Thoughts on the Imitation of Greek Works in Painting and Sculpture  

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"The only way for us to become great lies in the imitation of the Greeks"


"The last and most eminent characteristic of the Greek works is a noble simplicity and sedate grandeur in gesture and expression. As the bottom of the sea lies peaceful beneath a foaming surface, a great soul lies sedate beneath the strife of passions in Greek figures. It is in the face of Laocoon that this soul shines with full lustre — not confined, however, to the face— amidst the most violent sufferings. Pangs piercing every muscle, every labouring nerve, — pangs which we almost feel ourselves, whilst we contemplate, not the face nor the most expressive parts, but the body contracted by excruciating pains. These however exert not themselves with violence either in the face or gesture. He pierces not heaven, like the Laocoon of Virgil ; his mouth is rather opened to discharge an anxious overloaded groan, as Sadolet says ; the struggling body and the supporting mind exert themselves with equal strength, nay balance all the frame ; we feel his pains, but wish for the hero's strength to support his misery."--Thoughts on the Imitation of Greek Works in Painting and Sculpture (1755) by Winckelmann, Fuseli translation

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Thoughts on the Imitation of Greek Works in Painting and Sculpture (1755, Original German: Gedanken über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in Malerei und Bildhauerkunst) is an essay by German art critic Johann Joachim Winckelmann.

It is a manifesto of Neoclassicism. The work included a feigned attack on the work and a defense of its principles, ostensibly by an impartial critic. The Gedanken contains the first statement of the doctrines he afterwards developed, the ideal of "noble simplicity and quiet grandeur" (edle Einfalt und stille Größe) and the definitive assertion, "The one way for us to become great, perhaps inimitable, is by imitating the ancients." The work was warmly admired not only for the ideas it contained, but for its literary style. It made Winckelmann famous, and was reprinted several times and soon translated into French.

In England, Winckelmann's views stirred discussion in the 1760s and 1770s, although it was limited to artistic circles: Henry Fuseli's translation was published as Reflections on the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks was published in 1765, but the text did not find enough readers to warrant a second edition.

Contents

English translation by Fuseli[1]

REFLECTIONS ON THE PAINTING AND SCULPTURE OF THE GREEKS. [ii]

[iii]

REFLECTIONS ON THE Painting and Sculpture OF THE GREEKS: WITH Instructions for the Connoisseur, AND An Essay on Grace in Works of Art.

Translated from The German Original of the Abbé Winkelmann, Librarian of the Vatican, F. R. S. &c. &c.

By HENRY FUSSELI, A.M.


LONDON: Printed for the Translator, and Sold by A. Millar, in the Strand, 1765.

[iv]

[v]

TO The Lord Scarsdale. My Lord,

With becoming gratitude for your Lordship’s condescension in granting such a noble Asylum to a Stranger, I humbly presume to shelter this Translation under your Lordship’s Patronage.

If I have been able to do justice to my Author, your Lordship’s accurate Jugment, and fine Taste, will naturally protect his Work: But I must rely wholly on your[vi] known Candour and Goodness for the pardon of many imperfections in the language.

I am, with the most profound respect,

My Lord,

Your Lordship’s

Most obliged, most obedient, and most humble Servant,

Henry Fusseli.

London, 10 April, 1765.

[1]

GRAIIS INGENIUM &c.

ON THE IMITATION OF THE Painting and Sculpture of the GREEKS. I. Nature. To the Greek climate we owe the production of Taste, and from thence it spread at length over all the politer world. Every invention, communicated by foreigners to that nation, was but the feed of what it became afterwards, changing[2] both its nature and size in a country, chosen, as Plato[1] says, by Minerva, to be inhabited by the Greeks, as productive of every kind of genius.

But this Taste was not only original among the Greeks, but seemed also quite peculiar to their country: it seldom went abroad without loss; and was long ere it imparted its kind influences to more distant climes. It was, doubtless, a stranger to the northern zones, when Painting and Sculpture, those offsprings of Greece, were despised there to such a degree, that the most valuable pieces of Corregio served only for blinds to the windows of the royal stables at Stockholm.

There is but one way for the moderns to become great, and perhaps unequalled; I mean, by imitating the antients. And what we are told of Homer, that whoever understands him well, admires him, we find no less true in matters concerning the antient, especially the Greek arts. But then we must[3] be as familiar with them as with a friend, to find Laocoon as inimitable as Homer. By such intimacy our judgment will be that of Nicomachus: Take these eyes, replied he to some paltry critick, censuring the Helen of Zeuxis, Take my eyes, and she will appear a goddess.

With such eyes Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Poussin, considered the performances of the antients. They imbibed taste at its source; and Raphael particularly in its native country. We know, that he sent young artists to Greece, to copy there, for his use, the remains of antiquity.

An antient Roman statue, compared to a Greek one, will generally appear like Virgil’s Diana amidst her Oreads, in comparison of the Nausicaa of Homer, whom he imitated.

Laocoon was the standard of the Roman artists, as well as ours; and the rules of Polycletus became the rules of art.

I need not put the reader in mind of the negligences to be met with in the most celebrated[4] antient performances: the Dolphin at the feet of the Medicean Venus, with the children, and the Parerga of the Diomedes by Dioscorides, being commonly known. The reverse of the best Egyptian and Syrian coins seldom equals the head, in point of workmanship. Great artists are wisely negligent, and even their errors instruct. Behold their works as Lucian bids you behold the Zeus of Phidias; Zeus himself, not his footstool.

It is not only Nature which the votaries of the Greeks find in their works, but still more, something superior to nature; ideal beauties, brain-born images, as Proclus says[2].

The most beautiful body of ours would perhaps be as much inferior to the most beautiful Greek one, as Iphicles was to his brother Hercules. The forms of the Greeks, prepared to beauty, by the influence of the mildest and purest sky, became perfectly elegant by their early exercises. Take a[5] Spartan youth, sprung from heroes, undistorted by swaddling-cloths; whose bed, from his seventh year, was the earth, familiar with wrestling and swimming from his infancy; and compare him with one of our young Sybarits, and then decide which of the two would be deemed worthy, by an artist, to serve for the model of a Theseus, an Achilles, or even a Bacchus. The latter would produce a Theseus fed on roses, the former a Theseus fed on flesh, to borrow the expression of Euphranor.

The grand games were always a very strong incentive for every Greek youth to exercise himself. Whoever aspired to the honours of these was obliged, by the laws, to submit to a trial of ten months at Elis, the general rendezvous; and there the first rewards were commonly won by youths, as Pindar tells us.[3]To be like the God-like Diagoras, was the fondest wish of every youth.

[6]

Behold the swift Indian outstripping in pursuit the hart: how briskly his juices circulate! how flexible, how elastic his nerves and muscles! how easy his whole frame! Thus Homer draws his heroes, and his Achilles he eminently marks for “being swift of foot.”

By these exercises the bodies of the Greeks got the great and manly Contour observed in their statues, without any bloated corpulency. The young Spartans were bound to appear every tenth day naked before the Ephori, who, when they perceived any inclinable to fatness, ordered them a scantier diet; nay, it was one of Pythagoras’s precepts, to beware of growing too corpulent; and, perhaps for the same reason, youths aspiring to wrestling-games were, in the remoter ages of Greece, during their trial, confined to a milk diet.

They were particularly cautious in avoiding every deforming custom; and Alcibiades, when a boy, refusing to learn to play on[7] the flute, for fear of its discomposing his features, was followed by all the youth of Athens.

In their dress they were professed followers of nature. No modern stiffening habit, no squeezing stays hindered Nature from forming easy beauty; the fair knew no anxiety about their attire, and from their loose and short habits the Spartan girls got the epithet of Phænomirides.

We know what pains they took to have handsome children, but want to be acquainted with their methods: for certainly Quillet, in his Callipædy, falls short of their numerous expedients. They even attempted changing blue eyes to black ones, and games of beauty were exhibited at Elis, the rewards consisting of arms consecrated to the temple of Minerva. How could they miss of competent and learned judges, when, as Aristotle tells us, the Grecian youths were taught drawing expressly for that purpose? From their fine complexion, which, though mingled[8] with a vast deal of foreign blood, is still preserved in most of the Greek islands, and from the still enticing beauty of the fair sex, especially at Chios; we may easily form an idea of the beauty of the former inhabitants, who boasted of being Aborigines, nay, more antient than the moon.

And are not there several modern nations, among whom beauty is too common to give any title to pre-eminence? Such are unanimously accounted the Georgians and the Kabardinski in the Crim.

Those diseases which are destructive of beauty, were moreover unknown to the Greeks. There is not the least hint of the small-pox, in the writings of their physicians; and Homer, whose portraits are always so truly drawn, mentions not one pitted face. Venereal plagues, and their daughter the English malady, had not yet names.

And must we not then, considering every advantage which nature bestows, or art teaches, for forming, preserving, and improving[9] beauty, enjoyed and applied by the Grecians; must we not then confess, there is the strongest probability that the beauty of their persons excelled all we can have an idea of?

Art claims liberty: in vain would nature produce her noblest offsprings, in a country where rigid laws would choak her progressive growth, as in Egypt, that pretended parent of sciences and arts: but in Greece, where, from their earliest youth, the happy inhabitants were devoted to mirth and pleasure, where narrow-spirited formality never restrained the liberty of manners, the artist enjoyed nature without a veil.

The Gymnasies, where, sheltered by public modesty, the youths exercised themselves naked, were the schools of art. These the philosopher frequented, as well as the artist. Socrates for the instruction of a Charmides, Autolycus, Lysis; Phidias for the improvement of his art by their beauty. Here he studied the elasticity of the muscles, the ever[10] varying motions of the frame, the outlines of fair forms, or the Contour left by the young wrestler on the sand. Here beautiful nakedness appeared with such a liveliness of expression, such truth and variety of situations, such a noble air of the body, as it would be ridiculous to look for in any hired model of our academies.

Truth springs from the feelings of the heart. What shadow of it therefore can the modern artist hope for, by relying upon a vile model, whose soul is either too base to feel, or too stupid to express the passions, the sentiment his object claims? unhappy he! if experience and fancy fail him.

The beginning of many of Plato’s dialogues, supposed to have been held in the Gymnasies, cannot raise our admiration of the generous souls of the Athenian youth, without giving us, at the same time, a strong presumption of a suitable nobleness in their outward carriage and bodily exercises.

[11]

The fairest youths danced undressed on the theatre; and Sophocles, the great Sophocles, when young, was the first who dared to entertain his fellow-citizens in this manner. Phryne went to bathe at the Eleusinian games, exposed to the eyes of all Greece, and rising from the water became the model of Venus Anadyomene. During certain solemnities the young Spartan maidens danced naked before the young men: strange this may seem, but will appear more probable, when we consider that the christians of the primitive church, both men and women, were dipped together in the same font.

Then every solemnity, every festival, afforded the artist opportunity to familiarize himself with all the beauties of Nature.

In the most happy times of their freedom, the humanity of the Greeks abhorred bloody games, which even in the Ionick Asia had ceased long before, if, as some guess, they had once been usual there. Antiochus Epiphanes, by ordering shews of Roman[12] gladiators, first presented them with such unhappy victims; and custom and time, weakening the pangs of sympathizing humanity, changed even these games into schools of art. There Ctesias studied his dying gladiator, in whom you might descry “how much life was still left in him[4].”

These frequent occasions of observing Nature, taught the Greeks to go on still farther. They began to form certain general ideas of beauty, with regard to the proportions of the inferiour parts, as well as of the whole frame: these they raised above the reach of mortality, according to the superiour model of some ideal nature.

Thus Raphael formed his Galatea, as we learn by his letter to Count Baltazar Castiglione[5], where he says, “Beauty being so[13] seldom found among the fair, I avail myself of a certain ideal image.”

According to those ideas, exalted above the pitch of material models, the Greeks formed their gods and heroes: the profile of the brow and nose of gods and goddesses is almost a streight line. The same they gave on their coins to queens, &c. but without indulging their fancy too much. Perhaps this profile was as peculiar to the antient Greeks, as flat noses and little eyes to the Calmucks and Chinese; a supposition which receives some strength from the large eyes of all the heads on Greek coins and gems.

From the same ideas the Romans formed their Empresses on their coins. Livia and Agrippina have the profile of Artemisia and Cleopatra.

We observe, nevertheless, that the Greek artists in general, submitted to the law prescribed by the Thebans: “To do, under a penalty, their best in imitating Nature.” For, where they could not possibly apply[14] their easy profile, without endangering the resemblance, they followed Nature, as we see instanced in the beauteous head of Julia, the daughter of Titus, done by Euodus[6].

But to form a “just resemblance, and, at the same time, a handsomer one,” being always the chief rule they observed, and which Polygnotus constantly went by; they must, of necessity, be supposed to have had in view a more beauteous and more perfect Nature. And when we are told, that some artists imitated Praxiteles, who took his concubine Cratina for the model of his Cnidian Venus; or that others formed the graces from Lais; it is to be understood that they did so, without neglecting these great laws of the art. Sensual beauty furnished the painter with all that nature could give; ideal beauty with the awful and sublime; from that he took the Humane, from this the Divine.

[15]

Let any one, sagacious enough to pierce into the depths of art, compare the whole system of the Greek figures with that of the moderns, by which, as they say, nature alone is imitated; good heaven! what a number of neglected beauties will he not discover!

For instance, in most of the modern figures, if the skin happens to be any where pressed, you see there several little smart wrinkles: when, on the contrary, the same parts, pressed in the same manner on Greek statues, by their soft undulations, form at last but one noble pressure. These master-pieces never shew us the skin forcibly stretched, but softly embracing the firm flesh, which fills it up without any tumid expansion, and harmoniously follows its direction. There the skin never, as on modern bodies, appears in plaits distinct from the flesh.

Modern works are likewise distinguished from the antient by parts; a crowd of small touches and dimples too sensibly drawn. In antient works you find these distributed with[16] sparing sagacity, and, as relative to a completer and more perfect Nature, offered but as hints, nay, often perceived only by the learned.

The probability still increases, that the bodies of the Greeks, as well as the works of their artists, were framed with more unity of system, a nobler harmony of parts, and a completeness of the whole, above our lean tensions and hollow wrinkles.

Probability, ’tis true, is all we can pretend to: but it deserves the attention of our artists and connoisseurs the rather, as the veneration professed for the antient monuments is commonly imputed to prejudice, and not to their excellence; as if the numerous ages, during which they have mouldered, were the only motive for bestowing on them exalted praises, and setting them up for the standards of imitation.

Such as would fain deny to the Greeks the advantages both of a more perfect Nature and of ideal Beauties, boast of the famous[17] Bernini, as their great champion. He was of opinion, besides, that Nature was possessed of every requisite beauty: the only skill being to discover that. He boasted of having got rid of a prejudice concerning the Medicean Venus, whose charms he at first thought peculiar ones; but, after many careful researches, discovered them now and then in Nature[7].

He was taught then, by the Venus, to discover beauties in common Nature, which he had formerly thought peculiar to that statue, and but for it, never would have searched for them. Follows it not from thence, that the beauties of the Greek statues being discovered with less difficulty than those of Nature, are of course more affecting; not so diffused, but more harmoniously united? and if this be true, the pointing out of Nature as chiefly imitable, is leading us into a more tedious and bewildered road to the[18] knowledge of perfect beauty, than setting up the ancients for that purpose: consequently Bernini, by adhering too strictly to Nature, acted against his own principles, as well as obstructed the progress of his disciples.

The imitation of beauty is either reduced to a single object, and is individual, or, gathering observations from single ones, composes of these one whole. The former we call copying, drawing a portrait; ’tis the straight way to Dutch forms and figures; whereas the other leads to general beauty, and its ideal images, and is the way the Greeks took. But there is still this difference between them and us: they enjoying daily occasions of seeing beauty, (suppose even not superior to ours,) acquired those ideal riches with less toil than we, confined as we are to a few and often fruitless opportunities, ever can hope for. It would be no easy matter, I fancy, for our nature, to produce a frame equal in beauty to that of Antinous; and[19] surely no idea can soar above the more than human proportions of a deity, in the Apollo of the Vatican, which is a compound of the united force of Nature, Genius, and Art.

Their imitation discovering in the one every beauty diffused through Nature, shewing in the other the pitch to which the most perfect Nature can elevate herself, when soaring above the senses, will quicken the genius of the artist, and shorten his discipleship: he will learn to think and draw with confidence, seeing here the fixed limits of human and divine beauty.

Building on this ground, his hand and senses directed by the Greek rule of beauty, the modern artist goes on the surest way to the imitation of Nature. The ideas of unity and perfection, which he acquired in meditating on antiquity, will help him to combine, and to ennoble the more scattered and weaker beauties of our Nature. Thus he will improve every beauty he discovers in[20] it, and by comparing the beauties of nature with the ideal, form rules for himself.

Then, and not sooner, he, particularly the painter, may be allowed to commit himself to Nature, especially in cases where his art is beyond the instruction of the old marbles, to wit, in drapery; then, like Poussin, he may proceed with more liberty; for “a timid follower will never get the start of his leaders, and he who is at a loss to produce something of his own, will be a bad manager of the productions of another,” as Michael Angelo says; Minds favoured by Nature,

Quibus Arte benigna, Et meliore luto, finxit præcordia Titan, have here a plain way to become originals.

Thus the account de Piles gives, ought to be understood, that Raphael, a short time before he was carried off by death, intended to forsake the marbles, in order to addict himself wholly to Nature. True antient[21] taste would most certainly have guided him through every maze of common Nature; and whatever observations, whatever new ideas he might have reaped from that, they would all, by a kind of chymical transmutation, have been changed to his own essence and soul.

He, perhaps, might have indulged more variety; enlarged his draperies; improved his colours, his light and shadow: but none of these improvements would have raised his pictures to that high esteem they deserve, for that noble Contour, and that sublimity of thoughts, which he acquired from the ancients.

Nothing would more decisively prove the advantages to be got by imitating the ancients, preferably to Nature, than an essay made with two youths of equal talents, by devoting the one to antiquity, the other to Nature: this would draw Nature as he finds her; if Italian, perhaps he might paint like Caravaggio; if Flemish, and lucky,[22] like Jac. Jordans; if French, like Stella: the other would draw her as she directs, and paint like Raphael.

II. Contour. But even supposing that the imitation of Nature could supply all the artist wants, she never could bestow the precision of Contour, that characteristic distinction of the ancients.

The noblest Contour unites or circumscribes every part of the most perfect Nature, and the ideal beauties in the figures of the Greeks; or rather, contains them both. Euphranor, famous after the epoch of Zeuxis, is said to have first ennobled it.

Many of the moderns have attempted to imitate this Contour, but very few with success. The great Rubens is far from having attained either its precision or elegance, especially in the performances which he finished[23] before he went to Italy, and studied the antiques.

The line by which Nature divides completeness from superfluity is but a small one, and, insensible as it often is, has been crossed even by the best moderns; while these, in shunning a meagre Contour, became corpulent, those, in shunning that, grew lean.

Among them all, only Michael Angelo, perhaps, may be said to have attained the antique; but only in strong muscular figures, heroic frames; not in those of tender youth; nor in female bodies, which, under his bold hand, grew Amazons.

The Greek artist, on the contrary, adjusted his Contour, in every figure, to the breadth of a single hair, even in the nicest and most tiresome performances, as gems. Consider the Diomedes and Perseus of Dioscorides[8], Hercules and Iole by Teucer[9], and admire the inimitable Greeks.

[24]

Parrhasius, they say, was master of the correctest Contour.

This Contour reigns in Greek figures, even when covered with drapery, as the chief aim of the artist; the beautiful frame pierces the marble like a transparent Coan cloth.

The high-stiled Agrippina, and the three vestals in the royal cabinet at Dresden, deserve to be mentioned as eminent proofs of this. This Agrippina seems not the mother of Nero, but an elder one, the spouse of Germanicus. She much resembles another pretended Agrippina, in the parlour of the library of St. Marc, at Venice[10]. Ours is a sitting figure, above the size of Nature, her head inclined on her right hand; her fine face speaks a soul “pining in thought,” absorbed in pensive sorrow, and senseless to every outward impression. The artist, I suppose, intended to draw his heroine in the[25] mournful moment she received the news of her banishment to Pandataria.

The three vestals deserve our esteem from a double title: as being the first important discoveries of Herculaneum, and models of the sublimest drapery. All three, but particularly one above the natural size, would, with regard to that, be worthy companions of the Farnesian Flora, and all the other boasts of antiquity. The two others seem, by their resemblance to each other, productions of the same hand, only distinguished by their heads, which are not of equal goodness. On the best the curled hairs, running in furrows from the forehead, are tied on the neck: on the other the hair being smooth on the scalp, and curled on the front, is gathered behind, and tied with a ribband: this head seems of a modern hand, but a good one.

There is no veil on these heads; but that makes not against their being vestals: for the priestesses of Vesta (I speak on proof)[26] were not always veiled; or rather, as the drapery seems to betray, the veil, which was of one piece with the garments, being thrown backwards, mingles with the cloaths on the neck.

’Tis to these three inimitable pieces that the world owes the first hints of the ensuing discovery of the subterranean treasures of Herculaneum.

Their discovery happened when the same ruins that overwhelmed the town had nearly extinguished the unhappy remembrance of it: when the tremendous fate that spoke its doom was only known by the account which Pliny gives of his uncle’s death.

These great master-pieces of the Greek art were transplanted, and worshipped in Germany, long before Naples could boast of one single Herculanean monument.

They were discovered in the year 1706 at Portici near Naples, in a ruinous vault, on occasion of digging the foundations of a[27] villa, for the Prince d’Elbeuf, and immediately, with other new discovered marble and metal statues, came into the possession of Prince Eugene, and were transported to Vienna.

Eugene, who well knew their value, provided a Sala Terrena to be built expressly for them, and a few others: and so highly were they esteemed, that even on the first rumour of their sale, the academy and the artists were in an uproar, and every body, when they were transported to Dresden, followed them with heavy eyes.

The famous Matielli, to whom

His rule Polyclet, his chissel Phidias gave, Algarotti. copied them in clay before their removal, and following them some years after, filled Dresden with everlasting monuments of his art: but even there he studied the drapery of his priestesses, (drapery his chief skill!) till he laid down his chissel, and thus gave[28] the most striking proof of their excellence.

III. Drapery. By Drapery is to be understood all that the art teaches of covering the nudities, and folding the garments; and this is the third prerogative of the ancients.

The Drapery of the vestals above, is grand and elegant. The smaller foldings spring gradually from the larger ones, and in them are lost again, with a noble freedom, and gentle harmony of the whole, without hiding the correct Contour. How few of the moderns would stand the test here!

Justice, however, shall not be refused to some great modern artists, who, without impairing nature or truth, have left, in certain cases, the road which the ancients generally pursued. The Greek Drapery, in order to help the Contour, was, for the most part, taken from thin and wet garments, which of[29] course clasped the body, and discovered the shape. The robe of the Greek ladies was extremely thin; thence its epithet of Peplon.

Nevertheless the reliefs, the pictures, and particularly the busts of the ancients, are instances that they did not always keep to this undulating Drapery[11].

In modern times the artists were forced to heap garments, and sometimes heavy ones, on each other, which of course could not fall into the flowing folds of the ancients. Hence the large-folded Drapery, by which the painter and sculptor may display as much skill as by the ancient manner. Carlo Marat and Francis Solimena may be called the chief masters of it: but the garments of the new Venetian school, by passing the bounds of nature and propriety, became stiff as brass.

[30]

IV. Expression. The last and most eminent characteristic of the Greek works is a noble simplicity and sedate grandeur in Gesture and Expression. As the bottom of the sea lies peaceful beneath a foaming surface, a great soul lies sedate beneath the strife of passions in Greek figures.

’Tis in the face of Laocoon this soul shines with full lustre, not confined however to the face, amidst the most violent sufferings. Pangs piercing every muscle, every labouring nerve; pangs which we almost feel ourselves, while we consider—not the face, nor the most expressive parts—only the belly contracted by excruciating pains: these however, I say, exert not themselves with violence, either in the face or gesture. He pierces not heaven, like the Laocoon of Virgil; his mouth is rather opened to discharge an anxious overloaded[31] groan, as Sadolet says; the struggling body and the supporting mind exert themselves with equal strength, nay balance all the frame.

Laocoon suffers, but suffers like the Philoctetes of Sophocles: we weeping feel his pains, but wish for the hero’s strength to support his misery.

The Expression of so great a soul is beyond the force of mere nature. It was in his own mind the artist was to search for the strength of spirit with which he marked his marble. Greece enjoyed artists and philosophers in the same persons; and the wisdom of more than one Metrodorus directed art, and inspired its figures with more than common souls.

Had Laocoon been covered with a garb becoming an antient sacrificer, his sufferings would have lost one half of their Expression. Bernini pretended to perceive the first effects of the operating venom in the numbness of one of the thighs.

[32]

Every action or gesture in Greek figures, not stamped with this character of sage dignity, but too violent, too passioniate, was called “Parenthyrsos.”

For, the more tranquillity reigns in a body, the fitter it is to draw the true character of the soul; which, in every excessive gesture, seems to rush from her proper centre, and being hurried away by extremes becomes unnatural. Wound up to the highest pitch of passion, she may force herself upon the duller eye; but the true sphere of her action is simplicity and calmness. In Laocoon sufferings alone had been Parenthyrsos; the artist therefore, in order to reconcile the significative and ennobling qualities of his soul, put him into a posture, allowing for the sufferings that were necessary, the next to a state of tranquillity: a tranquillity however that is characteristical: the soul will be herself—this individual—not the soul of mankind; sedate, but active; calm, but not indifferent or drowsy.

[33]

What a contrast! how diametrically opposite to this is the taste of our modern artists, especially the young ones! on nothing do they bestow their approbation, but contorsions and strange postures, inspired with boldness; this they pretend is done with spirit, with Franchezza. Contrast is the darling of their ideas; in it they fancy every perfection. They fill their performances with comet-like excentric souls, despising every thing but an Ajax or a Capaneus.

Arts have their infancy as well as men; they begin, as well as the artist, with froth and bombast: in such buskins the muse of Æschilus stalks, and part of the diction in his Agamemnon is more loaded with hyperboles than all Heraclitus’s nonsense. Perhaps the primitive Greek painters drew in the same manner that their first good tragedian thought in.

In all human actions flutter and rashness precede, sedateness and solidity follow: but time only can discover, and the judicious[34] will admire these only: they are the characteristics of great masters; violent passions run away with their disciples.

The sages in the art know the difficulties hid under that air of easiness:

ut sibi quivis Speret idem, sudet multum, frustraque laboret Ausus idem. Hor. La Fage, though an eminent designer, was not able to attain the purity of ancient taste. Every thing is animated in his works; they demand, and at the same time dissipate, your attention, like a company striving to talk all at once.

This noble simplicity and sedate grandeur is also the true characteristical mark of the best and maturest Greek writings, of the epoch and school of Socrates. Possessed of these qualities Raphael became eminently great, and he owed them to the ancients.

That great soul of his, lodged in a beauteous body, was requisite for the first[35] discovery of the true character of the ancients: he first felt all their beauties, and (what he was peculiarly happy in!) at an age when vulgar, unfeeling, and half-moulded souls overlook every higher beauty.

Ye that approach his works, teach your eyes to be sensible of those beauties, refine your taste by the true antique, and then that solemn tranquillity of the chief figures in his Attila, deemed insipid by the vulgar, will appear to you equally significant and sublime. The Roman bishop, in order to divert the Hun from his design of assailing Rome, appears not with the air of a Rhetor, but as a venerable man, whose very presence softens uproar into peace; like him drawn by Virgil:

Tum pietate gravem ac meritis, si forte virum quem Conspexere, silent, adrectisque auribus adstant: Æn. I. [36]

full of confidence in God, he faces down the barbarian: the two Apostles descend not with the air of slaughtering angels, but (if sacred may be compared with profane) like Jove, whose very nod shakes Olympus.

Algardi, in his celebrated representation of the same story, done in bas-relief on an altar in St. Peter’s church at Rome, was either too negligent, or too weak, to give this active tranquillity of his great predecessor to the figures of his Apostles. There they appear like messengers of the Lord of Hosts: here like human warriors with mortal arms.

How few of those we call connoisseurs have ever been able to understand, and sincerely to admire, the grandeur of expression in the St. Michael of Guido, in the church of the Capuchins at Rome! they prefer commonly the Archangel of Concha, whose face glows with indignation and revenge[12];[37] whereas Guido’s Angel, after having overthrown the fiend of God and man, hovers over him unruffled and undismayed.

Thus, to heighten the hero of The Campaign, victorious Marlborough, the British poet paints the avenging Angel hovering over Britannia with the like serenity and awful calmness.

The royal gallery at Dresden contains now, among its treasures, one of Raphael’s best pictures, witness Vasari, &c. a Madonna with the Infant; St. Sixtus and St. Barbara kneeling, one on each side, and two Angels in the fore-part.

It was the chief altar-piece in the cloister of St. Sixtus at Piacenza, which was crouded by connoisseurs, who came to see this Raphael, in the same manner as Thespis was in the days of old, for the sake of the beautiful Cupid of Praxiteles.

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Behold the Madonna! her face brightens with innocence; a form above the female size, and the calmness of her mien, make her appear as already beatified: she has that silent awfulness which the ancients spread over their deities. How grand, how noble is her Contour!

The child in her arms is elevated above vulgar children, by a face darting the beams of divinity through every smiling feature of harmless childhood.

St. Barbara kneels, with adoring stillness, at her side: but being far beneath the majesty of the chief figure, the great artist compensated her humbler graces with soft enticing charms.

The Saint opposite to her is venerable with age. His features seem to bear witness of his sacred youth.

The veneration which St. Barbara declares for the Madonna, expressed in the most sensible and pathetic manner, by her fine hands clasped on her breast, helps to support[39] the motion of one of St. Sixtus’s hands, by which he utters his extasy, better becoming (as the artist judiciously thought, and chose for variety’s sake) manly strength, than female modesty.

Time, ’tis true, has withered the primitive splendour of this picture, and partly blown off its lively colours; but still the soul, with which the painter inspired his godlike work, breathes life through all its parts.

Let those that approach this, and the rest of Raphael’s works, in hopes of finding there the trifling Dutch and Flemish beauties, the laboured nicety of Netscher, or Douw, flesh ivorified by Van der Werf, or even the licked manner of some of Raphael’s living countrymen; let those, I say, be told, that Raphael was not a great master for them.

[40]

V. Workmanship in Sculpture. After these remarks on the Nature, the Contour, the Drapery, the simplicity and grandeur of Expression in the performances of the Greek artists, we shall proceed to some inquiries into their method of working.

Their models were generally made of wax; instead of which the moderns used clay, or such like unctuous stuff, as seeming fitter for expressing flesh, than the more gluey and tenacious wax.

A method however not new, though more frequent in our times: for we know even the name of that ancient who first attempted modelling in wet clay; ’twas Dibutades of Sicyon; and Arcesilaus, the friend of Lucullus, grew more famous by his models of clay than his other performances. He made for Lucullus a figure of clay representing Happiness, and received 60,000 sesterces:[41] and Octavius, a Roman Knight, paid him a talent for the model only of a large dish, in plaister, which he designed to have finished in gold.

Of all materials, clay might be allowed to be the fittest for shaping figures, could it preserve its moistness; but losing that by time or fire, its solider parts, contracting by degrees, lessen the bulk of the mass; and that which is formed, being of different diameters, grows sooner dry in some parts than in others, and the dry ones being shrunk to a smaller size, there will be no proportion kept in the whole.

From this inconvenience wax is always free: it loses nothing of its bulk; and there are also means to give it the smoothness of flesh, which is refused to modelling; viz. you make your model of clay, mould it with plaister, and cast the wax over it.

But for transferring their models to the marble, the Greeks seem to have possessed[42] some peculiar advantages, which are now lost: for you discover, every where in their works, the traces of a confident hand; and even in those of inferior rank, it would be no easy matter to prove a wrong cut. Surely hands so steady, so secure, must of necessity have been guided by rules more determinate and less arbitrary than we can boast of.

The usual method of our sculptors is, to quarter the well-prepared model with horizontals and perpendiculars, and, as is common in copying a picture, to draw a relative number of squares on the marble.

Thus, regular gradations of a scale being supposed, every small square of the model has its corresponding one on the marble. But the contents of the relative masses not being determinable by a measured surface, the artist, though he gives to his stone the resemblance of the model, yet, as he only depends on the precarious aid of his eye, he shall never cease wavering, as to his doing right or wrong, cutting too flat or too deep.

[43]

Nor can he find lines to determine precisely the outlines, or the Contour of the inward parts, and the centre of his model, in so fixed and unchangeable a manner, as to enable him, exactly, to transfer the same Contours upon his stone.

To all this add, that, if his work happens to be too voluminous for one single hand, he must trust to those of his journeymen and disciples, who, too often, are neither skilful nor cautious enough to follow their master’s design; and if once the smallest trifle be cut wrong, for it is impossible to fix, by this method, the limits of the cuts, all is lost.

It is to be remarked in general, that every sculptor, who carries on his chisselings their whole length, on first fashioning his marble, and does not prepare them by gradual cuts for the last final strokes; it is to be remarked, I say, that he never can keep his work free from faults.

[44]

Another chief defect in that method is this: the artist cannot help cutting off, every moment, the lines on his block; and though he restore them, cannot possibly be sure of avoiding mistakes.

On account of this unavoidable uncertainty, the artists found themselves obliged to contrive another method, and that which the French academy at Rome first made use of for copying antiques, was applied by many even to modelled performances.

Over the statue which you want to copy, you fix a well-proportioned square, dividing it into equally distant degrees, by plummets: by these the outlines of the figure are more distinctly marked than they could possibly be by means of the former method: they moreover afford the artist an exact measure of the more prominent or lower parts, by the degrees in which these parts are near them, and in short, allow him to go on with more confidence.

[45]

But the undulations of a curve being not determinable by a single perpendicular, the Contours of the figure are but indifferently indicated to the artist; and among their many declinations from a straight surface, his tenour is every moment lost.

The difficulty of discovering the real proportions of the figures, may also be easily imagined: they seek them by horizontals placed across the plummets. But the rays reflected from the figure through the squares, will strike the eye in enlarged angles, and consequently appear bigger, in proportion as they are high or low to the point of view.

Nevertheless, as the ancient monuments must be most cautiously dealt with, plummets are still of use in copying them, as no surer or easier method has been discovered: but for performances to be done from models they are unfit for want of precision.

Michael Angelo went alone a way unknown before him, and (strange to tell!)[46] untrod since the time of that genius of modern sculpture.

This Phidias of latter times, and next to the Greeks, hath, in all probability, hit the very mark of his great masters. We know at least no method so eminently proper for expressing on the block every, even the minutest, beauty of the model.

Vasari[13] seems to give but a defective description of this method, viz. Michael[47] Angelo took a vessel filled with water, in which he placed his model of wax, or some such indissoluble matter: then, by degrees, raised it to the surface of the water. In this manner the prominent parts were unwet, the lower covered, ’till the whole at length appeared. Thus says Vasari, he cut his marble, proceeding from the more prominent parts to the lower ones.

Vasari, it seems, either mistook something in the management of his friend, or by the negligence of his account gives us room to imagine it somewhat different from what he relates.

The form of the vessel is not determined; to raise the figure from below would prove too troublesome, and presupposes much more than this historian had a mind to inform us of.

Michael Angelo, no doubt, thoroughly examined his invention, its conveniencies and inconveniencies, and in all probability observed the following method.

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He took a vessel proportioned to his model; for instance, an oblong square: he marked the surface of its sides with certain dimensions, and these he transferred afterwards, with regular gradations, on the marble. The inside of the vessel he marked to the bottom with degrees. Then he laid, or, if of wax, fastened his model in it; he drew, perhaps, a bar over the vessel suitable to its dimensions, according to whose number he drew, first, lines on his marble, and immediately after, the figure; he poured water on the model till it reached its outmost points, and after having fixed upon a prominent part, he drew off as much water as hindered him from seeing it, and then went to work with his chissel, the degrees shewing him how to go on; if, at the same time, some other part of the model appeared, it was copied too, as far as seen.

Water was again carried off, in order to let the lower parts appear; by the degrees he saw to what pitch it was reduced, and[49] by its smoothness he discovered the exact surfaces of the lower parts; nor could he go wrong, having the same number of degrees to guide him, upon his marble.

The water not only pointed him out the heights or depths, but also the Contour of his model; and the space left free on the insides to the surface of the water, whose largeness was determined by the degrees of the two other sides, was the exact measure of what might safely be cut down from the block.

His work had now got the first form, and a correct one: the levelness of the water had drawn a line, of which every prominence of the mass was a point; according to the diminution of the water the line sunk in a horizontal direction, and was followed by the artist ’till he discovered the declinations of the prominences, and their mingling with the lower parts. Proceeding thus with every degree, as it appeared, he finished the Contour, and took his model out of the water.

