diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 11391-0.txt | 5677 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 11391-h/11391-h.htm | 5743 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11391-8.txt | 6095 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11391-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 137480 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11391-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 139740 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11391-h/11391-h.htm | 6186 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11391.txt | 6095 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/11391.zip | bin | 0 -> 137439 bytes |
11 files changed, 29812 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/11391-0.txt b/11391-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41fe4dc --- /dev/null +++ b/11391-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5677 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11391 *** + +Lectures on Art + +By + +Washington Allston + +Edited by Richard Henry Dana, Jr. + +MDCCCL. + + + + +Preface by the Editor. + + + +Upon the death of Mr. Allston, it was determined, by those who had +charge of his papers, to prepare his biography and correspondence, and +publish them with his writings in prose and verse; a work which would +have occupied two volumes of about the same size with the present. A +delay has unfortunately occurred in the preparation of the biography +and correspondence; and, as there have been frequent calls for a +publication of his poems, and of the Lectures on Art he is known to +have written, it has been thought best to give them to the public in +the present form, without awaiting the completion of the whole +design. It may be understood, however, that, when the biography +and correspondence are published, it will be in a volume precisely +corresponding with the present, so as to carry out the original +design. + +I will not anticipate the duty of the biographer by an extended notice +of the life of Mr. Allston; but it may be interesting to some readers +to know the outline of his life, and the different circumstances under +which the several pieces in this volume were written. + +WASHINGTON ALLSTON was born at Charleston, in South Carolina, on the +5th of November, 1779, of a family distinguished in the history of +that State and of the country, being a branch of a family of the +baronet rank in the titled commonalty of England. Like most young +men of the South in his position at that period, he was sent to New +England to receive his school and college education. His school days +were passed at Newport, in Rhode Island, under the charge of Mr. +Robert Rogers. He entered Harvard College in 1796, and graduated in +1800. While at school and college, he developed in a marked manner +a love of nature, music, poetry, and painting. Endowed with senses +capable of the nicest perceptions, and with a mental and moral +constitution which tended always, with the certainty of a physical +law, to the beautiful, the pure, and the sublime, he led what many +might call an ideal life. Yet was he far from being a recluse, or from +being disposed to an excess of introversion. On the contrary, he was +a popular, high-spirited youth, almost passionately fond of society, +maintaining an unusual number of warm friendships, and unsurpassed by +any of the young men of his day in adaptedness to the elegancies and +courtesies of the more refined portions of the moving world. Romances +of love, knighthood, and heroic deeds, tales of banditti, and stories +of supernatural beings, were his chief delight in his early days. Yet +his classical attainments were considerable, and, as a scholar in the +literature of his own language, his reputation was early established. +He delivered a poem on taking his degree, which was much admired in +its day. + +On leaving college, he returned to South Carolina. Having determined +to devote his life to the fine arts, he sold, hastily and at a +sacrifice, his share of a considerable patrimonial estate, and +embarked for London in the autumn of 1801. Immediately upon his +arrival, he became a student of the Royal Academy, of which his +countryman, West, was President, with whom he formed an intimate and +lasting friendship. After three years spent in England, and a shorter +stay at Paris, he went to Italy, where he spent four years devoted +exclusively to the study of his art. At Rome began his intimacy with +Coleridge. Among the many subsequent expressions of his feeling toward +this great man, none, perhaps, is more striking than the following +extract from one of his letters:--"To no other man do I owe so much, +intellectually, as to Mr. Coleridge, with whom I became acquainted +in Rome, and who has honored me with his friendship for more than +five-and-twenty years. He used to call Rome the silent city; but I +never could think of it as such while with him; for, meet him when and +where I would, the fountain of his mind was never dry, but, like the +far-reaching aqueducts that once supplied this mistress of the world, +its living stream seemed specially to flow for every classic ruin over +which we wandered. And when I recall some of our walks under the pines +of the Villa Borghese, I am almost tempted to dream that I have once +listened to Plato in the groves of the Academy." Readers of Coleridge +know in what estimation he held the qualities and the friendship of +Mr. Allston. Beside Coleridge and West, he numbered among his friends +in England, Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Sir George Beaumont, Reynolds, +and Fuseli. + +In 1809, Mr. Allston returned to America, and remained two years +in Boston, his adopted home, and there married the sister of Dr. +Channing. In 1811, he went again to England, where his reputation as +an artist had been completely established. Before his departure, he +delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge. +During a severe illness, he removed from London to Clifton, at which +place he wrote "The Sylphs of the Seasons." In 1813, he made his +first, and, with the exception of "Monaldi," twenty-eight years +afterwards, his only publication. This was a small volume, entitled +"The Sylphs of the Seasons, and other Poems," published in London; +and, during the same year, republished in Boston under the direction +of his friends, Professor Willard of Cambridge and Mr. Edmund T. Dana. +This volume was well received, and gave him a place among the first +poets of his country. The smaller poems in that edition extend as far +as page 289 of the present volume. + +Beside the long and serious illness through which he passed, his +spirit was destined to suffer a deeper wound by the death of Mrs. +Allston, in London, during the same year. These events gave to his +mind a more earnest and undivided interest in his spiritual relations, +and drew him more closely than ever before to his religious duties. +He received the rite of confirmation, and through life was a devout +adherent to the Christian doctrine and discipline. + +The character of Mr. Allston's religious feelings may be gathered, +incidentally, from many of his writings. It is a subject to be treated +with the reserve and delicacy with which he himself would have had it +invested. Few minds have been more thoroughly imbued with belief in +the reality of the unseen world; few have given more full assent to +the truth, that "the things which are seen are temporal, the things +which are not seen are eternal." This was not merely an adopted +opinion, a conviction imposed upon his understanding; it was of the +essence of his spiritual constitution, one of the conditions of his +rational existence. To him, the Supreme Being was no vague, mystical +source of light and truth, or an impersonation of goodness and truth +themselves; nor, on the other hand, a cold rationalistic notion of an +unapproachable executor of natural and moral laws. His spirit rested +in the faith of a sympathetic God. His belief was in a Being as +infinitely minute and sympathetic in his providences, as unlimited +in his power and knowledge. Nor need it be said, that he was a firm +believer in the central truths of Christianity, the Incarnation and +Redemption; that he turned from unaided speculation to the inspired +record and the visible Church; that he sought aid in the sacraments +ordained for the strengthening of infirm humanity, and looked for the +resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. + +After a second residence of seven years in Europe, he returned to +America in 1818, and again made Boston his home. There, in a circle of +warmly attached friends, surrounded by a sympathy and admiration which +his elevation and purity, the entire harmony of his life and pursuits, +could not fail to create, he devoted himself to his art, the labor of +his love. + +This is not the place to enumerate his paintings, or to speak of his +character as an artist. His general reading he continued to the last, +with the earnestness of youth. As he retired from society, his taste +inclined him to metaphysical studies, the more, perhaps, from their +contrast with the usual occupations of his mind. He took particular +pleasure in works of devout Christian speculation, without, however, +neglecting a due proportion of strictly devotional literature. These +he varied by a constant recurrence to the great epic and dramatic +masters, and occasional reading of the earlier and the living +novelists, tales of wild romance and lighter fiction, voyages and +travels, biographies and letters. Nor was he without a strong interest +in the current politics of his own country and of England, as to which +his principles were highly conservative. + +Upon his marriage with the daughter of the late Judge Dana, in 1830, +he removed to Cambridge, and soon afterwards began the preparation of +a course of lectures on Art, which he intended to deliver to a select +audience of artists and men of letters in Boston. Four of these he +completed. Rough drafts of two others were found among his papers, but +not in a state fit for publication. In 1841, he published his tale of +"Monaldi," a production of his early life. The poems in the present +volume, not included in the volume of 1813, are, with two exceptions, +the work of his later years. In them, as in his paintings of the +same period, may be seen the extreme attention to finish, always his +characteristic, which, added to increasing bodily pain and infirmity, +was the cause of his leaving so much that is unfinished behind him. + +His death occurred at his own house, in Cambridge, a little past +midnight on the morning of Sunday, the 9th of July, 1843. He had +finished a day and week of labor in his studio, upon his great picture +of Belshazzar's Feast; the fresh paint denoting that the last touches +of his pencil were given to that glorious but melancholy monument of +the best years of his later life. Having conversed with his retiring +family with peculiar solemnity and earnestness upon the obligation and +beauty of a pure spiritual life, and on the realities of the world to +come, he had seated himself at his nightly employment of reading and +writing, which he usually carried into the early hours of the morning. +In the silence and solitude of this occupation, in a moment, +"with touch as gentle as the morning light," which was even then +approaching, his spirit was called away to its proper home. + + + + +Contents + +Preface By The Editor + +Lectures on Art. + Preliminary Note.--Ideas + Introductory Discourse + Art + Form + Composition + +Aphorisms. + Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio + +The Hypochondriac + + + + +Lectures on Art. + + + + +Preliminary Note. + +Ideas. + + + +As the word _idea_ will frequently occur, and will be found +also to hold an important relation to our present subject, we shall +endeavour, _in limine_, to possess our readers of the particular +sense in which we understand and apply it. + +An Idea, then, according to our apprehension, is the highest or most +perfect _form_ in which any thing, whether of the physical, the +intellectual, or the spiritual, may exist to the mind. By form, we do not +mean _figure_ or _image_ (though these may be included in relation to the +physical); but that condition, or state, in which such objects become +cognizable to the mind, or, in other words, become objects of +consciousness. + +Ideas are of two kinds; which we shall distinguish by the terms _primary_ +and _secondary_: the first being the _manifestation_ of objective +realities; the second, that of the reflex product, so to speak, of the +mental constitution. In both cases, they may be said to be +self-affirmed,--that is, they carry in themselves their own evidence; +being therefore not only independent of the reflective faculties, but +constituting the only unchangeable ground of Truth, to which those +faculties may ultimately refer. Yet have these Ideas no living energy in +themselves; they are but the _forms_, as we have said, through or in which +a higher Power manifests to the consciousness the supreme truth of all +things real, in respect to the first class; and, in respect to the second, +the imaginative truths of the mental products, or mental combinations. Of +the nature and mode of operation of the Power to which we refer, we know, +and can know, nothing; it is one of those secrets of our being which He +who made us has kept to himself. And we should be content with the +assurance, that we have in it a sure and intuitive guide to a reverent +knowledge of the beauty and grandeur of his works,--nay, of his own +adorable reality. And who shall gainsay it, should we add, that this +mysterious Power is essentially immanent in that "breath of life," by +which man becomes "a living soul"? + +In the following remarks we shall confine ourself to the first +class of Ideas, namely, the Real; leaving the second to be noticed +hereafter. + +As to number, ideas are limited only by the number of kinds, without +direct relation to degrees; every object, therefore, having in itself +a _distinctive essential_, has also its distinct idea; while two +or more objects of the same kind, however differing in degree, must +consequently refer only to one and the same. For instance, though a +hundred animals should differ in size, strength, or color, yet, if +none of these peculiarities are essential to the species, they would +all refer to the same supreme idea. + +The same law applies equally, and with the same limitation, to +the essential differences in the intellectual, the moral, and the +spiritual. All ideas, however, have but a potential existence until +they are called into the consciousness by some real object; the +required condition of the object being a predetermined correspondence, +or correlation. Every such object we term an _assimilant_. + +With respect to those ideas which relate to the physical world, we +remark, that, though the assimilants required are supplied by +the senses, the senses have in themselves no _productive, +coöperating_ energy, being but the passive instruments, or medium, +through which they are conveyed. That the senses, in this relation, +are merely passive, admits of no question, from the obvious difference +between the idea and the objects. The senses can do no more than +transmit the external in its actual forms, leaving the images in the +mind exactly as they found them; whereas the intuitive power rejects, +or assimilates, indefinitely, until they are resolved into the proper +perfect form. Now the power which prescribes that form must, of +necessity, be antecedent to the presentation of the objects which it +thus assimilates, as it could not else give consistence and unity to +what was before separate or fragmentary. And every one who has +ever realized an idea of the class in which alone we compare the +assimilants with the ideal form, be he poet, painter, or philosopher, +well knows the wide difference between the materials and their result. +When an idea is thus realized and made objective, it affirms its own +truth, nor can any process of the understanding shake its foundation; +nay, it is to the mind an essential, imperative truth, then emerging, +as it were, from the dark potential into the light of reality. + +If this be so, the inference is plain, that the relation between the +actual and the ideal is one of necessity, and therefore, also, is the +predetermined correspondence between the prescribed form of an +idea and its assimilant; for how otherwise could the former become +recipient of that which was repugnant or indifferent, when the +presence of the latter constitutes the very condition by which it is +manifested, or can be known to exist? By actual, here, we do not mean +the exclusively physical, but whatever, in the strictest sense, can be +called an _object_, as forming the opposite to a mere subject of +the mind. + +It would appear, then, that what we call ourself must have a +_dual_ reality, that is, in the mind and in the senses, since +neither _alone_ could possibly explain the phenomena of the +other; consequently, in the existence of either we have clearly +implied the reality of both. And hence must follow the still more +important truth, that, in the _conscious presence_ of any +_spiritual_ idea, we have the surest proof of a spiritual object; +nor is this the less certain, though we perceive not the assimilant. +Nay, a spiritual assimilant cannot be perceived, but, to use the words +of St. Paul, is "spiritually discerned," that is, by a sense, so to +speak, of our own spirit. But to illustrate by example: we could not, +for instance, have the ideas of good and evil without their objective +realities, nor of right and wrong, in any intelligible form, without +the moral law to which they refer,--which law we call the Conscience; +nor could we have the idea of a moral law without a moral lawgiver, +and, if moral, then intelligent, and, if intelligent, then personal; +in a word, we could not now have, as we know we have, the idea of +conscience, without an objective, personal God. Such ideas may well be +called revelations, since, without any perceived assimilant, we find +them equally affirmed with those ideas which relate to the purely +physical. + +But here it may be asked, How are we to distinguish an Idea from a mere +_notion_? We answer, By its self-affirmation. For an ideal truth, having +its own evidence in itself, can neither be proved nor disproved by any +thing out of itself; whatever, then, impresses the mind _as_ truth, _is_ +truth until it can be _shown_ to be false; and consequently, in the +converse, whatever can be brought into the sphere of the understanding, as +a dialectic subject, is not an Idea. It will be observed, however, that we +do not say an idea may not be denied; but to deny is not to disprove. Many +things are denied in direct contradiction to fact; for the mind can +command, and in no measured degree, the power of self-blinding, so that it +cannot see what is actually before it. This is a psychological fact, which +may be attested by thousands, who can well remember the time when they had +once clearly discerned what has now vanished from their minds. Nor does +the actual cessation of these primeval forms, or the after presence of +their fragmentary, nay, disfigured relics, disprove their reality, or +their original integrity, as we could not else call them up in their +proper forms at any future time, to the reacknowledging their truth: a +_resuscitation_ and result, so to speak, which many have experienced. + +In conclusion: though it be but one and the same Power that prescribes +the form and determines the truth of all Ideas, there is yet an +essential difference between the two classes of ideas to which we have +referred; for it may well be doubted whether any Primary Idea can ever +be fully realized by a finite mind,--at least in the present state. +Take, for instance, the idea of beauty. In its highest form, as +presented to the consciousness, we still find it referring to +something beyond and above itself, as if it were but an approximation +to a still higher form. The truth of this, we think, will be +particularly felt by the artist, whether poet or painter, whose mind +may be supposed, from his natural bias, to be more peculiarly capable +of its highest developement; and what true artist was ever satisfied +with any idea of beauty of which he is conscious? From this +approximated form, however, he doubtless derives a high degree of +pleasure, nay, one of the purest of which his nature is capable; +yet still is the pleasure modified, if we may so express it, by an +undefined yearning for what he feels can never be realized. And +wherefore this craving, but for the archetype of that which called it +forth?--When we say not satisfied, we do not mean discontented, but +simply not in full fruition. And it is better that it should be +so, since one of the happiest elements of our nature is that which +continually impels it towards the indefinite and unattainable. So +far as we know, the like limits may be set to every other primary +idea,--as if the Creator had reserved to himself alone the possible +contemplation of the archetypes of his universe. + +With regard to the other class, that of Secondary Ideas, which we +have called the reflex product of the mind, their distinguishing +characteristic is, that they not only admit of a perfect realization, +but also of outward manifestation, so as to be communicated to others. +All works of imagination, so called, present examples of this. Hence +they may also be termed imitative or imaginative. For, though they +draw their assimilants from the actual world, and are likewise +regulated by the unknown Power before mentioned, yet are they but the +forms of what, _as a whole_, have no actual existence;--they are +nevertheless true to the mind, and are made so by the same Power which +affirms their possibility. This species of Truth we shall hereafter +have occasion to distinguish as Poetic Truth. + + + + +Introductory Discourse. + + + +Next to the developement of our moral nature, to have subordinated the +senses to the mind is the highest triumph of the civilized state. Were +it possible to embody the present complicated scheme of society, so as +to bring it before us as a visible object, there is perhaps nothing +in the world of sense that would so fill us with wonder; for what is +there in nature that may not fall within its limits? and yet how small +a portion of this stupendous fabric will be found to have any direct, +much less exclusive, relation to the actual wants of the body! It +might seem, indeed, to an unreflecting observer, that our physical +necessities, which, truly estimated, are few and simple, have rather +been increased than diminished by the civilized man. But this is not +true; for, if a wider duty is imposed on the senses, it is only to +minister to the increased demands of the imagination, which is now so +mingled with our every-day concerns, even with our dress, houses, and +furniture, that, except with the brutalized, the purely sensuous wants +might almost be said to have become extinct: with the cultivated and +refined, they are at least so modified as to be no longer prominent. + +But this refilling on the physical, like every thing else, has had its +opponents: it is declaimed against as artificial. If by artificial is +meant unnatural, we cannot so consider it; but hold, on the contrary, +that the whole multiform scheme of the civilized state is not only in +accordance with our nature, but an essential condition to the proper +developement of the human being. It is presupposed by the very wants +of his mind; nor could it otherwise have been, any more than could +have been the cabin of the beaver, or the curious hive of the bee, +without their preëxisting instincts; it is therefore in the highest +sense natural, as growing out of the inherent desires of the mind. + +But we would not be misunderstood. When we speak of the refined +state as not out of nature, we mean such results as proceed from the +legitimate growth of our mental constitution, which we suppose to +be grounded in permanent, universal principles; and, whatever +modifications, however subtile, and apparently visionary, may follow +their operation in the world of sense, so long as that operation +diverge not from its original ground, its effect must be, in the +strictest sense, natural. Thus the wildest visions of poetry, the +unsubstantial forms of painting, and the mysterious harmonies of +music, that seem to disembody the spirit, and make us creatures of the +air,--even these, unreal as they are, may all have their foundation +in immutable truth; and we may moreover know of this truth by its own +evidence. Of this species of evidence we shall have occasion to speak +hereafter. But there is another kind of growth, which may well be +called unnatural; we mean, of those diseased appetites, whose effects +are seen in the distorted forms of the _conventional_, having no +ground but in weariness of the true; and it cannot be denied that this +morbid growth has its full share, inwardly and outwardly, both of +space and importance. These, however, must sooner or later end as they +began; they perish in the lie they make; and it were well did not +other falsehoods take their places, to prolong a life whose only +tenure is inconsequential succession,--in other words, Fashion. + +If it be true, then, that even the commonplaces of life must all in +some degree partake of the mental, there can be but one rule by which +to determine the proper rank of any object of pursuit, and that is by +its nearer or more remote relation to our inward nature. Every system, +therefore, which tends to degrade a mental pleasure to the subordinate +or superfluous, is both narrow and false, as virtually reversing its +natural order. + +It pleased our Creator, when he endowed us with appetites and +functions by which to sustain the economy of life, at the same time to +annex to their exercise a sense of pleasure; hence our daily food, and +the daily alternation of repose and action, are no less grateful than +imperative. That life may be sustained, and most of its functions +performed, without any coincident enjoyment, is certainly possible. +Our food may be distasteful, action painful, and rest unrefreshing; +and yet we may eat, and exercise, and sleep, nay, live thus for years. +But this is not our natural condition, and we call it disease. Were +man a mere animal, the very act of living, in his natural or healthy +state, would be to him a continuous enjoyment. But he is also a moral +and an intellectual being; and, in like manner, is the healthful +condition of these, the nobler parts of his nature, attended with +something more than a consciousness of the mere process of existence. +To the exercise of his intellectual faculties and moral attributes the +same benevolent law has superadded a sense of pleasure,--of a kind, +too, in the same degree transcending the highest bodily sensation, as +must that which is immortal transcend the perishable. It is not for us +to ask why it is so; much less, because it squares not with the +poor notion of material usefulness, to call in question a fact that +announces a nature to which the senses are but passing ministers. Let +us rather receive this ennobling law, at least without misgiving, lest +in our sensuous wisdom we exchange an enduring gift for a transient +gratification. + +Of the peculiar fruits of this law, which we shall here distinguish by +the general term _mental pleasures_, it is our purpose to treat +in the present discourse. + +It is with no assumed diffidence that we venture on this subject; for, +though we shall offer nothing not believed to be true, we are but too +sensible how small a portion of truth it is in our power to present. +But, were it far greater, and the present writer of a much higher +order of intellect, there would still be sufficient cause for +humility in view of those impassable bounds that have ever met every +self-questioning of the mind. + +But whilst the narrowness of human knowledge may well preclude all +self-exaltation, it would be worse than folly to hold as naught the +many important truths which have been wrought out for us by the mighty +intellects of the past. If they have left us nothing for vainglory, +they have left us at least enough to be grateful for. Nor is it +a little, that they have taught us to look into those mysterious +chambers of our being,--the abode of the spirit; and not a little, +indeed, if what we are there permitted to know shall have brought with +it the conviction, that we are not abandoned to a blind empiricism, to +waste life in guesses, and to guess at last that we have all our +lives been guessing wrong,--but, unapproachable though it be to the +subordinate Understanding, that we have still within us an abiding +Interpreter, which cannot be gainsaid, which makes our duty to God and +man clear as the light, which ever guards the fountain of all true +pleasures, nay, which holds in subjection the last high gift of the +Creator, that imaginative faculty whereby his exalted creature, made +in his image, might mould at will, from his most marvellous world, yet +unborn forms, even forms of beauty, grandeur, and majesty, having all +of truth but his own divine prerogative,--_the mystery of Life_. + +As the greater part of those Pleasures which we propose to discuss are +intimately connected with the material world, it may be well, perhaps, +to assign some reason for the epithet _mental_. To many, we know, +this will seem superfluous; but, when it is remembered how often we +hear of this and that object delighting the eye, or of certain sounds +charming the ear, it may not be amiss to show that such expressions +have really no meaning except as metaphors. When the senses, as the +medium of communication, have conveyed to the mind either the sounds +or images, their function ceases. So also with respect to the objects: +their end is attained, at least as to us, when the sounds or images +are thus transmitted, which, so far as they are concerned, must for +ever remain the same within as without the mind. For, where the +ultimate end is not in mere bodily sensation, neither the senses nor +the objects possess, of themselves, any productive power; of the +product that follows, the _tertium aliquid_, whether the pleasure +we feel be in a beautiful animal or in according sounds, neither the +one nor the other is really the cause, but simply the _occasion_. +It is clear, then, that the effect realized supposes of necessity +another agent, which must therefore exist only in the mind. But of +this hereafter. + +If the cause of any emotion, which we seem to derive from an outward +object, were inherent exclusively in the object itself, there could +be no failure in any instance, except where the organs of sense were +either diseased or imperfect. But it is a matter of fact that they +often do fail where there is no disease or organic defect. Many of us, +perhaps, can call to mind certain individuals, whose sense of hearing +is as acute as our own, who yet can by no possibility be made to +recognize the slightest relation between the according notes of the +simplest melody; and, though they can as readily as others distinguish +the individual sounds, even to the degrees of flatness and sharpness, +the harmonic agreement is to them as mere noise. Let us suppose +ourselves present at a concert, in company with one such person and +another who possesses what is called musical sensibility. How are +they affected, for instance, by a piece of Mozart's? In the sense +of hearing they are equal: look at them. In the one we perceive +perplexity, annoyance, perhaps pain; he hears nothing but a confused +medley of sounds. In the other, the whole being is rapt in ecstasy, +the unutterable pleasure gushes from his eyes, he cannot articulate +his emotion;--in the words of one, who felt and embodied the subtile +mystery in immortal verse, his very soul seems "lapped in Elysium." +Now, could this difference be possible, were the sole cause, strictly +speaking, in mere matter? + +Nor do we contradict our position, when we admit, in certain +cases,--for instance, in the producer,--the necessity of a nicer +organization, in order to the more perfect _transmission_ of the +finer emotions; inasmuch as what is to be communicated in space and +time must needs be by some medium adapted thereto. + +Such a person as Paganini, it is said, was able to "discourse most +excellent music" on a ballad-monger's fiddle; yet will any one +question that he needed an instrument of somewhat finer construction +to show forth his full powers? Nay, we might add, that he needed no +less than the most delicate _Cremona_,--some instrument, as it +were, articulated into humanity,--to have inhaled and respired those +attenuated strains, which, those who heard them think it hardly +extravagant to say, seemed almost to embody silence. + +Now this mechanical instrument, by means of which such marvels were +wrought, is but one of the many visible symbols of that more subtile +instrument through which the mind acts when it would manifest itself. +It would be too absurd to ask if any one believed that the music we +speak of was created, as well as conveyed, by the instrument. The +violin of Paganini may still be seen and handled; but the soul that +inspired it is buried with its master. + +If we admit a distinction between mind and matter, and the result we +speak of be purely mental, we should contradict the universal law +of nature to assign such a product to mere matter, inasmuch as the +natural law forbids in the lower the production of the higher. Take +an example from one of the lower forms of organic life,--a common +vegetable. Will any one assert that the surrounding inorganic elements +of air, earth, heat, and water produce its peculiar form? Though some, +or all, of these may be essential to its developement, they are so +only as its predetermined correlatives, without which its existence +could not be manifested; and in like manner must the peculiar form of +the vegetable preëxist in its life,--in its _idea_,--in order to +evolve by these assimilants its own proper organism. + +No possible modification in the degrees or proportion of these +elements can change the specific form of a plant,--for instance, a +cabbage into a cauliflower; it must ever remain a cabbage, _small or +large, good or bad. _ So, too, is the external world to the +mind; which needs, also, as the condition of its manifestation, its +objective correlative. Hence the presence of some outward object, +predetermined to correspond to the preëxisting idea in its living +power, is essential to the evolution of its proper end,--the +pleasurable emotion. We beg it may be noted that we do not say +_sensation_. And hence we hold ourself justified in speaking of +such presence as simply the occasion, or condition, and not, _per +se_, the cause. And hence, moreover, may be inferred the absolute +necessity of Dual Forces in order to the actual existence of any +thing. One alone, the incomprehensible Author of all things, is +self-subsisting in his perfect Unity. + +We shall now endeavour to establish the following proposition: namely, +that the Pleasures in question have their true source in One Intuitive +Universal Principle or living Power, and that the three Ideas of +Beauty, Truth, and Holiness, which we assume to represent the +_perfect_ in the physical, intellectual, and moral worlds, are +but the several realized phases of this sovereign principle, which we +shall call _Harmony_. + +Our first step, then, is to possess ourself of the essential or +distinctive characteristic of these pleasurable emotions. Apparently, +there is nothing more simple. And yet we are acquainted with no single +term that shall fully express it. But what every one has more or less +felt may certainly be made intelligible in a more extended form, and, +we should think, by any one in the slightest degree competent to +self-examination. Let a person, then, be appealed to; and let him put +the question as to what passes within him when possessed by these +emotions; and the spontaneous feeling will answer for us, that what we +call _self_ has no part in them. Nay, we further assert, that, +when singly felt, that is, when unallied to other emotions as +modifying forces, they are wholly unmixed with _any personal +considerations, or any conscious advantage to the individual_. + +Nor is this assigning too high a character to the feelings in question +because awakened in so many instances by the purely physical; since +their true origin may clearly be traced to a common source with those +profounder emotions which we are wont to ascribe to the intellectual +and moral. Besides, it should be borne in mind, that no physical +object can be otherwise to the mind than a mere _occasion_; its +inward product, or mental effect, being from another Power. The proper +view therefore is, not that such alliance can ever degrade the higher +agent, but that its more humble and material _assimilant_ is thus +elevated by it. So that nothing in nature should be counted mean, +which can thus be exalted; but rather be honored, since no object can +become so assimilated except by its predetermined correlation to our +better nature. + +Neither is it the privilege of the exclusive few, the refined and +cultivated, to feel them deeply. If we look beyond ourselves, even to +the promiscuous multitude, the instance will be rare, if existing at +all, where some transient touch of these purer feelings has not raised +the individual to, at least, a momentary exemption from the common +thraldom of self. And we greatly err if their universality is not +solely limited by those "shades of the prison-house," which, in the +words of the poet, too often "close upon the growing boy." Nay, so +far as we have observed, we cannot admit it as a question whether any +person through a whole life has always been wholly insensible,--we +will not say (though well we might) to the good and true,--but to +beauty; at least, to some one kind, or degree, of the beautiful. The +most abject wretch, however animalized by vice, may still be able to +recall the time when a morning or evening sky, a bird, a flower, or +the sight of some other object in nature, has given him a pleasure, +which he felt to be distinct from that of his animal appetites, and +to which he could attach not a thought of self-interest. And, though +crime and misery may close the heart for years, and seal it up for +ever to every redeeming thought, they cannot so shut out from the +memory these gleams of innocence; even the brutified spirit, the +castaway of his kind, has been made to blush at this enduring light; +for it tells him of a truth, which might else have never been +remembered,--that he has once been a man. + +And here may occur a question,--which might well be left to the ultra +advocates of the _cui bono_,--whether a simple flower may not +sometimes be of higher use than a labor-saving machine. + +As to the objects whose effect on the mind is here discussed, it is +needless to specify them; they are, in general, all such as are known +to affect us in the manner described. The catalogue will vary both in +number and kind with different persons, according to the degree of +force or developement in the overruling Principle. + +We proceed, then, to reply to such objections as will doubtless be +urged against the characteristic assumed. And first, as regards the +Beautiful, we shall probably be met by the received notion, that we +experience in Beauty one of the most powerful incentives to passion; +while examples without number will be brought in array to prove it +also the wonder-working cause of almost fabulous transformations,--as +giving energy to the indolent, patience to the quick, perseverance +to the fickle, even courage to the timid; and, _vice versâ_, as +unmanning the hero,--nay, urging the honorable to falsehood, treason, +and murder; in a word, through the mastered, bewildered, sophisticated +_self_, as indifferently raising and sinking the fascinated +object to the heights and depths of pleasure and misery, of virtue and +vice. + +Now, if the Beauty here referred to is of the _human being_, we +do not gainsay it; but this is beauty in its _mixed mode_,--not +in its high, passionless form, its singleness and purity. It is not +Beauty as it descended from heaven, in the cloud, the rainbow, the +flower, the bird, or in the concord of sweet sounds, that seem to +carry back the soul to whence it came. + +Could we look, indeed, at the human form in its simple, unallied +physical structure,--on that, for instance, of a beautiful woman,--and +forget, or rather not feel, that it is other than a _form_, there +could be but one feeling: that nothing visible was ever so framed to +banish from the soul every ignoble thought, and imbue it, as it were, +with primeval innocence. + +We are quite aware that the doctrine assumed in our main proposition +with regard to Beauty, as holding exclusive relation to the Physical, +is not very likely to forestall favor; we therefore beg for it only +such candid attention as, for the reasons advanced, it may appear to +deserve. + +That such effects as have just been objected could not be from Beauty +alone, in its pure and single form, but rather from its coincidence +with some real or supposed moral or intellectual quality, or with the +animal appetites, seems to us clear; as, were it otherwise, we might +infer the same from a beautiful infant,--the very thought of which is +revolting to common sense. In such conjunction, indeed, it cannot but +have a certain influence, but so modified as often to become a mere +accessory, subordinated to the animal or moral object, and for the +attainment of an end not its own; in proof of which, we find it almost +uniformly partaking the penalty imposed on its incidental associates, +should ever their desires result in illusion,--namely, in the aversion +that follows. But the result of Beauty can never be such; when it +seems otherwise, the effect, we think, can readily be traced to other +causes, as we shall presently endeavour to show. + +It cannot be a matter of controversy whether Beauty is limited to the +human form; the daily experience of the most ordinary man would answer +No: he finds it in the woods, the fields, in plants and animals, +nay, in a thousand objects, as he looks upon nature; nor, though +indefinitely diversified, does he hesitate to assign to each the same +epithet. And why? Because the feelings awakened by all are similar in +kind, though varying, doubtless, by many degrees in intenseness. Now +suppose he is asked of what personal advantage is all this beauty to +him. Verily, he would be puzzled to answer. It gives him pleasure, +perhaps great pleasure. And this is all he could say. But why should +the effect be different, except in degree, from the beauty of a human +being? We have already the answer in this concluding term. For what is +a human being but one who unites in himself a physical, intellectual, +and moral nature, which cannot in one become even an object of thought +without at least some obscure shadowings of its natural allies? How, +then, can we separate that which has an exclusive relation to his +physical form, without some perception of the moral and intellectual +with which it is joined? But how do we know that Beauty is limited +to such exclusive relation? This brings us to the great problem; so +simple and easy of solution in all other cases, yet so intricate and +apparently inexplicable in man. In other things, it would be felt +absurd to make it a question, whether referring to form, color, or +sound. A single instance will suffice. Let us suppose, then, an +unfamiliar object, whose habits, disposition, and so forth, are wholly +unknown, for instance, a bird of paradise, to be seen for the +first time by twenty persons, and they all instantly call it +beautiful;--could there be any doubt that the pleasure it produced +in each was of the same kind? or would any one of them ascribe his +pleasure to any thing but its form and plumage? Concerning natural +objects, and those inferior animals which are not under the influence +of domestic associations, there is little or no difference among men: +if they differ, it is only in degree, according to their sensibility. +Men do not dispute about a rose. And why? Because there is nothing +beside the physical to interfere with the impression it was +predetermined to make; and the idea of beauty is realized instantly. +So, also, with respect to other objects of an opposite character; they +can speak without deliberating, and call them plain, homely, ugly, and +so on, thus instinctively expressing even their degree of remoteness +from the condition of beauty. Who ever called a pelican beautiful, or +even many animals endeared to us by their valuable qualities,--such as +the intelligent and docile elephant, or the affectionate orang-outang, +or the faithful mastiff? Nay, we may run through a long list of most +useful and amiable creatures, that could not, under any circumstances, +give birth to an emotion corresponding to that which we ascribe to the +beautiful. + +But there is scarcely a subject on which mankind are wider at +variance, than on the beauty of their own species,--some preferring +this, and others that, particular conformation; which can only be +accounted for on the supposition of some predominant expression, +either moral, intellectual, or sensual, with which they are in +sympathy, or else the reverse. While some will task their memory, +and resort to the schools, for their supposed infallible +_rules_;--forgetting, meanwhile, that ultimate tribunal to which +their canon must itself appeal, the ever-living principle which first +evolved its truth, and which now, as then, is not to be reasoned +about, but _felt_. It need not be added how fruitful of blunders +is this mechanical ground. + +Now we venture to assert that no mistake was ever made, even in a +single glance, concerning any natural object, not disfigured by human +caprice, or which the eye had not been trained to look at through +some conventional medium. Under this latter circumstance, there are +doubtless many things in nature which affect men very differently; and +more especially such as, from their familiar nearness, have come under +the influence of _opinion_, and been incrusted, as it were, by +the successive deposits of many generations. But of the vast and +various multitude of objects which have thus been forced from their +original state, there is perhaps no one which has undergone so many +and such strange disfigurements as the human form; or in relation to +which our "ideas," as we are pleased to call them, but in truth our +opinions, have been so fluctuating. If an Idea, indeed, had any thing +to do with Fashion, we should call many things monstrous to +which custom has reconciled us. Let us suppose a case, by way of +illustration. A gentleman and lady, from one of our fashionable +cities, are making a tour on the borders of some of our new +settlements in the West. They are standing on the edge of a forest, +perhaps admiring the grandeur of nature; perhaps, also, they are +lovers, and sharing with nature their admiration for each other, whose +personal charms are set off to the utmost, according to the most +approved notions, by the taste and elegance of their dress. Then +suppose an Indian hunter, who had never seen one of our civilized +world, or heard of our costume, coming suddenly upon them, their faces +being turned from him. Would it be possible for him to imagine what +kind of animals they were? We think not; and least of all, that he +would suppose them to be of his own species. This is no improbable +case; and we very much fear, should it ever occur, that the unrefined +savage would go home with an impression not very flattering either to +the milliner or the tailor. + +That, under such disguises, we should consider human beauty as a kind +of enigma, or a thing to dispute about, is not surprising; nor even +that we should often differ from ourselves, when so much of the +outward man is thus made to depend on the shifting humors of some +paramount Petronius of the shears. But, admitting it to be an easy +matter to divest the form, or, what is still more important, our +own minds, of every thing conventional, there is the still greater +obstacle to any true effect from the person alone, in that moral +admixture, already mentioned, which, more or less, must color the +most of our impressions from every individual. Is there not, then, +sufficient ground for at least a doubt if, excepting idiots, there is +one human being in whom the purely physical is _at all times_ the +sole agent? We do not say that it does not generally predominate. But, +in a compound being like man, it seems next to impossible that the +nature within should not at times, in some degree, transpire through +the most rigid texture of the outward form. We may not, indeed, always +read aright the character thus obscurely indexed, or even be able to +guess at it, one way or the other; still, it will affect us; nay, most +so, perhaps, when most indefinite. Every man is, to a certain extent, +a physiognomist: we do not mean, according to the common acceptation, +that he is an interpreter of lines and quantities, which may be +reduced to rules; but that he is born one, judging, not by any +conscious rule, but by an instinct, which he can neither explain nor +comprehend, and which compels him to sit in judgment, whether he will +or no. How else can we account for those instantaneous sympathies and +antipathies towards an utter stranger? + +Now this moral influence has a twofold source, one in the object, +and another in ourselves; nor is it easy to determine which is the +stronger as a counteracting force. Hitherto we have considered only +the former; we now proceed with a few remarks upon the latter. + +Will any man say, that he is wholly without some natural or acquired +bias? This is the source of the counteracting influence which we speak +of in ourselves; but which, like many other of the secret springs, +both of thought and feeling, few men think of. It is nevertheless one +which, on this particular subject, is scarcely ever inactive; +and according to the bias will be our impressions, whether we be +intellectual or sensual, coldly speculative or ardently imaginative. +We do not mean that it is always called forth by every thing we +approach; we speak only of its usual activity between man and man; for +there seems to be a mysterious something in our nature, that, in spite +of our wishes, will rarely allow of an absolute indifference towards +any of the species; some effect, however slight, even as that of the +air which we unconsciously inhale and again respire, must follow, +whether directly from the object or reacting from ourselves. Nay, so +strong is the law, whether in attraction or repulsion, that we cannot +resist it even in relation to those human shadows projected on air by +the mere imagination; for we feel it in art only less than in nature, +provided, however, that the imagined being possess but the indication +of a human soul: yet not so is it, if presenting only the outward +form, since a mere form can in itself have no affinity with either +the heart or intellect. And here we would ask, Does not this +striking exception in the present argument cast back, as it were, a +confirmatory reflection? + +We have often thought, that the power of the mere form could not be +more strongly exemplified than at a common paint-shop. Among the +annual importations from the various marts of Europe, how +many beautiful faces, without an atom of meaning, attract the +passengers,--stopping high and low, people of all descriptions, +and actually giving pleasure, if not to every one, at least to the +majority; and very justly, for they have beauty, and _nothing +else_. But let another artist, some man of genius, copy the same +faces, and add character,--breathe into them souls: from that moment +the passers-by would see as if with other eyes; the affections and +the imagination then become the spectators; and, according to the +quickness or dulness, the vulgarity or refinement, of these, would be +the impression. Thus a coarse mind may feel the beauty in the hard, +soulless forms of Van der Werf, yet turn away with apathy from the +sanctified loveliness of a Madonna by Raffaelle. + +But to return to the individual bias, which is continually inclining +to, or repelling, What is more common, especially with women, than +a high admiration of a plain person, if connected with wit, or a +pleasing address? Can we have a stronger case in point than that of +the celebrated Wilkes, one of the ugliest, yet one of the most +admired men of his time? Even his own sex, blinded no doubt by their +sympathetic bias, could see no fault in him, either in mind or +person; for, when it was objected to the latter, that "he squinted +confoundedly," the reply was, "No, Sir, not more than a gentleman +ought to squint." + +Of the tendency to particular pursuits,--to art, science, or any +particular course of life,--we do not speak; the bias we allude to is +in the more personal disposition of the man,--in that which gives a +tone to his internal character; nor is it material of what +proportions compounded, of the affections, or the intellect, or the +senses,--whether of some only, or the whole; that these form the +ground of every man's bias is no less certain, than the fact that +there is scarcely any secret which men are in the habit of guarding +with such sedulous care. Nay, it would seem as if every one were +impelled to it by some superstitious instinct, that every one might +have it to say to himself, There is one thing in me which is all _my +own_. Be this as it may, there are few things more hazardous than +to pronounce with confidence on any man's bias. Indeed, most men would +be puzzled to name it to themselves; but its existence in them is +not the less a fact, because the form assumed may be so mixed and +complicated as to be utterly undefinable. It is enough, however, that +every one feels, and is more or less led by it, whether definite or +not. + +This being the case, how is it possible that it should not in some +degree affect our feelings towards every one we meet,--that it should +not leave some speck of leaven on each impression, which shall +impregnate it with something that we admire and love, or else with +that which we hate and despise? + +And what is the most beautiful or the most ungainly form before a +sorcerer like this, who can endow a fair simpleton with the rarest +intellect, or transform, by a glance, the intellectual, noble-hearted +dwarf to an angel of light? These, of course, are extreme cases. But +if true in these, as we have reason to believe, how formidable the +power! + +But though, as before observed, we may not read this secret with +precision, it is sometimes possible to make a shrewd guess at the +prevailing tendency in certain individuals. Perhaps the most obvious +cases are among the sanguine and imaginative; and the guess would be, +that a beautiful person would presently be enriched with all possible +virtues, while the colder speculatist would only see in it, not what +it possessed, but the mind that it wanted. Now it would be curious to +imagine (and the case is not impossible) how the eyes of each might be +opened, with the probable consequence, how each might feel when his +eyes were opened, and the object was seen as it really is. Some +untoward circumstance comes unawares on the perfect creature: a burst +of temper knits the brow, inflames the eye, inflates the nostril, +gnashes the teeth, and converts the angel into a storming fury. What +then becomes of the visionary virtues? They have passed into air, and +taken with them, also, what was the fair creature's right,--her +very beauty. Yet a different change takes place with the dry man of +intellect. The mindless object has taken shame of her ignorance; she +begins to cultivate her powers, which are gradually developed until +they expand and brighten; they inform her features, so that no one can +look upon them without seeing the evidence of no common intellect: the +dry man, at last, is struck with their superior intelligence, and what +more surprises him is the grace and beauty, which, for the first time, +they reveal to his eyes. The learned dust which had so long buried his +heart is quickly brushed away, and he weds the embodied mind. What +third change may follow, it is not to our purpose to foresee. + +Has human beauty, then, no power? When united with virtue and +intellect, we might almost answer,--All power. It is the embodied +harmony of the true poet; his visible Muse; the guardian angel of his +better nature; the inspiring sibyl of his best affections, drawing him +to her with a purifying charm, from the selfishness of the world, from +poverty and neglect, from the low and base, nay, from his own frailty +or vices:--for he cannot approach her with unhallowed thoughts, whom +the unlettered and ignorant look up to with awe, as to one of a +race above them; before whom the wisest and best bow down without +abasement, and would bow in idolatry but for a higher reverence. +No! there is no power like this of mortal birth. But against the +antagonist moral, the human beauty of itself has no power, no +self-sustaining life. While it panders to evil desires, then, indeed, +there are few things may parallel its fearful might. But the unholy +alliance must at last have an end. Look at it then, when the beautiful +serpent has cast her slough. + +Let us turn to it for a moment, and behold it in league with elegant +accomplishments and a subtile intellect: how complete its triumph! If +ever the soul may be said to be intoxicated, it is then, when it feels +the full power of a beautiful, bad woman. The fabled enchantments +of the East are less strange and wonder-working than the marvellous +changes which her spell has wrought. For a time every thought seems +bound to her will; the eternal eye of the conscience closes before +her; the everlasting truths of right and wrong sleep at her bidding; +nay, things most gross and abhorred become suddenly invested with +a seeming purity: till the whole mind is hers, and the bewildered +victim, drunk with her charms, calls evil good. Then, what may follow? +Read the annals of crime; it will tell us what follows the broken +spell,--broken by the first degrading theft, the first stroke of the +dagger, or the first drop of poison. The felon's eye turns upon the +beautiful sorceress with loathing and abhorrence: an asp, a toad, is +not more hateful! The story of Milwood has many counterparts. + +But, although Beauty cannot sustain itself permanently against what is +morally bad, and has no direct power of producing good, it yet may, +and often does, when unobstructed, through its unimpassioned purity, +predispose to the good, except, perhaps, in natures grossly depraved; +inasmuch as all affinities to the pure are so many reproaches to the +vitiated mind, unless convertible to some selfish end. Witness the +beautiful wife, wedded for what is misnamed love, yet becoming the +scorn of a brutal husband,--the more bitter, perhaps, if she be also +good. But, aside from those counteracting causes so often mentioned, +it is as we have said: we are predisposed to feel kindly, and to think +purely, of every beautiful object, until we have reason to think +otherwise; and according to our own hearts will be our thoughts. + +We are aware of but one other objection which has not been noticed, +and which might be made to the intuitive nature of the Idea. How is +it, we may be asked, that artists, who are supposed, from their early +discipline, to have overcome all conventional bias, and also to have +acquired the more difficult power of analyzing their models, so as to +contemplate them in their separate elements, have so often varied as +to their ideas of Beauty? Whether artists have really the power thus +ascribed to them, we shall not here inquire; it is no doubt, if +possible, their business to acquire it. But, admitting it as true, we +deny the position: they do not change their ideas. They can have but +one Idea of Beauty, inasmuch as that Idea is but a specific phase of +one immutable Principle,--if there be such a principle; as we shall +hereafter endeavour to show. Nor can they have of it any +essentially different, much less opposite, conceptions: but their +_apprehension_ of it may undergo many apparent changes, which, +nevertheless, are but the various degrees that only mark a fuller +conception; as their more extended acquaintance with the higher +outward assimilants of Beauty brings them, of course, nearer to a +perfect realization of the preëxisting Idea. By _perfect_, here, +we mean only the nearest approximation by man. And we appeal to every +artist, competent to answer, if it be not so. Does he ever descend +from a higher assimilant to a lower? Suppose him to have been born in +Italy; would he go to Holland to realize his Idea? But many a Dutchman +has sought in Italy what he could not find in his own country. We +do not by this intend any reflection on the latter,--a country so +fruitful of genius; it is only saying that the human form in Italy is +from a finer mould. Then, what directs the artist from one object to +another, and determines him which to choose, if he has not the guide +within him? And why else should all nations instinctively bow before +the superior forms of Greece? + +We add but one remark. Supposing the artist to be wholly freed from +all modifying biases, such is seldom the case with those who criticize +his work,--especially those who would show their superiority by +detecting faults, and who frequently condemn the painter simply for +not expressing what he never aimed at. As to some, they are never +content if they do not find beauty, whatever the subject, though +it may neutralize the character, if not render it ridiculous. Were +Raffaelle, who seldom sought the purely beautiful, to be judged by +the want of it, he would fall below Guido. But his object was much +higher,--in the intellect and the affections; it was the human being +in his endless inflections of thought and passion, in which there is +little probability he will ever be approached. Yet false criticism has +been as prodigal to him in the ascription of beauty, as parsimonious +and unjust to many others. + +In conclusion, may there not be, in the difficulty we have thus +endeavoured to solve, a probable significance of the responsible, as +well as distinct, position which the Human being holds in the world of +life? Are there no shadowings, in that reciprocal influence between +soul and soul, of some mysterious chain which links together the human +family in its two extremes, giving to the very lowest an indefeasible +claim on the highest, so that we cannot be independent if we would, +or indifferent even to the very meanest, without violation of an +imperative law of our nature? And does it not at least _hint_ +of duties and affections towards the most deformed in body, the most +depraved in mind,--of interminable consequences? If man were a mere +animal, though the highest animal, could these inscrutable influences +affect us as they do? Would not the animal appetites be our true and +sole end? What even would Beauty be to the sated appetite? If it did +not, as in the last instance, of the brutal husband, become an object +of scorn,--which it could not be, from the necessary absence of moral +obliquity,--would it be better than a picked bone to a gorged dog? +Least of all could it resemble the visible sign of that pure idea, in +which so many lofty minds have recognized the type of a far higher +love than that of earth, which the soul shall know, when, in a better +world, she shall realize the ultimate reunion of Beauty with the +coëternal forms of Truth and Holiness. + +We will now apply the characteristic assumed to the second leading +Idea, namely, to Truth. In the first place, we take it for granted, +that no one will deny to the perception of truth some positive +pleasure; no one, at least, who is not at the same time prepared to +contradict the general sense of mankind, nay, we will add, their +universal experience. The moment we begin to think, we begin to +acquire, whether it be in trifles or otherwise, some kind of +knowledge; and of two things presented to our notice, supposing one to +be true and the other false, no one ever knowingly, and for its own +sake, chooses the false: whatever he may do in after life, for some +selfish purpose, he cannot do so in childhood, where there is no such +motive, without violence to his nature. And here we are supposing the +understanding, with its triumphant pride and subtilty, out of the +question, and the child making his choice under the spontaneous sense +of the true and the false. For, were it otherwise, and the choice +indifferent, what possible foundation for the commonest acts of life, +even as it respects himself, would there be to him who should sow with +lies the very soil of his growing nature. It is time enough in manhood +to begin to lie to one's self; but a self-lying youth can have no +proper self to rest on, at any period. So that the greatest liar, even +Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, must have loved the truth,--at least at one +time of his life. We say _loved_; for a voluntary choice implies +of necessity some degree of pleasure in the choosing, however faint +the emotion or insignificant the object. It is, therefore, _caeteris +paribus_, not only necessary, but natural, to find pleasure in +truth. + +Now the question is, whether the pleasurable emotion, which is, so +to speak, the indigenous growth of Truth, can in any case be free of +self, or some personal gratification. To this, we apprehend, there +will be no lack of answer. Nay, the answer has already been given from +the dark antiquity of ages, that even for her own exceeding loveliness +has Truth been canonized. If there was any thing of self in the +_Eureka_ of Pythagoras, there was not in the acclamations of +his country who rejoiced with him. But we may doubt the feeling, if +applied to him. If wealth or fame has sometimes followed in the track +of Genius, it has followed as an accident, but never preceded, as the +efficient conductor to any great discovery. For what is Genius but the +prophetic revealer of the unseen True, that can neither be purchased +nor bribed into light? If it come, then, at all, it must needs be +evoked by a kindred love as pure as itself. Shall we appeal to the +artist? If he deserve the name, he will disdain the imputation that +either wealth or fame has ever aided at the birth of his ideal +offspring: it was Truth that smiled upon him, that made light his +travail, that blessed their birth, and, by her fond recognition, +imparted to his breast her own most pure, unimpassioned emotion. But, +whatever mixed feeling, through the infirmity of the agent, may have +influenced the artist, whether poet or painter, there can be but one +feeling in the reader or spectator. + +Indeed, so imperishable is this property of Truth, that it seems to +lose nothing of its power, even when causing itself to be reflected +from things that in themselves have, properly speaking, no truth. Of +this we have abundant examples in some of the Dutch pictures, where +the principal object is simply a dish of oysters or a pickled herring. +We remember a picture of this kind, consisting solely of these very +objects, from which we experienced a pleasure _almost_ exquisite. +And we would here remark, that the appetite then was in no way +concerned. The pleasure, therefore, must have been from the imitated +truth. It is certainly a curious question why this should be, while +the things themselves, that is, the actual objects, should produce no +such effect. And it seems to be because, in the latter case, there was +no truth involved. The real oysters, &c., were indeed so far true as +they were actual objects, but they did not contain a _truth_ in +_relation_ to any thing. Whereas, in the pictured oysters, +their relation to the actual was shown and verified in the mutual +resemblance. + +If this be true, as we doubt not, we have at least one evidence, where +it might not be looked for, that there is that in Truth which is +satisfying of itself. But a stronger testimony may still be found +where, from all _à priori_ reasoning, we might expect, if not +positive pain, at least no pleasure; and that is, where we find it +united with human suffering, as in the deep scenes of tragedy. Now it +cannot be doubted, that some of our most refined pleasures are often +derived from this source, and from scenes that in nature we could +not look upon. And why is this, but for the reason assigned in the +preceding instance of a still-life picture? the only difference being, +that the latter is addressed to the senses, and the former to the +heart and intellect: which difference, however, well accounts for +their vast disparity of effect. But may not these tragic pleasures +have their source in sympathy alone? We answer, No. For who ever felt +it in watching the progress of actual villany or the betrayal of +innocence, or in being an eyewitness of murder? Now, though we revolt +at these and the like atrocities in actual life, it would be both new +and false to assert that they have no attraction in Art. + +Nor do we believe that this acknowledged interest can well be traced +to any other source than the one assumed; namely, to the truth +of _relation_. And in this capacity does Truth stand to the +Imagination, which is the proper medium through which the artist, +whether poet or painter, projects his scenes. + +The seat of interest here, then, being _in_ the imagination, it +is precisely on that account, and because it cannot be brought home to +self, that the pleasure ensues; which is plainly, therefore, derived +from its verisimilitude to the actual, and, though together with its +appropriate excitement, yet without its imperative condition, namely, +its call of _life_ on the living affections. + +The proper word here is _interest_, not sympathy, for sympathy +with actual suffering, be the object good or bad, is in its nature +painful; an obvious reason why so few in the more prosaic world have +the virtue to seek it. + +But is it not the business of the artist to touch the heart? +True,--and it is his high privilege, as its liege-lord, to sound its +very depths; nay, from its lowest deep to touch alike its loftiest +breathing pinnacle. Yet he may not even approach it, except through +the transforming atmosphere of the imagination, where alone the +saddest notes of woe, even the appalling shriek of despair, are +softened, as it were, by the tempering dews of this visionary region, +ere they fall upon the heart. Else how could we stand the smothered +moan of Desdemona, or the fiendish adjuration of Lady Macbeth,--more +frightful even than the after-deed of her husband,--or look upon the +agony of the wretched Judas, in the terrible picture of Rembrandt, +when he returns the purchase of blood to the impenetrable Sanhedrim? +Ay, how could we ever stand these but for that ideal panoply through +which we feel only their modified vibrations? + +Let the imitation, or rather copy, be so close as to trench on +deception, the effect will be far different; for, the _condition_ +of _relation_ being thus virtually lost, the copy becomes as +the original,--circumscribed by its own qualities, repulsive or +attractive, as the case may be. I remember a striking instance of this +in a celebrated actress, whose copies of actual suffering were so +painfully accurate, that I was forced to turn away from the scene, +unable to endure it; her scream of agony in Belvidera seemed to ring +in my ears for hours after. Not so was it with the great Mrs. Siddons, +who moved not a step but in a poetic atmosphere, through which the +fiercest passions seemed rather to _loom_ like distant mountains +when first descried at sea,--massive and solid, yet resting on air. + +It would appear, then, that there is something in truth, though but +seen in the dim shadow of relation, that enforces interest,--and, so +it be without pain, at least some degree of pleasure; which, however +slight, is not unimportant, as presenting an impassable barrier to the +mere animal. We must not, however, be understood as claiming for this +Relative Truth the power of exciting a pleasurable interest in +all possible cases; there are exceptions, as in the horrible, the +loathsome, &c., which under no condition can be otherwise than +revolting. It is enough for our purpose, to have shown that its effect +is in most cases similar to that we have ascribed to Truth absolute. + +But objections are the natural adversaries of every adventurer: there +is one in our path which we soon descried at our first setting +out. And we find it especially opposed to the assertion respecting +children; namely, that between two things, where there is no personal +advantage to bias the decision, they will always choose that which +seems to them true, rather than the other which appears false. To +this is opposed the notorious fact of the remarkable propensity which +children have to lying. This is readily admitted; but it does not meet +us, unless it can be shown that they have not in the act of lying an +eye to its _reward_,--setting aside any outward advantage,--in +the shape of self-complacent thought at their superior wit or +ingenuity. Now it is equally notorious, that such secret triumph will +often betray itself by a smile, or wink, or some other sign from +the chuckling urchin, which proves any thing but that the lie was +gratuitous. No, not even a child can love a lie purely for its own +sake; he would else love it in another, which is against fact. Indeed, +so far from it, that, long before he can have had any notion of what +is meant by honor, the word _liar_ becomes one of his first and +most opprobrious terms of reproach. Look at any child's face when he +tells his companion he lies. We ask no more than that most logical +expression; and, if it speak not of a natural abhorrence only to be +overcome by self-interest, there is no trust in any thing. No. We +cannot believe that man or child, however depraved, _could_ tell +an _unproductive, gratuitous lie_. + +Of the last and highest source of our pleasurable emotions we need say +little; since no one will question that, if sought at all, it can +only be for its own sake. But it does not become us--at least in this +place--to enter on the subject of Holiness; of that angelic state, +whose only manifestation is in the perfect unison with the Divine +Will. We may, however, consider it in the next degree, as it is known, +and as we believe often realized, among men: we mean Goodness. + +We presume it is superfluous to define a good act; for every one +knows, or ought to know, that no act is good in its true sense, which +has any, the least, reference to the agent's self. Nor is it necessary +to adduce examples; our object being rather to show that the +recognition of goodness--and we beg that the word be especially +noted--must result, of necessity, in such an emotion as shall partake +of its own character, that is, be entirely devoid of self-interest. + +This will no doubt appear to many a startling position. But let it be +observed, that we have not said it will _always_ be recognized. +There are many reasons why it should not be, and is not. We all know +how easy it is to turn away from what gives us no pleasure. A long +course of vice, together with the consciousness that goodness has +departed from ourselves, may make it painful to look upon it. Nay, +the contemplation of it may become, on this account, so painful as to +amount to agony. But that Goodness can be hated for its own sake we do +not believe, except by a devil, or some irredeemable incarnation of +evil, if such there be on this side the grave. But it is objected, +that bad men have sometimes a pleasure in Evil from which they neither +derive nor hope for any personal advantage, that is, simply _because +it is evil_. But we deny the fact. We deny that an unmixed +pleasure, which is purely abstracted from all reference to self, is in +the power of Evil. Should any man assert this even of himself, he is +not to be believed; he lies to his own heart,--and this he may do +without being conscious of it. But how can this be? Nothing more +easy: by a simple dislocation of words; by the aid of that false +nomenclature which began with the first Fratricide, and has +continued to accumulate through successive ages, till it reached +its consummation, for every possible sin, in the French Revolution. +Indeed, there are few things more easy; it is only to transfer to the +evil the name of its opposite. Some of us, perhaps, may have witnessed +the savage exultation of some hardened wretch, when the accidental +spectator of an atrocious act. But is such exultation pleasure? Is it +at all akin to what is recognized as pleasure even by this hardened +wretch? Yet so he may call it. But should we, could we look into his +heart? Should we not rather pause for a time, from mere ignorance of +the true vernacular of sin. What he feels may thus be a mystery to all +but the reprobate; but it is not pleasure either in the deed or the +doer: for, as the law of Good is Harmony, so is Discord that of Evil; +and as sympathy to Harmony, so is revulsion to Discord. And where is +hatred deepest and deadliest? Among the wicked. Yet they often hate +the good. True: but not goodness, not the good man's virtues; these +they envy, and hate him for possessing them. But more commonly the +object of dislike is first stripped of his virtues by detraction; the +detractor then supplies their place by the needful vices,--perhaps +with his own; then, indeed, he is ripe for hatred. When a sinful act +is made personal, it is another affair; it then becomes a _part_ +of _the man_; and he may then worship it with the idolatry of +a devil. But there is a vast gulf between his own idol and that of +another. + +To prevent misapprehension, we would here observe, that we do not +affirm of either Good or Evil any irresistible power of enforcing +love or exciting abhorrence, having evidence to the contrary in +the multitudes about us; all we affirm is, that, when contemplated +abstractly, they cannot be viewed otherwise. Nor is the fact of +their inefficiency in many cases difficult of solution, when it is +remembered that the very condition to their _true_ effect is +the complete absence of self, that they must clearly be viewed _ab +extra_; a hard, not to say impracticable, condition to the very +depraved; for it may well be doubted if to such minds any act or +object having a moral nature can be presented without some personal +relation. It is not therefore surprising, that, where the condition is +so precluded, there should be, not only no proper response to the +law of Good or Evil, but such frequent misapprehension of their true +character. Were it possible to see with the eyes of others, this might +not so often occur; for it need not be remarked, that few things, if +any, ever retain their proper forms in the atmosphere of self-love; +a fact that will account for many obliquities besides the one in +question. To this we may add, that the existence of a compulsory power +in either Good or Evil could not, in respect to man, consist with his +free agency,--without which there could be no conscience; nor does it +follow, that, because men, with the free power of choice, yet so often +choose wrong, there is any natural indistinctness in the absolute +character of Evil, which, as before hinted, is sufficiently apparent +to them when referring to others; in such cases the obliquitous choice +only shows, that, with the full force of right perception, their +interposing passions or interests have also the power of giving their +own color to every object having the least relation to themselves. + +Admitting this personal modification, we may then safely repeat our +position,--that to hate Good or to love Evil, solely for their own +sakes, is only possible with the irredeemably wicked, in other words, +with devils. + +We now proceed to the latter clause of our general proposition. And here +it may be asked, on what ground we assume one intuitive universal +Principle as the true source of all those emotions which have just been +discussed. To this we reply, On the ground of their common agreement. As +we shall here use the words _effect_ and _emotion_ as convertible terms, +we wish it to be understood, that, when we apply the epithet _common_ or +_same_ to _effect_, we do so only in relation to _kind_, and for the +sake of brevity, instead of saying the same _class_ of effects; implying +also in the word _kind_ the existence of many degrees, but no other +difference. For instance, if a beautiful flower and a noble act shall be +found to excite a kindred emotion, however slight from the one or deep +from the other, they come in effect under the same category. And this we +are forced to admit, however heterogeneous, since a common ground is +necessarily predicated of a common result. How else, for instance, can +we account for a scene in nature, a bird, an animal, a human form, +affecting us each in a similar way? There is certainly no similitude in +the objects that compose a landscape, and the form of an animal and man; +they have no resemblance either in shape, or texture, or color, in +roughness, smoothness, or any other known quality; while their several +effects are so near akin, that we do not stop to measure even the wide +degrees by which they are marked, but class them in a breath by some +common term. It is very plain that this singular property of +assimilating to one what is so widely unlike cannot proceed from any +similar conformation, or quality, or attribute of mere being, that is, +of any thing essential to distinctive existence. There must needs, then, +be some common ground for their common effect. For if they agree not in +themselves one with the other, it follows of necessity that the ground +of their agreement must be in relation to something within our own +minds, since only _there_ is this common effect known as a fact. + +We are now brought to the important question, _Where_ and +_what_ is this reconciling ground? Certainly not in sensation, +for that could only reflect their distinctive differences. Neither can +it be in the reflective faculties, since the effect in question, being +co-instantaneous, is wholly independent of any process of reasoning; +for we do not feel it because we understand, but only because we are +conscious of its presence. Nay, it is because we neither do nor can +understand it, being therefore a matter aloof from all the powers of +reasoning, that its character is such as has been asserted, and, as +such, universal. + +Where, then, shall we search for this mysterious ground but in the +mind, since only there, as before observed, is this common effect +known as a fact? and where in the mind but in some inherent Principle, +which is both intuitive and universal, since, in a greater or less +degree, all men feel it _without knowing why?_ + +But since an inward Principle can, of necessity, have only a potential +existence, until called into action by some outward object, it is also +clear that any similar effect, which shall then be recognized through +it, from any number of differing and distinct objects, can only arise +from some mutual relation between a _something_ in the objects +and in the Principle supposed, as their joint result and proper +product. + +And, since it would appear that we cannot avoid the admission of +some such Principle, having a reciprocal relation to certain outward +objects, to account for these kindred emotions from so many distinct +and heterogeneous sources, it remains only that we give it a name; +which has already been anticipated in the term Harmony. + +The next question here is, In what consists this _peculiar relation?_ We +have seen that it cannot be in any thing that is essential to any +condition of mere being or existence; it must therefore consist in some +_undiscoverable_ condition indifferently applicable to the Physical, +Intellectual, and Moral, yet only applicable in each to certain kinds. + +And this is all that we do or _can_ know of it. But of this we +may be as certain as that we live and breathe. + +It is true that, for particular purposes, we may analyze certain +combinations of sounds and colors and forms, so as to ascertain their +relative quantities or collocation; and these facts (of which we shall +hereafter have occasion to speak) may be of importance both in Art and +Science. Still, when thus obtained, they will be no more than mere +facts, on which we can predicate nothing but that, when they are +imitated,--that is, when similar combinations of quantities, &c., are +repeated in a work of art,--they will produce the same effect. But +_why_ they should is a mystery which the reflective faculties do +not solve; and never can, because it refers to a living Power that is +above the understanding. In the human figure, for instance, we can +give no reason why eight heads to the stature please us better than +six, or why three or twelve heads seem to us monstrous. If we say, in +the latter case, _because_ the head of the one is too small and +of the other too large, we give no _reason_; we only state the +_fact_ of their disagreeable effect on us. And, if we make the +proportion of eight heads our rule, it is because of the fact of its +being more pleasing to us than any other; and, from the same feeling, +we prefer those statures which approach it the nearest. Suppose we +analyze a certain combination of sounds and colors, so as to ascertain +the exact relative quantities of the one and the collocation of the +other, and then compare them. What possible resemblance can the +understanding perceive between these sounds and colors? And yet a +something within us responds to both in a similar emotion. And so with +a thousand things, nay, with myriads of objects that have no other +affinity but with that mysterious harmony which began with our being, +which slept with our infancy, and which their presence only seems to +have _awakened_. If we cannot go back to our own childhood, we +may see its illustration in those about us who are now emerging into +that unsophisticated state. Look at them in the fields, among the +birds and flowers; their happy faces speak the harmony within them: +the divine instrument, which these have touched, gives them a joy +which, perhaps, only childhood in its first fresh consciousness can +know. Yet what do they understand of musical quantities, or of the +theory of colors? + +And so with respect to Truth and Goodness; whose preëxisting Ideas, +being in the living constituents of an immortal spirit, need but the +slightest breath of some outward condition of the true and good,--a +simple problem, or a kind act,--to awake them, as it were, from their +unconscious sleep, and start them for eternity. + +We may venture to assert, that no philosopher, however ingenious, +could communicate to a child the abstract idea of Right, had the +latter nothing beyond or above the understanding. He might, indeed, be +taught, like the inferior animals,--a dog, for instance,--that, if he +took certain forbidden things, he would be punished, and thus do +right through fear. Still he would desire the forbidden thing, +though belonging to another; nor could he conceive why he should not +appropriate to himself, and thus allay his appetite, what was held by +another, could he do so undetected; nor attain to any higher notion of +right than that of the strongest. But the child has something higher +than the mere power of apprehending consequences. The simplest +exposition, whether of right or wrong, even by an ignorant nurse, is +instantly responded to by something _within him_, which, thus +awakened, becomes to him a living voice ever after; and the good and +the true must thenceforth answer its call, even though succeeding +years would fain overlay them with the suffocating crowds of evil and +falsehood. + +We do not say that these eternal Ideas of Beauty, Truth, and Goodness +will, strictly speaking, always act. Though indestructible, they may +be banished for a time by the perverted Will, and mockeries of the +brain, like the fume-born phantoms from the witches' caldron in +Macbeth, take their places, and assume their functions. We have +examples of this in every age, and perhaps in none more startling than +in the present. But we mean only that they cannot be _forgotten_: +nay, they are but, too often recalled with unwelcome distinctness. +Could we read the annals which must needs be scored on every +heart,--could we look upon those of the aged reprobate,--who will +doubt that their darkest passages are those made visible by the +distant gleams from these angelic Forms, that, like the Three which +stood before the tent of Abraham, once looked upon his youth? + +And we doubt not that the truest witness to the common source of these +inborn Ideas would readily be acknowledged by all, could they return +to it now with their matured power of introspection, which is, at +least, one of the few advantages of advancing years. But, though +we cannot bring back youth, we may still recover much of its purer +revelations of our nature from what has been left in the memory. From +the dim present, then, we would appeal to that fresher time, ere +the young spirit had shrunk from the overbearing pride of the +understanding, and confidently ask, if the emotions we then felt from +the Beautiful, the True, and the Good, did not seem in some way to +refer to a common origin. And we would also ask, if it was then +frequent that the influence from one was _singly_ felt,--if it +did not rather bring with it, however remotely, a sense of something, +though widely differing, yet still akin to it. When we have basked in +the beauty of a summer sunset, was there nothing in the sky that spoke +to the soul of Truth and Goodness? And when the opening intellect +first received the truth of the great law of gravitation, or felt +itself mounting through the profound of space, to travel with the +planets in their unerring rounds, did never then the kindred Ideas of +Goodness and Beauty chime in, as it were, with the fabled music,--not +fabled to the soul,--which led you on like one entranced? + +And again, when, in the passive quiet of your moral nature, so predisposed +in youth to all things genial, you have looked abroad on this marvellous, +ever teeming Earth,--ever teeming alike for mind and body,--and have felt +upon you flow, as from ten thousand springs of Goodness, Truth, and +Beauty, ten thousand streams of innocent enjoyment; did you not then +_almost hear_ them shout in confluence, and almost _see_ them gushing +upwards, as if they would prove their unity, in one harmonious fountain? + +But, though the preceding be admitted as all true in respect to +certain "gifted" individuals, it may yet be denied that it is equally +true with respect to all, in other words, that the Principle assumed +is an inherent constituent of the human being. To this we reply, that +universality does not necessarily imply equality. + +The universality of a Principle does not imply _everywhere_ equal +energy or activity, or even the same mode of manifestation, any more +than do the essential Faculties of the Understanding. Of this we have +an analogous illustration in the faculty of Memory; which is almost +indefinitely differenced in different men, both in degree and mode. In +some, its greatest power is shown in the retention of thoughts, but +not of words, that is, not of the original words in which they were +presented. Others possess it in a very remarkable degree as to forms, +places, &c., and but imperfectly for other things; others, again, +never forget names, dates, or figures, yet cannot repeat a +conversation the day after it took place; while some few have the +doubtful happiness of forgetting nothing. We might go on with a long +list of the various modes and degrees in which this faculty, so +essential to the human being, is everywhere manifested. But this is +sufficient for our purpose. In like manner is the Principle of Harmony +manifested; in one person as it relates to Form, in another to Sound; +so, too, may it vary as to the degrees of truth and goodness. We say +degrees; for we may well doubt whether, even in the faculty of memory, +its apparent absence as to any one essential object is any thing more +than a feeble degree of activity: and the doubt is strengthened by the +fact, that in many seemingly hopeless cases it has been actually, as +it were, brought into birth. And we are still indisposed to admit its +entire absence in any one particular for which it was bestowed on man. +An imperfect developement, especially as relating to the intellectual +and moral, we know to depend, in no slight measure, on the _will_ +of the subject. Nay, (with the exception of idiots,) it may safely be +affirmed, that no individual ever existed who could not perceive the +difference between what is true and false, and right and wrong. We +here, of course, except those who have so ingeniously _unmade_ +themselves, in order to reconstruct their "humanity" after a better +fashion. As to the "_why_" of these differences, we know nothing; +it is one of those unfathomable mysteries which to the finite mind +must ever be hidden. + +Though it has been our purpose, throughout this discourse, to direct +our inquiries mainly to the essential Elements of the subject, it may +not be amiss here to take a brief notice of their collateral product +in those mixed modes from which we derive so large a portion of our +mental gratification: we allude to the various combinations of the +several Ideas, which have just been examined, with each other as well +as with their opposites. To this prolific source may be traced much +of that many-colored interest which we take in their various forms as +presented by the imagination,--in every thing, indeed, which is true, +or even partially true, to the great Principle of Harmony, both in +nature and in art. It is to these mixed modes more especially, that we +owe all that mysterious interest which gives the illusion of life to a +work of fiction, and fills us with delight or melts with woe, whether +in the happiness or the suffering of some imagined being, uniting +goodness with beauty, or virtue with plainness, or uncommon purity and +intellect even with deformity; for even that may be so overpowered in +the prominent harmony of superior intellect and moral worth, as to be +virtually neutralized, at least, to become unobtrusive as a discordant +force. Besides, it cannot be expected that _complete_ harmony is +ever to be realized in our imperfect state; we should else, perhaps, +with such expectation, have no pleasures of the kind we speak of: +nor is this necessary, the imagination being always ready to supply +deficiencies, whenever the approximation is sufficiently near to +call it forth. Nay, if the interest felt be nothing more than mere +curiosity, we still refer to this presiding Principle; which is no +less essential to a simple combination of events, than to the higher +demands of Form or Character. But its presence must be felt, however +slightly. Of this we have the evidence in many cases, and, perhaps, +most conclusive where the partial harmony is felt to verge on a +powerful discord; or where the effort to unite them produces that +singular alternation of what is both revolting and pleasing: as in the +startling union of evil passions with some noble quality, or with a +master intellect. And here we have a solution of that paradoxical +feeling of interest and abhorrence, which we experience in such a +character as King Richard. + +And may it not be that we are permitted this interest for a deeper +purpose than we are wont to suppose; because Sin is best seen in the +light of Virtue,--and then most fearfully when she holds the torch to +herself? Be this as it may, with pure, unintellectual, brutal evil +it is very different. We cannot look upon it undismayed: we take no +interest in it, nor can we. In Richard there is scarce a glimmer of +his better nature; yet we do not despise him, for his intellect and +courage command our respect. But the fiend Iago,--who ever followed +him through the weaving of his spider-like web, without perpetual +recurrence to its venomous source,--his devilish heart? Even the +intellect he shows seems actually animalized, and we shudder at its +subtlety, as at the cunning of a reptile. Whatever interest may have +been imputed to him should be placed to the account of his hapless +victim; to the first striving with distrust of a generous nature; to +the vague sense of misery, then its gradual developement, then the +final overthrow of absolute faith; and, last of all, to the throes +of agony of the noble Moor, as he writhes and gasps in his accursed +toils. + +To these mixed modes may be added another branch, which we shall term the +class of Imputed Attributes. In this class are concerned all those natural +objects with which we connect (not by individual association, but by a +general law of the mind) certain moral or intellectual attributes; which +are not, indeed, supposed to exist in the objects themselves, but which, +by some unknown affinity, they awaken or occasion in us, and which we, in +our turn, impute to them. However this be, there are multitudes of objects +in the inanimate world, which we cannot contemplate without associating +with them many of the characteristics which we ascribe to the human being; +and the ideas so awakened we involuntarily express by the ascription of +such significant epithets as _stately, majestic, grand_, and so on. It is +so with us, when we call some tall forest stately, or qualify as majestic +some broad and slowly-winding river, or some vast, yet unbroken waterfall, +or some solitary, gigantic pine, seeming to disdain the earth, and to hold +of right its eternal communion with air; or when to the smooth and +far-reaching expanse of our inland waters, with their bordering and +receding mountains, as they seem to march from the shores, in the pomp of +their dark draperies of wood and mist, we apply the terms _grand_ and +_magnificent_: and so onward to an endless succession of objects, +imputing, as it were, our own nature, and lending our sympathies, till the +headlong rush of some mighty cataract suddenly thunders upon us. But how +is it then? In the twinkling of an eye, the outflowing sympathies ebb back +upon the heart; the whole mind seems severed from earth, and the awful +feeling to suspend the breath;--there is nothing human to which we can +liken it. And here begins another kind of emotion, which we call Sublime. + +We are not aware that this particular class of objects has hitherto +been noticed, at least as holding a distinct position. And, if we +may be allowed to supply the omission, we should assign to it the +intermediate place between the Beautiful and the Sublime. Indeed, +there seems to be no other station so peculiarly proper; inasmuch as +they would thus form, in a consecutive series, a regular ascent from +the sensible material to the invisible spiritual: hence naturally +uniting into one harmonious whole every possible emotion of our higher +nature. + +In the preceding discussion, we have considered the outward world +only in its immediate relation to Man, and the Human Being as the +predetermined centre to which it was designed to converge. As the +subject, however, of what are called the sublime emotions, he holds a +different position; for the centre here is not himself, nor, indeed, +can he approach it within conceivable distance: yet still he is drawn +to it, though baffled for ever. Now the question is, Where, and +in what bias, is this mysterious attraction? It must needs be in +something having a clear affinity with us, or we could not feel it. +But the attraction is also both pure and pleasurable; and it has just +been shown, that we have in ourselves but one principle by which +to recognize any corresponding emotion,--namely, the principle of +Harmony. May we not then infer a similar Principle without us, an +Infinite Harmony, to which our own is attracted? and may we not +further,--if we may so speak without irreverence,--suppose our own to +have emanated thence when "man became a living soul"? And though this +relation may not be consciously acknowledged in every instance, or +even in one, by the mass of men, does it therefore follow that it does +not exist? How many things act upon us of which we have no knowledge? +If we find, as in the case of the Beautiful, the same, or a similar, +effect to follow from a great variety of objects which have no +resemblance or agreement with one another, is it not a necessary +inference, that for their common effect they must all refer to +something without and distinct from themselves? Now in the case of +the Sublime, the something referred to is not in man: for the emotion +excited has an outward tendency; the mind cannot contain it; and the +effort to follow it towards its mysterious object, if long continued, +becomes, in the excess of interest, positively painful. + +Could any finite object account for this? But, supposing the Infinite, +we have an adequate cause. If these emotions, then, from whatever +object or circumstance, be to prompt the mind beyond its prescribed +limits, whether carrying it back to the primitive past, the +incomprehensible _beginning_, or sending it into the future, to +the unknown _end_, the ever-present Idea of the mighty Author of +all these mysteries must still be implied, though we think not of it. +It is this Idea, or rather its influence, whether we be conscious of +it or not, which we hold to be the source of every sublime emotion. To +make our meaning plainer, we should say, that that which has the power +of possessing the mind, to the exclusion, for the time, of all other +thought, and which presents no _comprehensible_ sense of a whole, +though still impressing us with a full apprehension of such as a +reality,--in other words, which cannot be circumscribed by the forms +of the understanding while it strains them to the utmost,--that we +should term a sublime object. But whether this effect be occasioned +directly by the object itself, or be indirectly suggested by its +relations to some other object, its unknown cause, it matters not; +since the apparent power of calling forth the emotion, by whatever +means, is, _quoad_ ourselves, its sublime condition. Hence, if a +minute insect, an ant, for instance, through its marvellous instinct, +lift the mind of the amazed spectator to the still more inscrutable +Creator, it must possess, as to _him_, the same power. This is, +indeed, an extreme case, and may be objected to as depending on the +individual mind; on a mind prepared by cultivation and previous +reflection for the effect in question. But to this it may be replied, +that some degree of cultivation, or, more properly speaking, of +developement by the exercise of its reflective faculties, is obviously +essential ere the mind can attain to mature growth,--we might almost +say to its natural state, since nothing can be said to have attained +its true nature until all its capacities are at least called into +birth. No one, for example, would refer to the savages of Australia +for a true specimen of what was proper or natural to the human mind; +we should rather seek it, if such were the alternative, in a civilized +child of five years old. Be this as it may, it will not be denied +that ignorance, brutality, and many other deteriorating causes, do +practically incapacitate thousands for even an approximation, not only +to this, but to many of the inferior emotions, the character of +which is purely mental. And this, we think, is quite sufficient to +neutralize the objection, if not, indeed, to justify the application +of the term to all cases where the _immediate_ effect, whether +directly or indirectly, is such as has been described. But, to reduce +this to a common-sense view, it is only saying,--what no one will +deny,--that a man of education and refinement has not only more, but +higher, pleasures of the mind than a mere clown. + +But though the position here advanced must necessarily exclude many +objects which have hitherto, though, as we think, improperly, been +classed with the sublime, it will still leave enough, and more than +enough, for the utmost exercise of our limited powers; inasmuch as, in +addition to the multitude of objects in the material world, not only +the actions, passions, and thoughts of men, but whatever concerns the +human being, that in any way--by a hint merely--leads the mind, though +indirectly, to the Infinite attributes,--all come of right within the +ground assumed. + +It will be borne in mind, that the conscious presence of the Infinite +Idea is not only _not_ insisted on, but expressly admitted to be, in +most cases, unthought of; it is also admitted, that a sublime effect is +often powerfully felt in many instances where this Idea could not truly +be predicated of the apparent object. In such cases, however, some kind +of resemblance, or, at least, a seeming analogy to an infinite +attribute, is nevertheless essential. It must _appear_ to us, for the +time, either limitless, indefinite, or in some other way beyond the +grasp of the mind: and, whatever an object may _seem_ to be, it must +needs _in effect_ be to _us_ even that which it seems. Nor does this +transfer the emotion to a different source; for the Infinite Idea, or +something analogous, being thus imputed, is in reality its true cause. + +It is still the unattainable, the _ever-stimulating_, yet +_ever-eluding_, in the character of the sublime object, that +gives to it both its term and its effect. And whence the conception of +this mysterious character, but from its mysterious prototype, the Idea +of the Infinite? Neither does it matter, as we have said, whether +actual or supposed; for what the imagination cannot master will master +the imagination. Take, for instance, but a single _passion_, and +clothe it with this character; in the same instant it becomes sublime. +So, too, with a single thought. In the Mosaic words so often quoted, +"Let there be light, and there was light," we have the sublime of +thought, of mere naked thought; but what could more awe the mind with +the power of God? Of like nature is the conjecture of Newton, when he +imagined stars so distant from the sun that their coeval light has not +yet reached us. Let us endeavour for one moment to conceive of this; +does not the soul seem to dilate within us, and the body to shrink +as to a grain of dust? "Woe is me! unclean, unclean!" said the holy +Prophet, when the Infinite Holiness stood before him. Could a more +terrible distance be measured, than by these fearful words, between +God and man? + +If it be objected to this view, that many cases occur, having the same +conditions with those assumed in our general proposition, which are +yet exclusively painful, unmitigated even by a transient moment of +pleasure,--in Despair, for instance,--as who can limit it?