PAINTING is the art of representing to the eye, by means of figures and colours, every object in nature that is discernible by the sight: and of sometimes expressing, according to the principles of physiognomy, and by the attitudes of the body, the various emotions of the mind. A smooth surface, by means of lines and colours, represents objects in a state of projection; and may represent them in the most pleasant dress, and in a manner most capable of enchanting the senses. Still farther, the objects which delight us by their animation and lively colours, speak to the soul, by giving us the image of what we hold most dear, or by indicating an action which inspires us with a taste for innocent pleasures, with courage, and with elevated sentiments. Such is the definition, and such are the effects of painting.

By an admirable effort of human genius, painting offers to the eye every thing which is most valuable in the universe. Its empire extends over every age and country. It presents to us the heroic deeds of ancient times as well as the facts in which we are more conversant, and distant objects as well as those which we daily see. In this respect it may be considered as a supplement to nature, which gives us only a view of present objects.

The art of painting is extremely difficult in the execution; and its merit can only be appreciated by those who profess the art.

The painter who invents, composes, and colours conceptions which are only agreeable, and which speak merely to the eye of the spectator, may be reckoned to possess the first merit in the style of embellishment and decoration.

The painter who is distinguished for noble and profound conceptions; who, by means of a perfect delineation, and colours more capable of fixing the attention than dazzling the eye, conveys to the spectators the sentiments with which he himself was inspired; who animates them with his genius, and makes a lasting impression on their minds; this artist is a poet, and worthy to share even in the glories of Homer.

It is in forming this great idea of his art that the painter becomes himself great.

But if he seek only to please or astonish by the illusion of colours, he must rest contented with the secondary merit of flattering the eye with the variety and opposition of tints, or of making an industrious assemblage of a great multiplicity of objects. It is in painting as it is in poetry. The man who clothes trivial or common ideas in verse, exercises the profession of twisting syllables into a certain measure. The poet who clothes in good verse, ideas and sentiments that are merely agreeable, professes an agreeable art. But he who by the magic of verse, of ideas, of imagery, or of colours, adds sublimity to the sublime objects of nature, is a great poet and a great painter. He deserves the crown which the nations have decreed to Homer, Virgil, Milton, Raphael, and the statuary who modelled the ancient Apollo. It is reasonable to place in the fame clasps those who have expressed the same ideas, whether it be in verse or in colours, on brafs or on marble. The painter and statuary, who excel in their professions, deserve all the respect due to genius: they are of the number of those men whom nature, sparing of her best gifts, grants but occasionally to the inhabitants of the earth. If they are sublime, they elevate the human race; if they are agreeable only, they excite those sweet sensations necessary to our happiness.

In laying before our readers a succint account of this noble art, we shall, first, give the history of painting, including its rise, progress, and decline, in ancient and modern times; an account of the schools, and of the different merits of painters; and a comparison between the ancient and modern painting. Secondly, we shall lay down the principles of the art, and the order in which the artist conducts his studies. Thirdly, we shall enumerate the different classes of painting, with observations on each. And, Fourthly, we shall treat of economical or house painting.

HISTORY.

SECT. I. Rise, Progress, and Decline of Painting in Ancient and Modern Times.

It is to be imagined that men must naturally, and very early, have conceived an idea of the first principles of the art of painting; the shadow of each plant and animal, and of every object in nature, must have afforded them the means of conceiving, and pointed out the possibility of imitating, the figures of all bodies. Thus the savage nations, an emblem of what men were in the infancy of society, possess the first rudiments of this art, even before those which are useful and almost necessary to existence; their naked bodies are covered with punctures of various forms, into which they infuse indelible colours. The next demand for this art, is to preserve the memory of warlike exploits. It is more natural to form some representation of an action, than to give an account of it by means of arbitrary characters. Hence the picture-writing of the Mexicans, and the more complex hieroglyphics of Egypt.

Painting consisted of simple outlines long before the expression of relievo, or the application of colour. It was simply drawing; and the master-pieces of painting in that rude period were not superior to the sports of children. Although occupied about a single point, it was not brought to perfection; for constant experience instructs us that men never excel in the inferior parts of an art till they are capable of carrying the whole to perfection.

After employing for a long time those simple outlines, the next step in the art of painting was to make the imitation more complete by applying colours: this was first accomplished by covering the different parts of the figure with different colours, in the same way that we colour maps; and several nations, as the Egyptians, the Chinese, and the different nations of India, have never painted in a better manner. Other nations, more ingenious and more attentive to the arts, observing that the objects of nature have relief, have invented what is called clara-obcuro. The Greeks, the most ingenious, penetrating, and delicate of all, invented this part antecedent to colours; than which there cannot be a greater proof of their exquisite taste, as the glare of colours without judgment excites more admiration in the minds of the vulgar and ignorant, than the camaeu or drawings of one colour executed by the most skilful artist.

These general observations concerning the gradual improvement of this art, will be best illustrated by a more particular attention to the ancient nations in which it flourished.

Plato, who lived 400 years before the Christian era, informs us that painting had been practised in Egypt for ten thousand years; that some of the productions of that high antiquity were in existence; and that they bore an exact resemblance to those which the Egyptians executed in his time. Without regarding the period of ten thousand years mentioned by Plato, it is reasonable to consider it as an indeterminate period, which carries us back to very remote antiquity.

The figures either in the painting or sculpture of Egypt were extremely stiff; the legs were drawn together, and their arms were pasted to their sides. It appears that their only model was their mummies, and that their skill in anatomy was derived from embalming them. They were extremely incorrect in every part of the head; they placed the ears much higher than the nose. Besides, they gave the face the form of a circle instead of an oval; the chin was short and rounded; the cheeks excessively so; and they turned upwards the corners of the mouth and eyes. Many of these faults may be ascribed to the formation of the human face in Egypt; but the placing of the ears could only be found in caprice or ignorance.

The exactness of the Egyptian proportion is much celebrated; but although we grant that they observed the proper length of the different parts of the human body, they were still defective artists, since they did not observe the breadth, and were moreover ignorant altogether of the shape and size of the muscles. Works converted to religious purposes chiefly occupied the Egyptian painters. They had figures for imitation from which they would not depart, and those figures were monstrous; the bodies of animals with the heads of men; the bodies of men with the heads of animals: or if the figure was more agreeable to nature in its parts, yet it was so deformed and imaginary, as to have nothing similar to it as a whole in the creation of God.

The monuments of Egyptian painting with which we are best acquainted (says Winklemann) are the chests of mummies. These works have resisted the injuries of time, and are still submitted to the examination of the curious. The white, made of white lead, is spread over the ground of the piece; the outlines of the figure are traced with black strokes, and the colours are four in number; namely, blue, red, yellow, and green, laid on without any mixture or shading. The red and blue prevail most; and those colours seem to have been prepared in the coarsest manner. The light is formed by leaving those parts of the ground, where it is necessary, covered with the white lead, as it is formed by the white paper in some of our drawings. This description is sufficient to convince us that the whole art of painting in Egypt consisted in colouring: but every person knows, that without tints and the mixture of colours painting can never arrive at great perfection.

In Upper Egypt there seems to have existed a kind of colossal painting, which has never been examined, except by travellers who were no great critics in the art. Winklemann had some reason to express a desire that those remains of antiquity, with regard to the manner of working, the style, and the character, had been accurately explored. Walls of 24 feet in height, and pillars of 32 feet in circumference, are wholly covered with those colossal figures. According to Norden they are coloured in the same manner with the mummies: the colours are applied to a ground prepared in manner of fresco; and they have retained their freshness for many thousand years. Winklemann adds, that all the efforts of human skill and industry could make as little impression on them as the injuries of time. His enthusiasm for antiquity has perhaps led him into this extravagant exaggeration.

It appears that the great employment of the Egyptian painters was on earthen vessels, on drinking cups, in ornamenting barges, and in covering with figures the chests of mummies. They painted also on cloth; but painting, as an industrious occupation, supposes a workman, not an artist; the decoration of temples, house painting, and that of the figures relative to religion, are to be considered only in this point of view. The workmen in Russia who paint our Saviour holding the globe in one hand, and blessing the people with the other, are not members of the imperial academy of fine arts.

Pliny informs us that the Egyptian artists painted also the precious metals; that is to say, they varnished or enamelled them. It is doubtful what this art was, but most probably it consisted in covering gold or silver with a single colour.

The Egyptians are supposed to have continued this coarse style till the reign of the Ptolemies.

The Persians were so far from excelling in the arts, that the paintings of Egypt were highly esteemed among them after they had conquered that country.

The carpets of Persia were of great value in Greece, even in the time of Alexander the Great, and these were adorned with various figures; but this is no proof that they were well executed, any more than a demand for several of the Chinese productions is at present a proof of the taste of that people in the arts. It was the fabrication of the silk, and not the truth of the representation, which made the Greeks admire the carpets of the Persians. The Persians, as well as the Arabians, had some knowledge of mosaïc work. This is only valuable when it copies, in a manner that cannot be destroyed, the works of a great master; but if the Persians had no good pictures to copy into mosaïc, it was of no consequence to be able to arrange, in a solid manner, pieces of flint one beside another.

There is only one Persian painter whose name has descended to posterity; and he is preserved, not because he was a painter, but because he accommodated the ancient doctrine of the two principles to the Christian religion. Besides, it is doubted whether Manes was a Persian or a Greek, and it is still less known whether he was a painter. He is praised in Asia for drawing straight lines without a ruler.

The modern Persians have made no kind of progress in the arts. The emperor Schah Abbas, wishing from caprice to be instructed in drawing, was obliged to have recourse to a Dutch painter who happened to be in his dominions.

The modern Persians paint on cloth, and the artists in India are their rivals in this branch of industry; but their paintings are purely capricious. They represent plants and flowers which have no existence in nature; and their only merit consists in the brightness and the strength of their colours.

Besides this, the art in India, as it was in the most remote antiquity, is confined to monstrous figures connected with their religion, animals not to be found in the world, and idols with a multitude of arms and heads, which have neither exactness in their forms nor proportions. See Polytheism.

The paintings of Thibet discover great patience in the artist, and are remarkable for the fineness of their strokes. Their painters might dilute with Apelles and Protogenes for extreme tenacity of pencil; but it is in this alone, without any regard to the art, in which their merits consist.

Some of the idols in Thibet are executed in a certain style of reliefs; but those productions are not only imperfect, they are also so destitute of beauty as to forbid every hope of excellence in the art. The same thing may be observed with regard to many of the eastern nations; they seem to have that want of style which would for ever condemn them to mediocrity, even if they should happen to arrive at it.

An obscure Italian painter named Giovanni Ghirardi, who travelled into China, whose judgment is more to be depended on in an art which he practised than that of other travellers, declares that the Chinese have not the least idea of the fine arts; and this opinion is confirmed by every thing which we know of that people.

The Chinese seem not to have the smallest conception of perspective. Their landscapes have no plan, no variety in the appearance of the clouds, and no diminishing of the objects in proportion to their distance.

The great object of their painting seems to consist in making their figures as unlike nature as possible; it is a ferious caricature of the human figure.

To make the art flourish, it is necessary that the artist be esteemed and rewarded. In China, there is no artist so poorly paid as the painter.

The ignorant admire the brightness and purity of their colours; but simple colours appear always bright like, Pro- and pure: The difficulty of the art consists in melting greis, and them into one another in such a manner that the mixture shall not be perceived. It must at the same time be confessed, that their natural colours are more brilliant than ours; but if there be any merit in this, it is to be ascribed to their climate, not to their ability.

A Jesuit missionary, who in his youth had been a grinder of colours, was raised to the greatest eminence as a painter in the Imperial court of China, and Raphael himself was never so much respected. The Chinese battles sent from that country to Paris to be engraved, are the work of the Jesuits; and except they were done by the Chinese themselves, it is impossible to conceive that they could be worse executed.

The Chinese, like other eastern nations, have a few simple strokes which they repeat in all their variety of figures. In the figures on the earthen ware, they discover no knowledge of forms, no expression of the most conspicuous muscles, and no idea of proportion. And in all the paintings of China, anatomy seems to bear no relation to the art. Some heads done by a Chinese painter have a sort of resemblance to nature, but they are in a low and vicious taste: The fulness of the drapery conceals the parts in such a manner that they do not seem to exist under it. Sculpture in China is in a state of no great perfection, but at the same time it is better executed than their paintings.

The ancient inhabitants of Etruria, now called Tuscany, were the first who connected the arts with the study of nature. In some of their monuments which still remain, there is to be observed a first style, which shows the art in its infancy; and a second, which, like the works of the Florentine artists, shows more of greatness and exaggeration in the character than precision or beauty.

Pliny says that painting was carried to great perfection in Italy before the foundation of Rome; perhaps he means in comparison with the infancy of the art in Greece at that period; but it appears that even in his time the painters of Etruria were held in great reputation.

The only Etrurian paintings which remain, have been found in the tombs of the Tarquins. They consist of long painted frizes, and pilasters adorned with huge figures, which occupied the whole space from the base to the cornice. These paintings are executed on a ground of thick mortar; and many of them are in a state of high preservation.

Winklemann is of opinion, that the Greek colonies in Campania established at Naples and Nola, had at a very early period cultivated the imitative arts, and taught them to the Campanians established in the middle of the country. This learned antiquarian considers as works purely Campanian, certain medals of Capua and Teanum, cities of Campania into which the Greek colonies never penetrated. The head of a young Hercules, and the head of a Jupiter, according to Winklemann, are executed in the finest manner. It is still a question, however, in the learned world, whether these medals owe their existence to Carthage or to Campania.

"But there has been discovered (adds Winklemann) a great number of Campanian vases covered with painting. The design of the greatest part of these vases (says he) is such, that the figures might occupy a distinguished guished place in a work of Raphael. Those vases, when we consider that this kind of work admits of no correction, and that the stroke which forms the outline must remain as it is originally traced, are wonderful proofs of the perfection of the art among the ancients." Winklemann had an opportunity of examining a very fine Campanian vase, on which was painted a burlesque representation of the loves of Jupiter and Alcmena. But as this must have been derived from some fragments of a Grecian comedy, the Count de Caylus is persuaded that the Campanian vases are of Greek origin.

Although the history of Greek painting be more fully known than that of the same art among the barbarous nations, it is nevertheless involved in much obscurity. Pliny is almost the only author who has preserved the materials of its history; and he complains, that on this occasion the Greek writers have not discovered their usual precision. They place, says he, the first painter, of whom they speak, in the 96th Olympiad, 424 years before the Christian era. It is certain that painting in dry colours existed at the time of the siege of Troy, or at least when Homer wrote the account of it. The buckler of Achilles is a sufficient proof that the Greeks were then acquainted with the basso relievo, a kind of sculpture which bears a near affinity to painting.

In the Iliad, Helen is represented as working at a tapestry, whereon she figured the numerous combats of which she was the cause. When Andromache was informed of her husband's death, she was occupied in representing on tapestry flowers of various colours. From these facts, it is certain that painting was not confined to simple strokes, nor even to the cameo; and hence it is reasonable to conclude, that what is called lineary painting was practised long before the time of Homer. Polygnote of Thasos, who lived about 420 years before the Christian era, was the first painter of any eminence in Greece. Pliny informs us that he was the first who clothed his female figures, who varied the colours of the different parts of their draps, or who opened their mouths in such a manner as to show their teeth. Aristotle, who flourished in a subsequent period, allows this painter to have excelled in expression. But the art of painting may be still considered in its infancy in Greece, till about 400 years before the Christian era, when Zeuxis and Parrhasius flourished. In the contest between these eminent painters, Zeuxis declared himself to be overcome, because in a cluster of grapes which he painted he had deceived the birds; whereas Parrhasius in a curtain which he executed deceived his rival. The principal works of Zeuxis are his Penelope, in which, according to Pliny, he appears to have expressed the manners of that princess; a Jupiter surrounded by the gods; a Hercules strangling the serpents in the presence of Amphitriton and Alomena; an Helen, and a Marys bound. From this enumeration of these works, and from the fame which they have acquired, it is evident that the difficult parts of the art, and those which in the execution render it estimable, were now begun to be studied. By Apelles, Protogenes, and Euphranor, it was carried to the greatest height of perfection. Grace, and symmetry, and proportion, and illusion, were now added by the greatest masters to the noblest objects of nature.

We have already seen, that before the foundation of Rome the arts were cultivated in Etruria. They were also early introduced into Latium; but whether that country employed its own artists or those of Etruria, remains altogether uncertain. One need not be astonished, that at a period when the arts were in their infancy in Greece, they were raising statues to their kings in Rome: but at that period all their artists were Etrurians or Latins; and when they conquered Italy, they made all the nations of it as barbarous as they were themselves.

In the year 259 from the building of the city of Rome, and 494 years before the Christian era, Appius Claudius consecrated a number of shields in the temple of Bellona, which contained in basso relievo the portraits of his family. This example was followed; and in process of time it was common among the Romans to place those images in private houles. The execution in basso relievo is a proof that they had an idea of painting, at least with one colour. As long as the Romans employed artists of other nations, they had little desire to cultivate the arts; but towards the year of Rome 450, and 393 years before Christ, one of the Fabii thought it no discredit to a noble family to employ himself in painting. He painted the temple of Safety; and his works remained till that temple was destroyed by fire, in the reign of Claudius. It is worthy of remark, that the same man was the first painter and the first historian in his country.

The example of Fabius, surnamed Pictor from his profession, did not excite his fellow citizens to imitation. A century and a half elapsed before the tragic poet Pacuvius, nephew of Ennius, painted the temple of Hercules in the forum boarium. The glory which he had acquired by his dramatic works shed some lustre on the art, which he condescended to exercise; but did not confer on it that respect which could recommend it to general practice. The paintings of Fabius were the works, or rather the recreations of his youth; those of Pacuvius, the amusements of his old age: but painting is a difficult art, which requires the whole attention, and which can never be prosecuted with success, except those who love it are solely devoted to the performance.

It appears that there were no eminent painters at Rome till the time of the emperors; but as the national spirit was changed, the profession of the fine arts acquired more respectable. The Romans, during the time of the republic, were animated with the spirit of liberty and the desire for conquest. When these two passions were weakened, the love of the arts obtained among them. As a proof of this it is sufficient to say, that Nero himself gloried in being an artist. A colossal picture of 120 feet was painted at Rome by the command of this emperor, which was afterward destroyed by lightning. The name of the painter is not recorded, and there are various opinions concerning the merit of the performance; but the thing chiefly worthy of observation is, that this is the only painting on cloth mentioned by ancient authors.

The paintings of the ancient artists were either move-able, or on the ceilings or compartments of buildings, modes of According to Pliny, the most eminent were those who painting painted moveable pictures. The latter were either on fir wood, larch, boxwood, or canvas, as in the colossian picture picture mentioned above, and sometimes on marble. When they employed wood, they laid on in the first instance a white ground. Among the antiquities of Herculaneum are four paintings on white marble.

Their immoveable paintings on walls were either in fresco or on the dry stucco in distemper. Indeed all the ancient paintings may be reduced to, first, fresco painting; secondly, water colour, or distemper painting on a dry ground; and, thirdly, encaustic painting.

The ancient fresco paintings appear to have been always on a white stucco ground, the colours inlaid very deep, and the drawing much more bold and free than any similar performance of modern art. The outlines of the ancient paintings on fresco were probably done at once, as appears from the depth of the incision and the boldness and freedom of the design, equal to the care and spirit of a penciled outline.

In general the ancients painted on a dry ground even in their buildings, as appears from the Herculancum antiquities, most of which are executed in this manner. At Rome and Naples, the first (deepest) coat is of true puzzolana, of the same nature with the tarras now used in mortar required to keep out wet, about one finger thick; the next of ground marble or alabaster, and sometimes of pure lime or stucco, in thickness about one third of the former. Upon this they appear to have laid a coat of black, and then another of red paint; on which last the subject itself was executed. Such seems to have been their method of painting on walls; but in their moveable pictures, and in the performance of their first arts, and where effect of shade and light were necessary, they doubtless used white.

The colours employed they seem to have mixed up with size, of which they preferred that made by boiling the ears and genitals of bulls. This appears to have made the colours so durable and adhesive, that the ancient paintings lately found bear washing with a soft cloth and water; and sometimes even diluted aquafortis is employed to clean their paintings on fresco. Pliny says that glue dissolved in vinegar and then dried, is not again soluble.

What the encaustic painting of the ancients was, has been much disputed. From the works of Vitruvius and Pliny, it appears evidently that it was of three kinds.

First, Where a picture painted in the common way, was covered with a varnish of wax melted, diluted with a little oil, and laid on warm with a brush.

Secondly, Where the colours themselves were mixed up with melted wax, and the mixture used while warm. And,

Thirdly, Where a painting was executed on ivory by means of the ceftrum or viriculum.

Some experiments on this last method by Mr. Colebrook may be found in the Phil. Trans. vol. li. and more particular directions in Muntz's Treatise on Encaustic Painting.

It appears from ancient writings of the best authority, that in the earliest and purest times of this art, the painters used few colours, perhaps not more than four. "The paintings of the ancients (says Dionysius Halicarnassus) were simple and unvaried in their colouring, but correct in their drawing, and distinguished by their elegance. Those which succeeded, less correct in their drawing, were more finished, more varied in their light and shades, trusting their effect to the multitude of their colours." But no certain conclusion can be drawn, that the more early among the great painters of the ancients, such as Apollodorus, Zeuxis, Timanthes, &c. had only four different colours, merely because they did not use them. On the contrary, it may be conjectured with some degree of probability, from their chaffiness in design, and from the complaints Pliny makes of the gaudy taste of the Roman painters, that the Greeks in general were defgndently chaste in their colouring, and not to merely from necessity, at least about the time of Zeuxis and Apelles; for the former could not have painted grapes so naturally as he is said to have done with four colours only; and the rebuke given by the latter to one of his scholars who had painted an Helen very gaudily, is a confirmation of these observations. "Young man (says Apelles), not being able to make her beautiful, you have made her rich."

Of white colouring substances, the ancients had white lead variously prepared, a white from calcined egg-shells, used by the Egyptians, and preparations from cretaceous and argillaceous earths, ancients. The moderns, in addition, have magistry of bismuth, little used; and ought to have the calces of tin and zinc.

Of blacks, the ancients had preparations similar to lamp, ivory, blue, and Francfort black; also to Indian ink, and common writing ink; and they used, what we do not, the precipitate of the black dyers vats.

The ancients possessed a species of vermilion or fine cinnabar, a coarser cinnabar, red lead, various earths burnt and unburnt, apparently similar to our red ochre, Venetian red, Indian red, Spanish brown, burnt terra de Sienna, and scarlet ochre; they had also a substance alike in colour and in name to our dragon's blood.

The yellow pigments of the ancients were generally the same with our orpiments, king's-yellow, Naples yellow, &c. They did not possess turpeth-mineral, mineral yellow, or gamboge; nor do they appear to have known of gall-stone as a pigment.

Of blue paints they had preparations from the lapis cyanus and lapis armenius. Indigo they had, and perhaps bice and smalt; for they made blue glafts, but whether from some ore of cobalt or of wolfram must be uncertain: they had not Prussian blue, verditer, or litmus, which we have. We do not use the blue precipitate of the dyers vats, or mountain blue, which they certainly employed.

Of green colours they had verdigrise, terre verte, and malachite or mountain green. The latter is not in use among us. Sap-green, green verditer, and Scheele's green, appear to have been unknown to them: like us, they procured as many tints as they pleased from blue and yellow vegetables.

We have no original purple in use: that from gold by means of tin, though very good when well prepared, is too dear perhaps, and unnecessary. Their purple was a tinged earth. Their orange or sandarac (red orpiment) we also possess. Hence there does not appear to have been any great want of pigments, or any very material difference between the colours they used and such as we generally employ. Perhaps the full effect of colouring may be obtained without the use of exceeding brilliant pigments, depending chiefly on the proportion and opposition of tints. The ancients could not know anything about the spirit varnishes, distillation being a modern invention; but they were undoubtedly acquainted with the use of the better oil varnishes, that is, with the use and effect of resinous gums dissolved in boiling impregnated oils.

One of the best preserved mummies in the British Museum has an astonishing brightness of colours on the outside of the coffin. Thousands of years have not impaired them; they are as fresh as if they had been laid on yesterday.

The chalk ground, and the excellency of the colours, some of which imply a good deal of chemical and metallurgical knowledge, do not sufficiently account for their splendour and freshness: it must be owing to other circumstances; either to the mixture of shining colours, or to a hard glossy skin, which visibly covers them all over.

From an accurate examination of one of those mummies belonging to the university of Cambridge, it appeared, that the varnish which covered the colours could not be distilled, or in the least affected by common water; and that it equally resisted the diffusing power of the strongest spirits: hence it is reasonable to conclude that the coffins of the mummies were not covered with size, white of eggs, simple gums, or any preparation of wax, but with a fine transparent oil varnish. It was discovered at the same time, that the colours themselves were not prepared or mixed with oil; for where the external glossy skin was damaged, broken, or rubbed off, even common water would wash the colours away, and affect the chalk ground under them.

Pliny has described the general and particular effects of the varnish of Apelles, under the name of atramentum, so indistinctly, that nobody can distinguish the thing or the mixture he is speaking of. He has mentioned the shining glossy skin of the varnish which excites the brightness of the colours, and preserves them against dust; he observed, that this skin was laid on so thin, that it could not be discerned at any distance: nor was he less accurate in reporting the particular effects of that mixture which Apelles made use of; it harmonized and lowered the tone of the brightest florid colours in an imperceptible manner, and the whole appeared as if it had been seen through glass. The chemists and connoisseurs are fully of opinion, that no liquid substance or mixture of any kind is fit to produce these effects besides the oil varnishes: and if there are not, Apelles and the Greeks were certainly acquainted with those varnishes: a fact which might be strongly urged in behalf of their knowledge of oil colours.

The black outlines of the figures on the most ancient Greek paintings yet extant, that is, on Etruscan vases, are so sharp, so thick, and drawn in so easy and masterly a manner, that one cannot help looking upon them as having been drawn in oil colours. Had they been in distemper or water colours on the red clay ground on which they are applied, they would have been imbibed and soaked into it. Our china and enamel painters prepare and apply their colours with spike or other liquid oils; and the Greek masters seem to have done the same, unless they should appear to have burnt their vases before they painted them, or to have used a mixture of dissolved wax or gum for giving a body to their colours, which might have answered the same ends as oils. And this is the more probable, as there is some reason to believe that these vases went through two different fires, that of baking them, and that of melting or burning in their colours.

The Greek and Roman paintings that have been preserved or discovered at Rome and Herculaneum do not countenance the supposition of oil colours; at least Turnbull and the academists at Naples, who have described the royal collection at Portici, Cochin, and many other authors who have seen and described them, do not hint any thing of that nature. On the other hand, Vitruvius, who has left us so many valuable notices of the ancient arts, acquaints us, that there was a kind of painting which absolutely required a mixture of oil: And Pliny, to the same purpose, expressly says, "Sun and moon shine are inimical and obnoxious to red lead. The remedy is to apply the red wax when hot and melted with some oil on the well dried walls, which is to be done with bristles."

From these observations, the evidence which the ancients have given us in behalf of themselves, and of their knowledge of oil painting, may be summed up in few words.

Their having been acquainted with the white chalk ground, which many modern masters have used for oil painting on boards, proves no more than that the ancients might have done the same.

The oil varnishes used by the Egyptians and by Apelles might have brought them to the discovery of oil painting; but as it appears both from mummies and from the works of Pliny, that their colours were not prepared and mixed with that varnish, and as it is plain rather that this varnish was externally laid over the finished pictures; no other conclusion can be drawn, except that they were within sight of the discovery, and that it is a matter of wonder that they should not have laid hold of it.

The outlines of the old Greek or Etruscan vases are merely fallacious appearances.

The old Greek and Roman paintings on walls and stones are either painted in distemper and fresco, or they have not been sufficiently examined.

The oil used in the coarser wax and wall paintings proves at most that experiments had been tried with oils: but we have no direct proofs of oil painting having been understood or used by the Egyptians, Greeks, or Romans; and that, however great their skill or ingenuity, they might very well have been within sight and reach of the discovery, and nevertheless have missed it.

The art of painting was revived in Europe about the end of the 13th or beginning of the 14th century. The greefs, and human mind, however, plunged in profound ignorance, decline, of was destitute of every principle of sound philosophy which modern might enable it to determine on the objects of the arts; and of consequence the painters contented themselves with works adapted to the general taste, without beauty and without proportion. In Italy, where the first attempts were made, they were employed in representing the mysteries of the passion, and subjects of a familiar nature, on the walls of chapels and churches. Their labours were directed to a vast number of figures, rather than to the beauty and perfection of each; and the art in more modern times has always preserved somewhat of this absurd fault which it contracted at that early period. The art in our times is not, like those in Greece, at liberty to devote devote his talents only to men of knowledge and discernment; he is constrained to please those who are rich, and very frequently those who are ignorant. Instead of professing to himself the perfection of the art as the great object of his pursuit, he must rest his success and character on the facility of his operation and the abundance of his works.

Painting did not long continue in the imperfect condition in which it was left by those who first cultivated it among the moderns. It was natural that their successors should endeavour to surpass them, by joining some degree of theory to the barbarous practice they had adopted. The first thing which they discovered, or rather which they revived after the manner of the ancients, was perspective. This made the artists capable of expressing what is called forc/shortening, and of giving more effect and more truth to their works.

Dominique Ghirlandaio, a Florentine, was the first who enriched the style of his composition by grouping his figures, and who gave depth to his pictures, by distinguishing, by exact gradations, the spaces which his figures occupied; but his successors have far surpassed him in boldness of composition.

Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, Giorgian, Titian, Bartholomew de St Mare, and Raphael, flourished about the end of the 14th century. Leonardo da Vinci was the inventor of a great many details in the art: Michael Angelo, by studying the ancients, and by his knowledge of anatomy, arrived at great elegance in drawing the outlines of his figures: Giorgian enriched the art in general, and gave greater brilliancy to his colours than his predecessors: Titian, by a careful imitation of nature, made great proficiency in the truth and perfection of his tones: Bartholomew de St Mare studied particularly the part of drapery, and discovered the claro obfcuro, the best manner of giving drapery to his figures, and of making the naked to be felt even where they were covered: Raphael, endowed with a superior genius, began with studying carefully all his predecessors and all his contemporaries. He united in himself all the excellencies which they possessed; and formed a style more perfect and more universal than any painter who went before or who has succeeded him. But while he excelled in every part of the art, he was chiefly superior in those of invention and of composition. It is probable that the Greeks themselves would have been filled with admiration if they had beheld his chief pieces in the Vatican, where to the greatest abundance of paintings is joined so much perfection, and purity, and ease.

After painting had arrived at the greatest perfection among the Greeks by the exertions of Zeuxis and Parrhasius, Apelles found nothing to add to the art except grace; in the same manner among the moderns, after Raphael had appeared, grace was the only thing wanting to the art, and Corregio became the Apelles of Europe. Painting was by him carried to the highest degree among the moderns; the taste of the best critics and the eye of the vulgar were equally gratified.

After these great masters a considerable interval elapsed till the time of the Caracci. Those artists, born at Bologna, by studying the works of their predecessors with great care, and particularly those of Corregio, became the first and the most celebrated of their imitators. Hannibal possessed a very correct design, and united somewhat of the ancient style to that of Lewis his brother; but he neglected to inquire into the intricate principles and philosophy of the art. The pupils of the Caracci formed a school after their manner; but Guido, a painter of an easy and happy talent, formed a style altogether graceful, and rich, and easy. Guerriero formed after Caravaggio, or invented himself, a particular style of the claro-obfcuro, composed of strong shades and vivid oppositions.

Peter de Cortona succeeded those great imitators of their predecessors and of nature; who finding it difficult to succeed in that kind of painting, and having besides great natural abilities, applied himself chiefly to composition or arrangement, and to what the artists call taste. He distinguished invention from composition; appeared not to have attended to the former, but chiefly to those parts which are most prominent in the picture, and to the contralting of groups. It was then that the practice was introduced of loading pictures with a great number of figures, without examining whether or not they agreed to the subject of the history. The ancient Greeks employed a very small number of figures in their works, in order to make the perfection of those which they admitted more evident. The disciples or imitators of Cortona, on the other hand, have sought to conceal their imperfections by multiplying their figures. This school of Cortona is divided into many branches, and has changed the character of the art. The multiplication of figures, without a judicious and proper choice, carried back the art of painting to that point where the first reformers of it among the moderns had left it; while at the same time the disciples of Cortona were enabled to give to this first condition of the art a greater degree of perfection than the first artists.

About the middle of the 17th century flourished at Rome Carlo Maratti, who, aiming at the greatest perfection, carefully studied the works of the first painters, and particularly those of the school of the Caracci. Although he had already studied nature, he discovered by the works of these artists that it is not always proper to imitate her with a servile exactness. This principle, which he extended to every part of the art, gave to his school a certain style of carefulness, which however is considerably degenerated.

France has also produced great masters, particularly in the part of composition; in which Poufain, after Raphael, is the best imitator of the style of the ancient Greeks. Charles le Brun and many others distinguished themselves for great fertility of genius: and as long as the French school departed not from the principles of the Italian school, it produced masters of great merit in the different branches of the art.

Mengs, from whom this account is taken, is not deceived when he declares the art of painting to have degenerated in France after Le Brun; but he seems to be mistaken in giving the imitation of the works of Rubens found at Paris as the cause of this decay. It appears from this opinion, that the recent French school was not well known to him. The French, indeed, if we may believe their own authors, were never much occupied in the imitation of Rubens; and they have for a long time despised him. But the perfection of the dramatic art in France, the dress of their actors, the magnificence and manners of the court, have contributed very much to the decay of painting. painting. Instead of forming their taste on the beautiful simplicity of nature, their painters studied the gestures and the attitudes of comedians, the fopperies of women of fashion, the affected air of courtiers, the pageantry of Versailles, and the magnificence of the opera. Mengs says, "that the French have formed a national style, of which ingenuity and what they call esprit are the discriminating qualities; that they have ceased to introduce Greek, Egyptian, Roman, or barbarian personages into their paintings; and that after the example of Pouflin, they content themselves with figures altogether French, as if it were their intention to hand down to posterity that such a nation once existed.

Since, according to the confession of Mengs, their figures are altogether French, there is no reason to believe that the French painters have imitated Rubens, whose works are marked much more strongly than those of his master Æneas with the Flemish character. The truth is, that their painters, like Cortona and Maratti, have crowded their pictures with a great number of figures; have grouped them in a manner most calculated to strike the senses; have been more intent on agreeable artifices than expression and beauty; and, finally, that they have borrowed the manners of the court and theatre.

The first masters of the great schools of painting, with the ancients and nature for their guides, and their genius for their support, carried every part of the art to the greatest height of perfection. Those who followed them, and who had the example of their predecessors in addition to the first sources of truth and beauty, did by no means arrive at the same excellence. The Caracci in their school, Paul Veronese, and all the painters of his time, Vandyke, and all those who exercised the art in Italy, in Flanders, and in France, supported it with great brilliancy. But soon after the number of artists was multiplied; and flaviully copying men of inferior talents, they produced works of an inferior nature. Some wanting to be colourists, their pieces were exaggerated; others affecting simplicity, became cold and infidel. At this period of the art, men of real abilities, and covetous of fame, who wished to rise superior to the mediocrity of the times, seem not to have taken the road of truth and nature. They affected a style of pompous preparation, and annexed a kind of merit to the expert management of the pencil. The affected forms of Cortona and of his pupils, the fantastical attitudes and the poignant effects of Pfazetta, and in short the ingenious contrivances of the last matters of the French school, are decided proofs of this increasing bad taste.

It appears, that for some time past greater pains have been taken to form men for the art than to encourage those who possess the talent. In consequence of this ruinous practice, schools for drawing, very different from those formed by able painters, have been exceedingly multiplied; and these give the elements according to an uniform system, by which the mind is laid under a regular restraint at the very threshold of the profession. This evil is productive of two inconveniences; it gives middling painters, and it multiplies them to that degree, as to haffen the downfall and bring into contempt the art itself.

The particular reputation of the Italian painters furnishes another reason for the decline of the art. The first painters of that country were few in number; they were honoured, and they deserved to be honoured. Their distinguished reputation has conferred a value on the general paintings of their countrymen. The desire of possessing taste, or of being thought to possess it, had led the rich and the ignorant of all nations to give a preference to the Italian market. Necessity, in this case, would multiply the painters; and their abilities must bear a pretty exact proportion to the discrimination of those who give the price.

The decline of painting has also arisen from the despotism which for some time reigned in the academic societies. In fact, these have often been ruled by men who would force every exertion of genius into their peculiar tract of operation. If they required such or such merit of execution, the first principles of the art were neglected for that peculiar excellence. In this manner the schools were absolute in behalf of design as long as fluency was held in chief estimation. The artist, whose abilities and inclination led him to colouring, was obliged to abandon a pursuit which could be of no service to him, and devote himself to that for which he was not qualified by nature. On the other hand, if the instructions of the schools be confined to colouring, a mind disposed to the choice and exactness of forms will find no encouragement, and be for ever lost to the art. In this manner the ignorance of those who will to be connoisseurs, and the narrow views of those who pretend to direct the general taste, have equally contributed to the decline of the arts.

Sect. II. Of the Schools.

A SCHOOL, in the fine arts, denominates a class of artists who have learned their art from a certain master, either by receiving his instructions, or by studying his works; and who of consequence discover more or less of his manner, from the desire of imitation, or from the habit of adopting his principles.

All the painters which Europe has produced since the renovation of the arts are classed under the following schools: the school of Florence, the school of Rome, the school of Venice, the Lombard school, the French school, the German school, the Flemish school, the Dutch school, and the English school.

This school is remarkable for greatness; for attitudes School of seemingly in motion; for a certain dark severity; for an Florence. expression of strength, by which grace perhaps is excluded; and for a character of design approaching to the gigantic. The productions of this school may be considered as overcharged; but it cannot be denied that they possess an ideal majesty, which elevates human nature above mortality. The Tuscan artists, satisfied with commanding the admiration, seem to have considered the art of pleasing as beneath their notice.

This school has an indisputable title to the veneration of all the lovers of the arts, as the first in Italy which cultivated them.

Painting, which had languished from the destruction of the Roman empire, was revived by Cimabue, born of a noble family in Florence in the year 1240. This painter translated the poor remains of the art from a Greek artist or two into his own country. His works, as may easily be imagined, were in a very ordinary style, but they received the applause and admiration of his fellow-citizens; and if Cimabue had not found admirers, Florence in all probability probability would not have been honoured with Michael Angelo. The number of painters became soon so considerable in Florence, that in the year 1350 they established a society under the protection of St Luke.

Maffolino, towards the beginning of the 15th century, gave more grandeur to his figures, adjusted their drabs better, and shed over them a kind of life and expression. He was surpassed by Maffacio his pupil; who first gave force, animation, and relieve, to his works.

Andrew Castagna was the first Florentine who painted in oil. But Leonardo da Vinci and Michael Angelo, contemporary painters, were the glory of the school of Florence. Michael Angelo was superior to Leonardo in grandeur, in boldness of conception, and in knowledge of design; but Leonardo was superior to him in all the amiable parts of the art. Leonardo, possessed of a fine imagination, and full of sensibility, devoted himself in painting to express the affections of the soul; and if, in this sublime branch of the art, he was afterwards surpassed by Raphael, he had at least the glory not only of exceeding all the painters who went before him, but of pursuing a path which none of them had attempted. His design was pure and neat, and not wholly destitute of greatness. He never went beyond nature, and he made a good choice of objects for imitation.

Michael Angelo, less formed to experience sweet affections than vehement passions, fought in nature what the strength of man might accomplish, not that which constitutes beauty. He delighted in being great and terrible, more than in graceful and pleasant attitudes. Well acquainted with anatomy, he knew more exactly than any other artist in what manner to express the joining of the bones of the body, and the office and insertion of the muscles: but too eager to display his knowledge of anatomy, he seems to have forgotten that the muscles are softened by the skin which covers them; and that they are less visible in children, in women, and in young men, than in confirmed and vigorous manhood. "In his figures (says Mengs) the articulations of the muscles are so easy and free, that they appear to be made for the attitude in which he represents them. The fleshy parts are too much rounded, and the muscles are in general too large, and of too equal strength. You never perceive in his figures a muscle at rest; and although he knew admirably well how to place them, their action is very frequently inconsistent with their situation."

"He did not puffets (says Sir Joshua Reynolds) so many delightful parts of the art as Raphael; but those which he had acquired were of a more sublime nature. He saw in painting little more than what might be attained in sculpture; and he confined it to exactness of form and the expression of passions."

He informs us, in one of his letters, that he modelled in earth or wax all the figures which he intended to paint. This method was familiar to the great painters of his time, and ought never to be abandoned. It appears, that in representing them in this manner in relieve, the painter can imitate them much more exactly than when they are drawn with a crayon or pencil on a plain surface.

"Michael Angelo (continues Sir Joshua Reynolds) never attempted the lesser elegancies and graces in the art. Vafari says, he never painted but one picture in oil; and resolved never to paint another, saying it was an employment only fit for women and children.

"If any man had a right to look down upon the lower accomplishments as beneath his attention, it was certainly Michael Angelo; nor can it be thought strange, that such a mind should have flighted, or have been withheld from paying due attention to all those graces and embellishments of art which have diffused such lustre over the works of other painters."

Ancient Rome, rich with the works brought from Greece, or finished in its own bosom by Grecian artists, handed down in its ruins the remains of that glory to which it had been elevated. It was by the study of these remains that the modern artists were formed; they derived from them the knowledge of design, the beauty of exquisite forms, greatness of style, and justness of expression, carried to that length only which did not affect the beauty of the figure. From them also they derived the principles of the art of drapery; and they followed these principles even while they made the drapery of modern paintings more large and flowing than what was practised by the ancient sculptors. The Roman school was altogether devoted to the principal parts of the art, to those which require genius and vast conceptions; and was no farther occupied with colours than what was necessary to establish a difference between painting and sculpture, or rather between painting varied with colours and in clare-obscuro.

Raphael Sanzio, born at Urbino in 1483, and scholar to Pietro Perugino, was the undoubted founder of this school. His first manner was that of Perugino his master; but he travelled twice to Florence to study the great artists who flourished in that city.

