differed from him
in every part of the art. Carlo Maratti suc
ceeded better than those I have first named,
and I think owes his superiority to the exten
sion of his views ; beside his master Andrea
Sacchi, he imitated Raffaelle, Guido, and the
Caraccis. It is true, there is nothing very
captivating in Carlo Maratti ; but this pro-

172 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
ceeded from a want which cannot be com
pletely supplied; that is, want of strength of
parts. In this certainly, men are not equal ;
2nd a man can bring home wares only in pro
portion to the capital with which he goes to
market. Carlo, by diligence, made the most
of what he had ; but there was undoubtedly
a heaviness about him, which extended itself,
uniformly, to his invention, expression, his
drawing, Colouring, and the general effect of
his pictures. The truth is, he never equalled
any of his patterns in any one thing, and he
added little of his own.
But we must not rest contented even in
thisgeneral study of the moderns ; we must
trace back the art to its fountain-head ; to
that source from whence they drew their
principal excellencies, the monuments of
pure antiquity. All the inventions and
thoughts of the Antients, whether conveyed
to us in statues, bas-reliefs, intaglios, cameos,
or coins, are to be sought after and carefully
studied ; the genius that hovers over these
venerable relicks, may be sailed che father
of modern art,

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 173
From the remains of the works of the
antients the modern arts were revived, and it
is by their means that they must be restored
a second time. However it may mortify our
vanity, we must be forced to allow them our
masters ; and we may venture to prophecy,
that when they shall cease to be studied, arts
will no .longer flourish, and we shall again
relapse into barbarism.
The fire of the artist's own genius ope
rating upon these materials which have been
thus diligently collected, will enable him to
make new combinations, perhaps, superior
to what had ever before been in the possession
of the art : as in the mixture of the variety
of metals, which are said to have been melted
and run together at the burning of Corinth,
a new and till then unknown metal was pro
duced, equal in value to any of those that
had contributed to its composition. And
though a curious refiner should come with his
crucibles, analyse and separate its various
component parts, yet Corinthian brass would
still hold its rank amongst the most beautiful
and valuable of metajs.

#4 f HE SIXTH DfsCOURSg.
We have hitherto considered the advan
tages of imitation as it tends to form the taste,
and as a practice by which a spark of that
genius may be caught, which illumines those
noble works that ought always to be present
to our thoughts.
We come now to speak of another kind of
imitation ; the borrowing a particular thought,
an action, attitude, or figure, and trans
planting it into your own work, this will
either come under the charge of plagiarism,
or be warrantable, and deserve commenda
tion, according to the address with which it
is performed. There is some difference
likewise, whether it is upon the antients or
moderns that these depredations are made.
It is generally allowed, that no man need
be ashamed of copying the antients : their
works are considered as a magazine of com
mon property, always open to the public,
whence every man has a right to take what
materials he pleases ; and if he has the art of
using them, they are supposed to become to
all intents and purposes his own property.
The collection of the thoughts of the-antients

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. If 5
which Raffaelle made with so much trouble,
is a proof of his opinion on this subject.
Such collections may be made with much
more ease, by means of an art scarce known
in this time ; I mean that of engraving ; by
which, at an easy rate, every man may now
avail himself of the inventions of antiquity.
It must be acknowledged that the works of
the moderns are more the property of their
authors. He, who borrows an idea from an
antient, or even from a modern artist not his
contemporary, and so accommodates it to his
own work, that it makes a part of it, with
no seam or joining appearing, can hardly be
charged with plagiarism : poets practise this
kind of borrowing, without reserve. But
an artist should not be contented with this
only ; he should enter into a competition
with his original, and endeavour to improve
what he is appropriating to his own work.
Such imitation is so far from having any
thing in if of the servility of plagiarism,
that it is a perpetual exercise of the mind, a
continual invention. Borrowing or stealing
with such art and caution, will have a right

tTxy THE SIXTH DISCOURSE,
to the same lenity as was used by the Lace
demonians ; who did not punish theft, but
the want of artifice to conceal it.
In order to encourage you to imitation,
to the utmost extent, let me add, that very
finished artists in the inferior branches of
the art, will contribute to furnish the mind
and give hints, of which a skilful painter,
who is sensible of what he wants, and is
in no danger of being infected by the contact
of vicious models, will know how to avail
himself. He will pick up from dunghills what
by a nice chymistry, passing through his own
mind, shall be converted into pure gold; and
under the rudeness of Gothic essays, he will
find original, rational, and even sublime in
ventions. The works of Albert Durer, Lucas Van
Leyden, the numerous inventions of To
bias Stimmer, and Jost Ammon, afford a
rich mass of genuine materials, which
wrought up and polished to elegance, will
add copiousness to what, perhaps, without

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. iff
such aid, could have aspired only to justness
and propriety.
In the luxuriant style of Paul Veronese,
in the capricious compositions of Tintoret,
he will 'find something, that will assist his
invention, and give points, from which his
own imagination shall rise and take flight,
when the subject which he treats will with
propriety admit of splendid effects.
In every school, whether Venetian, French,
or Dutch, he will find either ingenious com
positions, extraordinary effects, some peculiar
expressions, or some mechanical excellence,
well worthy of his attention, and, in some
measure of his imitation. Even in the lower
class of the French painters great beauties
are often found, united with great defects.
Though Coypel wanted a simplicity of taste,
and mistook a presumptuous and assuming
air for what is grand and majestick ; yet he
frequently has good sense and judgement in
his manner of telling his stories, great skill
in his compositions, and is not without a
considerable power of expressing the pas-
VOL. I. N

lf$ THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
sions. The modern affectation of grace in
his works, as well as in those of Bosch
and Watteau, may be said to be separated,
by a very thin partition, from the more
simple and pure grace of Correggio and
Parmegiano. Among the Dutch painters, the correct,
firm, and determined pencil, which was em
ployed by Bamboccio and Jean Mi el, on
vulgar and mean subjects, might without
any change, be employed on the highest ;
to which, indeed, it seems more properly
to belong. The greatest style, if that style
is confined to small figures, such as Poussin
generally painted, would receive an addi
tional grace by the elegance and precision
of pencil so admirable in the works of
Teniers ; and though the school to which
he belonged, more particularly excelled in
the mechanism of painting ; yet it produced
many, who have shown great abilities in
expressing what must be ranked above me
chanical excellencies. In the works of Frank
Hals, the portrait-painter may observe the
composition of a face, the features well

THE &IXTH DISCOURSE. ifa
put together, as the painters express it] from
whence proceeds that strong- marked cha
racter of individual nature, which is so re
markable in his portraits, and is not found
in an equal degree in any other painter. If
he had joined to 'this most difficult part of
the art, a patience in finishing what he had
so correctly planned, he might justly have
claimed the place which Vandyek, all things
considered, so justly holds as the first of
portrait-painters. Others of the same school have shown
great power in expressing the character and
passions of those vulgar people, which were
the subjects of their study and attention.
Among those Jan Steen seems to be one of
the most diligent and accurate observers
of what passed in those scenes which he
frequented, and which were to him an aca
demy. I can easily imagine, that if this
extraordinary man had had the good fortune
to have been born in Italy, instead of Hol
land, had he lived in Rome instead of
Leyden, and been blessed with Michael
Angelo and Raffaelle, for his masters, in-
n 2

180 THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
stead of Brouwer and Van Goyen ; the same
sagacity and penetration which distinguished
so accurately the different characters and
expression in his vulgar figures, would,
when exerted in the selection and imitation
of what was great and elevated in nature,
have been equally successful ; and he now
would have ranged with the great pillars and
supporters of our Art.
Men who although thus, bound down by
the almost invincible powers of early ha
bits, have still exerted extraordinary abilities
within their narrow and confined circle ;
and have, from the natural vigour of their
mind, given a very interesting expression
and great force and energy to their works;
though they cannot be recommended to be
exactly imitated, may yet invite an artist to
endeavour to transfer, by a kind of parody,
their excellencies to his own performances.
Whoever has acquired the power of making
this use of the Flemish, Venetian, and
French schools, is a real genius, and has
sources of knowledge open to hiirj. which

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 181
were wanting to the great artists who lived
in the great age of painting.
To find excellencies, however dispersed;
to discover beauties, however concealed by
the multitude of defects with which they
are surrounded, can be the work only of
him, who having a mind always alive to his
art, has extended his views to all ages and
to all schools ; and has acquired from that
comprehensive mass which he has thus
gathered to himself, a well-digested and per
fect idea of his art, to which every thing is
referred. Like a sovereign judge and arbi
ter of art, he is possessed of that presiding
power which separates and attracts every
excellence from every school; selects both
from what is great, and what is little ; brings
home knowledge from the East and from
the West ; making the universe tributary
towards furnishing his mind and enriching
his works with originality, and variety of
inventions. Thus I have ventured to give my opinion
of what appears to me the true and only

1 u THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
method fey which an artist makes himself
master of his profession* % which I hold ought
to be one continued course of imitation, that
is not to cease but with his life.
Those, who either from their own en
gagements and hurry of business, or from
indolence,, or from conceit and vanity,, have
neglected looking out of themselves, as far
as my experience and observation, reaches,
have from that time, not only ceased to ad
vance, and improve in their performances,
but have gone backward. They may be
compared to men who have lived upon their
principal, till they are reduced to beggary,
and left without resources.
I can recommend nothing better there
fore, than that you endeavours to infuse into
your works: what you) learn from the con
templation of the works of" others. To
recommend this has the appearance of need
less and superfluous advice; but it has
fallen within my own knowledge, that
artists, though they were not wanting^ in a
sincere love for their art, though they had
4

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE; 18$
great pleasure in seeing good pictures, and
were well skilled to distinguish what was
excellent or defective in them, yet have gone
on in their own manner, without any endea
vour to give a little of those beauties, which1
they admired in others, to their own works.
It is difficult to conceive how the present
Italian painters, who live in the midst of the
treasures of art, should be contented with their
own style. They proceed in their common
place inventions, and never think it worth
while to visit the Works of those great artists
with which they are surrounded.
I remember, several years ago, to have
conversed at Rome with an artist of great
fame throughout Europe ; he was not with
out a considerable degree of abilities, but
those abilities were by no means equal to
his own opinion of them. From the re
putation he had acquired, he too fondly
concluded that he stood in the same rank
when compared with his predecessors, as
he held with regard to his miserable con
temporary rivals. In conversation about
some particulars of the works of Raffaelle,

f 8+ THE SIXTH DISCOURSE.
he seemed to have, or to affect to have, a
very obscure memory of them. He told me
that he had not set his foot in the Vatican
for fifteen years together ; that he had been
in treaty to copy a capital picture of Raf
faelle, but that the business had gone off;
however, if the agreement had held, his copy
would have greatly exceeded the original.
The merit of this artist, however great we
may suppose it, I am sure would .have been
far greater, and his presumption would have
been far less, if he had visited the Vatican
as in reason he ought to have done, at least
once every month of his life.
J address myself, Gentlemen, to you who
have made some progress in the art, and are
to be, for the future, under the guidance of
your own judgement and discretion. I con
sider you as arrived to that period, when you
have a right to think for yourselves, and to
presume that every man is fallible ; to study
the masters with a suspicion, that great men
are not always exempt from great faults ; to
criticise, compare, and rank their works in
your own estimation, as they approach to.
6

THE SIXTH DISCOURSE. 185
or recede from that standard of perfection
which you have formed in your own minds,
but which those masters themselves, it must
be remembered, have taught you to make,
and which you will cease to make with cor
rectness, when you cease to study them. It
is their excellencies which have taught you
their defects.
I would wish you to forget where you are,
and who it is that speaks to you, I only direct
you to higher models and better advisers.
We can teach you here but very little ; you
are henceforth to be your own teachers. Do
this justice, however, to the English Acade
my ; to bear in mind, that in this place you
contracted no narrow habits, no false ideas,
nothing that could lead you to the imitation
of any living master, who may be the
fashionable darling ofthe day. As you have
not been taught to flatter us, do not learn to
flatter yourselves. We have endeavoured to
lead you to the admiration of nothing but
what is truly admirable. If you choose in
ferior patterns, or if you make your own
former works your patterns for your latter, it
s your own fault.