--to this we +reply, that no emotion having its sole, or circle of existence in +the individual mind itself, can be to that mind other than a +_subject_. A man in despair, or under any mode of extreme +suffering of like nature, may, indeed, if all interfering sympathy +have been removed by time or after-description, be to _another_ +a sublime object,--at least in one of those suggestive forms just +noticed; but not to _himself_. The source of the sublime--as all +along implied--is essentially _ab extra_. The human mind is not +its centre, nor can it be realized except by a contemplative act. + +Besides, as a mental pleasure,--indeed the highest known,--to +be recognized as such, it must needs be accompanied by the same +_relative character_ by which is tested every other pleasure +coming under that denomination; namely, by the entire absence +of _self_, that is, by the same freedom from all personal +consideration which has been shown to characterize the true effect of +the Three leading Ideas already considered. But if to this also it be +further objected, that in certain particular cases, as of +personal danger,--from which the sublime emotion has often been +experienced,--some personal consideration must necessarily be +involved, as without a sense of security we could not enjoy it; we +answer, that, if it be meant only that the mind should be in such a +state as to enable us to receive an unembarrassed impression, it seems +to us superfluous,--an obvious truism placed in opposition to an +absurd impossibility. We needed not to be told, that no pleasurable +emotion is likely to occur while we are unmanned by fear. The same +might be said, also, in respect to the Beautiful: for who was ever +alive to it under a paroxysm of terror, or pain of any kind? A +terrified person is in any thing but a fit state for such emotion. He +may indeed _afterwards_, when his fear is passed off, contemplate +the circumstance that occasioned it with a different feeling; but the +object of his dismay is _then_ projected, as it were, completely +from himself; and he feels the sublimity in a contemplative state: +he can feel it in no other. Nor is that state incompatible with a +consciousness of peril, though it can never be with personal terror. +And, if it is meant that we should have a positive, present +conviction that we are in no danger, this we must deny, as we find it +contradicted in innumerable instances. So far, indeed, is a sense of +security from being essential to the condition of a sublime emotion, +that the sense of danger, on the contrary, is one of its most exciting +accompaniments. There is a fascination in danger which some persons +neither can nor would resist; which seems, as it were, to disenthral +them of self;--as if the mysterious Infinite were actually drawing +them on by an invisible power. + +Was it mere scientific curiosity that cost the elder Pliny his life? +Might it not have been rather this sublime fascination? But we have +repeated examples of it in our own time. Many who will read this may +have been in a storm at sea. Did they never feel its sublimity while +they knew their danger? We will answer for ourselves; for we have been +in one, when the dismasted vessels that surrounded us permitted no +mistake as to our peril; it was strongly felt, but still stronger was +the sublime emotion in the awful scene. The crater of Vesuvius is even +now, perhaps for the thousandth time, reflecting from its lake of fire +some ghastly face, with indrawn breath and hair bristling, bent, as by +fate, over its sulphurous brink. + +Let us turn to Mont Blanc, that mighty pyramid of ice, in whose shadow +might repose all the tombs of the Pharaohs. It rises before the +traveller like the accumulating mausoleum of Europe: perhaps he looks +upon it as his own before his natural time; yet he cannot away from +it. A terrible charm hurries him over frightful chasms, whose blue +depths seem like those of the ocean; he cuts his way up a polished +precipice, shining like steel,--as elusive to the touch; he creeps +slowly and warily around and beneath huge cliffs of snow; now he looks +up, and sees their brows fretted by the percolating waters like a +Gothic ceiling, and he fears even to whisper, lest an audible breath +should awaken the avalanche: and thus he climbs and climbs, till the +dizzy summit fills up his measure of fearful ecstasy. + +Now, though cases may occur where the emotion in question is attended +with a sense of security, as in the reading or hearing the description +of an earthquake, such as that of 1768 in Lisbon, while we are safely +housed and by a comfortable fire, it does not therefore follow, that +this consciousness of safety is its essential condition. It is merely +an accidental circumstance. It cannot, therefore, apply, either as a +rule or an objection. Besides, even if supported by fact, we might +well dismiss it on the ground of irrelevancy, since a sense of +personal safety cannot be placed in opposition to and as inconsistent +with a disinterested or unselfish state; which is that claimed for +the emotion as its true condition. If there be not, then, a sounder +objection, we may safely admit the characteristic in question; for +the reception of which we have, on the other hand, the weight of +experience,--at least negatively, since, strictly speaking, we cannot +experience the absence of any thing. + +But though, according to our theory, there are many things now called +sublime that would properly come under a different classification, such +as many objects of Art, many sentiments, and many actions, which are +strictly human, as well in their _end_ as in their origin; it is not to +be inferred that the exclusion of any work of man is _because_ of _its +apparent origin_, but of its _end_, the end only being the determining +point, as referring to its _Idea_. Now, if the Idea referred to be of +the Infinite, which is _out_ of his nature, it cannot strictly be said +to originate with man,--that is, absolutely; but it is rather, as it +were, a reflected form of it from the Maker of his mind. If we are led +to such an Idea, then, by any work of imagination, a poem, a picture, a +statue, or a building, it is as truly sublime as any natural object. +This, it appears to us, is the sole mystery, without which neither +sound, nor color, nor form, nor magnitude, is a true correlative to the +unseen cause. And here, as with Beauty, though the test of that be +within us, is the _modus operandi_ equally baffling to the scrutiny of +the understanding. We feel ourselves, as it were, lifted from the earth, +and look upon the outward objects that have so affected us, yet learn +not how; and the mystery deepens as we compare them with other objects +from which have followed the same effects, and find no resemblance. For +instance; the roar of the ocean, and the intricate unity of a Gothic +cathedral, whose beginning and end are alike intangible, while its +climbing tower seems visibly even to rise to the Idea which it strives +to embody,--these have nothing in common,--hardly two things could be +named that are more unlike; yet in relation to man they have but one +end: for who can hear the ocean when breathing in wrath, and limit it in +his mind, though he think not of Him who gives it voice? or ascend that +spire without feeling his faculties vanish, as it were with its +vanishing point, into the abyss of space? If there be a difference in +the effect from these and other objects, it is only in the intensity, +the degree of impetus given; as between that from the sudden explosion +of a volcano and from the slow and heavy movement of a rising +thunder-cloud; its character and its office are the same,--in its awful +harmony to connect the created with its Infinite Cause. + +But let us compare this effect with that from Beauty. Would the +Parthenon, for instance, with its beautiful forms,--made still more +beautiful under its native sky,--seeming almost endued with the breath +of life, as if its conscious purple were a living suffusion brought +forth in sympathy by the enamoured blushes of a Grecian sunset;--would +this beautiful object even then elevate the soul above its own roof? +No: we should be filled with a pure delight,--but with no longing to +rise still higher. It would satisfy us; which the sublime does not; +for the feeling is too vast to be circumscribed by human content. + +On the supernatural it is needless to enlarge; for, in whatever form +the beings of the invisible world are supposed to visit us, they are +immediately connected in the mind with the unknown Infinite; whether +the faith be in the heart or in the imagination; whether they bubble +up from the earth, like the Witches in Macbeth, taking shape at will, +or self-dissolving into air, and no less marvellous, foreknowing +thoughts ere formed in man; or like the Ghost in Hamlet, an +unsubstantial shadow, having the functions of life, motion, will, +and speech; a fearful mystery invests them with a spell not to be +withstood; the bewildered imagination follows like a child, leaving +the finite world for one unknown, till it aches in darkness, +trackless, endless. + +Perhaps, as being nearest in station to the unsearchable Author of +all things, the highest example of this would be found in the +Angelic Nature. If it be objected, that the poets have not always so +represented it, it rests with them to show cause why they have not. +Milton, no doubt, could have assigned a sufficient reason in _the +time chosen for his poem_,--that of the creation of the first man, +when his intercourse with the highest order of created beings was not +only essential to the plan of the poem, but according with the express +will of the Creator: hence, he might have considered it no violation +of the _then_ relation between man and angels to assign even the +epithet _affable_ to the archangel Raphael; for man was then +sinless, and in all points save knowledge a fit object of regard, and +certainly a fit pupil to his heavenly instructor. But, suppose the +poet, throughout his work, (as in the process of his story he was +forced to do near the end,)--suppose he had chosen, assuming the +philosopher, to assign to Adam the _altered relation of one of his +fallen posterity_, how could he have endured a holy spiritual +presence? To be consistent, Adam must have been dumb with awe, +incapable of holding converse such as is described. Between sinless +man and his sinful progeny, the distance is immeasurable. And so, too, +must be the effect on the latter, in such a presence; and for this +conclusion we have the authority of Scripture, in the dismay of the +soldiers at the Saviour's sepulchre, on which more directly. If there +be no like effect attending the other angelic visits recorded in +Scripture, such as those to Lot and Abraham, the reason is obvious in +the _special mission_ to those individuals, who were doubtless +_divinely prepared_ for their reception; for it is reasonable +to suppose the mission had else been useless. But with the Roman +soldiers, where there was no such qualifying circumstance, the case +was different; indeed, it was in striking contrast with that of the +two Marys, who, though struck with awe, yet being led there, as +witnesses, by the Spirit, were not so overpowered. + +And here, as the Idea of Angels is universally associated with every +perfection of _form_, may naturally occur the question so often +agitated,--namely, whether Beauty and Sublimity are, under any +circumstances, compatible. To us it seems of easy solution. For we see +no reason why Beauty, as the condition of a subordinated object or +component part, may not incidentally enter into the Sublime, as well +as a thousand other conditions of opposite characters, which pertain +to the multifarious assimilants that often form its other components. + +When Beauty is not made _essential_, but enters as a mere +contingent, its admission or rejection is a matter of indifference. In +an angel, for instance, beauty is the condition of his mere form; but +the angel has also an intellectual and moral or spiritual nature, +which is essentially paramount: the former being but the condition, so +to speak, of his visibility, the latter, his very life,--an Essence +next to the inconceivable Giver of life. + +Could we stand in the presence of one of these holy beings, (if to +stand were possible,) what of the Sublime in this lower world would so +shake us? Though his beauty were such as never mortal dreamed of, +it would be as nothing,--swallowed up as darkness,--in the awful, +spiritual brightness of the messenger of God. Even as the soldiers +in Scripture, at the sepulchre of the Saviour, we should fall before +him,--we should "become," like them, "as dead men." + +But though Milton does not unveil the "face like lightning"; and +though the angel Raphael is made to hold converse with man, and the +"severe in youthful beauty" gives even the individual impress to +Zephon, and Michael and Abdiel are set apart in their prowess; there +is not one he names that does not breathe of Heaven, that is not +encompassed with the glory of the Infinite. And why the reader is not +overwhelmed in their supposed presence is because he is a beholder +_through_ Adam,--through him also a listener; but whenever he is +made, by the poet's spell, to forget Adam, and to see, as it were in +his own person, the embattled hosts.... + +If we dwell upon Form _alone_, though it should be of surpassing +beauty, the idea would not rise above that of man, for this is +conceivable of man: but the moment the angelic nature is touched, we +have the higher ideas of supernal intelligence and perfect holiness, +to which all the charms and graces of mere form immediately +become subordinate, and, though the beauty remain, its agency is +comparatively negative under the overpowering transcendence of a +celestial spirit. + +As we have already seen that the Beautiful is limited to no particular +form, but possesses its power in some mysterious _condition_, +which is applicable to many distinct objects; in like manner does the +Sublime include within its sphere, and subdue to its condition, an +indefinite variety of objects, with their distinctive conditions; and +among them we find that of the Beautiful, as well as, to a _certain +degree_, its reverse, so that, though we may truly recognize their +coexistence in the same object, it is not possible that their effect +upon us should be otherwise than unequal, and that the higher law +should not subordinate the lower. We do not deny that the Beautiful +may, so to speak, mitigate the awful intensity of the Sublime; but it +cannot change its character, much less impart its own; the one will +still be awful, the other, of itself, never. + +When at Rome, we once asked a foreigner, who seemed to be talking +somewhat vaguely on the subject, what he understood by the Sublime. +His answer was, "Le plus beau"; making it only a matter of degree. Now +let us only imagine (if we can) a beautiful earthquake, or a beautiful +hurricane. And yet the foreigner is not alone in this. D'Azzara, +the biographer of Mengs, speaking of Beauty, talks of "this sublime +quality," and in another place, for certain reasons assigned, he says, +"The grand style is beautiful." Nay, many writers, otherwise of high +authority, seem to have taken the same view; while others who could +have had no such notion, having used the words Beauty and the +Beautiful in an allegorical or metaphorical sense, have sometimes been +misinterpreted literally. Hence Winckelmann reproaches Michael Angelo +for his continual talk about Beauty, when he showed nothing of it +in his works. But it is very evident that the _Bellà _ and +_Bellezza_ of Michael Angelo were never used by him in a literal +sense, nor intended to be so understood by others: he adopted the +terms solely to express abstract Perfection, which he allegorized as +the mistress of his mind, to whose exclusive worship his whole life +was devoted. Whether it was the most appropriate term he could have +chosen, we shall not inquire. It is certain, however, that the literal +adoption of it by subsequent writers has been the cause of much +confusion, as well as vagueness. + +For ourselves, we are quite at a loss to imagine how a notion so +obviously groundless has ever had a single supporter; for, if a +distinct effect implies a distinct cause, we do not see why distinct +terms should not be employed to express the difference, or how the +legitimate term for one can in any way be applied to signify a +particular degree of the other. Like the two Dromios, they sometimes +require a conjurer to tell which is which. If only Perfection, which +is a generic term implying the summit of all things, be meant, +there is surely nothing to be gained (if we except _intended_ +obscurity) by substituting a specific term which is limited to a few. +We speak not here of allegorical or metaphorical propriety, which is +not now the question, but of the literal and didactic; and we may +add, that we have never known but one result from this arbitrary +union,--which is, to procreate words. + +In further illustration of our position, it may be well here to notice +one mistaken source of the Sublime, which seems to have been sometimes +resorted to, both in poems and pictures; namely, in the sympathy +excited by excruciating bodily suffering. Suppose a man on the rack +to be placed before us,--perhaps some miserable victim of the +Inquisition; the cracking of his joints is made frightfully audible; +his calamitous "Ah!" goes to our marrow; then the cruel precision +of the mechanical familiar, as he lays bare to the sight his whole +anatomy of horrors. And suppose, too, the executioner _compelled_ +to his task,--consequently an irresponsible agent, whom we cannot +curse; and, finally, that these two objects compose the whole scene. +What could we feel but an agony even like that of the sufferer, the +only difference being that one is physical, the other mental? And this +is all that mere sympathy has any power to effect; it has led us to +its extreme point,--our flesh creeps, and we turn away with almost +bodily sickness. But let another actor be added to the drama in the +presiding Inquisitor, the cool methodizer of this process of torture; +in an instant the scene is changed, and, strange to say, our feelings +become less painful,--nay, we feel a momentary interest,--from an +instant revulsion of our moral nature: we are lost in wonder at the +excess of human wickedness, and the hateful wonder, as if partaking of +the infinite, now distends the faculties to their utmost tension; for +who can set bounds to passion when it seizes the whole soul? It is as +the soul itself, without form or limit. We may not think even of the +after judgment; we become ourselves _justice_, and we award a +hatred commensurate with the sin, so indefinite and monstrous that we +stand aghast at our own judgment. + +_Why_ this extreme tension of the mind, when thus outwardly +occasioned, should create in us an interest, we know not; but such is +the fact, and we are not only content to endure it for a time, but +even crave it, and give to the feeling the epithet _sublime_. + +We do not deny that much bodily suffering may be admitted with effect +as a subordinate agent, when, as in the example last added, it is made +to serve as a necessary expositor of moral deformity. Then, indeed, +in the hands of a great artist, it becomes one of the most powerful +auxiliaries to a sublime end. All that we contend for is that sympathy +alone is insufficient as a cause of sublimity. + +There are yet other sources of the false sublime, (if we may so call +it,) which are sometimes resorted to also by poets and painters; such +as the horrible, the loathsome, the hideous, and the monstrous: these +form the impassable boundaries to the true Sublime. Indeed, there +appears to be in almost every emotion a certain point beyond which we +cannot pass without recoiling,--as if we instinctively shrunk from +what is forbidden to our nature. + +It would seem, then, that, in relation to man, Beauty is the extreme +point, or last summit, of the natural world, since it is in that that +we recognize the highest emotion of which we are susceptible from the +purely physical. If we ascend thence into the moral, we shall find its +influence diminish in the same ratio with our upward progress. In the +continuous chain of creation of which it forms a part, the link above +it where the moral modification begins seems scarcely changed, yet the +difference, though slight, demands another name, and the nomenclator +within us calls it Elegance; in the next connecting link, the moral +adjunct becomes more predominant, and we call it Majesty; in the next, +the physical becomes still fainter, and we call the union Grandeur; in +the next, it seems almost to vanish, and a new form rises before us, +so mysterious, so undefined and elusive to the senses, that we turn, +as if for its more distinct image, within ourselves, and there, with +wonder, amazement, awe, we see it filling, distending, stretching +every faculty, till, like the Giant of Otranto, it seems almost to +burst the imagination: under this strange confluence of opposite +emotions, this terrible pleasure, we call the awful form Sublimity. +This was the still, small voice that shook the Prophet on +Horeb;--though small to his ear, it was more than his imagination +could contain; he could not hear it again and live. + +It is not to be supposed that we have enumerated all the forms of +gradation between the Beautiful and the Sublime; such was not our +purpose; it is sufficient to have noted the most prominent, leaving +the intermediate modifications to be supplied (as they can readily be) +by the reader. If we descend from the Beautiful, we shall pass in like +manner through an equal variety of forms gradually modified by the +grosser material influences, as the Handsome, the Pretty, the Comely, +the Plain, &c., till we fall to the Ugly. + +There ends the chain of pleasurable excitement; but not the chain of +Forms; which, taking now as if a literal curve, again bends upward, +till, meeting the descending extreme of the moral, it seems to +complete the mighty circle. And in this dark segment will be found the +startling union of deepening discords,--still deepening, as it rises +from the Ugly to the Loathsome, the Horrible, the Frightful,[1] the +Appalling. + +As we follow the chain through this last region of disease, misery, +and sin, of embodied Discord, and feel, as we must, in the mutilated +affinities of its revolting forms, their fearful relation to this +fair, harmonious creation,--how does the awful fact, in these its +breathing fragments, speak to us of a fallen world! + +As the living centre of this stupendous circle stands the Soul of Man; +the _conscious Reality_, to which the vast inclosure is but the +symbol. How vast, then, his being! If space could measure it, the +remotest star would fall within its limits. Well, then, may he tremble +to essay it even in thought; for where must it carry him,--that winged +messenger, fleeter than light? Where but to the confines of the +Infinite; even to the presence of the unutterable _Life_, on +which nothing finite can look and live? + +Finally, we shall conclude our Discourse with a few words on the +master Principle, which we have supposed to be, by the will of the +Creator, the realizing life to all things fair and true and good: and +more especially would we revert to its spiritual purity, emphatically +manifested through all its manifold operations,--so impossible +of alliance with any thing sordid, or false, or wicked,--so +unapprehensible, even, except for its own most sinless sake. Indeed, +we cannot look upon it as other than the universal and eternal witness +of God's goodness and love, to draw man to himself, and to testify +to the meanest, most obliquitous mind,--at least once in life, be it +though in childhood,--that there _is_ such a thing as _good +without self_. It will be remembered, that, in all the various +examples adduced, in which we have endeavoured to illustrate the +operation of Harmony, there was but one character to all its effects, +whatever the difference in the objects that occasioned them; that it +was ever untinged with any personal taint: and we concluded thence +its supernal source. We may now advance another evidence still more +conclusive of its spiritual origin, namely, in the fact, that it +cannot be realized in the Human Being _quoad_ himself. With the +fullest consciousness of the possession of this principle, and with +the power to realize it in other objects, he has still no power in +relation to himself,--that is, to become the object to himself. + +Now, as the condition of Harmony, so far as we can know it through its +effect, is that of _impletion_, where nothing can be added or +taken away, it is evident that such a condition can never be realized +by the mind in itself. And yet the desire to this end is as evidently +implied in that incessant, yet unsatisfying activity, which, under all +circumstances, is an imperative, universal law of our nature. + +It might seem needless to enlarge on what must be generally felt as an +obvious truth; still, it may not be amiss to offer a few remarks, by +way of bringing it, though a truism, more distinctly before us. In all +ages the majority of mankind have been more or less compelled to some +kind of exertion for their mere subsistence. Like all compulsion, this +has no doubt been considered a hardship. Yet we never find, when by +their own industry, or any fortunate circumstance, they have been +relieved from this exigency, that any one individual has been +contented with doing nothing. Some, indeed, before their liberation, +have conceived of idleness as a kind of synonyme with happiness; but a +short experience has never failed to prove it no less remote from that +desirable state. The most offensive employments, for the want of +a better, have often been resumed, to relieve the mind from the +intolerable load of _nothing_,--the heaviest of all weights,--as +it needs must be to an immortal spirit: for the mind cannot stop, +except it be in a mad-house; there, indeed, it may rest, or rather +stagnate, on one thought,--its little circle, perhaps of misery. From +the very moment of consciousness, the active Principle begins to +busy itself with the things about it: it shows itself in the infant, +stretching its little hands towards the candle; in the schoolboy, +filling up, if alone, his play-hour with the mimic toils of after age; +and so on, through every stage and condition of life; from the wealthy +spend-thrift, beggaring himself at the gaming-table for employment, to +the poor prisoner in the Bastile, who, for the want of something to +occupy his thoughts, overcame the antipathy of his nature, and found +his companion in a spider. Nay, were there need, we might draw out the +catalogue till it darkened with suicide. But enough has been said to +show, that, aside from guilt, a more terrible fiend has hardly been +imagined than the little word Nothing, when embodied and realized as +the master of the mind. And well for the world that it is so; since to +this wise law of our nature, to say nothing of conveniences, we owe +the endless sources of innocent enjoyment with which the industry and +ingenuity of man have supplied us. + +But the wisdom of the law in question is not merely that it is a +preventive to the mind preying on itself; we see in it a higher +purpose,--no less than what involves the developement of the human +being; and, if we look to its final bearing, it is of the deepest +import. It might seem at first a paradox, that, the natural condition +of the mind being averse to inactivity, it should still have so +strong a desire for rest; but a little reflection will show that this +involves no real contradiction. The mind only mistakes the _name_ +of its object, neither rest nor action being its real aim; for in a +state of rest it desires action, and in a state of action, rest. Now +all action supposes a purpose, which purpose can consist of but one +of two things; either the attainment of some immediate object as its +completion, or the causing of one or more future acts, that shall +follow as a consequence. But whether the action terminates in an +immediate object, or serves as the procreating cause of an indefinite +series of acts, it must have some ultimate object in which it +ends,--or is to end. Even supposing such a series of acts to be +continued through a whole life, and yet remain incomplete, it would +not alter the case. It is well known that many such series have +employed the minds of mathematicians and astronomers to their last +hour; nay, that those acts have been taken up by others, and continued +through successive generations: still, whether the point be arrived at +or no, there must have been an end in contemplation. Now no one can +believe that, in similar cases, any man would voluntarily devote all +his days to the adding link after link to an endless chain, for +the mere pleasure of labor. It is true he may be aware of the +wholesomeness of such labor as one of the means of cheerfulness; but, +if he have no further aim, his being aware of this result makes an +equable flow of spirits a positive object. Without _hope_, +uncompelled labor is an impossibility; and hope implies an object. Nor +would the veriest idler, who passes a whole day in whittling a stick, +if he could be brought to look into himself, deny it. So far from +having no object, he would and must acknowledge that he was in +fact hoping to relieve himself of an oppressive portion of time by +whittling away its minutes and hours. Here we have an extreme instance +of that which constitutes the real business of life, from the most +idle to the most industrious; namely, to attain to a _satisfying +state_. + +But no one will assert that such a state was ever a consequence of the +attainment of any object, however exalted. And why? Because the motive +of action is left behind, and we have nothing before us. + +Something to desire, something to look forward to, we _must_ +have, or we perish,--even of suicidal rest. If we find it not here in +the world about us, it must be sought for in another; to which, as we +conceive, that secret ruler of the soul, the inscrutable, ever-present +spirit of Harmony, for ever points. Nor is it essential that the +thought of harmony should even cross the mind; for a want may be +felt without any distinct consciousness of the form of that which is +desired. And, for the most part, it is only in this negative way that +its influence is acknowledged. But this is sufficient to account +for the universal longing, whether definite or indefinite, and the +consequent universal disappointment. + +We have said that man cannot to himself become the object of +Harmony,--that is, find its proper correlative in himself; and we have +seen that, in his present state, the position is true. How is it, +then, in the world of spirit? Who can answer? And yet, perhaps,--if +without irreverence we might hazard the conjecture,--as a finite +creature, having no centre in himself on which to revolve, may it not +be that his true correlative will there be revealed (if, indeed, it be +not before) to the disembodied man, in the Being that made him? And +may it not also follow, that the Principle we speak of will cease to +be potential, and flow out, as it were, and harmonize with the +eternal form of Hope,--even that Hope whose living end is in the +unapproachable Infinite? + +Let us suppose this form of hope to be taken away from an immortal +being who has no self-satisfying power within him, what would be +his condition? A conscious, interminable vacuum, were such a thing +possible, would but faintly image it. Hope, then, though in its nature +unrealizable, is not a mere _notion_; for so long as it continues +hope, it is to the mind an object and an object _to be_ realized; +so, where its form is eternal, it cannot but be to it an ever-during +object. Hence we may conceive of a never-ending approximation to what +can never be realized. + +From this it would appear, that, while we cannot to ourselves become +the object of Harmony, it is nevertheless certain, from the universal +desire _so_ to realize it, that we cannot suppress the continual +impulse of this paramount Principle; which, therefore, as it seems to +us, must have a double purpose; first, by its outward manifestation, +which we all recognize, to confirm its reality, and secondly, to +convince the mind that its true object is not merely out of, but +above, itself,--and only to be found in the Infinite Creator. + + + + +Art. + + + +In treating on Art, which, in its highest sense, and more especially +in relation to Painting and Sculpture, is the subject proposed for +our present examination, the first question that occurs is, In +what consists its peculiar character? or rather, What are the +characteristics that distinguish it from Nature, which it professes to +imitate? + +To this we reply, that Art is characterized,-- + +First, by Originality. + +Secondly, by what we shall call Human or Poetic Truth; which is the +verifying principle by which we recognize the first. + +Thirdly, by Invention; the product of the Imagination, as grounded on +the first, and verified by the second. And, + +Fourthly, by Unity, the synthesis of all. + +As the first step to the right understanding of any discourse is a +clear apprehension of the terms used, we add, that by Originality we +mean any thing (admitted by the mind as _true_) which is peculiar +to the Author, and which distinguishes his production from that of +all others; by Human or Poetic Truth, that which may be said to exist +exclusively in and for the mind, and as contradistinguished from the +truth of things in the natural or external world; by Invention, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of entire objects already known, or by the union and modification +of known but fragmentary parts into new and consistent forms; and, +lastly, by Unity, such an agreement and interdependence of all the +parts, as shall constitute a whole. + +It will be our attempt to show, that, by the presence or absence of +any one of these characteristics, we shall be able to affirm or deny +in respect to the pretension of any object as a work of Art; and also +that we shall find within ourselves the corresponding law, or by +whatever word we choose to designate it, by which each will be +recognized; that is, in the degree proportioned to the developement, +or active force, of the law so judging. + +Supposing the reader to have gone along with us in what has been said of +the _Universal_, in our Preliminary Discourse, and as assenting to the +position, that any faculty, law, or principle, which can be shown to be +_essential_ to _any one_ mind, must necessarily be also predicated of +every other sound mind, even where the particular faculty or law is so +feebly developed as apparently to amount to its absence, in which case +it is inferred potentially,--we shall now assume, on the same grounds, +that the originating _cause_, notwithstanding its apparent absence in +the majority of men, is an essential reality in the condition of the +Human Being; its potential existence in all being of necessity affirmed +from its existence in one. + +Assuming, then, its reality,--or rather leaving it to be evidenced +from its known effects,--we proceed to inquire _in what_ consists +this originating power. + +And, first, as to its most simple form. If it be true, (as we hope to +set forth more at large in a future discourse,) that no two minds were +ever found to be identical, there must then in every individual mind +be _something_ which is not in any other. And, if this unknown +something is also found to give its peculiar hue, so to speak, +to every impression from outward objects, it seems but a natural +inference, that, whatever it be, it _must_ possess a pervading +force over the entire mind,--at least, in relation to what is +external. But, though this may truly be affirmed of man generally, +from its evidence in any one person, we shall be far from the fact, +should we therefore affirm, that, otherwise than potentially, the +power of outwardly manifesting it is also universal. We know that it +is not,--and our daily experience proves that the power of reproducing +or giving out the individualized impressions is widely different in +different men. With some it is so feeble as apparently never to act; +and, so far as our subject is concerned, it may practically be said +not to exist; of which we have abundant examples in other mental +phenomena, where an imperfect activity often renders the existence of +some essential faculty a virtual nullity. When it acts in the higher +decrees, so as to make another see or feel _as_ the Individual +saw or felt,--this, in relation to Art, is what we mean, in its +strictest sense, by Originality. He, therefore, who possesses the +power of presenting to another the _precise_ images or emotions +as they existed in himself, presents that which can be found nowhere +else, and was first found by and within himself; and, however light or +trifling, where these are true as to his own mind, their author is so +far an originator. + +But let us take an example, and suppose two _portraits_; simple +heads, without accessories, that is, with blank backgrounds, such as +we often see, where no attempt is made at composition; and both by +artists of equal talent, employing the same materials, and conducting +their work according to the same technical process. We will also +suppose ourselves acquainted with the person represented, with whom +to compare them. Who, that has ever made a similar comparison, will +expect to find them identical? On the contrary, though in all respects +equal, in execution, likeness, &c., we shall still perceive a certain +_exclusive something_ that will instantly distinguish the one +from the other, and both from the original. And yet they shall both +seem to us true. But they will be true to us also in a double sense; +namely, as to the living original and as to the individuality of +the different painters. Where such is the result, both artists must +originate, inasmuch as they both outwardly realize the individual +image of their distinctive minds. + +Nor can the truth they present be ascribed to the technic process, +which we have supposed the same with each; as, on such a supposition, +with their equal skill, the result must have been identical. No; +by whatever it is that one man's mental impression, or his mode of +thought, is made to differ from another's, it is that something, which +our imaginary artists have here transferred to their pencil, that +makes them different, yet both original. + +Now, whether the medium through which the impressions, conceptions, or +emotions of the mind are thus externally realized be that of colors, +words, or any thing else, this mysterious though certain principle is, +as we believe, the true and only source of all originality. + +In the power of assimilating what is foreign, or external, to our own +particular nature consists the individualizing law, and in the power +of reproducing what is thus modified consists the originating cause. + +Let us turn now to an opposite example,--to a mere mechanical copy of +some natural object, where the marks in question are wholly wanting. +Will any one be truly affected by it? We think not; we do not say that +he will not praise it,--this he may do from various motives; but his +_feeling_--if we may so name the index of the law within--will +not be called forth to any spontaneous correspondence with the object +before him. + +But why talk of feeling, says the pseudo-connoisseur, where we should +only, or at least first, bring knowledge? This is the common cant of +those who become critics for the sake of distinction. Let the Artist +avoid them, if he would not disfranchise himself in the suppression +of that uncompromising _test_ within him, which is the only sure +guide to the truth without. + +It is a poor ambition to desire the office of a judge merely for +the sake of passing sentence. But such an ambition is not likely to +possess a person of true sensibility. There are some, however, in +whom there is no deficiency of sensibility, yet who, either from +self-distrust, or from some mistaken notion of Art, are easily +persuaded to give up a right feeling, in exchange for what they may +suppose to be knowledge,--the barren knowledge of faults; as if there +could be a human production without them! Nevertheless, there is +little to be apprehended from any conventional theory, by one who is +forewarned of its mere negative power,--that it can, at best, only +suppress feeling; for no one ever was, or ever can be, argued into +a real liking for what he has once felt to be false. But, where the +feeling is genuine, and not the mere reflex of a popular notion, so +far as it goes it must be true. Let no one, therefore, distrust it, to +take counsel of his head, when he finds himself standing before a work +of Art. Does he feel its truth? is the only question,--if, indeed, the +impertinence of the understanding should then propound one; which we +think it will not, where the feeling is powerful. To such a one, the +characteristic of Art upon which we are now discoursing will force +its way with the power of light; nor will he ever be in danger of +mistaking a mechanical copy for a living imitation. + +But we sometimes hear of "faithful transcripts," nay, of fac-similes. +If by these be implied neither more nor less than exists in their +originals, they must still, in that case, find their true place in +the dead category of Copy. Yet we need not be detained by any inquiry +concerning the merits of a fac-simile, since we firmly deny that a +fac-simile, in the true sense of the term, is a thing possible. + +That an absolute identity between any natural object and its represented +image is a thing impossible, will hardly be questioned by any one who +thinks, and will give the subject a moment's reflection; and the +difficulty lies in the nature of things, the one being the work of the +Creator, and the other of the creature. We shall therefore assume as a +fact, the eternal and insuperable difference between Art and Nature. That +our pleasure from Art is nevertheless similar, not to say equal, to that +which we derive from Nature, is also a fact established by experience; to +account for which we are necessarily led to the admission of another fact, +namely, that there exists in Art a _peculiar something_ which we receive +as equivalent to the admitted difference. Now, whether we call this +equivalent, individualized truth, or human or poetic truth, it matters +not; we know by its _effects_, that some such principle does exist, and +that it acts upon us, and in a way corresponding to the operation of that +which we call Truth and Life in the natural world. Of the various laws +growing out of this principle, which take the name of Rules when applied +to Art, we shall have occasion to speak in a future discourse. At present +we shall confine ourselves to the inquiry, how far the difference alluded +to may be safely allowed in any work professing to be an imitation of +Nature. + +The fact, that truth may subsist with a very considerable admixture +of falsehood, is too well known to require an argument. However +reprehensible such an admixture may be in morals, it becomes in Art, +from the limited nature of our powers, a matter of necessity. + +For the same reason, even the realizing of a thought, or that which +is properly and exclusively human, must ever be imperfect. If Truth, +then, form but the greater proportion, it is quite as much as we may +reasonably look for in a work of Art. But why, it may be asked, where +the false predominates, do we still derive pleasure? Simply because of +the Truth that remains. If it be further demanded, What is the minimum +of truth in order to a pleasurable effect? we reply, So much only as +will cause us to feel that the truth _exists_. It is this feeling +alone that determines, not only the true, but the degrees of truth, +and consequently the degrees of pleasure. + +Where no such feeling is awakened, and supposing no deficiency in the +recipient, he may safely, from its absence, pronounce the work false; +nor could any ingenious theory of the understanding convince him to +the contrary. He may, indeed, as some are wont to do, make a random +guess, and _call_ the work true; but he can never so _feel_ +it by any effort of reasoning. But may not men differ as to their +impressions of truth? Certainly as to the degrees of it, and in this +according to their sensibility, in which we know that men are not +equal. By sensibility here we mean the power or capacity of receiving +impressions. All men, indeed, with equal organs, may be said in a +certain sense to see alike. But will the same natural object, +conveyed through these organs, leave the same impression? The fact is +otherwise. What, then, causes the difference, if it be not (as before +observed) a peculiar something in the individual mind, that modifies +the image? If so, there must of necessity be in every true work of +Art--if we may venture the expression--another, or distinctive, truth. +To recognize this, therefore,--as we have elsewhere endeavoured to +show,--supposes in the recipient something akin to it. And, though it +be in reality but a _sign_ of life, it is still a sign of which +we no sooner receive the impress, than, by a law of our mind, we feel +it to be acting upon our thoughts and sympathies, without our knowing +how or wherefore. Admitting, therefore, the corresponding instinct, +or whatever else it may be called, to vary in men,--which there is no +reason to doubt,--the solution of their unequal impression appears at +once. Hence it would be no extravagant metaphor, should we affirm that +some persons see more with their minds than others with their eyes. +Nay, it must be obvious to all who are conversant with Art, that +much, if not the greater part, in its higher branches is especially +addressed to this mental vision. And it is very certain, if there were +no truth beyond the reach of the senses, that little would remain to +us of what we now consider our highest and most refined pleasure. + +But it must not be inferred that originality consists in any +contradiction to Nature; for, were this allowed and carried out, it +would bring us to the conclusion, that, the greater the contradiction, +the higher the Art. We insist only on the modification of the natural +by the personal; for Nature is, and ever must be, at least the +sensuous ground of all Art: and where the outward and inward are +so united that we cannot separate them, there shall we find the +perfection of Art. So complete a union has, perhaps, never been +accomplished, and _may_ be impossible; it is certain, however, +that no approach to excellence can ever be made, if the _idea_ of +such a union be not constantly looked to by the artist as his ultimate +aim. Nor can the idea be admitted without supposing a _third_ as +the product of the two,--which we call Art; between which and Nature, +in its strictest sense, there must ever be a difference; indeed, a +_difference with resemblance_ is that which constitutes its +essential condition. + +It has doubtless been observed, that, in this inquiry concerning the +nature and operation of the first characteristic, the presence of the +second, or verifying principle, has been all along implied; nor could +it be otherwise, because of their mutual dependence. Still more will +its active agency be supposed in our examination of the third, namely, +Invention. But before we proceed to that, the paramount index of the +highest art, it may not be amiss to obtain, if possible, some distinct +apprehension of what we have termed Poetic Truth; to which, it will be +remembered, was also prefixed the epithet Human, our object therein +being to prepare the mind, by a single word, for its peculiar sphere; +and we think it applicable also for a more important reason, +namely, that this kind of Truth is the _true ground of the +poetical_,--for in what consists the poetry of the natural world, +if not in the sentiment and reacting life it receives from the human +fancy and affections? And, until it can be shown that sentiment and +fancy are also shared by the brute creation, this seeming effluence +from the beautiful in nature must rightfully revert to man. What, for +instance, can we suppose to be the effect of the purple haze of a +summer sunset on the cows and sheep, or even on the more delicate +inhabitants of the air? From what we know of their habits, we +cannot suppose more than the mere physical enjoyment of its genial +temperature. But how is it with the poet, whom we shall suppose +an object in the same scene, stretched on the same bank with the +ruminating cattle, and basking in the same light that flickers from +the skimming birds. Does he feel nothing more than the genial warmth? +Ask him, and he perhaps will say,--"This is my soul's hour; this +purpled air the heart's atmosphere, melting by its breath the sealed +fountains of love, which the cold commonplace of the world had frozen: +I feel them gushing forth on every thing around me; and how worthy of +love now appear to me these innocent animals, nay, these whispering +leaves, that seem to kiss the passing air, and blush the while at +their own fondness! Surely they are happy, and grateful too that they +are so; for hark! how the little birds send up their song of praise! +and see how the waving trees and waving grass, in mute accordance, +keep time with the hymn!" + +This is but one of the thousand forms in which the human spirit is +wont to effuse itself on the things without, making to the mind a +new and fairer world,--even the shadowing of that which its immortal +craving will sometimes dream of in the unknown future. Nay, there +is scarcely an object so familiar or humble, that its magical touch +cannot invest it with some poetic charm. Let us take an extreme +instance,--a pig in his sty. The painter, Morland, was able to convert +even this disgusting object into a source of pleasure,--and a pleasure +as real as any that is known to the palate. + +Leaving this to have the weight it may be found to deserve, we turn +to the original question; namely, What do we mean by Human or Poetic +Truth? + +When, in respect to certain objects, the effects are found to be +uniformly of the same kind, not only upon ourselves, but also upon +others, we may reasonably infer that the efficient cause is of one +nature, and that its uniformity is a necessary result. And, when we also +find that these effects, though differing in degree, are yet uniform in +their character, while they seem to proceed from objects which in +themselves are indefinitely variant, both in kind and degree, we are +still more forcibly drawn to the conclusion, that the _cause_ is not +only _one_, but not inherent in the object.[2] The question now arises, +What, then, is that which seems to us so like an _alter et idem_,--which +appears to act upon, and is recognized by us, through an animal, a bird, +a tree, and a thousand different, nay, opposing objects, in the same +way, and to the same end? The inference follows of necessity, that the +mysterious cause must be in some general law, which is absolute and +_imperative_ in relation to every such object under certain conditions. +And we receive the solution as true,--because we cannot help it. The +reality, then, of such a law becomes a fixture in the mind. + +But we do not stop here: we would know something concerning the +conditions supposed. And in order to this, we go back to the effect. +And the answer is returned in the form of a question,--May it not +be something _from ourselves_, which is reflected back by the +object,--something with which, as it were, we imbue the object, making +it correspond to a _reality_ within us? Now we recognize the +reality within; we recognize it also in the object,--and the affirming +light flashes upon us, not in the form of _deduction_, but of +inherent Truth, which we cannot get rid of; and we _call_ it +Truth,--for it will take no other name. + +It now remains to discover, so to speak, its location. In what part, +then, of man may this self-evidenced, yet elusive, Truth or power be +said to reside? It cannot be in the senses; for the senses can impart +no more than they receive. Is it, then, in the mind? Here we are +compelled to ask, What is understood by the mind? Do we mean the +understanding? We can trace no relation between the Truth we would +class and the reflective faculties. Or in the moral principle? Surely +not; for we can predicate neither good nor evil by the Truth in +question. Finally, do we find it identified with the truth of +the Spirit? But what is the truth of the Spirit but the Spirit +itself,--the conscious _I_? which is never even thought of in +connection with it. In what form, then, shall we recognize it? In +its own,--the form of Life,--the life of the Human Being; that +self-projecting, realizing power, which is ever present, ever acting +and giving judgment on the instant on all things corresponding with +its inscrutable self. We now assign it a distinctive epithet, and call +it Human. + +It is a common saying, that there is more in a name than we are apt +to imagine. And the saying is not without reason; for when the name +happens to be the true one, being proved in its application, it +becomes no unimportant indicator as to the particular offices for +which the thing named was designed. So we find it with respect to the +Truth of which we speak; its distinctive epithet marking out to us, as +its sphere of action, the mysterious intercourse between man and man; +whether the medium consist in words or colors, in thought or form, or +in any thing else on which the human agent may impress, be it in a +sign only, his own marvellous life. As to the process or _modus +operandi_, it were a vain endeavour to seek it out: that divine +secret must ever to man be an humbling darkness. It is enough for him +to know that there is that within him which is ever answering to that +without, as life to life,--which must be life, and which must be true. + +We proceed now to the third characteristic. It has already been +stated, in the general definition, what we would be understood to mean +by the term Invention, in its particular relation to Art; namely, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of forms already known, or by the union and modification of known +but fragmentary parts into a new and consistent whole: in both cases +tested by the two preceding characteristics. + +We shall consider first that division of the subject which stands first +in order,--the Invention which consists in the new combination of known +forms. This may be said to be governed by its exclusive relation either +to _what is_, or _has been_, or, when limited by the _probable_, to what +strictly may be. It may therefore be distinguished by the term Natural. +But though we so name it, inasmuch as all its forms have their +prototypes in the Actual, it must still be remembered that these +existing forms do substantially constitute no more than mere _parts_ to +be combined into a _whole_, for which Nature has provided no original. +For examples in this, the most comprehensive class, we need not refer +to any particular school; they are to be found in all and in every +gallery: from the histories of Raffaelle, the landscapes of Claude and +Poussin and others, to the familiar scenes of Jan Steen, Ostade, and +Brower. In each of these an adherence to the actual, if not strictly +observed, is at least supposed in all its parts; not so in the whole, as +that relates to the probable; by which we mean such a result as _would +be_ true, were the same combination to occur in nature. Nor must we be +understood to mean, by adherence to the actual, that one part is to be +taken for an exact portrait; we mean only such an imitation as precludes +an intentional deviation from already existing and known forms. + +It must be very obvious, that, in classing together any of the +productions of the artists above named, it cannot be intended to +reduce them to a level; such an attempt (did our argument require it) +must instantly revolt the common sense and feeling of every one at all +acquainted with Art. And therefore, perhaps, it may be thought that +their striking difference, both in kind and degree, might justly call +for some further division. But admitting, as all must, a wide, nay, +almost impassable, interval between the familiar subjects of the lower +Dutch and Flemish painters, and the higher intellectual works of the +great Italian masters, we see no reason why they may not be left to +draw their own line of demarcation as to their respective provinces, +even as is every day done by actual objects; which are all equally +natural, though widely differenced as well in kind as in quality. It +is no degradation to the greatest genius to say of him and of the most +unlettered boor, that they are both men. + +Besides, as a more minute division would be wholly irrelevant to the +present purpose, we shall defer the examination of their individual +differences to another occasion. In order, however, more distinctly to +exhibit their common ground of Invention, we will briefly examine a +picture by Ostade, and then compare it with one by Raffaelle, than +whom no two artists could well be imagined having less in common. + +The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of Ostade's work, +presenting something between a kitchen and a stable. Its principal +object is the carcass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry; +subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; the accessories, +various garments, pots, kettles, and other culinary utensils. + +The bare enumeration of these coarse materials would naturally +predispose the mind of one, unacquainted with the Dutch school, to +expect any thing but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would +seem to be the only possible impression from a picture composed of +such ingredients. And such, indeed, would be their effect under the +hand of any but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and follow +Ostade's _mind_, as it leaves its impress on the several objects. +Observe how he spreads his principal light, from the suspended carcass +to the surrounding objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable +shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there to an earthen +pot; then connecting it, by the flash from a brass kettle, with his +second light, the woman and child; and again turning the eye into +the dark recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old baskets, +roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a glimpse of sunshine, from +a half-open window, gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and +sending it back to the principal object, which now seems to act on the +mind as the luminous source of all these diverging lights. But the +magical whole is not yet completed; the mystery of color has been +called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that we can hardly +separate them; at least, until their united effect has first been +felt, and after we have begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even +then we cannot long proceed before we find the charm returning; as we +pass from the blaze of light on the carcass, where all the tints of +the prism seem to be faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the +dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose awhile on the white +cap and kerchief of the nursing mother; then we are roused again by +the flickering strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and +red petticoat; then the strife is softened by the low yellow of a +straw-bottomed chair; and thus with alternating excitement and repose +do we travel through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses +the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic dream. Now +all this will no doubt appear to many, if not absurd, at least +exaggerated: but not so to those who have ever felt the sorcery of +color. They, we are sure, will be the last to question the character +of the feeling because of the ingredients which worked the spell, +and, if true to themselves, they must call it poetry. Nor will they +consider it any disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to say +of Ostade that he also was an Artist. + +We turn now to a work of the great Italian,--the Death of Ananias. +The scene is laid in a plain apartment, which is wholly devoid of +ornament, as became the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. +The Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to transact the +temporal business of the Church, and are standing together on a +slightly elevated platform, about which, in various attitudes, some +standing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous assemblage of +their new converts, male and female. This quiet assembly (for we still +feel its quietness in the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly +roused by the sudden fall of one of their brethren; some of them turn +and see him struggling in the agonies of death. A moment before he was +in the vigor of life,--as his muscular limbs still bear evidence; +but he had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his frame is +convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we doubt for a moment as to the +awful cause: it is almost expressed in voice by those nearest to +him, and, though varied by their different temperaments, by terror, +astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice has yet but one +meaning,--"Ananias has lied to the Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as +if audible to the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his doom, +and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle marks him the judge; yet +not of himself,--for neither his attitude, air, nor expression has +any thing in unison with the impetuous Peter,--he is now the simple, +passive, yet awful instrument of the Almighty: while another on the +right, with equal calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated +arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate of the entering +Sapphira. Yet all is not done; lest a question remain, the Apostle on +the left confirms the judgment. No one can mistake what passes within +him; like one transfixed in adoration, his uplifted eyes seem to ray +out his soul, as if in recognition of the divine tribunal. But the +overpowering thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the human +sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, connecting the past with +the present, seem almost to articulate, "Alas, my brother!" By this +exquisite turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle almoner of the +Church, who is dealing out their portions to the needy brethren. And +here, as most remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering seems +not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of repose,--not to pass by, +but to linger upon, till we feel its quiet influence diffusing itself +over the whole mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved +Disciple, we find it leading us back through the exciting scene, +modifying even our deepest emotions with a kindred tranquillity. + +This is Invention; we have not moved a step through the picture but at +the will of the Artist. He invented the chain which we have followed, +link by link, through every emotion, assimilating many into one; and +this is the secret by which he prepared us, without exciting horror, +to contemplate the struggle of mortal agony. + +This too is Art; and the highest art, when thus the awful power, +without losing its character, is tempered, as it were, to our +mysterious desires. In the work of Ostade, we see the same inventive +power, no less effective, though acting through the medium of the +humblest materials. + +We have now exhibited two pictures, and by two painters who may be +said to stand at opposite poles. And yet, widely apart as are their +apparent stations, they are nevertheless tenants of the same ground, +namely, actual nature; the only difference being, that one is +the sovereign of the purely physical, the other of the moral and +intellectual, while their common medium is the catholic ground of the +imagination. + +We do not fear either skeptical demur or direct contradiction, when +we assert that the imagination is as much the medium of the homely +Ostade, as of the refined Raffaelle. For what is that, which has just +wrapped us as in a spell when we entered his humble cottage,--which, +as we wandered through it, invested the coarsest object with a +strange charm? Was it the _truth_ of these objects that we there +acknowledged? In part, certainly, but not simply the truth that +belongs to their originals; it was the truth of his own individual +mind superadded to that of nature, nay, clothed upon besides by his +imagination, imbuing it with all the poetic hues which float in the +opposite regions of night and day, and which only a poet can mingle +and make visible in one pervading atmosphere. To all this our own +minds, our own imaginations, respond, and we pronounce it true to +both. We have no other rule, and well may the artists of every age and +country thank the great Lawgiver that there _is no other_. The +despised _feeling_ which the schools have scouted is yet the +mother of that science of which they vainly boast. But of this we may +have more to say in another place. + +We shall now ascend from the _probable_ to the _possible_, +to that branch of Invention whose proper office is from the known but +fragmentary to realize the unknown; in other words, to embody the +possible, having its sphere of action in the world of Ideas. To this +class, therefore, may properly be assigned the term _Ideal_. + +And here, as being its most important scene, it will be necessary to +take a more particular view of the verifying principle, the agent, so +to speak, that gives reality to the inward, when outwardly manifested. + +Now, whether we call this Human or Poetic Truth, or _inward +life_, it matters not; we know by _its effects_, (as we have +already said, and we now repeat,) that some such principle does exist, +and that it acts upon us, and in a way analogous to the operation of +that which we call truth and life in the world about us. And that the +cause of this analogy is a real affinity between the two powers seems +to us confirmed, not only _positively_ by this acknowledged +fact, but also _negatively_ by the absence of the effect above +mentioned in all those productions of the mind which we pronounce +unnatural. It is therefore in effect, or _quoad_ ourselves, both +truth and life, addressed, if we may use the expression, to that +inscrutable _instinct_ of the imagination which conducts us to +the knowledge of all invisible realities. + +A distinct apprehension of the reality and of the office of this +important principle, we cannot but think, will enable us to ascertain +with some degree of precision, at least so far as relates to art, +the true limits of the Possible,--the sphere, as premised, of Ideal +Invention. + +As to what some have called our _creative_ powers, we take it +for granted that no correct thinker has ever applied such expressions +literally. Strictly speaking, we can _make_ nothing: we can +only construct. But how vast a theatre is here laid open to the +constructive powers of the finite creature; where the physical eye is +permitted to travel for millions and millions of miles, while that of +the mind may, swifter than light, follow out the journey, from star to +star, till it falls back on itself with the humbling conviction that +the measureless journey is then but begun! It is needless to dwell on +the immeasurable mass of materials which a world like this may supply +to the Artist. + +The very thought of its vastness darkens into wonder. Yet how much +deeper the wonder, when the created mind looks into itself, and +contemplates the power of impressing its thoughts on all things +visible; nay, of giving the likeness of life to things inanimate; and, +still more marvellous, by the mere combination of words or colors, of +evolving into shape its own Idea, till some unknown form, having no +type in the actual, is made to seem to us an organized being. When +such is the result of any unknown combination, then it is that we +achieve the Possible. And here the Realizing Principle may strictly be +said to prove itself. + +That such an effect should follow a cause which we know to be purely +imaginary, supposes, as we have said, something in ourselves which +holds, of necessity, a predetermined relation to every object either +outwardly existing or projected from the mind, which we thus recognize +as true. If so, then the Possible and the Ideal are convertible terms; +having their existence, _ab initio_, in the nature of the mind. +The soundness of this inference is also supported negatively, as just +observed, by the opposite result, as in the case of those fantastic +combinations, which we sometimes meet with both in Poetry and +Painting, and which we do not hesitate to pronounce unnatural, that +is, false. + +And here we would not be understood as implying the preëxistence of +all possible forms, as so many _patterns_, but only of that +constructive Power which imparts its own Truth to the unseen +_real_, and, under certain conditions, reflects the image or +semblance of its truth on all things imagined; and which must be +assumed in order to account for the phenomena presented in the +frequent coincident effect between the real and the feigned. Nor does +the absence of consciousness in particular individuals, as to this +Power in themselves, fairly affect its universality, at least +potentially: since by the same rule there would be equal ground for +denying the existence of any faculty of the mind which is of slow or +gradual developement; all that we may reasonably infer in such cases +is, that the whole mind is not yet revealed to itself. In some of the +greatest artists, the inventive powers have been of late developement; +as in Claude, and the sculptor Falconet. And can any one believe that, +while the latter was hewing his master's marble, and the former making +pastry, either of them was conscious of the sublime Ideas which +afterwards took form for the admiration of the world? When Raffaelle, +then a youth, was selected to execute the noble works which now live +on the walls of the Vatican, "he had done little or nothing," says +Reynolds, "to justify so high a trust." Nor could he have been +certain, from what he knew of himself, that he was equal to the task. +He could only hope to succeed; and his hope was no doubt founded on +his experience of the progressive developement of his mind in former +efforts; rationally concluding, that the originally seeming blank +from which had arisen so many admirable forms was still teeming with +others, that only wanted the occasion, or excitement, to come forth at +his bidding. + +To return to that which, as the interpreting medium of his thoughts +and conceptions, connects the artist with his fellow-men, we remark, +that only on the ground of some self-realizing power, like what +we have termed Poetic Truth, could what we call the Ideal ever be +intelligible. + +That some such power is inherent and fundamental in our nature, though +differenced in individuals by more or less activity, seems more +especially confirmed in this latter branch of the subject, where the +phenomena presented are exclusively of the Possible. Indeed, we cannot +conceive how without it there could ever be such a thing as true Art; +for what might be received as such in one age might also be overruled +in the next: as we know to be the case with most things depending on +opinion. But, happily for Art, if once established on this immutable +base, there it must rest: and rest unchanged, amidst the endless +fluctuations of manners, habits, and opinions; for its truth of +a thousand years is as the truth of yesterday. Hence the beings +described by Homer, Shakspeare, and Milton are as true to us now, as +the recent characters of Scott. Nor is it the least characteristic +of this important Truth, that the only thing needed for its full +reception is simply its presence,--being its own evidence. + +How otherwise could such a being as Caliban ever be true to us? We have +never seen his race; nay, we knew not that such a creature _could_ +exist, until he started upon us from the mind of Shakspeare. Yet who +ever stopped to ask if he were a real being? His existence to the mind +is instantly felt;--not as a matter of faith, but of fact, and a fact, +too, which the imagination cannot get rid of if it would, but which must +ever remain there, verifying itself, from the first to the last moment +of consciousness. From whatever point we view this singular creature, +his reality is felt. His very language, his habits, his feelings, +whenever they recur to us, are all issues from a living thing, acting +upon us, nay, forcing the mind, in some instances, even to speculate on +his nature, till it finds itself classing him in the chain of being as +the intermediate link between man and the brute. And this we do, not by +an ingenious effort, but almost by involuntary induction; for we +perceive speech and intellect, and yet without a soul. What but an +intellectual brute could have uttered the imprecations of Caliban? They +would not be natural in man, whether savage or civilized. Hear him, in +his wrath against Prospero and Miranda:-- + + "A wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed + With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, + Light on you both!" + +The wild malignity of this curse, fierce as it is, yet wants the moral +venom, the devilish leaven, of a consenting spirit: it is all but +human. + +To this we may add a similar example, from our own art, in the Puck, +or Robin Goodfellow, of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Who can look at this +exquisite little creature, seated on its toadstool cushion, and not +acknowledge its prerogative of life,--that mysterious influence which +in spite of the stubborn understanding masters the mind,--sending +it back to days long past, when care was but a dream, and its most +serious business a childish frolic? But we no longer think of +childhood as the past, still less as an abstraction; we see it +embodied before us, in all its mirth and fun and glee; and the grave +man becomes again a child, to feel as a child, and to follow the +little enchanter through all his wiles and never-ending labyrinth of +pranks. What can be real, if that is not which so takes us out of +our present selves, that the weight of years falls from us as a +garment,--that the freshness of life seems to begin anew, and the +heart and the fancy, resuming their first joyous consciousness, to +launch again into this moving world, as on a sunny sea, whose pliant +waves yield to the touch, yet, sparkling and buoyant, carry them +onward in their merry gambols? Where all the purposes of reality are +answered, if there be no philosophy in admitting, we see no wisdom in +disputing it. + +Of the immutable nature of this peculiar Truth, we have a like +instance in the Farnese Hercules; the work of the Grecian sculptor +Glycon,--we had almost said his immortal offspring. Since the time of +its birth, cities and empires, even whole nations, have disappeared, +giving place to others, more or less barbarous or civilized; yet these +are as nothing to the countless revolutions which have marked +the interval in the manners, habits, and opinions of men. Is it +reasonable, then, to suppose that any thing not immutable in its +nature could possibly have withstood such continual fluctuation? +But how have all these changes affected this _visible image of +Truth_? In no wise; not a jot; and because what is _true_ is +independent of opinion: it is the same to us now as it was to the men +of the dust of antiquity. The unlearned spectator of the present day +may not, indeed, see in it the Demigod of Greece; but he can never +mistake it for a mere exaggeration of the human form; though of mortal +mould, he cannot doubt its possession of more than mortal powers; he +feels its _essential life_, for he feels before it as in the +stirring presence of a superior being. + +Perhaps the attempt to give form and substance to a pure Idea was +never so perfectly accomplished as in this wonderful figure. Who has +ever seen the ocean in repose, in its awful sleep, that smooths it +like glass, yet cannot level its unfathomed swell? So seems to us the +repose of this tremendous personification of strength: the laboring +eye heaves on its slumbering sea of muscles, and trembles like a skiff +as it passes over them: but the silent intimations of the spirit +beneath at length become audible; the startled imagination hears it +in its rage, sees it in motion, and sees its resistless might in +the passive wrecks that follow the uproar. And this from a piece of +marble, cold, immovable, lifeless! Surely there is that in man, which +the senses cannot reach, nor the plumb of the understanding sound. + +Let us turn now to the Apollo called Belvedere. In this supernal +being, the human form seems to have been assumed as if to make visible +the harmonious confluence of the pure ideas of grace, fleetness, and +majesty; nor do we think it too fanciful to add celestial splendor; +for such, in effect, are the thoughts which crowd, or rather rush, +into the mind on first beholding it. Who that saw it in what may be +called the place of its glory, the Gallery of Napoleon, ever thought +of it as a man, much less as a statue; but did not feel rather as if +the vision before him were of another world,--of one who had just +lighted on the earth, and with a step so ethereal, that the next +instant he would vault into the air? If I may be permitted to recall +the impression which it made on myself, I know not that I could better +describe it than as a sudden intellectual flash, filling the whole +mind with light,--and light in motion. It seemed to the mind what the +first sight of the sun is to the senses, as it emerges from the ocean; +when from a point of light the whole orb at once appears to bound from +the waters, and to dart its rays, as by a visible explosion, through +the profound of space. But, as the deified Sun, how completely is the +conception verified in the thoughts that follow the effulgent original +and its marble counterpart! Perennial youth, perennial brightness, +follow them both. Who can imagine the old age of the sun? As soon +may we think of an old Apollo. Now all this may be ascribed to the +imagination of the beholder. Granted,--yet will it not thus be +explained away. For that is the very faculty addressed by every work +of Genius,--whose nature is _suggestive_; and only when it +excites to or awakens congenial thoughts and emotions, filling the +imagination with corresponding images, does it attain its proper end. +The false and the commonplace can never do this. + +It were easy to multiply similar examples; the bare mention of a +single name in modern art might conjure up a host,--the name of +Michael Angelo, the mighty sovereign of the Ideal, than whom no one +ever trod so near, yet so securely, the dizzy brink of the Impossible. + +Of Unity, the fourth and last characteristic, we shall say but little; +for we know in truth little or nothing of the law which governs +it: indeed, all that we know but amounts to this,--that, wherever +existing, it presents to the mind the Idea of a Whole,--which is +itself a mystery. For what answer can we give to the question, What +is a Whole? If we reply, That which has neither more nor less than it +ought to have, we do not advance a step towards a definite notion; for +the _rule_ (if there be one) is yet undiscovered, by which +to measure either the too much or the too little. Nevertheless, +incomprehensible as it certainly is, it is what the mind will not +dispense with in a work of Art; nay, it will not concede even a right +to the name to any production where this is wanting. Nor is it a sound +objection, that we also receive pleasure from many things which seem +to us fragmentary; for instance, from actual views in Nature,--as we +shall hope to show in another place. It is sufficient at present, +that, in relation to Art, the law of the imagination demands a whole; +in order to which not a single part must be felt to be wanting; all +must be there, however imperfectly rendered; nay, such is the craving +of this active faculty, that, be they but mere hints, it will often +fill them out to the desired end; the only condition being, that the +part hinted be founded in truth. It is well known to artists, that a +sketch, consisting of little more than hints, will frequently produce +the desired effect, and by the same means,--the hints being true so +far as expressed, and without an hiatus. But let the artist attempt to +_finish_ his sketch, that is, to fill out the parts, and suppose +him deficient in the necessary skill, the consequence must be, that +the true hints, becoming transformed to elaborate falsehoods, will +be all at variance, while the revolted imagination turns away with +disgust. Nor is this a thing of rare occurrence: indeed, he is a most +fortunate artist, who has never had to deplore a well-hinted whole +thus reduced to fragments. + +These are facts; from which we may learn, that with less than a whole, +either already wrought, or so indicated that the excited imagination +can of itself complete it, no genuine response will ever be given to +any production of man. And we learn from it also this twofold truth; +first, that the Idea of a Whole contains in itself a preëxisting law; +and, secondly, that Art, the peculiar product of the Imagination, is +one of its true and predetermined ends. + +As to its practical application, it were fruitless to speculate. It +applies itself, even as truth, both in action and reaction, verifying +itself: and our minds submit, as if it had said, There is nothing +wanting; so, in the converse, its dictum is absolute when it announces +a deficiency. + +To return to the objection, that we often receive pleasure from many +things in Nature which seem to us fragmentary, we observe, that nothing in +Nature can be fragmentary, except in the seeming, and then, too, to the +understanding only,--to the feelings never; for a grain of sand, no less +than a planet, being an essential part of that mighty whole which we call +the universe, cannot be separated from the Idea of the world without a +positive act of the reflective faculties, an act of volition; but until +then even a grain of sand cannot cease to imply it. To the mere +understanding, indeed, even the greatest extent of actual objects which +the finite creature can possibly imagine must ever fall short of the vast +works of the Creator. Yet we nevertheless can, and do, apprehend the +existence of the universe. Now we would ask here, whether the influence of +a _real_,--and the epithet here is not unimportant,--whether the influence +of a real Whole is at no time felt without an act of consciousness, that +is, without thinking of a whole. Is this impossible? Is it altogether out +of experience? We have already shown (as we think) that no _unmodified +copy_ of actual objects, whether single or multifarious, ever satisfies +the imagination,--which imperatively demands a something more, or at least +different. And yet we often find that the very objects from which these +copies are made _do_ satisfy us. How and why is this? A question more +easily put than answered. We may suggest, however, what appears to us a +clew, that in abler hands may possibly lead to its solution; namely, the +fact, that, among the innumerable emotions of a pleasurable kind derived +from the actual, there is not one, perhaps, which is strictly confined to +the objects before us, and which we do not, either directly or indirectly, +refer to something beyond and not present. Now have we at all times a +distinct consciousness of the things referred to? Are they not rather more +often vague, and only indicated in some _undefined_ feeling? Nay, is its +source more intelligible where the feeling is more definite, when taking +the form of a sense of harmony, as from something that diffuses, yet +deepens, unbroken in its progress through endless variations, the melody +as it were of the pleasurable object? Who has never felt, under certain +circumstances, an expansion of the heart, an elevation of mind, nay, a +striving of the whole being to pass its limited bounds, for which he could +find no adequate solution in the objects around him,--the apparent cause? +Or who can account for every mood that thralls him,--at times like one +entranced in a dream by airs from Paradise,--at other times steeped in +darkness, when the spirit of discord seems to marshal his every thought, +one against another? + +Whether it be that the Living Principle, which permeates all things +throughout the physical world, cannot be touched in a single point +without conducting to its centre, its source, and confluence, thus +giving by a part, though obscurely and indefinitely, a sense of the +whole,--we know not. But this we may venture to assert, and on no +improbable ground,--that a ray of light is not more continuously +linked in its luminous particles than our moral being with the +whole moral universe. If this be so, may it not give us, in a faint +shadowing at least, some intimation of the many real, though unknown +relations, which everywhere surround and bear upon us? In the deeper +emotions, we have, sometimes, what seems to us a fearful proof of it. +But let us look at it negatively; and suppose a case where this chain +is broken,--of a human being who is thus cut off from all possible +sympathies, and shut up, as it were, in the hopeless solitude of +his own mind. What is this horrible avulsion, this impenetrable +self-imprisonment, but the appalling state of _despair?_ And what +if we should see it realized in some forsaken outcast, and hear his +forlorn cry, "Alone! alone!" while to his living spirit that single +word is all that is left him to fill the blank of space? In such a +state, the very proudest autocrat would yearn for the sympathy of the +veriest wretch. + +It would seem, then, since this living cement which is diffused +through nature, binding all things in one, so that no part can be +contemplated that does not, of necessity, even though unconsciously to +us, act on the mind with reference to the whole,--since this, as we +find, cannot be transferred to any copy of the actual, it must needs +follow, if we would imitate Nature in its true effects, that recourse +must be had to another, though similar principle, which shall so +pervade our production as to satisfy the mind with an efficient +equivalent. Now, in order to this there are two conditions required: +first, the personal modification, (already discussed) of every +separate part,--which may be considered as its proper life; and, +secondly, the uniting of the parts by such an interdependence that +they shall appear to us as essential, one to another, and all to each. +When this is done, the result is a whole. But how do we obtain +this mutual dependence? We refer the questioner to the law of +Harmony,--that mysterious power, which is only apprehended by its +imperative effect. + +But, be the above as it may, we know it to be a fact, that, whilst +nothing in Nature ever affects us as fragmentary, no unmodified copy +of her by man is ever felt by us as otherwise. + +We have thus--and, we trust, on no fanciful ground--endeavoured to +establish the real and distinctive character of Art. And, if our +argument be admitted, it will be found to have brought us to the +following conclusions:--first, that the true ground of all originality +lies in the _individualizing law_, that is, in that modifying +power, which causes the difference between man and man as to their +mental impressions; secondly, that only in a _true_ reproduction +consists its evidence; thirdly, that in the involuntary response from +other minds lies the truth of the evidence; fourthly, that in order +to this response there must therefore exist some universal kindred +principle, which is essential to the human mind, though widely +differenced in the degree of its activity in different individuals; +and finally, that this principle, which we have here denominated +Human or Poetic Truth, being independent both of the will and of the +reflective faculties, is in its nature _imperative_, to affirm +or deny, in relation to every production pretending to Art, from the +simple imitation of the actual to the probable, and from the probable +to the possible;--in one word, that the several characteristics, +Originality, Poetic Truth, Invention, each imply a something not +inherent in the objects imitated, but which must emanate alone from +the mind of the Artist. + +And here it may be well to notice an apparent objection, that will +probably occur to many, especially among painters. How, then, they may +ask, if the principle in question be universal and imperative, do we +account for the mistakes which even great Artists have sometimes made +as to the realizing of their conceptions? We hope to show, that, so +far from opposing, the very fact on which the objection is grounded +will be found, on the contrary, to confirm our doctrine. Were such +mistakes uniformly permanent, they might, perhaps, have a rational +weight; but that this is not the case is clearly evident from the +additional fact of the change in the Artist's judgment, which almost +invariably follows any considerable interval of time. Nay, should +a case occur where a similar mistake is never rectified,--which is +hardly probable,--we might well consider it as one of those exceptions +that prove the rule,--of which we have abundant examples in other +relations, where a true principle is so feebly developed as to be +virtually excluded from the sphere of consciousness, or, at least, +where its imperfect activity is for all practical purposes a mere +nullity. But, without supposing any mental weakness, the case may +be resolved by the no less formidable obstacle of a too inveterate +memory: and there have been such,--where a thought or an image once +impressed is never erased. In Art it is certainly an advantage to be +able sometimes to forget. Nor is this a new notion; for Horace, it +seems, must have had the same, or he would hardly have recommended so +long a time as nine years for the revision of a poem. That Titian +also was not unaware of the advantage of forgetting is recorded by +Boschini, who relates, that, during the progress of a work, he was +in the habit of occasionally turning it to the wall, until it had +somewhat faded from his memory, so that, on resuming his labor, he +might see with fresh eyes; when (to use his expression) he would +criticize the picture with as much severity as his worst enemy. If, +instead of the picture on the canvas, Boschini had referred to that in +his mind, as what Titian sought to forget, he would have been, as +we think, more correct. This practice is not uncommon with Artists, +though few, perhaps, are aware of its real object. + +It has doubtless the appearance of a singular anomaly in the judgment, +that it should not always be as correct in relation to our own works +as to those of another. Yet nothing is more common than perfect truth +in the one case, and complete delusion in the other. Our surprise, +however, would be sensibly diminished, if we considered that the +reasoning or reflective faculties have nothing to do with either case. +It is the Principle of which we have been speaking, the life, or truth +within, answering to the life, or rather its sign, before us, that +here sits in judgment. Still the question remains unanswered; and +again we are asked, Why is it that our own works do not always respond +with equal veracity? Simply because we do not always _see_ +them,--that is, as they are,--but, looking as it were _through +them_, see only their originals in the mind; the mind here acting, +instead of being acted upon. And thus it is, that an Artist may +suppose his conception realized, while that which gave life to it in +his mind is outwardly wanting. But let time erase, as we know it often +does, the mental image, and its embodied representative will then +appear to its author as it is,--true or false. There is one case, +however, where the effect cannot deceive; namely, where it comes upon +us as from a foreign source; where our own seems no longer ours. This, +indeed, is rare; and powerful must be the pictured Truth, that, as +soon as embodied, shall thus displace its own original. + +Nor does it in any wise affect the essential nature of the Principle +in question, or that of the other Characteristics, that the effect +which follows is not always of a pleasurable kind; it may even be +disagreeable. What we contend for is simply its _reality_; the +character of the perception, like that of every other truth, depending +on the individual character of the percipient. The common truth of +existence in a living person, for instance, may be to us either a +matter of interest or indifference, nay, even of disgust. So also may +it be with what is true in Art. Temperament, ignorance, cultivation, +vulgarity, and refinement have all, in a greater or less degree, an +influence in our impressions; so that any reality may be to us either +an offence or a pleasure, yet still a reality. In Art, as in Nature, +the True is imperative, and must be _felt_, even where a timid, a +proud, or a selfish motive refuses to acknowledge it. + +These last remarks very naturally lead us to another subject, and one +of no minor importance; we mean, the education of an Artist; on this, +however, we shall at present add but a few words. We use the word +_education_ in its widest sense, as involving not only the growth +and expansion of the intellect, but a corresponding developement of +the moral being; for the wisdom of the intellect is of little worth, +if it be not in harmony with the higher spiritual truth. Nor will a +moderate, incidental cultivation suffice to him who would become a +great Artist. He must sound no less than the full depths of his being +ere he is fitted for his calling; a calling in its very condition +lofty, demanding an agent by whom, from the actual, living world, is +to be wrought an imagined consistent world of Art,--not fantastic, +or objectless, but having a purpose, and that purpose, in all its +figments, a distinct relation to man's nature, and all that pertains +to it, from the humblest emotion to the highest aspiration; the circle +that bounds it being that only which bounds his spirit,--even the +confines of that higher world, where ideal glimpses of angelic forms +are sometimes permitted to his sublimated vision. Art may, in truth, +be called the _human world_; for it is so far the work of man, +that his beneficent Creator has especially endowed him with the powers +to construct it; and, if so, surely not for his mere amusement, but +as a part (small though it be) of that mighty plan which the Infinite +Wisdom has ordained for the evolution of the human spirit; whereby is +intended, not alone the enlargement of his sphere of pleasure, but of +his higher capacities of adoration;--as if, in the gift, he had said +unto man, Thou shalt know me by the powers I have given thee. The +calling of an Artist, then, is one of no common responsibility; and it +well becomes him to consider at the threshold, whether he shall assume +it for high and noble purposes, or for the low and licentious. + + + + +Form. + + + +The subject proposed for the following discourse is the Human Form; a +subject, perhaps, of all others connected with Art, the most obscured +by vague theories. It is one, at least, of such acknowledged +difficulty as to constrain the writer to confess, that he enters +upon it with more distrust than hope of success. Should he succeed, +however, in disencumbering this perplexed theme of some of its useless +dogmas, it will be quite as much as he has allowed himself to expect. + +The object, therefore, of the present attempt will be to show, first, +that the notion of one or more standard Forms, which shall in all +cases serve as exemplars, is essentially false, and of impracticable +application for any true purpose of Art; secondly, that the only +approach to Science, which the subject admits, is in a few general +rules relating to Stature, and these, too, serving rather as +convenient _expedients_ than exact guides, inasmuch as, in most +cases, they allow of indefinite variations; and, thirdly, that +the only efficient Rule must be found in the Artist's mind,--in +those intuitive Powers, which are above, and beyond, both the senses +and the understanding; which, nevertheless, are so far from precluding +knowledge, as, on the contrary, to require, as their effective +condition, the widest intimacy with the things external,--without +which their very existence must remain unknown to the Artist himself. + +Supposing, then, certain standard Forms to have been admitted, it may +not be amiss to take a brief view of the nature of the Being to whom +they are intended to be applied; and to consider them more especially +as auxiliaries to the Artist. + +In the first place, we observe, that the purpose of Art is not to +represent any given number of men, but the Human Race; and so that the +representation shall affect us, not indeed as living to the senses, +but as true to the mind. In order to this, there must be _all_ in +the imitation (though it be but hinted) which the mind will recognize +as true to the human being: hence the first business of the Artist is +to become acquainted with his subject in all its properties. He then +naturally inquires, what is its general characteristic; and his own +consciousness informs him, that, besides an animal nature, there is +also a moral intelligence, and that they together form the man. This +important truism (we say important, for it seems to have been +not seldom overlooked) makes the foundation of all his future +observations; nor can he advance a step without continual reference +to this double nature. We find him accordingly in the daily habit of +mentally distinguishing this person from that, as a moral being, and +of assigning to each a separate character; and this not voluntarily, +but simply because he cannot avoid it. Yet, by what does he presume +to judge of strangers? He will probably answer, By their general +exterior. And what is the inference? There can be but one; namely, +that there must be--at least to him--some efficient correspondence +between the physical and the moral. This is so plain, that the wonder +is, how it ever came to be doubted. Nor is it directly denied, except +by those who from habitual disgust reject the guesswork of the various +pretenders to scientific systems; yet even these, no less than others, +do practically admit it in their common intercourse with the world. +And it cannot be otherwise; for what the Creator has joined must have +some affinity, although the palpable signs may elude our cognizance. +And that they do elude it, except perhaps in a very slight degree, +is actually the case, as is well proved by the signal failure of all +attempts to reduce them to a science; for neither diagram nor axiom +has ever yet corrected an instinctive impression. But man does not +live by science; he feels, acts, and judges right in a thousand things +without the consciousness of any rule by which he so feels, acts, or +judges. And, happily for him, he has a surer guide than human science +in that unknown Power within him,--without which he had been without +knowledge. But of this we shall have occasion to speak again in +another part of our discourse. + +Though the medium through which the soul acts be, as we have said, elusive +to the senses,--in so far as to be irreducible to any distinct form,--it +is not therefore the less real, as every one may verify by his own +experience; and, though seemingly invisible, it must nevertheless, +constituted as we are, act through the physical, and a physical medium +expressly constructed for its peculiar action; nay, it does this +continually, without our confounding for a moment the soul with its +instrument. Who can look into the human eye, and doubt of an influence not +of the body? The form and color leave but a momentary impression, or, if +we remember them, it is only as we remember the glass through which we +have read the dark problems of the sky. But in this mysterious organ we +see not even the signs of its mystery. We see, in truth, nothing; for what +is there has neither form, nor symbol, nor any thing reducible to a +sensuous distinctness; and yet who can look into it, and not be conscious +of a real though invisible presence? In the eye of a brute, we see only a +part of the animal; it gives us little beyond the palpable outward; at +most, it is but the focal point of its fierce, or gentle, affectionate, or +timorous character,--the character of the species, But in man, neither +gentleness nor fierceness can be more than as relative conditions,--the +outward moods of his unseen spirit; while the spirit itself, that daily +and hourly sends forth its good and evil, to take shape from the body, +still sits in darkness. Yet have we that which can surely reach it; even +our own spirit. By this it is that we can enter into another's soul, sound +its very depths, and bring up his dark thoughts, nay, place them before +him till he starts at himself; and more,--it is by this we _know_ that +even the tangible, audible, visible world is not more real than a +spiritual intercourse. And yet without the physical organ who can hold it? +We can never indeed understand, but we may not doubt, that which has its +power of proof in a single act of consciousness. Nay, we may add that we +cannot even conceive of a soul without a correlative form,--though it be +in the abstract; and _vice versâ_. + +For, among the many impossibilities, it is not the least to look upon +a living human form as a thing; in its pictured copies, as already +shown in a former discourse, it may be a thing, and a beautiful thing; +but the moment we conceive of it as living, if it show not a soul, we +give it one by a moral necessity; and according to the outward will be +the spirit with which we endow it. No poetic being, supposed of our +species, ever lived to the imagination without some indication of the +moral; it is the breath of its life: and this is also true in the +converse; if there be but a hint of it, it will instantly clothe +itself in a human shape; for the mind cannot separate them. In the +whole range of the poetic creations of the great master of truth,--we +need hardly say Shakspeare,--not an instance can be found where this +condition of life is ever wanting; his men and women all have souls. +So, too, when he peoples the air, though he describe no form, he never +leaves these creatures of the brain without a shape, for he will +sometimes, by a single touch of the moral, enable us to supply one. +Of this we have a striking instance in one of his most unsubstantial +creations, the "delicate Ariel." Not an allusion to its shape or +figure is made throughout the play; yet we assign it a form on its +very first entrance, as soon as Prospero speaks of its refusing to +comply with the" abhorred commands" of the witch, Sycorax. And again, +in the fifth act, when Ariel, after recounting the sufferings of the +wretched usurper and his followers, gently adds,-- + + "Your charm so strongly works them, + That, if you now beheld them, your affections + Would become tender." + +On which Prospero remarks,-- + + "Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling + Of their afflictions?" + +Now, whether Shakspeare intended it or not, it is not possible after +this for the reader to think of Ariel but in a human form; for slight +as these hints are, if they do not indicate the moral affections, they +at least imply something akin to them, which in a manner compels us to +invest the gentle Spirit with a general likeness to our own physical +exterior, though, perhaps, as indistinct as the emotion that called +for it. + +We have thus considered the human being in his complex condition, of +body and spirit, or physical and moral; showing the impossibility of +even thinking of him in the one, to the exclusion of the other. We +may, indeed, successively think first of the form, and then of +the moral character, as we may think of any one part of either +analytically; but we cannot think of the _human being_ except +as a _whole_. It follows, therefore, as a consequence, that no +imitation of man can be true which is not addressed to us in this +double condition. And here it may be observed, that in Art there is +this additional requirement, that there be no discrepancy between the +form and the character intended,--or rather, that the form _must_ +express the character, or it expresses nothing: a necessity which is +far from being general in actual nature. But of this hereafter. + +Let us now endeavour to form some general notion of Man in his various +aspects, as presented by the myriads which people the earth. But whose +imagination is equal to the task,--to the setting in array before it +the countless multitudes, each individual in his proper form, his +proper character? Were this possible, we should stand amazed at the +interminable differences, the hideous variety; and that, too, no less +in the moral, than in the physical; nay, so opposite and appalling in +the former as hardly to be figured by a chain of animals, taking for +the extremes the fierce and filthy hyena and the inoffensive lamb. +This is man in the concrete,--to which, according to some, is to be +applied the _abstract Ideal!