[50]

His figure wanted beauty: he again poured water to a proper height over his model, and then numbering the degrees to the line described by the water, he descried the exact height of the protuberant parts; on these he levelled his rule, and took the measure of the distance, from its verge to the bottom; and then comparing all he had done with his marble, and finding the same number of degrees, he was geometrically sure of success.

Repeating his task, he attempted to express the motion and re-action of nerves and muscles, the soft undulations of the smaller parts, and every imitable beauty of his model. The water insinuating itself, even into the most inaccessible parts, traced their Contour with the correctest sharpness and precision.

This method admits of every possible posture. In profile especially, it discovers every inadvertency; shews the Contour of[51] the prominent and lower parts, and the whole diameter.

All this, and the hope of success, presupposes a model formed by skilful hands, in the true taste of antiquity.

This is the way by which Michael Angelo arrived at immortality. Fame and rewards conspired to procure him what leisure he wanted, for performances which required so much care.

But the artist of our days, however endowed by nature and industry with talents to raise himself, and even though he perceive precision and truth in this method, is forced to exert his abilities for getting bread rather than honour: he of course rests in his usual sphere, and continues to trust in an eye directed by years and practice.

Now this eye, by the observations of which he is chiefly ruled, being at last, though by a great deal of uncertain practice, become almost decisive: how refined, how exact[52] might it not have been, if, from early youth, acquainted with never-changing rules!

And were young artists, at their first beginning to shape the clay or form the wax, so happy as to be instructed in this sure method of Michael Angelo, which was the fruit of long researches, they might with reason hope to come as near the Greeks as he did.

VI. Painting. Greek Painting perhaps would share all the praises bestowed on their Sculpture, had time and the barbarity of mankind allowed us to be decisive on that point.

All the Greek painters are allowed is Contour and Expression. Perspective, Composition, and Colouring, are denied them; a judgment founded on some bas-reliefs, and the new-discovered ancient (for we dare not say Greek) pictures, at and near Rome, in the subterranean vaults of the palaces of[53] Mæcenas, Titus, Trajan, and the Antonini; of which but about thirty are preserved entire, some being only in Mosaic.

Turnbull, to his treatise on ancient painting, has subjoined a collection of the most known ancient pictures, drawn by Camillo Paderni, and engraved by Mynde; and these alone give some value to the magnificent and abused paper of his work. Two of them are copied from originals in the cabinet of the late Dr. Mead.

That Poussin much studied the pretended Aldrovandine Nuptials; that drawings are found done by Annibal Carracci, from the presumed Marcius Coriolanus; and that there is a most striking resemblance between the heads of Guido, and those on the Mosaic representing Jupiter carrying off Europa, are remarks long since made.

Indeed, if ancient Painting were to be judged by these, and such like remains of Fresco pictures, Contour and Expression might be wrested from it in the same manner.[54] For the pictures, with figures as big as life, pulled off with the walls of the Herculanean theatre, afford but a very poor idea of the Contour and Expression of the ancient painters. Theseus, the conqueror of the Minotaur, worshipped by the Athenian youths; Flora with Hercules and a Faunus; the pretended judgment of the Decemvir Appius Claudius, are on the testimony of an artist who saw them, of a Contour as mean as faulty; and the heads want not only Expression, but those in the Claudius even Character.

But even this is an evident instance of the meanness of the artists: for the science of beautiful Proportions, of Contour, and Expression, could not be the exclusive privilege of Greek sculptors alone.

However, though I am for doing justice to the ancients, I have no intention to lessen the merit of the moderns.

In Perspective there is no comparison between them and the ancients, whom no[55] earned defence can intitle to any superiority in that science. The laws of Composition and Ordonnance seem to have been but imperfectly known by the ancients: the reliefs of the times when the Greek arts were flourishing at Rome, are instances of this. The accounts of the ancient writers, and the remains of Painting are likewise, in point of Colouring, decisive in favour of the moderns.

There are several other objects of Paintings which, in modern times, have attained greater perfection: such are landscapes and cattle pieces. The ancients seem not to have been acquainted with the handsomer varieties of different animals in different climes, if we may conclude from the horse of M. Aurelius; the two horses in Monte Cavallo; the pretended Lysippean horses above the portal of St. Mark’s church at Venice; the Farnesian bull, and other animals of that groupe.

[56]

I observe, by the bye, that the ancients were careless of giving to their horses the diametrical motion of their legs; as we see in the horses at Venice, and the ancient coins: and in that they have been followed, nay even defended, by some ignorant moderns.

’Tis chiefly to oil-painting that our landscapes, and especially those of the Dutch, owe their beauties: by that their colours acquired more strength and liveliness; and even nature herself seems to have given them a thicker, moister atmosphere, as an advantage to this branch of the art.

These, and some other advantages over the ancients, deserve to be set forth with more solid arguments than we have hitherto had.

VII. Allegory. There is one other important step left towards the atchievement of the art: but the artist, who, boldly forsaking[57] the common path, dares to attempt it, finds himself at once on the brink of a precipice, and starts back dismayed.

The stories of martyrs and saints, fables and metamorphoses, are almost the only objects of modern painters—repeated a thousand times, and varied almost beyond the limits of possibility, every tolerable judge grows sick at them.

The judicious artist falls asleep over a Daphne and Apollo, a Proserpine carried off by Pluto, an Europa, &c. he wishes for occasions to shew himself a poet, to produce significant images, to paint Allegory.

Painting goes beyond the senses: there is its most elevated pitch, to which the Greeks strove to raise themselves, as their writings evince. Parrhasius, like Aristides, a painter of the soul, was able to express the character even of a whole people: he painted the Athenians as mild as cruel, as fickle as steady, as brave as timid. Such a representation owes its possibility only to the allegorical[58] method, whose images convey general ideas.

But here the artist is lost in a desart. Tongues the most savage, which are entirely destitute of abstracted ideas, containing no word whose sense could express memory, space, duration, &c. these tongues, I say, are not more destitute of general signs, than painting in our days. The painter who thinks beyond his palette longs for some learned apparatus, by whose stores he might be enabled to invest abstracted ideas with sensible and meaning images. Nothing has yet been published of this kind, to satisfy a rational being; the essays hitherto made are not considerable, and far beneath this great design. The artist himself knows best in what degree he is satisfied with Ripa’s Iconology, and the emblems of ancient nations, by Van Hooghe.

Hence the greatest artists have chosen but vulgar objects. Annibal Caracci, instead of representing in general symbols and sensible[59] images the history of the Farnesian family, as an allegorical poet, wasted all his skill in fables known to the whole world.

Go, visit the galleries of monarchs, and the publick repositories of art, and see what difference there is between the number of allegorical, poetical, or even historical performances, and that of fables, saints, or madonnas.

Among great artists, Rubens is the most eminent, who first, like a sublime poet, dared to attempt this untrodden path. His most voluminous composition, the gallery of Luxembourg, has been communicated to the world by the hands of the best engravers.

After him the sublimest performance undertaken and finished, in that kind, is, no doubt, the cupola of the imperial library at Vienna, painted by Daniel Gran, and engraved by Sedelmayer. The Apotheosis of Hercules at Versailles, done by Le Moine, and alluding to the Cardinal Hercules de[60] Fleury, though deemed in France the most august of compositions, is, in comparison of the learned and ingenious performance of the German artist, but a very mean and short-sighted Allegory, resembling a panegyric, the most striking beauties of which are relative to the almanack. The artist had it in his power to indulge grandeur, and his flipping the occasion is astonishing: but even allowing, that the Apotheosis of a minister was all that he ought to have decked the chief cieling of a royal palace with, we nevertheless see through his fig-leaf.

The artist would require a work, containing every image with which any abstracted idea might be poetically inverted; a work collected from all mythology, the best poets of all ages, the mysterious philosophy of different nations, the monuments of the ancients on gems, coins, utensils, &c. This magazine should be distributed into several classes, and, with proper applications to peculiar possible cases, adapted to the instruction of the artist.[61] This would, at the same time, open a vast field for imitating the ancients, and participating of their sublimer taste.

The taste in our decorations, which, since the complaints of Vitruvius, hath changed for the worse, partly by the grotesques brought in vogue by Morto da Feltro, partly by our trifling house-painting, might also, from more intimacy with the ancients, reap the advantages of reality and common sense.

The Caricatura-carvings, and favourite shells, those chief supports of our ornaments, are full as unnatural as the candle-sticks of Vitruvius, with their little castles and palaces: how easy would it be, by the help of Allegory, to give some learned convenience to the smallest ornament!

Reddere personæ scit convenientia cuique. Hor. Paintings of ceilings, doors, and chimney-pieces, are commonly but the expletives of these places, because they cannot be gilt[62] all over. Not only they have not the least relation to the rank and circumstances of the proprietor, but often throw some ridicule or reflection upon him.

’Tis an abhorrence of barrenness that fills walls and rooms; and pictures void of thought must supply the vacuum.

Hence the artist, abandoned to the dictates of his own fancy, paints, for want of Allegory, perhaps a satire on him to whom he owes his industry; or, to shun this Charybdis, finds himself reduced to paint figures void of any meaning.

Nay, he may often find it difficult to meet even with those, ’till at last

——velut ægri Somnia, vanæ Finguntur Species. Hor. Thus Painting is degraded from its most eminent prerogative, the representation of invisible, past and future things.

If pictures be sometimes met with, which might be significant in some particular[63] place, they often lose that property by stupid and wrong applications.

Perhaps the master of some new building

Dives agris, dives positis in fœnore nummis Hor. may, without the least compunction for offending the rules of perspective, place figures of the smallest size above the vast doors of his apartments and salloons. I speak here of those ornaments which make part of the furniture; not of figures which are often, and for good reasons, set up promiscuously in collections.

The decorations of architecture are often as ill-chosen. Arms and trophies deck a hunting-house as nonsensically, as Ganymede and the eagle, Jupiter and Leda, figure it among the reliefs of the brazen gates of St. Peter’s church at Rome.

Arts have a double aim: to delight and to instruct. Hence the greatest landscape-painters think, they have fulfilled but half[64] their task in drawing their pieces without figures.

Let the artist’s pencil, like the pen of Aristotle, be impregnated with reason; that, after having satiated the eye, he may nourish the mind: and this he may obtain by Allegory; investing, not hiding his ideas. Then, whether he chuse some poetical object himself, or follow the dictates of others, he shall be inspired by his art, shall be fired with the flame brought down from heaven by Prometheus, shall entertain the votary of art, and instruct the mere lover of it.

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A LETTER, CONTAINING OBJECTIONS AGAINST The foregoing Reflexions. [66]

[67]

SIR,

As you have written on the Greek arts and artists, I wish you had made your treatise as much the object of your caution as the Greek artists made their works; which, before dismissing them, they exhibited to publick view, in order to be examined by everybody, and especially by competent judges of the art. The trial was held during the grand, chiefly the Olympian, games; and all Greece was interested on Ætion’s producing his picture of the nuptials of Alexander and Roxana. You, Sir, wanted a Proxenidas[68] to be judged by, as well as that artist; and had it not been for your mysterious concealment, I might have communicated your treatise, before its publication, to some learned men and connoisseurs of my acquaintance, without mentioning the author’s name.

One of them visited Italy twice, where he devoted all his time to a most anxious examination of painting, and particularly several months to each eminent picture, at the very place where it was painted; the only method, you know, to form a connoisseur. The judgment of a man able to tell you which of Guido’s altar-pieces is painted on taffeta, or linnen, what sort of wood Raphael chose for his transfiguration, &c. the judgment of such a man, I fancy, must be allowed to be decisive.

Another of my acquaintance has studied antiquity: he knows it by the very smell;

Callet & Artificem solo deprendere Odore. Sectan. Sat. [69]

He can tell you the number of knots on Hercules’s club; has reduced Nestor’s goblet to the modern measure: nay, is suspected of meditating solutions to all the questions proposed by Tiberius to the grammarians.

A third, for several years past, has neglected every thing but hunting after ancient coins. Many a new discovery we owe to him; especially some concerning the history of the ancient coiners; and, as I am told, he is to rouse the attention of the world by a Prodromus concerning the coiners of Cyzicum.

What a number of reproaches might you have escaped, had you submitted your Essay to the judgment of these gentlemen! they were pleased to acquaint me with their objections, and I should be sorry, for your honour, to see them published.

Among other objections, the first is surprized at your passing by the two Angels, in your description of the Raphael in the royal cabinet at Dresden; having been told, that a Bolognese painter, in mentioning this piece,[70] which he saw at St. Sixtus’s at Piacenza, breaks into these terms of admiration: O! what Angels of Paradise[14]! by which he supposes those Angels to be the most beautiful figures of the picture.

The same person would reproach you for having described that picture in the manner of Raguenet[15].

The second concludes the beard of Laocoon to be as worthy of your attention as his contracted belly: for every admirer of Greek works, says he, must pay the same respect to the beard of Laocoon, which father Labat paid to that of the Moses of Michael Angelo.

This learned Dominican,

Qui mores hominum multorum vidit & urbes, has, after so many centuries, drawn from[71] this very statue an evident proof of the true fashion in which Moses wore his own individual beard, and whose imitation must, of course, be the distinguishing mark of every true Jew[16].

There is not the least spark of learning, says he, in your remarks on the Peplon of the three vestals: he might perhaps, on the very inflection of the veil, have discovered to you as many curiosities as Cuper himself found on the edge of the veil of Tragedy in the Apotheosis of Homer[17].

We also want proof of the vestals being[72] really Greek performances: our reason fails us too often in the most obvious things. If unhappily the marble of these figures should be proved to be no Lychnites, they are lost, and your treatise too: had you but slightly told us their marble was large-grained, that would have been a sufficient proof of their authenticity; for it would be somewhat difficult to determine the bigness of the grains with such exactness as to distinguish the Greek marble from the Roman of Luna. But the worst is, they are even denied the title of vestals.

The third mentioned some heads of Livia and Agrippina, without that pretended profile of yours. Here he thinks you had the most lucky occasion to talk of that kind of nose by the ancients called Quadrata, as an ingredient of beauty. But you no doubt know, that the noses of some of the most famous Greek statues, viz. the Medicean Venus, and the Picchinian Meleager, are[73] much too thick for becoming the model of beauty, in that kind, to our artists.

I shall not, however, gall you with all the doubts and objections raised against your treatise, and repeated to nauseousness, upon the arrival of an Academician, the Margites of our days, who, being shewed your treatise, gave it a slight glance, then laid it aside, offended as it were at first sight. But it was easy to perceive that he wanted his opinion to be asked, which we accordingly all did. “The author, said he very peremptorily, seems not to have been at much pains with this treatise: I cannot find above four or five quotations, and those negligently inserted; no chapter, no page, cited; he certainly collected his remarks from books which he is ashamed to produce.”

Yet cannot I help introducing another gentleman, sharp-sighted enough to pick out something that had escaped all my attention; viz. that the Greeks were the[74] first inventors of Painting and Sculpture; an assertion, as he was pleased to express himself, entirely false, having been told it was the Egyptians, or some people still more ancient, and unknown to him.

Even the most whimsical humour may be turned to profit: nevertheless, I think it manifest that you intended to talk only of good Taste in those arts; and the first Elements of an art have the same proportion to good Taste in it, as the seed has to the fruit. That the art was still in its infancy among the Egyptians, when it had attained the highest degree of perfection among the Greeks, may be seen by examining one single gem: you need only consider the head of Ptolomæus Philopator by Aulus, and the two figures adjoining to it done by an Egyptian[18], in order to be convinced of the little merit this nation could pretend to in point of art.

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The form and taste of their Painting have been ascertained by Middleton.[19] The pictures of persons as big as life, on two mummies in the royal cabinet of antiquities at Dresden, are evident instances of their incapacity. But these relicks being curious, in several other respects, I shall hereafter subjoin a short account of them.

I cannot, my friend, help allowing some reason for several of these objections. Your negligence in your quotations was, no doubt, somewhat prejudicial to your authenticity: the art of changing blue eyes to black ones, certainly deserved an authority. You imitate Democritus; who being asked, “What is man?” every body knows what was his reply. What reasonable creature will submit to read all Greek scholiasts!

Ibit eo, quo vis, qui Zonam perdidit— Hor. Considering, however, how easily the human[76] mind is biassed, either by friendship or animosity, I took occasion from these objections to examine your treatise with more exactness; and shall now, by the most impartial censure, strive to clear myself from every imputation of prepossession in your favour.

I will pass by the first and second page, though something might be said on your comparison of the Diana with the Nausicaa, and the application: nor would it have been amiss, had you thrown some more light on the remark concerning the misused pictures of Corregio (very likely borrowed from Count Tessin’s letters), by giving an account of the other indignities which the pictures of the best artists, at the same time, met with at Stockholm.

It is well known that, after the surrender of Prague to Count Konigsmark, the 15th of July 1648, the most precious pictures of the Emperor Rodolph II. were carried off[77] to Sweden[20]. Among these were some pictures of Corregio, which the Emperor had been presented with by their first possessor, Duke Frederick of Mantua; two of them being the famous Leda, and a Cupid handling his bow[21]. Christina, endowed at that time rather with scholastic learning than taste, treated these treasures as the Emperor Claudius did an Alexander of Apelles; who ordered the head to be cut off, and that of Augustus to fill its place[22]. In the same manner heads, hands, feet were here cut off from the most beautiful pictures; a carpet was plastered over with them, and the mangled pieces fitted up with new heads, &c. Those that fortunately escaped the common havock, among which were the pieces of Corregio, came afterwards, together with several other pictures, bought by[78] the Queen at Rome, into the possession of the Duke of Orleans, who purchased 250 of them, and among those eleven of Corregio, for 9000 Roman crowns.

But I am not contented with your charging only the northern countries with barbarism, on account of the little esteem they paid to the arts. If good taste is to be judged in this manner, I am afraid for our French neighbours. For having taken Bonn, the residence of the Elector of Cologne, after the death of Max. Henry, they ordered the largest pictures to be cut out of their frames, without distinction, in order to serve for coverings to the waggons, in which the most valuable furniture of the electoral castle was carried off for France. But, Sir, do not presume on my continuing with mere historical remarks: I shall proceed with my objections; after making the two following general observations.

I. You have written in a style too concise for being distinct. Were you afraid of[79] being condemned to the penalty of a Spartan, who could not restrain himself to only three words, perhaps that of reading Picciardin’s Pisan War? Distinctness is required where universal instruction is the end. Meats are to suit the taste of the guests, rather than that of the cooks,

——Cœnæ fercula nostræ Malim convivis quam placuisse coquis. II. There appears, in almost every line of yours, the most passionate attachment to antiquity; which perhaps I shall convince you of, by the following remarks.

The first particular objection I have to make is against your third page. Remember, however, that my passing by two pages is very generous dealing:

non temere a me Quivis ferret idem: Hor. but let us now begin a formal trial.

[80]

The author talks of certain negligences in the Greek works, which ought to be considered suitably to Lucian’s precepts concerning the Zeus of Phidias: “Zeus himself, not his footstool;”[23] though perhaps he could not be charged with any fault in the foot-stool, but with a very grievous one in the statue.

Is it no fault that Phidias made his Zeus of so enormous a bulk, as almost to reach the cieling of the temple, which must infallibly have been thrown down, had the god taken it in his head to rise?[24] To have left the temple without any cieling at all, like that of the Olympian Jupiter at Athens, had been an instance of more judgment[25].

’Tis but justice to claim an explication of what the author means by “negligences”. He perhaps might be pleased to get a passport, even for the faults of the ancients, by sheltering them under the authority of[81] such titles; nay, to change them into beauties, as Alcæus did the spot on the finger of his beloved boy. We too often view the blemishes of the ancients, as a parent does those of his children:

Strabonem Appellat pætum pater, & pullum, male parvus Si cui filius est. Hor. If these negligences were like those wished for in the Jalysus of Protogenes, where the chief figure was out-shone by a partridge, they might be considered as the agreeable negligée of a fine lady; but this is the question. Besides, had the author consulted his interest, he never would have ventured citing the Diomedes of Dioscorides: but being too well acquainted with that gem, one of the most valued, most finished monuments of Greek art; and being apprehensive of the prejudice that might arise against the meaner productions of the ancients, on discovering many faults in one so eminent as Diomedes;[82] he endeavoured to keep matters from being too nearly examined, and to soften every fault into negligence.

How! if by argument I shall attempt to shew that Dioscorides understood neither perspective, nor the most trivial rules of the motion of a human body; nay, that he offended even against possibility? I’ll venture to do it, though

incedo per ignes Suppositos cineri doloso. Hor. And perhaps I am not the first discoverer of his faults: yet I do not remember to have seen any thing relative to them.

The Diomedes of Dioscorides is either a sitting, or a rising figure; for the attitude is ambiguous. It is plain he is not sitting; and rising is inconsistent with his action.

Our body endeavouring to raise itself from a seat, moves always mechanically towards its sought-for centre of gravity, drawing back[83] the legs, which were advanced in sitting[26]; instead of which the figure stretches out his right leg. Every erection begins with elevated heels, and in that moment all the weight of the body is supported only by the toes, which was observed by Felix[27], in his Diomedes: but here all rests on the sole.

Nor can Diomedes, (if we suppose him to be a sitting figure, as he touches with his left leg the bottom of his thigh) find, in raising himself, the centre of his gravity, only by a retraction of his legs, and of course cannot rise in that posture. His left hand resting upon the bended leg, holds the palladion, whilst his right touches negligently the pedestal with the point of a short sword; consequently he cannot rise, neither moving his legs in the natural and easy manner required in any erection, nor making[84] use of his arms to deliver himself from that uneasy situation.

There is at the same time a fault committed against the rules of perspective.

The foot of the left bended leg, touching the cornice of the pedestal, shews it over-reaching that part of the floor, on which the pedestal and the right foot are situated, consequently the line described by the hinder-foot is the fore on the gem, and vice versa.

But allowing even a possibility to that situation, it is contrary to the Greek character, which is always distinguished by the natural and easy. Attributes neither to be met with in the contortions of Diomedes, nor in an attitude, the impossibility of which every one must be sensible of, in endeavouring to put himself in it, without the help of former sitting.

Felix, supposed to have lived after Dioscorides, though preserving the same attitude, has endeavoured to make its violence more natural, by opposing to him the figure of[85] Ulysses, who, as we are told, in order to bereave him of the honour of having seized the Palladion, offered to rob him of it, but being discovered, was repulsed by Diomedes; which being his supposed action on the gem, allows violence of attitude[28].

Diomedes cannot be a sitting figure, for the Contour of his buttock and thigh is free, and not in the least compressed: the foot of the bent leg is visible, and the leg itself not bent enough.

The Diomedes represented by Mariette is absurd; the left leg resembling a clasped pocket-knife, and the foot being drawn up so high as to make it impossible in nature that it should reach the pedestal[29].

Faults of this kind cannot be called negligences, and would not be forgiven in any modern artist.

Dioscorides, ’tis true, in this renowned performance did but copy Polycletus, whose[86] Doryphorus (as is commonly agreed) was the best rule of human proportions[30]. But, though a copyist, Dioscorides escaped a fault which his master fell into. For the pedestal, over which the Diomedes of Polycletus leans, is contrary to the most common rules of perspective; its cornices, which should be parallel, forming two different lines.

I wonder at Perrault’s omitting to make objections against the ancient gems.

I mean not to do any thing derogatory to the author, when I trace some of his particular observations to their source.

The food prescribed to the young wrestlers, in the remoter times of Greece, is mentioned by Pausanias[31]. But if the author alluded to the passage which I have in view, why does he talk in general of milk-food, when Pausanias particularly mentions soft cheese?[87] Dromeus of Stymphilos, we learn there, first introduced flesh meat.

My researches, concerning their mysterious art of changing blue eyes to black ones, have not succeeded to my wish. I find it mentioned but once, and that only by the bye by Dioscorides[32]. The author, by clearing up this art, might perhaps have thrown a greater lustre over his treatise, than by producing his new method of statuary. He had it in his power to fix the eyes of the Newtons and Algarotti’s, on a problem worth their attention, and to engage the fair sex, by a discovery so advantageous to their charms, especially in Germany, where, contrary to Greece, large, fine, blue eyes are more frequently met with than black ones.

There was a time when the fashion required to be green eyed:

Et si bel oeil vert & riant & clair: Le Sire de Coucy, chans. [88]

But I do not know whether art had any share in their colouring. And as to the small-pox, Hippocrates might be quoted, if grammatical disquisitions suited my purpose.

However, I think, no effects of the small-pox on a face can be so much the reverse of beauty, as that defect which the Athenians were reproachfully charged with, viz. a buttock as pitiful as their face was perfect[33]. Indeed Nature, in so scantily supplying those parts, seemed to derogate as much from the Athenian beauty, as, by her lavishness, from that of the Indian Enotocets, whose ears, we are told, were large enough to serve them for pillows.

As for opportunities to study the nudities, our times, I think, afford as advantageous ones as the Gymnasies of the ancients. ’Tis the fault of our artists to make no use of that[34] proposed to the Parisian artists,[89] viz. to walk, during the summer season, along the Seine, in order to have a full view of the naked parts, from the sixth to the fiftieth year.

’Tis perhaps to Michael Angelo’s frequenting such opportunities that we owe his celebrated Carton of the Pisan war[35], where the soldiers bathing in a river, at the sound of a trumpet leap out of the water, and make haste to huddle on their cloaths.

One of the most offensive passages of the treatise is, no doubt, the unjust debasement of the modern sculptors beneath the ancients. These latter times are possessed of several Glycons in muscular heroic figures, and, in tender youthful female bodies, of more than one Praxiteles. Michael Angelo, Algardi, and Sluter, whose genius embellished Berlin, produced muscular bodies,

——Invicti membra Glyconis, Hor. [90]

in a style rivalling that of Glycon himself; and in delicacy the Greeks are perhaps even outdone by Bernini, Fiammingo, Le Gros, Rauchmüller, Donner.

The unskilfulness of the ancients, in shaping children, is agreed upon by our artists, who, I suppose, would for imitation choose a Cupid of Fiammingo rather than of Praxiteles himself. The story of M. Angelo’s placing a Cupid of his own by the side of an antique one, in order to inform our times of the superiority of the ancient art, is of no weight here: for no work of Michael Angelo can bring us so near perfection as Nature herself.

I think it no hyperbole to advance, that Fiammingo, like a new Prometheus, produced creatures which art had never seen before him. For, if from almost all the children on ancient gems[36] and[91] reliefs[37], we may form a conclusion of the art itself, it wanted the true expression of childhood, as looser forms, more milkiness, and unknit bones. Faults which, from the epoch of Raphael, all children laboured under, till the appearance of Francis Quesnoy, called Fiammingo, whose children having the advantages of suitable innocence and nature, became models to the following artists, as in youthful bodies Apollo and Antinous are: an honour which Algardi, his contemporary, may be allowed to share.

Their models in clay are, by our artists, esteemed superior to all the antique marble children; and an artist of genius and talents assured me, that during a stay of seven years at Vienna, he saw not one copy taken from an ancient Cupid in that academy.

Neither do I know on what singular idea of beauty, the ancient artists founded their custom, of hiding the foreheads of their[92] children and youths with hair. Thus a Cupid was represented by Praxiteles[38]; thus a Patroclus, in a picture mentioned by Philostratus[39]: and there is no statue nor bust, no gem nor coin of Antinous, in which we do not find him thus dressed. Hence, perhaps, that gloom, that melancholy, with which all the heads of this favourite of Hadrian are marked.

Is not there in a free open brow more nobleness and sublimity? and does not Bernini seem to have been better acquainted with beauty than the ancients, when he removed the over-shadowing locks from the forehead of young Lewis XIV. whose bust he was then executing? “Your Majesty, said Bernini, is King, and may with confidence shew your brow to all the world.” From that time King and court dressed their hair à la Bernini[40].

[93]

His judgment of the bas-reliefs on the monument of Pope Alexander VI[41]. leads us to some remarks on those of antiquity. “The skill in bas-relief, said he, consists in giving the air of relief to the flat: the figures of that monument seem what they are indeed, not what they are not.”

The chief end of bas-relief is to deck those places that want historical or allegorical ornaments, but which have neither cornices sufficiently spacious, nor proportions regular enough to allow groupes of entire statues: and as the cornice itself is chiefly intended to shelter the subordinate parts from being directly or indirectly hurt, no bas-relief must exceed the projection thereof; which would not only make the cornice of no use, but endanger the figures themselves.

The figures of ancient bas-reliefs shoot commonly so much forward as to become almost round. But bas-relief being founded[94] on fiction, can only counterfeit reality; its perfection is well to imitate; and a natural mass is against its nature: if flat, it ought to appear projected, and vice versa. If this be true, it must of course be allowed that figures wholly round are inconsistent with it, and are to be considered as solid marble pillars built upon the theatre, whose aim is mere illusion; for art, as is said of tragedy, wins truth from fiction, and that by truth. To art we often owe charms superior to those of nature: a real garden and vegetating trees, on the stage, do not affect us so agreeably, as when well expressed by the imitating art. A rose of Van Huisum, mallows of Veerendal, bewitch us more than all the darlings of the most skilful gardener: the most enticing landscape, nay, even the charms of the Thessalian Tempe, would not, perhaps, affect us with that irresistible delight which, flowing from Dietrick’s pencil, enchants our senses and imagination.

[95]

By such instances we may safely form a judgment of the ancient bas-reliefs: the royal cabinet at Dresden is possessed of two eminent ones: a Bacchanal on a tomb, and a sacrifice to Priapus on a large marble vase.

The bas-relief claims a particular kind of sculpture; a method that few have succeeded in, of which Matielli may be an instance. The Emperor Charles VI. having ordered some models to be prepared by the most renowned artists, in bas-relief, intended for the spiral columns at the church of S. Charles Borromæo; Matielli, already famous, was principally thought of; but however refused the honour of so considerable a work, on account of the enormous bulk of his model, which requiring too great cavities, would have diminished the mass of the stone, and of course weakened the pillars. Mader was the artist, whose models were universally applauded, and who by his admirable execution proved that he deserved[96] that preference. These bas-reliefs represent the story of the patron of this church.

It is in general to be observed, first, that this kind of sculpture admits not indifferently of every attitude and action; as for instance, of too strong projections of the legs. Secondly, That, besides disposing of the several modelled figures in well-ranged groupes, the diameter of every one ought to be applied to the bas-relief itself, by a lessened scale: as for instance, the diameter of a figure in the model being one foot, the profile of the same, according to its size, will be three inches, or less: the rounder a figure of that diameter, the greater the skill. Commonly the relief wants perspective, and thence arise most of its faults.

Though I proposed to make only a few remarks on the ancient bas-relief, I find myself, like a certain ancient Rhetor, almost under a necessity of being new-tuned. I have strayed beyond my limits; though at the same time I remembered that there is a[97] law among commentators, to content themselves with bare remarks on the contents of a treatise: and also sensible that I am writing a letter, not a book, I consider that I may draw some instructions for my own use,

——ut vineta egomet cædam mea, Hor. from some peoples impetuosity against the author; who, because they are hired for it, seem to think that writing is confined to them alone.

The Romans, though they worshipped the deity Terminus (the guardian God of limits and borders in general; and, if it please these gentlemen, of the limits in arts and sciences too), allowed nevertheless an universal unrestrained criticism: and the decisions of some Greeks and Romans, in matters of an art, which they did not practise, seem nevertheless authentick to our artists.

[98]

Nor can I find, that the keeper of the temple of peace at Rome, though possessed of the register of the pictures there, pretended to monopolize remarks and criticisms upon them; Pliny having described most of them.

Publica materies privati juris sit— Hor. ’Tis to be wished, that, roused by a Pamphilus and an Apelles, artists would take up the pen themselves, in order to discover the mysteries of the art to those that know how to use them,

Ma di costor’, che à lavorar s’accingono, Quattro quinti, per Dio, non sanno leggere. Salvator Rosa, Sat. III. Two or three of these are to be commended; the rest contented themselves with giving some historical accounts of the fraternity. But what could appear more auspicious to the improvement of the art, even[99] by the remotest posterity, than the work attempted by the united forces of the celebrated Pietro da Cortona[42] and Padre Ottonelli? Nevertheless this same treatise, except only a few historical remarks, and these too to be met with in an hundred books, seems good for nothing, but

Ne scombris tunicæ desint, piperique cuculli. Sectan. Sat. How trivial, how mean are the great Poussin’s reflexions on painting, published by Bellori, and annexed to his life of that artist[43]?

Another digression!—let me now again resume the character of your Aristarchus.

You are bold enough to attack the authority of Bernini, and to challenge a man, the bare mention of whose name would do honour to any treatise. It was[100] Bernini, you ought to recollect, Sir, who at the same age in which Michael Angelo performed his Studiolo[44], viz. in his eighteenth year, produced his Daphne, as a convincing instance of his intimacy with the ancients, at an age in which perhaps the genius of Raphael was yet labouring under darkness and ignorance!

Bernini was one of those favourites of nature, who produce at the same time vernal blossoms and autumnal fruits; and I think it by no means probable, that his studying nature in riper years misled either him or his disciples. The smoothness of his flesh was the result of that study, and imparted to the marble the highest possible degree of life and beauty. Indeed ’tis nature which endows art with life, and “vivifies forms,” as Socrates says[45], and Clito the sculptor allows. The great Lysippus, when asked[101] which of his ancestors he had chosen for his master, replied, “None; but nature alone.” It is not to be denied, that the too close imitation of antiquity is very often apt to lead us to a certain barrenness, unknown to those who imitate nature: various herself, nature teaches variety, and no votary of her’s can be charged with a sameness: whereas Guido, Le Brun, and some other votaries of antiquity, repeated the same face in many of their works. A certain ideal beauty was become so familiar to them, as to slide into their figures even against their will.

But as for such an imitation of nature, as is quite regardless of antiquity, I am entirely of the author’s opinion; though I should have chosen other artists as instances of following nature in painting.

Jordans certainly has not met with the regard due to his merit; let me appeal to an authority universally allowed. “There is,[102] says Mr. d’Argenville, more expression and truth in Jordans, than even in Rubens.

“Truth is the basis and origin of perfection and beauty; nothing, of any kind whatever, can be beautiful or perfect, without being truly what it ought to be, without having all it ought to have.”

The solidity of this judgment presupposed, Jordans, according to Rochefoucault’s maxims, ought rather to be ranked among the greatest originals, than among the mimicks of common nature, where Rembrandt may fill up his place, as Raoux or Vatteau that of Stella; though all these painters do nothing but what Euripides did before them; they draw man ad vivum. There are no trifles, no meannesses in the art, and if we recollect of what use the Caricatura was to Bernini, we should be cautious how we pass judgment even on the Dutch forms. That great genius, they say[46], owed to this[103] monster of the art, a distinction for which he was so eminent, the “Franchezza del Tocco.” When I reflect on this, I am forced to alter my former opinion of the Caricatura, so far as to believe that no artist ever acquired a perfection therein without gaining a farther improvement in the art itself. “It is, says the author, a peculiar distinction of the ancients to have gone beyond nature:” our artists do the same in their Caricaturas: but of what avail to them are the voluminous works they have published on that branch of the art?

The author lays it down, in the peremptory style of a legislator, that “Precision of Contour can only be learned from the Greeks:” but our academies unanimously agree, that the ancients deviate from a strict Contour in the clavicles, arms, knees, &c. over which, in spite of apophyses and bones, they drew their skin as smooth as over mere flesh; whereas our academies teach to draw the bony and cartilaginous[104] parts, more angularly, but the fat and fleshy ones more smooth, and carefully to avoid falling into the ancient style. Pray, Sir, can there be any error in the advices of academies in corpore?

Parrhasius himself, the father of Contour, was not, by Pliny’s account[47], master enough to hit the line by which completeness is distinguished from superfluity: shunning corpulency he fell into leanness: and Zeuxis’s Contour was perhaps like that of Rubens, if it be true that, to augment the majesty of his figures, he drew with more completeness. His female figures he drew like those of Homer[48], of robust limbs: and does not even the tenderest of poets, Theocritus, draw his Helen as fleshy and tall[49] as the Venus of Raphael in the assembly of the gods in the little Farnese? Rubens then, for painting like Homer and Theocritus, needs no apology.

[105]

The character of Raphael, in the treatise, is drawn with truth and exactness: but well may we ask the author, as Antalcidas the Spartan asked a sophist, ready to burst forth in a panegyrick on Hercules, “Who blames him?” The beauties however of the Raphael at Dresden, especially the pretended ones of the Jesus, are still warmly disputed.

What you admire, we laugh at. Why did not he rather display his patriotism against those Italian connoisseurs, whose squeamish stomachs rise against every Flemish production?