It was fortunate for Raphael, says Mengs, that he was born, in what he terms the infancy of the art, and that he formed himself by copying nature before he had access to see the works of any great master. He began by studying, with great exactness, the simple truth in his figures. He was then ignorant that any choice was necessary; but he saw the works of Leonardo da Vinci, of Maffacio, and of Michael Angelo, which gave his genius a new direction. After this he perceived that there was something more in the art of painting than a simple imitation of truth. But the works of those masters were not sufficiently perfect to point out the best choice to make; and he continued in uncertainty till he saw at Rome the works of the ancients. Then he perceived that he had found the true models which he wanted; and in imitating them he had only to follow the natural impulse of his genius.

Habituated by his first manner to imitate nature with precision, it was not difficult to carry the same exactness into the imitation of the ancients; and it was a great advantage to him that he flourished in an age wherein the artists were not arrived at facility of execution at the expense of rigorous exactness. He never lost sight of nature; but he was instructed by the ancients in what manner she should be studied. He perceived, that the Greeks had not entered into minute details, that they had selected what was great or beautiful, and that one of the chief causes of the beauty of their works was the regularity of their proportions; he began, therefore, by carefully studying this part of the art. He saw also that the joinings of the bones, and the free play of their articulations, are the causes of all graceful movement: he therefore fore, after the example of the ancients, gave the greatest attention to this part, and was led by these observations not to be contented with the simple imitation of nature.

His design is excellent, but neither so perfect nor so finished as that of the Greeks. He excelled in representing the character of philosophers, apostles, and other figures of that kind; but he did not equal the Greeks in ideal figures, which ought to carry the impression of divinity. His taste for design was more Roman than Greek, because he formed it chiefly on the basso-relievos which he found at Rome. On this account he had the habit of marking strongly the bones and the articulations, and labouring the fleshy parts less; but as these basso-relievos are very exact with regard to the reciprocal proportions of every member, he excelled in this part, while at the same time he did not give to his figures all the elegance of the Greek artists, nor the flexibility of articulation which is admired in the Laocoön, in the Apollo of Belvidere, and in the Gladiator.

The manners and spirit of his age, and the subjects which he most commonly treated, prevented him from reaching the ideal of the ancients. Having seldom occasion to represent figures altogether ideal, he devoted himself to purity of expression. He knew that the expression of the passions of the soul is absolutely necessary in an art which represents the actions of men, since from those affections the actions may be said truly to originate. To make figures act, and yet neglect the interior springs of action, is nothing more than a representation of automata. The attitudes and action are evident; but they appear not to act of themselves, because they are void of those principles from which alone men are supposed to act. An artist who neglects expression gives no just representation of character, even though he should take nature for his model.

Raphael's first care, when he wanted to compose a piece, was to weigh the expression; that is to say, to establish, according to the nature of the subject, the passions which were to animate the characters. All the figures, all the accessories, all the parts of the composition, were moulded to the general expression.

As he had not found examples in the ancient statues of the claro-obscuro, he was comparatively weak in this part; and if there was any thing remarkable in his distribution of light and shade, he owed it to the works of the Florentine painters. It cannot be said, however, even with regard to the claro-obscuro, that he imitated nature without taste. He delighted in what are called masses of light; and disposed the great lights in the most conspicuous places of his figures, whether naked or in drapery. If this method did not produce effects highly illusive, it gives his works that distinctness which makes his figures conspicuous at a distance; and this must be allowed to be an essential part of the art of painting. He did not proceed beyond this; and content with that kind of claro-obscuro which comprehends imitation, he never attempted that which is ideal.

The composition and the ensemble of his figures were the chief excellencies of Raphael. His philosophical mind could not be affected with objects which had not expression. He had too high an idea of painting to consider it as a mute art; he made it speak to the heart and soul: and he could only do this in subjects which required expression. If Raphael did not reach the Greek excellence, if he did not possess the art of embellishing nature in the same high degree, he saw at least, and imitated her in whatever was expressive and beautiful. "The Greeks failed with majesty (says Mengs) between earth and heaven: Raphael walked with propriety on the earth."

"Composition is in general (says the same author) of two kinds: Raphael's is the expressive kind; the other is the theatrical or picturesque, which consists of an agreeable disposition of the figures. Lanfranc was the inventor of this last, and after him Pietro de Cortona. I give the preference to Raphael; because reason predilects over all his works, or at least the greatest part of them. He never allowed himself in common ideas, and was never allured to give any thing in his accessory figures which might turn the attention from the principal object of the piece."

A history of the schools is nothing more than a history of the painters who founded them. In those two which we have already given, Michael Angelo and Raphael come readily forward to claim our attention; and therefore we cannot do better than conclude the account by the masterly contrast of these eminent painters given by Sir Joshua Reynolds. "If we put those great artists (says he) in a light of comparison with each other, Raphael had more taste and fancy, Michael Angelo more genius and imagination. The one excelled in beauty, the other in energy. Michael Angelo has more of the poetical in operation; his ideas are vast and sublime; his people are a superior order of beings; there is nothing about them, nothing in the air of their actions or their attitudes, or the style and cast of their limbs or features, that puts one in mind of their belonging to our species. Raphael's imagination is not so elevated; his figures are not so much disjointed from our own diminutive race of beings, though his ideas are chaste, noble, and of great conformity to their subjects. Michael Angelo's works have a strong, peculiar, and marked character; they seem to proceed from his own mind entirely; and that mind so rich and abundant, that he never needed, or seemed to disdain, to look abroad for foreign help. Raphael's materials are generally borrowed, though the noble structure is his own. The excellency of this extraordinary man lay in the propriety, beauty, and majesty of his characters; his judicious contrivance of composition, correctness of drawing, purity of taste, and the skilful accommodation of other men's conceptions to his own purpose."

This school is the child of nature. The Venetian painters not having under their eyes like the Roman school the remains of antiquity, were destitute of the means of forming a just idea of the beauty of forms and of expression. They copied without choice the forms of nature; but they were chiefly delighted with the beauties which presented themselves in the mixture and the variety of natural colours. Their attention not being detached from this part by any thing of greater importance, colouring was their chief object, and they succeeded in it. They did not rest contented with characterizing the objects by comparison, in making the colour proper for one of more value by the colour more proper for another; but they endeavoured still farther, by the agreement and opposition of the coloured objects, and by the contrast of light and shade, to produce a vigorous effect, to demand and fix the attention. Dominic, who was said to have perished at Florence by the jealousy of André Caffagna, and who was the second Italian artist who painted in oil, had educated, before he quitted Venice, his native country, Jacques Bellin, who was remarkable for nothing but the picturesque education which he gave to Gentel and John his two sons.

Gentel, who was the eldest, painted chiefly in water colours. John contributed much to the progress of his art in painting constantly in oil, and after nature. Although he always retained great stiffness in his manner, he had less than his father or brother. Great neatness of colouring, and an approach to harmony, are evident in his works. His taste in design is Gothic, the air of his heads is sufficiently noble, his attitudes are without judgment, and his figures without expression. He had for scholars Giorgion and Titian, who deserve to be considered as the founders of the Venetian school.

Giorgion distinguished himself by a design of a better taste than that of his master; but he chiefly surpassed him in colouring. He died in his 32d year; and excited the emulation of Titian, who soon greatly excelled him.

Tiziano Vecelli, known best by the name of Titian, was instructed to copy nature in the most servile manner in the school of John Bellin; but when he had seen the works of Giorgion, he began to study the ideal in colouring.

The truth of history is not to be expected in his historical paintings, or in those of the artists of the same school. He seems to have paid little attention to the consistence of scene, to the costume, to expression adapted to the subject, or, finally, to the accommodation of parts which characterise the works of those who have studied the ancients. He was in short a great painter and nothing more.

But although he deserves not to be placed among the most distinguished artists in point of judgment, yet he is by no means destitute of great and noble conceptions. There is often to be found among his male figures a considerable degree of grandeur: but if he has sometimes, like Michael Angelo, overcharged his design, it was more discovered in the swelling of the soft and fleshy parts than in vigour and muscular strength.

Almost entirely devoted to simple imitation, he had scarcely greater choice in the claro-obscuro than in design. He cannot be justly reproached at the same time for weakness in this particular; because in endeavouring to imitate the colours of nature, he was obliged to observe the degrees of light. And in proportion as he succeeded in the imitation of natural colours he must be less defective in the claro-obscuro; but it is not in the knowledge of this part of the art that we are to seek for the beauties of his works. These are to be found in the happy dispositions of colours both proper and local, and he carries this to the highest point of perfection.

The artists in the Florentine and Roman schools painted most commonly in water colours or in fresco; and in the exercise of their profession, instead of nature, they finished their works from their first sketches. Titian painted in oil, and finished from the objects in nature; and this practice, joined to his exquisite talents, gave the greatest truth to his colours. His being a portrait painter was also of advantage to him as a colourist. In this department he was accustomed to the colours of nature in carnations and draperies. He was a landscape-painter, and here also he took the colours from nature.

"As Titian perceived (says Mengs) that the objects which are beautiful in nature have often a bad effect in painting, he found it necessary to make a choice in the objects of imitation; and he observed, that these were objects of which the local colours were extremely beautiful, which nevertheless were in a great measure destroyed by the reflection of light, by the porosity of the body, and by different luminous tints, &c. He perceived also, that in every object there was an infinite number of half tints, which conducted to the knowledge of harmony. In short, he observed in the objects of nature, a particular agreement of transparency, of opacity, of rudeness, and of polish, and that all objects differed in the degrees of their tints and their shades. It was in this diversity he sought the perfection of his art; and in the execution he moderated the effect of natural colours. For example, in a carnation which had many demi-tints, he confined himself to one; and he employed even less than a demi-tint, where there were few in the natural object. By this means he obtained a colouring exquisitely fine; and in this part he was a great master, and deserves to be carefully studied."

Titian has in general little expression in his pictures, and he sometimes introduces figures which augment the coldness of the piece; for if it be true that the heads, even in historical painting, ought to be studied after nature, it is true also that an individual nature ought not to be presented, but one general and ideal. It is necessary that they should be men, while they resemble not men we are accustomed to see. The painter fails in the effect which he ought to produce, if, when he represents Achilles, Hector, and Caesar, his personages are familiar to our observation.

The colours of his paintings are so mingled together, as to give no idea of the colours on his pallet; which distinguishes him from Rubens, who placed his colours one at the side of another. It is impossible to say, on the narrowest inspection, with what colours he produced his tints. This practice, which enabled him to imitate so exactly the colours of nature, gives a marked distinction to his manner of painting. In the examination of his works, the critics lose an ordinary source of pleasure, which arises from marking the freedom of hand; but they may console themselves with the natural and exquisite touches of this artist.

He is of historical painters one of those who have succeeded in landscape. His situations are well chosen; his trees are varied in their forms, and their foliage well conceived. He had a custom of representing some remarkable appearance in his landscapes to render them more striking.

The distinguishing characteristics of this school are, Lombard grace, school. grace, an agreeable taste for design, without great correction; a mellowness of pencil, and a beautiful mixture of colours.

Antonio Allegri, called Correggio, was the father and greatest ornament of this school. He began like the painters of his time to imitate nature alone; but, as he was chiefly delighted with the graceful, he was careful to purify his design from all short turnings and unnecessary angles. He perceived that largeness contributed to grace; and therefore he not only rejected all small figures, but enlarged as much as possible the outlines, avoided acute angles and straight lines, and by these means gave an easy grandeur to his design. He made his figures elegant and large; he varied the outlines by frequent undulations; but he was not always pure and correct.

Corregio painted in oil, a kind of painting susceptible of the greatest delicacy and sweetness; and as his character led him to cultivate the agreeable, he gave a pleasing captivating tone to all his pictures. He sought transparent colours to represent shades conformable to nature, and adopted a manner of glazing which actually rendered his shadows more obscure. Obscurity in painting cannot be fully obtained without transparent colours; for these absorb the rays of light, and of consequence give less reflection. He laid his colours very thick on the brightest parts of his pictures, to make them capable of receiving, by a proper touch, the greatest degree of light. He perceived, that the reflections of light correspond with the colour of the body from which they are reflected; and on these principles he founded his theory of colours with respect to light and shade and reflection. But it is chiefly in the colour of his shades that he deserves to be imitated; for his lights are too clear, and somewhat heavy; and his fleshy parts are not sufficiently transparent.

Harmony and grace are connected together; and on this account Corregio excelled also in harmony. As the delicacy of his taste suffered him not to employ strong oppositions, he naturally became a great master in this part, which chiefly consists of easy gradations from one extreme to another. He was harmonious in his design, by making the lines which formed the angles of the contour arched and undulated. But in the lights and shades, he placed always between the two extremes a space which served to unite them, and to form a passage from the one to the other. The delicacy of his organs made him perceive, better than any other artist, what relief was necessary to the eye after a violent exertion; and he was therefore careful to follow a bold and prevailing colour with a demi-tint, and to conduct the eye of the spectator, by an invisible gradation, to its ordinary state of tension. In the same manner (says Mengs) does agreeable and melting music pull one gently out of sleep, that the awaking resembles enchantment more than the disturbing of repose. A delicate taste in colours, a perfect knowledge of the claro obcuro, the art of uniting light to light, and shade to shade, together with that of detaching the objects from the ground, inimitable, grave, and perfect harmony, were the qualities which distinguished Corregio from all the painters, and placed him near the head of his profession.

The Caracci, Lewis, Augustin, and Hannibal, formed what is called the second Lombard school, which is frequently distinguished by the name of the school of Bologna.

Lewis was the master of the other two; he had studied the works of Titian and Paul Veronese at Venice, those of André del Sarte at Florence, those of Corregio at Parma, and those of Jules Romaeu, at Mantua; but he chiefly endeavoured to imitate the manner of Corregio. Hannibal fluctuated between Corregio and Titian. Augustin their rival in painting had his mind cultivated by learning, and devoted part of his time to poetry and music, to dancing and to other manly exercises. These three painters often employed their talents on the same piece; and it was admirable that their united labours seemed to be animated with the same spirit.

They established an academy at Bologna, which their zeal for the advancement of their art made them call l'Accademia degli Desiderosi; but it was afterward called the Academy of the Caracci, because the reputation which these artists acquired, permitted not a more illustrious name to be given to an establishment of which they were the founders. In this school were taught the art of constructing models, perspective, and anatomy; lessons were given on the beautiful proportions of nature, on the best manner of using colours, and on the principles of light and shade. They held frequent conferences, in which not only artists, but men of general knowledge, were permitted to elucidate points relative to the art of painting: but they were separated upon Hannibal's going to Rome to adorn the gallery of the cardinal Farnese.

The works of the Caracci are often, from the resemblance of their manner, confounded together; especially those which were finished previous to the residence of Hannibal at Rome. Meanwhile each of them has a decided character distinct from the other two. Lewis had less fire, but more of gracefulness and grandeur; Augustin had more spirit in his conception, and more pleasurable in his execution: Hannibal is characterized by boldness, by a design more profound, by an expression more lucky, and by an execution more solid.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, who saw the works of Lewis at Bologna, holds him out in his discourses as the best model for what is called style in painting; which is the faculty of disposing colours in such a manner as to express our sentiments and ideas. "Ludovico Caracci," says he, " (I mean in his best works) appears to me to approach the nearest to perfection. His unaffected breadth of light and shadow, the simplicity of colouring, which, holding its proper rank, does not draw aside the least part of the attention from the subject, and the solemn effect of that twilight which seems diffused over his pictures, appears to me to correspond with grave and dignified subjects better than the more artificial brilliancy of sunlight which enlightens the pictures of Titian."

Hannibal is esteemed by the best judges as a model for beauty and design. Those who blame him for becoming less a colourist at Rome than he was as Bologna, ought to recollect that it is his performances at Rome which have chiefly secured his reputation. Severe critics have maintained that his design is too little varied in his figures; that he excels only in male beauty; that in imitating ancient statues, he excites some resemblance, but but without arriving at the sublimity of ideas and of style which characterize the ancients; or, in other words, that he hath successfully imitated the exterior of their manner, but that he was incapable of reaching the interior and profound reasonings which determined those admirable arts.

The success of Hannibal, and the reputation which he acquired, have been pernicious to the art. His successors, deluded by these considerations, have made him the object of their imitation, without ascending to the sources from which he derived his knowledge, and which he never could equal. The result has been, that, instead of becoming equal to Hannibal, they have often copied his imperfections.

This school has been so different under different masters, that it is difficult to characterize it. Some of its artists have been formed on the Florentine and Lombard manner, others on the Roman, others on the Venetian, and a few of them have distinguished themselves by a manner which may be called their own. In speaking in general terms of this school, it appears to have no peculiar character; and it can only be distinguished by its aptitude to imitate easily any impression; and it may be added, speaking still in general terms, that it unites, in a moderate degree, the different parts of the art, without excelling in any one of them.

It is equally difficult to determine the progress of painting in France. Miniature painting, and painting on glass, were early cultivated in that country; and in these two kinds, the Italians had often recourse to the French artists. When Francis I. encouraged Rosso a Florentine, and Primaticce a Bolognian, the painters in France were not remarkable for any superior talent; but they were capable of working under these foreign artists.

Cousin, a painter on glass, and portrait painter, was the first who established any kind of reputation in France. He was correct, but possessed very little elegance of design.

Painting, for some time encouraged by Francis I., fell into a state of languor, from which it was not recovered till the reign of Louis XIII. Jacques Blanchard, formed at the Venetian school, and called the French Titian, flourished about this period. But as he died young, and without educating any pupils to perpetuate his manner, he must be regarded as a single good artist, and not as a founder of the French school.

In the same manner Poussin, one of the greatest French painters, and who is called the Raphael of France, educated no pupils, nor formed any school. His style and character of painting are described by Sir Joshua Reynolds as simple, careful, pure, and correct. No works of any modern (adds the same author) have so much of the air of antique painting as those of Poussin. His best performances have a remarkable dryness of manner, which, though by no means to be recommended for imitation, yet seems perfectly correspondent to that ancient simplicity which distinguishes his style.

In the latter part of his life he changed from this manner to one much softer and richer; where there is a greater union between the figures and the ground. His favourite subjects were ancient fables; and no painter was ever better qualified to paint such objects, not only from his being eminently skilled in the knowledge of the ceremonies, customs, and habits of the ancients, but from his being so well acquainted with the different characters which those who invented them gave their allegorical figures.

If Poussin, in the imitation of the ancients, represents Apollo driving his chariot out of the sea by way of representing the sun rising, if he personifies lakes and rivers, it is no way offensive in him, but seems perfectly of a piece with the general air of the picture. On the contrary, if the figures which people his pictures had a modern air or countenance, if they appeared like our countrymen, if the draperies were like cloth or silk of our manufacture, if the landscape had the appearance of a modern view, how ridiculous would Apollo appear? Instead of the sun, an old man; or a nymph with an urn, instead of a river or a lake.

Poussin, however, more admired than imitated, had no manner of influence in forming the French school. Simon Vouet, his enemy and persecutor, had this honour, because his pupils, in the happy age of the arts in France, conferred on it the highest splendour. Vouet was a man of distinguished abilities; but the school which he erected would have had no continuance if his scholars had pursued his manner of painting. He had a kind of grandeur and facility; but his design was false with regard to colours, and without any idea of expression. It was said of him, that he only needed to take the pencil in his hand to finish with one stroke the subject which he had conceived; and on this account one is tempted to be pleased, because he is astonished. He had the merit of destroying the insipid manner which reigned in France, and of pointing the way to a better taste.

If Vouet laid the foundation of the French school, Le Brun finished the edifice. When Le Brun was placed under the tuition of Vouet, he astonished his master and the rest of his pupils with the rapidity of his progress. At the age of 26 he finished his piece called the horse of Diomede, which gained a place in the palace royal (A), beside those of the most eminent painters. He was afterwards recommended to Poussin; but the young artist was more disposed by his natural inclinations to that modern part of the art which is called the great machine, than to the profound and studied manner of the Greek artists. Poussin at the same time was of great service to him in recommending to his study the monuments, the customs, the dress of the ancients; their architecture, their rites, their spectacles, their exercises, their combats, and their triumphs.

Le Brun had a noble conception and a fruitful imagination. He was on no occasion inferior to the vast compositions which he undertook, and he chiefly excelled in rigorous costume and exact likenesses.

Few painters have united so great a number of essential

(A) Where it may now be is uncertain. Perhaps it perished during the revolutionary frenzy of the French, which at first threatened the utter destruction of every thing connected with science or the liberal arts. tial qualities and accessories of the art; and if he had superiors, it consisted in this, that they possessed some particular quality in a more eminent degree.—He was a good drawer; but his design was far from being so elegant as that of Raphael, or so pure as that of Domenique, and it was less lively than that of Hannibal Caracci, whom he had taken for a model. In drapery he followed the Roman school: the clothes which he gave to his figures were not like those of the Venetian school, of such and such a stuff; they were draperies and nothing more, and this manner agreed with the heroic style of his works; but in this part he was not equal to the painter of Urbino.—He had studied the expression of the affections of the soul, as is evident from his treatise on the character of the passions: but after observing the general characters, and establishing the principal strokes of expression, he thought he reached the whole extent of this subject, which is so infinitely extended. He always employed the few characters which he had once found out, and neglected to study the prodigious variety of gradations by which the interior affections are manifested in the exterior appearance. He fell then into the manner of repeating always; and possessed neither the delicacy, nor the depth, nor the extreme justness of Raphael's expression. He loved and possessed in a high degree the grand machine of the art; he was delighted with great compositions: and he gave them life, and animation, and variety; but he wanted the vigour and inspiration of Raphael. His compositions are formed on philosophical principles, but those of Raphael are created. Le Brun thought well; Raphael, Poussin, Le Sueur, thought most profoundly.—Le Brun had elevation, but he was not elevated like Raphael, to the sublime.

In colouring, Le Brun did not imitate the painters of the Venetian school. The sweet attractions and strong and solid colours of the schools of Rome and Lombardy seem rather to have been the object of his imitation; and from them also he learned an easy, agreeable, and bold management of the pencil.

As Le Brun possessed a great share of lively imagination, he delighted in allegory, which gives the greatest scope for ingenious invention. The fecundity and resources of his imagination appeared still farther, in his inventing symbols for his allegorical figures, without resting contented with those employed by the ancients. But fanciful representations of this kind are distant from the operations of true genius. Spirit and thought in the arts are very different from spirit and thought in literary productions. A painter of moderate abilities may introduce into his works a great deal of the invention which belongs to poetry without enriching his peculiar art. The true spirit of painting consists in making the figures appear in the very circumstances and attitudes in which they are supposed to act, and penetrated with the sentiments with which they ought to be affected. By these means the spectator is more certainly interested than if the actions and thoughts were represented by allegorical symbols. Poussin appears to have less waste of spirit and imagination than Le Brun, while at the same time he gives more delight to people of spirit and imagination.

Eufach le Sueur was the contemporary and rival of Le Brun; and no painter approached nearer to Raphael in the art of drapery, and in disposing the folds in the most artful and the noblest manner. His design was in general more slender than that of Raphael, but, like his, it was formed on the model of the ancients. Like Raphael he represented with art and precision the affections of the soul; like him, he varied the air of the head, according to the condition, the age, and the character of his personages; and, like him, he made the different parts of every figure contribute to the general effect. His intention in composing was to express his subject, not to make shining contrasts or beautiful groups of figures, not to astonish and bewitch the spectator by the deceitful pomp of a theatrical scene, or the splendour of the great machine. His tones are delicate, his tints harmonious, and his colours, though not so attractive as those of the schools of Venice and Flanders, are yet engaging. They feed peaceably on the soul, and fix it without distraction on the parts of the art, superior to that of colouring.

His preaching of St Paul, and the picture which he painted at St Gervais, which the critics compare with the best productions of the Roman school, and the 22 pictures which he painted for the Carthusian monastery at Paris, and which were formerly in possession of the king, are esteemed his best pieces. His contemporaries affirm, that he considered as sketches merely those excellent performances which are the glory of the French school.

If Le Sueur had lived longer, or if, like Le Brun, he had been employed under a court, fond of the arts, and of learning, to execute the great works of the age, the French school would have adopted a different and a better manner. The noble beauty of his heads, the simple majesty of his draperies, the lightness of his design, the propriety of his expression and attitudes, and the simplicity of his general disposition, would have formed the character of this school. The deceitful pomp of theatrical decoration would have been more lately introduced, or perhaps would never have appeared, and Paris might have been the counterpart to Rome. But as Le Brun, by an accidental concurrence of favourable circumstances, was the fashionable painter, to be employed or rewarded it was necessary to imitate his manner; and as his imitators possessed not his genius, his faults became not only current but more deformed.

The French school not long ago changed its principles; and if, when peace shall be restored to this unhappy nation, they continue to follow the road which, while the artists flourished among them, they marked out for themselves, they have the chance of becoming the most rigid observers of the laws imposed on the Greek artists. The count de Caylus, pupil of Bouchardon, who by his rank and fortune had the means of encouraging the imitators of the ancients, and of the masters of the 15th century, first formed the design of restoring a pure taste to the art of painting. He was seconded by the talents of M. Vien, an artist who had only occasion to have his lessons and his example laid before him.—In this manner commenced a revolution, so much the more wonderful, as it was scarcely ever known that any nation substituted a system of simple and rigid excellence in place of a false and glittering taste. The history of all nations, on the contrary, discovers a gradual progress from a rude beginning to perfection, and afterwards to irremediable decay. The French had the prospect of stopping short in this ordinary course. They began in a manner which promised success; and the best consequences may be expected, from being in possession of those precious treasures of sculpture and painting of which they plundered the countries subdued by their arms.

In Germany there can hardly be said to be a school, as it is a continuation of single artists, who derived their manner from different sources of originality and imitation. There were some German painters of eminence, when the art, emerging from its barbarous state, first began to be cultivated with success in Europe. As they were totally unacquainted with the ancients, and had scarcely access to the works of their contemporaries in Italy, they copied nature alone, with the exception of somewhat of that stiffness which forms the Gothic manner. It is this manner, if we speak of the early German painters, which characterizes their school. But this is by no means the case with their successors, part of whom were educated in Flanders and part in Italy: For if Mengs or Dietrich were comprehended in this school, there would be nothing peculiar to its manner discovered in their works. And it is therefore necessary to confine our observations to the more ancient German painters, in whom the Gothic style is conspicuous.

Albert Durer was the first German who corrected the bad taste of his countrymen. He excelled in engraving as well as painting. His genius was fertile, his compositions varied, his thoughts ingenious, and his colours brilliant. His works, though numerous, were finished with great exactness; but he owed everything to his genius, and as works of inferior merit were by the false taste of the times preferred to his, it was impossible for him altogether to avoid the faults of his predecessors. He is blamed for stiffness and aridity in his outlines, for little taste or grandeur in his expression, for ignorance of the costume of aerial perspective and of gradation of colours; but he had carefully studied lineal perspective, architecture, and fortification.

John Holbein or Holbein, nearly contemporary with Albert Durer, painted in oil and water colours. He excelled chiefly in history and in portrait painting. His colours are fresh and brilliant, and his works are highly finished; but in his historical subjects, his draperies are not in so good a taste as those of Albert Durer.

The Flemish school is recommended to the lovers of the art by the discovery, or at least the first practice, of oil painting. Van Mander gives us the account of this wonderful discovery in the following words: "John Van Eyck was so excellent a chemist, that he discovered a method of varnishing his distemper colours with a varnish, which was made of some oils, and was very pleasing on account of the gloss and lustre it gave them. Many artists in Italy had vainly attempted to find out that secret; they never hit on the true method. It happened once that John, in his usual manner, having highly finished one of his pictures on boards, and having varnished it with his new invented varnish, exposed it to dry in the sun; but whether the boards were not well joined, or whether the heat of the sun was too violent, the boards split asunder and opened in the junctures. John saw with concern that his work was spoiled, and resolved to contrive something against future accidents of the same kind. Being disgusted at distemper painting and varnishing, he thought of a varnish that might dry without sunshine; and having tried many oils and substances, he found that linseed and nut oil dried better than any other. He boiled them with some other drugs, and produced the best varnish in the world. Ever bent on improvements, he found, after much inquiry, that colours mixed with these oils worked and dried extremely well, and when dried would be water-proof. He observed likewise, that these oils would animate and give them a gloss and lustre without any further varnishing." The truth, however, of this account is now very much questioned; and it is even proved by the manuscripts of Theophilus Presbyter, and also by some old paintings in England, that this method of painting was discovered long before the time of John Van Eyck. At the same time we admit, that John and his brother Hubert may have been the first who brought oil painting into general practice, not only by showing the excellence of which it was susceptible, but also by making several improvements on the art. And this is the more probable, from the great reputation which their pictures acquired over all Europe, by the softness and delicacy of their colours. The attention of the Italian painters was chiefly excited, insomuch that Antoine de Messina performed a journey into Flanders for the express purpose of acquiring the confidence of John Van Eyck, and of discovering the secret.

John de Bruges was the founder of painting as a profession in Flanders; Peter Paul Rubens was the founder of the art. This extraordinary person produced an immense number of works. He excelled equally in historical, portrait, and landscape painting; in fruits, flowers, and in animals. He both invented and executed with the greatest facility; and to show the extent of his powers, he frequently made a great number of sketches on the same subject altogether different, without allowing any time to elapse between them. The works of Rubens were destitute of that soft inspiration, productive of sweet and pleasant effects, so conspicuous in the works of Raphael; but he possessed that sprightliness of genius and strength of mind which is ever ready to burst forth in wonderful and astonishing effects. His figures appear to be the exact counterpart of his conceptions, and their creation nothing more than a simple act of the will.

His talent for design is unjustly censured, for on every occasion his design is noble and easy. He had great knowledge of anatomy, but he was hurried away by the impetuosity of his imagination and the ardour for execution; he preferred splendour to the beauty of forms, and sacrificed correctness of design too often to the magic of colours. In short, his qualities suppose a mind full of fire and vigour, rather than accuracy or profound thought. His drapery may be considered rather as fine than properly adapted to his figures; for, in the language of the art, to clothe and to give drapery are not synonymous terms. A portrait painter may excel in clothing his personages, while he is totally incapable of giving good drapery to a historical painting. His chief merit consists in colouring; though in this branch of the art he has not equalled Titian. He is the first among painters eminent for pomp and majesty; the first among those who speak to the eye, and the power of the art is often carried by him almost to enchantment.

It is evident from the works of Rubens, that his method of painting was to lay the colours in their place, one at the side of another, and mix them afterwards by a slight touch of the pencil. Titian mingled his tints as they are in nature, in such a manner as to make it impossible to discover where they began or terminated; the effect is evident, the labour is concealed. Thus Rubens is more dazzling, and Titian more harmonious. In this part, the first excites the attention, the second fixes it. The carnations of Titian resemble the blush of nature; those of Rubens are brilliant and polished like satin, and sometimes his tints are so strong and separated as to appear like spots.

"Rubens (says Sir Joshua Reynolds) is a remarkable instance of the same mind being seen in all the various parts of the art. The whole is so much of a piece, that one can scarce be brought to believe but that if any one of them had been more correct and perfect, his works would not be so complete as they appear. If we should allow a greater purity and correctness of drawing, his want of simplicity in composition, colouring, and drapery, would appear more gross."

In his composition his art is too apparent. His figures have expression, and act with energy, but without simplicity or dignity. His colouring, in which he is eminently skilled, is notwithstanding too much of what we call tinted. Throughout the whole of his works there is a proportional want of that nicety of distinction and elegance of mind, which is required in the higher walks of painting; and to this want it may be in some degree ascribed, that those qualities which make the excellence of this subordinate style appear in him with their greatest lustre.—Indeed the facility with which he invented, the richness of his composition, the luxuriant harmony and brilliancy of his colouring, so dazzle the eye, that, whilst his works continue before us, we cannot help thinking that all his deficiencies are fully supplied.

The Flemish school, of which Rubens is the greatest master, is remarkable for great brilliancy of colours and the magic of the claro-obscuro. To these may be joined a profound design, which is yet not founded on the most beautiful forms; a composition possessed of grandeur, a certain air of nobleness in the figures, strong and natural expressions; in short, a kind of national beauty, which is neither copied from the ancients nor from the Roman nor Lombard schools, but which deserves to please, and is capable of pleasing.

To speak in general terms, and without regarding a great number of exceptions, the Dutch school carries none of the above qualities to great perfection, except that of colouring. Far from excelling in the beauty of heads and forms, they seem chiefly to delight in the exact imitation of the lowest and most ignoble. Their subjects are derived from the tavern, the smith's shop, and from the vulgar amusements of the rudest peasants. The expressions are sufficiently marked; but it is the expression of passions which debate instead of ennobling human nature. One would think that they practised the art of degrading the bodies and souls of men.

It must be acknowledged, at the same time, that the Dutch painters have succeeded in several branches of the art. If they have chosen low objects of imitation, they have represented them with great exactness; and truth must always please. If they have not succeeded in the most difficult parts of the claro-obscuro, they at least excel in the most striking, such as in light confined in a narrow space, night illuminated by the moon or by torches, and the light of a smith's forge. The Dutch understand the gradations of colours; and by their knowledge of contrast they have arrived at the art of painting light itself. They have no rivals in landscape painting, considered as the faithful representation or picture of a particular scene; but they are far from equaling Titian, Poussin, Claude Lorrain, &c. who have carried to the greatest perfection the ideal landscape, and whose pictures, instead of being the topographical representation of certain places, are the combined result of everything beautiful in their imagination or in nature. The Dutch, however, distinguish themselves by their perspective, by their clouds, sea scenes, animals, fruits, flowers, and insects; and they excel in miniature painting. In short, every thing which requires a faithful imitation, colour, and a nice pencil, is well executed by the Dutch painters.

Holland has also produced history painters, as Octavius Van Beun, and Vander Hilft the rival of Van-dyke, and perhaps his superior: but it is not in the works of those artists that we find the character of the Dutch school.

Neither is the origin of their style to be derived from the works of Lucas of Leyden, though, from the time he flourished, viz. about the end of the 15th century, he may be considered as the patriarch of the Dutch school. Lucas painted in oil, in water colours, and on glass; and the kinds of his painting were history, landscape, and portrait. His picture of the Last Judgment is preserved in the Hotel-de-Ville of Leyden; it possesses vast merit in point of composition, and a great variety of figures.

If miniature painting be considered as a characteristic of the Dutch school, Cornelius Polembourg may be regarded as the father of it. He possessed the colour, delicacy of touch, and disposition of the claro-obscuro, which chiefly distinguish this school; and if any thing is to be added, it is want of correctness in his design.

But if the choice of low figures is its chief characteristic, this is to be found in the greatest perfection in the works of the celebrated Rembrandt Vanryn; and it is the more offensive in this art, as his compositions frequently required an opposite choice of figures. As his father was a miller near Leyden, his education must altogether have depended on the exertion of great talents and the study of nature. He studied the grotesque figure of a Dutch peasant or the servant of an inn with as much application as the greatest masters of Italy would have studied the Apollo of Belvidere or the Venus de Medicis. This was not the manner of elevating himself to the noble conceptions of Raphael; but it was acquiring the imitation of truth in vulgar painting.

"Rembrandt (says M. Descamps) may be compared to the great artists for colour and delicacy of touch and claro-obscuro. It appears that he would have discovered the art, though he had been the first person that ever attempted it. He formed to himself rules and a method of colouring, together with the mixture of colours and the effect of the different tones. He delighted in the great oppositions of light and shade; and he seems to have been chiefly attentive to this branch of the art. His workshop was occasionally made dark, and he received the light by a hole, which fell as he chose to direct it on the place which he desired to be enlightened. On particular occasions he passed behind his model a piece of cloth of the same colour with the ground he wanted; and this piece of cloth receiving the same ray which enlightened the head, marked the difference in a sensible manner, and allowed the painter the power of augmenting it according to his principles.

"Rembrandt's manner of painting is a kind of magic. No artist knew better the effects of different colours mingled together, nor could better distinguish those which did not agree from those which did. He placed every tone in its place with so much exactness and harmony, that he needed not to mix them, and to destroy what may be called the flower and fruit-husks of the colours. He made the first draught of his pictures with great precision, and with a mixture of colours altogether particular: he proceeded on his first sketch with a vigorous application, and sometimes loaded his lights with so great a quantity of colour, that he seemed to model rather than to paint. One of his heads is said to have a nose nearly as much projected as the natural nose which he copied."

Such is the power of genius, that Rembrandt, with all his faults, and they are enormous, is placed among the greatest artists by M. Defcamps, who saw his works, and was himself an artist. It is necessary to observe, that if Rembrandt was ignorant of the essential parts of his art, or neglected them, he was yet acquainted with expression, which alone was capable of giving animation to his works. His expressions are not noble, but they are just, lively, and excited with great judgment.

John de Laer, a miniature painter, and who made choice of his subjects from common life, deserves a distinguished place in the Dutch school. He painted hunting-scenes, the attacks of robbers, public festivals, landscapes, and sea-views; and he ornamented his pictures with old ruins, and enriched them with figures of men and animals. He had a correct design, and employed vigorous and lively colouring.

Van Oftade, although born at Lubeck, Gerard Dow, Metzu, Miris, Wovermans, Berghem, and the celebrated painter of flowers Van Huylum, belong to the Dutch school.

The greater part of the schools of which we have treated have no longer any existence. Italy alone had four schools, and there only remain at present a very few Italian artists known to foreigners. The school of Rubens is in vain fought for in Flanders. If the Dutch school still exists, it is not known beyond the precincts of Holland. Mengs a German artist has made himself famous in our days; but it was in Italy that he chiefly improved his talents and exercised his art. M. Dietrich, another German, has made himself known to strangers; but two solitary artists do not form a school.

A new school is formed in our times and in our own country, called the English school. It is connected with the academy in London, instituted in 1766 by letters patent from the king, and formed only in 1769. Sir Joshua Reynolds' is the undoubted founder of it. His works give him a distinguished rank among the artists of the present age, and exhibit a genius in their author which has seldom been surpassed; but the effects which he has contrived to give to them by the formation of a new school, and by the good principles which his discourses to academicians, and his example as a painter, have disseminated, will secure his reputation as long as England shall esteem the advantages and the worth of great abilities. The English taste appears to be formed on the great masters of the Italian and the Flemish schools. Sir Joshua was a great admirer of Michael Angelo, and particularly recommends him to the attention of the academicians. "I feel (says Sir Joshua), a felic-congratulation in knowing myself capable of such sensations as he intended to excite. I reflect, not without vanity, that these discourses bear testimony of my admiration of that truly divine man; and I should desire that the last words which I should pronounce in this academy, and from this place, might be the name of—Michael Angelo." But though he thus enthusiastically admired this very great man, yet he allows, what cannot indeed be denied, that he was capricious in his inventions: "And this (says he) may make some circumspection necessary in studying his works; for though they appear to become him, an imitation of them is always dangerous, and will prove sometimes ridiculous. 'In that dread circle none durst tread but he.' To me, I confess, his caprice does not lower the estimation of his genius, even though it is sometimes, I acknowledge, carried to the extreme; and however those eccentric excursions are considered, we must at the same time recollect, that those faults, if they are faults, are such as never could occur to a mean and vulgar mind; that they flowed from the same source which produced his greatest beauties; and were therefore such as none but himself was capable of committing; they were the powerful impulses of a mind unfeud to subjection of any kind, and too high to be controlled by cold criticism."

The effect of Sir Joshua's discourses is visible in the pictures of this school. The Death of General Wolfe, the Departure of Regulus from Carthage, the Arrival of Agrippina, and some other subjects, are decided proofs that the English school is acquainted with greatness of style, boldness of expression, and the art of managing a great number of figures. It will be fortunate for the painters of this school, if, more rigid with regard to their forms, than ambitious of poignant and astonishing effects, they support the character which they have already acquired. But although England had not enjoyed this brilliant success in painting, she would have immortalized herself by the excellence of her engravings.

It is easy to perceive in all those schools the cause of the character which distinguishes them. In the Roman school, it is the excellent education of its first matters, together with the precious remains of antiquity found in the ruins of ancient Rome. In the Venetian school, the magnificence derived from the commerce of the east, the frequency of feasts and masquerades, and the necessity of painting to the rich and luxurious, who were accustomed to behold these magnificent objects, were the causes of its gaudy taste. In the Dutch school, the peculiarity of its grovelling manner may be accounted for from the habits of the artists. Accustomed to visit taverns and workshops, and having most commonly exposed to their view low low and grotesque figures, they represent in their pictures the objects which were most familiar to them in life.

"Beauty (says a French writer*), ought to be the characteristic of the English school, because the artists have it often exposed to their view. If this beauty is not precisely similar to that among the ancients, it is not inferior to it. The English school should also distinguish itself for truth of expression; because the liberty enjoyed in that country gives to every passion its natural and unbiassed operation. It will probably long preserve its simplicity unpolluted by the pomp of theatrical taste and the conceit of false graces, because the English manners will long preserve their simplicity.

"Examine the picture of a Frenchwoman (continues he) painted by an artist of that nation, and you will generally find, in place of expression, a forced grin, in which the eyes and the forehead do not partake, and which indicates no affection of the soul. Examine the picture of an Englishwoman done by one of their painters, and you observe an elegant and simple expression, which makes you at once acquainted with the character of the person represented."

SECT. III. Comparison between the Ancient and Modern Painting.

No person of judgment or taste hesitates to give the superiority to the ancient sculpture; but the moderns comfort themselves with refusing the same superiority to the Greek artists in the art of painting. The small number of their productions which remain, and the probable conjectures which may be formed concerning those which have perished, go the length to prove that the Greek painters conducted themselves on other principles than those which have received the sanction of custom and the force of laws in our schools. But this censure might be applied with equal justice to Homer as an epic poet, and to Sophocles and Euripides as writers of tragedy.

The principal difference between the ancient and modern manner of painting consists in the complication of figures, and the pompous decoration of scenery which prevails in the modern, when compared with the unity and simplicity of the ancient painters. This simplicity, however, does not seem to arise from the want of capacity, but from a choice, as Polygnotus, one of their most ancient painters, represents in one of his pieces the siege of Troy, and in another the descent of Ulysses into hell; but they soon decided in favour of simplicity, and their pieces generally contain one or two figures, and very rarely more than three or four.