_ + +Now let us attempt to conceive of a being that shall represent all the +diversities of mind, affections, and dispositions, that fleck this +heterogeneous mass of humanity, and then to conceive of a Form that +shall be in such perfect affinity with it as to indicate them all. The +bare statement of the proposition shows its absurdity. Yet this must +be the office of a Standard Form; and this it must do, or it will be +a falsehood. Nor should we find it easier with any given number, with +twenty, fifty, nay, an hundred (so called) generic forms. We do not +hesitate to affirm, that, were it possible, it would be quite as easy +with one as with a thousand. + +But to this it may be replied, that the Standard Form was never +intended to represent the vicious or degraded, but man in his most +perfect developement of mind, affections, and body. This is certainly +narrowing its office, and, unfortunately, to the representing of but +_one_ man; consequently, of no possible use beyond to the Painter +or Sculptor of Humanity, since every repetition of this perfect form +would be as the reflection of one multiplied by mirrors. But such +repetitions, it may be further answered, were never contemplated, that +Form being given only as an exemplar of the highest, to serve as a +guide in our approach to excellence; as we could not else know to a +certainty to what degree of elevation our conceptions might rise. +Still, in that case its use would be limited to a single object, that +is, to itself, its own perfectness; it would not aid the Artist in the +intermediate ascent to it,--unless it contained within itself all the +gradations of human character; which no one will pretend. + +But let us see how far it is possible to _realize_ the Idea of a +_perfect_ Human Form. + +We have already seen that the mere physical structure is not man, but +only a part; the Idea of man including also an internal moral being. +The external, then, in an _actually disjoined_ state, cannot, +strictly speaking, be the human form, but only a diagram of it. It is, +in fact, but a partial condition, becoming human only when united with +the internal moral; which, in proof of the union, it must of necessity +indicate. If we would have a true Idea of it, therefore, it must be as +a whole; consequently, the perfect physical exterior must have, as an +essential part, the perfect moral. Now come two important questions. +First, In what consists Moral Perfection? We use the word _moral_ +here (from a want in our language) in its most comprehensive sense, +as including the spiritual and the intellectual. With respect to that +part of our moral being which pertains to the affections, in all their +high relations to God and man, we have, it is true, a sure and holy +guide. In a Christian land, the humblest individual may answer as +readily as the most profound scholar, and express its perfection in +the single word, Holiness. But what will be the reply in regard to the +Intellect? For what is a perfect Intellect? Is it the Dialectic, the +Speculative, or the Imaginative? Or, rather, would it not include them +all? + +We proceed next to the Physical. What, then, constitutes its +Perfection? Here, it might seem, there can be no difficulty, and the +reply will probably be in naming all the excellent qualities in our +animal nature, such as strength, agility, fleetness, with every other +that can be thought of. The bare enumeration of these few qualities +may serve to show the nature of the task; yet a physically perfect +form requires them all; none must be omitted; it would else be +imperfect; nay, they must not only be there, but all be developed in +their highest degrees. We might here exclaim with Hamlet, though in a +very different sense, + + "A combination and a form indeed!" + +And yet there is no other way to express physical perfection. But +can it be so expressed? The reader must reply for himself. We will, +however, suppose it possible; still the task is incomplete without the +adjustment of these to the perfect Moral, in the highest known degrees +of its several elements. To those who can imagine _such_ a form +as shall be the sure exponent of _such_ a moral being,--and such +it must be, or it will be nothing,--we leave the task of constructing +this universal exemplar for multitudinous man. We may add, however, +one remark; that, supposing it possible thus to concentrate, and +with equal prominence, all the qualities of the species into one +individual, it can only be done by supplanting Providence, in other +words, by virtually overruling the great principle of subordination +so visibly impressed on all created life. For although, as we have +elswhere observed, there can be no sound mind (and the like may be +affirmed of the whole man), which is deficient in any one essential, +it does not therefore follow, that each of these essentials may not be +almost indefinitely differenced in the degrees of their developement +without impairing the human integrity. And such is the fact in actual +nature; nor does this in any wise affect the individual unity,--as +will be noticed hereafter. + +We will now briefly examine the pretensions of what are called the +Generic Forms. And here we are met by another important characteristic +of the human being, namely, his essential individuality. + +It is true that the human family, so called, is divided into many +distinct races, having each its peculiar conformation, color, and so +forth, which together constitute essential differences; but it is +to be remembered that these essentials are all physical; and _so +far_ they are properly generic, as implying a difference in kind. +But, though a striking difference is also observable in their moral +being, it is by no means of the same nature with that which marks +their physical condition, the difference in the moral being only of +degree; for, however fierce, brutal, stupid, or cunning, or gentle, +generous, or heroic, the same characteristics may each be paralleled +among ourselves; nay, we could hardly name a vice, a passion, or +a virtue, in Asia, Africa, or America, that has not its echo in +civilized Europe. And what is the inference? That climate and +circumstance, if such are the causes of the physical variety, have no +controlling power, except in degree, over the Moral. Does not this +undeniable fact, then, bring us to the fair conclusion, that the moral +being has no genera? To affirm otherwise would be virtually to +deny its responsible condition; since the law of its genus must be +paramount to all other laws,--to education, government, religion. Nor +can the result be evaded, except by the absurd supposition of generic +responsibilities! To us, therefore, it seems conclusive that a moral +being, as a free agent, cannot be subject to a generic law; nor +could he now be--what every man feels himself to be, in spite of +his theory--the fearful architect of his own destiny. In one sense, +indeed, we may admit a human genus,--such as every man must be in his +individual entireness. + +Man has been called a microcosm, or little world. And such, however +mean and contemptible to others, is man to himself; nay, such he must +ever be, whether he wills it or not. He may hate, he may despise, yet +he cannot but cling to that without which he is not; he is the centre +and the circle, be it of pleasure or of pain; nor can he be other. +Touch him with misery, and he becomes paramount to the whole +world,--to a thousand worlds; for the beauty and the glory of the +universe are as nothing to him who is all darkness. Then it is that he +will _feel_, should he have before doubted, that he is not a mere +part, a fraction, of his kind, but indeed a world; and though little +in one sense, yet a world of awful magnitude in its capacity of +suffering. In one word, Man is a whole, _an Individual_. + +If the preceding argument be admitted, it will be found to have +relieved the student of two delusive dogmas,--and the more delusive, +as carrying with them a plausible show of science. + +As to the flowery declamations about Beauty, they would not here be +noticed, were they not occasionally met with in works of high merit, +and not unfrequently mixed up with philosophic truth. If they have +any definite meaning, it amounts to this,--that the Beautiful is the +summit of every possible excellence! The extravagance, not to say +absurdity, of such a proposition, confounding, as it does, all +received distinctions, both in the moral and the natural world, needs +no comment. It is hardly to be believed, however, that the writers in +question could have deliberately intended this. It is more probable, +that, in so expressing themselves, they were only giving vent to an +enthusiastic feeling, which we all know is generally most vague when +associated with admiration; it is not therefore strange that the +ardent expression of it should partake of its vagueness. Among the +few critical works of authority in which the word is so used, we may +mention the (in many respects admirable) Discourses of Sir Joshua +Reynolds, where we find the following sentence:--"The _beauty_ of +the Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; +which, of course, would present three different Ideas of Beauty." If +this had been said of various animals, differing in _kind_, the +term so applied might, perhaps, have been appropriate. But the same +term is here applied to objects of the same kind, differing not +essentially even in age; we say _age_, inasmuch as in the three +great divisions, or periods, of human life, namely, childhood, +youth, and maturity, the characteristic conditions of each are so +_essentially_ distinct, as virtually to separate them into +positive kinds. + +But it is no less idle than invidious to employ our time in +overturning the errors of others; if we establish Truth, they will +fall of themselves. There cannot be two right sides to any question; +and, if we are right, what is opposed to us must of necessity he +wrong. Whether we are so or not must be determined by those who admit +or reject what has already been advanced on the subject of Beauty, in +the first Discourse. It will be remembered, that, in the course of our +argument there, we were brought to the conclusion, that Beauty was +the Idea of a certain physical _condition_, both general and +ultimate; general, as presiding over objects of many kinds, and +ultimate, as being the _perfection_ of that peculiar condition in +each, and therefore not applicable to, or representing, its degrees +in any; which, as approximations only to the one supreme Idea, should +truly be distinguished by other terms. Accordingly, we cannot, +strictly speaking, say of two persons of the same age and sex, +differing from each other, that they are equally beautiful. We hear +this, indeed, almost daily; it is nevertheless not the true expression +of the actual impression made on the speaker, though he may not take +the trouble to examine and compare them. But let him do so, and we +doubt not that he would find the one to rise (in however slight a +degree) above the other; and, if he did not assign a different term +to the lower, it would be only because he was not in the habit of +marking, or did not think it worth his while to note, such nice +distinctions. + +If there is a _first_ and a _last_ to any thing, the +intermediates can be neither one nor the other; and, if we so name +them, we speak falsely. It is no less so with Beauty, which, being at +the head, or first in a series, admits no transference of its title. +We mean, if speaking strictly; which, however, we freely acknowledge, +no one can; but that is owing to the insufficiency of language, which +in no dialect could supply a hundredth part of the terms needed to +mark every minute shade of difference. Perhaps no subject requiring a +wider nomenclature has one so contracted; and the consequence is, +that no subject is more obscured by vague expressions. But it is the +business of the Artist, if he cannot form to himself the corresponding +terms, to be prepared at least to perceive and to note these various +shades. We do not say, that an actual acquaintance with all the nice +distinctions is an essential requisite, but only that it will not be +altogether useless to be aware of their existence; at any rate, it +may serve to shield him from the annoyance of false criticism, when +censured for wanting beauty where its presence would have been an +impertinence. + +Before we quit the subject, it may not be amiss to observe, that, in +the preceding remarks, our object has been not so much to insist on +correct speaking as correct thinking. The poverty of language, +as already admitted, has made the former impossible; but, though +constrained in this, as in many other cases where a subordinate is put +for its principal, to apply the term Beautiful to its various degrees, +yet a right apprehension of what Beauty _is_ may certainly +prevent its misapplication as to other objects having no relation to +it. Nor is this a small matter where the avoiding of confusion is an +object desirable; and there is clearly some difference between an +approach to precision and utter vagueness. + +We have now to consider how far the Correspondence between the +outward form and the inward being, which is assumed by the Artist, is +supported by fact. + +In a fair statement, then, of facts, it cannot be denied that with +the mass of men the outward intimation of character is certainly very +faint, with many obscure, and with some ambiguous, while with others +it has often seemed to express the very reverse of the truth. Perhaps +a stronger instance of the latter could hardly occur than that cited +in a former discourse in illustration of the physical relation of +Beauty; where it was shown that the first and natural impression from +a beautiful form was not only displaced, but completely reversed, by +the revolting discovery of a moral discrepancy. But while we admit, on +the threshold, that the Correspondence in question cannot be sustained +as universally obvious, it is, nevertheless, not apprehended that this +admission can affect our argument, which, though in part grounded +on special cases of actual coincidence, is yet supported by other +evidences, which lead us to regard all such discrepancies rather as +exceptions, and as so many deviations from the original law of our +nature, nay, which lead us also rationally to infer at least a future, +potential correspondence in every individual. To the past, indeed, we +cannot appeal; neither can the past be cited against us, since little +is known of the early history of our race but a chronicle of their +actions; of their outward appearance scarcely any thing, certainly not +enough to warrant a decision one way or the other. Should we assume, +then, the Correspondence as a primeval law, who shall gainsay it? It +is not, however, so asserted. We may nevertheless hold it as a matter +of _faith_; and simply as such it is here submitted. But faith of +any kind must have some ground to rest on, either real or supposed, +either that of authority or of inference. Our ground of faith, then, +in the present instance, is in the universal desire amongst men to +_realize_ the Correspondence. Nothing is more common than, +on hearing or reading of any remarkable character, to find this +instinctive craving, if we may so term it, instantly awakened, and +actively employed in picturing to the imagination some corresponding +form; nor is any disappointment more general, than that which follows +the detection of a discrepancy on actual acquaintance. Indeed, we can +hardly deem it rash, should we rest the validity of this universal +desire on the common experience of any individual, taken at +random,--provided only that he has a particle of imagination. Nor +is its action dependent on our caprice or will. Ask any person of +ordinary cultivation, not to say refinement, how it is with him, +when, his imagination has not been forestalled by some definite fact; +whether he has never found himself _involuntarily_ associating +the good with the beautiful, the energetic with the strong, the +dignified with the ample, or the majestic with the lofty; the refined +with the delicate, the modest with the comely; the base with the +ugly, the brutal with the misshapen, the fierce with the coarse and +muscular, and so on; there being scarcely a shade of character to +which the imagination does not affix some corresponding form. + +In a still more striking form may we find the evidence of the law +supposed, if we turn to the young, and especially to those of a poetic +temperament,--to the sanguine, the open, and confiding, the creatures +of impulse, who reason best when trusting only to the spontaneous +suggestions of feeling. What is more common than implicit faith in +their youthful day-dreams,--a faith that lives, though dream after +dream vanish into common air when the sorcerer Fact touches their +eyes? And whence this pertinacious faith that _will_ not die, but +from a spring of life, that neither custom nor the dry understanding +can destroy? Look at the same Youth at a more advanced age, when the +refining intellect has mixed with his affections, adding thought and +sentiment to every thing attractive, converting all things fair to +things also of good report. Let us turn, at the same time, to one +still more advanced,--even so far as to have entered into the +conventional valley of dry bones,--one whom the world is preparing, +by its daily practical lessons, to enlighten with unbelief. If we see +them together, perhaps we shall hear the senior scoff at his younger +companion as a poetic dreamer, as a hunter after phantoms that never +were, nor could be, in nature: then may follow a homily on the virtues +of experience, as the only security against disappointment. But there +are some hearts that never suffer the mind to grow old. And such we +may suppose that of the dreamer. If he is one, too, who is accustomed +to look into himself,--not as a reasoner,--but with an abiding faith +in his nature,--we shall, perhaps, hear him reply,--Experience, it is +true, has often brought me disappointment; yet I cannot distrust those +dreams, as you call them, bitterly as I have felt their passing off; +for I feel the truth of the source whence they come. They could not +have been so responded to by my living nature, were they but phantoms; +they could not have taken such forms of truth, but from a possible +ground. + +By the word _poetic_ here, we do not mean the visionary or +fanciful,--for there may be much fancy where there is no poetic +feeling,--but that sensibility to _harmony_ which marks the +temperament of the Artist, and which is often most active in his +earlier years. And we refer to such natures, not only as being more +peculiarly alive to all existing affinities, but as never satisfied +with those merely which fall within their experience; ever striving, +on the contrary, as if impelled by instinct, to supply the deficiency +wherever it is felt. From such minds proceed what are called romantic +imaginings, but what we would call--without intending a paradox--the +romance of Truth. For it is impossible that the mind should ever have +this perpetual craving for the False. + +But the desire in question is not confined to any particular age or +temperament, though it is, doubtless, more ardent in some than in +others. Perhaps it is only denied to the habitually vicious. For who, +not hardened by vice, has ever looked upon a sleeping child in its +first bloom of beauty, and seen its pure, fresh hues, its ever +varying, yet according lines, moulding and suffusing, in their playful +harmony, its delicate features,--who, not callous, has ever looked +upon this exquisite creature, (so like what a poet might fancy of +visible music, or embodied odors,) and has not felt himself carried, +as it were, out of this present world, in quest of its moral +counterpart? It seems to us perfect; we desire no change,--not a line +or a hue but as it is; and yet we have a paradoxical feeling of a +want,--for it is all _physical_; and we supply that want by +endowing the child with some angelic attribute. Why do we this? To +make it a _whole_,--not to the eye, but to the mind. + +Nor is this general disposition to find a coincidence between a fair +exterior and moral excellence altogether unsupported by facts of, at +least, a partial realization. For, though a perfect correspondence +cannot be looked for in a state where all else is imperfect, he +is most unfortunate who has never met with many, and very near, +approximations to the desired union. But we have a still stronger +assurance of their predetermined affinity in the peculiar activity of +this desire where there is no such approximation. For example, when we +meet with an instance of the higher virtues in an unattractive form, +how natural the wish that that form were beautiful! So, too, on +beholding a beautiful person, how common the wish that the mind +it clothed were also good! What are these wishes but unconscious +retrospects to our primitive nature? And why have we them, if they be +not the workings of that universal law, which gathers to itself all +scattered affinities, bodying them forth in the never-ending forms of +harmony,--in the flower, in the tree, in the bird, and the animal,--if +they be not the evidence of its continuous, though fruitless, effort +to evolve too in _man_ its last consummate work, by the perfect +confluence of the body and the spirit? In this universal yearning (for +it seems to us no less) to connect the physical with its appropriate +moral,--to say nothing of the mysterious intuition that points to +the appropriate,--is there not something like a clew to what was +originally natural? And, again, in the never-ceasing strivings of the +two great elements of our being, each to supply the deficiencies of +the other, have we not also an intimation of something that _once +was_, that is now lost, and would be recovered? Surely there must +be more in this than a mere concernment of Art;--if, indeed, there be +not in Art more of the prophetic than we are now aware of. To us +it seems that this irrepressible desire to find the good in the +beautiful, and the beautiful in the good, implies an end, both +beyond and above the trifling present; pointing to deep and dark +questions,--to no less than where the mysteries which surround us will +meet their solution. One great mystery we see in part resolving itself +here. We see the deformities of the body sometimes giving place to +its glorious tenant. Some of us may have witnessed this, and felt +the spiritual presence gaining daily upon us, till the outward shape +seemed lost in its brightness, leaving no trace in the memory. + +Whether the position we have endeavoured to establish be disputed or +not, the absolute correspondence between the Moral and the Physical +is, at any rate, the essential ground of the Plastic arts; which could +not else exist, since through _Form alone_ they have to convey, +not only thought and emotion, but distinct and permanent character. +For our own part, we cannot but consider their success in this as +having settled the question. + +From the view here presented, what is the inference in relation to +Art? That Man, as a compound being, cannot be represented without an +indication as well of Mind as of body; that, by a natural law which we +cannot resist, we do continually require that they be to us as mutual +exponents, the one of the other; and, finally, that, as a responsible +being, and therefore a free agent, he cannot be truly represented, +either to the memory or to the imagination, but as an Individual. + +It would seem, also, from the indefinite varieties in men, though +occasioned only by the mere difference of degrees in their common +faculties and powers, that the coincidence of an equal developement of +all was never intended in nature; but that some one or more of them, +becoming dominant, should distinguish the individual. It follows, +therefore, if this be the case, that only through the phase of such +predominance can the human being ever be contemplated. To the Artist, +then, it becomes the only safe ground; the starting-point from +whence to ascend to a true Ideal,--which is no other than a partial +individual truth made whole in the mind: and thus, instead of one +Ideal, and that baseless, he may have a thousand,--nay, as many as +there are marked or apprehensible _individuals_. + +But we must not be understood as confining Art to actual portraits. +Within such limits there could not be Art,--certainly not Art in its +highest sense; we should have in its place what would be little better +than a doubtful empiricism; since the most elevated subject, in the +ablest hands, would depend, of necessity, on the chance success of a +search after models. And, supposing that we bring together only the +rarest forms, still those forms, simply as circumscribed portraits, +and therefore insulated parts, would instantly close every avenue +to the imagination; for such is the law of the imagination, that it +cannot admit, or, in other words, recognize as a whole, that which +remains unmodified by some imaginative power, which alone can give +unity to separate and distinct objects. Yet, as it regards man, +all true Art does, and must, find its proper object in the +_Individual_: as without individuality there could not be +character, nor without character, the human being. + +But here it may be asked, In what manner, if we resort not to actual +portrait, is the Individual Man to be expressed? We answer, By +carrying out the natural individual predominant _fragment_ which +is visible to us in actual Form, to its full, consistent developement. +The Individual is thus idealized, when, in the complete accordance of +all its parts, it is presented to the mind as a _whole_. + +When we apply the term _fragment_ to a human being, we do not +mean in relation to his species, (in regard to which we have already +shown him to be a distinct whole,) but in relation to the Idea, to +which his predominant characteristic suggests itself but as a +partial manifestation, and made partial because counteracted by +some inadequate exponent, or else modified by other, though minor, +characteristics. + +How this is effected must be left to the Artist himself. It is +impossible to prescribe a rule that would be to much purpose for any +one who stands in need of such instruction; if his own mind does not +suggest the mode, it would not even be intelligible. Perhaps our +meaning, however, may be made more obvious, if we illustrate it by +example. We would refer, then, to the restoration of a statue, (a +thing often done with success,) where, from a single fragment, the +unknown Form has been completely restored, and so remoulded, that the +parts added are in perfect unity with the suggestive fragment. Now the +parts wanting having never been seen, this cannot be called a mere +act of the memory. Nevertheless, it is not from nothing that man can +produce even the _semblance_ of any thing. The materials of the +Artist are the work of Him who created the Artist himself; but over +these, which his senses and mind are given him to observe and collect, +he has a _delegated power_, for the purpose of combining and +modifying, as unlimited as mysterious. It is by the agency of this +intuitive and assimilating Power, elsewhere spoken of, that he is able +to separate the essential from the accidental, to proceed also from a +part to the whole; thus educing, as it were, an Ideal nature from the +germs of the Actual. + +Nor does the necessity of referring to Nature preclude the +Imaginative, or any other class of Art that rests its truth in the +desires of the mind. In an especial manner must the personification +of Sentiment, of the Abstract, which owe their interest to the common +desire of rendering permanent, by embodying, that which has given us +pleasure, take its starting-point from the Actual; from something +which, by universal association or particular expression, shall recall +the Sentiment, Thought, or Time, and serve as their exponents; there +being scarcely an object in Nature which the spirit of man has not, as +it were, impressed with sympathy, and linked with his being. Of this, +perhaps, we could not have a more striking example than in the Aurora +of Michael Angelo: which, if not universal, is not so only because +the faculty addressed is by no means common. For, as the peculiar +characteristic of the Imaginative is its suggestive power, the effect +of this figure must of necessity differ in different minds. As in many +other cases, there must needs be at least some degree of sympathy with +the mind that imagined it, in order to any impression; and the degree +in which that is made will always be in proportion to the congeniality +between the agent and the recipient. Should it appear, then, to any +one as a thing of no meaning, it is not therefore conclusive that the +Artist has failed. For, if there be but one in a thousand to whose +mind it recalls the deep stillness of Night, gradually broken by the +awakening stir of Day, with its myriad forms of life emerging into +motion, while their lengthened shadows, undistinguished from their +objects, seem to people the earth with gigantic beings; then the dim, +gray monotony of color transforming them to stone, yet leaving them +in motion, till the whole scene becomes awful and mysterious as with +moving statues;--if there be but one in ten thousand who shall have +thus imagined, as he stands before this embodied Dawn, then is it, for +every purpose of feeling through the excited imagination, as true and +real as if instinct with life, and possessing the mind by its living +will. Nor is the number so rare of those who have thus felt the +suggestive sorcery of this sublime Statue. But the mind so influenced +must be one to respond to sublime emotions, since such was the +emotion which inspired the Artist. If susceptible only to the gay and +beautiful, it will not answer. For this is not the Aurora of golden +purple, of laughing flowers and jewelled dew-drops; but the dark +Enchantress, enthroned on rocks, or craggy mountains, and whose proper +empire is the shadowy confines of light and darkness. + +How all this is done, we shall not attempt to explain. Perhaps the +Artist himself could not answer; as to the _quo modo_ in every +particular, we doubt if it were possible to satisfy another. He may +tell us, indeed, that having imagined certain appearances and effects +peculiar to the Time, he endeavoured to imbue, as it were, some +_human form_ with the sentiment they awakened, so that the +embodied sentiment should associate itself in the spectator's mind +with similar images; and further endeavoured, that the _form_ +selected should, by its air, attitude, and gigantic proportions, also +excite the ideas of vastness, solemnity, and repose; adding to this +that indefinite expression, which, while it is felt to act, still +leaves no trace of its indistinct action. So far, it is true, he may +retrace the process; but of the _informing life_ that quickened +his fiction, thus presenting the presiding Spirit of that ominous +Time, he knows nothing but that he felt it, and imparted it to the +insensible marble. + +And now the question will naturally occur, Is all that has been done +by the learned in Art, to establish certain canons of Proportion, +utterly useless? By no means. If rightly applied, and properly +considered,--as it seems to us they must have been by the great +artists of Antiquity,--as _expedient fictions_, they undoubtedly +deserve at least a careful examination. And, inasmuch as they are the +result of a comparison of the finest actual forms through successive +ages, and as they indicate the general limits which Nature has been +observed to assign to her noblest works, they are so far to be valued. +But it must not be forgotten, that, while a race, or class, may be +generally marked by a certain average height and breadth, or curve and +angle, still is every class and race composed of _Individuals_, +who must needs, as such, differ from each other; and though the +difference be slight, yet is it "the little more, or the little less," +which often separates the great from the mean, the wise from the +foolish, in human character;--nay, the widest chasms are sometimes +made by a few lines: so that, in every individual case, the limits in +question are rather to be departed from, than strictly adhered to. + +The canon of the Schools is easily mastered by every student who has +only memory; yet of the hundreds who apply it, how few do so to any +purpose! Some ten or twenty, perhaps, call up life from the quarry, +and flesh and blood from the canvas; the rest conjure in vain with +their canon; they call up nothing but the dead measures. Whence the +difference? The answer is obvious,--In the different minds they each +carry to their labors. + +But let us trace, with the Artist, the beginning and progress of a +successful work; a picture, for instance. His method of proceeding may +enable us to ascertain how far he is assisted by the science, so called, +of which we are speaking. He adjusts the height and breadth of his figures +according to the canon, either by the division of heads or faces, as most +convenient. By these means, he gets the general divisions in the easiest +and most expeditious way. But could he not obtain them without such aid? +He would answer, Yes, by the eye alone; but it would be a waste of time +were he so to proceed, since he would have to do, and undo, perhaps twenty +times, before he could erect this simple scaffolding; whereas, by applying +these rules, whose general truth is already admitted, he accomplishes his +object in a few minutes. Here we admit the use of the canon, and admire +the facility with which it enables his hand, almost without the aid of a +thought, thus to lay out his work. But here ends the science; and here +begins what may seem to many the work of mutilation: a leg, an arm, a +trunk, is increased, or diminished; line after line is erased, or +retrenched, or extended, again and again, till not a trace remains of the +original draught. If he is asked now by what he is guided in these +innumerable changes, he can only answer, By the feeling within me. Nor can +he better tell _how_ he knows when he has _hit the mark_. The same feeling +responds to its truth; and he repeats his attempts until that is +satisfied. + +It would appear, then, that in the Mind alone is to be found the true +or ultimate Rule,--if, indeed, that can be called a rule which +changes its measure with every change of character. It is therefore +all-important that every aid be sought which may in any way contribute +to the due developement of the mental powers; and no one will doubt +the efficiency here of a good general education. As to the course of +study, that must be left in a great measure to be determined by the +student; it will be best indicated by his own natural wants. We +may observe, however, that no species of knowledge can ever be +_oppressive_ to real genius, whose peculiar privilege is that of +subordinating all things to the paramount desire. But it is not likely +that a mind so endowed will be long diverted by any studies that do +not either strengthen its powers by exercise, or have a direct bearing +on some particular need. + +If the student be a painter, or a sculptor, he will not need to be +told that a knowledge of the human being, in all his complicated +springs of action, is not more essential to the poet than to him. Nor +will a true Artist require to be reminded, that, though _himself_ +must be his ultimate dictator and judge, the allegiance of the world +is not to be commanded either by a dreamer or a dogmatist. And +nothing, perhaps, would be more likely to secure him from either +character, than the habit of keeping his eyes open,--nay, his very +heart; nor need he fear to open it to the whole world, since nothing +not kindred will enter there to abide; for + + "Evil into the mind ... + May come and go, so unapproved, and leave + No spot or blame behind." + +And he may also be sure that a pure heart will shed a refining light +on his intellect, which it may not receive from any other source. + +It cannot be supposed that an Artist, so disciplined, will overlook +the works of his predecessors,--especially those exquisite remains of +Antiquity which time has spared to us. But to his own discretion must +be left the separating of the factitious from the true,--a task of +some moment; for it cannot be denied that a mere antiquarian respect +for whatever is ancient has preserved, with the good, much that is +worthless. Indeed, it is to little purpose that the finest forms are +set before us, if we _feel_ not their truth. And here it may be +well to remark, that an injudicious _word_ has often given a +wrong direction to the student, from which he has found it difficult +to recover when his maturer mind has perceived the error. It is a +common thing to hear such and such statues, or pictures, recommended +as _models_. If the advice is followed,--as it too often is +_literally_,--the consequence must be an offensive mannerism; +for, if repeating himself makes an artist a mannerist, he is still +more likely to become one if he repeat another. There is but one model +that will not lead him astray,--which is Nature: we do not mean what +is merely obvious to the senses, but whatever is so acknowledged by +the mind. So far, then, as the ancient statues are found to represent +her,--and the student's own feeling must be the judge of that,--they +are undoubtedly both true and important objects of study, as +presenting not only a wider, but a higher view of Nature, than might +else be commanded, were they buried with their authors; since, with +the finest forms of the fairest portion of the earth, we have also in +them the realized Ideas of some of the greatest minds. In like manner +may we extend our sphere of knowledge by the study of all those +productions of later ages which have stood this test. There is no +school from which something may not be learned. But chiefly to the +Italian should the student be directed, who would enlarge his views +on the present subject, and especially to the works of Raffaelle and +Michael Angelo; in whose highest efforts we have, so to speak, +certain revelations of Nature which could only have been made by her +privileged seers. And we refer to them more particularly, as to the +two great sovereigns of the two distinct empires of Truth,--the +Actual and the Imaginative; in which their claims are acknowledged +by _that_ within us, of which we know nothing but that it +_must_ respond to all things true. We refer to them, also, as +important examples in their mode of study; in which it is evident +that, whatever the source of instruction, it was never considered as a +law of servitude, but rather as the means of giving visible shape to +their own conceptions. + +From the celebrated antique fragment, called the Torso, Michael Angelo +is said to have constructed his forms. If this be true,--and we have +no reason to doubt it,--it could nevertheless have been to him little +more than a hint. But that is enough to a man of genius, who stands +in need, no less than others, of a point to start from. There was +something in this fragment which he seems to have felt, as if of a +kindred nature to the unembodied creatures in his own mind; and he +pondered over it until he mastered the spell of its author. He then +turned to his own, to the germs of life that still awaited birth, +to knit their joints, to attach the tendons, to mould the +muscles,--finally, to sway the limbs by a mighty will. Then emerged +into being that gigantic race of the Sistina,--giants in mind no less +than in body, that appear to have descended as from another planet. +His Prophets and Sibyls seem to carry in their persons the commanding +evidence of their mission. They neither look nor move like beings to +be affected by the ordinary concerns of life; but as if they could +only be moved by the vast of human events, the fall of empires, the +extinction of nations; as if the awful secrets of the future had +overwhelmed in them all present sympathies. As we have stood before +these lofty apparitions of the painter's mind, it has seemed to us +impossible that the most vulgar spectator could have remained there +irreverent. + +With many critics it seems to have been doubted whether much that +we now admire in Raffaelle would ever have been but for his great +contemporary. Be this as it may, it is a fact of history, that, after +seeing the works of Michael Angelo, both his form and his style +assumed a breadth and grandeur which they possessed not before. +And yet these great artists had little, if any thing, in common; +a sufficient proof that an original mind may owe, and even freely +acknowledge, its impetus to another without any self-sacrifice. + +As Michael Angelo adopted from others only what accorded with his +own peculiar genius, so did Raffaelle; and, wherever collected, the +materials of both could not but enter their respective minds as their +natural aliment. + +The genius of Michael Angelo was essentially _Imaginative_. It +seems rarely to have been excited by the objects with which we are +daily familiar; and when he did treat them, it was rather as things +past, as they appear to us through the atmosphere of the hallowing +memory. We have a striking instance of this in his statue of Lorenzo +de' Medici; where, retaining of the original only enough to mark the +individual, and investing the rest with an air of grandeur that should +accord with his actions, he has left to his country, not a mere +effigy of the person, but an embodiment of the mind; a portrait +for posterity, in which the unborn might recognize Lorenzo the +Magnificent. + +But the mind of Raffaelle was an ever-flowing fountain of human +sympathies; and in all that concerns man, in his vast varieties and +complicated relations, from the highest forms of majesty to the +humblest condition of humanity, even to the maimed and misshapen, he +may well be called a master. His Apostles, his philosophers, and most +ordinary subordinates, are all to us as living beings; nor do we feel +any doubt that they all had mothers, and brothers, and kindred. In +the assemblage of the Apostles (already referred to) at the Death of +Ananias, we look upon men whom the effusion of the Spirit has equally +sublimated above every unholy thought; a common power seems to have +invested them all with a preternatural majesty. Yet not an iota of the +_individual_ is lost in any one; the gentle bearing and amenity +of John still follow him in his office of almoner; nor in Peter does +the deep repose of the erect attitude of the Apostle, as he deals the +death-stroke to the offender by a simple bend of his finger, subdue +the energetic, sanguine temperament of the Disciple. + +If any man may be said to have reigned over the hearts of his fellows, +it was Raffaelle Sanzio. Not that he knew better what was in the +hearts and minds of men than many others, but that he better +understood their relations to the external. In this the greatest names +in Art fall before him; in this he has no rival; and, however derived, +or in whatever degree improved by study, in him it seems to have risen +to intuition. We know not how he touches and enthralls us; as if he +had wrought with the simplicity of Nature, we see no effort; and we +yield as to a living influence, sure, yet inscrutable. + +It is not to be supposed that these two celebrated Artists were at all +times successful. Like other men, they had their moments of weakness, +when they fell into manner, and gave us diagrams, instead of life. +Perhaps no one, however, had fewer lapses of this nature than +Raffaelle; and yet they are to be found in some of his best works. We +shall notice now only one instance,--the figure of St. Catherine in +the admirable picture of the Madonna di Sisto; in which we see an +evident rescript from the Antique, with all the received lines of +beauty, as laid down by the analyst,--apparently faultless, yet +without a single inflection which the mind can recognize as allied to +our sympathies; and we turn from it coldly, as from the work of an +artificer, not of an Artist. But not so can we turn from the intense +life, that seems almost to breathe upon us from the celestial group of +the Virgin and her Child, and from the Angels below: in these we have +the evidence of the divine afflatus,--of inspired Art. + +In the works of Michael Angelo it were easy to point out numerous +examples of a similar failure, though from a different cause; not from +mechanically following the Antique, but rather from erecting into +a model the exaggerated _shadow_ of his own practice; from +repeating lines and masses that might have impressed us with grandeur +but for the utter absence of the informing soul. And that such is the +character--or rather want of character--of many of the figures in his +Last Judgment cannot be gainsaid by his warmest admirers,--among whom +there is no one more sincere than the present writer. But the failures +of great men are our most profitable lessons,--provided only, that we +have hearts and heads to respond to their success. + +In conclusion. We have now arrived at what appears to us the +turning-point, that, by a natural reflux, must carry us back to our +original Position; in other words, it seems to us clear, that the +result of the argument is that which was anticipated in our main +Proposition; namely, that no given number of Standard Forms can with +certainty apply to the Human Being; that all Rules therefore, thence +derived, can only be considered as _Expedient Fictions_, and +consequently subject to be _overruled_ by the Artist,--in whose +mind alone is the ultimate Rule; and, finally, that without an +intimate acquaintance with Nature, in all its varieties of the moral, +intellectual, and physical, the highest powers are wanting in their +necessary condition of action, and are therefore incapable of +supplying the Rule. + + + + +Composition. + + + +The term Composition, in its general sense, signifies the union of +things that were originally separate: in the art of Painting it +implies, in addition to this, such an arrangement and reciprocal +relation of these materials, as shall constitute them so many +essential parts of a whole. + +In a true Composition of Art will be found the following +characteristics:--First, Unity of Purpose, as expressing the general +sentiment or intention of the Artist. Secondly, Variety of Parts, as +expressed in the diversity of shape, quantity, and line. Thirdly, +Continuity, as expressed by the connection of parts with each other, +and their relation to the whole. Fourthly, Harmony of Parts. + +As these characteristics, like every thing which the mind can +recognize as true, all have their origin in its natural desires, they +may also be termed Principles; and as such we shall consider them. In +order, however, to satisfy ourselves that they are truly such, and not +arbitrary assumptions, or the traditional dogmas of Practice, it may +be well to inquire whence is their authority; for, though the ultimate +cause of pleasure and pain may ever remain to us a mystery, yet it is +not so with their intermediate causes, or the steps that lead to them. + +With respect to Unity of Purpose, it is sufficient to observe, that, +where the attention is at the same time claimed by two objects, having +each a different end, they must of necessity break in upon that free +state required of the mind in order to receive a full impression from +either. It is needless to add, that such conflicting claims cannot, +under any circumstances, be rendered agreeable. And yet this most +obvious requirement of the mind has sometimes been violated by great +Artists,--though not of authority in this particular, as we shall +endeavour to show in another place. + +We proceed, meanwhile, to the second principle, namely, Variety; by +which is to be understood _difference_, yet with _relation_ +to a _common end_. + +Of a ruling Principle, or Law, we can only get a notion by observing the +effects of certain things in relation to the mind; the uniformity of +which leads us to infer something which is unchangeable and permanent. +It is in this way that, either directly or indirectly, we learn the +existence of certain laws that invariably control us. Thus, indirectly, +from our disgust at monotony, we infer the necessity of variety. But +variety, when carried to excess, results in weariness. Some limitation, +therefore, seems no less needed. It is, however, obvious, that all +attempts to fix the limit to Variety, that shall apply as a universal +rule, must be nugatory, inasmuch as the _degree_ must depend on the +_kind_, and the kind on the subject treated. For instance, if the +subject be of a gay and light character, and the emotions intended to be +excited of a similar nature, the variety may be carried to a far greater +extent than in one of a graver character. In the celebrated Marriage at +Cana, by Paul Veronese, we see it carried, perhaps, to its utmost +limits; and to such an extent, that an hour's travel will hardly conduct +us through all its parts; yet we feel no weariness throughout this +journey, nay, we are quite unconscious of the time it has taken. It is +no disparagement of this remarkable picture, if we consider the subject, +not according to the title it bears, but as what the Artist has actually +made it,--that is, as a Venetian entertainment; and also the effect +intended, which was to delight by the exhibition of a gorgeous +_pageant_. And in this he has succeeded to a degree unexampled; for +literally the eye may be said to _dance_ through the picture, scarcely +lighting on one part before it is drawn to another, and another, and +another, as by a kind of witchery; while the subtile interlocking of +each successive novelty leaves it no choice, but, seducing it onward, +still keeps it in motion, till the giddy sense seems to call on the +imagination to join in the revel; and every poetic temperament answers +to the call, bringing visions of its own, that mingle with the painted +crowd, exchanging forms, and giving them voice, like the creatures of a +dream. + +To those who have never seen this picture, our account of its effect +may perhaps appear incredible when they are told, that it not only +has no story, but not a single expression to which you can attach a +sentiment. It is nevertheless for this very reason that we here cite +it, as a triumphant verification of those immutable laws of the mind +to which the principles of Composition are supposed to appeal; where +the simple technic exhibition, or illustration of _Principles_, +without story, or thought, or a single definite expression, has +still the power to possess and to fill us with a thousand delightful +emotions. + +And here we cannot refrain from a passing remark on certain +criticisms, which have obtained, as we think, an undeserved currency. +To assert that such a work is solely addressed to the senses (meaning +thereby that its only end is in mere pleasurable sensation) is to give +the lie to our convictions; inasmuch as we find it appealing to one +of the mightiest ministers of the Imagination,--the great Law of +Harmony,--which cannot be _touched_ without awakening by its +vibrations, so to speak, the untold myriads of sleeping forms that lie +within its circle, that start up in tribes, and each in accordance +with the congenial instrument that summons them to action. He who +can thus, as it were, embody an abstraction is no mere pander to the +senses. And who that has a modicum of the imaginative would assert +of one of Haydn's Sonatas, that its effect on him was no other than +sensuous? Or who would ask for the _story_ in one of our gorgeous +autumnal sunsets? + +In subjects of a grave or elevated kind, the Variety will be found to +diminish in the same degree in which they approach the Sublime. In the +raising of Lazarus, by Lievens, we have an example of the smallest +possible number of parts which the nature of such a subject would +admit. And, though a different conception might authorize a much +greater number, yet we do not feel in this any deficiency; indeed, it +may be doubted if the addition of even one more part would not be felt +as obtrusive. + +By the term _parts_ we are not to be understood as including the +minutiae of dress or ornament, or even the several members of a group, +which come more properly under the head of detail; we apply the term +only to those prominent divisions which constitute the essential +features of a composition. Of these the Sublime admits the fewest. Nor +is the limitation arbitrary. By whatever causes the stronger passions +or higher faculties of the mind become pleasurably excited, if they be +pushed as it were beyond their supposed limits, till a sense of the +indefinite seems almost to partake of the infinite, to these causes we +affix the epithet _Sublime._ It is needless to inquire if such +an effect can be produced by any thing short of the vast and +overpowering, much less by the gradual approach or successive +accumulation of any number of separate forces. Every one can answer +from his own experience. We may also add, that the pleasure which +belongs to the deeper emotions always trenches on pain; and the sense +of pain leads to reaction; so that, singly roused, they will rise +but to fall, like men at a breach,--leaving a conquest, not over the +living, but the dead. The effect of the Sublime must therefore be +sudden, and to be sudden, simple, scarce seen till felt; coming like +a blast, bending and levelling every thing before it, till it passes +into space. So comes this marvellous emotion; and so vanishes,--to +where no straining of our mortal faculties will ever carry them. + +To prevent misapprehension, we may here observe, that, though the +parts be few, it does not necessarily follow that they should always +consist of simple or single objects. This narrow inference has often +led to the error of mistaking mere space for grandeur, especially +with those who have wrought rather from theory than from the true +possession of their subjects. Hence, by the mechanical arrangement +of certain large and sweeping masses of light and shadow, we are +sometimes surprised into a momentary expectation of a sublime +impression, when a nearer approach gives us only the notion of a vast +blank. And the error lies in the misconception of a mass. For a mass +is not a _thing_, but the condition of _things_; into which, +should the subject require it, a legion, a host, may be compressed, +an army with banners,--yet so that they break not the unity of their +Part, that technic form to which they are subordinate. + +The difference between a Part and a Mass is, that a Mass may include, +_per se_, many Parts, yet, in relation to a Whole, is no more +than a single component. Perhaps the same distinction may be more +simply expressed, if we define it as only a larger division, including +several _parts_, which may be said to be analogous to what is +termed the detail of a _Part_. Look at the ocean in a storm,--at +that single wave. How it grows before us, building up its waters as +with conscious life, till its huge head overlooks the mast! A million +of lines intersect its surface, a myriad of bubbles fleck it with +light; yet its terrible unity remains unbroken. Not a bubble or a line +gives a thought of minuteness; they flash and flit, ere the eye can +count them, leaving only their aggregate, in the indefinite sense +of multitudinous motion: take them away, and you take from the +_mass_ the very sign of its power, that fearful impetus which +makes it what it is,--a moving mountain of water. + +We have thus endeavoured, in the opposite characters of the Sublime +and the Gay or Magnificent, to exhibit the two extremes of Variety; of +the intermediate degrees it is unnecessary to speak, since in these +two is included all that is applicable to the rest. + +Though it is of vital importance to every composition that there be +variety of Lines, little can be said on the subject in addition to +what has been advanced in relation to parts, that is, to shape and +quantity; both having a common origin. By a line in Composition is +meant something very different from the geometrical definition. +Originally, it was no doubt used as a metaphor; but the needs of +Art have long since converted this, and many other words of like +application, (as _tone_, &c.,) into technical terms. _Line_ +thus signifies the course or medium through which the eye is led from +one part of the picture to another. The indication of this course is +various and multiform, appertaining equally to shape, to color, and to +light and dark; in a word, to whatever attracts and keeps the eye in +motion. For the regulation of these lines there is no rule absolute, +except that they vary and unite; nor is the last strictly necessary, +it being sufficient if they so terminate that the transition from one +to another is made naturally, and without effort, by the imagination. +Nor can any laws be laid down as to their peculiar character: this +must depend on the nature of the subject. + +In the wild and stormy scenes of Salvator Rosa, they break upon us +as with the angular flash of lightning; the eye is dashed up one +precipice only to be dashed down another; then, suddenly hurried to +the sky, it shoots up, almost in a direct line, to some sharp-edged +rock; whence pitched, as it were, into a sea of clouds, bellying with +circles, it partakes their motion, and seems to reel, to roll, and to +plunge with them into the depths of air. + +If we pass from Salvator to Claude, we shall find a system of lines +totally different. Our first impression from Claude is that of perfect +_unity_, and this we have even before we are conscious of a +single image; as if, circumscribing his scenes by a magic circle, he +had imposed his own mood on all who entered it. The _spell_ then +opens ere it seems to have begun, acting upon us with a vague sense of +limitless expanse, yet so continuous, so gentle, so imperceptible in +its remotest gradations, as scarcely to be felt, till, combining +with unity, we find the feeling embodied in the complete image of +intellectual repose,--fulness and rest. The mind thus disposed, the +charmed eye glides into the scene: a soft, undulating light leads it +on, from bank to bank, from shrub to shrub; now leaping and sparkling +over pebbly brooks and sunny sands; now fainter and fainter, dying +away down shady slopes, then seemingly quenched in some secluded dell; +yet only for a moment,--for a dimmer ray again carries it onward, +gently winding among the boles of trees and rambling vines, that, +skirting the ascent, seem to hem in the twilight; then emerging +into day, it flashes in sheets over towers and towns, and woods and +streams, when it finally dips into an ocean, so far off, so twin-like +with the sky, that the doubtful horizon, unmarked by a line, leaves no +point of rest: and now, as in a flickering arch, the fascinated eye +seems to sail upward like a bird, wheeling its flight through a +mottled labyrinth of clouds, on to the zenith; whence, gently +inflected by some shadowy mass, it slants again downward to a mass +still deeper, and still to another, and another, until it falls into +the darkness of some massive tree,--focused like midnight in the +brightest noon: there stops the eye, instinctively closing, and giving +place to the Soul, there to repose and to dream her dreams of romance +and love. + +From these two examples of their general effect, some notion may be +gathered of the different systems of the two Artists; and though +no mention has been made of the particular lines employed, their +distinctive character may readily be inferred from the kind of motion +given to the eye in the descriptions we have attempted. In the +rapid, abrupt, contrasted, whirling movement in the one, we have an +exposition of an irregular combination of curves and angles; while the +simple combination of the parabola and the serpentine will account for +all the imperceptible transitions in the other. + +It would be easy to accumulate examples from other Artists who differ +in the economy of line not only from these but from each other; as +Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, Correggio, Titian, Poussin,--in a word, +every painter deserving the name of master: for lines here may be +called the tracks of thought, in which we follow the author's mind +through his imaginary creations. They hold, indeed, the same relation +to Painting that versification does to Poetry, an element of style; +for what is meant by a line in Painting is analogous to that which +in the sister art distinguishes the abrupt gait of Crabbe from the +sauntering walk of Cowley, and the "long, majestic march" of Dryden +from the surging sweep of Milton. + +Of Continuity little needs be said, since its uses are implied in the +explanation of Line; indeed, all that can be added will be expressed +in its essential relation to a _whole_, in which alone it differs +from a mere line. For, though a line (as just explained) supposes a +continuous course, yet a line, _per se_, does not necessarily +imply any relation to other lines. It will still be a line, though +standing alone; but the principle of continuity may be called +the unifying spirit of every line. It is therefore that we have +distinguished it as a separate principle. + +In fact, if we judge from feeling, the only true test, it is no +paradox to say that the excess of variety must inevitably end in +monotony; for, as soon as the sense of fatigue begins, every new +variety but adds to the pain, till the succeeding impressions are at +last resolved into continuous pain. But, supposing a limit to variety, +where the mind may be pleasurably excited, the very sense of pleasure, +when it reaches the extreme point, will create the desire of renewing +it, and naturally carry it back to the point of starting; thus +superinducing, with the renewed enjoyment, the fulness of pleasure, in +the sense of a whole. + +It is by this summing up, as it were, of the memory, through +recurrence, not that we perceive,--which is instantaneous,--but that +we enjoy any thing as a whole. If we have not observed it in others, +some of us, perhaps, may remember it in ourselves, when we have stood +before some fine picture, though with a sense of pleasure, yet for +many minutes in a manner abstracted,--silently passing through all its +harmonious transitions without the movement of a muscle, and hardly +conscious of action, till we have suddenly found ourselves returning +on our steps. Then it was,--as if we had no eyes till then,--that +the magic Whole poured in upon us, and vouched for its truth in an +outbreak of rapture. + +The fourth and last division of our subject is the Harmony of Parts; +or the essential agreement of one part with another, and of each with +the whole. In addition to our first general definition, we may further +observe, that by a Whole in Painting is signified the complete +expression, by means of form, color, light, and shadow, of one +thought, or series of thoughts, having for their end some +particular truth, or sentiment, or action, or mood of mind. We say +_thought_, because no images, however put together, can ever +be separated by the mind from other and extraneous images, so as to +comprise a positive whole, unless they be limited by some intellectual +boundary. A picture wanting this may have fine parts, but is not a +Composition, which implies parts united to each other, and also suited +to some specific purpose, otherwise they cannot be known as united. +Since Harmony, therefore, cannot be conceived of without reference to +a whole, so neither can a whole be imagined without fitness of parts. +To give this fitness, then, is the ultimate task and test of genius: +it is, in fact, calling form and life out of what before was but a +chaos of materials, and making them the subject and exponents of the +will. As the master-principle, also, it is the disposer, regulator, +and modifier of shape, line, and quantity, adding, diminishing, +changing, shaping, till it becomes clear and intelligible, and it +finally manifests itself in pleasurable identity with the harmony +within us. + +To reduce the operation of this principle to precise rules is, +perhaps, without the province of human power: we might else expect to +see poets and painters made by recipe. As in many other operations of +the mind, we must here be content to note a few of the more tangible +facts, if we may be allowed the phrase, which have occasionally been +gathered by observation during the process. The first fact presented +is, that equal quantities, when coming together, produce monotony, +and, if at all admissible, are only so when absolutely needed, at +a proper distance, to echo back or recall the theme, which would +otherwise be lost in the excess of variety. We speak of quantity here +as of a mass, not of the minutiae; for _the essential components_ +of a part may often be _equal quantities_, (as in a piece of +architecture, of armour, &c.,) which are analogous to poetic feet, for +instance, a spondee. The same effect we find from parallel lines and +repetition of shapes. Hence we obtain the law of a limited variety. +The next is, that the quantities must be so disposed as to balance +each other; otherwise, if all or too many of the larger be on one +side, they will endanger the imaginary circle, or other figure, by +which every composition is supposed to be bounded, making it appear +"lop-sided," or to be falling either in upon the smaller quantities, +or out of the picture: from which we infer the necessity of balance. +If, without others to counteract and restrain them, the parts +converge, the eye, being forced to the centre, becomes stationary; in +like manner, if all diverge, it is forced to fly off in tangents: +as if the great laws of Attraction and Repulsion were here also +essential, and illustrated in miniature. If we add to these Breadth, I +believe we shall have enumerated all the leading phenomena of +Harmony, which experience has enabled us to establish as rules. By +_breadth_ is meant such a massing of the quantities, whether +by color, light, or shadow, as shall enable the eye to pass without +obstruction, and by easy transitions, from one to another, so that it +shall appear to take in the whole at a glance. This may be likened to +both the exordium and peroration of a discourse, including as well +the last as the first general idea. It is, in other words, a simple, +connected, and concise exposition and summary of what the artist +intends. + +We have thus endeavoured to arrange and to give a logical permanency +to the several principles of Composition. It is not to be supposed, +however, that in these we have every principle that might be named; +but they are all, as we conceive, that are of universal application. +Of other minor, or rather personal ones, since they pertain to the +individual, the number can only be limited by the variety of the +human intellect, to which these may be considered as so many simple +elementary guides; not to create genius, but to enable it to +understand itself, and by a distinct knowledge of its own operations +to correct its mistakes,--in a word, to establish the landmarks +between the flats of commonplace and the barrens of extravagance. And, +though the personal or individual principles referred to may not with +propriety be cited as examples in a general treatise like the present, +they are not only not to be overlooked, but are to be regarded by the +student as legitimate objects of study. To the truism, that we can +only judge of other minds by a knowledge of our own, we may add +its converse as especially true. In that mysterious tract of the +intellect, which we call the Imagination, there would seem to lie +hid thousands of unknown forms, of which we are often for years +unconscious, until they start up awakened by the footsteps of a +stranger. Hence it is that the greatest geniuses, as presenting a +wider field for excitement, are generally found to be the widest +likers; not so much from affinity, or because they possess the +precise kinds of excellence which they admire, but often from the +_differences_ which these very excellences in others, as the +exciting cause, awaken in themselves. Such men may be said to be +endowed with a double vision, an inward and an outward; the inward +seeing not unfrequently the reverse of what is seen by the outward. +It was this which caused Annibal Caracci to remark, on seeing for the +first time a picture by Caravaggio, that he thought a style totally +opposite might be made very captivating; and the hint, it is said, +sunk deep into and was not lost on Guido, who soon after realized what +his master had thus imagined. Perhaps no one ever caught more from +others than Raffaelle. I do not allude to his "borrowing," so +ingeniously, not soundly, defended by Sir Joshua, but rather to his +excitability, (if I may here apply a modern term,)--that inflammable +temperament, which took fire, as it were, from the very friction +of the atmosphere. For there was scarce an excellence, within his +knowledge, of his predecessors or contemporaries, which did not in a +greater or less degree contribute to the developement of his powers; +not as presenting models of imitation, but as shedding new light on +his own mind, and opening to view its hidden treasures. Such to him +were the forms of the Antique, of Leonardo da Vinci, and of Michael +Angelo, and the breadth and color of Fra Bartolomeo,--lights that +first made him acquainted with himself, not lights that he followed; +for he was a follower of none. To how many others he was indebted for +his impulses cannot now be known; but the new impetus he was known to +have received from every new excellence has led many to believe, that, +had he lived to see the works of Titian, he would have added to his +grace, character, and form, and with equal originality, the splendor +of color. "The design of Michael Angelo and the color of Titian," was +the inscription of Tintoretto over the door of his painting-room. +Whether he intended to designate these two artists as his future +models matters not; but that he did not follow them is evidenced in +his works. Nor, indeed, could he: the temptation to _follow_, +which his youthful admiration had excited, was met by an interdiction +not easily withstood,--the decree of his own genius. And yet the +decree had probably never been heard but for these very masters. Their +presence stirred him; and, when he thought of serving, his teeming +mind poured out its abundance, making _him_ a master to future +generations. To the forms of Michael Angelo he was certainly indebted +for the elevation of his own; there, however, the inspiration ended. +With Titian he was nearly allied in genius; yet he thought rather with +than after him,--at times even beyond him. Titian, indeed, may be said +to have first opened his eyes to the mysteries of nature; but they +were no sooner opened, than he rushed into them with a rapidity and +daring unwont to the more cautious spirit of his master; and, though +irregular, eccentric, and often inferior, yet sometimes he made his +way to poetical regions, of whose celestial hues even Titian himself +had never dreamt. + +We might go on thus with every great name in Art. But these examples +are enough to show how much even the most original minds, not only +may, but _must_, owe to others; for the social law of our nature +applies no less to the intellect than to the affections. When applied +to genius, it may be called the social inspiration, the simple +statement of which seems to us of itself a solution of the +oft-repeated question, "Why is it that genius always appears in +clusters?" To Nature, indeed, we must all at last recur, as to the +only true and permanent foundation of real excellence. But Nature is +open to all men alike, in her beauty, her majesty, her grandeur, and +her sublimity. Yet who will assert that all men see, or, if they see, +are impressed by these her attributes alike? Nay, so great is the +difference, that one might almost suppose them inhabitants of +different worlds. Of Claude, for instance, it is hardly a metaphor to +say that he lived in two worlds during his natural life; for Claude +the pastry-cook could never have seen the same world that was made +visible to Claude the painter. It was human sympathy, acting through +human works, that gave birth to his intellect at the age of forty. +There is something, perhaps, ludicrous in the thought of an infant of +forty. Yet the fact is a solemn one, that thousands die whose minds +have never been born. + +We could not, perhaps, instance a stronger confutation of the vulgar +error which opposes learning to genius, than the simple history of +this remarkable man. In all that respects the mind, he was literally a +child, till accident or necessity carried him to Rome; for, when the +office of color-grinder, added to that of cook, by awakening his +curiosity, first excited a love for the Art, his progress through its +rudiments seems to have been scarcely less slow and painful than that +of a child through the horrors of the alphabet. It was the struggle of +one who was learning to think; but, the rudiments being mastered, he +found himself suddenly possessed, not as yet of thought, but of new +forms of language; then came thoughts, pouring from his mind, and +filling them as moulds, without which they had never, perhaps, had +either shape or consciousness. + +Now what was this new language but the product of other minds,--of +successive minds, amending, enlarging, elaborating, through successive +ages, till, fitted to all its wants, it became true to the Ideal, and +the vernacular tongue of genius through all time? The first inventor +of verse was but the prophetic herald of Homer, Shakspeare, and +Milton. And what was Rome then but the great University of Art, where +all this accumulated learning was treasured? + +Much has been said of self-taught geniuses, as opposed to those who +have been instructed by others: but the distinction, it appears to +us, is without a difference; for it matters not whether we learn in a +school or by ourselves,--we cannot learn any thing without in some way +recurring to other minds. Let us imagine a poet who had never read, +never heard, never conversed with another. Now if he will not be +taught in any thing by another, he must strictly preserve this +independent negation. Truly the verses of such a poet would be a +miracle. Of similar self-taught painters we have abundant examples in +our aborigines,--but nowhere else. + +But, while we maintain, as a positive law of our nature, the necessity +of mental intercourse with our fellow-creatures, in order to the full +developement of the _individual_, we are far from implying that +any thing which is actually taken from others can by any process +become our own, that is, original. We may reverse, transpose, +diminish, or add to it, and so skilfully that no scam or mutilation +shall be detected; and yet we shall not make it appear original,--in +other words, _true_, the offspring of _one_ mind. A borrowed +thought will always be borrowed; as it will be felt as such in its +_effect_, even while we are ourselves unconscious of the fact: +for it will want that _effect of life_, which only the first mind +can give it[3]. + + +Of the multifarious retailers of the second-hand in style, the class +is so numerous as to make a selection difficult: they meet us at every +step in the history of the Art. One instance, however, may suffice, +and we select Vernet, as uniting in himself a singular and striking +example of the _false_ and the _true_; and also as the least +invidious instance, inasmuch as we may prove our position by opposing +him to himself. + +In the landscapes of Vernet, (when not mere views,) we see the +imitator of Salvator, or rather copyist of his lines; and these we +have in all their angular nakedness, where rocks, trees, and mountains +are so jagged, contorted, and tumbled about, that nothing but an +explosion could account for their assemblage. They have not the +relation which we sometimes find even in a random collocation, as in +the accidental pictures of a discolored wall; for the careful hand +of the contriver is traced through all this disorder; nay, the very +execution, the conventional dash of pencil, betrays what a lawyer +would call the _malice prepense_ of the Artist in their strange +disfigurement. To many this may appear like hypercriticism; but we +sincerely believe that no one, even among his admirers, has ever been +deceived into a real sympathy with such technical flourishes: they +are felt as factitious; as mere diagrams of composition deduced from +pictures. + +Now let us look at one of his Storms at Sea, when he wrought from his +own mind. A dark leaden atmosphere prepares us for something fearful: +suddenly a scene of tumult, fierce, wild, disastrous, bursts upon us; +and we feel the shock drive, as it were, every other thought from the +mind: the terrible vision now seizes the imagination, filling it with +sound and motion: we see the clouds fly, the furious waves one upon +another dashing in conflict, and rolling, as if in wrath, towards the +devoted ship: the wind blows from the canvas; we hear it roar through +her shrouds; her masts bend like twigs, and her last forlorn hope, +the close-reefed foresail, streams like a tattered flag: a terrible +fascination still constrains us to look, and a dim, rocky shore looms +on her lee: then comes the dreadful cry of "Breakers ahead!" the crew +stand appalled, and the master's trumpet is soundless at his lips. +This is the uproar of nature, and we _feel_ it to be _true_; +for here every line, every touch, has a meaning. The ragged clouds, +the huddled waves, the prostrate ship, though forced by contrast +into the sharpest angles, all agree, opposed as they seem,--evolving +harmony out of apparent discord. And this is Genius, which no +criticism can ever disprove. + +But all great names, it is said, must have their shadows. In our Art +they have many shadows, or rather I should say, reflections; which +are more or less distinct according to their proximity to the living +originals, and, like the images in opposite mirrors, becoming +themselves reflected and re-reflected with a kind of battledoor +alternation, grow dimmer and dimmer till they vanish from mere +distance. + +Thus have the great schools of Italy, Flanders, and Holland lived and +walked after death, till even their ghosts have become familiar to us. + +We would not, however, be understood as asserting that we receive +pleasure only from original works: this would be contradicting +the general experience. We admit, on the contrary, that there are +hundreds, nay, thousands, of pictures having no pretensions to +originality of any kind, which still afford pleasure; as, indeed, +do many things out of the Art, which we know to be second-hand, or +imperfect, and even trifling. Thus grace of manner, for instance, +though wholly unaided by a single definite quality, will often delight +us, and a ready elocution, with scarce a particle of sense, make +commonplace agreeable; and it seems to be, that the pain of mental +inertness renders action so desirable, that the mind instinctively +surrounds itself with myriads of objects, having little to recommend +them but the property of keeping it from stagnating. And we are +far from denying a certain value to any of these, provided they +be innocent: there are times when even the wisest man will find +commonplace wholesome. All we have attempted to show is, that the +effect of an original work, as opposed to an imitation, is marked by +a difference, not of degree merely, but of kind; and that this +difference cannot fail to be felt, not, indeed, by every one, but by +any competent judge, that is, any one in whom is developed, by +natural exercise, that internal sense by which the spirit of life is +discerned. + + * * * * * + +Every original work becomes such from the infusion, so to speak, of +the mind of the Author; and of this the fresh materials of nature +alone seem susceptible. The imitated works of man cannot be endued +with a second life, that is, with a second mind: they are to the +imitator as air already breathed. + + * * * * * + +What has been said in relation to Form--that the works of our +predecessors, so far as they are recognized as true, are to be +considered as an extension of Nature, and therefore proper objects +of study--is equally applicable to Composition. But it is not to be +understood that this extended Nature (if we may so term it) is in any +instance to be imitated as a _whole_, which would be bringing our +minds into bondage to another; since, as already shown in the second +Discourse, every original work is of necessity impressed with the mind +of its author. If it be asked, then, what is the advantage of such +study, we shall endeavour to show, that it is not merely, as some have +supposed, in enriching the mind with materials, but rather in widening +our view of excellence, and, by consequent excitement, expanding our +own powers of observation, reflection, and performance. By increasing +the power of performance, we mean enlarging our knowledge of the +technical process, or the medium through which thought is expressed; +a most important species of knowledge, which, if to be otherwise +attained, is at least most readily learned from those who have left us +the result of their experience. This technical process, which has been +well called the language of the Art, includes, of course, all that +pertains to Composition, which, as the general medium, also contains +most of the elements of this peculiar tongue. + +From the gradual progress of the various arts of civilization, it +would seem that only under the action of some great _social_ law +can man arrive at the full developement of his powers. In our +Art especially is this true; for the experience of one man must +necessarily be limited, particularly if compared with the endless +varieties of form and effect which diversify the face of Nature; and +the finest of these, too, in their very nature transient, or of rare +occurrence, and only known to occur to those who are prepared to seize +them in their rapid transit; so that in one short life, and with but +one set of senses, the greatest genius can learn but little. The +Artist, therefore, must needs owe much to the living, and more to the +dead, who are virtually his companions, inasmuch as through their +works they still live to our sympathies. Besides, in our great +predecessors we may be said to possess a multiplied life, if life +be measured by the number of acts,--which, in this case, we may all +appropriate to ourselves, as it were by a glance. For the dead in Art +may well be likened to the hardy pioneers of our own country, who have +successively cleared before us the swamps and forests that would have +obstructed our progress, and opened to us lands which the efforts of +no individual, however persevering, would enable him to reach. + + + + +Aphorisms. + +Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio. + + + +1. "No genuine work of Art ever was, or ever can be, produced but for +its own sake; if the painter does not conceive to please himself, he +will not finish to please the world."--FUSELI. + +2. If an Artist love his Art for its own sake, he will delight in +excellence wherever he meets it, as well in the work of another as in +his own. This is the test of a true love. + +3. Nor is this genuine love compatible with a craving for distinction; +where the latter predominates, it is sure to betray itself before +contemporary excellence, either by silence, or (as a bribe to the +conscience) by a modicum of praise. + +The enthusiasm of a mind so influenced is confined to itself. + +4. Distinction is the consequence, never the object, of a great mind. + +5. The love of gain never made a Painter; but it has marred many. + +6. The most common disguise of Envy is in the praise of what is +subordinate. + +7. Selfishness in Art, as in other things, is sensibility kept at +home. + +8. The Devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the +phrase "devilish good" has sometimes a literal meaning. + +9. The most intangible, and therefore the worst, kind of lie is a +half truth. This is the peculiar device of a _conscientious_ +detractor. + +10. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading +only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own +littleness by elevating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. +He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look +down. Of such minds are mannerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of +all sorts. + +11. No right judgment can ever be formed on any subject having a moral +or intellectual bearing without benevolence; for so strong is man's +natural self-bias, that, without this restraining principle, he +insensibly becomes a competitor in all such cases presented to his +mind; and, when the comparison is thus made personal, unless the odds +be immeasurably against him, his decision will rarely be impartial. +In other words, no one can see any thing as it really is through the +misty spectacles of self-love. We must wish well to another in order +to do him justice. Now the virtue in this good-will is not to blind us +to his faults, but to our own rival and interposing merits. + +12. In the same degree that we overrate ourselves, we shall underrate +others; for injustice allowed at home is not likely to be corrected +abroad. Never, therefore, expect justice from a vain man; if he has +the negative magnanimity not to disparage you, it is the most you can +expect. + +13. The Phrenologists are right in placing the organ of self-love in +the back of the head, it being there where a vain man carries his +intellectual light; the consequence of which is, that every man he +approaches is obscured by his own shadow. + +14. Nothing is rarer than a solitary lie; for lies breed like Surinam +toads; you cannot tell one but out it comes with a hundred young ones +on its back. + +15. If the whole world should agree to speak nothing but truth, what +an abridgment it would make of speech! And what an unravelling there +would be of the invisible webs which men, like so many spiders, now +weave about each other! But the contest between Truth and Falsehood +is now pretty well balanced. Were it not so, and had the latter the +mastery, even language would soon become extinct, from its very +uselessness. The present superfluity of words is the result of the +warfare. + +16. A witch's skiff cannot more easily sail in the teeth of the wind, +than the human _eye_ lie against fact; but the truth will oftener +quiver through lips with a lie upon them. + +17. An open brow with a clenched hand shows any thing but an open +purpose. + +18. It is a hard matter for a man to lie _all over_. Nature +having provided king's evidence in almost every member. The hand will +sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every +feature is set the other way; the knees smite together, and sound the +alarm of fear, under a fierce countenance; and the legs shake with +anger, when all above is calm. + +19. Nature observes a variety even in her correspondences; insomuch +that in parts which seem but repetitions there will be found a +difference. For instance, in the human countenance, the two sides of +which are never identical. Whenever she deviates into monotony, +the deviation is always marked as an exception by some striking +deficiency; as in idiots, who are the only persons that laugh equally +on both sides of the mouth. + +The insipidity of many of the antique Statues may be traced to the +false assumption of identity in the corresponding parts. No work +wrought by _feeling_ (which, after all, is the ultimate rule of +Genius) was ever marked by this monotony. + +20. He is but half an orator who turns his hearers into spectators. +The best gestures (_quoad_ the speaker) are those which he cannot +help. An unconscious thump of the fist or jerk of the elbow is more +to the purpose, (whatever that may be,) than the most graceful +_cut-and-dried_ action. It matters not whether the orator +personates a trip-hammer or a wind-mill; if his mill but move with the +grist, or his hammer knead the iron beneath it, he will not fail of +his effect. An impertinent gesture is more likely to knock down the +orator than his opponent. + +21. The only true independence is in humility; for the humble man +exacts nothing, and cannot be mortified,--expects nothing, and cannot +be disappointed. Humility is also a healing virtue; it will cicatrize +a thousand wounds, which pride would keep for ever open. But humility +is not the virtue of a fool; since it is not consequent upon any +comparison between ourselves and others, but between what we are and +what we ought to be,--which no man ever was. + +22. The greatest of all fools is the proud fool,--who is at the mercy +of every fool he meets. + +23. There is an essential meanness in the wish to _get the +better_ of any one. The only competition worthy, of a wise man is +with himself. + +24. He that argues for victory is but a gambler in words, seeking to +enrich himself by another's loss. + +25. Some men make their ignorance the measure of excellence; these +are, of course, very fastidious critics; for, knowing little, they can +find but little to like. + +26. The Painter who seeks popularity in Art closes the door upon his +own genius. + +27. Popular excellence in one age is but the _mechanism_ of what +was good in the preceding; in Art, the _technic_. + +28. Make no man your idol, for the best man must have faults; and his +faults will insensibly become yours, in addition to your own. This is +as true in Art as in morals. + +29. A man of genius should not aim at praise, except in the form of +_sympathy_; this assures him of his success, since it meets the +feeling which possessed himself. + +30. Originality in Art is the individualizing the Universal; in other +words, the impregnating some general truth with the individual mind. + +31. The painter who is content with the praise of the world in respect +to what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; +for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a +mechanic,--for his time, and not for his art. + +32. _Reputation_ is but a synonyme of _popularity_; +dependent on suffrage, to be increased or diminished at the will of +the voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of its particular age, or +rather of a particular state of society; consequently, dying with that +which sustained it. Hence we can scarcely go over a page of history, +that we do not, as in a church-yard, tread upon some buried +reputation. But fame cannot be voted down, having its immediate +foundation in the essential. It is the eternal shadow of excellence, +from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but +in the light of an intellect kindred with that of its author. It is +that light which projects the shadow which is seen of the multitude, +to be wondered at and reverenced, even while so little comprehended +as to be often confounded with the substance,--the substance being +admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the economy of +Providence to provide such lights: like rising and setting stars, they +follow each other through successive ages: and thus the monumental +form of Genius stands for ever relieved against its own imperishable +shadow. + +33. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, +then, for something beyond the true, we wish for that which is false. +According to this test, how little truth is there in Art! Little +indeed! but how much is that little to him who feels it! + +34. Fame does not depend on the _will_ of any man, but Reputation +may be given or taken away. Fame is the sympathy of kindred +intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of _willing_; while +Reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence +which may either be uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, +being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of +the envious and the ignorant; but Fame, whose very birth is +_posthumous_, and which is only known _to exist by the echo of +its footsteps through congenial minds_, can neither be increased +nor diminished by any degree of will. + +35. What _light_ is in the natural world, such is _fame_ +in the intellectual; both requiring an _atmosphere_ in order +to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some +minds, a nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible _in +vacuo_. + +36. Fame has no necessary conjunction with Praise: it may exist without +the breath of a word; it is a _recognition of excellence_, which _must +be felt_, but need not be _spoken_. Even the envious must feel it,--feel +it, and hate it, in silence. + +37. I cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever labored for +it; that is, _directly_. For, as fame is but the contingent of +excellence, it would be like an attempt to project a shadow, before +its substance was obtained. Many, however, have so fancied. "I write, +I paint, for fame," has often been repeated: it should have been, "I +write, I paint, for reputation." All anxiety, therefore, about Fame +should be placed to the account of Reputation. + +38. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained +_excellence_, when it is not all in all to him. Nay, I may add, +that, if he looks beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not the +less true for being good _Irish_. + +39. An original mind is rarely understood, until it has been +_reflected_ from some half-dozen congenial with it, so averse +are men to admitting the _true_ in an unusual form; whilst any +novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor +is this to be wondered at; for all truth demands a response, and few +people care to _think_, yet they must have something to supply +the place of thought. Every mind would appear original, if every man +had the power of _projecting_ his own into the mind of others. + +40. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the +monstrous. For no man knows himself as an original; he can only +believe it on the report of others to whom _he is made known_, as +he is by the projecting power before spoken of. + +41. There is one thing which no man, however generously disposed, can +_give_, but which every one, however poor, is bound to _pay_. This is +Praise. He cannot give it, because it is not his own,--since what is +dependent for its very existence on something in another can never +become to him a _possession_; nor can he justly withhold it, when the +presence of merit claims it as a _consequence_. As praise, then, cannot +be made a _gift_, so, neither, when not his due, can any man receive it: +he may think he does, but he receives only _words_; for _desert_ being +the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one +without the other. This is no fanciful statement; for, though praise may +be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the +course of time, an existing merit will, on _some one_, produce its +effects; inasmuch as the existence of any cause without its effect is an +impossibility. A fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an +_irreversible justice_ for the weal or woe of him who confirms or +violates it. + + * * * * * + +[From the back of a pencil sketch.] + +Let no man trust to the gentleness, the generosity, or seeming +goodness of his heart, in the hope that they alone can safely bear him +through the temptations of this world. This is a state of probation, +and a perilous passage to the true beginning of life, where even the +best natures need continually to be reminded of their weakness, and +to find their only security in steadily referring all their thoughts, +acts, affections, to the ultimate end of their being: yet where, +imperfect as we are, there is no obstacle too mighty, no temptation +too strong, to the truly humble in heart, who, distrusting themselves, +seek to be sustained only by that holy Being who is life and power, +and who, in his love and mercy, has promised to give to those that +ask.--Such were my reflections, to which I was giving way on reading +this melancholy story. + +If he is satisfied with them, he may rest assured that he is neither +fitted for this world nor the next. Even in this, there are wrongs and +sorrows which no human remedy can reach;--no, tears cannot restore +what is lost. + + * * * * * + +[Written in a book of sketches, with a pencil.] + +A real debt of gratitude--that is, founded on a disinterested act of +kindness--cannot be cancelled by any subsequent unkindness on the part +of our benefactor. If the favor be of a pecuniary nature, we may, +indeed, by returning an equal or greater sum, balance the moneyed part; +but we cannot _liquidate_ the _kind motive_ by the setting off against +it any number of unkind ones. For an after injury can no more _undo_ a +previous kindness, than we can _prevent_ in the future what has happened +in the past. So neither can a good act undo an ill one: a fearful truth! +For good and evil have a moral _life_, which nothing in time can +extinguish; the instant they _exist_, they start for Eternity. How, +then, can a man who has _once_ sinned, and who has not of _himself_ +cleansed his soul, be fit for heaven where no sin can enter? I seek not +to enter into the mystery of the _atonement_, "which even the angels +sought to comprehend and could not"; but I feel its truth in an +unutterable conviction, and that, without it, all flesh must perish. +Equally deep, too, and unalienable, is my conviction that "the fruit of +sin is misery." A second birth to the soul is therefore a necessity +which sin _forces_ upon us. Ay,--but not against the desperate _will_ +that rejects it. + +This conclusion was not anticipated when I wrote the first sentence of +the preceding paragraph. But it does not surprise me. For it is but a +recurrence of what I have repeatedly experienced; namely, that I never +lighted on _any truth_ which I _inwardly felt_ as such, however +apparently remote from our religious being, (as, for instance, in the +philosophy of my art,) that, by following it out, did not find its +illustration and confirmation in some great doctrine of the Bible,--the +only true philosophy, the sole fountain of light, where the dark +questions of the understanding which have so long stood, like chaotic +spectres, between the fallen soul and its reason, at once lose their +darkness and their terror. + + + + +The Hypochondriac.[4] + + + + He would not taste, but swallowed life at once; + And scarce had reached his prime ere he had bolted, + With all its garnish, mixed of sweet and sour, + Full fourscore years. For he, in truth, did wot not + What most he craved, and so devoured all; + Then, with his gases, followed Indigestion, + Making it food for night-mares and their foals. + + _Bridgen_.