Fourth Discourse

Delivered to the Students of the Royal Academy on the Distribution
of the Prizes, December 10, 1771, by the President.

Gentlemen,--The value and rank of every art is in proportion to the
mental labour employed in it, or the mental pleasure produced by
it. As this principle is observed or neglected, our profession
becomes either a liberal art or a mechanical trade. In the hands
of one man it makes the highest pretensions, as it is addressed to
the noblest faculties, In those of another it is reduced to a mere
matter of ornament, and the painter has but the humble province of
furnishing our apartments with elegance.

This exertion of mind, which is the only circumstance that truly
ennobles our art, makes the great distinction between the Roman and
Venetian schools. I have formerly observed that perfect form is
produced by leaving out particularities, and retaining only general
ideas. I shall now endeavour to show that this principle, which I
have proved to be metaphysically just, extends itself to every part
of the art; that it gives what is called the grand style to
invention, to composition, to expression, and even to colouring and
drapery.

Invention in painting does not imply the invention of the subject,
for that is commonly supplied by the poet or historian. With
respect to the choice, no subject can be proper that is not
generally interesting. It ought to be either some eminent instance
of heroic action or heroic suffering. There must be something
either in the action or in the object in which men are universally
concerned, and which powerfully strikes upon the public sympathy.

Strictly speaking, indeed, no subject can be of universal, hardly
can it be of general concern: but there are events and characters
so popularly known in those countries where our art is in request,
that they may be considered as sufficiently general for all our
purposes. Such are the great events of Greek and Roman fable and
history, which early education and the usual course of reading have
made familiar and interesting to all Europe, without being degraded
by the vulgarism of ordinary life in any country. Such, too, are
the capital subjects of Scripture history, which, besides their
general notoriety, become venerable by their connection with our
religion.

As it is required that the subject selected should be a general
one, it is no less necessary that it should be kept unembarrassed
with whatever may any way serve to divide the attention of the
spectator. Whenever a story is related, every man forms a picture
in his mind of the action and the expression of the persons
employed. The power of representing this mental picture in canvas
is what we call invention in a painter. And as in the conception
of this ideal picture the mind does not enter into the minute
peculiarities of the dress, furniture, or scene of action, so when
the painter comes to represent it he contrives those little
necessary concomitant circumstances in such a manner that they
shall strike the spectator no more than they did himself in his
first conception of the story.

I am very ready to allow that some circumstances of minuteness and
particularity frequently tend to give an air of truth to a piece,
and to interest the spectator in an extraordinary manner. Such
circumstances, therefore, cannot wholly be rejected; but if there
be anything in the art which requires peculiar nicety of
discernment, it is the disposition of these minute circumstantial
parts which, according to the judgment employed in the choice,
become so useful to truth or so injurious to grandeur.

However, the usual and most dangerous error is on the side of
minuteness, and, therefore, I think caution most necessary where
most have failed. The general idea constitutes real excellence.
All smaller things, however perfect in their way, are to be
sacrificed without mercy to the greater. The painter will not
inquire what things may be admitted without much censure. He will
not think it enough to show that they may be there; he will show
that they must be there, that their absence would render his
picture maimed and defective.

Thus, though to the principal group a second or third be added, and
a second and third mass of light, care must be yet taken that these
subordinate actions and lights, neither each in particular, nor all
together, come into any degree of competition with the principal;
they should make a part of that whole which would be imperfect
without them. To every part of painting this rule may be applied.
Even in portraits, the grace and, we may add, the likeness,
consists more in taking the general air than in observing the
effect similitude of every feature.

Thus figures must have a ground whereon to stand; they must be
clothed, there must be a background, there must be light and
shadow; but none of these ought to appear to have taken up any part
of the artist's attention. They should be so managed as not even
to catch that of the spectator. We know well enough, when we
analyse a piece, the difficulty and the subtlety with which an
artist adjusts the background, drapery, and masses of light; we
know that a considerable part of the grace and effect of his
picture depends upon them; but this art is so much concealed, even
to a judicious eye, that no remains of any of these subordinate
parts occur to memory when the picture is not present.

The great end of the art is to strike the imagination. The painter
is, therefore, to make no ostentation of the means by which this is
done; the spectator is only to feel the result in his bosom. An
inferior artist is unwilling that any part of his industry should
be lost upon the spectator. He takes as much pains to discover, as
the greater artist does to conceal, the marks of his subordinate
assiduity. In works of the lower kind everything appears studied
and encumbered; it is all boastful art and open affectation. The
ignorant often part from such pictures with wonder in their mouths,
and indifference in their hearts.