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

DISCOURSE VII.
.DELIVERED TO THE STUDENTS OF
THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
PN THE
DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES,
DECEMBER 10, 1776,

DISCOURSE VII.

THE REALITY OF A STANDARD, OF TASTE, As WELL ,AS
OF CORPORAL BEAUTY. BESIDE THIS IMMUTABLE
TRWTH, THERE ARE SECONDARY TRUTHS, WHICH ARE
VARIABLE; BOTH REQUIRING THE ATTENTION OF
THE ARTIST, IN PROPORTION TO THEIR STABILITY
OR THEIR INFLUENCE.
GENTLEMEN,
IT has been my uniform endeavour, since I
first addressed you from this place, to im
press you strongly with one ruling idea. I
wished you to be persuaded, that success in
your art depends almost entirely on your own
industry ; but the industry which I princi
pally recommended, is not the industry ofthe
hands, but of the mind.
As our art is not a divine gift, so neither
is it a vmechanical trade . Its foundations are
laid in solid science : and practice, though
essential to perfection, can never attain that to

m THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
which it aims, unless it works under the
direction of principle.
Some writers upon art carry this point too
far, and suppose that such a body of univer
sal and profound learning is requisite, that
the very enumeration of its kinds is enough
to frighten a beginner. Vitruvius, after going
through the many accomplishments of na
ture, and the many acquirements of learning,
necessary to an architect, proceeds' with great
gravity to assert that he ought to be well
skilled in the civil law ; that he may not be
cheated in the title of the ground he builds
on. But without such exaggeration, we may
go so far as to assert, that a painter stands in
need of more knowledge than is to be picked
off his pallet, or collected by looking on his
model, whether it be in life or in picture.
He can never be a great artist, who is grossly
illiterate. Every man whose business is description,
ought to be tolerably conversant with the
poets, in some language or other; that he
may imbibe a poetical spirit, and enlarge his

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE; 191
stock of ideas. He ought to acquire an habit
of comparing and digesting his notions.
He ought not to be wholly unacquainted
with that part of philosophy which gives an
insight into human nature, and relates to the
manners, characters, passions, and affections.
He ought to know something concerning the
mind, as well ^s a great deal concerning the
body of man* For this purpose, it is not
necessary that he should go into such a com
pass of reading, as must, by distracting his
attention, disqualify him for the practical
part of his profession, and make him sink
the performer in the critick. Reading, if it
can be made the favourite recreation of his
leisure hours, will improve and enlarge his
mind, without retarding his actual industry.
What such partial and desultory reading can
not afford, may be supplied by the conversa
tion of learned and ingenious men which is
the best of all substitutes for those who have
not the means or opportunities of deep study*
There are many such men in this age ; and
they will be pleased with communicating
their ideas to artists, when they see them
curious and docile, if they are treated with

m THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
that respect and deference which is so justly
their due. Into such society, young artists,
if they make it the point of their ambition,
will by degrees be admitted. There, with
out formal teaching, they will insensibly
come to feel and reason like those they live
with, and find a rational and systematick
taste imperceptibly formed in their minds,
which they will know how to reduce to a
standard, by applying general truth to their
own purposes, better perhaps than those to
whom they owned the original sentiment.
Of these "studies, and this conversation,
the desire and legitimate offspring is a power
of distinguishing right from wrong ; which
power applied to works of art, is denomi
nated Taste. Let me then, without fur
ther introduction, enter upon an examination,
whether taste be so far beyond our reach, as
to be unattainable by care ; or be so very
vague and capricious, that no care ought to
be employed about it.
It has been the fate of arts to be enveloped
in mysterious and incomprehensible language,

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE; 193
sis if it was thought necessary that even the
terms should correspond to the idea enter
tained of the instability and uncertainty of
the rules which they expressed.
To speak of genius and taste* as in any
way connected with reason or common
sense, would be, in the opinion of some
towering talkers, to speak like a man who
possessed neither; who had never felt that
enthusiasm, or, to use their own inflated
language, was never warmed by that Pro
methean fire, which animates the canvass and
vivifies the marble.
If, in order to be intelligible, I appear to
degrade art by bringing her down from her
visionary situation in the clouds, it is only to
give her a more solid mansion upon the earth.
It is necessary that at some time or other we
should see things as they really are, and not
impose on ourselves by that false magnitude
with which objects appear when viewed
indistinctly as through a mist.
We will allow a poet to express his mean-*
vol. 1. o

lft* THE SEVENJ.H DISCOURSE.^
ing, when his meaning is not well known to
himself, with a certain degree of obscurity,
as it is one source of the sublime. But
when, in plain prose, we gravely talk of
courting the Muse in shady bowers ; waiting
the call and inspiration of Genius, finding
out where he inhabits, and where he is to be
invoked with thejgreatest success ; of attend
ing to times and seasons when the imagina
tion shoots with the greatest vigour, whether
at the summer solstice or the vernal equinox;
sagaciously observing how much the wild
freedom and liberty of imagination is cramped
by attention to established rules ; and how
this same imagination begins to grow dim in
advanced age, smothered and deadened by
too much judgement; when we talk such
language, or entertain such sentiments as
these, we generally rest contented with mere
words, or at best entertain notions not only
groundless but pernicious.
If all this means, what it is very possible
was originally intended only to be meant,
that in order to cultivate an art, a man se
cludes himself from the commerce of the

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE; i95
world, and retires into the Country at parti
cular seasons: or that at one time of the
year his body is in better health, and conse
quently his mind fitter for the business of
hard thinking than at another time ; or that
the mind may be fatigued and grow confused
by long and unremitted application ; this I
can understand. I can likewise believe, that
annan eminent when young for possessing
poetical imagination, may, from having
taken another road, so neglect its cultivation,
as to show less of its powers in his latter life.
But I am persuaded, that scarce a poet is to
be found, from Homer down to Dryden,
who preserved a sound mind in a sound
body, and continued practising his profession
to the- very last, whose latter works are not
as replete with the fire of imagination, as
those which were produced in his more
youthful days.
To understand literally these Pletaphors or
ideas expressed in poetical language, seems
to be equally absurd as to. conclude, that be
cause painters sometimes represent poets writ
ing from the dictates of a little winged boy
o a

igfi. • THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. '
or genius, that this same genius did really
inform him in a whisper what he was to
write ; and that he is himself but a mere
machine, unconscious of the operations of his
own mind.
Opinions generally received and floating'in
the world, whether true or false, we natu
rally adopt and make our own ; they may be
considered as a kind of inheritance to which
We succeed and are tenants for life, and
, which We leave to our posterity very nearly
in the condition in which we received it ; it
not being much ih any one man's power either
to impair or improve it. The greatest part of
these opinions, like current coin in its circu
lation, we are used to take without weighing
or examining;, but by this inevitable inat
tention many adulterated pieces are1 received,
which, when weseriouslyestimateourwealth,
We must throw away. So the collector of
popular opinions, when he embodies his
knowledge, and forms a system, must sepa
rate those which are true from those which
are only plausible. But it, becomes more
peculiarly a duty to the professors of art not

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 137
t6 let any opinions relating to thaf art pass
unexamined. The caution and circumspec
tion required in such examination we shall
presently have an opportunity of explaining.
Genius and taste, in their common-accep
tation appear to be very nearly related ; the
difference lies only in this, that genius ha?
superadded to it a habit or power of execu
tion : or we may say, that taste, when this
power is added, changes its name, and is
called genius. They both, in the popular
opinion, pretend to an entire exemption from
the restraint of rules. It is supposed that
their powers are intuitive ; that under the
name of genius great works are produced
and under the name of taste an exact judge
ment is given, without our knowing why,
and without our being under the least obliga
tion to reason, precept, or experience.
One can scarce state these opinions with
out exposing their absurdity ; yet they are
constantly in the mouths of men, and parti
cularly of artists. They who have thought
. seriously on this subject, do not carry the

10$ THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
point' so far ; yet I am persuaded, that even
among those few who rnay be called think
ers, the prevalent opinion allows less than it
ought to the powers of reason ; and considers
the principles of taste, which give all their
authority to the rules of art, as more fluctu
ating, and as having less solid foundations,
than we shall find, upon examination, they
really have.
The common saying, that tastes are not to
.be disputed, owes its influence, and its ge
neral reception, to the same error which leads
us to imagine this faculty of too high an ori
ginal to submit to the authority of an earthly
tribunal. It likewise corresponds with the
notions of those who consider it as a mere
phantom of the imagination, so devoid of
substance as to elude all criticism,
We often appear to differ in Sentiments
from each other, merely from the inaccuracy
of terms, as we are not obliged to speak al
ways with critical exactness. Something of
this too may arise from want of words in the
language in which we speak, to express the

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 199
more nice discriminations which a deep, in
vestigation discovers. A great deal however
of this difference vanishes, when each opi
nion is tolerably explained and understood
by constancy and precision in the use of
terms. We apply the term Taste to that act ofthe
mind by which we like or dislike, whatever
be the subject. Our judgement upon an airy
nothing, a fancy which has no foundation,
is called by the same name which we give
to our determination concerning those truths
which refer to the most general and most un
alterable principles of human nature ; to the
works which are only to be produced by the
greatest efforts of the human understanding.
However inconvenient this may be, we are
obliged to take words as we find them ; all
we can do is to distinguish the things to
which they are applied.
We may let pass those things which are at
once subjects of taste and sense, and which
having as much certainty as the senses them
selves, give no occasion to inquiry or dis-
6

SUffl. THE SEVENTH .DISCOURSE.
pute. The natural appetite or >t?t$te , of .the
human mind is for truth-; > whether th^t
truth results from the real agreement prequa-r
lity oi -original idegs among themselves;
from the ^agreement of t the representation of
any object with the thing represented; or
from the correspondence of the several parts
of i any arrangement with -eachi other. ,It is
the. very same taste which relishes a demon
stration in geometry, thatis pleased with the
resemblance of a picture to an original, and
tpuchedswith the harmony of mysipk.
All these have unalterable gnd fixed founr
dations in nature, and are therefore equally
investigated by reason, and knownby study -;
spme with more, some with less clearness,
but all exactly in the same way. A picture
that is unlike, is false. Disproportionate or-
donnance .of parts is not right; because it
cannot be true, until it ceases to .-be ^contra
diction to assert, that the parts have no rela
tion to the whole, Colouring is true, when
itfis naturally adapted to the eye, frorp bright
ness, from softness, from harmony, ^rom fer
semblance; -because rthpse ^gtse vtfith.rtheir

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE., 201
object, nature, and therefore ^re true ; as
true as mathematical demonstration ; but
known to be true only to those who study
these things.
.But beside real, there is- also apparent
truth, or opinion, or prejudice. With re
gard to. real truth, when it is known, the
taste which conforms to it, is, and must be,
uniform. With regard to the second sort of
truth, which may be called truth upon suf
ferance, or truth by courtesy, it is not fixed,
but variable. However, whilst these opi
nions and prejudices, on which it .is, founded,
continue, they operate as truth ; and the art,
whose office it is to please the mind, as well
as. instruct it, must direct itself according to
opinion, pr it will pot attain its end*
In proportion as these prejudices are known
to be generally diffused, or long received,
the. ta^te which conforms to them approaches
nearer tp certainty, and, to a sort of resem
blance to real science, even where opinions
are fpund to be no better than prejudices.
And sjnpe they deserve, , on account pf their