Turpis Romano Belgicus ore color. Propert. L. II. Eleg. 8. And indeed are not colours so essential, that without them no picture can aspire to universal applause? Do not their bewitching charms cover the most grievous faults? They are the harmonious melody of painting;[106] whatever is offensive vanishes by their splendor, and souls animated with their beauties are absorbed in beholding, as the readers of Homer are by his flowing harmony, so as to find no faults. These, joined to that important science of Chiaro-Oscuro, are the characteristicks of Flemish painting.

Agreeably to affect our eye is the first thing in a picture[50], which to obtain, obvious charms are wanted; not such as spring only from reflection. Colouring moreover belongs peculiarly to pictures; whereas design ought to be in every draught, print, &c. and indeed seems easier to be attained than colouring.

The best colourists, according to a celebrated writer[51], have always come after the inventors and contourists; we all know the vain attempts of the famous Poussin. In short, all those

[107]

Qui rem Romanam Latiumque augescere student, Ennius. must here acknowledge the superiority of the Flemish art; the painter being really but nature’s mimick, is the more perfect the better he mimicks her.

Ast heic, quem nunc tu tam turpiter increpuisti, Ennius. the delicate Van der Werf, whose performances, worth their weight in gold, are the ornaments of royal cabinets only, has made nature inimitable to every Italian pencil; he allures the connoisseur’s eye as well as that of the clown; and, as an English poet says, “that no pleasing poet ever wrote ill,” surely the Flemish painter obtained that applause which was denied to Poussin.

I should be glad to see many pictures as happily fancied, as well composed, as enticingly painted as some of Gherard Lairesse: let me appeal to every unprepossessed artist[108] at Paris, acquainted with the Stratonice, the most eminent, and no doubt the first ranked picture in the cabinet of Mr. de la Boixieres[52].

The subject is of no trivial choice: King Seleucus I.[53] resigned his wife Stratonice, a daughter of Demetrius Poliorcetes, to his son Antiochus, whom a violent passion for his mother-in-law had thrown into a dangerous sickness: after many unsuccessful inquiries, the physician Erasistratus discovered the true cause, and found that the only means of restoring the prince’s health, was, the condescension of the father to the love of his son: the King resigned his Queen, and at the same time declared Antiochus King of the East.

[109]

Stratonice, the chief person, is the noblest figure, a figure worthy Raphael himself. The charming Queen,

Colle sob idæo vincere digna deas, Ovid. Art. with slow and hesitating steps, approaches the bed of her new lover; but still with the countenance of a mother, or rather of a sacred vestal. In the profile of her face you may read shame mingled with gentle resignation to the will of her lord. She has the softness of her sex, the majesty of a queen, an awful submission to the sacred ceremony, and all the sageness required in so extraordinary and delicate a situation. Dressed with a masterly skill, the artist, from the colour of her cloaths, may learn how to paint the purple of the ancients; for it is not generally known that it resembled fadeing, ruddy, vine-leaves[54].

[110]

Behind her stands the King, dressed in a darker habit, in order to give the more relief to the Queen, to spare confusion to her, shame to the Prince, and not to interrupt his joy. Expectation and acquiescence are blended in his face, which is taken from the profile of his best coins.

The Prince, a beautiful half-naked youth, sitting in his bed, has some resemblance of his father; his pale face bears witness of the fever, that lately had raged in his veins; but fancy sees returning health, not shame, in that soft-rising ruddiness diffused over his cheeks.

The physician and priest Erasistratus, venerable like the Calchas of Homer, standing before the bed, is the only speaker, authorised by the King, whose will he declares to the Prince; and whilst, with one hand, he leads the Queen to the embraces of her lover, with the other he presents him with the diadem. Joy and astonishment flash[111] from the Prince’s face on the approach of his Queen

——darting all the soul in missive love: though nobly restrained by reverence, he bends his head, and seems to comprise his happiness in a single thought.

The characters indeed are distributed with so much ingenuity, that they seem to give a lustre and energy to each other.

The largest share of light is displayed on Stratonice: she claims our first regard. The priest, though in a weaker light, is raised by his gesture: he is the speaker, and around him reign solemn stillness and attention.

The Prince, the second person, has a larger share of light; and though the artist, led by his skill, chose rather to make a beautiful Queen the chief support of his groupe than a sick Prince, He nevertheless maintains his due rank, and becomes the most eminent person of the whole, by his[112] expression. His face contains the greatest secrets of the art,

Quales nequeo monstrare & sentio tantum. Juvenal. Sat. VII. Even those motions of the soul, which otherwise seem opposite to each other, mingle here with peaceful harmony; a timid red spreading over his sickly face, announces health, like the faint glimmerings of the morn, which, though veiled by night, announce the day, and even a bright one.

The genius and taste of the artist shines forth in every part of his work: even the vases are copied from the best antique ones; the table before the bed, is, like Homer’s, of ivory.

The distances behind the figures represent a magnificent Greek building, whose decorations seem allegorical. The roof of a portal is supported by Cariatides embracing each other, as images of the tender friendship[113] between father and son, and alluding, at the same time, to the nuptial ceremony.

Though faithful to history, the painter was nevertheless a poet: in order to represent some circumstances, he filled even the furniture with sentiments. The Sphinxes by the Prince’s bed allude to his problematic sickness, the enquiries of Erasistratus, and his sagacity in discovering its true cause.

I have been told that some young Italian artists, when considering this picture, and perceiving the Prince’s arm perhaps a trifle too big, went off without enquiring into the subject itself. Should even Minerva herself, as she once did to Diomedes, attempt to deliver some people from the mist they labour under, by heaven! the attempt were vain!

——pauci dignoscere possunt Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota Erroris nebula. Juv. X. [114]

I have run into this long digression, in order to throw some light on one of the first productions of the art, which is nevertheless but little known.

The idea of noble simplicity and sedate grandeur in Raphael’s figures, might rather, as two eminent authors express it[55], be called “still life.” It is indeed the standard of the Greek art: however, indiscreetly commended to young artists, it might beget as dangerous consequences, as precepts of energetick conciseness in the style; the direct method to make it barren and unpleasing.

“In youths, says Cicero[56], there must be some superfluity, something to be taken off: prematurity spoils the juices, and it is easier to lop the young rank branches of a vine, than to restore its vigour to a worn out trunk.” Not to mention, that figures wanting gesture would, by the bulk[115] of mankind, be received as a speech before the Areopagites, where, by a severe law, the speaker was forbid to raise any passions, though ever so gentle[57]: nay, pictures of this kind would be so many portraits of young Spartans, who, with hands hid under their coats, and down-cast eyes, stalk forth in silent solemnity[58].

Neither am I quite of the author’s opinion with regard to allegory; the applying of which would too frequently do in painting, what was done in geometry by introducing algebra: the one would soon be as difficult as the other, and painting would degenerate into Hieroglyphicks.

The author attempts, in vain, to persuade us, that the majority of the Greeks thought as the Egyptians. There was no more learning in the painting of the platfond of the temple of Juno at Samos, than in that of the Farnese gallery. It represented the love-intrigues[116] of Jupiter and Juno[59]: and, in the front of a temple of Ceres at Eleusis, there was nothing but representations of a ceremony at the rites of that goddess[60].

How to represent abstract ideas I do not yet distinctly conceive. There may be the same difficulties which attend the endeavours of representing to the senses a mathematical point—perhaps nothing less than impossibility; and Theodoretus[61] has some reason in confining painting to the senses. For those Hieroglyphicks which hint at abstract ideas, in such a manner as to express, for instance[62], youth by the number XVI; impossibility by two feet standing on water: those, I say, are monograms, not images: to indulge them in painting is fostering chimæras, is[117] adding to Chinese pictures Chinese explications.

An adversary of allegory believes that Parrhasius, without any help from it, could represent the contradictions in the character of the Athenians; that he did it perhaps in several pictures. Supposing which

Et sapit, & mecum facit, & Jove judicat æquo. Hor. The sentence of death pronounced against the leaders of the Athenian navy, after their victory over the Spartans near the Arginuses, afforded the artist a very sensible and rich image, to represent the Athenians, at the same time, merciful and cruel.

The famous Theramenes, one of the leaders, accused his fellow-chieftains of having neglected to gather and bury the bodies of their slain countrymen: a charge sufficient to rouse the rage of the mob against the victors; only six of whom had returned to Athens, the rest having declined the storm.

[118]

Theramenes harangued the people in the most pathetick manner; intermixing his speech with frequent pauses, in order to give vent to the loud plaints of those who, in the battle, had lost their parents or relations. He, at the same time, produced a man, who protested he had heard the last words of the drowned, imprecating the publick revenge on their leaders. In vain did Socrates, then a member of the council, with a few others, oppose the accusation: the brave chieftains, instead of the honours they hoped for, were condemned to die. One of them was the only son of Pericles and Aspasia.

Was it not in the power of Parrhasius, who was then alive, to enlarge the meaning of his picture beyond the extent of bare history, only by drawing the true characters of the authors of this scene, without the least help from allegory? It would have been in his power, had he lived in our days.

[119]

Your pretensions concerning allegory seem indeed as reasonable an imposition upon the painter, as that of Columella upon his farmer; who wished to find him a philosopher like Democritus, Pythagoras, or Eudoxus[63].

No better success, in my opinion, is to be expected from applying allegory to decorations: the author would, at least, meet with as many difficulties as Virgil, when hammering on the names of a Vibius Caudex, Tanaquil Lucumo, or Decius Mus; to fit them for his Hexameter.

Custom has given its sanction to the use of shells in decorations: and is not there as much nature in them as in the Corinthian capital? You know its origin: a basket set upon the tomb of a young Corinthian girl, filled with some of her play-things, and covered with a large brick, being overgrown[120] with the creeping branches of an acanthus, which had taken root under it, was the first occasion of forming that capital. Callimachus[64] the sculptor, surprized at the elegant simplicity of that composition, took thence a hint for enriching architecture with a new order.

Thus this capital, destined to support all the entablature of the column, is but a basket of flowers; something so apparently inconsistent with the ideas of architecture, that there was no use made of it in the time of Pericles: for Pocock[65] thinks it strange that the temple of Minerva at Athens had Doric, instead of Corinthian pillars. But time soon changed this seeming oddity into nature; the basket lost, by custom, all its former offensiveness, and

Quod fuerat vitium desinit esse mora. Ovid. Art. [121]

We acknowledge no Egyptian law to forbid arbitrary ornaments; and so fond have the artists of all ages been, both of the growth and form of shells, as to change even the chariot of Venus into an enormous one. The ancile, that Palladium of the Romans, was scooped into the form of a shell[66]: we find them on antique lamps[67]. Nay, nature herself seems to have produced their immense variety, and marvellous sinuations, for the benefit of the art.

I have no mind to plead the bad cause of our unskilful decorators: only let me adduce the arguments used by a whole tribe, (if the artists will forgive the term), in order to prove the reasonableness of their art.

The painters and sculptors of Paris, endeavouring to deprive the decorators of the title of artists, by alledging that they employed neither their own intellectual faculties,[122] nor those of the connoisseurs, upon works not produced by nature, but rather the offsprings of capricious art; the others are said to have defended themselves in the following manner: “We are the followers of nature: like the bark of a tree, variously carved, our decorations grow into various forms: then art joins sportive nature, and corrects her: we do what the ancients did: consult their decorations.”

Variety is the great and only rule to which decorators submit. Perceiving that there is no perfect resemblance between two things in nature, they likewise forsake it in their decorations; and careless of anxious twining, leave it to the parts themselves to find their like, as the atoms of Epicurus did. This liberty we owe to the very nation, which, after having nobly exceeded all the narrow bounds of social formalities, bestows so much pains upon communicating her improvements to her neighbours. This style in decorations got the epithet of Barroque taste,[123] derived from a word signifying pearls and teeth of unequal size[68].

Shells have at least as good a claim for being admitted among our decorations, as the heads of sheep and oxen. You know that the ancients placed those heads, stript of the skin, on the frizes, especially of the Doric order, between the Triglyphs, or on the Metopes. We even meet with them on the Corinthian frise of an old temple of Vesta, at Tivoli[69]; on tombs, as on one of the Metellus-family near Rome, and another of Munatius Plancus near Gaeta[70]; on vases, as on a pair in the royal cabinet at Dresden. Some modern artists, finding them perhaps unbecoming, changed them into thunderbolts, like Vignola, or to roses, like Palladio and Scamozzi[71].

[124]

We conclude from all this, that learning never had, nor indeed ought to have, any share in an art so nearly related to what we call Lusus Naturæ.

Thus the ancients thought: for, pray, what could be meant by a lizard on Mentor’s cup?[72] The

Picti squallentia terga lacerti Virg. G. IV. make, to be sure, a lovely image amidst the flowers of a Rachel Ruysch, but a very poor figure on a cup. Of what mysterious meaning are birds picking grapes from vines, on an urn?[73] Images, perhaps, as void of sense, and as arbitrary, as the fable of Ganymede embroidered on the mantle, which Æneas presented to Cloanthus, as a reward of his victory in the naval games[74].

[125]

To conclude: is there any thing contradictory between trophies and the hunting-house of a Prince? Surely the author, though so zealous a champion for the Greek taste, cannot pretend to propose to us that of King Philip and the Macedonians, who, by the account of Pausanias[75], did not erect their own trophies. Diana perhaps, amidst her nymphs and hunting-equipages,

Qualis in Eurotæ ripis, aut per juga Cynthi, Exercet Diana choros, quam mille secutæ, Hinc atque hinc glomerantur, Oreades— Virg. might better suit the place; but we know that the antient Romans hung up the arms of their defeated enemies over the out-sides of their doors, to be everlasting monitors of bravery to every succeeding owner of the house. Can trophies, having the same design,[126] ever be misplaced on any building of the Great?

I wish for a speedy answer to this letter. You cannot be angry at seeing it published. The tribe of authors now imitate the conduct of the stage, where the lover, with his soliloquy, entertains the pit. For the same reason I shall receive, with all my heart, an answer,

Quam legeret tereretque viritim publicus usus: Hor. for

Hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim. Id. [127]

AN ACCOUNT OF A MUMMY, IN The Royal Cabinet of Antiquities at Dresden. [128]

[129]

Among the Egyptian Mummies of the royal cabinet, there are two preserved perfectly entire, and not in the least damaged, viz. the bodies of a man and woman. The former, among all those that were brought into, and publickly known in Europe, is perhaps the only one of its kind; on account of an inscription thereon, which none of those who have written on Mummies, except Della Valle alone, discovered[130] on those bodies; and Kircher, among all the drawings of Mummies communicated to him, and published in his Oedipus, has but one, (the same which Della Valle had been possessed of,) with an inscription; though his wooden cut[76] is as faulty as all the copies made afterwards[77]. On that Mummy there are these letters ΕΥ✠ΥΧΙ.

This same inscription is on the royal Mummy, of which I propose to give a brief account, and in examining which I have employed all my attention, that I might be certain of its being genuine, and not drawn by a modern hand from the inscription of Della Valle: for ’tis well known, that those bodies frequently pass through the hands of Jews. But the letters are evidently drawn with the same blackish colour with which the face, hands, and feet are stained. The first letter on our Mummy has the form of[131] a large Greek ϵ, expressed by Della Valle with an E angular, the other not being usual in printing-presses.

All the four Mummies of the royal cabinet being bought at Rome, I proposed to examine whether the Mummy with the inscription, was that which Della Valle was possessed of, and found that both the entire royal Mummies were exact resemblances of those described by him.

Both, besides the linnen bandages, of a Barracan-texture, rolled innumerable times around the bodies, are wrapt up in several (and, according to an observation made in England[78], in three) kinds of coarser linnen; which, by particular bandages of the girdle-kind, is fastened in such a manner as to involve even the smallest prominence of the face. The first covering is a nice bit of linnen, slightly tinged with a certain ground,[132] much gilt, decked with various figures, and with a painted one of the deceased.

On the Mummy marked with the inscription, this figure represents a man, who died in the flower of life, with a thin curled beard, not as represented by Kircher, like an old man with a long pointed one. The colour of the face and hands is brown: the head encircled with gilt diadems, marked with the sockets of jewels. From the gold chain, painted around the neck, a sort of medal hangs down, marked with various characters, crescents, &c. and this over-reaches the neck of a bird, that of a hawk perhaps, as on the breasts of other Mummies[79]. In the right hand of the figure is a dish filled with a red stuff, which being like that used by the sacrificers[80], the deceased may be supposed to have been a priest. The first and last finger of the left hand have rings; and in[133] the hand itself there is something round, of a dark-brown colour; which, as Della Valle pretends, is a well-known fruit. The feet and legs are bare, with sandals; the strings of which appearing between the great toes, are, with a slip, fastened on the foot itself.

The inscription, above-mentioned, is beneath the breast.

The second Mummy is the still more refined figure of a young woman. Among a great many medals, seemingly gilt, and other figures, there are certain birds, and quadrupeds something analogous to lions; and towards the extremities of the body there is an ox, perhaps an apis: Down from one of the neck-chains hangs a gilt image of the sun. She has ear-rings, and double bracelets on both her arms: rings on each hand, and on every finger of the left one, but two on the first: whereas the right hand has but two: with this hand she holds, like Isis, a small gilt vessel, of the Greek Spondeion-kind, which was a symbol of the[134] fertility of the Nile, when held by the goddess[81]. In the left hand there is a sort of fruit, like an ear of corn, of a greenish cast. The leaden seals, mentioned by Della Valle, still remain on the first Mummy.

Compare this description with that in his travels[82], and you’ll find the Mummies of the royal cabinet to be the same with those, which were taken out of a deep well or cave, covered with sand, and sold to this celebrated traveller by an Egyptian; and I believe they were purchased from his heirs at Rome, though in the manuscript catalogue, joined to that cabinet of antiquities, there is not the least hint of any such purchase.

I have no design to attempt an explication of the ornaments and figures; some remarks of that kind having already been made by Della Valle. The following observations concern only the inscription.

[135]

The Egyptians, we know, employed a double character in expressing themselves[83], the sacred and the vulgar: the first was what is called hieroglyphick; the other contained the characters of their national language, and this is commonly said to be lost. All we know is confined to the twenty-five letters of their alphabet.[84] Della Valle seems inclined to give an instance of the contrary, in that inscription; which Kircher, pushing his conjectures still farther, endeavours to lay down as a foundation for a new scheme of his; and to support it by two other remains of the same kind. For, he attempts to prove[85], that the dialect was the only difference between the old Egyptian and Greek tongue. According to his talent of finding what no body looks for, he makes free with some ancient historical accounts; upon which he obtrudes a fictitious[136] sense, in order to make them tally with his scheme.

Herodotus, according to him, tells us, that King Psammetichus desired some Greeks, who were perfect masters of their language, to go over to Egypt, in order to instruct his people in the purity of the tongue. Hence he concludes, that there was but one language in both countries. But that Greek historian[86] gives an account entirely opposite: he tells us, that Psammetichus, having received some services from the Carians and Ionians, permitted them to settle in Egypt, for the instruction of youth in the Greek language, in order to bring up interpreters.

There is no solidity in the rest of the Kircherian arguments; such as those deduced from the frequent voyages of the Greek sages into Egypt, and the mutual commerce between the two nations; which have not even the strength of conjectures. For the[137] very skill of Democritus, in the sacred tongue of the Babylonians and Egyptians[87], proves only, that the travelling sages learned the languages of the nations they conversed with.

Nor does the testimony of Diodorus, that Attica was originally an Egyptian colony[88], seem to be here of any weight.

The inscription of the Mummy might indeed admit of Kircherian, or such like conjectures, were the Mummy itself of the antiquity pretended by Kircher. Cambyses, the conqueror of Egypt, partly exiled, and partly killed the priests; from which fact Kircher confidently deduces as consequences, the total abolition of the sacred rites, and from that the ceasing to embalm bodies. He again appeals to a passage of Herodotus[89], which, upon his word alone, others have as confidently quoted. Nay, a certain pedant[138] went so far as to pretend, that the Egyptian custom of painting their dead, upon the varnished linnen of the Mummies, ceased with the epoch of Cyrus[90].

But Herodotus says not a word, either of the total abolition of the sacred rites, or of the abolition of the custom of preserving the dead from putrefaction, after the time of Cambyses; nor does Diodorus Siculus give any such hint: we may, on the contrary, from his account of the funeral rites of the Egyptians, rather conclude, that this custom prevailed even in his time; that is to say, when Egypt was changed into a Roman province.

Hence it cannot be demonstrated that our Mummy was embalmed before the Persian conquest.—But supposing it to be of that date, is it a necessary consequence that a body preserved in the Egyptian manner, or even taken care of by their priests, should be marked with Egyptian words?

[139]

Perhaps it is the body of some naturalised Ionian or Carian. We know that Pythagoras entered into the Egyptian confession; nay, even consented to be circumcised[91], in order to shorten his way to the mysteries of their priests. The Carians themselves observed the sacred solemnities of Isis, and even went so far in their superstition, as to mangle their faces during the sacrifices offered to that deity[92].

Change the letter ι, in the inscription, into the diphthong ει, and you have a Greek word: such negligences are often to be met with in Greek marbles[93], and still more in Greek manuscripts; and with the same termination it is to be found on a gem, and signifies, “FAREWELL”[94], which was the usual ejaculation addressed by the living to the deceased; the same we meet with on ancient[140] epitaphs[95]; public decrees[96]; and of letters it was the final conclusion[97].

There is on an ancient epitaph the word ΕΥΨΥΧΙ[98]; the form of the Ψ on ancient stones and manuscripts is exactly the same[99] with the third letter of ΕΥ✠ΥΧΙ, which was perhaps confounded with it.

But supposing the Mummy to be of later times, the adoption of a Greek word becomes yet easier. The round form of the ϵ might be something suspicious, with regard to its pretended antiquity; that form being never found on the gems or coins before Augustus[100]. But this suspicion becomes of no weight, by supposing that the Egyptians[141] continued their embalming, even after the time of that Emperor.

However, the word cannot be an Egyptian one, being inconsistent with the remains of that ancient tongue in the modern Coptick, as well as with their manner of writing; which was from the right to the left, as the Etrurians did[101]; whereas the word in question (like some Egyptian characters[102],) is traced from the left to the right. As for the inscription discovered by Maillet[103], no interpreter has yet been found. The Grecians, on the contrary, wrote in the occidental manner, for six hundred years before the christian æra, witness the Sigæan inscription, which is said to be of that date[104].

What has been said relates also to an[142] inscription upon a piece of stone[105], with Egyptian figures, communicated to Kircher by Carolo Vintimiglia, a Palerman patrician. The letters ΙΤΙΨΙΧΙ are two words, and signify, “Let the soul come.” This stone has met with the same fate as the gem engraved with the head of Ptolomæus Philopator: for here an Egyptian has joined two random figures, and there the inscription may be of a Greek hand. The litterati know what little change it wants to be orthographical.

[143]

AN ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING LETTER, AND A further Explication of the Subject. [144]

[145]

Icould not presume that so small a treatise as mine would be thought of consequence enough to be brought to a publick trial. As it was written only for a few connoisseurs, it seemed superfluous to give it a learned air, by multiplying quotations. Artists want but hints: their task, according to an ancient Rhetor, is “to perform, not to peruse;” consequently every author,[146] who writes for them, ought to be brief. Being besides convinced, that the beauties of the art are founded rather on a quick sense, and refined taste, than on profound meditation, I cannot help thinking that the principle of Neoptolemus[106], “to philosophize only with the few,” ought to be the chief consideration in every treatise of this kind.

Several passages of my Essay are susceptible of explications, and, having been publickly tried by an anonymous author, should be explained and defended at the same time, if my circumstances would permit me to enlarge[107]. As to his other remarks, the author, I hope, will guess at my answer, without my giving one explicitly.—Indeed they do not require any.

I am not in the least moved by the clamours concerning those pieces of Corregio, which, by undoubted accounts, were not[147] only brought to Sweden[108], but even hung up in the stables at Stockholm. Reasoning is of no use here: arguments of this kind admit of no other evidence but that of Æmilius Scaurus against Valerius of Sucro: “He denies; I affirm: Romans! ’tis yours to judge.”

And why should there be any thing more derogatory to the honour of the Swedes, in my repeating Count Tessin’s relation, than in his giving it? Perhaps, because the learned author of the circumstantial life of Queen Christina omits her indiscreet generosity towards Bourdon, and that bad treatment which the pictures of Corregio met with? or was Härleman[109] himself charged with indiscretion or malice, on his relating that, at Lincöping, he found a college, and seven professors, but not one physician or artificer?

[148]

It was my design to explain myself more particularly, concerning the negligences of the Greeks, had I been allowed time. The Greeks, as their criticism on the partridge of Protogenes, and his blotting it[110], evidently shews, were not ignorant in learned negligence. But the Zeus of Phidias was the standard of sublimity, the symbol of the omnipresent Deity; like Homer’s Eris, he stood upon the earth, and reached heaven; he was, in the style of sacred poesy, “What encompasses him? &c.” And the world has been candid enough to excuse, nay, even to justify on such reasons, the disproportions in the Carton of Raphael, representing the fishing of Peter[111]. The criticism on the Diomedes, though solid, is not against me: his action, abstractedly considered, with his noble and expressive contour, are standards of the art; and that was all I advanced[112].

[149]

The reflections on the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks may be reduced to four heads, viz.

I. The perfect Nature of the Greeks;

II. The Characteristicks of their works;

III. The Imitation of these;

IV. Their manner of Thinking upon the Art; and Allegory.

Probability was all I pretended to, with regard to the first; which cannot be fully demonstrated, notwithstanding all the assistance of history. For, these advantages of the Greeks were, perhaps, less founded on their nature, and the influences of the climate, than on their education.

The happy situation of their country was, however, the basis of all; and the want of resemblance, which was observed between the Athenians and their neighbours beyond[150] the mountains, was owing to the difference of air and nourishment[113].

The manners and persons of the new-settled inhabitants, as well as the natives of every country, have never failed of being influenced by their different natures. The ancient Gauls, and their successors the German Franks, are but one nation: the blind fury, by which the former were hurried on in their first attacks, proved as unsuccessful to them in the times of Cæsar[114], as it did to the latter in our days. They possessed certain other qualities, which are still in vogue among the modern French; and the Emperor Julian[115] tells us, that in his time there were more dancers than citizens at Paris.

Whereas the Spaniards, managing their affairs cautiously, and with a certain frigidity, kept the Romans longer than any[151] other people from conquering the country[116].

And is not this character of the old Iberians re-assumed by the West-Goths, the Mauritanians, and many other people, who over-ran their country?[117]

It is easy to be imagined what advantages the Greeks, having been subject to the same influences of climate and air, must have reaped from the happy situation of their country. The most temperate seasons reigned through all the year, and the refreshing sea-gales fanned the voluptuous islands of the Ionick sea, and the shores of the continent. Induced by these advantages, the Peloponnesians built all their towns along the coast; see Dicearchus, quoted by Cicero[118].

Under a sky so temperate, nay balanced between heat and cold, the inhabitants cannot[152] fail of being influenced by both. Fruits grow ripe and mellow, even such as are wild improve their natures; animals thrive well, and breed more abundantly. “Such a sky, says Hippocrates[119], produces not only the most beautiful of men, but harmony between their inclinations and shape.” Of which Georgia, that country of beauty, where a pure and serene sky pours fertility, is an instance[120]. Among the elements, beauty owes so much to water alone, that, if we believe the Indians, it cannot thrive, in a country that has it not in its purity[121]. And the Oracle itself attributes to the lymph of Arethusa a power of forming beauty[122].

The Greek tongue affords us also some arguments in behalf of their frame. Nature[153] moulds the organs of speech according to the influences of the climate. There are nations that rather whistle than speak, like the Troglodytes[123]; others that pronounce without opening their lips[124]; and the Phasians, a Greek people, had, as has been said of the English[125], a hoarse voice: an unkind climate forms harsh sounds, and consequently the organs of speech cannot be very delicate.

The superiority of the Greek tongue is incontestible: I do not speak now of its richness, but only of its harmony. For all the northern tongues, being over-loaded with consonants[126], are too often apt to offend with an unpleasing austerity; whereas the Greek[154] tongue is continually changing the consonant for the vowel, and two vowels, meeting with but one consonant, generally grow into a diphthong[127]. The sweetness of the tongue admits of no word ending with these three harsh letters Θ, Φ, Χ, and for the sake of Euphony, readily changes letters for their kindred ones. Some seemingly harsh words cannot be objected here; none of us being acquainted with the true Greek or Roman pronunciation. All these advantages gave to the tongue a flowing softness, brought variety into the sounds of its words, and facilitated their inimitable composition. And from these alone, not to mention the measure which, even in common conversation, every syllable enjoyed, a thing to be despaired of in occidental tongues; from these alone, I say, we may form the highest idea of the organs by which that tongue was pronounced, and may more than conjecture,[155] that, by the language of the Gods, Homer meant the Greek, by that of Men, the Phrygian tongue.

It was chiefly owing to that abundance of vowels, that the Greek tongue was preferable to all others, for expressing by the sound and disposition of its words the forms and substances of things. The discharge, the rapidity, the diminution of strength in piercing, the slowness in gliding, and the stopping of an arrow, are better expressed by the sound of these three verses of Homer, Iliad Δ.

125. Λίγξε βιὸς, νευρὴ δε μέγ’ ἴαχεν, ἆλτο δ’ ὀϊστὸς[128] 135. Διὰ μέν ἂρ’ ζωστῆρος ἐλήλατο δαιδαλέοιο, 136. Καὶ διὰ θωρηκος πολυδαιδάλου ἠρήρειστο, than even by the words themselves. You see it discharged, flying through the air, and piercing the belt of Menelaus.

The description of the Myrmidons in battle-array, Iliad Π. v. 215.

Ἀσπὶς ἄρ’ ἀσπίδ’ ἔρειδε, κόρυς κόρυν ἀνέρα δ’ ἀνήρ. [156]

is of the same kind, and has never been hit by any imitation: what beauties in one line!

Plato’s periods were, from their harmony, compared[129] to a noiseless smooth-running stream. But we should be mistaken in confining the tongue to the softer harmonies only: it became a roaring torrent, boisterous as the winds by which Ulysses’ sails were torn, split only in three or four places by the words, but rent by the sound into a thousand tatters[130]. This was the “vivida expressio,” the living sound; supremely beautiful, when properly and sparingly used!

How quick, how refined must the organs have been, which were the depositaries of such a tongue! The Roman itself could not attain its excellence: nay, a Greek father, of the second century of the christian[157] æra[131], complains of the horrid sound of the Roman laws.

Nature keeps proportion; consequently the frame of the Greeks was of a fine clay, of nerves, and muscles most sensibly elastic, and promoting the flexibility of the body: hence that easiness, that pliant facility, accompanied with mirth and vigour, which animated all their actions. Imagine bodies most nicely balanced between leanness and corpulency: both extremes were ridiculed by the Greeks, and their poets sneer at the Philesiases[132], Philetases[133], and Agoracrituses[134].

But though they were beautiful, and by their law early initiated into pleasure, they were not effeminate Sybarites. As an instance of which we shall only repeat what Pericles pleaded in favour of the Athenian manners, against those of Sparta, which[158] were as different from those of the rest of Greece, as their public oeconomy was: “The Spartans, says Pericles, employ their youth to get, by violent exercises, manly strength: but we, though living indolently, encounter every danger as well as they; calmly, not anxiously, mindful of its approaches, we meet it with voluntary magnanimity, and without any compulsion of the law. Not disconcerted by its impending threats, we meet its most furious attacks, with no less boldness than they, whom perpetual practice has prepared for its strokes. We are fond of elegance, without loving finery; of genius, without being emasculate. In short, to be fit for every great enterprize, is the characteristic of the Athenians[135].”

I cannot, nor will I pretend to fix a rule without allowing exceptions. There was a Thersites in the army of the Greeks. But it is worth observing, that the beauty of a nation was always in proportion to their cultivation[159] of the arts. Thebes, wrapt up in a misty sky, produced a sturdy uncouth race[136],[137]according to Hippocrates’s observation on fenny, watry soils[138]; and its sterility in producing men of genius, Pindar only excepted, is an old reproach. Sparta was as defective in this respect as Thebes, having only Alcman to boast of; but the reasons were different: whereas Attica enjoyed a pure and serene sky, which refined the senses[139], and of course shaped their bodies in proportion to that refinement; and Athens was the seat of arts. The same remark may be made with regard to Sicyon, Corinth, Rhodes, Ephesus, &c. all which having been schools of the arts, could not want convenient models. The passage of Aristophanes, insisted on in the letter[140], I[160] take for a joke, as it really is—and thereby hangs a tale: to have the parts, whereon

Sedet æternumque sedebit Infelix Theseus, Virg. moderately complete, were Attick beauties. Theseus[141], made prisoner by the Thesprotians, was delivered from his captivity by Hercules, but not without some loss of the parts in question; a loss bequeathed to all his race. This was the true mark of the Thesean pedigree; as a natural mark, representing a spear[142], signified a Spartan extraction; and we find the Greek artists imitating in those places the sparing hand of nature.

But this liberality of nature was confined to Greece, in a narrower sense. Its colonies underwent the same fate, which its eloquence met with when going abroad. “As soon, says Cicero[143], as eloquence set out from[161] the Athenian port, she plumed herself with the manners of all the islands in her way, adopted the Asiatick luxury, and forsaking her sound Attick expression, lost her health.” The Ionians, transplanted by Nileus from Greece into Asia, after the return of the Heraclides, grew still more voluptuous beneath that glowing sky. Heaps of vowels brought wantonness into every word; the neighbouring islands partook of their climate and manners, which a single Lesbian coin may convince us of[144]. No wonder then, if their bodies degenerated as much from those of their ancestors, as their manners.

The remoter the colonies the greater the difference. Those Greeks, who had chosen their abode in Africa, about Pithicussa, fell in with the natives in adoring apes; nay, even gave the names of those animals to their children[145].

[162]

The modern Greeks, though composed of various mingled metals, still betray the chief mass. Barbarism has destroyed the very elements of science, and ignorance over-clouds the whole country; education, courage, manners are sunk beneath an iron sway, and even the shadow of liberty is lost. Time, in its course, dissipates the remains of antiquity: pillars of Apollo’s temple at Delos[146], are now the ornaments of English gardens: the nature of the country itself is changed. In days of yore the plants of Crete[147] were famous over all the world; but now the streams and rivers, where you would go in quest of them, are mantled with wild luxuriant weeds, and trivial vegetables[148].

Unhappy country! How could it avoid being changed into a wilderness, when such[163] populous tracts of land as Samos, once mighty enough to balance the Athenian power at sea, are reduced to hideous desarts[149]!

Notwithstanding all these devastations, the forlorn prospect of the soil, the free passage of the winds, stopped by the inextricable windings of entangled shores, and the want of almost all other commodities; yet have the modern Greeks preserved many of the prerogatives of their ancestors. The inhabitants of several islands, (the Greek race being chiefly preserved in the islands), near the Natolian shore, especially the females, are, by the unanimous account of travellers, the most beautiful of the human race[150].

Attica still preserves its air of philanthropy[151]: all the shepherds and clowns welcomed the two travellers, Spon and Wheeler; nay, prevented[164] them with their salutations[152]: neither have they lost the Attick salt, or the enterprising spirit of the former inhabitants[153].

Objections have been made against their early exercises, as rather derogating from, than adding to, the beauteous form of the Greek youths.

Indeed, the continual efforts of the nerves and muscles seem rather to give an angular gladiatorial turn, than the soft Contour of beauty, to youthful bodies. But this may partly be answered by the character of the nation itself: their fancy, their actions, were easy and natural; their affairs, as Pericles says, were managed with a certain carelessness, and some of Plato’s dialogues[154] may give us an idea of that mirth and chearfulness which prevailed in all the Gymnastick exercises of their youth. Hence his desire of having these places, in his commonwealth,[165] frequented by old folks, in order to remind them of the joys of their youth[155].

Their games commonly began at sun rise[156]; and Socrates frequented them at that time. They chose the morning-hours, in order to avoid being incommoded by the heat: as soon as their garments were laid down, the body was anointed with the elegant Attick oil, partly to defend it from the bleak morning-air; as it was usual to practice, even during the severest cold[157]; and partly to prevent a too copious perspiration, where it was intended only to carry off superfluous humours[158]. To this oil they ascribed also a strengthening quality[159]. The[166] exercises being over, they went to bathe, and there submitted to a fresh unction; and a person leaving the bath in this state “appears, says Homer, taller, stronger, and similar to the immortal Gods[160].”

We may form a very distinct idea of the different kinds and degrees of wrestling among the ancients, from a vase once in the possession of Charl. Patin, and, as he guesses, the urn of a gladiator[161].

Had it been a prevailing custom among the Greeks to walk, either barefooted, like the heroes in their performances[162], or with a single sole, as we commonly believe, their feet must have been bruised. But there are many instances of their extreme nicety in this respect; for, they had names for above ten different sorts of shoes[163].

