give them; where he should lodge his carriages, his baggage, and the defenceless followers of his camp; how many guards, and of what kind, he should send to defend them; and whether it would be better to press forward along the pass, or recover by retreat his former station: he would consider likewise where his camp could most commodiously be formed; how much ground he should enclose within his trenches; where he should have the convenience of water, and where he might find plenty of wood and forage; and when he should break up his camp on the following day, through what road he could most safely pass, and in what form he should dispose his troops. With such thoughts and disquisitions he had from his early years so exercised his mind, that on these occasions nothing could happen which he had not been already accustomed to consider."

I cannot help imagining that I see a promising young painter equally vigilant, whether at home or abroad, in the streets or in the fields. Every object that presents itself is to him a lesson. He regards all Nature with a view to his profession; and combines her beauties, or corrects her defects. He examines the countenance of men under the influence of passion; and often catches the most pleasing hints from subjects of turbulence or deformity. Even bad pictures themselves supply him with useful documents; and, as Lionardo da Vinci has observed, he improves upon the fanciful images that are sometimes seen in the fire, or are accidentally sketched upon a discoloured wall.

The Artist who has his mind thus filled with ideas, and his hand made expert by practice, works with ease and readiness; whilst he who would have you believe that he is waiting for the inspirations of Genius, is in reality at a loss how to begin; and is at last delivered of his monsters with difficulty and pain 12.

12

12 This maturely considering his subject is of the most vital importance, as the first sketch haunts the work through every successive stage; before putting the pencil to paper, there

The well-grounded painter, on the contrary, has only maturely to consider his subject, and all the mechanical parts of his art follow without his exertion. Conscious of the difficulty of obtaining what he possesses, he makes no pretensions to secrets, except those of closer application. Without conceiving the smallest jealousy against others, he is contented that all shall be as great as himself, who have undergone the same fatigue; and as his pre-eminence depends not upon a trick, he is free from the painful suspicions of a juggler, who lives in perpetual fear lest his trick should be discovered.

fore, the Student ought to fix well in his mind the particular point of time, the disposition of his figures, and the best view of such arrangement, as will enable him to convey it to the spectator under the most advantageous circumstances. Raffaelle's designs generally embrace a strong general character, an unaffected appearance of truth, both in the arrangement and in expression, accompanied by great enrichment of the story, by points of time preceding and following the moment chosen for representation; by scenes from former acts in the great drama of his canvas; this character in his works has left him unrivalled by all succeeding painters; and that which appears done with the greatest ease, is found to be the most difficult of attainment. "Whatever is done skilfully," says Johnson, " appears to be done with ease; and Art, when it is once matured to habit, vanishes from observation. We are, therefore more powerfully excited to emulation, by those who have attained the highest degree of excellence, and whom we can therefore with least reason hope to equal. In adjusting the probability of success by a previous consideration of the undertaking, we are equally in danger of deceiving ourselves. It is never easy, nor often possible, to comprise the series of any process with all its circumstances, incidents, and variations, in a speculative scheme. Experience soon shews us the tortuosities of imaginary rectitude, the complications of simplicity, and the asperities of smoothness. Sudden difficulties often start up from the ambushes of art, stop the career of activity, repress the gaiety of confidence, and when we imagine ourselves almost at the end of our labours, drive us back to new plans and different measures."

DISCOURSE III.

[DELIVERED ON THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES, DECEMBER 14, 1770.]

THE GREAT LEADING PRINCIPLES OF THE GRAND STYLE.- OF BEAUTY. GENUINE HABITS OF NATURE TO BE DISTINGUISHED FROM THOSE OF FASHION.

THE

GENTLEMEN,

Ir is not easy to speak with propriety to so many Students of different ages and different degrees of advancement. The mind requires nourishment adapted to its growth; and what may have promoted our earlier efforts, might retard us in our nearer approaches to perfection.