202 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
duration arid extent, to' be considered as
really true, they become capable of no small
degree of stability and determination, by their
permanent and uniform nature.
: As these prejudices become more narrow,
more local, more transitory, this secondary
taste becomes more and more fantastical ;
recedes from real science; is less to be ap
proved by reason, aud less followed in prac
tice ; though ih no case perhaps to be wholly
neglected, where it does not stand, as it
sometimes does, in direct defiance of the
most respectable opinions received amongst
mankind. Having laid down these positions, I shall
proceed with less method, because less will
serve to explain and apply them.
We will take it for granted, that reason is
something invariable and fixed in the nature
of things ; and without endeavouring to go
back to an account of first principles, which
for ever will elude our search, we will con
clude, that whatever goes under the name of

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 26s
taste, which we can fairly bring Under the
dominion of reason, must be considered as
equally exempt from change. If therefore,
in the course of this inquiry, we can show
that there are rules for the conduct of the
artist which are fixed and invariable, it fol
lows of course, that the art ofthe connoisseur
or, in other words, taste, has likewise invari
able principles.
Of the judgement which we make on the
works of art, and the preference that we give
to one class of art over another, if a reason
be demanded, the question is perhaps evaded
by answering, I judge from my taste; but it
does not follow that a better answer cannot
be given, though, for common gazers, this
may be sufficient. Every man is not obliged
to investigate the cause of his approbation or
dislike, The arts would lie open forever to caprice
and casualty, if those who are to judge of
their excellencies had no settled principles by
which they are to regulate their decisions,
and the merit or defect of performances were

$D4 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
to be determined by unguided fancy. And
indeed we may venture to assert, that what
ever speculative knowledge is necessary to
the artist, is equally and indispensably, ne
cessary to the connoisseur.
The first idea that occurs in the considera
tion of what is fixed in art, or in taste, is
that presiding principle of which I have so
frequently spoken in former discourses, — ¦
the general idea. of nature. The beginning,
the middle, and the- end of every thing that
is valuable in taste, is eoniprised in the
knowledge of what is truly nature ; for what
ever notions are not.conformable to those of
nature, or universal opinion, must be consi
dered as more or less capricious.
My notion of, nature comprehends not only
the forms which nature produces, but also
the nature and internal fabrick and organiza
tion, as I may call it, ofthe human mind
and imagination- The terms beauty, or na
ture, which are general ideas, are but dif
ferent modes of expressing the same thing,
whether we apply these terms to statues,

THE SEVEN TH DISCOURSE. 203
poetry, or pictures. Deformity is not nature,
but an accidental deviation from her accus
tomed .practice. This general idea therefore
ought to be called Nature ; and nothing else,
correctly speaking, has a righf to that name.
But we are so far from speaking, in common
conversation, with any such accuracy, that,
on the contrary, when we criticise Rembrandt
and other Dutch painters, who introduced into
their historical pictures exact representations
of individual objects with all their imperfec
tions, we say, — though it is not in a good
taste, yet it is nature.
This misapplication of terms must be very
often perplexing to the young student. Is
not art, he may say, an imitation of nature?
Must he not therefore who imitates "her with
the greatest fidelity, be the best artist ? By
this mode of reasoning Rembrandt has a
higher place than Raffaelle. But a. very
little reflection ' will serve to show us
that these particularities cannot be na
ture : for how can that be the nature of
man, in which no two individuals are the
same?

206 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
It plainly appears, that as a work is con
ducted, under the influence of general idea's,
or partial, it is principally to be considered as
the effect of a good or a bad taste.
As beauty therefore does not consist in
taking what lies immediately before you, so
neither, in our pursuit of taste, are those
opinions which we first received and adopt
ed, the best choice, or the most natural to
the mind and imagination. In the infancy
of our knowledge we seize with greediness
the gopd that is within our reach ; it is by
after-consideration, and in consequence of
discipline, that we refuse the present for a
greater good at a distance. The nobility or
elevation of all arts, like the excellency of
virtue itself, consists in adopting this en
larged and comprehensive idea; and all
criticism built upon the more confined view
of what is natural, may properly be called
shallow criticism, rather than false : its defect
is, that the truth is not sufficiently extensive.
It has sometimes happened, that some of
the greatest men in our art have been betrayed

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 20.7
into errors, by this confined mode of reasoning.
Poussin, who, upon the whole, maybe,pro-
duced as an artist strictly attentive to the
most enlarged and extensive ideas of nature,
.from not having settled principles on this
point, has in one instance at least, I think,
deserted truth for prejudice. He is said to
have vindicated the conduct of Julio Romano
for his inattention to the masses of light and
shade, or grouping the figures in the bat
tle of Constantine, as if designedly
neglected, the better to correspond with the
hurry and confusion of a battle. Poussin's
own conduct in many of his pictures, makes
us more easily give credit to this report,
That it was too much his own practice, the
Sacrifice to Silenus, and the Tri
umph of Bacchus and Ariadne*, may
be produced as instances; but this principle
is still more apparent, and may be said to be
even more ostentatiously displayed in his
Perseus and Medusa's HEAD-f.
* In the Cabinet of the Earl of Ashburnham.
t In the Cabinet of Sir Peter Burrel.

m fHE'SEVSNtH DIsCOU'r^.
This is undoubtedly a subject of great
bustle and tunjult, and that the first effect of
the picture may correspond to the subject,
every principle of composition is .violated >
there is no principal figure, no principal
light, no groups; every thing is dispersed,
and in such a state of confusion, that the eye
finds no repose any where _ In consequence
of the forbidding appearance, I remember
turning from it with disgust, and should not
have looked a second time, if I had not "been
Called back to a closer inspection. I then
indeed found, what we may expect always
to find in the works of Poussin, correct
drawing, forcible expression,, and just cha
racter ; in short all the excellencies which so-
much distinguish the works of this learned
painter. This conduct of Poussin I hold fo be en
tirely improper to imitate. A picture should
please at first sight, and appear to invite the
spectator's attention : if on the contrary the
general effect offends the eye, a second view
is not always sought, whatever more sub
stantial and intrinsic merit it may possess,,

THE SfcVENTH DISCOURSE. J.Q9
Perhaps no apology ought to be received
for offences committed against the vehicle
(whether it be the organ of seeing, or of
hearing,) by which our pleasures are con
veyed to the mindi We must take care that
the eye be not perplexed and distracted by
a confusion of equal parts, or equal lights, or
offended by an unharmonious mixture of
colours, as we should guard against offending
the ear by unharmonious sounds. We may
venture to be more confident of the truth of this
observation, since we find that Shakspeare, on
a parallel occasion, has made Hamlet recom
mend to the players a precept of the same
kind, — -never to offend the ear by harsh sounds;
In the very torrent, tempest , and whirlwind of
your passion, says he, you Must acquire and
beget a temperance that may give it smoothness,,
And yet, at the same time, he very justly
observes, The end of playing, both at the first ';
and now, was and is, td hold, as 'twere, the
mirrour up to nature. No one can deny, that
violent passions will naturally emit harsh arid
disagreeable tones : yet this great poet and
critick thought that this imitation of nature
would cost too much, if purchased at the
vol. i. p

210 THE . SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
"expence of disagreeable sensations, or, as he
expresses; it,: of splitting the ear. The poet
and actor*, as well as the painter of genius who
is -well acquainted with all the- variety and
sources of pleasure, in the mind and imagi-
natiop, has little, regard \ or attention to com
mon nature, or creeping after common sense.
By overleaping those narrow bounds, he more
effectually siezes the whole mind, -and more
powerfully accomplishes his purpose. This
success is ignorantly imagined to proceed from
inattention to all rules, and a defiance of reason
and judgement : whereas.it is in. truth acting
accordingtothebestrulesapd the jjustest reason.
ft He who, thinks nature, in the narrow sense
of the v word, is alone to be followed, will
produce but, a scapty entertainmept for the
ipjaginatiph : every * thing ris tobeKdone with
whjchuj. is natural for the mind tp be pleased,
.whether; it proceeds from simplicity or- variety ,
uniforrpity prt irregularity; whe,therj_the scenes
arp. familiar or exptick; rude and, wild, or en-
richeijl.and, cultivated >, for it is patup,i for the
mind-to be pleased witli all these in their; turn.
In short, whatever pleases, has in it what ^is

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 211
analogous^ to the mind, and is therefore, in the
highest, and- best sense of the word, natural.
It is the sense of nature or truth, which
ought more particularly to be cultivated by
the professors of art : and it may be observed,
that many wise and learned men,: who have
accustomed their minds to admit nothing for
truth but what can be proved by mathematical
.demonstration, have seldom any relish for
.those arts which address, themselves to the
fancy, the rectitude and truth of which is
known by another kind of proof: and we
may add, that the acquisition of this know
ledge' ; requires as much circumspection and
sagacity, as is necessary to attain thosetruths
which are more capable of demonstration.
Reason must ultimately determine our choice
on every occasion ; but this reason may still
be exerted ineffectually by applying to taste
principles which though right as far as they
go, yet do not reach the object. .No rnan,
for:instance, can deny, that it seems at first
view very reasonable, that a statue which is
to carry down to posterity the resemblance of
an individual, should be dressed in the fashion
p a

BIS THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
of the times, in the dress which he himself
wore : this would certainly be true, if the
dress were part of the man: but after a
time, the dress is only an amusement for an
antiquarian ; and if it obstructs the general
design of the piece, it is to be disregarded by
the artist. Common sense must here give
way to a higher sense. In fhe' naked form,
and in the disposition of the drapery, the
difference between one artist and another is
principally seen. But if he is compelled to
exhibit the modern dress, the naked form is
entirely hid, and the drapery is already dis
posed by the skill of the tailor. Were a
Phidias to obey such absurd commands, he
would please no more than an ordinary
sculptor; since, in the inferior parts of
every' art, the learned and the ignorant are
nearly upon a level.
These were probably among the reasons
that induced the sculptor of that wonderful
figure of Laocoon to exhibit him naked, not
withstanding he was surprised in the act of
sacrificing to Apollo, and consequently ought
to have been shown in his sacerdotal habits,
if those greater reasons had not preponderated.

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 213
Art is not yet in so. high estimation with us,
as to„obtain so great a sacrifice as the antients
made, especially the Grecians ; who suffered
themselves to be represented naked, whether
they were generals, law-givers, or kings.
Under this head of balancing and choosing
the greater reason, or of two evils taking the
least, we may consider the conduct of Rubens
in the Luxembourg gallery, where he has
mixed allegorical figures with the represen
tations of real personages, which must be
acknowledged to be a fault; yet, if the artist
considered himself as engaged to furnish this
gallery with a rich, various, and splendid
ornament, this could not be done, at least in
an equal degree, without peopling the air and
water with these allegorical figures : he
therefore accomplished all that he purposed.
In this case all lesser considerations, which
tend to obstruct the great end of the work,
must yield and give way.
The variety which portraits and modern
dcesses, mixed with allegorical figures, pro*
duce, is not to be slightly given up upon a

214 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
punctilio of reason, when that reason deprives.
the art in a manner of its very existence. It
must always be remembered that the business
of a great painter, is to produce a great
picture ; he must therefore take special care
, not to be cajoled by specious arguments out
of his materials.
What has been so often said |to the dis-.
advantage of allegorical poetry, — that it is
tedioUs, and uninteresting, — cannot with the
same propriety be applied to painting, where
the interest is of a different kind. If allego
rical painting produces a greater variety of
ideal beauty, a richer, a more various and
delightful composition, and gives, to the
artist a greater opportunity of exhibiting his
skill, all the interest he wishes for isaccom-
plished-; such a picture not only attracts, hut
fixes the attention,
If it be objected that Rubens judged ill at
first in thinking it necessary to make his
work so very ornamental, .this puts the
question upon new -ground. It was his
peculiar style ; he could paint in no other ;

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 215 .
and he was selected for that work, probably
because it was his style. Nobody will
dispute but some of the best of the Roman
or Bolognian schools would have produced a
more learned and more noble work.
This leads us to another important province
of taste, that of Weighing the value of the
different classes of the art, and of estimating
them accordingly.
All arts have means within them of apply
ing themselves with success both to the
intellectual and sensitive part of our natures.
It cannot be disputed, supposing both these
means put in practice with equal abilities,
to which we ought to give the preference ; -.
to him who represents the heroick arts and
more dignified passions of man, or to him
who, by the help of meretricious ornaments,
however elegant and graceful, captivates the
sensuality, as it may be called, of our taste.
Thus the Roman and Bolognian schools are
reasonably preferred to the Venetian, Flemish
or Dutch schools, as they address themselves
to our best and noblest faculties.