[5] + + +It was the opinion of an ancient philosopher, that we can have no want +for which Nature does not provide an appropriate gratification. As it +regards our physical wants, this appears to be true. But there are +moral cravings which extend beyond the world we live in; and, were we +in a heathen age, would serve us with an unanswerable argument for the +immortality of the soul. That these cravings are felt by all, there +can be no doubt; yet that all feel them in the same degree would be as +absurd to suppose, as that every man possesses equal sensibility or +understanding. Boswell's desires, from his own account, seem to have +been limited to reading Shakspeare in the other world,--whether with +or without his commentators, he has left us to guess; and Newton +probably pined for the sight of those distant stars whose light has +not yet reached us. What originally was the particular craving of my +own mind I cannot now recall; but that I had, even in my boyish days, +an insatiable desire after something which always eluded me, I well +remember. As I grew into manhood, my desires became less definite; and +by the time I had passed through college, they seemed to have resolved +themselves into a general passion for _doing_. + +It is needless to enumerate the different subjects which one after +another engaged me. Mathematics, metaphysics, natural and moral +philosophy, were each begun, and each in turn given up in a passion of +love and disgust. + +It is the fate of all inordinate passions to meet their extremes; +so was it with mine. Could I have pursued any of these studies with +moderation, I might have been to this day, perhaps, both learned and +happy. But I could be moderate in nothing. Not content with being +employed, I must always be _busy_; and business, as every one +knows, if long continued, must end in fatigue, and fatigue in disgust, +and disgust in change, if that be practicable,--which unfortunately +was my case. + +The restlessness occasioned by these half-finished studies brought +on a severe fit of self-examination. Why is it, I asked myself, that +these learned works, which have each furnished their authors with +sufficient excitement to effect their completion, should thus weary me +before I get midway into them? It is plain enough. As a reader I +am merely a recipient, but the composer is an active agent; a vast +difference! And now I can account for the singular pleasure, which +a certain bad poet of my acquaintance always took in inflicting his +verses on every one who would listen to him; each perusal being but a +sort of mental echo of the original bliss of composition. I will set +about writing immediately. + +Having, time out of mind, heard the epithet _great_ coupled with +Historians, it was that, I believe, inclined me to write a history. +I chose my subject, and began collating, and transcribing, night and +day, as if I had not another hour to live; and on I went with the +industry of a steam-engine; when it one day occurred to me, that, +though I had been laboring for months, I had not yet had occasion for +one original thought. Pshaw! said I, 't is only making new clothes out +of old ones. I will have nothing more to do with history. + +As it is natural for a mind suddenly disgusted with mechanic toil to +seek relief from its opposite, it can easily be imagined that my next +resource was Poetry. Every one rhymes now-a-days, and so can I. Shall +I write an Epic, or a Tragedy, or a Metrical Romance? Epics are out of +fashion; even Homer and Virgil would hardly be read in our time, but +that people are unwilling to admit their schooling to have been thrown +away. As to Tragedy, I am a modern, and it is a settled thing that no +modern _can_ write a tragedy; so I must not attempt that. Then +for Metrical Romances,--why, they are now manufactured; and, as the +Edinburgh Review says, may be "imported" by us "in bales." I will bind +myself to no particular class, but give free play to my imagination. +With this resolution I went to bed, as one going to be inspired. The +morning came; I ate my breakfast, threw up the window, and placed +myself in my elbow-chair before it. An hour passed, and nothing +occurred to me. But this I ascribed to a fit of laughter that seized +me, at seeing a duck made drunk by eating rum-cherries. I turned my +back on the window. Another hour followed, then another, and another: +I was still as far from poetry as ever; every object about me seemed +bent against my abstraction; the card-racks fascinating me like +serpents, and compelling me to read, as if I would get them by heart, +"Dr. Joblin," "Mr. Cumberback," "Mr. Milton Bull," &c. &c. I took up +my pen, drew a sheet of paper from my writing-desk, and fixed my eyes +upon that;--'t was all in vain; I saw nothing on it but the watermark, +_D. Ames_. I laid down the pen, closed my eyes, and threw my +head back in the chair. "Are you waiting to be shaved, Sir?" said +a familiar voice. I started up, and overturned my servant. "No, +blockhead!"--"I am waiting to be inspired";--but this I added +mentally. What is the cause of my difficulty? said I. Something within +me seemed to reply, in the words of Lear, "Nothing comes of nothing." +Then I must seek a subject. I ran over a dozen in a few minutes, chose +one after another, and, though twenty thoughts very readily occurred +on each, I was fain to reject them all; some for wanting pith, some +for belonging to prose, and others for having been worn out in the +service of other poets. In a word, my eyes began to open on the truth, +and I felt convinced that _that_ only was poetry which a man +writes because he cannot help writing; the irrepressible effluence +of his secret being on every thing in sympathy with it,--a kind of +_flowering_ of the soul amid the warmth and the light of nature. +I am no poet, I exclaimed, and I will not disfigure Mr. Ames with +commonplace verses. + +I know not how I should have borne this second disappointment, had not +the title of a new Novel, which then came into my head, suggested a +trial in that branch of letters. I will write a Novel. Having come to +this determination, the next thing was to collect materials. They must +be sought after, said I, for my late experiment has satisfied me that +I might wait for ever in my elbow-chair, and they would never come to +me; they must be toiled for,--not in books, if I would not deal in +second-hand,--but in the world, that inexhaustible storehouse of +all kinds of originals. I then turned over in my mind the various +characters I had met with in life; amongst these a few only seemed +fitted for any story, and those rather as accessories; such as a +politician who hated popularity, a sentimental grave-digger, and a +metaphysical rope-dancer; but for a hero, the grand nucleus of my +fable, I was sorely at a loss. This, however, did not discourage me. I +knew he might be found in the world, if I would only take the trouble +to look for him. For this purpose I jumped into the first stage-coach +that passed my door; it was immaterial whither bound, my object being +men, not places. My first day's journey offered nothing better than a +sailor who rebuked a member of Congress for swearing. But at the third +stage, on the second day, as we were changing horses, I had the good +fortune to light on a face which gave promise of all I wanted. It was +so remarkable that I could not take my eyes from it; the forehead +might have been called handsome but for a pair of enormous eyebrows, +that seemed to project from it like the quarter-galleries of a ship, +and beneath these were a couple of small, restless, gray eyes, which, +glancing in every direction from under their shaggy brows, sparkled +like the intermittent light of fire-flies; in the nose there was +nothing remarkable, except that it was crested by a huge wart with a +small grove of black hairs; but the mouth made ample amends, being +altogether indescribable, for it was so variable in its expression, +that I could not tell whether it had most of the sardonic, the +benevolent, or the sanguinary, appearing to exhibit them all in +succession with equal vividness. My attention, however, was mainly +fixed by the sanguinary; it came across me like an east wind, and +I felt a cold sweat damping my linen; and when this was suddenly +succeeded by the benevolent, I was sure I had got at the secret of +his character,--no less than that of a murderer haunted by remorse. +Delighted with this discovery, I made up my mind to follow the owner +of the face wherever he went, till I should learn his history. I +accordingly made an end of my journey for the present, upon learning +that the stranger was to pass some time in the place where we stopped. +For three days I made minute inquiries; but all I could gather was, +that he had been a great traveller, though of what country no one +could tell me. On the fourth day, finding him on the move, I took +passage in the same coach. Now, said I, is my time of harvest. But I +was mistaken; for, in spite of all the lures which I threw out to +draw him into a communicative humor, I could get nothing from him but +monosyllables. So far from abating my ardor, this reserve only the +more whetted my curiosity. At last we stopped at a pleasant village +in New Jersey. Here he seemed a little better known; the innkeeper +inquiring after his health, and the hostler asking if the balls he +had supplied him with fitted the barrels of his pistols. The latter +inquiry I thought was accompanied by a significant glance, that +indicated a knowledge on the hostler's part of more than met the ear; +I determined therefore to sound him. After a few general remarks, that +had nothing to do with any thing, by way of introduction, I began by +hinting some random surmises as to the use to which the stranger might +have put the pistols he spoke of; inquired whether he was in the habit +of loading them at night; whether he slept with them under his pillow; +if he was in the practice of burning a light while he slept; and if +he did not sometimes awake the family by groans, or by walking with +agitated steps in his chamber. But it was all in vain, the man +protesting that he never knew any thing ill of him. Perhaps, thought +I, the hostler having overheard his midnight wanderings, and detected +his crime, is paid for keeping the secret. I pumped the landlord, and +the landlady, and the barmaid, and the chambermaid, and the waiters, +and the cook, and every thing that could speak in the house; still to +no purpose, each ending his reply with, "Lord, Sir, he's as honest a +gentleman, for aught I know, as any in the world"; then would come a +question,--"But perhaps _you_ know something of him yourself?" +Whether my answer, though given in the negative, was uttered in such a +tone as to imply an affirmative, thereby exciting suspicion, I cannot +tell; but it is certain that I soon after perceived a visible change +towards him in the deportment of the whole household. When he spoke to +the waiters, their jaws fell, their fingers spread, their eyes rolled, +with every symptom of involuntary action; and once, when he asked the +landlady to take a glass of wine with him, I saw her, under pretence +of looking out of the window, throw it into the street; in short, the +very scullion fled at his approach, and a chambermaid dared not +enter his room unless under guard of a large mastiff. That these +circumstances were not unobserved by him will appear by what follows. + +Though I had come no nearer to facts, this general suspicion, added to +the remarkable circumstance that no one had ever heard his name (being +known only as _the gentleman_) gave every day new life to my +hopes. He is the very man, said I; and I began to revel in all the +luxury of detection, when, as I was one night undressing for bed, my +attention was caught by the following letter on my table. + + "SIR, + + "If you are the gentleman you would be thought, you will not + refuse satisfaction for the diabolical calumnies you have so + unprovokedly circulated against an innocent man. + + "Your obedient servant, + + "TIMOLEON BUB. + + "P.S. I shall expect you at five o'clock to-morrow morning, at the + three elms, by the river-side." + +This invitation, as may be well imagined, discomposed me not a +little. Who Mr. Bub was, or in what way I had injured him, puzzled +me exceedingly. Perhaps, thought I, he has mistaken me for another +person; if so, my appearing on the ground will soon set matters right. +With this persuasion I went to bed, somewhat calmer than I should +otherwise have been; nay, I was even composed enough to divert myself +with the folly of one bearing so vulgar an appellation taking it into +his head to play the _man of honor_, and could not help a waggish +feeling of curiosity to see if his name and person were in keeping. + +I woke myself in the morning with a loud laugh, for I had dreamt of +meeting, in the redoubtable Mr. Bub, a little pot-bellied man, with a +round face, a red snub-nose, and a pair of gooseberry wall-eyes. My +fit of pleasantry was far from passed off when I came in sight of the +fatal elms. I saw my antagonist pacing the ground with considerable +violence. Ah! said I, he is trying to escape from his unheroic name! +and I laughed again at the conceit; but, as I drew a little nearer, +there appeared a majestic altitude in his figure very unlike what I +had seen in my dream, and my laugh began to stiffen into a kind of +rigid grin. There now came upon me something very like a misgiving +that the affair might turn out to be no joke. I felt an unaccountable +wish that this Mr. Bub had never been born; still I advanced: but +if an aërolite had fallen at my feet, I could not have been more +startled, than when I found in the person of my challenger--the +mysterious stranger. The consequences of my curiosity immediately +rushed upon me, and I was no longer at a loss in what way I had +injured him. All my merriment seemed to curdle within me; and I felt +like a dog that had got his head into a jug, and suddenly finds he +cannot extricate it. "Well met, Sir," said the stranger; "now +take your ground, and abide the consequences of your infernal +insinuations." "Upon my word," replied I,--"upon my honor, Sir,"--and +there I stuck, for in truth I knew not what it was I was going to say; +when the stranger's second, advancing, exclaimed, in a voice which +I immediately recognized, "Why, zounds! Rainbow, are _you_ the +man?" "Is it you, Harman?" "What!" continued he, "my old classmate +Rainbow turned slanderer? Impossible! Indeed, Mr. Bub, there must be +some mistake here." "None, Sir," said the stranger; "I have it on +the authority of my respectable landlord, that, ever since this +gentleman's arrival, he has been incessant in his attempts to blacken +my character with every person at the inn." "Nay, my friend"--But I +put an end to Harman's further defence of me, by taking him aside, +and frankly confessing the whole truth. It was with some difficulty I +could get through the explanation, being frequently interrupted with +bursts of laughter from my auditor; which, indeed, I now began to +think very natural. In a word, to cut the story short, my friend +having repeated the conference verbatim to Mr. Bub, he was +good-natured enough to join in the mirth, saying, with one of his best +sardonics, he "had always had a misgiving that his unlucky ugly face +would one day or other be the death of somebody." Well, we passed the +day together, and having cracked a social bottle after dinner, parted, +I believe, as heartily friends as we should have been (which is saying +a great deal) had he indeed proved the favorite villain in my Novel. +But, alas! with the loss of my villain, away went the Novel. + +Here again I was at a stand; and in vain did I torture my brains +for another pursuit. But why should I seek one? In fortune I have a +competence,--why not be as independent in mind? There are thousands in +the world whose sole object in life is to attain the means of living +without toil; and what is any literary pursuit but a series of mental +labor, ay, and oftentimes more wearying to the spirits than that of +the body. Upon the whole, I came to the conclusion, that it was a very +foolish thing to do any thing. So I seriously set about trying to do +nothing. + +Well, what with whistling, hammering down all the nails in the house +that had started, paring my nails, pulling my fire to pieces and +rebuilding it, changing my clothes to full dress though I dined alone, +trying to make out the figure of a Cupid on my discolored ceiling, and +thinking of a lady I had not thought of for ten years before, I got +along the first week tolerably well. But by the middle of the second +week,--'t was horrible! the hours seemed to roll over me like +mill-stones. When I awoke in the morning I felt like an Indian +devotee, the day coming upon me like the great temple of Juggernaut; +cracking of my bones beginning after breakfast; and if I had any +respite, it was seldom for more than half an hour, when a newspaper +seemed to stop the wheels;--then away they went, crack, crack, noon +and afternoon, till I found myself by night reduced to a perfect +jelly,--good for nothing but to be ladled into bed, with a greater +horror than ever at the thought of sunrise. + +This will never do, said I; a toad in the heart of a tree lives a more +comfortable life than a nothing-doing man; and I began to perceive +a very deep meaning in the truism of "something being better than +nothing." But is a precise object always necessary to the mind? No: if +it be but occupied, no matter with what. That may easily be done. +I have already tried the sciences, and made abortive attempts in +literature, but I have never yet tried what is called general +reading;--that, thank Heaven, is a resource inexhaustible. I will +henceforth read only for amusement. My first experiment in this way +was on Voyages and Travels, with occasional dippings into Shipwrecks, +Murders, and Ghost-stories. It succeeded beyond my hopes; month after +month passing away like days, and as for days,--I almost fancied that +I could see the sun move. How comfortable, thought I, thus to travel +over the world in my closet! how delightful to double Cape Horn and +cross the African Desert in my rocking-chair,--to traverse Caffraria +and the Mogul's dominions in the same pleasant vehicle! This is living +to some purpose; one day dining on barbecued pigs in Otaheite; the +next in danger of perishing amidst the snows of Terra del Fuego; then +to have a lion cross my path in the heart of Africa; to run for my +life from a wounded rhinoceros, and sit, by mistake, on a sleeping +boa-constrictor;--this, this, said I, is life! Even the dangers of the +sea were but healthful stimulants. If I met with a tornado, it was +only an agreeable variety; water-spouts and ice-islands gave me no +manner of alarm; and I have seldom been more composed than when +catching a whale. In short, the ease with which I thus circumnavigated +the globe, and conversed with all its varieties of inhabitants, +expanded my benevolence; I found every place, and everybody in it, +even to the Hottentots, vastly agreeable. But, alas! I was doomed +to discover that this could not last for ever. Though I was still +curious, there were no longer curiosities; for the world is limited, +and new countries, and new people, like every thing else, wax stale on +acquaintance; even ghosts and hurricanes become at last familiar; and +books grow old, like those who read them. + +I was now at what sailors call a dead lift; being too old to build +castles for the future, and too dissatisfied with the life I had +led to look back on the past. In this state of mind, I bought me a +snuffbox; for, as I could not honestly recommend my disjointed self +to any decent woman, it seemed a kind of duty in me to contract such +habits as would effectually prevent my taking in the lady I had once +thought of. I set to, snuffing away till I made my nose sore, and +lost my appetite. I then threw my snuffbox into the fire, and took to +cigars. This change appeared to revive me. For a short time I thought +myself in Elysium, and wondered I had never tried them before. Thou +fragrant weed! O, that I were a Dutch poet, I exclaimed, that I might +render due honor to thy unspeakable virtues! Ineffable tobacco! Every +puff seemed like oil poured upon troubled waters, and I felt an +inexpressible calmness stealing over my frame; in truth, it seemed +like a benevolent spirit reconciling my soul to my body. But +moderation, as I have before said, was never one of my virtues. I +walked my room, pouring out volumes like a moving glass-house. My +apartment was soon filled with smoke; I looked in the glass and hardly +knew myself, my eyes peering at me, through the curling atmosphere, +like those of a poodle. I then retired to the opposite end, and +surveyed the furniture; nothing retained its original form or +position;--the tables and chairs seemed to loom from the floor, and my +grandfather's picture to thrust forward its nose like a French-horn, +while that of my grandmother, who was reckoned a beauty in her day, +looked, in her hoop, like her husband's wig-block stuck on a tub. +Whether this was a signal for the fiends within me to begin their +operations, I know not; but from that day I began to be what is called +nervous. The uninterrupted health I had hitherto enjoyed now seemed +the greatest curse that could have befallen me. I had never had the +usual itinerant distempers; it was very unlikely that I should always +escape them; and the dread of their coming upon me in my advanced age +made me perfectly miserable. I scarcely dared to stir abroad; +had sandbags put to my doors to keep out the measles; forbade my +neighbours' children playing in my yard to avoid the whooping-cough; +and, to prevent infection from the small-pox, I ordered all my male +servants' heads to be shaved, made the coachman and footman wear tow +wigs, and had them both regularly smoked whenever they returned from +the neighbouring town, before they were allowed to enter my presence. +Nor were these all my miseries; in fact, they were but a sort of +running base to a thousand other strange and frightful fancies; the +mere skeleton to a whole body-corporate of horrors. I became dreamy, +was haunted by what I had read, frequently finding a Hottentot, or a +boa-constrictor, in my bed. Sometimes I fancied myself buried in one +of the pyramids of Egypt, breaking my shins against the bones of a +sacred cow. Then I thought myself a kangaroo, unable to move because +somebody had cut off my tail. + +In this miserable state I one evening rushed out of my house. I know +not how far, or how long, I had been from home, when, hearing a +well-known voice, I suddenly stopped. It seemed to belong to a face +that I knew; yet how I should know it somewhat puzzled me, being then +fully persuaded that I was a Chinese Josh. My friend (as I afterwards +learned he was) invited me to go to his club. This, thought I, is one +of my worshippers, and they have a right to carry me wherever they +please; accordingly I suffered myself to be led. + +I soon found myself in an American tavern, and in the midst of a dozen +grave gentlemen who were emptying a large bowl of punch. They each +saluted me, some calling me by name, others saying they were happy to +make my acquaintance; but what appeared quite unaccountable was my not +only understanding their language, but knowing it to be English. A +kind of reaction now began to take place in my brain. Perhaps, said I, +I am not a Josh. I was urged to pledge my friend in a glass of punch; +I did so; my friend's friend, and his friend, and all the rest, in +succession, begged to have the same honor; I complied, again +and again, till at last, the punch having fairly turned my +head topsy-turvy, righted my understanding; and I found myself +_myself_. + +This happy change gave a pleasant fillip to my spirits. I returned +home, found no monster in my bed, and slept quietly till near noon the +next day. I arose with a slight headache and a great admiration +of punch; resolving, if I did not catch the measles from my late +adventure, to make a second visit to the club. No symptoms appearing, +I went again; and my reception was such as led to a third, and a +fourth, and a fifth visit, when I became a regular member. I believe +my inducement to this was a certain unintelligible something in three +or four of my new associates, which at once gratified and kept alive +my curiosity, in their letting out just enough of themselves while I +was with them to excite me when alone to speculate on what was kept +back. I wondered I had never met with such characters in books; and +the kind of interest they awakened began gradually to widen to others. +Henceforth I will live in the world, said I; 't is my only remedy. A +man's own affairs are soon conned; he gets them by heart till they +haunt him when he would be rid of them; but those of another can +be known only in part, while that which remains unrevealed is a +never-ending stimulus to curiosity. The only natural mode, therefore, +of preventing the mind preying on itself,--the only rational, because +the only interminable employment,--is to be busy about other people's +business. + +The variety of objects which this new course of life each day +presented, brought me at length to a state of sanity; at least, I was +no longer disposed to conjure up remote dangers to my door, or chew +the cud on my indigested past reading; though sometimes, I confess, +when I have been tempted to meddle with a very bad character, I have +invariably been threatened with a relapse; which leads me to think the +existence of some secret affinity between rogues and boa-constrictors +is not unlikely. In a short time, however, I had every reason to +believe myself completely cured; for the days began to appear of their +natural length, and I no longer saw every thing through a pair of +blue spectacles, but found nature diversified by a thousand beautiful +colors, and the people about me a thousand times more interesting than +hyenas or Hottentots. The world is now my only study, and I trust I +shall stick to it for the sake of my health. + + + + +Footnotes + + + +[1] The Frightful is not the Terrible, though often confounded with it. + +[2] See Introductory Discourse. + +[3] There is one species of imitation, however, which, as having been +practised by some of the most original minds, and also sanctioned by the +ablest writers, demands at least a little consideration; namely, the +adoption of an attitude, provided it be employed to convey a different +thought. So far, indeed, as the imitation has been confined to a +suggestion, and the attitude adopted has been modified by the new subject, +to which it was transferred, by a distinct change of character and +expression, though with but little variation in the disposition of limbs, +we may not dissent; such imitations being virtually little more than +hints, since they end in thoughts either totally different from, or more +complete than, the first. This we do not condemn, for every Poet, as well +as Artist, knows that a thought so modified is of right his own. It is the +transplanting of a tree, not the borrowing of a seed, against which we +contend. But when writers justify the appropriation, of entire figures, +without any such change, we do not agree with them; and cannot but think +that the examples they have quoted, as in the Sacrifice at Lystra, by +Raffaelle, and the Baptism, by Poussin, will fully support our position. +The antique _basso rilievo_ which Raffaelle has introduced in the former, +being certainly imitated both as to lines and grouping, is so distinct, +both in character and form, from the surrounding figures, as to render +them a distinct people, and their very air reminds us of another age. We +cannot but believe we should have had a very different group, and far +superior in expression, had he given us a conception of his own. It would +at least have been in accordance with the rest, animated with the +superstitious enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd; and especially as +sacrificing Priests would they have been amazed and awe-stricken in the +living presence of a god, instead of personating, as in the present group, +the cold officials of the Temple, going through a stated task at the +shrine of their idol. In the figure by Poussin, which he borrowed from +Michael Angelo, the discrepancy is still greater. The original figure, +which was in the Cartoon at Pisa, (now known only by a print,) is that of +a warrior who has been suddenly roused from the act of bathing by the +sound of a trumpet; he has just leaped upon the bank, and, in his haste to +obey its summons, thrusts his foot through his garment. Nothing could be +more appropriate than the violence of this action; it is in unison with +the hurry and bustle of the occasion. And this is the figure which Poussin +(without the slightest change, if we recollect aright) has transferred to +the still and solemn scene in which John baptizes the Saviour. No one can +look at this figure without suspecting the plagiarism. Similar instances +may be found in his other works; as in the Plague of the Philistines, +where the Alcibiades of Raffaelle is coolly sauntering among the dead and +dying, and with as little relation to the infected multitude as if he were +still with Socrates in the School of Athens. In the same picture may be +found also one of the Apostles from the Cartoon of the Draught of Fishes: +and we may naturally ask what business he has there. And yet such +appropriations have been made to appear no thefts, simply because no +attempt seems to have been made at concealment! But theft, we must be +allowed to think, is still theft, whether committed in the dark, or in the +face of day. And the example is a dangerous one, inasmuch as it comes from +men who were not constrained to resort to such shifts by any poverty of +invention. + +Akin to this is another and larger kind of borrowing, which, though it +cannot strictly be called copying; yet so evidently betrays a foreign +origin, as to produce the same effect. We allude to the adoption of the +peculiar lines, handling, and disposition of masses, &c., of any +particular master. + +[4] First printed in 1821, in "The Idle Man," No. II p. 38. + +[5] A feigned name.--_Editor_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11391 *** diff --git a/11391-h/11391-h.htm b/11391-h/11391-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2390841 --- /dev/null +++ b/11391-h/11391-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5743 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?> +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html> + +<head> +<title>Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + + body { + margin .5em; + font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; + } + + h1, h2, h3, h4 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + font-variant: small-caps + } + + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + + a { text-decoration: none; } + a:hover { background-color: #ffffcc } + + div.chapter { + margin-top: 4em; + } + + hr { + height: 1px; + width: 80%; + } + + div.note { + border-style: dashed; + border-width: 1px; + border-color: #000000; + background-color: #ccffcc; + width: 80%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + font-size: .8em; + } + + div.chapter > div.note { +margin: 10px; + width: 40%; + float: right; + } + + div.note p { + margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px; + } + +--> +</style> +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11391 ***</div> + +<div class="note"><p>[<span class="smallcaps">Transcriber's Note:</span> Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end.]</p></div> + + +<div class="tp"> +<h1 class="title">Lectures on Art</h1> + +<p align="center" class="smallcaps">By</p> + +<h2 class="author">Washington Allston</h2> + +<h2 class="author">Edited by Richard Henry Dana, Jr.</h2> + +<h3>MDCCCL.</h3> +</div> + + +<div id="preface"> +<h2>Preface by the Editor.</h2> + + + +<p>Upon the death of Mr. Allston, it was determined, by those who had +charge of his papers, to prepare his biography and correspondence, and +publish them with his writings in prose and verse; a work which would +have occupied two volumes of about the same size with the present. A +delay has unfortunately occurred in the preparation of the biography +and correspondence; and, as there have been frequent calls for a +publication of his poems, and of the Lectures on Art he is known to +have written, it has been thought best to give them to the public in +the present form, without awaiting the completion of the whole +design. It may be understood, however, that, when the biography +and correspondence are published, it will be in a volume precisely +corresponding with the present, so as to carry out the original +design.</p> + +<p>I will not anticipate the duty of the biographer by an extended notice +of the life of Mr. Allston; but it may be interesting to some readers +to know the outline of his life, and the different circumstances under +which the several pieces in this volume were written.</p> + +<p>WASHINGTON ALLSTON was born at Charleston, in South Carolina, on the +5th of November, 1779, of a family distinguished in the history of +that State and of the country, being a branch of a family of the +baronet rank in the titled commonalty of England. Like most young +men of the South in his position at that period, he was sent to New +England to receive his school and college education. His school days +were passed at Newport, in Rhode Island, under the charge of Mr. +Robert Rogers. He entered Harvard College in 1796, and graduated in +1800. While at school and college, he developed in a marked manner +a love of nature, music, poetry, and painting. Endowed with senses +capable of the nicest perceptions, and with a mental and moral +constitution which tended always, with the certainty of a physical +law, to the beautiful, the pure, and the sublime, he led what many +might call an ideal life. Yet was he far from being a recluse, or from +being disposed to an excess of introversion. On the contrary, he was +a popular, high-spirited youth, almost passionately fond of society, +maintaining an unusual number of warm friendships, and unsurpassed by +any of the young men of his day in adaptedness to the elegancies and +courtesies of the more refined portions of the moving world. Romances +of love, knighthood, and heroic deeds, tales of banditti, and stories +of supernatural beings, were his chief delight in his early days. Yet +his classical attainments were considerable, and, as a scholar in the +literature of his own language, his reputation was early established. +He delivered a poem on taking his degree, which was much admired in +its day.</p> + +<p>On leaving college, he returned to South Carolina. Having determined +to devote his life to the fine arts, he sold, hastily and at a +sacrifice, his share of a considerable patrimonial estate, and +embarked for London in the autumn of 1801. Immediately upon his +arrival, he became a student of the Royal Academy, of which his +countryman, West, was President, with whom he formed an intimate and +lasting friendship. After three years spent in England, and a shorter +stay at Paris, he went to Italy, where he spent four years devoted +exclusively to the study of his art. At Rome began his intimacy with +Coleridge. Among the many subsequent expressions of his feeling toward +this great man, none, perhaps, is more striking than the following +extract from one of his letters:--"To no other man do I owe so much, +intellectually, as to Mr. Coleridge, with whom I became acquainted +in Rome, and who has honored me with his friendship for more than +five-and-twenty years. He used to call Rome the silent city; but I +never could think of it as such while with him; for, meet him when and +where I would, the fountain of his mind was never dry, but, like the +far-reaching aqueducts that once supplied this mistress of the world, +its living stream seemed specially to flow for every classic ruin over +which we wandered. And when I recall some of our walks under the pines +of the Villa Borghese, I am almost tempted to dream that I have once +listened to Plato in the groves of the Academy." Readers of Coleridge +know in what estimation he held the qualities and the friendship of +Mr. Allston. Beside Coleridge and West, he numbered among his friends +in England, Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Sir George Beaumont, Reynolds, +and Fuseli.</p> + +<p>In 1809, Mr. Allston returned to America, and remained two years +in Boston, his adopted home, and there married the sister of Dr. +Channing. In 1811, he went again to England, where his reputation as +an artist had been completely established. Before his departure, he +delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge. +During a severe illness, he removed from London to Clifton, at which +place he wrote "The Sylphs of the Seasons." In 1813, he made his +first, and, with the exception of "Monaldi," twenty-eight years +afterwards, his only publication. This was a small volume, entitled +"The Sylphs of the Seasons, and other Poems," published in London; +and, during the same year, republished in Boston under the direction +of his friends, Professor Willard of Cambridge and Mr. Edmund T. Dana. +This volume was well received, and gave him a place among the first +poets of his country. The smaller poems in that edition extend as far +as page 289 of the present volume.</p> + +<p>Beside the long and serious illness through which he passed, his +spirit was destined to suffer a deeper wound by the death of Mrs. +Allston, in London, during the same year. These events gave to his +mind a more earnest and undivided interest in his spiritual relations, +and drew him more closely than ever before to his religious duties. +He received the rite of confirmation, and through life was a devout +adherent to the Christian doctrine and discipline.</p> + +<p>The character of Mr. Allston's religious feelings may be gathered, +incidentally, from many of his writings. It is a subject to be treated +with the reserve and delicacy with which he himself would have had it +invested. Few minds have been more thoroughly imbued with belief in +the reality of the unseen world; few have given more full assent to +the truth, that "the things which are seen are temporal, the things +which are not seen are eternal." This was not merely an adopted +opinion, a conviction imposed upon his understanding; it was of the +essence of his spiritual constitution, one of the conditions of his +rational existence. To him, the Supreme Being was no vague, mystical +source of light and truth, or an impersonation of goodness and truth +themselves; nor, on the other hand, a cold rationalistic notion of an +unapproachable executor of natural and moral laws. His spirit rested +in the faith of a sympathetic God. His belief was in a Being as +infinitely minute and sympathetic in his providences, as unlimited +in his power and knowledge. Nor need it be said, that he was a firm +believer in the central truths of Christianity, the Incarnation and +Redemption; that he turned from unaided speculation to the inspired +record and the visible Church; that he sought aid in the sacraments +ordained for the strengthening of infirm humanity, and looked for the +resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.</p> + +<p>After a second residence of seven years in Europe, he returned to +America in 1818, and again made Boston his home. There, in a circle of +warmly attached friends, surrounded by a sympathy and admiration which +his elevation and purity, the entire harmony of his life and pursuits, +could not fail to create, he devoted himself to his art, the labor of +his love.</p> + +<p>This is not the place to enumerate his paintings, or to speak of his +character as an artist. His general reading he continued to the last, +with the earnestness of youth. As he retired from society, his taste +inclined him to metaphysical studies, the more, perhaps, from their +contrast with the usual occupations of his mind. He took particular +pleasure in works of devout Christian speculation, without, however, +neglecting a due proportion of strictly devotional literature. These +he varied by a constant recurrence to the great epic and dramatic +masters, and occasional reading of the earlier and the living +novelists, tales of wild romance and lighter fiction, voyages and +travels, biographies and letters. Nor was he without a strong interest +in the current politics of his own country and of England, as to which +his principles were highly conservative.</p> + +<p>Upon his marriage with the daughter of the late Judge Dana, in 1830, +he removed to Cambridge, and soon afterwards began the preparation of +a course of lectures on Art, which he intended to deliver to a select +audience of artists and men of letters in Boston. Four of these he +completed. Rough drafts of two others were found among his papers, but +not in a state fit for publication. In 1841, he published his tale of +"Monaldi," a production of his early life. The poems in the present +volume, not included in the volume of 1813, are, with two exceptions, +the work of his later years. In them, as in his paintings of the +same period, may be seen the extreme attention to finish, always his +characteristic, which, added to increasing bodily pain and infirmity, +was the cause of his leaving so much that is unfinished behind him.</p> + +<p>His death occurred at his own house, in Cambridge, a little past +midnight on the morning of Sunday, the 9th of July, 1843. He had +finished a day and week of labor in his studio, upon his great picture +of Belshazzar's Feast; the fresh paint denoting that the last touches +of his pencil were given to that glorious but melancholy monument of +the best years of his later life. Having conversed with his retiring +family with peculiar solemnity and earnestness upon the obligation and +beauty of a pure spiritual life, and on the realities of the world to +come, he had seated himself at his nightly employment of reading and +writing, which he usually carried into the early hours of the morning. +In the silence and solitude of this occupation, in a moment, +"with touch as gentle as the morning light," which was even then +approaching, his spirit was called away to its proper home.</p> +</div> + + +<div id="toc"> +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<p><a href="#preface">Preface by the Editor</a></p> + +<p>Lectures on Art.</p> +<ul style="list-style-type:none"> +<li><a href="#ch01">Preliminary Note.--Ideas</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch02">Introductory Discourse</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch03">Art</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch04">Form</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch05">Composition</a></li></ul> + +<p><a href="#ch06">Aphorisms.</a> + Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio</p> + +<p><a href="#ch07">The Hypochondriac</a></p> +</div> + + + +<h1 class="title">Lectures on Art.</h1> + + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> +<h2>Preliminary Note.</h2> + +<h3>Ideas.</h3> + + + +<p>As the word <i>idea</i> will frequently occur, and will be found +also to hold an important relation to our present subject, we shall +endeavour, <i>in limine</i>, to possess our readers of the particular +sense in which we understand and apply it.</p> + +<p>An Idea, then, according to our apprehension, is the highest or most +perfect <i>form</i> in which any thing, whether of the physical, the +intellectual, or the spiritual, may exist to the mind. By form, we do not +mean <i>figure</i> or <i>image</i> (though these may be included in relation to the +physical); but that condition, or state, in which such objects become +cognizable to the mind, or, in other words, become objects of +consciousness.</p> + +<p>Ideas are of two kinds; which we shall distinguish by the terms <i>primary</i> +and <i>secondary</i>: the first being the <i>manifestation</i> of objective +realities; the second, that of the reflex product, so to speak, of the +mental constitution. In both cases, they may be said to be +self-affirmed,--that is, they carry in themselves their own evidence; +being therefore not only independent of the reflective faculties, but +constituting the only unchangeable ground of Truth, to which those +faculties may ultimately refer. Yet have these Ideas no living energy in +themselves; they are but the <i>forms</i>, as we have said, through or in which +a higher Power manifests to the consciousness the supreme truth of all +things real, in respect to the first class; and, in respect to the second, +the imaginative truths of the mental products, or mental combinations. Of +the nature and mode of operation of the Power to which we refer, we know, +and can know, nothing; it is one of those secrets of our being which He +who made us has kept to himself. And we should be content with the +assurance, that we have in it a sure and intuitive guide to a reverent +knowledge of the beauty and grandeur of his works,--nay, of his own +adorable reality. And who shall gainsay it, should we add, that this +mysterious Power is essentially immanent in that "breath of life," by +which man becomes "a living soul"?</p> + +<p>In the following remarks we shall confine ourself to the first +class of Ideas, namely, the Real; leaving the second to be noticed +hereafter.</p> + +<p>As to number, ideas are limited only by the number of kinds, without +direct relation to degrees; every object, therefore, having in itself +a <i>distinctive essential</i>, has also its distinct idea; while two +or more objects of the same kind, however differing in degree, must +consequently refer only to one and the same. For instance, though a +hundred animals should differ in size, strength, or color, yet, if +none of these peculiarities are essential to the species, they would +all refer to the same supreme idea.</p> + +<p>The same law applies equally, and with the same limitation, to +the essential differences in the intellectual, the moral, and the +spiritual. All ideas, however, have but a potential existence until +they are called into the consciousness by some real object; the +required condition of the object being a predetermined correspondence, +or correlation. Every such object we term an <i>assimilant</i>.</p> + +<p>With respect to those ideas which relate to the physical world, we +remark, that, though the assimilants required are supplied by +the senses, the senses have in themselves no <i>productive, +coöperating</i> energy, being but the passive instruments, or medium, +through which they are conveyed. That the senses, in this relation, +are merely passive, admits of no question, from the obvious difference +between the idea and the objects. The senses can do no more than +transmit the external in its actual forms, leaving the images in the +mind exactly as they found them; whereas the intuitive power rejects, +or assimilates, indefinitely, until they are resolved into the proper +perfect form. Now the power which prescribes that form must, of +necessity, be antecedent to the presentation of the objects which it +thus assimilates, as it could not else give consistence and unity to +what was before separate or fragmentary. And every one who has +ever realized an idea of the class in which alone we compare the +assimilants with the ideal form, be he poet, painter, or philosopher, +well knows the wide difference between the materials and their result. +When an idea is thus realized and made objective, it affirms its own +truth, nor can any process of the understanding shake its foundation; +nay, it is to the mind an essential, imperative truth, then emerging, +as it were, from the dark potential into the light of reality.</p> + +<p>If this be so, the inference is plain, that the relation between the +actual and the ideal is one of necessity, and therefore, also, is the +predetermined correspondence between the prescribed form of an +idea and its assimilant; for how otherwise could the former become +recipient of that which was repugnant or indifferent, when the +presence of the latter constitutes the very condition by which it is +manifested, or can be known to exist? By actual, here, we do not mean +the exclusively physical, but whatever, in the strictest sense, can be +called an <i>object</i>, as forming the opposite to a mere subject of +the mind.</p> + +<p>It would appear, then, that what we call ourself must have a +<i>dual</i> reality, that is, in the mind and in the senses, since +neither <i>alone</i> could possibly explain the phenomena of the +other; consequently, in the existence of either we have clearly +implied the reality of both. And hence must follow the still more +important truth, that, in the <i>conscious presence</i> of any +<i>spiritual</i> idea, we have the surest proof of a spiritual object; +nor is this the less certain, though we perceive not the assimilant. +Nay, a spiritual assimilant cannot be perceived, but, to use the words +of St. Paul, is "spiritually discerned," that is, by a sense, so to +speak, of our own spirit. But to illustrate by example: we could not, +for instance, have the ideas of good and evil without their objective +realities, nor of right and wrong, in any intelligible form, without +the moral law to which they refer,--which law we call the Conscience; +nor could we have the idea of a moral law without a moral lawgiver, +and, if moral, then intelligent, and, if intelligent, then personal; +in a word, we could not now have, as we know we have, the idea of +conscience, without an objective, personal God. Such ideas may well be +called revelations, since, without any perceived assimilant, we find +them equally affirmed with those ideas which relate to the purely +physical.</p> + +<p>But here it may be asked, How are we to distinguish an Idea from a mere +<i>notion</i>? We answer, By its self-affirmation. For an ideal truth, having +its own evidence in itself, can neither be proved nor disproved by any +thing out of itself; whatever, then, impresses the mind <i>as</i> truth, <i>is</i> +truth until it can be <i>shown</i> to be false; and consequently, in the +converse, whatever can be brought into the sphere of the understanding, as +a dialectic subject, is not an Idea. It will be observed, however, that we +do not say an idea may not be denied; but to deny is not to disprove. Many +things are denied in direct contradiction to fact; for the mind can +command, and in no measured degree, the power of self-blinding, so that it +cannot see what is actually before it. This is a psychological fact, which +may be attested by thousands, who can well remember the time when they had +once clearly discerned what has now vanished from their minds. Nor does +the actual cessation of these primeval forms, or the after presence of +their fragmentary, nay, disfigured relics, disprove their reality, or +their original integrity, as we could not else call them up in their +proper forms at any future time, to the reacknowledging their truth: a +<i>resuscitation</i> and result, so to speak, which many have experienced.</p> + +<p>In conclusion: though it be but one and the same Power that prescribes +the form and determines the truth of all Ideas, there is yet an +essential difference between the two classes of ideas to which we have +referred; for it may well be doubted whether any Primary Idea can ever +be fully realized by a finite mind,--at least in the present state. +Take, for instance, the idea of beauty. In its highest form, as +presented to the consciousness, we still find it referring to +something beyond and above itself, as if it were but an approximation +to a still higher form. The truth of this, we think, will be +particularly felt by the artist, whether poet or painter, whose mind +may be supposed, from his natural bias, to be more peculiarly capable +of its highest developement; and what true artist was ever satisfied +with any idea of beauty of which he is conscious? From this +approximated form, however, he doubtless derives a high degree of +pleasure, nay, one of the purest of which his nature is capable; +yet still is the pleasure modified, if we may so express it, by an +undefined yearning for what he feels can never be realized. And +wherefore this craving, but for the archetype of that which called it +forth?--When we say not satisfied, we do not mean discontented, but +simply not in full fruition. And it is better that it should be +so, since one of the happiest elements of our nature is that which +continually impels it towards the indefinite and unattainable. So +far as we know, the like limits may be set to every other primary +idea,--as if the Creator had reserved to himself alone the possible +contemplation of the archetypes of his universe.</p> + +<p>With regard to the other class, that of Secondary Ideas, which we +have called the reflex product of the mind, their distinguishing +characteristic is, that they not only admit of a perfect realization, +but also of outward manifestation, so as to be communicated to others. +All works of imagination, so called, present examples of this. Hence +they may also be termed imitative or imaginative. For, though they +draw their assimilants from the actual world, and are likewise +regulated by the unknown Power before mentioned, yet are they but the +forms of what, <i>as a whole</i>, have no actual existence;--they are +nevertheless true to the mind, and are made so by the same Power which +affirms their possibility. This species of Truth we shall hereafter +have occasion to distinguish as Poetic Truth.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> +<h2>Introductory Discourse.</h2> + + + +<p>Next to the developement of our moral nature, to have subordinated the +senses to the mind is the highest triumph of the civilized state. Were +it possible to embody the present complicated scheme of society, so as +to bring it before us as a visible object, there is perhaps nothing +in the world of sense that would so fill us with wonder; for what is +there in nature that may not fall within its limits? and yet how small +a portion of this stupendous fabric will be found to have any direct, +much less exclusive, relation to the actual wants of the body! It +might seem, indeed, to an unreflecting observer, that our physical +necessities, which, truly estimated, are few and simple, have rather +been increased than diminished by the civilized man. But this is not +true; for, if a wider duty is imposed on the senses, it is only to +minister to the increased demands of the imagination, which is now so +mingled with our every-day concerns, even with our dress, houses, and +furniture, that, except with the brutalized, the purely sensuous wants +might almost be said to have become extinct: with the cultivated and +refined, they are at least so modified as to be no longer prominent.</p> + +<p>But this refilling on the physical, like every thing else, has had its +opponents: it is declaimed against as artificial. If by artificial is +meant unnatural, we cannot so consider it; but hold, on the contrary, +that the whole multiform scheme of the civilized state is not only in +accordance with our nature, but an essential condition to the proper +developement of the human being. It is presupposed by the very wants +of his mind; nor could it otherwise have been, any more than could +have been the cabin of the beaver, or the curious hive of the bee, +without their preëxisting instincts; it is therefore in the highest +sense natural, as growing out of the inherent desires of the mind.</p> + +<p>But we would not be misunderstood. When we speak of the refined +state as not out of nature, we mean such results as proceed from the +legitimate growth of our mental constitution, which we suppose to +be grounded in permanent, universal principles; and, whatever +modifications, however subtile, and apparently visionary, may follow +their operation in the world of sense, so long as that operation +diverge not from its original ground, its effect must be, in the +strictest sense, natural. Thus the wildest visions of poetry, the +unsubstantial forms of painting, and the mysterious harmonies of +music, that seem to disembody the spirit, and make us creatures of the +air,--even these, unreal as they are, may all have their foundation +in immutable truth; and we may moreover know of this truth by its own +evidence. Of this species of evidence we shall have occasion to speak +hereafter. But there is another kind of growth, which may well be +called unnatural; we mean, of those diseased appetites, whose effects +are seen in the distorted forms of the <i>conventional</i>, having no +ground but in weariness of the true; and it cannot be denied that this +morbid growth has its full share, inwardly and outwardly, both of +space and importance. These, however, must sooner or later end as they +began; they perish in the lie they make; and it were well did not +other falsehoods take their places, to prolong a life whose only +tenure is inconsequential succession,--in other words, Fashion.</p> + +<p>If it be true, then, that even the commonplaces of life must all in +some degree partake of the mental, there can be but one rule by which +to determine the proper rank of any object of pursuit, and that is by +its nearer or more remote relation to our inward nature. Every system, +therefore, which tends to degrade a mental pleasure to the subordinate +or superfluous, is both narrow and false, as virtually reversing its +natural order.</p> + +<p>It pleased our Creator, when he endowed us with appetites and +functions by which to sustain the economy of life, at the same time to +annex to their exercise a sense of pleasure; hence our daily food, and +the daily alternation of repose and action, are no less grateful than +imperative. That life may be sustained, and most of its functions +performed, without any coincident enjoyment, is certainly possible. +Our food may be distasteful, action painful, and rest unrefreshing; +and yet we may eat, and exercise, and sleep, nay, live thus for years. +But this is not our natural condition, and we call it disease. Were +man a mere animal, the very act of living, in his natural or healthy +state, would be to him a continuous enjoyment. But he is also a moral +and an intellectual being; and, in like manner, is the healthful +condition of these, the nobler parts of his nature, attended with +something more than a consciousness of the mere process of existence. +To the exercise of his intellectual faculties and moral attributes the +same benevolent law has superadded a sense of pleasure,--of a kind, +too, in the same degree transcending the highest bodily sensation, as +must that which is immortal transcend the perishable. It is not for us +to ask why it is so; much less, because it squares not with the +poor notion of material usefulness, to call in question a fact that +announces a nature to which the senses are but passing ministers. Let +us rather receive this ennobling law, at least without misgiving, lest +in our sensuous wisdom we exchange an enduring gift for a transient +gratification.</p> + +<p>Of the peculiar fruits of this law, which we shall here distinguish by +the general term <i>mental pleasures</i>, it is our purpose to treat +in the present discourse.</p> + +<p>It is with no assumed diffidence that we venture on this subject; for, +though we shall offer nothing not believed to be true, we are but too +sensible how small a portion of truth it is in our power to present. +But, were it far greater, and the present writer of a much higher +order of intellect, there would still be sufficient cause for +humility in view of those impassable bounds that have ever met every +self-questioning of the mind.</p> + +<p>But whilst the narrowness of human knowledge may well preclude all +self-exaltation, it would be worse than folly to hold as naught the +many important truths which have been wrought out for us by the mighty +intellects of the past. If they have left us nothing for vainglory, +they have left us at least enough to be grateful for. Nor is it +a little, that they have taught us to look into those mysterious +chambers of our being,--the abode of the spirit; and not a little, +indeed, if what we are there permitted to know shall have brought with +it the conviction, that we are not abandoned to a blind empiricism, to +waste life in guesses, and to guess at last that we have all our +lives been guessing wrong,--but, unapproachable though it be to the +subordinate Understanding, that we have still within us an abiding +Interpreter, which cannot be gainsaid, which makes our duty to God and +man clear as the light, which ever guards the fountain of all true +pleasures, nay, which holds in subjection the last high gift of the +Creator, that imaginative faculty whereby his exalted creature, made +in his image, might mould at will, from his most marvellous world, yet +unborn forms, even forms of beauty, grandeur, and majesty, having all +of truth but his own divine prerogative,--<i>the mystery of Life</i>.</p> + +<p>As the greater part of those Pleasures which we propose to discuss are +intimately connected with the material world, it may be well, perhaps, +to assign some reason for the epithet <i>mental</i>. To many, we know, +this will seem superfluous; but, when it is remembered how often we +hear of this and that object delighting the eye, or of certain sounds +charming the ear, it may not be amiss to show that such expressions +have really no meaning except as metaphors. When the senses, as the +medium of communication, have conveyed to the mind either the sounds +or images, their function ceases. So also with respect to the objects: +their end is attained, at least as to us, when the sounds or images +are thus transmitted, which, so far as they are concerned, must for +ever remain the same within as without the mind. For, where the +ultimate end is not in mere bodily sensation, neither the senses nor +the objects possess, of themselves, any productive power; of the +product that follows, the <i>tertium aliquid</i>, whether the pleasure +we feel be in a beautiful animal or in according sounds, neither the +one nor the other is really the cause, but simply the <i>occasion</i>. +It is clear, then, that the effect realized supposes of necessity +another agent, which must therefore exist only in the mind. But of +this hereafter.</p> + +<p>If the cause of any emotion, which we seem to derive from an outward +object, were inherent exclusively in the object itself, there could +be no failure in any instance, except where the organs of sense were +either diseased or imperfect. But it is a matter of fact that they +often do fail where there is no disease or organic defect. Many of us, +perhaps, can call to mind certain individuals, whose sense of hearing +is as acute as our own, who yet can by no possibility be made to +recognize the slightest relation between the according notes of the +simplest melody; and, though they can as readily as others distinguish +the individual sounds, even to the degrees of flatness and sharpness, +the harmonic agreement is to them as mere noise. Let us suppose +ourselves present at a concert, in company with one such person and +another who possesses what is called musical sensibility. How are +they affected, for instance, by a piece of Mozart's? In the sense +of hearing they are equal: look at them. In the one we perceive +perplexity, annoyance, perhaps pain; he hears nothing but a confused +medley of sounds. In the other, the whole being is rapt in ecstasy, +the unutterable pleasure gushes from his eyes, he cannot articulate +his emotion;--in the words of one, who felt and embodied the subtile +mystery in immortal verse, his very soul seems "lapped in Elysium." +Now, could this difference be possible, were the sole cause, strictly +speaking, in mere matter?</p> + +<p>Nor do we contradict our position, when we admit, in certain +cases,--for instance, in the producer,--the necessity of a nicer +organization, in order to the more perfect <i>transmission</i> of the +finer emotions; inasmuch as what is to be communicated in space and +time must needs be by some medium adapted thereto.</p> + +<p>Such a person as Paganini, it is said, was able to "discourse most +excellent music" on a ballad-monger's fiddle; yet will any one +question that he needed an instrument of somewhat finer construction +to show forth his full powers? Nay, we might add, that he needed no +less than the most delicate <i>Cremona</i>,--some instrument, as it +were, articulated into humanity,--to have inhaled and respired those +attenuated strains, which, those who heard them think it hardly +extravagant to say, seemed almost to embody silence.</p> + +<p>Now this mechanical instrument, by means of which such marvels were +wrought, is but one of the many visible symbols of that more subtile +instrument through which the mind acts when it would manifest itself. +It would be too absurd to ask if any one believed that the music we +speak of was created, as well as conveyed, by the instrument. The +violin of Paganini may still be seen and handled; but the soul that +inspired it is buried with its master.</p> + +<p>If we admit a distinction between mind and matter, and the result we +speak of be purely mental, we should contradict the universal law +of nature to assign such a product to mere matter, inasmuch as the +natural law forbids in the lower the production of the higher. Take +an example from one of the lower forms of organic life,--a common +vegetable. Will any one assert that the surrounding inorganic elements +of air, earth, heat, and water produce its peculiar form? Though some, +or all, of these may be essential to its developement, they are so +only as its predetermined correlatives, without which its existence +could not be manifested; and in like manner must the peculiar form of +the vegetable preëxist in its life,--in its <i>idea</i>,--in order to +evolve by these assimilants its own proper organism.</p> + +<p>No possible modification in the degrees or proportion of these +elements can change the specific form of a plant,--for instance, a +cabbage into a cauliflower; it must ever remain a cabbage, <i>small or +large, good or bad. </i> So, too, is the external world to the +mind; which needs, also, as the condition of its manifestation, its +objective correlative. Hence the presence of some outward object, +predetermined to correspond to the preëxisting idea in its living +power, is essential to the evolution of its proper end,--the +pleasurable emotion. We beg it may be noted that we do not say +<i>sensation</i>. And hence we hold ourself justified in speaking of +such presence as simply the occasion, or condition, and not, <i>per +se</i>, the cause. And hence, moreover, may be inferred the absolute +necessity of Dual Forces in order to the actual existence of any +thing. One alone, the incomprehensible Author of all things, is +self-subsisting in his perfect Unity.</p> + +<p>We shall now endeavour to establish the following proposition: namely, +that the Pleasures in question have their true source in One Intuitive +Universal Principle or living Power, and that the three Ideas of +Beauty, Truth, and Holiness, which we assume to represent the +<i>perfect</i> in the physical, intellectual, and moral worlds, are +but the several realized phases of this sovereign principle, which we +shall call <i>Harmony</i>.</p> + +<p>Our first step, then, is to possess ourself of the essential or +distinctive characteristic of these pleasurable emotions. Apparently, +there is nothing more simple. And yet we are acquainted with no single +term that shall fully express it. But what every one has more or less +felt may certainly be made intelligible in a more extended form, and, +we should think, by any one in the slightest degree competent to +self-examination. Let a person, then, be appealed to; and let him put +the question as to what passes within him when possessed by these +emotions; and the spontaneous feeling will answer for us, that what we +call <i>self</i> has no part in them. Nay, we further assert, that, +when singly felt, that is, when unallied to other emotions as +modifying forces, they are wholly unmixed with <i>any personal +considerations, or any conscious advantage to the individual</i>.</p> + +<p>Nor is this assigning too high a character to the feelings in question +because awakened in so many instances by the purely physical; since +their true origin may clearly be traced to a common source with those +profounder emotions which we are wont to ascribe to the intellectual +and moral. Besides, it should be borne in mind, that no physical +object can be otherwise to the mind than a mere <i>occasion</i>; its +inward product, or mental effect, being from another Power. The proper +view therefore is, not that such alliance can ever degrade the higher +agent, but that its more humble and material <i>assimilant</i> is thus +elevated by it. So that nothing in nature should be counted mean, +which can thus be exalted; but rather be honored, since no object can +become so assimilated except by its predetermined correlation to our +better nature.</p> + +<p>Neither is it the privilege of the exclusive few, the refined and +cultivated, to feel them deeply. If we look beyond ourselves, even to +the promiscuous multitude, the instance will be rare, if existing at +all, where some transient touch of these purer feelings has not raised +the individual to, at least, a momentary exemption from the common +thraldom of self. And we greatly err if their universality is not +solely limited by those "shades of the prison-house," which, in the +words of the poet, too often "close upon the growing boy." Nay, so +far as we have observed, we cannot admit it as a question whether any +person through a whole life has always been wholly insensible,--we +will not say (though well we might) to the good and true,--but to +beauty; at least, to some one kind, or degree, of the beautiful. The +most abject wretch, however animalized by vice, may still be able to +recall the time when a morning or evening sky, a bird, a flower, or +the sight of some other object in nature, has given him a pleasure, +which he felt to be distinct from that of his animal appetites, and +to which he could attach not a thought of self-interest. And, though +crime and misery may close the heart for years, and seal it up for +ever to every redeeming thought, they cannot so shut out from the +memory these gleams of innocence; even the brutified spirit, the +castaway of his kind, has been made to blush at this enduring light; +for it tells him of a truth, which might else have never been +remembered,--that he has once been a man.</p> + +<p>And here may occur a question,--which might well be left to the ultra +advocates of the <i>cui bono</i>,--whether a simple flower may not +sometimes be of higher use than a labor-saving machine.</p> + +<p>As to the objects whose effect on the mind is here discussed, it is +needless to specify them; they are, in general, all such as are known +to affect us in the manner described. The catalogue will vary both in +number and kind with different persons, according to the degree of +force or developement in the overruling Principle.</p> + +<p>We proceed, then, to reply to such objections as will doubtless be +urged against the characteristic assumed. And first, as regards the +Beautiful, we shall probably be met by the received notion, that we +experience in Beauty one of the most powerful incentives to passion; +while examples without number will be brought in array to prove it +also the wonder-working cause of almost fabulous transformations,--as +giving energy to the indolent, patience to the quick, perseverance +to the fickle, even courage to the timid; and, <i>vice versâ</i>, as +unmanning the hero,--nay, urging the honorable to falsehood, treason, +and murder; in a word, through the mastered, bewildered, sophisticated +<i>self</i>, as indifferently raising and sinking the fascinated +object to the heights and depths of pleasure and misery, of virtue and +vice.</p> + +<p>Now, if the Beauty here referred to is of the <i>human being</i>, we +do not gainsay it; but this is beauty in its <i>mixed mode</i>,--not +in its high, passionless form, its singleness and purity. It is not +Beauty as it descended from heaven, in the cloud, the rainbow, the +flower, the bird, or in the concord of sweet sounds, that seem to +carry back the soul to whence it came.</p> + +<p>Could we look, indeed, at the human form in its simple, unallied +physical structure,--on that, for instance, of a beautiful woman,--and +forget, or rather not feel, that it is other than a <i>form</i>, there +could be but one feeling: that nothing visible was ever so framed to +banish from the soul every ignoble thought, and imbue it, as it were, +with primeval innocence.</p> + +<p>We are quite aware that the doctrine assumed in our main proposition +with regard to Beauty, as holding exclusive relation to the Physical, +is not very likely to forestall favor; we therefore beg for it only +such candid attention as, for the reasons advanced, it may appear to +deserve.</p> + +<p>That such effects as have just been objected could not be from Beauty +alone, in its pure and single form, but rather from its coincidence +with some real or supposed moral or intellectual quality, or with the +animal appetites, seems to us clear; as, were it otherwise, we might +infer the same from a beautiful infant,--the very thought of which is +revolting to common sense. In such conjunction, indeed, it cannot but +have a certain influence, but so modified as often to become a mere +accessory, subordinated to the animal or moral object, and for the +attainment of an end not its own; in proof of which, we find it almost +uniformly partaking the penalty imposed on its incidental associates, +should ever their desires result in illusion,--namely, in the aversion +that follows. But the result of Beauty can never be such; when it +seems otherwise, the effect, we think, can readily be traced to other +causes, as we shall presently endeavour to show.</p> + +<p>It cannot be a matter of controversy whether Beauty is limited to the +human form; the daily experience of the most ordinary man would answer +No: he finds it in the woods, the fields, in plants and animals, +nay, in a thousand objects, as he looks upon nature; nor, though +indefinitely diversified, does he hesitate to assign to each the same +epithet. And why? Because the feelings awakened by all are similar in +kind, though varying, doubtless, by many degrees in intenseness. Now +suppose he is asked of what personal advantage is all this beauty to +him. Verily, he would be puzzled to answer. It gives him pleasure, +perhaps great pleasure. And this is all he could say. But why should +the effect be different, except in degree, from the beauty of a human +being? We have already the answer in this concluding term. For what is +a human being but one who unites in himself a physical, intellectual, +and moral nature, which cannot in one become even an object of thought +without at least some obscure shadowings of its natural allies? How, +then, can we separate that which has an exclusive relation to his +physical form, without some perception of the moral and intellectual +with which it is joined? But how do we know that Beauty is limited +to such exclusive relation? This brings us to the great problem; so +simple and easy of solution in all other cases, yet so intricate and +apparently inexplicable in man. In other things, it would be felt +absurd to make it a question, whether referring to form, color, or +sound. A single instance will suffice. Let us suppose, then, an +unfamiliar object, whose habits, disposition, and so forth, are wholly +unknown, for instance, a bird of paradise, to be seen for the +first time by twenty persons, and they all instantly call it +beautiful;--could there be any doubt that the pleasure it produced +in each was of the same kind? or would any one of them ascribe his +pleasure to any thing but its form and plumage? Concerning natural +objects, and those inferior animals which are not under the influence +of domestic associations, there is little or no difference among men: +if they differ, it is only in degree, according to their sensibility. +Men do not dispute about a rose. And why? Because there is nothing +beside the physical to interfere with the impression it was +predetermined to make; and the idea of beauty is realized instantly. +So, also, with respect to other objects of an opposite character; they +can speak without deliberating, and call them plain, homely, ugly, and +so on, thus instinctively expressing even their degree of remoteness +from the condition of beauty. Who ever called a pelican beautiful, or +even many animals endeared to us by their valuable qualities,--such as +the intelligent and docile elephant, or the affectionate orang-outang, +or the faithful mastiff? Nay, we may run through a long list of most +useful and amiable creatures, that could not, under any circumstances, +give birth to an emotion corresponding to that which we ascribe to the +beautiful.</p> + +<p>But there is scarcely a subject on which mankind are wider at +variance, than on the beauty of their own species,--some preferring +this, and others that, particular conformation; which can only be +accounted for on the supposition of some predominant expression, +either moral, intellectual, or sensual, with which they are in +sympathy, or else the reverse. While some will task their memory, +and resort to the schools, for their supposed infallible +<i>rules</i>;--forgetting, meanwhile, that ultimate tribunal to which +their canon must itself appeal, the ever-living principle which first +evolved its truth, and which now, as then, is not to be reasoned +about, but <i>felt</i>. It need not be added how fruitful of blunders +is this mechanical ground.</p> + +<p>Now we venture to assert that no mistake was ever made, even in a +single glance, concerning any natural object, not disfigured by human +caprice, or which the eye had not been trained to look at through +some conventional medium. Under this latter circumstance, there are +doubtless many things in nature which affect men very differently; and +more especially such as, from their familiar nearness, have come under +the influence of <i>opinion</i>, and been incrusted, as it were, by +the successive deposits of many generations. But of the vast and +various multitude of objects which have thus been forced from their +original state, there is perhaps no one which has undergone so many +and such strange disfigurements as the human form; or in relation to +which our "ideas," as we are pleased to call them, but in truth our +opinions, have been so fluctuating. If an Idea, indeed, had any thing +to do with Fashion, we should call many things monstrous to +which custom has reconciled us. Let us suppose a case, by way of +illustration. A gentleman and lady, from one of our fashionable +cities, are making a tour on the borders of some of our new +settlements in the West. They are standing on the edge of a forest, +perhaps admiring the grandeur of nature; perhaps, also, they are +lovers, and sharing with nature their admiration for each other, whose +personal charms are set off to the utmost, according to the most +approved notions, by the taste and elegance of their dress. Then +suppose an Indian hunter, who had never seen one of our civilized +world, or heard of our costume, coming suddenly upon them, their faces +being turned from him. Would it be possible for him to imagine what +kind of animals they were? We think not; and least of all, that he +would suppose them to be of his own species. This is no improbable +case; and we very much fear, should it ever occur, that the unrefined +savage would go home with an impression not very flattering either to +the milliner or the tailor.</p> + +<p>That, under such disguises, we should consider human beauty as a kind +of enigma, or a thing to dispute about, is not surprising; nor even +that we should often differ from ourselves, when so much of the +outward man is thus made to depend on the shifting humors of some +paramount Petronius of the shears. But, admitting it to be an easy +matter to divest the form, or, what is still more important, our +own minds, of every thing conventional, there is the still greater +obstacle to any true effect from the person alone, in that moral +admixture, already mentioned, which, more or less, must color the +most of our impressions from every individual. Is there not, then, +sufficient ground for at least a doubt if, excepting idiots, there is +one human being in whom the purely physical is <i>at all times</i> the +sole agent? We do not say that it does not generally predominate. But, +in a compound being like man, it seems next to impossible that the +nature within should not at times, in some degree, transpire through +the most rigid texture of the outward form. We may not, indeed, always +read aright the character thus obscurely indexed, or even be able to +guess at it, one way or the other; still, it will affect us; nay, most +so, perhaps, when most indefinite. Every man is, to a certain extent, +a physiognomist: we do not mean, according to the common acceptation, +that he is an interpreter of lines and quantities, which may be +reduced to rules; but that he is born one, judging, not by any +conscious rule, but by an instinct, which he can neither explain nor +comprehend, and which compels him to sit in judgment, whether he will +or no. How else can we account for those instantaneous sympathies and +antipathies towards an utter stranger?</p> + +<p>Now this moral influence has a twofold source, one in the object, +and another in ourselves; nor is it easy to determine which is the +stronger as a counteracting force. Hitherto we have considered only +the former; we now proceed with a few remarks upon the latter.</p> + +<p>Will any man say, that he is wholly without some natural or acquired +bias? This is the source of the counteracting influence which we speak +of in ourselves; but which, like many other of the secret springs, +both of thought and feeling, few men think of. It is nevertheless one +which, on this particular subject, is scarcely ever inactive; +and according to the bias will be our impressions, whether we be +intellectual or sensual, coldly speculative or ardently imaginative. +We do not mean that it is always called forth by every thing we +approach; we speak only of its usual activity between man and man; for +there seems to be a mysterious something in our nature, that, in spite +of our wishes, will rarely allow of an absolute indifference towards +any of the species; some effect, however slight, even as that of the +air which we unconsciously inhale and again respire, must follow, +whether directly from the object or reacting from ourselves. Nay, so +strong is the law, whether in attraction or repulsion, that we cannot +resist it even in relation to those human shadows projected on air by +the mere imagination; for we feel it in art only less than in nature, +provided, however, that the imagined being possess but the indication +of a human soul: yet not so is it, if presenting only the outward +form, since a mere form can in itself have no affinity with either +the heart or intellect. And here we would ask, Does not this +striking exception in the present argument cast back, as it were, a +confirmatory reflection?</p> + +<p>We have often thought, that the power of the mere form could not be +more strongly exemplified than at a common paint-shop. Among the +annual importations from the various marts of Europe, how +many beautiful faces, without an atom of meaning, attract the +passengers,--stopping high and low, people of all descriptions, +and actually giving pleasure, if not to every one, at least to the +majority; and very justly, for they have beauty, and <i>nothing +else</i>. But let another artist, some man of genius, copy the same +faces, and add character,--breathe into them souls: from that moment +the passers-by would see as if with other eyes; the affections and +the imagination then become the spectators; and, according to the +quickness or dulness, the vulgarity or refinement, of these, would be +the impression. Thus a coarse mind may feel the beauty in the hard, +soulless forms of Van der Werf, yet turn away with apathy from the +sanctified loveliness of a Madonna by Raffaelle.</p> + +<p>But to return to the individual bias, which is continually inclining +to, or repelling, What is more common, especially with women, than +a high admiration of a plain person, if connected with wit, or a +pleasing address? Can we have a stronger case in point than that of +the celebrated Wilkes, one of the ugliest, yet one of the most +admired men of his time? Even his own sex, blinded no doubt by their +sympathetic bias, could see no fault in him, either in mind or +person; for, when it was objected to the latter, that "he squinted +confoundedly," the reply was, "No, Sir, not more than a gentleman +ought to squint."</p> + +<p>Of the tendency to particular pursuits,--to art, science, or any +particular course of life,--we do not speak; the bias we allude to is +in the more personal disposition of the man,--in that which gives a +tone to his internal character; nor is it material of what +proportions compounded, of the affections, or the intellect, or the +senses,--whether of some only, or the whole; that these form the +ground of every man's bias is no less certain, than the fact that +there is scarcely any secret which men are in the habit of guarding +with such sedulous care. Nay, it would seem as if every one were +impelled to it by some superstitious instinct, that every one might +have it to say to himself, There is one thing in me which is all <i>my +own</i>. Be this as it may, there are few things more hazardous than +to pronounce with confidence on any man's bias. Indeed, most men would +be puzzled to name it to themselves; but its existence in them is +not the less a fact, because the form assumed may be so mixed and +complicated as to be utterly undefinable. It is enough, however, that +every one feels, and is more or less led by it, whether definite or +not.</p> + +<p>This being the case, how is it possible that it should not in some +degree affect our feelings towards every one we meet,--that it should +not leave some speck of leaven on each impression, which shall +impregnate it with something that we admire and love, or else with +that which we hate and despise?</p> + +<p>And what is the most beautiful or the most ungainly form before a +sorcerer like this, who can endow a fair simpleton with the rarest +intellect, or transform, by a glance, the intellectual, noble-hearted +dwarf to an angel of light? These, of course, are extreme cases. But +if true in these, as we have reason to believe, how formidable the +power!</p> + +<p>But though, as before observed, we may not read this secret with +precision, it is sometimes possible to make a shrewd guess at the +prevailing tendency in certain individuals. Perhaps the most obvious +cases are among the sanguine and imaginative; and the guess would be, +that a beautiful person would presently be enriched with all possible +virtues, while the colder speculatist would only see in it, not what +it possessed, but the mind that it wanted. Now it would be curious to +imagine (and the case is not impossible) how the eyes of each might be +opened, with the probable consequence, how each might feel when his +eyes were opened, and the object was seen as it really is. Some +untoward circumstance comes unawares on the perfect creature: a burst +of temper knits the brow, inflames the eye, inflates the nostril, +gnashes the teeth, and converts the angel into a storming fury. What +then becomes of the visionary virtues? They have passed into air, and +taken with them, also, what was the fair creature's right,--her +very beauty. Yet a different change takes place with the dry man of +intellect. The mindless object has taken shame of her ignorance; she +begins to cultivate her powers, which are gradually developed until +they expand and brighten; they inform her features, so that no one can +look upon them without seeing the evidence of no common intellect: the +dry man, at last, is struck with their superior intelligence, and what +more surprises him is the grace and beauty, which, for the first time, +they reveal to his eyes. The learned dust which had so long buried his +heart is quickly brushed away, and he weds the embodied mind. What +third change may follow, it is not to our purpose to foresee.</p> + +<p>Has human beauty, then, no power? When united with virtue and +intellect, we might almost answer,--All power. It is the embodied +harmony of the true poet; his visible Muse; the guardian angel of his +better nature; the inspiring sibyl of his best affections, drawing him +to her with a purifying charm, from the selfishness of the world, from +poverty and neglect, from the low and base, nay, from his own frailty +or vices:--for he cannot approach her with unhallowed thoughts, whom +the unlettered and ignorant look up to with awe, as to one of a +race above them; before whom the wisest and best bow down without +abasement, and would bow in idolatry but for a higher reverence. +No! there is no power like this of mortal birth. But against the +antagonist moral, the human beauty of itself has no power, no +self-sustaining life. While it panders to evil desires, then, indeed, +there are few things may parallel its fearful might. But the unholy +alliance must at last have an end. Look at it then, when the beautiful +serpent has cast her slough.</p> + +<p>Let us turn to it for a moment, and behold it in league with elegant +accomplishments and a subtile intellect: how complete its triumph! If +ever the soul may be said to be intoxicated, it is then, when it feels +the full power of a beautiful, bad woman. The fabled enchantments +of the East are less strange and wonder-working than the marvellous +changes which her spell has wrought. For a time every thought seems +bound to her will; the eternal eye of the conscience closes before +her; the everlasting truths of right and wrong sleep at her bidding; +nay, things most gross and abhorred become suddenly invested with +a seeming purity: till the whole mind is hers, and the bewildered +victim, drunk with her charms, calls evil good. Then, what may follow? +Read the annals of crime; it will tell us what follows the broken +spell,--broken by the first degrading theft, the first stroke of the +dagger, or the first drop of poison. The felon's eye turns upon the +beautiful sorceress with loathing and abhorrence: an asp, a toad, is +not more hateful! The story of Milwood has many counterparts.</p> + +<p>But, although Beauty cannot sustain itself permanently against what is +morally bad, and has no direct power of producing good, it yet may, +and often does, when unobstructed, through its unimpassioned purity, +predispose to the good, except, perhaps, in natures grossly depraved; +inasmuch as all affinities to the pure are so many reproaches to the +vitiated mind, unless convertible to some selfish end. Witness the +beautiful wife, wedded for what is misnamed love, yet becoming the +scorn of a brutal husband,--the more bitter, perhaps, if she be also +good. But, aside from those counteracting causes so often mentioned, +it is as we have said: we are predisposed to feel kindly, and to think +purely, of every beautiful object, until we have reason to think +otherwise; and according to our own hearts will be our thoughts.</p> + +<p>We are aware of but one other objection which has not been noticed, +and which might be made to the intuitive nature of the Idea. How is +it, we may be asked, that artists, who are supposed, from their early +discipline, to have overcome all conventional bias, and also to have +acquired the more difficult power of analyzing their models, so as to +contemplate them in their separate elements, have so often varied as +to their ideas of Beauty? Whether artists have really the power thus +ascribed to them, we shall not here inquire; it is no doubt, if +possible, their business to acquire it. But, admitting it as true, we +deny the position: they do not change their ideas. They can have but +one Idea of Beauty, inasmuch as that Idea is but a specific phase of +one immutable Principle,--if there be such a principle; as we shall +hereafter endeavour to show. Nor can they have of it any +essentially different, much less opposite, conceptions: but their +<i>apprehension</i> of it may undergo many apparent changes, which, +nevertheless, are but the various degrees that only mark a fuller +conception; as their more extended acquaintance with the higher +outward assimilants of Beauty brings them, of course, nearer to a +perfect realization of the preëxisting Idea. By <i>perfect</i>, here, +we mean only the nearest approximation by man. And we appeal to every +artist, competent to answer, if it be not so. Does he ever descend +from a higher assimilant to a lower? Suppose him to have been born in +Italy; would he go to Holland to realize his Idea? But many a Dutchman +has sought in Italy what he could not find in his own country. We +do not by this intend any reflection on the latter,--a country so +fruitful of genius; it is only saying that the human form in Italy is +from a finer mould. Then, what directs the artist from one object to +another, and determines him which to choose, if he has not the guide +within him? And why else should all nations instinctively bow before +the superior forms of Greece?</p> + +<p>We add but one remark. Supposing the artist to be wholly freed from +all modifying biases, such is seldom the case with those who criticize +his work,--especially those who would show their superiority by +detecting faults, and who frequently condemn the painter simply for +not expressing what he never aimed at. As to some, they are never +content if they do not find beauty, whatever the subject, though +it may neutralize the character, if not render it ridiculous. Were +Raffaelle, who seldom sought the purely beautiful, to be judged by +the want of it, he would fall below Guido. But his object was much +higher,--in the intellect and the affections; it was the human being +in his endless inflections of thought and passion, in which there is +little probability he will ever be approached. Yet false criticism has +been as prodigal to him in the ascription of beauty, as parsimonious +and unjust to many others.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, may there not be, in the difficulty we have thus +endeavoured to solve, a probable significance of the responsible, as +well as distinct, position which the Human being holds in the world of +life? Are there no shadowings, in that reciprocal influence between +soul and soul, of some mysterious chain which links together the human +family in its two extremes, giving to the very lowest an indefeasible +claim on the highest, so that we cannot be independent if we would, +or indifferent even to the very meanest, without violation of an +imperative law of our nature? And does it not at least <i>hint</i> +of duties and affections towards the most deformed in body, the most +depraved in mind,--of interminable consequences? If man were a mere +animal, though the highest animal, could these inscrutable influences +affect us as they do? Would not the animal appetites be our true and +sole end? What even would Beauty be to the sated appetite? If it did +not, as in the last instance, of the brutal husband, become an object +of scorn,--which it could not be, from the necessary absence of moral +obliquity,--would it be better than a picked bone to a gorged dog? +Least of all could it resemble the visible sign of that pure idea, in +which so many lofty minds have recognized the type of a far higher +love than that of earth, which the soul shall know, when, in a better +world, she shall realize the ultimate reunion of Beauty with the +coëternal forms of Truth and Holiness.</p> + +<p>We will now apply the characteristic assumed to the second leading +Idea, namely, to Truth. In the first place, we take it for granted, +that no one will deny to the perception of truth some positive +pleasure; no one, at least, who is not at the same time prepared to +contradict the general sense of mankind, nay, we will add, their +universal experience. The moment we begin to think, we begin to +acquire, whether it be in trifles or otherwise, some kind of +knowledge; and of two things presented to our notice, supposing one to +be true and the other false, no one ever knowingly, and for its own +sake, chooses the false: whatever he may do in after life, for some +selfish purpose, he cannot do so in childhood, where there is no such +motive, without violence to his nature. And here we are supposing the +understanding, with its triumphant pride and subtilty, out of the +question, and the child making his choice under the spontaneous sense +of the true and the false. For, were it otherwise, and the choice +indifferent, what possible foundation for the commonest acts of life, +even as it respects himself, would there be to him who should sow with +lies the very soil of his growing nature. It is time enough in manhood +to begin to lie to one's self; but a self-lying youth can have no +proper self to rest on, at any period. So that the greatest liar, even +Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, must have loved the truth,--at least at one +time of his life. We say <i>loved</i>; for a voluntary choice implies +of necessity some degree of pleasure in the choosing, however faint +the emotion or insignificant the object. It is, therefore, <i>caeteris +paribus</i>, not only necessary, but natural, to find pleasure in +truth.</p> + +<p>Now the question is, whether the pleasurable emotion, which is, so +to speak, the indigenous growth of Truth, can in any case be free of +self, or some personal gratification. To this, we apprehend, there +will be no lack of answer. Nay, the answer has already been given from +the dark antiquity of ages, that even for her own exceeding loveliness +has Truth been canonized. If there was any thing of self in the +<i>Eureka</i> of Pythagoras, there was not in the acclamations of +his country who rejoiced with him. But we may doubt the feeling, if +applied to him. If wealth or fame has sometimes followed in the track +of Genius, it has followed as an accident, but never preceded, as the +efficient conductor to any great discovery. For what is Genius but the +prophetic revealer of the unseen True, that can neither be purchased +nor bribed into light? If it come, then, at all, it must needs be +evoked by a kindred love as pure as itself. Shall we appeal to the +artist? If he deserve the name, he will disdain the imputation that +either wealth or fame has ever aided at the birth of his ideal +offspring: it was Truth that smiled upon him, that made light his +travail, that blessed their birth, and, by her fond recognition, +imparted to his breast her own most pure, unimpassioned emotion. But, +whatever mixed feeling, through the infirmity of the agent, may have +influenced the artist, whether poet or painter, there can be but one +feeling in the reader or spectator.</p> + +<p>Indeed, so imperishable is this property of Truth, that it seems to +lose nothing of its power, even when causing itself to be reflected +from things that in themselves have, properly speaking, no truth. Of +this we have abundant examples in some of the Dutch pictures, where +the principal object is simply a dish of oysters or a pickled herring. +We remember a picture of this kind, consisting solely of these very +objects, from which we experienced a pleasure <i>almost</i> exquisite. +And we would here remark, that the appetite then was in no way +concerned. The pleasure, therefore, must have been from the imitated +truth. It is certainly a curious question why this should be, while +the things themselves, that is, the actual objects, should produce no +such effect. And it seems to be because, in the latter case, there was +no truth involved. The real oysters, &c., were indeed so far true as +they were actual objects, but they did not contain a <i>truth</i> in +<i>relation</i> to any thing. Whereas, in the pictured oysters, +their relation to the actual was shown and verified in the mutual +resemblance.</p> + +<p>If this be true, as we doubt not, we have at least one evidence, where +it might not be looked for, that there is that in Truth which is +satisfying of itself. But a stronger testimony may still be found +where, from all <i>à priori</i> reasoning, we might expect, if not +positive pain, at least no pleasure; and that is, where we find it +united with human suffering, as in the deep scenes of tragedy. Now it +cannot be doubted, that some of our most refined pleasures are often +derived from this source, and from scenes that in nature we could +not look upon. And why is this, but for the reason assigned in the +preceding instance of a still-life picture? the only difference being, +that the latter is addressed to the senses, and the former to the +heart and intellect: which difference, however, well accounts for +their vast disparity of effect. But may not these tragic pleasures +have their source in sympathy alone? We answer, No. For who ever felt +it in watching the progress of actual villany or the betrayal of +innocence, or in being an eyewitness of murder? Now, though we revolt +at these and the like atrocities in actual life, it would be both new +and false to assert that they have no attraction in Art.</p> + +<p>Nor do we believe that this acknowledged interest can well be traced +to any other source than the one assumed; namely, to the truth +of <i>relation</i>. And in this capacity does Truth stand to the +Imagination, which is the proper medium through which the artist, +whether poet or painter, projects his scenes.</p> + +<p>The seat of interest here, then, being <i>in</i> the imagination, it +is precisely on that account, and because it cannot be brought home to +self, that the pleasure ensues; which is plainly, therefore, derived +from its verisimilitude to the actual, and, though together with its +appropriate excitement, yet without its imperative condition, namely, +its call of <i>life</i> on the living affections.</p> + +<p>The proper word here is <i>interest</i>, not sympathy, for sympathy +with actual suffering, be the object good or bad, is in its nature +painful; an obvious reason why so few in the more prosaic world have +the virtue to seek it.</p> + +<p>But is it not the business of the artist to touch the heart? +True,--and it is his high privilege, as its liege-lord, to sound its +very depths; nay, from its lowest deep to touch alike its loftiest +breathing pinnacle. Yet he may not even approach it, except through +the transforming atmosphere of the imagination, where alone the +saddest notes of woe, even the appalling shriek of despair, are +softened, as it were, by the tempering dews of this visionary region, +ere they fall upon the heart. Else how could we stand the smothered +moan of Desdemona, or the fiendish adjuration of Lady Macbeth,--more +frightful even than the after-deed of her husband,--or look upon the +agony of the wretched Judas, in the terrible picture of Rembrandt, +when he returns the purchase of blood to the impenetrable Sanhedrim? +Ay, how could we ever stand these but for that ideal panoply through +which we feel only their modified vibrations?</p> + +<p>Let the imitation, or rather copy, be so close as to trench on +deception, the effect will be far different; for, the <i>condition</i> +of <i>relation</i> being thus virtually lost, the copy becomes as +the original,--circumscribed by its own qualities, repulsive or +attractive, as the case may be. I remember a striking instance of this +in a celebrated actress, whose copies of actual suffering were so +painfully accurate, that I was forced to turn away from the scene, +unable to endure it; her scream of agony in Belvidera seemed to ring +in my ears for hours after. Not so was it with the great Mrs. Siddons, +who moved not a step but in a poetic atmosphere, through which the +fiercest passions seemed rather to <i>loom</i> like distant mountains +when first descried at sea,--massive and solid, yet resting on air.