The first endeavours of a young Painter, as I have remarked in a former discourse, must be employed in the attainment of mechanical dexterity, and confined to the mere imitation of the object before him. Those who have advanced beyond the rudiments, may, perhaps, find advantage in reflecting on the advice which I have likewise given them, when I recommended the diligent study of the works of our great predecessors; but I at the same time endeavoured to guard them against an implicit submission to the authority of any one master however excellent: or by a strict imitation of his manner, precluding themselves from the abundance and variety of Nature. I will now add, that Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There are excellences in the Art of painting beyond what is commonly called the imitation of Nature; and these excellences I wish to point out. The Students who, having passed through the initiatory exercises, are more advanced in the Art, and who, sure of their hand, have leisure to exert their understanding, must now be

told, that a mere copier of Nature can never produce any thing great; can never raise and enlarge the conceptions or warm the heart of the spectator.

The wish of the genuine painter must be more extensive: instead of endeavouring to amuse mankind with the minute neatness of his imitations, he must endeavour to improve them by the grandeur of his ideas; instead of seeking praise, by deceiving the superficial sense of the spectator, he must strive for fame, by captivating the imagination.'

The principle now laid down, that the perfection of this Art does not consist in mere imitation, is far from being new or singular. It is, indeed, supported by the general opinion of the enlightened part of mankind. The poets, orators, and rhetoricians of antiquity, are continually 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 regions, to furnish his mind with this perfect idea of beauty. "He," says Proclus,3" who takes for his model such forms as Nature produces, and confines himself to an exact imitation of

1 This, however, can only be done by a complete knowledge of the Art, and a command over the materials; a power of expressing himself by means of outline and colour constitutes a painter, as a command of language is necessary to a poet, or mastery over musical notes is to the expression of a musician; the exact quantity of minute detail, or of familiar imitation, it is impossible to define. But we perceive the grandest compositions require constant reference to this outward appearance of things, the mind requires to be amused, and relieved by little incidents from the exhaustion which wonder produces. The poets from Homer to Shakespeare are full of them, which serve for contrast, and a truth of Nature: and notes of a simple or familiar air enable the musician to recal the feelings of his audience to their own bosoms, which were carried away in transport and astonishment.

Guido, on sending home his picture of "St. Michael binding down Satan," thus expresses himself, in an accompanying letter: "I wish I had had the wings of an Angel, to have ascended

them, will never attain to what is perfectly beautiful. For the works of Nature are full of disproportion, and fall very short of the true standard of beauty. So that Phidias, when he formed his Jupiter, did not copy any object ever presented to his sight; but contemplated only that image which he had conceived in his mind from Homer's description." And thus Cicero, speaking of the same Phidias: "Neither did this artist," says he, "when he carved the image of Jupiter or Minerva, set before him any one human figure, as a pattern, which he was to copy; but having a more perfect idea of beauty fixed in his mind, this he steadily contemplated, and to the imitation of this, all his skill and labour were directed."

The Moderns are not less convinced than the Ancients of this superior power existing in the Art; nor less sensible of its effects. Every language has adopted terms expressive of this excellence. The gusto grande of the Italians, the beau ideal of the French, and the great style, genius, and taste among the English, are but different appellations of the same thing." It is this intellectual dignity, they say, that ennobles the painter's Art; that lays the line between him and the mere mechanic; and produces those great effects in an instant, which eloquence and poetry, by slow and repeated efforts, are scarcely able to attain.

Such is the warmth with which both the Ancients and Moderns speak of this divine principle of the Art; but, as I have formerly observed,

into Paradise, and there to have beheld the forms of those beatified spirits, from which I might have copied my Archangel; but not being able to mount so high, it was in vain for me to search for his resemblance here below; so that I was forced to make an introspection into my own mind, and into that idea of beauty which I have formed in my own imagination."

3 Lib. 2. in Timæum Platonis, as cited by Junius de Pictura Veterum. R.

4 To render this complicated passage clear, it is necessary to keep the several expressions free from each other: grandeur often depends upon the whole conception or attitude alone, without reference to the form; style has little reference to proportion; and genius is without any definite boundary line. The whole of this third discourse can only be appreciated by those whose experience has rendered its reasoning unnecessary: it must therefore be well studied by the younger Student, to be at all useful, as we are apt only to give credence to those truths which we can comprehend.