216 -THE SEVENTH" DJSCbURSE,;
Well-turned periods in eloquence, or har*.
mony of numbers in poetry, which are in
those arts what colouring is in painting, how
ever highly we may esteem them, can never
be considered as of equal importance with
the art of unfolding truths that are useful to
mankind, and which make us better or wiser.
Nor can those works which remind us of the
poverty and meanness of our nature, be con
sidered as of equal rank with what excites
ideas of grandeur, or raises and dignifies
humanity ; or, in the words of a late poet,
which makes the beholder learn to venerate
himself as manf. «
It is reason and good sense therefore, which
ranks and estimates every art, and every part
of that art, according to its importance, from
the painter of animated, down to inanimated
nature. We will not allow a man, who
shall prefer the inferior style, to say it is his
taste; taste here has nothing, or at least ought
to have nothing, to do with the question,
He wants not taste, but sense and soundness
of judgement. * Dr. Goldsmith.

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE, w
Indeed perfection in an inferior style may
be reasonably preferred to mediocrity in the
highest walks of art. A landscape of Claude
Lorrain may be preferred to a history by
Luca Giordano; but hence appears the
necessity of the connoisseur's knowing in
what consists the excellency of each class,
in order to judge how pear it approaches to
perfection. Even in works of the same kind, as in
Jiistory-painting, which is composed of vari
ous parts, excellence of an inferior species,
carried to a very high degree, will make a
work very valuable, and in some measure
compensate for the absence of the higher
kinds of merit. It is the duty of the con
noisseur to know and esteem, as much as it
may deserve, every part of painting : he will
not then think even Bassano unworthy of his
notice; who, though totally devoid of ex
pression, sense, grace, or elegance, may be
esteemed on account of his admirable taste
of colours, which, in his best works, are
little inferior to those of Titian.

218 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
Since I have .mentioned Bassano, we must
do him likewise the justice to acknowledge,
that though he did not aspire to the dignity
of expressing the characters and passions of
men, yet, with respect to facility and truth
in his manner of touching animals of all
kinds, and giving them what painters call
their character, few have excelled him.
To Bassano we may add Paul Veronese
and Tintoret, for their entire inattention to
what is justly thought the most essential part
of bur art, the expression of the passions.
Notwithstanding these glaring deficiencies,
we justly esteem their works ; but it must be
remembered, that they do not please from
those defects, but from their great excellen
cies of another kind, and in spite of such
transgressions. These excellencies too, as
far as they go, are founded in the truth of
general nature : they tell the truth, though
not the whole truth.
By these considerations, which can never
be too frequently impressed, maybe obviated
two errors, which I observed to have been,

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 219
formerly at least, the most prevalent, and to
be most injurious to artists; that of thinking
taste and genius to have nothing to do with
reason, and that of taking particular living
objects for nature.
I shall now say something on that part of
taste, which, as I have hinted to you before,
does not belong so much to the external form
of things, but is addressed to the mind, and
depends on its original frame, or to use the
expression, the organization of the soul; I
mean the imagination and the passions. The
principles of these are as invariable as the
former, and are to be known and reasoned
upon in the same manner, by an appeal to
common sense deciding upon the common
feelings of mankind. This sense, and these
feelings, appear to me of equal authority,
and equally conclusive. Now this appeal
implies a general uniformity and agreement
in the minds of men. It would be else an
idle and vain endeavour to establish rules of
art ; it would be pursuing a phantom, to
attempt to move affections with which we
were entirely unacquainted. We have no

220 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
reason to suspect there is a greater difference
between our minds than between our forms;
of which, though there are no two alike,
yet there is a general similitude that goes
through the whole race of mankind; and
those who have cultivated their taste, can
distinguish what is beautiful or deformed,
or, in other words, what agrees with or
deviates from the general idea of nature, in
one case, as well as in the other.
The internal fabrick of our minds, as well
as the external form of our bodies, being
nearly uniform ; it seems then to follow of
course, that as the imagination is incapable
of producing any thing originally of itself,
and can only vary and combine those ideas
with which it is furnished by means of the
senses, there will be necessarily an agree
ment in the imaginations, as in the senses
of men. There being this agreement, it
follows, that in all cases, in our lightest
amusements, as well as in our most serious
actions and engagements of life, we must
regulate our affections of every kind by that
of others. The well-disciplined mind ac-

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE, 231
knowledges this authority, and submits its
own opinion to the publick voice. It is from
knowing what are the general feelings and
passions of mankind, that we acquire a true
idea of what imagination is ; though it
appears as if we had nothing to do but to
consult our own particular sensations, and
these were sufficient to ensure us from all
error and mistake.
A knowledge of the disposition and cha
racter of the human mind can be acquired
only by experience : a great deal will be
learned, I admit, by a habit of examining
what passes in our bosoms, what are our
own motives of action, and of what kind of
sentiments we are conscious on any occasion.
We may suppose an uniformity, and con
clude that the same effect will be produced
by the same cause in the minds of others.
This examination will contribute to suggest
to us matters of inquiry ; but we can never
be sure that our own sentiments are true and
right, till they are confirmed by more exten
sive observation. One man opposing another
determines nothing ; but a general union of

222 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
minds, like a general combination of the
forces of all mankind, makes a strength that
is irresistible. In fact, as he who does not
know himself, does not know others, so it
may be said with equal truth, that he who
does not know others, knows himself but
very imperfectly.
A man who thinks he is guarding himself
against prejudices by resisting the authority
of others, leaves open every avenue to sin
gularity, vanity, self-conceit, obstinacy, and
many other vices, all tending to warp the
judgement, and prevent the natural operation
of his faculties. This submission to others
is a deference which we owe, and indeed are
forced involuntarily to pay. In fact, we
never are satisfied with our opinions, what
ever we may pretend, till they are ratified and
confirmed by the suffrages of the rest of man
kind. We dispute and wrangle for ever; we
endeavour to get men to come to us, when
we do not go to them.
He therefore who is acquainted with the
works which have pleased different ages and

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 223
different countries, and has formed his opinion
on them, has more materials, and more means
of knowing what is analogous to the mind of
man, than he who is conversant only with
the works of his own age or country. What
has pleased, and continues to please, is likely
to please again : hence are derived the rules
of art, and on this immoveable foundation
they must ever stand.
This search and study of the history of
the mind ought not to be confined to one
art only. It is by the analogy that one art bears
to another, that many things are ascertained,
which either were but faintly seen, or, per
haps, would not have been discovered at all,
if the inventor had not received the first hints
from the practices of a sister art on a similar
occasion.* The frequent- allusions which
every man who treats of any art is obliged
to make to others, in order to illustrate and
confirm his principles, sufficiently show their
near connection and inseparable relation.
* Nulla ars, non alterius artis, aut mater, aut pr0pin-
qua est, Tertuli, as cited by Junius.

2*4 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
All arts having the same general endj
which is to please; and addressing them-*
selves to the same faculties through the me
dium of the senses ; it follows that their
rules and principles must have as great affi
nity, as the different materials and the diffe
rent organs or vehicles by which they pass
to the mind, will permit them to retain.*
We may therefore conclude, that the real
substance, as it may be called, of what goes
under the name of taste, is fixed and esta
blished in the nature of things ; that there
are certain and regular causes by which. the
imagination and passions of men are affected;
and that the knowledge of these causes is
acquired by a laborious and diligent invesi-
tigation of nature, and by the same slow
progress as wisdom or knowledge of every
kind, however instantaneous its operations
may appear when thus acquired.
It has been often observed, that the good
* Omnes artes qua; ad humanitatem pertinent, habent
quoddam commune vinculum* et quasi cognatione inter1
se continentun ClCERO. '

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 225
and virtuous man alone can acquire this true
or just relish even of works of art. This
opinion will not appear entirely without
foundation, when we consider that the same
habit of mind, which is acquired by our
search after truth in the more serious dutjes
of life, is only transferred to the pursuit of
lighter amusements. The same disposition,
the' same desire to find something steady,
substantial, and durable, on which the mind
can lean as it were, and rest with safety,
actuates us in both cases. The subject only
is changed. We pursue the satne method in
our search after the ideal of beauty and perfec
tion in each; of virtue, by looking forwards
beyond ourselves to society, and to the whole;
of arts, by extending our views in the same
manner to all ages and all times.
Every art, like our own, has in its com
position fluctuating as well as fixed prin
ciples. It is an attentive inquiry into their
difference that will enable us to determine
how far we are influenced by custom and
habit, and what is fixed in the nature of
things. VOL. I. o

226 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
To distinguish how much has solid foun*
dation, we may have recourse to the same
proof by which some hold that wit ought to
be tried; whether it preserves itself when
translated. That wit is false, which can
subsist only in one language ; and that pic
ture which pleases only one age or one nation,
owes its reception to some local or accidental
association of ideas.
We may apply this to every custom and
habit of life. Thus the general principles of
urbanity, politeness, or civility, have been
the same in all nations; but the mode in
which they are dressed, is continually vary
ing. The general idea of showing respect is
by making yourself less; but the manner,
whether by bowing the body, kneeling,
prostration, pulling off the upper part of our
dress, or taking away the lower*, is a matter
of custom.
Thus, in regard to ornaments, — it would
be unjust to conclude that because they were
* Put off thy shoes from off thy feet ; for the place
whereon thou standest is holy ground. Exodus, iii. 5.

THE SfcVENtH DISCOURSE. ifr
at first arbitrarily contrived, they are there
fore undeserving of oUr attention; oh the
contrary, he who neglects the cultivation of
those ornaments, acts Contrary to nature and
reason. As life would be imperfect without
its highest ornaments, the Arts, so these arts
themselves would be imperfect without their
ornaments. Though we by no means ought
to rank these with positive and substantial
beauties, yet it must be allowed, that a know
ledge of both is essentially requisite towards
forming a complete, whole, and perfect taste.
It is in reality from the ornaments, that arts
receive their peculiar character and Com
plexion ; we may add, that in them we find
the characteristics^ mark of st national taste ;
as by throwing up a feather in the air, we
know which way the wind blbwS, better
than by a more heavy matter.
The striking distinction between the wofks
<_.f the Roman, Bolognian, and Venetian
schools, consists more in that general effect
which is produced by colours, than in the
more profound excellencies of the art; at
least it is from thence that each is distin-

228 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
guished and known at first sight. Thus it is
the ornaments, rather than the proportions
of architecture, which at the first glance
distinguish the different orders from each
other ; the Dorick is known by its triglyphs,
the Ionick by its volutes, and the Corinthian
by its acanthus.
What distinguishes oratory from a cold
narration, is a more liberal, though chaste,
use of those ornaments which go under the
name of figurative and metaphorical expres
sions; and poetry distinguishes itself from
oratory, by words and expressions still more
ardent and glowing. What separates and
distinguishes poetry, is more particularly the
ornament of verse : it is this which gives it
its character, and is an essential without
which it cannot exist. Custom has appro
priated different metre to different kinds of
composition, in which the world is not per
fectly agreed. In England the dispute is not
yet settled, which is to be preferred, rhyme or
blank verse But however we disagree about
what these metrical ornaments shall be, that

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 229
some metre is essentially necessary, is uni
versally acknowledged.
In poetry or eloquence, to determine how
far figurative or metaphorical language may
proceed, and when it begins to be affectation
or beside the truth, must be determined by
taste; though this taste, we must never for
get, is regulated and formed by the presiding
feelings of mankind, — by those works which
have approved themselves to all times and all
persons. Thus, though eloquence has un
doubtedly an essential and intrinsic excellence,
and immoveable principles common to all
languages, founded in the nature of our pas
sions and affections; yet it has its ornaments
and modes of address, which are merely
arbitrary. What is approved in the eastern
nations as grand and majestic, would be con
sidered by the Greeks and Romans as turgid
and inflated ; and they, in return, would be
thought by the Orientals to express themselves
in a cold and insipid manner.
We may add likewise to the credit of orna
ments, that it is by their means that Art

2S0 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
itself accomplishes its purpose. Fresnoy
calls colouring, which is one of the chief
ornaments of painting, lena sororis, that
which procures lovers and admirers to the
more valuable excellencies of the art.
It appears to be the same right turn of mind
which enables a man to acquire the truth, or
the just idea of what is right, in the orna
ments, as in the more stable principles of art.
It has still the same centre of perfection,
though it is the centre of a smaller cirple,
Tp illustrate this by the fashion of dress,
in which there is allowed to be a good or bad
taste. The component parts of dress are
continually changing from great to little,
from short to long ; but the general forpi vstill
remains: it is still the same general dress,
which is comparatively fixed, though on a
yery slender foundation; but it is on this
which fashion must rest. He who invents
with the most success, or dresses in the
best taste, would probably, from the same
sagacity employed to greater purposes, have
discovered equal skill, or have formed the.