Poetry in this particular is conducted on very different principles. A poet may with great propriety multiply his characters, and enter into details of a variety of actions, because the whole of his characters and actions do not occupy the mind of his reader at the same time. The whole of his art consists in making one naturally succeed another; but every part of the poem which contains a separate transaction would make a picture capable of fixing the attention. In painting, the eye takes in the whole; and it is by no means satisfied if 20 or 30 figures are presented to it, which it cannot possibly comprehend. It is in vain to group the figures, or to call the attention to the principal object by a greater degree of light; the spectator is anxious to examine every object which is presented to him; and if they are not to be examined, for what reason are they painted? An excellent piece, at the same time, consisting of a great number of figures, will give pleasure; but it is accompanied with that fatigue which one experiences when he runs over a gallery furnished with a great variety of excellent pictures.

Those observations on the attention of the spectator led the Greeks to make similar ones on the attention of the artist. They perhaps thought that the painter who had to execute a great variety of figures in the same work, could not study each of them with equal accuracy and care; and of consequence that he might produce something astonishing in the extent, and yet disgusting in the detail.

This difference, however, between ancient and modern painting, cannot give any decided principle to determine on their comparative merit. We are accustomed to behold assemblages in nature! and it is a fact, that even in affecting scenes a great number of figures may not only be brought together, but that they may heighten the distress. It is supposing a picture to have little effect, to imagine that we can coolly, and with the same kind of attention, examine the principal and the accessory figures. If it is highly finished, our whole soul must be absorbed in that object which the artist intended to be most conspicuous; and if we give any attention to the surrounding figures, we shall consider them as spectators of the same scene, and derive from them an addition of sympathy and of feeling. The whole question in this particular point of view amounts to this, that the moderns have chosen a more difficult part; and if they have executed it with success, their merit is greater. And this observation will hold good, unless it can be proved that it is utterly impossible to make an assemblage of figures lead to one general and common effect.

The proper manner of deciding the comparative merit of the ancients and moderns, is to consider, as far as we have sufficient data to go upon, to what degree the ancients excelled in the particular departments of this art. There are two sources from which we can derive information; namely, from the morels of antiquity which yet remain, and from what the ancient writers have said on the subject of painting, both of which are extremely defective. It is allowed, however, by every skilful person who has viewed the remains of ancient paintings, that none of them appear to be the performances of superior artists, notwithstanding much merit in the design and accuracy in the drawing, which indeed seems to have been habitual to almost every ancient artist. The best among these paintings (according to Sir Joshua Reynolds), "the supposed marriage in the Aldobrandine palace," is evidently far short of that degree of excellence undoubtedly implied in the descriptions of ancient authors, and which from them we are fairly led to expect.

Still more defective, if possible, is this last species of evidence: for we have no direct treatise remaining on the subject by any of the ancients, although many were composed by their artists. The passages from which we are to decide are, either the cursory remarks of writers not expressly treating on the subject of painting, or the descriptions of those who at best can rank but as amateurs of a fashionable art. From these indeed we may pretty safely assert the degree of excellence which the passages imply; but we should reason very inconclusively, were we to deny them any higher or any other merit than appears to be strictly contained in these scattered observations. Let any one for a moment place the modern painters in his mind in the same situation as the ancients, and he will quickly decide on the truth of these remarks.

Nevertheless, it is necessary on this subject to derive some conclusions from the information which is occasionally given in ancient authors. That the ancients paid a particular attention to design, would be evident from the manner in which they speak of this department of the graphic art, even though the moderns were not in possession of such remaining proofs of their excellence herein (though by artists of an inferior class), as to place this point beyond the reach of doubt.

Indeed, when it is considered that, with respect to freedom and correctness of outline, painting and sculpture are very nearly connected; that Phidias and Apelles were nearly contemporaries; that many of the ancient painters, such as Zeuxis, Protogenes, Apelles, &c. were accustomed to modelling for the purpose of sculpture or of casting; that the extreme elegance of design in the ancient statues is so notorious as to be the acknowledged model even for modern artists; and that these ornaments of sculpture were well known and universally admired among the ancients—we shall have little hesitation in admitting their equality with the moderns so far as design is concerned. But should any doubt remain on this point, the drawings from the antiquities of Herculaneum will be striking proofs that truth, elegance, and spirit, in a degree rarely to be met with among the moderns, were habitual even to the common run of artists in the declining age of ancient painting.

The ancients excelled moreover not merely in the common and obvious parts of design; but they appear to have had no inconsiderable degree of skill in the art of foreshortening. The performance of Paulianus is a proof of this: Fecit autem grandes tabulas sicut foetatum in Pompeii porticibus bourn immolationem. Eam enim picturam primus inventit, quam postea imitati sunt multi, equovit nemo. Ante omnia, cum longitudinem bovis oftendere vellet, adverbum eum prinxit, non transversum, et abunde intelligitur amplitudine. Dein cum omnes qui volunt emunentia videri, candicantia faciant, colorumque condant, hic totum bovem atri coloris fecit; umbræque corpus ex ipso dedit; magna proprus arte in æquo extantia ostendens et in confracto solidia omnia.

Nor will it be difficult to show, that the ancient painters were not inferior to the moderns in expression. The state of sculpture alone among the ancients would almost furnish a decisive proof that the sister art of painting could not be deficient. Among the ancient statues which yet remain, expression is carried to a wonderful height; not merely the features of the face, but almost every muscle of the body, combining to enforce the idea intended to be conveyed.

Mr Webb* very properly observes, that "the ancients thought characters and manners so essential to painting, that they expressly term painting an art descriptive of manners." Aristotle in his Poetics says of Polygnotus, that he was a painter of the manners; and objects to Zeuxis, his weakness in this part.* We have in Philostratus the following description of a picture: "We may instantly (says he) distinguish Ulysses by his severity and vigilance; Menelaus by his mildness; and Agamemnon by a kind of divine majesty. In the son of Tydeus is expressed an air of freedom; Ajax is known by his fullness of countenance; and Antilochus by his alertness. To give to these such sentiments and actions as are consequential from their peculiar characters, is the ethic of painting."

Another instance of excellence in expression among the ancient paintings was the Medea of Timomachus. She was painted about to kill her infants. Aufonius speaks with admiration of the mingled expression of anger and maternal fondness in her face and manner.

Immanem exhaust rerum in diversa laborem Fingeret affectum matris ut ambiguum, Ira sub eft lachrymis, miseria non caret ira, Alterè utrum videos ut fit in alterè utro.

It may not be amiss, however, at this period of our inquiry, to make some observations on the testimonies of ancient authors respecting this subject.

It is certainly true, that when the works of an ancient artist are praised for any real or supposed merit, the commendations will be relative to the degree of perfection to which the art had arisen at the time, and to the opportunities of information, the taste, and judgement of the person who bestows them. Excellence will always be ascribed to him who leaves his contemporaries far behind; and those performances will often be considered as supremely beautiful which exceed in beauty all that have gone before.

In like manner, a person of natural sensibility, but who has been accustomed all his life to performances of an inferior stamp, will be in raptures at any which much exceed the best he has heretofore been taught to admire; and whatever opportunities of information he may have, his evidence will not be of much weight, if he do not possess a sufficient degree of taste and judgment to use them properly.

In ascertaining therefore the degree of credit due to the praises bestowed on any performance in a branch of the fine arts, we must take into consideration the general state of the art at the time, and the competence of the person who bestows the praise.

No flight degree of probability, however, may be attained on both these points, by attending to a circumstance not generally noticed, viz. that in an advanced state of the art, and when the observer is acquainted with his subject, the praise will seldom be given in loose, general, and comprehensive expressions; but the terms in which it is conveyed will be characteristic and determinate, and often technical; they will frequently show the state of the art, by marking the subdivisions and the skill of the observer by judicious discrimination. When, added to these, the latter can resort for comparison to any existent standard of perfection, his praise may fairly be adopted in its full extent, and regarded as evidence upon the point in question.

To apply these observations to painting, it is clear, with respect to the most difficult, the most fundamental, and the highest in rank among the departments of the art, viz. design and expession, that the ancients were fully equal to the moderns; and their expressions of praise must be allowed to imply an equal degree of absolute skill, with similar expressions, if applied to the great masters of modern art. It is also clear that painting was extremely cultivated among the ancients, and that their good painters were more esteemed than artists of equal merit in modern times; that what we should term gentlemen artists were frequent with them (apud Romanos quoque honos maturè huius artis contigit); and that the expressions of the ancient connoisseurs evince much theoretical and technical knowledge of the art, and display a distribution of its parts almost as minute, complete, and scientific, as the present state of it can boast.

With regard to colouring, the praises of the ancient authors chiefly relate to the style of it as exerted upon single figures or particular tints. It may therefore be doubted whether the ancients were possessed of the art of distributing their colours through the whole of a picture, so as to produce an harmony and general tone of colouring similar to that which we admire in the Lombard and Flemish schools. The present remains of ancient paintings do not appear to warrant any such conclusion; but being undoubtedly the works of inferior hands, their authority is very small when alleged against the general or particular merit of the ancient artists. The following extracts will be sufficient to convince, that the ancients did attend to this technical branch of colouring.

Indeed the modern technical expressions appear borrowed from the following passage of Pliny, which may be regarded as decisive on the subject. Tandem sese ars ipsa distinctit, et invent lumen atque umbras, differentia colorum alterna vice sese excitante. Dein adjectus est splendor; alius hic quam lumen; quem quia inter hoc et umbrae esset appellaverunt tonon. Commissuras vero colorum et transitus, harmonem. The lumen atque umbras of this passage might have been regarded as merely descriptive of the light and shade necessary to relieve single figures, if it were not for the subsequent definition of tone. The harmonem of Pliny means the handling or skilful blending and softening colours into one another, rather than what we now call harmony.

Lucian†, in his fine description of that spirited painting by Zeuxis of the male and female centaurs, after relating the treatment of the subject itself, proceeds to notice the technical execution of the picture; and he praises particularly the truth and delicacy of the drawing, the perfect blending of the colours, the skilful shading, the scientific preservation of size and magnitude, and the equality and harmony of the proportions throughout the whole piece.

Painters, says Plutarch, increase the effect of the light and splendid parts of a picture by the neighbourhood of dark tints and shades. And Maximus Tyrius observes, that bright and vivid colours are always pleasant to the eye; but this pleasure is always lessened if you omit to accompany them with somewhat dark and gloomy. These passages seem to imply a knowledge of the use of cold and dark tints even where a brilliancy of tone is required. The best among the ancient painters, however, seem to have preferred a chaste and sober style of colouring to the gaudiness and flutter of the later artists.

Upon the whole, therefore, with respect to colouring as employed upon single figures, as the ancients were fully as competent to judge of excellence herein as the moderns; as the expressions of the ancient connoisseurs are very warm in praise of the colouring of many of their painters; as they appear also to have attended very much to the art of colouring; and moreover, as probable evidence can be adduced that they attended to miniature painting—a considerable degree of merit may be allowed them in the use of the colours they possessed.

Chiaro-fuoco, or the art of placing and proportioning light and shade in such a manner as to produce a pleasing effect, independently of any other circumstance connected with the picture, has been commonly deemed a characteristic difference between the knowledge of ancient and modern painters. On this subject the works of the ancients now remaining give little or no information; hence Sir Joshua Reynolds observes, "that this, which makes so considerable a part of the modern art, was to them totally unknown. If the great painters had possessed this excellence, some portion of it would have infallibly been diffused, and have been discovered, in the works of the inferior ranks of artists which have come down to us, and which may be considered as on the same rank with the paintings that ornament our public gardens." But the accounts of the places where these paintings have been found, make it evident that they were thus ornamented at a very considerable expense. The generality of them consist of single figures; some of them of two or three figures, generally relieved by an uniform ground; and, except in a few instances, evidently designed as mere reliefs to a compartment, and answering, as near as may be, to the fluecoed ornaments in our modern rooms; nor do any of them seem the works of artists equal in their day to those at present employed on the painted ceilings of private houses.

The Abbé du Bos maintains, on the other hand, that what Pliny and other ancient writers say concerning the chiaro-obscuro and the delightful distribution of light and shade, is altogether decisive; and that their writings are full of so many probable circumstances, that it cannot be denied that the ancients at least equalled the most celebrated of the moderns in this part of the art.

On the examination of the greater part of the passages from antiquity, it is evident that they may relate to the light and shade of single figures, without involving what is now called the science of the chiaro-obscuro. The passage of Pliny, however, already quoted, and several others, go very near to prove that this branch of painting was understood among the ancients. The dark, the light, and mezzotint, are evidently and accurately described in that passage.

Equally strong is that expression in Quintilian: Zeuxis luminem umbrarumque rationem insciens traditur. This cannot well be otherwise translated than by the science of light and shade.

That some technical knowledge of the effect producible by masses of light and shade was possessed by the ancients, appears indubitable from the passages adduced: to what extent it was carried cannot now be ascertained. In all probability they were much inferior in this respect to the moderns; otherwise, although much science of this kind could hardly be expected from the trifling performances that remain, much more would have occurred on the subject, it would have been more largely dwelt on, and more precisely expressed among the observations of ancient authors on the best painting of the ancient masters.

Neither is there sufficient evidence that the ancients were eminent in that important branch of the composition of a picture, which consists in distributing the figures and objects in groups, or masses. There are few examples of this difficult branch of the art among the remaining antiquities; and indeed from the paucity of the figures introduced in the generality of these ancient paintings, there is little room to expect them. But what makes it still more doubtful whether the ancients attained any degree of eminence in grouping is, that among the many paintings of these great masters enumerated by Pliny, Lucian, or Philostratus, there is none of them praised for this species of excellence. This, however, it must be confessed, may as well arise from want of knowledge in the writer as of skill in the artist; for in a picture found in Herculaneum, which represents in all probability the education of Achilles, the figure of an old man holding a child on his knees, together with that of a woman behind him, form a very agreeable group. A work of the same collection, painted in one colour on marble, consists of five figures grouped very much after the modern idea, if it were not that three of the heads are at the same height. It is extremely probable, that this morsel had been the copy of a picture finished in the purest times of the art. But although it were proved that the ancients did not attempt grouping their figures, it is still uncertain whether this might not arise from their peculiar and perhaps excellent taste in the arts. Wishing to enjoy in the fullest manner their painted figures as they enjoyed the aspect of a statue, they took care that every figure should be detached from another in the same picture, which permitted them to give their objects more relief, and to render them more distinct to the eye of a distant spectator.

We are not therefore to conclude, that they were entirely ignorant of grouping, on the one hand; or that they declined the execution of it from want of skill, on the other. Indeed it actually appears to have been technically attended to by them, whatever might be their comparative excellence in it; for Apelles is expressly asserted by Pliny to have been inferior to Melanthius in composition (de dispositione): and one of their paintings, mentioned by the same author, is said to have contained one hundred figures; but this unwieldy number must have been offensive, if they were not grouped with some skill.

From the connection between the sister arts of poetry, painting, and sculpture, and the admirable performances of the ancients in the other two departments of the fine arts, it is reasonable to conclude that the ancient painters were not deficient in invention. Many instances, were it necessary, might be collected in support of their well-founded claim to this branch of the art; but it will be sufficient to observe, that as invention is rather a natural endowment than an acquired talent, and as the ancients universally seem to be at least equal to the moderns in the gifts of genius and good sense, we cannot but admit, on their part, an equality with ourselves so far as invention is concerned.

Very nearly connected with the subject of invention is that of the costume; by which is meant an attention to probability with respect to times, places, objects, persons, and circumstances in the transaction represented.

The ancient paintings now remaining, so far from exhibiting any proofs of attention to this important branch of the art, are full of gross violations of probability, and representations of impossible connection. But very little stress is to be laid on these instances; first, because they are evidently the performances of artists of no reputation; secondly, because none of them to which this objection can be made are regular representations of any person or transaction; and thirdly, because, as they were (for the most part) manifestly intended as ornaments to apartments, the taste of the owner, and not of the artist, would of course be chiefly consulted. Nothing, however, can be more clear than that the ancients required an attention to probability in the works of their artists; and from the manner in which their writers express themselves on the subject (not so much recommending the practice of it as taking it for granted), we may reasonably conclude, that their best painters were seldom guilty of any gross violation of the costume. Sint feta simillima veris was an apophthegm generally known, and when known must have been universally admitted.

The principles of the costume are well expressed and illustrated by Horace in the first lines of his Art of Poetry; and Vitruvius, lib. vii. chap. 5. says, that no pictures can be approved of which have not a resemblance to truth and nature. Whether the ancient painters put in practice a greater share of good sense with respect to the costume than the moderns, cannot now be accurately determined; the advantage seems to be in favour of the former; for, as we shall have occasion more particularly to observe afterwards, the most celebrated of modern painters from Raphael to Sir Joshua Reynolds have been guilty of such flagrant breaches of probability, as would appear astonishing to those who are not in the habit of expecting them.

It has been doubted whether the ancients were acquainted with the science of perspective: and if the remains of ancient painting were alone to decide the question, it must be determined against them: for the works of the ancient painters now in possession of the moderns afford no proof of attention to the rules of perspective equal to the performance of a modern sign-painter. The picture of the sacrifice among the Herculanean antiquities, and the fourth of the prints which Bellori has published and described, taken from the paintings in the sepulchre of the Nafonii, are barely tolerable; but the other landscapes (almost the only remaining antique paintings which admit of perspective) are grossly defective in this particular; so much so indeed, that considering the late period when landscape-painting was introduced among the ancients, together with this manifest imperfection in point of perspective of such as are yet extant, we cannot help suspecting the inferiority of the ancients in this respect. In perspective, as in the chiaro- feuro, had good practice been common, some traces would have been discovered in the works of their lowest artists.

And yet some general knowledge of the principles, and some degree of attention to the practice, of perspective, cannot well be denied to the ancients. They were good mathematicians, they were excellent architects, and some of them are celebrated for their skill in scene-painting. Geminus the Rhodian, contemporary with Cicero, was the author of an express treatise on perspective; and Euclid, Heliodorus, Lariscus, Agatharcus, wrote also on the same subject. It is well known, besides, that the ancients practised the art of painting in perspective on walls in the same way that it is now done by the moderns; Pliny (Nat. Hist. lib. xxxv. c. 4.) says, that one of the walls of the theatre of Claudius Pulcher, representing a roof covered with tiles, was finished in so matterly a manner, that the rooks, birds of no small sagacity, taking it for a real roof, attempted to light upon it. We are likewise told, that a dog was deceived to such a degree, by certain steps in a perspective of Dantos, that expecting to find a free passage, he made up to them in full speed, and dashed out his brains. But what is still more, Vitruvius tells us in express terms by whom and at what time this art was invented. It was first practised by Agatharcus, a contemporary of Aeschylus, in the theatre of Athens; and afterwards reduced to certain principles, and treated as a science, by Anaxagoras and Democritus; thus faring like other arts which existed in practice before they appeared in theory.

Portrait painting seems to have been a principal employment of the first artist whom the ancients have to boast of, since Alexander is said to have permitted no painter but Apelles, and no sculptor but Phidias, to take his likeness. Pliny particularizes several instances of Apelles as a portrait painter.

In the drawing and colouring of single figures, to which the ancients paid particular attention, they must be allowed to be equal, if not superior, to the moderns. That spirit and animation, ease and dignity, were common to the performances of ancient artists, the ancient statues and paintings still remaining most evidently evince; and as they possessed, therefore, all the requisites to excel in portrait painting, a branch of the art at all times much in request among them, there is good reason to infer, in favour of the ancients, at least an equality with the moderns in this respect.

On the whole, all the principal parts of the art, as purity of design, and beauty and expression in the forms, were not only to be found in the ancient statues, but were actually the foundation of excellence in modern painting; and hence we may conclude that their painters formed on the same models, and very often the same men who excelled in sculpture, were not inferior in those branches of the art. But with regard to the inferior parts, the allurement of colouring, the ingenuity of the chiaro-obscuro, the splendour of composition, the art of grouping figures, and the nice handling of the pencil, the moderns are superior to those ancient painters who have most deserved the notice of their contemporary writers. It is still to be observed, however, that the progress of the arts among the ancients, from the principal parts to the more splendid, was somewhat similar to that among the moderns; and as the painters of the first rank were more immediately the objects of criticism and delight to authors of genius, it is impossible at this distance of time to state any accurate comparison between the ancients and moderns in what may be termed the decay of the art. This is particularly the case with regard to colours, there being in ancient as well as in modern times two epochs; the one comprehending Polygnotus and his immediate successors, and the other the painters both of Greece and Rome after the art began to decay. The colouring of Polygnotus was hard, and his manner had something of wildness; but his design was in the highest style of perfection. In the succeeding ages the colouring was more varied, more brilliant, more harmonious, and the handling more agreeable; but the design was less elegant and exact. And the true connoisseurs continued to prefer the works of the ancient school, in the same manner that the best writers in our times prefer the works of the Roman and Venetian masters to the more brilliant pictures of their successors. From this statement of facts it is abundantly evident, that from the ancient authors we can form some comparison between the best ancient and modern painters in those things which are most excellent in the art; while in the inferior parts, from the silence of authors, and the loss of paintings, we have no grounds upon which a comparison can be accurately made.

PART I. Principles of the ART, and the Order of the Artist's Studies.

WE have joined these together, because they are like cause and effect; and comprehend both on what parts in the execution of the art the painter is to employ his chief attention, and also the manner in which he is to employ it. We shall not therefore be confined to the dry and abstract, and as it were unembodied principles, but connect them with the useful and agreeable branches of the art, in that order in which it appears to us they should be studied.

SECT. I. Of Anatomy.

To ask if the study of anatomy is requisite to a painter, is the same thing as to ask if, in order to learn any science, a man must first make himself acquainted with the principles of it. It would be an useless waste of time to cite, in confirmation of this truth, the authorities of the ancient masters, and the most celebrated schools. A man, who is unacquainted with the form and construction of the several bones which support and govern the human frame, and does not know in what manner the muscles moving these bones are fixed to them, can make nothing of what appears of them through the integuments with which they are covered; and which appearance is, however, the noblest object of the pencil. It is impossible for a painter to copy faithfully what he sees, unless he thoroughly understand it. Let him employ ever so much time and study in the attempt, Anatomy, it cannot but be attended with many and great mistakes: just as it must happen to a man, who undertakes to copy something in a language which he does not understand; or to translate into his own, what he has written in another, upon a subject with which he is not acquainted.

It seldom happens, that nothing more is required of a painter than to copy exactly an object which he has before him. In still and very languid attitudes, in which every member is to appear motionless and dead, a living model may, no doubt, yield for a long time a faithful image, and prove an useful pattern to him. But in regard to gestures any way sudden, motions any way violent, or those momentary attitudes which it is more frequently the painter's business to express, the case is quite different. In these a living model can hold but an instant or two; it soon grows languid, and settles into a fixed attitude, which is produced by an instantaneous concourse of the animal spirits. If, therefore, a painter possest not so thoroughly all the principles of anatomy, as to be at all times able to have immediate recourse to them; if he know not the various manners in which the several parts of the human body play, according to their various positions; living models, far from proving an useful pattern to him, will rather tend to lead him astray, and make him lose sight of truth and nature, by exhibiting the very reverse of what is required, or at least exhibiting it in a very faint and imperfect manner. In living models, we often behold those parts flow, which should be quick; those cold and torpid, which should have the greatest share of life and spirit in them.

Nor is it, as some may be apt to imagine, merely to represent athletic and vigorous bodies, in which the parts are most bold and determined, that anatomy is requisite: it should be understood to represent persons of the most delicate frame and condition, even women and children, whose members are smoothest and roundest, though the parts made known by it are not to be strongly expressed in such object; just as logic is equally requisite under the polished insinuations of the orator, and the rough arguments of the philosopher.

But it is needless to spend much time in proving, that a painter should be acquainted with anatomy; or in showing, how far his acquaintance with it should extend. For instance, it is unnecessary for him to enter into the different systems of the nerves, blood-vessels, bowels, and the like; parts which are removed from the sight, and which therefore may be left to the surgeon and the physician, as being a guide in the operations of the former and in the prescriptions of the latter. It is enough for the painter, to be acquainted with the skeleton; in other words, with the figure and connection of the bones, which are, in a manner, the pillars and props of a human body; the origin, progress, and shape of the muscles which cover these bones; as also the different degrees in which nature has clothed the muscles with fat, for this substance lies thicker upon them in some places than in others. Above all, he should know in what manner the muscles effect the various motions and gestures of the body. A muscle is composed of two tendinous and slender parts, one called the head, the other the tail, both terminating at the bones; and of an intermediate part, called the belly. The action of a muscle consists in an extraordinary swelling of this intermediate part, while the head remains at rest, so as to bring the tail nearer the head, and consequently the part to which the tail of the muscle is fixed, nearer to that part into which the head is inserted.

There are many motions to effect which several of the muscles (for this reason called co-operating muscles) must swell and operate together, while those calculated to effect a contrary motion (and therefore called antagonist muscles) appear soft and flaccid. Thus, for example, the biceps and the brachiceus internus labour when the arm is to be bent, and become more prominent than usual; while the gemellus, the brachiceus externus, and the anconeus, whose office is to extend the arm, continue, as it were, flat and idle. The same happens respectively in all the other motions of the body. When the antagonist muscles of any part operate at one and the same time, such part becomes rigid and motionless. This action of the muscle is called tonic.

Michael Angelo intended to give the public a complete treatise upon this subject; and it is no small misfortune, that he never accomplished so useful a design. This great man, having observed, as we are told in his life by Condivi, that Albert Durer was deficient on the subject, as treating only of the various measures and forms of bodies, without saying a word of their attitudes and gestures, though things of much greater importance, resolved to compose a theory, founded upon his long practice, for the service of future painters and statuaries. And, certainly, no one could be better qualified to give anatomical precepts for that purpose, than he who, in competition with Da Vinci, designed that famous cartoon of naked bodies, which was studied by Raphael himself, and afterwards obtained the approbation of the Vatican, the greatest school of the art we are now treating of.

The want of Michael Angelo's precepts may, in some measure, be supplied by other books written on the same subject by Moro, Cesio, and Tortebat; and lately by Boucherdon, one of the most famous statuaries in France. But nothing can be of equal service to a young painter, with the lessons of some able director; under whom, in a few months, he may make himself master of every branch of anatomy which he need to be acquainted with. A course of osteology is of no great length; and of the infinite number of muscles discovered by curious myologists, there are not above 80 or 90, with which nature sensibly operates all those motions which he can ever have occasion to imitate or express. These, indeed, he should closely study, these he should carefully store up in his memory, so as never to be at the least loss for their proper figure, situation, office, and motion.

But there is another thing, besides the dissection of dead bodies, by which a young painter may profit greatly; and that is anatomical casts. Of these we have numbers by several authors; nay, some which pass under the name of Buonarroti himself. But there is one in which, above all the rest the parts are most distinctly and lively expressed. This is the performance of Hercules Lelli, who has perhaps gone greater lengths in this kind of study than any other matter. We have, besides, by the fame able hand, some casts of particular parts of the human body, so curiously coloured for the use of young painters, as to represent these parts exactly as they appear on removing the integuments; and thus, by the difference in their colour as well as configuration, render the tendinous and the fleshy parts, the belly and the extremities of every muscle, surprisingly distinct; at the same time that, by the various direction of the fibres, the motion and play of these muscles become very obvious; a work of the greatest use, and never enough to be commended! Perhaps, indeed, it would be an improvement, to give the muscles various tints; those muscles especially which the pupil might be apt to be mistake for others. For example, though the mastoides, the deltoides, the fatorius, the facia lata, the gastrocnemii, are, of themselves, sufficiently distinguishable, it is not so with regard to the muscles of the arm and of the back, the right muscles of the belly, and some others, which, either on account of the many parts into which they branch, or of their being interwoven one with another, do not so clearly and fairly present themselves to the eye. But let the cause of confusion to young beginners be what it will, it may be effectually removed, by giving, as already hinted, different colours to the different muscles, and illumining anatomical figures; in the same manner that maps are coloured, in order to enable us readily to distinguish the several provinces of every kingdom, and the several dominions of every prince.

The better to understand the general effect, and remember the number, situation, and play of the muscles, it will be proper to compare, now and then, the anatomical casts, and even the dead body itself, with the living body covered with its fat and skin; and above all things, with the Greek statues still in being. It was the peculiar happiness of the Greeks, to be able to characterize and express the several parts of the human body much better than we can pretend to do; and this, on account of their particular application to the study of naked figures, especially the fine living ones which they had continually before their eyes. It is well known, that the muscles most used are likewise the most protuberant and conspicuous; such as, in those who dance much, the muscles of the legs; and in boatmen, the muscles of the back and arms. But the bodies of the Grecian youth, by means of their constant exertion of them in all the gymnastic sports, were so thoroughly exercised, as to supply the statuary with much more perfect models than ours can pretend to be.

There are a great many exercises, which a young painter should go through while engaged in the study of anatomy, in order to make himself more thoroughly master of that science. For example: The thighs of any figure, a Laocoon for instance, being given, he should add to them legs suitable to that state in which the muscles of the thighs are represented, that is, the muscles which serve to bend and extend the legs, and to effectuate in them such a precise position and no other. To the simple contour of an anatomy or a statue, he should add the parts included by it, and give it a system of muscles conformable to the quality of that particular contour; for every contour denotes some one certain attitude, motion, exertion, and no other. Exercises of this kind would soon establish him in the most fundamental principles of painting, especially if he had an opportunity of comparing his drawings with the statue or cast from which the parts given him to work upon were taken, and thereby discovering and correcting his mistakes. This method is very like that used by those who teach the Latin tongue; when, having given their scholars a passage of Livy or Caesar already translated into their mother-tongue, to translate back into Latin, they make them compare their work with the original text.

Sect. II. Of Perspective.

The study of perspective should go hand in hand with that of anatomy, as not less fundamental and necessary. In fact, the contour of an object drawn upon paper or canvas, represents nothing more than such an intersection of the visual rays sent from the extremities of it to the eye, as would arise on a glass put in the place of the paper or canvas. Now, the situation of an object at the other side of a glass being given, the delineation of it on the glass itself depends entirely on the situation of the eye on this side of the glass; that is to say, on the rules of perspective: a science which, contrary to the opinion of most people, extends much farther than the painting of scenes, floors, and what generally goes under the name of quadratura. Perspective, according to that great master da Vinci, is to be considered as the reins and rudder of painting. It teaches in what proportion the parts fly from, and lessen upon the eye; how figures are to be marshalled upon a plain surface, and foreshortened. It contains, in short, the whole rationale of design.

Such are the terms which the masters best grounded in their profession have employed to define and commend perspective: so far were they from calling it a fallacious art, and an insidious guide; as some amongst the moderns have not blushed to do, inferring that it is to be followed no longer than it keeps the high road, or leads by easy and pleasant paths. But these writers plainly show, that they are equally ignorant of the nature of perspective, which, founded as it is on geometrical principles, can never lead its votaries astray; and of the nature of their art, which, without the affiance of perspective, cannot, in rigour, expect to make any progress, nay, not so much as to delineate a simple contour.

When a painter has formed a scene in his mind, and supposed, as it is customary, that the capital figures of this scene lie close, or almost close, to the back of his canvas, he is, in the next place, to fix upon some point on this side of the canvas, from which he would choose his piece should be seen. But in choosing this point, which is called the point of sight, regard should be had to its situation to the right or left of the middle of the canvas: but, above all things, to its distance and its height with respect to the lower edge of the canvas; which edge is called the base line, and is parallel with the horizontal line that passes through the eye. For by assuming the point of sight, and consequently the horizontal line, too low, the planes upon which the figures stand will appear a great deal too shallow; as, by assuming it too high, they will appear too steep, so as to render the piece far less light and airy than it ought to be. In like manner, if the point of sight is taken at too great a distance from the canvas, the figures will not admit of degradation enough to be seen with sufficient distinctness; and if taken too near it, the degra-

dation will be too quick and precipitate to have an agreeable effect. Thus, then, it appears, that no small attention is requisite in the choice of this point.

When a picture is to be placed on high, the point of sight should be affirmed low, and vice versa; in order that the horizontal line of the picture may be, as near as possible, in the same horizontal plane with that of the spectator; for this disposition has an amazing effect. When a picture is to be placed very high, as, amongst many others, that of the Purification, by Paolo Veronese, engraved by le Fevre, it will be proper to affix the point of sight so low, that it may lie quite under the picture, that part of whose ground is, in that case, to be visible; for, were the point of sight to be taken above the picture, the horizontal ground of it would appear flopping to the eye, and both figures and buildings as ready to tumble head foremost. It is true, indeed, that there is seldom any necessity for such extraordinary exactness; and that, unless in some particular cases, the point of sight had better be rather high than low: the reason of which is, that, as we are more accustomed to behold people on the same plane with ourselves, than either higher or lower, the figures of a piece must strike us most when standing on a plane nearly level with that upon which we ourselves stand. To this it may be added, that by placing the eye low, and greatly shortening the plane, the heels of the back figures will seem to bear against the heads of the foremost, so as to render the distance between them far less perceptible than otherwise it would be.

The point of sight being fixed upon according to the situation in which the picture is to be placed, the point of distance is next to be determined. In doing this, a painter should carefully attend to three things: first, that the spectator may be able to take in, at one glance, the whole and every part of the composition; secondly, that he may see it distinctly; and, thirdly, that the degradation of the figures and other objects of the picture be sufficiently sensible. It would take up too much time to lay down certain and precise rules for doing all this, considering the great variety in the sizes and shapes of pictures; for which reason we must leave a great deal to the discretion of the painter.

But there is a point still remaining, which will not admit of the least latitude. This is, the delineation of the picture, when once the point of sight has been fixed upon. The figures of a picture are to be considered as so many columns erected on different spots of the same plane; and the painter must not think of designing any thing, till he has laid down, in perspective, all those columns which are to enter his composition, with the most scrupulous exactness. By proceeding in this manner, he may not only be sure of not committing any mistake in the diminution of his figures according to their different distances, but may flatter himself with the thoughts of treading in the steps of the greatest masters. It is to the punctual observance of these laws, that we are to attribute the grand effect of some paintings by Carpazio and Mantegna, so careless in other respects; whereas a single fault against them is often sufficient entirely to spoil the works of a Guido, in spite of the sublimity and beauty of his superior style.

Now, as the demonstration of the rules of perspective depends on the doctrine of proportions, on the properties of similar triangles, and on the intersection of planes, it will be proper to put an abridgement of Euclid into the Symmetry, hands of the young painter, that he may understand these rules fundamentally, and not stand confined to a blind practice of them: but, then, there is nothing in this author relative to the art of painting, which may not be easily acquired in a few months. For, as it would be of no use to a painter to launch out into the anatomical depths of a Monro or an Albinus, it would be equally superfluous to perplex himself with the intricacies of the higher geometry with a Taylor, who has handled perspective with that rich profundity, which we cannot help thinking does a great deal more honour to a mathematician, than it can possibly bring advantage to a simple artist.

But though a much longer time were requisite to become a perfect master of perspective, a painter, surely, ought not to grudge it; as no time can be too long to acquire that knowledge, without which he cannot possibly expect to succeed. Nay, we may boldly affirm, that the shortest road in every art is that which leads through theory to practice. From theory arises that great facility, by means of which a man advances the quicker, in proportion as he is freer of not taking a wrong step; whilst those, who are not grounded in the science, labour on in perpetual doubt; obliged, as a certain author expresses it, to feel out their way with a pencil, just as the blind, with their sticks, feel for the streets and turnings, with which they are not acquainted.

As practice, therefore, ought in every thing to be built upon principle, the study of Optics, as far as it is requisite to determine the degree in which objects are to be illuminated or shaded, should proceed hand in hand with that of perspective: And this, in order that the shades, cast by figures upon the planes on which they stand, may fall properly, and be neither too strong nor too light; in a word, that those most beautiful effects of the chiaro-nero may run no risk of ever receiving the lie from truth, which sooner or later discovers itself to every eye.

SECT. III. Of Symmetry.

The study of symmetry, it is obvious, should immediately follow that of anatomy; for it would avail us little to be acquainted with the different parts of the human body, and their several offices, we were at the same time ignorant of the order and proportion of those parts in regard to the whole in general, and to each other in particular. The Greek statuaries distinguished themselves above all others, as much by the just symmetry of their members, as by their skill in anatomy; but Polycletes surpassed them all by a statue, called the Rule, from which, as from a most accurate pattern, other artists might take measures for every part of the human body. These measures, to say nothing of the books which treat professedly of them, may now be derived from the Apollo of Belvedere, the Laocoon, the Venus of Medici, the Faunus, and particularly the Antinous, which last was the rule of the learned Poufain.

It is the general opinion of painters, that the ancients were not so happy in representing the bodies of children, as they are allowed to have been in representing those of women and men; especially those of their gods; in which they excelled to such a degree, that with these gods were often worshipped the artists who had carved them. Yet the the Venus of Gnidus by Praxiteles was not more famous than her Cupid, on whose account alone people flocked to Thebes §. To children, say they, the ancients knew not how to impart that softness and femininity which Flaminino has since contrived to give them, by representing their cheeks, hands, and feet, swelled, their heads large, and with fearce any belly. But such critics seem to forget, that these first sketches of nature very seldom come in the painter's way, and that this puny and delicate state has not in its form even the least glimmering of perfection. The ancients never undertook to represent children lest than four or five years old; at which age the superfluous humours of the body being in some measure digested, their members begin to assume such a contour and proportion as may serve to point out what they are afterwards likely to be. This observation is confirmed by the children which we meet with in ancient basso-relievos and paintings: for they are all doing one thing or another; like those most beautiful little Cupids in a picture at Venice, who are playing with the arms of Mars, and lifting up the ponderous sword of that deity; or that little urchin in the Danae of Caracci, who empties a quiver of its arrows in order to fill it with the golden shower. Now, what can be a greater blunder in point of costume, than to attribute actions, which require some degree of strength and judgment, to infancy, to that raw and tender age so totally unable to govern and support itself?

Let a young painter consider the Greek statues ever so often, of whatever character or age they may be represented, it is impossible he should ever consider them without discovering new beauties in them. It is therefore impossible he could copy them too often, according to that judicious motto placed by Maratti on his print called The school. This truth was acknowledged by Rubens himself; for though, like one bred, as he was, in the foggy climate of the Low Countries, he generally painted from the life; in some of his works he copied the ancients; nay, he wrote a treatise on the excellency of the ancient statues, and on the duty of a painter to study and imitate them. As to the satirical print, or rather paquinade, of the great Titian, in which he has represented a parcel of young monkeys aping the group of Laocoon and his sons; he intended nothing more by it than to lash the dulness and poverty of those artists, who cannot so much as draw a figure without having a statue before them as a model.

In fact, reason requires, that an artist should be so much matter of his art, as seldom to stand in need of a pattern. To what other purpose is he to sweat and toil from his infancy, and spend so many days and nights in studying and copying the best models; especially the finest faces of antiquity, which we are still possessed of; such as the two Niobes, mother and daughter; the Ariadne, the Alexander, the young Nero, the Silenus, the Nile: and likewise the finest figures; for instance, the Apollo, the Gladiator, the Venus, and others; all which (as was said of Pietro Fetta), he should have, as it were, perfectly by heart! With a stock of excellencies like these, treasured up in his memory, he may one day hope to produce something of his own without a model; form a right judgment of those natural beauties which fall in his way; and, when occasion offers, avail himself properly of them.

It is very injudicious to send boys to an academy to draw after naked figures, before they have imbibed a proper relish for beautiful proportions, and have been well-grounded in the true principles of symmetry. They should first learn, by studying the precious remains of antiquity, to improve upon life; and discern where a natural figure is faulty through stiffness in the members, or clumsiness in the trunk, or in any another respect; so as to be able to correct the faulty part, and reduce it to its proper bounds. Painting, in this branch, is, like medicine, the art of taking away and adding.

It must not, however, be dissembled, that the methods hitherto laid down are attended with some danger: for by too lavish an attention to statues, the young painter may contract a hard and dry manner; and by studying anatomies too servilely, a habit of representing living bodies as stripped of their skin: for after all, there is nothing but what is natural, that, besides a certain peculiar grace and liveliness, possesses that simplicity, ease, and softness, which is not to be expected in the works of art, or even in those of nature when deprived of life. Poufbin himself has now and then given into one of these extremes, and Michael Angelo very often into the other: but from this we can only infer, that even the greatest men are not infallible. It is, in short, to be considered as one instance, among a thousand, of the ill use those are wont to make of the best things, who do not know how to temper and qualify them properly with their contraries.

But no such danger can arise to a young painter from confining himself for a long time to mere design, so as not to attempt colouring till he has made himself master of that branch. If, according to a great master *, co- * Poufbin, lours in painting are in regard to the eye what numbers in his Life in poetry are in regard to the ear, so many charms to by Bellori allure and captivate that sense; may we not affirm, that design is in the same art what propriety of language is in writing, and a just utterance of sounds in music? Whatever some people may think, a picture designed according to the rules of perspective and the principles of anatomy, will ever be held in higher esteem by good judges, than a picture ill designed, let it ever so well coloured. Hannibal Caracci set to great a value upon the art of contour, that, according to some expressions of his which have reached us, he considered almost every thing else as nothing in comparison with it. And this his judgment may be justified, by considering, that nature, though she forms men of various colours and complexions, never operates in the motions contrary to the mechanical principles of anatomy, nor, in exhibiting these motions to the eye, against the geometrical laws of perspective: a plain proof, that, in point of design, no mistake is to be deemed trifling. Hence we are enabled to feel all the weight of those words in which Michael Angelo, after he considered a picture drawn by a prince of the Venetian school, addressed Vafari! "What a pity it is," said he, "that this man did not set out by studying design!" As the energy of nature shines most in the smallest subjects, so the energy of art shines most in imitating them.

SECT. IV. Of Imitation.