</p> + +<p>It would appear, then, that there is something in truth, though but +seen in the dim shadow of relation, that enforces interest,--and, so +it be without pain, at least some degree of pleasure; which, however +slight, is not unimportant, as presenting an impassable barrier to the +mere animal. We must not, however, be understood as claiming for this +Relative Truth the power of exciting a pleasurable interest in +all possible cases; there are exceptions, as in the horrible, the +loathsome, &c., which under no condition can be otherwise than +revolting. It is enough for our purpose, to have shown that its effect +is in most cases similar to that we have ascribed to Truth absolute.</p> + +<p>But objections are the natural adversaries of every adventurer: there +is one in our path which we soon descried at our first setting +out. And we find it especially opposed to the assertion respecting +children; namely, that between two things, where there is no personal +advantage to bias the decision, they will always choose that which +seems to them true, rather than the other which appears false. To +this is opposed the notorious fact of the remarkable propensity which +children have to lying. This is readily admitted; but it does not meet +us, unless it can be shown that they have not in the act of lying an +eye to its <i>reward</i>,--setting aside any outward advantage,--in +the shape of self-complacent thought at their superior wit or +ingenuity. Now it is equally notorious, that such secret triumph will +often betray itself by a smile, or wink, or some other sign from +the chuckling urchin, which proves any thing but that the lie was +gratuitous. No, not even a child can love a lie purely for its own +sake; he would else love it in another, which is against fact. Indeed, +so far from it, that, long before he can have had any notion of what +is meant by honor, the word <i>liar</i> becomes one of his first and +most opprobrious terms of reproach. Look at any child's face when he +tells his companion he lies. We ask no more than that most logical +expression; and, if it speak not of a natural abhorrence only to be +overcome by self-interest, there is no trust in any thing. No. We +cannot believe that man or child, however depraved, <i>could</i> tell +an <i>unproductive, gratuitous lie</i>.</p> + +<p>Of the last and highest source of our pleasurable emotions we need say +little; since no one will question that, if sought at all, it can +only be for its own sake. But it does not become us--at least in this +place--to enter on the subject of Holiness; of that angelic state, +whose only manifestation is in the perfect unison with the Divine +Will. We may, however, consider it in the next degree, as it is known, +and as we believe often realized, among men: we mean Goodness.</p> + +<p>We presume it is superfluous to define a good act; for every one +knows, or ought to know, that no act is good in its true sense, which +has any, the least, reference to the agent's self. Nor is it necessary +to adduce examples; our object being rather to show that the +recognition of goodness--and we beg that the word be especially +noted--must result, of necessity, in such an emotion as shall partake +of its own character, that is, be entirely devoid of self-interest.</p> + +<p>This will no doubt appear to many a startling position. But let it be +observed, that we have not said it will <i>always</i> be recognized. +There are many reasons why it should not be, and is not. We all know +how easy it is to turn away from what gives us no pleasure. A long +course of vice, together with the consciousness that goodness has +departed from ourselves, may make it painful to look upon it. Nay, +the contemplation of it may become, on this account, so painful as to +amount to agony. But that Goodness can be hated for its own sake we do +not believe, except by a devil, or some irredeemable incarnation of +evil, if such there be on this side the grave. But it is objected, +that bad men have sometimes a pleasure in Evil from which they neither +derive nor hope for any personal advantage, that is, simply <i>because +it is evil</i>. But we deny the fact. We deny that an unmixed +pleasure, which is purely abstracted from all reference to self, is in +the power of Evil. Should any man assert this even of himself, he is +not to be believed; he lies to his own heart,--and this he may do +without being conscious of it. But how can this be? Nothing more +easy: by a simple dislocation of words; by the aid of that false +nomenclature which began with the first Fratricide, and has +continued to accumulate through successive ages, till it reached +its consummation, for every possible sin, in the French Revolution. +Indeed, there are few things more easy; it is only to transfer to the +evil the name of its opposite. Some of us, perhaps, may have witnessed +the savage exultation of some hardened wretch, when the accidental +spectator of an atrocious act. But is such exultation pleasure? Is it +at all akin to what is recognized as pleasure even by this hardened +wretch? Yet so he may call it. But should we, could we look into his +heart? Should we not rather pause for a time, from mere ignorance of +the true vernacular of sin. What he feels may thus be a mystery to all +but the reprobate; but it is not pleasure either in the deed or the +doer: for, as the law of Good is Harmony, so is Discord that of Evil; +and as sympathy to Harmony, so is revulsion to Discord. And where is +hatred deepest and deadliest? Among the wicked. Yet they often hate +the good. True: but not goodness, not the good man's virtues; these +they envy, and hate him for possessing them. But more commonly the +object of dislike is first stripped of his virtues by detraction; the +detractor then supplies their place by the needful vices,--perhaps +with his own; then, indeed, he is ripe for hatred. When a sinful act +is made personal, it is another affair; it then becomes a <i>part</i> +of <i>the man</i>; and he may then worship it with the idolatry of +a devil. But there is a vast gulf between his own idol and that of +another.</p> + +<p>To prevent misapprehension, we would here observe, that we do not +affirm of either Good or Evil any irresistible power of enforcing +love or exciting abhorrence, having evidence to the contrary in +the multitudes about us; all we affirm is, that, when contemplated +abstractly, they cannot be viewed otherwise. Nor is the fact of +their inefficiency in many cases difficult of solution, when it is +remembered that the very condition to their <i>true</i> effect is +the complete absence of self, that they must clearly be viewed <i>ab +extra</i>; a hard, not to say impracticable, condition to the very +depraved; for it may well be doubted if to such minds any act or +object having a moral nature can be presented without some personal +relation. It is not therefore surprising, that, where the condition is +so precluded, there should be, not only no proper response to the +law of Good or Evil, but such frequent misapprehension of their true +character. Were it possible to see with the eyes of others, this might +not so often occur; for it need not be remarked, that few things, if +any, ever retain their proper forms in the atmosphere of self-love; +a fact that will account for many obliquities besides the one in +question. To this we may add, that the existence of a compulsory power +in either Good or Evil could not, in respect to man, consist with his +free agency,--without which there could be no conscience; nor does it +follow, that, because men, with the free power of choice, yet so often +choose wrong, there is any natural indistinctness in the absolute +character of Evil, which, as before hinted, is sufficiently apparent +to them when referring to others; in such cases the obliquitous choice +only shows, that, with the full force of right perception, their +interposing passions or interests have also the power of giving their +own color to every object having the least relation to themselves.</p> + +<p>Admitting this personal modification, we may then safely repeat our +position,--that to hate Good or to love Evil, solely for their own +sakes, is only possible with the irredeemably wicked, in other words, +with devils.</p> + +<p>We now proceed to the latter clause of our general proposition. And here +it may be asked, on what ground we assume one intuitive universal +Principle as the true source of all those emotions which have just been +discussed. To this we reply, On the ground of their common agreement. As +we shall here use the words <i>effect</i> and <i>emotion</i> as convertible terms, +we wish it to be understood, that, when we apply the epithet <i>common</i> or +<i>same</i> to <i>effect</i>, we do so only in relation to <i>kind</i>, and for the +sake of brevity, instead of saying the same <i>class</i> of effects; implying +also in the word <i>kind</i> the existence of many degrees, but no other +difference. For instance, if a beautiful flower and a noble act shall be +found to excite a kindred emotion, however slight from the one or deep +from the other, they come in effect under the same category. And this we +are forced to admit, however heterogeneous, since a common ground is +necessarily predicated of a common result. How else, for instance, can +we account for a scene in nature, a bird, an animal, a human form, +affecting us each in a similar way? There is certainly no similitude in +the objects that compose a landscape, and the form of an animal and man; +they have no resemblance either in shape, or texture, or color, in +roughness, smoothness, or any other known quality; while their several +effects are so near akin, that we do not stop to measure even the wide +degrees by which they are marked, but class them in a breath by some +common term. It is very plain that this singular property of +assimilating to one what is so widely unlike cannot proceed from any +similar conformation, or quality, or attribute of mere being, that is, +of any thing essential to distinctive existence. There must needs, then, +be some common ground for their common effect. For if they agree not in +themselves one with the other, it follows of necessity that the ground +of their agreement must be in relation to something within our own +minds, since only <i>there</i> is this common effect known as a fact.</p> + +<p>We are now brought to the important question, <i>Where</i> and +<i>what</i> is this reconciling ground? Certainly not in sensation, +for that could only reflect their distinctive differences. Neither can +it be in the reflective faculties, since the effect in question, being +co-instantaneous, is wholly independent of any process of reasoning; +for we do not feel it because we understand, but only because we are +conscious of its presence. Nay, it is because we neither do nor can +understand it, being therefore a matter aloof from all the powers of +reasoning, that its character is such as has been asserted, and, as +such, universal.</p> + +<p>Where, then, shall we search for this mysterious ground but in the +mind, since only there, as before observed, is this common effect +known as a fact? and where in the mind but in some inherent Principle, +which is both intuitive and universal, since, in a greater or less +degree, all men feel it <i>without knowing why?</i></p> + +<p>But since an inward Principle can, of necessity, have only a potential +existence, until called into action by some outward object, it is also +clear that any similar effect, which shall then be recognized through +it, from any number of differing and distinct objects, can only arise +from some mutual relation between a <i>something</i> in the objects +and in the Principle supposed, as their joint result and proper +product.</p> + +<p>And, since it would appear that we cannot avoid the admission of +some such Principle, having a reciprocal relation to certain outward +objects, to account for these kindred emotions from so many distinct +and heterogeneous sources, it remains only that we give it a name; +which has already been anticipated in the term Harmony.</p> + +<p>The next question here is, In what consists this <i>peculiar relation?</i> We +have seen that it cannot be in any thing that is essential to any +condition of mere being or existence; it must therefore consist in some +<i>undiscoverable</i> condition indifferently applicable to the Physical, +Intellectual, and Moral, yet only applicable in each to certain kinds.</p> + +<p>And this is all that we do or <i>can</i> know of it. But of this we +may be as certain as that we live and breathe.</p> + +<p>It is true that, for particular purposes, we may analyze certain +combinations of sounds and colors and forms, so as to ascertain their +relative quantities or collocation; and these facts (of which we shall +hereafter have occasion to speak) may be of importance both in Art and +Science. Still, when thus obtained, they will be no more than mere +facts, on which we can predicate nothing but that, when they are +imitated,--that is, when similar combinations of quantities, &c., are +repeated in a work of art,--they will produce the same effect. But +<i>why</i> they should is a mystery which the reflective faculties do +not solve; and never can, because it refers to a living Power that is +above the understanding. In the human figure, for instance, we can +give no reason why eight heads to the stature please us better than +six, or why three or twelve heads seem to us monstrous. If we say, in +the latter case, <i>because</i> the head of the one is too small and +of the other too large, we give no <i>reason</i>; we only state the +<i>fact</i> of their disagreeable effect on us. And, if we make the +proportion of eight heads our rule, it is because of the fact of its +being more pleasing to us than any other; and, from the same feeling, +we prefer those statures which approach it the nearest. Suppose we +analyze a certain combination of sounds and colors, so as to ascertain +the exact relative quantities of the one and the collocation of the +other, and then compare them. What possible resemblance can the +understanding perceive between these sounds and colors? And yet a +something within us responds to both in a similar emotion. And so with +a thousand things, nay, with myriads of objects that have no other +affinity but with that mysterious harmony which began with our being, +which slept with our infancy, and which their presence only seems to +have <i>awakened</i>. If we cannot go back to our own childhood, we +may see its illustration in those about us who are now emerging into +that unsophisticated state. Look at them in the fields, among the +birds and flowers; their happy faces speak the harmony within them: +the divine instrument, which these have touched, gives them a joy +which, perhaps, only childhood in its first fresh consciousness can +know. Yet what do they understand of musical quantities, or of the +theory of colors?</p> + +<p>And so with respect to Truth and Goodness; whose preëxisting Ideas, +being in the living constituents of an immortal spirit, need but the +slightest breath of some outward condition of the true and good,--a +simple problem, or a kind act,--to awake them, as it were, from their +unconscious sleep, and start them for eternity.</p> + +<p>We may venture to assert, that no philosopher, however ingenious, +could communicate to a child the abstract idea of Right, had the +latter nothing beyond or above the understanding. He might, indeed, be +taught, like the inferior animals,--a dog, for instance,--that, if he +took certain forbidden things, he would be punished, and thus do +right through fear. Still he would desire the forbidden thing, +though belonging to another; nor could he conceive why he should not +appropriate to himself, and thus allay his appetite, what was held by +another, could he do so undetected; nor attain to any higher notion of +right than that of the strongest. But the child has something higher +than the mere power of apprehending consequences. The simplest +exposition, whether of right or wrong, even by an ignorant nurse, is +instantly responded to by something <i>within him</i>, which, thus +awakened, becomes to him a living voice ever after; and the good and +the true must thenceforth answer its call, even though succeeding +years would fain overlay them with the suffocating crowds of evil and +falsehood.</p> + +<p>We do not say that these eternal Ideas of Beauty, Truth, and Goodness +will, strictly speaking, always act. Though indestructible, they may +be banished for a time by the perverted Will, and mockeries of the +brain, like the fume-born phantoms from the witches' caldron in +Macbeth, take their places, and assume their functions. We have +examples of this in every age, and perhaps in none more startling than +in the present. But we mean only that they cannot be <i>forgotten</i>: +nay, they are but, too often recalled with unwelcome distinctness. +Could we read the annals which must needs be scored on every +heart,--could we look upon those of the aged reprobate,--who will +doubt that their darkest passages are those made visible by the +distant gleams from these angelic Forms, that, like the Three which +stood before the tent of Abraham, once looked upon his youth?</p> + +<p>And we doubt not that the truest witness to the common source of these +inborn Ideas would readily be acknowledged by all, could they return +to it now with their matured power of introspection, which is, at +least, one of the few advantages of advancing years. But, though +we cannot bring back youth, we may still recover much of its purer +revelations of our nature from what has been left in the memory. From +the dim present, then, we would appeal to that fresher time, ere +the young spirit had shrunk from the overbearing pride of the +understanding, and confidently ask, if the emotions we then felt from +the Beautiful, the True, and the Good, did not seem in some way to +refer to a common origin. And we would also ask, if it was then +frequent that the influence from one was <i>singly</i> felt,--if it +did not rather bring with it, however remotely, a sense of something, +though widely differing, yet still akin to it. When we have basked in +the beauty of a summer sunset, was there nothing in the sky that spoke +to the soul of Truth and Goodness? And when the opening intellect +first received the truth of the great law of gravitation, or felt +itself mounting through the profound of space, to travel with the +planets in their unerring rounds, did never then the kindred Ideas of +Goodness and Beauty chime in, as it were, with the fabled music,--not +fabled to the soul,--which led you on like one entranced?</p> + +<p>And again, when, in the passive quiet of your moral nature, so predisposed +in youth to all things genial, you have looked abroad on this marvellous, +ever teeming Earth,--ever teeming alike for mind and body,--and have felt +upon you flow, as from ten thousand springs of Goodness, Truth, and +Beauty, ten thousand streams of innocent enjoyment; did you not then +<i>almost hear</i> them shout in confluence, and almost <i>see</i> them gushing +upwards, as if they would prove their unity, in one harmonious fountain?</p> + +<p>But, though the preceding be admitted as all true in respect to +certain "gifted" individuals, it may yet be denied that it is equally +true with respect to all, in other words, that the Principle assumed +is an inherent constituent of the human being. To this we reply, that +universality does not necessarily imply equality.</p> + +<p>The universality of a Principle does not imply <i>everywhere</i> equal +energy or activity, or even the same mode of manifestation, any more +than do the essential Faculties of the Understanding. Of this we have +an analogous illustration in the faculty of Memory; which is almost +indefinitely differenced in different men, both in degree and mode. In +some, its greatest power is shown in the retention of thoughts, but +not of words, that is, not of the original words in which they were +presented. Others possess it in a very remarkable degree as to forms, +places, &c., and but imperfectly for other things; others, again, +never forget names, dates, or figures, yet cannot repeat a +conversation the day after it took place; while some few have the +doubtful happiness of forgetting nothing. We might go on with a long +list of the various modes and degrees in which this faculty, so +essential to the human being, is everywhere manifested. But this is +sufficient for our purpose. In like manner is the Principle of Harmony +manifested; in one person as it relates to Form, in another to Sound; +so, too, may it vary as to the degrees of truth and goodness. We say +degrees; for we may well doubt whether, even in the faculty of memory, +its apparent absence as to any one essential object is any thing more +than a feeble degree of activity: and the doubt is strengthened by the +fact, that in many seemingly hopeless cases it has been actually, as +it were, brought into birth. And we are still indisposed to admit its +entire absence in any one particular for which it was bestowed on man. +An imperfect developement, especially as relating to the intellectual +and moral, we know to depend, in no slight measure, on the <i>will</i> +of the subject. Nay, (with the exception of idiots,) it may safely be +affirmed, that no individual ever existed who could not perceive the +difference between what is true and false, and right and wrong. We +here, of course, except those who have so ingeniously <i>unmade</i> +themselves, in order to reconstruct their "humanity" after a better +fashion. As to the "<i>why</i>" of these differences, we know nothing; +it is one of those unfathomable mysteries which to the finite mind +must ever be hidden.</p> + +<p>Though it has been our purpose, throughout this discourse, to direct +our inquiries mainly to the essential Elements of the subject, it may +not be amiss here to take a brief notice of their collateral product +in those mixed modes from which we derive so large a portion of our +mental gratification: we allude to the various combinations of the +several Ideas, which have just been examined, with each other as well +as with their opposites. To this prolific source may be traced much +of that many-colored interest which we take in their various forms as +presented by the imagination,--in every thing, indeed, which is true, +or even partially true, to the great Principle of Harmony, both in +nature and in art. It is to these mixed modes more especially, that we +owe all that mysterious interest which gives the illusion of life to a +work of fiction, and fills us with delight or melts with woe, whether +in the happiness or the suffering of some imagined being, uniting +goodness with beauty, or virtue with plainness, or uncommon purity and +intellect even with deformity; for even that may be so overpowered in +the prominent harmony of superior intellect and moral worth, as to be +virtually neutralized, at least, to become unobtrusive as a discordant +force. Besides, it cannot be expected that <i>complete</i> harmony is +ever to be realized in our imperfect state; we should else, perhaps, +with such expectation, have no pleasures of the kind we speak of: +nor is this necessary, the imagination being always ready to supply +deficiencies, whenever the approximation is sufficiently near to +call it forth. Nay, if the interest felt be nothing more than mere +curiosity, we still refer to this presiding Principle; which is no +less essential to a simple combination of events, than to the higher +demands of Form or Character. But its presence must be felt, however +slightly. Of this we have the evidence in many cases, and, perhaps, +most conclusive where the partial harmony is felt to verge on a +powerful discord; or where the effort to unite them produces that +singular alternation of what is both revolting and pleasing: as in the +startling union of evil passions with some noble quality, or with a +master intellect. And here we have a solution of that paradoxical +feeling of interest and abhorrence, which we experience in such a +character as King Richard.</p> + +<p>And may it not be that we are permitted this interest for a deeper +purpose than we are wont to suppose; because Sin is best seen in the +light of Virtue,--and then most fearfully when she holds the torch to +herself? Be this as it may, with pure, unintellectual, brutal evil +it is very different. We cannot look upon it undismayed: we take no +interest in it, nor can we. In Richard there is scarce a glimmer of +his better nature; yet we do not despise him, for his intellect and +courage command our respect. But the fiend Iago,--who ever followed +him through the weaving of his spider-like web, without perpetual +recurrence to its venomous source,--his devilish heart? Even the +intellect he shows seems actually animalized, and we shudder at its +subtlety, as at the cunning of a reptile. Whatever interest may have +been imputed to him should be placed to the account of his hapless +victim; to the first striving with distrust of a generous nature; to +the vague sense of misery, then its gradual developement, then the +final overthrow of absolute faith; and, last of all, to the throes +of agony of the noble Moor, as he writhes and gasps in his accursed +toils.</p> + +<p>To these mixed modes may be added another branch, which we shall term the +class of Imputed Attributes. In this class are concerned all those natural +objects with which we connect (not by individual association, but by a +general law of the mind) certain moral or intellectual attributes; which +are not, indeed, supposed to exist in the objects themselves, but which, +by some unknown affinity, they awaken or occasion in us, and which we, in +our turn, impute to them. However this be, there are multitudes of objects +in the inanimate world, which we cannot contemplate without associating +with them many of the characteristics which we ascribe to the human being; +and the ideas so awakened we involuntarily express by the ascription of +such significant epithets as <i>stately, majestic, grand</i>, and so on. It is +so with us, when we call some tall forest stately, or qualify as majestic +some broad and slowly-winding river, or some vast, yet unbroken waterfall, +or some solitary, gigantic pine, seeming to disdain the earth, and to hold +of right its eternal communion with air; or when to the smooth and +far-reaching expanse of our inland waters, with their bordering and +receding mountains, as they seem to march from the shores, in the pomp of +their dark draperies of wood and mist, we apply the terms <i>grand</i> and +<i>magnificent</i>: and so onward to an endless succession of objects, +imputing, as it were, our own nature, and lending our sympathies, till the +headlong rush of some mighty cataract suddenly thunders upon us. But how +is it then? In the twinkling of an eye, the outflowing sympathies ebb back +upon the heart; the whole mind seems severed from earth, and the awful +feeling to suspend the breath;--there is nothing human to which we can +liken it. And here begins another kind of emotion, which we call Sublime.</p> + +<p>We are not aware that this particular class of objects has hitherto +been noticed, at least as holding a distinct position. And, if we +may be allowed to supply the omission, we should assign to it the +intermediate place between the Beautiful and the Sublime. Indeed, +there seems to be no other station so peculiarly proper; inasmuch as +they would thus form, in a consecutive series, a regular ascent from +the sensible material to the invisible spiritual: hence naturally +uniting into one harmonious whole every possible emotion of our higher +nature.</p> + +<p>In the preceding discussion, we have considered the outward world +only in its immediate relation to Man, and the Human Being as the +predetermined centre to which it was designed to converge. As the +subject, however, of what are called the sublime emotions, he holds a +different position; for the centre here is not himself, nor, indeed, +can he approach it within conceivable distance: yet still he is drawn +to it, though baffled for ever. Now the question is, Where, and +in what bias, is this mysterious attraction? It must needs be in +something having a clear affinity with us, or we could not feel it. +But the attraction is also both pure and pleasurable; and it has just +been shown, that we have in ourselves but one principle by which +to recognize any corresponding emotion,--namely, the principle of +Harmony. May we not then infer a similar Principle without us, an +Infinite Harmony, to which our own is attracted? and may we not +further,--if we may so speak without irreverence,--suppose our own to +have emanated thence when "man became a living soul"? And though this +relation may not be consciously acknowledged in every instance, or +even in one, by the mass of men, does it therefore follow that it does +not exist? How many things act upon us of which we have no knowledge? +If we find, as in the case of the Beautiful, the same, or a similar, +effect to follow from a great variety of objects which have no +resemblance or agreement with one another, is it not a necessary +inference, that for their common effect they must all refer to +something without and distinct from themselves? Now in the case of +the Sublime, the something referred to is not in man: for the emotion +excited has an outward tendency; the mind cannot contain it; and the +effort to follow it towards its mysterious object, if long continued, +becomes, in the excess of interest, positively painful.</p> + +<p>Could any finite object account for this? But, supposing the Infinite, +we have an adequate cause. If these emotions, then, from whatever +object or circumstance, be to prompt the mind beyond its prescribed +limits, whether carrying it back to the primitive past, the +incomprehensible <i>beginning</i>, or sending it into the future, to +the unknown <i>end</i>, the ever-present Idea of the mighty Author of +all these mysteries must still be implied, though we think not of it. +It is this Idea, or rather its influence, whether we be conscious of +it or not, which we hold to be the source of every sublime emotion. To +make our meaning plainer, we should say, that that which has the power +of possessing the mind, to the exclusion, for the time, of all other +thought, and which presents no <i>comprehensible</i> sense of a whole, +though still impressing us with a full apprehension of such as a +reality,--in other words, which cannot be circumscribed by the forms +of the understanding while it strains them to the utmost,--that we +should term a sublime object. But whether this effect be occasioned +directly by the object itself, or be indirectly suggested by its +relations to some other object, its unknown cause, it matters not; +since the apparent power of calling forth the emotion, by whatever +means, is, <i>quoad</i> ourselves, its sublime condition. Hence, if a +minute insect, an ant, for instance, through its marvellous instinct, +lift the mind of the amazed spectator to the still more inscrutable +Creator, it must possess, as to <i>him</i>, the same power. This is, +indeed, an extreme case, and may be objected to as depending on the +individual mind; on a mind prepared by cultivation and previous +reflection for the effect in question. But to this it may be replied, +that some degree of cultivation, or, more properly speaking, of +developement by the exercise of its reflective faculties, is obviously +essential ere the mind can attain to mature growth,--we might almost +say to its natural state, since nothing can be said to have attained +its true nature until all its capacities are at least called into +birth. No one, for example, would refer to the savages of Australia +for a true specimen of what was proper or natural to the human mind; +we should rather seek it, if such were the alternative, in a civilized +child of five years old. Be this as it may, it will not be denied +that ignorance, brutality, and many other deteriorating causes, do +practically incapacitate thousands for even an approximation, not only +to this, but to many of the inferior emotions, the character of +which is purely mental. And this, we think, is quite sufficient to +neutralize the objection, if not, indeed, to justify the application +of the term to all cases where the <i>immediate</i> effect, whether +directly or indirectly, is such as has been described. But, to reduce +this to a common-sense view, it is only saying,--what no one will +deny,--that a man of education and refinement has not only more, but +higher, pleasures of the mind than a mere clown.</p> + +<p>But though the position here advanced must necessarily exclude many +objects which have hitherto, though, as we think, improperly, been +classed with the sublime, it will still leave enough, and more than +enough, for the utmost exercise of our limited powers; inasmuch as, in +addition to the multitude of objects in the material world, not only +the actions, passions, and thoughts of men, but whatever concerns the +human being, that in any way--by a hint merely--leads the mind, though +indirectly, to the Infinite attributes,--all come of right within the +ground assumed.</p> + +<p>It will be borne in mind, that the conscious presence of the Infinite +Idea is not only <i>not</i> insisted on, but expressly admitted to be, in +most cases, unthought of; it is also admitted, that a sublime effect is +often powerfully felt in many instances where this Idea could not truly +be predicated of the apparent object. In such cases, however, some kind +of resemblance, or, at least, a seeming analogy to an infinite +attribute, is nevertheless essential. It must <i>appear</i> to us, for the +time, either limitless, indefinite, or in some other way beyond the +grasp of the mind: and, whatever an object may <i>seem</i> to be, it must +needs <i>in effect</i> be to <i>us</i> even that which it seems. Nor does this +transfer the emotion to a different source; for the Infinite Idea, or +something analogous, being thus imputed, is in reality its true cause.</p> + +<p>It is still the unattainable, the <i>ever-stimulating</i>, yet +<i>ever-eluding</i>, in the character of the sublime object, that +gives to it both its term and its effect. And whence the conception of +this mysterious character, but from its mysterious prototype, the Idea +of the Infinite? Neither does it matter, as we have said, whether +actual or supposed; for what the imagination cannot master will master +the imagination. Take, for instance, but a single <i>passion</i>, and +clothe it with this character; in the same instant it becomes sublime. +So, too, with a single thought. In the Mosaic words so often quoted, +"Let there be light, and there was light," we have the sublime of +thought, of mere naked thought; but what could more awe the mind with +the power of God? Of like nature is the conjecture of Newton, when he +imagined stars so distant from the sun that their coeval light has not +yet reached us. Let us endeavour for one moment to conceive of this; +does not the soul seem to dilate within us, and the body to shrink +as to a grain of dust? "Woe is me! unclean, unclean!" said the holy +Prophet, when the Infinite Holiness stood before him. Could a more +terrible distance be measured, than by these fearful words, between +God and man?</p> + +<p>If it be objected to this view, that many cases occur, having the same +conditions with those assumed in our general proposition, which are +yet exclusively painful, unmitigated even by a transient moment of +pleasure,--in Despair, for instance,--as who can limit it?--to this we +reply, that no emotion having its sole, or circle of existence in +the individual mind itself, can be to that mind other than a +<i>subject</i>. A man in despair, or under any mode of extreme +suffering of like nature, may, indeed, if all interfering sympathy +have been removed by time or after-description, be to <i>another</i> +a sublime object,--at least in one of those suggestive forms just +noticed; but not to <i>himself</i>. The source of the sublime--as all +along implied--is essentially <i>ab extra</i>. The human mind is not +its centre, nor can it be realized except by a contemplative act.</p> + +<p>Besides, as a mental pleasure,--indeed the highest known,--to +be recognized as such, it must needs be accompanied by the same +<i>relative character</i> by which is tested every other pleasure +coming under that denomination; namely, by the entire absence +of <i>self</i>, that is, by the same freedom from all personal +consideration which has been shown to characterize the true effect of +the Three leading Ideas already considered. But if to this also it be +further objected, that in certain particular cases, as of +personal danger,--from which the sublime emotion has often been +experienced,--some personal consideration must necessarily be +involved, as without a sense of security we could not enjoy it; we +answer, that, if it be meant only that the mind should be in such a +state as to enable us to receive an unembarrassed impression, it seems +to us superfluous,--an obvious truism placed in opposition to an +absurd impossibility. We needed not to be told, that no pleasurable +emotion is likely to occur while we are unmanned by fear. The same +might be said, also, in respect to the Beautiful: for who was ever +alive to it under a paroxysm of terror, or pain of any kind? A +terrified person is in any thing but a fit state for such emotion. He +may indeed <i>afterwards</i>, when his fear is passed off, contemplate +the circumstance that occasioned it with a different feeling; but the +object of his dismay is <i>then</i> projected, as it were, completely +from himself; and he feels the sublimity in a contemplative state: +he can feel it in no other. Nor is that state incompatible with a +consciousness of peril, though it can never be with personal terror. +And, if it is meant that we should have a positive, present +conviction that we are in no danger, this we must deny, as we find it +contradicted in innumerable instances. So far, indeed, is a sense of +security from being essential to the condition of a sublime emotion, +that the sense of danger, on the contrary, is one of its most exciting +accompaniments. There is a fascination in danger which some persons +neither can nor would resist; which seems, as it were, to disenthral +them of self;--as if the mysterious Infinite were actually drawing +them on by an invisible power.</p> + +<p>Was it mere scientific curiosity that cost the elder Pliny his life? +Might it not have been rather this sublime fascination? But we have +repeated examples of it in our own time. Many who will read this may +have been in a storm at sea. Did they never feel its sublimity while +they knew their danger? We will answer for ourselves; for we have been +in one, when the dismasted vessels that surrounded us permitted no +mistake as to our peril; it was strongly felt, but still stronger was +the sublime emotion in the awful scene. The crater of Vesuvius is even +now, perhaps for the thousandth time, reflecting from its lake of fire +some ghastly face, with indrawn breath and hair bristling, bent, as by +fate, over its sulphurous brink.</p> + +<p>Let us turn to Mont Blanc, that mighty pyramid of ice, in whose shadow +might repose all the tombs of the Pharaohs. It rises before the +traveller like the accumulating mausoleum of Europe: perhaps he looks +upon it as his own before his natural time; yet he cannot away from +it. A terrible charm hurries him over frightful chasms, whose blue +depths seem like those of the ocean; he cuts his way up a polished +precipice, shining like steel,--as elusive to the touch; he creeps +slowly and warily around and beneath huge cliffs of snow; now he looks +up, and sees their brows fretted by the percolating waters like a +Gothic ceiling, and he fears even to whisper, lest an audible breath +should awaken the avalanche: and thus he climbs and climbs, till the +dizzy summit fills up his measure of fearful ecstasy.</p> + +<p>Now, though cases may occur where the emotion in question is attended +with a sense of security, as in the reading or hearing the description +of an earthquake, such as that of 1768 in Lisbon, while we are safely +housed and by a comfortable fire, it does not therefore follow, that +this consciousness of safety is its essential condition. It is merely +an accidental circumstance. It cannot, therefore, apply, either as a +rule or an objection. Besides, even if supported by fact, we might +well dismiss it on the ground of irrelevancy, since a sense of +personal safety cannot be placed in opposition to and as inconsistent +with a disinterested or unselfish state; which is that claimed for +the emotion as its true condition. If there be not, then, a sounder +objection, we may safely admit the characteristic in question; for +the reception of which we have, on the other hand, the weight of +experience,--at least negatively, since, strictly speaking, we cannot +experience the absence of any thing.</p> + +<p>But though, according to our theory, there are many things now called +sublime that would properly come under a different classification, such +as many objects of Art, many sentiments, and many actions, which are +strictly human, as well in their <i>end</i> as in their origin; it is not to +be inferred that the exclusion of any work of man is <i>because</i> of <i>its +apparent origin</i>, but of its <i>end</i>, the end only being the determining +point, as referring to its <i>Idea</i>. Now, if the Idea referred to be of +the Infinite, which is <i>out</i> of his nature, it cannot strictly be said +to originate with man,--that is, absolutely; but it is rather, as it +were, a reflected form of it from the Maker of his mind. If we are led +to such an Idea, then, by any work of imagination, a poem, a picture, a +statue, or a building, it is as truly sublime as any natural object. +This, it appears to us, is the sole mystery, without which neither +sound, nor color, nor form, nor magnitude, is a true correlative to the +unseen cause. And here, as with Beauty, though the test of that be +within us, is the <i>modus operandi</i> equally baffling to the scrutiny of +the understanding. We feel ourselves, as it were, lifted from the earth, +and look upon the outward objects that have so affected us, yet learn +not how; and the mystery deepens as we compare them with other objects +from which have followed the same effects, and find no resemblance. For +instance; the roar of the ocean, and the intricate unity of a Gothic +cathedral, whose beginning and end are alike intangible, while its +climbing tower seems visibly even to rise to the Idea which it strives +to embody,--these have nothing in common,--hardly two things could be +named that are more unlike; yet in relation to man they have but one +end: for who can hear the ocean when breathing in wrath, and limit it in +his mind, though he think not of Him who gives it voice? or ascend that +spire without feeling his faculties vanish, as it were with its +vanishing point, into the abyss of space? If there be a difference in +the effect from these and other objects, it is only in the intensity, +the degree of impetus given; as between that from the sudden explosion +of a volcano and from the slow and heavy movement of a rising +thunder-cloud; its character and its office are the same,--in its awful +harmony to connect the created with its Infinite Cause.</p> + +<p>But let us compare this effect with that from Beauty. Would the +Parthenon, for instance, with its beautiful forms,--made still more +beautiful under its native sky,--seeming almost endued with the breath +of life, as if its conscious purple were a living suffusion brought +forth in sympathy by the enamoured blushes of a Grecian sunset;--would +this beautiful object even then elevate the soul above its own roof? +No: we should be filled with a pure delight,--but with no longing to +rise still higher. It would satisfy us; which the sublime does not; +for the feeling is too vast to be circumscribed by human content.</p> + +<p>On the supernatural it is needless to enlarge; for, in whatever form +the beings of the invisible world are supposed to visit us, they are +immediately connected in the mind with the unknown Infinite; whether +the faith be in the heart or in the imagination; whether they bubble +up from the earth, like the Witches in Macbeth, taking shape at will, +or self-dissolving into air, and no less marvellous, foreknowing +thoughts ere formed in man; or like the Ghost in Hamlet, an +unsubstantial shadow, having the functions of life, motion, will, +and speech; a fearful mystery invests them with a spell not to be +withstood; the bewildered imagination follows like a child, leaving +the finite world for one unknown, till it aches in darkness, +trackless, endless.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, as being nearest in station to the unsearchable Author of +all things, the highest example of this would be found in the +Angelic Nature. If it be objected, that the poets have not always so +represented it, it rests with them to show cause why they have not. +Milton, no doubt, could have assigned a sufficient reason in <i>the +time chosen for his poem</i>,--that of the creation of the first man, +when his intercourse with the highest order of created beings was not +only essential to the plan of the poem, but according with the express +will of the Creator: hence, he might have considered it no violation +of the <i>then</i> relation between man and angels to assign even the +epithet <i>affable</i> to the archangel Raphael; for man was then +sinless, and in all points save knowledge a fit object of regard, and +certainly a fit pupil to his heavenly instructor. But, suppose the +poet, throughout his work, (as in the process of his story he was +forced to do near the end,)--suppose he had chosen, assuming the +philosopher, to assign to Adam the <i>altered relation of one of his +fallen posterity</i>, how could he have endured a holy spiritual +presence? To be consistent, Adam must have been dumb with awe, +incapable of holding converse such as is described. Between sinless +man and his sinful progeny, the distance is immeasurable. And so, too, +must be the effect on the latter, in such a presence; and for this +conclusion we have the authority of Scripture, in the dismay of the +soldiers at the Saviour's sepulchre, on which more directly. If there +be no like effect attending the other angelic visits recorded in +Scripture, such as those to Lot and Abraham, the reason is obvious in +the <i>special mission</i> to those individuals, who were doubtless +<i>divinely prepared</i> for their reception; for it is reasonable +to suppose the mission had else been useless. But with the Roman +soldiers, where there was no such qualifying circumstance, the case +was different; indeed, it was in striking contrast with that of the +two Marys, who, though struck with awe, yet being led there, as +witnesses, by the Spirit, were not so overpowered.</p> + +<p>And here, as the Idea of Angels is universally associated with every +perfection of <i>form</i>, may naturally occur the question so often +agitated,--namely, whether Beauty and Sublimity are, under any +circumstances, compatible. To us it seems of easy solution. For we see +no reason why Beauty, as the condition of a subordinated object or +component part, may not incidentally enter into the Sublime, as well +as a thousand other conditions of opposite characters, which pertain +to the multifarious assimilants that often form its other components.</p> + +<p>When Beauty is not made <i>essential</i>, but enters as a mere +contingent, its admission or rejection is a matter of indifference. In +an angel, for instance, beauty is the condition of his mere form; but +the angel has also an intellectual and moral or spiritual nature, +which is essentially paramount: the former being but the condition, so +to speak, of his visibility, the latter, his very life,--an Essence +next to the inconceivable Giver of life.</p> + +<p>Could we stand in the presence of one of these holy beings, (if to +stand were possible,) what of the Sublime in this lower world would so +shake us? Though his beauty were such as never mortal dreamed of, +it would be as nothing,--swallowed up as darkness,--in the awful, +spiritual brightness of the messenger of God. Even as the soldiers +in Scripture, at the sepulchre of the Saviour, we should fall before +him,--we should "become," like them, "as dead men."</p> + +<p>But though Milton does not unveil the "face like lightning"; and +though the angel Raphael is made to hold converse with man, and the +"severe in youthful beauty" gives even the individual impress to +Zephon, and Michael and Abdiel are set apart in their prowess; there +is not one he names that does not breathe of Heaven, that is not +encompassed with the glory of the Infinite. And why the reader is not +overwhelmed in their supposed presence is because he is a beholder +<i>through</i> Adam,--through him also a listener; but whenever he is +made, by the poet's spell, to forget Adam, and to see, as it were in +his own person, the embattled hosts....</p> + +<p>If we dwell upon Form <i>alone</i>, though it should be of surpassing +beauty, the idea would not rise above that of man, for this is +conceivable of man: but the moment the angelic nature is touched, we +have the higher ideas of supernal intelligence and perfect holiness, +to which all the charms and graces of mere form immediately +become subordinate, and, though the beauty remain, its agency is +comparatively negative under the overpowering transcendence of a +celestial spirit.</p> + +<p>As we have already seen that the Beautiful is limited to no particular +form, but possesses its power in some mysterious <i>condition</i>, +which is applicable to many distinct objects; in like manner does the +Sublime include within its sphere, and subdue to its condition, an +indefinite variety of objects, with their distinctive conditions; and +among them we find that of the Beautiful, as well as, to a <i>certain +degree</i>, its reverse, so that, though we may truly recognize their +coexistence in the same object, it is not possible that their effect +upon us should be otherwise than unequal, and that the higher law +should not subordinate the lower. We do not deny that the Beautiful +may, so to speak, mitigate the awful intensity of the Sublime; but it +cannot change its character, much less impart its own; the one will +still be awful, the other, of itself, never.</p> + +<p>When at Rome, we once asked a foreigner, who seemed to be talking +somewhat vaguely on the subject, what he understood by the Sublime. +His answer was, "Le plus beau"; making it only a matter of degree. Now +let us only imagine (if we can) a beautiful earthquake, or a beautiful +hurricane. And yet the foreigner is not alone in this. D'Azzara, +the biographer of Mengs, speaking of Beauty, talks of "this sublime +quality," and in another place, for certain reasons assigned, he says, +"The grand style is beautiful." Nay, many writers, otherwise of high +authority, seem to have taken the same view; while others who could +have had no such notion, having used the words Beauty and the +Beautiful in an allegorical or metaphorical sense, have sometimes been +misinterpreted literally. Hence Winckelmann reproaches Michael Angelo +for his continual talk about Beauty, when he showed nothing of it +in his works. But it is very evident that the <i>Bellà</i> and +<i>Bellezza</i> of Michael Angelo were never used by him in a literal +sense, nor intended to be so understood by others: he adopted the +terms solely to express abstract Perfection, which he allegorized as +the mistress of his mind, to whose exclusive worship his whole life +was devoted. Whether it was the most appropriate term he could have +chosen, we shall not inquire. It is certain, however, that the literal +adoption of it by subsequent writers has been the cause of much +confusion, as well as vagueness.</p> + +<p>For ourselves, we are quite at a loss to imagine how a notion so +obviously groundless has ever had a single supporter; for, if a +distinct effect implies a distinct cause, we do not see why distinct +terms should not be employed to express the difference, or how the +legitimate term for one can in any way be applied to signify a +particular degree of the other. Like the two Dromios, they sometimes +require a conjurer to tell which is which. If only Perfection, which +is a generic term implying the summit of all things, be meant, +there is surely nothing to be gained (if we except <i>intended</i> +obscurity) by substituting a specific term which is limited to a few. +We speak not here of allegorical or metaphorical propriety, which is +not now the question, but of the literal and didactic; and we may +add, that we have never known but one result from this arbitrary +union,--which is, to procreate words.</p> + +<p>In further illustration of our position, it may be well here to notice +one mistaken source of the Sublime, which seems to have been sometimes +resorted to, both in poems and pictures; namely, in the sympathy +excited by excruciating bodily suffering. Suppose a man on the rack +to be placed before us,--perhaps some miserable victim of the +Inquisition; the cracking of his joints is made frightfully audible; +his calamitous "Ah!" goes to our marrow; then the cruel precision +of the mechanical familiar, as he lays bare to the sight his whole +anatomy of horrors. And suppose, too, the executioner <i>compelled</i> +to his task,--consequently an irresponsible agent, whom we cannot +curse; and, finally, that these two objects compose the whole scene. +What could we feel but an agony even like that of the sufferer, the +only difference being that one is physical, the other mental? And this +is all that mere sympathy has any power to effect; it has led us to +its extreme point,--our flesh creeps, and we turn away with almost +bodily sickness. But let another actor be added to the drama in the +presiding Inquisitor, the cool methodizer of this process of torture; +in an instant the scene is changed, and, strange to say, our feelings +become less painful,--nay, we feel a momentary interest,--from an +instant revulsion of our moral nature: we are lost in wonder at the +excess of human wickedness, and the hateful wonder, as if partaking of +the infinite, now distends the faculties to their utmost tension; for +who can set bounds to passion when it seizes the whole soul? It is as +the soul itself, without form or limit. We may not think even of the +after judgment; we become ourselves <i>justice</i>, and we award a +hatred commensurate with the sin, so indefinite and monstrous that we +stand aghast at our own judgment.</p> + +<p><i>Why</i> this extreme tension of the mind, when thus outwardly +occasioned, should create in us an interest, we know not; but such is +the fact, and we are not only content to endure it for a time, but +even crave it, and give to the feeling the epithet <i>sublime</i>.</p> + +<p>We do not deny that much bodily suffering may be admitted with effect +as a subordinate agent, when, as in the example last added, it is made +to serve as a necessary expositor of moral deformity. Then, indeed, +in the hands of a great artist, it becomes one of the most powerful +auxiliaries to a sublime end. All that we contend for is that sympathy +alone is insufficient as a cause of sublimity.</p> + +<p>There are yet other sources of the false sublime, (if we may so call +it,) which are sometimes resorted to also by poets and painters; such +as the horrible, the loathsome, the hideous, and the monstrous: these +form the impassable boundaries to the true Sublime. Indeed, there +appears to be in almost every emotion a certain point beyond which we +cannot pass without recoiling,--as if we instinctively shrunk from +what is forbidden to our nature.</p> + +<p>It would seem, then, that, in relation to man, Beauty is the extreme +point, or last summit, of the natural world, since it is in that that +we recognize the highest emotion of which we are susceptible from the +purely physical. If we ascend thence into the moral, we shall find its +influence diminish in the same ratio with our upward progress. In the +continuous chain of creation of which it forms a part, the link above +it where the moral modification begins seems scarcely changed, yet the +difference, though slight, demands another name, and the nomenclator +within us calls it Elegance; in the next connecting link, the moral +adjunct becomes more predominant, and we call it Majesty; in the next, +the physical becomes still fainter, and we call the union Grandeur; in +the next, it seems almost to vanish, and a new form rises before us, +so mysterious, so undefined and elusive to the senses, that we turn, +as if for its more distinct image, within ourselves, and there, with +wonder, amazement, awe, we see it filling, distending, stretching +every faculty, till, like the Giant of Otranto, it seems almost to +burst the imagination: under this strange confluence of opposite +emotions, this terrible pleasure, we call the awful form Sublimity. +This was the still, small voice that shook the Prophet on +Horeb;--though small to his ear, it was more than his imagination +could contain; he could not hear it again and live.</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that we have enumerated all the forms of +gradation between the Beautiful and the Sublime; such was not our +purpose; it is sufficient to have noted the most prominent, leaving +the intermediate modifications to be supplied (as they can readily be) +by the reader. If we descend from the Beautiful, we shall pass in like +manner through an equal variety of forms gradually modified by the +grosser material influences, as the Handsome, the Pretty, the Comely, +the Plain, &c., till we fall to the Ugly.</p> + +<p>There ends the chain of pleasurable excitement; but not the chain of +Forms; which, taking now as if a literal curve, again bends upward, +till, meeting the descending extreme of the moral, it seems to +complete the mighty circle. And in this dark segment will be found the +startling union of deepening discords,--still deepening, as it rises +from the Ugly to the Loathsome, the Horrible, the Frightful,[1] the +Appalling.</p> + +<p>As we follow the chain through this last region of disease, misery, +and sin, of embodied Discord, and feel, as we must, in the mutilated +affinities of its revolting forms, their fearful relation to this +fair, harmonious creation,--how does the awful fact, in these its +breathing fragments, speak to us of a fallen world!</p> + +<p>As the living centre of this stupendous circle stands the Soul of Man; +the <i>conscious Reality</i>, to which the vast inclosure is but the +symbol. How vast, then, his being! If space could measure it, the +remotest star would fall within its limits. Well, then, may he tremble +to essay it even in thought; for where must it carry him,--that winged +messenger, fleeter than light? Where but to the confines of the +Infinite; even to the presence of the unutterable <i>Life</i>, on +which nothing finite can look and live?</p> + +<p>Finally, we shall conclude our Discourse with a few words on the +master Principle, which we have supposed to be, by the will of the +Creator, the realizing life to all things fair and true and good: and +more especially would we revert to its spiritual purity, emphatically +manifested through all its manifold operations,--so impossible +of alliance with any thing sordid, or false, or wicked,--so +unapprehensible, even, except for its own most sinless sake. Indeed, +we cannot look upon it as other than the universal and eternal witness +of God's goodness and love, to draw man to himself, and to testify +to the meanest, most obliquitous mind,--at least once in life, be it +though in childhood,--that there <i>is</i> such a thing as <i>good +without self</i>. It will be remembered, that, in all the various +examples adduced, in which we have endeavoured to illustrate the +operation of Harmony, there was but one character to all its effects, +whatever the difference in the objects that occasioned them; that it +was ever untinged with any personal taint: and we concluded thence +its supernal source. We may now advance another evidence still more +conclusive of its spiritual origin, namely, in the fact, that it +cannot be realized in the Human Being <i>quoad</i> himself. With the +fullest consciousness of the possession of this principle, and with +the power to realize it in other objects, he has still no power in +relation to himself,--that is, to become the object to himself.</p> + +<p>Now, as the condition of Harmony, so far as we can know it through its +effect, is that of <i>impletion</i>, where nothing can be added or +taken away, it is evident that such a condition can never be realized +by the mind in itself. And yet the desire to this end is as evidently +implied in that incessant, yet unsatisfying activity, which, under all +circumstances, is an imperative, universal law of our nature.</p> + +<p>It might seem needless to enlarge on what must be generally felt as an +obvious truth; still, it may not be amiss to offer a few remarks, by +way of bringing it, though a truism, more distinctly before us. In all +ages the majority of mankind have been more or less compelled to some +kind of exertion for their mere subsistence. Like all compulsion, this +has no doubt been considered a hardship. Yet we never find, when by +their own industry, or any fortunate circumstance, they have been +relieved from this exigency, that any one individual has been +contented with doing nothing. Some, indeed, before their liberation, +have conceived of idleness as a kind of synonyme with happiness; but a +short experience has never failed to prove it no less remote from that +desirable state. The most offensive employments, for the want of +a better, have often been resumed, to relieve the mind from the +intolerable load of <i>nothing</i>,--the heaviest of all weights,--as +it needs must be to an immortal spirit: for the mind cannot stop, +except it be in a mad-house; there, indeed, it may rest, or rather +stagnate, on one thought,--its little circle, perhaps of misery. From +the very moment of consciousness, the active Principle begins to +busy itself with the things about it: it shows itself in the infant, +stretching its little hands towards the candle; in the schoolboy, +filling up, if alone, his play-hour with the mimic toils of after age; +and so on, through every stage and condition of life; from the wealthy +spend-thrift, beggaring himself at the gaming-table for employment, to +the poor prisoner in the Bastile, who, for the want of something to +occupy his thoughts, overcame the antipathy of his nature, and found +his companion in a spider. Nay, were there need, we might draw out the +catalogue till it darkened with suicide. But enough has been said to +show, that, aside from guilt, a more terrible fiend has hardly been +imagined than the little word Nothing, when embodied and realized as +the master of the mind. And well for the world that it is so; since to +this wise law of our nature, to say nothing of conveniences, we owe +the endless sources of innocent enjoyment with which the industry and +ingenuity of man have supplied us.</p> + +<p>But the wisdom of the law in question is not merely that it is a +preventive to the mind preying on itself; we see in it a higher +purpose,--no less than what involves the developement of the human +being; and, if we look to its final bearing, it is of the deepest +import. It might seem at first a paradox, that, the natural condition +of the mind being averse to inactivity, it should still have so +strong a desire for rest; but a little reflection will show that this +involves no real contradiction. The mind only mistakes the <i>name</i> +of its object, neither rest nor action being its real aim; for in a +state of rest it desires action, and in a state of action, rest. Now +all action supposes a purpose, which purpose can consist of but one +of two things; either the attainment of some immediate object as its +completion, or the causing of one or more future acts, that shall +follow as a consequence. But whether the action terminates in an +immediate object, or serves as the procreating cause of an indefinite +series of acts, it must have some ultimate object in which it +ends,--or is to end. Even supposing such a series of acts to be +continued through a whole life, and yet remain incomplete, it would +not alter the case. It is well known that many such series have +employed the minds of mathematicians and astronomers to their last +hour; nay, that those acts have been taken up by others, and continued +through successive generations: still, whether the point be arrived at +or no, there must have been an end in contemplation. Now no one can +believe that, in similar cases, any man would voluntarily devote all +his days to the adding link after link to an endless chain, for +the mere pleasure of labor. It is true he may be aware of the +wholesomeness of such labor as one of the means of cheerfulness; but, +if he have no further aim, his being aware of this result makes an +equable flow of spirits a positive object. Without <i>hope</i>, +uncompelled labor is an impossibility; and hope implies an object. Nor +would the veriest idler, who passes a whole day in whittling a stick, +if he could be brought to look into himself, deny it. So far from +having no object, he would and must acknowledge that he was in +fact hoping to relieve himself of an oppressive portion of time by +whittling away its minutes and hours. Here we have an extreme instance +of that which constitutes the real business of life, from the most +idle to the most industrious; namely, to attain to a <i>satisfying +state</i>.</p> + +<p>But no one will assert that such a state was ever a consequence of the +attainment of any object, however exalted. And why? Because the motive +of action is left behind, and we have nothing before us.</p> + +<p>Something to desire, something to look forward to, we <i>must</i> +have, or we perish,--even of suicidal rest. If we find it not here in +the world about us, it must be sought for in another; to which, as we +conceive, that secret ruler of the soul, the inscrutable, ever-present +spirit of Harmony, for ever points. Nor is it essential that the +thought of harmony should even cross the mind; for a want may be +felt without any distinct consciousness of the form of that which is +desired. And, for the most part, it is only in this negative way that +its influence is acknowledged. But this is sufficient to account +for the universal longing, whether definite or indefinite, and the +consequent universal disappointment.</p> + +<p>We have said that man cannot to himself become the object of +Harmony,--that is, find its proper correlative in himself; and we have +seen that, in his present state, the position is true. How is it, +then, in the world of spirit? Who can answer? And yet, perhaps,--if +without irreverence we might hazard the conjecture,--as a finite +creature, having no centre in himself on which to revolve, may it not +be that his true correlative will there be revealed (if, indeed, it be +not before) to the disembodied man, in the Being that made him? And +may it not also follow, that the Principle we speak of will cease to +be potential, and flow out, as it were, and harmonize with the +eternal form of Hope,--even that Hope whose living end is in the +unapproachable Infinite?</p> + +<p>Let us suppose this form of hope to be taken away from an immortal +being who has no self-satisfying power within him, what would be +his condition? A conscious, interminable vacuum, were such a thing +possible, would but faintly image it. Hope, then, though in its nature +unrealizable, is not a mere <i>notion</i>; for so long as it continues +hope, it is to the mind an object and an object <i>to be</i> realized; +so, where its form is eternal, it cannot but be to it an ever-during +object. Hence we may conceive of a never-ending approximation to what +can never be realized.</p> + +<p>From this it would appear, that, while we cannot to ourselves become +the object of Harmony, it is nevertheless certain, from the universal +desire <i>so</i> to realize it, that we cannot suppress the continual +impulse of this paramount Principle; which, therefore, as it seems to +us, must have a double purpose; first, by its outward manifestation, +which we all recognize, to confirm its reality, and secondly, to +convince the mind that its true object is not merely out of, but +above, itself,--and only to be found in the Infinite Creator.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> +<h2>Art.</h2> + + + +<p>In treating on Art, which, in its highest sense, and more especially +in relation to Painting and Sculpture, is the subject proposed for +our present examination, the first question that occurs is, In +what consists its peculiar character? or rather, What are the +characteristics that distinguish it from Nature, which it professes to +imitate?</p> + +<p>To this we reply, that Art is characterized,--</p> + +<p>First, by Originality.</p> + +<p>Secondly, by what we shall call Human or Poetic Truth; which is the +verifying principle by which we recognize the first.</p> + +<p>Thirdly, by Invention; the product of the Imagination, as grounded on +the first, and verified by the second. And,</p> + +<p>Fourthly, by Unity, the synthesis of all.</p> + +<p>As the first step to the right understanding of any discourse is a +clear apprehension of the terms used, we add, that by Originality we +mean any thing (admitted by the mind as <i>true</i>) which is peculiar +to the Author, and which distinguishes his production from that of +all others; by Human or Poetic Truth, that which may be said to exist +exclusively in and for the mind, and as contradistinguished from the +truth of things in the natural or external world; by Invention, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of entire objects already known, or by the union and modification +of known but fragmentary parts into new and consistent forms; and, +lastly, by Unity, such an agreement and interdependence of all the +parts, as shall constitute a whole.</p> + +<p>It will be our attempt to show, that, by the presence or absence of +any one of these characteristics, we shall be able to affirm or deny +in respect to the pretension of any object as a work of Art; and also +that we shall find within ourselves the corresponding law, or by +whatever word we choose to designate it, by which each will be +recognized; that is, in the degree proportioned to the developement, +or active force, of the law so judging.</p> + +<p>Supposing the reader to have gone along with us in what has been said of +the <i>Universal</i>, in our Preliminary Discourse, and as assenting to the +position, that any faculty, law, or principle, which can be shown to be +<i>essential</i> to <i>any one</i> mind, must necessarily be also predicated of +every other sound mind, even where the particular faculty or law is so +feebly developed as apparently to amount to its absence, in which case +it is inferred potentially,--we shall now assume, on the same grounds, +that the originating <i>cause</i>, notwithstanding its apparent absence in +the majority of men, is an essential reality in the condition of the +Human Being; its potential existence in all being of necessity affirmed +from its existence in one.</p> + +<p>Assuming, then, its reality,--or rather leaving it to be evidenced +from its known effects,--we proceed to inquire <i>in what</i> consists +this originating power.</p> + +<p>And, first, as to its most simple form. If it be true, (as we hope to +set forth more at large in a future discourse,) that no two minds were +ever found to be identical, there must then in every individual mind +be <i>something</i> which is not in any other. And, if this unknown +something is also found to give its peculiar hue, so to speak, +to every impression from outward objects, it seems but a natural +inference, that, whatever it be, it <i>must</i> possess a pervading +force over the entire mind,--at least, in relation to what is +external. But, though this may truly be affirmed of man generally, +from its evidence in any one person, we shall be far from the fact, +should we therefore affirm, that, otherwise than potentially, the +power of outwardly manifesting it is also universal. We know that it +is not,--and our daily experience proves that the power of reproducing +or giving out the individualized impressions is widely different in +different men. With some it is so feeble as apparently never to act; +and, so far as our subject is concerned, it may practically be said +not to exist; of which we have abundant examples in other mental +phenomena, where an imperfect activity often renders the existence of +some essential faculty a virtual nullity. When it acts in the higher +decrees, so as to make another see or feel <i>as</i> the Individual +saw or felt,--this, in relation to Art, is what we mean, in its +strictest sense, by Originality. He, therefore, who possesses the +power of presenting to another the <i>precise</i> images or emotions +as they existed in himself, presents that which can be found nowhere +else, and was first found by and within himself; and, however light or +trifling, where these are true as to his own mind, their author is so +far an originator.</p> + +<p>But let us take an example, and suppose two <i>portraits</i>; simple +heads, without accessories, that is, with blank backgrounds, such as +we often see, where no attempt is made at composition; and both by +artists of equal talent, employing the same materials, and conducting +their work according to the same technical process. We will also +suppose ourselves acquainted with the person represented, with whom +to compare them. Who, that has ever made a similar comparison, will +expect to find them identical? On the contrary, though in all respects +equal, in execution, likeness, &c., we shall still perceive a certain +<i>exclusive something</i> that will instantly distinguish the one +from the other, and both from the original. And yet they shall both +seem to us true. But they will be true to us also in a double sense; +namely, as to the living original and as to the individuality of +the different painters. Where such is the result, both artists must +originate, inasmuch as they both outwardly realize the individual +image of their distinctive minds.</p> + +<p>Nor can the truth they present be ascribed to the technic process, +which we have supposed the same with each; as, on such a supposition, +with their equal skill, the result must have been identical. No; +by whatever it is that one man's mental impression, or his mode of +thought, is made to differ from another's, it is that something, which +our imaginary artists have here transferred to their pencil, that +makes them different, yet both original.</p> + +<p>Now, whether the medium through which the impressions, conceptions, or +emotions of the mind are thus externally realized be that of colors, +words, or any thing else, this mysterious though certain principle is, +as we believe, the true and only source of all originality.</p> + +<p>In the power of assimilating what is foreign, or external, to our own +particular nature consists the individualizing law, and in the power +of reproducing what is thus modified consists the originating cause.</p> + +<p>Let us turn now to an opposite example,--to a mere mechanical copy of +some natural object, where the marks in question are wholly wanting. +Will any one be truly affected by it? We think not; we do not say that +he will not praise it,--this he may do from various motives; but his +<i>feeling</i>--if we may so name the index of the law within--will +not be called forth to any spontaneous correspondence with the object +before him.</p> + +<p>But why talk of feeling, says the pseudo-connoisseur, where we should +only, or at least first, bring knowledge? This is the common cant of +those who become critics for the sake of distinction. Let the Artist +avoid them, if he would not disfranchise himself in the suppression +of that uncompromising <i>test</i> within him, which is the only sure +guide to the truth without.</p> + +<p>It is a poor ambition to desire the office of a judge merely for +the sake of passing sentence. But such an ambition is not likely to +possess a person of true sensibility. There are some, however, in +whom there is no deficiency of sensibility, yet who, either from +self-distrust, or from some mistaken notion of Art, are easily +persuaded to give up a right feeling, in exchange for what they may +suppose to be knowledge,--the barren knowledge of faults; as if there +could be a human production without them! Nevertheless, there is +little to be apprehended from any conventional theory, by one who is +forewarned of its mere negative power,--that it can, at best, only +suppress feeling; for no one ever was, or ever can be, argued into +a real liking for what he has once felt to be false. But, where the +feeling is genuine, and not the mere reflex of a popular notion, so +far as it goes it must be true. Let no one, therefore, distrust it, to +take counsel of his head, when he finds himself standing before a work +of Art. Does he feel its truth? is the only question,--if, indeed, the +impertinence of the understanding should then propound one; which we +think it will not, where the feeling is powerful. To such a one, the +characteristic of Art upon which we are now discoursing will force +its way with the power of light; nor will he ever be in danger of +mistaking a mechanical copy for a living imitation.</p> + +<p>But we sometimes hear of "faithful transcripts," nay, of fac-similes. +If by these be implied neither more nor less than exists in their +originals, they must still, in that case, find their true place in +the dead category of Copy. Yet we need not be detained by any inquiry +concerning the merits of a fac-simile, since we firmly deny that a +fac-simile, in the true sense of the term, is a thing possible.</p> + +<p>That an absolute identity between any natural object and its represented +image is a thing impossible, will hardly be questioned by any one who +thinks, and will give the subject a moment's reflection; and the +difficulty lies in the nature of things, the one being the work of the +Creator, and the other of the creature. We shall therefore assume as a +fact, the eternal and insuperable difference between Art and Nature. That +our pleasure from Art is nevertheless similar, not to say equal, to that +which we derive from Nature, is also a fact established by experience; to +account for which we are necessarily led to the admission of another fact, +namely, that there exists in Art a <i>peculiar something</i> which we receive +as equivalent to the admitted difference. Now, whether we call this +equivalent, individualized truth, or human or poetic truth, it matters +not; we know by its <i>effects</i>, that some such principle does exist, and +that it acts upon us, and in a way corresponding to the operation of that +which we call Truth and Life in the natural world. Of the various laws +growing out of this principle, which take the name of Rules when applied +to Art, we shall have occasion to speak in a future discourse. At present +we shall confine ourselves to the inquiry, how far the difference alluded +to may be safely allowed in any work professing to be an imitation of +Nature.</p> + +<p>The fact, that truth may subsist with a very considerable admixture +of falsehood, is too well known to require an argument. However +reprehensible such an admixture may be in morals, it becomes in Art, +from the limited nature of our powers, a matter of necessity.</p> + +<p>For the same reason, even the realizing of a thought, or that which +is properly and exclusively human, must ever be imperfect. If Truth, +then, form but the greater proportion, it is quite as much as we may +reasonably look for in a work of Art. But why, it may be asked, where +the false predominates, do we still derive pleasure? Simply because of +the Truth that remains. If it be further demanded, What is the minimum +of truth in order to a pleasurable effect? we reply, So much only as +will cause us to feel that the truth <i>exists</i>. It is this feeling +alone that determines, not only the true, but the degrees of truth, +and consequently the degrees of pleasure.</p> + +<p>Where no such feeling is awakened, and supposing no deficiency in the +recipient, he may safely, from its absence, pronounce the work false; +nor could any ingenious theory of the understanding convince him to +the contrary. He may, indeed, as some are wont to do, make a random +guess, and <i>call</i> the work true; but he can never so <i>feel</i> +it by any effort of reasoning. But may not men differ as to their +impressions of truth? Certainly as to the degrees of it, and in this +according to their sensibility, in which we know that men are not +equal. By sensibility here we mean the power or capacity of receiving +impressions. All men, indeed, with equal organs, may be said in a +certain sense to see alike. But will the same natural object, +conveyed through these organs, leave the same impression? The fact is +otherwise. What, then, causes the difference, if it be not (as before +observed) a peculiar something in the individual mind, that modifies +the image? If so, there must of necessity be in every true work of +Art--if we may venture the expression--another, or distinctive, truth. +To recognize this, therefore,--as we have elsewhere endeavoured to +show,--supposes in the recipient something akin to it. And, though it +be in reality but a <i>sign</i> of life, it is still a sign of which +we no sooner receive the impress, than, by a law of our mind, we feel +it to be acting upon our thoughts and sympathies, without our knowing +how or wherefore. Admitting, therefore, the corresponding instinct, +or whatever else it may be called, to vary in men,--which there is no +reason to doubt,--the solution of their unequal impression appears at +once. Hence it would be no extravagant metaphor, should we affirm that +some persons see more with their minds than others with their eyes. +Nay, it must be obvious to all who are conversant with Art, that +much, if not the greater part, in its higher branches is especially +addressed to this mental vision. And it is very certain, if there were +no truth beyond the reach of the senses, that little would remain to +us of what we now consider our highest and most refined pleasure.</p> + +<p>But it must not be inferred that originality consists in any +contradiction to Nature; for, were this allowed and carried out, it +would bring us to the conclusion, that, the greater the contradiction, +the higher the Art. We insist only on the modification of the natural +by the personal; for Nature is, and ever must be, at least the +sensuous ground of all Art: and where the outward and inward are +so united that we cannot separate them, there shall we find the +perfection of Art. So complete a union has, perhaps, never been +accomplished, and <i>may</i> be impossible; it is certain, however, +that no approach to excellence can ever be made, if the <i>idea</i> of +such a union be not constantly looked to by the artist as his ultimate +aim. Nor can the idea be admitted without supposing a <i>third</i> as +the product of the two,--which we call Art; between which and Nature, +in its strictest sense, there must ever be a difference; indeed, a +<i>difference with resemblance</i> is that which constitutes its +essential condition.</p> + +<p>It has doubtless been observed, that, in this inquiry concerning the +nature and operation of the first characteristic, the presence of the +second, or verifying principle, has been all along implied; nor could +it be otherwise, because of their mutual dependence. Still more will +its active agency be supposed in our examination of the third, namely, +Invention. But before we proceed to that, the paramount index of the +highest art, it may not be amiss to obtain, if possible, some distinct +apprehension of what we have termed Poetic Truth; to which, it will be +remembered, was also prefixed the epithet Human, our object therein +being to prepare the mind, by a single word, for its peculiar sphere; +and we think it applicable also for a more important reason, +namely, that this kind of Truth is the <i>true ground of the +poetical</i>,--for in what consists the poetry of the natural world, +if not in the sentiment and reacting life it receives from the human +fancy and affections? And, until it can be shown that sentiment and +fancy are also shared by the brute creation, this seeming effluence +from the beautiful in nature must rightfully revert to man. What, for +instance, can we suppose to be the effect of the purple haze of a +summer sunset on the cows and sheep, or even on the more delicate +inhabitants of the air? From what we know of their habits, we +cannot suppose more than the mere physical enjoyment of its genial +temperature. But how is it with the poet, whom we shall suppose +an object in the same scene, stretched on the same bank with the +ruminating cattle, and basking in the same light that flickers from +the skimming birds. Does he feel nothing more than the genial warmth? +Ask him, and he perhaps will say,--"This is my soul's hour; this +purpled air the heart's atmosphere, melting by its breath the sealed +fountains of love, which the cold commonplace of the world had frozen: +I feel them gushing forth on every thing around me; and how worthy of +love now appear to me these innocent animals, nay, these whispering +leaves, that seem to kiss the passing air, and blush the while at +their own fondness! Surely they are happy, and grateful too that they +are so; for hark! how the little birds send up their song of praise! +and see how the waving trees and waving grass, in mute accordance, +keep time with the hymn!"</p> + +<p>This is but one of the thousand forms in which the human spirit is +wont to effuse itself on the things without, making to the mind a +new and fairer world,--even the shadowing of that which its immortal +craving will sometimes dream of in the unknown future. Nay, there +is scarcely an object so familiar or humble, that its magical touch +cannot invest it with some poetic charm. Let us take an extreme +instance,--a pig in his sty. The painter, Morland, was able to convert +even this disgusting object into a source of pleasure,--and a pleasure +as real as any that is known to the palate.</p> + +<p>Leaving this to have the weight it may be found to deserve, we turn +to the original question; namely, What do we mean by Human or Poetic +Truth?</p> + +<p>When, in respect to certain objects, the effects are found to be +uniformly of the same kind, not only upon ourselves, but also upon +others, we may reasonably infer that the efficient cause is of one +nature, and that its uniformity is a necessary result. And, when we also +find that these effects, though differing in degree, are yet uniform in +their character, while they seem to proceed from objects which in +themselves are indefinitely variant, both in kind and degree, we are +still more forcibly drawn to the conclusion, that the <i>cause</i> is not +only <i>one</i>, but not inherent in the object.[2] The question now arises, +What, then, is that which seems to us so like an <i>alter et idem</i>,--which +appears to act upon, and is recognized by us, through an animal, a bird, +a tree, and a thousand different, nay, opposing objects, in the same +way, and to the same end? The inference follows of necessity, that the +mysterious cause must be in some general law, which is absolute and +<i>imperative</i> in relation to every such object under certain conditions. +And we receive the solution as true,--because we cannot help it. The +reality, then, of such a law becomes a fixture in the mind.</p> + +<p>But we do not stop here: we would know something concerning the +conditions supposed. And in order to this, we go back to the effect. +And the answer is returned in the form of a question,--May it not +be something <i>from ourselves</i>, which is reflected back by the +object,--something with which, as it were, we imbue the object, making +it correspond to a <i>reality</i> within us? Now we recognize the +reality within; we recognize it also in the object,--and the affirming +light flashes upon us, not in the form of <i>deduction</i>, but of +inherent Truth, which we cannot get rid of; and we <i>call</i> it +Truth,--for it will take no other name.</p> + +<p>It now remains to discover, so to speak, its location. In what part, +then, of man may this self-evidenced, yet elusive, Truth or power be +said to reside? It cannot be in the senses; for the senses can impart +no more than they receive. Is it, then, in the mind? Here we are +compelled to ask, What is understood by the mind? Do we mean the +understanding? We can trace no relation between the Truth we would +class and the reflective faculties. Or in the moral principle? Surely +not; for we can predicate neither good nor evil by the Truth in +question. Finally, do we find it identified with the truth of +the Spirit? But what is the truth of the Spirit but the Spirit +itself,--the conscious <i>I</i>? which is never even thought of in +connection with it. In what form, then, shall we recognize it? In +its own,--the form of Life,--the life of the Human Being; that +self-projecting, realizing power, which is ever present, ever acting +and giving judgment on the instant on all things corresponding with +its inscrutable self. We now assign it a distinctive epithet, and call +it Human.</p> + +<p>It is a common saying, that there is more in a name than we are apt +to imagine. And the saying is not without reason; for when the name +happens to be the true one, being proved in its application, it +becomes no unimportant indicator as to the particular offices for +which the thing named was designed. So we find it with respect to the +Truth of which we speak; its distinctive epithet marking out to us, as +its sphere of action, the mysterious intercourse between man and man; +whether the medium consist in words or colors, in thought or form, or +in any thing else on which the human agent may impress, be it in a +sign only, his own marvellous life. As to the process or <i>modus +operandi</i>, it were a vain endeavour to seek it out: that divine +secret must ever to man be an humbling darkness. It is enough for him +to know that there is that within him which is ever answering to that +without, as life to life,--which must be life, and which must be true.</p> + +<p>We proceed now to the third characteristic. It has already been +stated, in the general definition, what we would be understood to mean +by the term Invention, in its particular relation to Art; namely, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of forms already known, or by the union and modification of known +but fragmentary parts into a new and consistent whole: in both cases +tested by the two preceding characteristics.</p> + +<p>We shall consider first that division of the subject which stands first +in order,--the Invention which consists in the new combination of known +forms. This may be said to be governed by its exclusive relation either +to <i>what is</i>, or <i>has been</i>, or, when limited by the <i>probable</i>, to what +strictly may be. It may therefore be distinguished by the term Natural. +But though we so name it, inasmuch as all its forms have their +prototypes in the Actual, it must still be remembered that these +existing forms do substantially constitute no more than mere <i>parts</i> to +be combined into a <i>whole</i>, for which Nature has provided no original. +For examples in this, the most comprehensive class, we need not refer +to any particular school; they are to be found in all and in every +gallery: from the histories of Raffaelle, the landscapes of Claude and +Poussin and others, to the familiar scenes of Jan Steen, Ostade, and +Brower. In each of these an adherence to the actual, if not strictly +observed, is at least supposed in all its parts; not so in the whole, as +that relates to the probable; by which we mean such a result as <i>would +be</i> true, were the same combination to occur in nature. Nor must we be +understood to mean, by adherence to the actual, that one part is to be +taken for an exact portrait; we mean only such an imitation as precludes +an intentional deviation from already existing and known forms.</p> + +<p>It must be very obvious, that, in classing together any of the +productions of the artists above named, it cannot be intended to +reduce them to a level; such an attempt (did our argument require it) +must instantly revolt the common sense and feeling of every one at all +acquainted with Art. And therefore, perhaps, it may be thought that +their striking difference, both in kind and degree, might justly call +for some further division. But admitting, as all must, a wide, nay, +almost impassable, interval between the familiar subjects of the lower +Dutch and Flemish painters, and the higher intellectual works of the +great Italian masters, we see no reason why they may not be left to +draw their own line of demarcation as to their respective provinces, +even as is every day done by actual objects; which are all equally +natural, though widely differenced as well in kind as in quality. It +is no degradation to the greatest genius to say of him and of the most +unlettered boor, that they are both men.</p> + +<p>Besides, as a more minute division would be wholly irrelevant to the +present purpose, we shall defer the examination of their individual +differences to another occasion. In order, however, more distinctly to +exhibit their common ground of Invention, we will briefly examine a +picture by Ostade, and then compare it with one by Raffaelle, than +whom no two artists could well be imagined having less in common.</p> + +<p>The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of Ostade's work, +presenting something between a kitchen and a stable. Its principal +object is the carcass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry; +subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; the accessories, +various garments, pots, kettles, and other culinary utensils.</p> + +<p>The bare enumeration of these coarse materials would naturally +predispose the mind of one, unacquainted with the Dutch school, to +expect any thing but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would +seem to be the only possible impression from a picture composed of +such ingredients. And such, indeed, would be their effect under the +hand of any but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and follow +Ostade's <i>mind</i>, as it leaves its impress on the several objects. +Observe how he spreads his principal light, from the suspended carcass +to the surrounding objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable +shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there to an earthen +pot; then connecting it, by the flash from a brass kettle, with his +second light, the woman and child; and again turning the eye into +the dark recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old baskets, +roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a glimpse of sunshine, from +a half-open window, gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and +sending it back to the principal object, which now seems to act on the +mind as the luminous source of all these diverging lights. But the +magical whole is not yet completed; the mystery of color has been +called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that we can hardly +separate them; at least, until their united effect has first been +felt, and after we have begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even +then we cannot long proceed before we find the charm returning; as we +pass from the blaze of light on the carcass, where all the tints of +the prism seem to be faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the +dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose awhile on the white +cap and kerchief of the nursing mother; then we are roused again by +the flickering strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and +red petticoat; then the strife is softened by the low yellow of a +straw-bottomed chair; and thus with alternating excitement and repose +do we travel through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses +the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic dream. Now +all this will no doubt appear to many, if not absurd, at least +exaggerated: but not so to those who have ever felt the sorcery of +color. They, we are sure, will be the last to question the character +of the feeling because of the ingredients which worked the spell, +and, if true to themselves, they must call it poetry. Nor will they +consider it any disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to say +of Ostade that he also was an Artist.</p> + +<p>We turn now to a work of the great Italian,--the Death of Ananias. +The scene is laid in a plain apartment, which is wholly devoid of +ornament, as became the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. +The Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to transact the +temporal business of the Church, and are standing together on a +slightly elevated platform, about which, in various attitudes, some +standing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous assemblage of +their new converts, male and female. This quiet assembly (for we still +feel its quietness in the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly +roused by the sudden fall of one of their brethren; some of them turn +and see him struggling in the agonies of death. A moment before he was +in the vigor of life,--as his muscular limbs still bear evidence; +but he had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his frame is +convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we doubt for a moment as to the +awful cause: it is almost expressed in voice by those nearest to +him, and, though varied by their different temperaments, by terror, +astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice has yet but one +meaning,--"Ananias has lied to the Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as +if audible to the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his doom, +and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle marks him the judge; yet +not of himself,--for neither his attitude, air, nor expression has +any thing in unison with the impetuous Peter,--he is now the simple, +passive, yet awful instrument of the Almighty: while another on the +right, with equal calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated +arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate of the entering +Sapphira. Yet all is not done; lest a question remain, the Apostle on +the left confirms the judgment. No one can mistake what passes within +him; like one transfixed in adoration, his uplifted eyes seem to ray +out his soul, as if in recognition of the divine tribunal. But the +overpowering thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the human +sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, connecting the past with +the present, seem almost to articulate, "Alas, my brother!" By this +exquisite turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle almoner of the +Church, who is dealing out their portions to the needy brethren. And +here, as most remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering seems +not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of repose,--not to pass by, +but to linger upon, till we feel its quiet influence diffusing itself +over the whole mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved +Disciple, we find it leading us back through the exciting scene, +modifying even our deepest emotions with a kindred tranquillity.</p> + +<p>This is Invention; we have not moved a step through the picture but at +the will of the Artist. He invented the chain which we have followed, +link by link, through every emotion, assimilating many into one; and +this is the secret by which he prepared us, without exciting horror, +to contemplate the struggle of mortal agony.</p> + +<p>This too is Art; and the highest art, when thus the awful power, +without losing its character, is tempered, as it were, to our +mysterious desires. In the work of Ostade, we see the same inventive +power, no less effective, though acting through the medium of the +humblest materials.</p> + +<p>We have now exhibited two pictures, and by two painters who may be +said to stand at opposite poles. And yet, widely apart as are their +apparent stations, they are nevertheless tenants of the same ground, +namely, actual nature; the only difference being, that one is +the sovereign of the purely physical, the other of the moral and +intellectual, while their common medium is the catholic ground of the +imagination.</p> + +<p>We do not fear either skeptical demur or direct contradiction, when +we assert that the imagination is as much the medium of the homely +Ostade, as of the refined Raffaelle. For what is that, which has just +wrapped us as in a spell when we entered his humble cottage,--which, +as we wandered through it, invested the coarsest object with a +strange charm? Was it the <i>truth</i> of these objects that we there +acknowledged? In part, certainly, but not simply the truth that +belongs to their originals; it was the truth of his own individual +mind superadded to that of nature, nay, clothed upon besides by his +imagination, imbuing it with all the poetic hues which float in the +opposite regions of night and day, and which only a poet can mingle +and make visible in one pervading atmosphere. To all this our own +minds, our own imaginations, respond, and we pronounce it true to +both. We have no other rule, and well may the artists of every age and +country thank the great Lawgiver that there <i>is no other</i>. The +despised <i>feeling</i> which the schools have scouted is yet the +mother of that science of which they vainly boast. But of this we may +have more to say in another place.</p> + +<p>We shall now ascend from the <i>probable</i> to the <i>possible</i>, +to that branch of Invention whose proper office is from the known but +fragmentary to realize the unknown; in other words, to embody the +possible, having its sphere of action in the world of Ideas. To this +class, therefore, may properly be assigned the term <i>Ideal</i>.</p> + +<p>And here, as being its most important scene, it will be necessary to +take a more particular view of the verifying principle, the agent, so +to speak, that gives reality to the inward, when outwardly manifested.</p> + +<p>Now, whether we call this Human or Poetic Truth, or <i>inward +life</i>, it matters not; we know by <i>its effects</i>, (as we have +already said, and we now repeat,) that some such principle does exist, +and that it acts upon us, and in a way analogous to the operation of +that which we call truth and life in the world about us. And that the +cause of this analogy is a real affinity between the two powers seems +to us confirmed, not only <i>positively</i> by this acknowledged +fact, but also <i>negatively</i> by the absence of the effect above +mentioned in all those productions of the mind which we pronounce +unnatural. It is therefore in effect, or <i>quoad</i> ourselves, both +truth and life, addressed, if we may use the expression, to that +inscrutable <i>instinct</i> of the imagination which conducts us to +the knowledge of all invisible realities.</p> + +<p>A distinct apprehension of the reality and of the office of this +important principle, we cannot but think, will enable us to ascertain +with some degree of precision, at least so far as relates to art, +the true limits of the Possible,--the sphere, as premised, of Ideal +Invention.