But it is not enough in invention that the artist should restrain
and keep under all the inferior parts of his subject; he must
sometimes deviate from vulgar and strict historical truth in
pursuing the grandeur of his design.

How much the great style exacts from its professors to conceive and
represent their subjects in a poetical manner, not confined to mere
matter of fact, may be seen in the cartoons of Raffaelle. In all
the pictures in which the painter has represented the apostles, he
has drawn them with great nobleness; he has given them as much
dignity as the human figure is capable of receiving yet we are
expressly told in Scripture they had no such respectable
appearance; and of St. Paul in particular, we are told by himself,
that his bodily presence was mean. Alexander is said to have been
of a low stature: a painter ought not so to represent him.
Agesilaus was low, lame, and of a mean appearance. None of these
defects ought to appear in a piece of which he is the hero. In
conformity to custom, I call this part of the art history painting;
it ought to be called poetical, as in reality it is.

All this is not falsifying any fact; it is taking an allowed
poetical licence. A painter of portraits retains the individual
likeness; a painter of history shows the man by showing his
actions. A painter must compensate the natural deficiencies of his
art. He has but one sentence to utter, but one moment to exhibit.
He cannot, like the poet or historian, expatiate, and impress the
mind with great veneration for the character of the hero or saint
he represents, though he lets us know at the same time that the
saint was deformed, or the hero lame. The painter has no other
means of giving an idea of the dignity of the mind, but by that
external appearance which grandeur of thought does generally,
though not always, impress on the countenance, and by that
correspondence of figure to sentiment and situation which all men
wish, but cannot command. The painter, who may in this one
particular attain with ease what others desire in vain, ought to
give all that he possibly can, since there are so many
circumstances of true greatness that he cannot give at all. He
cannot make his hero talk like a great man; he must make him look
like one. For which reason he ought to be well studied in the
analysis of those circumstances which constitute dignity of
appearance in real life.

As in invention, so likewise in, expression, care must be taken not
to run into particularities, Those expressions alone should be
given to the figures which their respective situations generally
produce. Nor is this enough; each person should also have that
expression which men of his rank generally exhibit. The joy or the
grief of a character of dignity is not to be expressed in the same
manner as a similar passion in a vulgar face. Upon this principle
Bernini, perhaps, may be subject to censure. This sculptor, in
many respects admirable, has given a very mean expression to his
statue of David, who is represented as just going to throw the
stone from the sling; and in order to give it the expression of
energy he has made him biting his under-lip. This expression is
far from being general, and still farther from being dignified. He
might have seen it in an instance or two, and he mistook accident
for universality.

With respect to colouring, though it may appear at first a part of
painting merely mechanical, yet it still has its rules, and those
grounded upon that presiding principle which regulates both the
great and the little in the study of a painter. By this, the first
effect of the picture is produced; and as this is performed the
spectator, as he walks the gallery, will stop, or pass along. To
give a general air of grandeur at first view, all trifling or
artful play of little lights or an attention to a variety of tints
is to be avoided; a quietness and simplicity must reign over the
whole work; to which a breadth of uniform and simple colour will
very much contribute. Grandeur of effect is produced by two
different ways, which seem entirely opposed to each other. One is,
by reducing the colours to little more than chiaroscuro, which was
often the practice of the Bolognian schools; and the other, by
making the colours very distinct and forcible, such as we see in
those of Rome and Florence; but still, the presiding principle of
both those manners is simplicity. Certainly, nothing can be more
simple than monotony, and the distinct blue, red, and yellow
colours which are seen in the draperies of the Roman and Florentine
schools, though they have not that kind of harmony which is
produced by a variety of broken and transparent colours, have that
effect of grandeur that was intended. Perhaps these distinct
colours strike the mind more forcibly, from there not being any
great union between them; as martial music, which is intended to
rouse the noble passions, has its effect from the sudden and
strongly marked transitions from one note to another, which that
style of music requires; whilst in that which is intended to move
the softer passions the notes imperceptibly melt into one another.

