Part 2

At the revival of the arts, some evil genius, who was determined to retard the progress of painting, dictated this rule. “A picture should always have its horizon the height of the eye _that looks at it_—in nature, the eye being always the height of the horizon; therefore a picture will be most like nature that has its horizon the height of the _natural eye_.” One of the falsest rules that ever was founded on a false principle! and this is the more lamentable, as it has spoiled, in point of perspective, three parts of the historical pictures that have ever been painted.

As it is very difficult to destroy a rooted error, and as this is a most pernicious one, it is necessary to be full and particular.

When I say _eye_ and _horizon_—the natural eye and horizon are meant. When the terms _artificial eye_ and _artificial horizon_ are used, the eye and the horizon represented in painting are to be understood. We must be clear in this distinction, for it is the confounding of the ideas expressed by these terms which has occasioned the mischief.

The eye, and the horizon, are always of the same height—therefore

The artificial eye and the artificial horizon must always be so—but

There is no connection between the _real_ eye, and the _artificial_ horizon.

In every picture the artificial eye, or point of sight, is supposed to be at a certain height from the base-line; as high as a human figure would be, represented as standing there. To this point every thing in the picture tends, as every thing in a real view tends to the natural eye. The picture then, as far as this circumstance is concerned, is perfect, if the _artificial_ eye and the _artificial_ horizon go together; for these always bear the same relation to each other, let the picture be placed any where.

Let A be the eye, B the picture (in section) and c the horizon of the picture.—The eye is always the apex of the cone; there is constantly the same relation between the parts in every position. It must be observed that there is a defect in this illustration which it was impossible to avoid—for tho’ I have considered A as the eye, yet _upon paper_, it is _artificial_ as well as the picture B. If you cannot make this distinction, I propose the following demonstration.——Take a landscape and stand it upon a table—hang it up the height of the eye—above the height—put it upon a chair—upon the floor—it still, perspectively considered, is seen equally well—for

The _real_ eye is always the height of the _artificial_ eye, whether the picture be fixed in the cieling or laid upon the floor.

Indeed if this was not so, how would it be possible to hang one picture over another? and yet this is done, and with the greatest propriety.

I have often lamented the shifts to which painters are reduced, who have followed this rule in opposition to their senses. Laresse was so thoroughly possessed with it, that his idea of fitting up a room with pictures, was to have those which were below the eye to contain nothing but ground, and those which were above, the sky and clouds. But though he was convinced of the rectitude of his principle, he was struck with the oddity of the practice—he therefore recommended that there should be but one picture from the floor to the cieling, in which there might be a perfect coincidence of the natural and artificial horizon.

A portrait-painter sets the person he is to draw generally the height of his eye.——Suppose it to be a whole-length with a landscape in the back-ground: the artist considers his picture is to hang above the eye, and for that reason makes his horizon low, about the height of the knees. The consequence is, that there are two points of sight, which supposes an impossibility; for the eye cannot be in two places at the same time. If the eye be supposed on a level with the head of the figure, as it was on drawing the face, then the back-ground is too low; if equal to the horizon of the back-ground, then the figure is too high, unless we suppose it on an eminence, or ourselves in a pit; in that case, instead of seeing the face in front, we must have looked under the chin—but as we do not, the figure always appears to be falling forward.

Raffaele’s horizon is most commonly the height of his figures, so that they stand properly, and seem to be, whether in a print or a picture, the size of human creatures;—on the contrary, when the horizon is low, the figures always appear gigantic. When I was a boy, I had formed so very exalted an idea of the size of running horses, from seeing them drawn with the distant hills appearing under their bodies, that the first time I was at a course, it appeared but as a rat-race.

Every whole length picture will furnish you with an instance of this false principle, which would appear more disagreeable, if custom had not in some measure reconciled us to it. I am aware that the practice of so many great men is a strong objection to my argument; but as I conceive, with due submission to such authority, that there is _demonstration_ on my side, I cannot easily retract what I have advanced.

=LETTER= XXII.

The commentators of Shakspeare think themselves obliged to find some meaning in his nonsense; and to come at it, twist and turn his words without mercy: never considering, that in his scenes, as in common life, some part must be necessarily unimportant.

Many a passage has been criticised into consequence. The meaning, to use Shakspeare’s words on a like occasion, “is like a grain of wheat hid in a bushel of chaff; you shall seek all day e’er you find it, and when you have it, it is not worth the search.”