WHEN you consider art as the imitation of nature (says Mengs), it is not to be understood that nature, which is the object, is more perfect than art which imitates it. Nature, it is confessed, offers some views of which the imitation must for ever remain imperfect, as in the instance of the claro-obscuro; but, on the other hand, in every thing relative to beauty of form, imitation may even surpass nature. Nature, in her productions, is subject to many accidents. Art, labouring on passive and obedient materials, renders perfect the objects of its creation, chooses every thing in nature the most excellent, and collects the different parts and the different beauties of many individuals into one whole. It is seldom that we find in the fame man greatness of soul and the due proportions of body, vigour, suppleness, firmness, and agility, joined together. Art constantly represents what is rarely or never to be met with in human nature; regularity in the outlines, grandeur in the forms, grace in the attitudes, beauty in the members, force in the breast, agility in the limbs, address in the arms, frankness in the forehead, spirit in the eyes, and affability over the whole countenance. Let an artist give force and expression to all the parts of his subject, let him vary this force and expression as different circumstances make it necessary, and he will soon perceive that art may surpass nature. But although this be granted, the artist is not to imagine that art is actually arrived at this supreme degree of perfection, and can proceed no farther. The moderns seem never to have perceived the track pointed out by the ancient Greeks: for, since the revival of painting, the true and the agreeable, instead of the beautiful, have been the objects of cultivation. Still, however, imitation is the first part of the art of painting, though not the most excellent or beautiful. It is a necessary step in the progress which leads forward to greater perfection.

A painter ought attentively to consider, compare together, and weigh in the balance of reason and truth, all the different styles of the great masters; but he ought likewise carefully to guard against too great a fondness for any one of them in particular that he may think proper to adopt; otherwise, to use the expression of a first-rate master*, instead of the child, he would become the grand child of nature.

Besides, his imitation must be of generals, and not of particulars. Whatever a young painter's natural disposition may be, whether to paint boldly and freely like Tintoret and Rubens, or to labour his works, like Titian or da Vinci, let him follow it. This kind of imitation is very commendable. It is thus that Dante, at the same time that he carefully avoided adopting the particular expressions of Virgil, endeavoured to feign his bold and free manner, and at last caught from him that elegance of style which has done him so much honour.

As to the rest, nothing should hinder an able master from making use now and then of any antique, or even modern figure, which he may find his account in employing. Sanzio, in a St Paul at Lystra, repudiated not to avail himself of an ancient sacrifice in basso-relievo; nor did Buonarroti himself disdain to use, in his paintings of the Sextine chapel, a figure taken from the famous cornelian which tradition tells us he wore on his finger, and which was lately in the possession of the most Christian king. Men like these avail themselves of the productions of others in such a manner as to make us apply to them, what La Bruyere said of Despréaux, that one would imagine the thoughts of other men had been of his own creation.

In general, a painter should have his eye constantly fixed on nature, that inexhaustible and varied source of every kind of beauty; and should study to imitate her in her most singular effects. As beauty, scattered over the whole universe, shines brighter in some objects than in others, he should never be without his little book and crayon, in order to make drawings of every beautiful or uncommon object that may happen to present itself; and take sketches of every fine building, every situation, every effect of light, every flight of clouds, every flow of drapery, every attitude, every expression of the passions, that may happen to strike him. He may afterwards employ these things as occasions offer; and in the mean time will have the advantage of acquiring a grand taste.

It is by carefully studying the best masters, and imitating nature, that a painter arrives at the style of perfection which the Italians call gusto grande, the French le beau ideal, and the English the great style.

"A mind (says Sir Joshua Reynolds), enriched by an assemblage of all the treasures of ancient and modern art, will be more elevated and fruitful in resources in proportion to the number of ideas which have been carefully collected and thoroughly digested.

"The addition of other men's judgment is so far from weakening, as is the opinion of many, our own, that it will fashion and consolidate those ideas of excellence which lay in their birth feeble, ill-shaped, and confused; but which are finished and put in order by the authority and practice of those, whose works may be said to have been consecrated by having flood the test of ages.

"When we speak of the habitual imitation and continued study of masters, it is not to be understood that I advise any endeavour to copy the exact peculiar colour and complexion of another man's mind; the success of such an attempt must always be like his who imitates exactly the air, manner, and gestures, of him whom he admires. His model may be excellent, but he himself will be ridiculous; and this ridicule arises not from his having imitated, but from his not having chosen the right mode of imitation.

"It is a necessary warrantable pride to disdain to walk servilely behind any individual, however elevated his rank. The true and liberal ground of imitation is an open field, where, though he who precedes has had the advantage of starting before you, yet it is enough to pursue his course: you need not tread in his footsteps; and you certainly have a right to outstrip him if you can.

"Nor, whilst I recommend studying the art from artists, can I be supposed to mean that nature is to be neglected: I take this study in aid, and not in exclusion of the other. Nature is, and must be, the fountain, which alone is inexhaustible; and from which all excellencies must originally flow.

"The great use of studying our predecessors is to open the mind, to shorten our labour, and to give us the result of the selection made by those great minds of what is grand or beautiful in nature: her rich stores are all spread out before us; but it is an art, and no easy art, to know how or what to choose, and how to attain and secure the object of our choice.

"Thus the highest beauty of form must be taken from nature; but it is an art of long deduction and great experience to know how to find it. I cannot avoid Colouring, avoid mentioning here an error which students are apt to fall into.

"He that is forming himself must look with great caution and wariness on those peculiarities or prominent parts which at first force themselves on view, and are the marks, or what is commonly called the manner, by which that individual artist is distinguished.

"Peculiar marks I hold to be generally, if not always, defects, however difficult it may be wholly to escape them.

"Peculiarities in the works of art are like those in the human figure; it is by them that we are cognizable and distinguished one from another; but they are always so many blemishes, which, however, both in the one case and in the other, cease to appear deformities to those who have them continually before their eyes. In the works of art, even the most enlightened mind, when warmed by beauties of the highest kind, will by degrees find a repugnance within him to acknowledge any defects; nay, his enthusiasm will carry him far so as to transform them into beauties and objects of imitation.

"It must be acknowledged, that a peculiarity of style, either from its novelty, or by seeming to proceed from a peculiar turn of mind, often escapes blame; on the contrary, it is sometimes striking and pleasing; but it is vain labour to endeavour to imitate it, because novelty and peculiarity being its only merit, when it ceases to be new, it ceases to have value.

"A manner, therefore, being a defect, and every painter, however excellent, having a manner, it seems to follow that all kinds of faults as well as beauties may be learned under the sanction of the greatest authority."

SECT. V. Of Colouring.

COLOURING, though a subject greatly inferior to many others which the painter must study, is yet of sufficient importance to employ a considerable share of his attention; and to excel in it, he must be well acquainted with that part of optics which has the nature of light and colours for its object. Light, however simple and uncompounded it may appear, is nevertheless made up, as it were, of several distinct substances; and the number, and even dose, of these ingredients, has been happily discovered by the moderns. Every undivided ray, let it be ever so fine, is a little bundle of red, orange, yellow, green, azure, indigo, and violet rays, which, while combined, are not to be distinguished one from another, and form that kind of light called white: so that white is not a colour per se, as the learned Da Vinci † (so far, it seems, the precursor of Newton) expressly affirms, but an assemblage of colours. Now these colours, which compose light, although immutable in themselves, and endued with various qualities, are continually, however, separating from each other in their reflection from and passage through other substances, and thus become manifest to the eye. Gras, for example, reflects only green rays, or rather reflects green rays in greater number than it does those of any other colour; one kind of wine transmits red rays, and another yellowish rays: and from this kind of separation arises that variety of colours with which nature has diversified her various productions. Man, too, has contrived to separate the rays of light by making a portion of the sun's beams pass through a glass prism; for after passing through it, they appear divided into seven pure and primitive colours, placed in succession one by the other, like so many colours on a painter's pallet.

Now, though Titian, Corregio, and Vandyke, have been excellent colourists, without knowing anything of these physical subtleties, that is no reason why others should neglect them. For it cannot but be of great service to a painter to be well acquainted with the nature of what he is to imitate, and of those colours with which he is to give life and perfection to his designs; not to speak of the pleasure there is in being able to account truly and solidly for the various effects and appearances of light. From a due tempering, for example, and degrading, of the tints in a picture; from making colours partake of each other, according to the reflection of light from one object to another; there arises, in some measure, that sublime harmony which may be considered as the true music of the eye. And this harmony has its foundation in the genuine principles of optics. Now this could not happen in the system of those philosophers, who held, that colours did not originally exist in light, but were, on the contrary, nothing else than so many modifications which it underwent in being reflected from other substances, or in passing through them; thus subject to alterations without end, and every moment liable to perish. Were that the case, bodies could no more receive any hues one from another, nor this body partake of the colour of that, than scarlet, for example, because it has the power of changing into red all the rays of the sun or sky which immediately fall upon it, has the power of changing into red all the other rays reflected to it from a blue or any other colour in its neighbourhood. Whereas, allowing that colours are in their own nature immutable one into another, and that every body reflects, more or less, every sort of coloured rays, though those rays in the greatest number which are of the colour it exhibits, there must necessarily arise, in colours placed near one another, certain particular hues or temperaments of colour: nay, this influence of one colour upon another may be so far traced, that three or four bodies of different colours, and likewise the intenseness of the light falling upon each, being assigned, we may easily determine in what situations and how much they would tinge each other. We may thus, too, by the same principle of optics, account for several other things practised by painters; insomuch that a person, who has carefully observed natural effects with an eye directed by solid learning, shall be able to form general rules, where another can only distinguish particular cases.

But after all, the pictures of the best colourists are, it is universally allowed, the books in which a young painter must chiefly look for the rules of colouring; that is, of that branch of painting which contributes so much to express the beauty of objects, and is so requisite to represent them as what they really are. Giorgio and Titian seem to have discovered circumstances in nature which others have entirely overlooked; and the last in particular has been happy enough to express them with a pencil as delicate as his eye was quick and piercing. In his works we behold that sweetness of colouring which is produced by union, that beauty which is consistent with truth; and all the insensible transmutations, transmutations, all the soft transitions, in a word, all the pleasing modulations, of tints and colours. When a young painter has, by close application, acquired from Titian, whom he can never sufficiently dwell upon, that art which, of all painters, he has best contrived to hide, he would do well to turn to Baffano and Paolo, on account of the beauty, boldness, and elegance of their touches. That richness, softness, and freshness of colouring for which the Lombard school is so justly cried up, may likewise be of great service to him. Nor will he reap less benefit by studying the principles and practice of the Flemish school; which, chiefly by means of her varnishes, has contrived to give a most enchanting lustre and transparency to her colours.

But whatever pictures a young painter may choose to study the art of colouring upon, he must take great care that they be well preserved. There are very few pieces which have not suffered more or less by the length, not to say the injuries, of time; and perhaps that precious patina, which years alone can impart to paintings, is in some measure akin to that other kind which ages alone impart to medals; inasmuch as, by giving testimony to their antiquity, it renders them proportionably beautiful in the superstitious eyes of the learned. It must indeed be allowed, that if, on the one hand, this patina betows, as it really does, an extraordinary degree of harmony upon the colours of a picture, and destroys, or at least greatly lessens, their original rawness, it, on the other hand, equally impairs the freshness and life of them. A piece seen many years after it has been painted, appears much as it would do, immediately after painting, behind a dull glass. It is no idle opinion, that Paolo Veronese, attentive above all things, to the beauty of his colours, and what is called frepito, left entirely to time the care of harmonizing them perfectly, and (as we may say) mellowing them. But most of the old masters took that talk upon themselves; and never exposed their works to the eyes of the public, until they had ripened and finished them with their own hands. And who can say whether the Christ of Moneta, or the Nativity of Baffano, have been more improved or injured (if we may so speak) by the touchings and retouchings of time, in the course of more than two centuries? It is indeed impossible to be determined. But the studious pupil may make himself ample amends for any injuries which his originals may have received from the hands of time, by turning to truth, and to Nature which never grows old, but constantly retains its primitive flower of youth, and was itself the model of the models before him. As soon, therefore, as a young painter has laid a proper foundation for good colouring, by studying the best masters, he should turn all his thoughts to truth and nature. And it would perhaps be well worth while to have, in the academies of painting, models for colouring as well as designing; that as from the one the pupils learn to give their due proportion to the several members and muscles, they may learn from the other to make their carnations rich and warm, and faithfully copy the different local hues which appear quite distinct in the different parts of a fine body. To illustrate still farther the use of such a model, let us suppose it placed in different lights: now in that of the sun, now in that of the sky, and now again in that of a lamp or candle; one time placed in the shade, and another in a reflected light. Hence the pupil may learn all the different effects of the complexion in different circumstances, whether the livid, the lucid, or transparent; and, above all, that variety of tints and half tints, occasioned in the colour of the skin by the epidermis having the bones immediately under it in some places, and in others a greater or less number of blood-vessels or quantity of fat. An artist who had long studied such a model would run no risk of degrading the beauties of nature by any particularity of style, or of giving into that preposterous fulnels and floridarts of colour which is at present so much the taste. He would not feed his figures with roses, as an ancient painter of Greece thievishly exprest it, but with good beef; a difference which the learned eye of a modern writer could perceive between the colouring of Barocci and that of Titian. To practice in that manner, is, according to a great master, no better than inuring one's self to the commission of blunders. What statues are in design, nature is in colouring; the fountain-head of that perfection to which every artist, ambitious to excel, should constantly aspire: and accordingly the Flemish painters, in consequence of their aiming solely to copy nature, are in colouring as excellent as they are wont to be awkward in designing. The best model for the tone of colours and the degradation of shades is furnished by means of the camera-obscura. See DIOPTRICS, Sect. vi. and ix.

SECT. VI. Of Drapery.

Drapery is one of the most important branches of the whole art, and accordingly demands the greatest attention and study. It seldom happens that a painter has nothing but naked figures to represent; nay, his subjects generally consist of figures clothed from head to foot. Now the flowing of the folds in every garment depends chiefly upon the relief of the parts that lie under it. A certain author, we forget his name, observes, that as the inequalities of a surface are discoverable by the inequalities in the water that runs over it, so the posture and shape of the members must be discernible by the folds of the garment that covers them. Those idle windings and gatherings, with which some painters have affected to cover their figures, make the clothes made up of them look as if the body had fled from under them, and left nothing in its place but a heap of empty bubbles, fit emblems of the brain that conceived them. As from the trunk of a tree there issue here and there boughs of various forms, so from one mistress fold there always flow many lesser ones; and as it is on the quality of the tree that the elegance, compactness, or openness of its branches chiefly depends; it is, in like manner, by the quality of the stuff of which a garment is made, that the number, order, and size of its folds must be determined. To sum up all in two words, the drapery ought to be natural and easy, so as to show what stuff it is, and what parts it covers. It ought, as a certain author expresses it, to cover the body, as it were merely to show it.

It was formerly the custom with some of our masters to draw all their figures naked, and then drape them; from the same principle that they first drew the skeletons of their figures, and afterwards covered them with muscles. And it was by proceeding in this manner that they attained to such a degree of truth in expressing the folds of their drapery, and the joints and direction of the principal members that lay under it, so as to exhibit in a most striking manner the attitude of the person to whom they belonged. That the ancient sculptors clothed their statues with equal truth and grace, appears from many of them that are still in being; particularly a Flora lately dug up in Rome, whose drapery is executed with so much judgment, and in so grand and rich a style, that it may vie with the finest of their naked statues, even with the Venus of Medicis. The statues of the ancients had so much beauty when naked, that they retained a great deal when clothed. But here it must be considered, that it was usual with them to suppose their originals clothed with wet garments, and of an extreme fineness and delicacy, that, by lying close to the parts, and in a manner clinging to them, they might the better show what these parts were. For this reason a painter is not to confine himself to the study of the ancient statues, lest he should contract a dry style, and even fall into the same faults with some great masters who, accustomed to drape with such light stuffs as fit close to the body, have afterwards made the coarsest lie in the same manner, so as plainly to exhibit the muscles underneath them. It is therefore proper to study nature herself, and those modern masters who have come nearest to her in this branch; such as Paolo Veronese, Andrea del Sarto, Rubens, and above all, Guido Reni. The flow of their drapery is soft and gentle; and the gatherings and plaits are so contrived, as not only not to hide the body, but to add grace and dignity to it. Their gold, silk, and woollen stuffs, are so distinguishable one from another, by the quality of their several lustres, and the peculiar light and shade belonging to each, but above all by the form and flow of their folds, that the age and sex of their figures are hardly more discoverable by their faces. Albert Durer is another great master in this branch, insomuch that Guido himself was not ashamed to study him. There are still extant several drawings made with the pen by this great man, in which he has copied whole figures from Albert, and scrupulously retained the flow of his drapery as far as his own peculiar style, less harsh and sharp, but more easy and graceful, would allow. It may be said that he made the same use of Albert that our modern writers ought to make of the best authors of the 13th century.

To drape a figure well, it is necessary that the folds be large and few in number; because large folds produce great masses of light and shadow, while small ones multiply the objects of view and distract the attention. But if the character of the drapery or kind of stuff require small folds, they should at least be distributed in groups, in such a manner that a great number of small folds shall be subordinate to an equal mass formed by a principal fold.

It is also proper to observe, that the colour of the drapery contributes to the harmony of the whole, and produces effects which the claro obscurro cannot do alone. At the same time, the principles of the claro obscurro should preside over, or at least regulate, the art of drapery. If the folds of the stuff which cover the members exposed to the light are too strongly shaded, they will appear to enter into the members, and cut them.

Drapery contributes to the life, to the character, to the expression of the figures, provided all the movements of the folds announce the lively or more tranquil movement of those figures. The colour, and the kind of stuff, concur also to promote the general expression; brilliant or fine drapery cannot be properly introduced in a mournful subject, nor the opposite in a gay one.

The drapery must also agree with the age and character of the figures: And if nature in any instance is found to contradict those principles, it is because they relate to the ideal of the art; and it is this ideal which carries it to the greatest perfection.

Great attention is also necessary to the situation in which the figures are placed, and the actions about which they are employed. If they are in the act of ascending, a column of air weighs down the drapery; if, on the contrary, they are descending, the drapery is supported and spread out. The folds placed on every member, and the general play of the drapery, should indicate whether the figure is in action or about to be so; whether action be beginning or ending; and whether it be slow, or quick, or violent. All this is agreeable to nature; but it also partakes of the ideal, since nature never can be copied in such fluctuating situations. The practice of the Roman schools, first to draw after nature, and then to paint after the drawing, cannot be adopted by colourists; because nature, according to the kind of the stuffs, produces tones and lights which give more perfection and truth to the work. Meanwhile Raphael, who followed this practice, enjoys the first reputation for giving play to his drapery, and disposing the folds in the best order. In this part he has even attained the height of ideal beauty. He is the greatest painter of drapery, as the Venetians are the greatest in painting stuffs.

Raphael, says Mengs, imitated at first his master Perugin's manner of drapery; and he brought this manner to perfection, by studying the works of Masaccio and of Bartholomew; but he departed entirely from the taste of the school in which he was educated when he had seen the works of the ancients. It was the bas-relievo of antiquity which pointed out to him the true flowing of drapery, and he was not backward to introduce it. He discovered, by attending to the principles of the ancients, that the naked is the principal part; that drapery is to be regarded altogether as an accessory, and that it is intended to cover, not to conceal; that it is employed from necessity, not caprice; that of consequence the clothes should not be so narrow as to constrain the members, nor so ample as to embarrass them; but that the artist should adapt them to the size and attitude of the figures intended to wear them.

He understood that the great folds should be placed at the large places of the body; and where the nature of the drapery required small folds, that it was necessary to give them a projection, which indicates a subordination to the principal parts.

He made his ample draperies without useless folds, and with bendings at the articulations. It was the form of the naked figure which pointed out to him the form.

of his folds, and on the great muscles he formed great masses. When any part required to be foreshortened, he covered it with the same number of folds as if it had been straight; but then he crowded them in proportion to the foreshortening.

He frequently discovered the border of his drapery, to show that his figures were not dressed in a simple sack. The form of the principal parts, and the specific weight of the air, were always the caues of his folds. It was easy to discover in his works, by the folds of his drapery, the attitude of the figure previous to the one in which it was placed; and whether, for example, the arm was extended or otherwise, immediately before the action. This was an expression which he had carefully studied on all occasions, because he found it in nature.

When the drapery was to cover the leg or arm but half, or in an imperfect manner, he made it cut obliquely the member which was partly to be covered. His folds were of a triangular form. The reason of this form is in nature: for all drapery has a tendency to enlarge itself and be extended; and as at the same time its own weight obliges it to fall back on itself, it is naturally formed into triangles.

He knew perfectly that the movements of the body and of its members are the caues of the actual situation of drapery, and of the formation of its folds. All his practice is nothing else but the unfolding and demonstrating of this theory; and drapery executed in any other manner must be in a false and vicious taste.

SECT. VII. Of Landscape and Architecture.

When our young painter has made a sufficient progress in those principal branches of his art, the designing, perspective, colouring, and drapery of human figures, he should turn his thoughts to landscape and architecture: for, by studying them, he will render himself universal, and qualified to undertake any subject; so as not to resemble certain literati, who, though great masters in some articles, are mere children in every thing else.

The most eminent landscape painters are Pouffin, Lorenese, and Titian.

Pouffin was remarkable for his great diligence. His pieces are quite exotic and uncommon; being set off with buildings in a beautiful but singular style; and with learned episodes, such as poets reciting their verses to the woods, and youths exercising themselves in the several gymnastic games of antiquity; by which it plainly appears, that he was more indebted for his subjects to the descriptions of Pausanias than to nature and truth.

Lorenese applied himself chiefly to express the various phenomena of light, especially those perceivable in the heavens. And thanks to the happy climate of Rome, where he studied and exercised his talents, he has left us the brightest skies, and the richest and most gloriously cloud-tipt horizons, that can be well conceived. Nay, the sun himself, which, like the Almighty, can be represented merely by his effects, has scarcely escaped his daring and ambitious pencil.

Titian, the great confidant of nature, is the Homer of landscape. His scenes have so much truth, so much variety, and such a bloom in them, that it is impossible to behold them, without wishing, as if they were real, to make an excursion into them. And perhaps the finest landscape that ever issued from mortal hands, is the background of his martyrdom of St Peter; where, by the difference between the bodies and the leaves of his trees and the disposition of their branches, one immediately discovers the difference between the trees themselves; where the different foils are so well expressed, and so exquisitely clothed with their proper plants, that a botanist has much ado to keep his hands from them. See Part II. sect. ii.

Paolo Veronese is in architecture what Titian is in landscape. To excel in landscape, we must, above all things, study nature. To excel in architecture, we must chiefly regard the finest works of art; such as the fronts of ancient edifices, and the fabrics of those moderns who have best studied and best copied antiquity. Next to Brunelleschi and Alberti, who were the first revivers of architecture, came Bramante, Giulio Romano, Sanzovino, Sannicheli, and lastly Palladio, whose works the young painter should above all the rest diligently study and imprint deeply on his mind. Nor is Vignola to be forgotten; for some think he was a more scrupulous copier of antiquity, and more exact, than Palladio himself, insomuch that most people consider him as the first architect among the moderns. For our part, to speak of him, not as fame, but as truth seems to require, we cannot help thinking, that rather than break through the generality of the rules contrived by him to facilitate practice, he has in some instances deviated from the most beautiful proportions of the antique, and is rather barren in the distribution and disposition of certain members. Moreover, the extraordinary height of his pedestals and cornices hinders the column from flowing in the orders designed and employed by him, as it does in those of Palladio. Amongst that great variety of proportions to be met with in ancient ruins, Palladio has been extremely happy in choosing the best. His profiles are well contrasted, yet easy. All the parts of his buildings hang well together. Grandeur, elegance, and beauty, walk hand in hand in them. In short, the very blemishes of Palladio, who was no slave to convenience, and sometimes perhaps was too prolific in his decorations, are picturesque. And we may reasonably believe, that it was by following so great a master, whose works he had continually before his eyes, that Paolo Veronese formed that fine and masterly taste which enabled him to embellish his compositions with such beautiful structures.

The study of architecture cannot fail, in another respect, of being very useful to the young painter, inasmuch as it will bring him acquainted with the form of the temples, thermae, basilics, theatres, and other buildings of the Greeks and Romans. Besides, from the baso-relieves with which it was customary to adorn these buildings, he may gather, with equal delight and profit, the nature of their sacrifices, arms, military ensigns, and drefs. The study of landscape, too, will render familiar to him the form of the various plants peculiar to each foil and climate, and such other things as serve to characterise the different regions of the earth. Thus by degrees he will learn what we call costume, one of the chief requisites in a painter; since by means of it he may express with great precision the time and place in which his scenes are laid. SECT. VIII. Of the Expression of the Passions.

That language which above all others a painter should carefully endeavour to learn, and from nature herself, is the language of the passions. Without it the finest works must appear lifeless and inanimate. It is not enough for a painter to be able to delineate the most exquisite forms, give them the most graceful attitudes, and compose them well together; it is not enough to dress them out with propriety, and in the most beautiful colours; it is not enough, in fine, by the powerful magic of light and shade, to make the canvas vanish. No; he must likewise know how to clothe his figures with grief, with joy, with fear, with anger; he must, in some sort, write on their faces what they think and what they feel; he must give them life and speech. It is indeed in this branch that painting truly soars, and in a manner rises superior to itself; it is in this branch she makes the spectator apprehend much more than what she expresses.

The means employed in her imitations by painting, are the circumscription of terms, the chiaro-scuro, and colours; all which appear solely calculated to strike the visual-faculty. Notwithstanding which, she contrives to represent hard and soft, rough and smooth surfaces, which are objects of the touch: and this by means of certain tints, and a certain chiaro-scuro, which has a different look in marble, in the bark of trees, in downy and delicate substances. Nay, the contrives to express sound and motion, by means of light and shade, and certain particular configurations. In some landscapes of Diderich we almost hear the water murmur, and see it tremble along the sides of the river and of the boats upon it. In the Battle of Burgogne, we are really apt to fancy that the trumpet sounds; and we see the horse, who has thrown his rider, scamper along the plain. But what is still more wonderful, painting, in virtue of her various colours and certain particular gestures, expresses even the sentiments and most hidden affections of the soul, and renders her visible, so as to make the eye not only touch and hear, but even kindle into passion and reason.

Many have written, and amongst the rest the famous Le Brun, on the various changes that, according to the various passions, happen in the muscles of the face, which is, as it were, the dumb tongue of the soul. They observe, for example, that in fits of anger the face reddens, the muscles of the lips puff out, the eyes sparkle; and that, on the contrary, in fits of melancholy, the eyes grow motionless and dead, the face pale, and the lips sink in. It may be of service to a painter to read these and such other remarks; but it will be of infinitely more service to study them in nature itself, from which they have been borrowed, and which exhibits them in that lively manner which neither tongue nor pen can express.

Upon Le Brun's Treatise on the Passions, we have the following just, though severe, criticism by Winckelmann. "Expression, though precarious in its nature (says he), has been reduced into a system, in a Treatise on the Passions by Charles le Brun, a work generally put into the hands of young artists. The plates which accompany this treatise do not only give to the face the affections of the soul in too high a tone, but there are many of the heads in which the passions are represented in an outrageous manner. He appears to give instructions in expression, as Diogenes gave examples of morality: I act like musicians, said that cynic, who give a high tone, in order to indicate a true one. But the fervour of youth has naturally more inclination to feize the extreme than the middle; and hence it is difficult for the young artist, in copying after Le Brun, to feize the true tone. Youth in general may be supposed to have that regard for the calm and moderate in the arts, which they have for the precepts of wisdom and virtue."

Other French writers have given instructions respecting the expression of the passions, equally exceptionable with those of Le Brun. All of them whom we have consulted make so many divisions and subdivisions of passions, that a philosopher cannot follow them in metaphysical theory, nor a painter exhibit their effects upon canvas. Nature therefore must be his guide, particularly in treating those very minute and almost imperceptible differences, by which, however, things very different from each other are often expressed. This is particularly the case with regard to the passions of laughing and crying; as in these, however contrary, the muscles of the face operate nearly in the same manner. As the famous Pietro de Cortona was one day finishing the face of a crying child in a representation of the Iron Age, with which he was adorning the floor called the Hot-bath in the royal palace of Pitti, Ferdinand II., who happened to be looking over him for his amusement, could not forbear expressing his approbation, by crying out, "Oh how well that child cries!" To whom the artist,—"Has your majesty a mind to see how easy it is to make children laugh? Behold, I'll prove it in an instant:" And taking up his pencil, by giving the contour of the mouth a concave turn downwards instead of the convex upwards which it before had, and with little or no alteration in any other part of the face, he made the child, who a little before seemed ready to burst its heart with crying, appear in equal danger of bursting its sides with immoderate laughter; and then, by restoring the altered features to their former position, he soon set the child a-crying again."

The different expressions of laughter and weeping are thus described by Le Brun. "The movements of laughter are expressed by the eye-brows elevated towards the middle of the eye, and lowered towards the sides of the nose: the eyes, almost shut, appear sometimes moistened with tears: the mouth, a little open, allows the teeth to be seen: the extremities of the mouth drawn back, make a dimple in the cheeks, which appear to be swelled: the nostrils are open: and the face becomes red. The changes which weeping occasions are equally visible. The eye-brow is lowered on the middle of the forehead; the eyes are almost shut, moistened, and lowered towards the sides of the cheeks: the nostrils are swelled, and the veins of the forehead very apparent: the mouth shut, by the lowness of its sides, occasions wrinkles in the cheeks; the under lip is turned down, and presses at the same time the upper lip: the whole countenance is wrinkled and becomes red; especially the eye-brows, the eyes, the nose, and the cheeks."

According to Leonardo da Vinci, the best masters that a painter can have recourse to in this branch are those dumb men who have found out the method of expressing their sentiments by the motion of their hands, eyes, eye-brows, and in short every other part of the body. If this advice be at all proper, such gestures must be imitated with great sobriety and moderation, lest they should appear too strong and exaggerated; and the piece should show nothing but pantomimes, when speaking figures alone are to be exhibited; and so become theatrical and second-hand, or, at best, look like the copy of a theatrical and second-hand nature.

The artist will reap greater benefit from studying such fine ancient heads as those of Mithridates, Seneca, Alexander dying, Cleopatra, Niobe, &c. and above all, from attentively observing such movements of nature as we daily meet with in the world. But let him chiefly consult his looking-glass, and study after his own face, what, in certain expressions, are the muscles, the lineaments, the tints, and the accidental circumstances which characterise the situation of the soul. It rarely happens that a model, which is affected with no sentiment, presents that to us which we ourselves feel, and which we are capable of expressing when we are our own model. Puget executed the legs of his Milo after his own; and many ingenious artists have had recourse to a similar expedient. In short, to be affected ourselves is the true secret of affecting the spectator.

We must not neglect, at the same time, to secure the fleeting characters which nature presents to us on a thousand occasions. We must distrust our memory, and all the resources which are not easily employed when we happen to stand in need of them. It is necessary to watch the circumstances from which we can derive any useful hint; to seize them when they present themselves; and to be careful never to lose, by an irreparable negligence, the fruit of a happy incident.

Let us also endeavour to possess the feeling of what we are to express: whether it be by forming the image of a thing absent as if it were present, or by being affected with the lively idea of a situation which we have either experienced, or with which we have seen another person remarkably affected. We must never forget, that all the terrible or agreeable, the violent or flight movements, are to be treated in a natural manner, and bear a relation to the age, condition, sex, and dignity of the person. Those gradations, which art varies according to the nature of the situation, and the character of men, compose the principal ingredients of discernment, knowledge, and taste. They have been the objects of attention and inquiry to the most eminent painters of every age; and they were of the last importance in assisting them to arrive at that degree of excellence to which they have carried expression.

We are told strange things of the ancient painters of Greece in regard to expression; especially of Ariadnides; who, in a picture of his, representing a woman wounded to death at a siege, with a child crawling to her breast, makes her appear afraid, left the child, when she was dead, should, for want of milk, suck her blood. A Medea murdering her children, by Timonachus, was likewise much cried up, as the ingenious artist contrived to express, at once, in her countenance, both the fury that hurried her on to the commission of so great a crime, and the tenderness of a mother that seemed to withhold her from it. Rubens attempted to express such a double effect in the face of Mary at Me- dicis, fill in pain from her past labour, and at the same time full of joy at the birth of a Dauphin. And in the countenance of Sancta Polonia, painted by Tiepolo for St Anthony's church at Padua, one may clearly read a mixture of pain from the wound given her by the executioner, and of pleasure from the prospect of paradise opened to her by it.

Few, to say the truth, are the examples of strong expression afforded by the Venetian, Flemish, or Lombard schools. Deprived of that great happiness, the happiness of being able to contemplate, at leisure, the works of the ancients, the purest sources of perfection in point of design, expression, and character; and having nothing but nature constantly before their eyes; they made strength of colouring, blooming complections, and the grand effects of the chiaro-obscuro, their principal study: they aimed more at charming the senses than at captivating the understanding. The Venetians, in particular, seem to have placed their whole glory in setting off their pieces with all that rich variety of personages and drabs, which their capital is continually receiving by means of its extensive commerce, and which attracts so much the eyes of all those who visit it. It is much to be doubted, if, in all the pictures of Paolo Veronese, there is to be found a bold and judicious expression, or one of those attitudes which, as Petrarch expresses it, speak without words; unless, perhaps, it be that remarkable one in his Mar- riage Feast of Cana of Galilee. At one end of the table, and directly opposite to the bridegroom, whose eyes are fixed upon her, there appears a woman in red, holding up to him the skirts of her garment; as much as to say, we may suppose, that the wine miraculously produced was exactly of the colour with the stuff on her back. And in fact it is red wine we see in the cups and pitchers. But all this while the faces and attitudes of most of the company betray not the least sign of wonder at so extraordinary a miracle. They all, in a manner, appear intent upon nothing but eating, drinking, and making merry. Such, in general, is the style of the Venetian school. The Florentine, over which Michael Angelo presided, above all things curious of design, was most minutely and scrupulously exact in point of anatomy. On this he set her heart, and took singular pleasure in displaying it. Not only elegance of form, and nobleness of invention, but likewise strength of expression, triumph in the Roman school, nurfed as it were amongst the works of the Greeks, and in the bosom of a city which had once been the seminary of learning and politeness. Here it was that Domenichino and Poufli, both great masters of expression, refined themselves, as appears more particularly by the St Jerome of the one, and the Death of Germanicus, and the Slaughter of the Innocents, by the other. Here it was that Raphael arose, the sovereign matter of them all. One would imagine that pictures, which are generally considered as the books of the ignorant, and of the ignorant only, he had undertaken to make the instructors even of the learned. One would imagine, that he intended in some measure, to justify Quintilian *, who * Instit. affirms, that painting has more power over us than all lib. xi. c. the arts of rhetoric. There is not, indeed, a single pic- ture of Raphael's, from the study of which those who are curious in point of expression may not reap great benefit; particularly his Martyrdom of St Felicitas, his Transfigurations, his Joseph explaining to Pharaoh his dream, a piece to highly rated by Poussin. His School of Athens in the Vatican, is, to all intents and purposes, a school of expression. Among the many miracles of art with which this piece abounds, we shall single out that of the four boys attending on a mathematician, who, flopping to the ground with his compasses in his hand, is giving them the demonstration of a theorem. One of the boys, recollecting within himself, keeps back, with all the appearance of profound attention to the reasoning of the matter; another, by the briskness of his attitude, discovers a greater quickness of apprehension; while the third, who has already seized the conclusion, is endeavouring to beat it into the fourth, who, standing motionless, with open arms, a staring countenance, and an unspakable air of fluidity in his looks, will never perhaps be able to make any thing of the matter. And it is probable from this very group that Albani, who studied Raphael so closely, drew the following precept of his; "That it behoves a painter to express more circumstances than one, by every attitude; and so to employ his figures, that, by barely seeing what they are actually about, one may be able to guess, both what they have been already doing, and are next going to do." This is indeed a difficult precept; but it is only by a due observance of it that the eye and the mind can be made to hang in suspense on a painted piece of canvas. It is expression that a painter, ambitious to soar in his profession, must, above all things, labour to perfect himself in. It is the last goal of his art, as Socrates proves to Parrhasius. It is in expression that dumb poetry consists, and what the prince of our poets calls a visible language.

Sect. IX. Of Invention.

As the operations of a general should all ultimately tend to battle and conquest, so should all the thoughts of a painter to perfect invention. Now, the studies which we have been hitherto recommending, will prove so many wings by which he may raise himself, as it were, from the ground, and soar on high, when deject of trying his strength this way, and producing something from his own hand. Invention is the finding out probable things, not only such as are adapted to the subject in hand, but such, besides, as by their sublimity and beauty are most capable of exciting suitable sentiments in the spectator, and of making him, when they happen to be well executed, fancy that it is the subject itself in its greatest perfection, and not a mere representation of it, that he has before him. We do not say true things, but probable things; because probability or verisimilitude is, in fact, the truth of those arts which have the fancy for their object. It is, indeed, the business and duty of both naturalists and historians to draw objects as they find them, and represent them with all those imperfections and blemishes, to which, as individuals, they are subject. But an ideal painter, and such alone is a true painter, resembles the poet: instead of copying, he imitates: that is, he works with his fancy, and represents objects endowed with all that perfection which belongs to the species, and may be conceived in the archetype.

"'Tis nature all, but nature methodis'd;" says an eminent poet, speaking of poetry: And the same may be said of painting; it is nature methodized, and made perfect. Inasmuch, that the circumstances of the action, exalted and sublimed to the highest degree of beauty and boldness they are susceptible of, may, though possible, have never happened exactly such as the painter fancies and thinks proper to represent them. Thus, the piety of Æneas, and the anger of Achilles, are things so perfect in their kind, as to be merely probable. And it is for this reason that poetry, which is only another word for invention, is more philosophical, more instructive, and more entertaining, than history.

Here it is proper to observe, what great advantages the ancient had over the modern painters. The history of the times they lived in, fraught with great and glorious events, was to them a rich mine of the most noble subjects, which, besides, often derived no small sublimity and pathos from the mythology upon which their religion was founded. So far were their gods from being immaterial, and placed at an infinite distance above their worshippers; to far was their religion from recommending humility, penance, and self-denial, that, on the contrary, it appeared calculated merely to flatter the senses, inflame the passions, and poison the fancy. By making the gods partake of our nature, and subjecting them to the same passions, it gave man hopes of being able to mix with those who, though greatly above him, resembled him, notwithstanding, in so many respects. Besides, those deities of theirs were in a manner visible, and to be met at every step. The sea was crowded with Tritons and Nereids, the rivers with Naiads, and the mountains with Dryads. The woods swarmed with Fauns and Nymphs, who, in these obscure retreats, fought an asylum for their stolen embraces. The most potent empires, the most noble families, the most celebrated heroes, all derived their pedigree from the greater divinities. Nay, gods interceted themselves in all the concerns of mankind. Apollo, the god of long arrows, stood by the side of Hector in the fields of Troy, and inspired him with new strength and courage to batter down the walls and burn the ships of the Greeks. These, on the other hand, were led on to the fight and animated by Minerva, preceded by Terror, and followed by Death. Jove nods, his divine locks shake on his immortal head; Olympus trembles. With that countenance, which allays the tempest, and restores serenity to the heavens, he gathers kisses from the mouth of Venus, the delight of gods and of men. Among the ancients, every thing sported with the fancy; and in those works which depend entirely on the imagination, some of our greatest masters have thought they could not do better than borrow from the Pagans, if we may be allowed to say it, their pictures of Tartarus, in order to render their own drawings of hell more striking.

After all, there have not been wanting able inventors in painting among the moderns. Michael Angelo, notwithstanding the depth and boldness of his own fancy, is not ashamed in some of his compositions, to Dantize; as Phidias and Apelles may be said formerly to have Invention. Homerized. Raphael, too, tutored by the Greeks, has found means, like Virgil, to extract the quintessence of truth; has seasoned his works with grace and nobleness; and exalted nature, in a manner, above herself, by giving her an aspect more beautiful, more animating, and more sublime, than she is in reality accustomed to wear. In point of invention, Domenichino and Hannibal Caracci come very near Raphael, especially in the pieces painted by them in Rome; nor does Pouffin fall very short of him in some of his pictures, particularly in his Eijher before Ahaferus, and his Death of Germanicus, the richest jewel belonging to the Barberine family. Of all the painters who have acquired any extraordinary degree of reputation, no one studied less to set off his pieces by bold and beautiful circumstances, or was more a stranger to what is called poetical perfection, than Jacopo Bassano. Among the numberless instances we could produce of his carelessness this way, let it suffice to mention a Preaching of St Paul painted by him in a place, near that of his birth, called Marylebo. Instead of representing the apostle full of a divine enthusiasm, as Raphael has done, and thundering against the superstitions of the heathen in an assembly of Athenians; instead of exhibiting one of his auditors struck to the quick, another persuaded, a third inflamed; he makes him hold forth, in a village of the Venetian state, to a parcel of poor peasants and their wives, who take not the least notice of him; the women especially, who seem to mind nothing but the country labours in which he had found them employed.

With regard to invention, painting and poetry resemble each other so much in many other respects, besides that of combining in every action all the beauty and elegance it will admit, that they well deserve the name of sister arts. They differ, however, in one point, and that too of no small importance. It is this. The poet, in the representation of his story, relates what has already happened, prepares that which is still to come, and so proceeds, step by step, through all the circumstances of the action; and, to produce the greater effect on his hearers, avails himself of the succession of time and place. The painter, on the contrary, deprived of such helps, must be content to depend upon one single moment. But what a moment! A moment, in which he may conjure up, at once, to the eyes of the spectator, a thousand objects; a moment, teeming with the most beautiful circumstances that can attend the action; a moment, equivalent to the successive labours of the poet. This the works of the greatest masters, which are everywhere to be seen, sufficiently evince: among others, the St Paul at Lystra, by Raphael, whom it is impossible not to praise as often as this picture is mentioned. In order to give the spectator a thorough insight into the subject of this piece, the painter has placed in the front of it the cripple already restored to his limbs by the apostle, fired with gratitude towards his benefactor, and exciting his countrymen to yield him all kinds of honour. Round the cripple are some figures lifting up the skirts of his coat, in order to look at the legs reduced to their proper shape, and acknowledging by gestures full of astonishment the reality of the miracle; an invention, says a certain author, a professed admirer of antiquity, which might have been proposed as an example in the happiest age of Greece.