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 231
same correct taste, in the highest labours
of art,
I have mentioned taste in dress, which is
certainly one of the lowest subjects to which
this word is applied ; yet, as I have before
observed, there is a right even here, how
ever narrow its foundation respecting the
fashion of any particular nation. But we
have still more slender means of determining,
to which of the different customs of different
ages or countries we ought to give the pre
ference, since they seem to be all equally
removed from nature. If an European,
when he has cut off his beard, and put false
hair on his head, or bound up his own natural
hair in regular hard knots, as unlike nature
as he can possibly make it ; and after having
rendered them immoveable by the help of the
fat of hogs, has covered the whole with flour,
laid on by a machine with the utmost regula
rity ; if, when thus attired he issues forth,
and meets a Cherokee Indian, who has
bestowed as much time at his toilet, and laid
on with equal care and attention His yellow
apd red oker on particular parts of his fore-

2J? THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
head or cheeks, as he judges most becoming;
whoever of these two despises the other for
this attention to the fashion of his country,
which ever first feels himself provoked to
laugh, is the barbarian.
All these fashions are very innocent j
neither worth disquisition, nor any endea-*
vour to alter them; as the charge would,
in all probability, be equally distant from
nature. The only circumstance against which
indignation may reasonably be removed, is,
where the operation is painful or destructive
of health ; such as some of the practices at
Otaheite, and the straight lacing of the Eng
lish ladies ; of the last of which practices,
how destructive it must be to health and
long life, the professor of anatomy took an
opportunity of proving a few days since in
this Academy,
It is in dress, as in things of greater conse
quence. Fashions originate from those only
who have the high and powerful advantages
of rank, birth, and fortune. Many of the
ornaments of art, those at least for which no

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 233
reason can be given, are transmitted to us,
are adopted, and acquire their consequence
from the company in which we have been
used to see them. As Greece and Rome
are the fountains from whence have flowed
all kinds of excellence, to that veneration
which they have a right to claim for the
pleasure and knowledge which they have
afforded us, we voluntarily add our appro
bation of every ornament and every custom
that belonged to them, even to the fashion
of their dress. For it may be observed
that, not satisfied, with them in their own
place, we make no difficulty of dressing
statues of modern heroes or senators in the
fashion of the Roman armour or peaceful
robe ; we go so far as hardly to bear a statue
in any other drapery.
The figures of the great men of those
nations have come down to us in sculpture.
In sculpture remain almost all the excellent
specimens of ancient art. We have so far
associated personal dignity to the person*
thus represented, and the truth of art to their
manner of representation, that it is not in

234 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
our power any longer to separate them. This
js not so in painting ; because having no ex
cellent ancient portraits, that connection was
never formed. Indeed we could no more
venture to paint a general officer in a Roman
mili'Mrv habit, than we could make a statue
in the present uniform. But since we have
no ancient portraits, —to show how ready we
are to adopt those kind of prejudices, we
make the best authority among the modems
serve the same purpose. The great variety
of excellent portraits with which Vandyek
has enriched this nation, we are not eontent
to admire for their real excellence, but ex
tend our approbation even to the dress which
happened to be the fashion of that age. We
all very well remember how common it was
a few years ago for portraits to be drawn in
this fantastick dress ; and this custom is not
yet entirely laid aside. By this means it
must be aknowledged very ordinary pictures
acquired something of the air and effect of the
works of Vandyek, and appeared therefore
at first , sight to be better pictures than they
really were; they appeared so, however, to
those only who had the means of making this

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE- 235
association; and when made, it was irresis
tible. But this association is nature, and
refers to that secondary truth that comes from
conformity to general prejudice and opinion ;
it is therefore not merely fantastical. Besides
the prejudice which we have in favour of
ancient dresses, there may be likewise other
reasons for the effect which they produce;
among which we may justly rank the sim
plicity of them, consisting of little more than
one single piece of drapery, without those
whimsical capricious forms by which all
pther dresses are embarrased.
Thus, though it is from the prejudice we
have in favour of the ancients, who have
taught us architecture, that we have adopted
likewise their ornaments ; and though we are
satisfied that neither nature nor reason are the
foundation of those beauties which we
imagine we see in that art, yet if any one,
persuaded of this truth, should therefore
invent new orders of equal beauty, which we
will suppose to be possible, they would not
please; nor ought he to complain, since the
old has that great advantage of having custom

235 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
and prejudice on its side. In this case we
leave what has every prejudice in its favour,
to take that which will have no advantage
over what we have left, but novelty : which
soon destroys itself, and at any rate is but a
weak antagonist against custom,
Ancient ornaments, having the right of
possession, ought not to be removed, unless
to make room for that which not only has
higher pretensions, but such pretensions as
will balance the evil and confusion which
innovation always brings with it.
To this we may add, that even the dura
bility of the materials will often contribute
to give a superiority to one object over
another. Ornaments in buildings, with
which taste is principally concerned, are
composed of materials which last longer
than those of which dress is composed ; the
former therefore make higher pretensions to
our favour and prejudice.
Some attention is surely- due to what we
can no more get rid of, than we can go out

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 237
of ourselves. We are creatures of prejudice;
we neither can nor ought to eradicate it ; We
must only regulate it by reason ; which kind
of regulation is indeed little more than obli
ging the lesser, the local and temporary pre
judices, to give way to those which are more
durable and lasting.
He, therefore, who in his practice of
portrait-painting, wishes to dignify his sub
ject, which we will suppose to be a lady,
will not paint her in the modern dress, the
familiarity of which alone is sufficient to
destroy all dignity. He takes care that his
work shall correspond to those ideas and
that imagination which he knows will regu
late the judgement of others ; and therefore
dresses his figure something with the general
air of the antique for the sake of dignity,
and preserves something of the modern for
the sake of likeness. By this conduct his
works correspond with those prejudices
which we have in favour of what we conti
nually see; and the relish of the antique sim
plicity corresponds with what we may call
the more learned and scientific prejudice.

23S THE SEVENtH DISCOURSE.
There was a statue ' made not long sfaee*
of Voltaire, which the sculptor, not having;
that respect for the prejudices of mankind
which he ought to have had, made entirely
naked, and as meagre and emaciated as the
original is said to be. The consequence was.
what might have been expected ; it remained
in the sculptor's shop, though it was in
tended as a publick ornament and a publick
honour to Voltaire, for it was procured at
the expence of his contemporary wits and
admirers. Whoever Would reform a nation, suppd-*
sing a bad taste to prevail in it, will not
accomplish his purpose by going directly
against the stream of their prejudices.
Men's minds must be prepared to receive
what is new to them. Reformation is ' a
work of time. A national taste, however
wrong it may be, cannot be totally changed
at once; we must yield a little to the prepos
session which has taken hold on the mind,
and we may then bring people to adopt what
would offend them, if endeavoured to be
introduced by violence. When Battista

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. <b£
Franco was employed, in conjunction with
Titian, Paul Veronese and Tintoret, to adorn
the library of St. Mark, his work, Vasari
says, gave less satisfaction than any of the
others : the dry manner of the Roman
school was very ill calculated to please eyes
that had been accustomed to the luxu-
riancy, splendour, and richness of Venetian
colouring. Had the Romans been the judges
of this work, probably the determination
would have been just contrary ; for in the
more noble parts of the art Battista Franco
was perhaps not inferior to any of his
rivals. Gentlemen, It has been the main scope and
principal end of this discourse to demon
strate the reality of a standard in taste,.
as well as in corporeal beauty ; that a false
or depraved taste is a thing as well known,
as easily discovered, as any uiing that is
deformed, mis-shapen, or wrong, in our
form or outward make ; and that this know
ledge is derived from the uniformity of
sentiments among mankind, from whence

940 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
proceeds the knowledge of what are the
general habits of nature ; the result of which
is an idea of perfect beauty.
If what has been advanced be true, — that
beside this beauty or truth, which is formed
on the uniform, eternal, and immutable
laws of nature, and which of necessity
can be but one ; that beside this one immu
table verity there are likewise what we have
called apparent or secondary truths, pro
ceeding from local and temporary prejudices,
fancies, fashions or accidental connexion
of ideas ; if it appears that these last have
still their foundation, however slender, in
the original fabrick of our minds ; it follows
that all these truths or beauties deserve and
require the attention of the artist, in pro
portion to their stability or duration, or as
their influence is more or less extensive.
And let me add, that as they ought not to
pass their just bounds, so neither do they,
in a well-regulated taste, at all prevent or
weaken the influence of those general prin
ciples, which alone can give to art its true
arid permanent dignity.

THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE. 2«
To form this just taste is undoubtedly in
your own power, but it is to reason and phi-*.
losophy that you must have recourse ; from
them you must borrow the balance, by which
is to be weighed and estimated the Value of
every pretension that intrudes itself on your
notice. The general objection which is made to
the introduction of Philosophy into the
regions of taste, is, that it checks and re
strains the flights of the imagination, and
gives that timidity, which an over-careful
ness not to err or act contrary to reason is
likely to produce. It is not so. Fear is
neither reason nor philosophy, The true
spirit of philosophy, by giving knowledge,
gives a manly confidence, . and substitutes
rational firmness in the place of vain pre
sumption, A man of real taste is always
a man of judgement in other respects; and
those inventions which either disdain or
shrink from reason, are generally, I fear,
more like the dreams of a distempered brain,
than the exalted enthusiasm of a sound and
true genius. In the midst of the highest
VOL. i. R

242 THE SEVENTH DISCOURSE.
flights of fancy or imagination, reason
ought to preside from first to last, though
I admit her more powerful operation is
upon reflection,
Let me add, that some of the greatest
names of antiquity, and those who have
most distinguished themselves in works of
genius and imagination, were equally emi
nent for their critical skill. Plato, Aris
totle, Cicero, and Horace ; and among the
moderns, Boileau , Comeille, Pope, and Dry
den, are at least instances of genius not
being destroyed by attention or subjection
to rules and science, I shpuld hope therefore
that the natural consequence of what has
been said, would be, to excite in you a
desire of knowing the principles and con
duct of the great masters of our art, and
respect and veneration for them when known,

DISCOURSE VIII.
DELIVERED TO THE STUDENTS OF
THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
ON THE
DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES.
DECEMBER 10, 1778.

k a

DISCOURSE VIII.