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The coverings of the thighs were thrown off at the publick exercises, even before the flourishing of the art[164]; which was a great advantage to the artists. As for the nourishment of the wrestlers in remoter times, I found it more proper to mention milk in general, than soft cheese.

If I remember right, you think it strange, and even undemonstrable, that the primitive church should have dipped their proselytes, promiscuously: consult the note[165].

As I am now entering upon the discussion of my second point, I could wish that these probabilities of a more perfect nature, among the Greeks, might be allowed to have some conclusive weight; and then I should have but a few words to add.

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Charmoleos, a Megarian youth, a single kiss of whom was valued at two talents[166], was, no doubt, beautiful enough to serve for a model of Apollo: Him, Alcibiades, Charmides, and Adimanthus[167], the artists could see and study to their wish for several hours every day: and can you imagine those trifling opportunities proposed to the Parisian artists, equivalents for the loss of advantages like these? But granting that, pray, what is there to be seen more in a swimmer than in any other person? The extremities of the body you may see every where. As for that author[168], who pretends to find in France beauties superior to those of Alcibiades, I cannot help doubting his ability to maintain what he asserts.

What has been said hitherto might also[169] answer the objection drawn from the judgment of our academies, concerning those parts of the body which ought to be drawn rather more angular than we find them in the antiques. The Greeks, and their artists, were happy in the enjoyment of figures endowed with youthful harmony; for, we have no reason to doubt their exactness in copying nature, if we only consider the angular smartness with which they drew the wrist-bones. Agasias’s celebrated Gladiator, in the Borghese, has none of the modern angles, nor the bony prominences authorised by our artists: all his angular parts are those we meet with in the other Greek statues. And this statue, which was perhaps one of those that were erected, in the very places where the games were held, to the memory of the several victors, may be supposed an exact copy of nature. The artist was bound to represent any victor in the very attitude, and instantaneous motion, in which he overcame[170] his antagonist, and the Amphictyones were the judges of his performance[169].

Many authors having written on this, and the following point of the treatise, I have contented myself with giving a few remarks of my own. Superficial arguments, in matters of this kind, can neither suit the deeper views of our times, nor lead to general conclusions. Nevertheless we do not want authors whose premature decisions often get the better of their judgment, and that not in matters concerning the art alone. Pray, what decisions of an author may be depended upon, who, when designing to write on the arts in general, shews himself so ignorant of their very elements, as to ascribe to Thucydides, whose concise and energetick style was not without difficulties, even for Tully[170], the character of simplicity?[171] Another of[171] that tribe, seems as little acquainted with Diodorus Siculus, when he describes him as hunting after elegance[172]. Nor want we blockheads enough who admire, in the ancient performances, such trifles as are below any reasonable man’s attention. “The rope, says a travelling scribler, which ties together Dirce and the ox, is to connoisseurs the most beautiful object of the whole groupe of the Toro Farnese[173].”

Ah miser ægrota putruit cui mente salillum! I am no stranger to those merits of the modern artists which you oppose to the ancients: but at the same time I know, that the imitation of these alone has elevated the others to that pitch of merit; and it would be easy to prove that, whenever they forsook[172] the ancients, they fell into the faults of those, whom alone I intended to blame.

Nature undoubtedly misled Bernini: a Carita of his, on the monument of Pope Urban the VIIIth, is said to be corpulent, and another on that of Alexander the VIIth, even ugly[174]. Certain it is, that no use could be made of the Equestrian statue of Lewis XIV. on which he had bestowed fifteen years, and the King immense sums. He was represented as ascending, on horseback, the mount of honour: but the action both of the rider and of the horse was exaggerated, and too violent; which was the cause of baptizing it a Curtius plunging into the gulph, and its having been placed only in the Thuilleries: from which we may infer, that the most anxious imitation of nature is as little sufficient for attaining beauty, as the study of anatomy alone for attaining the justest proportions: these Lairesse, by his own account,[173] took from the skeletons of Bidloo; but, though a professor in his art, committed many faults, which the good Roman school, especially Raphael, cannot be charged with. However, it is not meant that there is no heaviness in his Venus; nor does it clear him from the faults imputed to him in the Massacre of the Innocents, engraved by Marc. Antonio, as has been attempted in a very rare treatise on painting[175]; for there the female figures labour under an exuberance of breasts; whereas the murderers look ghastly with leanness: a contrast not to be admired: the sun itself has spots.

Let Raphael be imitated in his best manner, and when in his prime; those works want no apology: it was to no purpose to produce Parrhasius and Zeuxis in order to excuse Him, and the Dutch proportions! ’Tis true, the passage of Pliny[176], which you[174] quote concerning Parrhasius, meets commonly with the same interpretation, viz. that, shunning corpulency he fell into leanness[177]. But supposing Pliny to have understood what he wrote, we must clear him of contradicting himself. A little before he allowed to Parrhasius a superiority in the contour, or in his own words, in the outlines; and in the passage before us, Parrhasius, compared with himself, seems, in Point of the middle parts, to fall short of himself. The question is, what he means by middle parts? Perhaps the parts bordering on the outlines: but is not the designer obliged to know every possible attitude of the frame, every change of its contour? If so, it is ridiculous to give this explication to our passage: for the middle parts of a full face are the outlines of its profile, and so on. Consequently, there is no such thing[175] as middle parts to be met with by a designer: the idea of a painter, well-skilled in the contour of the outlines, but ignorant of their contents, is an absurd one. Parrhasius perhaps either wanted skill in the Chiaroscuro, or Keeping in the disposition of his limbs, and this seems the only explication, which the words of Pliny can reasonably admit of. Unless we choose to make him another La Fage, who, though a celebrated designer, never failed spoiling his contours with his colours. Or, perhaps, to indulge another conjecture, Parrhasius smoothed the outlines of his contour, where it bordered on the grounds, in order to avoid being rough; a fault committed, as it seems, by his contemporaries, and by the artists who flourished in the beginning of the sixteenth century, who circumscribed their figures, as it were with a knife; but those smooth contours wanted the support of keeping, and of masses gradually rising or sinking, in order to become round, and to strike the eye: by[176] failing in which, his figures got an air of flatness; and thus Parrhasius fell short of himself, without being either too corpulent or too lean.

We cannot conclude, from the Homeric shape which Zeuxis gave his female figures, that he raised them, like Rubens, into flesh-hills. There is some reason to believe, from the education of the Spartan ladies, that they had something of a masculine vigour, though they were the chief beauties of Greece; and such a one is the Helena of Theocritus.

All this makes me doubt of finding among the ancients any companion for Jacob Jordans, though he is so zealously defended in your letter. Nor am I afraid of maintaining what I have said concerning him. Mr. d’Argenville is indeed a very industrious collector of criticisms upon the artists; but as his design is not very extensive, so his decisions are often too general, to afford us characteristical ideas of his heroes.

[177]

A good eye must be allowed to be a better judge, in matters of this kind, than all the ambiguous decisions of authors: and to fix the character of Jordans, I might content myself with appealing to his Diogenes, and the Purification, in the royal cabinet at Dresden. But, for the reader’s sake, let me inquire into the meaning of what you call Truth in painting. For if truth, in the general sense, can by no means be excluded from any branch of the arts, we have, in the decision of Mr. d’Argenville, a riddle to unfold, which, if it has any meaning at all, must have the following:

Rubens, enabled by the inexhaustible fertility of his genius, to pour forth fictions like Homer himself, displays his riches even to prodigality: like him he loved the marvellous, as well in thought and grandeur of conception, as in composition, and chiar’-oscuro. His figures are composed in a manner unknown before him, and his lights, jointly darting upon one great mass, diffuse[178] over all his works a bold harmony, and amazing spirit. Jordans, a genius of a lower class, cannot, in the ideal part of painting, by any means be compared with his great master. He had no wings to soar above nature; for which reason he humbly followed, and painted her as he found her: and if this be truth, he, no doubt, had a larger share of it than Rubens.

If the modern artists, with regard to forms and beauty, are not to be directed by antiquity, there is no authority left to influence them. Some, in painting Venus, would give her a Frenchified air[178]; another would present her with an Aquiline nose, the Medicean Venus, as they would say, having such a one[179]: her hands would be provided with spindles instead of fingers;[179] and she would ogle us with Chinese eyes, like the beauties of a new Italian school. Every artist, in short, would, by his performance, betray his country: but, as Democritus says[180], if the artists ought to pray the gods to let them meet with none but auspicious images, those of the ancients will best suit their wishes.

Let us, however, make some exception in favour of Fiamingo’s children. For, lustiness and full health being the common burden of the praises of children, whose infant forms are not strictly susceptible of that beauty, which belongs to the steadiness of riper years; the imitation of his children has reasonably become a fashion among our artists. But neither this, nor the indulgence of the academy at Vienna, can be, or indeed was meant to be decisive, in favour of the modern children; it only leads us to make a distinction. The ancients[180] went beyond nature, even in their children: the moderns only follow her; and, provided their infant forms, exuberant as they are, do not influence their ideas of youthful and riper bodies, they may be allowed to be in the right, though, at the same time, the ancients were not in the wrong.

Our artists are, likewise, at full liberty to dress the hair of their figures as they please: but, being so fond of nature, they, must needs know, that it is nature which shades, with pendant locks, the forehead and temples of all those, whose life is not spent between the comb and the looking-glass: and finding this manner carefully observed in most statues of the ancients, they may take it as a proof of their attachment to simplicity and truth; a proof of the more weight, as they did not want people, busier in adorning their bodies than their minds, and as nice in adjusting their hair, as the most elegant of our European courtiers. But it was commonly looked upon as a mark of[181] an ingenuous and noble extraction, to dress the hair in the manner of the statues[181].

The imitation of the ancient contour has indeed never been rejected, not even by those whose chief want was that of correctness: but we differ about imitating that “noble simplicity and sedate grandeur” in their works. An expression which hath seldom met with general approbation, and never pronounced without hazard of being misunderstood.

In the Hercules of Bandinelli, the idea of it was deemed a fault[182]: an usurpation in Raphael’s Massacre of the Innocents[183].

The idea of “nature at rest,” I own, might, perhaps, produce figures like the young Spartans of Xenophon; nor would the bulk of mankind be better pleased with performances in the taste of my treatise, (supposing even all its precepts authorised[182] by the judges of the art) than with a speech made before the Areopagites. But it is not on the bulk of mankind that we ought to confer the legislative power in the art. And though works of an extensive composition ought certainly to have the support of a vigour and spirit proportioned to their extent, yet there are limits which must not be overleapt: use not so much spirit as to represent the everlasting Father like the cruel God of war, or an ecstasied saint like a priestess of Bacchus.

Indeed, in the eyes of one unacquainted with this characteristick of the sublime, a Madonna of Trevisani will seem preferable to that of Raphael in the royal cabinet at Dresden. I know that even artists were of opinion, that its being placed so near one of the former, was not a little disadvantageous to it. Hence it seemed not superfluous to enquire into the true grandeur of that inestimable picture, as it is the only production[183] of this Apollo of painters, that Germany is possessed of.

No comparison, indeed, is to be made of its composition with that of the transfiguration; which, however, I think fully compensated by its being genuine: whereas Julio Romano might perhaps claim one half of the other as his own. The difference of the hands is visible: but in the Madonna, the spirit of that epoch, in which Raphael performed his Athenian school, shines with so full a lustre, as to make even the authority of Vasari superfluous.

’Tis no easy matter to convince a critick, conceited enough to blame the Jesus of the Madonna, that he is mistaken. Pythagoras, says an antient philosopher[184], and Anaxagoras look at the sun with different eyes: the former sees a God, the latter a stone. We want but experience to discover truth and beauty in the faces of Raphael, without[184] enquiring into their dignity: beauty pleases, but serious graces charm[185]. Such are the beauties of the ancients, which gave that serious air to Antinous, which we generally ascribe to his shading locks. Sudden raptures, or the enticement of a glance, are often momentary; let an attentive eye dwell upon those confused beauties which the transient look conveys, and the paint will vanish. True charms owe their durability to reflection, and hidden graces allure our enquiries: reluctant and unsatisfied we leave a coy beauty, in continual admiration of some new-fancied charm: and such are the beauties of Raphael and the ancients; not agreeably trifling ones, but regular and full of real graces[186]. By that Cleopatra became the beauty of all ensuing ages: nobody[187] was astonished at her face, but her air engaged every eye, and subdued[185] the melted heart. A French Venus at her toilet is much like Seneca’s wit: which, if put to the test, disappears[188].

The comparison of Raphael and some of the most celebrated Dutch, and new Italian painters, concerns only the management, (Trattamento). The endeavours of the former of these, to hide the laborious industry that appears in all their works, gives an additional sanction to my judgment; for, hiding is labour. The most difficult part in performances of the arts, is to spread an air of easiness, the “ut sibi quivis” over them[189]; of which, among the ancients, the pictures of Nicomachus were entirely destitute[190].

All this, however, is not meant to derogate from Vanderwerf’s superior merit: his works give a lustre even to the cabinets of kings. He diffused over them an inconceivable[186] polish; every trace of his pencil, one would think, is molten; and, in the colliquation of his tints, there reigns but one predominant colour. He might be said to have enamelled rather than painted.

His works indeed please. But does the character of painting consist in pleasing alone? Denner’s bald pates please likewise. But what, do you imagine, would the wise ancients think of them? Plutarch, from the mouth of some Aristides or Zeuxis, would tell him, that beauty never dwells in wrinkles[191].

’Tis said, the Emperor Charles VI. when he first saw one of Denner’s pictures, was loud in its praise, and in admiration of his industry. The painter was immediately desired to make a fellow to the first, and was magnificently rewarded: but the Emperor,[187] comparing each of them with some pieces of Rembrandt and Vandyke, declared, “that having now satisfied his curiosity, he would on no account have any more from this artist.” An English nobleman was of the same opinion: for being shewn a picture of Denner’s, “You are in the wrong, said he, if you believe that our nation esteems performances, which owe their merits to industry rather than to genius.”

I am far from applying these remarks to Vanderwerf; the difference between him and Denner is too great: I only joined them in order to prove, that a picture which only pleases can no more pretend to universal approbation than a poem. No; their charms must be durable; but here we meet with causes of disgust in the very parts, where the painter endeavoured to please us.

Those parts of nature that are beyond observation, were the chief objects of these[188] painters: they were particularly cautious of changing the situation even of the minutest hair, in order to surprize the most sharp-sighted eye with all the microcosm of nature. They may be compared to those disciples of Anaxagoras, who placed all human wisdom in the palm of the hand—but mark, as soon as they attempt to stretch their art beyond these limits, to draw larger proportions, or the nudities, the painter appears

Infelix operis summâ, quia ponere totum nescit. Hor. Design is as certainly the painter’s first, second, and third requisite, as action is that of the orator.

I readily allow the solidity of your remarks, concerning the “reliefs” of the ancients. In my treatise I myself charged them with a want of sufficient skill in perspective;[189] and hence the faults in their reliefs.

The fourth point chiefly concerns Allegory.

In painting we commonly call fiction allegory: for, though imitation arises from the very principles of painting as well as of poetry, it constitutes, by itself, neither of them[192]. A picture, without allegory, is but a vulgar image, and resembles Davenant’s Gondibert, an epopée without fiction.

Colouring and design are to painting what metre and truth, or the fable, are to poetry; a body without soul. Poetry, says Aristotle, was first inspired with its soul, with fiction, by Homer; and with that the painter must animate his work. Design and colouring are the fruits of attention and practice: perspective and composition, in the strictest sense, are established on fixed rules; they are of course but mechanical;[190] and, if I may be allowed the expression, only mechanical souls are wanting to understand and to admire them.

Pleasures in general, save only those which rob the bulk of mankind of their invaluable treasure, time, become durable, and are free from tediousness and disgust, in proportion as they engage our intellectual faculties. Mere sensual sentiments soon languish; they do not influence our reason: such is the delight we take in the common landscape, flower, and fruit paintings: the artist, in performing them, thinks but very little; and the connoisseur, in considering them, thinks no more.

A mere history-piece differs from a landscape only in the object: in the former you draw facts and persons, in the latter, sky, land, seas, &c. both, of course, being founded on the same principle, imitation, are essentially but of one kind.

If it be not a contradiction to stretch the limits of painting, as far as those of poetry,[191] and consequently, to allow the painter the same ability of elevating himself to the pitch of the poet as the musician enjoys; it is clear that history, though the sublimest branch of painting, cannot raise itself to the heighths of tragick or epick poetry, by imitation alone.

Homer, as Cicero tells us[193], has transformed man into God: which is to say; he not only exceeded truth, but, to raise his fiction, preferred even the impossible, if probable, to the barely possible[194]. In this Aristotle fixes the very essence of poetry, and tells us that the pictures of Zeuxis had that characteristick. The possibility and truth, which Longinus requires of the painter, as opposites to absurdity in poetry, are not contradictory to this rule.

This heighth the history-painter cannot reach, only by a contour above common nature, or a noble expression of the passions:[192] for these are requisite in a good portrait-painter, who is able to execute them without diminishing the likeness of his model. They are but imitation, only prudently managed. The heads of Vandyke are charged with too exact an observation of nature; an exactness that would be faulty in a history-piece.

Truth, lovely as it is in itself, charms more, penetrates deeper, when invested with fiction: fable, in its strictest sense, is the delight of childhood; allegory that of riper years. And the old opinion, that poetry was of earlier date than prose, as unanimously attested by the annals of different people, makes it evident, that even in the most barbarous times, truth was preferred, when appearing in this dress.

Our understanding, moreover, labours under the fault of bestowing its attention chiefly on things, whose beauties are not to be perceived at first sight, and of inadvertently slighting others, because clear as day: images[193] of this kind, like a ship on the waves, leave but momentary traces in our memory. Hence the ideas of our childhood are the most permanent, because every common occurrence then seems extraordinary. Thus, if nature herself instructs us, that she is not to be moved by common things, let art, as the Orator, ad Herennium, advises us, follow her dictates.

Every idea increases in strength, if accompanied by another or more ideas, as in comparisons; and the more still as they differ in kind: for ideas, too analogous to each other, do not strike: as for instance, a white skin compared to snow. Hence the power of discovering a similarity, in the most different things, is what we commonly call wit; Aristotle, “unexpected ideas”: and these he requires in an orator[195]. The more you are surprized by a picture, the more you are affected; and both those effects[194] are to be obtained by allegory, like to fruit hid beneath leaves and branches, which when found surprizes the more agreeably, the less it was thought of. The smallest composition is susceptible of the sublimest powers of art: all depends upon the idea.

Necessity first taught the artists to use allegory. No doubt, they began with the representation of single objects of one class: but as they improved, they attempted to express what was common to many particulars; i. e. general ideas. All the qualities of single objects afford such ideas: but to become general, and at the same time sensible, they cannot preserve the particular shape of such or such an object, but must be submitted to another shape, essential to that object, but a general one.

The Egyptians were the first, who went in search of images of that kind. Such were their hieroglyphicks. All the deities of antiquity, especially those of Greece, nay, their very names, were originally[195] Egyptian[196]. Their personal theology was quite allegorical; and so is ours. But the symbols of these inventors, partly preserved by the Greeks, were often so mysteriously arbitrary, as to make it altogether impossible to find out their meaning, even by the help of those authors that are still extant; and such a discovery was looked upon as a nefarious profanation[197]. Thus sacredly mysterious was the pomegranate[198] in the hand of the Samian Juno: and to divulge the Eleusinian rites, was thought worse than the robbery of a temple[199].

The relation of the sign to the thing signified, was in some measure founded on the known or pretended qualities of the latter. The Egyptian Horsemarten was of that kind; an image of the sun, because his species was[196] said to have no female, and to live six months under and six above ground[200]. In like manner the cat, being supposed to bring forth a number of kittens equal to that of the days in a month, became the symbol of Isis, or the moon[201].

The Greeks, on the contrary, endowed with more wit, and undoubtedly with more sensibility, made use of no signs but such as had a true relation to the thing signified, or were most agreeable to the senses: all their deities they invested with human forms[202]. Wings, among the Egyptians, were the symbol of eager and effectual services; a symbol conformable to their nature, and continued by the Greeks: and if the Attick Victoria had none, it was meant to signify, that she had chosen Athens for her[197] abode[203]. A goose, among the Egyptians, was the symbol of a cautious leader; in consequence of which the prows of their ships were formed like geese[204]. This the Greeks preserved also, and the ancient Rostrum resembled the neck of a goose[205].

Of all the figures, whose relation to their intended meaning is somewhat obscure, the Sphinx perhaps alone was continued by the Greeks. Placed in the front of a temple, it was, among the Greeks, almost as instructive, as it was significant among the Egyptians[206]. The Greek Sphinx was winged[207], its head bare, without that stole which it wears on some Attick coins[208].

[198]

It was in general a characteristic of the Greeks, to mark their productions with a certain chearfulness: the muses love not hideous phantoms: and Homer himself, when by the mouth of some god he cites an Egyptian allegory, always cautiously begins with “We are told.” Nay, the elder Pampho[209], though he exceeds the Egyptian oddities, by his description of Jupiter wrapt up in horse-dung, approaches nevertheless the sublime idea of the English poet:

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph, that adores and burns. Pope. It will be no easy matter to find, among the old Greek coins, an image like that of a snake encircling an egg[210], on a Syrian coin of the third century. None of their monuments[199] are marked with any thing ghastly: of these they were, if possible, still more cautious than of ill-omen’d words. The image of death is not to be seen, perhaps, but on one gem[211], and that in the shape commonly exhibited at their feasts[212]; viz. dancing to a flute, with intent to make them enjoy the present pleasures of life, by reminding them of its shortness. On another gem[213], with a Roman inscription, there is a skeleton, with two butterflies as images of the soul, one of which is caught by a bird; a pretended symbol of the metempsychosis: but the performance is of latter times.

It has been likewise observed, that[214] among those myriads of altars, sacred even to the most whimsical deities, there never was one set apart to death; save only on the solitary[200] coasts, which were deemed the borders of the world[215].

The Romans, in their best times, thought like the Greeks; and always, in adopting the iconology of a foreign nation, traced the footsteps of these their masters. An elephant, one of the latter mysterious symbols of the Egyptians[216] (for there is on the most ancient monuments neither elephant[217] nor hart, ostrich nor cock, to be found), was the image of different things[218], and perhaps of eternity, as on some Roman[219] coins, because of his longevity. But on a coin of the emperor Antoninus, this animal, with the inscription, munificentia, cannot possibly hint at any other thing but the grand games, the magnificence of which was augmented by those animals.

[201]

But it is no more my design to attempt an inquiry into the origin of every allegorical symbol among the Greeks and Romans, than to write a system of allegory. All I propose is, to defend what I have advanced concerning it, and at the same time to direct the artist to the images of those ancients, in preference to the iconologies and ill-judged symbols of some moderns.

We may, from a little specimen, form a judgment of the turn of mind of those ancients, and of the possibility of subjecting abstracted ideas to the senses. The symbols of many a gem, coin, and monument, enjoy their fixed and universally received interpretation; but some of the most memorable, not yet brought to a proper standard, deserve a nearer determination.

Perhaps the allegory of the ancients might be divided, like painting and poetry in general, into two classes, viz. the sublime, and the more vulgar. Symbols of the one might be those by which some mythological[202] or philosophical allusion, or even some unknown or mysterious rite, is expressed.

Such as are more commonly understood, viz. personified virtues, vices, &c. might be referred to the other.

The images of the former give to performances of the art the true epick grandeur: one single figure is sufficient to give it: the more it contains, the sublimer it is: the more it engages our attention, the deeper it penetrates, and we of course feel it the more.

The ancients, in order to represent a child dying in his bloom, painted him carried off by Aurora[220]: a striking image! taken, perhaps, from the custom of burying youths at day-break. The ideas of the bulk of our artists, in this respect, are too trivial to be mentioned here.

The animation of the body, one of the most abstracted ideas, was represented by[203] the loveliest, most poetical images. An artist, who should imagine he could express this idea by the Mosaick creation, would be mistaken; for his image would be merely historical, and nothing but the creation of Adam: a history altogether too sacred for being either admitted as the allegory of a mere philosophical idea, or into every place: neither does it seem poetical enough for the flights of the art. This idea appears on coins and gems[221], as described by the most ancient poets and philosophers: Prometheus forming a man of that clay, of which large petrified heaps were found in Phocis in the time of Pausanias[222]; and Minerva holding a butterfly, as an image of the soul, over his head. The snake encircling a tree behind Minerva, on the above coin of Antoninus Pius, is a supposed symbol of his prudence and sagacity.

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It cannot be denied that the meaning of many an ancient allegory is merely conjectural, and therefore not to be applied on every occasion. A child catching a butterfly on an altar was pretended to signify Amicitia ad aras, or, “which is not to exceed the borders of justice[223].” On another gem, Love, endeavouring to pull off the branch of an old tree, where a nightingale is perching, is said to allegorize love of wisdom[224]. Eros, Himeros, and Pathos, the symbols of Love, Appetite, and Desire, are represented, they say[225], on a gem, encompassing the sacred fire on an altar; Love behind the fire, his head only over-reaching the flames; Appetite and Desire on both sides of the altar; Appetite with one hand only in the fire, with the other holding a garland; Desire with both his hands in the flames. A Victoria crowning an anchor, on a coin of king Seleucus, was formerly regarded[205] as an image of peace and security procured by victory, till by the help of history we have been enabled to give it its true interpretation. Seleucus is said to have been born with a mark resembling an anchor[226], which not only he himself, but all his descendants, the Seleucidæ, have preserved on their coins[227].

There is another Victoria with butterfly’s wings[228], fastened on a trophy. This, they say, is the symbol of a hero, who, like Epaminondas, died in the very act of conquering. At Athens such a statue[229], and an altar to an unwinged Victoria, was the symbol of their perpetual success in battle: ours may admit of the same explication as Mars in chains at Sparta[230]. Nor was she, as I presume, provided at random with wings usually given to Psyche, her own being[206] those of an eagle: they perhaps signify the soul of the deceased: however, all these conjectures might be tolerable, if a Victoria fastened on trophies of conquered enemies could reasonably correspond with their being vanquished.

Indeed the sublimer allegory of the ancients has not been transmitted to us, without the loss of its most valuable treasures: it is poor, when compared with the second kind, which is often provided with several symbols for one idea. Two different ones, signifying the happiness of the times, are expressed on coins of the emperor Commodus: the one a lady[231], sitting with an apple or ball in her right, and a dial in her left hand, beneath a leafy tree: three children are before her, two in a vase or flower-pot, the usual symbol of fertility: the other represents four children, who, as is clear by the things they bear, are the seasons. Both have the subscription felicitas temporvm.

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But these, and all the symbols that want inscriptions, are of a lower rank; and some of them might as well be taken for signs of different ideas. Hope[232] and Fertility[233], for instance, might be Ceres, Nobility[234], Minerva. Patience[235], on a coin of Aurelian, wants her true characteristick, as does Erato; and the Parcæ[236] are only by their garments distinguished from the Graces. On the contrary, ideas which are often confounded in morality, as Justice and Equity, are extremely well distinguished by the ancients. The former is represented, as drawn by Gellius[237], with a stern look, a diadem, and dressed hair[238]; the latter with a mild countenance, and waving ringlets; ears of corn arising from her balance, as symbols of the advantages[208] of equity; and sometimes she holds in her other hand[239] a cornu-copia.

Peace, on a coin of the emperor Titus, is to be ranked among those of a more energetick expression. The goddess of Peace leans on a pillar with her left arm, in the hand of which she holds the branch of an olive-tree, whilst the other waves the caduceus over the thigh of a victim on a little altar, which hints at the bloodless sacrifices of that goddess: the victims were slaughtered out of the temple, and nothing but the thighs were offered at the altar, which was not to be stained with blood.

Peace usually appears with the olive-branch and the caduceus, as on another coin of this emperor[240]; or on a stool placed on a heap of arms, as on a coin of Drusus[241]. On some of Tiberius’s and Vespasian’s coins[242] Peace appears in the act of burning arms.

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On a coin of the Emperor Philip there is a noble image; a sleeping Victory: which, with better reason, may be taken for the symbol of confidence in conquest, than for that in the security of the world as the inscription pretends. Of an analogous idea was the picture, by which the Athenian General Timotheus was ridiculed, for the blind luck with which he obtained his victories: he was represented asleep, with Fortune catching Towns in her Net[243].

The Nile, with his sixteen children, is of this same class[244]. The child that reaches the ears of corn, and the fruits, in his Cornu, is the symbol of the highest fertility; but those that over-reach them are signs of miscarrying seasons. Pliny explains the whole[245]. Egypt is at the height of its fertility, when the Nile rises sixteen feet: but if it either falls short of, or exceeds that[210] measure, it equally blasts the land with unfruitfulness. Rossi, in his collection, neglected the children.

Satyrical pictures belong also to this class: the Ass of Gabrias, for instance[246], which imagines itself worshipped by the people, as they bow to the statue of Isis on its back. It is impossible to give a livelier image of the pride of the Vulgar-Great.

The sublimer allegory might be supplied by the lower class, had it not met with the same fate. We are, for instance, not acquainted with the figure of Eloquence, or Peitho; or that of the Goddess of Comfort, Parergon, represented by Praxiteles, as Pausanias tells us[247]. Oblivion had an altar among the Romans[248], and perhaps a figure: as may also be supposed of Chastity, whose[211] altar is to be found on coins[249]; and of Fear, to which Theseus offered sacrifices[250].

However, the remains of ancient allegory are not yet worn out: there are still many secret stores: the poets, and other monuments of antiquity, afford numbers of beautiful images. Those, who in our time, and that of our fathers, were busy in improving allegory, and in facilitating the endeavours of the artists; those, I say, should reasonably have had recourse to so rich and pure a fountain. But there was an epoch to appear, in which a shocking croud of pedants should, with downright madness, conspire in an universal uproar against every the lead glimpse of good taste. Nature, in their eyes, was puerile, and ought to be fashioned: blockheads, both young and old, vied in painting devices and emblems, for the benefit of artists, philosophers, and divines; and woe to him who made a compliment, without[212] dressing it up in an emblem! Symbols void of sense were illustrated with inscriptions, giving an account of what they meant, and meant not: these are the treasures which are dug for, even in our times, and which, being then in high fashion, out-shone all antiquity had left.

The ancients, for instance, represented Munificence by a woman holding a Cornucopia in one hand, and the table of the Roman Congiarium in the other[251]: an image which looked too parsimonious for modern liberality; another therefore was contrived[252], with two horns; one of them inverted, the better to pour out its contents; an eagle, the meaning of which is too hard for me to guess at, was set upon her head; others painted her with a pot in each hand[253]. Eternity was, by the ancients, drawn either[213] sitting on a Globe, or rather Sphere[254], with a Hasta in her hand; or standing[255], with the Sphere in one hand, and the Hasta in the other; or with the Sphere in her hand, and no Hasta; or else covered with a floating Veil[256]. These are the images of Eternity on the coins of the Empress Faustina: but there was not gravity enough in them for the modern artists. Eternity, so frightful to many, required a frightful image[257]; a form female down to the breast, with Globes in each hand; the rest of the Body a circling star-marked Snake turning into itself.

Providence very often has a Globe at her feet, and a Hasta in her left hand[258]. On a coin of the Emperor Pertinax[259], she stretches out both her hands, towards a Globe falling[214] from the clouds. A female figure, with two heads, seemed more expressive to the moderns[260].

Constancy, on some of Claudius’s coins[261], is either fitting or standing, with a Helmet on her head, and a Hasta in her left hand; or without Helmet and Hasta, but always with a finger pointing to her face, as if closely debating some point. For distinction sake the moderns joined a couple of pillars[262].

It is very probable, that Ripa was often at a loss with his own figures. Chastity, in his Iconology, holds in one hand a Whip[263], (a strange incitement to virtue) in the other a Sieve: The first inventor, perhaps, hinted at Tuccia the vestal; which Ripa not remembring, indulges the most absurd whims, not worth repeating.

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By thus contrasting ancient and modern allegory, I mean not to divert our times of their right of settling new allegories: but from the different manners of thinking, I shall draw some rules, for those that are to tread these paths.

The character of noble simplicity was the chief aim of the Greeks and Romans: of which Romeyn de Hooghe has given the very contrast. His book, in general, may very fitly be compared to the elm in Virgil’s hell:

Hanc sedem somnia vulgo Vana tenere ferunt, foliisque sub omnibus hærent. Æn. VI. The distinctness of the ancient allegory was owing to the individuation of its images. Their rule, (if we except only a few of those above-mentioned), was to avoid every ambiguity; a rule slightly observed by the moderns: the Hart, for instance, symbolizing[264][216] baptism, revenge, remorse, and flattery; the Cedar, a preacher, worldly vanities, a scholar, and a woman dying in the pangs of child-birth.

That simplicity and distinctness were always accompanied by a certain decency. A hog signifying, among the Egyptians, a scrutator of mysteries[265], together with all the swine of Cæsar Ripa and some of the moderns, would have been thought, by the Greeks, too indecent a symbol of any thing whatever: save only where that animal made part of the arms of a place, as it appears to be on the Eleusinian coins[266].

The last rule of the ancients was to beware of signs too near a-kin to the thing signified. Let the young allegorist observe these rules, and study them, jointly with mythology, and the remotest history.

Indeed some modern allegories, (if those ought to be called modern that are entirely[217] in the taste of antiquity), may perhaps be compared with the sublimer class of the ancient.

Two brothers of the Barbarigo-family, immediately succeeding each other[267], in the dignity of Doge of Venice, are allegorized by Castor and Pollux[268]; one of whom, as the fable tells us, gave the other part of that immortality which Jupiter had conferred on him alone. Pollux, in the allegory, presents his brother, represented by a skull, with a circling snake, as the symbol of eternity; on the reverie of a fictitious coin, beneath the described figures, there drops a broken branch from a tree, with the Virgilian inscription,

Primo avulso non deficit alter. Another idea on one of Lewis XIVth’s[218] coins, is as worthy of notice; being struck[269] on occasion of the Duke of Lorrain’s quiting his dominions, after the surrender of Marsal, for having betrayed both the French and Austrian courts. The Duke is Proteus overcome by the arts of Menelaus, and bound, after having, in vain, tried all his different forms. At a distance the conquered citadel is to be seen, and the year of its surrender marked in the inscription. There was no occasion for the superfluous epigraph: Protei Artes delusæ.

Patience, or rather a longing earnest desire[270], represented by a female figure, with folded hands, gazing on a watch, is a very good image of the lower class. It must indeed be owned, that the inventors of the most picturesque allegories have contented themselves with the remains of antiquity; none having been authorised to establish[219] images of their own fancy, for the general imitation of the artists. Neither has any attempt of latter times deferred the honour: for in the whole Iconology of Ripa, of two or three that are tolerable ones,

Nantes in gurgite vasto; an Ethiopian washing himself, as an allusion to labour lost[271], is perhaps the best. There are indeed images, and useful hints, dispersed in some books of greater note, (as for instance, The Temple of Stupidity in the Spectator[272],) which ought to be collected, and made more general. Thus, were the treasures of science joined to those of art, the time might come, when a painter would be able to represent an ode, as well as a tragedy.

I shall myself submit to the publick some images: for rules instruct, but examples still more. Friendship, I find every where[220] pitifully represented, and its emblems are not worth mentioning: their flying scribbled labels shew us the depth of their inventors.

This noblest of human virtues I would paint in the figures of those two immortal friends of heroic times, Theseus and Pirithous. The head of the former is said to be on gems[273]: he likewise appears with the club[274] won from Periphetes, a son of Vulcan, on a gem of Philemon. Theseus consequently might be drawn with some resemblance. Friendship, at the brink of danger, might be taken from the idea of an old picture at Delphos, as described by Pausanias[275]. Theseus was painted in the action of defending himself and his friend against the Thesprotians, with his own sword in one hand, and another drawn from the side of his friend, in the other. The beginning of their friendship, as described by[221] Plutarch[276], might also be an image of that idea. I am astonished not to have met, among the emblems of the great men of the Barbarigo-family, with an image of a good man and eternal friend. Such was Nicolas Barbarigo, who contracted with Marco Trivisano a friendship worthy of immortality;

Monumentum ære perennius: a little rare treatise alone has preserved their memory[277].

A little hint of Plutarch’s might furnish an image of Ambition: he mentions[278] the sacrifices of Honour, as being performed bareheaded, whereas all other sacrifices, save only those of Saturn[279], were offered with covered heads. This custom he believes to[222] have taken its rise from the usual salutation in society; though it may as well be vice versa: perhaps it sprung from the Pelasgian rites[280], which were performed bareheaded. Honour is likewise represented by a female figure, crowned with laurels, a Cornucopia and Hasta in her hands[281]. Accompanied by Virtue, a male figure with a helmet, she is to be found on a coin of Vitellius[282]: and the heads of both on those of Gordian and Galien[283].