We have another shining instance of the power of painting to introduce a greater variety of objects on the scene at the same time, and of the advantage it has in this respect over poetry, in a drawing by the celebrated La Fage. This drawing represents the descent of Æneas into hell. The field is the dark caverns of Pluto's kingdom, through the middle of which creeps slowly the muddy and melancholy Acheron. Nearly in the centre of the piece appears Æneas with the golden bough in his hand, and with an air of astonishment at what he sees. The Sibyl, who accompanies him, is answering the questions which he asks her. The personage there is the ferryman of the pitchy lake, by which even the gods themselves are afraid to swear. Those who, crowding in to the banks of the river, numberless as the leaves shaken off the trees by autumnal blasts, express, with outstretched hands, an impatience to be ferried to the opposite shore, are the unhappy manes, who, for want of burial, are unqualified for that happiness. Charon, accordingly, is crying out to them, and with his lifted-up oar driving them from his boat, which has already taken in a number of those who had been honoured with the accustomed funeral rites. Behind Æneas and the Sibyl we discover a confused group of wretched souls, lamenting bitterly their misfortune in being denied a passage; two of them wrapped up in their clothes; and, in a fit of despair, sunk upon a rock. Upon the first lines of the piece stands a third group of unhonoured shades. Leucaspes, Orontes, and, in the midst of them, the good old Palimurus, formerly master and pilot of the hero's own vessel, who with joined hands most earnestly desires to be taken along with him into the boat, that, after death, at least, he may find some repose, and his dead body no longer remain the sport of winds and waves. Thus, what we see scattered up and down in many verses by Virgil, is here, as it were, gathered into a focus, and concentrated by the ingenious pencil of the painter, so as to form a subject well worthy of being exposed, in more shapes than one, to the eyes of the public.

When a painter takes a subject in hand, be it historical, be it fabulous, he should carefully peruse the books which treat of it, imprint well on his mind all the circumstances that attend it, the persons concerned in it, and the passions with which they must have been feverally animated; not omitting the particulars of time and place. His next business is to create it, as it were, anew, observing the rules already laid down for that purpose: From what is true, choosing that which is most striking; and clothing his subject with such accessory circumstances and actions, as may render it more conspicuous, pathetic, and noble, and best display the powers of the inventive faculty. But, in doing this, great discretion is requisite; for, let his imagination grow ever so warm, his hand is never to execute any thing that is not fully approved by his judgement. Nothing low or vulgar should appear in a lofty and noble argument; a fault, of which some of the greatest masters, even Lampieri and Pouffin, have been now and then guilty.

The action must be one, the place one, the time one. We need not lay any thing of those painters, who, like the writers of the Chinese and Spanish theatre, cram a variety of actions together, and so give us at once the whole life of a man. Such blunders, it is presumed, are too gross to be feared at present. The politeness and learning of the age seem to demand considerations of a more refined nature; such as, that the episodes introduced in the drama of a picture, the better to fill and adorn it, should not be only beautiful in themselves, but indissolubly requisite. The games celebrated at the tomb of Anchises, in Sicily, have a greater variety in them, and more sources of delight, than those that had been before celebrated at the tomb of Patroclus under the walls of Troy. The arms forged by Vulcan for Aeneas, if not better tempered, are at least better engraved, than those which the same god had forged several ages before for Achilles. Nevertheless, in the eyes of judges, both the games and the arms of Homer are more pleasing than those of Virgil, because the former are more necessary in the Iliad than the latter in the Aeneid. Every part should agree with, and have a relation to, the whole. Unity should reign even in variety; for in this beauty consists. This is a fundamental maxim in all the arts whose object it is to imitate the works of nature.

Pictures often borrow no small grace and beauty from the fictions of poetry. Albani has left us, in several of his works, sufficient proofs of the great share the belles lettres had in refining his taste. But Raphael, above all others, may in this branch too be considered as a guide and master. To give but one instance out of many; what a beautiful thought was it to represent the river himself, in a Passage of Jordan, supporting his waters with his own hands, in order to open a way to the army of the Israelites! Nor has he displayed less judgment in reviving, in his designs engraved by Agostino of Venice, the little loves of Aetius playing with the arms of Alexander, conquered by the beauty of Roxana.

Among the ancients, Apelles and Parrhasius were those who distinguished themselves most in allegorical subjects, in which the inventive faculty shows itself to the greatest advantage; the first by his picture of Calumny*, the second by that of the Genius of the Athenians†. The ancient painter called Galaton gave likewise a fine proof of his genius in this branch, by representing a great number of poets greedily quenching their thirst in the waters gulping from the mouth of the sublime Homer. And to this allegory, according to Guigni, Pliny‡ has an eye, when he calls that prince of poets the fountain of sirs. But it is, after all, no way surprising that we should often meet such fine flights of fancy in the ancient artists. They were not guided in their works by a blind practice: they were men of polite education, conversant with the letters of the age in which they lived; and the companions rather than the servants of the great men who employed them. The finest allegorical painter among the moderns was Rubens; and he was accordingly much celebrated for it. The best critics, however, find fault with his uniting in the Luxemburg gallery, the queen-mother, in council, with two cardinals and Mercury. Nor is there less impropriety in his making Tritons and Nereids, in another piece of the same gallery, swim to the queen's vessel through the galleys of the knights of St Stephen. Such freedoms are equally disagreeing with the prophecies of Sannazaro's Proteus, concerning the mystery of the incarnation, or the Indian kings of Camoens, reasoning with the Portuguese on the adventures of Ulysses.

The best modern performances in picturesque allegory are certainly those of Poussin; who availed himself, with great discretion and judgment, of the vast treasures with which, by a close study of the ancients, he had enriched his memory. On the other hand, Le Brun, his countryman, has been very unhappy this way. Ambitious to have every thing his own, instead of allegories, he has filled the gallery of Versailles with enigmas and riddles, of which none but himself was qualified to be the Oedipus. Allegory must be ingenious, it is true; but then it must be equally perspicuous; for which reason, a painter should avoid all vague and indeterminate allusions, and likewise those to history and heathen mythology, which are too abstruse to be understood by the generality of spectators. The best way, perhaps, to symbolize moral and abstract things, is to represent particular events: as Caracci did, by advice of Montfignon See Belot-Aguicchi, in the Farnese palace. For example, what can better express a hero's love towards his country, than the virtuous Decius consecrating himself boldly to the infernal gods, in order to secure victory to his countrymen over their enemies? What finer emblems can we desire of emulation, and an infatiable thirst for glory, than Julius Caesar weeping before the statue of Alexander in the temple of Hercules at Gades; of the inconstancy of fortune, than Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage, and receiving, instead of the acclamations of an army joyfully saluting him imperator, orders from a lister of Sextilus to quit Africa; of indiscriction, than Candaules, who, by showing the naked beauties of his wife to his friend Gyges, kindled a passion that soon made him repent his folly? Such representations as these require no comment; they carry their explanations along with them. Besides, supposing, and it is the worst we can suppose, that the painter's aim in them should happen not to be understood, his piece would still give delight. It is thus that the fables of Ariosto prove so entertaining, even to those who understand nothing of the moral couched under them; and likewise the Aeneis, though all do not comprehend the allusions and double intent of the poet.

Sect. X. Of Disposition.

So much for invention. Disposition, which may be considered as a branch of invention, consists in the proper stationing of what the inventive faculty has imagined, so as to express the subject in the most lively manner. The chief merit of disposition may be said to consist in that disorder, which, wearing the appearance of mere chance, is in fact the most studied effect of art. A painter, therefore, is equally to avoid the dryness of those ancients who always planted their figures like so many couples in a procession, and the affectation of those moderns who jumble them together as if they were met merely to fight and squabble. In this branch Raphael was happy enough to choose the just medium, and attain perfection. The disposition of his figures is always exactly such as the subject requires. In the Battle of Constantine, they are confusedly clustered with as much art, as they are regularly marshalled in Chrift's commitment of the keys to St Peter, and constituting him prince of the apostles.

Let the inferior figures of a piece be placed as they will, the principal figure should strike the eye most, and stand: fland out, as it were, from among the rest. This may be affected various ways, as by placing it on the foremost lines; or in some other conspicuous part of the piece; by exhibiting it, in a manner, by itself; by making the principal light fall upon it; by giving it the most resplendent drapery; or, indeed, by several of these methods, nay, by all of them together. For, being the hero of the picturesque fable, it is but just that it should draw the eye to itself, and lord it, as it were, over all the other objects.

According to Leon Batista Alberti, painters should follow the example of comic writers, who compose their fable of as few persons as possible. For, in fact, a crowded picture is apt to give as much pain to the spectator, as a crowded road to the traveller.

Some subjects, it must be granted, require a number, nay, a nation, as it were, of figures. On these occasions, it depends entirely on the skill of the painter to dispose of them in such a manner, that the principal ones may always make the principal appearance; and contrive matters so that the piece be not overcrowded, or want convenient rests and pauses. He must, in a word, take care that his piece be full, but not charged. In this respect, the Battles of Alexander by Le Brun are masterpieces which can never be sufficiently studied; whereas nothing, on the other hand, can be more unhappy than the famous Paradiso of Tintoret, which covers one entire side of the great council-chamber at Venice. It appears no better than a confused heap of figures, a swarm, a cloud, a chaos, which pains and fatigues the eye. What a pity it is that he did not dispose this subject after a model of his own, now in the gallery of Bevilacqua at Verona! In this last the several choirs of martyrs, virgins, bishops, and other saints, are judiciously thrown into so many clusters, parted here and there by a fine fleece of clouds, so as to exhibit the innumerable host of heaven drawn up in a way that makes a most agreeable and glorious appearance. There goes a story, to our purpose, of a celebrated matter, who in a drawing of the Universal Deluge, the better to express the immensity of the waters that covered the earth, left a corner of his paper without figures. Being asked, if he did not intend to fill it up: No, said he; do not you see my leaving it empty is what precisely constitutes the picture?

The reason for breaking a composition into several groups is, that the eye, passing freely from one object to another, may the better comprehend the whole. But the painter is not to stop here; for these groups are, besides, to be so artfully put together, as to form rich clutters, give the whole composition a singular air of grandeur, and afford the spectator an opportunity of discerning the piece at a distance, and taking the whole in, as it were, at a single glance. These effects are greatly promoted by a due regard to the nature of colours, so as not to place together those which are apt to pain by their opposition, or distract by their variety. They should be so judiciously disposed as to temper and qualify each other.

A proper use of the chiaro-furoso is likewise of great service on this occasion. The groups are easily parted, and the whole picture acquires a grand effect, by introducing some strong falls of shade, and, above all, one principal beam of light. This method has been followed with great success by Rembrandt in a famous picture of his, representing the Virgin at the foot of the cross Disposition. on Mount Calvary; the principal light darting upon her through a break of the clouds, while the rest of the figures about her stand more or less in the shade. Tintoret, too, acquired great reputation, as well by that briskness with which he enlivened his figures, as by his masterly manner of flading them; and Polidoro de Caravaggio, though he scarcely painted anything but basso-relievos, was particularly famous for introducing with great skill the effects of the chiaro-furoso, a thing first attempted by Mantegna in his Triumph of Julius Caesar. It is by this means that his compositions appear so strikingly divided into different groups, and, among their other perfections, afford so much delight through the beautiful disposition that reigns in them.

In like manner, a painter, by the help of perspective, especially that called aerial, the opposition of local colours, and other contrivances which he may expect to hit upon by studying nature, and those who have best studied her before him, will be able not only to part his groups, but make them appear at different distances, so as to leave sufficient passages between them.

But the greatest caution is to be used in the pursuit of the methods here laid down; especially in the management of the chiaro-furoso, that the effects attributed to light and shade, and to their various concomitants, may not run counter to truth and experience. This is a capital point. For this purpose, a painter would do well to make, in little figures, as Tintoret and Poufian used to do, a model of the subject that he intends to represent, and then illuminate it by lamp or candle-light. By this means he may come to know with certainty, if the chiaro-furoso, which he has formed in his mind, does not clash with the reason of things. By varying the height and direction of his light, he may easily discover such accidental effects as are most likely to recommend his performance, and so establish a proper system for the illuminating it. Nor will he afterwards find it a difficult matter to modify the quality of his shades, by softening or strengthening them, according to the situation of his scene, and the quality of the light falling upon it. If it should happen to be a candle or lamp-light scene, he would then have nothing to do but consider his model well, and faithfully copy it.

In the next place, to turn a group elegantly, the best pattern is that of a bunch of grapes adopted by Titian. As, of the many grains that compose a bunch of grapes, some are struck directly by the light, and those opposite to them are in the shade, whilst the intermediate ones partake of both light and shade in a greater or less degree; so, according to Titian, the figures of a group should be so disposed, that, by the union of the chiaro-furoso, several things may appear as it were but one thing. And in fact it is only from his having pursued this method, that we can account for the very grand effect of his pieces this way, in which it is impossible to study him too much.

The mannerists, who do not follow nature in the track of the masters just mentioned, are apt to commit many faults. The reason of their figures calling their shades in this or that manner seldom appears in the picture, or at least does not appear sufficiently probable. They are, besides, wont to trespass all bounds in splashing their pieces with light, that is, in enlivening those parts which we usually term the darks of a picture. This method, Disposition, no doubt, has sometimes a very fine effect; but it is, however, to be used with no small discretion, as otherwise the whole loses that union, that pause, that majestic silence, as Caracci used to call it, which affords so much pleasure. The eye is not less hurt by many lights scattered here and there over a picture, than the ear is by the confused noise of different persons speaking all together in an assembly.

Guido Reni, who has imparted to his paintings that gaiety and splendor in which he lived, seems enamoured with a bright and open light; whereas Michael Angelo de Caravaggio, who was of a full and savage disposition, appears fondest of a gloomy and clouded sky: so that neither of them were qualified to handle indifferently all objects. The chiaro furo may likewise prove of great service to a painter in giving his composition a grand effect; but, nevertheless, the light he chooses must be adapted to the situation of the scene where the action is laid: nor would he be less faulty, who in a grotto or cavern, where the light entered by a chink, should make his shades soft and tender, than he who should represent them strong and bold in an open fly-light.

But this is by no means the only fault which mannerists are apt to be guilty of in historical pieces, and particularly in the disposition of their figures. To lay nothing of their favourite group of a woman lying on the ground with one child at her breast, and another playing about her, and the like, which they generally place on the first lines of their pieces; nor of those half-figures in the background peeping out from the hollows contrived for them: they make a common practice of mixing naked with clothed figures; old men with young; placing one figure with its face towards you, and another with its back; they contrive violent motions with languid attitudes, and seem to aim at opposition in every thing; whereas oppositions never please, but when they arise naturally from the subject, like antitheses in a discourse.

As to foreshortened figures, too much affectation in using or avoiding them is equally blamable. The attitudes had better be composed than otherwise. It very seldom happens that there is any occasion for making them so impetuous as to be in danger of losing their equilibrium; a thing too much practised by some painters.

In regard to drapery, equal care should be taken to avoid that poverty, which makes some masters look as if, through mere penury, they grudged clothes to their figures; and that profusion which Albani imputed to Guido, saying, that he was rather a tailor than a painter. The ornaments of dress should be used with great sobriety; and it will not be amiss to remember what was once said to an ancient painter: "I pity you greatly: unable to make Helen handsome, you have taken care to make her fine."

Let the whole, in a word, and all the different parts of the disposition, possess probability, grace, costume, and the particular character of what is to be represented. Let nothing look like uniformity of manner; which does not appear less in the composition than it does in colouring, drapery, and design; and is, as it were, that kind of accent, by which painters may be as readily distinguished as foreigners are, by pronouncing in the same manner all the different languages they happen to be acquainted with.

Sect. XI. Of Illusion.

Among painters, and the writers on painting, there is one maxim universally admitted and continually inculcated; it is, that nature ought to be imitated, and objects are said to be represented naturally, when they have such relief that they may seem real. If we inquire to what degree painting may carry this illusion, we shall find that it deceives the eye, and obliges the spectator to employ the touch in mouldings and in basso-relievos where they are a little projected; but that it is weakened, and the effect partly destroyed where the projection is one or two feet. It is possible also to make it in the highest degree complete in pictures of flowers, fruits, and other representations of still life, provided they be seen in a certain point of view, and at a considerable distance; but there is no example of a picture containing a number of figures, and placed in a proper light, being mistaken for real life. We are told, indeed, of a bust of an abbe painted by Charles Coypel, which, placed in a certain direction behind a table, and in a certain light, deceived several persons so completely as to induce them to salute it: but, without admitting any thing very extraordinary in the projection or illusion of this painting, it is evident, from the circumstances attending the relation, that the deception arose from surprise and inattention, which might happen to a production of an inferior artist. And hence we may conclude that it is vain to pretend to perfect the illusion, especially in pictures consisting of a number of figures, and with considerable distances supposed between them.

Among the obstacles which are opposed to the perfection of this branch of the art, we shall chiefly attend to those which naturally proceed from our habits of thinking and judging on all occasions. These, together with the experience we daily have of light on all kinds of surfaces, and of all colours, are sufficient to demonstrate the want of reality in the mere representation of any scenes.

It has been elsewhere shewn, that distance, figure, and magnitude, are not naturally objects of perception by the sense of sight; that we judge of these things by the eye only, in consequence of affections early formed between the perceptions of touch and the corresponding impressions on the retina and optic nerve by the rays of light; and that a painter makes his picture resemble the original, merely by laying his colours on a plane surface in such a manner, as that they reflect the same rays of light with the convex or concave original, when the spectator stands at the proper distance (see Metaphysics, No 49, 50, 51, 52, and 95.). But if this be admitted, illusion in painting can never be made perfect, on account of the inevitable falsity of the shades which mark the most distant parts of the picture. The painter can only imitate those shades by obscure colours, laid on a plane surface, and susceptible of reflecting the light with a degree of force relative to the real distance. Now our eyes give us the true plane of this surface, opposed to the idea of deepening which the painter wishes to produce, a contrariety which prevents the deception. On this account, the faults found in the works of the greatest greatest masters, with regard to the effects produced by the whole, most frequently relate to their manner of shading, which is sufficient to prove, that the want of illusion in painting depends chiefly on the imperfection of the shades.

This defect, though it cannot be wholly avoided, may yet be rendered less perceptible. There has yet, indeed, been no painter able to imitate shadow, nor is it probable that any one will ever perfectly accomplish his task. Shadow in nature is not a body, but the privation of light, which destroys colours in a greater or less degree, in proportion as it is more or less complete. Now the painter can only imitate this privation and real darkness, by colours which must from their very nature be capable of reflecting light.—The colours may be more or less obscure, but they preserve always something which gives a mixture of reflection. To carry the imitation of shadow to the highest degree of perfection, it would be necessary to apply a colour capable of darkening all others, more or less as there should be occasion, and which might have no visible trace of its existence, that is, no one part of it which reflected one coloured ray more strongly than another. Perhaps this kind of negative colour might be found in practice to be of service to the art; but it would not render the surface totally invisible, for it would be necessary, farther, that it should have the property of not reflecting a single ray of light when exposed to it; which is altogether impossible, as there is no colour or body in nature without reflection in such a situation.

We shall be further convinced of the impossibility of painting shadow, if we attend to the pictures of the greatest masters, with regard to the imitation of truth. Every part, when taken by itself, connected with light, or with deminits, presents a perfect imitation. Even the different degrees of light or the objects are sufficiently exact; but notwithstanding this assemblage of circumstances corresponding with truth, and of which the result should be perfect illusion, yet in considering the whole, we are never so completely deceived, as to take a picture for a reality; from which we may conclude, that the want of illusion proceeds almost entirely from the imperfection of shading.

Illusion then, in the strictest sense, cannot exist in painting; but there is another kind of illusion, perhaps improperly so called, which is one of the principal parts of the art, and worthy of the greatest attention: It is, that the picture shall resemble truth to such a degree, by the justness of its forms, by the combination of colours, and by all its general effects, that the image shall give all the pleasure to be expected from the imitation of truth. This is not illusion in the proper sense of the word, since it exists as well in pictures on a small scale as in those of equal dimensions with the original; but it is that truth of imitation of which painting is susceptible, even in pictures containing any numbers of figures at any reasonable distance from each other.

But it remains to be considered whether this imitation of truth, taken by itself, be the highest attainable perfection in painting. It is generally granted, that the greatest beauty is that which not only pleases at first view, but on the nearest and most critical examination. But if illusion, such as we have described it, were the sole merit of the art, it would follow, that the person who was least acquainted with its beauties would experience the same pleasure as he who had studied them most. Farther, in examining the works of the greatest masters, it is easy to perceive, that it is not their illusion which has excited the attention and admiration of the critic. Even the works of the divine Raphael do not deceive the eye in any point of view more completely than those of an ordinary painter. Raphael, pure in his character and design, is, without doubt, very deficient in this part of the art. Meanwhile the grandeur of his ideas in composition, and the choice of his forms; the beauty of his heads, wherein one does not admire simply the imitation of any known truth; his ingenious and noble manner in drapery, which yet does not resemble any known stuff, or the garb of any nation; in short, all his beauties are superior to the simple imitation of truth, and contradict the sentiment of the greatest pleasure arising from illusion.

If we pass to those who have pursued colouring with the greatest success, we shall find them, doubtless, approach nearer to illusion than those who have neglected it; and it is also a fact, that their works have been more universally admired.

At the same time it is not the illusion occasioned by colours which has altogether excited this admiration. The exquisite deminits and the freshness of Corregio and Titian, which excel the ordinary beauties of nature, and even imitate her most perfect productions, may perhaps not be considered as destroying illusion; but it is no less a fact, that weaker and less precious colouring would carry it to greater perfection. Besides, this large, easy, and exquisite manner of painting, this harmony, of which they have given us the best examples, are owing to qualities in them much more excellent than what would be sufficient to produce the simple imitation of truth. Guido, Cortona, and some others, appear to approach nearer to illusion. But even those masters prove by their works, that the most estimable beauties in painting do not all tend to this branch of the art; for notwithstanding the high character which they have gained, they are much inferior to Raphael, Corregio, and Titian, although the first failed in colouring and in the knowledge of the claro-oscuro, the second in point of correctness, and the third in the choice of noble subjects.

From this we may conclude, that the nearest resemblance to truth is not the sole object in painting; that it requires a superior degree of elevation by the art of adding beauty and perfection to the most exact resemblance; and that it is this art which distinguishes and characterizes extraordinary men.

If we run over the great branches of painting, we shall find a number of essential beauties different from those which are capable of carrying illusion to the greatest possible height. In composition, we principally admire the extent of genius, the choice of picturesque and graceful attitudes, the ingenious combination of groups, whether in uniting the light and shade in order to obtain the greatest effect, or in disposing a whole in such a manner as to make no part superfluous; and finally, that kind of practical talent by which the mind takes position of nature, and forces it to produce all the beauties of which the art is susceptible. In this enumeration of particulars it is easy to perceive that the beauties of composition are very distant from those of illusion. To obtain illusion in design, there is no occasion for correctness nor taste beyond what is perceived in nature by the most ignorant spectator. And with regard to colouring, that is not always most admired which is most natural. What departs widely from truth, indeed, is not of consequence beautiful, but many qualities are required besides the simple imitation of truth. Freshness, ease, and transparency in certain tones, are deemed absolutely requisite; and the most esteemed colourists have carried their beauties in all these respects beyond what they have seen in nature. If some tones in the fleshly parts have approached towards vermilion, to a light-blue, or a silver-gray, they have made them more apparent; not only to point them out to the spectator, but to show their knowledge in the discovery and their art in painting them. This would have been going beyond the limits of perfection, if these had consisted in simple illusion.

The opposition of colour, of light, and of shade, would have been in this case also superfluous; for nature is always true, without any pointed attempt to make her more engaging. The suppression of certain lights, which truth would require, and which art extinguishes, in order to augment the harmony of effect, would be also worthy of censure, whatever pleasure would result from it.

Finally, one of the greatest beauties of the art, namely, the peculiar manner of a great master, has no relation to illusion. This is not even founded in nature, but depends on the genius or singularity of the artist. It is this manner which distinguishes the original of a great master from the most exact copy; and which characterizes the talents of the artists so well, that the smallest part of the picture, and even the least interesting, is sufficient to discover the painter. The distinction between the beautiful and illusive in painting has made Sir Joshua Reynolds, in express terms, recommend a perfection superior to the imitation of nature. "The principle now laid down (says he), that the perfection of the art does not consist in mere imitation, is far from being new or singular. It is, indeed, supported by the general opinion of the enlightened part of mankind. The poets, orators, and rhetoricians of antiquity, are continually enforcing this position, that all the arts receive their perfection from an ideal beauty, superior to what is to be found in individual nature. They are ever referring to the practice of the painters and sculptors of their times, particularly Phidias the favourite artist of antiquity, to illustrate their assertions. As if they could not sufficiently express their admiration of his genius by what they knew, they have recourse to poetical enthusiasm. They call it inspiration; a gift from heaven. The artist is supposed to have ascended the celestial region to furnish his mind with this perfect idea of beauty. 'He (says Proclus) who takes for his model such forms as nature produces, and confines himself to an exact imitation of them, will never attain to what is perfectly beautiful. For the works of nature are full of disproportion, and fall short of the true standard of beauty.' So that Phidias, when he formed his Jupiter, did not copy any object ever presented to his sight; but contemplated only that image which he had conceived in his mind from Homer's description."

"It is not easy to define in what this great style consists, nor to describe by words the proper means of acquiring it, if the mind of the student should be at all capable of such an acquisition. Could we teach taste or genius by rules, they would be no longer taste and genius. But though there neither are nor can be any precise invariable rules for the exercise or the acquisition of these great qualities; yet we may truly say that they always operate in proportion to our attention in observing the works of nature, to our skill in selecting, and to our care in digesting, methodizing, and comparing our observations. There are many beauties in our art that seem at first to lie without the reach of precept, and yet may easily be reduced to practical principles. Experience is all in all; but it is not every one that profits by experience: and most people err not so much from want of capacity to find their object, as from not knowing what object to pursue. This great ideal perfection and beauty are not to be fought in the heavens, but upon the earth. They are about us, and upon every side of us: But the power of discovering what is deformed in nature, or, in other words, what is particular or uncommon, can be acquired only by experience; and the whole beauty and grandeur of the art consists in being able to get above all singular forms, local customs, particularities, and details of every kind."

After these opinions, however, derived from the practice of the art, and this high authority, it may not be improper to hazard a few observations. Although illusion can be distinguished from many of the most excellent parts of the art taken separately, yet it does not follow that it shall not add in every picture to the beauty of the whole. It is impossible to state it in opposition to design, to composition, to colouring, or to the peculiar manner of a great artist; because all these may exist where there also exists the most perfect illusion. This is evident from the works of art: which have real relieve, and which at the same time are capable of perfection in all those branches, and of showing the peculiar manner of the artist. Again, it appears evident, that illusion, properly so called, should be a proper object of attention in painting. We may rate the ideal beauty very high, and with great justice; but it still consists in overcoming the defects in individual objects in nature, and not in departing from the truth of representation. And perhaps it may be alleged, that the impossibility of giving perfect illusion on a plane surface has pushed the greatest masters too far, and made them crowd artificial beauties into their pictures to conceal their want of power to give real ones. It is not improbable that on this very account the art is less perfect than otherwise it might have been: For in all subjects thought to be impossible, there is not only great room for exertion, but the person carries the art to greater perfection as he comes nearer to show that it may not be impossible. And if the works of Raphael, in point of illusion, are not superior to an ordinary artist, we may be permitted to say that there is great room for improvement in this branch.

Sect. XII. Of the Costume.

The costume in painting corresponds with the unities of time, place, and action, in tragedy and in epic poetry. It is chiefly confined to history painting; and regards the customs of different periods, the manners, the dress, and the colour, of different nations. Great exactness in the costume is scarcely practicable; but too sensible a departure from it denotes unpardonable negligence. It frequently happens that a piece composed of picturesque figures derives considerable advantage from certain liberties which are calculated to please both the artist and the spectator; for the judges of painting are not habitually occupied with the details of ancient and modern history, or profoundly versed in all the circumstances which make a departure from the costume conspicuous. On the other hand, if they were so ignorant as not to understand, or so indifferent as not to regard those circumstances, this branch of the art would be altogether arbitrary. The road of the painter is between these two extremes, not to despise beauty on the one hand, nor probability on the other. But in pursuing this part of the art, it is in vain to seek for perfect models in ancient or modern painting.

"When Raphael in his cartoons introduces monks and Swiss guards; when he puts into a boat more figures than it is evident the boat could actually contain; when in the chastisement of Heliodorus, who attempted to despoil the temple of Jerusalem, Pope Julius II. is depicted as being present; when, in the donation of Constantine in the Vatican, a naked boy is placed conspicuous in the fore ground astride upon a dog, in the immediate presence of the pope and the emperor; when Venetian senators are introduced while Pope Alexander excommunicates Barbarossa; when Aristotle, Plato, Dante, and Petrarch, are brought together in the school of Athens, to omit the lesser improprieties of shoefaces apostles, &c.—every person must acknowledge that such offences as these against truth so obvious, if they do not arise from a defect of understanding, are instances of inexcusable carelessness.

"In like manner when the same great master paints the dreams of Joseph and his fellow prisoner in circles over their heads; when similar contrivances to express future events are used by Albani, Pameggianno, and Fuseli—is it not evident that no possibility can make the fiction true; and that real and feigned existences are unnaturally introduced in one narration?

"When Polydore chooses to represent the death of Cato, and exposes to the spectator the hero of the piece with his bowels gushing out; when Paul Veronese, at a banquet painted with his usual magnificence, places before us a dog gnawing a bone, and a boy making water: however such disgusting circumstances may be forgiven in the chef d'oeuvre of a Michael Angelo, had he represented these instead of the horrible figures of his Day of Judgment, the performance of an inferior artist cannot atone for them.

"So also, when one of the first rate among the modern painters, we mean Paul Veronese, introduces Benedictine monks at the marriage of Cana; when, in a picture of the crucifixion, he puts the Roman soldiers in the jerkins of the 16th century, and adorns their heads with turbans; when Guido, in a painting of Jesus appearing to his mother after his resurrection, places St Charles Borromeo in a kind of desk in the back-ground as witness to the interview; when Tintoret, at the miraculous fall of manna, arms the Israelites with fusils; and Corregio appoints St Jerome as the instructor of the child Jesus—common sense revolts at the impropriety; and we are compelled to exclaim, Quicquid offendit multum esse, incredulus odi!

"The mythological taste of the learned Poussin is well known; but Rubens seems to claim the merit of having presented to the world a still greater number of supreme absurdities in this learned style: nor is it easy to conceive a more heterogeneous mixture of circumflances, real and imaginary, sacred and profane, than the Luxembourg gallery, and the other works of that great master, perpetually exhibit.

"When so high an authority as Sir Joshua Reynolds ** Dicour- contends for the rejection of common sense in favour of effect, &c. somewhate he terms a higher sense; when he laments, p. 286, indirectly, that art is not in such high estimation with us, as to induce the generals, lawgivers, and kings of modern times, to suffer themselves to be represented naked, as in the days of ancient Greece; when he defends even the ridiculous aberrations from possibility, which the extravagant pencil of Rubens has so plentifully produced—it is not surprising that the artists of the present day should be led to reject the company of common sense; or that Sir Joshua's performances should furnish examples of his own precepts.

"Mrs Siddons is represented by Sir Joshua in the character (as it is said) of the tragic muse: She is placed in an old-fashioned arm chair; this arm chair is supported by clouds, suspended in the air; on each side of her head is a figure not unapt to suggest the idea of the attendant imp of an enchantress: of these figures, one is supposed to represent Comedy, and the other Tragedy; Mrs Siddons herself is decently attired in the fashionable habiliments of 20 or 30 years ago.

"If this be a picture of the tragic muse, she ought not to appear in a modern dress, nor ought she to be seated in an old arm chair. If this be a portraiture of Mrs Siddons, she has no business in the clouds, nor has she any thing to do with aerial attendants. If this be Mrs Siddons in the character of the tragic muse, the first set of objections apply; for she is placed in a situation where Mrs Siddons could never be.

"In the death of Dido, Sir Joshua Reynolds introduces her sister, lamenting over the corpse of the unfortunate queen. This is possible; but he has also introduced Atropos cutting Dido's hair with a pair of scissors, a being equally real and apparent in the painting with Dido or her sister. This (continues our author) appears to me a gross offence against mythological probability; nor is it the only offence against the costume with which that picture is chargeable.

"There is one other breach of the costume, however common among painters, more gross and offensive than any of the infamies hitherto alleged; we mean the perpetual and unnecessary display of the naked figure. We shall not stay to inquire whether more skill can be shown in painting the human body clothed or unclothed. If the personages introduced in any picture are more naked in the representation than can be justified by the probability of the times, persons, places, or circumstances, it is a breach of the costume proportionate to the deviation. This fault, however, is so common as hardly to be noticed; so flit indeed, when compared with that general taste for voluptuous imagery and obscene representation, which has so long disgraced the art of painting in every stage of its progress, that science and morality are callous to the slight offence.

"This depravity of imagination, this prostitution of the pencil to the base purposes of lascivious inclination, was a subject of much complaint among the ancients. Nor is there less reason to complain in modern times, that this delightful art, which might be employed in exciting the noblest sentiments, and become subservient to the best interests of society, should so often be exercised upon subjects solely calculated to please the eye of the voluptuary and debauchee. It is hardly possible to pass through any admired collection without meeting with some of these; of which, however excellent the performance may be, the common feelings of decency and morality (if we are neither professed artists nor connoisseurs) prevent us from viewing them without a mixture of disgust.*

Et pudor aversus textit velamine vultus*.

It is impossible to express how much a picture suffers by such looseness of fancy, and finks as a bastard of the art in the esteem of good judges. Some people, indeed, are of opinion, that so scrupulous an observance of the costume is apt to hurt pictures, by depriving them of a certain air of truth, arising, they think, from those features and habits to which we are accustomed; and which are therefore apt to make a greater impression, than can be expected from things drawn from the remote sources of antiquity; adding withal, that a certain degree of licence has ever been allowed those artists who in their works must make fancy their chief guide. See, say they, the Greeks; that is, the masters of Raphael and Poussin themselves. Do they ever trouble their heads about such niceties? The Rhodian statuaries, for example, have not scrupled to represent Laocoon naked; that is, the priest of Apollo naked in the very act of sacrificing to the gods, and that too in presence of a whole people, of the virgins and matrons of Ilium. Now, continue they, if it was allowable in the ancient statuaries to neglect probability and decency to such a degree, to have a better opportunity of displaying their skill in the anatomy of the human body; why may it not be allowable in modern painters, the better to attain the end of their art, which is deception, to depart now and then a little from the ancient manners and the too rigorous laws of the costume? But these reasons, we beg leave to observe, are more absurd than they are ingenious. What! are we to draw conclusions from an example, which, far from deciding the dispute, gives occasion to another? The learned are of opinion, that those Rhodian masters would have done much better had they looked out for a subject in which, without offending too much against truth, and even probability, they might have had an equal opportunity of displaying their knowledge of the naked.* And certainly no authority or example whatever should tempt us to do any thing contrary to what both decency and the reason of things require, unless we intend, like Carpioni, to represent

Sogni d'infermi, è fole di romanzzi.

The dreams of sick men, and the tales of fools.

No: a painter, the better to attain the end of his art, which is deception, ought carefully to avoid mixing the antique with the modern, the domestic with the foreign; things, in short, repugnant to each other, and therefore incapable of gaining credit. A spectator will never be brought to consider himself as actually present at the scene, the representation of which he has before him, unless the circumstances which enter it perfectly agree among themselves, and the field of action, if we may use the expression, in no shape belies the action itself. For instance, the circumstances, or, if you please, the accessories, in a Finding of Moses, are not, surely, to represent the borders of a canal planted with rows of poppies, and covered with country-houses in the European taste; but the banks of a great river shaded with clusters of palm trees, with a Sphinx or an Anubis in the adjacent fields, and here and there in the background a towering pyramid. And indeed the painter, before he takes either canvas or paper in hand, should, on the wings of fancy, transport himself to Egypt, to Thebes, or to Rome; and summoning to his imagination the physiognomy, the dress, the plants, the buildings, suitable to his subject, with the particular spot where he has chosen to lay his scene, so manage his pencil, as, by the magic of it, to make the enraptured spectators fancy themselves there along with him.

SECT. XIII. Of Proper Books for a Painter.

From what has been already said, it may be easily gathered, that a painter should be neither illiterate nor unprovided with books. Many are apt to imagine, that the Iconologia of Ripa, or some such collection, is alone sufficient for this purpose, and that all the apparatus he stands in need of, may be reduced to a few casts of the remains of antiquity, or rather to what Rembrandt used to call his antiques, being nothing more than coats of mail, turbans, threads of stuff, and all manner of old household trumpery and wearing apparel. Such things, no doubt, are necessary to a painter, and perhaps enough for one who wants only to paint half-lengths, or is willing to confine himself to a few low subjects. But they Algarotti are by no means sufficient for him who would soar high on painting; for a painter who would attempt the Universe, and inscribe it in all its parts, such as it would appear, had not matter proved refractory to the intentions of the sovereign Artist. Such a painter alone is a true, an universal, a perfect painter.—No mortal, indeed, must ever expect to rise to that sublimity; yet all should aspire to it, on the pain of otherwise ever continuing at a very mortifying distance from it: as the orator, who wishes to make a figure in his profession, should propose to himself no less a pattern than that perfect orator described by Tully; nor the courtier, than that perfect courtier delineated by Castiglione. It cannot, therefore, appear surprising, if we insist on the propriety of reckoning a good collection of books as part of such a painter's implements. The Bible, the Greek and Roman historians, the works of Homer, that prince of poets, and of Virgil, are the most classical. To these let him add the Metamorphoses of Ovid, some of our best poets, the voyage of Paulianas, Vinci, Vasari, and others, upon painting.

It will also be of considerable advantage to him to have a well chosen collection of drawings by the best masters (d), in order to trace the progress and history

(d) We have formerly (see History of Anatomy), mentioned a great anatomical work carrying on by Andrew of his art, and make himself acquainted with the various styles of painting which have been, and now are, in the greatest vogue. The prince of the Roman school was not ashamed to hang up in his study the drawings of Albert Durer; and spared no pains or expense to acquire all the drawings he could meet with that were taken from basso-relievos; things which the art of engraving has since rendered so common as to be in every one's hands. This art of multiplying drawings by means of the graver, is of the same date, and boasts the same advantages, with the art of printing, by means of which the works of the mind are multiplied, as it were, at one stroke, and dispersed over the whole world.

The fight of fine subjects treated by able masters, and the different forms which the same subjects assume in different hands, cannot fail both of enlightening and inflaming the mind of the young painter. The fame may be said of the perusal of good poets and historians, with the particulars and proofs of what they advance; not to mention those ideas and flights of invention, with which the former are wont to clothe, beautify, and exalt every thing they take in hand. Bouchardon, after reading Homer, conceived, to use his own words, that men were three times taller than before, and that the world was enlarged in every respect. It is very probable, that the beautiful thought of covering Agamemnon's face with the skirt of his mantle at the sacrifice of Iphigenia, was suggested to Timantes by the tragedy of Euripides, And the sublime conceit of Raphael, who, in a Creation of his, represents God in the immense space, with one hand reaching to the sun and the other to the moon, may be considered as the child of the following words of the Psalmist: The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handy-work.

This thought of Raphael has been, indeed, censured by Mr Webb. "A God (says this gentleman), extending one hand to the sun, and another to the moon, destroys that idea of immensity which should accompany the work of creation, by reducing it to a world of a few inches." But the opinion of Count Algarotti is very different. "For my part," (says that elegant critic,) I cannot discover in this painting a world of a few inches, but a world on a much greater scale; a world of millions and millions of miles: and yet this so immense a world, by means of that act of the Godhead, in which with one hand he reaches to the sun, and with the other to the moon, shrinks, in my imagination, to a mere nothing, in respect to the immensity of God himself; which is all that the powers of painting can pretend to. This invention is, though in a contrary sense, of the same kind with that of Timantes, who, to express the enormous size of a sleeping Polyphemus, placed round him some satyrs measuring the monster's thumb with a thyrsus. Hence Pliny, who relates the fact, takes occasion to tell us, that his works always imply more than they express; and that how great ever he may be in execution, he is still greater in invention: Atque in omnibus ejus operibus intelligitur plus semper quam pingitur; et cum ars summa sit, ingenium tamen ultra artem est." Proper Books for a Painter.

Nat. Hist. lib. xxv. c. 10.

The perusal of good authors cannot but be very serviceable to a painter in another respect; as, among the great number of subjects afforded by history and poetry, he may expect to meet with many on which his talents may display themselves to the greatest advantage. A painter can never be too nice in the choice of his arguments; for on the beauty of them that of his piece will greatly depend. How much to be pitied, therefore, were our first masters, in being so often obliged to receive their subjects from the hands of simple and illiterate persons! and what is worse, to spend all the riches of their art upon barren or unworthy subjects! Such are the representations of those saints, who, though they never had the least intercourse with each other, and perhaps even lived in different ages, are, notwithstanding to be introduced, tête-à-tête, as it were, into the same picture. The mechanic of the art may, indeed, display itself on these occasions: but by no means the ideal. The disposition may be good and praiseworthy, as in the works of Cortoni and Lanfranc; but we are not to expect in them either invention or expression, which require for their basis the representation of some fact capable of producing such effects. Who does not, on the bare mention of this abuse, immediately recollect many instances of it? such as the famous St Cecilia of Raphael, surrounded by St Paul, St Mary Magdalen, St John, and St Augustine; and the picture of Paolo Veronele, in the vestry of the Nuns of St Zachary at Venice, in which St Francis of Assizium, St Catharine, and St Jerome richly habited in his cardinal's robes, form a ring round the Virgin seated on a throne with the child Jesus in her arms; perhaps the most beautiful and picturesque of all the infipid and insignificant pieces with which Italy abounds. It is very shocking to think, that young painters should be obliged to study their art from such wretched compositions.