An expression of _Shallow_’s in the second part of Henry the fourth has been the subject of much criticism and hypercriticism. “We will eat a last year’s pippin with a dish of carraways;” and it is certain that there was such a dish, but if Shakspeare had meant it, he would have said, “A dish of last year’s pippins with carraways”—“_with_ a dish, &c.” clearly means something distinct from the pippins. Roasted pippins stuck full of carraways, says one—carraway confect, or comfit well known to children, says another—as if every one did not know what carraway comfits were, says a third, laughing at the second. Dine with any of the _natural_ inhabitants of Bath about Christmas, and they probably will give you after dinner a dish of pippins and carraways—which last is the name of an apple as well known in that country as nonpareil is in London, and as generally associated with golden pippins.

“Then am I a sous’d gurnet,” lays Falstaff. This fish has puzzled the commentators as much as the apple did before.—What can it be?—I never heard of such a fish.—There is no such fish. A magazine critic, assured of its non-existence, proposed reading _grunt_, gurnet, quasi grunet, quasi grunt——well, and what do we get by that? Why, because hogs grunt, and pork is the flesh of hogs, sous’d gurnet means pickled pork! Very lately a commentator, who once denied its existence, has discovered in consequence of his great learning, that there is _really_ such a fish——he is _really_ in the right—if he will go to the South coast of Devonshire, he may see plenty of them—but not _sous’d_.

And now I mention Falstaff, let me explain his copper ring. He complains of being robbed when he was asleep, and “losing a seal-ring of his _grandfather’s_ worth forty marks.” “O Jesu,” says the hostess, “I have heard the prince tell him I know not how oft, that the ring was _copper_.” Is the appearance of copper so much like gold, that one may be mistaken for the other? Formerly, (about the time of Falstaff’s grandfather) gold was a scarce commodity in England, so scarce that they frequently made rings of copper and plated them thinly with gold; I have seen two or three of them. As the look of both was alike, Falstaff might insist upon its being gold; on the contrary, the prince, from the quality of the wearer and lightness of the ring, might with equal fairness maintain that it was only plated.

Though it is not my intention to make one of the number of Shakspeare’s commentators, I will take this opportunity of restoring a passage in King Lear. In the agony of his passion with his daughter, he says (in the modern editions)

“Th’ _untented_ woundings of a Father’s curse Pierce every sense about thee.”

In the old editions it is printed exceeding plainly, “Th’ _untender_ woundings, &c.” that is, not tender, or cruel. It would be waste of time to shew its propriety, and that there is no such word as _untented_. Who first threw out the true reading and substituted the false, I know not. Is it worth while to say, that the word is often used by Shakspeare, and once at least besides in the same play, “so young and so untender?”

One more and I will release you.—Shylock says,

Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; Some that are mad, if they behold a cat; And others, when the bag-pipe sings in the nose, Cannot contain, &c.——for _affection_.

that is, because they are so _affected_. These poor lines have been new-worded, new stopped, and all to find the meaning of as plain a passage as can be written. “Some men cannot abide this thing, others have an aversion to another, which sometimes produces strange effects on their bodies, because their imagination is so strongly _affected_. Masterless passion, suffering, or feeling, compels them to follow the impulse.” The not understanding _affection_ and _passion_ in Shakspeare’s quaint sense has occasioned the difficulty.

There are many other corrupted and misunderstood passages that require as little attention, to set them right, as what has been exerted on this occasion, by

Yours sincerely, &c.

=LETTER= XXIII.

Scarce a year passes but our language has some new trick played with it.—But let the sufferers speak for themselves.

_To the People of_ GREAT-BRITAIN.

The Petition of _To_ and _The_,

_Humbly sheweth_,

That your Petitioners have, time out of mind, possessed certain places allowed to be their undoubted right, and that they lately have been, _vi et armis_, thrust from their ancient possessions. Their misfortune being in common, they present their common petition; hoping that the laudable zeal for the reformation of abuses will extend even to them, and that they shall be restored to their pristine use and consequence.

Though your petitioners labour under a common misfortune, yet it is necessary that they separately state their case.—And first _To_ for himself says,

That he has for years past had a place in the direction of all letters—that he was first removed from thence, as he apprehends, by some member of parliament, who was too much busied in his country’s good to attend to propriety. As it is the wicked custom of the world to press down a falling man, the said _To_ is in a manner totally displaced from his ancient possession: all people, except the very few who prefer grammar to fashion, agreeing to his removal. Were his place filled by a worthy successor he should keep his complaints secret, remembering that he himself succeeded _For_—but to be succeeded by nothing, is reviving the old fanatic principle of the last century, which all who are lovers of the constitution must shudder at! Consider good people, you who so well know the value of property, what quantities of letters are at this instant in the post-office that are neither _To_ nor _For_ any person? In many instances you condescend to be instructed by your neighbours—is the _A_ Monsieur yet left out in the direction of French letters? If you were to address in Latin, would you not use the dative case—and pray what is the sign of the dative but your petitioner