THE PRINCIPLES OF .ART, WHETHER POETRY OR
PAINTING, HAVE THEIR FOUNDATION IN THE
MIND; SUCH AS ^NOVELTY VARIETY AND CON
TRAST J THESE IN THEIR EXCESS BECOME DEJECTS.
 SIMPLICITY. ITS EXCESS DISAGREEABLE.  RULES
NOT TO BE ALWAYS OBSERVED IN THEIR LITERAL
, SENSE : SUFFICIENT TO PRESERVE THE SPIRIT OF
THE LAW. — OBSERVATIONS ON THE PRIZE PIC
TURES. GENTLEMEN,
Y HAVE recommended in former discour
ses,* that Artists should learn their profes
sion by endeavouring to form an idea of
perfection from the different excellencies
which lie dispersed in the various schools
of painting. Some difficulty will still
occur, to know what is beauty, and where
it may be found : one would wish not to be
obliged to take it entirely on the credit of
* Discourse II. and VI.

245 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
fame; though to this, I acknowledge, the
younger Students must unavoidably submit.
Any suspicion in them of the chance of
their being deceived, will have more ten
dency to obstruct their advancement, than
even an enthusiastick confidence in the
perfection of their models. But to the more
advanced in the art, who wish to stand
on more stable and firmer ground, and to
establish principles on a stronger foundation
than authority, however venerable or pow
erful, it may be safely told that there is still
a higher tribunal, to which those great
masters themselves must submit, and . to
which indeed every excellence in art must
be ultimately referred. He who is ambitious
to enlarge the boundaries of his art, must
extend his views, beyond the precepts
which are found in books or may be drawn
from the practice of his predecessors, to a
knowledge of those precepts in the mind,
those operations of intellectual nature, — to
which every thing that aspires to please,
must be proportioned and accommodated.
Poetry having a more extensive power
I

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 247
than our art, exerts its influence over almost
all the passions ; among those may be rec
koned one of our most prevalent disposi
tions, anxiety for the future. Poetry ope
rates by raising our curiosity, engaging the
mind by degrees to take an interest in the
event, keeping that event suspended, and
surprising at last with an unexpected ca
tastrophe. The Painter's art is more confined, and
has nothing that corresponds with, or per
haps is equivalent to, this power and ad
vantage of leading the mind on, till atten
tion is totally engaged. What is done by
Painting, must be done at one blow ; curio
sity has received at once all the satisfaction it
can ever have. There are, however, other in
tellectual qualities and dispositions which the
Painter can satisfy and affect as powerfully
as the poet : among those we may reckon
our love of novelty, variety and contrast;
these qualities, on examination, will be
found to refer to a. certain activity and rest
lessness which has a pleasure and delight
in being exercised and put in motion : Art

£48 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
therefore only administers to those wants and
desires of the mind.
It requires no long disquisition to show,
that the dispositions which I have stated
actually subsist in the human mind. Variety
reanimates the attention, which* is apt to
languish under a continual sameness . Novelty
makes a more forcible impression on the
mind, than can. be made by the representa
tion of what we have often seen before; and
contrasts rouse the power of comparison by
opposition. _ All this is obvious ; but, on the
other hand, it must be remembered, that the
mind, though an active principle, has like
wise a disposition to indolence; and though
it loves exercise, loves it only to a certain
degree, beyond which it is very unwilling to
be led, or driven; the pursuit therefore .of
novelty and variety may be carried to excess.
When variety entirely destroys the pleasure
proceeding from uniformity and repetition,
and when novelty counteracts and shuts out
the pleasure arising from old habits and cus
toms, they oppose too much the indolence of
our disposition : the mind therefore can bear

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 249
with pleasure but a small portion of novelty
at a time. The main part of the work must
be in the mode to which we have been used.
An affection to old habits and customs I take
to be the predominant disposition of the mind,
and novelty comes as an exception : where all
is novelty, the attention, the exercise ofthe
mind is too violent. Contrast, in the same
manner, when it exceeds certain limits, is
as disagreeable as a violent and perpetual
opposition ; it gives to the senses, in their
progress, a more sudden change than they
can bear with pleasure.
It is then apparent, that thpse qualities,
however they contribute to the perfection of
Art, when kept within certain bounds, if
they are carried to excess, become defects,
and require correction : a work consequently
will not proceed better and better as it is
more varied ; variety can never be the ground
work and principle of the performance — it
must be only employed to recreate and relieve.
To apply these general observations which
belong equally to all arts, to ours in particu-

iiHt THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
lar. Ift a composition, when the objects
are scattered and divided into many equal
parts, the eye is perpl;exed and fatigued,
from not knowing where to rest, where to
find the principal action, or which is the
principal figure ; for where all are making
equal pretensions to notice, all are in equal
danger of neglect.
The expression which is used very often
on these occasions is, the piece wants repose;
a word which perfectly expresses a relief of
the mind from that state of hurry and anxiety
which it suffers, when looking at a work of
this character.
On the other hand, absolute unity, that
is, a large work, consisting of one group or
mass of light only, would be as defective as
an heroick poem without episode, or any
collateral incidents to recreate the mind with
that Variety which it always requires.
An instance occurs to me of two painters,
(Rembrandt and Poussin,) of characters
totally opposite to each other in every respect,

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 251
bnt in nothing more than in their mode of
composition, and management of light an4
shadow. Rembrandt's manneT is absolute
unity ; he often has but one group, and ex
hibits little more than one spot of light in the
midst of a large quantity of shadow : if he
has a second mass, that second bears no pro
portion to the principal. Poussin, on the
contrary, has scarce any principal mass of
light at all, and his figures are often too
much dispersed, without sufficient attention
to place them in groups.
The conduct of these two painters is en
tirely the reverse of what might be expected
from their general style and character ; the
works of Poussin being as much distinguished
for simplicity, as those of Rembrandt for
combination. Even this conduct of Poussin
might proceed from too great an affection to
simplicity of another kind ; too great a desire
to avoid that ostentation of art, with regard
to light and shadow, on which Rembrandt so
much wished todrawthe attention : however,
each of them ran into contrary extremes,
and it is difficult to determine which is the

252 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
most reprehensible, both being equally distant
from the demands, of nature, and the pur
poses of art.
The same just moderation must be observed
in regard to ornaments ; nothing will contri
bute more to destroy repose than profusion,
of whatever kind, whether it consists in the
multiplicity of objects, or the variety and
brightness of colours. On the, other hand,
a work without ornament, instead of simpli
city, to which it makes pretensions, has
rather the appearance of poverty. The
degree to which ornaments are admissible,
must be regulated by the professed style of
the work ; but we may be sure of this truth, —
that the most ornamental style requires repose
to set off even its ornaments to advantage. I
cannot avoid mentioning here an instance of
repose, in that faithful and accurate painter of
nature, Shakspeare; the short dialogue be-,
tween, Duncan and Banquo, whilst they. are
approaching the gates of Macbeth's castle.
Their conversation very naturally turns upon
the beauty of its situation, and the pleasant
ness of the air : and Banquo observing the

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 253*
martlets' nests in every recess of the cornice,
remarks, that where those birds most breed
and haunt, the air is delicate. The subject
of this quiet and easy conversation gives that
repose so necessary to the mind, after the
tumultuous bustle of the preceding scenes,
and perfectly contrasts the scene of hor-
rour that immediately succeeds. It seems
as if Shakspeare asked himself, What is a
Prince likely to say to his attendants on such
an occasion ? The Modern writers seem, on
the contrary, to be always searching for new
thoughts, such as never could occur to men
in the situation represented. This is also
frequently the practice of Homer; who, from
the midst of battles and horrours, relieves
and refreshes the mind of the reader, by in
troducing some quiet rural image, or picture
of familiar domestic life. The writers of
every age and country, where taste has begun
to decline, paint and adorn every object they
touch; are always on the stretch; never
deviate or sink a moment from the pompous
and the brilliant. ' Lucan, Statius, and
Claudian, (as a learned critick has observed,)
are examples of this bad taste and want of

25* THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
judgement; they never soften their tones, or
condescend to be natural : all is exaggeration
and perpetual splendour, without affording
depose of any kind.
As we are speaking of excesses, it will
not be remote from our purpose to say a few
words upon simplicity; which, in one of the
senses in which it is used, is considered as
the general corrector of excess. We shall
at present forbear to consider it as implying
that exact conduct which proceeds from an
intimate knowledge of simple unadulterated
nature, as it is then only another word for
perfection, which neither stops short of, nor
oversteps, reality and truth.
In our inquiry after simplicity, as in many
other inquiries of this nature, we can best
explain what is right, by showing what is
wrong; and, indeed, in this case it seems
to be absolutely necessary : simplicity, being
only a negative virtue, cannot be described
or defined. We must therefore explain its
nature, and show the advantage and beauty

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 25S
which is derived from it, by showing the
deformity which proceeds from its neglect.
Though instances of this neglect might
be expected to be found in practice, we should
not expect to find in the works of criticks,
precepts that bid defiance to simplicity and
every thing that relates to it. Du Piles
recommends to us portraitr-painters, to add
Grace and Dignity to the characters of those,
whose pictures we draw : so far he is un
doubtedly right ; but, unluckily, he descends
to particulars, and gives his own idea of Grace
and Dignity, " If, says he, you draw persons
of high character and dignity, they ought to
be drawn in such an attitude, that the Portraits
must seem to speak to us of th ems eku.es, and, as
it were, to say to us, ' stop, take notice of me,
I am that invincible King, surrounded by
Majesty :' * I am that valiant commander, who-
struck t err our every where :' ' I am that great
minister, who knew all the springs of politicks:*
1 Iam that magistrate of consummate wisdom and
probity* u He goes on in this manner, with
all the characters he can think on. We may
contrast the tumour of this presumptuous

256 THE ElOHTH DISCOURSE.
loftiness with the natural unaffected air of
the portraits of Titian, where dignity, seem
ing to be natural and inherent, draws spon
taneous reverence, and instead of being thus
vainly assumed, has the appearance of an
unalienable adjunct ; whereas such pompous
and laboured insolence pf grandeur is so far-
from creating respect,, that it betrays vul
garity and- meanness, and new-acquired con
sequence. The painters, many of them at least, have
not been backward in adopting the notions
contained in these precepts. The portraits
of Rigaud are perfect examples of an im
plicit observance of these rules of Du Piles ;
so that though he was a painter of great
merit in many respects, yet, that merit is
entirely overpowered by a total absence of
simplicity in every sense.
Not to multiply instances, which might
be produced for this purpose, from the works
of History-painters, I shall mention only
one, — a picture which I have seen, of the
Supreme Being by Coypell.

ihE Eighth discourse. 257
This subject the Roman Catholick painters
have taken the liberty to represent, however
indecent the attempt, and however obvious
the impossibility of any approach to an
adequate representation : but here the air and
character, which the Painter has given, and
he has doubtless given the highest he could
conceive, are so degraded by an attempt at
such dignity as De Piles has recommended,
that we are enraged at the folly and presump
tion of the artist, and consider it as little less
than profanation,
As we have passed to a neighbouring nation
for instances of want of this quality, we must
acknowledge, at the same time, that they
have produced great examples of simplicity,
in Poussin and Le Sueur. But as we are
speaking of the most refined and subtle notion
of perfection, may We not enquire, whether
a curious eye cannot discern some faults, evert
in those great men? I can fancy, that even
Poussin, by abhorring that affectation and
that want of simplicity, which he observed
in his countrymen, has, in certain particu
lars, fallen into the contrary extreme, so far
vol. 1. s

258 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
as to approach to a kind of affectation ; — ¦
to what, in writing, would be called pe
dantry. When Simplicity, instead of being a cor
rector, seems to set up for herself; that is,
when an artist seems to value himself solely
upon this quality ; such an ostentatious dis
play of simplicity becomes then as disagree-.
able and nauseous as any other kind of affec
tation. He is, however, in this case, likely
enough to sit down contented with his own
work; for though he finds the world look at
it with indifference or dislike, as being des
titute of every quality that can recreate or give
pleasure to the mind, yet he consoles him
self, that it has simplicity, a beauty of too
pure and chaste a nature to be relished by
vulgar minds.
It is in art as in morals ; no character would
inspire us with an enthusiastick admiration of
his virtue, if that virtue consisted only in an
absence of vice; something more is required;
a man must do more than merely his duty, to
be a hero.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 259
Those works of the ancients, which are
in the highest esteem, have something beside
mere simplicity to recommend them. The
Apollo, the Venus, the Laocoon, the Gla
diator, have a certain Composition of Action,
have contrasts sufficient to give grace and
energy in a high degree ; but it must be con
fessed of the many thousand antique statues
which we have, that their general character
istick is bordering at least on inanimate insi
pidity. Simplicity, when so very inartificial as to
seem to evade the difficulties of art, is a very
suspicious virtue.
I do not, however, wish fo degrade sim
plicity from the high estimation in which it
has been ever justly held. It is our barrier
against that great enemy to truth and nature,
Affectation, which is ever clinging to the
pencil, and ready to drop in and poison every
thing it touches.
Our love and affection to simplicity pro*
eeeds in a great measure from our aversion
S 2 '