The subjects in which the pencil triumphs most, and with which a judicious painter may stock himself by the perusal of good books, are, no doubt, those which are most universally known, which afford the largest field for a display of the passions, and contain the greatest variety of incidents, all concurring, in the same point of time, to form one principal action. Of this the story of Coriolanus besieging Rome, as related by Livy, is a shining example. Nothing can be imagined more beautiful than the scene of action itself, which ought to take in the praetorium in the camp of the Volscians, the Tiber behind it, and the seven hills, among which the towering Capitol is, as it were, to lord it over the rest. It is impossible to conceive a greater variety, than what must appear in that crowd of soldiers, women, and children, all which are to enter the composition; unless, perhaps, it be that of the different passions with which they are feverally agitated; some wishing that Coriolanus may raise the siege, others fearing it, others again suspecting it. But the principal group forms the picturesque

Andrew Bell, Esq. in Edinburgh, of the figures of which, as they are engraved under the inspection of so able an anatomist as Mr Fyfe, and with the approbation of Dr Monro, we may at least form a favourable opinion; and if well executed, of which there can be but little doubt, they will unquestionably be of essential service to the painter. part of the piece. Coriolanus, hastily descending from his tribunal, and hurried on by filial affection, to embrace his mother, stops short through shame, on her crying out to him, Hold? let me first know, if it is a son, or an enemy, I am going to embrace? Thus a painter may impart novelty to the most hackneyed subject, by taking for his guides those authors who possess the happy talent of adding grace and dignity, by their beautiful and sublime descriptions, even to the most common and trifling transactions.

SECT. XIV Of the Painter's Balance.

The celebrated De Piles, who by his writings has thrown so much light upon painting, in order to assist young painters in forming a right judgment of those masters who hold the first rank in the profession, and to reduce such judgment to the greater precision, be- thought himself of a pictorial balance, by means of which a painter's merit may be weighed with the greatest exactness. This merit he divides into Composition, Design, Colouring, and Expression; and in each of these branches he has assigned to every painter that share to which he thought him intitled, according as he approached more or less the highest degree of excellence and summit of perfection; so that, by summing up the numbers which, standing against each master's name, express his share of merit in each of these branches, we have his total merit or value in the art, and may hence gather what rank one painter holds in regard to another. Several objections, it is true, have been started to this method of calculation, by a famous mathematician of our days, who, among other things, insists, that it is the product of the above numbers multiplied by each other, and not the sum of them, that gives the merit of the artist. But this is not a place to enter into such niceties, nor indeed would the doing of it be of any service to the art. The only thing worth our notice is, whether the original numbers, standing for the painter's merit in the several branches of his art, are such as he is really intitled to, without suffering ourselves to be baffled by any partiality, as De Piles has been, in favour of the prince of the Flemish school; the consequence of which, strange as it may appear, is, that in his balance Raphael and Rubens exactly turn out of the same weight.

The idea of the painter's balance is doubtless curious, and therefore deserved to be mentioned; but as the merits of the most eminent painters have been already appreciated under the second section of the historical part of our article, to which we refer, it is needless to be more particular here, or to repeat what has been already treated of at sufficient length.

SECT. XV. Practical Observations.

Having thus laid down the principles of the art, and ventured to give the student some directions with regard to his studies, we shall conclude this part of the subject with a few observations relative wholly to practice.

And, 1. The young painter must be careful not to be led astray by the ambition of composing easily, or attaining what is called a masterly handling of the chalk or the pencil; a pernicious attempt, by which students are excluded from all power of advancing in real excellence. To this attempt, however, young men have not only the frivolous ambition of being thought masterly, inciting them on the one hand, but also their natural sloth tempting them on the other. They are terrified at the propect before them, and of the toil required to obtain exactness; whilst the lives of the most eminent painters furnish us with examples of the most unceasing industry. When they conceived a subject, they first made a variety of sketches; then a finished drawing of the whole; after that a more correct drawing of every separate part, heads, hands, feet, and pieces of drapery; they then painted the picture, and after all retouched it from the life. The pictures thus wrought with such care, now appear like the effects of enchantment, and as if some mighty genius had struck them off at a blow.

But a student is not always advancing because he is employed; he must apply his strength to that part of the art where the real difficulties lie; to that part which distinguishes it as a liberal art, and not by mistaken industry lose his time in that which is merely ornamental. The students, instead of vying with each other who shall have the readiest hand, should be taught to labour who shall have the purest and most correct outline; instead of striving who shall produce the brightest tint, or endeavouring to give the glofs of stuffs so as to make them appear real, let their ambition be directed to contend, who shall dispose his drapery in the most graceful folds, and give the greatest dignity to the human form.

He who endeavours to copy accurately the figure before him, not only acquires a habit of exactness and precision, but is continually advancing in his knowledge of the human figure; and though he seems to superficial observers to make a slower progress, he will be found at last capable of adding (without running into capricious wildness) that grace and beauty which is necessary to be given to his more finished works, and which cannot be got by the moderns, as it was not acquired by the ancients, but by an attentive and well-directed study of the human form.

2. It is, in the next place, a matter of great importance, that the drawings on which the young artist first exercises his talents be of the most excellent kind. Let the profiles, the hands, and the feet given him to copy, be of the best masters, so as to bring his eye and his hand early acquainted with the most elegant forms and the most beautiful proportions. A painter who has early acquired a fine taste, finds it an easy matter to give dignity to the meanest features, while even the works of a Praxiteles or a Glycon are seen to suffer in the hands of another. A vessel will ever retain the scent which has first contracted.

3. It would be proper also to make the pupil copy some fine heads from the Greek and Roman medals; not so much for the reason just laid down, as to make him acquainted, if we may use the expression, with those personages which in time he may have occasion to introduce into his pieces, and, above all, to improve him early in the arts of copying from relief. Hence he will learn the rationale of light and shade, and the nature of that chiaro scuro by which it is, properly speaking, that the various forms of things are distinguished.

There is no danger of studying too much the works

of the greatest masters, either in painting or sculpture; but how they may be studied to advantage is an inquiry of great importance. "Some (says Sir Joshua Reynolds), who have never raised their minds to the consideration of the real dignity of the art, and who rate the works of an artist in proportion as they excel or are defective in the mechanical parts, look on theory as something that may enable them to talk, but not to paint better; and, confining themselves entirely to mechanical practice, very assiduously toil in the drudgery of copying, and think they make a rapid progress, while they faithfully exhibit the minutest part of a favourite picture. This appears to me a very tedious, and, I think, a very erroneous method of proceeding. Of every large composition, even of those which are most admired, a great part may be truly said to be commonplace. This, though it takes up much time in copying, conduces little to improvement. I consider general copying as a delusive kind of industry: the student satisfies himself with the appearance of doing something; he falls into the dangerous habit of imitating without selecting, and of labouring without any determinate object: as it requires no effort of the mind, he sleeps over his work; and those powers of invention and composition which ought particularly to be called out, and put in action, lie torpid, and lose their energy for want of exercise.

"However, as the practice of copying is not entirely to be excluded, since the mechanical practice of painting is learned in some measure by it, let those choice parts only be selected which have recommended the work to notice. If its excellence consists in its general effect, it will be proper to make flight sketches of the machinery and general management of the picture. Those sketches should be kept always by you, for the regulation of your style. Instead of copying the touches of those great masters, copy only their conceptions. Instead of treading in their footsteps, endeavour only to keep the same road. Labour to invent on their general principles and way of thinking. Poffess yourself with their spirit. Consider with yourself how a Michael Angelo or a Raphael would have treated this subject, and work yourself into a belief that your picture is to be seen and criticised by them when completed. Even an attempt of this kind will rouse your powers."

The same great master recommends to students to keep their minds fixed on the highest excellencies.— "If you compass them, and compass nothing more, you are still in the first class. We may regret the innumerable beauties which you may want: you may be very imperfect; but still you are an imperfect person of the highest order.

"I inculcate as frequently as I can your forming yourselves upon great principles and great models.—Your time will be much misplaced in every other pursuit. Small excellencies should be viewed, not studied; they ought to be viewed, because nothing ought to escape a painter's observation, but for no other reason.

"There is another caution which I wish to give you. Be as select in those whom you endeavour to please, as in those whom you endeavour to imitate. Without the love of fame you can never do anything excellent; but by an excessive and undistinguishing thirst after it, you will come to have vulgar views; you will degrade your style; and your taste will be entirely corrupted. It is certain that the lower style will be the most popular, as it falls within the compass of ignorance itself, and the vulgar will always be pleased with what is natural in the confined and misunderstood sense of the word."

Genius he considers as an improveable talent, never to be destroyed by the most excessive, if well directed, application, and displaying the elegancies of the art in proportion to the number of ideas which have been carefully collected and digested in the mind.

He cautions painters, therefore, in every stage of their progress, to beware of that false opinion, but too prevalent among artists, of the imaginary power of native genius, and its sufficiency in great works.

This opinion, according to the temper of mind it meets with, almost always produces, either a vain confidence or a flippish despair, both equally fatal to all proficiency. "Study, therefore, the great works of the greatest masters for ever. Study, as nearly as you can, in the order, in the manner, on the principles on which they studied. Study nature attentively, but always with those masters in your company: consider them as models which you are to imitate, and at the same time as rivals whom you are to combat."

PART II. Of the Different Classes of Painting.

SECT. I. General Enumeration.

As all the objects in nature are susceptible of imitation by the pencil, the masters of this art have applied themselves to different subjects, each one as his talents, his taste, or inclination may have led him.—From whence have arisen the following classes.

I. History painting; which represents the principal events in history sacred and profane, real or fabulous; and to this class belongs allegorical expression. These are the most sublime productions of the art; and in which Raphael, Guido, Rubens, Le Brun, &c. have excelled.

II. Rural history; or the representation of a country life, of villages and hamlets, and their inhabitants. This is an inferior class; and in which Teniers, Breughel, Watteau, &c. have great reputation, by rendering it at once pleasing and graceful.

III. Portrait painting; which is an admirable branch of this art, and has engaged the attention of the greatest masters in all ages, as Apelles, Guido, Van-dyke, Rembrandt, Regauds, Pefne, Kneller, La Tour, &c.

IV. Grotesque histories; as the nocturnal meetings of witches, sorceries and incantations; the operations of mountebanks, &c. a sort of painting in which the younger Breughel, Teniers, and others, have exercised their talents with success.

V. Battle V. Battle pieces; by which Huchtemberg, Wouvermans, &c. have rendered themselves famous.

VI. Landscapes; a charming species of painting, that has been treated by masters of the greatest genius in every nation.

VII. Landscapes diversified with waters, as rivers, lakes, cataracts, &c.; which require a peculiar talent, to express the water sometimes smooth and transparent, and at others foaming and rushing furiously along.

VIII. Sea pieces; in which are represented the ocean, harbours, and great rivers; and the vessels, boats, barges, &c. with which they are covered; sometimes in a calm, sometimes with a fresh breeze, and at others in a storm. In this clas Baekhuyzen, Vanderwelde, Blome, and many others, have acquired great reputation.

IX. Night pieces; which represent all sorts of objects, either as illuminated by torches, by the flames of a conflagration, or by the light of the moon. Schalk, Vandermeer, Vanderpool, &c. have here excelled.

X. Living Animals: A more difficult branch of painting than is commonly imagined; and in which Rois, Carre, Vanderwelde, and many others, have succeeded marvellously well.

XI. Birds of all kinds; a very laborious species, and which requires extreme patience minutely to express the infinite variety and delicacy of their plumage.

XII. Culinary pieces; which represent all sorts of provisions, and animals without life, &c. A species much inferior to the rest, in which nature never appears to advantage, and which requires only a servile imitation of objects that are but little pleasing. The painting of fishes is naturally referred to this clas.

XIII. Fruit pieces, of every kind, imitated from nature.

XIV. Flower pieces; a charming clas of painting, where Art in the hands of Huyzum, P. Segerts, Merian, &c. becomes the rival of Nature. Plants and insects are usually referred to the painters of flowers, who with them ornament their works.

XV. Pieces of architecture; a kind of painting in which the Italians excel all others. Under this clas may be comprehended the representations of ruins, seaports, streets, and public places; such are seen in the works of Caneletti, and other able masters.

XVI. Instruments of music, pieces of furniture, and other inanimate objects; a trifling species, and in which able painters only accidentally employ their talents.

XVII. Imitations of bas-reliefs; a very pleasing kind of painting, and which may be carried by an able hand to a high degree of excellence.

XVIII. Hunting pieces; these also require a peculiar talent, as they unite the painting of men, horses, dogs, and game, to that of landscapes.

It will not be expected that we should here give the rules that the painter is to observe in handling each particular subject. What has been said on historical painting (Part I.*) may throw some light on the rest, and the particular rules must be learned from the study of the art itself. Good masters, academies of reputation, and a rational practice, are the sources from whence the young painter must derive the detail of his art. We shall however insert some rules and observations relative to Landscape and Portrait; these, with History painting Landscapes, (already pretty fully treated), forming the principal branches of the art.

SECT. II. Of Landscapes.

Landscape painting includes every object that the country presents; and it is distinguished into the heroic, and the pastoral or rural; of which indeed all other styles are but mixtures.

The heroic style is a composition of objects, which in De Piles on their kinds draw both from art and nature every thing Painting, that is great and extraordinary in either. The situations are perfectly agreeable and surprising. The only buildings are temples, pyramids, ancient places of burial, altars consecrated to the divinities, pleasure houses of regular architecture; and if nature appear not there as we every day casually see her, she is at least represented as we think she ought to be. This style is an agreeable illusion, and a sort of enchantment, when handled by a man of fine genius and a good understanding, as Poullin was, who has so happily expressed it. But if, in the course of this style, the painter has not talent enough to maintain the sublime, he is often in danger of falling into the childish manner.

The rural style is a representation of countries, rather abandoned to the caprice of nature, than cultivated: we there see nature simple, without ornament, and without artifice; but with all those graces wherewith she adorns herself much more when left to herself than when constrained by art.

In this style, situations bear all sorts of varieties: sometimes they are very extensive and open, to contain the flocks of the shepherds; at others very wild, for the retreat of solitary persons, and a cover for wild beasts.

It rarely happens that a painter has a genius extensive enough to embrace all the parts of painting: there is commonly some one part that pre-engages our choice, and so fills our mind, that we forget the pains that are due to the other parts; and we seldom fail to see, that those whose inclination leads them to the heroic style, think they have done all, when they have introduced into their compositions such noble objects as will raise the imagination, without ever giving themselves the trouble to study the effects of good colouring. Those, on the other hand, who practice the pastoral, apply closely to colouring, in order to represent truth more lively. Both these styles have their sectaries and partisans. Those who follow the heroic, supply by their imagination what it wants of truth, and they look no farther.

As a counterbalance to heroic landscape, it would be proper to put into the pastoral, besides a great character of truth, some affecting, extraordinary, but probable effect of nature, as was Titian's custom.

There is an infinity of pieces wherein both these styles happily meet; and which of the two has the descendant, will appear from what we have been just observing of their respective properties. The chief parts of landscapes are, their openings or situations, accidents, skies and clouds, offskips and mountains, verdure or turfing, rocks, grounds, or lands, terraces, fabrics, waters, fore-grounds, plants, figures, and trees; of all which in their places. Of Openings or Situations. The word site, or situation, signifies the "view, prospect, or opening of a country." It is derived from the Italian word sito; and our painters have brought it into use, either because they were used to it in Italy, or because, as we think, they found it to be very expressive.

Situations ought to be well put together; and so disengaged in their make, that the conjunction of grounds may not seem to be obstructed, though we should see but a part of them.

Situations are various, and represented according to the country the painter is thinking of: as either open or close, mountainous or watery, tilled and inhabited, or wild and lonely; or, in fine, variegated by a prudent mixture of some of these. But if the painter be obliged to imitate nature in a flat and regular country, he must make it agreeable by a good disposition of the claro-obscuro, and such pleasing colouring as may make one foil unite with another.

It is certain, that extraordinary situations are very pleasing, and cheer the imagination by the novelty and beauty of their makes, even when the local colouring is but moderately performed: because, at worst, such pictures are only looked on as unfinished, and wanting to be completed by some skilful hand in colouring; whereas common situations and objects require good colouring and absolute finishing, in order to please. It was only by these properties that Claude Lorrain has made amends for his infipid choice in most of his situations. But in whatever manner that part be executed, one of the best ways to make it valuable, and even to multiply and vary it without altering its form, is properly to imagine some ingenious accident in it.

Of Accidents. An accident in painting is an obstruction of the sun's light by the interposition of clouds, in such manner, that some parts of the earth shall be in light and others in shade, which, according to the motion of the clouds, succeed each other, and produce such wonderful effects and changes of the claro-obscuro, as seem to create so many new situations. This is daily observed in nature. And as this newness of situations is grounded only on the shapes of the clouds, and their motions, which are very inconstant and unequal, it follows, that these accidents are arbitrary; and a painter of genius may dispose them to his own advantage when he thinks fit to use them: For he is not absolutely obliged to do it; and there have been some able landscape painters who have never practised it, either through fear or custom, as Claude Lorrain and some others.

Of the Sky and Clouds. The sky, in painters terms, is the ethereal part over our heads; but more particularly the air in which we breathe, and that where clouds and storms are engendered. Its colour is blue, growing clearer as it approaches the earth, because of the interposition of vapours arising between the eye and the horizon; which, being penetrated by the light, communicates it to objects in a greater or lesser degree, as they are more or less remote.

But we must observe, that this light being either yellow or reddish in the evening, at sunset, these same objects partake not only of the light, but of the colour: thus the yellow light mixing with the blue, which is the natural colour of the sky, alters it, and gives it a tint more or less greenish, as the yellowness of the light is landscapes, more or less deep.

This observation is general and infallible: but there is an infinity of particular ones, which the painter must make upon the natural, with his pencil in his hand, when occasion offers; for there are very fine and singular effects appearing in the sky, which it is difficult to make one conceive by physical reasons. Who can tell, for example, why we see, in the bright part of some clouds, a fine red, when the source of the light which plays upon them is a most lively and distinguishing yellow? Who can account for the different reds seen in different clouds, at the very moment that these reds receive the light but in one place? for these colours and surprising appearances seem to have no relative to the rainbow, a phenomenon for which the philosopher pretends to give solid reasons.

These effects are all seen in the evening when the weather is inclining to change, either before a storm, or after it, when it is not quite gone, but has left some remains of it to draw our attention.

The property of clouds is to be thin and airy, both in shape and colour: their shapes, though infinite, must be studied and chosen after nature, at such times as they appear fine. To make them look thin, we ought to make their grounds unite thinly with them, especially near their extremities, as if they were transparent: And if we would have them thick, their reflections must be so managed, as, without destroying their thinness, they may seem to wind and unite, if necessary, with the clouds that are next to them. Little clouds often discover a little manner, and seldom have a good effect, unless when, being near each other, they seem altogether to make but one object.

In short, the character of the sky is to be luminous; and, as it is even the source of light, every thing that is upon the earth must yield to it in brightness: If, however, there is any thing that comes near it in light, it must be waters, and polished bodies which are susceptible of luminous reflections.

But whilst the painter makes the sky luminous, he must not represent it always shining throughout.

On the contrary, he must contrive his light so, that the greatest part of it may fall only upon one place: and, to make it more apparent, he must take as much care as possible to put it in opposition to some terrestrial object, that may render it more lively by its dark colour; as a tree, tower, or some other building that is a little high.

This principal light might also be heightened, by a certain disposition of clouds having a supposed light, or a light ingeniously inclosed between clouds, whose sweet obscurity spreads itself by little and little on all hands. We have a great many examples of this in the Flemish school, which best understood landscape; as Paul Bril, Brugel, Saveri: And the Sadelers and Merian's prints give a clear idea of it, and wonderfully awaken the genius of those who have the principles of the claro-obscuro.

Of Offskips and Mountains. Offskips have a near affinity with the sky; it is the sky which determines either the force or faintness of them. They are darkest when the sky is most loaded, and brightest when it is most clear. They sometimes intermix their shapes and lights; Part II.

Landscape-lights; and there are times, and countries, where the clouds pass between the mountains, whose tops rise and appear above them. Mountains that are high, and covered with snow, are very proper to produce extraordinary effects in the offskip, which are advantageous to the painter, and pleasing to the spectator.

The disposition of offskip is arbitrary; let them only agree with the whole together of the picture, and the nature of the country we would represent. They are usually blue, because of the interposition of air between them and the eye: but they lose this colour by degrees, as they come nearer the eye, and so take that which is natural to the objects.

In distancing mountains, we must observe to join them insensibly by the roundings off, which the reflections make probable; and must, among other things, avoid a certain edginess in their extremities, which makes them appear in slices, as if cut with scissars, and stuck upon the cloth.

We must further observe, that the air at the feet of mountains, being charged with vapours, is more susceptible of light than at their tops. In this case we suppose the main light to be set reasonably high, and to enlighten the mountains equally, or that the clouds deprive them of the light of the sun. But if we suppose the main light to be very low, and to strike the mountains, then their tops will be strongly enlightened, as well as every thing else in the same degree of light.

Though the forms of things diminish in bigness, and colours lose their strength, in proportion as they recede from the first plan of the picture, to the most remote offskip, as we observe in nature and common practice; yet this does not exclude the use of the accidents. These contribute greatly to the wonderful in landscape, when they are properly introduced, and when the artist has a just idea of their good effects.

Of Verdure, or Turfing. By turfing is meant the greenness with which the herbs colour the ground: This is done several ways; and the diversity proceeds not only from the nature of plants, which, for the most part, have their particular verdures, but also from the change of seasons, and the colour of the earth, when the herbs are but thin flown. By this variety, a painter may chuse or unite, in the same tract of land, several sorts of greens intermixed and blended together, which are often of great service to those who know how to use them; because this diversity of greens, as it is often found in nature, gives a character of truth to those parts, where it is properly used. There is a wonderful example of this part of landscape, in the view of Mechlin, by Rubens.

Of Rocks. Though rocks have all sorts of shapes, and participate of all colours, yet there are in their diversity certain characters which cannot be well expressed without having recourse to nature. Some are in banks, and set off with beds of shrubs; others in huge blocks, either projecting or falling back; others consist of large broken parts, contiguous to each other; and others, in short, of an enormous size, all in one stone, either naturally, as free-stone, or else through the injuries of time, which in the course of many ages has worn away their marks of separation. But, whatever their form be, they are usually set out with clefts, breaks, hollows, bushes, moss, and the stains of time; and these particulars, well managed, create a certain idea of truth.

Rocks are of themselves gloomy, and only proper for solitudes: but where accompanied with bushes, they inspire a fresh air; and when they have waters, either proceeding from, or washing them, they give an infinite pleasure, and seem to have a soul which animates them, and makes them sociable.

Of Grounds or Lands. A ground or land, in painters terms, is a certain distinct piece of land, which is neither too woody nor hilly. Grounds contribute, more than anything, to the gradation and distancing of landscape; because they follow one another, either in shape, or in the claro-obscuro, or in their variety of colouring, or by some inseparable conjunction of one with another.

Multiplicity of grounds, though it be often contrary to grand manner, does not quite destroy it; for besides the extent of country which it exhibits, it is susceptible of the accidents we have mentioned, and which, with good management, have a fine effect.

There is one nicety to be observed in grounds, which is, that in order to characterize them well, care must be taken, that the trees in them have a different verdure and different colours from those grounds; though this difference, withal, must not be too apparent.

Of Terraces. A terrace in painting, is a piece of ground, either quite naked or having very little herbage, like great roads and places often frequented. They are of use chiefly in the foregrounds of a picture, where they ought to be very spacious and open, and accompanied, if we think fit, with some accidental verdure, and also with some stones, which, if placed with judgement, give a terrace a greater air of probability.

Of Buildings. Painters mean by buildings any structures they generally represent, but chiefly such as are of a regular architecture, or at least are most conspicuous. Thus building is not so proper a name for the houses of country-people, or the cottages of shepherds, which are introduced into the rural taste, as for regular and showy edifices, which are always brought into the heroic.

Buildings in general are a great ornament in landscapes, even when they are Gothic, or appear partly inhabited and partly ruinous: they raise the imagination by the use they are thought to be designed for; as appears from ancient towers, which seem to have been the habitations of fairies, and are now retreats for shepherds and owls.

Poussin has very elegantly handled the Roman manner of architecture in his works; as Bourdon has done the Gothic; which, however Gothic, fails not to give a sublime air to his landscapes. Little Bernard has introduced into his sacred history what may be called a Babylonian manner; which, extraordinary as it is, has its grandeur and magnificence. Nor ought such pieces of architecture to be quite rejected: they raise the imagination; and perhaps would succeed in the heroic style, if they were placed among half-distant objects, and if we knew how to use them properly.

Of Waters. Much of the spirit of landscape is owing to the waters which are introduced in it. They appear in divers manners; sometimes impetuous, as when a storm makes them overflow their banks; at other times rebounding, as by the fall of a rock; at other times, through unfruitful pressure, gushing out and dividing into an infinity of silver streams, whose motion and murmuring agreeably deceive both the eye and ear; at other times calm and purring in a fandy bed; at other times to fill and standing, as to become a faithful looking-glass, which Landscapes doubles all the objects that are opposite to it; and in this state they have more life than in the most violent agitation. Consult Bourdon's works, or at least his prints, on this subject: he is one of those who have treated of waters with the greatest spirit and best genius.

Waters are not proper for every situation: but to express them well, the artist ought to be perfect master of the exactness of watery reflections; because they only make painted water appear as real: for practice alone, without exactness, destroys the effect, and abates the pleasure of the eye. The rule for these reflections is very easy, and therefore the painter is the less pardonable for neglecting it.

But it must be observed, that though water be as a looking-glass, yet it does not faithfully represent objects but when it is still; for if it be in any motion, either in a natural course, or by the driving of the wind, its surface becoming uneven, receives on its surges such lights and shades as, mixing with the appearance of the objects, confound both their shapes and colours.

Of the Foreground of a Picture. As it is the part of the foreground to usher the eye into the piece, great care must be taken that the eye meet with good reception; sometimes by the opening of a fine terrace, whose design and workmanship may be equally curious; sometimes by a variety of well distinguished plants, and those sometimes flowered; and at other times, by figures in a lively taste, or other objects, either admirable for their novelty or introduced as by chance.

In a word, the artist cannot too much study his foreground objects, since they attract the eye, impress the first character of truth, and greatly contribute to make the artifice of a picture successful, and to anticipate our esteem for the whole work.

Of Plants. Plants are not always necessary in foregrounds, because, as we have observed, there are several ways of making those grounds agreeable. But if we resolve to draw plants there, we ought to paint them exactly after the life; or at least, among such as we paint practically, there ought to be some more finished than the rest, and whose kinds may be distinguished by the difference of design and colouring, to the end that, by a probable supposition, they may give the others a character of truth. What has been said here of plants may be applied to the branches and barks of trees.

Of Figures. In composing landscape, the artist may have intended to give it a character agreeable to the subject he has chosen, and which his figures ought to represent. He may also, and it commonly happens, have only thought of his figures, after finishing his landscape. The truth is, the figures in most landscapes are made rather to accompany than to suit them.

It is true, there are landscapes so disposed and situated, as to require only passing figures; which several good masters, each in his style, have introduced, as Poullin in the heroic, and Fouquier in the rural, with all probability and grace. It is true also, that resting figures have been made to appear inwardly active. And these two different ways of treating figures are not to be blamed, because they act equally, though in a different manner. It is rather inaction that ought to be blamed in figures; for in this condition, which robs them of all connection with the landscape, they appear to be pasted on. But without Landscapes obstructing the painter's liberty in this respect, undoubtedly the best way to make figures valuable is, to make them so to agree with the character of the landscape, that it may seem to have been made purely for the figures. We would not have them either insipid or indifferent, but to represent some little subject to awaken the spectator's attention, or else to give the picture an ame of distinction among the curious.

Great care must be taken to proportion the size of the figures to the bigness of the trees, and other objects of the landscape. If they be too large, the picture will discover a little manner; and if too small, they will have the air of pigmies; which will destroy the worth of them, and make the landscape look enormous. There is, however, a greater inconvenience in making figures too large than too small; because the latter at least gives an air of greatness to all the rest. But as landscape figures are generally small, they must be touched with spirit, and such lively figures as will attract, and yet preserve probability and a general union. The artist must, in fine, remember, that as the figures chiefly give life to a landscape, they must be disposed as conveniently as possible.

Of Trees. The beauty of trees is perhaps one of the greatest ornaments of landscape; on account of the variety of their kinds, and their freshness, but chiefly their lightness, which makes them seem, as being exposed to the air, to be always in motion.

Though diversity be pleasing in all the objects of landscape, it is chiefly in trees that it shows its greatest beauty. Landscape considers both their kinds and their forms. Their kinds require the painter's particular study and attention, in order to distinguish them from each other; for we must be able at first sight to discover which are oaks, elms, firs, sycamores, poplars, willows, pines, and other such trees, which, by a specific colour, or touching, are distinguishable from all other kinds. This study is too large to be acquired in all its extent; and, indeed, few painters have attained such a competent exactness in it as their art requires. But it is evident, that those who come nearest to perfection in it, will make their works infinitely pleasing; and gain a great name.

Besides the variety which is found in each kind of tree, there is in all trees a general variety. This is observed in the different manners in which their branches are disposed by a sport of nature; which takes delight in making some very vigorous and thick, others more dry and thin; some more green, others more red or yellow. The excellence of practice lies in the mixture of these varieties: but if the artist can distinguish the forts but indifferently, he ought at least to vary their makes and colours; because repetition in landscape is as tiresome to the eye, as monotony in discourse is to the ear.

The variety of their makes is so great, that the painter would be inexorable not to put it in practice upon occasion, especially when he finds it necessary to awaken the spectator's attention; for, among trees, we discover the young and the old, the open and close, tapering and squat, bending upwards and downwards, sloping and shooting: in short, the variety is rather to be conceived than expressed. For instance, the character of young trees is, to have long slender branches, few in number, Landscapes, but well set out; boughs well divided, and the foliage vigorous and well shaped: whereas, in old trees, the branches are short, stocky, thick, and numerous; the tufts blunt, and the foliage unequal and ill shaped; but a little observation and genius will make us perfectly sensible of these particulars.

In the various makes of trees, there must also be a distribution of branches, that has a just relation to, and probable connection with, the boughs or tufts, so as mutually to assist each other in giving the tree an appearance of thickets and of truth. But, whatever their natures or manners of branching be, let it be remembered, that the handling must be lively and thin, in order to preserve the spirit of their characters.

Trees likewise vary in their barks, which are commonly gray; but this gray, which in thick air, and low and marshy places, looks blackish, appears lighter in a clear air: and it often happens, in dry places, that the bark gathers a thin moss, which makes it look quite yellow; so that, to make the bark of a tree apparent, the painter may suppose it to be light upon a dark ground, and dark on a light one.

The observation of the different barks merits a particular attention; for it will appear, that, in hard woods, age chaps them, and thereby gives them a sort of embroidery; and that, in proportion as they grow old, these chaps grow more deep. And other accidents in barks may arise either from moisture, or dryness, or green mosses, or white stains of several trees.

The barks of white woods will also afford much matter for practice, if their diversity be duly studied; and this consideration leads us to say something of the study of landscape.

Of the Study of Landscape. The study of landscape may be considered either with respect to beginners, or those who have made some advances in it.

Beginners will find, in practice, that the chief trouble of landscape lies in handling trees; and it is not only in practice, but also in speculation, that trees are the most difficult part of landscape, as they are its greatest ornament. But it is only proposed here, to give beginners an idea of trees in general, and to show them how to express them well. It would be needless to point out to them the common effects of trees and plants, because they are obvious to every one; yet there are some things, which, though not unknown, deserve our reflection. We know, for instance, that all trees require air, some more, some less, as the chief cause of their vegetation and production; and for this reason, all trees (except the cypresses, and some others of the same kind) separate in their growth from one another, and from other strange bodies as much as possible, and their branches and foliage do the same; wherefore, to give them that air and thinness, which is their principal character, the branches, boughs, and foliage, must appear to fly from each other, to proceed from opposite parts, and be well divided. And all this without order; as if chance aided nature in the fanciful diversity. But to say particularly how these trunks, branches, and foliages, ought to be distributed, would be needless, and only a description of the works of great masters: a little reflection on nature will be of more service than all that can be said on this head. By great masters, we mean such as have published prints; for those will give better ideas to young copyists than even the paintings themselves.

Among the many great masters of all schools, De Landscapes Piles prefers Titian's wooden prints, where the trees are well shaped; and those which Cornelius Cort and Agostino Caracci have engraved. And he affords, that beginners can do no better than contract, above all things, an habit of imitating the touches of these great masters, and of considering at the same time the perspective of the branches and foliages, and observing how they appear, either when rising and seen from below, or when linking and seen from above, or when fronting and viewed from a point, or when they appear in profile; and, in a word, when set in the various views in which nature presents them, without altering their characters.

After having studied and copied with the pen or crayon, first the prints, and then the designs of Titian and Caracci, the student should imitate with the pencil those touches which they have most distinctly specified, if their paintings can be procured; but since they are scarce, others should be got which have a good character for their touching; as those of Foquier, who is a most excellent model: Paul Bril, Breugel, and Bourdon, are also very good; their touching is neat, lively, and thin.

After having duly weighed the nature of trees, their spread and order, and the disposition of their branches, the artist must get a lively idea of them, in order to keep up the spirit of them throughout, either by making them apparent and distinct in the fore-grounds, or obscure and confused in proportion to their distance.

After having thus gained some knowledge in good manner, it will next be proper to study after nature, and to choose and rectify it according to the idea which the aforesaid great masters had of it. As to perfection, it can only be expected from long practice and perseverance. On the whole, it is proper for those who have an inclination for landscape, above all things to take the proper methods for beginning it well.

As for those who have made some advances in this part of painting, it is proper they should collect the necessary materials for their further improvement, and study those objects at least which they shall have most frequent occasion to represent.

Painters usually comprise, under the word study, anything whatever which they either design or paint separately after the life; whether figures, heads, feet, hands, draperies, animals, mountains, trees, plants, flowers, fruits, or whatever may confirm them in the just imitation of nature: the drawing of these things is what they call study; whether they be for instruction in design, or only to assure them of the truth, and to perfect their work. In fact, this word study is the more properly used by painters as in the diversity of nature they are daily making new discoveries, and confirming themselves in what they already know.

As the landscape-painter need only study such objects as are to be met with in the country, we would recommend to him some order, that his drawings may be always at hand when he wants them. For instance, he should copy after nature, on separate papers, the different effects of trees in general, and the different effects of each kind in particular, with their trunks, foliage, and colours. He should also take the same method with some sorts of plants, because their variety is a great ornament to terraces on fore-grounds. He ought likewise to study the effects of the sky in the several times of the day Landscapes, and seasons of the year, in the various dispositions of clouds, both in serene, thundering, and stormy weather; the offskip, the several sorts of rocks, waters, and other principal objects.

These drawings, which may be made at different times, should be collected together; and all that relate to one matter be put into a book, to which the artist may have recourse at any time for what he wants.

Now, if the fine effects of nature, whether in shape or colour, whether for an entire picture or a part of one, be the artist's study; and if the difficulty lies in choosing those effects well, he must for this purpose be born with good sense, good taste, and a fine genius; and this genius must be cultivated by the observations which ought to be made on the works of the best masters, how they choose nature, and how, while they corrected her, according to their art, they preserved her character. With these advantages, derived from nature and perfected by art, the painter cannot fail to make a good choice; and, by distinguishing between the good and the bad, must needs find great instruction even from the most common things.

To improve themselves in this kind of studies, painters have taken several methods.

There are some artists who have designed after nature, and in the open fields; and have there quite finished those parts which they had chosen, but without adding any colour to them.

Others have drawn, in oil colours, in a middle tint, on strong paper; and found this method convenient, because, the colours sinking, they could put colour on colour, though different from each other. For this purpose they took with them a flat box, which commodiously held their pallet, pencils, oil, and colours. This method, which indeed requires several implements, is doubtless the best for drawing nature more particularly, and with greater exactness, especially if, after the work be dry and varnished, the artist return to the place where he drew, and retouch the principal things after nature.

Others have only drawn the outlines of objects, and lightly washed them in colours near the life, for the sake of their memory. Others have attentively observed such parts as they had a mind to retain, and contented themselves with committing them to their memory, which upon occasion gave them a faithful account of them. Others have made drawings in pastil and wash together. Others, with more curiosity and patience, have gone several times to the places which were to their taste: the first time they only made choice of the parts, and drew them correctly; and the other times were spent in observing the variety of colouring, and its alterations through change of light.

Now these several methods are very good, and each may be practised as best suits the student and his temper: but they require the necessaries of painting, as colours, pencils, pastils, and leisure. Nature, however, at certain times, presents extraordinary but transient beauties, and such as can be of no service to the artist who has not as much time as is necessary to imitate what he admires. The best way, perhaps, to make advantage of such momentary occasions, is this:

The painter being provided with a quire of paper, and a black-lead pencil, let him quickly, but lightly, design what he sees extraordinary; and to remember the colouring, let him mark the principal parts with characters, which he may explain at the bottom of the paper, as far as is necessary for himself to understand them: A cloud, for instance, may be marked A, another cloud B, a light C, a mountain D, a terrace E, and so on. And having repeated these letters at the bottom of the paper, let him write against each that it is of such or such a colour; or, for greater brevity, only blue, red, violet, gray, &c. or any other shorter abbreviation. After this, he must go to painting as soon as possible; otherwise most of what he has observed will, in a little time, slip out of his memory. This method is the more useful, as it not only prevents our losing an infinity of sudden and transitory beauties, but also helps by means of the aforesaid marks and characters, to perfect the other methods we have mentioned.

If it be asked, Which is the properest time for these studies? the answer is, That nature should be studied at all times, because she is to be represented at all seasons; but autumn yields the most plentiful harvest for her fine effects: the mildness of that season, the beauty of the sky, the richness of the earth, and the variety of objects, are powerful inducements with the painter to make the proper inquiries for improving his genius and perfecting his art.

But as we cannot see or observe every thing, it is very commendable to make use of other men's studies, and to look upon them as if they were our own. Raphael fented some young men into Greece to design such things as he thought would be of service to him, and accordingly made use of them to as good purpose as if he himself had designed them on the spot: for this, Raphael is so far from deserving censure, that he ought, on the contrary, to be commended; as an example, that painters ought to leave no way untired for improving in their professions. The landscape painter may, accordingly, make use of the works of all those who have excelled in any kind, in order to acquire a good manner; like the bees which gather their variety of honey from different flowers.

General Remarks on Landscapes. As the general rules of painting are the basis of all the several kinds of it, we must refer the landscape painter to them, or rather suppose him to be well acquainted with them. We shall here only make some general remarks on this kind of painting.

I. Landscape supposes the knowledge and practice of the principal rules in perspective, in order to maintain probability.

II. The higher the leaves of trees are to the earth, the larger they are, and the greener; as being aptest to receive, in abundance, the sap which nourishes them: and the upper branches begin first to take the redness or yellowness which colours them in autumn. But it is otherwise in plants; for their stocks renew all the year round, and their leaves succeed one another at a considerable distance of time, insomuch that nature, employed in producing new leaves to adorn the stock as it rises, does by degrees desert the under ones; which, having first performed their office, are the first that die: but this effect is more visible in some than in others.

III. The under parts of all leaves are of a brighter green than the upper, and almost always incline to the silverish; Part II.

Landscapes, silverish; and those which are wind-thaken are known from others by that colour: but if we view them from beneath, when penetrated by the sun's rays, they discover such a fine and lively green as is far beyond all comparison.

IV. There are five principal things which give spirit to landscape, viz. figures, animals, waters, wind-thaken trees, and thinness of pencilling; to which add smoke, when there is occasion to introduce it.

V. When one colour predominates throughout a landscape, as one green in spring, or one red in autumn, the piece will look either as of one colour, or else as unfinished. We have seen many of Bourdon's landscapes, which, by handling the corn one way throughout, have lost much of their beauty, though the situations and waters were very pleasant. The ingenious painter must endeavour to correct, and, as they say, redeem, the harsh unrightly colouring of winter and spring by means of figures, waters, and buildings; for summer and autumn subjects are of themselves capable of great variety.

VI. Titian and Carrache are the best models for inspiring good taste, and leading the painter into a good track, with regard to forms and colours. He must use all his efforts, to gain a just idea of the principles which those great men have left us in their works; and to have his imagination filled with them, if he would advance by degrees towards that perfection which the artist should have always in view.

VII. The landscapes of these two masters teach us a great many things, of which discourse can give us no exact idea, nor any general principle. Which way, for example, can the measures of trees in general be determined, as we determine those of the human body? The tree has no settled proportions; most of its beauty lies in the contrast of its branches, an unequal distribution of boughs, and, in short, a kind of whimsical variety which nature delights in, and of which the painter becomes a judge when he has thoroughly relished the works of the two masters aforesaid. But we must say, in Titian's praise, that the path he struck out is the surest; because he has exactly imitated nature in its variety with an exquisite taste, and fine colouring: whereas Carrache, though an able artist, has not, more than others, been free from manner in his landscapes.

VIII. One of the greatest perfections of landscape, in the variety it represents, is a faithful imitation of each particular character: as its greatest fault is a licentious practice, which brings us to do things by rote.

IX. Among those things which are painted practically, we ought to intermix some done after nature, to induce the spectator to believe that all are so.

X. As there are styles of thought, so there are also styles of execution. We have handled the two relating to thought, viz. the heroic and pastoral; and find that there are two also with regard to execution, viz. the firm style, and the polished; these two concern the pencil, and the more or less ingenious way of conducting it. The firm style gives life to work, and excuses for bad choice; and the polished finishes and brightens every thing; it leaves no employment for the spectator's imagination, which pleases itself in discovering and finishing things which it ascribes to the artist, though in fact they proceed only from itself. The polished style degenerates into the soft and dull, if not supported by a good opening or situation; but when those two characters meet, the picture is fine.

SECT. III. Of Portraiture.

If painting be an imitation of nature, it is doubly so in a portrait; which not only represents a man in general, but such a one as may be distinguished from all others. And as the greatest perfection of a portrait is extreme likeness, so the greatest of its faults is to resemble a person for whom it was not made; since there are not in the world two persons quite like one another. But before we proceed to the particulars which let us into the knowledge of this imitation, it is necessary, for shortening this part of our subject, to attend to some general propositions.

I. Imitation is the essence of painting; and good choice is to this essence what the virtues are to a man; they raise the value of it. For this reason, it is extremely the painter's interest to choose none but good heads, or favourable moments for drawing them, and such positions as may supply the want of a fine natural.