_To?_

Secondly, _The_ for himself says,

That he has had, from the first existence of our language, precedence of army, navy, commons, lords, and even government itself;—that he is most basely removed from this his just station—for he appeals to all impartial judges, if such are to be found, what a foolish figure does army, navy, commons, lords, and government cut without he takes the lead. If this were alone the damage it is surely of great concern, but alas! the evil is spreading! scarce a day passes but he loses some ancient possession of trust and consequence! It is, indeed, insinuated, that your petitioner formerly usurped a station he had by no means a right to, and that his present loss is a just retaliation. What business had _The_, says these meddlers, before _Faustina_ and _Cuzzoni_, and so on through all the _inas_ and _onis_ to the present time? Alas! my good countrymen, consider, these were but possessions of a day! _The_ Faustina and her successors were but the grasshoppers of a season—from this encroachment he was soon dispossessed; but navy, army, ministry, are of perpetual duration. Perhaps you will reply that your petitioner is but an article—true—but think of the consequence—if you destroy your particles and articles, and reduce your language by degrees to noun substantives, who knows but the next innovation will be the substituting _things_ instead of _words_—you have heard of a country so incumbered.——Consider the expence of carriage.—Think, O ye wits, of having your coaches attended with waggon loads of conversation. Nip the evil in its bud, shew your regard for posterity, and consider the petition of

_The._

In a general wreck it is worth while to save something.——Your Petitioners are contented to be thrust out of parliament—it is confessed that the members of that honourable house should not attend to trifles.—But consider, good people, you are not _all_ members of parliament, _you_ may restore us to our ancient rights, our just privileges, and legal possessions—which we trust you will do, and your poor Petitioners

Shall ever pray, &c.

=LETTER= XXIV.

I cannot agree with you in the cause of that uncommon production you mention; my thoughts on this subject, and on some others connected with it, will appear by the following reflections.

Until the last hundred years or thereabout, it was supposed that in many instances life was produced by putrefaction, fermentation, &c. Leuwenhoek and other naturalists, clearly demonstrated that some animals which were supposed to owe their existence to the above causes, or in other words, to spontaneous generation, really had a regular production. This discovery established the general principle of _omnia ab ovo_—but it must be received with reserve and exception.

After giving every theory of the earth a patient reading, it seems to me probable that the whole world was originally covered with water to the depth of about three miles, which is about as much below the surface, as the highest mountains rise above it. This depth, though far below all soundings, bears no more proportion to the earth’s diameter, than that of the paper it is covered with does to a common globe. The idea of the sea approaching the center, and of course, possessing a superior share in quantity as well as surface of the earth, has occasioned many difficulties in accounting for the balance between the different sides of the globe; which vanish, if the sea is not supposed of a greater depth than necessity requires, or reason and probability warrant.

I consider all continents as a congeries of islands heaved up from the bottom of the sea at different times by vulcanos and earthquakes. Modern philosophers have discovered ancient vulcanos where they were never suspected to have existed, and the whole earth is full of evidence that it was once beneath the ocean. Marble, freestone, and many other substances abound in seashells and marine productions. It is frequently said that the sea has left many places which were once covered by it. Is it not rather to be supposed that those places have been elevated above the sea, than that the sea has sunk below them? There seems to be no cause in nature equal to the altering the quantity of water in the ocean, but we know that there are many causes equal to the elevating the land above it. If the sea had retired from the land, the retiring must have been equal in all places; this we are sure is not the case, therefore it is the land in that particular place that must be risen.

In the manner I suppose all land to have been first brought to light, many islands have been produced in our own time. What was under the water is forced above it. The marine substances on the surface by degrees decay; moss appears, grass succeeds, then the smaller kind of plants, bushes and trees. Animal life begins and goes on upon the same scale from the minuter, to beings of more consequence. This system is at least as general as the other, but like that must be received with many restrictions; for it is certain that by far the greater part of vegetables and animals would never be found self-produced in any one place, tho’ many might live, and indeed flourish, if brought there.

Let us proceed from reasoning to facts. Some voyager discovers an island evidently formed by a vulcano, and very remote from other countries; it is a perfect wood to the water’s edge, has some plants which exist no where but in that spot, together with others common to places in the same latitude. It is full of insects, reptiles, birds, and sometimes quadrupeds. Now, if _every one_ of these organized bodies was not brought there, something must be self-produced.