260 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
to every kind of affectation. There is like
wise another reason why so much stress ia
laid upon this virtue ; the propensity which
artists have to fall into the contrary ex
treme ; we therefore set a guard on that side
which is most assailable. When 'a young
artist is first told, that his composition and
his attitudes must be contrasted, that he must
turn the head contrary to the position of the
body, in order to produce grace and ani
mation; that his outline must be undula
ting, and swelling, to give grandeur; and
that the eye must be gratified with a variety
of colours; when he is told this, with
certain animating words, of Spirit, Dignity,
Energy, Grace, greatness of Style, and bril
liancy of Tints, he becomes suddenly vain of
his newly acquired knowledge, and never
thinks he can carry those rules too far. It
is then that the aid of simplicity ought to be
called in, to correct the exuberance of youth
ful ardour.
The same may be said in regard to Co
louring, which in its pre-eminence is par
ticularly applied to flesh. An artist in his

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 2<>1
first essay of imitating nature, would make
the whole mass of one colour, as the oldest
painters did ; till he is taught to observe not
only the variety of tints, which are in the
object itself, but the differences produced
by the gradual decline of light to shadow :
he then immediately puts his instruction
in practice, and introduces a variety of
distinct colours. He must then be again
corrected and told, that though there is this
variety, yet the effect of the whole upon the
eye must have the union and simplicity of
the colouring of nature.
And here we may observe, that the
progress of an individual Student bears a
great resemblance to the progress and ad
vancement of the Art itself. Want of sim
plicity would probably be not one of the de
fects of an artist who had studied nature only,
as it was not of the old masters, who lived
in the time preceding the great Art of
Painting ; on the contrary, their works are too
simple apd too inartificial.
The Art in its infancy, like the first

26t THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
work of a Student, was dry, hard, and
simple. But this kind of barbarous sim
plicity, would be better named Penury,
as it proceeds from mere want; from
want of knowledge, want of resources,
want of abilities to be otherwise : their
simplicity was the offspring, not of choice,
but necessity.
In the second stage they were sensible of
this poverty ; and those who were the most
sensible of the want, were the best judges
of the measure of the supply. There were
painters who emerged from poverty with
out falling into luxury. Their success
induced others, who probably never would
of themselves have had strength of mind to
discover the original defect, to endeavour
at the remedy by an abuse ; and they ran
into the contrary extreme. But however
they may have strayed, we cannot recom
mend to them to return to that simplicity
which they have justly quitted ; but to deal
out their abundance with a more sparing
hand, -with that dignity which makes no
parade, either of its riches, or of its art.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 203
It is not easy to give a rule which may serve
to fix this just and correct medium ; because
when we may have fixed, or nearly fixed
the middle point, taken as a general prin
ciple, circumstances may oblige us to depart
from it, either on the side of Simplicity,
or on that of Variety and Decoration.
I thought it necessary in a former dis
course, speaking of the difference. of the
sublime and ornamental style.of painting, —
in order to excite your attention to the more
manly, noble, and dignified manner, to
leave perhaps an impression too contemp
tuous of those ornamental parts of our Art,
for which many have valued themselves-,
and many works are much -valued and es
teemed. I said then, what I thought it was right
at that time to say ; I supposed the disposi
tion of young men more inclinable, to. splen
did negligence, than perseverance in labo
rious application to acquire correctness ; and
therefore did as wedo in making what is
crooked straight, by bending it the contrary

0H THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
way, ip order th^t it may rernain straight
at last.
For this purpose then, and to correct
excess or neglect of any kind, We may here
add, th&t it is not enough that a work be
learned ; it must be pleasing : the painter
must add grace to strength, if he desires
to secure the first impression in his favour,
Qur taste has a kind of sensuality about it,
as well as a love of the sublime ; both these
qualities of the mind are to have their pro
per consequence, as far as they do Pot
counteract each other ; for that is the grand
error which rhucji care oiight to be takep
to avoid,
-There are some rules, whose absolute
authority, like that of our nurses, continues
no longer than while we are in a state of
childhood. One of the first rules, for
instance, that I believe every master would
give to a young pupil, respecting his conduct
and management of light and shadow, would
be what Liopardo da Vinci has actually :
given ; that you must oppose a light ground

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 265
fo the shadowed side of your figure, and a
dark ground to the light side. If Lionardo
had lived to see the superior splendour and
effect which has been sipce produced by
the exactly contrary conduct, — .-by joining
light to light, and shadow to shadow, 
though without doubt hp Would have admired
it, yet, as it ought not, so probably it would
not be the first rule with which he would
have begun his instructions.
Again ; in the artificial management of
the figures, it is directed that they shall
contrast each other according to the rules
generally given ; that if one figure opposes
his front to the spectator, the next figure is
fo have his back turned, and that the limbs
of each individual figure be contrasted! ; that
is, if the right leg be put forward, the right
arrh is to be drawn back.
It is very proper that those rules should
be given in the Academy ; it is proper the
young students should be informed that some
research is to be made, and that they should
"be habituated to consider every excellence as

265 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
reduceable to principles. Besides, it is the
natural progress of instruction to teach first
what is obvious and perceptible to the
senses, and from hence proceed gradually
to notions large, liberal, and complete, such
as comprise the more refined and higher
excellencies in Art. But when students are
more advanced, they will find that the great
est beauties of character and expression are
produced without contrast ; nay more, that
this contrast would ruin and destroy that
natural energy of men engaged in real action,
unsolickous of grace. St. Paul preaching at
Athens in one of the Cartoons, far from any
affected academical contrast of limbs, stands
equally on both legs, and both hands are
in the same attitude; add contrast, and the
whole energy and unaffected grace of the
figure is destroyed. Ely mas the sorcerer
stretches both hands forward in the same
direction, which gives perfectly the expres
sion intended. Indeed you never will find
in the works of Raffaelle any of those
school-boy affected contrasts. Whatever con
trast there is, appears without any seem-

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 267
ing agency of art, by the natural chance of
things\. What has been said of the evil of excesses
of all kinds, whether of simplicity, variety,
of contrast, naturally suggests to the painter
the necessity of a general inquiry into the
true meaning and cause of rules, and how
they operate on those faculties to which they
are addressed: by knowing their general pur
pose and meaning, he will often find that he
need not confine himself to the literal sense, it
will be sufficient if he preserve the spirit of
the law.
Critical remarks are not always understood
without examples : it may not be improper
therefore to give instances where the rule
itself, though generally received, is false, or
where a narrow conception of it may lead the
artists into great errors.
It is given as a rule by Fresnoy, That the
principal figure of a subject must appear in the
midst of the picture, under the principal light,
to distinguish it from the rest. A painter who

26» THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
should think himself obliged strictly to follow
this rule, would encumber himself with
needless difficulties ; he would be confined
to great uniformity of composition, and be
deprived of many beauties which are incom
patible with its observance. The meaning
of this rule extends, or ought to extend, no
further than this ;— That the principal figure
should be immediately distinguished at the
first glance of the eye; but there is no neces
sity that the principal light should fall on the
principal figure, or that the principal figure
should be in the middle of the picture. It
is sufficient that it be distinguished by its
place, or by the attention of other figures
pointing it out to the spectator. So far is
this rule from being indispensable, that it is
very seldom practised, other considerations
of greater consequence often standing in the
way. Examples in opposition to this rule,
are found in the Cartoons, in Christ's Charge
to Peter, the Preaching of St. Paul, and
Elymas the Sorcerer, who is undoubtedly
the principal object in that picture. In none
ef those compositions is the principal figure
in the midst of the picture. In the very

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. nSg
admirable composition of the Tent of Darius,
by Le Brun, Alexander is not in the middle
of the picture, nor does the principal light
fall on him; but the attention of all the other
figures immediately distinguishes him, and
distinguishes him more properly ; the great
est light falls on the daughter of Darius, who
is in the middle of the picture, where it is
more necessary the principal light should be
placed .
It is very extraordinary that Felibien, who
has given a very minute description of this
picture, but indeed such a description as may
be rather called panegyrick than criticism,
thinking it necessary (according to the precept
of Fresnoy) that Alexander should possess the
principal light, has accordingly given it to
him ; he might with equal truth have said
that he was placed in the middle of the picture,
as he seemed resolved to give this piece every
kind of excellence which he conceived to be
necessary to perfection. His generosity is
here unluckily misapplied, as it would have
destroyed in a great measure, the beauty of
the composition.

2?» THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
Another instance occurs to me, where
equal liberty may be taken in regard to the
management of light. Though the general
practice is, to make a large mass about the
middle of the picture surrounded by shadow,
the reverse may be practised, and the spirit
ofthe rule may still be preserved. Examples
of this principle reversed may be found very
frequently in the works of the Venetian
School. In the great composition of Paul
Veronese, the Marriage at Cana, the
figures are for the most part in half shadow;
the great light is in the sky ; and indeed the
general effect of this picture, which is so
striking, is no more than what we often see
in landscapes, in small pictures of fairs and
country feasts; but those principles of light
and shadow, being transferred to a large
scale, to a space containing near a hundred
figures as large as life, and conducted to all
appearance with as much facility, and with
an attention as steadily fixed upon the whole
together, as if it were a small picture imme
diately under the eye, the work justly excites
our admiration ; the difficulty being encreased
as the extent is enlarged.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 2? I
The various modes of composition are
infinite ; sometimes it shall consist of one
large group in the middle of the picture, and
the smaller groups on each side; or a plain
space in the middle, and the groups pf figures
ranked round this vacuity.
Whether this principal broad light be in
the middle space of ground, as in the
School of Athens ; or in the sky, as in
the Marriage at Cana, in the An
dromeda, and inmost of the pictures of
Paul Veronese ; or whether the light be on
the groups ; whatever mode of composition
is adopted, every variety and licence is
allowable : this only is indisputably neces
sary, that to prevent the eye from being
distracted and* confused by a multiplicity of
objects of equal magnitude, those objects,
whether they consist of lights, shadows, or
figures, must be disposed in large masses and
groups properly varied and contrasted ; that
to a certain quantity of action a proportioned
space of plain ground is required ; that light
is to be supported by sufficient shadow ;
and, we may add, that a certain quantity of

572 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
cold colours is necessary to give value ana
lustre to the warm colours : what those
proportions are cannot be so well learnt
by precept as by observation on pictures,
and in this knowledge bad pictures will
instruct as well as good. Our inquiry
why pictures have a bad effect, may be
as advantageous as the inquiry why they
have a good effect ; each will corroborate
the principles that are suggested by the
other. Though it is not my business to enter into
the detail of our Art, yet I must take this
opportunity of mentioning one of the means
of producing that great effect which We ob
serve in the works of the Venetian painters,
as I think it is not generally known or
observed. It ought, in my opinion, to be
indispensably observed, that the masses of
light in a picture be always of a warm mellow
colour, yellow, red, ora yellowish- white j
and that the blue, the grey, or the green
colours be kept almost entirely out of these
masses, and be used only to support and set
off these warm colours ; and for this purpose,
7

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. afa
a small proportion of cold colours will be
sufficient.