II. There are views of the natural more or less advantageous; all depends upon turning it well, and taking it in the favourable moment.

III. There is not a single person in the world who has not a peculiar character both in body and face.

IV. Simple and genuine nature is more proper for imitation; and is a better choice than nature much formed, and embellished too artificially.

V. To adorn nature too much is doing it a violence; and the action which attends it can never be free when its ornaments are not easy. In short, in proportion as we adorn nature, we make it degenerate from itself, and bring it down to art.

VI. Some means are more advantageous than others to come at the same end.

VII. We must not only imitate what we do see in nature, but also what we may possibly see that is advantageous in art.

VIII. Things are valuable by comparison; and it is only by this we are enabled to make a right judgment of them.

IX. Painters easily accustom themselves to their own tints, and the manner of their masters: and after this habit is rooted in them, they view nature not as she really is, but as they are used to paint her.

X. It is very difficult to make a picture, the figures of which are as big as the life, to have its effect near as at a distance. A learned picture pleases the ignorant only when it is at some distance; but judges will admire its artifice near, and its effect at a distance.

XI. Knowledge makes work pleasant and easy. The traveller who knows his road, comes to his journey's end with more speed and certainty than he who inquires and gropes it out.

XII. It is proper, before we begin a work, to meditate upon it, and to make a nice coloured sketch of it, for our own satisfaction, and a help to the memory.

We cannot too much reflect on these propositions; and Portraiture, it is necessary to be well acquainted with them, that they may present themselves to our mind, of their own accord, without our being at the trouble to recall them to our memory when we are at work.

There are four things necessary to make a portrait perfect; air, colouring, attitude, and dress.

Of Air. The air reflects the lines of the face, the head attire, and the size.

The lines of the face depend upon exactness of draught, and agreement of the parts; which all together must represent the physiognomy of the person painted in such a manner, that the picture of his body may seem to be also that of his mind.

It is not exactness of design in portraits that gives spirit and true air, so much as the agreement of the parts at the very moment when the disposition and temperament of the sitter are to be hit off. We see several portraits which, though correctly designed, have a cold, languishing, and stupid air; whilst others, less correct in design, strike us, however, at first sight with the sitter's character.

Few painters have been careful enough to put the parts well together: Sometimes the mouth is smiling, and the eyes are sad; at other times, the eyes are cheerful, and the cheeks lank; by which means their work has a false air, and looks unnatural. We ought therefore to remember, that, when the sitter puts on a smiling air, the eyes close, the corners of the mouth draw up towards the nostrils, the cheeks swell, and the eyebrows widen: but in a melancholy air, these parts have a contrary effect.

The eyebrows, being raised, give a grave and noble air; but if arched, an air of affronitishment.

Of all the parts of the face, that which contributes most to likeness is the nose; it is therefore of great moment to set and draw it well.

Though the hair of the head seems to be part of the dress which is capable of various forms without altering the air of the face; yet the head attire which one has been most accustomed to creates such a likeness, that we scarce know a familiar acquaintance on his putting on a periwig somewhat different from that which he used to wear. It is necessary therefore, as far as possible, to take the air of the head ornament, and make it accompany and set off that of the face, if there be no reason to the contrary.

As to the stature, it contributes so much to likeness, that we very often know people without seeing their face: It is therefore extremely proper to draw the size after the sitter himself, and in such an attitude as we think fit; which was Vandyke's method. Here let us remark, that, in sitting, the person appears to be of a less free make, through the heaving of his shoulders; wherefore, to adjust his size, it is proper to make him stand for a small time, swaying in the posture we would give him, and then make our observation. But here occurs a difficulty, which we shall endeavour to examine: "Whether it is proper, in portraiture, to correct the defects of nature?"

Likeness being the essence of portraiture, it would seem that we ought to imitate defects as well as beauties, since by this means the imitation will be more complete: It would be even hard to prove the contrary to one who would undertake the defence of this position. But ladies and gentlemen do not much approve of those painters who entertain such sentiments, and put Colouring, in practice. It is certain that some complaisance in this respect is due to them; and there is little doubt but their pictures may be made to resemble, without dispeacing them; for the effectual likeness is a just agreement of the parts that are painted with those of nature; so that we may be at no loss to know the air of the face, and the temper of the person, whose picture is before us. All deformities, therefore, when the air and temper may be discovered without them, ought to be either corrected or omitted in women's and young men's portraits. A nose somewhat awry may be helped, or a shrivelled neck or high shoulders adapted to a good air, without going from one extreme to another. But this must be done with great discretion: for, by endeavouring to correct nature too much, we infensibly fall into a method of giving a general air to all our portraits; just as, by confining ourselves too much to the defects and littleness of nature, we are in danger of falling into the low and tasteless manner.

But in the faces of heroes and men of rank, distinguished either by dignities, virtues, or great qualities, we cannot be too exact, whether the parts be beautiful or not: for portraits of such persons are to be standing monuments to posterity; in which case, every thing in a picture is precious that is faithful. But after whatever manner the painter acquires himself in this point, let him never forget good air nor grace; and that there are, in the natural, advantageous moments for hitting them off.

Of Colouring. Colouring, in portraiture, is an effusion of nature, discovering the true tempers of persons; and the temper being essential to likeness, it ought to be handled as exactly as the design. This part is the more valuable, as it is rare and difficult to hit. A great many painters have come to a likeness by strokes and outlines; but certainly they are few who have shewn in colours the tempers of persons.

Two points are necessary in painting; exactness of tints, and the art of setting them off. The former is acquired by practice, in examining and comparing the colours we see in life with those by which we would imitate it: and the art of those tints consists in knowing what one colour will produce when set by another, and in making good what either distance or time may abate of the glow and freshness of the colours.

A painter who does nothing more than what he sees, will never arrive at a perfect imitation; for though his work may seem, on the easel, to be good to him, it may not appear so to others, and perhaps even to himself, at a distance. A tint which, near, appears disjoined, and of one colour, may look of another at a distance, and be confounded in the mass it belongs to. If you would have your work, therefore, to produce a good effect in the place where it is to hang, both the colours and lights must be a little loaded; but learnedly, and with discretion. In this point consult Titian, Rubens, Vandyke, and Rembrandt's method; for indeed their art is wonderful.

The tints usually require three times of observation. The first is at the person's first sitting down, when he has more spirit and colour than ordinary; and this is to be noted in the first hour of his sitting. The second is when, being composed, his look is as usual; which is to be observed in the second hour. And the third is when, through tiresomeness by sitting in one posture, his colour alters to what weariness usually creates. On which account, it is best to keep to the fitter's usual tint, a little improved. He may also rise, and take some turns about the room, to gain fresh spirits, and shake off or prevent tiresomeness.

In draperies, all sorts of colours do not suit all sorts of persons. In men's portraits, we need only observe great truth and great force: but in women's there must also be charms; whatever beauty they have must appear in a fine light, and their blemishes must by some means or other be softened. For this reason, a white, lively, and bright tint, ought never to be set off by a fine yellow, which would make it look like platter; but rather by colours inclining to green, blue, or gray, or such others as, by the opposition, may make the tint appear more fleethy than usual in fair women. Vandyke often made a fillet coloured curtain for his ground; but that colour is soft and brown. Brown women, on the other hand, who have yellow enough in their tints to support the character of fleshiness, may very well have yellowish draperies, in order to bring down the yellow of their tints, and make them look the freer; and near very high coloured and lively carnations linen does wonders.

In grounds, two things are observable; the tone and the colour. The colour is to be considered in the same manner as those of draperies, with respect to the head. The tone must be always different from the mas it supports, and of which it is the ground, that the objects coming upon it may not seem transparent, but solid and raised. The colour of the hair of the head usually determines the tone of the ground; and when the former is a bright chestnut, we are often embarrassed, unless helped by means of a curtain, or some accident of the chiaro-oscuro supposed to be behind, or unless the ground is a sky.

We must further observe, that where a ground is neither curtain nor landscape, or such like, but is plain and like a wall, it ought to be very much party-coloured, with almost imperceptible patches or stains; for, besides its being so in nature, the picture will look the more grand.

Of Attitude, or Posture.—Attitudes ought to suit the age and qualities of persons and their tempers. In old men and women, they should be grave, majestic, and sometimes bold: and generally, in women, they ought to have a noble simplicity and modest cheerfulness; for modesty ought to be the character of women; a charm infinitely beyond coquetry! and indeed coquettes themselves are not to be painted such.

Attitudes are of two kinds: one in motion, the other at rest. Those at rest may suit every person: but those in motion are proper for young people only, and are hard to be expressed; because a great part of the hair and drapery must be moved by the air; motion, in painting, being never better expressed than by such agitations. The attitudes at rest must not appear too much at rest as to seem to represent an inactive person, and one who sits for no other purpose but to be a copy. And though the figure that is represented be at rest, yet the painter, if he thinks fit, may give it a flying drapery, provided the scene or ground be not a chamber or close place.

It is above all things necessary that the figures which are not employed should appear to satisfy the spectator's curiosity; and for this purpose show themselves in such an action as suits their tempers and conditions, as if they would inform him what they really were: and as most people pretend to sincerity, honesty, and greatness of mind, we must avoid in attitudes, all manner of affectation; every thing there must appear easy and natural, and discover more or less spirit, nobleness, and majesty, in proportion to the person's character and dignity. In a word, the attitudes are the language of portraits; and the skilful painter ought to give great attention to them.

But the best attitudes are such as induce the spectator to think that the fitter took a favourable opportunity of being seen to advantage, and without affectation. There is only one thing to be observed with regard to women's portraits, in whatever attitude they are placed; which is, that they sway in such a manner as to give the face but little shade; and that we carefully examine whether the lady appear most beautiful in a smiling or in a serious air, and conduct ourselves accordingly. Let us now proceed to the next article.

Of Practice in Portraiture.—According to De Piles, portraiture requires three different fittings and operations; viz. dead colouring, second colouring, and retouching or finishing. Before the painter dead colour, he must attentively consider what aspect will best suit the fitter, by putting him in different positions, if we have not any fetid design before us: and when we have determined this, it is of the last consequence to put the parts well together, by comparing always one part with another; for not only the portrait acquires a greater likeness when well designed, but it is troublesome to make alterations at the second fitting, when the artist must only think of painting, that is, of disposing and uniting his colours.

Experience tells us, that the dead colouring ought to be clean, because of the slope and transparency of the colours, especially in the shades: and when the parts are well put together, and become clammy, they must be judiciously sweetened and melted into each other; yet without taking away the air of the picture, that the painter may have the pleasure of finishing it, in proportion as he draws. But if fiery geniuses do not like this method of scumbling, let them only mark the parts slightly, and so far as is necessary for giving an air.

In dead colouring, it is proper to put in rather too little than too much hair about the forehead; that, in finishing, we may be at liberty to place it where we please, and to paint it with all possible softness and delicacy. If, on the contrary, you sketch upon the forehead a lock which may appear to be of a good taste, and becoming the work, you may be puzzled in finishing it, and not find the life exactly in the same position as you would paint it. But this observation is not meant for men of skill and consummate experience, who have nature in their heads, and make her submit to their ideas.

The business of the second fitting is, to put the colours well in their places, and to paint them in a manner that is suitable to the fitter and to the effect we propose: But before they are made clammy, we ought to examine afresh whether the parts are rightly placed, Practice of Vandyke, and here and there to give some touches towards like-ncs, that, when we are assured of it, the work may go on with greater satisfaction. If the painter understands what he is about, and the portrait be jaily designed, he ought as much as possible to work quick; the fitter will be better pleased, and the work will by this means have the more spirit and life. But this rea- diness is only the effect of long study and experience; for we may well be allowed a considerable time to find out a road that is easy, and such as we must often travel in.

Before we retouch or finish, it is proper to ter- minate the hair, that, on finishing the carnations, we may be abler to judge of the effect of the whole head.

If, at the second fitting, we cannot do all we intended, which often happens, the third makes up the los, and gives both spirit, phygionomy, and char- acter.

If we would paint a portrait at once, we must load the colouring; but neither sweeten, nor drive, nor very much oil it: and if we dip the pencil in var- nish as the work advances, this will readily enable us to put colour on colour, and to mix them without driving.

The use and sight of good pictures give greater light into things than words can express: What hits one artist's understanding and temper may be dis- agreeable to another's; and almost all painters have taken different ways, though their principles were often the same.

We are told that a friend of Vandyke's having ob- served to him how little time he bestowed on his portraits, Vandyke answered, "That at first he worked hard, and took great pains, to acquire a reputation, and also to get a swift hand, against the time he should work for his kitchen." Vandyke's custom is said to have been this: He appointed both the day and hour for the person's fitting, and worked not above an hour on any portrait, either in rubbing in or finishing; so that as soon as his clock informed him that the hour was out, he rose up, and made a bow to the fitter, to signify, that he had done enough for that day, and then appointed another hour some other day; whereupon his servant came to clean his pencils, and brought a fresh pallet, whilst he was receiving another fitter, whose day and hour he had before appointed. By this method he worked on several pictures the same day, with extra- ordinary expedition.

After having lightly dead-coloured the face, he put the fitter into some attitude which he had before con- trived; and on a gray paper, with white and black crayons, he designed, in a quarter of an hour, his shape and drapery, which he disposed in a grand manner, and an exquisite taste. After this, he gave the drawing to the skilful people he had about him, to paint after the fitter's own clothes, which, at Vandyke's request, were sent to him for that purpose. When his disciples had done what they could to these draperies, he lightly went over them again; and so, in a little time, by his great knowledge, displayed the art and truth which we at this day admire in them. As for hands, he had in his house people of both sexes, whom he paid, and who served as models.

This conduct of Vandyke, however, is mentioned rather to gratify the reader's curiosity than to ex- cite his imitation; he may choose as much of it as he pleases, and as suits his own genius, and leave the rest.

We must observe by the way, that there is nothing so rare as fine hands, either in the design or colouring. It is therefore convenient to cultivate, if we can, a friendship with some woman who will take pleasure in serving for a copy: The way to win them is, to praise their beauty exceedingly. But if an opportunity leaves of copying hands after Vandyke, it must not be let slip; for he drew them with a surprising delicacy, and an admirable colouring.

It is of great service to copy after the manners which come nearest to nature; as are those of Titian and Vandyke. We must, at such times, believe them to be nature itself; and, at some distance, consider them as such, and say to ourselves—What colour and tint shall I use for such a part? And then, coming near the picture, we ought to examine whether we are right or not; and to make a fixed rule of what we have discovered, and did not practise before without uncertainty.

It is recommended, before we begin colouring, to catch the very first moments, which are commonly the most agreeable and most advantageous, and to keep them in our memory for use when we are finishing: for the fitter, growing tired with being long in the same place, loses those spirits, which, at his first fitting down, gave beauty to the parts, and conveyed to the tint more lively blood, and a freer colour. In short we must join to truth a probable and advantageous possibility, which, far from abating likenesses, serves rather to set it off. For this end, we ought to begin with observing the ground of a tint, as well what it is in lights as in shades; for the shades are only beautiful as they are proportioned to the light. We must observe, if the tint be very lively, whether it partake of yellowness, and where that yellowness is placed; because usually, towards the end of the fitting, fatigue diffuses a general yellowness, which makes us forget what parts were of this colour, and what were not, unless we had taken due notice of it be- fore. For this reason, at the second fitting, the colours must be everywhere readily clapped in, and such as ap- pear at the first fitting down; for these are always the finest.

The surest way to judge of colours is by compari- son; and to know a tint, nothing is better than to compare it with linen placed next it, or else placed next to the natural object, if there be occasion.—We say this only to those who have little practised nature.

The portrait being now supposed to be as much finished as you are able, nothing remains, but, at some reasonable distance, to view both the picture and fitter together, in order to determine with certainty, whether there is any thing still wanting to perfect the work.

SECT. IV. Of Theatrical Decorations; the Designs for Furniture, Embroidery, Carriages, &c.

Of Theatrical Decorations.—This is a particular art, which unites several of the general parts of painting with the knowledge of architecture, perspective, &c. They They who apply themselves to it would do well to design their decorations by day, and to colour them by candle light, as they will be much better able to judge of the effect of a painting intended to be viewed by that light. It is proper also to caution the young painter to avoid, as much as possible, the uniting the imitations of nature with nature itself; that is, he should not introduce with his decorations living horses, or other animals, real fountains or cascades, trees, or statues, &c. For such combinations are the effect of ignorance and a bad taste; they are the resource of painters of little ability; they discover a sterility of invention, and produce great inconvenience in the representation. Those pieces which they call moving pictures, where the painted landscape remains immovable, and the figures move by means of springs, form a part of these decorations; and there are some of them, as those of Antwerp and Ghent, that have a pleasing effect.

The designs for furniture, carriages, porcelain, and other branches of manufacture, form also a very important article of painting in general, and of academy painting in particular. This is a distinct branch of the art; and without doubt not the least useful of its parts, as it concurs so essentially to the success of manufactures, and consequently to the prosperity of a state: it is an art, to which it were much to be wished that youth of ability and invention would apply themselves. See the articles JAPANNING and PORCELAIN.

SECT. V. Enumeration of the different Methods of Painting, or the different Means and Materials that Painters make use of to imitate all visible Objects on a plane Surface.

THOSE now in practice are, 1. Painting in oil; which is preferable to all other methods, as it is more susceptible of all sorts of expressions, of more perfect gradations of colours, and is at the same time more durable. 2. Mosaic painting; an invention truly wonderful. It is composed of a great number of small pieces of marble of different colours, joined together with stucco. The works of this kind are made principally at Rome, where this art has been carried so far as to resemble the paintings of the greatest masters; and of these are made monuments for the latest posterity. 3. Painting in fresco; which is by drawing, with colours diluted with water, on a wall newly plastered, and with which they fo incorporate, that they perish only with the stucco itself. This is principally used on ceilings. 4. Painting in water colours; that is, with colours mixed with water and gum, or paste, &c. 5. Miniature painting; which differs from the preceding, as it represents objects in the least discernible magnitudes. 6. Painting in crayons; for which purpose colours, either simple or compound, are mixed with gum, and made into a kind of hard paste like chalk, and with which they draw on paper or parchment. 7. Painting in enamel; which is done on copper or gold, with mineral colours that are dried by fire, and become very durable. The paintings on the porcelain of China and Europe, on Delft ware, &c. are so many forts of enamel. 8. Painting in wax, or encaustic painting: This is a new, or rather an old invention renewed, in which there are in France performances highly pleasing. It is done with wax mixed with varnish and colours. 9. Painting on glass; of which there are various kinds.

See all the articles here enumerated, explained in the order of the alphabet. On one of them, however, some additional observations may here be subjoined.

§ 1. Of Painting in Fresco.

Of all kinds of painting, fresco is the most ancient, the most durable, the most speedily executed, and the most proper to adorn great buildings. It appears, that the fragments of ancient painting handed down to us by the Romans are all in fresco. Norden, quoted by Winklemann, speaks of the ruins of Egyptian palaces and temples, in which are colossal paintings on walls 80 feet high. The description which those authors have given of these paintings, of the prepared ground, and of the manner in which the colours have been employed, &c. shows plainly that they have been executed in fresco.

The stability of fresco is demonstrated by the existence of those fragments of the highest antiquity. There are no other kinds of painting which could equally have resisted the injuries of the weather, the excessive aridity of certain climates, the moisture of subterraneous situations, and the encroachments of barbarians.

There are different opinions concerning the climate most proper to preserve this kind of painting. "It is observed (says Felibien), that the colours in fresco fade sooner in Italy and Languedoc than at Paris; perhaps from less heat in the last-mentioned place, or better lime." M. Falconet contradicts this assertion in his notes on Pliny, vol. i. p. 223. of his miscellaneous works, published at Paris 1787. Painting in fresco, according to this author, is longer preserved in dry and warm, than in northern and moist climates. However opposite the sentiments of these two authors may appear to be, it is possible to reconcile them, when we consider, that the exposure to a burning sun is capable of operating a great change of the colours on the one hand, and that the frost in a cold climate inevitably destroys the paintings of fresco on the other. Frost is capable of bursting stones, of corroding the petrified veins of earth in the heart of coloured marble, and, in short, nothing can resist its destructive operation.

These observations on fresco paintings lead us to conclude, that the choice of place, when they are without doors, is of the greatest importance. In countries where there is little or no frost, an exposure to the north is the most favourable; and in cold climates a western exposure should be made choice of, because the first rays of the rising sun have a very pernicious effect after frost. We are not, however, wholly to adopt the sentiment of M. Falconet with regard to the pernicious effects of moisture on fresco paintings: for, 1. The ancient paintings recovered from moist places, in which they were buried for many ages, have, under enormous heaps of earth, preserved all their colours. Those from the ruins of Herculaneum have been observed, served, on the contrary, to lose their colours in a short time after they have been dried by the exterior air. 2. The mortar which composes the ground of this painting is not destroyed in our rainy climates. It is necessary frequently to use powder in removing pieces of this mortar, which are now found to obstruct some buildings in Paris.

After the choice of place, the choice of materials is the next thing of importance in executing fresco. To make it durable, the ground is the object of chief attention; and to make this perfect, the mortar used by the ancients, now unknown, would be necessary.

It is easy to perceive, that a minute detail of forms, an extensive mixture and gradation of tints, and the merit of a delicate and gentle touch, can make no part of the excellencies of this kind of painting. It cannot bear a close examination like a picture in oil. There is always something dry and rough which displeases. An artist who would flatter himself with success in a fresco placed near the eye would be grossly deceived; a common spectator would find it coarse and badly finished.

Fresco is chiefly employed in palaces, temples, and public edifices. In these vail places no kind of painting can be preferred to it; large, vivid in its strokes, and constantly fresh, it enriches the architecture, animates it, and gives relief to the eye from the repetition of the same forms, and the monotony of colour in a place where coloured marbles and bronzes are not employed. Still more a fine fresco gives the greatest effect to a lofty building, since this building serves as a frame and support to this enchanting art, which fixes the attention of every person of sensibility and taste.

We shall afterwards have occasion to show the manner of executing fresco, as well as the nature and application of the colours employed in it: it is necessary to demonstrate here, that it has a freshness, splendour, and vigour not to be found in oil or water colours.

A known principle in all kinds of painting is, that the colouring is more perfect in proportion as it approaches to the lights and shades in nature. As colours applied to any subject can never reach this degree of perfection, the illusion which painters produce consists in the comparison and opposition of the tones of colours among themselves.

If the white of the finest and purest oil appears heavy and gray, compared with great lights in natural whites, it follows, that, in order to copy them with fidelity, the tones which follow the first white must be degraded in an exact proportion. Thus it is necessary that the shades of a picture be considerably deeper than those of the model; especially if, from the greatest lights to the browns, one hath proportionally followed the distance which is found between the colours on the pallet, and the tones of the object copied.

Now if the white of fresco be infinitely more bright than that of oil, the same effect will be obtained in a brown tone. On the other side, if it constantly happens that the brown tones of fresco are much more vigorous than those of water colours, and equal even to the browns of oil itself, it is certain that it possesses a splendour and vigour more extensive than any other kind of painting. Thus in the hands of an artist who is well acquainted with the colours fit for fresco, it is more susceptible of the general effect, and more capable than any other kind, of giving projection and the semblance of life to the figures.

If we were to inquire why painting in fresco is now scarcely or never practised, we should perhaps ascribe it to the great talents required to execute it. "Many of our painters (says Vafari in his Treatise on Painting) excel in oil or water colours, and yet fail in fresco; because of all kinds this requires the greatest strength of genius, boldness in the strokes, and resolution." If in an age abounding in great masters, it was difficult to excel in this kind, it must be much more so in ours; but we should not require the characters of sublimity and style to which men were accustomed in the time of Vafari.

We should execute in fresco as we do in oils; for Italy herself, along with Michael Angelo and Zuccaro, had Cortonni Giardano and Franciabini as middling fresco painters. And in France, Lafolfe, Bon-Boulone, and Perur, performed several works in fresco which might be imitated by the painters of our times. But let us proceed to the real causes for abandoning this art. These proceed from the want of knowledge and taste in the persons who employ the artists, and from the manners of the age. As a pleasant or licentious conceit, unfinished colouring, and bold effects of shade, are the chief objects of consideration, a very smooth painting enlivened by gentle touches completely gratifies the person who pays the price; and therefore the philosophical principles of the art, which require study, are not cultivated.

We shall now attend to the mechanical process of this useful and beautiful kind of painting. Before painting, it is necessary to apply two layers. If the wall on which you are to paint is of brick, the layer is easily applied; but if it is of free stone closely united, it is necessary to make excavations in the stone, and to drive into them nails or pegs of wood in order to hold the first layer.

The first layer is made of good lime and a cement of pounded brick, or, which is still better, river sand: this latter forms a layer more uneven, and better fitted to retain the second smooth and polished layer applied to its surface.

There should be experiments to discover a layer still more compact, and more independent of the variations of the air; such for example, as covers the aqueducts and ancient reservoirs constructed by the Romans in the neighbourhood of Naples.

Before applying the second layer, or what you are to paint, it is necessary that the first be perfectly dry; for there issues from the lime, when it is moist, a smell both disagreeable and pernicious to the artist.

When the first layer is perfectly dry, it is wet with water in proportion to its dryness, that the second layer may the more easily incorporate with it.

The second layer is composed of lime, flaked in the air, and exposed for a year, and of river sand, of an equal grain, and moderately fine.

It requires an active and intelligent mason to apply this layer, as the surface must be altogether equal. The operation is performed with a trowel; and the operator requires to have a small piece of wood to take away the large grains of sand, which, remaining, might render the surface uneven. To give a fine polish to this layer, one ought to take a sheet of paper, apply it to the wall, and pass and repass the trowel over the paper. By this means the little inequalities which hurt the exactness of the stroke, and which produce false appearances at a distance, are entirely smoothed.

The artist must not lay more than the painter can finish in a day, as this kind of painting must be executed on a fresh ground.

The layer being thus prepared, the painter begins his operation; but as painting in fresco must be executed rapidly, and as there is no time to retouch any of the strokes, the painter, as we have observed under the article Fresco, takes care to provide himself with large cartoons, on which he has drawn, with exactness, and in their full size, the figures which he is to paint, which leaves him nothing to do but to copy them on the wall.

The cartoons are composed of several sheets of large paper pasted one on another, neither too thick nor too slender.

The painter traces the tracks of the figures on the platter, by passing a steel point over the tracks in the cartoons, or in pricking them.

Having in this manner attained an exact and speedy drawing, it now remains to execute the painting.

But it is essential, when one wishes to finish any small work of this kind, in the first place to be informed of the proper colours, and of those which cannot be used.

In general, the colours which are extracted from earths, and those which have passed through the fire, are the only ones which can be employed in this kind of painting.

The colours are white, made of lime, the white of egg shells, ultramarine; the black of charcoal, yellow ochre, burnt vitriol, red earth, green of Verona, Venetian black, and burnt ochre.

There are others which require to be used with great precaution, such as enamel blue, cinnabar, and white marble dust.

When enamel blue is used, it requires to be applied instantaneously, and when the lime is very moist, otherwise it does not incorporate with the plaster; and if one retouch with this colour, it must be done an hour or more after the first application, to increase its lustre.

With regard to the white marble dust, it is subject to turn black if it be not mixed up with a convenient quantity of white lime.

Cinnabar which has a splendour almost superior to all other colours, loses it almost entirely when mixed with lime. At the same time, it may be employed in places not exposed to the air, with a little degree of care in the preparation. Reduce a quantity of the purest cinnabar to powder, put it into an earthen vessel, and pour lime water on it for two or three times. By this process the cinnabar receives some impression of lime water, which makes it capable of being employed in fresco painting.

One of the best colours, and the one most used in fresco for the gradation of tints, and for giving the requisite tone, is white of lime. This white is prepared by mixing lime flaked long before with good water. The lime deposits a sediment at the bottom of the vessel; when the water is poured off, this sediment is the white of lime.

Another kind of white might be used, the effects of which would be known by experience, namely, the white of egg shells. To prepare this white, one must take a great quantity of shells of eggs, which must be pounded and boiled in water along with a quantity of quicklime; after this they are put into a strainer, and washed repeatedly with fountain water.

The shells are again pounded until the water employed for that purpose become pure and limpid; and when they are in this manner reduced to powder, this powder is grinded in water, and formed into small pieces, and dried in the sun.

All the different kinds of ochres make excellent colours for fresco, and take different shades, being previously burned in iron chests.

With regard to the Naples yellow, it is dangerous to use it where the painting is much exposed to the air. The blacks of charcoal, of peach stones, and of vine twigs, are good: but that extracted from bones is of no value.

Roman vitriol gathered at the furnaces, and which is called burnt vitriol, grinded afterwards in spirit of wine, resists the air extremely well when employed in lime. There is also a red extracted from this preparation somewhat like that produced from lac.

This colour is very proper for preparing the layers to be coloured with cinnabar; and the draperies painted with these two colours will vie in splendour with those painted with fine lac in oil.

The ultramarine is the most faithful colour; and it not only never changes, but it communicates this precious quality to those colours with which it is mixed.

The manner of employing those colours, is to grind them in water, and to begin by arranging them into the principal tints you are to employ: these are afterwards put into pots; and it is necessary to use a great many pallets raised at the edges, to form the intermediate shades, and to have under your eye all the shades you require.

As all the tints, except burnt ochre, violet, red, and blacks of all kinds, are apt to become clear, the painter must have beside him some pieces of brick or new tile very dry. A dash of the colours is applied to one of these with the pencil before using them; and as the tile instantaneously imbibes the water, one perceives what the shade will be after the fresco is dry.

§ 2. Elydoric Painting, invented by M. Vincent of Montpetit.

This new kind of painting is little known, and capable of great improvement.

Its principal advantages are, that the artist is able to give the greatest finishing possible to small figures in oil; to add to the mellowness of oil painting, the greatest beauty of water colours in miniature, and to do it in such a manner that it appears like a large picture seen through a glass which diminishes objects.

This kind of painting takes its name from two Greek words expressive of oil and water; because those two liquids are employed in the execution. The following is the manner of proceeding: A piece of very fine linen, linen, or of white taffety, is sized with starch, in the most equal manner possible, on pieces of glafs about two inches square, the angles of which are blunted in order that the cloth may cover them neatly and without wrinkles.

When these pieces of cloth are sufficiently dry, a layer composed of white lead finely grinded, and oil of pinks or of poppies, the whitest that can be found, is applied to them with a knife. When this layer is dry enough to admit of scraping, more may be applied if necessary.

As it is of the greatest importance for the preservation of this kind of painting, that the different layers be purged of oil, in order that they may imbib the colours applied to them, it is necessary that their surface be very smooth, very dry, and very hard.

The artist is next provided with a circle of copper nearly two inches in diameter, one-fourth of an inch in height, extremely thin, and painted on the inside with black. This circle is employed to contain the water on the surface of the picture.

The preference is given to water distilled from rain or snow; because ordinary water, from the salts which it contains, is pernicious to this kind of painting.

It is necessary also to observe, that the colours must be grinded between two oriental agates, most carefully preserved from dust, and mixed with oil of poppies, or any other fixative oil which has been extracted without fire, and pure as water.

All the colours being grinded, they are placed in a small heap on a piece of glafs, which is covered with distilled water in a tin box.

When the materials are thus prepared, the subject is slightly traced on one of the pieces of cloth above mentioned with a lead pencil.

The tints are formed on the pallets from the heaps of colours under the water, and the pallet placed as usual on the left arm with the thumb through the aperture.

The picture is held between the thumb and fore finger, supported by the middle, and the necessary pencils between the third and little fingers. The hand is supported on the back of a chair, that there may be full liberty of bringing the work near, or keeping it at a distance from the eye.

The pencils are cleaned with the essence of rectified turpentine.

After having made the rough draught with the colours still fresh, the circle of copper, which ought to surround the picture, is fitted exactly to the surface.

The distilled water is poured within this circle to the height of one eighth part of an inch; and the body is leaned forward till the light fall perpendicularly on the object.

The third finger of the right hand must rest on the internal right angle of the picture.

The artist, with a fine and firm pencil, runs over the first draught, to give colours to the weak places, and to soften those which appear too strong.

As soon as the oil swims on the top, the water is poured off, and the picture is carefully covered with a watch glafs, and dried in a box with a gentle heat.

When it is sufficiently dry, to be scraped almost to a level with the knife: the above operation is renewed till the artist is satisfied with his work.

It is in this last work that the artist feels all the advantage of this new method for finishing.

The water poured on the picture discovers all the faults of the pencil, gives facility in searching into the bottom of the shades, and the power of correcting the work and of rendering it perfect.

When the work is finished, it is put under a crystal, where there is no admixture of external air, and dried with a gentle heat.

PART III. OF ECONOMICAL PAINTING.

SECT. I.

THE object of this Part is to give an account of some mechanical proceedings in certain kinds of painting, calculated to preserve and embellish the walls of houses and furniture. This branch of the art extends to every part of architecture. The whole building becomes the workshop of the artist; the stairs, the balustrades, the falhes, the doors, and the railing of all kinds, occupying his first care, and then the ceiling and wainscotting.

The artist gives to all his subjects a chosen and uniform tint; but he has it in his power to vary the colours on different parts of the building in such a manner as to produce the most pleasing objects.

Among the utensils of the painter, it is needless, but for rendering the article complete, to mention brushes of and pencils of all sizes as absolutely necessary.

The brushes are made of boars bristles, or of hair with a mixture of bristles; they ought to be straight, very smooth, and of a round form. Half an hour before they are used, it is proper to soak them in water, in order to swell the wood of the handle, and prevent the hairs from falling off; after this they may be applied to all purposes, either in water colours or in oil; but it may be observed that for the former they require less softening.

The pencils are made of badgers hair, or any fine hairs enchafed in the pipes of quills of all sizes.

The vessel wherein the pencils are cleaned is made of copper or of tin, smooth below, rounded at the ends, and divided into two parts by a thin plate in the middle. The oil, or the substance with which the pencil is cleaned, is contained in one of the divisions.

The pallet is made of the wood of the pear or apple tree, of an oval or square shape, very slender, but somewhat thicker at the centre than at the extremities. A hole is made in one of its sides sufficiently large to admit the thumb of the workman.

When the pallet is new, it is covered with oil of walnuts; and as often as it dries, the operation is repeated, till it be fully impregnated; it is afterwards polished, and finally rubbed with a piece of linen dipped in oil of common nuts.

The painter's knife is a thin flexible plate, equally Part III.

Application slender on both sides, rounded at one extremity, and the other fixed into a handle of wood.

All the vessels employed to hold the colours should be varnished; a precaution necessary to prevent their drying too quickly.

To grind, is to reduce to powder the substances which give colours on a piece of marble or any hard stone by means of water, oil, or essence.

To dilute, is to impregnate a liquid with a tint in such a manner as to make it capable of being applied by a brush.

When the materials are grinded in water, it is proper to dilute them in size made from parchment. If they are diluted in spirit of wine, there must be no more diluted than what serves the immediate occasion, as colours prepared in this manner dry very rapidly.

Colours grinded in oil are sometimes diluted with pure oil, more frequently with oil mixed with essence, and commonly with the pure essence of turpentine; the essence makes the colours easy to work. Those prepared in this manner are more solid, but they require more time to dry.

When colours are grinded with the essence of turpentine, and diluted in varnish, as they require to be immediately applied, it is necessary to prepare a small quantity at a time. This preparation of colours gives greater brilliancy, and dries more speedily, than those prepared in oil; but they require more art to manage them.

They grind colours or coloured substances with a mullar, which is employed on the stone till they become a very fine powder. The operation is facilitated by moistening them from time to time with a little water, and by collecting them under the mullar with the knife. They are afterwards laid in small heaps on a sheet of white paper, and allowed to dry in a situation not exposed to dust. Those who grind white lead have a stone for the purpose, as this colour is very easily tarnished. In executing this part well, it is necessary to grind the colours equally and moderately; to grind them separately, and not to produce a tint by mixture till the colours are well prepared.

Dilute no more at a time than what you have occasion to employ, to prevent them from growing thick.

In grinding the colours, put in no more liquid than what is necessary to make the solid substances yield easily to the mullar; the more the colours are grinded, they mix better, and give a smoother and more agreeable painting.

It is also necessary to give all attention to the grinding and diluting of colours, that they may be neither too thick nor too thin.

SECT. II. Application of Colours.

1. Prepare only the quantity necessary for the work you undertake, because they do not keep long; and those which are newly mixed are more vivid and beautiful.

2. Hold the brush straight before you, and allow only the surface to be applied to the subject: if you hold it inclined in any other direction, you will run the hazard of painting unequally.

3. It is necessary to lay on the colours boldly, and with great strokes; taking care at the same time to spread them equally over the surface, and not filling up the moulding and carved work. If this accident should happen, you must have a little brush to clean out the colours.

4. Stir them frequently in the vessel, that they may preserve always the same tint, and that no sediment may remain at the bottom.

5. Take care not to overcharge the brush with the colour.

6. Never apply a second layer till the first or preceding one be perfectly dry; which it is easily known to be when, in bearing the hand gently over it, it does not adhere.

7. In order to render this drying more speedy and uniform, make always the layers as thin as possible.

8. Before painting, it is necessary to prime the subject; that is, to give it a layer of size, or of white colouring oil, to fill up the pores, and render the surface smooth: by this means fewer layers of colour or of varnish are afterwards necessary.

9. Every subject to be painted or gilded ought to have first a white ground; this preserves the colours fresh and vivid, and repairs the damage which they occasionally receive from the air.

§ I. Of Painting in Water Colours.

To paint in water colours, is to do it in those which are grinded in water and diluted in size. There are three kinds of this painting; namely common, the varnished, and that which is called king's white; but before entering on these, it is necessary to make some preliminary observations.

1. Take care that there be no grease on the subject; and if there be, scrape it off, or clean it with a lye, or rub the greasy part with garlic and wormwood.

2. Let the diluted colour fall in threads from the end of the brush when you take it out of the vessel; it it adheres to it, it is a proof that it wants size.

3. Let all the layers, especially at the beginning, be laid on very warm, provided that the liquid be not boiling, which would effectually spoil the subject; and if on wood, expose it to crack. The last layer, given immediately before the varnish, is the only one which ought to be applied cold.

4. In very fine work, where it is necessary to have beautiful and solid colours, the subjects are prepared by size and proper whites, which serve as a ground to receive the colour, and render the surface very equal and smooth.

5. Whatever colour is to be laid on, the white ground is the best, as it assimilates most easily with the painting, which borrows always something of the ground.

6. If knots of wood are found in the subject, it is necessary to rub them with garlic, to make the size adhere.

To make the following details sufficiently plain, we shall take the measures to which the quantity of colours are applied at fathoms; that is to say, fix feet in height by fix feet in breadth. We shall afterwards fix the quantity of materials, and of liquids, necessary to cover this surface. These, however, cannot be exactly defined; as some subjects imbibe the colours much more than others. The manner of employing them also makes a difference; as habit enables one to manage them to greater Application of Colours.

§ 1. Of Painting.

And it is also to be observed, that the first layer will consume more than the second; and that a prepared subject requires less than one which has not been so.

When we speak of a fathom, it must be understood of a smooth and equal surface; for if the wood is varied with mouldings and carving, there must be a difference in the quantity of colours. In general, it requires about a pound of colours to paint a square fathom in water colours. In making up this quantity, take three-fourths of colours grinded in water, and one-fourth pound, or fix ounces, of size to dilute it.

§ 2. Of Painting in Common Water Colours.

Works which require no great care or preparation, as ceilings and staircases, are generally painted in common water colours, i.e. with earths infused in water and diluted in size.

For a common white kind of this painting, steep Spanish white moderately pounded in water for two hours. Infuse a proper quantity of the black of charcoal in water for the same space of time; mix the black and white in the proportion that the tint requires; afterwards mix them up with a pretty strong size sufficiently thick and warm, and apply them to the subject in as many layers as may be thought necessary. It requires about two pounds of white in a pint of water, and a quantity of black in proportion to the tint, together with a part of size, to cover a square fathom. If this be employed on old walls, they must be well scraped, the dust brushed off with a hair besom, and washed carefully with lime water. If on new plaster, the colours require more size.

All kinds of colours may be grinded in water only when the tint is made; and when they have been infused in water, they must be mixed up with size.

§ 3. Walls done with the White Des Carmes.

The white des carmes is a manner of whitening interior walls, whereby they are rendered extremely beautiful.

1. Procure a quantity of the very best lime, and pass it through fine linen; pour it into a large tub, furnished with a spigot at the height equal to that which the lime occupies: fill the tub with clear fountain water; beat the mixture with great pieces of wood, and then allow it to settle for 24 hours.

2. Open the spigot, allow the water to run off, supply the tub with fresh water, and continue this operation for several days until the lime receives the greatest degree of whiteness.

3. When you allow the water finally to run off, the lime will be found in the consistency of paste; but with the quantity you use it is necessary to mix a little Prussian blue or indigo to relieve the brightness of the white, and a small quantity of turpentine to give it brilliancy. The size proper for it is made of glove leather, with the addition of some alum; and the whole is applied with a strong brush in five or six layers to new plaster.

4. The wall is strongly rubbed over with a brush of hogs bristles after the painting is dry; which gives it its lustre and value, and which makes it appear like marble or stucco.

§ 4. Of Badgeon.

Badgeon is a pale yellow colour applied to plaster to make it appear like free stones. It gives to old houses and churches the exterior of a new building, by assuming the colour of stones newly cut.

1. Take a quantity of lime newly killed.

2. Add to it half the quantity of what the French call feuere de pierre in which you have mixed of the ochre of rue, according to the colour of the stone you intend to imitate.

3. Steep the whole in a pail of water, in which is melted a pound of rock alum. When the feuere de pierre cannot be obtained, it is necessary to use a greater quantity of ochre de rue, or of yellow ochre, or grind the scales of the stone de St Leu; pass it through a sieve: and along with the lime it will form a cement, on which the weather will scarcely make any impression.

§ 5. Of Ceilings and the Roofs of Rooms.

When the ceilings or roofs are new, and you wish to whiten them, take white of Bougival, to which add a little of the black of charcoal to prevent the white from growing reddish; infuse them separately in water; mix the whole with half water and half size of glove leather, which being strong would make the layer come off in rolls if it were not reduced with water. Give two layers of this tint while it is lukewarm.