</p> + +<p>As to what some have called our <i>creative</i> powers, we take it +for granted that no correct thinker has ever applied such expressions +literally. Strictly speaking, we can <i>make</i> nothing: we can +only construct. But how vast a theatre is here laid open to the +constructive powers of the finite creature; where the physical eye is +permitted to travel for millions and millions of miles, while that of +the mind may, swifter than light, follow out the journey, from star to +star, till it falls back on itself with the humbling conviction that +the measureless journey is then but begun! It is needless to dwell on +the immeasurable mass of materials which a world like this may supply +to the Artist.</p> + +<p>The very thought of its vastness darkens into wonder. Yet how much +deeper the wonder, when the created mind looks into itself, and +contemplates the power of impressing its thoughts on all things +visible; nay, of giving the likeness of life to things inanimate; and, +still more marvellous, by the mere combination of words or colors, of +evolving into shape its own Idea, till some unknown form, having no +type in the actual, is made to seem to us an organized being. When +such is the result of any unknown combination, then it is that we +achieve the Possible. And here the Realizing Principle may strictly be +said to prove itself.</p> + +<p>That such an effect should follow a cause which we know to be purely +imaginary, supposes, as we have said, something in ourselves which +holds, of necessity, a predetermined relation to every object either +outwardly existing or projected from the mind, which we thus recognize +as true. If so, then the Possible and the Ideal are convertible terms; +having their existence, <i>ab initio</i>, in the nature of the mind. +The soundness of this inference is also supported negatively, as just +observed, by the opposite result, as in the case of those fantastic +combinations, which we sometimes meet with both in Poetry and +Painting, and which we do not hesitate to pronounce unnatural, that +is, false.</p> + +<p>And here we would not be understood as implying the preëxistence of +all possible forms, as so many <i>patterns</i>, but only of that +constructive Power which imparts its own Truth to the unseen +<i>real</i>, and, under certain conditions, reflects the image or +semblance of its truth on all things imagined; and which must be +assumed in order to account for the phenomena presented in the +frequent coincident effect between the real and the feigned. Nor does +the absence of consciousness in particular individuals, as to this +Power in themselves, fairly affect its universality, at least +potentially: since by the same rule there would be equal ground for +denying the existence of any faculty of the mind which is of slow or +gradual developement; all that we may reasonably infer in such cases +is, that the whole mind is not yet revealed to itself. In some of the +greatest artists, the inventive powers have been of late developement; +as in Claude, and the sculptor Falconet. And can any one believe that, +while the latter was hewing his master's marble, and the former making +pastry, either of them was conscious of the sublime Ideas which +afterwards took form for the admiration of the world? When Raffaelle, +then a youth, was selected to execute the noble works which now live +on the walls of the Vatican, "he had done little or nothing," says +Reynolds, "to justify so high a trust." Nor could he have been +certain, from what he knew of himself, that he was equal to the task. +He could only hope to succeed; and his hope was no doubt founded on +his experience of the progressive developement of his mind in former +efforts; rationally concluding, that the originally seeming blank +from which had arisen so many admirable forms was still teeming with +others, that only wanted the occasion, or excitement, to come forth at +his bidding.</p> + +<p>To return to that which, as the interpreting medium of his thoughts +and conceptions, connects the artist with his fellow-men, we remark, +that only on the ground of some self-realizing power, like what +we have termed Poetic Truth, could what we call the Ideal ever be +intelligible.</p> + +<p>That some such power is inherent and fundamental in our nature, though +differenced in individuals by more or less activity, seems more +especially confirmed in this latter branch of the subject, where the +phenomena presented are exclusively of the Possible. Indeed, we cannot +conceive how without it there could ever be such a thing as true Art; +for what might be received as such in one age might also be overruled +in the next: as we know to be the case with most things depending on +opinion. But, happily for Art, if once established on this immutable +base, there it must rest: and rest unchanged, amidst the endless +fluctuations of manners, habits, and opinions; for its truth of +a thousand years is as the truth of yesterday. Hence the beings +described by Homer, Shakspeare, and Milton are as true to us now, as +the recent characters of Scott. Nor is it the least characteristic +of this important Truth, that the only thing needed for its full +reception is simply its presence,--being its own evidence.</p> + +<p>How otherwise could such a being as Caliban ever be true to us? We have +never seen his race; nay, we knew not that such a creature <i>could</i> +exist, until he started upon us from the mind of Shakspeare. Yet who +ever stopped to ask if he were a real being? His existence to the mind +is instantly felt;--not as a matter of faith, but of fact, and a fact, +too, which the imagination cannot get rid of if it would, but which must +ever remain there, verifying itself, from the first to the last moment +of consciousness. From whatever point we view this singular creature, +his reality is felt. His very language, his habits, his feelings, +whenever they recur to us, are all issues from a living thing, acting +upon us, nay, forcing the mind, in some instances, even to speculate on +his nature, till it finds itself classing him in the chain of being as +the intermediate link between man and the brute. And this we do, not by +an ingenious effort, but almost by involuntary induction; for we +perceive speech and intellect, and yet without a soul. What but an +intellectual brute could have uttered the imprecations of Caliban? They +would not be natural in man, whether savage or civilized. Hear him, in +his wrath against Prospero and Miranda:--</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "A wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed<br /> +With raven's feather from unwholesome fen,<br /> +Light on you both!"</p></blockquote> + +<p>The wild malignity of this curse, fierce as it is, yet wants the moral +venom, the devilish leaven, of a consenting spirit: it is all but +human.</p> + +<p>To this we may add a similar example, from our own art, in the Puck, +or Robin Goodfellow, of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Who can look at this +exquisite little creature, seated on its toadstool cushion, and not +acknowledge its prerogative of life,--that mysterious influence which +in spite of the stubborn understanding masters the mind,--sending +it back to days long past, when care was but a dream, and its most +serious business a childish frolic? But we no longer think of +childhood as the past, still less as an abstraction; we see it +embodied before us, in all its mirth and fun and glee; and the grave +man becomes again a child, to feel as a child, and to follow the +little enchanter through all his wiles and never-ending labyrinth of +pranks. What can be real, if that is not which so takes us out of +our present selves, that the weight of years falls from us as a +garment,--that the freshness of life seems to begin anew, and the +heart and the fancy, resuming their first joyous consciousness, to +launch again into this moving world, as on a sunny sea, whose pliant +waves yield to the touch, yet, sparkling and buoyant, carry them +onward in their merry gambols? Where all the purposes of reality are +answered, if there be no philosophy in admitting, we see no wisdom in +disputing it.</p> + +<p>Of the immutable nature of this peculiar Truth, we have a like +instance in the Farnese Hercules; the work of the Grecian sculptor +Glycon,--we had almost said his immortal offspring. Since the time of +its birth, cities and empires, even whole nations, have disappeared, +giving place to others, more or less barbarous or civilized; yet these +are as nothing to the countless revolutions which have marked +the interval in the manners, habits, and opinions of men. Is it +reasonable, then, to suppose that any thing not immutable in its +nature could possibly have withstood such continual fluctuation? +But how have all these changes affected this <i>visible image of +Truth</i>? In no wise; not a jot; and because what is <i>true</i> is +independent of opinion: it is the same to us now as it was to the men +of the dust of antiquity. The unlearned spectator of the present day +may not, indeed, see in it the Demigod of Greece; but he can never +mistake it for a mere exaggeration of the human form; though of mortal +mould, he cannot doubt its possession of more than mortal powers; he +feels its <i>essential life</i>, for he feels before it as in the +stirring presence of a superior being.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the attempt to give form and substance to a pure Idea was +never so perfectly accomplished as in this wonderful figure. Who has +ever seen the ocean in repose, in its awful sleep, that smooths it +like glass, yet cannot level its unfathomed swell? So seems to us the +repose of this tremendous personification of strength: the laboring +eye heaves on its slumbering sea of muscles, and trembles like a skiff +as it passes over them: but the silent intimations of the spirit +beneath at length become audible; the startled imagination hears it +in its rage, sees it in motion, and sees its resistless might in +the passive wrecks that follow the uproar. And this from a piece of +marble, cold, immovable, lifeless! Surely there is that in man, which +the senses cannot reach, nor the plumb of the understanding sound.</p> + +<p>Let us turn now to the Apollo called Belvedere. In this supernal +being, the human form seems to have been assumed as if to make visible +the harmonious confluence of the pure ideas of grace, fleetness, and +majesty; nor do we think it too fanciful to add celestial splendor; +for such, in effect, are the thoughts which crowd, or rather rush, +into the mind on first beholding it. Who that saw it in what may be +called the place of its glory, the Gallery of Napoleon, ever thought +of it as a man, much less as a statue; but did not feel rather as if +the vision before him were of another world,--of one who had just +lighted on the earth, and with a step so ethereal, that the next +instant he would vault into the air? If I may be permitted to recall +the impression which it made on myself, I know not that I could better +describe it than as a sudden intellectual flash, filling the whole +mind with light,--and light in motion. It seemed to the mind what the +first sight of the sun is to the senses, as it emerges from the ocean; +when from a point of light the whole orb at once appears to bound from +the waters, and to dart its rays, as by a visible explosion, through +the profound of space. But, as the deified Sun, how completely is the +conception verified in the thoughts that follow the effulgent original +and its marble counterpart! Perennial youth, perennial brightness, +follow them both. Who can imagine the old age of the sun? As soon +may we think of an old Apollo. Now all this may be ascribed to the +imagination of the beholder. Granted,--yet will it not thus be +explained away. For that is the very faculty addressed by every work +of Genius,--whose nature is <i>suggestive</i>; and only when it +excites to or awakens congenial thoughts and emotions, filling the +imagination with corresponding images, does it attain its proper end. +The false and the commonplace can never do this.</p> + +<p>It were easy to multiply similar examples; the bare mention of a +single name in modern art might conjure up a host,--the name of +Michael Angelo, the mighty sovereign of the Ideal, than whom no one +ever trod so near, yet so securely, the dizzy brink of the Impossible.</p> + +<p>Of Unity, the fourth and last characteristic, we shall say but little; +for we know in truth little or nothing of the law which governs +it: indeed, all that we know but amounts to this,--that, wherever +existing, it presents to the mind the Idea of a Whole,--which is +itself a mystery. For what answer can we give to the question, What +is a Whole? If we reply, That which has neither more nor less than it +ought to have, we do not advance a step towards a definite notion; for +the <i>rule</i> (if there be one) is yet undiscovered, by which +to measure either the too much or the too little. Nevertheless, +incomprehensible as it certainly is, it is what the mind will not +dispense with in a work of Art; nay, it will not concede even a right +to the name to any production where this is wanting. Nor is it a sound +objection, that we also receive pleasure from many things which seem +to us fragmentary; for instance, from actual views in Nature,--as we +shall hope to show in another place. It is sufficient at present, +that, in relation to Art, the law of the imagination demands a whole; +in order to which not a single part must be felt to be wanting; all +must be there, however imperfectly rendered; nay, such is the craving +of this active faculty, that, be they but mere hints, it will often +fill them out to the desired end; the only condition being, that the +part hinted be founded in truth. It is well known to artists, that a +sketch, consisting of little more than hints, will frequently produce +the desired effect, and by the same means,--the hints being true so +far as expressed, and without an hiatus. But let the artist attempt to +<i>finish</i> his sketch, that is, to fill out the parts, and suppose +him deficient in the necessary skill, the consequence must be, that +the true hints, becoming transformed to elaborate falsehoods, will +be all at variance, while the revolted imagination turns away with +disgust. Nor is this a thing of rare occurrence: indeed, he is a most +fortunate artist, who has never had to deplore a well-hinted whole +thus reduced to fragments.</p> + +<p>These are facts; from which we may learn, that with less than a whole, +either already wrought, or so indicated that the excited imagination +can of itself complete it, no genuine response will ever be given to +any production of man. And we learn from it also this twofold truth; +first, that the Idea of a Whole contains in itself a preëxisting law; +and, secondly, that Art, the peculiar product of the Imagination, is +one of its true and predetermined ends.</p> + +<p>As to its practical application, it were fruitless to speculate. It +applies itself, even as truth, both in action and reaction, verifying +itself: and our minds submit, as if it had said, There is nothing +wanting; so, in the converse, its dictum is absolute when it announces +a deficiency.</p> + +<p>To return to the objection, that we often receive pleasure from many +things in Nature which seem to us fragmentary, we observe, that nothing in +Nature can be fragmentary, except in the seeming, and then, too, to the +understanding only,--to the feelings never; for a grain of sand, no less +than a planet, being an essential part of that mighty whole which we call +the universe, cannot be separated from the Idea of the world without a +positive act of the reflective faculties, an act of volition; but until +then even a grain of sand cannot cease to imply it. To the mere +understanding, indeed, even the greatest extent of actual objects which +the finite creature can possibly imagine must ever fall short of the vast +works of the Creator. Yet we nevertheless can, and do, apprehend the +existence of the universe. Now we would ask here, whether the influence of +a <i>real</i>,--and the epithet here is not unimportant,--whether the influence +of a real Whole is at no time felt without an act of consciousness, that +is, without thinking of a whole. Is this impossible? Is it altogether out +of experience? We have already shown (as we think) that no <i>unmodified +copy</i> of actual objects, whether single or multifarious, ever satisfies +the imagination,--which imperatively demands a something more, or at least +different. And yet we often find that the very objects from which these +copies are made <i>do</i> satisfy us. How and why is this? A question more +easily put than answered. We may suggest, however, what appears to us a +clew, that in abler hands may possibly lead to its solution; namely, the +fact, that, among the innumerable emotions of a pleasurable kind derived +from the actual, there is not one, perhaps, which is strictly confined to +the objects before us, and which we do not, either directly or indirectly, +refer to something beyond and not present. Now have we at all times a +distinct consciousness of the things referred to? Are they not rather more +often vague, and only indicated in some <i>undefined</i> feeling? Nay, is its +source more intelligible where the feeling is more definite, when taking +the form of a sense of harmony, as from something that diffuses, yet +deepens, unbroken in its progress through endless variations, the melody +as it were of the pleasurable object? Who has never felt, under certain +circumstances, an expansion of the heart, an elevation of mind, nay, a +striving of the whole being to pass its limited bounds, for which he could +find no adequate solution in the objects around him,--the apparent cause? +Or who can account for every mood that thralls him,--at times like one +entranced in a dream by airs from Paradise,--at other times steeped in +darkness, when the spirit of discord seems to marshal his every thought, +one against another?</p> + +<p>Whether it be that the Living Principle, which permeates all things +throughout the physical world, cannot be touched in a single point +without conducting to its centre, its source, and confluence, thus +giving by a part, though obscurely and indefinitely, a sense of the +whole,--we know not. But this we may venture to assert, and on no +improbable ground,--that a ray of light is not more continuously +linked in its luminous particles than our moral being with the +whole moral universe. If this be so, may it not give us, in a faint +shadowing at least, some intimation of the many real, though unknown +relations, which everywhere surround and bear upon us? In the deeper +emotions, we have, sometimes, what seems to us a fearful proof of it. +But let us look at it negatively; and suppose a case where this chain +is broken,--of a human being who is thus cut off from all possible +sympathies, and shut up, as it were, in the hopeless solitude of +his own mind. What is this horrible avulsion, this impenetrable +self-imprisonment, but the appalling state of <i>despair?</i> And what +if we should see it realized in some forsaken outcast, and hear his +forlorn cry, "Alone! alone!" while to his living spirit that single +word is all that is left him to fill the blank of space? In such a +state, the very proudest autocrat would yearn for the sympathy of the +veriest wretch.</p> + +<p>It would seem, then, since this living cement which is diffused +through nature, binding all things in one, so that no part can be +contemplated that does not, of necessity, even though unconsciously to +us, act on the mind with reference to the whole,--since this, as we +find, cannot be transferred to any copy of the actual, it must needs +follow, if we would imitate Nature in its true effects, that recourse +must be had to another, though similar principle, which shall so +pervade our production as to satisfy the mind with an efficient +equivalent. Now, in order to this there are two conditions required: +first, the personal modification, (already discussed) of every +separate part,--which may be considered as its proper life; and, +secondly, the uniting of the parts by such an interdependence that +they shall appear to us as essential, one to another, and all to each. +When this is done, the result is a whole. But how do we obtain +this mutual dependence? We refer the questioner to the law of +Harmony,--that mysterious power, which is only apprehended by its +imperative effect.</p> + +<p>But, be the above as it may, we know it to be a fact, that, whilst +nothing in Nature ever affects us as fragmentary, no unmodified copy +of her by man is ever felt by us as otherwise.</p> + +<p>We have thus--and, we trust, on no fanciful ground--endeavoured to +establish the real and distinctive character of Art. And, if our +argument be admitted, it will be found to have brought us to the +following conclusions:--first, that the true ground of all originality +lies in the <i>individualizing law</i>, that is, in that modifying +power, which causes the difference between man and man as to their +mental impressions; secondly, that only in a <i>true</i> reproduction +consists its evidence; thirdly, that in the involuntary response from +other minds lies the truth of the evidence; fourthly, that in order +to this response there must therefore exist some universal kindred +principle, which is essential to the human mind, though widely +differenced in the degree of its activity in different individuals; +and finally, that this principle, which we have here denominated +Human or Poetic Truth, being independent both of the will and of the +reflective faculties, is in its nature <i>imperative</i>, to affirm +or deny, in relation to every production pretending to Art, from the +simple imitation of the actual to the probable, and from the probable +to the possible;--in one word, that the several characteristics, +Originality, Poetic Truth, Invention, each imply a something not +inherent in the objects imitated, but which must emanate alone from +the mind of the Artist.</p> + +<p>And here it may be well to notice an apparent objection, that will +probably occur to many, especially among painters. How, then, they may +ask, if the principle in question be universal and imperative, do we +account for the mistakes which even great Artists have sometimes made +as to the realizing of their conceptions? We hope to show, that, so +far from opposing, the very fact on which the objection is grounded +will be found, on the contrary, to confirm our doctrine. Were such +mistakes uniformly permanent, they might, perhaps, have a rational +weight; but that this is not the case is clearly evident from the +additional fact of the change in the Artist's judgment, which almost +invariably follows any considerable interval of time. Nay, should +a case occur where a similar mistake is never rectified,--which is +hardly probable,--we might well consider it as one of those exceptions +that prove the rule,--of which we have abundant examples in other +relations, where a true principle is so feebly developed as to be +virtually excluded from the sphere of consciousness, or, at least, +where its imperfect activity is for all practical purposes a mere +nullity. But, without supposing any mental weakness, the case may +be resolved by the no less formidable obstacle of a too inveterate +memory: and there have been such,--where a thought or an image once +impressed is never erased. In Art it is certainly an advantage to be +able sometimes to forget. Nor is this a new notion; for Horace, it +seems, must have had the same, or he would hardly have recommended so +long a time as nine years for the revision of a poem. That Titian +also was not unaware of the advantage of forgetting is recorded by +Boschini, who relates, that, during the progress of a work, he was +in the habit of occasionally turning it to the wall, until it had +somewhat faded from his memory, so that, on resuming his labor, he +might see with fresh eyes; when (to use his expression) he would +criticize the picture with as much severity as his worst enemy. If, +instead of the picture on the canvas, Boschini had referred to that in +his mind, as what Titian sought to forget, he would have been, as +we think, more correct. This practice is not uncommon with Artists, +though few, perhaps, are aware of its real object.</p> + +<p>It has doubtless the appearance of a singular anomaly in the judgment, +that it should not always be as correct in relation to our own works +as to those of another. Yet nothing is more common than perfect truth +in the one case, and complete delusion in the other. Our surprise, +however, would be sensibly diminished, if we considered that the +reasoning or reflective faculties have nothing to do with either case. +It is the Principle of which we have been speaking, the life, or truth +within, answering to the life, or rather its sign, before us, that +here sits in judgment. Still the question remains unanswered; and +again we are asked, Why is it that our own works do not always respond +with equal veracity? Simply because we do not always <i>see</i> +them,--that is, as they are,--but, looking as it were <i>through +them</i>, see only their originals in the mind; the mind here acting, +instead of being acted upon. And thus it is, that an Artist may +suppose his conception realized, while that which gave life to it in +his mind is outwardly wanting. But let time erase, as we know it often +does, the mental image, and its embodied representative will then +appear to its author as it is,--true or false. There is one case, +however, where the effect cannot deceive; namely, where it comes upon +us as from a foreign source; where our own seems no longer ours. This, +indeed, is rare; and powerful must be the pictured Truth, that, as +soon as embodied, shall thus displace its own original.</p> + +<p>Nor does it in any wise affect the essential nature of the Principle +in question, or that of the other Characteristics, that the effect +which follows is not always of a pleasurable kind; it may even be +disagreeable. What we contend for is simply its <i>reality</i>; the +character of the perception, like that of every other truth, depending +on the individual character of the percipient. The common truth of +existence in a living person, for instance, may be to us either a +matter of interest or indifference, nay, even of disgust. So also may +it be with what is true in Art. Temperament, ignorance, cultivation, +vulgarity, and refinement have all, in a greater or less degree, an +influence in our impressions; so that any reality may be to us either +an offence or a pleasure, yet still a reality. In Art, as in Nature, +the True is imperative, and must be <i>felt</i>, even where a timid, a +proud, or a selfish motive refuses to acknowledge it.</p> + +<p>These last remarks very naturally lead us to another subject, and one +of no minor importance; we mean, the education of an Artist; on this, +however, we shall at present add but a few words. We use the word +<i>education</i> in its widest sense, as involving not only the growth +and expansion of the intellect, but a corresponding developement of +the moral being; for the wisdom of the intellect is of little worth, +if it be not in harmony with the higher spiritual truth. Nor will a +moderate, incidental cultivation suffice to him who would become a +great Artist. He must sound no less than the full depths of his being +ere he is fitted for his calling; a calling in its very condition +lofty, demanding an agent by whom, from the actual, living world, is +to be wrought an imagined consistent world of Art,--not fantastic, +or objectless, but having a purpose, and that purpose, in all its +figments, a distinct relation to man's nature, and all that pertains +to it, from the humblest emotion to the highest aspiration; the circle +that bounds it being that only which bounds his spirit,--even the +confines of that higher world, where ideal glimpses of angelic forms +are sometimes permitted to his sublimated vision. Art may, in truth, +be called the <i>human world</i>; for it is so far the work of man, +that his beneficent Creator has especially endowed him with the powers +to construct it; and, if so, surely not for his mere amusement, but +as a part (small though it be) of that mighty plan which the Infinite +Wisdom has ordained for the evolution of the human spirit; whereby is +intended, not alone the enlargement of his sphere of pleasure, but of +his higher capacities of adoration;--as if, in the gift, he had said +unto man, Thou shalt know me by the powers I have given thee. The +calling of an Artist, then, is one of no common responsibility; and it +well becomes him to consider at the threshold, whether he shall assume +it for high and noble purposes, or for the low and licentious.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> +<h2>Form.</h2> + + + +<p>The subject proposed for the following discourse is the Human Form; a +subject, perhaps, of all others connected with Art, the most obscured +by vague theories. It is one, at least, of such acknowledged +difficulty as to constrain the writer to confess, that he enters +upon it with more distrust than hope of success. Should he succeed, +however, in disencumbering this perplexed theme of some of its useless +dogmas, it will be quite as much as he has allowed himself to expect.</p> + +<p>The object, therefore, of the present attempt will be to show, first, +that the notion of one or more standard Forms, which shall in all +cases serve as exemplars, is essentially false, and of impracticable +application for any true purpose of Art; secondly, that the only +approach to Science, which the subject admits, is in a few general +rules relating to Stature, and these, too, serving rather as +convenient <i>expedients</i> than exact guides, inasmuch as, in most +cases, they allow of indefinite variations; and, thirdly, that +the only efficient <b>Rule</b> must be found in the Artist's mind,--in +those intuitive Powers, which are above, and beyond, both the senses +and the understanding; which, nevertheless, are so far from precluding +knowledge, as, on the contrary, to require, as their effective +condition, the widest intimacy with the things external,--without +which their very existence must remain unknown to the Artist himself.</p> + +<p>Supposing, then, certain standard Forms to have been admitted, it may +not be amiss to take a brief view of the nature of the Being to whom +they are intended to be applied; and to consider them more especially +as auxiliaries to the Artist.</p> + +<p>In the first place, we observe, that the purpose of Art is not to +represent any given number of men, but the Human Race; and so that the +representation shall affect us, not indeed as living to the senses, +but as true to the mind. In order to this, there must be <i>all</i> in +the imitation (though it be but hinted) which the mind will recognize +as true to the human being: hence the first business of the Artist is +to become acquainted with his subject in all its properties. He then +naturally inquires, what is its general characteristic; and his own +consciousness informs him, that, besides an animal nature, there is +also a moral intelligence, and that they together form the man. This +important truism (we say important, for it seems to have been +not seldom overlooked) makes the foundation of all his future +observations; nor can he advance a step without continual reference +to this double nature. We find him accordingly in the daily habit of +mentally distinguishing this person from that, as a moral being, and +of assigning to each a separate character; and this not voluntarily, +but simply because he cannot avoid it. Yet, by what does he presume +to judge of strangers? He will probably answer, By their general +exterior. And what is the inference? There can be but one; namely, +that there must be--at least to him--some efficient correspondence +between the physical and the moral. This is so plain, that the wonder +is, how it ever came to be doubted. Nor is it directly denied, except +by those who from habitual disgust reject the guesswork of the various +pretenders to scientific systems; yet even these, no less than others, +do practically admit it in their common intercourse with the world. +And it cannot be otherwise; for what the Creator has joined must have +some affinity, although the palpable signs may elude our cognizance. +And that they do elude it, except perhaps in a very slight degree, +is actually the case, as is well proved by the signal failure of all +attempts to reduce them to a science; for neither diagram nor axiom +has ever yet corrected an instinctive impression. But man does not +live by science; he feels, acts, and judges right in a thousand things +without the consciousness of any rule by which he so feels, acts, or +judges. And, happily for him, he has a surer guide than human science +in that unknown Power within him,--without which he had been without +knowledge. But of this we shall have occasion to speak again in +another part of our discourse.</p> + +<p>Though the medium through which the soul acts be, as we have said, elusive +to the senses,--in so far as to be irreducible to any distinct form,--it +is not therefore the less real, as every one may verify by his own +experience; and, though seemingly invisible, it must nevertheless, +constituted as we are, act through the physical, and a physical medium +expressly constructed for its peculiar action; nay, it does this +continually, without our confounding for a moment the soul with its +instrument. Who can look into the human eye, and doubt of an influence not +of the body? The form and color leave but a momentary impression, or, if +we remember them, it is only as we remember the glass through which we +have read the dark problems of the sky. But in this mysterious organ we +see not even the signs of its mystery. We see, in truth, nothing; for what +is there has neither form, nor symbol, nor any thing reducible to a +sensuous distinctness; and yet who can look into it, and not be conscious +of a real though invisible presence? In the eye of a brute, we see only a +part of the animal; it gives us little beyond the palpable outward; at +most, it is but the focal point of its fierce, or gentle, affectionate, or +timorous character,--the character of the species, But in man, neither +gentleness nor fierceness can be more than as relative conditions,--the +outward moods of his unseen spirit; while the spirit itself, that daily +and hourly sends forth its good and evil, to take shape from the body, +still sits in darkness. Yet have we that which can surely reach it; even +our own spirit. By this it is that we can enter into another's soul, sound +its very depths, and bring up his dark thoughts, nay, place them before +him till he starts at himself; and more,--it is by this we <i>know</i> that +even the tangible, audible, visible world is not more real than a +spiritual intercourse. And yet without the physical organ who can hold it? +We can never indeed understand, but we may not doubt, that which has its +power of proof in a single act of consciousness. Nay, we may add that we +cannot even conceive of a soul without a correlative form,--though it be +in the abstract; and <i>vice versâ</i>.</p> + +<p>For, among the many impossibilities, it is not the least to look upon +a living human form as a thing; in its pictured copies, as already +shown in a former discourse, it may be a thing, and a beautiful thing; +but the moment we conceive of it as living, if it show not a soul, we +give it one by a moral necessity; and according to the outward will be +the spirit with which we endow it. No poetic being, supposed of our +species, ever lived to the imagination without some indication of the +moral; it is the breath of its life: and this is also true in the +converse; if there be but a hint of it, it will instantly clothe +itself in a human shape; for the mind cannot separate them. In the +whole range of the poetic creations of the great master of truth,--we +need hardly say Shakspeare,--not an instance can be found where this +condition of life is ever wanting; his men and women all have souls. +So, too, when he peoples the air, though he describe no form, he never +leaves these creatures of the brain without a shape, for he will +sometimes, by a single touch of the moral, enable us to supply one. +Of this we have a striking instance in one of his most unsubstantial +creations, the "delicate Ariel." Not an allusion to its shape or +figure is made throughout the play; yet we assign it a form on its +very first entrance, as soon as Prospero speaks of its refusing to +comply with the" abhorred commands" of the witch, Sycorax. And again, +in the fifth act, when Ariel, after recounting the sufferings of the +wretched usurper and his followers, gently adds,--</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "Your charm so strongly works them,<br /> +That, if you now beheld them, your affections<br /> +Would become tender."</p></blockquote> + +<p>On which Prospero remarks,--</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling<br /> + Of their afflictions?"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Now, whether Shakspeare intended it or not, it is not possible after +this for the reader to think of Ariel but in a human form; for slight +as these hints are, if they do not indicate the moral affections, they +at least imply something akin to them, which in a manner compels us to +invest the gentle Spirit with a general likeness to our own physical +exterior, though, perhaps, as indistinct as the emotion that called +for it.</p> + +<p>We have thus considered the human being in his complex condition, of +body and spirit, or physical and moral; showing the impossibility of +even thinking of him in the one, to the exclusion of the other. We +may, indeed, successively think first of the form, and then of +the moral character, as we may think of any one part of either +analytically; but we cannot think of the <i>human being</i> except +as a <i>whole</i>. It follows, therefore, as a consequence, that no +imitation of man can be true which is not addressed to us in this +double condition. And here it may be observed, that in Art there is +this additional requirement, that there be no discrepancy between the +form and the character intended,--or rather, that the form <i>must</i> +express the character, or it expresses nothing: a necessity which is +far from being general in actual nature. But of this hereafter.</p> + +<p>Let us now endeavour to form some general notion of Man in his various +aspects, as presented by the myriads which people the earth. But whose +imagination is equal to the task,--to the setting in array before it +the countless multitudes, each individual in his proper form, his +proper character? Were this possible, we should stand amazed at the +interminable differences, the hideous variety; and that, too, no less +in the moral, than in the physical; nay, so opposite and appalling in +the former as hardly to be figured by a chain of animals, taking for +the extremes the fierce and filthy hyena and the inoffensive lamb. +This is man in the concrete,--to which, according to some, is to be +applied the <i>abstract Ideal!</i></p> + +<p>Now let us attempt to conceive of a being that shall represent all the +diversities of mind, affections, and dispositions, that fleck this +heterogeneous mass of humanity, and then to conceive of a Form that +shall be in such perfect affinity with it as to indicate them all. The +bare statement of the proposition shows its absurdity. Yet this must +be the office of a Standard Form; and this it must do, or it will be +a falsehood. Nor should we find it easier with any given number, with +twenty, fifty, nay, an hundred (so called) generic forms. We do not +hesitate to affirm, that, were it possible, it would be quite as easy +with one as with a thousand.</p> + +<p>But to this it may be replied, that the Standard Form was never +intended to represent the vicious or degraded, but man in his most +perfect developement of mind, affections, and body. This is certainly +narrowing its office, and, unfortunately, to the representing of but +<i>one</i> man; consequently, of no possible use beyond to the Painter +or Sculptor of Humanity, since every repetition of this perfect form +would be as the reflection of one multiplied by mirrors. But such +repetitions, it may be further answered, were never contemplated, that +Form being given only as an exemplar of the highest, to serve as a +guide in our approach to excellence; as we could not else know to a +certainty to what degree of elevation our conceptions might rise. +Still, in that case its use would be limited to a single object, that +is, to itself, its own perfectness; it would not aid the Artist in the +intermediate ascent to it,--unless it contained within itself all the +gradations of human character; which no one will pretend.</p> + +<p>But let us see how far it is possible to <i>realize</i> the Idea of a +<i>perfect</i> Human Form.</p> + +<p>We have already seen that the mere physical structure is not man, but +only a part; the Idea of man including also an internal moral being. +The external, then, in an <i>actually disjoined</i> state, cannot, +strictly speaking, be the human form, but only a diagram of it. It is, +in fact, but a partial condition, becoming human only when united with +the internal moral; which, in proof of the union, it must of necessity +indicate. If we would have a true Idea of it, therefore, it must be as +a whole; consequently, the perfect physical exterior must have, as an +essential part, the perfect moral. Now come two important questions. +First, In what consists Moral Perfection? We use the word <i>moral</i> +here (from a want in our language) in its most comprehensive sense, +as including the spiritual and the intellectual. With respect to that +part of our moral being which pertains to the affections, in all their +high relations to God and man, we have, it is true, a sure and holy +guide. In a Christian land, the humblest individual may answer as +readily as the most profound scholar, and express its perfection in +the single word, Holiness. But what will be the reply in regard to the +Intellect? For what is a perfect Intellect? Is it the Dialectic, the +Speculative, or the Imaginative? Or, rather, would it not include them +all?</p> + +<p>We proceed next to the Physical. What, then, constitutes its +Perfection? Here, it might seem, there can be no difficulty, and the +reply will probably be in naming all the excellent qualities in our +animal nature, such as strength, agility, fleetness, with every other +that can be thought of. The bare enumeration of these few qualities +may serve to show the nature of the task; yet a physically perfect +form requires them all; none must be omitted; it would else be +imperfect; nay, they must not only be there, but all be developed in +their highest degrees. We might here exclaim with Hamlet, though in a +very different sense,</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "A combination and a form indeed!"</p></blockquote> + +<p>And yet there is no other way to express physical perfection. But +can it be so expressed? The reader must reply for himself. We will, +however, suppose it possible; still the task is incomplete without the +adjustment of these to the perfect Moral, in the highest known degrees +of its several elements. To those who can imagine <i>such</i> a form +as shall be the sure exponent of <i>such</i> a moral being,--and such +it must be, or it will be nothing,--we leave the task of constructing +this universal exemplar for multitudinous man. We may add, however, +one remark; that, supposing it possible thus to concentrate, and +with equal prominence, all the qualities of the species into one +individual, it can only be done by supplanting Providence, in other +words, by virtually overruling the great principle of subordination +so visibly impressed on all created life. For although, as we have +elswhere observed, there can be no sound mind (and the like may be +affirmed of the whole man), which is deficient in any one essential, +it does not therefore follow, that each of these essentials may not be +almost indefinitely differenced in the degrees of their developement +without impairing the human integrity. And such is the fact in actual +nature; nor does this in any wise affect the individual unity,--as +will be noticed hereafter.</p> + +<p>We will now briefly examine the pretensions of what are called the +Generic Forms. And here we are met by another important characteristic +of the human being, namely, his essential individuality.</p> + +<p>It is true that the human family, so called, is divided into many +distinct races, having each its peculiar conformation, color, and so +forth, which together constitute essential differences; but it is +to be remembered that these essentials are all physical; and <i>so +far</i> they are properly generic, as implying a difference in kind. +But, though a striking difference is also observable in their moral +being, it is by no means of the same nature with that which marks +their physical condition, the difference in the moral being only of +degree; for, however fierce, brutal, stupid, or cunning, or gentle, +generous, or heroic, the same characteristics may each be paralleled +among ourselves; nay, we could hardly name a vice, a passion, or +a virtue, in Asia, Africa, or America, that has not its echo in +civilized Europe. And what is the inference? That climate and +circumstance, if such are the causes of the physical variety, have no +controlling power, except in degree, over the Moral. Does not this +undeniable fact, then, bring us to the fair conclusion, that the moral +being has no genera? To affirm otherwise would be virtually to +deny its responsible condition; since the law of its genus must be +paramount to all other laws,--to education, government, religion. Nor +can the result be evaded, except by the absurd supposition of generic +responsibilities! To us, therefore, it seems conclusive that a moral +being, as a free agent, cannot be subject to a generic law; nor +could he now be--what every man feels himself to be, in spite of +his theory--the fearful architect of his own destiny. In one sense, +indeed, we may admit a human genus,--such as every man must be in his +individual entireness.</p> + +<p>Man has been called a microcosm, or little world. And such, however +mean and contemptible to others, is man to himself; nay, such he must +ever be, whether he wills it or not. He may hate, he may despise, yet +he cannot but cling to that without which he is not; he is the centre +and the circle, be it of pleasure or of pain; nor can he be other. +Touch him with misery, and he becomes paramount to the whole +world,--to a thousand worlds; for the beauty and the glory of the +universe are as nothing to him who is all darkness. Then it is that he +will <i>feel</i>, should he have before doubted, that he is not a mere +part, a fraction, of his kind, but indeed a world; and though little +in one sense, yet a world of awful magnitude in its capacity of +suffering. In one word, Man is a whole, <i>an Individual</i>.</p> + +<p>If the preceding argument be admitted, it will be found to have +relieved the student of two delusive dogmas,--and the more delusive, +as carrying with them a plausible show of science.</p> + +<p>As to the flowery declamations about Beauty, they would not here be +noticed, were they not occasionally met with in works of high merit, +and not unfrequently mixed up with philosophic truth. If they have +any definite meaning, it amounts to this,--that the Beautiful is the +summit of every possible excellence! The extravagance, not to say +absurdity, of such a proposition, confounding, as it does, all +received distinctions, both in the moral and the natural world, needs +no comment. It is hardly to be believed, however, that the writers in +question could have deliberately intended this. It is more probable, +that, in so expressing themselves, they were only giving vent to an +enthusiastic feeling, which we all know is generally most vague when +associated with admiration; it is not therefore strange that the +ardent expression of it should partake of its vagueness. Among the +few critical works of authority in which the word is so used, we may +mention the (in many respects admirable) Discourses of Sir Joshua +Reynolds, where we find the following sentence:--"The <i>beauty</i> of +the Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; +which, of course, would present three different Ideas of Beauty." If +this had been said of various animals, differing in <i>kind</i>, the +term so applied might, perhaps, have been appropriate. But the same +term is here applied to objects of the same kind, differing not +essentially even in age; we say <i>age</i>, inasmuch as in the three +great divisions, or periods, of human life, namely, childhood, +youth, and maturity, the characteristic conditions of each are so +<i>essentially</i> distinct, as virtually to separate them into +positive kinds.</p> + +<p>But it is no less idle than invidious to employ our time in +overturning the errors of others; if we establish Truth, they will +fall of themselves. There cannot be two right sides to any question; +and, if we are right, what is opposed to us must of necessity he +wrong. Whether we are so or not must be determined by those who admit +or reject what has already been advanced on the subject of Beauty, in +the first Discourse. It will be remembered, that, in the course of our +argument there, we were brought to the conclusion, that Beauty was +the Idea of a certain physical <i>condition</i>, both general and +ultimate; general, as presiding over objects of many kinds, and +ultimate, as being the <i>perfection</i> of that peculiar condition in +each, and therefore not applicable to, or representing, its degrees +in any; which, as approximations only to the one supreme Idea, should +truly be distinguished by other terms. Accordingly, we cannot, +strictly speaking, say of two persons of the same age and sex, +differing from each other, that they are equally beautiful. We hear +this, indeed, almost daily; it is nevertheless not the true expression +of the actual impression made on the speaker, though he may not take +the trouble to examine and compare them. But let him do so, and we +doubt not that he would find the one to rise (in however slight a +degree) above the other; and, if he did not assign a different term +to the lower, it would be only because he was not in the habit of +marking, or did not think it worth his while to note, such nice +distinctions.</p> + +<p>If there is a <i>first</i> and a <i>last</i> to any thing, the +intermediates can be neither one nor the other; and, if we so name +them, we speak falsely. It is no less so with Beauty, which, being at +the head, or first in a series, admits no transference of its title. +We mean, if speaking strictly; which, however, we freely acknowledge, +no one can; but that is owing to the insufficiency of language, which +in no dialect could supply a hundredth part of the terms needed to +mark every minute shade of difference. Perhaps no subject requiring a +wider nomenclature has one so contracted; and the consequence is, +that no subject is more obscured by vague expressions. But it is the +business of the Artist, if he cannot form to himself the corresponding +terms, to be prepared at least to perceive and to note these various +shades. We do not say, that an actual acquaintance with all the nice +distinctions is an essential requisite, but only that it will not be +altogether useless to be aware of their existence; at any rate, it +may serve to shield him from the annoyance of false criticism, when +censured for wanting beauty where its presence would have been an +impertinence.</p> + +<p>Before we quit the subject, it may not be amiss to observe, that, in +the preceding remarks, our object has been not so much to insist on +correct speaking as correct thinking. The poverty of language, +as already admitted, has made the former impossible; but, though +constrained in this, as in many other cases where a subordinate is put +for its principal, to apply the term Beautiful to its various degrees, +yet a right apprehension of what Beauty <i>is</i> may certainly +prevent its misapplication as to other objects having no relation to +it. Nor is this a small matter where the avoiding of confusion is an +object desirable; and there is clearly some difference between an +approach to precision and utter vagueness.</p> + +<p>We have now to consider how far the Correspondence between the +outward form and the inward being, which is assumed by the Artist, is +supported by fact.</p> + +<p>In a fair statement, then, of facts, it cannot be denied that with +the mass of men the outward intimation of character is certainly very +faint, with many obscure, and with some ambiguous, while with others +it has often seemed to express the very reverse of the truth. Perhaps +a stronger instance of the latter could hardly occur than that cited +in a former discourse in illustration of the physical relation of +Beauty; where it was shown that the first and natural impression from +a beautiful form was not only displaced, but completely reversed, by +the revolting discovery of a moral discrepancy. But while we admit, on +the threshold, that the Correspondence in question cannot be sustained +as universally obvious, it is, nevertheless, not apprehended that this +admission can affect our argument, which, though in part grounded +on special cases of actual coincidence, is yet supported by other +evidences, which lead us to regard all such discrepancies rather as +exceptions, and as so many deviations from the original law of our +nature, nay, which lead us also rationally to infer at least a future, +potential correspondence in every individual. To the past, indeed, we +cannot appeal; neither can the past be cited against us, since little +is known of the early history of our race but a chronicle of their +actions; of their outward appearance scarcely any thing, certainly not +enough to warrant a decision one way or the other. Should we assume, +then, the Correspondence as a primeval law, who shall gainsay it? It +is not, however, so asserted. We may nevertheless hold it as a matter +of <i>faith</i>; and simply as such it is here submitted. But faith of +any kind must have some ground to rest on, either real or supposed, +either that of authority or of inference. Our ground of faith, then, +in the present instance, is in the universal desire amongst men to +<i>realize</i> the Correspondence. Nothing is more common than, +on hearing or reading of any remarkable character, to find this +instinctive craving, if we may so term it, instantly awakened, and +actively employed in picturing to the imagination some corresponding +form; nor is any disappointment more general, than that which follows +the detection of a discrepancy on actual acquaintance. Indeed, we can +hardly deem it rash, should we rest the validity of this universal +desire on the common experience of any individual, taken at +random,--provided only that he has a particle of imagination. Nor +is its action dependent on our caprice or will. Ask any person of +ordinary cultivation, not to say refinement, how it is with him, +when, his imagination has not been forestalled by some definite fact; +whether he has never found himself <i>involuntarily</i> associating +the good with the beautiful, the energetic with the strong, the +dignified with the ample, or the majestic with the lofty; the refined +with the delicate, the modest with the comely; the base with the +ugly, the brutal with the misshapen, the fierce with the coarse and +muscular, and so on; there being scarcely a shade of character to +which the imagination does not affix some corresponding form.</p> + +<p>In a still more striking form may we find the evidence of the law +supposed, if we turn to the young, and especially to those of a poetic +temperament,--to the sanguine, the open, and confiding, the creatures +of impulse, who reason best when trusting only to the spontaneous +suggestions of feeling. What is more common than implicit faith in +their youthful day-dreams,--a faith that lives, though dream after +dream vanish into common air when the sorcerer Fact touches their +eyes? And whence this pertinacious faith that <i>will</i> not die, but +from a spring of life, that neither custom nor the dry understanding +can destroy? Look at the same Youth at a more advanced age, when the +refining intellect has mixed with his affections, adding thought and +sentiment to every thing attractive, converting all things fair to +things also of good report. Let us turn, at the same time, to one +still more advanced,--even so far as to have entered into the +conventional valley of dry bones,--one whom the world is preparing, +by its daily practical lessons, to enlighten with unbelief. If we see +them together, perhaps we shall hear the senior scoff at his younger +companion as a poetic dreamer, as a hunter after phantoms that never +were, nor could be, in nature: then may follow a homily on the virtues +of experience, as the only security against disappointment. But there +are some hearts that never suffer the mind to grow old. And such we +may suppose that of the dreamer. If he is one, too, who is accustomed +to look into himself,--not as a reasoner,--but with an abiding faith +in his nature,--we shall, perhaps, hear him reply,--Experience, it is +true, has often brought me disappointment; yet I cannot distrust those +dreams, as you call them, bitterly as I have felt their passing off; +for I feel the truth of the source whence they come. They could not +have been so responded to by my living nature, were they but phantoms; +they could not have taken such forms of truth, but from a possible +ground.</p> + +<p>By the word <i>poetic</i> here, we do not mean the visionary or +fanciful,--for there may be much fancy where there is no poetic +feeling,--but that sensibility to <i>harmony</i> which marks the +temperament of the Artist, and which is often most active in his +earlier years. And we refer to such natures, not only as being more +peculiarly alive to all existing affinities, but as never satisfied +with those merely which fall within their experience; ever striving, +on the contrary, as if impelled by instinct, to supply the deficiency +wherever it is felt. From such minds proceed what are called romantic +imaginings, but what we would call--without intending a paradox--the +romance of Truth. For it is impossible that the mind should ever have +this perpetual craving for the False.</p> + +<p>But the desire in question is not confined to any particular age or +temperament, though it is, doubtless, more ardent in some than in +others. Perhaps it is only denied to the habitually vicious. For who, +not hardened by vice, has ever looked upon a sleeping child in its +first bloom of beauty, and seen its pure, fresh hues, its ever +varying, yet according lines, moulding and suffusing, in their playful +harmony, its delicate features,--who, not callous, has ever looked +upon this exquisite creature, (so like what a poet might fancy of +visible music, or embodied odors,) and has not felt himself carried, +as it were, out of this present world, in quest of its moral +counterpart? It seems to us perfect; we desire no change,--not a line +or a hue but as it is; and yet we have a paradoxical feeling of a +want,--for it is all <i>physical</i>; and we supply that want by +endowing the child with some angelic attribute. Why do we this? To +make it a <i>whole</i>,--not to the eye, but to the mind.</p> + +<p>Nor is this general disposition to find a coincidence between a fair +exterior and moral excellence altogether unsupported by facts of, at +least, a partial realization. For, though a perfect correspondence +cannot be looked for in a state where all else is imperfect, he +is most unfortunate who has never met with many, and very near, +approximations to the desired union. But we have a still stronger +assurance of their predetermined affinity in the peculiar activity of +this desire where there is no such approximation. For example, when we +meet with an instance of the higher virtues in an unattractive form, +how natural the wish that that form were beautiful! So, too, on +beholding a beautiful person, how common the wish that the mind +it clothed were also good! What are these wishes but unconscious +retrospects to our primitive nature? And why have we them, if they be +not the workings of that universal law, which gathers to itself all +scattered affinities, bodying them forth in the never-ending forms of +harmony,--in the flower, in the tree, in the bird, and the animal,--if +they be not the evidence of its continuous, though fruitless, effort +to evolve too in <i>man</i> its last consummate work, by the perfect +confluence of the body and the spirit? In this universal yearning (for +it seems to us no less) to connect the physical with its appropriate +moral,--to say nothing of the mysterious intuition that points to +the appropriate,--is there not something like a clew to what was +originally natural? And, again, in the never-ceasing strivings of the +two great elements of our being, each to supply the deficiencies of +the other, have we not also an intimation of something that <i>once +was</i>, that is now lost, and would be recovered? Surely there must +be more in this than a mere concernment of Art;--if, indeed, there be +not in Art more of the prophetic than we are now aware of. To us +it seems that this irrepressible desire to find the good in the +beautiful, and the beautiful in the good, implies an end, both +beyond and above the trifling present; pointing to deep and dark +questions,--to no less than where the mysteries which surround us will +meet their solution. One great mystery we see in part resolving itself +here. We see the deformities of the body sometimes giving place to +its glorious tenant. Some of us may have witnessed this, and felt +the spiritual presence gaining daily upon us, till the outward shape +seemed lost in its brightness, leaving no trace in the memory.</p> + +<p>Whether the position we have endeavoured to establish be disputed or +not, the absolute correspondence between the Moral and the Physical +is, at any rate, the essential ground of the Plastic arts; which could +not else exist, since through <i>Form alone</i> they have to convey, +not only thought and emotion, but distinct and permanent character. +For our own part, we cannot but consider their success in this as +having settled the question.</p> + +<p>From the view here presented, what is the inference in relation to +Art? That Man, as a compound being, cannot be represented without an +indication as well of Mind as of body; that, by a natural law which we +cannot resist, we do continually require that they be to us as mutual +exponents, the one of the other; and, finally, that, as a responsible +being, and therefore a free agent, he cannot be truly represented, +either to the memory or to the imagination, but as an Individual.</p> + +<p>It would seem, also, from the indefinite varieties in men, though +occasioned only by the mere difference of degrees in their common +faculties and powers, that the coincidence of an equal developement of +all was never intended in nature; but that some one or more of them, +becoming dominant, should distinguish the individual. It follows, +therefore, if this be the case, that only through the phase of such +predominance can the human being ever be contemplated. To the Artist, +then, it becomes the only safe ground; the starting-point from +whence to ascend to a true Ideal,--which is no other than a partial +individual truth made whole in the mind: and thus, instead of one +Ideal, and that baseless, he may have a thousand,--nay, as many as +there are marked or apprehensible <i>individuals</i>.</p> + +<p>But we must not be understood as confining Art to actual portraits. +Within such limits there could not be Art,--certainly not Art in its +highest sense; we should have in its place what would be little better +than a doubtful empiricism; since the most elevated subject, in the +ablest hands, would depend, of necessity, on the chance success of a +search after models. And, supposing that we bring together only the +rarest forms, still those forms, simply as circumscribed portraits, +and therefore insulated parts, would instantly close every avenue +to the imagination; for such is the law of the imagination, that it +cannot admit, or, in other words, recognize as a whole, that which +remains unmodified by some imaginative power, which alone can give +unity to separate and distinct objects. Yet, as it regards man, +all true Art does, and must, find its proper object in the +<i>Individual</i>: as without individuality there could not be +character, nor without character, the human being.</p> + +<p>But here it may be asked, In what manner, if we resort not to actual +portrait, is the Individual Man to be expressed? We answer, By +carrying out the natural individual predominant <i>fragment</i> which +is visible to us in actual Form, to its full, consistent developement. +The Individual is thus idealized, when, in the complete accordance of +all its parts, it is presented to the mind as a <i>whole</i>.</p> + +<p>When we apply the term <i>fragment</i> to a human being, we do not +mean in relation to his species, (in regard to which we have already +shown him to be a distinct whole,) but in relation to the Idea, to +which his predominant characteristic suggests itself but as a +partial manifestation, and made partial because counteracted by +some inadequate exponent, or else modified by other, though minor, +characteristics.</p> + +<p>How this is effected must be left to the Artist himself. It is +impossible to prescribe a rule that would be to much purpose for any +one who stands in need of such instruction; if his own mind does not +suggest the mode, it would not even be intelligible. Perhaps our +meaning, however, may be made more obvious, if we illustrate it by +example. We would refer, then, to the restoration of a statue, (a +thing often done with success,) where, from a single fragment, the +unknown Form has been completely restored, and so remoulded, that the +parts added are in perfect unity with the suggestive fragment. Now the +parts wanting having never been seen, this cannot be called a mere +act of the memory. Nevertheless, it is not from nothing that man can +produce even the <i>semblance</i> of any thing. The materials of the +Artist are the work of Him who created the Artist himself; but over +these, which his senses and mind are given him to observe and collect, +he has a <i>delegated power</i>, for the purpose of combining and +modifying, as unlimited as mysterious. It is by the agency of this +intuitive and assimilating Power, elsewhere spoken of, that he is able +to separate the essential from the accidental, to proceed also from a +part to the whole; thus educing, as it were, an Ideal nature from the +germs of the Actual.</p> + +<p>Nor does the necessity of referring to Nature preclude the +Imaginative, or any other class of Art that rests its truth in the +desires of the mind. In an especial manner must the personification +of Sentiment, of the Abstract, which owe their interest to the common +desire of rendering permanent, by embodying, that which has given us +pleasure, take its starting-point from the Actual; from something +which, by universal association or particular expression, shall recall +the Sentiment, Thought, or Time, and serve as their exponents; there +being scarcely an object in Nature which the spirit of man has not, as +it were, impressed with sympathy, and linked with his being. Of this, +perhaps, we could not have a more striking example than in the Aurora +of Michael Angelo: which, if not universal, is not so only because +the faculty addressed is by no means common. For, as the peculiar +characteristic of the Imaginative is its suggestive power, the effect +of this figure must of necessity differ in different minds. As in many +other cases, there must needs be at least some degree of sympathy with +the mind that imagined it, in order to any impression; and the degree +in which that is made will always be in proportion to the congeniality +between the agent and the recipient. Should it appear, then, to any +one as a thing of no meaning, it is not therefore conclusive that the +Artist has failed. For, if there be but one in a thousand to whose +mind it recalls the deep stillness of Night, gradually broken by the +awakening stir of Day, with its myriad forms of life emerging into +motion, while their lengthened shadows, undistinguished from their +objects, seem to people the earth with gigantic beings; then the dim, +gray monotony of color transforming them to stone, yet leaving them +in motion, till the whole scene becomes awful and mysterious as with +moving statues;--if there be but one in ten thousand who shall have +thus imagined, as he stands before this embodied Dawn, then is it, for +every purpose of feeling through the excited imagination, as true and +real as if instinct with life, and possessing the mind by its living +will. Nor is the number so rare of those who have thus felt the +suggestive sorcery of this sublime Statue. But the mind so influenced +must be one to respond to sublime emotions, since such was the +emotion which inspired the Artist. If susceptible only to the gay and +beautiful, it will not answer. For this is not the Aurora of golden +purple, of laughing flowers and jewelled dew-drops; but the dark +Enchantress, enthroned on rocks, or craggy mountains, and whose proper +empire is the shadowy confines of light and darkness.</p> + +<p>How all this is done, we shall not attempt to explain. Perhaps the +Artist himself could not answer; as to the <i>quo modo</i> in every +particular, we doubt if it were possible to satisfy another. He may +tell us, indeed, that having imagined certain appearances and effects +peculiar to the Time, he endeavoured to imbue, as it were, some +<i>human form</i> with the sentiment they awakened, so that the +embodied sentiment should associate itself in the spectator's mind +with similar images; and further endeavoured, that the <i>form</i> +selected should, by its air, attitude, and gigantic proportions, also +excite the ideas of vastness, solemnity, and repose; adding to this +that indefinite expression, which, while it is felt to act, still +leaves no trace of its indistinct action. So far, it is true, he may +retrace the process; but of the <i>informing life</i> that quickened +his fiction, thus presenting the presiding Spirit of that ominous +Time, he knows nothing but that he felt it, and imparted it to the +insensible marble.</p> + +<p>And now the question will naturally occur, Is all that has been done +by the learned in Art, to establish certain canons of Proportion, +utterly useless? By no means. If rightly applied, and properly +considered,--as it seems to us they must have been by the great +artists of Antiquity,--as <i>expedient fictions</i>, they undoubtedly +deserve at least a careful examination. And, inasmuch as they are the +result of a comparison of the finest actual forms through successive +ages, and as they indicate the general limits which Nature has been +observed to assign to her noblest works, they are so far to be valued. +But it must not be forgotten, that, while a race, or class, may be +generally marked by a certain average height and breadth, or curve and +angle, still is every class and race composed of <i>Individuals</i>, +who must needs, as such, differ from each other; and though the +difference be slight, yet is it "the little more, or the little less," +which often separates the great from the mean, the wise from the +foolish, in human character;--nay, the widest chasms are sometimes +made by a few lines: so that, in every individual case, the limits in +question are rather to be departed from, than strictly adhered to.</p> + +<p>The canon of the Schools is easily mastered by every student who has +only memory; yet of the hundreds who apply it, how few do so to any +purpose! Some ten or twenty, perhaps, call up life from the quarry, +and flesh and blood from the canvas; the rest conjure in vain with +their canon; they call up nothing but the dead measures. Whence the +difference? The answer is obvious,--In the different minds they each +carry to their labors.</p> + +<p>But let us trace, with the Artist, the beginning and progress of a +successful work; a picture, for instance. His method of proceeding may +enable us to ascertain how far he is assisted by the science, so called, +of which we are speaking. He adjusts the height and breadth of his figures +according to the canon, either by the division of heads or faces, as most +convenient. By these means, he gets the general divisions in the easiest +and most expeditious way. But could he not obtain them without such aid? +He would answer, Yes, by the eye alone; but it would be a waste of time +were he so to proceed, since he would have to do, and undo, perhaps twenty +times, before he could erect this simple scaffolding; whereas, by applying +these rules, whose general truth is already admitted, he accomplishes his +object in a few minutes. Here we admit the use of the canon, and admire +the facility with which it enables his hand, almost without the aid of a +thought, thus to lay out his work. But here ends the science; and here +begins what may seem to many the work of mutilation: a leg, an arm, a +trunk, is increased, or diminished; line after line is erased, or +retrenched, or extended, again and again, till not a trace remains of the +original draught. If he is asked now by what he is guided in these +innumerable changes, he can only answer, By the feeling within me. Nor can +he better tell <i>how</i> he knows when he has <i>hit the mark</i>. The same feeling +responds to its truth; and he repeats his attempts until that is +satisfied.</p> + +<p>It would appear, then, that in the Mind alone is to be found the true +or ultimate Rule,--if, indeed, that can be called a rule which +changes its measure with every change of character. It is therefore +all-important that every aid be sought which may in any way contribute +to the due developement of the mental powers; and no one will doubt +the efficiency here of a good general education. As to the course of +study, that must be left in a great measure to be determined by the +student; it will be best indicated by his own natural wants. We +may observe, however, that no species of knowledge can ever be +<i>oppressive</i> to real genius, whose peculiar privilege is that of +subordinating all things to the paramount desire. But it is not likely +that a mind so endowed will be long diverted by any studies that do +not either strengthen its powers by exercise, or have a direct bearing +on some particular need.</p> + +<p>If the student be a painter, or a sculptor, he will not need to be +told that a knowledge of the human being, in all his complicated +springs of action, is not more essential to the poet than to him. Nor +will a true Artist require to be reminded, that, though <i>himself</i> +must be his ultimate dictator and judge, the allegiance of the world +is not to be commanded either by a dreamer or a dogmatist. And +nothing, perhaps, would be more likely to secure him from either +character, than the habit of keeping his eyes open,--nay, his very +heart; nor need he fear to open it to the whole world, since nothing +not kindred will enter there to abide; for</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "Evil into the mind ...<br /> +May come and go, so unapproved, and leave<br /> +No spot or blame behind."</p></blockquote> + +<p>And he may also be sure that a pure heart will shed a refining light +on his intellect, which it may not receive from any other source.</p> + +<p>It cannot be supposed that an Artist, so disciplined, will overlook +the works of his predecessors,--especially those exquisite remains of +Antiquity which time has spared to us. But to his own discretion must +be left the separating of the factitious from the true,--a task of +some moment; for it cannot be denied that a mere antiquarian respect +for whatever is ancient has preserved, with the good, much that is +worthless. Indeed, it is to little purpose that the finest forms are +set before us, if we <i>feel</i> not their truth. And here it may be +well to remark, that an injudicious <i>word</i> has often given a +wrong direction to the student, from which he has found it difficult +to recover when his maturer mind has perceived the error. It is a +common thing to hear such and such statues, or pictures, recommended +as <i>models</i>. If the advice is followed,--as it too often is +<i>literally</i>,--the consequence must be an offensive mannerism; +for, if repeating himself makes an artist a mannerist, he is still +more likely to become one if he repeat another. There is but one model +that will not lead him astray,--which is Nature: we do not mean what +is merely obvious to the senses, but whatever is so acknowledged by +the mind. So far, then, as the ancient statues are found to represent +her,--and the student's own feeling must be the judge of that,--they +are undoubtedly both true and important objects of study, as +presenting not only a wider, but a higher view of Nature, than might +else be commanded, were they buried with their authors; since, with +the finest forms of the fairest portion of the earth, we have also in +them the realized Ideas of some of the greatest minds. In like manner +may we extend our sphere of knowledge by the study of all those +productions of later ages which have stood this test. There is no +school from which something may not be learned. But chiefly to the +Italian should the student be directed, who would enlarge his views +on the present subject, and especially to the works of Raffaelle and +Michael Angelo; in whose highest efforts we have, so to speak, +certain revelations of Nature which could only have been made by her +privileged seers. And we refer to them more particularly, as to the +two great sovereigns of the two distinct empires of Truth,--the +Actual and the Imaginative; in which their claims are acknowledged +by <i>that</i> within us, of which we know nothing but that it +<i>must</i> respond to all things true. We refer to them, also, as +important examples in their mode of study; in which it is evident +that, whatever the source of instruction, it was never considered as a +law of servitude, but rather as the means of giving visible shape to +their own conceptions.</p> + +<p>From the celebrated antique fragment, called the Torso, Michael Angelo +is said to have constructed his forms. If this be true,--and we have +no reason to doubt it,--it could nevertheless have been to him little +more than a hint. But that is enough to a man of genius, who stands +in need, no less than others, of a point to start from. There was +something in this fragment which he seems to have felt, as if of a +kindred nature to the unembodied creatures in his own mind; and he +pondered over it until he mastered the spell of its author. He then +turned to his own, to the germs of life that still awaited birth, +to knit their joints, to attach the tendons, to mould the +muscles,--finally, to sway the limbs by a mighty will. Then emerged +into being that gigantic race of the Sistina,--giants in mind no less +than in body, that appear to have descended as from another planet. +His Prophets and Sibyls seem to carry in their persons the commanding +evidence of their mission. They neither look nor move like beings to +be affected by the ordinary concerns of life; but as if they could +only be moved by the vast of human events, the fall of empires, the +extinction of nations; as if the awful secrets of the future had +overwhelmed in them all present sympathies. As we have stood before +these lofty apparitions of the painter's mind, it has seemed to us +impossible that the most vulgar spectator could have remained there +irreverent.</p> + +<p>With many critics it seems to have been doubted whether much that +we now admire in Raffaelle would ever have been but for his great +contemporary. Be this as it may, it is a fact of history, that, after +seeing the works of Michael Angelo, both his form and his style +assumed a breadth and grandeur which they possessed not before. +And yet these great artists had little, if any thing, in common; +a sufficient proof that an original mind may owe, and even freely +acknowledge, its impetus to another without any self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>As Michael Angelo adopted from others only what accorded with his +own peculiar genius, so did Raffaelle; and, wherever collected, the +materials of both could not but enter their respective minds as their +natural aliment.</p> + +<p>The genius of Michael Angelo was essentially <i>Imaginative</i>. It +seems rarely to have been excited by the objects with which we are +daily familiar; and when he did treat them, it was rather as things +past, as they appear to us through the atmosphere of the hallowing +memory. We have a striking instance of this in his statue of Lorenzo +de' Medici; where, retaining of the original only enough to mark the +individual, and investing the rest with an air of grandeur that should +accord with his actions, he has left to his country, not a mere +effigy of the person, but an embodiment of the mind; a portrait +for posterity, in which the unborn might recognize Lorenzo the +Magnificent.</p> + +<p>But the mind of Raffaelle was an ever-flowing fountain of human +sympathies; and in all that concerns man, in his vast varieties and +complicated relations, from the highest forms of majesty to the +humblest condition of humanity, even to the maimed and misshapen, he +may well be called a master. His Apostles, his philosophers, and most +ordinary subordinates, are all to us as living beings; nor do we feel +any doubt that they all had mothers, and brothers, and kindred. In +the assemblage of the Apostles (already referred to) at the Death of +Ananias, we look upon men whom the effusion of the Spirit has equally +sublimated above every unholy thought; a common power seems to have +invested them all with a preternatural majesty. Yet not an iota of the +<i>individual</i> is lost in any one; the gentle bearing and amenity +of John still follow him in his office of almoner; nor in Peter does +the deep repose of the erect attitude of the Apostle, as he deals the +death-stroke to the offender by a simple bend of his finger, subdue +the energetic, sanguine temperament of the Disciple.</p> + +<p>If any man may be said to have reigned over the hearts of his fellows, +it was Raffaelle Sanzio. Not that he knew better what was in the +hearts and minds of men than many others, but that he better +understood their relations to the external. In this the greatest names +in Art fall before him; in this he has no rival; and, however derived, +or in whatever degree improved by study, in him it seems to have risen +to intuition. We know not how he touches and enthralls us; as if he +had wrought with the simplicity of Nature, we see no effort; and we +yield as to a living influence, sure, yet inscrutable.</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that these two celebrated Artists were at all +times successful. Like other men, they had their moments of weakness, +when they fell into manner, and gave us diagrams, instead of life. +Perhaps no one, however, had fewer lapses of this nature than +Raffaelle; and yet they are to be found in some of his best works. We +shall notice now only one instance,--the figure of St. Catherine in +the admirable picture of the Madonna di Sisto; in which we see an +evident rescript from the Antique, with all the received lines of +beauty, as laid down by the analyst,--apparently faultless, yet +without a single inflection which the mind can recognize as allied to +our sympathies; and we turn from it coldly, as from the work of an +artificer, not of an Artist. But not so can we turn from the intense +life, that seems almost to breathe upon us from the celestial group of +the Virgin and her Child, and from the Angels below: in these we have +the evidence of the divine afflatus,--of inspired Art.</p> + +<p>In the works of Michael Angelo it were easy to point out numerous +examples of a similar failure, though from a different cause; not from +mechanically following the Antique, but rather from erecting into +a model the exaggerated <i>shadow</i> of his own practice; from +repeating lines and masses that might have impressed us with grandeur +but for the utter absence of the informing soul. And that such is the +character--or rather want of character--of many of the figures in his +Last Judgment cannot be gainsaid by his warmest admirers,--among whom +there is no one more sincere than the present writer. But the failures +of great men are our most profitable lessons,--provided only, that we +have hearts and heads to respond to their success.</p> + +<p>In conclusion. We have now arrived at what appears to us the +turning-point, that, by a natural reflux, must carry us back to our +original Position; in other words, it seems to us clear, that the +result of the argument is that which was anticipated in our main +Proposition; namely, that no given number of Standard Forms can with +certainty apply to the Human Being; that all Rules therefore, thence +derived, can only be considered as <i>Expedient Fictions</i>, and +consequently subject to be <i>overruled</i> by the Artist,--in whose +mind alone is the ultimate Rule; and, finally, that without an +intimate acquaintance with Nature, in all its varieties of the moral, +intellectual, and physical, the highest powers are wanting in their +necessary condition of action, and are therefore incapable of +supplying the Rule.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> +<h2>Composition.</h2> + + + +<p>The term Composition, in its general sense, signifies the union of +things that were originally separate: in the art of Painting it +implies, in addition to this, such an arrangement and reciprocal +relation of these materials, as shall constitute them so many +essential parts of a whole.</p> + +<p>In a true Composition of Art will be found the following +characteristics:--First, Unity of Purpose, as expressing the general +sentiment or intention of the Artist. Secondly, Variety of Parts, as +expressed in the diversity of shape, quantity, and line. Thirdly, +Continuity, as expressed by the connection of parts with each other, +and their relation to the whole. Fourthly, Harmony of Parts.</p> + +<p>As these characteristics, like every thing which the mind can +recognize as true, all have their origin in its natural desires, they +may also be termed Principles; and as such we shall consider them. In +order, however, to satisfy ourselves that they are truly such, and not +arbitrary assumptions, or the traditional dogmas of Practice, it may +be well to inquire whence is their authority; for, though the ultimate +cause of pleasure and pain may ever remain to us a mystery, yet it is +not so with their intermediate causes, or the steps that lead to them.</p> + +<p>With respect to Unity of Purpose, it is sufficient to observe, that, +where the attention is at the same time claimed by two objects, having +each a different end, they must of necessity break in upon that free +state required of the mind in order to receive a full impression from +either. It is needless to add, that such conflicting claims cannot, +under any circumstances, be rendered agreeable. And yet this most +obvious requirement of the mind has sometimes been violated by great +Artists,--though not of authority in this particular, as we shall +endeavour to show in another place.</p> + +<p>We proceed, meanwhile, to the second principle, namely, Variety; by +which is to be understood <i>difference</i>, yet with <i>relation</i> +to a <i>common end</i>.</p> + +<p>Of a ruling Principle, or Law, we can only get a notion by observing the +effects of certain things in relation to the mind; the uniformity of +which leads us to infer something which is unchangeable and permanent. +It is in this way that, either directly or indirectly, we learn the +existence of certain laws that invariably control us. Thus, indirectly, +from our disgust at monotony, we infer the necessity of variety. But +variety, when carried to excess, results in weariness. Some limitation, +therefore, seems no less needed. It is, however, obvious, that all +attempts to fix the limit to Variety, that shall apply as a universal +rule, must be nugatory, inasmuch as the <i>degree</i> must depend on the +<i>kind</i>, and the kind on the subject treated. For instance, if the +subject be of a gay and light character, and the emotions intended to be +excited of a similar nature, the variety may be carried to a far greater +extent than in one of a graver character. In the celebrated Marriage at +Cana, by Paul Veronese, we see it carried, perhaps, to its utmost +limits; and to such an extent, that an hour's travel will hardly conduct +us through all its parts; yet we feel no weariness throughout this +journey, nay, we are quite unconscious of the time it has taken. It is +no disparagement of this remarkable picture, if we consider the subject, +not according to the title it bears, but as what the Artist has actually +made it,--that is, as a Venetian entertainment; and also the effect +intended, which was to delight by the exhibition of a gorgeous +<i>pageant</i>. And in this he has succeeded to a degree unexampled; for +literally the eye may be said to <i>dance</i> through the picture, scarcely +lighting on one part before it is drawn to another, and another, and +another, as by a kind of witchery; while the subtile interlocking of +each successive novelty leaves it no choice, but, seducing it onward, +still keeps it in motion, till the giddy sense seems to call on the +imagination to join in the revel; and every poetic temperament answers +to the call, bringing visions of its own, that mingle with the painted +crowd, exchanging forms, and giving them voice, like the creatures of a +dream.</p> + +<p>To those who have never seen this picture, our account of its effect +may perhaps appear incredible when they are told, that it not only +has no story, but not a single expression to which you can attach a +sentiment. It is nevertheless for this very reason that we here cite +it, as a triumphant verification of those immutable laws of the mind +to which the principles of Composition are supposed to appeal; where +the simple technic exhibition, or illustration of <i>Principles</i>, +without story, or thought, or a single definite expression, has +still the power to possess and to fill us with a thousand delightful +emotions.</p> + +<p>And here we cannot refrain from a passing remark on certain +criticisms, which have obtained, as we think, an undeserved currency. +To assert that such a work is solely addressed to the senses (meaning +thereby that its only end is in mere pleasurable sensation) is to give +the lie to our convictions; inasmuch as we find it appealing to one +of the mightiest ministers of the Imagination,--the great Law of +Harmony,--which cannot be <i>touched</i> without awakening by its +vibrations, so to speak, the untold myriads of sleeping forms that lie +within its circle, that start up in tribes, and each in accordance +with the congenial instrument that summons them to action. He who +can thus, as it were, embody an abstraction is no mere pander to the +senses. And who that has a modicum of the imaginative would assert +of one of Haydn's Sonatas, that its effect on him was no other than +sensuous? Or who would ask for the <i>story</i> in one of our gorgeous +autumnal sunsets?</p> + +<p>In subjects of a grave or elevated kind, the Variety will be found to +diminish in the same degree in which they approach the Sublime. In the +raising of Lazarus, by Lievens, we have an example of the smallest +possible number of parts which the nature of such a subject would +admit. And, though a different conception might authorize a much +greater number, yet we do not feel in this any deficiency; indeed, it +may be doubted if the addition of even one more part would not be felt +as obtrusive.</p> + +<p>By the term <i>parts</i> we are not to be understood as including the +minutiae of dress or ornament, or even the several members of a group, +which come more properly under the head of detail; we apply the term +only to those prominent divisions which constitute the essential +features of a composition. Of these the Sublime admits the fewest. Nor +is the limitation arbitrary. By whatever causes the stronger passions +or higher faculties of the mind become pleasurably excited, if they be +pushed as it were beyond their supposed limits, till a sense of the +indefinite seems almost to partake of the infinite, to these causes we +affix the epithet <i>Sublime.</i> It is needless to inquire if such +an effect can be produced by any thing short of the vast and +overpowering, much less by the gradual approach or successive +accumulation of any number of separate forces. Every one can answer +from his own experience. We may also add, that the pleasure which +belongs to the deeper emotions always trenches on pain; and the sense +of pain leads to reaction; so that, singly roused, they will rise +but to fall, like men at a breach,--leaving a conquest, not over the +living, but the dead. The effect of the Sublime must therefore be +sudden, and to be sudden, simple, scarce seen till felt; coming like +a blast, bending and levelling every thing before it, till it passes +into space. So comes this marvellous emotion; and so vanishes,--to +where no straining of our mortal faculties will ever carry them.</p> + +<p>To prevent misapprehension, we may here observe, that, though the +parts be few, it does not necessarily follow that they should always +consist of simple or single objects. This narrow inference has often +led to the error of mistaking mere space for grandeur, especially +with those who have wrought rather from theory than from the true +possession of their subjects. Hence, by the mechanical arrangement +of certain large and sweeping masses of light and shadow, we are +sometimes surprised into a momentary expectation of a sublime +impression, when a nearer approach gives us only the notion of a vast +blank. And the error lies in the misconception of a mass. For a mass +is not a <i>thing</i>, but the condition of <i>things</i>; into which, +should the subject require it, a legion, a host, may be compressed, +an army with banners,--yet so that they break not the unity of their +Part, that technic form to which they are subordinate.</p> + +<p>The difference between a Part and a Mass is, that a Mass may include, +<i>per se</i>, many Parts, yet, in relation to a Whole, is no more +than a single component. Perhaps the same distinction may be more +simply expressed, if we define it as only a larger division, including +several <i>parts</i>, which may be said to be analogous to what is +termed the detail of a <i>Part</i>. Look at the ocean in a storm,--at +that single wave. How it grows before us, building up its waters as +with conscious life, till its huge head overlooks the mast! A million +of lines intersect its surface, a myriad of bubbles fleck it with +light; yet its terrible unity remains unbroken. Not a bubble or a line +gives a thought of minuteness; they flash and flit, ere the eye can +count them, leaving only their aggregate, in the indefinite sense +of multitudinous motion: take them away, and you take from the +<i>mass</i> the very sign of its power, that fearful impetus which +makes it what it is,--a moving mountain of water.</p> + +<p>We have thus endeavoured, in the opposite characters of the Sublime +and the Gay or Magnificent, to exhibit the two extremes of Variety; of +the intermediate degrees it is unnecessary to speak, since in these +two is included all that is applicable to the rest.</p> + +<p>Though it is of vital importance to every composition that there be +variety of Lines, little can be said on the subject in addition to +what has been advanced in relation to parts, that is, to shape and +quantity; both having a common origin. By a line in Composition is +meant something very different from the geometrical definition. +Originally, it was no doubt used as a metaphor; but the needs of +Art have long since converted this, and many other words of like +application, (as <i>tone</i>, &c.,) into technical terms. <i>Line</i> +thus signifies the course or medium through which the eye is led from +one part of the picture to another. The indication of this course is +various and multiform, appertaining equally to shape, to color, and to +light and dark; in a word, to whatever attracts and keeps the eye in +motion. For the regulation of these lines there is no rule absolute, +except that they vary and unite; nor is the last strictly necessary, +it being sufficient if they so terminate that the transition from one +to another is made naturally, and without effort, by the imagination. +Nor can any laws be laid down as to their peculiar character: this +must depend on the nature of the subject.</p> + +<p>In the wild and stormy scenes of Salvator Rosa, they break upon us +as with the angular flash of lightning; the eye is dashed up one +precipice only to be dashed down another; then, suddenly hurried to +the sky, it shoots up, almost in a direct line, to some sharp-edged +rock; whence pitched, as it were, into a sea of clouds, bellying with +circles, it partakes their motion, and seems to reel, to roll, and to +plunge with them into the depths of air.</p> + +<p>If we pass from Salvator to Claude, we shall find a system of lines +totally different. Our first impression from Claude is that of perfect +<i>unity</i>, and this we have even before we are conscious of a +single image; as if, circumscribing his scenes by a magic circle, he +had imposed his own mood on all who entered it. The <i>spell</i> then +opens ere it seems to have begun, acting upon us with a vague sense of +limitless expanse, yet so continuous, so gentle, so imperceptible in +its remotest gradations, as scarcely to be felt, till, combining +with unity, we find the feeling embodied in the complete image of +intellectual repose,--fulness and rest. The mind thus disposed, the +charmed eye glides into the scene: a soft, undulating light leads it +on, from bank to bank, from shrub to shrub; now leaping and sparkling +over pebbly brooks and sunny sands; now fainter and fainter, dying +away down shady slopes, then seemingly quenched in some secluded dell; +yet only for a moment,--for a dimmer ray again carries it onward, +gently winding among the boles of trees and rambling vines, that, +skirting the ascent, seem to hem in the twilight; then emerging +into day, it flashes in sheets over towers and towns, and woods and +streams, when it finally dips into an ocean, so far off, so twin-like +with the sky, that the doubtful horizon, unmarked by a line, leaves no +point of rest: and now, as in a flickering arch, the fascinated eye +seems to sail upward like a bird, wheeling its flight through a +mottled labyrinth of clouds, on to the zenith; whence, gently +inflected by some shadowy mass, it slants again downward to a mass +still deeper, and still to another, and another, until it falls into +the darkness of some massive tree,--focused like midnight in the +brightest noon: there stops the eye, instinctively closing, and giving +place to the Soul, there to repose and to dream her dreams of romance +and love.</p> + +<p>From these two examples of their general effect, some notion may be +gathered of the different systems of the two Artists; and though +no mention has been made of the particular lines employed, their +distinctive character may readily be inferred from the kind of motion +given to the eye in the descriptions we have attempted. In the +rapid, abrupt, contrasted, whirling movement in the one, we have an +exposition of an irregular combination of curves and angles; while the +simple combination of the parabola and the serpentine will account for +all the imperceptible transitions in the other.</p> + +<p>It would be easy to accumulate examples from other Artists who differ +in the economy of line not only from these but from each other; as +Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, Correggio, Titian, Poussin,--in a word, +every painter deserving the name of master: for lines here may be +called the tracks of thought, in which we follow the author's mind +through his imaginary creations. They hold, indeed, the same relation +to Painting that versification does to Poetry, an element of style; +for what is meant by a line in Painting is analogous to that which +in the sister art distinguishes the abrupt gait of Crabbe from the +sauntering walk of Cowley, and the "long, majestic march" of Dryden +from the surging sweep of Milton.</p> + +<p>Of Continuity little needs be said, since its uses are implied in the +explanation of Line; indeed, all that can be added will be expressed +in its essential relation to a <i>whole</i>, in which alone it differs +from a mere line. For, though a line (as just explained) supposes a +continuous course, yet a line, <i>per se</i>, does not necessarily +imply any relation to other lines. It will still be a line, though +standing alone; but the principle of continuity may be called +the unifying spirit of every line. It is therefore that we have +distinguished it as a separate principle.</p> + +<p>In fact, if we judge from feeling, the only true test, it is no +paradox to say that the excess of variety must inevitably end in +monotony; for, as soon as the sense of fatigue begins, every new +variety but adds to the pain, till the succeeding impressions are at +last resolved into continuous pain. But, supposing a limit to variety, +where the mind may be pleasurably excited, the very sense of pleasure, +when it reaches the extreme point, will create the desire of renewing +it, and naturally carry it back to the point of starting; thus +superinducing, with the renewed enjoyment, the fulness of pleasure, in +the sense of a whole.</p> + +<p>It is by this summing up, as it were, of the memory, through +recurrence, not that we perceive,--which is instantaneous,--but that +we enjoy any thing as a whole. If we have not observed it in others, +some of us, perhaps, may remember it in ourselves, when we have stood +before some fine picture, though with a sense of pleasure, yet for +many minutes in a manner abstracted,--silently passing through all its +harmonious transitions without the movement of a muscle, and hardly +conscious of action, till we have suddenly found ourselves returning +on our steps. Then it was,--as if we had no eyes till then,--that +the magic Whole poured in upon us, and vouched for its truth in an +outbreak of rapture.</p> + +<p>The fourth and last division of our subject is the Harmony of Parts; +or the essential agreement of one part with another, and of each with +the whole. In addition to our first general definition, we may further +observe, that by a Whole in Painting is signified the complete +expression, by means of form, color, light, and shadow, of one +thought, or series of thoughts, having for their end some +particular truth, or sentiment, or action, or mood of mind. We say +<i>thought</i>, because no images, however put together, can ever +be separated by the mind from other and extraneous images, so as to +comprise a positive whole, unless they be limited by some intellectual +boundary. A picture wanting this may have fine parts, but is not a +Composition, which implies parts united to each other, and also suited +to some specific purpose, otherwise they cannot be known as united. +Since Harmony, therefore, cannot be conceived of without reference to +a whole, so neither can a whole be imagined without fitness of parts. +To give this fitness, then, is the ultimate task and test of genius: +it is, in fact, calling form and life out of what before was but a +chaos of materials, and making them the subject and exponents of the +will. As the master-principle, also, it is the disposer, regulator, +and modifier of shape, line, and quantity, adding, diminishing, +changing, shaping, till it becomes clear and intelligible, and it +finally manifests itself in pleasurable identity with the harmony +within us.