In the same manner as the historical painter never enters into the
detail of colours, so neither does he debase his conceptions with
minute attention to the discriminations of drapery. It is the
inferior style that marks the variety of stuffs. With him, the
clothing is neither woollen, nor linen, nor silk, satin, or velvet:
it is drapery; it is nothing more. The art of disposing the
foldings of the drapery make a very considerable part of the
painter's study. To make it merely natural is a mechanical
operation, to which neither genius or taste are required; whereas,
it requires the nicest judgment to dispose the drapery, so that the
folds have an easy communication, and gracefully follow each other,
with such natural negligence as to look like the effect of chance,
and at the same time show the figure under it to the utmost
advantage.

Carlo Maratti was of opinion that the disposition of drapery was a
more difficult art than even that of drawing the human figure; that
a student might be more easily taught the latter than the former;
as the rules of drapery, he said, could not be so well ascertained
as those for delineating a correct form, This, perhaps, is a proof
how willingly we favour our own peculiar excellence. Carlo Maratti
is said to have valued himself particularly upon his skill in this
part of the art yet in him the disposition appears so artificial,
that he is inferior to Raffaelle, even in that which gave him his
best claim to reputation

Such is the great principle by which we must be directed in the
nobler branches of our art. Upon this principle the Roman, the
Florentine, the Bolognese schools, have formed their practice; and
by this they have deservedly obtained the highest praise. These
are the three great schools of the world in the epic style. The
best of the French school, Poussin, Le Sueur, and Le Brun, have
formed themselves upon these models, and consequently may be said,
though Frenchmen, to be a colony from the Roman school. Next to
these, but in a very different style of excellence, we may rank the
Venetian, together with the Flemish and the Dutch schools, all
professing to depart from the great purposes of painting, and
catching at applause by inferior qualities.

I am not ignorant that some will censure me for placing the
Venetians in this inferior class, and many of the warmest admirers
of painting will think them unjustly degraded; but I wish not to be
misunderstood. Though I can by no means allow them to hold any
rank with the nobler schools of painting, they accomplished
perfectly the thing they attempted. But as mere elegance is their
principal object, as they seem more willing to dazzle than to
affect, it can be no injury to them to suppose that their practice
is useful only to its proper end. But what may heighten the
elegant may degrade the sublime. There is a simplicity, and I may
add, severity, in the great manner, which is, I am afraid, almost
incompatible with this comparatively sensual style.

Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and others of the Venetian schools, seem
to have painted with no other purpose than to be admired for their
skill and expertness in the mechanism of painting, and to make a
parade of that art which, as I before observed, the higher style
requires its followers to conceal.

In a conference of the French Academy, at which were present Le
Brun, Sebastian Bourdon, and all the eminent artists of that age,
one of the academicians desired to have their opinion on the
conduct of Paul Veronese, who, though a painter of great
consideration, had, contrary to the strict rules of art, in his
picture of Perseus and Andromeda, represented the principal figure
in shade. To this question no satisfactory answer was then given.
But I will venture to say, that if they had considered the class of
the artist, and ranked him as an ornamental painter, there would
have been no difficulty in answering: "It was unreasonable to
expect what was never intended. His intention was solely to
produce an effect of light and Shadow; everything was to be
sacrificed to that intent, and the capricious composition of that
picture suited very well with the style he professed."

Young minds are indeed too apt to be captivated by this splendour
of style, and that of the Venetians will be particularly pleasing;
for by them all those parts of the art that give pleasure to the
eye or sense have been cultivated with care, and carried to the
degree nearest to perfection. The powers exerted in the mechanical
part of the art have been called the language of painters; but we
must say, that it is but poor eloquence which only shows that the
orator can talk. Words should be employed as the means, not as the
end: language is the instrument, conviction is the work.

The language of painting must indeed be allowed these masters; but
even in that they have shown more copiousness than choice, and more
luxuriancy than judgment. If we consider the uninteresting
subjects of their invention, or at least the uninteresting manner
in which they are treated; if we attend to their capricious
composition, their violent and affected contrasts, whether of
figures, or of light and shadow, the richness of their drapery,
and, at the same time, the mean effect which the discrimination of
stuffs gives to their pictures; if to these we add their total
inattention to expression, and then reflect on the conceptions and
the learning of Michael Angelo, or the simplicity of Raffaelle, we
can no longer dwell on the comparison. Even in colouring, if we
compare the quietness and chastity of the Bolognese pencil to the
bustle and tumult that fills every part of, a Venetian picture,
without the least attempt to interest the passions, their boasted
art will appear a mere struggle without effect; an empty tale told
by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Such as suppose that the great style might happily be blended with
the ornamental, that the simple, grave, and majestic dignity of
Raffaelle could unite with the glow and bustle of a Paulo or
Tintoret, are totally mistaken. The principles by which each are
attained are so contrary to each other, that they seem, in my
opinion, incompatible, and as impossible to exist together, as to
unite in the mind at the same time the most sublime ideas and the
lowest sensuality.