Prayers might be personified from an idea of Homer. Phœnix, the tutor of Achilles, endeavouring to reconcile him to the Greeks, makes use of an allegory. “Know Achilles, says he, that prayers are the daughters of Zeus[284]; they are bent with kneeling; their faces sorrowful and wrinkled, with[223] eyes lifted up to heaven. They follow Ate; who, with a bold and haughty mien marches on, and, light of foot as she is, runs over all the world, to seize and torment mankind; for ever endeavouring to escape the Prayers, who incessantly press upon her footsteps, in order to heal those whom she hath hurt. Whoever honours these daughters of Zeus, on their approach, may obtain much good from them; but meeting with repulse, they pray their fire to punish by Ate the hard-hearted wretch.”

The following well-known old fable might also furnish a new image. Salmacis, and the youth beloved by her, were changed to a fountain, unmanning to such a degree, that

Quisquis in hos fontes vir venerit, exeat inde Semivir: & tactis subito mollescat in undis, Ovid. Metam. L. IV. [224]

The fountain was near Halicarnassus in Caria. Vitruvius[285] thought he had discovered the truth of that fiction: some inhabitants of Argos and Trœzene, says he, going thither with a mind to settle, dispossessed the Carians and Leleges; who, sheltering themselves among the mountains, began to harass the Greeks with their excursions: but one of the inhabitants having discovered some particular qualities in that fountain, erected a building near it, for the convenience of those who had a mind to make use of its water. Greeks and Barbarians mingled there; and these at length, accustomed to the Greek civility, lost their savageness, and were insensibly moulded into another nature. The fable itself is well known to the artists: but the narrative of Vitruvius might instruct them how to draw the allegory of a people taught humanity and civilised, like the Russians by Peter[225] the First. The fable of Orpheus might serve the same purpose. Expression only must decide the choice.

Supposing the above general observations upon allegory insufficient to evince its necessity in painting, the examples will at least demonstrate, that painting reaches beyond the senses.

The two chief performances in allegorical painting, mentioned in my treatise, viz. the Luxemburg gallery, and the cupola of the Imperial Library at Vienna, may shew how poetical, how happy an use their authors made of allegory.

Rubens proposing to paint Henry IV. as a humane victor, with lenity and goodness prevailing, even in the punishment of unnatural rebels, and treacherous banditti, represents him as Jupiter ordering the gods to overthrow and punish the vices: Apollo and Minerva let fly their darts upon them, and the vices, hideous monsters, in a tumultuous uproar tumble over each other:[226] Mars, entering in a fury, threatens total destruction; but Venus, image of celestial love, gently lays hold of his arm:—you fancy you hear her blandishing petition to the mailed god: “rage not with cruel revenge against the vices—they are punished.”

The whole performance of Daniel Gran[286] is an allegory, relative to the Imperial Library, and all its figures are as the branches of one single tree. ’Tis a painted Epopee, not beginning from the eggs of Leda; but, as Homer chiefly rehearses the anger of Achilles, this immortalizes only the Emperor’s care of the sciences. The preparations for the building of the library are represented in the following manner:

Imperial majesty appears as a lady fitting, her head sumptuously dressed, and on her breast a golden heart, as a symbol of the Emperor’s generosity. With her sceptre the[227] gives the summons to the builders; at her feet sits a genius with an angle, palette, and chissel; another hovers over her with the figures of the Graces, as symbols of that good taste which prevailed in the whole. Next to the chief figure sits general Liberality, with a purse in her hand; below her a genius, with the table of the Roman Congiarius, and behind her the Austrian Liberality, her mantle embroidered with larks. Several Genii gather the treasures that flow from her Cornucopia, in order to distribute them among the votaries of the arts and sciences, chiefly those, whose good offices to the library had entitled them to regard. The execution of the Imperial orders personified, directs her face to the commanding figure, and three children present the model of the house. Next her an old man, the image of Experience, measures on a table the plan of the building, a genius standing beneath him with a plummet, as ready to begin. Next the old man sits[228] Invention, with a statue of Isis in her right, and a book in her left hand, signifying, that Nature and Science are the fathers of Invention, the puzzling schemes of which are represented by a Sphinx lying before her.

This performance was compared to the great platfond of Le Moine at Versailles, with an eye to the newest productions of France and Germany alone: for the great gallery of the same palace, painted by Charles le Brun, is, without doubt, the sublimest performance of poetick painting, since the time of Rubens; and being possessed of this, as well as of the gallery of Luxemburg, France may boast of the two most learned allegorical performances.

The gallery of Le Brun contains the history of Louis XIV. from the Pyrenæan peace, to that of Nimeguen, in nine large, and eighteen smaller pieces: that in which the King determines war against Holland, contains, in itself alone, an ingenious and sublime application of almost the whole[229] mythology[287]: its beauties are too exuberant for this treatise; let the artist’s ideas be judged only by two of the smaller compositions. He represents the famous passage over the Rhine: his hero sits in a chariot, a thunderbolt in his hand, and Hercules, the image of heroism, drives him through the midst of tempestuous waves. The figure representing Spain is borne down by the current: the river god, aghast, lets fall his oar: the victories, approaching on rapid wings, present shields, marked with the names of the towns conquered after the passage. Europa astonished beholds the scene.

Another represents the conclusion of the peace. Holland, though with-held by the Imperial Eagle, snatching her robe, runs to meet peace, descending from heaven, surrounded by the Genii of gaiety and pleasure, scattering flowers all around her. Vanity,[230] crowned with peacocks feathers; endeavours to with-hold Spain and Germany from following their associate: but perceiving the cavern where arms are forged for France and Holland, and hearing same threatening in the skies, they likewise follow her example. Is not the former of these two performances comparable, in sublimity, to the Neptune of Homer, and the strides of his immortal horses?

But let examples be never so striking, allegory will still have adversaries: they rose in times of old, against that of Homer himself. There are people of too delicate a conscience, to bear truth and fiction in one piece: they are scandalized at a poor river-god in some sacred story. Poussin met with their reproaches, for personifying the Nile in his Moses[288]. A still stronger[231] party has declared against the obscurity of allegory; for which they censured, and still continue to censure, Le Brun. But who is there so little experienced as not to know, that perspicuity and obscurity depend often upon time and circumstances? When Phidias first added a tortoise[289] to his Venus, ’tis likely that few were acquainted with his design in it, and bold was the artist who first dared to fetter her: time, however, made the meaning as clear as the figures themselves. Allegory, as Plato says[290] of poetry in general, has something enigmatick in itself, and is not calculated for the bulk of mankind. And should the painter, from the fear of being obscure, adapt his performance to the capacity of those, who look upon a picture as upon a tumultuous mob, he might as well check every new and extraordinary idea. The design of the famous Fred. Barocci, in his Martyrdom of St. Vitalis,[232] by drawing a little girl alluring a magpye with a cherry, must have been very mysterious to many; the cherry[291] alluding to the season, in which that saint suffered.

The painting of the greater machines, and of the larger parts of publick buildings, palaces, &c. ought to be allegorical. Grandeur is relative to grandeur; and heroick actions are not to be sung in elegiack strains. But is every fiction allegorical in every place? The Venetian Doge might as well pretend to enjoy his superiority in Terra firma. I am mistaken if the Farnesian gallery is to be ranked among the allegorical performances. Nevertheless Annibal, perhaps not having it in his power to choose his subject, may have been too roughly used in my treatise: it is known that the Duke of Orleans[233] desired Coypel to paint in his gallery the history of Æneas[292].

The Neptune of Rubens[293], in the gallery at Dresden, painted on purpose to adorn the magnificent entry of the Infant Ferdinand of Spain into Antwerp, as governor of the Netherlands, was there, on a triumphal arch, allegorical[294]. The god of the ocean frowning his waves into peace, was a poetick image of the Princes escaping the storm, and arriving safe at Genoa. But now he is nothing more than the Neptune of Virgil.

Vasari, when pretending to find allegory in the Athenian school of Raphael[295], viz. a companion of philosophy and astronomy with theology, seems to have required, and, by the common opinion of his time, to have been authorised to require something[234] grand and above the vulgar, in the decorations of a grand apartment: though indeed there be nothing but what is obvious at first look, and that is, a representation of the Athenian academy[296].

But in ancient times, there was no story in a temple, that was not, at the same time, allegorical; allegory being closely interwoven with mythology: the gods of Homer, says an ancient, are the most lively images of the different powers of the universe; shadows of elevated ideas: and the gallantries of Jupiter and Juno, in the platfond of a temple of that goddess at Samos, were looked on as such; air being represented by Jupiter, and earth by Juno[297].

Here I think it incumbent upon me to clear up what I have said concerning the contradictions in the character of the Athenians, as represented by Parrhasius. This[235] you think an easy matter; the painter having done it either in the historical way, or in several pictures: which latter is absurd. Has not there been even a statue of that people, done by Leochares, as well as a temple[298]? The composition of the picture in question, has still eluded all probable conjectures[299]; and the help of allegory having been called in, has produced nothing but Tesoro’s[300] ghastly phantoms. This fatal picture of Parrhasius, I am afraid, will of itself be a perpetual instance of the superior skill of the ancients in allegory.

What has been said already of allegory, in general, contains likewise what remarks may be made upon its being applied to decorations; nevertheless as you insist upon that point particularly, I shall lightly mention it too.

There are two chief laws in decoration,[236] viz. to adorn suitably to the nature of things and places, and with truth; and not to follow an arbitrary fancy.

The first, as it concerns the artists in general, and dictates to them the adjusting of things in such a manner, as to make them relative to each other, claims especially a strict propriety in decorations:

——Non ut placidis coeant immitia— Hor. The sacred shall not be mixed with the profane, nor the terrible with the sublime: this was the reason for rejecting the sheeps-heads[301], in the Doric Metopes, at the chapel of the palace of Luxemburg at Paris.

The second law excludes licentiousness; nay circumscribes the architect and decorator within much narrower limits than the painter; who sometimes must, in spite of reason, subject his own fancy, and Greece, to[237] fashion, even in history-pieces: but publick buildings, and such works as are made for futurity, claim decorations that will outlast the whims of fashion; like those that, by their dignity and superior excellence, bore down the attacks of many a century: otherwise they fade away, grow insipid and out of fashion, perhaps before the finishing of the very work to which they are added.

The former law directs the artist to allegory: the latter to the imitation of antiquity; and this concerns chiefly the smaller decorations.

Such I call those that make not up of themselves a whole, or those that are additional to the larger ones. The ancients never applied shells, when not required by the fable; as in the case of Venus and the Tritons; or by the place, as in the temples of Neptune: and lamps decked with shells[302] are supposed to have made part of the implements of those temples. For the same reason[238] they may give lustre; and be very significant, in proper places; as in the festoons of the Stadthouse at Amsterdam[303].

Sheep and ox-heads stripped of their skin, so far from justifying a promiscuous use of shells, as the author seems inclined to think, are plain arguments to the contrary: for they not only were relative to the ancient sacrifices, but were thought to be endowed with a power of averting lightning[304]; and Numa pretended to have been secretly instructed about them by Jupiter[305]. Nor can the Corinthian capital serve for an instance of a seemingly absurd ornament, authorised and rendered fashionable by time alone: for it seems of an origin more natural and reasonable[239] than Vitruvius makes it; which is, however, an enquiry more adapted to a treatise on architecture. Pocock believed that the Corinthian order had not much reputation in the time of Pericles, who built a temple to Minerva: but he should have been reminded, that the Doric order belonged to the temples of that goddess, as Vitruvius informs us[306].

These decorations ought to be treated like architecture in general, which owes its grandeur to simplicity, to a system of few parts, which being not complex themselves, branch out into grace and splendour. Remember here the channelled pillars of the temple of Jupiter, at Agrigentum, (Girgenti now) which were large enough to contain, in one single gutter, a man at full length[307]. In the same manner these decorations must not only be few, but those must likewise consist of few[240] parts, which are to appear with an air of grandeur and ease.

The first law (to return to allegory) might be lengthened out into many a subaltern rule: but the nature of things and circumstances is, and ever must be, the artist’s first aim; as for examples, refutation promises rather more instruction than authority.

Arion riding on his dolphin, as unmeaningly represented upon a Sopra-porta, in a new treatise on architecture[308], though a significant image in the apartments of a French Dauphin, would be a very poor one in any place where Philanthropy, or the protection of artists like him, could not immediately be hinted at. On the contrary, he would even to this day, though without his lyre, be an ornament to any publick building at Tarentum, because the ancient Tarentines, stamped on their coins the image of Taras,[241] one of the sons of Neptune, riding on a dolphin, on a supposition of his being their first founder.

The allegorical decorations of a building, raised by the contributions of a whole nation, I mean the Duke of Marlborough’s palace at Blenheim, are absurd: enormous lions of massy stone, above two portals, tearing to pieces a little cock[309]. The hint sprung from a poor pun.

Nor can it be denied that antiquity furnishes some ideas seemingly analogous to this: as for instance, the lioness on the tomb of Leæna, the mistress of Aristogiton, raised in honour of her constancy amidst the torments applied by the tyrant, in order to extort from her a confession of the conspirators against him. But from this, I am afraid, nothing can arise in behalf of the above pitiful decoration: that mistress of the martyr of liberty having been a notorious woman, and whose name could[242] not decently stand a publick trial. Of the same nature are the lizards and frogs on a temple[310], alluding to the names of the two architects, Saurus and Batrachus[311]: the above-mentioned lioness having no tongue, made the allegory still more expressive. The lioness on the tomb of the famous Lais[312], holding with her fore-paws a ram, as a symbol of her manners[313], was perhaps an imitation of the former. The lion was, in general, set upon the tombs of the brave.

It is not indeed to be pretended that every ornament and image of the ancient vases, tools, &c. should be allegorical; and to explain many of them, in that way, would be equally difficult and conjectural. I am not bold enough to maintain, that an earthen lamp[314], in the shape of an ox’s-head, means a perpetual remembrance of useful labours, on[243] account of the perpetuity of the fire; nor to decypher here a mysterious sacrifice to Pluto and Proserpine[315]. But the image of a Trojan Prince, carried off by Jupiter, to be his favourite, was of great and honourable signification in the mantle of a Trojan. Birds pecking grapes seem as suitable to an urn, as the young Bacchus brought by Mercury to be nursed by Leucothea, on a large marble vase of the Athenian Salpion[316]. The grapes may be a symbol of the pleasures the deceased enjoy in Elysium: the pleasures of hereafter being commonly supposed to be such; as the deceased chiefly delighted in when alive. A bird, I need not say, was the image of the soul. A Sphinx, on a cup sacred to Bacchus, is supposed to be an allusion to the adventures of Oedipus at Thebes, Bacchus’s birth place[317]; as a[244] Lizard on a cup of Mentor, may hint at the possessor, whose name perhaps was Saurus.

There is some reason to search for allegory, in most of the ancient performances, when we consider, that they even built allegorically. Such an allusive building was a gallery at Olympia[318], sacred to the seven liberal arts, and re-echoing seven times a poem read aloud there. A temple of Mercury, supported, instead of pillars, by Herms, or, as we now spell, Terms, on a coin of Aurelian[319], is of the same kind: there is on its front a dog, a cock, and a tongue; figures that want no explication.

Yet the temple of Virtue and Honour, built by Marcellus, was still more learnedly executed: having consecrated his Sicilian spoils to that purpose, he was disappointed by the priests, whom he first consulted on[245] that design; who told him, that no single temple could admit of two divinities. Marcellus therefore ordered two temples to be built, adjoining to each other, in such a manner that whoever would be admitted to that of Honour must pass through that of Virtue[320]; thus publickly indicating, that virtue alone leads to true honour: this temple was near the Porta Capena[321]. And here I cannot help remembering those hollow statues of ugly satyrs[322], which, when opened, were found replete with little figures of the graces, to teach, that no judgment is to be formed from outward appearances, and that a fair mind makes amends for a homely body.

Perhaps, Sir, some of your objections may have been omitted: if so, it was against my will——and at this instant, I remember one[246] concerning the Greek art of changing blue eyes to black ones. Dioscorides is the only writer that mentions it[323]. Attempts of this kind have been made in our days: a certain Silesian countess was the favourite beauty of the age, and universally acknowledged to be perfect, had it not been for her blue eyes, which some of her admirers wished were black. The lady, informed of the wishes of her adorers, by repeated endeavours overcame nature; her eyes became black,—and she blind.

I am not satisfied with myself, nor perhaps have given you satisfaction: but the art is inexhaustible, and all cannot be written. I only wanted to amuse myself agreeably at my leisure hours; and the conversation of my friend Frederic Oeser, a true imitator of Aristides, the painter of the soul, was not a little favourable to my purpose: the name of which worthy friend and[247] artist[324] shall spread a lustre over the end of my treatise.

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[249]

INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE CONNOISSEUR. [250]

[251]

——Non, si quid turbida Roma Elevet, accedas: examenve improbum in illa Castiges trutina: nec te quæsiveris extra. Nam Romæ est Quis non?—— You call yourself a Connoisseur, and the first thing you gaze at, in considering works of art, is the workmanship, the delicacy of the pencilling, or the polish given by the chissel.——It was the idea however, its grandeur or meanness, its dignity, fitness, or unfitness, that ought first to have been examined: for industry and talents are independent of each other. A piece of painting or sculpture cannot, merely on account of its having been laboured,[252] claim more merit than a book of the same sort. To work curiously, and with unnecessary refinements, is as little the mark of a great artist, as to write learnedly is that of a great author. An image anxiously finished, in every minute trifle, may be fitly compared to a treatise crammed with quotations of books, that perhaps were never read. Remember this, and you will not be amazed at the laurel leaves of Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne, nor at the net held by Adams’s statue of water at Potzdam: you will only be convinced that workmanship is not the standard which distinguishes the antique from the modern.

Be attentive to discover whether an artist had ideas of his own, or only copied those of others; whether he knew the chief aim of all art, Beauty, or blundered through the dirt of vulgar forms; whether he performed like a man, or played only like a child.

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Books may be written, and works of art executed, at a very small expence of ideas. A painter may mechanically paint a Madonna, and please; and a professor, in the same manner, may write Metaphysics to the admiration of a thousand students. But would you know whether an artist deserves his name, let him invent, let him do the same thing repeatedly: for as one feature, may modify a mien, so, by changing the attitude of one limb, the artist may give a new hint towards a characteristic distinction of two figures, in other respects exactly the same, and prove himself a man. Plato, in Raphael’s Athenian school, but slightly moves his finger: yet he means enough, and infinitely more than all Zucchari’s meteors. For as it requires more ability to say much in a few words, than to do the contrary; and as good sense delights rather in things than shews, it follows, that one single figure may be the theatre of all an artist’s skill: though, by all that is stale and trivial! the bulk of[254] painters would think it as tyrannical to be sometimes confined to two or three figures, in great only, as the ephemeral writers of this age would grin at the proposal of beginning the world with their own private stock, all public hobby-horses laid aside: for fine cloaths make the beau. ’Tis hence that most young artists,

Enfranchis’d from their tutor’s care, choose rather to make their entrance with some perplexed composition, than with one figure strongly fancied and masterly executed. But let him, who, content to please the few, wants not to earn either bread or applause from a gaping mob, let him remember that the management of a “little” more or less really distinguishes artist from artist; that the truly sensible produces a multiplicity, as well as quickness and delicacy of feelings, whilst the dashing quack tickles only feeble senses and callous organs; that he may consequently be great in single[255] figures, in, the smallest compositions, and new and various in repeating things the most trite. Here I speak out of the mouth of the ancients: this, their works teach: and both our writers and painters would come nearer them, did not the one busy themselves with their words only, the other with their proportions.

In the face of Apollo pride exerts itself chiefly in the chin and nether lip; anger in the nostrils; and contempt in the opening mouth; the graces inhabit the rest of his divine, head, and unruffled beauty, like the sun, streams athwart the passions. In Laocoon you see bodily pains, and indignation at undeserved sufferings, twist the nose, and paternal sympathy dim the eye-balls. Strokes like these are, as in Homer, a whole idea in one word; he only finds them who is able to understand them. Take it for certain, that the ancients aimed at expressing much in little,

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Their ore was rich, and seven times purg’d of lead: whereas most moderns, like tradesmen in distress, hang out all their wares at once. Homer, by raising all the gods from their seats, on Apollo’s appearing amongst them[325], gives a sublimer idea than all the learning of Callimachus could furnish. If ever a prejudice may be of use, ’tis here; hope largely from the ancient works in approaching them, nor fear disappointments; but examine, peruse, with cool sedateness and silenced passions, lest your disturbed brain find Xenophon flat and Niobe insipid.

To original ideas, we oppose copied, not imitated ones. Copying we call the slavish crawling of the hand and eyes, after a certain model: whereas reasonable imitation just takes the hint, in order to work by itself. Domenichino, the painter of Tenderness, imitated the heads of the pretended[257] Alexander at Florence, and of the Niobe at Rome[326]; but altered them like a master. On gems and coins you may find many a figure of Poussin’s: his Salomon is the Macedonian Jupiter: but whatever his imitation produced, differs from the first idea, as the blossoms of a transplanted tree differ from those that sprung in its native soil.

Another method of copying is, to compile a Madonna from Maratta; a S. Joseph from Barocci; other figures from other masters, and lump them together in order to make a whole. Many such altar-pieces you may find, even at Rome; and such a painter was the late celebrated Masucci of that city.——Copying I call, moreover, the following a certain form, without the least consciousness of one’s being a blockhead. Such was he who, by the command of a certain Prince, painted the nuptials of[258] Psyche, or, if you will, the Queen of Sheba:—’twas a pity there was no other Psyche to be found, but that dangerous one of Raphael. Most of the late great statues of the saints, in St. Peter’s at Rome, are of the same stuff—the block at 500 Roman crowns from the quarry.

The second characteristic of works of art is Beauty. The highest object of meditation for man is man, and for the artist there is none above his own frame. ’Tis by moving your senses that he reaches your soul: and hence the analysis of the bodily system has no less difficulties for him, than that of the human mind for the philosopher. I do not mean the anatomy of the muscles, vessels, bones, and their different forms and situations; nor the relative measure of the whole to its parts, and vice versa: for the knife, exercise, and patience, may teach you all these. I mean the analysis of an attribute, essential to man, but fluctuating with his frame, allowed by all,[259] misconstrued by many, known by few:—the analysis of beauty, which no definition can explain, to him whom heaven hath denied a soul for it. Beauty consists in the harmony of the various parts of an individual. This is the philosopher’s stone, which all artists must search for, though a few only find it: ’tis nonsense to him, who could not have formed the idea out of himself. The line which beauty describes is elliptical, both uniform and various: ’tis not to be described by a circle, and from every point changes its direction. All this is easily said; but to apply it—there is the rub. ’Tis not in the power of Algebra to determine which line, more or less elliptic, forms the divers parts of the system into beauty—but the ancients knew it; I attest their works, from the gods down to their vases. The human form allows of no circle, nor has any antique vase its profile semicircular.

After this, should any one desire me to assist him more sensibly in his inquiries[260] concerning beauty, by setting down some rules (a hard task), I would take them from the antique models, and in want of these, from the most beautiful people I could meet with at the place where I lived. But to instruct, I would do it in the negative way; of which I shall give some instances, confining myself however to the face.

The form of real beauty has no abrupt or broken parts. The ancients made this principle the basis of their youthful profile; which is neither linear nor whimsical, though seldom to be met with in nature: the growth, at least, of climates more indulgent than ours. It consists in the soft coalescence of the brow with the nose. This uniting line so indispensably accompanies beauty, that a person wanting it may appear handsome full-faced; but mean, nay even ugly, when taken in profile. Bernini, that destroyer of art, despised this line, when legislator of taste, as not finding it[261] in common nature, his only model; and therein was followed by all his school. From this same principle it necessarily follows, that neither chin nor cheeks, deep-marked with dimples, can be consistent with true beauty. Hence the face of the Medicean Venus is to be degraded from the first rank. Her face, I dare say, was taken from some celebrated fair one, contemporary with the artist. Two other Venuses, in the garden behind the Farnese, are manifestly portraits.

The form of real beauty has neither the projected parts obtuse, nor the vaulted ones sharp. The eye-bone is magnificently raised, the chin thoroughly vaulted. Thus the best ancients drew: though, when taste declined amongst them, and the arts were trampled on in modern times, these parts changed too: then the eye-bone became roundish and obtusely dull, and the chin mincingly pretty. Hence we may safely affirm, that what they call Antinous, in the[262] Belvedere, whose eye-bone is rather obtuse, cannot be a work of the highest antiquity, any more than the Venus.

As these remarks are general, they likewise concern the features of the face, the form only. There is another charm, that gives expression and life to forms, which we call Grace; and we shall give some loose reflexions on it separately, leaving it to others to give us systems.

The figure of a man is as susceptible of beauty as that of a youth: but as a various one, not the various alone, is the Gordian knot, it follows, that a youthful figure, drawn at large, and in the highest possible degree of beauty, is, of all problems that can be proposed to the designer, the most difficult. Every one may convince himself of this: take the most beautiful face in modern painting, and it will go hard, but you shall know a still more beautiful one in nature.——I speak thus, after[263] having considered the treasures of Rome and Florence.

If ever an artist was endowed with beauty, and deep innate feelings for it; if ever one was versed in the taste and spirit of the ancients, ’twas certainly Raphael: yet are his beauties inferior to the most beautiful nature. I know persons more beautiful than his unequalled Madonna, in the Palazzo Petti at Florence, or the Alcibiades in his academy. The Madonna in the Christmas-night of Corregio, (a piece justly celebrated for its chiar’-oscuro) is no sublime idea; still less so is that of Maratta at Dresden: Titian’s celebrated Venus[327] in the Tribuna[264] at Florence is common nature. The little heads of Albano have an air of beauty; but it is a different thing to express beauty in little, and in great. To have the theory of navigation, and to guide a ship through the ocean, are two things. Poussin, who had studied antiquity more than his predecessors, knew perfectly well what his shoulders could bear, and never ventured into the great.

The Greeks alone seem to have thrown forth beauty, as a potter makes his pot. The heads on all the coins of their Free-states have forms above nature, which they owe to the line that forms their profile. Would it not be easy to hit that line? Yet have all the numismatic compilers deviated from it. Might not Raphael, who complained of the scarcity of beauty, might not he have recurred to the coins of Syracuse, as the best statues, Laocoon alone excepted, were not yet discovered?

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Farther than those coins no mortal idea can go. I wish my reader an opportunity of seeing the beautiful head of a genius in the Villa Borghese, and those images of unparalleled beauty, Niobe and her daughters. On the western side of the Alps he must be contented with gems and pastes. Two of the most beautiful youthful heads are a Minerva of Aspasius, now at Vienna, and a young Hercules in the Museum of the late Baron Stosch, at Florence.

But let no man, who has not formed his taste upon antiquity, take it into his head to act the connoisseur of beauty: his ideas must be a parcel of whims. Of modern beauties I know none that could vie with the Greek female dancer of Mr. Mengs, big as life, painted in Crayons on wood, for the Marquis Croimare at Paris, or with his Apollo amidst the muses, in the Villa Albano, to whom that of Guido in the Aurora, compared, is but a mortal.

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All the modern copies of ancient gems give us another proof of the decisive authority of beauty in criticisms on works of art. Natter has dared to copy that head of Minerva mentioned above, in the same size and smaller, but fell short. The nose is a hair too big, the chin too flat, and the mouth mean. And this is the case of modern imitators in general. What can we hope then of self-fancied beauties? Conclude not, however, from this, against the possibility of a perfect imitation of antique heads: ’tis enough to say, that it has not yet existed: ’twas probably the fault of the imitators themselves. Natter’s treatise on ancient gems is rather shallow; and what he wrought and wrote, even on that single branch of engraving, for which he was chiefly celebrated, has neither the strength nor the ease of genius.

To this consciousness of inferiority we owe the scarcity of modern supposititious gems[267] and coins. Any man of taste may, upon comparison, distinguish even the best modern coin from the antique original.—I speak of the best antiques: for as to the lower Imperial coins, where the cheat was easier, the artists have been liberal enough. Padoano’s stamps, for copying antique coins, are in the Barberini Collection at Rome, and those of one Michel, a Frenchman, and false coiner in taste, at Florence, in that of the late Baron Stosch.

The third characteristic of works of art is Execution; or, the sketch being made, the method of finishing. And even here we commend good sense above industry. As in judging of styles, we distinguish the good writer by the clearness, fluency, and nervousness of his diction; so in works of art, we discover the master by the manly strength, freedom, and steadiness of his hand. The august contour, and easiness of mien, in the figures of Christ, St. Peter, and the other apostles, on the right side of[268] the Transfiguration, speak the classic hand of Raphael, as strongly as the smooth, anxious nicety of some of Julio Romano’s figures, on the left, the more wavering one of the disciple.

Never admire either the marble’s radiant polish, or the picture’s glossy surface. For that the journeyman sweated; for this the painter vegetated only. Bernini’s Apollo is as polished as HE in the Belvedere; and there is much more labour hid in one of Trevisani’s Madonnas, than in that of Corregio. Whenever trusty arms and laborious industry prevail, we defy all the ancients. We are not their inferiors even in managing porphyry, though a mob of scriblers, with Clarencas in their rear-guard, deny it.

Nor (whatever Maffei thinks[328],) did the ancients know a peculiar method of giving a nicer polish to the figures of their concave gems (Intagli.) Our artists polish as[269] nicely: but statues and gems may be detestable, for all their polish, as a face may be ugly, with the softest skin.

This however is not meant to blame a statue for its polish, as it is conducive to beauty: though Laocoon informs us, that the ancients knew the secret of finishing statues, merely with the chissel. Nor does the cleanness of the pencil, on a picture, want its merit: yet it ought to be distinguished from enamelled tints. A barked statue, and a bristly picture are alike absurd. Sketch with fire, and execute with phlegm. We blame workmanship only as it claims the first rank; as in the marbles à la Bernini, and the linnen of Scybold and Denner.

Friend, these instructions may be of use. For as the bulk of mankind amuse themselves with the shells of things only, your eye may be captivated by polish and glare, as they are the most obvious; to put you on your guard against which, is leading you[270] the first step to true knowledge. For daily observation, during several years, in Italy, has taught me how lamentably most young travellers are duped by a set of blind leaders. To see them skip about in the temple of art and genius, all quite sober and cool, puts me in mind of a swarm of new-fledged grashoppers wantoning in the spring.

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ON GRACE. [272]

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——Χαριτων ἱμερο φωνων ἱερον φυτον. Grace is the harmony of agent and action. It is a general idea: for whatever reasonably pleases in things and actions is gracious. Grace is a gift of heaven; though not like beauty, which must be born with the possessor: whereas nature gives only the dawn, the capability of this. Education and reflection form it by degrees, and custom may give it the sanction of nature. As water,

That least of foreign principles partakes, Is best: So Grace is perfect when most simple, when freest from finery, constraint, and affected wit. Yet always to trace nature through the vast realms of pleasure, or through all[274] the windings of characters, and circumstances infinitely various, seems to require too pure and candid a taste for this age, cloyed with pleasure, in its judgments either partial, local, capricious, or incompetent. Then let it suffice to say, that Grace can never live where the passions rave; that beauty and tranquillity of soul are the centre of its powers. By this Cleopatra subdued Cæsar; Anthony slighted Octavia and the world for this; it breathes through every line of Xenophon; Thucydides, it seems, disdained its charms; to Grace Apelles and Corregio owe immortality; but Michael Angelo was blind to it; though all the remains of ancient art, even those of but middling merit, might have satisfied him, that Grace alone places them above the reach of modern skill.

The criticisms on Grace in nature, and on its imitation by art, seem to differ: for many are not shocked at those faults in the latter, that certainly would incur their displeasure[275] in the former. This diversity of feelings lies either in imitation itself, which perhaps affects the more the less it is akin to the thing imitated; or in the senses being little exercised, and in the want of attention, and of clear ideas of the objects in question. But let us not from hence infer that Grace is wholly fictitious: the human mind advances by degrees; nor are youth, the prejudices of education, boiling passions, and their train of phantoms, the standard of its real delight—remove some of these, and it admires what it loathed, and spurns what it doted on. Myriads, you say, the bulk of mankind, have not even the least notion of Grace—but what do they know of beauty, taste, generosity, or all the higher luxuries of the soul? These flowers of the human mind were not intended for universal growth, though their seeds lie in every breast.

Grace, in works of art, concerns the human figure only; it modifies the attitude and countenance, dress and drapery. And[276] here I must observe, that the following remarks do not extend to the comic part of art.

The attitude and gestures of antique figures are such as those have, who, conscious of merit, claim attention as their due, when appearing among men of sense. Their motions always shew the motive; clear, pure blood, and settled spirits; nor does it signify whether they stand, sit, or lie; the attitudes of Bacchanals only are violent, and ought to be so.

In quiet situations, when one leg alone supports the other which is free, this recedes only as far as nature requires for putting the figure out of its perpendicular. Nay, in the Fauni, the foot has been observed to have an inflected direction, as a token of savage, regardless nature. To the modern artists a quiet attitude seemed insipid and spiritless, and therefore they drag the leg at rest forwards, and, to make the attitude ideal, remove part of the body’s weight from the[277] supporting leg, wring the trunk out of its centre, and turn the head, like that of a person suddenly dazzled with lightning. Those to whom this is not clear, may please to recollect some stage-knight, or a conceited young Frenchman. Where room allowed not of such an attitude, they, lest unhappily the leg that has nothing to do might be unemployed, put something elevated under its foot, as if it were like that of a man who could not speak without setting his foot on a stool, or stand without having a stone purposely put under it. The ancients took such care of appearances, that you will hardly find a figure with crossed legs, if not a Bacchus, Paris, or Nireus; and in these they mean to express effeminate indolence.

In the countenances of antique figures, joy bursts not into laughter; ’tis only the representation of inward pleasure. Through the face of a Bacchanal peeps only the dawn of luxury. In sorrow and anguish they resemble[278] the sea, whose bottom is calm, whilst the surface raves. Even in the utmost pangs of nature, Niobe continues still the heroine, who disdained yielding to Latona. The ancients seem to have taken advantage of that situation of the soul, in which, struck dumb by an immensity of pains, she borders upon insensibility; to express, as it were, characters, independent of particular actions; and to avoid scenes too terrifying, too passionate, sometimes to paint the dignity of minds subduing grief.

Those of the moderns, that either were ignorant of antiquity, or neglected to enquire into Grace in nature, have expressed, not only what nature feels, but likewise what she feels not. A Venus at Potzdam, by Pigal[329], is represented in a sentiment[279] which forces the liquor to flow out at both sides of her mouth; seemingly gasping for breath; for she was intended to pant with lust: yet, by all that’s desperate! was this very Pigal several years entertained at Rome to study the antique. A Carita of Bernini, on one of the papal monuments in St. Peter’s, ought, you’ll think, to look upon her children with benevolence and maternal fondness; but her face is all a contradiction to this: for the artist, instead of real graces, applied to her his nostrum, dimples, by which her fondness becomes a perfect sneer. As for the expression of modern sorrow, every one knows it, who has seen cuts, hair torn, garments rent, quite the reverse of the antique, which, like Hamlet’s,

——hath that within, which passeth shew: These, but the trappings, and the suits of woe. [280]

The gestures of the hands of antique figures, and their attitudes in general, are those of people that think themselves alone and unobserved: and though the hands of but very few statues have escaped destruction, yet may you, from the direction of the arm, guess at the easy and natural motion of the hand. Some moderns, indeed, that have supplied statues with hands or fingers, have too often given them their own favourite attitudes—that of a Venus at her toilet, displaying to her levee the graces of a hand,

——far lovelier when beheld. The action of modern hands is commonly like the gesticulation of a young preacher, piping-hot from the college. Holds a figure her cloths? You would think them cobweb. Nemesis, who, on antique gems, lifts her peplum softly from her bosom, would be thought too griping for any new performance—how can you be so unpolite to think any thing may be held, without[281] the three last fingers genteely stretched forth?

Grace, in the accidental parts of antiques, consists, like that of the essential ones, in what becomes nature. The drapery of the most ancient works is easy and slight: hence it was natural to give the folds beneath the girdle an almost perpendicular direction.—Variety indeed was sought, in proportion to the increase of art; but drapery still remained a thin floating texture, with folds gathered up, not lumped together, or indiscreetly scattered. That these were the chief principles of ancient drapery, you may convince yourself from the beautiful Flora in the Campidoglio, a work of Hadrian’s times. Bacchanals and dancing figures had, indeed, even if statues, more waving garments, such as played upon the air; such a one is in the Palazzo Riccardi at Florence; but even then the artists did not neglect appearances, nor exceed the nature of the materials. Gods and heroes are represented[282] as the inhabitants of sacred places; the dwellings of silent awe, not like a sport for the winds, or as wafting the colours: floating, airy garments are chiefly to be met with on gems—where Atalanta flies

As meditation swift, swift as the thoughts of love. Grace extends to garments, as such were given to the Graces by the ancients. How would you wish to see the Graces dressed? Certainly not in birth-day robes; but rather like a beauty you loved, still warm from the bed, in an easy negligée.