</p> + +<p>To reduce the operation of this principle to precise rules is, +perhaps, without the province of human power: we might else expect to +see poets and painters made by recipe. As in many other operations of +the mind, we must here be content to note a few of the more tangible +facts, if we may be allowed the phrase, which have occasionally been +gathered by observation during the process. The first fact presented +is, that equal quantities, when coming together, produce monotony, +and, if at all admissible, are only so when absolutely needed, at +a proper distance, to echo back or recall the theme, which would +otherwise be lost in the excess of variety. We speak of quantity here +as of a mass, not of the minutiae; for <i>the essential components</i> +of a part may often be <i>equal quantities</i>, (as in a piece of +architecture, of armour, &c.,) which are analogous to poetic feet, for +instance, a spondee. The same effect we find from parallel lines and +repetition of shapes. Hence we obtain the law of a limited variety. +The next is, that the quantities must be so disposed as to balance +each other; otherwise, if all or too many of the larger be on one +side, they will endanger the imaginary circle, or other figure, by +which every composition is supposed to be bounded, making it appear +"lop-sided," or to be falling either in upon the smaller quantities, +or out of the picture: from which we infer the necessity of balance. +If, without others to counteract and restrain them, the parts +converge, the eye, being forced to the centre, becomes stationary; in +like manner, if all diverge, it is forced to fly off in tangents: +as if the great laws of Attraction and Repulsion were here also +essential, and illustrated in miniature. If we add to these Breadth, I +believe we shall have enumerated all the leading phenomena of +Harmony, which experience has enabled us to establish as rules. By +<i>breadth</i> is meant such a massing of the quantities, whether +by color, light, or shadow, as shall enable the eye to pass without +obstruction, and by easy transitions, from one to another, so that it +shall appear to take in the whole at a glance. This may be likened to +both the exordium and peroration of a discourse, including as well +the last as the first general idea. It is, in other words, a simple, +connected, and concise exposition and summary of what the artist +intends.</p> + +<p>We have thus endeavoured to arrange and to give a logical permanency +to the several principles of Composition. It is not to be supposed, +however, that in these we have every principle that might be named; +but they are all, as we conceive, that are of universal application. +Of other minor, or rather personal ones, since they pertain to the +individual, the number can only be limited by the variety of the +human intellect, to which these may be considered as so many simple +elementary guides; not to create genius, but to enable it to +understand itself, and by a distinct knowledge of its own operations +to correct its mistakes,--in a word, to establish the landmarks +between the flats of commonplace and the barrens of extravagance. And, +though the personal or individual principles referred to may not with +propriety be cited as examples in a general treatise like the present, +they are not only not to be overlooked, but are to be regarded by the +student as legitimate objects of study. To the truism, that we can +only judge of other minds by a knowledge of our own, we may add +its converse as especially true. In that mysterious tract of the +intellect, which we call the Imagination, there would seem to lie +hid thousands of unknown forms, of which we are often for years +unconscious, until they start up awakened by the footsteps of a +stranger. Hence it is that the greatest geniuses, as presenting a +wider field for excitement, are generally found to be the widest +likers; not so much from affinity, or because they possess the +precise kinds of excellence which they admire, but often from the +<i>differences</i> which these very excellences in others, as the +exciting cause, awaken in themselves. Such men may be said to be +endowed with a double vision, an inward and an outward; the inward +seeing not unfrequently the reverse of what is seen by the outward. +It was this which caused Annibal Caracci to remark, on seeing for the +first time a picture by Caravaggio, that he thought a style totally +opposite might be made very captivating; and the hint, it is said, +sunk deep into and was not lost on Guido, who soon after realized what +his master had thus imagined. Perhaps no one ever caught more from +others than Raffaelle. I do not allude to his "borrowing," so +ingeniously, not soundly, defended by Sir Joshua, but rather to his +excitability, (if I may here apply a modern term,)--that inflammable +temperament, which took fire, as it were, from the very friction +of the atmosphere. For there was scarce an excellence, within his +knowledge, of his predecessors or contemporaries, which did not in a +greater or less degree contribute to the developement of his powers; +not as presenting models of imitation, but as shedding new light on +his own mind, and opening to view its hidden treasures. Such to him +were the forms of the Antique, of Leonardo da Vinci, and of Michael +Angelo, and the breadth and color of Fra Bartolomeo,--lights that +first made him acquainted with himself, not lights that he followed; +for he was a follower of none. To how many others he was indebted for +his impulses cannot now be known; but the new impetus he was known to +have received from every new excellence has led many to believe, that, +had he lived to see the works of Titian, he would have added to his +grace, character, and form, and with equal originality, the splendor +of color. "The design of Michael Angelo and the color of Titian," was +the inscription of Tintoretto over the door of his painting-room. +Whether he intended to designate these two artists as his future +models matters not; but that he did not follow them is evidenced in +his works. Nor, indeed, could he: the temptation to <i>follow</i>, +which his youthful admiration had excited, was met by an interdiction +not easily withstood,--the decree of his own genius. And yet the +decree had probably never been heard but for these very masters. Their +presence stirred him; and, when he thought of serving, his teeming +mind poured out its abundance, making <i>him</i> a master to future +generations. To the forms of Michael Angelo he was certainly indebted +for the elevation of his own; there, however, the inspiration ended. +With Titian he was nearly allied in genius; yet he thought rather with +than after him,--at times even beyond him. Titian, indeed, may be said +to have first opened his eyes to the mysteries of nature; but they +were no sooner opened, than he rushed into them with a rapidity and +daring unwont to the more cautious spirit of his master; and, though +irregular, eccentric, and often inferior, yet sometimes he made his +way to poetical regions, of whose celestial hues even Titian himself +had never dreamt.</p> + +<p>We might go on thus with every great name in Art. But these examples +are enough to show how much even the most original minds, not only +may, but <i>must</i>, owe to others; for the social law of our nature +applies no less to the intellect than to the affections. When applied +to genius, it may be called the social inspiration, the simple +statement of which seems to us of itself a solution of the +oft-repeated question, "Why is it that genius always appears in +clusters?" To Nature, indeed, we must all at last recur, as to the +only true and permanent foundation of real excellence. But Nature is +open to all men alike, in her beauty, her majesty, her grandeur, and +her sublimity. Yet who will assert that all men see, or, if they see, +are impressed by these her attributes alike? Nay, so great is the +difference, that one might almost suppose them inhabitants of +different worlds. Of Claude, for instance, it is hardly a metaphor to +say that he lived in two worlds during his natural life; for Claude +the pastry-cook could never have seen the same world that was made +visible to Claude the painter. It was human sympathy, acting through +human works, that gave birth to his intellect at the age of forty. +There is something, perhaps, ludicrous in the thought of an infant of +forty. Yet the fact is a solemn one, that thousands die whose minds +have never been born.</p> + +<p>We could not, perhaps, instance a stronger confutation of the vulgar +error which opposes learning to genius, than the simple history of +this remarkable man. In all that respects the mind, he was literally a +child, till accident or necessity carried him to Rome; for, when the +office of color-grinder, added to that of cook, by awakening his +curiosity, first excited a love for the Art, his progress through its +rudiments seems to have been scarcely less slow and painful than that +of a child through the horrors of the alphabet. It was the struggle of +one who was learning to think; but, the rudiments being mastered, he +found himself suddenly possessed, not as yet of thought, but of new +forms of language; then came thoughts, pouring from his mind, and +filling them as moulds, without which they had never, perhaps, had +either shape or consciousness.</p> + +<p>Now what was this new language but the product of other minds,--of +successive minds, amending, enlarging, elaborating, through successive +ages, till, fitted to all its wants, it became true to the Ideal, and +the vernacular tongue of genius through all time? The first inventor +of verse was but the prophetic herald of Homer, Shakspeare, and +Milton. And what was Rome then but the great University of Art, where +all this accumulated learning was treasured?</p> + +<p>Much has been said of self-taught geniuses, as opposed to those who +have been instructed by others: but the distinction, it appears to +us, is without a difference; for it matters not whether we learn in a +school or by ourselves,--we cannot learn any thing without in some way +recurring to other minds. Let us imagine a poet who had never read, +never heard, never conversed with another. Now if he will not be +taught in any thing by another, he must strictly preserve this +independent negation. Truly the verses of such a poet would be a +miracle. Of similar self-taught painters we have abundant examples in +our aborigines,--but nowhere else.</p> + +<p>But, while we maintain, as a positive law of our nature, the necessity +of mental intercourse with our fellow-creatures, in order to the full +developement of the <i>individual</i>, we are far from implying that +any thing which is actually taken from others can by any process +become our own, that is, original. We may reverse, transpose, +diminish, or add to it, and so skilfully that no scam or mutilation +shall be detected; and yet we shall not make it appear original,--in +other words, <i>true</i>, the offspring of <i>one</i> mind. A borrowed +thought will always be borrowed; as it will be felt as such in its +<i>effect</i>, even while we are ourselves unconscious of the fact: +for it will want that <i>effect of life</i>, which only the first mind +can give it[3].</p> + +<p> +Of the multifarious retailers of the second-hand in style, the class +is so numerous as to make a selection difficult: they meet us at every +step in the history of the Art. One instance, however, may suffice, +and we select Vernet, as uniting in himself a singular and striking +example of the <i>false</i> and the <i>true</i>; and also as the least +invidious instance, inasmuch as we may prove our position by opposing +him to himself.</p> + +<p>In the landscapes of Vernet, (when not mere views,) we see the +imitator of Salvator, or rather copyist of his lines; and these we +have in all their angular nakedness, where rocks, trees, and mountains +are so jagged, contorted, and tumbled about, that nothing but an +explosion could account for their assemblage. They have not the +relation which we sometimes find even in a random collocation, as in +the accidental pictures of a discolored wall; for the careful hand +of the contriver is traced through all this disorder; nay, the very +execution, the conventional dash of pencil, betrays what a lawyer +would call the <i>malice prepense</i> of the Artist in their strange +disfigurement. To many this may appear like hypercriticism; but we +sincerely believe that no one, even among his admirers, has ever been +deceived into a real sympathy with such technical flourishes: they +are felt as factitious; as mere diagrams of composition deduced from +pictures.</p> + +<p>Now let us look at one of his Storms at Sea, when he wrought from his +own mind. A dark leaden atmosphere prepares us for something fearful: +suddenly a scene of tumult, fierce, wild, disastrous, bursts upon us; +and we feel the shock drive, as it were, every other thought from the +mind: the terrible vision now seizes the imagination, filling it with +sound and motion: we see the clouds fly, the furious waves one upon +another dashing in conflict, and rolling, as if in wrath, towards the +devoted ship: the wind blows from the canvas; we hear it roar through +her shrouds; her masts bend like twigs, and her last forlorn hope, +the close-reefed foresail, streams like a tattered flag: a terrible +fascination still constrains us to look, and a dim, rocky shore looms +on her lee: then comes the dreadful cry of "Breakers ahead!" the crew +stand appalled, and the master's trumpet is soundless at his lips. +This is the uproar of nature, and we <i>feel</i> it to be <i>true</i>; +for here every line, every touch, has a meaning. The ragged clouds, +the huddled waves, the prostrate ship, though forced by contrast +into the sharpest angles, all agree, opposed as they seem,--evolving +harmony out of apparent discord. And this is Genius, which no +criticism can ever disprove.</p> + +<p>But all great names, it is said, must have their shadows. In our Art +they have many shadows, or rather I should say, reflections; which +are more or less distinct according to their proximity to the living +originals, and, like the images in opposite mirrors, becoming +themselves reflected and re-reflected with a kind of battledoor +alternation, grow dimmer and dimmer till they vanish from mere +distance.</p> + +<p>Thus have the great schools of Italy, Flanders, and Holland lived and +walked after death, till even their ghosts have become familiar to us.</p> + +<p>We would not, however, be understood as asserting that we receive +pleasure only from original works: this would be contradicting +the general experience. We admit, on the contrary, that there are +hundreds, nay, thousands, of pictures having no pretensions to +originality of any kind, which still afford pleasure; as, indeed, +do many things out of the Art, which we know to be second-hand, or +imperfect, and even trifling. Thus grace of manner, for instance, +though wholly unaided by a single definite quality, will often delight +us, and a ready elocution, with scarce a particle of sense, make +commonplace agreeable; and it seems to be, that the pain of mental +inertness renders action so desirable, that the mind instinctively +surrounds itself with myriads of objects, having little to recommend +them but the property of keeping it from stagnating. And we are +far from denying a certain value to any of these, provided they +be innocent: there are times when even the wisest man will find +commonplace wholesome. All we have attempted to show is, that the +effect of an original work, as opposed to an imitation, is marked by +a difference, not of degree merely, but of kind; and that this +difference cannot fail to be felt, not, indeed, by every one, but by +any competent judge, that is, any one in whom is developed, by +natural exercise, that internal sense by which the spirit of life is +discerned.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Every original work becomes such from the infusion, so to speak, of +the mind of the Author; and of this the fresh materials of nature +alone seem susceptible. The imitated works of man cannot be endued +with a second life, that is, with a second mind: they are to the +imitator as air already breathed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>What has been said in relation to Form--that the works of our +predecessors, so far as they are recognized as true, are to be +considered as an extension of Nature, and therefore proper objects +of study--is equally applicable to Composition. But it is not to be +understood that this extended Nature (if we may so term it) is in any +instance to be imitated as a <i>whole</i>, which would be bringing our +minds into bondage to another; since, as already shown in the second +Discourse, every original work is of necessity impressed with the mind +of its author. If it be asked, then, what is the advantage of such +study, we shall endeavour to show, that it is not merely, as some have +supposed, in enriching the mind with materials, but rather in widening +our view of excellence, and, by consequent excitement, expanding our +own powers of observation, reflection, and performance. By increasing +the power of performance, we mean enlarging our knowledge of the +technical process, or the medium through which thought is expressed; +a most important species of knowledge, which, if to be otherwise +attained, is at least most readily learned from those who have left us +the result of their experience. This technical process, which has been +well called the language of the Art, includes, of course, all that +pertains to Composition, which, as the general medium, also contains +most of the elements of this peculiar tongue.</p> + +<p>From the gradual progress of the various arts of civilization, it +would seem that only under the action of some great <i>social</i> law +can man arrive at the full developement of his powers. In our +Art especially is this true; for the experience of one man must +necessarily be limited, particularly if compared with the endless +varieties of form and effect which diversify the face of Nature; and +the finest of these, too, in their very nature transient, or of rare +occurrence, and only known to occur to those who are prepared to seize +them in their rapid transit; so that in one short life, and with but +one set of senses, the greatest genius can learn but little. The +Artist, therefore, must needs owe much to the living, and more to the +dead, who are virtually his companions, inasmuch as through their +works they still live to our sympathies. Besides, in our great +predecessors we may be said to possess a multiplied life, if life +be measured by the number of acts,--which, in this case, we may all +appropriate to ourselves, as it were by a glance. For the dead in Art +may well be likened to the hardy pioneers of our own country, who have +successively cleared before us the swamps and forests that would have +obstructed our progress, and opened to us lands which the efforts of +no individual, however persevering, would enable him to reach.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> +<h2>Aphorisms.</h2> + +<h3>Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio.</h3> + + + +<p>1. "No genuine work of Art ever was, or ever can be, produced but for +its own sake; if the painter does not conceive to please himself, he +will not finish to please the world."--FUSELI.</p> + +<p>2. If an Artist love his Art for its own sake, he will delight in +excellence wherever he meets it, as well in the work of another as in +his own. This is the test of a true love.</p> + +<p>3. Nor is this genuine love compatible with a craving for distinction; +where the latter predominates, it is sure to betray itself before +contemporary excellence, either by silence, or (as a bribe to the +conscience) by a modicum of praise.</p> + +<p>The enthusiasm of a mind so influenced is confined to itself.</p> + +<p>4. Distinction is the consequence, never the object, of a great mind.</p> + +<p>5. The love of gain never made a Painter; but it has marred many.</p> + +<p>6. The most common disguise of Envy is in the praise of what is +subordinate.</p> + +<p>7. Selfishness in Art, as in other things, is sensibility kept at +home.</p> + +<p>8. The Devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the +phrase "devilish good" has sometimes a literal meaning.</p> + +<p>9. The most intangible, and therefore the worst, kind of lie is a +half truth. This is the peculiar device of a <i>conscientious</i> +detractor.</p> + +<p>10. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading +only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own +littleness by elevating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. +He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look +down. Of such minds are mannerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of +all sorts.</p> + +<p>11. No right judgment can ever be formed on any subject having a moral +or intellectual bearing without benevolence; for so strong is man's +natural self-bias, that, without this restraining principle, he +insensibly becomes a competitor in all such cases presented to his +mind; and, when the comparison is thus made personal, unless the odds +be immeasurably against him, his decision will rarely be impartial. +In other words, no one can see any thing as it really is through the +misty spectacles of self-love. We must wish well to another in order +to do him justice. Now the virtue in this good-will is not to blind us +to his faults, but to our own rival and interposing merits.</p> + +<p>12. In the same degree that we overrate ourselves, we shall underrate +others; for injustice allowed at home is not likely to be corrected +abroad. Never, therefore, expect justice from a vain man; if he has +the negative magnanimity not to disparage you, it is the most you can +expect.</p> + +<p>13. The Phrenologists are right in placing the organ of self-love in +the back of the head, it being there where a vain man carries his +intellectual light; the consequence of which is, that every man he +approaches is obscured by his own shadow.</p> + +<p>14. Nothing is rarer than a solitary lie; for lies breed like Surinam +toads; you cannot tell one but out it comes with a hundred young ones +on its back.</p> + +<p>15. If the whole world should agree to speak nothing but truth, what +an abridgment it would make of speech! And what an unravelling there +would be of the invisible webs which men, like so many spiders, now +weave about each other! But the contest between Truth and Falsehood +is now pretty well balanced. Were it not so, and had the latter the +mastery, even language would soon become extinct, from its very +uselessness. The present superfluity of words is the result of the +warfare.</p> + +<p>16. A witch's skiff cannot more easily sail in the teeth of the wind, +than the human <i>eye</i> lie against fact; but the truth will oftener +quiver through lips with a lie upon them.</p> + +<p>17. An open brow with a clenched hand shows any thing but an open +purpose.</p> + +<p>18. It is a hard matter for a man to lie <i>all over</i>. Nature +having provided king's evidence in almost every member. The hand will +sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every +feature is set the other way; the knees smite together, and sound the +alarm of fear, under a fierce countenance; and the legs shake with +anger, when all above is calm.</p> + +<p>19. Nature observes a variety even in her correspondences; insomuch +that in parts which seem but repetitions there will be found a +difference. For instance, in the human countenance, the two sides of +which are never identical. Whenever she deviates into monotony, +the deviation is always marked as an exception by some striking +deficiency; as in idiots, who are the only persons that laugh equally +on both sides of the mouth.</p> + +<p>The insipidity of many of the antique Statues may be traced to the +false assumption of identity in the corresponding parts. No work +wrought by <i>feeling</i> (which, after all, is the ultimate rule of +Genius) was ever marked by this monotony.</p> + +<p>20. He is but half an orator who turns his hearers into spectators. +The best gestures (<i>quoad</i> the speaker) are those which he cannot +help. An unconscious thump of the fist or jerk of the elbow is more +to the purpose, (whatever that may be,) than the most graceful +<i>cut-and-dried</i> action. It matters not whether the orator +personates a trip-hammer or a wind-mill; if his mill but move with the +grist, or his hammer knead the iron beneath it, he will not fail of +his effect. An impertinent gesture is more likely to knock down the +orator than his opponent.</p> + +<p>21. The only true independence is in humility; for the humble man +exacts nothing, and cannot be mortified,--expects nothing, and cannot +be disappointed. Humility is also a healing virtue; it will cicatrize +a thousand wounds, which pride would keep for ever open. But humility +is not the virtue of a fool; since it is not consequent upon any +comparison between ourselves and others, but between what we are and +what we ought to be,--which no man ever was.</p> + +<p>22. The greatest of all fools is the proud fool,--who is at the mercy +of every fool he meets.</p> + +<p>23. There is an essential meanness in the wish to <i>get the +better</i> of any one. The only competition worthy, of a wise man is +with himself.</p> + +<p>24. He that argues for victory is but a gambler in words, seeking to +enrich himself by another's loss.</p> + +<p>25. Some men make their ignorance the measure of excellence; these +are, of course, very fastidious critics; for, knowing little, they can +find but little to like.</p> + +<p>26. The Painter who seeks popularity in Art closes the door upon his +own genius.</p> + +<p>27. Popular excellence in one age is but the <i>mechanism</i> of what +was good in the preceding; in Art, the <i>technic</i>.</p> + +<p>28. Make no man your idol, for the best man must have faults; and his +faults will insensibly become yours, in addition to your own. This is +as true in Art as in morals.</p> + +<p>29. A man of genius should not aim at praise, except in the form of +<i>sympathy</i>; this assures him of his success, since it meets the +feeling which possessed himself.</p> + +<p>30. Originality in Art is the individualizing the Universal; in other +words, the impregnating some general truth with the individual mind.</p> + +<p>31. The painter who is content with the praise of the world in respect +to what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; +for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a +mechanic,--for his time, and not for his art.</p> + +<p>32. <i>Reputation</i> is but a synonyme of <i>popularity</i>; +dependent on suffrage, to be increased or diminished at the will of +the voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of its particular age, or +rather of a particular state of society; consequently, dying with that +which sustained it. Hence we can scarcely go over a page of history, +that we do not, as in a church-yard, tread upon some buried +reputation. But fame cannot be voted down, having its immediate +foundation in the essential. It is the eternal shadow of excellence, +from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but +in the light of an intellect kindred with that of its author. It is +that light which projects the shadow which is seen of the multitude, +to be wondered at and reverenced, even while so little comprehended +as to be often confounded with the substance,--the substance being +admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the economy of +Providence to provide such lights: like rising and setting stars, they +follow each other through successive ages: and thus the monumental +form of Genius stands for ever relieved against its own imperishable +shadow.</p> + +<p>33. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, +then, for something beyond the true, we wish for that which is false. +According to this test, how little truth is there in Art! Little +indeed! but how much is that little to him who feels it!</p> + +<p>34. Fame does not depend on the <i>will</i> of any man, but Reputation +may be given or taken away. Fame is the sympathy of kindred +intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of <i>willing</i>; while +Reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence +which may either be uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, +being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of +the envious and the ignorant; but Fame, whose very birth is +<i>posthumous</i>, and which is only known <i>to exist by the echo of +its footsteps through congenial minds</i>, can neither be increased +nor diminished by any degree of will.</p> + +<p>35. What <i>light</i> is in the natural world, such is <i>fame</i> +in the intellectual; both requiring an <i>atmosphere</i> in order +to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some +minds, a nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible <i>in +vacuo</i>.</p> + +<p>36. Fame has no necessary conjunction with Praise: it may exist without +the breath of a word; it is a <i>recognition of excellence</i>, which <i>must +be felt</i>, but need not be <i>spoken</i>. Even the envious must feel it,--feel +it, and hate it, in silence.</p> + +<p>37. I cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever labored for +it; that is, <i>directly</i>. For, as fame is but the contingent of +excellence, it would be like an attempt to project a shadow, before +its substance was obtained. Many, however, have so fancied. "I write, +I paint, for fame," has often been repeated: it should have been, "I +write, I paint, for reputation." All anxiety, therefore, about Fame +should be placed to the account of Reputation.</p> + +<p>38. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained +<i>excellence</i>, when it is not all in all to him. Nay, I may add, +that, if he looks beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not the +less true for being good <i>Irish</i>.</p> + +<p>39. An original mind is rarely understood, until it has been +<i>reflected</i> from some half-dozen congenial with it, so averse +are men to admitting the <i>true</i> in an unusual form; whilst any +novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor +is this to be wondered at; for all truth demands a response, and few +people care to <i>think</i>, yet they must have something to supply +the place of thought. Every mind would appear original, if every man +had the power of <i>projecting</i> his own into the mind of others.</p> + +<p>40. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the +monstrous. For no man knows himself as an original; he can only +believe it on the report of others to whom <i>he is made known</i>, as +he is by the projecting power before spoken of.</p> + +<p>41. There is one thing which no man, however generously disposed, can +<i>give</i>, but which every one, however poor, is bound to <i>pay</i>. This is +Praise. He cannot give it, because it is not his own,--since what is +dependent for its very existence on something in another can never +become to him a <i>possession</i>; nor can he justly withhold it, when the +presence of merit claims it as a <i>consequence</i>. As praise, then, cannot +be made a <i>gift</i>, so, neither, when not his due, can any man receive it: +he may think he does, but he receives only <i>words</i>; for <i>desert</i> being +the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one +without the other. This is no fanciful statement; for, though praise may +be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the +course of time, an existing merit will, on <i>some one</i>, produce its +effects; inasmuch as the existence of any cause without its effect is an +impossibility. A fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an +<i>irreversible justice</i> for the weal or woe of him who confirms or +violates it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>[From the back of a pencil sketch.]</p> + +<p>Let no man trust to the gentleness, the generosity, or seeming +goodness of his heart, in the hope that they alone can safely bear him +through the temptations of this world. This is a state of probation, +and a perilous passage to the true beginning of life, where even the +best natures need continually to be reminded of their weakness, and +to find their only security in steadily referring all their thoughts, +acts, affections, to the ultimate end of their being: yet where, +imperfect as we are, there is no obstacle too mighty, no temptation +too strong, to the truly humble in heart, who, distrusting themselves, +seek to be sustained only by that holy Being who is life and power, +and who, in his love and mercy, has promised to give to those that +ask.--Such were my reflections, to which I was giving way on reading +this melancholy story.</p> + +<p>If he is satisfied with them, he may rest assured that he is neither +fitted for this world nor the next. Even in this, there are wrongs and +sorrows which no human remedy can reach;--no, tears cannot restore +what is lost.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>[Written in a book of sketches, with a pencil.]</p> + +<p>A real debt of gratitude--that is, founded on a disinterested act of +kindness--cannot be cancelled by any subsequent unkindness on the part +of our benefactor. If the favor be of a pecuniary nature, we may, +indeed, by returning an equal or greater sum, balance the moneyed part; +but we cannot <i>liquidate</i> the <i>kind motive</i> by the setting off against +it any number of unkind ones. For an after injury can no more <i>undo</i> a +previous kindness, than we can <i>prevent</i> in the future what has happened +in the past. So neither can a good act undo an ill one: a fearful truth! +For good and evil have a moral <i>life</i>, which nothing in time can +extinguish; the instant they <i>exist</i>, they start for Eternity. How, +then, can a man who has <i>once</i> sinned, and who has not of <i>himself</i> +cleansed his soul, be fit for heaven where no sin can enter? I seek not +to enter into the mystery of the <i>atonement</i>, "which even the angels +sought to comprehend and could not"; but I feel its truth in an +unutterable conviction, and that, without it, all flesh must perish. +Equally deep, too, and unalienable, is my conviction that "the fruit of +sin is misery." A second birth to the soul is therefore a necessity +which sin <i>forces</i> upon us. Ay,--but not against the desperate <i>will</i> +that rejects it.</p> + +<p>This conclusion was not anticipated when I wrote the first sentence of +the preceding paragraph. But it does not surprise me. For it is but a +recurrence of what I have repeatedly experienced; namely, that I never +lighted on <i>any truth</i> which I <i>inwardly felt</i> as such, however +apparently remote from our religious being, (as, for instance, in the +philosophy of my art,) that, by following it out, did not find its +illustration and confirmation in some great doctrine of the Bible,--the +only true philosophy, the sole fountain of light, where the dark +questions of the understanding which have so long stood, like chaotic +spectres, between the fallen soul and its reason, at once lose their +darkness and their terror.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> +<h2>The Hypochondriac.[4]</h2> + + + +<blockquote class="epi"><p> He would not taste, but swallowed life at once;<br /> +And scarce had reached his prime ere he had bolted,<br /> +With all its garnish, mixed of sweet and sour,<br /> +Full fourscore years. For he, in truth, did wot not<br /> +What most he craved, and so devoured all;<br /> +Then, with his gases, followed Indigestion,<br /> +Making it food for night-mares and their foals.</p> + +<p> <i>Bridgen</i>.[5]</p></blockquote> + + +<p>It was the opinion of an ancient philosopher, that we can have no want +for which Nature does not provide an appropriate gratification. As it +regards our physical wants, this appears to be true. But there are +moral cravings which extend beyond the world we live in; and, were we +in a heathen age, would serve us with an unanswerable argument for the +immortality of the soul. That these cravings are felt by all, there +can be no doubt; yet that all feel them in the same degree would be as +absurd to suppose, as that every man possesses equal sensibility or +understanding. Boswell's desires, from his own account, seem to have +been limited to reading Shakspeare in the other world,--whether with +or without his commentators, he has left us to guess; and Newton +probably pined for the sight of those distant stars whose light has +not yet reached us. What originally was the particular craving of my +own mind I cannot now recall; but that I had, even in my boyish days, +an insatiable desire after something which always eluded me, I well +remember. As I grew into manhood, my desires became less definite; and +by the time I had passed through college, they seemed to have resolved +themselves into a general passion for <i>doing</i>.</p> + +<p>It is needless to enumerate the different subjects which one after +another engaged me. Mathematics, metaphysics, natural and moral +philosophy, were each begun, and each in turn given up in a passion of +love and disgust.</p> + +<p>It is the fate of all inordinate passions to meet their extremes; +so was it with mine. Could I have pursued any of these studies with +moderation, I might have been to this day, perhaps, both learned and +happy. But I could be moderate in nothing. Not content with being +employed, I must always be <i>busy</i>; and business, as every one +knows, if long continued, must end in fatigue, and fatigue in disgust, +and disgust in change, if that be practicable,--which unfortunately +was my case.</p> + +<p>The restlessness occasioned by these half-finished studies brought +on a severe fit of self-examination. Why is it, I asked myself, that +these learned works, which have each furnished their authors with +sufficient excitement to effect their completion, should thus weary me +before I get midway into them? It is plain enough. As a reader I +am merely a recipient, but the composer is an active agent; a vast +difference! And now I can account for the singular pleasure, which +a certain bad poet of my acquaintance always took in inflicting his +verses on every one who would listen to him; each perusal being but a +sort of mental echo of the original bliss of composition. I will set +about writing immediately.</p> + +<p>Having, time out of mind, heard the epithet <i>great</i> coupled with +Historians, it was that, I believe, inclined me to write a history. +I chose my subject, and began collating, and transcribing, night and +day, as if I had not another hour to live; and on I went with the +industry of a steam-engine; when it one day occurred to me, that, +though I had been laboring for months, I had not yet had occasion for +one original thought. Pshaw! said I, 't is only making new clothes out +of old ones. I will have nothing more to do with history.</p> + +<p>As it is natural for a mind suddenly disgusted with mechanic toil to +seek relief from its opposite, it can easily be imagined that my next +resource was Poetry. Every one rhymes now-a-days, and so can I. Shall +I write an Epic, or a Tragedy, or a Metrical Romance? Epics are out of +fashion; even Homer and Virgil would hardly be read in our time, but +that people are unwilling to admit their schooling to have been thrown +away. As to Tragedy, I am a modern, and it is a settled thing that no +modern <i>can</i> write a tragedy; so I must not attempt that. Then +for Metrical Romances,--why, they are now manufactured; and, as the +Edinburgh Review says, may be "imported" by us "in bales." I will bind +myself to no particular class, but give free play to my imagination. +With this resolution I went to bed, as one going to be inspired. The +morning came; I ate my breakfast, threw up the window, and placed +myself in my elbow-chair before it. An hour passed, and nothing +occurred to me. But this I ascribed to a fit of laughter that seized +me, at seeing a duck made drunk by eating rum-cherries. I turned my +back on the window. Another hour followed, then another, and another: +I was still as far from poetry as ever; every object about me seemed +bent against my abstraction; the card-racks fascinating me like +serpents, and compelling me to read, as if I would get them by heart, +"Dr. Joblin," "Mr. Cumberback," "Mr. Milton Bull," &c. &c. I took up +my pen, drew a sheet of paper from my writing-desk, and fixed my eyes +upon that;--'t was all in vain; I saw nothing on it but the watermark, +<i>D. Ames</i>. I laid down the pen, closed my eyes, and threw my +head back in the chair. "Are you waiting to be shaved, Sir?" said +a familiar voice. I started up, and overturned my servant. "No, +blockhead!"--"I am waiting to be inspired";--but this I added +mentally. What is the cause of my difficulty? said I. Something within +me seemed to reply, in the words of Lear, "Nothing comes of nothing." +Then I must seek a subject. I ran over a dozen in a few minutes, chose +one after another, and, though twenty thoughts very readily occurred +on each, I was fain to reject them all; some for wanting pith, some +for belonging to prose, and others for having been worn out in the +service of other poets. In a word, my eyes began to open on the truth, +and I felt convinced that <i>that</i> only was poetry which a man +writes because he cannot help writing; the irrepressible effluence +of his secret being on every thing in sympathy with it,--a kind of +<i>flowering</i> of the soul amid the warmth and the light of nature. +I am no poet, I exclaimed, and I will not disfigure Mr. Ames with +commonplace verses.</p> + +<p>I know not how I should have borne this second disappointment, had not +the title of a new Novel, which then came into my head, suggested a +trial in that branch of letters. I will write a Novel. Having come to +this determination, the next thing was to collect materials. They must +be sought after, said I, for my late experiment has satisfied me that +I might wait for ever in my elbow-chair, and they would never come to +me; they must be toiled for,--not in books, if I would not deal in +second-hand,--but in the world, that inexhaustible storehouse of +all kinds of originals. I then turned over in my mind the various +characters I had met with in life; amongst these a few only seemed +fitted for any story, and those rather as accessories; such as a +politician who hated popularity, a sentimental grave-digger, and a +metaphysical rope-dancer; but for a hero, the grand nucleus of my +fable, I was sorely at a loss. This, however, did not discourage me. I +knew he might be found in the world, if I would only take the trouble +to look for him. For this purpose I jumped into the first stage-coach +that passed my door; it was immaterial whither bound, my object being +men, not places. My first day's journey offered nothing better than a +sailor who rebuked a member of Congress for swearing. But at the third +stage, on the second day, as we were changing horses, I had the good +fortune to light on a face which gave promise of all I wanted. It was +so remarkable that I could not take my eyes from it; the forehead +might have been called handsome but for a pair of enormous eyebrows, +that seemed to project from it like the quarter-galleries of a ship, +and beneath these were a couple of small, restless, gray eyes, which, +glancing in every direction from under their shaggy brows, sparkled +like the intermittent light of fire-flies; in the nose there was +nothing remarkable, except that it was crested by a huge wart with a +small grove of black hairs; but the mouth made ample amends, being +altogether indescribable, for it was so variable in its expression, +that I could not tell whether it had most of the sardonic, the +benevolent, or the sanguinary, appearing to exhibit them all in +succession with equal vividness. My attention, however, was mainly +fixed by the sanguinary; it came across me like an east wind, and +I felt a cold sweat damping my linen; and when this was suddenly +succeeded by the benevolent, I was sure I had got at the secret of +his character,--no less than that of a murderer haunted by remorse. +Delighted with this discovery, I made up my mind to follow the owner +of the face wherever he went, till I should learn his history. I +accordingly made an end of my journey for the present, upon learning +that the stranger was to pass some time in the place where we stopped. +For three days I made minute inquiries; but all I could gather was, +that he had been a great traveller, though of what country no one +could tell me. On the fourth day, finding him on the move, I took +passage in the same coach. Now, said I, is my time of harvest. But I +was mistaken; for, in spite of all the lures which I threw out to +draw him into a communicative humor, I could get nothing from him but +monosyllables. So far from abating my ardor, this reserve only the +more whetted my curiosity. At last we stopped at a pleasant village +in New Jersey. Here he seemed a little better known; the innkeeper +inquiring after his health, and the hostler asking if the balls he +had supplied him with fitted the barrels of his pistols. The latter +inquiry I thought was accompanied by a significant glance, that +indicated a knowledge on the hostler's part of more than met the ear; +I determined therefore to sound him. After a few general remarks, that +had nothing to do with any thing, by way of introduction, I began by +hinting some random surmises as to the use to which the stranger might +have put the pistols he spoke of; inquired whether he was in the habit +of loading them at night; whether he slept with them under his pillow; +if he was in the practice of burning a light while he slept; and if +he did not sometimes awake the family by groans, or by walking with +agitated steps in his chamber. But it was all in vain, the man +protesting that he never knew any thing ill of him. Perhaps, thought +I, the hostler having overheard his midnight wanderings, and detected +his crime, is paid for keeping the secret. I pumped the landlord, and +the landlady, and the barmaid, and the chambermaid, and the waiters, +and the cook, and every thing that could speak in the house; still to +no purpose, each ending his reply with, "Lord, Sir, he's as honest a +gentleman, for aught I know, as any in the world"; then would come a +question,--"But perhaps <i>you</i> know something of him yourself?" +Whether my answer, though given in the negative, was uttered in such a +tone as to imply an affirmative, thereby exciting suspicion, I cannot +tell; but it is certain that I soon after perceived a visible change +towards him in the deportment of the whole household. When he spoke to +the waiters, their jaws fell, their fingers spread, their eyes rolled, +with every symptom of involuntary action; and once, when he asked the +landlady to take a glass of wine with him, I saw her, under pretence +of looking out of the window, throw it into the street; in short, the +very scullion fled at his approach, and a chambermaid dared not +enter his room unless under guard of a large mastiff. That these +circumstances were not unobserved by him will appear by what follows.</p> + +<p>Though I had come no nearer to facts, this general suspicion, added to +the remarkable circumstance that no one had ever heard his name (being +known only as <i>the gentleman</i>) gave every day new life to my +hopes. He is the very man, said I; and I began to revel in all the +luxury of detection, when, as I was one night undressing for bed, my +attention was caught by the following letter on my table.</p> + +<blockquote class="letter"><p> "SIR,</p> + +<p> "If you are the gentleman you would be thought, you will not + refuse satisfaction for the diabolical calumnies you have so + unprovokedly circulated against an innocent man.</p> + +<p> "Your obedient servant,</p> + +<p> "TIMOLEON BUB.</p> + +<p> "P.S. I shall expect you at five o'clock to-morrow morning, at the + three elms, by the river-side."</p></blockquote> + +<p>This invitation, as may be well imagined, discomposed me not a +little. Who Mr. Bub was, or in what way I had injured him, puzzled +me exceedingly. Perhaps, thought I, he has mistaken me for another +person; if so, my appearing on the ground will soon set matters right. +With this persuasion I went to bed, somewhat calmer than I should +otherwise have been; nay, I was even composed enough to divert myself +with the folly of one bearing so vulgar an appellation taking it into +his head to play the <i>man of honor</i>, and could not help a waggish +feeling of curiosity to see if his name and person were in keeping.</p> + +<p>I woke myself in the morning with a loud laugh, for I had dreamt of +meeting, in the redoubtable Mr. Bub, a little pot-bellied man, with a +round face, a red snub-nose, and a pair of gooseberry wall-eyes. My +fit of pleasantry was far from passed off when I came in sight of the +fatal elms. I saw my antagonist pacing the ground with considerable +violence. Ah! said I, he is trying to escape from his unheroic name! +and I laughed again at the conceit; but, as I drew a little nearer, +there appeared a majestic altitude in his figure very unlike what I +had seen in my dream, and my laugh began to stiffen into a kind of +rigid grin. There now came upon me something very like a misgiving +that the affair might turn out to be no joke. I felt an unaccountable +wish that this Mr. Bub had never been born; still I advanced: but +if an aërolite had fallen at my feet, I could not have been more +startled, than when I found in the person of my challenger--the +mysterious stranger. The consequences of my curiosity immediately +rushed upon me, and I was no longer at a loss in what way I had +injured him. All my merriment seemed to curdle within me; and I felt +like a dog that had got his head into a jug, and suddenly finds he +cannot extricate it. "Well met, Sir," said the stranger; "now +take your ground, and abide the consequences of your infernal +insinuations." "Upon my word," replied I,--"upon my honor, Sir,"--and +there I stuck, for in truth I knew not what it was I was going to say; +when the stranger's second, advancing, exclaimed, in a voice which +I immediately recognized, "Why, zounds! Rainbow, are <i>you</i> the +man?" "Is it you, Harman?" "What!" continued he, "my old classmate +Rainbow turned slanderer? Impossible! Indeed, Mr. Bub, there must be +some mistake here." "None, Sir," said the stranger; "I have it on +the authority of my respectable landlord, that, ever since this +gentleman's arrival, he has been incessant in his attempts to blacken +my character with every person at the inn." "Nay, my friend"--But I +put an end to Harman's further defence of me, by taking him aside, +and frankly confessing the whole truth. It was with some difficulty I +could get through the explanation, being frequently interrupted with +bursts of laughter from my auditor; which, indeed, I now began to +think very natural. In a word, to cut the story short, my friend +having repeated the conference verbatim to Mr. Bub, he was +good-natured enough to join in the mirth, saying, with one of his best +sardonics, he "had always had a misgiving that his unlucky ugly face +would one day or other be the death of somebody." Well, we passed the +day together, and having cracked a social bottle after dinner, parted, +I believe, as heartily friends as we should have been (which is saying +a great deal) had he indeed proved the favorite villain in my Novel. +But, alas! with the loss of my villain, away went the Novel.</p> + +<p>Here again I was at a stand; and in vain did I torture my brains +for another pursuit. But why should I seek one? In fortune I have a +competence,--why not be as independent in mind? There are thousands in +the world whose sole object in life is to attain the means of living +without toil; and what is any literary pursuit but a series of mental +labor, ay, and oftentimes more wearying to the spirits than that of +the body. Upon the whole, I came to the conclusion, that it was a very +foolish thing to do any thing. So I seriously set about trying to do +nothing.</p> + +<p>Well, what with whistling, hammering down all the nails in the house +that had started, paring my nails, pulling my fire to pieces and +rebuilding it, changing my clothes to full dress though I dined alone, +trying to make out the figure of a Cupid on my discolored ceiling, and +thinking of a lady I had not thought of for ten years before, I got +along the first week tolerably well. But by the middle of the second +week,--'t was horrible! the hours seemed to roll over me like +mill-stones. When I awoke in the morning I felt like an Indian +devotee, the day coming upon me like the great temple of Juggernaut; +cracking of my bones beginning after breakfast; and if I had any +respite, it was seldom for more than half an hour, when a newspaper +seemed to stop the wheels;--then away they went, crack, crack, noon +and afternoon, till I found myself by night reduced to a perfect +jelly,--good for nothing but to be ladled into bed, with a greater +horror than ever at the thought of sunrise.</p> + +<p>This will never do, said I; a toad in the heart of a tree lives a more +comfortable life than a nothing-doing man; and I began to perceive +a very deep meaning in the truism of "something being better than +nothing." But is a precise object always necessary to the mind? No: if +it be but occupied, no matter with what. That may easily be done. +I have already tried the sciences, and made abortive attempts in +literature, but I have never yet tried what is called general +reading;--that, thank Heaven, is a resource inexhaustible. I will +henceforth read only for amusement. My first experiment in this way +was on Voyages and Travels, with occasional dippings into Shipwrecks, +Murders, and Ghost-stories. It succeeded beyond my hopes; month after +month passing away like days, and as for days,--I almost fancied that +I could see the sun move. How comfortable, thought I, thus to travel +over the world in my closet! how delightful to double Cape Horn and +cross the African Desert in my rocking-chair,--to traverse Caffraria +and the Mogul's dominions in the same pleasant vehicle! This is living +to some purpose; one day dining on barbecued pigs in Otaheite; the +next in danger of perishing amidst the snows of Terra del Fuego; then +to have a lion cross my path in the heart of Africa; to run for my +life from a wounded rhinoceros, and sit, by mistake, on a sleeping +boa-constrictor;--this, this, said I, is life! Even the dangers of the +sea were but healthful stimulants. If I met with a tornado, it was +only an agreeable variety; water-spouts and ice-islands gave me no +manner of alarm; and I have seldom been more composed than when +catching a whale. In short, the ease with which I thus circumnavigated +the globe, and conversed with all its varieties of inhabitants, +expanded my benevolence; I found every place, and everybody in it, +even to the Hottentots, vastly agreeable. But, alas! I was doomed +to discover that this could not last for ever. Though I was still +curious, there were no longer curiosities; for the world is limited, +and new countries, and new people, like every thing else, wax stale on +acquaintance; even ghosts and hurricanes become at last familiar; and +books grow old, like those who read them.</p> + +<p>I was now at what sailors call a dead lift; being too old to build +castles for the future, and too dissatisfied with the life I had +led to look back on the past. In this state of mind, I bought me a +snuffbox; for, as I could not honestly recommend my disjointed self +to any decent woman, it seemed a kind of duty in me to contract such +habits as would effectually prevent my taking in the lady I had once +thought of. I set to, snuffing away till I made my nose sore, and +lost my appetite. I then threw my snuffbox into the fire, and took to +cigars. This change appeared to revive me. For a short time I thought +myself in Elysium, and wondered I had never tried them before. Thou +fragrant weed! O, that I were a Dutch poet, I exclaimed, that I might +render due honor to thy unspeakable virtues! Ineffable tobacco! Every +puff seemed like oil poured upon troubled waters, and I felt an +inexpressible calmness stealing over my frame; in truth, it seemed +like a benevolent spirit reconciling my soul to my body. But +moderation, as I have before said, was never one of my virtues. I +walked my room, pouring out volumes like a moving glass-house. My +apartment was soon filled with smoke; I looked in the glass and hardly +knew myself, my eyes peering at me, through the curling atmosphere, +like those of a poodle. I then retired to the opposite end, and +surveyed the furniture; nothing retained its original form or +position;--the tables and chairs seemed to loom from the floor, and my +grandfather's picture to thrust forward its nose like a French-horn, +while that of my grandmother, who was reckoned a beauty in her day, +looked, in her hoop, like her husband's wig-block stuck on a tub. +Whether this was a signal for the fiends within me to begin their +operations, I know not; but from that day I began to be what is called +nervous. The uninterrupted health I had hitherto enjoyed now seemed +the greatest curse that could have befallen me. I had never had the +usual itinerant distempers; it was very unlikely that I should always +escape them; and the dread of their coming upon me in my advanced age +made me perfectly miserable. I scarcely dared to stir abroad; +had sandbags put to my doors to keep out the measles; forbade my +neighbours' children playing in my yard to avoid the whooping-cough; +and, to prevent infection from the small-pox, I ordered all my male +servants' heads to be shaved, made the coachman and footman wear tow +wigs, and had them both regularly smoked whenever they returned from +the neighbouring town, before they were allowed to enter my presence. +Nor were these all my miseries; in fact, they were but a sort of +running base to a thousand other strange and frightful fancies; the +mere skeleton to a whole body-corporate of horrors. I became dreamy, +was haunted by what I had read, frequently finding a Hottentot, or a +boa-constrictor, in my bed. Sometimes I fancied myself buried in one +of the pyramids of Egypt, breaking my shins against the bones of a +sacred cow. Then I thought myself a kangaroo, unable to move because +somebody had cut off my tail.</p> + +<p>In this miserable state I one evening rushed out of my house. I know +not how far, or how long, I had been from home, when, hearing a +well-known voice, I suddenly stopped. It seemed to belong to a face +that I knew; yet how I should know it somewhat puzzled me, being then +fully persuaded that I was a Chinese Josh. My friend (as I afterwards +learned he was) invited me to go to his club. This, thought I, is one +of my worshippers, and they have a right to carry me wherever they +please; accordingly I suffered myself to be led.</p> + +<p>I soon found myself in an American tavern, and in the midst of a dozen +grave gentlemen who were emptying a large bowl of punch. They each +saluted me, some calling me by name, others saying they were happy to +make my acquaintance; but what appeared quite unaccountable was my not +only understanding their language, but knowing it to be English. A +kind of reaction now began to take place in my brain. Perhaps, said I, +I am not a Josh. I was urged to pledge my friend in a glass of punch; +I did so; my friend's friend, and his friend, and all the rest, in +succession, begged to have the same honor; I complied, again +and again, till at last, the punch having fairly turned my +head topsy-turvy, righted my understanding; and I found myself +<i>myself</i>.</p> + +<p>This happy change gave a pleasant fillip to my spirits. I returned +home, found no monster in my bed, and slept quietly till near noon the +next day. I arose with a slight headache and a great admiration +of punch; resolving, if I did not catch the measles from my late +adventure, to make a second visit to the club. No symptoms appearing, +I went again; and my reception was such as led to a third, and a +fourth, and a fifth visit, when I became a regular member. I believe +my inducement to this was a certain unintelligible something in three +or four of my new associates, which at once gratified and kept alive +my curiosity, in their letting out just enough of themselves while I +was with them to excite me when alone to speculate on what was kept +back. I wondered I had never met with such characters in books; and +the kind of interest they awakened began gradually to widen to others. +Henceforth I will live in the world, said I; 't is my only remedy. A +man's own affairs are soon conned; he gets them by heart till they +haunt him when he would be rid of them; but those of another can +be known only in part, while that which remains unrevealed is a +never-ending stimulus to curiosity. The only natural mode, therefore, +of preventing the mind preying on itself,--the only rational, because +the only interminable employment,--is to be busy about other people's +business.</p> + +<p>The variety of objects which this new course of life each day +presented, brought me at length to a state of sanity; at least, I was +no longer disposed to conjure up remote dangers to my door, or chew +the cud on my indigested past reading; though sometimes, I confess, +when I have been tempted to meddle with a very bad character, I have +invariably been threatened with a relapse; which leads me to think the +existence of some secret affinity between rogues and boa-constrictors +is not unlikely. In a short time, however, I had every reason to +believe myself completely cured; for the days began to appear of their +natural length, and I no longer saw every thing through a pair of +blue spectacles, but found nature diversified by a thousand beautiful +colors, and the people about me a thousand times more interesting than +hyenas or Hottentots. The world is now my only study, and I trust I +shall stick to it for the sake of my health.</p> +</div> + + +<div id="footnotes"> +<h2>Footnotes</h2> + + + +<div id="fn01" class="fn"><p>1. The Frightful is not the Terrible, though often confounded with it.</p></div> + +<div id="fn02" class="fn"><p>2. See Introductory Discourse.</p></div> + +<div id="fn03" class="fn"><p>3. There is one species of imitation, however, which, as having been +practised by some of the most original minds, and also sanctioned by the +ablest writers, demands at least a little consideration; namely, the +adoption of an attitude, provided it be employed to convey a different +thought. So far, indeed, as the imitation has been confined to a +suggestion, and the attitude adopted has been modified by the new subject, +to which it was transferred, by a distinct change of character and +expression, though with but little variation in the disposition of limbs, +we may not dissent; such imitations being virtually little more than +hints, since they end in thoughts either totally different from, or more +complete than, the first. This we do not condemn, for every Poet, as well +as Artist, knows that a thought so modified is of right his own. It is the +transplanting of a tree, not the borrowing of a seed, against which we +contend. But when writers justify the appropriation, of entire figures, +without any such change, we do not agree with them; and cannot but think +that the examples they have quoted, as in the Sacrifice at Lystra, by +Raffaelle, and the Baptism, by Poussin, will fully support our position. +The antique <i>basso rilievo</i> which Raffaelle has introduced in the former, +being certainly imitated both as to lines and grouping, is so distinct, +both in character and form, from the surrounding figures, as to render +them a distinct people, and their very air reminds us of another age. We +cannot but believe we should have had a very different group, and far +superior in expression, had he given us a conception of his own. It would +at least have been in accordance with the rest, animated with the +superstitious enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd; and especially as +sacrificing Priests would they have been amazed and awe-stricken in the +living presence of a god, instead of personating, as in the present group, +the cold officials of the Temple, going through a stated task at the +shrine of their idol. In the figure by Poussin, which he borrowed from +Michael Angelo, the discrepancy is still greater. The original figure, +which was in the Cartoon at Pisa, (now known only by a print,) is that of +a warrior who has been suddenly roused from the act of bathing by the +sound of a trumpet; he has just leaped upon the bank, and, in his haste to +obey its summons, thrusts his foot through his garment. Nothing could be +more appropriate than the violence of this action; it is in unison with +the hurry and bustle of the occasion. And this is the figure which Poussin +(without the slightest change, if we recollect aright) has transferred to +the still and solemn scene in which John baptizes the Saviour. No one can +look at this figure without suspecting the plagiarism. Similar instances +may be found in his other works; as in the Plague of the Philistines, +where the Alcibiades of Raffaelle is coolly sauntering among the dead and +dying, and with as little relation to the infected multitude as if he were +still with Socrates in the School of Athens. In the same picture may be +found also one of the Apostles from the Cartoon of the Draught of Fishes: +and we may naturally ask what business he has there. And yet such +appropriations have been made to appear no thefts, simply because no +attempt seems to have been made at concealment! But theft, we must be +allowed to think, is still theft, whether committed in the dark, or in the +face of day. And the example is a dangerous one, inasmuch as it comes from +men who were not constrained to resort to such shifts by any poverty of +invention.</p> + +<p>Akin to this is another and larger kind of borrowing, which, though it +cannot strictly be called copying; yet so evidently betrays a foreign +origin, as to produce the same effect. We allude to the adoption of the +peculiar lines, handling, and disposition of masses, &c., of any +particular master.</p></div> + +<div id="fn04" class="fn"><p>4. First printed in 1821, in "The Idle Man," No. II p. 38.</p></div> + +<div id="fn05"><p>5. A feigned name.--<i>Editor</i>.</p></div> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11391 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e956138 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #11391 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11391) diff --git a/old/11391-8.txt b/old/11391-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbe2ef2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11391-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6095 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lectures on Art + +Author: Washington Allston + +Release Date: March 1, 2004 [EBook #11391] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LECTURES ON ART *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +Lectures on Art + +By + +Washington Allston + +Edited by Richard Henry Dana, Jr. + +MDCCCL. + + + + +Preface by the Editor. + + + +Upon the death of Mr. Allston, it was determined, by those who had +charge of his papers, to prepare his biography and correspondence, and +publish them with his writings in prose and verse; a work which would +have occupied two volumes of about the same size with the present. A +delay has unfortunately occurred in the preparation of the biography +and correspondence; and, as there have been frequent calls for a +publication of his poems, and of the Lectures on Art he is known to +have written, it has been thought best to give them to the public in +the present form, without awaiting the completion of the whole +design. It may be understood, however, that, when the biography +and correspondence are published, it will be in a volume precisely +corresponding with the present, so as to carry out the original +design. + +I will not anticipate the duty of the biographer by an extended notice +of the life of Mr. Allston; but it may be interesting to some readers +to know the outline of his life, and the different circumstances under +which the several pieces in this volume were written. + +WASHINGTON ALLSTON was born at Charleston, in South Carolina, on the +5th of November, 1779, of a family distinguished in the history of +that State and of the country, being a branch of a family of the +baronet rank in the titled commonalty of England. Like most young +men of the South in his position at that period, he was sent to New +England to receive his school and college education. His school days +were passed at Newport, in Rhode Island, under the charge of Mr. +Robert Rogers. He entered Harvard College in 1796, and graduated in +1800. While at school and college, he developed in a marked manner +a love of nature, music, poetry, and painting. Endowed with senses +capable of the nicest perceptions, and with a mental and moral +constitution which tended always, with the certainty of a physical +law, to the beautiful, the pure, and the sublime, he led what many +might call an ideal life. Yet was he far from being a recluse, or from +being disposed to an excess of introversion. On the contrary, he was +a popular, high-spirited youth, almost passionately fond of society, +maintaining an unusual number of warm friendships, and unsurpassed by +any of the young men of his day in adaptedness to the elegancies and +courtesies of the more refined portions of the moving world. Romances +of love, knighthood, and heroic deeds, tales of banditti, and stories +of supernatural beings, were his chief delight in his early days. Yet +his classical attainments were considerable, and, as a scholar in the +literature of his own language, his reputation was early established. +He delivered a poem on taking his degree, which was much admired in +its day. + +On leaving college, he returned to South Carolina. Having determined +to devote his life to the fine arts, he sold, hastily and at a +sacrifice, his share of a considerable patrimonial estate, and +embarked for London in the autumn of 1801. Immediately upon his +arrival, he became a student of the Royal Academy, of which his +countryman, West, was President, with whom he formed an intimate and +lasting friendship. After three years spent in England, and a shorter +stay at Paris, he went to Italy, where he spent four years devoted +exclusively to the study of his art. At Rome began his intimacy with +Coleridge. Among the many subsequent expressions of his feeling toward +this great man, none, perhaps, is more striking than the following +extract from one of his letters:--"To no other man do I owe so much, +intellectually, as to Mr. Coleridge, with whom I became acquainted +in Rome, and who has honored me with his friendship for more than +five-and-twenty years. He used to call Rome the silent city; but I +never could think of it as such while with him; for, meet him when and +where I would, the fountain of his mind was never dry, but, like the +far-reaching aqueducts that once supplied this mistress of the world, +its living stream seemed specially to flow for every classic ruin over +which we wandered. And when I recall some of our walks under the pines +of the Villa Borghese, I am almost tempted to dream that I have once +listened to Plato in the groves of the Academy." Readers of Coleridge +know in what estimation he held the qualities and the friendship of +Mr. Allston. Beside Coleridge and West, he numbered among his friends +in England, Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Sir George Beaumont, Reynolds, +and Fuseli. + +In 1809, Mr. Allston returned to America, and remained two years +in Boston, his adopted home, and there married the sister of Dr. +Channing. In 1811, he went again to England, where his reputation as +an artist had been completely established. Before his departure, he +delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge. +During a severe illness, he removed from London to Clifton, at which +place he wrote "The Sylphs of the Seasons." In 1813, he made his +first, and, with the exception of "Monaldi," twenty-eight years +afterwards, his only publication. This was a small volume, entitled +"The Sylphs of the Seasons, and other Poems," published in London; +and, during the same year, republished in Boston under the direction +of his friends, Professor Willard of Cambridge and Mr. Edmund T. Dana. +This volume was well received, and gave him a place among the first +poets of his country. The smaller poems in that edition extend as far +as page 289 of the present volume. + +Beside the long and serious illness through which he passed, his +spirit was destined to suffer a deeper wound by the death of Mrs. +Allston, in London, during the same year. These events gave to his +mind a more earnest and undivided interest in his spiritual relations, +and drew him more closely than ever before to his religious duties. +He received the rite of confirmation, and through life was a devout +adherent to the Christian doctrine and discipline. + +The character of Mr. Allston's religious feelings may be gathered, +incidentally, from many of his writings. It is a subject to be treated +with the reserve and delicacy with which he himself would have had it +invested. Few minds have been more thoroughly imbued with belief in +the reality of the unseen world; few have given more full assent to +the truth, that "the things which are seen are temporal, the things +which are not seen are eternal." This was not merely an adopted +opinion, a conviction imposed upon his understanding; it was of the +essence of his spiritual constitution, one of the conditions of his +rational existence. To him, the Supreme Being was no vague, mystical +source of light and truth, or an impersonation of goodness and truth +themselves; nor, on the other hand, a cold rationalistic notion of an +unapproachable executor of natural and moral laws. His spirit rested +in the faith of a sympathetic God. His belief was in a Being as +infinitely minute and sympathetic in his providences, as unlimited +in his power and knowledge. Nor need it be said, that he was a firm +believer in the central truths of Christianity, the Incarnation and +Redemption; that he turned from unaided speculation to the inspired +record and the visible Church; that he sought aid in the sacraments +ordained for the strengthening of infirm humanity, and looked for the +resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. + +After a second residence of seven years in Europe, he returned to +America in 1818, and again made Boston his home. There, in a circle of +warmly attached friends, surrounded by a sympathy and admiration which +his elevation and purity, the entire harmony of his life and pursuits, +could not fail to create, he devoted himself to his art, the labor of +his love. + +This is not the place to enumerate his paintings, or to speak of his +character as an artist. His general reading he continued to the last, +with the earnestness of youth. As he retired from society, his taste +inclined him to metaphysical studies, the more, perhaps, from their +contrast with the usual occupations of his mind. He took particular +pleasure in works of devout Christian speculation, without, however, +neglecting a due proportion of strictly devotional literature. These +he varied by a constant recurrence to the great epic and dramatic +masters, and occasional reading of the earlier and the living +novelists, tales of wild romance and lighter fiction, voyages and +travels, biographies and letters. Nor was he without a strong interest +in the current politics of his own country and of England, as to which +his principles were highly conservative. + +Upon his marriage with the daughter of the late Judge Dana, in 1830, +he removed to Cambridge, and soon afterwards began the preparation of +a course of lectures on Art, which he intended to deliver to a select +audience of artists and men of letters in Boston. Four of these he +completed. Rough drafts of two others were found among his papers, but +not in a state fit for publication. In 1841, he published his tale of +"Monaldi," a production of his early life. The poems in the present +volume, not included in the volume of 1813, are, with two exceptions, +the work of his later years. In them, as in his paintings of the +same period, may be seen the extreme attention to finish, always his +characteristic, which, added to increasing bodily pain and infirmity, +was the cause of his leaving so much that is unfinished behind him. + +His death occurred at his own house, in Cambridge, a little past +midnight on the morning of Sunday, the 9th of July, 1843. He had +finished a day and week of labor in his studio, upon his great picture +of Belshazzar's Feast; the fresh paint denoting that the last touches +of his pencil were given to that glorious but melancholy monument of +the best years of his later life. Having conversed with his retiring +family with peculiar solemnity and earnestness upon the obligation and +beauty of a pure spiritual life, and on the realities of the world to +come, he had seated himself at his nightly employment of reading and +writing, which he usually carried into the early hours of the morning. +In the silence and solitude of this occupation, in a moment, +"with touch as gentle as the morning light," which was even then +approaching, his spirit was called away to its proper home. + + + + +Contents + +Preface By The Editor + +Lectures on Art. + Preliminary Note.--Ideas + Introductory Discourse + Art + Form + Composition + +Aphorisms. + Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio + +The Hypochondriac + + + + +Lectures on Art. + + + + +Preliminary Note. + +Ideas. + + + +As the word _idea_ will frequently occur, and will be found +also to hold an important relation to our present subject, we shall +endeavour, _in limine_, to possess our readers of the particular +sense in which we understand and apply it. + +An Idea, then, according to our apprehension, is the highest or most +perfect _form_ in which any thing, whether of the physical, the +intellectual, or the spiritual, may exist to the mind. By form, we do not +mean _figure_ or _image_ (though these may be included in relation to the +physical); but that condition, or state, in which such objects become +cognizable to the mind, or, in other words, become objects of +consciousness. + +Ideas are of two kinds; which we shall distinguish by the terms _primary_ +and _secondary_: the first being the _manifestation_ of objective +realities; the second, that of the reflex product, so to speak, of the +mental constitution. In both cases, they may be said to be +self-affirmed,--that is, they carry in themselves their own evidence; +being therefore not only independent of the reflective faculties, but +constituting the only unchangeable ground of Truth, to which those +faculties may ultimately refer. Yet have these Ideas no living energy in +themselves; they are but the _forms_, as we have said, through or in which +a higher Power manifests to the consciousness the supreme truth of all +things real, in respect to the first class; and, in respect to the second, +the imaginative truths of the mental products, or mental combinations. Of +the nature and mode of operation of the Power to which we refer, we know, +and can know, nothing; it is one of those secrets of our being which He +who made us has kept to himself. And we should be content with the +assurance, that we have in it a sure and intuitive guide to a reverent +knowledge of the beauty and grandeur of his works,--nay, of his own +adorable reality. And who shall gainsay it, should we add, that this +mysterious Power is essentially immanent in that "breath of life," by +which man becomes "a living soul"? + +In the following remarks we shall confine ourself to the first +class of Ideas, namely, the Real; leaving the second to be noticed +hereafter. + +As to number, ideas are limited only by the number of kinds, without +direct relation to degrees; every object, therefore, having in itself +a _distinctive essential_, has also its distinct idea; while two +or more objects of the same kind, however differing in degree, must +consequently refer only to one and the same. For instance, though a +hundred animals should differ in size, strength, or color, yet, if +none of these peculiarities are essential to the species, they would +all refer to the same supreme idea. + +The same law applies equally, and with the same limitation, to +the essential differences in the intellectual, the moral, and the +spiritual. All ideas, however, have but a potential existence until +they are called into the consciousness by some real object; the +required condition of the object being a predetermined correspondence, +or correlation. Every such object we term an _assimilant_. + +With respect to those ideas which relate to the physical world, we +remark, that, though the assimilants required are supplied by +the senses, the senses have in themselves no _productive, +coöperating_ energy, being but the passive instruments, or medium, +through which they are conveyed. That the senses, in this relation, +are merely passive, admits of no question, from the obvious difference +between the idea and the objects. The senses can do no more than +transmit the external in its actual forms, leaving the images in the +mind exactly as they found them; whereas the intuitive power rejects, +or assimilates, indefinitely, until they are resolved into the proper +perfect form. Now the power which prescribes that form must, of +necessity, be antecedent to the presentation of the objects which it +thus assimilates, as it could not else give consistence and unity to +what was before separate or fragmentary. And every one who has +ever realized an idea of the class in which alone we compare the +assimilants with the ideal form, be he poet, painter, or philosopher, +well knows the wide difference between the materials and their result. +When an idea is thus realized and made objective, it affirms its own +truth, nor can any process of the understanding shake its foundation; +nay, it is to the mind an essential, imperative truth, then emerging, +as it were, from the dark potential into the light of reality. + +If this be so, the inference is plain, that the relation between the +actual and the ideal is one of necessity, and therefore, also, is the +predetermined correspondence between the prescribed form of an +idea and its assimilant; for how otherwise could the former become +recipient of that which was repugnant or indifferent, when the +presence of the latter constitutes the very condition by which it is +manifested, or can be known to exist? By actual, here, we do not mean +the exclusively physical, but whatever, in the strictest sense, can be +called an _object_, as forming the opposite to a mere subject of +the mind. + +It would appear, then, that what we call ourself must have a +_dual_ reality, that is, in the mind and in the senses, since +neither _alone_ could possibly explain the phenomena of the +other; consequently, in the existence of either we have clearly +implied the reality of both. And hence must follow the still more +important truth, that, in the _conscious presence_ of any +_spiritual_ idea, we have the surest proof of a spiritual object; +nor is this the less certain, though we perceive not the assimilant. +Nay, a spiritual assimilant cannot be perceived, but, to use the words +of St. Paul, is "spiritually discerned," that is, by a sense, so to +speak, of our own spirit. But to illustrate by example: we could not, +for instance, have the ideas of good and evil without their objective +realities, nor of right and wrong, in any intelligible form, without +the moral law to which they refer,--which law we call the Conscience; +nor could we have the idea of a moral law without a moral lawgiver, +and, if moral, then intelligent, and, if intelligent, then personal; +in a word, we could not now have, as we know we have, the idea of +conscience, without an objective, personal God. Such ideas may well be +called revelations, since, without any perceived assimilant, we find +them equally affirmed with those ideas which relate to the purely +physical. + +But here it may be asked, How are we to distinguish an Idea from a mere +_notion_? We answer, By its self-affirmation. For an ideal truth, having +its own evidence in itself, can neither be proved nor disproved by any +thing out of itself; whatever, then, impresses the mind _as_ truth, _is_ +truth until it can be _shown_ to be false; and consequently, in the +converse, whatever can be brought into the sphere of the understanding, as +a dialectic subject, is not an Idea. It will be observed, however, that we +do not say an idea may not be denied; but to deny is not to disprove. Many +things are denied in direct contradiction to fact; for the mind can +command, and in no measured degree, the power of self-blinding, so that it +cannot see what is actually before it. This is a psychological fact, which +may be attested by thousands, who can well remember the time when they had +once clearly discerned what has now vanished from their minds. Nor does +the actual cessation of these primeval forms, or the after presence of +their fragmentary, nay, disfigured relics, disprove their reality, or +their original integrity, as we could not else call them up in their +proper forms at any future time, to the reacknowledging their truth: a +_resuscitation_ and result, so to speak, which many have experienced. + +In conclusion: though it be but one and the same Power that prescribes +the form and determines the truth of all Ideas, there is yet an +essential difference between the two classes of ideas to which we have +referred; for it may well be doubted whether any Primary Idea can ever +be fully realized by a finite mind,--at least in the present state. +Take, for instance, the idea of beauty. In its highest form, as +presented to the consciousness, we still find it referring to +something beyond and above itself, as if it were but an approximation +to a still higher form. The truth of this, we think, will be +particularly felt by the artist, whether poet or painter, whose mind +may be supposed, from his natural bias, to be more peculiarly capable +of its highest developement; and what true artist was ever satisfied +with any idea of beauty of which he is conscious? From this +approximated form, however, he doubtless derives a high degree of +pleasure, nay, one of the purest of which his nature is capable; +yet still is the pleasure modified, if we may so express it, by an +undefined yearning for what he feels can never be realized. And +wherefore this craving, but for the archetype of that which called it +forth?--When we say not satisfied, we do not mean discontented, but +simply not in full fruition. And it is better that it should be +so, since one of the happiest elements of our nature is that which +continually impels it towards the indefinite and unattainable. So +far as we know, the like limits may be set to every other primary +idea,--as if the Creator had reserved to himself alone the possible +contemplation of the archetypes of his universe. + +With regard to the other class, that of Secondary Ideas, which we +have called the reflex product of the mind, their distinguishing +characteristic is, that they not only admit of a perfect realization, +but also of outward manifestation, so as to be communicated to others. +All works of imagination, so called, present examples of this. Hence +they may also be termed imitative or imaginative. For, though they +draw their assimilants from the actual world, and are likewise +regulated by the unknown Power before mentioned, yet are they but the +forms of what, _as a whole_, have no actual existence;--they are +nevertheless true to the mind, and are made so by the same Power which +affirms their possibility. This species of Truth we shall hereafter +have occasion to distinguish as Poetic Truth. + + + + +Introductory Discourse. + + + +Next to the developement of our moral nature, to have subordinated the +senses to the mind is the highest triumph of the civilized state. Were +it possible to embody the present complicated scheme of society, so as +to bring it before us as a visible object, there is perhaps nothing +in the world of sense that would so fill us with wonder; for what is +there in nature that may not fall within its limits? and yet how small +a portion of this stupendous fabric will be found to have any direct, +much less exclusive, relation to the actual wants of the body! It +might seem, indeed, to an unreflecting observer, that our physical +necessities, which, truly estimated, are few and simple, have rather +been increased than diminished by the civilized man. But this is not +true; for, if a wider duty is imposed on the senses, it is only to +minister to the increased demands of the imagination, which is now so +mingled with our every-day concerns, even with our dress, houses, and +furniture, that, except with the brutalized, the purely sensuous wants +might almost be said to have become extinct: with the cultivated and +refined, they are at least so modified as to be no longer prominent. + +But this refilling on the physical, like every thing else, has had its +opponents: it is declaimed against as artificial. If by artificial is +meant unnatural, we cannot so consider it; but hold, on the contrary, +that the whole multiform scheme of the civilized state is not only in +accordance with our nature, but an essential condition to the proper +developement of the human being. It is presupposed by the very wants +of his mind; nor could it otherwise have been, any more than could +have been the cabin of the beaver, or the curious hive of the bee, +without their preëxisting instincts; it is therefore in the highest +sense natural, as growing out of the inherent desires of the mind. + +But we would not be misunderstood. When we speak of the refined +state as not out of nature, we mean such results as proceed from the +legitimate growth of our mental constitution, which we suppose to +be grounded in permanent, universal principles; and, whatever +modifications, however subtile, and apparently visionary, may follow +their operation in the world of sense, so long as that operation +diverge not from its original ground, its effect must be, in the +strictest sense, natural. Thus the wildest visions of poetry, the +unsubstantial forms of painting, and the mysterious harmonies of +music, that seem to disembody the spirit, and make us creatures of the +air,--even these, unreal as they are, may all have their foundation +in immutable truth; and we may moreover know of this truth by its own +evidence. Of this species of evidence we shall have occasion to speak +hereafter. But there is another kind of growth, which may well be +called unnatural; we mean, of those diseased appetites, whose effects +are seen in the distorted forms of the _conventional_, having no +ground but in weariness of the true; and it cannot be denied that this +morbid growth has its full share, inwardly and outwardly, both of +space and importance. These, however, must sooner or later end as they +began; they perish in the lie they make; and it were well did not +other falsehoods take their places, to prolong a life whose only +tenure is inconsequential succession,--in other words, Fashion. + +If it be true, then, that even the commonplaces of life must all in +some degree partake of the mental, there can be but one rule by which +to determine the proper rank of any object of pursuit, and that is by +its nearer or more remote relation to our inward nature. Every system, +therefore, which tends to degrade a mental pleasure to the subordinate +or superfluous, is both narrow and false, as virtually reversing its +natural order. + +It pleased our Creator, when he endowed us with appetites and +functions by which to sustain the economy of life, at the same time to +annex to their exercise a sense of pleasure; hence our daily food, and +the daily alternation of repose and action, are no less grateful than +imperative. That life may be sustained, and most of its functions +performed, without any coincident enjoyment, is certainly possible. +Our food may be distasteful, action painful, and rest unrefreshing; +and yet we may eat, and exercise, and sleep, nay, live thus for years. +But this is not our natural condition, and we call it disease. Were +man a mere animal, the very act of living, in his natural or healthy +state, would be to him a continuous enjoyment. But he is also a moral +and an intellectual being; and, in like manner, is the healthful +condition of these, the nobler parts of his nature, attended with +something more than a consciousness of the mere process of existence. +To the exercise of his intellectual faculties and moral attributes the +same benevolent law has superadded a sense of pleasure,--of a kind, +too, in the same degree transcending the highest bodily sensation, as +must that which is immortal transcend the perishable. It is not for us +to ask why it is so; much less, because it squares not with the +poor notion of material usefulness, to call in question a fact that +announces a nature to which the senses are but passing ministers. Let +us rather receive this ennobling law, at least without misgiving, lest +in our sensuous wisdom we exchange an enduring gift for a transient +gratification. + +Of the peculiar fruits of this law, which we shall here distinguish by +the general term _mental pleasures_, it is our purpose to treat +in the present discourse. + +It is with no assumed diffidence that we venture on this subject; for, +though we shall offer nothing not believed to be true, we are but too +sensible how small a portion of truth it is in our power to present. +But, were it far greater, and the present writer of a much higher +order of intellect, there would still be sufficient cause for +humility in view of those impassable bounds that have ever met every +self-questioning of the mind. + +But whilst the narrowness of human knowledge may well preclude all +self-exaltation, it would be worse than folly to hold as naught the +many important truths which have been wrought out for us by the mighty +intellects of the past. If they have left us nothing for vainglory, +they have left us at least enough to be grateful for. Nor is it +a little, that they have taught us to look into those mysterious +chambers of our being,--the abode of the spirit; and not a little, +indeed, if what we are there permitted to know shall have brought with +it the conviction, that we are not abandoned to a blind empiricism, to +waste life in guesses, and to guess at last that we have all our +lives been guessing wrong,--but, unapproachable though it be to the +subordinate Understanding, that we have still within us an abiding +Interpreter, which cannot be gainsaid, which makes our duty to God and +man clear as the light, which ever guards the fountain of all true +pleasures, nay, which holds in subjection the last high gift of the +Creator, that imaginative faculty whereby his exalted creature, made +in his image, might mould at will, from his most marvellous world, yet +unborn forms, even forms of beauty, grandeur, and majesty, having all +of truth but his own divine prerogative,--_the mystery of Life_. + +As the greater part of those Pleasures which we propose to discuss are +intimately connected with the material world, it may be well, perhaps, +to assign some reason for the epithet _mental_. To many, we know, +this will seem superfluous; but, when it is remembered how often we +hear of this and that object delighting the eye, or of certain sounds +charming the ear, it may not be amiss to show that such expressions +have really no meaning except as metaphors. When the senses, as the +medium of communication, have conveyed to the mind either the sounds +or images, their function ceases. So also with respect to the objects: +their end is attained, at least as to us, when the sounds or images +are thus transmitted, which, so far as they are concerned, must for +ever remain the same within as without the mind. For, where the +ultimate end is not in mere bodily sensation, neither the senses nor +the objects possess, of themselves, any productive power; of the +product that follows, the _tertium aliquid_, whether the pleasure +we feel be in a beautiful animal or in according sounds, neither the +one nor the other is really the cause, but simply the _occasion_. +It is clear, then, that the effect realized supposes of necessity +another agent, which must therefore exist only in the mind. But of +this hereafter. + +If the cause of any emotion, which we seem to derive from an outward +object, were inherent exclusively in the object itself, there could +be no failure in any instance, except where the organs of sense were +either diseased or imperfect. But it is a matter of fact that they +often do fail where there is no disease or organic defect. Many of us, +perhaps, can call to mind certain individuals, whose sense of hearing +is as acute as our own, who yet can by no possibility be made to +recognize the slightest relation between the according notes of the +simplest melody; and, though they can as readily as others distinguish +the individual sounds, even to the degrees of flatness and sharpness, +the harmonic agreement is to them as mere noise. Let us suppose +ourselves present at a concert, in company with one such person and +another who possesses what is called musical sensibility. How are +they affected, for instance, by a piece of Mozart's? In the sense +of hearing they are equal: look at them. In the one we perceive +perplexity, annoyance, perhaps pain; he hears nothing but a confused +medley of sounds. In the other, the whole being is rapt in ecstasy, +the unutterable pleasure gushes from his eyes, he cannot articulate +his emotion;--in the words of one, who felt and embodied the subtile +mystery in immortal verse, his very soul seems "lapped in Elysium." +Now, could this difference be possible, were the sole cause, strictly +speaking, in mere matter? + +Nor do we contradict our position, when we admit, in certain +cases,--for instance, in the producer,--the necessity of a nicer +organization, in order to the more perfect _transmission_ of the +finer emotions; inasmuch as what is to be communicated in space and +time must needs be by some medium adapted thereto. + +Such a person as Paganini, it is said, was able to "discourse most +excellent music" on a ballad-monger's fiddle; yet will any one +question that he needed an instrument of somewhat finer construction +to show forth his full powers? Nay, we might add, that he needed no +less than the most delicate _Cremona_,--some instrument, as it +were, articulated into humanity,--to have inhaled and respired those +attenuated strains, which, those who heard them think it hardly +extravagant to say, seemed almost to embody silence. + +Now this mechanical instrument, by means of which such marvels were +wrought, is but one of the many visible symbols of that more subtile +instrument through which the mind acts when it would manifest itself. +It would be too absurd to ask if any one believed that the music we +speak of was created, as well as conveyed, by the instrument. The +violin of Paganini may still be seen and handled; but the soul that +inspired it is buried with its master. + +If we admit a distinction between mind and matter, and the result we +speak of be purely mental, we should contradict the universal law +of nature to assign such a product to mere matter, inasmuch as the +natural law forbids in the lower the production of the higher. Take +an example from one of the lower forms of organic life,--a common +vegetable. Will any one assert that the surrounding inorganic elements +of air, earth, heat, and water produce its peculiar form? Though some, +or all, of these may be essential to its developement, they are so +only as its predetermined correlatives, without which its existence +could not be manifested; and in like manner must the peculiar form of +the vegetable preëxist in its life,--in its _idea_,--in order to +evolve by these assimilants its own proper organism. + +No possible modification in the degrees or proportion of these +elements can change the specific form of a plant,--for instance, a +cabbage into a cauliflower; it must ever remain a cabbage, _small or +large, good or bad. _ So, too, is the external world to the +mind; which needs, also, as the condition of its manifestation, its +objective correlative. Hence the presence of some outward object, +predetermined to correspond to the preëxisting idea in its living +power, is essential to the evolution of its proper end,--the +pleasurable emotion. We beg it may be noted that we do not say +_sensation_. And hence we hold ourself justified in speaking of +such presence as simply the occasion, or condition, and not, _per +se_, the cause. And hence, moreover, may be inferred the absolute +necessity of Dual Forces in order to the actual existence of any +thing. One alone, the incomprehensible Author of all things, is +self-subsisting in his perfect Unity. + +We shall now endeavour to establish the following proposition: namely, +that the Pleasures in question have their true source in One Intuitive +Universal Principle or living Power, and that the three Ideas of +Beauty, Truth, and Holiness, which we assume to represent the +_perfect_ in the physical, intellectual, and moral worlds, are +but the several realized phases of this sovereign principle, which we +shall call _Harmony_. + +Our first step, then, is to possess ourself of the essential or +distinctive characteristic of these pleasurable emotions. Apparently, +there is nothing more simple. And yet we are acquainted with no single +term that shall fully express it. But what every one has more or less +felt may certainly be made intelligible in a more extended form, and, +we should think, by any one in the slightest degree competent to +self-examination. Let a person, then, be appealed to; and let him put +the question as to what passes within him when possessed by these +emotions; and the spontaneous feeling will answer for us, that what we +call _self_ has no part in them. Nay, we further assert, that, +when singly felt, that is, when unallied to other emotions as +modifying forces, they are wholly unmixed with _any personal +considerations, or any conscious advantage to the individual_. + +Nor is this assigning too high a character to the feelings in question +because awakened in so many instances by the purely physical; since +their true origin may clearly be traced to a common source with those +profounder emotions which we are wont to ascribe to the intellectual +and moral. Besides, it should be borne in mind, that no physical +object can be otherwise to the mind than a mere _occasion_; its +inward product, or mental effect, being from another Power. The proper +view therefore is, not that such alliance can ever degrade the higher +agent, but that its more humble and material _assimilant_ is thus +elevated by it. So that nothing in nature should be counted mean, +which can thus be exalted; but