Let this conduct be reserved; let the light
be cold., and the surrounding colours warm,
as we often see in the works of the Roman
and Florentine painters, and it will be out of
the power of aft, even in the hands of Rubens
or Titian, to make a picture splendid and
harmonious. Le Brun and Carlo Maratti were two
painters of great merit, and particularly what
may be called Academical Merit, but were
bath deficient in this management of colours :
the want of observing this rule is one of the
causes of that heaviness of effect which is
so observable in their works . The principal
light in the Picture of Le Brun, which I
just now mentioned, falls on Statira, who is
dressed very injudiciously in a pale blue
drapery : it is true, he has heightened this
blue with gold, but that is not enough, the
whole picture has a heavy air, and by no
means. answers the expectation raised by the
Print. Poussin often made a spot of blue
VOL. I. T

2r4, THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
drapery, when the general hue of the picture
was inclinable to brown or yellow; which
shows sufficiently, that harmony of colouring
was not a part of the art that had much
engaged the attention of that great painter.
The conduct of Titian in the picture of
Bacchus and Ariadne, has been much
celebrated, and justly, for the harmony of
colouring. To Ariadne is given (say the
criticks) a red scarf, to relieve the figure from
the sea, which is behind her. It is not for
that reason, alone, but for another of much
greater consequence ; for the sake of the
general harmony and effect of the picture.
The figure of Ariadne is separated from the
great group, and is dressed in blue, which
added to the colour of the sea, makes that
quantity of cold colour which Titian thought
necessary for the support and brilliancy of
the great' group; which group is composed,
with very little exception, entirely of mellow
colours . But as the picture in this case would
be divided into two distinct parts, one half
cold, and the other warm, it was necessary
to carry some. of the mellow: colours of the

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. £H
great group into the cold part of the picture,
and a part of the cold into the great group ;
accordingly Titian gave Ariadne a red scarf,
and to one of the Bacchante a little blue
drapery. The light of the picture, as I observed,
ought to be of a warm colour ; for though
white may be used for the principal light, as
was the practice of many of the Dutch and
Flemish painters, yet it is better to suppose
that white illumined by the yellow rays of
the setting sun, as was the manner of Titian.
The superiority of which manner is never
more striking, than when in a collection of
pictures we chance to see a portrait of Titian's
hanging by the side of a Flemish picture,
(even though that should be of the hand of
Vandyek) which, however admirable in
other respects, becomes cold and grey in the
comparison. The illuminated parts of objects are in
nature of a warmer tint than those that are
in the shade: what I have recommended
therefore, is no more, than that the samt
t a

%-& THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE;
conduct be observed in the whole, which is
acknowledged to be necessary in every indi
vidual part. It is presenting to thps eye the
same effect as that which it has , been
accustomed to feel, which in this case, as in
every other, will always produce beauty ;
no principle therefore in our art can be
more certain, or is derived from a highe?
source. What I just now mentioned of the sup
posed reason why Ariadne has part of her
drapery red, gives me occasion here to
observe, that this favourite quality of giving
objects relief, and which De Piles and all
the Criticks have considered as a requisite
of the utmost importance, was npt one of
those objects which much engaged the atten
tion of Titian; painters of an inferior rank
have far exceeded him in producing this
effect. This was a great object of attention,
when art was in its infant state ; as it is at
present with the vulgar and ignorant, who
feel the highest satisfaction in seeing a figure,
which, as they say, looks as if they could
walk round it. But however low I may rate

THE EIGHTH blSCOURSl. ijft-
this pleasure of deception, I should not op
pose it, did it not oppose itself to a quality
of a much higher kind, by counteracting
entirely that fulness of manner which is so
difficult to express in words, but which is
found in perfection in the best Works of
Correggio, and we may add, of kembrandt.
This effect is produced by melting and losing
the shadows in a ground still darker than
those shadows ; whereas that relief is pro
duced by opposing and separating the ground
from the figure either by light, or shadow,
or colour. This conduct of in-laying, as it
may be called, figures on their ground, in
order to produce relief, was the practice of
the old Painters, such as Andrea Mantegna,
Pietro PeruginO, and Albert Durer; and to
these we may add, the first manner of
Lionardo da Vinci, Giorgione, and even
Correggio ; but these three were among the
first who began to correct themselves in dry
ness of style, by no longer considering relief
as a principal object. As those two qualities,
relief, and fulness of effect, can hardly exist
together, it is not very difficult to determine
to which we ought to give the preference.

271 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
An Artist is obliged for ever to hold a balance
in his hand, by which he must determine the
value of different qualities ; that, when some
fault must be committed, he may choose the
least. Those painters who have best under
stood the art of producing a good effect, have
adopted one principle that seems perfectly con
formable to reason ; that a part may be sacri
ficed for the good of the whole. Thus,
whether the masses consist of light or shadow,
it is necessary that they should be compact
and of a pleasing shape: to this end, some
parts may be made darker and some lighter,
and reflexions stronger than nature would
warrant. Paul Veronese took great liberties
of this kind. It is said, that being once
asked, why certain figures were painted in
shade, as no cause was seen in the picture
itself, he turned off the inquiry by answer
ing, " una nuevolache passa," a cloud is
passing which has overshadowed them.
But I cannot give a better instance of this
practice than a picture which I have of
Rubens ; it is a representation of a Moon
light. Rubens has not only diffused more

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 279
light over the picture than is in nature, but
has bestowed on' it those warm glowing
colours by which his works are so much
distinguished. It is so unlike what any other
painters have given us of Moon-light, that it
might be easily mistaken, if he had not like
wise added stars, for a fainter setting sun. —
Rubens thought the eye ought tp be satisfied
in this case, above all other considerations :
he might indeed have made it more natural,
but it would have been at the expence of
what he thought of much greater conse
quence, — the harmony proceeding from the
contrast and variety of colours.
This same picture will furnish us with
another instance, where we must depart from
nature for a greater advantage. The Moon
in this picture does not preserve so great a
superiority in regard to its lightness over the
object which it illumines, as it does in nature;
this is likewise an intended deviation, and
for the same reason. If Rubens had pre
served the same scale of gradation of light
bet.ween the Moon and the objects, which is
fpund in nature, the picture must have con-

280 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
sisted of one small spot of light only, and at
a little distance from the picture nothing but
this spot would have been seen. It may be
said indeed, that this being the case, it is a
subject that ought not to be painted ; but
then, for the same reason, neither armour,
nor any thing shining, ought ever to be
painted ; for though pure white is used in
order to represent the greatest light of shining
objects, it will not in the picture preserve the
same superiority over flesh, as it has in nature,
without keeping that flesh-colour of a very low
tint. Rembrandt, who thought it of more con
sequence to paint light, than the objects that
are seen by it, has done this in a picture of
Achilles which I have. The head is kept
down to a very low tint, in order to preserve
this due gradation and distinction between
the armour and the face; the consequence of
which is, that upon the whole the picture is
too black. Surely too much is sacrificed here
to this narrow conception of nature : allowing
the contrary conduct a fault, yet it must be
acknowledged a less fault, than making a
picture so dark that it cannot be seen without
3. peculiar light, and thep with difficulty.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. _»i
The merit or demerit of the different conduct
of Rubens and Rembrandt in those instances
which I have given, is not to be determined
by the narrow principles of nature, separated
from its effect on the human mind. Reason
and common sense tell us, that before, and
above all other considerations, it is necessary
that the work should be seen, not only with
out difficulty or inconvenience, but with
pleasure and satisfaction ; and every obstacle
which stands in the way of this pleasure and
convenience must be removed.
The tendency of 4his Discourse, with the
instances which have been given, is not so
much to place the Artist above rules, as to
teach him their reason ; to prevent him from
entertaining a narrow confined conception of
Art; to clear his mind from a perplexed
variety of rules and their exceptions, by
directing his attention to an intimate acquaint
ance with the passions and affections of the
mind, from which all rules arise, and to
which they are all referable. Art effects its
purpose by their means ; an accurate know
ledge, therefore, of thosepassions and disposi-

282 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
fions of the mind is necessary to him who
desires to affect them upon sure and solid
principles. A complete essay or inquiry into the con
nection between the rules of Art, and the
eternal and immutable dispositions of our
passions, would be indeed going at once to
the foundation of criticism * ; but I am too
well convinced what extensive knowledge,
what subtle and penetrating judgement would
be required, to engage in such an under
taking : it is enough for me, if, in the lan
guage of painters, I have produced a slight
sketch of a part of this vast composition,
but that sufficiently distinct to show the
usefulness of such a theory, and its prac
ticability. Before I conclude, I cannot avoid making
one observation on the pictures now before
us. I have observed, that every candidate
has copied the celebrated invention of Timan-
thes in hiding the face of Agamemnon in his
* This was inadvertently said. I did not recollect the
admirable treatise On the Subli??ie and Beautiful.

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. SS3
.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 wondered 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 imagination
which make so very considerable and refined
a part of poetry. It is a doubt with me,
whether we should even make the attempt.
The chief, if not the only occasion which
the painter has for this artifice, is, when the

2M THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
subject is improper to be more fully repre
sented, either for the sake of decency, or to
avoid what would be disagreable to be seen :
and this is not to raise or increase the passions,
which is the reason that is given for this
practice, but on the contrary to diminish their
effect., It is true, sketches, or such drawings as
painters generally make for their works, give
this pleasure of imagination to a high degree.
From a slight, undetermined drawing, where
the ideas of the composition and character are,
as I may say, only just touched upon, the
imagination supplies more than the painter
himself, probably, could produce ; and we
accordingly often find that the finished work
disappoints the expectation that was raised
from the sketch ; and this power of the ima
gination is one of the causes of the great
pleasure we have in viewing a collection of
drawings by great painters. These general
ideas, which are expressed in sketches,
correspond very well to the art often used in
Poetry. A great part of the beauty of the
celebrated description of Eve in Milton's
i

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 283
Paradise Lost, consists in Using only
general indistinct expressions, every reader
making out the detail according to his
own paBticular imagination, — his own idea
of beauty, grace, expression, dignity, or love
liness : but a painter, when he represents
Eve on a canvass, is obliged to give a deter
mined form, and his own idea df beauty
distinctly expressed.
We cannot on this occasion, nor indeed
on any other, recommend an undeterminate
manner, or vague ideas of any kind, in a
complete and finished picture. This notion
therefore, of leaving any thing to the imagi
nation, opposes a very fixed and indispensable
rule in our art, — that every thing shall be
carefully and distinctly expressed, as if the
painter knew, with correctness and precision*
the exact form and character of whatever is
introduced into the picture. This is what
with us is called Science, and Learning:
which must not be sacrificed and given up
for an uncertain and doubtful beauty, which,
nat naturally belonging to our Art; will pro
bably be sought for without success.

US THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
Mr. Falconet has observed, in a note on
this passage in his translation of Pliny, that
the circumstance of covering the face of
Agamemnon was probably not in conse
quence of any fine imagination of the
painter, — which he considers as a discovery
of the criticks, — 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 Iphigenia advance towards the fatal
altar ; he groaned, he turned aside his headt
he shed tears, and covered his face with his
robe. Falconet does not at all acquiesce in the
praise that is bestowed on Tipianthes ; 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 in-

THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE. 2«7
teresting circumstance, and then put me off
with sophistry and a veil. You are (he adds)
a feeble Painter, without resource: yoti do
not know even those of your Art : I care not
what veil it is, whether closed hands, arms
raised, or any other action that conceals from
me the countenance of the Hero. You think
of veiling Agamemnon ; you have unveiled
your own ignorance. A Painter who repre
sents Agamemnon veiled, is as ridiculous as
a Poet would be, who in a pathetick situation,
in order to satisfy my expectations, and rid
himself of the business; should say, that the
sentiments of his hero are so far above what
ever can be said on the occasion, that he shall
say nothing."
To what Falconet has said, we may add,
that supposing this method of leaving the
expression of grief to the 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

288 THE EIGHTH DISCOURSE.
^artifice to evade difficulties. If difficulties
overcome make a great part of the merit
of Art, difficulties evaded can deserve but
little commendation.

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