The moderns, since the epoch of Raphael and his school, seem to have forgot that drapery participates of Grace, by their giving the preference to heavy garments, which might not improperly be called the wrappers of ignorance in beauty: for a thick large-folded drapery may spare the artists the pains of tracing the Contour under it, as the ancients did. Some of the modern[283] figures seem to be made only for lasting. Bernini and Peter of Cortona introduced this drapery. For ourselves, we choose light easy dresses; why do we grudge our figures the same advantage?

He that would give a History of Grace, after the revolution of the arts, would perhaps find himself almost reduced to negatives, especially in sculpture.

In sculpture, the imitation of one great man, of Michael Angelo, has debauched the artists from Grace. He, who valued himself upon his being “a pure intelligence” despised all that could please humanity; his exalted learning disdained to stoop to tender feelings and lovely grace.

There are poems of his published, and in manuscript, that abound in meditations on sublime beauty: but you look in vain for it in his works.—Beauty, even the beauty of a God, wants Grace, and Moses, without it, from awful as he was, becomes only terrible. Immoderately fond of all that[284] was extraordinary and difficult, he soon broke through the bounds of antiquity, grace, and nature; and as he panted for occasions of displaying skill only, he grew extravagant. His lying statues, on the ducal tombs of St. Lorenzo at Florence, have attitudes, which life, undistorted, cannot imitate: so careless was he, provided he might dazzle you with his mazy learning, of that decency, which nature and the place required, that to him we might apply, what a poet says of St. Lewis in hell:

Laissant le vray pour prendre la grimace, Il fut toujours au delà de la Grace, Et bien plus loin que les commandements. He was blindly imitated by his disciples, and in them the want of Grace shocks you still more: for as they were far his inferiors in science, you have no equivalent at all. How little Guilielmo della[285] Porta, the best of them all, understood grace and the antique, you may see in that marble groupe, called the Farnese-bull; where Dirce is his to the girdle. John di Bologna, Algardi, Fiammingo, are great names, but likewise inferior to the ancients, in Grace.

At last Lorenzo Bernini appeared, a man of spirit and superior talents, but whom Grace had never visited even in dreams. He aimed at encyclopædy in art; painter, architect, statuary, he struggled, chiefly as such, to become original. In his eighteenth year he produced his Apollo and Daphne; a work miraculous for those years, and promising that sculpture by him should attain perfection. Soon after he made his David, which fell short of Apollo. Proud of general applause, and sensible of his impotency, either to equal or to offuscate the antiques; he seems, encouraged by the dastardly taste of that age, to have formed[286] the project of becoming a legislator in art, for all ensuing ages, and he carried his point. From that time the Graces entirely forsook him: how could they abide with a man who begun his career from the end opposite to the ancients? His forms he compiled from common nature, and his ideas from the inhabitants of climates unknown to him; for in Italy’s happiest parts nature differs from his figures. He was worshipped as the genius of art, and universally imitated; for, in our days, statues being erected to piety only, none to wisdom, a statue à la Bernini is likelier to make the kitchen prosper than a Laocoon.

From Italy, reader, I leave you to guess at other countries. A celebrated Puget, Girardon, with all his brethren in On, are worse. Judge of the connoisseurs of France by Watelet, and of its designers, by Mariette’s gems.

[287]

At Athens the Graces stood eastward, in a sacred place. Our artists should place them over their work-houses; wear them in their rings; seal with them; sacrifice to them; and, court their sovereign charms to their last breath.

FOOTNOTES [1]Plato in Timæo. Edit. Francof. p. 1044.

[2]In Timæum Platonis.

[3]Vide Pindar. Olymp. Od. VII. Arg. & Schol.

[4]Some are of opinion, that the celebrated Ludovisian gladiator, now in the great sallon of the capitol, is this same whom Pliny mentions.

[5]Vide Bellori Descriz delle Imagini dipinte da Raffaelle d’Vrbino, &c. Roma. 1695 fol.

[6]Vide Stosch Pierres grav. pl. XXXIII.

[7]Baldinucci Vita del Cav. Bernini.

[8]Vide Stosch Pierres Grav. pl. XXIX. XXX.

[9]Vide Mus. Flor. T. II. t. V.

[10]Vide Zanetti Statue nell’ Antisala della libraria di S. Marco. Venez. 1740. fol.

[11]Among the busts remarkable for that coarser Drapery, we may reckon the beauteous Caracalla in the royal cabinet at Dresden.

[12]Vide Wright’s Travels.

The victorious St. Michael of Guido, treads on the body of his antagonist, with all the precision of a dancing-master. Webb’s Inquiry, &c.

[13]Vasari vite de Pittori, Scult. et Arch. edit. 1568. Part III. p. 776.——“Quattro prigioni bozzati, che possano insegnare à cavare de’ Marmi le figure con un modo sicuro da non istorpiare i sassi, che il modo è questo, che s’ e’ si pigliassi una figura di cera ò d’ altra materia dura, e si metessi à giacere in una conca d’ acqua, la quale acqua essendo per la sua natura nella sua sommità piana et pari, alzando la detta figura à poco del pari, cosi vengono à scoprirsi prima le parti piu relevate e à nascondersi i fondi, cioè le parti piu basse della figura, tanto che nel fine ella cosi viene scoperta tutta. Nel medesimo modo si debbono cavare con lo scarpello le figure de’ Marmi, prima scoprendo le parti piu rilevate, e di mano in mano le piu basse, il quale modo si vede osservato da Michael Angelo ne’ sopra detti prigioni, i quali sua Eccellenza vuole, che servino per esempio de suoi Academici.”

[14]Lettere d’alcuni Bolognesi, Vol. I. p. 159.

[15]Compare a description of a St. Sebastian of Beccafumi, another of a Hercules and Antæus of Lanfranc, &c. in Raguenet’s Monumens de Rome, Paris, 12mo.

[16]Labat voyage en Espagne & en Ital. T. III. p. 213.——“Michel Ange étoit aussi savant dans l’antiquité que dans l’anatomie, la sculpture, la peinture, et l’architecture; et puisqu’ il nous a representé Moyse avec une si belle et si longue barbe, il est sûr, et doit passer pour constant, que le prophete la portoit ainsi; et par une consequence necessaire les Juifs, qui pretendent le copier avec exactitude, et qui font la plus grande partie de leur religion de l’observance des usages qu’ il a laissé, doivent avoir de la barbe comme lui, ou renoncer à la qualité de Juifs.”

[17]Apotheos. Homeri, p. 81, 82.

[18]Stosch Pierr. Grav. pl. XIX.

[19]Monum. Antiquit. p. 255.

[20]Puffendorf Rer. Suec. L. XX. §. 50. p. 796.

[21]Sandrart Acad. P. II. L. 2. c. 6. p. 118. Conf. St. Gelais descr. des Tabl. du Palais Royal, p. 12. & seq.

[22]Plin. Hist. Nat. L. 35. c. 10.

[23]Lucian de Hist. Scrib.

[24]Strabo Geogr. L. VIII. p. 542.

[25]Vitruv. L. III. c. 1.

[26]Borell. de motu animal. P. I. c. 18. prop. 142. p. 142. edit. Bernoull.

[27]Stosch. Pierr. Grav. pl. XXXV.

[28]Stosch Pierr. Grav. pl. XXXV.

[29]Mariette Pierr. Grav. T. II. n. 94.

[30]Stosch Pierr. Grav. pl. LIV.

[31]Pausanias, L. VI. c. 7. p. 470.

[32]Dioscorid. de Re Medica, L. V. c. 179. Conf. Salmas. Exercit. Plin. c. 15. p. 134. b.

[33]Aristoph. Nub. v. 1178. ibid. v. 1363. Et Scholiast.

[34]Observat. sur les arts, sur quelques morceaux de peint. & sculpt. exposés au Louvre en 1748, p. 18.

[35]Riposo di Raffaello Borghini, L. I. p. 46.

[36]See the Cupid by Solon, Stosch. 64. the Cupid leading the Lioness, by Sostratus, Stosch. 66. and a Child and Faun, by Axeochus, Stosch 20.

[37]Vide Bartoli Admiranda Rom. fol. 50, 51, 61. Zanetti Stat. Antich. P. II. fol. 33.

[38]Vide Callistrat. p. 903.

[39]Vide Philostrati Heroic.

[40]Vide Baldinucci vita del Caval. Bernin. p. 47.

[41]Vide Baldinucci vita del Caval. Bernin. p. 72.

[42]Trattato della pittura e scultura, uso et abuso loro, composto da un theologo e da un pittore. Fiorenza, 1652. 4.

[43]Bellori vite de’ pittori, &c. p. 300.

[44]Richardson, Tom. III. p. 94.

[45]Xenophon Memorab. L. III. c. 6, 7.

[46]Vide Baldinucci vita del Cav. Bernini, p. 66.

[47]Plin. Hist. Nat. L. 35. c. 10.

[48]Quintilian. Instit. Or. L. 12. c. 19.

[49]Idyll. 18. v. 29.

[50]De Pile’s Conversat. sur la peint.

[51]Du Bos Refl. sur la poesie & sur la peint.

[52]The Stratonice was twice painted by Lairesse. The picture we talk of is the smallest of the two: the figure is about one foot and a half, and differs from the other in the disposition of the Parerga.

[53]See Plutarch. in Demetr. & Lucian. de Dea Syria.

[54]Vide Lettre de Mr. Huet sur la Pourpre: dans les Dissertat. de Tilladet. Tom. II. p. 169.

[55]St. Real Cæsarion, T. II. Le Blanc Lettre sur l’Expos. des Ouvrages de Peint, &c. 1747.

[56]De Oratore, L. II. c. 21.

[57]Aristot. Rhet. L. I. c. 1. §. 4.

[58]Xenophon Resp. Laced. c. 3. §. 5.

[59]Origines Contra Cels. L. IV. p. 196. Edit. Cantabr.

[60]Perrault sur Vitruve Explic. de la Planche IX. p. 62.

[61]Dialog. Inconfus. p. 76.

[62]Horapoll. Hierogl. c. 33. Conf. Blackwell’s Enq. into Hom. p. 170.

[63]De Re rust. præf. ad L. I. §. 32. p. 392. Edit. Gesn.

[64]Vitruv. L. IV. c. 1.

[65]Travels, T. II.

[66]Plutarch. Numa. p. 149. L. 14. Edit. Bryani.

[67]Passerii Lucern.

[68]Menage Diction. Etymol. v. Barroque.

[69]Vide Desgodez Edifices antiq. de Rome, p. 91.

[70]Bartoli Sepolcri Antichi, p. 67. ibid. fig. 91.

[71]Perrault notes sur Vitruv. L. IV. ch. 2. n. 21. p. 118.

[72]Martial, L. III. Ep. 41. 1.

[73]Bellori Sepolchri ant. f. 99.

[74]Virgil, Æn. V. v. 250. & seq.

[75]Pausanias, L. IX. c. 40. p. 794. Conf. Spanhem. Not. sur les Cæesars de l’Emp. Julien. p. 240.

[76]Kircheri Oedip. Ægypt. T. III. p. 405, & 433.

[77]Bianchini Istor. Univ. p. 412.

[78]Nehem. Grew Musæum Societ. Reg. Lond. 1681. fol. p. 1.

[79]Vide Gabr. Bremond Viaggi nell’Egitto. Roma. 1579. 4. L. I. c. 15. p. 77.

[80]Clemens Alex. Strom. L. VI. p. 456.

[81]Shaw, Voyage, T. II. p. 123.

[82]Della Valle Viaggi. Lettr. 11. §. 9. p. 325. & seq.

[83]Herodot. L. II. c. 36. Diod. Sic.

[84]Plutarch. de Isid. & Osirid. p. 374.

[85]Kircher Oed. I. c. ej. Prodrom. Copt. c. 7.

[86]Herodot. L. II. c. 153.

[87]Diogen. Laert. v. Democr.

[88]Diodor. Sic. L. I. c. 29. Edit. Wessel.

[89]Kircher Oedip. I. c.—it. ejusd. China illustrata. III. c. 4. p. 151.

[90]Alberti Englische Briefe, B——.

[91]Clem. Alex. Strom. L. I. p. 354. Edit. Pott.

[92]Herodot. L. II. c. 61.

[93]Montfaucon Palæogr. Græc. L. III. c. 5. p. 230. Kuhn. Not. ad Pausan. L. II. p. 128.

[94]Augustin. Gem. P. II. l. 32.

[95]Gruter. Corp. Inscr. p. DCCCLXI. ἐυτυχειτε, χαιρετε, &c.

[96]Prideaux Marm. Oxon. 4. & 179.

[97]Demosth. Orat. pro Corona, p. 485, 499. Edit. Frc. 1604.

[98]Gruter, Corp. Inscript. p. DCXLI. 8.

[99]Montfaucon Palæogr. L. IV. c. 10. p. 336, 338.

[100]Montf. L. I. c. 4. II. c. 6. p. 152.

[101]Herod. L. II.

[102]Descript. de l’Egypte, par Mascriere, Lettr. VII. 23.

[103]Descript. de l’Eg. L. c.

[104]Chishul. Inscr. Sig. p. 12.

[105]Kircher. Obelisc. Pamph. c. 8. p. 147.

[106]Cicero de Oratore, L. II. c. 37.

[107]The author was then preparing for a journey to Rome.

[108]Argenville abregé de la V. d. P. T. II. p. 287.

[109]Reise, p. 21.

[110]Strabo, L. XIV. p. 652. al. 965. l. 11.

[111]Richardson Essay, &c. p. 38, 39.

[112]Diomedes, for ought I can see, is neither a sitting nor a standing figure, in both which cases the critick must be allowed to be just. He descends. Remark of the T. L.

[113]Cicero de Fato, c. 4.

[114]Strabo, L. IV. p. 196. al. 299. l. 22.

[115]Misopog. p. 342. l. 13.

[116]Strabo, L. III. p. 158. al. 238.

[117]Du Bos Reflex. sur la Poesie et s. l. P. II. 144.

[118]Herodot. L. III. c. 106. Cicero ad Attic. L. VI. cp. 2.

[119]Περὶ τοπων. p. 288. edit. Foesii. Galenus ὁτι τα τῆς Ψυχῆς Ἠθη τοις του Σωματος κρασεσι ἑπεται. fol. 171. B. I. 43. edit. Ald. T. I.

[120]Chardin voyage en Perse, T. II. p. 127. & seq.

[121]Journal des Sçavans l’An. 1684. Aur. p. 153.

[122]Apud Euseb. Præpar. Evang. L. V. c. 29. p. 226. edit. Colon.

[123]Plin. Hist. Nat. L. V. c. 8.

[124]Lahontan Memoir. T. II. p. 217. Cons. Wöldike de ling. Grönland, p. 144, & seq. Act. Hafn. T. II.

[125]Clarmont de Ære, Locis, & aquis Angliæ. Lond. 1672. 12.

[126]Wotton’s Reflex, upon ancient and modern Learning, p. 4. Pope’s Letter to Mr. Walsh, T. I. 74.

[127]Lakemacher Observ. Philolog. P. III. Observ. IV. p. 250, &c.

[128]

Th’ impatient weapon whizzes on the wing; Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quiv’ring string, &c. Pope. [129]Longin. Περι ὑψ. Sect. 13. §. 1.

[130]Odyss. λ. v. 71. Conf. Iliad, Γ. v. 363. & Eustath. ad h. l. p. 424. L. 10. edit. Rom.

[131]Gregor. Thaumat. Orat. Paneg. ad Origen. 49.

[132]Aristoph. Ran. v. 1485.

[133]Athen. Deipnos. L. XII. c. 13. Ælian, V. H. I. ix. 14.

[134]Aristoph. Equit.

[135]Thucyd. L. II. c. 39.

[136]Horat. L. II. Ep. I. v. 244.

[137]Cicero de fato. c. 4.

[138]Περι τοπων. p. 204.

[139]Cicero Orat. c. 8. Conf. Dicæarch, Geogr. edit. H. Steph. c. 2. p. 16.

[140]Nubes, v. 1365.

[141]Schol. ad Aristoph. Nub. v. 1010.

[142]Plutarch, de Sera Numin. Vindicta, p. 563. 9.

[143]Cicero de Orat.

[144]Golzius, Tab. XIV. T. II.

[145]Diodorus Sic. L. XX. p. 763. al. 449.

[146]Stukely’s Itinerar. III. p. 32.

[147]Theophrast. Hist. Pl. L. IX. c. 16. p. 1131. l. 7. ed. Amst. 1644. fol. Galen de Antidot. I. fol. 63. B. I. 28. Idem de Theriac. ad Pison. fol. 85. A. I. 20.

[148]Tournefort Voyage, Lett. I. p. 10. edit. Amst.

[149]Belon. Observ. L. II. ch. 9. p. 151. a.

[150]Idem. L. III. ch. 34. p. 350. b. Corn. le Brun. V. fol. p. 169.

[151]Dicæarch. Geogr. c. 1. p. 1.

[152]Voyage de Spon et Wheeler, T. II. p. 75, 76.

[153]Wheeler’s Journey into Greece, p. 347.

[154]Conf. Lysis, p. 499. Edit. Fref. 1602.

[155]De Republ.

[156]De Leg. L. VII. p. 892, l. 30-6. Conf. Petiti Leg. att. p. 296. Maittaire Marm. Arund. p. 483. Gronov. ad Plaut. Bacchid. v. Ante Solem Exorientem.

[157]Galen, de Simpl. Medic. Facult. L. II. c. 5. fol. 9. A. Opp. Tom. II. Frontin. Stratag. L. I. c. 7.

[158]Lucian Gymn. p. 907. Opp. T. II. Edit. Reitz.

[159]Dion. Halic. A. R. c. 1. §. 6. de vi dicendi in Demost. c. 29. Edit. Oxon.

[160]Ψ. v. 163.

[161]Numism. Imp. p. 160.

[162]Philostrat. Epist. 22. p. 922. Conf. Macrob. Sat. L. V. c. 18. p. 357. Edit. Lond. 1694. 8. Hygin. Sat. 12.

[163]Conf. Arbuthnot’s Tabl. of Anc. Coins, ch. 6. p. 116.

[164]Thucyd. L. I. c. 6. Eustath. ad Iliad. Ψ. p. 1324. l. 16.

[165]Cyrilli Hieros. Catech. Mystag. II. c. 2, 3, 4. p. 284. ed. Thom. Miles, Oxon. 1703. fol. 305. Vice Comitis Observ. de Antiq. Baptismi rit. L. IV. c. 10. p. 286-89. Binghami Orig. Eccles. T. IV. L. XI. c. 11. Godeau Hist. de l’Eglise, T. I. L. III. p. 623.

[166]Lucian. Dial. Mort. X. §. 3.

[167]Idem. Navig. E. 2. p. 248.

[168]De la Chambre Discours; où il est prouvé que les François font les plus capables de tous les peuples de la perfection de l’éloquence, p. 15.

[169]Lucian, pro Imagin. p. 490. Edit. Reitz. T. II.

[170]Cic. Brut. c. 7. & 83.

[171]Considerations sur les Revolutions des Arts. Paris, 1755, p. 33.

[172]Pagi. Discours sur l’Histoire Grecque, p. 45.

[173]Nouveau Voyage d’Hollande, de l’Allem., de Suisse & d’Italie, par M. de Blainville.

[174]Richardson’s Account, &c. 294, 295.

[175]Chambray Idée de la Peint. p. 46. au Mans, 1662. 4to.

[176]Plin. Hist. Nat. L. XXXV. c. 10.

[177](Durand) Extrait de l’Histoire de la Peint. de Pline. p. 56.

[178]Observat. sur les Arts & sur quelques morceaux de Peint. & de Sculpt. exposés au Louvre, 1748. p. 65.

[179]Nouvelle Division de la Terre par les différentes Espèces d’Hommes, &c. dans le Journ. des Sçav. 1704. Avr. 152.

[180]Plutarch. Vit. Æmil. p. 147. ed. Bryani. T. II.

[181]Lucian. Navig. S. Votum. c. 2. p. 249.

[182]Borghini Riposo, L. II. p. 129.

[183]Chambray Idée de la Peint. p. 47.

[184]Maxim. Tyr. Diss. 25. p. 303. Edit. Markl.

[185]Vide Spectator, N. 418.

[186]Philostrat. Icon. Anton. p. 91.

[187]Plutarch. Ant.

[188]Observat. sur les Arts, &c., p. 65.

[189]Quintil. L. IX. c. 14.

[190]Plutarch, Timoleon. P. 142.

[191]Plutarch. Adul. & Amici discrim. p. 53. D.

[192]Aristot. Rhet. L. I. c. 11. p. 61. Edit. Lond. 1619. 4to. Plato Phæd. p. 46. I. 44.

[193]Cicero Tusc. L. I. c. 28.

[194]Aristot. Poet. c. 28.

[195]Aristot. Rhet. III. c. 2. §. 4.

[196]Herodot. L. II. c. 50.

[197]Herodot. L. II. c. 3. c. 47. Conf. L. II. c. 61. Pausan. L. II. p. 71. l. 45. p. 114. l. 57. L. V. p. 317. l. 6.

[198]Pausan. L. II. c. 17. p. 149. l. 24.

[199]Arrian. Epict. L. III. c. 21. p. 439. Edit. Upton.

[200]Plutarch, de Isid. & Osir. p. 355. Clem. Alex. Strom. L. V. p. 657, 58. Edit. Potteri. Ælian. Hist. Anim. L. 10. c. 15.

[201]Plut. L. C. p. 376. Androvand. de Quadr. digit. Vivipar. L. III. p. 574.

[202]Strabo, L. XVI. p. 760. al. 1104.

[203]Pausan. L. III. p. 245. l. 21.

[204]Kircher Oedip. Æg. T. III. p. 64. Lucian. Nav. 3 Vol. c. 1. Bayf. de re Nav. p. 130. edit. Bas. 1537. 4.

[205]Schaffer de re Nav. L. III. c. 3. p. 196. Passerii Luc. T. II. tab. 93.

[206]Lactant. ad v. 253. L. VII. Thebaid.

[207]Beger. Thes. Palat. p. 234. Numism. Musell. Reg. et Pop. T. 8.

[208]Haym. Tesoro Britt. T. I. p. 168.

[209]Ap. Philostr. Heroic. p. 693.

[210]Vaillant Num. Colon. Rom. T. II. p. 136. Conf. Bianchini Istor. Unic. p. 74.

[211]Mus. Flor. T. I. Tab. 91. p. 175.

[212]Petron. Sat. c. 34.

[213]Spon. Miscell. Sect. I. Tab. 5.

[214]Kircher Oedip. T. III. p. 555. Cuper de Elephant. Exercit. c. 3. p. 32.

[215]In Extremis Gadibus. v. Eustath. ad II. A. p. 744. l. 4. ad. Rom. Id. ad Dionys. Περιηγ. ad v. 453. p. 84. Ed. Oxon. 1712.

[216]Kircher Oed. Æg. T. III. p. 555.

[217]Horapoll. Hierogl. L. II. c. 84.

[218]Cuper. l. c. Spanh. Diss. T. I, p. 169.

[219]Agost, Dialog. II. p. 68.

[220]Homer. ΟΔ. Ε., v. 121. Conf. Heraclid. Pontic. de Allegoria Homeri. p. 492. Meurs. de funere. c. 7.

[221]Venuti Num. max. moduli. T. 25. Rom. 1739. fol. Bellori Admir. fol. 30.

[222]Pausan. L. X. p. 806. l. 16.

[223]Licet. Gem. Anul. c. 48.

[224]Beger. Theo. Brand. T. 1. p. 182.

[225]Ibid. p. 281.

[226]Justin. L. XV. c. 4. p. 412. edit. Gronov.

[227]Spanh. Diss. T. I. p. 407.

[228]Ap. D. C. de Moezinsky.

[229]Paus. L. V. p. 447. l. 22.

[230]Ibid. L. 1. p. 52. l. 4.

[231]Pausan. L. III. p. 245. l. 20. Morel Specim. Rei. N. XII.

[232]Spanhem. Diss. T. I. p. 154.

[233]Spanhem. Obs. ad Juliani Imp. Orat. I. p. 282.

[234]Montfaucon Ant. expl. T. III.

[235]Morell. Specim. Rei Num. T. VIII. p. 92.

[236]Artemidor. Oneirocr. L. II. c. 49.

[237]Noct. Attic. L. XIV. c. 4.

[238]Agost. Dialog. II. p. 45. Rom. 1650. fol.

[239]Tristan. Comm. hist. de l’Emp. T. I. p. 297.

[240]Numism. Musell. Imp. R. tab. 38.

[241]Ibid. Tab. II.

[242]Ibid. Tab. XXIX. Erisso Dichiaraz. di Medagl. ant. P. II. p. 130.

[243]Plutarch Syll. p. 50, 51.

[244]Conf. Philostrat. Imag. p. 737.

[245]Plin. Hist. N. L. XVIII. c. 47. Agost. Dial. III. p. 104.

[246]Gabriæ Fab. p. 169. in Æsop. Fab. Venet. 1709. 8.

[247]Pausan. L. I. c. 43. p. 105. L. 7.

[248]Plutarch. Sympos. L. IX. qu. 6.

[249]Vaillant Numism. Imp. T. II. p. 133.

[250]Plutarch. Vit. Thes. p. 26.

[251]Agost. Dial. II. p. 66, 67. Numism. Musell. Imp. Rom. Tab. 115.

[252]Ripa Iconol. n. 87.

[253]Thesaur. de Arguta Dict.

[254]Numism. Musell. Imp. R. Tab. 107.

[255]Ibid. Tab. 106.

[256]Ibid. Tab. 105.

[257]Ripa Iconol. P. I. n. 53.

[258]Agost. Dial. II. p. 57. Numism. Musell. l. c. Tab. 68.

[259]Agost. l. c.

[260]Ripa Ic. P. I. n. 135.

[261]Agost. Dial. II. p. 47.

[262]Ripa Iconol. P. I. n. 31.

[263]Ibid. P. I. n. 25.

[264]Vide Picinelli Mund. Symb.

[265]Shaw Voyag. T. I.

[266]Hayman Tesoro Brit. T. I. p. 219.

[267]Egnatius de exempl. illustr. Vir. Venet. L. V. p. 133.

[268]Numism. Barbar. Gent. n. 37. Padova. 1732. fol.

[269]Medailles de Louis le Grand, a. 1663. Paris 1702. fol.

[270]Thesaur. de Argut. Dict.

[271]Ripa Iconol. P. II. p. 166.

[272]Spectator, Edit. 1724. Vol. II. p. 201.

[273]Canini Imag. des Heros. N. I.

[274]Stoch Pier. Grav. Pl. LI.

[275]Pausan. L. X. p. 870. 871.

[276]Vit. Thesei. p. 29.

[277]De Monstrosa Amicitia respectu perfectionis inter Nic. Barbar. & Marc. Trivisan. Venet. apud Franc. Baba. 1628. 4.

[278]Vita Marcelli. Ortelii Capita Deor. L. II. fig. 41.

[279]Thomasin. Donar. Vet. c. 5.

[280]Plutarch. Quæst. Rom. P. 266. F.

[281]Vulp. Latium. T. I. L. I. c. 27. p. 406.

[282]Agostin. Dialog. II. p. 81.

[283]Ibid. & Beger Obs. in Num. p. 56.

[284]Iliad, i. v. 498. Conf. Heraclides Pontic. de Allegoria Homeri, p. 457, 58.

[285]Architect. L. II. c. 8.

[286]Vide Representatio Bibliothecæ Cesareæ Viennæ 1737. fol. obt.

[287]This piece is engraved by Simmoneau Senior Cons. Lepicié Vies des p. P. de R. T. I. p. 64.

[288]Another representation of that story, and one of Poussin’s best originals, is in the gallery of Dresden, in which the river god is extremely advantageous to the composition of the whole.

[289]Plin.

[290]Plato Alcibiad. II. P. 457. l. 30.

[291]Baldinucci, Notiz. de’ P. d. D. P. 118. Argenville seems not to have understood the word, Ciliegia: he saw that it should be a symbol of spring, and changed the cherry to a butterfly; the chief object of the picture he omits, and talks only of the girl.

[292]Lepiciè Vies des P. R. P. II. p. 17, 18.

[293]Recueil d’Estamp. de la Gall. de Dresd. fol. 48.

[294]Pompa & Introitus Ferdinandi Hisp. Inf. p. 15. Antv. 1641. fol.

[295]Vasari vite. P. III. Vol. I. p. 76.

[296]Chambray Idée de la P. p. 107, 108. Bellori Descriz. delle Imagini dip. da Raffaello, &c.

[297]Heraclid. Pontic. de Allegoria Homeri, p. 443.

[298]Josephi Antiq. L. XIV. c. 8. Edit. Haverc.

[299]Dati vite de’ Pittori. p. 73.

[300]Thesaur. Idea Arg. Dict. C. III. p. 84.

[301]Blondel Maisons de Plaisance, T. II. p. 26.

[302]Passerii Lucernæ fict. Tab. 51.

[303]Quellinus Maison de la Ville d’Amst. 1655. fol.

[304]Arnob., adv. Gentes L. V. p. 157. Edit. Lugd. 1651. 4.

[305]An ox-head on the reverse of an Attick gold coin, stamped with the head of Hercules and his club, is supposed to allude to his labours, (Haym. Tesoro Britt. l. 182.) and to be, in general, a symbol of strength, industry, or patience, (Hypnerotomachia Polyphili. Venet. Ald. fol.)

[306]Vitruv. L. I. c. 2.

[307]Diodor. Sic. L. XIII. p. 375. al. 507.

[308]Blondel Maisons de Plaisance.

[309]Vide Spectator, No. 51.

[310]Pausan. L. I. c. 43. l. 22.

[311]Plin. Hist. N. L. XXXVI. c. 5.

[312]Paus. L. II. c. 2. P. 115. l. 11.

[313]Idem. L. IX. c. 40. P. 795. l. 11.

[314]Aldrovand. de Quadrup. bisulc. p. 141.

[315]Bellori Lucern. Sepulcr. P. I. fig. 17.

[316]Spon. Misc. Sect. II. Art. I. P. 25.

[317]Vide Buonarotti Osserv. sopra alcuni Medagli. Proem. p. XXVI. Roma. 1693. 4.

[318]Plutarch. de Garrulit. p. 502.

[319]Tristan Comment. Hist. des Emper. T. I. p. 632.

[320]Plutarch. Marcell. p. 277.

[321]Vulpii Latium, T. II. L. II. c. 20. p. 175.

[322]Banier Mythol. T. II. L. I. ch. 11. p. 181.

[323]Dioscorid. de Re Med. L. V. c. 179.

[324]Fred. Oeser, one of the most extensive geniuses which the present age can boast of, is a German, and now lives at Dresden; where, to the honour of his country, and the emolument of the art, he gets his livelihood by teaching young blockheads, of the Saxon-race, the elements of drawing; and by etching after the Flemish painters. N. of Transl.

[325]Hymn. in Apoll.

[326]Alexander, in his S. John, in St. Andrea della Valle at Rome; Niobe, in a picture belonging to the Tesoro di S. Gennaro, at Naples.

[327]So are the goddesses of the Theopægnia at Blenheim, in Oxfordshire; and hence it is clear, that another Venus, analogous to that in the Tribuna, among the pictures of a gentleman in London, cannot be the production of that genius-in-flesh only. This daughter of the Idalian graces seems to thrill with inward pleasure, and to recollect a night of bliss——

There is language in her eye, her cheek, her lip: Nay, her foot speaks—— Shakespear. [328]Veron. illustr. P. III. c. 7. p. 269.

[329]“Et toi, rival des Praxiteles & des Phidias; toi dont les anciens auroient employé le ciseau à leur faire des dieux capables d’excuser à nos yeux leur idolatrie; inimitable Pigal, ta main se résoudra a vendre des magots, ou il faudra qu’elle demeure oisive.” J. J. Rousseau Disc. sur le Retabl. d. A. S. &c.

This, my dear countryman! is the only passage of thine, where posterity will find the orator forgot the philosopher. N. of Tr.

THE END.

ERRATA. Page 20. Line 13. for comma after says, place semi-colon.

P. 61. L. 7. for Morte read Morto.

P. 83. Note, for Bernoue read Bernoull.

P. 94. L. 3. after Nature add a colon—after flat add it.

P. 105. L. 10. dele Lucian, Ep. I.

P. 166. Note f. instead of ὈΔ. Τ. v. 230. read Ψ. v. 163.

P. 181. L. 13. for on read in.

P. 189. L. 20. for or read on.

P. 197. Note d. for adv. read ad v.

P. 227. L. 12. for the read her.

Full German text

[1] Der gute Geschmack, welcher sich mehr und mehr durch die Welt ausbreitet, hat sich angefangen zuerst unter dem griechischen Himmel zu bilden. Alle Erfindungen fremder Völker kamen gleichsam nur als der erste Same nach Griechenland und nahmen eine andere Natur und Gestalt an in dem Lande, welches Minerva, sagt man, vor allen Ländern, wegen der gemäßigten Jahreszeiten, die sie hier angetroffen, den Griechen zur Wohnung angewiesen, als ein Land, welches kluge Köpfe hervorbringen würde.

Der Geschmack, den diese Nation ihren Werken gegeben hat, ist ihr eigen geblieben; er hat sich selten weit von Griechenland entfernt, ohne etwas zu verlieren, und unter entlegenen Himmelsstrichen ist er spät bekannt geworden. Er war ohne Zweifel ganz und gar fremd unter einem nordischen Himmel, zu der Zeit, da die beiden Künste, deren große Lehrer die Griechen sind, wenig Verehrer fanden; zu der Zeit, da die verehrungswürdigsten Stücke des Correggio im königlichen Stalle zu Stockholm vor die Fenster, zu Bedeckung derselben, gehängt waren.

Und man muß gestehen, daß die Regierung des großen August der eigentliche glückliche Zeitpunkt ist, in welchem die Künste, als eine fremde Kolonie, in Sachsen eingeführt worden. Unter seinem Nachfolger, dem deutschen Titus, sind dieselben diesem Lande eigen worden, und durch sie wird der gute Geschmack allgemein.

[2] Es ist ein ewiges Denkmal der Größe dieses Monarchen, daß zur Bildung des guten Geschmacks die größten Schätze aus Italien, und was sonst Vollkommenes in der Malerei in andern Ländern hervorgebracht worden, vor den Augen aller Welt aufgestellt sind. Sein Eifer, die Künste zu verewigen, hat endlich nicht geruht, bis wahrhafte untrügliche Werke griechischer Meister, und zwar vom ersten Range, den Künstlern zur Nachahmung sind gegeben worden.

Die reinsten Quellen der Kunst sind geöffnet: glücklich ist, wer sie findet und schmeckt. Diese Quellen suchen heißt nach Athen reisen; und Dresden wird nunmehr Athen für Künstler.

Der einzige Weg für uns, groß, ja, wenn es möglich ist, unnachahmlich zu werden, ist die Nachahmung der Alten, und was jemand vom Homer gesagt, daß derjenige ihn bewundern lernt, der ihn wohl verstehen gelernt, gilt auch von den Kunstwerken der Alten, sonderlich der Griechen. Man muß mit ihnen, wie mit seinem Freunde, bekannt geworden sein, um den Laokoon ebenso unnachahmlich als den Homer zu finden. In solcher genauen Bekanntschaft wird man, wie Nicomachus von der Helena des Zeuxis, urteilen: »Nimm meine Augen«, sagte er zu einem Unwissenden, der das Bild tadeln wollte, »so wird sie dir eine Göttin scheinen.«

Mit diesem Auge haben Michelangelo, Raffael und Poussin die Werke der Alten angesehen. Sie haben den guten Geschmack aus seiner Quelle geschöpft, und Raffael in dem Lande selbst, wo er sich gebildet. Man weiß, daß er junge Leute nach Griechenland geschickt, die Überbleibsel des Altertums für ihn zu zeichnen.

Eine Bildsäule von einer alten römischen Hand wird sich gegen ein griechisches Urbild allemal verhalten wie Virgils Dido, in ihrem Gefolge mit der Diana unter ihren Oreaden verglichen, sich gegen Homers Nausikaa verhält, welche jener nachzuahmen gesucht hat.

Laokoon war den Künstlern im alten Rom ebendas, was er uns ist: des Polyklets Regel; eine vollkommene Regel der Kunst.

