Part 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

ON GRACE.

——Χαριτων ἱμερο φωνων ἱερον φυτον.

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

_That least of foreign principles partakes,_ _Is best:_

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

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

Grace, in works of art, concerns the human figure only; it modifies the _attitude_ and _countenance_, _dress_ and _drapery_. And here I must observe, that the following remarks do not extend to the comic part of art.

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

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

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

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

——_hath that within, which passeth shew:_ _These, but the trappings, and the suits of woe._

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

——_far lovelier when beheld._

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

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

_As meditation swift, swift as the thoughts of love._

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

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

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

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

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

_Laissant le vray pour prendre la grimace,_ _Il fut toujours au delà de la Grace,_ _Et bien plus loin que les commandements._

He was blindly imitated by his disciples, and in them the want of Grace shocks you still more: for as they were far his inferiors in science, you have no equivalent at all. How little _Guilielmo della Porta_, the best of them all, understood grace and the antique, you may see in that marble groupe, called the Farnese-bull; where Dirce is his to the girdle. _John di Bologna_, _Algardi_, _Fiammingo_, are great names, but likewise inferior to the ancients, in Grace.

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

From Italy, reader, I leave you to guess at other countries. A celebrated _Puget_, _Girardon_, with all his brethren in _On_, are worse. Judge of the connoisseurs of France by _Watelet_, and of its designers, by _Mariette_’s gems.

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

FOOTNOTES

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

[2] In Timæum Platonis.

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

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

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

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

[7] Baldinucci Vita del Cav. Bernini.

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

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

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

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

[12] Vide Wright’s Travels.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[19] Monum. Antiquit. p. 255.

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

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

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

[23] Lucian de Hist. Scrib.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[36] See the Cupid by SOLON, Stosch. 64. the Cupid leading the Lioness, by SOSTRATUS, Stosch. 66. and a Child and Faun, by AXEOCHUS, Stosch 20.

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

[38] Vide Callistrat. p. 903.

[39] Vide Philostrati Heroic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[49] Idyll. 18. v. 29.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[57] Aristot. Rhet. L. I. c. 1. §. 4.

[58] Xenophon Resp. Laced. c. 3. §. 5.

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

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

[61] Dialog. Inconfus. p. 76.

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

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

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

[65] Travels, T. II.

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

[67] Passerii Lucern.

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

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

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

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

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

[73] Bellori Sepolchri ant. f. 99.

[74] Virgil, Æn. V. v. 250. & seq.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[87] Diogen. Laert. v. Democr.

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

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

[90] Alberti Englische Briefe, B——.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[101] Herod. L. II.

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

[103] Descript. de l’Eg. L. c.

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

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

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

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

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

[109] Reise, p. 21.

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

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

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

[113] Cicero de Fato, c. 4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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