If the roof has been formerly whitened, it is necessary to scrape to the quick all the remaining white; then give it two or three layers of lime to ground and whiten it: Brush it carefully over; and give it two or three layers of the white of Bougival prepared as before.

§ 6. Of Colouring the backs of Chimneys with Lead Ore.

Clean them with a very strong brush, and carefully rub off the dust and rust; pound about a quarter of a pound of lead ore into a fine powder, and put it into a vessel with half a pint of vinegar; then apply it to the back of the chimney with a brush: When it is made black with this liquid, take a dry brush, dip it in the same powder without vinegar, and dry and rub it with this brush till it become shining as glass.

§ 7. Of Varnished Water Colours.

The advantages of this kind of painting are, that the colours do not fade; that they reflect the light; that they give no offensive smell, but permit the places to be inhabited as soon as finished; and that the varnish preserves the wood from insects and moisture.

To make a fine varnish on water colours, seven principal operations are necessary; namely, to size the wood, to prepare the white, to soften and rub the subject, to clean the moulding, to paint, to size, and to varnish.

To size the wood is to give one or two layers of size to the subject which you intend to paint.

Take three heads of garlic and a handful of wormwood leaves; boil them in three pints of water till they are reduced to one; pass the juice through a linen cloth, and mix it with a pint of parchment size; add half a handful of salt and half a pint of vinegar; and boil the whole on the fire. Size the wood with this boiling liquor; allow it to penetrate into the carved and smooth places of the wood, but take care at the same time to take it as clean off the work as possible, or at least to leave it at no place thicker than another. This first sizing serves to fill up the pores of the wood, and to prevent the materials afterwards from collecting in a body, which would cause the work to fall off in scales.

In a pint of strong parchment size, to which you have added four pints of warm water, put two handfuls of white Bougival, and allow it to infuse for the space of half an hour.

Stir it well, and give a single layer of it to the subject very warm but not boiling, equally and regularly laid on, and dashed with repeated strokes of the brush into the mouldings and carved work.

To prepare the white, take a quantity of strong parchment size, and sprinkle lightly over it with the hand, Bougival white, till the size be covered with it about half an inch in thickness; allow it to soak for half an hour as near the fire as to keep it milk warm: and then stir it with the brush till the lumps are broken and it be sufficiently mixed.

Give seven, eight, or ten layers of this white, or as many as the nature of the work or the defects in the wood shall render necessary, giving more white to the parts which require to be softened; but in general, the layers must be equal both with regard to the quantity of the white and the strength of the size.

The last layer of the white ought to be clearer than the rest, which is made by adding water. It must be applied more slightly, taking care with small brushes to cover all the difficult places in the mouldings and carved work. It is necessary also, between the drying of the different layers, to fill up all the defects with white match and size.

To soften, is to give to the subject after the whitening a smooth and equal surface, and to rub it over with a pumice stone.

The wood being dry, take little pieces of white wood and of pumice stone, grinded for the purpose into all necessary forms, either for the panels or the moulding.

Take cold water, heat being destructive of this kind of work; in summer it is common to add a little ice. Soften the wall with a brush, but only as much at a time as you can easily work, as the water might dilute the white and spoil the whole: Then smooth and rub it with the pumice stones and with the small pieces of wood. Wash it with a brush as you smooth it, and rub it over with a piece of new linen, which gives a fine lustre to the work.

The mouldings and carved work are cleaned with an iron; and the only thing to be attended to in the operation is not to raise the grain of the wood.

The subject thus prepared is ready to receive the colour you intend to give it. Choose your tint; suppose a silver colour.

Grind white ceruse and Bougival white separately in water, of each an equal quantity, and mix them together.—Add a little blue of indigo and a very small quantity of black of charcoal from the vine tree very fine, ground also separately, and in water; more or less of the one or other gives the tint you require.—Dilute this tint in strong parchment size; pass it through a bolting cloth of silk very fine, and lay the Application tint on your work, taking care to spread it very equally; and then give it two layers, and the colour is applied.

Make a weak, beautiful, and clean size; stir it till it cools; strain it through a fine cloth, and give two layers to the work with a soft painting brush, which has been used, but which you have been careful to clean. Take care not to choke up the mouldings nor to lay on the size thicker on one place than another, and spread it over the work very slightly, otherwise you will dilute the colours, and occasion undulations in the painting.

The beauty of the work depends on this last sizing; for if any part is omitted, the varnish will penetrate into the colours and give it a darker shade.

When the sizing is dry, lay on two or three layers of spirit of wine varnish, taking care that the place on which you lay it be warm, and the work is finished.

§ 8. Of the King's White.

This derives its name from the use of it in the apartments of the French King. It is in all respects conducted like the former, except that there is only a small quantity of indigo, to take the yellow from the white, without any black of charcoal, and without varnish.

This white answers extremely well for apartments which are seldom used; but otherwise it spoils easily, especially in bedrooms. It is the best white where there is any kind of gilding; and in this case it receives a little varnish.

SECT. III. Of Painting in Oil Colours.

To paint in oil is to apply to all sorts of subjects, as walls, wood, cloths, and metals, coloured earths grinded and diluted in oil. The ancients are thought to have been ignorant of this art, and the honour of the discovery is generally ascribed to John Van Eyck a Flemish painter. The secret is nothing more than substituting oil in place of water in grinding and diluting colours.

By means of oil the colours are longer preserved; and not drying so speedily, they give painters longer time to smooth, finish, and retouch their works; the colours being more marked, and mixing better together, give more distinguishable tints, and more vivid and agreeable gradations, and the colouring is more sweet and delicate.

The painting in oil consists of two kinds, namely, of that in simple oil and of that in polished oil varnish.

§ 1. Observations on Painting in Oil.

1. When bright colours, as white or gray, are ground and diluted in oil, it is necessary to make use of the oil of walnuts; but if the colours be dark, such as chestnut, or olive, or brown, you must make use of pure linseed oil.

2. When the colours are grinded and diluted in oil, they must be laid on cold, except on a new or moist plaster, which requires them to be boiling.

3. Every colour diluted in pure oil, or in oil mixed with essence, ought to fall in threads from the end of the brush.

4. Take care to stir from time to time your colour before before taking it up on the brush, that it may preserve an equal thickness, and consequently the same tone. Notwithstanding the precaution of fliring, if it is found to be thicker towards the bottom, it will be necessary to pour in from time to time a little oil.

5. In general, every subject which is painted in oil ought first to receive one or two layers of white cerufe, grinded and diluted in oil.

6. When the painting is exposed to the air, as in doors, windows, and other works, which cannot be varnished, it is necessary to make these layers with pure oil of walnuts, mixed up with about one ounce of essence to a pound of colours; more would make the colours brown, and occasion them to fall off in dust; but this quantity prevents the sun from blittinger the work.

7. In subjects on the inside of the house, or when the painting is varnished, the first layer ought to be grinded and diluted in oil, and the last diluted with pure essence.

8. If copper or iron, or other hard substances, are to be painted, it is necessary to mix a little essence with the first layers, to make the oil penetrate into them.

9. When there are many knots in the subject, as is particularly the case with fir wood, and when the colour does not easily take impression on these parts, it is necessary, when you paint with simple oil, to lay on a little oil mixed with litharge on the knots. If you paint with polished oil varnish, it is necessary to apply a hard tint, which we shall have occasion to speak of afterwards. A single layer well applied is generally sufficient to give a body to the wood, and make the other layers apply easily.

10. There are colours, such as what the French call fils-de-grain, black of charcoal, and especially bone and ivory blacks, which are difficult to dry when grinded in oil. To remedy this inconvenience, the following fixatives are mixed with the colours, to make them dry, viz. litharge both of the silver and gold colour, vitriol or copperas, and what is called fixative oil.

§ 2. Observations on the Siccatives.

1. Do not mix the fixatives with the colours till they are to be employed, otherwise it will thicken them.

2. Mix it only in very small quantities in tin, where-in there is white lead or cerufe, because those colours are fixative of themselves, especially when they are diluted in essence.

3. In painting which is to be varnished, give the fixative only to the first layer, and allow the other layers, in which there is essence, to dry of themselves.

4. In dark colours in oil, give to every pound of colours in diluting them half an ounce of litharge; to bright colours, a drachm of white copperas grinded in walnut oil.

5. When in place of litharge or copperas the fixative oil is employed, it requires a quartern of this oil to every pound of colour.

The fixative oil is prepared of one half ounce of litharge, as much of calcined cerufe, as much of terre d'ombre, a colour with which the French paint shadows, and as much of talc boiled for two hours on a slow and equal fire, with one pound of linseed oil, and stirred the whole time. It must be carefully skimmed and clarified, and the older it grows it is better.

§ 3. Observations on the Quantities of Substances and Liquids.

1. Ochres and earths require more liquids both in grinding and diluting than cerufe.

2. Different quantities of liquids are required in the grinding only on account of greater or less dryness; but in diluting, the quantity is always the same.

3. For the first layer after the priming, which has no relation to the colours laid on afterwards, to a square fathom give fourteen ounces of cerufe, about two ounces of liquid to grind, and four ounces to dilute it. If there is a second layer of the same materials, the quantities will require to be les.

4. It will require three pounds of colour for three layers of a square fathom. The first may consume eighteen ounces, the second sixteen, and the third fourteen.

5. To compose these three pounds of colour, take two or two and a half pounds of grinded colours, and dilute them in a pint or three half pints of oil, mixed with essence or pure oil. But if the first layer of cerufe is not used, there will be a necessity for a greater quantity of colours.

N. B. In the following kinds and applications of oil painting, we are to hold those proportions in our eye.

§ 4. Painting in Simple Oil.

On doors and windows give a layer of cerufe grinded of doors, in oil of walnuts diluted in the same oil, together with a little siccative; then give another layer of the same preparation; to which, if you want a grayish colour, add a little black of charcoal and Prussian blue, grinded also in oil of walnuts. If to these you incline to add a third layer, grind and dilute it in pure walnut oil; observing that the two last layers be less clear, or have less oil in them, than the first; the colour in this case is more beautiful and less apt to blitter with the fun.

Walls that are to be painted must be very dry; and of walls this being supposed, give two or three layers of boiling linseed oil to harden the plaster; then lay on two layers of cerufe or ochre, grinded and diluted in linseed oil; and when these are dry, paint the wall.

To paint tiles of a flatte colour, grind separately of tiles, ruse and German black in linseed oil; mix them together in the proportion which the colour requires, and dilute them in linseed oil; then give the first layer very clean to prime the tiles; and make the three next layers thicker, to give solidity to the work.

To paint arbours and all kinds of garden work, give of arbours, a layer of white cerufe grinded in oil of walnuts, and &c. diluted in the same oil, with the addition of a little litharge, then give two layers of green, composed of one pound of verdigris and two pounds of white lead, grinded and diluted in oil of walnuts. N. B. This green is of great service in the country for doors, window shutters, arbours, garden seats, rails, either of wood or iron; and in short for all works exposed to the injuries of the weather.

To whiten statues, vases, and all ornaments of stone, of statues either within or without doors; first clean the subject and vases well, Part III.

Painting in well, then give one or two layers of white cerufe, Oil Colours, grinded and diluted in pure oil of pinks, and finish with giving one or many layers of white lead prepared in the fame manner.

If you wish to paint on walls not exposed to the air, or on new platter, give one or two layers of boiling linseed oil, and continue the brush till the walls are fully soaked; then give a layer of white cerufe, grinded in oil of walnuts, and diluted with three-fourths of the same oil and one fourth essence; and laftly, give two layers more of white cerufe, grinded in oil of walnuts, and diluted in oil mixed with essence, if it is not to be varnished; but in pure essence if it is. It is in this manner that walls are painted white. If you adopt another colour, it is neceffary to grind and dilute it in the fame quantities of oil and essence.

To paint chairs, benches, stone, or plaster, give a layer of white cerufe grinded in oil of walnuts and diluted in the fame oil, into which you have caft a little litharge to make it dry; then apply a layer of the tint you fix on, grinded in oil and diluted in one part oil and three parts essence; and afterwards give two more layers of the fame tint grinded in oil and diluted in pure essence: This may be varnished with two layers of spirit of wine.

To make a fteel colour, grind separately in essence, white cerufe, Prussian blue, fine lac, and verdigris. The tone which you require is procured by the proper mixture of thofe ingredients. When you have fixed on the tone of colour, take about the fize of a walnut of the ingredients, and dilute them in a fmall veffel in one part of essence and three parts of white oily varnish. N. B. This colour is generally made of white cerufe, of black charcoal, and Prussian blue, grinded in thick oil, and diluted in essence, which is the cheapest method of procuring it; but the former is the moft beautiful.

For painting balustrades and railings, dilute lamp black with varnish of vermilion; giving two layers of it, and afterwards two layers of spirit of wine varnish.

Since the discovery of oil painting, and the knowledge that wood is preserved by it, and efpecially fince the difcovery of a varnish without fmeil, and which even takes away that of oil, the painting of apartments in oil has been with justice preferred.

In fact the oil flops up the pores of the wood; and although it does not altogether refift the impreflion of moisture, yet the effect is fo little perceptible, that it is to be recommended as the beft method of preserving wood.

To preferve wainscotting in the moft effectual manner from moisture, it is neceffary to paint the wall behind it with two or three layers of common red, grinded and diluted in linseed oil.

To paint the wainscotting itfelf, give a layer of white cerufe grinded in oil of walnuts, and diluted in the fame oil mixed with essence. This layer being dry, give two more of the colour you have adopted, grinded in oil and diluted in pure essence. If you with the mouldings and sculpture to be painted in a different colour, grind and dilute it in the fame manner.

Two or three days after, when the colours are fully dry, give two or three layers of your white varnish without fmeil, and which allo prevents the offensive fmeil of the oil colours. N. B. Thofe who begin their operations in water colours, if they find it more agreeable, may finish it in oil colours as above.

When the pores of the wood are well ftopped by the prepared white, a layer of white cerufe grinded in oil of walnuts, and diluted in the fame oil, mixed with essence, may be applied. This will be fufficient, the wood being previously primed; and afterwards lay on your intended colour and varnish.

§ 5. Painting in Oil with the polifhed Varnish.

This is the beft kind of oil painting, owing more to the care it requires than to the proceedings, for they are nearly the fame with thofe of fimple oil painting; the difference confifting only in the preparation and manner of finishing.

To paint wainscottings of apartments with the polifh Wainfcotting varnish, it is neceffary, in the firft place, that the pannels be new. Then,

1. Make the surface of the fubject which you mean to paint very smooth and level, which is done by a layer, which serves to receive the hard tint or polifhed ground and the colours.

This layer ought to be of white, whatever colour you are afterwards to apply. It confifts of white cerufe, grinded very fine in linseed oil, with a little litharge, and diluted in the fame oil mixed with essence.

2. Make the polifhed ground by feven or eight layers of the hard tint. In painting equipages, a dozen is neceffary.

The hard tint is made, by grinding pure white cerufe, which has not been much calcined, very finely in thick oil, and diluting it with essence. You muft take care that the layers of the hard tint be not only equal as to the application, but to the quantity of the white cerufe and the oil, and to the degree of calcination. Then,

3. Soften this ground with pumice ftone.

4. Polifh it moderately with a piece of ferge soaked in a pail of water, in which you have put fome powder of pumice ftone finely grinded and paflcd through a fine fieve. There is no occasion to spare washing, as this part of the operation will not spoil with water.

5. Choose the tint with which you intend to decorate your apartment; grind it in oil, and dilute it in essence; pafl it through a piece of very fine filk, give two or three layers carefully and thinly spread over the surface, as on this part of the operation depends in a great measure the beauty of the colour. All forts of colours may be employed in this manner in oil of efence.

6. Give two or three layers of a spirit of wine varnish, if it is to wainscotting; if to the body of a coach, a varnish of oil is employed. If the varnish is to be polifhed, it is neceffary to give feven or eight layers at leaft, laid on equally and with great precaution, not to be thicker in one place than another, which occasions spots.

7. It is again polifhed with pumice ftone reduced to powder, and water and a piece of ferge. If the wainscotting has been painted before, it is neceffary to rub off the colour till you come to the hard tint, which is done with pumice ftone and water, or with a piece of linen dipped in essence.

There is a white painting in oil, called white varnish White varnish, which corresponds to the king's white in water nish polifh

VOL. XV. Part II. Painting in colours, and is equal to the freshness and glofs of marble if it is applied to wood. To paint in this manner,

1. Give a layer of white cerufe grinded in oil of walnuts, with a little calcined copperas, and diluted in efence. But if it is applied to flone, it is neceffary to employ oil of walnuts and calcined copperas alone.

2. Grind white cerufe very fine in efence, and dilute it in fine white oil varnifh with copal.

3. Give feven or eight layers of it to the subject.—The varnifh mixed with the white cerufe dries fo promptly, that three layers of it may be given in a day.

4. Soften and polifh all the layers as above.

5. Give two or three layers of white lead grinded in oil of walnuts, and diluted in pure efence.

6. Give feven or eight layers of white spirit of wine varnifh, and then polifh them.

§ 6. Of Painting in Varnifh.

To paint in varnifh, is to employ colours grinded and diluted in varnifh, either in spirits of wine or oil, on all sorts of fubjects. Wainfcotting, furniture, and equipages, are painted in this manner, though we fhall confine ourfelves to the firft.

1. Give two layers of white of Bougival, diluted in a strong fize boiling hot.

2. Give a layer of what the French call de blanc apprît.

3. Fill up the defects of the wood with mafhich in water; and when the layers are dry, fmoofh them with the pumice flone.

4. When the wood is smooth, fuppofe the paint a gray colour, take one pound of white cerufe, one dram of Prufian blue, or of black of charcoal or ivory black; put the white into a piece of leather, fo tied that the colours cannot escape; thake them till they are fufficiently mixed.

5. Put two ounces of colours into a quarten of varnifh; mix them carefully; give one layer above the white.

6. This layer being dry, put one ounce of colours into the fame quantity of varnifh as above, and give a fecond layer.

7. To the third layer give half an ounce of colour to the fame quantity of varnifh.

8. As each of these layers dry, be careful to rub them with a piece of new coarfe cloth, in fuch a manner, however, as not to injure the colour. N. B. The three layers may be given in one day.

9. If you want to give a perfect luftrc, add a fourth layer prepared as the third.

All other colours, as blue, &c. may be applied in the fame manner. This method is the only one by which ornament can be employed in all its beauty, but not without fome of its inconveniences.

Another manner of performing this kind of work, is to apply the colours and the varnifh without previoufly uflng the fize and the white ground. This is extremely expedient, but it is eafy to perceive it will want the polifh and brilliancy of the other.

SECT. IV.

We cannot perhaps more properly conclude this article, than with an account of M. de Morveau's attempts to render more perfect the proportion of colours, and efpecially of white, employed in painting. Thefe we fhall extract from a memoir of his read in the academy of Dijon.

"White (fays the ingenious academician) is the moft important of all colours in painting. It affords to the painter the materials of light, which he diftributes in fuch a manner as to bring his objecls together, to give them relief; and that magic which is the glory of his art. For thefe reafons I fhall confine my attention at prefent to this colour.

"The firft white which was difcovered, and indeed the only one yet known, is extracted from the calx of lead. The danger of the procefs, and the dreadful diftemper with which thoſe employed in it are often feized, have not yet led to the difcovery of any other white. Lefs anxious, indeed, about the danger of the artift than the perfection of the art, they have varied the preparation, to render the colour leſs liable to change. Hence the different kinds of white, viz. white of Crems in Austria, white lead in fluehs, and white cerufe. But every perfon converfant in colours, knows that the foundation of all thefe is the calx of lead, more or leſs pure, or more or leſs loaded with gas. That they all participate of this metallic fubfance, will indeed appear evident from the following experiment, which determines and demonstrates the alterability of colours by the phlogiftic vapour.

"I poured into a large glafs bottle a quantity of li- ver of fulphur on a baſis of alkali, fixed or volatile, it makes no difference; I added fome drops of diftilled vinegar, and I covered the mouth of the bottle with a piece of paflerboard cut to its fize, on which I difpoſed different famples of crems, of white lead, and of cerufe, either in oil or in water; I placed another ring of paflerboard over the firft, and tied above all a piece of bladder round the neck of the bottle with a strong pack thread. It is evident, that in this operation I took advantage of the means which chemistry offers to produce a great quantity of phlogiftic vapour, to accomplish instantaneously the effect of many years; and, in a word, to apply to the colours the very fame vapours to which the picture is neceffarily expofed, only more accumulated and more concentrated. I fay the fame vapour, for it is now fully eftablifhed, that the fmoke of candles, animal exhalations of all kinds, alkalinefcent odours, the electric effluvia, and even light, furnifh continually a quantity more or leſs of matter, not only analogous, but identically the fame with the vapour of vitriolic acid mixed with fulphur.

"If it happens that the famples of colours are fenfibly altered by the phlogiftic vapour, then we may conclude with certainty, that the materials of which the colours are compofed, bear a great affinity to that vapour; and fince it is not poſfible to preferve them entirely from it in any situation, that they will be more or leſs affected with it, according to the time and a variety of circum- stances.

"After fome minutes continuance in this vapour, I examined the famples of colours submitted to its influence, and found them wholly altered. The cerufe and the white lead both in water and oil were changed into black; and the white of crems into a brownifh black; and hence thoſe colours are bad, and ought to be abandoned. They may indeed be defended in fome meafure by varnifh: but this only retards for a time the contact Painting in of the phlogistic vapour; for as the varnish loses its Oil Colours humidity, it opens an infinite number of passages to this subtle fluid.

"After having ascertained the instability of the whites in common use, I made several attempts to discover such as would prove more lasting; and though many of these attempts were without effect, I shall give a succinct account of the whole, which may save a great deal of trouble to those who wish to travel over the same field.

"There are three conditions essential to a good colour in painting.

"First, That it dilute easily, and take a body both with oils and with mucilages, or at least with the one or other of these substances, a circumstance which depends on a certain degree of affinity. Where this affinity is too strong, a dissolution ensues; the colour is extinguished in the new composition, and the mass becomes more or less transparent; or else the sudden reaction absorbs the fluid, and leaves only a dry substance, which can never again be softened. But if the affinity is too weak, the particles of colour are scarcely suspended in the fluid, and they appear on the canvas like sand, which nothing can fix or unite.

"The second condition is, That the materials of which colours are composed do not bear too near an affinity with the phlogistic vapour. The experiments to which I submitted whites from lead, is an infallible means of ascertaining the quality of colours in this respect, without waiting for the slow impression of time.

"A third condition equally essential is, That the colouring body be not volatile, that it be not connected with a substance of a weak texture, susceptible of a spontaneous degeneracy. This consideration excludes the greater part of substances which have received their tint from vegetable organization; at least it makes it impossible to incorporate their finer parts with a combination more solid.

"After these reflections, my researches were directed, first, to the five pure earths; next, to the earthy compounds; in the third place, to the earthy salts, which can scarcely be dissolved; lastly, to the metallic earths, either pure or precipitated by Prussian alkali. M. Wenzel has discovered a sixth earth, which I call eburne, and which, after other experiments, I thought of applying to the purposes of painting; but I soon perceived that it would have the same fault with other kinds of earth, and, besides, that it could not be obtained but at a very considerable expense.

"The five pure earths possess fixity in a very great degree, and at the same time are little affected by the phlogistic vapour; but they refuse to unite with oil or mucilages, and the white is totally extinguished when they are grinded with these liquids. I made several attempts on earth from alum, not only because M. Beaumé recommended the use of it in painting, and because it enters into the composition of Prussian blue, but also because it is a chief ingredient in ochres, and other earths of that nature, which supposes that it should unite in a certain degree with diluting liquors; notwithstanding, in whatever manner I treated it, it would not yield a white; but one will be less surprised at this want of success, when he considers, that in the ochres and Prussian blue, the earth from alum is only the vehicle of the colouring body, whereas here it is the colour itself.

"To be convinced of the truth of this observation, it is only necessary to mix equal parts of this earth, or even Painting in clay not coloured, with ceruse or any other white; Oil Colours the mixture will be susceptible of being grinded in oil or in gum without being extinguished; it will easily unite with any coloured substance, and be productive of no bad consequences to the pure earths.

"Nature and art pretend to us a considerable number of earthy compositions sufficiently white for the purposes of painting; such as the jasper white, the feldspar white, the schirl white, &c. But all these substances, in all the trials which I made, had the fault which I have already mentioned; and originating from the same cause, they wanted a fixed colouring body, which would not change when it is pulverized, nor be extinguished when it is diluted.

"The ultramarine blue, which is extracted from the blue jasper, and known by the name of lapis lazuli, seems at first view to warrant the possibility of appropriating to painting all the opaque half vitrified compositions of the nature of jasper.

"Prepossessed with this idea, I conceived the hope of producing a true white lapis; but I soon perceived that the experiment confirmed the principle which I had laid down from my observations on pure earths; since it is not the substance peculiar to the jasper which constitutes the ultramarine blue, but the metallic substance which accidentally colours this particular kind of jasper.

"In the same manner, art in this imitation of nature should have for its object to give a permanent base to a colour already formed, to fix it without altering, and to augment perhaps its splendour and its intensity, without attempting to produce a colour.

"In excepting from earthy and metallic salts all those of which the acid is not completely saturated, which would easily attract the humidity of the air, or which would be easily dissolved, you have but a very small number to make experiments on.

"The natural and artificial selenite gives with oil a paste without colour, and tasting somewhat like honey; its white is better preserved with a gum, but even in this case it resembles a half transparent pap.

"The natural or regenerated heavy spar is the most likely salt to produce white. As it is of all others the most difficult to dissolve, it appears after pulverization to be a very fine white, but is scarcely touched with oil when it becomes gray and half transparent: the mucilage alters it also, although less discernibly; and it does not even resume its white colour after it becomes dry on the canvas.

"The fame is the case with calcareous borax, formed by the solution of borax in lime water; its white is completely extinguished with oil, lest so with gum; but it hardens so instantaneously with the latter, that is impossible ever to dilute it again.

"Calcareous tartar, obtained by casting quicklime into a boiling solution of cream of tartar, is affected with oil in the same manner as selenite, but with mucilaginous water it gives a pretty good white, only possessed of little reflection, and appearing like plaster; it applied very well to the canvas, and resisted the phlogistic vapour.

"According to M. Weber, in his work entitled Fabriken und Kunste, published 1781, the white, called in Germany kremfer swefl, is nothing but the vitriol Painting in lead, prepared by dissolving lead in nitrous acid, and Oil Colours, precipitating it in vitriolic acid; and forming it afterwards into solid tablets by means of gum water. It is certain that this resembles in no shape the white called in France the white of creams; at least I never found that it could be dissolved in vinegar; but I tried the white prepared in M. Weber's manner, and the result was the same as above, that is to say, it turned completely black.

"The vitriols of lead and of bismuth alter more speedily than the calces of those metals. And thus, with the exception of calcareous tartar, which may be of some use in water colours, the best earthy salts on which I have made experiments, may all, or the most of them, give a base to some colours, but cannot constitute by themselves a colour useful in painting.

"Of the fifteen known metallic substances, there are nine which yield white calces: namely, silver, mercury, lead, tin, antimony, bismuth, zinc, arsenic, and manganese.

"Of these nine substances, we may almost pass over silver and mercury; because, though they yield a very fine white, precipitated by means of crystallized vegetable alkali, yet it is soon altered when exposed to the air; that from silver changing into black, and that from mercury into yellow.

"It is well known that lead gives a very good white, and one which unites easily with oil or size; but that it is extremely liable to change, has been my principal object to prove, and the experiments which I have made place it beyond contradiction.

"I shall only add, that if there is a preparation able to correct this fault, it should be the precipitation of the earth of this metal in its acetous distillation by Prussian alkali; but the white which results from this preparation becomes sensibly brownish when it is exposed a few minutes only to the phlogistic vapour.

"It would be therefore unreasonable to persevere in the use of this substance, or to wish to render it fixed, since the changes which it undergoes do not alter its nature, and the indestructible order of its affinities.—The calx of tin is easily applied to any purpose, and experiences no change from the concentrated phlogistic vapour. These considerations induced me to endeavour to obtain this calx perfectly white; and here follows the result of my operations: The tin calcined gives a pretty white calx; but whatever attention I paid to take off the red surface which the violence of the fire occasioned, a shade of gray always appears when it is diluted. Tin calcined by nitre in fusion, gives a tar-nished and gross calx, which multiplied washings could not deprive of a yellowish tint.

"Having precipitated, by means of crystallized vegetable alkali, a solution of English tin, which had been made in the muriatic acid, after the manner of M. Bayen to extract the arsenic, I had a calx of the greatest whiteness, so light that it buoyed up to the surface of the liquor, and so thin that the greater part of it passed through the filter; but it experienced at the same time a kind of adherence with the salts, which makes the part of it retained by the filter incapable of being pulverized, gummy, half transparent, and even a little changed into yellow. In this condition it is extinguished when diluted; it is necessary, therefore, to moisten it in boiling water, and afterwards to calcine slightly the sediment after it has had sufficient time to settle.

"I have tried the calcination by means of moisture, in employing the tin of the purest melac, and a rectified nitrous acid, according to the method of Meyer. It formed a very white sparkling calx, which remained in the filter in the consistency of jelly.—Meanwhile, I observed that it was always a little yellow by the mixture of a portion of that earth which took, in the operation, the colour of turbith mineral.

"A very fine white calx is extracted from antimony, calcined by nitre in fusion; but the earth of this semi-metal must be placed in the number of those which combine too easily with the phlogistic vapour. The diaphoretic antimony, grinded in oil, took in ten minutes in my phlogistic apparatus a colour somewhat like sulphur.

"The property of bismuth to give a very fine white calx, known by the name of magistery, or white fard, is generally known; it is easily prepared, since it is only necessary to dissolve the bismuth in nitrous acid, and to precipitate the solution by pure water; it dilutes perfectly with oil and mucilages. But this colour ought to be rejected, as the most alterable by the phlogistic vapour. It became completely black in ten minutes in my apparatus; and this fact is also proved from what happens to women who use this colour, when they are exposed to the vapours of sulphur, of garlic, or of any putrid substances.

"Zinc furnishes by all the processes of calcination and precipitation a pretty white calx, when it is pure and separated from iron; otherwise the solutions of the vitriol of zinc will become yellow when exposed to the air. I have precipitated those solutions by lime water, by caustic, and effervescent alkalies; I have calcined this semi-metal alone and with nitre; and in all those operations I have obtained an earthy substance of different degrees of whiteness, which, after it was dried and prepared, mixed readily with oil and mucilages without losing its colour; and which experienced no sensible change when exposed to the phlogistic vapour.

"The valuable properties, the chief object of my researches, engaged me to multiply my experiments to determine at once the most economical process, and the most advantageous and infallible preparation.—Those attempts have convinced me, that the calcination of this semi-metal alone in a crucible, placed horizontally on the corners of a reverberating furnace, gives the purest, the whitest, and the least reducible calx; and that to make an excellent colour, it is sufficient to separate the parts not burned with water, and grind it with a little of the earth of alum or chalk to give it a body. Zinc precipitated in Prussian alkali, even in distilled vinegar, retains always a shade of yellow, does not unite so well in oil, and takes a demi-transparent consistence like cheese.

"White arsenic extinguishes much less in diluting than one would believe from its saline nature; it preserves its colour best in gum water; and it is remarkable, that instead of turning black in the phlogistic vapour, it takes a very distinct shade of yellow. This property is sufficiently singular and constant to furnish a new method of analyzing arsenic, fo as to know it. And this alteration of colour makes it of no use Painting in painting, although its deleterious qualities did not forbid the practice.

"The semi-metal known by the name of manganese, gives also a white calx. I had at first great hopes from this colour, as, contrary to all those extracted from the other metals, it became white by the phlogistic vapour. There remained, therefore, but one difficulty to overcome, viz. to separate from the manganese the portion of iron which it usually contained, and which infallibly makes the earth a little yellow. To accomplish this in the cheapest manner, I submitted the black ore of the manganese to a long calcination to render its iron insoluble; I afterwards applied vinegar to it, after the example of M. de la Peyrouse; and in precipitating the dissolution by effervescient alkali, I easily obtained a pure white precipitate. But I soon perceived that the facility with which a colouring body loses its phlogiston, is no less an inconvenience than that of attracting it, and productive of the same alterations.

"The white of manganese became very soon yellow when exposed to the air; and this is not to be ascribed to the iron contained in it, since neither the galls nor Prussian alkali had discovered any of it in the dissolution. This substance, therefore, can be of no use in producing a white colour for painting."

The experiment by which M. de Morveau tried the colours not alterable by the phlogistic vapour, was performed before the academy, the prince of Condé being president. "I placed (says he) in my apparatus pieces of cloth, on which were laid the white of calcareous tar-tar in water, different preparations of white from tin and zinc, in oil and water; and I allowed them to continue exposed to the phlogistic vapour during a fitting of the academy: if they were not altered, their superiority over the whites in use would be sufficiently established. The fitting continued for near an hour; and the bottle having been opened, all the colours continued to have the same shade which they had before. I can, therefore, recommend to painters those three whites, and particularly that of zinc, the preparation of which is exposed to less variation, the shade more lively and uniform, and moreover it is fit for all purposes, and perhaps procured at less expense.

"I will assert farther, that it may be procured in sufficient quantities to supply the place of ceruse in every branch of the art, even in interior house painting:—I would recommend it, lest with the view of adding new splendour to this kind of ornament, than for the safety of those who are employed in it, and perhaps for the safety of those who inhabit houses ornamented in this manner.

"But, without being too sanguine, although the processes in the fabrication be simplified in proportion to the demand, as is usually the case, yet there is reason to apprehend that the low price of ceruse will always give it the preference in house-painting. With regard to those who apply colours to nobler purposes, they will not hesitate to employ the white of zinc. I am assured that four francs is paid for the pound of the white of creams; and I believe the white in question, prepared in the manner which I have pointed out, might be sold for six.

"Mr. Courters, connected with the laboratory of the academy, has already declared that it is used for house-painting: lest, however, in regard to its unalterability, than to its solubility: and this can be the more readily believed, as the flower of zinc enters into many compositions of the apothecary. The fame Mr. Courters has arrived at the art of giving more body to this white, which the painters seemed to desire, and also of making it bear a comparison with white lead either in water or oil. The only fault found with it, is its drying slowly when used in oil; but some experiments which I have made, incline me to believe that this fault may be easily remedied, or at least greatly corrected, by giving it more body. At any rate, it may be rendered fictative at pleasure, by adding a little vitriol of zinc or copperas slightly calcined.

"Painters already know the properties of this salt, but perhaps they do not know that it mixes with the white of zinc better than with any other colour; the reason is, they have chemically the same base. It is prepared by purging the white copperas of that small portion of iron which would render it yellow; and this is easily done in digesting its solution, even when cold, on the filings of zinc.

"The mixture of this salt thus prepared is made on the pallet, without producing any alteration, and a small quantity will produce a great effect."

APPENDIX.

We shall here add an account of some processes which have been recommended, on account of their cheapness, for preparing different materials for economical painting. The first is a method of house painting with milk, by Cadet de Vaux*. The following are the directions for preparing this paint.

Take of skimmed milk a pint, which makes two pints of Paris, or nearly two quarts English; fresh flaked lime, fix ounces, (about fix and a half ounces avordupois); oil of caraways, or linseed, or nut, four ounces; Spanish white (whiting) three pounds: put the lime into a stone-ware vessel, and pour upon it a sufficient quantity of milk to make a mixture resembling thin cream; then add the oil a little at a time, stirring it with a small spatula; the remainder of the milk is then to be added, and lastly, the Spanish white. Skimmed milk in summer is often clotted, but this is a circumstance of no consequence to our object, because the contact with the lime soon restores its fluidity. But it must on no account be sour, because in that case it would form with the lime a kind of calcareous acetite, capable of attracting muriate.

"The lime is flaked by dipping it in water, out of which it is to be immediately taken, and left to fall in pieces in the air.

"The choice of either of these oils is indifferent; nevertheless for white paint the oil of caraways is to be preferred, because colourless. The commonest oils may be used for painting with the ochres.

"The oil when mixed in with the milk and lime appears, and is totally dissolved by the lime, with which it forms a calcareous soap.

"The Spanish white is to be crumbled, or gently spread on the surface of the fluid, which it gradually imbibes, and at last links; at this period it must be well stirred in. This paint may be coloured like dittaper (or size colour) with levigated charcoal, yellow ochre, &c.

"And "And it is used in the same manner: "The quantity here prescribed is sufficient for the first coat of fix toiles, or 27 square yards English. "The price of this quantity amounts to nine sols, which reduces the price of the square toise to one sol, fix deniers, prime cost." And to give this paint a greater degree of solidity, that it may be employed as a substitute for oil paint, the author adds to the proportions of the paint for out-door works, of flaked lime, oil, white Burgundy pitch, each two ounces. The pitch is to be melted with a gentle heat in the oil, and then added to the smooth mixture of the milk and lime. In cold weather this mixture is to be warmed, that it may not occasion too speedy cooling of the pitch, and to facilitate its union with the milk of lime. This paint, it is said, has some analogy with that known by the name of encaustic. It has been employed, the author informs us, for outside shutters, formerly painted with oil, and is preferable to painting with lead, objects that are exposed to putrid exhalations, which are apt to blacken paint composed of metallic matters, especially of lead.

A method has been proposed by Mr Vanherman, for making cheap and durable paints with fish oil. The paints thus prepared, before their cheapness, are not subject to blister or peel off by exposure to the weather. They may be manufactured of any colour, and laid on by ordinary labourers. The price of some of them is so low as twopence, and the highest does not exceed threepence per pound, in a state fit for use. The author adds, that white lead ground with prepared fish oil, and thinned with linseed oil, surpasses any white hitherto employed for resisting all weathers, and retaining its whiteness. The following is an account of his process†.

"To refine one Ton of Cod, Whale, or Seal Oil, for painting, with the cost attending it.

<table> <tr> <th></th> <th></th> <th></th> </tr> <tr> <td>One ton of fish oil, or 252 gallons,</td> <td>L.36</td> <td>0</td> </tr> <tr> <td>32 gallons of vinegar, at 2s. per gallon</td> <td>3</td> <td>4</td> </tr> <tr> <td>12 lbs. litharge, at 5d. per lb.</td> <td>0</td> <td>5</td> </tr> <tr> <td>12 lbs. white copperas, at 6d. ditto</td> <td>0</td> <td>6</td> </tr> <tr> <td>12 gallons of linseed oil, at 4s. 6d. per gallon</td> <td>2</td> <td>14</td> </tr> <tr> <td>2 gallons of spirits of turpentine, at 8s. ditto</td> <td>0</td> <td>16</td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2">L.43</td> <td>5</td> </tr> <tr> <td>252 gallons of fish oil,<br>12 ditto linseed oil,<br>2 ditto spirits of turpentine,<br>32 ditto vinegar.</td> <td colspan="2"></td> </tr> <tr> <td>298 gallons, worth 4s. 6d. per gallon.</td> <td colspan="2"></td> </tr> <tr> <td>Which produces</td> <td>L.67</td> <td>1</td> </tr> <tr> <td>Deduct the expence</td> <td>43</td> <td>5</td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2">L.23</td> <td>16</td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="3">profit.</td> </tr> </table>

"To prepare the Vinegar for the Oil.

"Into a cask which will contain about forty gallons, put 32 gallons of good common vinegar; add to this 12 pounds of litharge, and 12 pounds of white copperas in powder; bung up the vessel, and shake and roll it well twice a-day for a week; when it will be fit to put into a ton of whale, cod, or seal oil; (but the Southern whale oil is to be preferred, on account of its good colour, and little or no smell); shake and mix altogether, when it may settle until the next day; then pour off the clear, which will be about seven eighths of the whole. To this clear part add twelve gallons of linseed oil, and two gallons of spirit of turpentine; shake them well together, and after the whole has settled two or three days, it will be fit to grind white lead, and all fine colours in; and, when ground, cannot be distinguished from those ground in linseed oil, unless by the superiority of its colour

"If the oil is wanted only for coarse purposes, the linseed oil and oil of turpentine may be added at the same time that the prepared vinegar is put in, and after being well shaken up, is fit for immediate use without being suffered to settle.

"The vinegar is to dissolve the litharge; and the copperas accelerates the dissolution, and strengthens the drying quality.

"The residue, or bottom, when settled, by the addition of half its quantity of fresh lime-water, forms an excellent oil for mixing with all the coarse paints for preserving outside work.

"Note. All colours ground in the above oil, and used for inside work, must be thinned with linseed oil and oil of turpentine.

"The oil mixed with lime-water, I call incorporated oil.

"The method of preparing, and the expence of the various Impenetrable Paints.

"First,—Subdued Green.

Fresh lime water, 6 gallons, - L.0 0 3 Road dirt finely sifted, 112 pounds, - 0 1 0 Whiting, 112 ditto, - - 0 2 4 Blue-black, 30 ditto, - - 0 2 6 Wet blue, 20 ditto, - - 0 10 0 Residue of the oil, 3 gallons, - - 0 6 0 Yellow ochre in powder, 24 pounds, - 0 2 0 L.1 4 1

"This composition will weigh 368 pounds, which is scarcely one penny per pound. To render the above paint fit for use, to every eight pounds add one quart of the incorporated oil, and one quart of linseed oil, and it will be found a paint with every requisite quality, both of beauty, durability, and cheapness, and in this state of preparation does not exceed twopence halfpenny per pound; whereas the coal tar of the same colour is sixpence."

To this we shall only add the following receipt for a constant white for inside painting. This paint, the author observes, is not entirely free from smell in the operation, but becomes dry in four hours, at the end of which time the smell is entirely dissipated.

"White Paint.

"To one gallon of spirits of turpentine, add two pounds of frankincense; let it simmer over a clear fire until dissolved; strain it and bottle it for use. To one gallon Appendix.

Painting in gallon of my bleached linseed oil, add one quart of the Oil Colours above, shake them well together and bottle it also. Let any quantity of white lead be ground with spirits of turpentine very fine; then add a sufficient portion of the last mixture to it, until you find it fit for laying on. If painting in working it grows thick, it must be thinned with spi. Oil Colours, rits of turpentine.—It is a flat or dead white."