[3] Ich habe nicht nötig anzuführen, daß sich in den berühmtesten Werken der griechischen Künstler gewisse Nachlässigkeiten finden: der Delphin, welcher der Mediceischen Venus zugegeben ist, nebst den spielenden Kindern; die Arbeit des Dioskorides, außer der Hauptfigur, in seinem geschnittenen Diomedes mit dem Palladio, sind Beispiele davon. Man weiß, daß die Arbeit der Rückseite auf den schönsten Münzen der ägyptischen und syrischen Könige den Köpfen dieser Könige selten beikommt. Große Künstler sind auch in ihren Nachlässigkeiten weise, sie können nicht fehlen, ohne zugleich zu unterrichten. Man betrachte ihre Werke, wie Lucian den Jupiter des Phidias will betrachtet haben, den Jupiter selbst, nicht den Schemel seiner Füße.

Die Kenner und Nachahmer der griechischen Werke finden in ihren Meisterstücken nicht allein die schönste Natur, sondern noch mehr als Natur, das ist, gewisse idealische Schönheiten derselben, die, wie uns ein alter Ausleger des Plato lehrt, von Bildern, bloß im Verstande entworfen, gemacht sind.

Der schönste Körper unter uns wäre vielleicht dem schönsten griechischen Körper nicht ähnlicher, als Iphikles dem Herkules, seinem Bruder, war. Der Einfluß eines sanften und reinen Himmels wirkte bei der ersten Bildung der Griechen, die frühzeitigen Leibesübungen aber gaben dieser Bildung die edle Form. Man nehme einen jungen Spartaner, den ein Held mit einer Heldin gezeugt, der in der Kindheit niemals in Windeln eingeschränkt gewesen, der von dem siebenten Jahre an auf der Erde geschlafen und im Ringen und Schwimmen von Kindesbeinen an war geübt worden. Man stelle ihn neben einen jungen Sybariten unserer Zeit: und alsdann urteile man, welchen von beiden der Künstler zu einem Urbilde eines jungen Theseus, eines Achilles, ja selbst eines Bacchus nehmen würde. Nach diesem gebildet, würde es ein Theseus, bei Rosen, und nach jenem gebildet, ein Theseus, bei Fleisch erzogen, werden, wie ein griechischer Maler von zwei verschiedenen Vorstellungen dieses Helden urteilte.

[4] Zu den Leibesübungen waren die großen Spiele allen jungen Griechen ein kräftiger Sporn, und die Gesetze verlangten eine zehnmonatliche Vorbereitung zu den olympischen Spielen, und dieses in Elis, an dem Orte selbst, wo sie gehalten wurden. Die größten Preise erhielten nicht allezeit Männer, sondern meistenteils junge Leute, wie Pindars Oden zeigen. Dem göttlichen Diagoras gleich zu werden war der höchste Wunsch der Jugend.

Seht den schnellen Indianer an, der einem Hirsche zu Fuße nachsetzt. Wie flüchtig werden seine Säfte, wie biegsam und schnell werden seine Nerven und Muskeln, und wie leicht wird der ganze Bau des Körpers gemacht. So bildet uns Homer seine Helden, und seinen Achilles bezeichnet er vorzüglich durch die Geschwindigkeit seiner Füße.

Die Körper erhielten durch diese Übungen den großen und männlichen Kontur, welchen die griechischen Meister ihren Bildsäulen gegeben, ohne Dunst und überflüssigen Ansatz. Die jungen Spartaner mußten sich alle zehn Tage vor den Ephoren nackend zeigen, die denjenigen, welche anfingen fett zu werden, eine strengere Diät auflegten. Ja, es war eins unter den Gesetzen des Pythagoras, sich vor allem überflüssigen Ansatz des Körpers zu hüten. Es geschah vielleicht aus eben dem Grunde, daß jungen Leuten unter den Griechen der ältesten Zeiten, die sich zu einem Wettkampf im Ringen angaben, während der Zeit der Vorübungen nur Milchspeise zugelassen war.

Aller Übelstand des Körpers wurde behutsam vermieden, und da Alcibiades in seiner Jugend die Flöte nicht blasen lernen wollte, weil sie das Gesicht verstellte, so folgten die jungen Athenienser seinem Beispiele.

Nach dem war der ganze Anzug der Griechen so beschaffen, daß er der bildenden Natur nicht den geringsten Zwang antat. Das Wachstum der schönen Form litt nichts durch die verschiedenen Arten und Teile unserer heutigen pressenden und klemmenden Kleidung, sonderlich am Halse, an den Hüften und Schenkeln. Das schöne Geschlecht selbst unter [5] den Griechen wußte von keinem ängstlichen Zwange in seinem Putze: die jungen Spartanerinnen waren so leicht und kurz bekleidet, daß man sie daher Hüftzeigerinnen nannte.

Es ist auch bekannt, wie sorgfältig die Griechen waren, schöne Kinder zu zeugen. Quillet in seiner Kallipädie zeigt nicht so viel Wege dazu, als unter ihnen üblich waren. Sie gingen sogar so weit, daß sie aus blauen Augen schwarze zu machen suchten. Auch zur Beförderung dieser Absicht errichtete man Wettspiele der Schönheit. Sie wurden in Elis gehalten; der Preis bestand in Waffen, die in dem Tempel der Minerva aufgehängt wurden. An gründlichen und gelehrten Richtern konnte es in diesen Spielen nicht fehlen, da die Griechen, wie Aristoteles berichtet, ihre Kinder im Zeichnen unterrichten ließen, vornehmlich weil sie glaubten, daß es geschickter mache, die Schönheit in den Körpern zu betrachten und zu beurteilen.

Das schöne Geblüt der Einwohner der meisten griechischen Inseln, welches gleichwohl mit so verschiedenem fremden Geblüte vermischt ist, und die vorzüglichen Reizungen des schönen Geschlechts daselbst, sonderlich auf der Insel Skios, geben zugleich eine gegründete Mutmaßung von den Schönheiten beiderlei Geschlechts unter ihren Vorfahren, die sich rühmten, ursprünglich, ja älter als der Mond zu sein.

Es sind ja noch jetzt ganze Völker, bei welchen die Schönheit so gar kein Vorzug ist, weil alles schön ist. Die Reisebeschreiber sagen dieses einhellig von den Georgianern, und ebendieses berichtet man von den Kabardinski, einer Nation in der krimischen Tartarei.

Die Krankheiten, welche so viel Schönheiten zerstören und die edelsten Bildungen verderben, waren den Griechen noch unbekannt. Es findet sich in den Schriften der griechischen Ärzte keine Spur von Blattern, und in keines Griechen angezeigter Bildung, welche man bei Homer oft nach den geringsten Zügen entworfen sieht, ist ein so unterscheidendes Kennzeichen, wie Blattergruben sind, angebracht worden. Die venerischen Übel und die Tochter derselben, die englische [6] Krankheit, wüteten auch noch nicht wider die schöne Natur der Griechen. Überhaupt war alles, was von der Geburt bis zur Fülle des Wachstums zur Bildung der Körper, zur Bewahrung, zur Ausarbeitung und zur Zierde dieser Bildung durch Natur und Kunst eingeflößt und gelehrt worden, zum Vorteil der schönen Natur der alten Griechen gewirkt und angewendet, und kann die vorzügliche Schönheit ihrer Körper vor den unsrigen mit der größten Wahrscheinlichkeit zu behaupten Anlaß geben.

Die vollkommensten Geschöpfe der Natur aber würden in einem Lande, wo die Natur in vielen ihrer Wirkungen durch strengere Gesetze gehemmt war, wie in Ägypten, dem vorgegebenen Vaterlande der Künste und Wissenschaften, den Künstlern nur zum Teil und unvollkommen bekannt geworden sein. In Griechenland aber, wo man sich der Lust und Freude von Jugend auf weihte, wo ein gewisser heutiger bürgerlicher Wohlstand der Freiheit der Sitten niemals Eintrag getan, da zeigte sich die schöne Natur unverhüllt zum großen Unterrichte der Künstler.

Die Schule der Künstler war in den Gymnasien, wo die jungen Leute, welche die öffentliche Schamhaftigkeit bedeckte, ganz nackend ihre Leibesübungen trieben. Der Weise, der Künstler gingen dahin: Sokrates, den Charmides, den Autolycus, den Lysis zu lehren; ein Phidias, aus diesen schönen Geschöpfen seine Kunst zu bereichern. Man lernte daselbst Bewegungen der Muskeln, Wendungen des Körpers; man studierte die Umrisse der Körper oder den Kontur an dem Abdrucke, den die jungen Ringer im Sande gemacht hatten.

Das schönste Nackende der Körper zeigt sich hier in so mannigfaltigen, wahrhaften und edlen Ständen und Stellungen, in die ein gedungenes Modell, welches in unseren Akademien aufgestellt wird, nicht zu setzen ist.

Die innere Empfindung bildet den Charakter der Wahrheit, und der Zeichner, welcher seinen Akademien denselben geben will, wird nicht einen Schatten des Wahren erhalten [7] ohne eigene Ersetzung desjenigen, was eine ungerührte und gleichgültige Seele des Modells nicht empfindet, noch durch eine Aktion, die einer gewissen Empfindung oder Leidenschaft eigen ist, ausdrücken kann.

Der Eingang zu vielen Gesprächen des Plato, die er in den Gymnasien zu Athen ihren Anfang nehmen lassen, macht uns ein Bild von den edlen Seelen der Jugend und läßt uns auch hieraus auf gleichförmige Handlungen und Stellungen an diesen Orten und in ihren Leibesübungen schließen.

Die schönsten jungen Leute tanzten unbekleidet auf dem Theater, und Sophokles, der große Sophokles, war der erste, der in seiner Jugend dieses Schauspiel seinen Bürgern machte. Phryne badete sich in den eleusinischen Spielen vor den Augen aller Griechen und wurde beim Heraussteigen aus dem Wasser den Künstlern das Urbild einer Venus Anadyomene, und man weiß, daß die jungen Mädchen in Sparta an einem gewissen Feste ganz nackend vor den Augen der jungen Leute tanzten. Was hier fremd scheinen könnte, wird erträglicher werden, wenn man bedenkt, daß auch die Christen der ersten Kirche ohne die geringste Verhüllung, sowohl Männer als Weiber, zu gleicher Zeit und in einem und ebendemselben Taufsteine getauft oder untergetaucht worden sind.

Also war auch ein jedes Fest bei den Griechen eine Gelegenheit für Künstler, sich mit der schönen Natur aufs genaueste bekanntzumachen.

Die Menschlichkeit der Griechen hatte in ihrer blühenden Freiheit keine blutigen Schauspiele einführen wollen, oder wenn dergleichen in dem ionischen Asien, wie einige glauben, üblich gewesen, so waren sie seit geraumer Zeit wiederum eingestellt. Antiochus Epiphanes, König in Syrien, verschrieb Fechter von Rom und ließ die Griechen Schauspiele dieser unglücklichen Menschen sehen, die ihnen anfänglich ein Abscheu waren. Mit der Zeit verlor sich das menschliche Gefühl, und auch diese Schauspiele wurden Schulen der Künstler. Ein Ktesilas studierte hier seinen sterbenden Fechter, »an [8] welchem man sehen konnte, wieviel von seiner Seele noch in ihm übrig war«.

Diese häufigen Gelegenheiten zur Beobachtung der Natur veranlaßten die griechischen Künstler, noch weiter zu gehen. Sie fingen an, sich gewisse allgemeine Begriffe von Schönheiten sowohl einzelner Teile als ganzer Verhältnisse der Körper zu bilden, die sich über die Natur selbst erheben sollten; ihr Urbild war eine bloß im Verstande entworfene geistige Natur.

So bildete Raffael seine Galatea. Man sehe seinen Brief an den Grafen Baldasare Castiglione: »Da die Schönheiten«, schreibt er, »unter dem Frauenzimmer so selten sind, so bediene ich mich einer gewissen Idee in meiner Einbildung.«

Nach solchen über die gewöhnliche Form der Materie erhabenen Begriffen bildeten die Griechen Götter und Menschen. An Göttern und Göttinnen machte Stirn und Nase beinahe eine gerade Linie. Die Köpfe berühmter Frauen auf griechischen Münzen haben dergleichen Profil, wo es gleichwohl nicht willkürlich war, nach idealischen Begriffen zu arbeiten. Oder man könnte mutmaßen, daß diese Bildung den alten Griechen ebenso eigen gewesen, als es bei den Kalmücken die flachen Nasen, bei den Chinesen die kleinen Augen sind. Die großen Augen der griechischen Köpfe auf Steinen und Münzen könnten diese Mutmaßungen unterstützen.

Die römischen Kaiserinnen wurden von den Griechen auf ihren Münzen nach eben diesen Ideen gebildet. Der Kopf einer Livia und einer Agrippina hat ebendasselbe Profil, welches der Kopf einer Artemisia und einer Kleopatra hat.

Bei allen diesen bemerkt man, daß das von den Thebanern ihren Künstlern vorgeschriebene Gesetz, »die Natur bei Strafe aufs beste nachzuahmen«, auch von andern Künstlern in Griechenland als ein Gesetz beobachtet worden. Wo das sanfte griechische Profil ohne Nachteil der Ähnlichkeit nicht anzubringen war, folgten sie der Wahrheit der Natur, wie [9] an dem schönen Kopf der Julia, Kaiser Titus' Tochter, von der Hand des Euodus, zu sehen ist.

Das Gesetz aber, »die Personen ähnlich und zu gleicher Zeit schöner zu machen«, war allezeit das höchste Gesetz, welches die griechischen Künstler über sich erkannten, und setzt notwendig eine Absicht des Meisters auf eine schönere und vollkommenere Natur voraus. Polygnot hat dasselbe beständig beobachtet.

Wenn also von einigen Künstlern berichtet wird, daß sie wie Praxiteles verfahren, welcher seine knidische Venus nach seiner Beischläferin Kratina gebildet, oder wie andere Maler, welche die Lais zum Modell der Grazien genommen, so glaube ich, sei es geschehen ohne Abweichung von gemeldeten allgemeinen großen Gesetzen der Kunst. Die sinnliche Schönheit gab dem Künstler die schöne Natur, die idealische Schönheit die erhabenen Züge; von jener nahm er das Menschliche, von dieser das Göttliche.

Hat jemand Erleuchtung genug, in das Innerste der Kunst hineinzuschauen, so wird er durch Vergleichung des ganzen übrigen Baues der griechischen Figuren mit den meisten neuern, sonderlich in welchen man mehr der Natur als dem alten Geschmacke gefolgt ist, vielmals noch wenig entdeckte Schönheiten finden.

In den meisten Figuren neuerer Meister sieht man an den Teilen des Körpers, welche zusammengedrückt sind, kleine, gar zu sehr bezeichnete Falten der Haut; dahingegen wo sich ebendieselben Falten in gleichgedrückte Teile griechischer Figuren legen, ein sanfter Schwung eine aus der andern wellenförmig erhebt, dergestalt, daß diese Falten nur ein Ganzes und zusammen nur einen edlen Druck zu machen scheinen. Diese Meisterstücke zeigen uns eine Haut, die nicht angespannt, sondern sanft gezogen ist über ein gesundes Fleisch, welches dieselbe ohne schwülstige Ausdehnung füllt und bei allen Beugungen der fleischigen Teile der Richtung derselben vereinigt folgt. Die Haut wirft niemals, wie an unsern Körpern, besondere und von dem Fleisch getrennte kleine Falten.

[10] Ebenso unterscheiden sich die neuern Werke von den griechischen durch eine Menge kleiner Eindrücke und durch gar zu viele und gar zu sinnlich gemachte Grübchen, welche, wo sie sich in den Werken der Alten befinden, mit einer sparsamen Weisheit, nach der Masse derselben in der vollkommenern und völligern Natur unter den Griechen, sanft angedeutet und öfters nur durch ein gelehrtes Gefühl bemerkt werden.

Es bietet sich hier allezeit die Wahrscheinlichkeit von selbst dar, daß in der Bildung der schönen griechischen Körper, wie in den Werken ihrer Meister, mehr Einheit des ganzen Baues, eine edlere Verbindung der Teile, ein reicheres Maß der Fülle gewesen, ohne magere Spannungen und ohne viele eingefallene Höhlungen unserer Körper.

Man kann nicht weiter als bis zur Wahrscheinlichkeit gehen. Es verdient aber diese Wahrscheinlichkeit die Aufmerksamkeit unserer Künstler und Kenner der Kunst, und dieses um so viel mehr, da es notwendig ist, die Verehrung der Denkmale der Griechen von dem ihr von vielen beigemessenen Vorurteile zu befreien, um nicht zu scheinen, der Nachahmung derselben bloß durch den Moder der Zeit ein Verdienst beizulegen.

Dieser Punkt, über welchen die Stimmen der Künstler geteilt sind, erforderte eine ausführlichere Abhandlung, als in gegenwärtiger Absicht geschehen können.

Man weiß, daß der große Bernini einer von denen gewesen, die den Griechen den Vorzug einer teils schönern Natur, teils idealischen Schönheit ihrer Figuren hat streitig machen wollen. Er war außerdem der Meinung, daß die Natur allen ihren Teilen das erforderliche Schöne zu geben wisse; die Kunst bestehe darin, es zu finden. Er hat sich gerühmt, ein Vorurteil abgelegt zu haben, worin er in Ansehung des Reizes der Mediceischen Venus anfänglich gewesen, den er jedoch nach einem mühsamen Studium bei verschiedenen Gelegenheiten in der Natur wahrgenommen.

Also ist es die Venus gewesen, welche ihn Schönheiten in [11] der Natur entdecken gelehrt, die er vorher allein in jener zu finden geglaubt hat und die er ohne die Venus nicht würde in der Natur gesucht haben. Folgt nicht daraus, daß die Schönheit der griechischen Statuen eher zu entdecken ist als die Schönheit in der Natur und daß also jene rührender, nicht so sehr zerstreut, sondern mehr in eins vereinigt, als es diese ist? Das Studium der Natur muß also wenigstens ein längerer und mühsamerer Weg zur Kenntnis des vollkommenen Schönen sein, als es das Studium der Antiken ist, und Bernini hätte jungen Künstlern, die er allezeit auf das Schönste in der Natur vorzüglich wies, nicht den kürzesten Weg dazu gezeigt.

Die Nachahmung des Schönen der Natur ist entweder auf einen einzelnen Vorwurf gerichtet, oder sie sammelt die Bemerkungen aus verschiedenen einzelnen und bringt sie in eins. Jenes heißt, eine ähnliche Kopie, ein Porträt machen; es ist der Weg zu holländischen Formen und Figuren. Dieses aber ist der Weg zum allgemeinen Schönen und zu idealischen Bildern desselben, und derselbe ist es, den die Griechen genommen haben. Der Unterschied aber zwischen ihnen und uns ist dieser: die Griechen erlangten diese Bilder, wären auch dieselben nicht von schönern Körpern genommen gewesen, durch eine tägliche Gelegenheit zur Beobachtung des Schönen der Natur, die sich uns hingegen nicht alle Tage zeigt, und selten so, wie sie der Künstler wünscht.

Unsere Natur wird nicht leicht einen so vollkommenen Körper zeigen, dergleichen der Antinous Admirandus hat, und die Idee wird sich über die mehr als menschlichen Verhältnisse einer schönen Gottheit in dem vatikanischen Apollo nichts bilden können. Was Natur, Geist und Kunst hervorzubringen vermögend gewesen, liegt hier vor Augen.

Ich glaube, ihre Nachahmung könne lehren, geschwinder klug zu werden, weil sie hier in dem einen den Inbegriff desjenigen findet, was in der ganzen Natur ausgeteilt ist, und in dem andern, wie weit die schönste Natur sich über sich selbst, kühn aber weislich, erheben kann. Sie wird lehren, [12] mit Sicherheit zu denken und zu entwerfen, indem sie hier die höchsten Grenzen des menschlich und zugleich des göttlich Schönen bestimmt sieht.

Wenn der Künstler auf diesen Grund baut und sich die griechische Regel der Schönheit Hand und Sinne führen läßt, so ist er auf dem Wege, der ihn sicher zur Nachahmung der Natur führen wird. Die Begriffe des Ganzen, des Vollkommenen in der Natur des Altertums werden die Begriffe des Geteilten in unserer Natur bei ihm läutern und sinnlicher machen. Er wird bei Entdeckung der Schönheiten derselben diese mit dem vollkommenen Schönen zu verbinden wissen, und durch Hilfe der ihm beständig gegenwärtigen erhabenen Formen wird er sich selbst eine Regel werden.

Alsdann und nicht eher kann er, sonderlich der Maler, sich der Nachahmung der Natur überlassen in solchen Fällen, wo ihm die Kunst verstattet, von dem Marmor abzugehen, wie in Gewändern, und sich mehr Freiheit zu geben, wie Poussin getan; denn »derjenige, welcher beständig andern nachgeht, wird niemals vorauskommen, und welcher aus sich selbst nichts Gutes zu machen weiß, wird sich auch der Sachen von anderen nicht gut bedienen«, wie Michelangelo sagt.

Seelen, denen die Natur hold gewesen,

Quibus arte benigna

Et meliore luto finxit praecordia Titan,

haben hier den Weg vor sich offen, Originale zu werden.

In diesem Verstande ist es zu nehmen, wenn de Piles berichten will, daß Raffael zu der Zeit, da ihn der Tod übereilt, sich bestrebt habe, den Marmor zu verlassen und der Natur gänzlich nachzugehen. Der wahre Geschmack des Altertums würde ihn auch durch die gemeine Natur hindurch beständig begleitet haben, und alle Bemerkungen in derselben würden bei ihm durch eine Art einer chemischen Verwandlung dasjenige geworden sein, was sein Wesen, seine Seele ausmachte.

[13] Er würde vielleicht mehr Mannigfaltigkeit, größere Gewänder, mehr Kolorit, mehr Licht und Schatten seinen Gemälden gegeben haben, aber seine Figuren würden dennoch allezeit weniger schätzbar hierdurch, als durch den edlen Kontur und durch die erhabene Seele, die er aus den Griechen hat bilden lernen, gewesen sein.

Nichts würde den Vorzug der Nachahmung der Alten vor der Nachahmung der Natur deutlicher zeigen können, als wenn man zwei junge Leute nähme von gleich schönem Talente und den einen das Altertum, den andern die bloße Natur studieren ließe. Dieser würde die Natur bilden, wie er sie findet. Als ein Italiener würde er Figuren malen vielleicht wie Caravaggio, als ein Niederländer, wenn er glücklich ist, wie Jacob Jordaens, als ein Franzose wie Stella; jener aber würde die Natur bilden, wie sie es verlangt, und Figuren malen wie Raffael.

Könnte auch die Nachahmung der Natur dem Künstler alles geben, so würde gewiß die Richtigkeit im Kontur durch sie nicht zu erhalten sein. Diese muß von den Griechen allein erlernt werden.

Der edelste Kontur vereinigt oder umschreibt alle Teile der schönsten Natur und der idealischen Schönheiten in den Figuren der Griechen, oder er ist vielmehr der höchste Begriff in beiden. Euphranor, der nach des Zeuxis Zeiten sich hervortat, wird für den ersten gehalten, der demselben die erhabenere Manier gegeben.

Viele unter den neueren Künstlern haben den griechischen Kontur nachzuahmen gesucht, und fast niemandem ist es gelungen. Der große Rubens ist weit entfernt von dem griechischen Umrisse der Körper, und in denjenigen unter seinen Werken, die er vor seiner Reise nach Italien und vor dem Studium der Antiken gemacht hat, am weitesten.

Die Linie, welche das Völlige der Natur von dem Überflüssigen derselben scheidet, ist sehr klein, und die größten neueren Meister sind über diese nicht allezeit greifliche Grenze auf beiden Seiten zu sehr abgewichen. Derjenige, [14] welcher einen ausgehungerten Kontur vermeiden wollen, ist in die Schwulst verfallen, der diese vermeiden wollen, in das Magere.

Michelangelo ist vielleicht der einzige, von dem man sagen könnte, daß er das Altertum erreicht, aber nur in starken muskulösen Figuren, in Körpern aus der Heldenzeit, nicht in zärtlich jugendlichen, nicht in weiblichen Figuren, welche unter seiner Hand zu Amazonen geworden sind.

Der griechische Künstler hingegen hat seinen Kontur in allen Figuren wie auf die Spitze eines Haars gesetzt, auch in den feinsten und mühsamsten Arbeiten, dergleichen auf geschnittenen Steinen ist. Man betrachte den Diomedes und den Perseus des Dioskorides, den Herkules mit der Iole von der Hand des Teucer und bewundere die hier unnachahmlichen Griechen.

Parrhasius wird insgemein für den Stärksten im Kontur gehalten.

Auch unter den Gewändern der griechischen Figuren herrscht der meisterhafte Kontur, als die Hauptabsicht des Künstlers, der auch durch den Marmor hindurch den schönen Bau seines Körpers, wie durch ein koisches Kleid, zeigt.

Die im hohen Stile gearbeitete Agrippina und die drei Vestalen unter den Königlichen Antiken in Dresden verdienen hier als große Muster angeführt zu werden. Agrippina ist vermutlich nicht die Mutter des Nero, sondern die ältere Agrippina, eine Gemahlin des Germanicus. Sie hat sehr viel Ähnlichkeit mit einer vorgegebenen stehenden Statue ebendieser Agrippina in dem Vorsaale der Bibliothek zu San Marco in Venedig. Unsere ist eine sitzende Figur, größer als die Natur, mit auf die rechte Hand gestütztem Haupte. Ihr schönes Gesicht zeigt eine Seele, die in tiefe Betrachtungen versenkt und vor Sorgen und Kummer gegen alle äußeren Empfindungen fühllos scheint. Man könnte mutmaßen, der Künstler habe die Heldin in dem betrübten Augenblick vorstellen wollen, da ihr die Verweisung nach der Insel Pandataria war angekündigt worden.

[15] Die drei Vestalen sind unter einem doppelten Titel verehrungswürdig. Sie sind die ersten großen Entdeckungen von Herculanum, allein, was sie noch schätzbarer macht, ist die große Manier in ihren Gewändern. In diesem Teile der Kunst sind sie alle drei, sonderlich aber diejenige, welche größer ist als die Natur, der Farnesischen Flora und anderen griechischen Werken vom ersten Range beizusetzen. Die zwei andern, groß wie die Natur, sind einander so ähnlich, daß sie von einer und ebenderselben Hand zu sein scheinen; sie unterscheiden sich allein durch die Köpfe, welche nicht von gleicher Güte sind. An dem besten Kopfe liegen die gekräuselten Haare nach Art der Furchen geteilt, von der Stirne an bis da, wo sie hinten zusammengebunden sind. An dem andern Kopfe gehen die Haare glatt über den Scheitel, und die vorderen gekräuselten Haare sind durch ein Band gesammelt und gebunden. Es ist glaublich, daß dieser Kopf durch eine neuere, wiewohl gute Hand gearbeitet und angesetzt worden.

Das Haupt dieser beiden Figuren ist mit keinem Schleier bedeckt, welches ihnen aber den Titel der Vestalen nicht streitig macht, da erweislich ist, daß sich auch anderwärts Priesterinnen der Vesta ohne Schleier finden. Oder es scheint vielmehr aus den starken Falten des Gewandes hinten am Halse, daß der Schleier, welcher kein abgesonderter Teil vom Gewande ist, wie an der größten Vestale zu sehen, hinten übergeschlagen liege.

Es verdient der Welt bekanntgemacht zu werden, daß diese drei göttlichen Stücke die ersten Spuren gezeigt zur nachfolgenden Entdeckung der unterirdischen Schätze von der Stadt Herculanum.

Sie kamen an das Tageslicht, da noch das Andenken derselben gleichsam unter der Vergessenheit, so wie die Stadt selbst unter ihren eigenen Ruinen, vergraben und verschüttet lag, zu der Zeit, da das traurige Schicksal, welches diesen Ort betroffen, nur fast noch allein durch des jüngern Plinius Nachricht von dem Ende seines Vetters, welches ihn in der [16] Verwüstung von Herculanum zugleich mit übereilte, bekannt war.

Diese großen Meisterstücke der griechischen Kunst wurden schon unter den deutschen Himmel versetzt und daselbst verehrt, da Neapel noch nicht das Glück hatte, ein einziges herculanisches Denkmal, soviel man erfahren können, aufzuweisen.

Sie wurden im Jahr 1706 in Portici bei Neapel in einem verschütteten Gewölbe gefunden, da man den Grund grub zu einem Landhause des Prinzen von Elbeuf, und sie kamen unmittelbar hernach, nebst andern daselbst entdeckten Statuen in Marmor und Erz, in den Besitz des Prinzen Eugen nach Wien.

Dieser große Kenner der Künste, um einen vorzüglichen Ort zu haben, wo dieselben könnten aufgestellt werden, hat vornehmlich für diese drei Figuren eine Sala terrena bauen lassen, wo sie nebst einigen andern Statuen ihren Platz bekommen haben. Die ganze Akademie und alle Künstler in Wien waren gleichsam in Empörung, da man nur noch ganz dunkel von derselben Verkauf sprach, und ein jeder sah denselben mit betrübten Augen nach, als sie von Wien nach Dresden fortgeführt wurden.

Der berühmte Matielli, dem Polyklet das Maß und Phidias das Eisen gab (Algarotti), hat, ehe noch dieses geschah, alle drei Vestalen mit dem mühsamsten Fleiße in Ton kopiert, um sich den Verlust derselben dadurch zu ersetzen. Er folgte ihnen einige Jahre hernach und erfüllte Dresden mit ewigen Werken seiner Kunst, aber seine Priesterinnen blieben auch hier sein Studium in der Draperie, worin seine Stärke bestand bis in sein Alter, welches zugleich ein nicht ungegründetes Vorurteil ihrer Trefflichkeit ist.

Unter dem Wort Draperie begreift man alles, was die Kunst von Bekleidung des Nackenden der Figuren und von gebrochenen Gewändern lehrt. Diese Wissenschaft ist nach der schönen Natur und nach dem edlen Kontur der dritte Vorzug der Werke des Altertums.

[17] Die Draperie der Vestalen ist in der höchsten Manier. Die kleinen Brüche entstehen durch einen sanften Schwung aus den größten Partien und verlieren sich wieder in diesen mit einer edlen Freiheit und sanften Harmonie des Ganzen, ohne den schönen Kontur des Nackenden zu verstecken. Wie wenig neuere Meister sind in diesem Teile der Kunst ohne Tadel!

Diese Gerechtigkeit aber muß man einigen großen Künstlern, sonderlich Malern neuerer Zeiten, widerfahren lassen, daß sie in gewissen Fällen von dem Wege, den die griechischen Meister in Bekleidung ihrer Figuren am gewöhnlichsten gehalten haben, ohne Nachteil der Natur und Wahrheit abgegangen sind. Die griechische Draperie ist meistenteils nach dünnen und nassen Gewändern gearbeitet, die sich folglich, wie Künstler wissen, dicht an die Haut und an den Körper schließen und das Nackende desselben sehen lassen. Das ganze oberste Gewand des griechischen Frauenzimmers war ein sehr dünnes Zeug; es hieß daher Peplon, ein Schleier.

Daß die Alten nicht allezeit fein gebrochene Gewänder gemacht haben, zeigen die erhobenen Arbeiten derselben, die alten Malereien und sonderlich die alten Brustbilder. Der schöne Caracalla unter den Königlichen Antiken in Dresden kann dieses bestätigen.

In den neuern Zeiten hat man ein Gewand über das andere, und zuweilen schwere Gewänder, zu legen gehabt, die nicht in so sanfte und fließende Brüche, wie der Alten ihre sind, fallen können. Dieses gab folglich Anlaß zu der neuen Manier der großen Partien in Gewändern, in welcher der Meister seine Wissenschaft nicht weniger als in der gewöhnlichen Manier der Alten zeigen kann.

Carl Maratta und Franz Solimena können in dieser Art für die Größten gehalten werden. Die neue venezianische Schule, welche noch weiter zu gehen gesucht, hat diese Manier übertrieben, und indem sie nichts als große Partien gesucht, sind ihre Gewänder dadurch steif und blechern worden.

Das allgemeine vorzügliche Kennzeichen der griechischen Meisterstücke ist endlich eine edle Einfalt und eine stille [18] Größe, sowohl in der Stellung als im Ausdruck. So wie die Tiefe des Meeres allezeit ruhig bleibt, die Oberfläche mag noch so wüten, ebenso zeigt der Ausdruck in den Figuren der Griechen bei allen Leidenschaften eine große und gesetzte Seele. Diese Seele schildert sich in dem Gesichte des Laokoon, und nicht in dem Gesichte allein, bei dem heftigsten Leiden. Der Schmerz, welcher sich in allen Muskeln und Sehnen des Körpers entdeckt und den man ganz allein, ohne das Gesicht und andere Teile zu betrachten, an dem schmerzlich eingezogenen Unterleibe beinahe selbst zu empfinden glaubt, dieser Schmerz, sage ich, äußert sich dennoch mit keiner Wut in dem Gesichte und in der ganzen Stellung. Er erhebt kein schreckliches Geschrei, wie Virgil von seinem Laokoon singt. Die Öffnung des Mundes gestattet es nicht; es ist vielmehr ein ängstliches und beklemmtes Seufzen, wie es Sadolet beschreibt. Der Schmerz des Körpers und die Größe der Seele sind durch den ganzen Bau der Figur mit gleicher Stärke ausgeteilt und gleichsam abgewogen. Laokoon leidet, aber er leidet wie des Sophokles Philoktetes: sein Elend geht uns bis an die Seele, aber wir wünschten, wie dieser große Mann das Elend ertragen zu können.

Der Ausdruck einer so großen Seele geht weit über die Bildung der schönen Natur: der Künstler mußte die Stärke des Geistes in sich selbst fühlen, welche er seinem Marmor einprägte. Griechenland hatte Künstler und Weltweise in einer Person und mehr als einen Metrodor. Die Weisheit reichte der Kunst die Hand und blies den Figuren derselben mehr als gemeine Seelen ein.

Unter einem Gewande, welches der Künstler dem Laokoon als einem Priester hätte geben sollen, würde uns sein Schmerz nur halb so sinnlich gewesen sein. Bernini hat sogar den Anfang der Wirkung des Gifts der Schlange in dem einen Schenkel des Laokoon an der Erstarrung desselben entdecken wollen.

Alle Handlungen und Stellungen der griechischen Figuren, die mit diesem Charakter der Weisheit nicht bezeichnet, sondern [19] gar zu feurig und wild waren, verfielen in einen Fehler, den die alten Künstler »Parenthyrsis« nannten.

Je ruhiger der Stand des Körpers ist, desto geschickter ist er, den wahren Charakter der Seele zu schildern. In allen Stellungen, die von dem Stande der Ruhe zu sehr abweichen, befindet sich die Seele nicht in dem Zustande, der ihr der eigentlichste ist, sondern in einem gewaltsamen und erzwungenen Zustande. Kenntlicher und bezeichnender wird die Seele in heftigen Leidenschaften, groß aber und edel ist sie in dem Stande der Einheit, in dem Stande der Ruhe. Im Laokoon würde der Schmerz, allein gebildet, Parenthyrsis gewesen sein; der Künstler gab ihm daher, um das Bezeichnende und das Edle der Seele in eins zu vereinigen, eine Aktion, die dem Stande der Ruhe in solchem Schmerze der nächste war. Aber in dieser Ruhe muß die Seele durch Züge, die ihr und keiner andern Seele eigen sind, bezeichnet werden, um sie ruhig, aber zugleich wirksam, stille, aber nicht gleichgültig oder schläfrig zu bilden.

Das wahre Gegenteil und das diesem entgegenstehende äußerste Ende ist der gemeinste Geschmack der heutigen, sonderlich [der] angehenden Künstler. Ihren Beifall verdient nichts, als worin ungewöhnliche Stellungen und Handlungen, die ein freches Feuer begleitet, herrschen, welches sie mit Geist, mit Franchezza, wie sie reden, ausgeführt heißen. Der Liebling ihrer Begriffe ist der Kontrapost, der bei ihnen der Inbegriff aller selbst gebildeten Eigenschaften eines vollkommenen Werks der Kunst ist. Sie verlangen eine Seele in ihren Figuren, die wie ein Komet aus ihrem Kreise weicht; sie wünschen in jeder Figur einen Ajax und einen Capaneus zu sehen.

Die schönen Künste haben ihre Jugend sowohl wie die Menschen, und der Anfang dieser Künste scheint wie der Anfang bei Künstlern gewesen zu sein, wo nur das Hochtrabende, das Erstaunende gefällt. Sol che Gestalt hatte die tragische Muse des Äschylus, und sein Agamemnon ist zum Teil durch Hyperbolen viel dunkler geworden als alles, was [20] Heraklit geschrieben. Vielleicht haben die ersten griechischen Maler nicht anders gezeichnet, als ihr erster guter Tragikus gedichtet hat.

Das Heftige, das Flüchtige geht in allen menschlichen Handlungen voran; das Gesetzte, das Gründliche folgt zuletzt. Dieses letztere aber gebraucht Zeit, es zu bewundern; es ist nur großen Meistern eigen; heftige Leidenschaften sind ein Vorteil auch für ihre Schüler.