The subjects of the Venetian painters are mostly such as give them
an opportunity of introducing a great number of figures, such as
feasts, marriages, and processions, public martyrdoms, or miracles.
I can easily conceive that Paul Veronese, if he were asked, would
say that no subject was proper for an historical picture but such
as admitted at least forty figures; for in a less number, he would
assert, there could be no opportunity of the painter's showing his
art in composition, his dexterity of managing and disposing the
masses of light, and groups of figures, and of introducing a
variety of Eastern dresses and characters in their rich stuffs.

But the thing is very different with a pupil of the greater
schools. Annibale Caracci thought twelve figures sufficient for
any story: he conceived that more would contribute to no end but
to fill space; that they would, be but cold spectators of the
general action, or, to use his own expression, that they would be
figures to be let. Besides, it is impossible for a picture
composed of so many parts to have that effect, so indispensably
necessary to grandeur, of one complete whole. However
contradictory it may be in geometry, it is true in taste, that many
little things will not make a great one. The sublime impresses the
mind at once with one great idea; it is a single blow: the elegant
indeed may be produced by a repetition, by an accumulation of many
minute circumstances.

However great the difference is between the composition of the
Venetian and the rest of the Italian schools, there is full as
great a disparity in the effect of their pictures as produced by
colours. And though in this respect the Venetians must be allowed
extraordinary skill, yet even that skill, as they have employed it,
will but ill correspond with the great style. Their colouring is
not only too brilliant, but, I will venture to say, too harmonious
to produce that solidity, steadiness, and simplicity of effect
which heroic subjects require, and which simple or grave colours
only can give to a work. That they are to be cautiously studied by
those who are ambitious of treading the great walk of history is
confirmed, if it wants confirmation, by the greatest of all
authorities, Michael Angelo. This wonderful man, after having seen
a picture by Titian, told Vasari, who accompanied him, "that he
liked much his colouring and manner; but then he added, that it was
a pity the Venetian painters did not learn to draw correctly in
their early youth, and adopt a better manner of study."

By this it appears that the principal attention of the Venetian
painters, in the opinion of Michael Angelo, seemed to be engrossed
by the study of colours, to the neglect of the ideal beauty of
form, or propriety of expression. But if general censure was given
to that school from the sight of a picture of Titian, how much more
heavily, and more justly, would the censure fall on Paulo Veronese,
or more especially on Tintoret? And here I cannot avoid citing
Vasari's opinion of the style and manner of Tintoret. "Of all the
extraordinary geniuses," says he, "that have ever practised the art
of painting, for wild, capricious, extravagant, and fantastical
inventions, for furious impetuosity and boldness in the execution
of his work, there is none like Tintoret; his strange whims are
even beyond extravagance; and his works seem to be produced rather
by chance than in consequence of any previous design, as if he
wanted to convince the world that, the art was a trifle, and of the
most easy attainment."

For my own part, when I speak of the Venetian painters, I wish to
be understood to mean Paulo Veronese and Tintoret, to the exclusion
of Titian; for though his style is not so pure as that of many
other of the Italian schools, yet there is a sort of senatorial
dignity about him, which, however awkward in his imitators, seems
to become him exceedingly. His portraits alone, from the nobleness
and simplicity of character which he always gave them, will entitle
him to the greatest respect, as he undoubtedly stands in the first
rank in this branch of the art.

It is not with Titian, but with the seducing qualities of the two
former, that I could wish to caution you, against being too much
captivated. These are the persons who may be said to have
exhausted all the powers of florid eloquence, to debauch the young
and unexperienced, and have, without doubt, been the cause of
turning off the attention of the connoisseur and of the patron of
art, as well as that of the painter, from those higher excellences
of which the art is capable, and which ought to be required in
every considerable production. By them, and their imitators, a
style merely ornamental has been disseminated throughout all
Europe. Rubens carried it to Flanders, Voet to France, and Luca
Giordano to Spain and Naples.