In some islands of the East-Indies are serpents of an enormous size; who could carry them there? In all streams there are fish—how could they get there? Not from the sea, for fish which inhabit the source of rivers are as soon killed by salt water as in air, besides there are many rivers which do not run into the ocean. Perhaps this circumstance was never sufficiently considered. Every set of rivers is perfectly distinct from any other set. The greater number have some fish which exist no where but in the particular stream they are bred. Find any other cause for their first production than what must be taken from the old philosophy.

Let us attend to what we have always near us. Fill a vessel with water from the pump: it is pure, and contains neither animal, nor vegetable. After standing some days, a green substance begins to be formed in it, and which is inhabited by myriads of little beings: this seems the first step towards plants and animals. We are told indeed that the animalcules are from eggs laid by flies, and the green slime is a plant which has its proper seed. That the water may accidentally receive both eggs and seeds is highly probable; but these (by reasoning from other instances) seem the first efforts towards vegetable and animal life. Besides, it yet remains to be proved, that the air so abounds with flying seeds and insects. If the air swarmed, as is supposed, vision would be obstructed (as by a fog which consists of particles inconceivably small), and perhaps life in the nobler animals destroyed. The slime to be produced from seed then must have come from some of the same sort in the neighbourhood; besides, if its being produced in the water depended upon accident, which it does by this supposition, it must sometimes fail. Again, if the animals and vegetables, in the above instance, were from eggs floating in the air, why are the smallest always produced first? must it not sometimes happen that ova of a larger sort precede the smaller? which is never the case: not to mention the total impossibility of some ova, particularly of animals, being so conveyed.

It is well known that by pepper-water, and a variety of other mixtures, peculiar animalcules are produced. Can we suppose that the fly, which lays the egg from which this creature exists, continues floating in the air until some philosopher makes a mixture proper for its deposit? is it done often enough to preserve the species? What must the fly have done before pepper was brought from India? You may tell me that the egg was deposited there—well then, if the eggs are not hurt by the pepper being dried in an oven, happen to be brought to Europe, and fall in the way of a naturalist, the species is preserved. Much is not got by this. There is great reason for believing that the animalcule was really produced by the infusion, and did not exist before.

How are the worms in human bodies to be accounted for? There are some, it is true, which bear a resemblance to earth-worms, and are supposed to be eggs we take in with roots, vegetables, &c. Not to insist upon the impossibility of a creature intended to live in the cold earth existing on the hot stomach, it is well known that there are worms in the intestines which have no resemblance to any other thing in the creation—the jointed worm, for instance, which is found of many yards in length: indeed, if some accounts are to be credited, of some scores of yards. Where does this animal exist except in the stomach where it is found? Sheep, dogs, horses, &c. breed worms peculiar to themselves. I have seen frequently between the sound and back-bone of a whiting, long worms that were evidently bred there. As I have no system to support, I shall have no objection if you can account for these facts according to the present philosophy—but to me it seems absolutely impossible.

I may strengthen every thing I have advanced on self-production with additional arguments, and those from instances on the largest scale. The old and new continents are two immense islands. You will get little by supposing them once joined at Kamchatka. What should ever induce those animals which are never seen out of a hot climate, to travel so far North as the Strait between the continents? They do not approach it now, why should they then? Besides, has not each continent some creatures peculiar to itself? Did those in America come from countries where no such animals exist? If they did not, and are found in America only, what is the fair conclusion?

When an inhabitant of the old continent asks how America was peopled, why does the question stop there? How was it supplied with vegetables and animals? particularly river-fish; and whence came those creatures that exist no where else? Pray, what is to hinder an American from reversing the question? When did our people, he may say, first migrate and give inhabitants to the Eastern world? What answer can be given to these questions confident with the present system of philosophy?

There is something in the sound of self-production which seems like a contradiction. I mean nothing more by it, than that a vegetable or animal does in many instances first exist by a different principle than that upon which the species is afterwards continued. As the term does not exactly express this, it may easily be perverted from the sense in which I wish to be understood. Perhaps we shall find that self-production shocks the imagination more or less according to the _size_ of the thing produced. Who would not sooner believe that cheese breeds mites, than that deserts produce elephants? And yet, according to our present philosophy, one is as possible as the other.

If the consequences I have drawn from these facts appear to you wrong, or the facts themselves ill-supported—convince me of my error, and the whole shall be retracted as freely as it is advanced by

Yours most faithfully, &c.

=LETTER= XXV.