Die Weisen in der Kunst wissen, wie schwer dieses scheinbare Nachahmliche ist,

... ut sibi quivis

Speret idem, sudet multum, frustraque laboret

Ausus idem.

La Fage, der große Zeichner, hat den Geschmack der Alten nicht erreichen können. Alles ist in Bewegung in seinen Werken, und man wird in der Betrachtung derselben geteilt und zerstreut, wie in einer Gesellschaft, wo alle Personen zugleich reden wollen.

Die edle Einfalt und stille Größe der griechischen Statuen ist zugleich das wahre Kennzeichen der griechischen Schriften aus den besten Zeiten, der Schriften aus Sokrates' Schule, und diese Eigenschaften sind es, welche die vorzügliche Größe eines Raffael machen, zu welcher er durch die Nachahmung der Alten gelangt ist.

Eine so schöne Seele, wie die seinige war, in einem so schönen Körper wurde erfordert, den wahren Charakter der Alten in neueren Zeiten zuerst zu empfinden und zu entdecken, und was sein größtes Glück war, schon in einem Alter, in welchem gemeine und halbgeformte Seelen über die wahre Größe ohne Empfindung bleiben.

Mit einem Auge, welches diese Schönheiten empfinden gelernt, mit diesem wahren Geschmacke des Altertums muß man sich seinen Werken nähern. Alsdann wird uns die Ruhe und Stille der Hauptfiguren in Raffaels Attila, welche vielen leblos scheinen, sehr bedeutend und erhaben sein. Der römische [21] Bischof, der das Vorhaben des Königs der Hunnen, auf Rom loszugehen, abwendet, erscheint nicht mit Gebärden und Bewegungen eines Redners, sondern als ein ehrwürdiger Mann, der bloß durch seine Gegenwart einen Aufruhr stillt, wie derjenige, den uns Virgil beschreibt,

Tum pietate gravem ac meritis si forte virum quem

Conspexere, silent arrectisque auribus adstand,

mit einem Gesichte voll göttlicher Zuversicht vor den Augen des Wüterichs. Die beiden Apostel schweben nicht wie Würgeengel in den Wolken, sondern, wenn es erlaubt ist, das Heilige mit dem Unheiligen zu vergleichen, wie Homers Jupiter, der durch das Winken seiner Augenlider den Olympus erschüttern macht.

Algardi, in seiner berühmten Vorstellung ebendieser Geschichte, in halb erhobener Arbeit an einem Altar der St. Peterskirche in Rom, hat die wirksame Stille seines großen Vorgängers den Figuren seiner beiden Apostel nicht gegeben oder zu geben verstanden. Dort erscheinen sie wie Gesandte des Herrn der Heerscharen, hier wie sterbliche Krieger mit menschlichen Waffen.

Wie wenig Kenner hat der schöne St. Michael des Guido Reni in der Kapuzinerkirche zu Rom gefunden, welche die Größe des Ausdrucks, die der Künstler seinem Erzengel gegeben, einzusehen vermögend gewesen! Man gibt des Conca seinem Michael den Preis vor jenem, weil er Unwillen und Rache im Gesichte zeigt, anstatt daß jener, nachdem er den Feind Gottes und der Menschen gestürzt, ohne Erbitterung mit einer heiteren und ungerührten Miene über ihm schwebt.

Ebenso ruhig und stille malt der englische Dichter den rächenden Engel, der über Britannien schwebt, mit welchem er den Helden seines Feldzugs, den Sieger bei Blenheim, vergleicht.

Die Königliche Galerie der Schildereien in Dresden enthält nunmehr unter ihren Schätzen ein würdiges Werk von [22] Raffaels Hand, und zwar von seiner besten Zeit, wie Vasari und andere mehr bezeugen. Eine Madonna mit dem Kinde, dem h. Sixtus und der h. Barbara, kniend auf beiden Seiten, nebst zwei Engeln im Vordergrunde.

Es war dieses Bild das Hauptaltarblatt des Klosters St. Sixti in Piacenza. Liebhaber und Kenner der Kunst gingen dahin, um diesen Raffael zu sehen, so wie man nur allein nach Thespiä reiste, den schönen Cupido von der Hand des Praxiteles daselbst zu betrachten.

Seht die Madonna, mit einem Gesichte voll Unschuld und zugleich einer mehr als weiblichen Größe, in einer selig ruhigen Stellung, in derjenigen Stille, welche die Alten in den Bildern ihrer Gottheiten herrschen ließen. Wie groß und edel ist ihr ganzer Kontur!

Das Kind auf ihren Armen ist ein Kind, über gemeine Kinder erhaben durch ein Gesicht, aus welchem ein Strahl der Gottheit durch die Unschuld der Kindheit hervorzuleuchten scheint.

Die Heilige unter ihr kniet ihr zur Seite in einer anbetenden Stille ihrer Seele, aber weit unter der Majestät der Hauptfigur, welche Erniedrigung der große Meister durch den sanften Reiz in ihrem Gesichte er setzt hat.

Der Heilige dieser Figur gegenüber ist der ehrwürdigste Alte, mit Gesichtszügen, die von seiner Gott geweihten Jugend zu zeugen scheinen.

Die Ehrfurcht der h. Barbara gegen die Madonna, welche durch ihre an die Brust gedrückten schönen Hände sinnlicher und rührender gemacht ist, hilft bei dem Heiligen die Bewegung seiner einen Hand ausdrücken. Ebendiese Aktion malt uns die Entzückung des Heiligen, welche der Künstler zu mehrerer Mannigfaltigkeit, weislicher der männlichen Stärke als der weiblichen Züchtigkeit, [hat] geben wollen.

Die Zeit hat allerdings vieles von dem scheinbaren Glanze dieses Gemäldes geraubt, und die Kraft der Farben ist zum Teil ausgewittert, allein die Seele, welche der Schöpfer dem Werke seiner Hände eingeblasen, belebt es noch jetzt.

[23] Alle diejenigen, welche zu diesem und andern Werken Raffaels treten, in der Hoffnung, die kleinen Schönheiten anzutreffen, die den Arbeiten der niederländischen Maler einen so hohen Preis geben, den mühsamen Fleiß eines Netscher oder eines Dou, das elfenbeinerne Fleisch eines van der Werff oder auch die geleckte Manier einiger von Raffaels Landsleuten unserer Zeit, diese, sage ich, werden den großen Raffael in dem Raffael vergebens suchen.

Nach dem Studium der schönen Natur, des Konturs, der Draperie und der edlen Einfalt und stillen Größe in den Werken griechischer Meister wäre die Nachforschung über ihre Art zu arbeiten ein nötiges Augenmerk der Künstler, um in der Nachahmung derselben glücklicher zu sein.

Es ist bekannt, daß sie ihre ersten Modelle meistenteils in Wachs gemacht haben; die neuern Meister aber haben anstatt dessen Ton oder dergleichen geschmeidige Massen gewählt. Sie fanden dieselben, sonderlich um das Fleisch auszudrücken, geschickter als das Wachs, welches ihnen hierzu gar zu klebrig und zähe schien.

Man will unterdessen nicht behaupten, daß die Art, in nassen Ton zu bilden, den Griechen unbekannt oder nicht üblich bei ihnen gewesen. Man weiß sogar den Namen desjenigen, welcher den ersten Versuch hierin gemacht hat. Dibutades von Sikyon ist der erste Meister einer Figur in Ton, und Arcesilaus, der Freund des großen Lucullus, ist mehr durch seine Modelle in Ton als durch seine Werke selbst berühmt worden. Er machte für den Lucullus eine Figur in Ton, welche die Glückseligkeit vorstellte, die dieser mit 60 000 Sesterzen erhandelt hatte, und der Ritter Octavius gab ebendiesem Künstler ein Talent für ein bloßes Modell in Gips zu einer großen Tasse, die jener wollte in Gold arbeiten lassen.

Der Ton wäre die geschickteste Materie, Figuren zu bilden, wenn er seine Feuchtigkeit behielte. Da ihm aber diese entgeht, wenn er trocken und gebrannt wird, so werden folglich die festeren Teile desselben näher zusammentreten, und [24] die Figur wird an ihrer Masse verlieren und einen engeren Raum einnehmen. Litte die Figur diese Verminderung in gleichem Grade in allen ihren Punkten und Teilen, so bliebe ebendasselbe, obgleich verminderte Verhältnis. Die kleinen Teile derselben aber werden geschwinder trocken als die größeren, und der Leib der Figur, als der stärkste Teil, am spätesten; und jenen wird also in gleicher Zeit mehr an ihrer Masse fehlen als diesem.

Das Wachs hat diese Unbequemlichkeit nicht; es verschwindet nichts davon, und es kann demselben die Glätte des Fleisches, die es im Poussieren nicht ohne große Mühe annehmen will, durch einen andern Weg gegeben werden.

Man macht sein Modell von Ton; man formt es in Gips und gießt es alsdann in Wachs.

Die eigentliche Art der Griechen aber, nach ihren Modellen in Marmor zu arbeiten, scheint nicht diejenige gewesen zu sein, welche unter den meisten heutigen Künstlern üblich ist. In dem Marmor der Alten entdeckt sich allenthalben die Gewißheit und Zuversicht des Meisters, und man wird auch in ihren Werken von niedrigem Range nicht leicht dartun können, daß irgendwo etwas zuviel weggehauen worden. Diese sichere und richtige Hand der Griechen muß durch bestimmtere und zuverlässigere Regeln, als bei uns gebräuchlich sind, notwendig geführt worden sein.

Der gewöhnliche Weg unserer Bildhauer ist, über ihre Modelle, nachdem sie dieselben wohl ausstudiert und aufs beste geformt haben, Horizontal- und Perpendikularlinien zu ziehen, die folglich einander durchschneiden. Alsdann verfahren sie, wie man ein Gemälde durch ein Gitter verjüngt und vergrößert, und ebensoviel einander durchschneidende Linien werden auf den Stein getragen.

Es zeigt also ein jedes kleine Viereck des Modells seine Flächenmaße auf jedes große Viereck des Steins an. Allein weil dadurch nicht der körperliche Inhalt bestimmt werden kann, folglich auch weder der rechte Grad der Erhöhung und Vertiefung des Modells hier gar genau zu beschreiben [25] ist, so wird der Künstler zwar seiner künftigen Figur ein gewisses Verhältnis des Modells geben können, aber da er sich nur der Kenntnis seines Auges überlassen muß, so wird er beständig zweifelhaft bleiben, ob er zu tief oder zu flach nach seinem Entwurf gearbeitet, ob er zuviel oder zuwenig Masse weggenommen.

Er kann auch weder den äußeren Umriß, noch denjenigen, welcher die inneren Teile des Modells, oder diejenigen, welche gegen die Mitte zu gehen, oft nur wie mit einem Hauch anzeigt, durch solche Linien bestimmen, durch die er ganz untrüglich und ohne die geringste Abweichung ebendieselben Umrisse auf seinen Stein entwerfen könnte.

Hierzu kommt, daß in einer weitläufigen Arbeit, welche der Bildhauer allein nicht bestreiten kann, er sich der Hand seiner Gehilfen bedienen muß, die nicht allezeit geschickt sind, die Absichten von jenem zu erreichen. Geschieht es, daß einmal etwas verhauen ist, weil unmöglich nach dieser Art Grenzen der Tiefen können gesetzt werden, so ist der Fehler unersetzlich.

Überhaupt ist hier zu merken, daß derjenige Bildhauer, der schon bei der ersten Bearbeitung seines Steins seine Tiefen bohrt, so weit als sie reichen sollen, und dieselben nicht nach und nach sucht, so, daß sie durch die letzte Hand allererst ihre gesetzte Höhlung erhalten, daß dieser, sage ich, niemals wird sein Werk von Fehlern reinigen können.

Es findet sich auch hier dieser Hauptmangel, daß die auf den Stein getragenen Linien alle Augenblicke weggehauen und ebensooft, nicht ohne Besorgnis der Abweichung, von neuem müssen gezogen und ergänzt werden.

Die Ungewißheit, nach dieser Art, nötigte also die Künstler, einen sicherern Weg zu suchen, und derjenige, welchen die französische Akademie in Rom erfunden und zum Kopieren der alten Statuen zuerst gebraucht hat, wurde von vielen, auch im Arbeiten nach Modellen, angenommen.

Man befestigt nämlich über einer Statue, die man kopieren will, nach dem Verhältnis derselben ein Viereck, von welchem [26] man nach gleich eingeteilten Graden Bleifäden herunterfallen läßt. Durch diese Fäden werden die äußersten Punkte der Figur deutlicher bezeichnet, als in der ersten Art durch Linien auf der Fläche, wo ein jeder Punkt der äußerste ist, geschehen konnte. Sie geben auch dem Künstler ein sinnlicheres Maß von einigen der stärksten Erhöhungen und Vertiefungen durch die Grade ihrer Entfernung von Teilen, welche sie decken, und er kann durch Hilfe derselben etwas herzhafter gehen.

Da aber der Schwung einer krummen Linie durch eine einzige gerade Linie nicht genau zu bestimmen ist, so werden ebenfalls die Umrisse der Figur durch diesen Weg sehr zweifelhaft für den Künstler angedeutet, und in geringen Abweichungen von ihrer Hauptfläche wird sich derselbe alle Augenblicke ohne Leitfaden und ohne Hilfe sehen.

Es ist sehr begreiflich, daß in dieser Manier auch das wahre Verhältnis der Figuren schwer zu finden ist. Man sucht dieselben durch Horizontallinien, welche die Bleifäden durchschneiden. Die Lichtstrahlen aber aus den Vierecken, die diese von der Figur abstehenden Linien machen, werden unter einem desto größeren Winkel ins Auge fallen, folglich größer erscheinen, je höher oder tiefer sie unserem Sehpunkte sind.

Zum Kopieren der Antiken, mit denen man nicht nach Gefallen umgehen kann, behalten die Bleifäden noch bis jetzt ihren Wert, und man hat diese Arbeit noch nicht leichter und sicherer machen können; aber im Arbeiten nach einem Modell ist dieser Weg aus angezeigten Gründen nicht bestimmt genug.

Michelangelo hat einen vor ihm unbekannten Weg genommen, und man muß sich wundern, da ihn die Bildhauer als ihren großen Meister verehren, daß vielleicht niemand unter ihnen sein Nachfolger geworden ist.

Dieser Phidias neuerer Zeiten, und der größte nach den Griechen, ist, wie man vermuten könnte, auf die wahre Spur seiner großen Lehrer gekommen, wenigstens ist kein anderes [27] Mittel der Welt bekannt geworden, alle möglichen sinnlichen Teile und Schönheiten des Modells auf die Figur selbst hinüberzutragen und auszudrücken.

Vasari hat die Erfindung desselben etwas unvollkommen beschrieben. Der Begriff nach dessen Bericht ist folgender:

Michelangelo nahm ein Gefäß mit Wasser, in welches er sein Modell von Wachs oder von einer harten Materie legte. Er erhöhte dasselbe allmählich bis zur Oberfläche des Wassers. Also entdeckten sich zuerst die erhobenen Teile, und die vertieften waren bedeckt, bis endlich das ganze Modell bloß und außer dem Wasser lag. Auf eben die Art, sagt Vasari, arbeitete Michelangelo seinen Marmor; er deutete zuerst die erhobenen Teile an und nach und nach die tieferen.

Es scheint, Vasari habe entweder von der Manier seines Freundes nicht den deutlichsten Begriff gehabt, oder die Nachlässigkeit in seiner Erzählung verursacht, daß man sich dieselbe etwas verschieden von dem, was er berichtet, vorstellen muß.

Die Form des Wassergefäßes ist hier nicht deutlich genug bestimmt. Die nach und nach geschehene Erhebung seines Modells aus dem Wasser von unten auf würde sehr mühsam sein und setzt viel mehr voraus, als uns der Geschichtsschreiber der Künstler hat wollen wissen lassen.

Man kann überzeugt sein, daß Michelangelo diesen von ihm erfundenen Weg werde aufs möglichste ausstudiert und sich bequem gemacht haben. Er ist aller Wahrscheinlichkeit nach folgendergestalt verfahren:

Der Künstler nahm ein Gefäß nach der Form der Masse zu seiner Figur, die wir ein langes Viereck setzen wollen. Er bezeichnete die Oberfläche der Seiten dieses viereckigen Kastens mit gewissen Abteilungen, die er nach einem vergrößerten Maßstabe auf seinen Stein hinübertrug, und außerdem bemerkte er die inwendigen Seiten desselben von oben bis auf den Grund mit gewissen Graden. In den Kasten legte er sein Modell von schwerer Materie oder befestigte es an dem Boden, wenn es von Wachs war. Er bespannte etwa den [28] Kasten mit einem Gitter nach den gemachten Abteilungen, nach welchen er Linien auf seinen Stein zeichnete und vermutlich unmittelbar hernach seine Figur. Auf das Modell goß er Wasser, bis es an die äußersten Punkte der erhobenen Teile reichte, und nachdem er denjenigen Teil bemerkt hatte, der auf seiner gezeichneten Figur erhoben werden mußte, ließ er ein gewisses Maß Wasser ab, um den erhobenen Teil des Modells etwas weiter hervorgehen zu lassen, und fing alsdann an, diesen Teil zu bearbeiten, nach dem Maße der Grade, wie er sich entdeckte. War zu gleicher Zeit ein anderer Teil seines Modells sichtbar geworden, so wurde er auch, soweit er bloß war, bearbeitet, und so verfuhr er mit allen erhobenen Teilen.

Es wurde mehr Wasser abgelassen, bis auch die Vertiefungen hervorlagen. Die Grade des Kastens zeigten ihm allemal die Höhe des gefallenen Wassers und die Fläche des Wassers die äußerste Grundlinie der Tiefen an. Ebensoviel Grade auf seinem Steine waren seine wahren Maße.

Das Wasser beschrieb ihm nicht allein die Höhen und Tiefen, sondern auch den Kontur seines Modells, und der Raum von den inneren Seiten des Kastens bis an den Umriß der Linie des Wassers, dessen Größe die Grade der anderen zwei Seiten gaben, war in jedem Punkte das Maß, wieviel er von seinem Steine wegnehmen konnte.

Sein Werk hatte nunmehr die erste, aber richtige Form erhalten. Die Fläche des Wassers hatte ihm eine Linie beschrieben, von welcher die äußersten Punkte der Erhobenheiten Teile sind. Diese Linie war mit dem Falle des Wassers in seinem Gefäße gleichfalls waagerecht fortgerückt, und der Künstler war dieser Bewegung mit seinem Eisen gefolgt, bis dahin, wo ihm das Wasser den niedrigsten Abhang der erhobenen Teile, der mit den Flächen zusammenfließt, bloß zeigte. Er war also mit jedem verjüngten Grade in dem Kasten seines Modells einen gleichgesetzten größeren Grad auf seiner Figur fortgegangen, und auf diese Art hatte ihn die Linie des Wassers bis über den äußersten Kontur in seiner

[29] Arbeit geführt, so daß das Modell nunmehr vom Wasser entblößt lag.

Seine Figur verlangte die schöne Form. Er goß von neuem Wasser auf sein Modell, bis zu einer ihm dienlichen Höhe, und alsdann zählte er die Grade des Kastens bis auf die Linie, welche das Wasser beschrieb, wodurch er die Höhe des erhobenen Teils ersah. Auf ebendenselben erhobenen Teil seiner Figur legte er sein Richtscheit vollkommen waagerecht, und von der untersten Linie desselben nahm er die Maße bis auf die Vertiefung. Fand er eine gleiche Anzahl verjüngter und größerer Grade, so war dieses eine Art geometrischer Berechnung des Inhalts, und er erhielt den Beweis, daß er richtig verfahren war.

Bei der Wiederholung seiner Arbeit suchte er den Druck und die Bewegung der Muskeln und Sehnen, den Schwung der übrigen kleinen Teile und das Feinste der Kunst in seinem Modelle auch in seiner Figur auszuführen. Das Wasser, welches sich auch an die unmerklichsten Teile legte, zog den Schwung derselben aufs schärfste nach und beschrieb ihm mit der richtigsten Linie den Kontur derselben.

Dieser Weg verhindert nicht, dem Modelle alle möglichen Lagen zu geben. Ins Profil gelegt, wird es dem Künstler vollends entdecken, was er übersehen hat. Es wird ihm auch den äußeren Kontur seiner erhobenen und seiner inneren Teile und den ganzen Durchschnitt zeigen.

Alles dieses und die Hoffnung eines guten Erfolgs der Arbeit setzt ein Modell voraus, welches mit Händen der Kunst nach dem wahren Geschmacke des Altertums gebildet worden.

Dieses ist die Bahn, auf welcher Michelangelo bis zu Unsterblichkeit gelangt ist. Sein Ruf und seine Belohnungen erlaubten ihm Muße, mit solcher Sorgfalt zu arbeiten.

Ein Künstler unserer Zeiten, dem Natur und Fleiß Gaben verliehen, höher zu steigen, und welcher Wahrheit und Richtigkeit in dieser Manier findet, sieht sich genötigt, mehr nach Brot als nach Ehre zu arbeiten. Er bleibt also in dem ihm [30] üblichen Gleise, worin er eine größere Fertigkeit zu zeigen glaubt, und fährt fort, sein durch langwierige Übung erlangtes Augenmaß zu seiner Regel zu nehmen.

Dieses Augenmaß, welches ihn vornehmlich führen muß, ist endlich durch praktische Wege, die zum Teil sehr zweifelhaft sind, ziemlich entscheidend geworden. Wie fein und zuverlässig würde er es gemacht haben, wenn er es von Jugend auf nach untrüglichen Regeln gebildet hätte?

Würden angehende Künstler, bei der ersten Anführung, in Ton oder in andere Materie zu arbeiten, nach dieser sichern Manier des Michelangelo angewiesen, die dieser nach langem Forschen gefunden, so könnten sie hoffen, so nahe wie er den Griechen zu kommen.

Alles, was zum Preise der griechischen Werke in der Bildhauerkunst kann gesagt werden, sollte nach aller Wahrscheinlichkeit auch von der Malerei der Griechen gelten. Die Zeit aber und die Wut der Menschen hat uns die Mittel geraubt, einen unumstößlichen Ausspruch darüber zu tun.

Man gesteht den griechischen Malern Zeichnung und Ausdruck zu, und das ist alles; Perspektive, Komposition und Kolorit spricht man ihnen ab. Dieses Urteil gründet sich teils auf halb erhobene Arbeiten, teils auf die entdeckten Malereien der Alten (der Griechen kann man nicht sagen) in und bei Rom, in unterirdischen Gewölben der Paläste des Mäcenas, des Titus, Trajans und der Antoninen, von welchen nicht viel über dreißig bis jetzt ganz erhalten worden, und einige sind nur in mosaischer Arbeit.

Turnbull hat seinem Werke von der alten Malerei eine Sammlung der bekanntesten Stücke, von Camillo Paderni gezeichnet und von Mynde gestochen, beigefügt, welche dem prächtigen und gemißbrauchten Papier seines Buchs den einzigen Wert geben. Unter denselben sind zwei, wovon die Originale selbst in dem Kabinett des berühmten Arztes Richard Meads in London sind.

Daß Poussin nach der sogenannten Aldobrandinischen Hochzeit studiert, daß sich noch Zeichnungen finden, die [31] Annibale Carracci nach dem vorgegebenen Marcus Coriolanus gemacht, und daß man eine große Gleichheit unter den Köpfen in [des] Guido Reni Werken und unter den Köpfen auf der bekannten mosaischen Entführung der Europa hat finden wollen, ist bereits von andern bemerkt.

Wenn dergleichen Freskogemälde ein gegründetes Urteil von der Malerei der Alten geben könnte, so würde man den Künstlern unter ihnen aus Überbleibseln von dieser Art auch die Zeichnung und den Ausdruck streitig machen wollen.

Die von den Wänden des herculanischen Theaters mitsamt der Mauer versetzten Malereien mit Figuren in Lebensgröße geben uns, wie man versichert, einen schlechten Begriff davon. Der Theseus, als ein Überwinder des Minotauren, wie ihm die jungen Athenienser die Hände küssen und seine Knie umfassen, die Flora nebst dem Herkules und einem Faun, der vorgegebene Gerichtsspruch des Dezemvirs Appius Claudius sind nach dem Augenzeugnis eines Künstlers zum Teil mittelmäßig und zum Teil fehlerhaft gezeichnet. In den meisten Köpfen ist, wie man versichert, nicht allein kein Ausdruck, sondern in dem Appius Claudius sind auch keine guten Charaktere.

Aber eben dieses beweist, daß es Malereien von der Hand sehr mittelmäßiger Meister sind, da die Wissenschaft der schönen Verhältnisse, der Umrisse der Körper und des Ausdrucks bei griechischen Bildhauern auch ihren guten Malern eigen gewesen sein muß.

Diese den alten Malern zugestandenen Teile der Kunst lassen den neuern Malern noch sehr viel Verdienste um dieselbe.

In der Perspektive gehört ihnen der Vorzug unstreitig, und er bleibt, bei aller gelehrten Verteidigung der Alten, in Ansehung dieser Wissenschaft, auf seiten der Neueren. Die Gesetze der Komposition und Anordnung waren den Alten nur zum Teil und unvollkommen bekannt, wie die erhobenen Arbeiten von Zeiten, wo die griechischen Künste in Rom geblüht, dartun können.

[32] In dem Kolorit scheinen die Nachrichten in den Schriften der Alten und die Überbleibsel der alten Malerei auch zum Vorteil der neuern Künstler zu entscheiden.

Verschiedene Arten von Vorstellungen der Malerei sind gleichfalls zu einem höheren Grade der Vollkommenheit in neuern Zeiten gelangt. In Viehstücken und Landschaften haben unsere Maler allem Ansehen nach die alten Maler übertroffen. Die schönern Arten von Tieren unter andern Himmelsstrichen scheinen ihnen nicht bekannt gewesen zu sein, wenn man aus einzelnen Fällen, von dem Pferde des Marcus Aurelius, von den beiden Pferden auf Monte Cavallo, ja von den vorgegebenen Lysippischen Pferden über dem Portal der St. Marcuskirche in Venedig, von dem Farnesischen Stier und den übrigen Tieren dieses Grupps, schließen darf.

Es ist hier im Vorbeigehen anzuführen, daß die Alten bei ihren Pferden die diametralische Bewegung der Beine nicht beobachtet haben, wie an den Pferden in Venedig und auf alten Münzen zu sehen ist. Einige Neuere sind ihnen hierin aus Unwissenheit gefolgt und sogar verteidigt worden.

Unsere Landschaften, sonderlich die niederländischen Maler, haben ihre Schönheit vornehmlich dem Ölmalen zu danken; ihre Farben haben dadurch mehr Kraft, Freudigkeit und Erhobenheit erlangt, und die Natur selbst unter einem dickern und feuchtern Himmel hat zur Erweiterung der Kunst in dieser Art nicht wenig beigetragen.

Es verdienten die angezeigten und einige andere Vorzüge der neuern Maler vor den alten in ein größeres Licht, durch gründlichere Beweise, als noch bisher geschehen ist, gesetzt zu werden.

Zur Erweiterung der Kunst ist noch ein großer Schritt übrig zu tun. Der Künstler, welcher von der gemeinen Bahn abzuweichen anfängt oder wirklich abgewichen ist, sucht diesen Schritt zu wagen; aber sein Fuß bleibt an dem jähesten Orte der Kunst stehen, und hier sieht er sich hilflos.

[33] Die Geschichte der Heiligen, die Fabeln und Verwandlungen sind der ewige und fast einzige Vorwurf der neuern Maler seit einigen Jahrhunderten. Man hat sie auf tausenderlei Art gewandt und ausgekünstelt, so daß endlich Überdruß und Ekel den Weisen in der Kunst und den Kenner überfallen muß.

Ein Künstler, der eine Seele hat, die denken gelernt, läßt dieselbe müßig und ohne Beschäftigung bei einer Daphne und bei einem Apollo, bei einer Entführung der Proserpina, einer Europa und bei dergleichen. Er sucht sich als einen Dichter zu zeigen und Figuren durch Bilder, das ist allegorisch, zu malen.

Die Malerei erstreckt sich auch auf Dinge, die nicht sinnlich sind; diese sind ihr höchstes Ziel, und die Griechen haben sich bemüht, dasselbe zu erreichen, wie die Schriften der Alten bezeugen. Parrhasius, ein Maler, der wie Aristides die Seele schilderte, hat sogar, wie man sagt, den Charakter eines ganzen Volks ausdrücken können. Er malte die Athenienser, wie sie gütig und zugleich grausam, leichtsinnig und zugleich hartnäckig, brav und zugleich feige waren. Scheint die Vorstellung möglich, so ist es nur allein durch den Weg der Allegorie, durch Bilder, die allgemeine Begriffe bedeuten.

Der Künstler befindet sich hier wie in einer Einöde. Die Sprachen der wilden Indianer, die einen großen Mangel an dergleichen Begriffen haben und die kein Wort enthalten, welches Erkenntlichkeit, Raum, Dauer usw. bezeichnen könnte, sind nicht leerer von solchen Zeichen, als es die Malerei zu unseren Zeiten ist. Derjenige Maler, der weiter denkt, als seine Palette reicht, wünscht einen gelehrten Vorrat zu haben, wohin er gehen und bedeutende und sinnlich gemachte Zeichen von Dingen, die nicht sinnlich sind, nehmen könnte. Ein vollständiges Werk in dieser Art ist noch nicht vorhanden; die bisherigen Versuche sind nicht beträchtlich genug und reichen nicht bis an diese großen Absichten. Der Künstler wird wissen, wie weit ihm des Ripa Ikonologie, [34] die Denkbilder der alten Völker von van Hooghe Genüge tun werden.

Dieses ist die Ursache, daß die größten Maler nur bekannte Vorwürfe gewählt. Annibale Carracci, anstatt daß er die berühmtesten Taten und Begebenheiten des Hauses Farnese in der Farnesischen Galerie, als ein allegorischer Dichter, durch allgemeine Symbole und durch sinnliche Bilder hätte vorstellen können, hat hier seine ganze Stärke bloß in bekannten Fabeln gezeigt.

Die Königliche Galerie der Schildereien in Dresden enthält ohne Zweifel einen Schatz von Werken der größten Meister, der vielleicht alle Galerien in der Welt übertrifft, und Se. Majestät haben, als der weiseste Kenner der schönen Künste, nach einer strengen Wahl nur das Vollkommenste in seiner Art gesucht; aber wie wenig historische Werke findet man in diesem königlichen Schatze! Von allegorischen, von dichterischen Gemälden noch weniger.

Der große Rubens ist der vorzüglichste unter großen Malern, der sich auf den unbetretenen Weg dieser Malerei in großen Werken als ein erhabener Dichter gewagt. Die Luxemburgische Galerie, als sein größtes Werk, ist durch die Hand der geschicktesten Kupferstecher der ganzen Welt bekannt worden.

Nach ihm ist in neueren Zeiten nicht leicht ein erhabeneres Werk in dieser Art unternommen und ausgeführt worden, desgleichen die Cupola der Kaiserlichen Bibliothek in Wien ist, von Daniel Gran gemalt und von Sedelmayr in Kupfer gestochen. Die Vergötterung des Herkules in Versailles, als eine Allusion auf den Kardinal Hercules von Fleuri, von Le Moine gemalt, womit Frankreich als mit der größten Komposition in der Welt prangt, ist gegen die gelehrte und sinnreiche Malerei des deutschen Künstlers eine sehr gemeine und kurzsichtige Allegorie; sie ist wie ein Lobgedicht, worin die stärksten Gedanken sich auf den Namen im Kalender beziehen. Hier war der Ort, etwas Großes zu machen, und man muß sich wundern, daß es nicht geschehen ist. Man [35] sieht aber auch zugleich ein, hätte auch die Vergötterung eines Ministers den vornehmsten Plafond des königlichen Schlosses zieren sollen, woran es dem Maler gefehlt.

Der Künstler hat ein Werk vonnöten, welches aus der ganzen Mythologie, aus den besten Dichtern alter und neuerer Zeiten, aus der geheimen Weltweisheit vieler Völker, aus den Denkmalen des Altertums, auf Steinen, Münzen und Geräten, diejenigen sinnlichen Figuren und Bilder enthält, wodurch allgemeine Begriffe dichterisch gebildet worden. Dieser reiche Stoff würde in gewisse bequeme Klassen zu bringen und durch eine besondere Anwendung und Deutung auf mögliche einzelne Fälle, zum Unterricht der Künstler, einzurichten sein.

Hierdurch würde zu gleicher Zeit ein großes Feld geöffnet, zur Nachahmung der Alten und [um] unseren Werken einen erhabenen Geschmack des Altertums zu geben.

Der gute Geschmack in unsern heutigen Verzierungen, welcher seit der Zeit, da Vitruv bittere Klagen über das Verderbnis desselben führte, sich in neueren Zeiten noch mehr verderbt hat, teils durch die von Morto, einem Maler, von Feltro gebürtig, in Schwang gebrachten Grotesken, teils durch nichts bedeutende Malereien unserer Zimmer, könnte zugleich durch ein gründlicheres Studium der Allegorie gereinigt werden und Wahrheit und Verstand erhalten.

Unsere Schnörkel und das allerliebste Muschelwerk, ohne welches jetzt kein Zierat förmlich werden kann, hat manchmal nicht mehr Natur als Vitruvs Leuchter, welche kleine Schlösser und Paläste trugen. Die Allegorie könnte eine Gelehrsamkeit an die Hand geben, auch die kleinsten Verzierungen dem Orte, wo sie stehen, gemäß zu machen.

Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique.

Die Gemälde an Decken und über den Türen stehen meistenteils nur da, um ihren Ort zu füllen und um die ledigen Plätze zu decken, welche nicht mit lauter Vergoldungen können angefüllt werden. Sie haben nicht allein kein Verhältnis [36] mit dem Stande und mit den Umständen des Besitzers, sondern sie sind demselben sogar oftmals nachteilig.

Der Abscheu vor dem leeren Raum füllt also die Wände, und Gemälde, von Gedanken leer, sollen das Leere ersetzen.

Dieses ist die Ursache, daß der Künstler, den man seiner Willkür überläßt, aus Mangel allegorischer Bilder oft Vorwürfe wählt, die mehr zur Satire als zur Ehre desjenigen, dem er seine Kunst weiht, gereichen müssen; und vielleicht, um sich hiervor in Sicherheit zu stellen, verlangt man aus feiner Vorsicht von dem Maler, Bilder zu machen, die nichts bedeuten sollen.

Es macht oft Mühe, auch dergleichen zu finden, und endlich

... velut aegri somnia, vanae

Fingentur species.

Man nimmt also der Malerei dasjenige, worin ihr größtes Glück besteht, nämlich die Vorstellung unsichtbarer, vergangener und zukünftiger Dinge.

Diejenigen Malereien aber, welche an diesem oder jenem Orte bedeutend werden könnten, verlieren das, was sie tun würden, durch einen gleichgültigen oder unbequemen Platz, den man ihnen anweist.

Der Bauherr eines neuen Gebäudes,

Dives agris, dives positis in foenore nummis,

wird vielleicht über die hohen Türen seiner Zimmer und Säle kleine Bilder setzen lassen, die wider den Augenpunkt und wider die Gründe der Perspektive anstoßen. Die Rede ist hier von solchen Stücken, die ein Teil der festen und unbeweglichen Zieraten sind, nicht von solchen, die in einer Sammlung nach der Symmetrie geordnet werden.

Die Wahl in Verzierungen der Baukunst ist zuweilen nicht gründlicher: Armaturen und Trophäen werden allemal auf einem Jagdhaus ebenso unbequem stehen wie Ganymedes und der Adler, Jupiter und Leda unter der erhobenen Arbeit der Türen von Erz am Eingang der St. Peterskirche in Rom.

[37] Alle Künste haben einen gedoppelten Endzweck: sie sollen vergnügen und zugleich unterrichten, und viele von den größten Landschaftsmalern haben daher geglaubt, sie würden ihrer Kunst nur zur Hälfte ein Genüge getan haben, wenn sie ihre Landschaften ohne alle Figuren gelassen hätten.

Der Pinsel, den der Künstler führt, soll in Verstand getunkt sein, wie jemand von dem Schreibegriffel des Aristoteles gesagt hat: Er soll mehr zu denken hinterlassen, als was er dem Auge gezeigt, und dieses wird der Künstler erhalten, wenn er seine Gedanken in Allegorien nicht zu verstecken, sondern einzukleiden gelernt hat. Hat er einen Vorwurf, den er selbst gewählt oder der ihm gegeben worden, welcher dichterisch gemacht oder zu machen ist, so wird ihn seine Kunst begeistern und wird das Feuer, welches Prometheus den Göttern raubte, in ihm erwecken. Der Kenner wird zu denken haben, und der bloße Liebhaber wird es lernen.

See also




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