The Venetian is indeed the most splendid of the schools of
elegance; and it is not without reason that the best performances
in this lower school are valued higher than the second-rate
performances of those above them; for every picture has value when
it has a decided character, and is excellent in its kind. But the
student must take care not to be so much dazzled with this
splendour as to be tempted to imitate what must ultimately lead
from perfection. Poussin, whose eye was always steadily fixed on
the sublime, has been often heard to say, "That a particular
attention to colouring was an obstacle to the student in his
progress to the great end and design of the art; and that he who
attaches himself to this principal end will acquire by practice a
reasonably good method of colouring."

Though it be allowed that elaborate harmony of colouring, a
brilliancy of tints, a soft and gradual transition from one to
another, present to the eye what an harmonious concert of music
does to the ear, it must be remembered that painting is not merely
a gratification of the sight. Such excellence, though properly
cultivated where nothing higher than elegance is intended, is weak
and unworthy of regard, when the work aspires to grandeur and
sublimity.

The same reasons that have been urged why a mixture of the Venetian
style cannot improve the great style will hold good in regard to
the Flemish and Dutch schools. Indeed, the Flemish school, of
which Rubens is the head, was formed upon that of the Venetian;
like them, he took his figures too much from the people before him.
But it must be allowed in favour of the Venetians that he was more
gross than they, and carried all their mistaken methods to a far
greater excess. In the Venetian school itself, where they all err
from the same cause, there is a difference in the effect. The
difference between Paulo and Bassano seems to be only that one
introduced Venetian gentlemen into his pictures, and the other the
boors of the district of Bassano, and called them patriarchs and
prophets.

The painters of the Dutch school have still more locality. With
them, a history piece is properly a portrait of themselves; whether
they describe the inside or outside of their houses, we have their
own people engaged in their own peculiar occupations, working or
drinking, playing or fighting. The circumstances that enter into a
picture of this kind are so far from giving a general view of human
life that they exhibit all the minute particularities of a nation
differing in several respects from the rest of mankind. Yet, let
them have their share of more humble praise. The painters of this
school are excellent in their own way; they are only ridiculous
when they attempt general history on their own narrow principles,
and debase great events by the meanness of their characters.

Some inferior dexterity, some extraordinary mechanical power, is
apparently that from which they seek distinction. Thus, we see,
that school alone has the custom of representing candle-light, not
as it really appears to us by night, but red, as it would
illuminate objects to a spectator by day. Such tricks, however
pardonable in the little style, where petty effects are the sole
end, are inexcusable in the greater, where the attention should
never be drawn aside by trifles, but should be entirely occupied by
the subject itself.

The same local principles which characterise the Dutch school
extend even to their landscape painters; and Rubens himself, who
has painted many landscapes, has sometimes transgressed in this
particular. Their pieces in this way are, I think, always a
representation of an individual spot, and each in its kind a very
faithful but very confined portrait.

Claude Lorraine, on the contrary, was convinced that taking nature
as he found it seldom produced beauty. His pictures are a
composition of the various draughts which he has previously made
from various beautiful scenes and prospects. However, Rubens in
some measure has made amends for the deficiency with which he is
charged; he has contrived to raise and animate his otherwise
uninteresting views, by introducing a rainbow, storm, or some
particular accidental effect of light. That the practice of Claude
Lorraine, in respect to his choice, is to be adopted by landscape
painters, in opposition to that of the Flemish and Dutch schools,
there can be no doubt, as its truth is founded upon the same
principle as that by which the historical painter acquires perfect
form. But whether landscape painting has a right to aspire so far
as to reject what the painters call accidents of nature is not easy
to determine. It is certain Claude Lorraine seldom, if ever,
availed himself of those accidents; either he thought that such
peculiarities were contrary to that style of general nature which
he professed, or that it would catch the attention too strongly,
and destroy that quietness and repose which he thought necessary to
that kind of painting.

A portrait painter likewise, when he attempts history, unless he is
upon his guard, is likely to enter too much into the detail. He
too frequently makes his historical heads look like portraits; and
this was once the custom amongst those old painters who revived the
art before general ideas were practised or understood. A history
painter paints man in general; a portrait painter, a particular
man, and consequently a defective model.

