bad choice, if the colours used by the artist on the dress are ill assorted; or if, in the costume, and especially in the head-dress, he servilely imitate ridiculous fashions, which have an air of caricature from their exaggeration, and which we tolerate while they are in vogue, but sneer at the instant after.

Finally, no object, of whatever kind it be, were it executed with the greatest perfection, will ever pass for being of a "good choice," if by the unskilfulness of the painter it be placed upon a ground of one single monotonous tint, whether white, black, red, blue, green, or any other colour, without one being able to perceive about it those numberless and almost imperceptible variations of tint which one sees always in nature, either in that which serves as its ground or surrounding it, and of which some part is always taken into view along with it. From these it is not in our power to isolate it, and the artist is thus placed under the obligation of surrounding in like manner his principal object therewith as with an inseparable accessory, according to the definition of painting, which requires that every object be represented such as it is seen in nature. The artist therefore, by offending against this rule when he substitutes the bad ground of his invention for the natural tints which he ought to imitate, makes a bad choice.

I remark farther that all subjects which by their monotony displease in nature herself, and which, by

the sombre uniformity of their tint, disgust, fatigue, and repel the spectator, (and, be it observed, that the numerous tints of detail generally to be found in nature disappear when a large tract is embraced by the eye at one time,) offer only a bad choice to the painter, unless he know how to break the monotony by possible effects which his genius may suggest. For example, he may break the displeasing darkness of night pieces by striking effects of the moon, or by an artificial light, or by reflections from water; gild the fatiguing whiteness of snow with the ruddy rays of a setting sun; or correct, by means of clouds, the disagreeable monotony of a sky altogether grey, or the glaring uniformity of one wholly azure.

It is evident that an animal, flayed or embowelled, entrails, meat raw or mangled, blood, excrements, skeletons, death's heads, carcasses, and similar objects, if they strike upon the view too much, will be as disgusting in a picture as they are in nature; and that grimaces, hideous or monstrous deformities, whether moral or physical, will be as shocking in the one as in the other. Events which are sufficiently unnatural, barbarous, and cruel, to shake violently the soul and cause it to tremble with insurmountable horror, create an agitation too frightful for it to resist, much less to be pleased with. Subjects of so bad a choice (which Horace severely prohibits from being introduced upon the scene) do little honour to the painter. They become even more insupportable in proportion as they approach

nearer to reality by the perfection of their execution.*

It is not the same however with respect to subjects of devotion, in which we seem to forget the sufferings of saints, to think only of the eternal happiness which awaits them. I except also from this general proscription of pictures of bad choice, certain sad and melancholy subjects which inspire compassion, a tender interest mingled with fear, and other similar emotions, and which,

* The author seems to have stated this too broadly. Some of the most remarkable instances of that truth in painting, of which he declares himself a partisan, are to be found amongst this class of pictures, such as the "Lesson of Anatomy," by Rembrant, and "Prometheus devoured by the Vulture," by Salvator Rosa, Nos. 125. and 250. of the Royal Museum at the Hague. In these and similar subjects, for instance, the "Raising of Lazarus," by Sebastian del Piombo, in the British Gallery, a certain thrilling interest is awakened in the spectator by the realisation of such startling scenes through the powerful imagination of the painter. The mind is susceptible of various emotions, every one of which finds gratification in being supplied in its turn with appropriate food; and a gallery that should contain only pictures to flatter the senses with the gilded rays, which alone the author seems to consider agreeable to the mind, would become, taken as a whole, an example of the insipidity and monotony of which he complains. Art must not be limited in her empire, but must be able, and must be allowed, to wander over the strings that wake the whole passions of the soul, from the tinkling treble of delight, to the deep diapason of despair. The error lies, not in painting what is terrific, but in making the representation of such objects the chief end of the picture, instead of using them only as the occasion of calling into action the higher and deeper feelings. When so used, they are to be touched upon vigorously and manfully, but not dwelt upon more than is necessary for that purpose. Trans,

C

although the reverse of cheerful, and in some degree productive even of pain to such as are of a sensitive temperament, yet do not move the soul with sufficient violence to prevent those who love the pathetic from feeling a certain pleasure and enjoyment in them.

It may be seen, from all I have just said, how much painters err in attaching themselves to subjects that are insignificant, contemptible, monotonous, repulsive, or horrible, and in not selecting them (since the choice depends only on their own will) from subjects that are agreeable, attractive, and interesting, of which nature and their own imagination could furnish them with so inexhaustible a store. But the idiosyncracy of certain artists, full of enthusiasm for expression, is so disposed towards the tragical, in which the passions, being more violent, are more easy to be expressed than the gentle and tranquil affections generally are, that they end by plunging into the horrible and the cruel. It is a true misfortune to art when such persons unite distinguished talent to their austerity of character. By degrees their taste will infect their pupils, and the most amiable of arts will become insensibly the faithful historian of executioners, and of the monsters of every time and country.

The choice of a subject, good or bad, of which I have been speaking, belongs solely to that part

of the art which is called INVENTION. It consists of the first idea which the artist has conceived of his subject, and has determined to adopt in preference to every other, irrespective of the manner in which he may work it up into a picture by means of Composition and Disposition.* For greater clearness, I will commence by showing the true meaning of these three technical terms so often employed in painting, and so often ill understood.

With regard to the first, to wit, invention, I have already stated in what it consists. I add here, that in subjects of which the artist finds the model in nature, or in history, he is scarcely entitled to any merit on the score of invention; for he is saved the time that would be occupied in putting down any thing of his own. Thus, in place of inventing, he, properly speaking, does nothing but select. The honour of inventing, truly belongs to him only whose imagination creates all, or almost all, of new.

COMPOSITION, Considered as one of the three parts of invention, consists in the choice which the painter makes of personages, and other objects, in order to communicate his idea to the spectator. The more the composition is agreeable, noble, interesting, rich, learned, and judicious, the less there

* That is, simply the determining on the act to be represented, or the view to be exhibited. - Translator.