Thus an habitual practice in the lower exercises of the art will
prevent many from attaining the greater. But such of us who move
in these humbler walks of the profession are not ignorant that, as
the natural dignity of the subject is less, the more all the little
ornamental helps are necessary to its embellishment. It would be
ridiculous for a painter of domestic scenes, of portraits,
landscapes, animals, or of still life, to say that he despised
those qualities which have made the subordinate schools so famous.
The art of colouring, and the skilful management of light and
shadow, are essential requisites in his confined labours. If we
descend still lower, what is the painter of fruit and flowers
without the utmost art in colouring, and what the painters call
handling; that is, a lightness of pencil that implies great
practice, and gives the appearance of being done with ease? Some
here, I believe, must remember a flower-painter whose boast it was
that he scorned to paint for the million; no, he professed to paint
in the true Italian taste; and despising the crowd, called
strenuously upon the few to admire him. His idea of the Italian
taste was to paint as black and dirty as he could, and to leave all
clearness and brilliancy of colouring to those who were fonder of
money than of immortality. The consequence was such as might be
expected. For these pretty excellences are here essential
beauties; and without this merit the artist's work will be more
short-lived than the objects of his imitation.

From what has been advanced, we must now be convinced that there
are two distinct styles in history painting: the grand, and the
splendid or ornamental.

The great style stands alone, and does not require, perhaps does
not so well admit, any addition from inferior beauties. The
ornamental style also possesses its own peculiar merit. However,
though the union of the two may make a sort of composite style, yet
that style is likely to be more imperfect than either of those
which go to its composition. Both kinds have merit, and may be
excellent though in different ranks, if uniformity be preserved,
and the general and particular ideas of nature be not mixed. Even
the meanest of them is difficult enough to attain; and the first
place being already occupied by the great artists in either
department, some of those who followed thought there was less room
for them, and feeling the impulse of ambition and the desire of
novelty, and being at the same time perhaps willing to take the
shortest way, they endeavoured to make for themselves a place
between both. This they have effected by forming a union of the
different orders. But as the grave and majestic style would suffer
by a union with the florid and gay, so also has the Venetian
ornament in some respect been injured by attempting an alliance
with simplicity.

It may be asserted that the great style is always more or less
contaminated by any meaner mixture. But it happens in a few
instances that the lower may be improved by borrowing from the
grand. Thus, if a portrait painter is desirous to raise and
improve his subject, he has no other means than by approaching it
to a general idea. He leaves out all the minute breaks and
peculiarities in the face, and changes the dress from a temporary
fashion to one more permanent, which has annexed to it no ideas of
meanness from its being familiar to us. But if an exact
resemblance of an individual be considered as the sole object to be
aimed at, the portrait painter will be apt to lose more than he
gains by the acquired dignity taken from general nature. It is
very difficult to ennoble the character of a countenance but at the
expense of the likeness, which is what is most generally required
by such as sit to the painter.

Of those who have practised the composite style, and have succeeded
in this perilous attempt, perhaps the foremost is Correggio. His
style is founded upon modern grace and elegance, to which is super,
added something of the simplicity of the grand style. A breadth of
light and colour, the general ideas of the drapery, an
uninterrupted flow of outline, all conspire to this effect. Next
him (perhaps equal to him) Parmegiano has dignified the genteelness
of modern effeminacy by uniting it with the simplicity of the
ancients and the grandeur and severity of Michael Angelo. It must
be confessed, however, that these two extraordinary men, by
endeavouring to give the utmost degree of grace, have sometimes,
perhaps, exceeded its boundaries, and have fallen into the most
hateful of all hateful qualities, affectation. Indeed, it is the
peculiar characteristic of men of genius to be afraid of coldness
and insipidity, from which they think they never can be too far
removed. It particularly happens to these great masters of grace
and elegance. They often boldly drive on to the very verge of
ridicule; the spectator is alarmed, but at the same time admires
their vigour and intrepidity.

Strange graces still, and stranger flights they had,
. . .
Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create
Ae when they touch'd the brink of all we hate.

The errors of genius, however, are pardonable, and none even of the
more exalted painters are wholly free from them; but they have
taught us, by the rectitude of their general practice, to correct
their own affected or accidental deviation. The very first have
not been always upon their guard, and perhaps there is not a fault
but what may take shelter under the most venerable authorities; yet
that style only is perfect in which the noblest principles are
uniformly pursued; and those masters only are entitled to the first
rank in, our estimation who have enlarged the boundaries of their
art, and have raised it to its highest dignity, by exhibiting the
general ideas of nature.

On the whole, it seems to me that there is but one presiding
principle which regulates and gives stability to every art. The
works, whether of poets, painters, moralists, or historians, which
are built upon general nature, live for ever; while those which
depend for their existence on particular customs and habits, a
partial view of nature, or the fluctuation of fashion, can only be
coeval with that which first raised them from obscurity. Present
time and future maybe considered as rivals, and he who solicits the
one must expect to be discountenanced by the other.