rather be honored, since no object can +become so assimilated except by its predetermined correlation to our +better nature. + +Neither is it the privilege of the exclusive few, the refined and +cultivated, to feel them deeply. If we look beyond ourselves, even to +the promiscuous multitude, the instance will be rare, if existing at +all, where some transient touch of these purer feelings has not raised +the individual to, at least, a momentary exemption from the common +thraldom of self. And we greatly err if their universality is not +solely limited by those "shades of the prison-house," which, in the +words of the poet, too often "close upon the growing boy." Nay, so +far as we have observed, we cannot admit it as a question whether any +person through a whole life has always been wholly insensible,--we +will not say (though well we might) to the good and true,--but to +beauty; at least, to some one kind, or degree, of the beautiful. The +most abject wretch, however animalized by vice, may still be able to +recall the time when a morning or evening sky, a bird, a flower, or +the sight of some other object in nature, has given him a pleasure, +which he felt to be distinct from that of his animal appetites, and +to which he could attach not a thought of self-interest. And, though +crime and misery may close the heart for years, and seal it up for +ever to every redeeming thought, they cannot so shut out from the +memory these gleams of innocence; even the brutified spirit, the +castaway of his kind, has been made to blush at this enduring light; +for it tells him of a truth, which might else have never been +remembered,--that he has once been a man. + +And here may occur a question,--which might well be left to the ultra +advocates of the _cui bono_,--whether a simple flower may not +sometimes be of higher use than a labor-saving machine. + +As to the objects whose effect on the mind is here discussed, it is +needless to specify them; they are, in general, all such as are known +to affect us in the manner described. The catalogue will vary both in +number and kind with different persons, according to the degree of +force or developement in the overruling Principle. + +We proceed, then, to reply to such objections as will doubtless be +urged against the characteristic assumed. And first, as regards the +Beautiful, we shall probably be met by the received notion, that we +experience in Beauty one of the most powerful incentives to passion; +while examples without number will be brought in array to prove it +also the wonder-working cause of almost fabulous transformations,--as +giving energy to the indolent, patience to the quick, perseverance +to the fickle, even courage to the timid; and, _vice versâ_, as +unmanning the hero,--nay, urging the honorable to falsehood, treason, +and murder; in a word, through the mastered, bewildered, sophisticated +_self_, as indifferently raising and sinking the fascinated +object to the heights and depths of pleasure and misery, of virtue and +vice. + +Now, if the Beauty here referred to is of the _human being_, we +do not gainsay it; but this is beauty in its _mixed mode_,--not +in its high, passionless form, its singleness and purity. It is not +Beauty as it descended from heaven, in the cloud, the rainbow, the +flower, the bird, or in the concord of sweet sounds, that seem to +carry back the soul to whence it came. + +Could we look, indeed, at the human form in its simple, unallied +physical structure,--on that, for instance, of a beautiful woman,--and +forget, or rather not feel, that it is other than a _form_, there +could be but one feeling: that nothing visible was ever so framed to +banish from the soul every ignoble thought, and imbue it, as it were, +with primeval innocence. + +We are quite aware that the doctrine assumed in our main proposition +with regard to Beauty, as holding exclusive relation to the Physical, +is not very likely to forestall favor; we therefore beg for it only +such candid attention as, for the reasons advanced, it may appear to +deserve. + +That such effects as have just been objected could not be from Beauty +alone, in its pure and single form, but rather from its coincidence +with some real or supposed moral or intellectual quality, or with the +animal appetites, seems to us clear; as, were it otherwise, we might +infer the same from a beautiful infant,--the very thought of which is +revolting to common sense. In such conjunction, indeed, it cannot but +have a certain influence, but so modified as often to become a mere +accessory, subordinated to the animal or moral object, and for the +attainment of an end not its own; in proof of which, we find it almost +uniformly partaking the penalty imposed on its incidental associates, +should ever their desires result in illusion,--namely, in the aversion +that follows. But the result of Beauty can never be such; when it +seems otherwise, the effect, we think, can readily be traced to other +causes, as we shall presently endeavour to show. + +It cannot be a matter of controversy whether Beauty is limited to the +human form; the daily experience of the most ordinary man would answer +No: he finds it in the woods, the fields, in plants and animals, +nay, in a thousand objects, as he looks upon nature; nor, though +indefinitely diversified, does he hesitate to assign to each the same +epithet. And why? Because the feelings awakened by all are similar in +kind, though varying, doubtless, by many degrees in intenseness. Now +suppose he is asked of what personal advantage is all this beauty to +him. Verily, he would be puzzled to answer. It gives him pleasure, +perhaps great pleasure. And this is all he could say. But why should +the effect be different, except in degree, from the beauty of a human +being? We have already the answer in this concluding term. For what is +a human being but one who unites in himself a physical, intellectual, +and moral nature, which cannot in one become even an object of thought +without at least some obscure shadowings of its natural allies? How, +then, can we separate that which has an exclusive relation to his +physical form, without some perception of the moral and intellectual +with which it is joined? But how do we know that Beauty is limited +to such exclusive relation? This brings us to the great problem; so +simple and easy of solution in all other cases, yet so intricate and +apparently inexplicable in man. In other things, it would be felt +absurd to make it a question, whether referring to form, color, or +sound. A single instance will suffice. Let us suppose, then, an +unfamiliar object, whose habits, disposition, and so forth, are wholly +unknown, for instance, a bird of paradise, to be seen for the +first time by twenty persons, and they all instantly call it +beautiful;--could there be any doubt that the pleasure it produced +in each was of the same kind? or would any one of them ascribe his +pleasure to any thing but its form and plumage? Concerning natural +objects, and those inferior animals which are not under the influence +of domestic associations, there is little or no difference among men: +if they differ, it is only in degree, according to their sensibility. +Men do not dispute about a rose. And why? Because there is nothing +beside the physical to interfere with the impression it was +predetermined to make; and the idea of beauty is realized instantly. +So, also, with respect to other objects of an opposite character; they +can speak without deliberating, and call them plain, homely, ugly, and +so on, thus instinctively expressing even their degree of remoteness +from the condition of beauty. Who ever called a pelican beautiful, or +even many animals endeared to us by their valuable qualities,--such as +the intelligent and docile elephant, or the affectionate orang-outang, +or the faithful mastiff? Nay, we may run through a long list of most +useful and amiable creatures, that could not, under any circumstances, +give birth to an emotion corresponding to that which we ascribe to the +beautiful. + +But there is scarcely a subject on which mankind are wider at +variance, than on the beauty of their own species,--some preferring +this, and others that, particular conformation; which can only be +accounted for on the supposition of some predominant expression, +either moral, intellectual, or sensual, with which they are in +sympathy, or else the reverse. While some will task their memory, +and resort to the schools, for their supposed infallible +_rules_;--forgetting, meanwhile, that ultimate tribunal to which +their canon must itself appeal, the ever-living principle which first +evolved its truth, and which now, as then, is not to be reasoned +about, but _felt_. It need not be added how fruitful of blunders +is this mechanical ground. + +Now we venture to assert that no mistake was ever made, even in a +single glance, concerning any natural object, not disfigured by human +caprice, or which the eye had not been trained to look at through +some conventional medium. Under this latter circumstance, there are +doubtless many things in nature which affect men very differently; and +more especially such as, from their familiar nearness, have come under +the influence of _opinion_, and been incrusted, as it were, by +the successive deposits of many generations. But of the vast and +various multitude of objects which have thus been forced from their +original state, there is perhaps no one which has undergone so many +and such strange disfigurements as the human form; or in relation to +which our "ideas," as we are pleased to call them, but in truth our +opinions, have been so fluctuating. If an Idea, indeed, had any thing +to do with Fashion, we should call many things monstrous to +which custom has reconciled us. Let us suppose a case, by way of +illustration. A gentleman and lady, from one of our fashionable +cities, are making a tour on the borders of some of our new +settlements in the West. They are standing on the edge of a forest, +perhaps admiring the grandeur of nature; perhaps, also, they are +lovers, and sharing with nature their admiration for each other, whose +personal charms are set off to the utmost, according to the most +approved notions, by the taste and elegance of their dress. Then +suppose an Indian hunter, who had never seen one of our civilized +world, or heard of our costume, coming suddenly upon them, their faces +being turned from him. Would it be possible for him to imagine what +kind of animals they were? We think not; and least of all, that he +would suppose them to be of his own species. This is no improbable +case; and we very much fear, should it ever occur, that the unrefined +savage would go home with an impression not very flattering either to +the milliner or the tailor. + +That, under such disguises, we should consider human beauty as a kind +of enigma, or a thing to dispute about, is not surprising; nor even +that we should often differ from ourselves, when so much of the +outward man is thus made to depend on the shifting humors of some +paramount Petronius of the shears. But, admitting it to be an easy +matter to divest the form, or, what is still more important, our +own minds, of every thing conventional, there is the still greater +obstacle to any true effect from the person alone, in that moral +admixture, already mentioned, which, more or less, must color the +most of our impressions from every individual. Is there not, then, +sufficient ground for at least a doubt if, excepting idiots, there is +one human being in whom the purely physical is _at all times_ the +sole agent? We do not say that it does not generally predominate. But, +in a compound being like man, it seems next to impossible that the +nature within should not at times, in some degree, transpire through +the most rigid texture of the outward form. We may not, indeed, always +read aright the character thus obscurely indexed, or even be able to +guess at it, one way or the other; still, it will affect us; nay, most +so, perhaps, when most indefinite. Every man is, to a certain extent, +a physiognomist: we do not mean, according to the common acceptation, +that he is an interpreter of lines and quantities, which may be +reduced to rules; but that he is born one, judging, not by any +conscious rule, but by an instinct, which he can neither explain nor +comprehend, and which compels him to sit in judgment, whether he will +or no. How else can we account for those instantaneous sympathies and +antipathies towards an utter stranger? + +Now this moral influence has a twofold source, one in the object, +and another in ourselves; nor is it easy to determine which is the +stronger as a counteracting force. Hitherto we have considered only +the former; we now proceed with a few remarks upon the latter. + +Will any man say, that he is wholly without some natural or acquired +bias? This is the source of the counteracting influence which we speak +of in ourselves; but which, like many other of the secret springs, +both of thought and feeling, few men think of. It is nevertheless one +which, on this particular subject, is scarcely ever inactive; +and according to the bias will be our impressions, whether we be +intellectual or sensual, coldly speculative or ardently imaginative. +We do not mean that it is always called forth by every thing we +approach; we speak only of its usual activity between man and man; for +there seems to be a mysterious something in our nature, that, in spite +of our wishes, will rarely allow of an absolute indifference towards +any of the species; some effect, however slight, even as that of the +air which we unconsciously inhale and again respire, must follow, +whether directly from the object or reacting from ourselves. Nay, so +strong is the law, whether in attraction or repulsion, that we cannot +resist it even in relation to those human shadows projected on air by +the mere imagination; for we feel it in art only less than in nature, +provided, however, that the imagined being possess but the indication +of a human soul: yet not so is it, if presenting only the outward +form, since a mere form can in itself have no affinity with either +the heart or intellect. And here we would ask, Does not this +striking exception in the present argument cast back, as it were, a +confirmatory reflection? + +We have often thought, that the power of the mere form could not be +more strongly exemplified than at a common paint-shop. Among the +annual importations from the various marts of Europe, how +many beautiful faces, without an atom of meaning, attract the +passengers,--stopping high and low, people of all descriptions, +and actually giving pleasure, if not to every one, at least to the +majority; and very justly, for they have beauty, and _nothing +else_. But let another artist, some man of genius, copy the same +faces, and add character,--breathe into them souls: from that moment +the passers-by would see as if with other eyes; the affections and +the imagination then become the spectators; and, according to the +quickness or dulness, the vulgarity or refinement, of these, would be +the impression. Thus a coarse mind may feel the beauty in the hard, +soulless forms of Van der Werf, yet turn away with apathy from the +sanctified loveliness of a Madonna by Raffaelle. + +But to return to the individual bias, which is continually inclining +to, or repelling, What is more common, especially with women, than +a high admiration of a plain person, if connected with wit, or a +pleasing address? Can we have a stronger case in point than that of +the celebrated Wilkes, one of the ugliest, yet one of the most +admired men of his time? Even his own sex, blinded no doubt by their +sympathetic bias, could see no fault in him, either in mind or +person; for, when it was objected to the latter, that "he squinted +confoundedly," the reply was, "No, Sir, not more than a gentleman +ought to squint." + +Of the tendency to particular pursuits,--to art, science, or any +particular course of life,--we do not speak; the bias we allude to is +in the more personal disposition of the man,--in that which gives a +tone to his internal character; nor is it material of what +proportions compounded, of the affections, or the intellect, or the +senses,--whether of some only, or the whole; that these form the +ground of every man's bias is no less certain, than the fact that +there is scarcely any secret which men are in the habit of guarding +with such sedulous care. Nay, it would seem as if every one were +impelled to it by some superstitious instinct, that every one might +have it to say to himself, There is one thing in me which is all _my +own_. Be this as it may, there are few things more hazardous than +to pronounce with confidence on any man's bias. Indeed, most men would +be puzzled to name it to themselves; but its existence in them is +not the less a fact, because the form assumed may be so mixed and +complicated as to be utterly undefinable. It is enough, however, that +every one feels, and is more or less led by it, whether definite or +not. + +This being the case, how is it possible that it should not in some +degree affect our feelings towards every one we meet,--that it should +not leave some speck of leaven on each impression, which shall +impregnate it with something that we admire and love, or else with +that which we hate and despise? + +And what is the most beautiful or the most ungainly form before a +sorcerer like this, who can endow a fair simpleton with the rarest +intellect, or transform, by a glance, the intellectual, noble-hearted +dwarf to an angel of light? These, of course, are extreme cases. But +if true in these, as we have reason to believe, how formidable the +power! + +But though, as before observed, we may not read this secret with +precision, it is sometimes possible to make a shrewd guess at the +prevailing tendency in certain individuals. Perhaps the most obvious +cases are among the sanguine and imaginative; and the guess would be, +that a beautiful person would presently be enriched with all possible +virtues, while the colder speculatist would only see in it, not what +it possessed, but the mind that it wanted. Now it would be curious to +imagine (and the case is not impossible) how the eyes of each might be +opened, with the probable consequence, how each might feel when his +eyes were opened, and the object was seen as it really is. Some +untoward circumstance comes unawares on the perfect creature: a burst +of temper knits the brow, inflames the eye, inflates the nostril, +gnashes the teeth, and converts the angel into a storming fury. What +then becomes of the visionary virtues? They have passed into air, and +taken with them, also, what was the fair creature's right,--her +very beauty. Yet a different change takes place with the dry man of +intellect. The mindless object has taken shame of her ignorance; she +begins to cultivate her powers, which are gradually developed until +they expand and brighten; they inform her features, so that no one can +look upon them without seeing the evidence of no common intellect: the +dry man, at last, is struck with their superior intelligence, and what +more surprises him is the grace and beauty, which, for the first time, +they reveal to his eyes. The learned dust which had so long buried his +heart is quickly brushed away, and he weds the embodied mind. What +third change may follow, it is not to our purpose to foresee. + +Has human beauty, then, no power? When united with virtue and +intellect, we might almost answer,--All power. It is the embodied +harmony of the true poet; his visible Muse; the guardian angel of his +better nature; the inspiring sibyl of his best affections, drawing him +to her with a purifying charm, from the selfishness of the world, from +poverty and neglect, from the low and base, nay, from his own frailty +or vices:--for he cannot approach her with unhallowed thoughts, whom +the unlettered and ignorant look up to with awe, as to one of a +race above them; before whom the wisest and best bow down without +abasement, and would bow in idolatry but for a higher reverence. +No! there is no power like this of mortal birth. But against the +antagonist moral, the human beauty of itself has no power, no +self-sustaining life. While it panders to evil desires, then, indeed, +there are few things may parallel its fearful might. But the unholy +alliance must at last have an end. Look at it then, when the beautiful +serpent has cast her slough. + +Let us turn to it for a moment, and behold it in league with elegant +accomplishments and a subtile intellect: how complete its triumph! If +ever the soul may be said to be intoxicated, it is then, when it feels +the full power of a beautiful, bad woman. The fabled enchantments +of the East are less strange and wonder-working than the marvellous +changes which her spell has wrought. For a time every thought seems +bound to her will; the eternal eye of the conscience closes before +her; the everlasting truths of right and wrong sleep at her bidding; +nay, things most gross and abhorred become suddenly invested with +a seeming purity: till the whole mind is hers, and the bewildered +victim, drunk with her charms, calls evil good. Then, what may follow? +Read the annals of crime; it will tell us what follows the broken +spell,--broken by the first degrading theft, the first stroke of the +dagger, or the first drop of poison. The felon's eye turns upon the +beautiful sorceress with loathing and abhorrence: an asp, a toad, is +not more hateful! The story of Milwood has many counterparts. + +But, although Beauty cannot sustain itself permanently against what is +morally bad, and has no direct power of producing good, it yet may, +and often does, when unobstructed, through its unimpassioned purity, +predispose to the good, except, perhaps, in natures grossly depraved; +inasmuch as all affinities to the pure are so many reproaches to the +vitiated mind, unless convertible to some selfish end. Witness the +beautiful wife, wedded for what is misnamed love, yet becoming the +scorn of a brutal husband,--the more bitter, perhaps, if she be also +good. But, aside from those counteracting causes so often mentioned, +it is as we have said: we are predisposed to feel kindly, and to think +purely, of every beautiful object, until we have reason to think +otherwise; and according to our own hearts will be our thoughts. + +We are aware of but one other objection which has not been noticed, +and which might be made to the intuitive nature of the Idea. How is +it, we may be asked, that artists, who are supposed, from their early +discipline, to have overcome all conventional bias, and also to have +acquired the more difficult power of analyzing their models, so as to +contemplate them in their separate elements, have so often varied as +to their ideas of Beauty? Whether artists have really the power thus +ascribed to them, we shall not here inquire; it is no doubt, if +possible, their business to acquire it. But, admitting it as true, we +deny the position: they do not change their ideas. They can have but +one Idea of Beauty, inasmuch as that Idea is but a specific phase of +one immutable Principle,--if there be such a principle; as we shall +hereafter endeavour to show. Nor can they have of it any +essentially different, much less opposite, conceptions: but their +_apprehension_ of it may undergo many apparent changes, which, +nevertheless, are but the various degrees that only mark a fuller +conception; as their more extended acquaintance with the higher +outward assimilants of Beauty brings them, of course, nearer to a +perfect realization of the preëxisting Idea. By _perfect_, here, +we mean only the nearest approximation by man. And we appeal to every +artist, competent to answer, if it be not so. Does he ever descend +from a higher assimilant to a lower? Suppose him to have been born in +Italy; would he go to Holland to realize his Idea? But many a Dutchman +has sought in Italy what he could not find in his own country. We +do not by this intend any reflection on the latter,--a country so +fruitful of genius; it is only saying that the human form in Italy is +from a finer mould. Then, what directs the artist from one object to +another, and determines him which to choose, if he has not the guide +within him? And why else should all nations instinctively bow before +the superior forms of Greece? + +We add but one remark. Supposing the artist to be wholly freed from +all modifying biases, such is seldom the case with those who criticize +his work,--especially those who would show their superiority by +detecting faults, and who frequently condemn the painter simply for +not expressing what he never aimed at. As to some, they are never +content if they do not find beauty, whatever the subject, though +it may neutralize the character, if not render it ridiculous. Were +Raffaelle, who seldom sought the purely beautiful, to be judged by +the want of it, he would fall below Guido. But his object was much +higher,--in the intellect and the affections; it was the human being +in his endless inflections of thought and passion, in which there is +little probability he will ever be approached. Yet false criticism has +been as prodigal to him in the ascription of beauty, as parsimonious +and unjust to many others. + +In conclusion, may there not be, in the difficulty we have thus +endeavoured to solve, a probable significance of the responsible, as +well as distinct, position which the Human being holds in the world of +life? Are there no shadowings, in that reciprocal influence between +soul and soul, of some mysterious chain which links together the human +family in its two extremes, giving to the very lowest an indefeasible +claim on the highest, so that we cannot be independent if we would, +or indifferent even to the very meanest, without violation of an +imperative law of our nature? And does it not at least _hint_ +of duties and affections towards the most deformed in body, the most +depraved in mind,--of interminable consequences? If man were a mere +animal, though the highest animal, could these inscrutable influences +affect us as they do? Would not the animal appetites be our true and +sole end? What even would Beauty be to the sated appetite? If it did +not, as in the last instance, of the brutal husband, become an object +of scorn,--which it could not be, from the necessary absence of moral +obliquity,--would it be better than a picked bone to a gorged dog? +Least of all could it resemble the visible sign of that pure idea, in +which so many lofty minds have recognized the type of a far higher +love than that of earth, which the soul shall know, when, in a better +world, she shall realize the ultimate reunion of Beauty with the +coëternal forms of Truth and Holiness. + +We will now apply the characteristic assumed to the second leading +Idea, namely, to Truth. In the first place, we take it for granted, +that no one will deny to the perception of truth some positive +pleasure; no one, at least, who is not at the same time prepared to +contradict the general sense of mankind, nay, we will add, their +universal experience. The moment we begin to think, we begin to +acquire, whether it be in trifles or otherwise, some kind of +knowledge; and of two things presented to our notice, supposing one to +be true and the other false, no one ever knowingly, and for its own +sake, chooses the false: whatever he may do in after life, for some +selfish purpose, he cannot do so in childhood, where there is no such +motive, without violence to his nature. And here we are supposing the +understanding, with its triumphant pride and subtilty, out of the +question, and the child making his choice under the spontaneous sense +of the true and the false. For, were it otherwise, and the choice +indifferent, what possible foundation for the commonest acts of life, +even as it respects himself, would there be to him who should sow with +lies the very soil of his growing nature. It is time enough in manhood +to begin to lie to one's self; but a self-lying youth can have no +proper self to rest on, at any period. So that the greatest liar, even +Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, must have loved the truth,--at least at one +time of his life. We say _loved_; for a voluntary choice implies +of necessity some degree of pleasure in the choosing, however faint +the emotion or insignificant the object. It is, therefore, _caeteris +paribus_, not only necessary, but natural, to find pleasure in +truth. + +Now the question is, whether the pleasurable emotion, which is, so +to speak, the indigenous growth of Truth, can in any case be free of +self, or some personal gratification. To this, we apprehend, there +will be no lack of answer. Nay, the answer has already been given from +the dark antiquity of ages, that even for her own exceeding loveliness +has Truth been canonized. If there was any thing of self in the +_Eureka_ of Pythagoras, there was not in the acclamations of +his country who rejoiced with him. But we may doubt the feeling, if +applied to him. If wealth or fame has sometimes followed in the track +of Genius, it has followed as an accident, but never preceded, as the +efficient conductor to any great discovery. For what is Genius but the +prophetic revealer of the unseen True, that can neither be purchased +nor bribed into light? If it come, then, at all, it must needs be +evoked by a kindred love as pure as itself. Shall we appeal to the +artist? If he deserve the name, he will disdain the imputation that +either wealth or fame has ever aided at the birth of his ideal +offspring: it was Truth that smiled upon him, that made light his +travail, that blessed their birth, and, by her fond recognition, +imparted to his breast her own most pure, unimpassioned emotion. But, +whatever mixed feeling, through the infirmity of the agent, may have +influenced the artist, whether poet or painter, there can be but one +feeling in the reader or spectator. + +Indeed, so imperishable is this property of Truth, that it seems to +lose nothing of its power, even when causing itself to be reflected +from things that in themselves have, properly speaking, no truth. Of +this we have abundant examples in some of the Dutch pictures, where +the principal object is simply a dish of oysters or a pickled herring. +We remember a picture of this kind, consisting solely of these very +objects, from which we experienced a pleasure _almost_ exquisite. +And we would here remark, that the appetite then was in no way +concerned. The pleasure, therefore, must have been from the imitated +truth. It is certainly a curious question why this should be, while +the things themselves, that is, the actual objects, should produce no +such effect. And it seems to be because, in the latter case, there was +no truth involved. The real oysters, &c., were indeed so far true as +they were actual objects, but they did not contain a _truth_ in +_relation_ to any thing. Whereas, in the pictured oysters, +their relation to the actual was shown and verified in the mutual +resemblance. + +If this be true, as we doubt not, we have at least one evidence, where +it might not be looked for, that there is that in Truth which is +satisfying of itself. But a stronger testimony may still be found +where, from all _à priori_ reasoning, we might expect, if not +positive pain, at least no pleasure; and that is, where we find it +united with human suffering, as in the deep scenes of tragedy. Now it +cannot be doubted, that some of our most refined pleasures are often +derived from this source, and from scenes that in nature we could +not look upon. And why is this, but for the reason assigned in the +preceding instance of a still-life picture? the only difference being, +that the latter is addressed to the senses, and the former to the +heart and intellect: which difference, however, well accounts for +their vast disparity of effect. But may not these tragic pleasures +have their source in sympathy alone? We answer, No. For who ever felt +it in watching the progress of actual villany or the betrayal of +innocence, or in being an eyewitness of murder? Now, though we revolt +at these and the like atrocities in actual life, it would be both new +and false to assert that they have no attraction in Art. + +Nor do we believe that this acknowledged interest can well be traced +to any other source than the one assumed; namely, to the truth +of _relation_. And in this capacity does Truth stand to the +Imagination, which is the proper medium through which the artist, +whether poet or painter, projects his scenes. + +The seat of interest here, then, being _in_ the imagination, it +is precisely on that account, and because it cannot be brought home to +self, that the pleasure ensues; which is plainly, therefore, derived +from its verisimilitude to the actual, and, though together with its +appropriate excitement, yet without its imperative condition, namely, +its call of _life_ on the living affections. + +The proper word here is _interest_, not sympathy, for sympathy +with actual suffering, be the object good or bad, is in its nature +painful; an obvious reason why so few in the more prosaic world have +the virtue to seek it. + +But is it not the business of the artist to touch the heart? +True,--and it is his high privilege, as its liege-lord, to sound its +very depths; nay, from its lowest deep to touch alike its loftiest +breathing pinnacle. Yet he may not even approach it, except through +the transforming atmosphere of the imagination, where alone the +saddest notes of woe, even the appalling shriek of despair, are +softened, as it were, by the tempering dews of this visionary region, +ere they fall upon the heart. Else how could we stand the smothered +moan of Desdemona, or the fiendish adjuration of Lady Macbeth,--more +frightful even than the after-deed of her husband,--or look upon the +agony of the wretched Judas, in the terrible picture of Rembrandt, +when he returns the purchase of blood to the impenetrable Sanhedrim? +Ay, how could we ever stand these but for that ideal panoply through +which we feel only their modified vibrations? + +Let the imitation, or rather copy, be so close as to trench on +deception, the effect will be far different; for, the _condition_ +of _relation_ being thus virtually lost, the copy becomes as +the original,--circumscribed by its own qualities, repulsive or +attractive, as the case may be. I remember a striking instance of this +in a celebrated actress, whose copies of actual suffering were so +painfully accurate, that I was forced to turn away from the scene, +unable to endure it; her scream of agony in Belvidera seemed to ring +in my ears for hours after. Not so was it with the great Mrs. Siddons, +who moved not a step but in a poetic atmosphere, through which the +fiercest passions seemed rather to _loom_ like distant mountains +when first descried at sea,--massive and solid, yet resting on air. + +It would appear, then, that there is something in truth, though but +seen in the dim shadow of relation, that enforces interest,--and, so +it be without pain, at least some degree of pleasure; which, however +slight, is not unimportant, as presenting an impassable barrier to the +mere animal. We must not, however, be understood as claiming for this +Relative Truth the power of exciting a pleasurable interest in +all possible cases; there are exceptions, as in the horrible, the +loathsome, &c., which under no condition can be otherwise than +revolting. It is enough for our purpose, to have shown that its effect +is in most cases similar to that we have ascribed to Truth absolute. + +But objections are the natural adversaries of every adventurer: there +is one in our path which we soon descried at our first setting +out. And we find it especially opposed to the assertion respecting +children; namely, that between two things, where there is no personal +advantage to bias the decision, they will always choose that which +seems to them true, rather than the other which appears false. To +this is opposed the notorious fact of the remarkable propensity which +children have to lying. This is readily admitted; but it does not meet +us, unless it can be shown that they have not in the act of lying an +eye to its _reward_,--setting aside any outward advantage,--in +the shape of self-complacent thought at their superior wit or +ingenuity. Now it is equally notorious, that such secret triumph will +often betray itself by a smile, or wink, or some other sign from +the chuckling urchin, which proves any thing but that the lie was +gratuitous. No, not even a child can love a lie purely for its own +sake; he would else love it in another, which is against fact. Indeed, +so far from it, that, long before he can have had any notion of what +is meant by honor, the word _liar_ becomes one of his first and +most opprobrious terms of reproach. Look at any child's face when he +tells his companion he lies. We ask no more than that most logical +expression; and, if it speak not of a natural abhorrence only to be +overcome by self-interest, there is no trust in any thing. No. We +cannot believe that man or child, however depraved, _could_ tell +an _unproductive, gratuitous lie_. + +Of the last and highest source of our pleasurable emotions we need say +little; since no one will question that, if sought at all, it can +only be for its own sake. But it does not become us--at least in this +place--to enter on the subject of Holiness; of that angelic state, +whose only manifestation is in the perfect unison with the Divine +Will. We may, however, consider it in the next degree, as it is known, +and as we believe often realized, among men: we mean Goodness. + +We presume it is superfluous to define a good act; for every one +knows, or ought to know, that no act is good in its true sense, which +has any, the least, reference to the agent's self. Nor is it necessary +to adduce examples; our object being rather to show that the +recognition of goodness--and we beg that the word be especially +noted--must result, of necessity, in such an emotion as shall partake +of its own character, that is, be entirely devoid of self-interest. + +This will no doubt appear to many a startling position. But let it be +observed, that we have not said it will _always_ be recognized. +There are many reasons why it should not be, and is not. We all know +how easy it is to turn away from what gives us no pleasure. A long +course of vice, together with the consciousness that goodness has +departed from ourselves, may make it painful to look upon it. Nay, +the contemplation of it may become, on this account, so painful as to +amount to agony. But that Goodness can be hated for its own sake we do +not believe, except by a devil, or some irredeemable incarnation of +evil, if such there be on this side the grave. But it is objected, +that bad men have sometimes a pleasure in Evil from which they neither +derive nor hope for any personal advantage, that is, simply _because +it is evil_. But we deny the fact. We deny that an unmixed +pleasure, which is purely abstracted from all reference to self, is in +the power of Evil. Should any man assert this even of himself, he is +not to be believed; he lies to his own heart,--and this he may do +without being conscious of it. But how can this be? Nothing more +easy: by a simple dislocation of words; by the aid of that false +nomenclature which began with the first Fratricide, and has +continued to accumulate through successive ages, till it reached +its consummation, for every possible sin, in the French Revolution. +Indeed, there are few things more easy; it is only to transfer to the +evil the name of its opposite. Some of us, perhaps, may have witnessed +the savage exultation of some hardened wretch, when the accidental +spectator of an atrocious act. But is such exultation pleasure? Is it +at all akin to what is recognized as pleasure even by this hardened +wretch? Yet so he may call it. But should we, could we look into his +heart? Should we not rather pause for a time, from mere ignorance of +the true vernacular of sin. What he feels may thus be a mystery to all +but the reprobate; but it is not pleasure either in the deed or the +doer: for, as the law of Good is Harmony, so is Discord that of Evil; +and as sympathy to Harmony, so is revulsion to Discord. And where is +hatred deepest and deadliest? Among the wicked. Yet they often hate +the good. True: but not goodness, not the good man's virtues; these +they envy, and hate him for possessing them. But more commonly the +object of dislike is first stripped of his virtues by detraction; the +detractor then supplies their place by the needful vices,--perhaps +with his own; then, indeed, he is ripe for hatred. When a sinful act +is made personal, it is another affair; it then becomes a _part_ +of _the man_; and he may then worship it with the idolatry of +a devil. But there is a vast gulf between his own idol and that of +another. + +To prevent misapprehension, we would here observe, that we do not +affirm of either Good or Evil any irresistible power of enforcing +love or exciting abhorrence, having evidence to the contrary in +the multitudes about us; all we affirm is, that, when contemplated +abstractly, they cannot be viewed otherwise. Nor is the fact of +their inefficiency in many cases difficult of solution, when it is +remembered that the very condition to their _true_ effect is +the complete absence of self, that they must clearly be viewed _ab +extra_; a hard, not to say impracticable, condition to the very +depraved; for it may well be doubted if to such minds any act or +object having a moral nature can be presented without some personal +relation. It is not therefore surprising, that, where the condition is +so precluded, there should be, not only no proper response to the +law of Good or Evil, but such frequent misapprehension of their true +character. Were it possible to see with the eyes of others, this might +not so often occur; for it need not be remarked, that few things, if +any, ever retain their proper forms in the atmosphere of self-love; +a fact that will account for many obliquities besides the one in +question. To this we may add, that the existence of a compulsory power +in either Good or Evil could not, in respect to man, consist with his +free agency,--without which there could be no conscience; nor does it +follow, that, because men, with the free power of choice, yet so often +choose wrong, there is any natural indistinctness in the absolute +character of Evil, which, as before hinted, is sufficiently apparent +to them when referring to others; in such cases the obliquitous choice +only shows, that, with the full force of right perception, their +interposing passions or interests have also the power of giving their +own color to every object having the least relation to themselves. + +Admitting this personal modification, we may then safely repeat our +position,--that to hate Good or to love Evil, solely for their own +sakes, is only possible with the irredeemably wicked, in other words, +with devils. + +We now proceed to the latter clause of our general proposition. And here +it may be asked, on what ground we assume one intuitive universal +Principle as the true source of all those emotions which have just been +discussed. To this we reply, On the ground of their common agreement. As +we shall here use the words _effect_ and _emotion_ as convertible terms, +we wish it to be understood, that, when we apply the epithet _common_ or +_same_ to _effect_, we do so only in relation to _kind_, and for the +sake of brevity, instead of saying the same _class_ of effects; implying +also in the word _kind_ the existence of many degrees, but no other +difference. For instance, if a beautiful flower and a noble act shall be +found to excite a kindred emotion, however slight from the one or deep +from the other, they come in effect under the same category. And this we +are forced to admit, however heterogeneous, since a common ground is +necessarily predicated of a common result. How else, for instance, can +we account for a scene in nature, a bird, an animal, a human form, +affecting us each in a similar way? There is certainly no similitude in +the objects that compose a landscape, and the form of an animal and man; +they have no resemblance either in shape, or texture, or color, in +roughness, smoothness, or any other known quality; while their several +effects are so near akin, that we do not stop to measure even the wide +degrees by which they are marked, but class them in a breath by some +common term. It is very plain that this singular property of +assimilating to one what is so widely unlike cannot proceed from any +similar conformation, or quality, or attribute of mere being, that is, +of any thing essential to distinctive existence. There must needs, then, +be some common ground for their common effect. For if they agree not in +themselves one with the other, it follows of necessity that the ground +of their agreement must be in relation to something within our own +minds, since only _there_ is this common effect known as a fact. + +We are now brought to the important question, _Where_ and +_what_ is this reconciling ground? Certainly not in sensation, +for that could only reflect their distinctive differences. Neither can +it be in the reflective faculties, since the effect in question, being +co-instantaneous, is wholly independent of any process of reasoning; +for we do not feel it because we understand, but only because we are +conscious of its presence. Nay, it is because we neither do nor can +understand it, being therefore a matter aloof from all the powers of +reasoning, that its character is such as has been asserted, and, as +such, universal. + +Where, then, shall we search for this mysterious ground but in the +mind, since only there, as before observed, is this common effect +known as a fact? and where in the mind but in some inherent Principle, +which is both intuitive and universal, since, in a greater or less +degree, all men feel it _without knowing why?_ + +But since an inward Principle can, of necessity, have only a potential +existence, until called into action by some outward object, it is also +clear that any similar effect, which shall then be recognized through +it, from any number of differing and distinct objects, can only arise +from some mutual relation between a _something_ in the objects +and in the Principle supposed, as their joint result and proper +product. + +And, since it would appear that we cannot avoid the admission of +some such Principle, having a reciprocal relation to certain outward +objects, to account for these kindred emotions from so many distinct +and heterogeneous sources, it remains only that we give it a name; +which has already been anticipated in the term Harmony. + +The next question here is, In what consists this _peculiar relation?_ We +have seen that it cannot be in any thing that is essential to any +condition of mere being or existence; it must therefore consist in some +_undiscoverable_ condition indifferently applicable to the Physical, +Intellectual, and Moral, yet only applicable in each to certain kinds. + +And this is all that we do or _can_ know of it. But of this we +may be as certain as that we live and breathe. + +It is true that, for particular purposes, we may analyze certain +combinations of sounds and colors and forms, so as to ascertain their +relative quantities or collocation; and these facts (of which we shall +hereafter have occasion to speak) may be of importance both in Art and +Science. Still, when thus obtained, they will be no more than mere +facts, on which we can predicate nothing but that, when they are +imitated,--that is, when similar combinations of quantities, &c., are +repeated in a work of art,--they will produce the same effect. But +_why_ they should is a mystery which the reflective faculties do +not solve; and never can, because it refers to a living Power that is +above the understanding. In the human figure, for instance, we can +give no reason why eight heads to the stature please us better than +six, or why three or twelve heads seem to us monstrous. If we say, in +the latter case, _because_ the head of the one is too small and +of the other too large, we give no _reason_; we only state the +_fact_ of their disagreeable effect on us. And, if we make the +proportion of eight heads our rule, it is because of the fact of its +being more pleasing to us than any other; and, from the same feeling, +we prefer those statures which approach it the nearest. Suppose we +analyze a certain combination of sounds and colors, so as to ascertain +the exact relative quantities of the one and the collocation of the +other, and then compare them. What possible resemblance can the +understanding perceive between these sounds and colors? And yet a +something within us responds to both in a similar emotion. And so with +a thousand things, nay, with myriads of objects that have no other +affinity but with that mysterious harmony which began with our being, +which slept with our infancy, and which their presence only seems to +have _awakened_. If we cannot go back to our own childhood, we +may see its illustration in those about us who are now emerging into +that unsophisticated state. Look at them in the fields, among the +birds and flowers; their happy faces speak the harmony within them: +the divine instrument, which these have touched, gives them a joy +which, perhaps, only childhood in its first fresh consciousness can +know. Yet what do they understand of musical quantities, or of the +theory of colors? + +And so with respect to Truth and Goodness; whose preëxisting Ideas, +being in the living constituents of an immortal spirit, need but the +slightest breath of some outward condition of the true and good,--a +simple problem, or a kind act,--to awake them, as it were, from their +unconscious sleep, and start them for eternity. + +We may venture to assert, that no philosopher, however ingenious, +could communicate to a child the abstract idea of Right, had the +latter nothing beyond or above the understanding. He might, indeed, be +taught, like the inferior animals,--a dog, for instance,--that, if he +took certain forbidden things, he would be punished, and thus do +right through fear. Still he would desire the forbidden thing, +though belonging to another; nor could he conceive why he should not +appropriate to himself, and thus allay his appetite, what was held by +another, could he do so undetected; nor attain to any higher notion of +right than that of the strongest. But the child has something higher +than the mere power of apprehending consequences. The simplest +exposition, whether of right or wrong, even by an ignorant nurse, is +instantly responded to by something _within him_, which, thus +awakened, becomes to him a living voice ever after; and the good and +the true must thenceforth answer its call, even though succeeding +years would fain overlay them with the suffocating crowds of evil and +falsehood. + +We do not say that these eternal Ideas of Beauty, Truth, and Goodness +will, strictly speaking, always act. Though indestructible, they may +be banished for a time by the perverted Will, and mockeries of the +brain, like the fume-born phantoms from the witches' caldron in +Macbeth, take their places, and assume their functions. We have +examples of this in every age, and perhaps in none more startling than +in the present. But we mean only that they cannot be _forgotten_: +nay, they are but, too often recalled with unwelcome distinctness. +Could we read the annals which must needs be scored on every +heart,--could we look upon those of the aged reprobate,--who will +doubt that their darkest passages are those made visible by the +distant gleams from these angelic Forms, that, like the Three which +stood before the tent of Abraham, once looked upon his youth? + +And we doubt not that the truest witness to the common source of these +inborn Ideas would readily be acknowledged by all, could they return +to it now with their matured power of introspection, which is, at +least, one of the few advantages of advancing years. But, though +we cannot bring back youth, we may still recover much of its purer +revelations of our nature from what has been left in the memory. From +the dim present, then, we would appeal to that fresher time, ere +the young spirit had shrunk from the overbearing pride of the +understanding, and confidently ask, if the emotions we then felt from +the Beautiful, the True, and the Good, did not seem in some way to +refer to a common origin. And we would also ask, if it was then +frequent that the influence from one was _singly_ felt,--if it +did not rather bring with it, however remotely, a sense of something, +though widely differing, yet still akin to it. When we have basked in +the beauty of a summer sunset, was there nothing in the sky that spoke +to the soul of Truth and Goodness? And when the opening intellect +first received the truth of the great law of gravitation, or felt +itself mounting through the profound of space, to travel with the +planets in their unerring rounds, did never then the kindred Ideas of +Goodness and Beauty chime in, as it were, with the fabled music,--not +fabled to the soul,--which led you on like one entranced? + +And again, when, in the passive quiet of your moral nature, so predisposed +in youth to all things genial, you have looked abroad on this marvellous, +ever teeming Earth,--ever teeming alike for mind and body,--and have felt +upon you flow, as from ten thousand springs of Goodness, Truth, and +Beauty, ten thousand streams of innocent enjoyment; did you not then +_almost hear_ them shout in confluence, and almost _see_ them gushing +upwards, as if they would prove their unity, in one harmonious fountain? + +But, though the preceding be admitted as all true in respect to +certain "gifted" individuals, it may yet be denied that it is equally +true with respect to all, in other words, that the Principle assumed +is an inherent constituent of the human being. To this we reply, that +universality does not necessarily imply equality. + +The universality of a Principle does not imply _everywhere_ equal +energy or activity, or even the same mode of manifestation, any more +than do the essential Faculties of the Understanding. Of this we have +an analogous illustration in the faculty of Memory; which is almost +indefinitely differenced in different men, both in degree and mode. In +some, its greatest power is shown in the retention of thoughts, but +not of words, that is, not of the original words in which they were +presented. Others possess it in a very remarkable degree as to forms, +places, &c., and but imperfectly for other things; others, again, +never forget names, dates, or figures, yet cannot repeat a +conversation the day after it took place; while some few have the +doubtful happiness of forgetting nothing. We might go on with a long +list of the various modes and degrees in which this faculty, so +essential to the human being, is everywhere manifested. But this is +sufficient for our purpose. In like manner is the Principle of Harmony +manifested; in one person as it relates to Form, in another to Sound; +so, too, may it vary as to the degrees of truth and goodness. We say +degrees; for we may well doubt whether, even in the faculty of memory, +its apparent absence as to any one essential object is any thing more +than a feeble degree of activity: and the doubt is strengthened by the +fact, that in many seemingly hopeless cases it has been actually, as +it were, brought into birth. And we are still indisposed to admit its +entire absence in any one particular for which it was bestowed on man. +An imperfect developement, especially as relating to the intellectual +and moral, we know to depend, in no slight measure, on the _will_ +of the subject. Nay, (with the exception of idiots,) it may safely be +affirmed, that no individual ever existed who could not perceive the +difference between what is true and false, and right and wrong. We +here, of course, except those who have so ingeniously _unmade_ +themselves, in order to reconstruct their "humanity" after a better +fashion. As to the "_why_" of these differences, we know nothing; +it is one of those unfathomable mysteries which to the finite mind +must ever be hidden. + +Though it has been our purpose, throughout this discourse, to direct +our inquiries mainly to the essential Elements of the subject, it may +not be amiss here to take a brief notice of their collateral product +in those mixed modes from which we derive so large a portion of our +mental gratification: we allude to the various combinations of the +several Ideas, which have just been examined, with each other as well +as with their opposites. To this prolific source may be traced much +of that many-colored interest which we take in their various forms as +presented by the imagination,--in every thing, indeed, which is true, +or even partially true, to the great Principle of Harmony, both in +nature and in art. It is to these mixed modes more especially, that we +owe all that mysterious interest which gives the illusion of life to a +work of fiction, and fills us with delight or melts with woe, whether +in the happiness or the suffering of some imagined being, uniting +goodness with beauty, or virtue with plainness, or uncommon purity and +intellect even with deformity; for even that may be so overpowered in +the prominent harmony of superior intellect and moral worth, as to be +virtually neutralized, at least, to become unobtrusive as a discordant +force. Besides, it cannot be expected that _complete_ harmony is +ever to be realized in our imperfect state; we should else, perhaps, +with such expectation, have no pleasures of the kind we speak of: +nor is this necessary, the imagination being always ready to supply +deficiencies, whenever the approximation is sufficiently near to +call it forth. Nay, if the interest felt be nothing more than mere +curiosity, we still refer to this presiding Principle; which is no +less essential to a simple combination of events, than to the higher +demands of Form or Character. But its presence must be felt, however +slightly. Of this we have the evidence in many cases, and, perhaps, +most conclusive where the partial harmony is felt to verge on a +powerful discord; or where the effort to unite them produces that +singular alternation of what is both revolting and pleasing: as in the +startling union of evil passions with some noble quality, or with a +master intellect. And here we have a solution of that paradoxical +feeling of interest and abhorrence, which we experience in such a +character as King Richard. + +And may it not be that we are permitted this interest for a deeper +purpose than we are wont to suppose; because Sin is best seen in the +light of Virtue,--and then most fearfully when she holds the torch to +herself? Be this as it may, with pure, unintellectual, brutal evil +it is very different. We cannot look upon it undismayed: we take no +interest in it, nor can we. In Richard there is scarce a glimmer of +his better nature; yet we do not despise him, for his intellect and +courage command our respect. But the fiend Iago,--who ever followed +him through the weaving of his spider-like web, without perpetual +recurrence to its venomous source,--his devilish heart? Even the +intellect he shows seems actually animalized, and we shudder at its +subtlety, as at the cunning of a reptile. Whatever interest may have +been imputed to him should be placed to the account of his hapless +victim; to the first striving with distrust of a generous nature; to +the vague sense of misery, then its gradual developement, then the +final overthrow of absolute faith; and, last of all, to the throes +of agony of the noble Moor, as he writhes and gasps in his accursed +toils. + +To these mixed modes may be added another branch, which we shall term the +class of Imputed Attributes. In this class are concerned all those natural +objects with which we connect (not by individual association, but by a +general law of the mind) certain moral or intellectual attributes; which +are not, indeed, supposed to exist in the objects themselves, but which, +by some unknown affinity, they awaken or occasion in us, and which we, in +our turn, impute to them. However this be, there are multitudes of objects +in the inanimate world, which we cannot contemplate without associating +with them many of the characteristics which we ascribe to the human being; +and the ideas so awakened we involuntarily express by the ascription of +such significant epithets as _stately, majestic, grand_, and so on. It is +so with us, when we call some tall forest stately, or qualify as majestic +some broad and slowly-winding river, or some vast, yet unbroken waterfall, +or some solitary, gigantic pine, seeming to disdain the earth, and to hold +of right its eternal communion with air; or when to the smooth and +far-reaching expanse of our inland waters, with their bordering and +receding mountains, as they seem to march from the shores, in the pomp of +their dark draperies of wood and mist, we apply the terms _grand_ and +_magnificent_: and so onward to an endless succession of objects, +imputing, as it were, our own nature, and lending our sympathies, till the +headlong rush of some mighty cataract suddenly thunders upon us. But how +is it then? In the twinkling of an eye, the outflowing sympathies ebb back +upon the heart; the whole mind seems severed from earth, and the awful +feeling to suspend the breath;--there is nothing human to which we can +liken it. And here begins another kind of emotion, which we call Sublime. + +We are not aware that this particular class of objects has hitherto +been noticed, at least as holding a distinct position. And, if we +may be allowed to supply the omission, we should assign to it the +intermediate place between the Beautiful and the Sublime. Indeed, +there seems to be no other station so peculiarly proper; inasmuch as +they would thus form, in a consecutive series, a regular ascent from +the sensible material to the invisible spiritual: hence naturally +uniting into one harmonious whole every possible emotion of our higher +nature. + +In the preceding discussion, we have considered the outward world +only in its immediate relation to Man, and the Human Being as the +predetermined centre to which it was designed to converge. As the +subject, however, of what are called the sublime emotions, he holds a +different position; for the centre here is not himself, nor, indeed, +can he approach it within conceivable distance: yet still he is drawn +to it, though baffled for ever. Now the question is, Where, and +in what bias, is this mysterious attraction? It must needs be in +something having a clear affinity with us, or we could not feel it. +But the attraction is also both pure and pleasurable; and it has just +been shown, that we have in ourselves but one principle by which +to recognize any corresponding emotion,--namely, the principle of +Harmony. May we not then infer a similar Principle without us, an +Infinite Harmony, to which our own is attracted? and may we not +further,--if we may so speak without irreverence,--suppose our own to +have emanated thence when "man became a living soul"? And though this +relation may not be consciously acknowledged in every instance, or +even in one, by the mass of men, does it therefore follow that it does +not exist? How many things act upon us of which we have no knowledge? +If we find, as in the case of the Beautiful, the same, or a similar, +effect to follow from a great variety of objects which have no +resemblance or agreement with one another, is it not a necessary +inference, that for their common effect they must all refer to +something without and distinct from themselves? Now in the case of +the Sublime, the something referred to is not in man: for the emotion +excited has an outward tendency; the mind cannot contain it; and the +effort to follow it towards its mysterious object, if long continued, +becomes, in the excess of interest, positively painful. + +Could any finite object account for this? But, supposing the Infinite, +we have an adequate cause. If these emotions, then, from whatever +object or circumstance, be to prompt the mind beyond its prescribed +limits, whether carrying it back to the primitive past, the +incomprehensible _beginning_, or sending it into the future, to +the unknown _end_, the ever-present Idea of the mighty Author of +all these mysteries must still be implied, though we think not of it. +It is this Idea, or rather its influence, whether we be conscious of +it or not, which we hold to be the source of every sublime emotion. To +make our meaning plainer, we should say, that that which has the power +of possessing the mind, to the exclusion, for the time, of all other +thought, and which presents no _comprehensible_ sense of a whole, +though still impressing us with a full apprehension of such as a +reality,--in other words, which cannot be circumscribed by the forms +of the understanding while it strains them to the utmost,--that we +should term a sublime object. But whether this effect be occasioned +directly by the object itself, or be indirectly suggested by its +relations to some other object, its unknown cause, it matters not; +since the apparent power of calling forth the emotion, by whatever +means, is, _quoad_ ourselves, its sublime condition. Hence, if a +minute insect, an ant, for instance, through its marvellous instinct, +lift the mind of the amazed spectator to the still more inscrutable +Creator, it must possess, as to _him_, the same power. This is, +indeed, an extreme case, and may be objected to as depending on the +individual mind; on a mind prepared by cultivation and previous +reflection for the effect in question. But to this it may be replied, +that some degree of cultivation, or, more properly speaking, of +developement by the exercise of its reflective faculties, is obviously +essential ere the mind can attain to mature growth,--we might almost +say to its natural state, since nothing can be said to have attained +its true nature until all its capacities are at least called into +birth. No one, for example, would refer to the savages of Australia +for a true specimen of what was proper or natural to the human mind; +we should rather seek it, if such were the alternative, in a civilized +child of five years old. Be this as it may, it will not be denied +that ignorance, brutality, and many other deteriorating causes, do +practically incapacitate thousands for even an approximation, not only +to this, but to many of the inferior emotions, the character of +which is purely mental. And this, we think, is quite sufficient to +neutralize the objection, if not, indeed, to justify the application +of the term to all cases where the _immediate_ effect, whether +directly or indirectly, is such as has been described. But, to reduce +this to a common-sense view, it is only saying,--what no one will +deny,--that a man of education and refinement has not only more, but +higher, pleasures of the mind than a mere clown. + +But though the position here advanced must necessarily exclude many +objects which have hitherto, though, as we think, improperly, been +classed with the sublime, it will still leave enough, and more than +enough, for the utmost exercise of our limited powers; inasmuch as, in +addition to the multitude of objects in the material world, not only +the actions, passions, and thoughts of men, but whatever concerns the +human being, that in any way--by a hint merely--leads the mind, though +indirectly, to the Infinite attributes,--all come of right within the +ground assumed. + +It will be borne in mind, that the conscious presence of the Infinite +Idea is not only _not_ insisted on, but expressly admitted to be, in +most cases, unthought of; it is also admitted, that a sublime effect is +often powerfully felt in many instances where this Idea could not truly +be predicated of the apparent object. In such cases, however, some kind +of resemblance, or, at least, a seeming analogy to an infinite +attribute, is nevertheless essential. It must _appear_ to us, for the +time, either limitless, indefinite, or in some other way beyond the +grasp of the mind: and, whatever an object may _seem_ to be, it must +needs _in effect_ be to _us_ even that which it seems. Nor does this +transfer the emotion to a different source; for the Infinite Idea, or +something analogous, being thus imputed, is in reality its true cause. + +It is still the unattainable, the _ever-stimulating_, yet +_ever-eluding_, in the character of the sublime object, that +gives to it both its term and its effect. And whence the conception of +this mysterious character, but from its mysterious prototype, the Idea +of the Infinite? Neither does it matter, as we have said, whether +actual or supposed; for what the imagination cannot master will master +the imagination. Take, for instance, but a single _passion_, and +clothe it with this character; in the same instant it becomes sublime. +So, too, with a single thought. In the Mosaic words so often quoted, +"Let there be light, and there was light," we have the sublime of +thought, of mere naked thought; but what could more awe the mind with +the power of God? Of like nature is the conjecture of Newton, when he +imagined stars so distant from the sun that their coeval light has not +yet reached us. Let us endeavour for one moment to conceive of this; +does not the soul seem to dilate within us, and the body to shrink +as to a grain of dust? "Woe is me! unclean, unclean!" said the holy +Prophet, when the Infinite Holiness stood before him. Could a more +terrible distance be measured, than by these fearful words, between +God and man? + +If it be objected to this view, that many cases occur, having the same +conditions with those assumed in our general proposition, which are +yet exclusively painful, unmitigated even by a transient moment of +pleasure,--in Despair, for instance,--as who can limit it?--to this we +reply, that no emotion having its sole, or circle of existence in +the individual mind itself, can be to that mind other than a +_subject_. A man in despair, or under any mode of extreme +suffering of like nature, may, indeed, if all interfering sympathy +have been removed by time or after-description, be to _another_ +a sublime object,--at least in one of those suggestive forms just +noticed; but not to _himself_. The source of the sublime--as all +along implied--is essentially _ab extra_. The human mind is not +its centre, nor can it be realized except by a contemplative act. + +Besides, as a mental pleasure,--indeed the highest known,--to +be recognized as such, it must needs be accompanied by the same +_relative character_ by which is tested every other pleasure +coming under that denomination; namely, by the entire absence +of _self_, that is, by the same freedom from all personal +consideration which has been shown to characterize the true effect of +the Three leading Ideas already considered. But if to this also it be +further objected, that in certain particular cases, as of +personal danger,--from which the sublime emotion has often been +experienced,--some personal consideration must necessarily be +involved, as without a sense of security we could not enjoy it; we +answer, that, if it be meant only that the mind should be in such a +state as to enable us to receive an unembarrassed impression, it seems +to us superfluous,--an obvious truism placed in opposition to an +absurd impossibility. We needed not to be told, that no pleasurable +emotion is likely to occur while we are unmanned by fear. The same +might be said, also, in respect to the Beautiful: for who was ever +alive to it under a paroxysm of terror, or pain of any kind? A +terrified person is in any thing but a fit state for such emotion. He +may indeed _afterwards_, when his fear is passed off, contemplate +the circumstance that occasioned it with a different feeling; but the +object of his dismay is _then_ projected, as it were, completely +from himself; and he feels the sublimity in a contemplative state: +he can feel it in no other. Nor is that state incompatible with a +consciousness of peril, though it can never be with personal terror. +And, if it is meant that we should have a positive, present +conviction that we are in no danger, this we must deny, as we find it +contradicted in innumerable instances. So far, indeed, is a sense of +security from being essential to the condition of a sublime emotion, +that the sense of danger, on the contrary, is one of its most exciting +accompaniments. There is a fascination in danger which some persons +neither can nor would resist; which seems, as it were, to disenthral +them of self;--as if the mysterious Infinite were actually drawing +them on by an invisible power. + +Was it mere scientific curiosity that cost the elder Pliny his life? +Might it not have been rather this sublime fascination? But we have +repeated examples of it in our own time. Many who will read this may +have been in a storm at sea. Did they never feel its sublimity while +they knew their danger? We will answer for ourselves; for we have been +in one, when the dismasted vessels that surrounded us permitted no +mistake as to our peril; it was strongly felt, but still stronger was +the sublime emotion in the awful scene. The crater of Vesuvius is even +now, perhaps for the thousandth time, reflecting from its lake of fire +some ghastly face, with indrawn breath and hair bristling, bent, as by +fate, over its sulphurous brink. + +Let us turn to Mont Blanc, that mighty pyramid of ice, in whose shadow +might repose all the tombs of the Pharaohs. It rises before the +traveller like the accumulating mausoleum of Europe: perhaps he looks +upon it as his own before his natural time; yet he cannot away from +it. A terrible charm hurries him over frightful chasms, whose blue +depths seem like those of the ocean; he cuts his way up a polished +precipice, shining like steel,--as elusive to the touch; he creeps +slowly and warily around and beneath huge cliffs of snow; now he looks +up, and sees their brows fretted by the percolating waters like a +Gothic ceiling, and he fears even to whisper, lest an audible breath +should awaken the avalanche: and thus he climbs and climbs, till the +dizzy summit fills up his measure of fearful ecstasy. + +Now, though cases may occur where the emotion in question is attended +with a sense of security, as in the reading or hearing the description +of an earthquake, such as that of 1768 in Lisbon, while we are safely +housed and by a comfortable fire, it does not therefore follow, that +this consciousness of safety is its essential condition. It is merely +an accidental circumstance. It cannot, therefore, apply, either as a +rule or an objection. Besides, even if supported by fact, we might +well dismiss it on the ground of irrelevancy, since a sense of +personal safety cannot be placed in opposition to and as inconsistent +with a disinterested or unselfish state; which is that claimed for +the emotion as its true condition. If there be not, then, a sounder +objection, we may safely admit the characteristic in question; for +the reception of which we have, on the other hand, the weight of +experience,--at least negatively, since, strictly speaking, we cannot +experience the absence of any thing. + +But though, according to our theory, there are many things now called +sublime that would properly come under a different classification, such +as many objects of Art, many sentiments, and many actions, which are +strictly human, as well in their _end_ as in their origin; it is not to +be inferred that the exclusion of any work of man is _because_ of _its +apparent origin_, but of its _end_, the end only being the determining +point, as referring to its _Idea_. Now, if the Idea referred to be of +the Infinite, which is _out_ of his nature, it cannot strictly be said +to originate with man,--that is, absolutely; but it is rather, as it +were, a reflected form of it from the Maker of his mind. If we are led +to such an Idea, then, by any work of imagination, a poem, a picture, a +statue, or a building, it is as truly sublime as any natural object. +This, it appears to us, is the sole mystery, without which neither +sound, nor color, nor form, nor magnitude, is a true correlative to the +unseen cause. And here, as with Beauty, though the test of that be +within us, is the _modus operandi_ equally baffling to the scrutiny of +the understanding. We feel ourselves, as it were, lifted from the earth, +and look upon the outward objects that have so affected us, yet learn +not how; and the mystery deepens as we compare them with other objects +from which have followed the same effects, and find no resemblance. For +instance; the roar of the ocean, and the intricate unity of a Gothic +cathedral, whose beginning and end are alike intangible, while its +climbing tower seems visibly even to rise to the Idea which it strives +to embody,--these have nothing in common,--hardly two things could be +named that are more unlike; yet in relation to man they have but one +end: for who can hear the ocean when breathing in wrath, and limit it in +his mind, though he think not of Him who gives it voice? or ascend that +spire without feeling his faculties vanish, as it were with its +vanishing point, into the abyss of space? If there be a difference in +the effect from these and other objects, it is only in the intensity, +the degree of impetus given; as between that from the sudden explosion +of a volcano and from the slow and heavy movement of a rising +thunder-cloud; its character and its office are the same,--in its awful +harmony to connect the created with its Infinite Cause. + +But let us compare this effect with that from Beauty. Would the +Parthenon, for instance, with its beautiful forms,--made still more +beautiful under its native sky,--seeming almost endued with the breath +of life, as if its conscious purple were a living suffusion brought +forth in sympathy by the enamoured blushes of a Grecian sunset;--would +this beautiful object even then elevate the soul above its own roof? +No: we should be filled with a pure delight,--but with no longing to +rise still higher. It would satisfy us; which the sublime does not; +for the feeling is too vast to be circumscribed by human content. + +On the supernatural it is needless to enlarge; for, in whatever form +the beings of the invisible world are supposed to visit us, they are +immediately connected in the mind with the unknown Infinite; whether +the faith be in the heart or in the imagination; whether they bubble +up from the earth, like the Witches in Macbeth, taking shape at will, +or self-dissolving into air, and no less marvellous, foreknowing +thoughts ere formed in man; or like the Ghost in Hamlet, an +unsubstantial shadow, having the functions of life, motion, will, +and speech; a fearful mystery invests them with a spell not to be +withstood; the bewildered imagination follows like a child, leaving +the finite world for one unknown, till it aches in darkness, +trackless, endless. + +Perhaps, as being nearest in station to the unsearchable Author of +all things, the highest example of this would be found in the +Angelic Nature. If it be objected, that the poets have not always so +represented it, it rests with them to show cause why they have not. +Milton, no doubt, could have assigned a sufficient reason in _the +time chosen for his poem_,--that of the creation of the first man, +when his intercourse with the highest order of created beings was not +only essential to the plan of the poem, but according with the express +will of the Creator: hence, he might have considered it no violation +of the _then_ relation between man and angels to assign even the +epithet _affable_ to the archangel Raphael; for man was then +sinless, and in all points save knowledge a fit object of regard, and +certainly a fit pupil to his heavenly instructor. But, suppose the +poet, throughout his work, (as in the process of his story he was +forced to do near the end,)--suppose he had chosen, assuming the +philosopher, to assign to Adam the _altered relation of one of his +fallen posterity_, how could he have endured a holy spiritual +presence? To be consistent, Adam must have been dumb with awe, +incapable of holding converse such as is described. Between sinless +man and his sinful progeny, the distance is immeasurable. And so, too, +must be the effect on the latter, in such a presence; and for this +conclusion we have the authority of Scripture, in the dismay of the +soldiers at the Saviour's sepulchre, on which more directly. If there +be no like effect attending the other angelic visits recorded in +Scripture, such as those to Lot and Abraham, the reason is obvious in +the _special mission_ to those individuals, who were doubtless +_divinely prepared_ for their reception; for it is reasonable +to suppose the mission had else been useless. But with the Roman +soldiers, where there was no such qualifying circumstance, the case +was different; indeed, it was in striking contrast with that of the +two Marys, who, though struck with awe, yet being led there, as +witnesses, by the Spirit, were not so overpowered. + +And here, as the Idea of Angels is universally associated with every +perfection of _form_, may naturally occur the question so often +agitated,--namely, whether Beauty and Sublimity are, under any +circumstances, compatible. To us it seems of easy solution. For we see +no reason why Beauty, as the condition of a subordinated object or +component part, may not incidentally enter into the Sublime, as well +as a thousand other conditions of opposite characters, which pertain +to the multifarious assimilants that often form its other components. + +When Beauty is not made _essential_, but enters as a mere +contingent, its admission or rejection is a matter of indifference. In +an angel, for instance, beauty is the condition of his mere form; but +the angel has also an intellectual and moral or spiritual nature, +which is essentially paramount: the former being but the condition, so +to speak, of his visibility, the latter, his very life,--an Essence +next to the inconceivable Giver of life. + +Could we stand in the presence of one of these holy beings, (if to +stand were possible,) what of the Sublime in this lower world would so +shake us? Though his beauty were such as never mortal dreamed of, +it would be as nothing,--swallowed up as darkness,--in the awful, +spiritual brightness of the messenger of God. Even as the soldiers +in Scripture, at the sepulchre of the Saviour, we should fall before +him,--we should "become," like them, "as dead men." + +But though Milton does not unveil the "face like lightning"; and +though the angel Raphael is made to hold converse with man, and the +"severe in youthful beauty" gives even the individual impress to +Zephon, and Michael and Abdiel are set apart in their prowess; there +is not one he names that does not breathe of Heaven, that is not +encompassed with the glory of the Infinite. And why the reader is not +overwhelmed in their supposed presence is because he is a beholder +_through_ Adam,--through him also a listener; but whenever he is +made, by the poet's spell, to forget Adam, and to see, as it were in +his own person, the embattled hosts.... + +If we dwell upon Form _alone_, though it should be of surpassing +beauty, the idea would not rise above that of man, for this is +conceivable of man: but the moment the angelic nature is touched, we +have the higher ideas of supernal intelligence and perfect holiness, +to which all the charms and graces of mere form immediately +become subordinate, and, though the beauty remain, its agency is +comparatively negative under the overpowering transcendence of a +celestial spirit. + +As we have already seen that the Beautiful is limited to no particular +form, but possesses its power in some mysterious _condition_, +which is applicable to many distinct objects; in like manner does the +Sublime include within its sphere, and subdue to its condition, an +indefinite variety of objects, with their distinctive conditions; and +among them we find that of the Beautiful, as well as, to a _certain +degree_, its reverse, so that, though we may truly recognize their +coexistence in the same object, it is not possible that their effect +upon us should be otherwise than unequal, and that the higher law +should not subordinate the lower. We do not deny that the Beautiful +may, so to speak, mitigate the awful intensity of the Sublime; but it +cannot change its character, much less impart its own; the one will +still be awful, the other, of itself, never. + +When at Rome, we once asked a foreigner, who seemed to be talking +somewhat vaguely on the subject, what he understood by the Sublime. +His answer was, "Le plus beau"; making it only a matter of degree. Now +let us only imagine (if we can) a beautiful earthquake, or a beautiful +hurricane. And yet the foreigner is not alone in this. D'Azzara, +the biographer of Mengs, speaking of Beauty, talks of "this sublime +quality," and in another place, for certain reasons assigned, he says, +"The grand style is beautiful." Nay, many writers, otherwise of high +authority, seem to have taken the same view; while others who could +have had no such notion, having used the words Beauty and the +Beautiful in an allegorical or metaphorical sense, have sometimes been +misinterpreted literally. Hence Winckelmann reproaches Michael Angelo +for his continual talk about Beauty, when he showed nothing of it +in his works. But it is very evident that the _Bellà_ and +_Bellezza_ of Michael Angelo were never used by him in a literal +sense, nor intended to be so understood by others: he adopted the +terms solely to express abstract Perfection, which he allegorized as +the mistress of his mind, to whose exclusive worship his whole life +was devoted. Whether it was the most appropriate term he could have +chosen, we shall not inquire. It is certain, however, that the literal +adoption of it by subsequent writers has been the cause of much +confusion, as well as vagueness. + +For ourselves, we are quite at a loss to imagine how a notion so +obviously groundless has ever had a single supporter; for, if a +distinct effect implies a distinct cause, we do not see why distinct +terms should not be employed to express the difference, or how the +legitimate term for one can in any way be applied to signify a +particular degree of the other. Like the two Dromios, they sometimes +require a conjurer to tell which is which. If only Perfection, which +is a generic term implying the summit of all things, be meant, +there is surely nothing to be gained (if we except _intended_ +obscurity) by substituting a specific term which is limited to a few. +We speak not here of allegorical or metaphorical propriety, which is +not now the question, but of the literal and didactic; and we may +add, that we have never known but one result from this arbitrary +union,--which is, to procreate words. + +In further illustration of our position, it may be well here to notice +one mistaken source of the Sublime, which seems to have been sometimes +resorted to, both in poems and pictures; namely, in the sympathy +excited by excruciating bodily suffering. Suppose a man on the rack +to be placed before us,--perhaps some miserable victim of the +Inquisition; the cracking of his joints is made frightfully audible; +his calamitous "Ah!" goes to our marrow; then the cruel precision +of the mechanical familiar, as he lays bare to the sight his whole +anatomy of horrors. And suppose, too, the executioner _compelled_ +to his task,--consequently an irresponsible agent, whom we cannot +curse; and, finally, that these two objects compose the whole scene. +What could we feel but an agony even like that of the sufferer, the +only difference being that one is physical, the other mental? And this +is all that mere sympathy has any power to effect; it has led us to +its extreme point,--our flesh creeps, and we turn away with almost +bodily sickness. But let another actor be added to the drama in the +presiding Inquisitor, the cool methodizer of this process of torture; +in an instant the scene is changed, and, strange to say, our feelings +become less painful,--nay, we feel a momentary interest,--from an +instant revulsion of our moral nature: we are lost in wonder at the +excess of human wickedness, and the hateful wonder, as if partaking of +the infinite, now distends the faculties to their utmost tension; for +who can set bounds to passion when it seizes the whole soul? It is as +the soul itself, without form or limit. We may not think even of the +after judgment; we become ourselves _justice_, and we award a +hatred commensurate with the sin, so indefinite and monstrous that we +stand aghast at our own judgment. + +_Why_ this extreme tension of the mind, when thus outwardly +occasioned, should create in us an interest, we know not; but such is +the fact, and we are not only content to endure it for a time, but +even crave it, and give to the feeling the epithet _sublime_. + +We do not deny that much bodily suffering may be admitted with effect +as a subordinate agent, when, as in the example last added, it is made +to serve as a necessary expositor of moral deformity. Then, indeed, +in the hands of a great artist, it becomes one of the most powerful +auxiliaries to a sublime end. All that we contend for is that sympathy +alone is insufficient as a cause of sublimity. + +There are yet other sources of the false sublime, (if we may so call +it,) which are sometimes resorted to also by poets and painters; such +as the horrible, the loathsome, the hideous, and the monstrous: these +form the impassable boundaries to the true Sublime. Indeed, there +appears to be in almost every emotion a certain point beyond which we +cannot pass without recoiling,--as if we instinctively shrunk from +what is forbidden to our nature. + +It would seem, then, that, in relation to man, Beauty is the extreme +point, or last summit, of the natural world, since it is in that that +we recognize the highest emotion of which we are susceptible from the +purely physical. If we ascend thence into the moral, we shall find its +influence diminish in the same ratio with our upward progress. In the +continuous chain of creation of which it forms a part, the link above +it where the moral modification begins seems scarcely changed, yet the +difference, though slight, demands another name, and the nomenclator +within us calls it Elegance; in the next connecting link, the moral +adjunct becomes more predominant, and we call it Majesty; in the next, +the physical becomes still fainter, and we call the union Grandeur; in +the next, it seems almost to vanish, and a new form rises before us, +so mysterious, so undefined and elusive to the senses, that we turn, +as if for its more distinct image, within ourselves, and there, with +wonder, amazement, awe, we see it filling, distending, stretching +every faculty, till, like the Giant of Otranto, it seems almost to +burst the imagination: under this strange confluence of opposite +emotions, this terrible pleasure, we call the awful form Sublimity. +This was the still, small voice that shook the Prophet on +Horeb;--though small to his ear, it was more than his imagination +could contain; he could not hear it again and live. + +It is not to be supposed that we have enumerated all the forms of +gradation between the Beautiful and the Sublime; such was not our +purpose; it is sufficient to have noted the most prominent, leaving +the intermediate modifications to be supplied (as they can readily be) +by the reader. If we descend from the Beautiful, we shall pass in like +manner through an equal variety of forms gradually modified by the +grosser material influences, as the Handsome, the Pretty, the Comely, +the Plain, &c., till we fall to the Ugly. + +There ends the chain of pleasurable excitement; but not the chain of +Forms; which, taking now as if a literal curve, again bends upward, +till, meeting the descending extreme of the moral, it seems to +complete the mighty circle. And in this dark segment will be found the +startling union of deepening discords,--still deepening, as it rises +from the Ugly to the Loathsome, the Horrible, the Frightful,[1] the +Appalling. + +As we follow the chain through this last region of disease, misery, +and sin, of embodied Discord, and feel, as we must, in the mutilated +affinities of its revolting forms, their fearful relation to this +fair, harmonious creation,--how does the awful fact, in these its +breathing fragments, speak to us of a fallen world! + +As the living centre of this stupendous circle stands the Soul of Man; +the _conscious Reality_, to which the vast inclosure is but the +symbol. How vast, then, his being! If space could measure it, the +remotest star would fall within its limits. Well, then, may he tremble +to essay it even in thought; for where must it carry him,--that winged +messenger, fleeter than light? Where but to the confines of the +Infinite; even to the presence of the unutterable _Life_, on +which nothing finite can look and live? + +Finally, we shall conclude our Discourse with a few words on the +master Principle, which we have supposed to be, by the will of the +Creator, the realizing life to all things fair and true and good: and +more especially would we revert to its spiritual purity, emphatically +manifested through all its manifold operations,--so impossible +of alliance with any thing sordid, or false, or wicked,--so +unapprehensible, even, except for its own most sinless sake. Indeed, +we cannot look upon it as other than the universal and eternal witness +of God's goodness and love, to draw man to himself, and to testify +to the meanest, most obliquitous mind,--at least once in life, be it +though in childhood,--that there _is_ such a thing as _good +without self_. It will be remembered, that, in all the various +examples adduced, in which we have endeavoured to illustrate the +operation of Harmony, there was but one character to all its effects, +whatever the difference in the objects that occasioned them; that it +was ever untinged with any personal taint: and we concluded thence +its supernal source. We may now advance another evidence still more +conclusive of its spiritual origin, namely, in the fact, that it +cannot be realized in the Human Being _quoad_ himself. With the +fullest consciousness of the possession of this principle, and with +the power to realize it in other objects, he has still no power in +relation to himself,--that is, to become the object to himself. + +Now, as the condition of Harmony, so far as we can know it through its +effect, is that of _impletion_, where nothing can be added or +taken away, it is evident that such a condition can never be realized +by the mind in itself. And yet the desire to this end is as evidently +implied in that incessant, yet unsatisfying activity, which, under all +circumstances, is an imperative, universal law of our nature. + +It might seem needless to enlarge on what must be generally felt as an +obvious truth; still, it may not be amiss to offer a few remarks, by +way of bringing it, though a truism, more distinctly before us. In all +ages the majority of mankind have been more or less compelled to some +kind of exertion for their mere subsistence. Like all compulsion, this +has no doubt been considered a hardship. Yet we never find, when by +their own industry, or any fortunate circumstance, they have been +relieved from this exigency, that any one individual has been +contented with doing nothing. Some, indeed, before their liberation, +have conceived of idleness as a kind of synonyme with happiness; but a +short experience has never failed to prove it no less remote from that +desirable state. The most offensive employments, for the want of +a better, have often been resumed, to relieve the mind from the +intolerable load of _nothing_,--the heaviest of all weights,--as +it needs must be to an immortal spirit: for the mind cannot stop, +except it be in a mad-house; there, indeed, it may rest, or rather +stagnate, on one thought,--its little circle, perhaps of misery. From +the very moment of consciousness, the active Principle begins to +busy itself with the things about it: it shows itself in the infant, +stretching its little hands towards the candle; in the schoolboy, +filling up, if alone, his play-hour with the mimic toils of after age; +and so on, through every stage and condition of life; from the wealthy +spend-thrift, beggaring himself at the gaming-table for employment, to +the poor prisoner in the Bastile, who, for the want of something to +occupy his thoughts, overcame the antipathy of his nature, and found +his companion in a spider. Nay, were there need, we might draw out the +catalogue till it darkened with suicide. But enough has been said to +show, that, aside from guilt, a more terrible fiend has hardly been +imagined than the little word Nothing, when embodied and realized as +the master of the mind. And well for the world that it is so; since to +this wise law of our nature, to say nothing of conveniences, we owe +the endless sources of innocent enjoyment with which the industry and +ingenuity of man have supplied us. + +But the wisdom of the law in question is not merely that it is a +preventive to the mind preying on itself; we see in it a higher +purpose,--no less than what involves the developement of the human +being; and, if we look to its final bearing, it is of the deepest +import. It might seem at first a paradox, that, the natural condition +of the mind being averse to inactivity, it should still have so +strong a desire for rest; but a little reflection will show that this +involves no real contradiction. The mind only mistakes the _name_ +of its object, neither rest nor action being its real aim; for in a +state of rest it desires action, and in a state of action, rest. Now +all action supposes a purpose, which purpose can consist of but one +of two things; either the attainment of some immediate object as its +completion, or the causing of one or more future acts, that shall +follow as a consequence. But whether the action terminates in an +immediate object, or serves as the procreating cause of an indefinite +series of acts, it must have some ultimate object in which it +ends,--or is to end. Even supposing such a series of acts to be +continued through a whole life, and yet remain incomplete, it would +not alter the case. It is well known that many such series have +employed the minds of mathematicians and astronomers to their last +hour; nay, that those acts have been taken up by others, and continued +through successive generations: still, whether the point be arrived at +or no, there must have been an end in contemplation. Now no one can +believe that, in similar cases, any man would voluntarily devote all +his days to the adding link after link to an endless chain, for +the mere pleasure of labor. It is true he may be aware of the +wholesomeness of such labor as one of the means of cheerfulness; but, +if he have no further aim, his being aware of this result makes an +equable flow of spirits a positive object. Without _hope_, +uncompelled labor is an impossibility; and hope implies an object. Nor +would the veriest idler, who passes a whole day in whittling a stick, +if he could be brought to look into himself, deny it. So far from +having no object, he would and must acknowledge that he was in +fact hoping to relieve himself of an oppressive portion of time by +whittling away its minutes and hours. Here we have an extreme instance +of that which constitutes the real business of life, from the most +idle to the most industrious; namely, to attain to a _satisfying +state_. + +But no one will assert that such a state was ever a consequence of the +attainment of any object, however exalted. And why? Because the motive +of action is left behind, and we have nothing before us. + +Something to desire, something to look forward to, we _must_ +have, or we perish,--even of suicidal rest. If we find it not here in +the world about us, it must be sought for in another; to which, as we +conceive, that secret ruler of the soul, the inscrutable, ever-present +spirit of Harmony, for ever points. Nor is it essential that the +thought of harmony should even cross the mind; for a want may be +felt without any distinct consciousness of the form of that which is +desired. And, for the most part, it is only in this negative way that +its influence is acknowledged. But this is sufficient to account +for the universal longing, whether definite or indefinite, and the +consequent universal disappointment. + +We have said that man cannot to himself become the object of +Harmony,--that is, find its proper correlative in himself; and we have +seen that, in his present state, the position is true. How is it, +then, in the world of spirit? Who can answer? And yet, perhaps,--if +without irreverence we might hazard the conjecture,--as a finite +creature, having no centre in himself on which to revolve, may it not +be that his true correlative will there be revealed (if, indeed, it be +not before) to the disembodied man, in the Being that made him? And +may it not also follow, that the Principle we speak of will cease to +be potential, and flow out, as it were, and harmonize with the +eternal form of Hope,--even that Hope whose living end is in the +unapproachable Infinite? + +Let us suppose this form of hope to be taken away from an immortal +being who has no self-satisfying power within him, what would be +his condition? A conscious, interminable vacuum, were such a thing +possible, would but faintly image it. Hope, then, though in its nature +unrealizable, is not a mere _notion_; for so long as it continues +hope, it is to the mind an object and an object _to be_ realized; +so, where its form is eternal, it cannot but be to it an ever-during +object. Hence we may conceive of a never-ending approximation to what +can never be realized. + +From this it would appear, that, while we cannot to ourselves become +the object of Harmony, it is nevertheless certain, from the universal +desire _so_ to realize it, that we cannot suppress the continual +impulse of this paramount Principle; which, therefore, as it seems to +us, must have a double purpose; first, by its outward manifestation, +which we all recognize, to confirm its reality, and secondly, to +convince the mind that its true object is not merely out of, but +above, itself,--and only to be found in the Infinite Creator. + + + + +Art. + + + +In treating on Art, which, in its highest sense, and more especially +in relation to Painting and Sculpture, is the subject proposed for +our present examination, the first question that occurs is, In +what consists its peculiar character? or rather, What are the +characteristics that distinguish it from Nature, which it professes to +imitate? + +To this we reply, that Art is characterized,-- + +First, by Originality. + +Secondly, by what we shall call Human or Poetic Truth; which is the +verifying principle by which we recognize the first. + +Thirdly, by Invention; the product of the Imagination, as grounded on +the first, and verified by the second. And, + +Fourthly, by Unity, the synthesis of all. + +As the first step to the right understanding of any discourse is a +clear apprehension of the terms used, we add, that by Originality we +mean any thing (admitted by the mind as _true_) which is peculiar +to the Author, and which distinguishes his production from that of +all others; by Human or Poetic Truth, that which may be said to exist +exclusively in and for the mind, and as contradistinguished from the +truth of things in the natural or external world; by Invention, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of entire objects already known, or by the union and modification +of known but fragmentary parts into new and consistent forms; and, +lastly, by Unity, such an agreement and interdependence of all the +parts, as shall constitute a whole. + +It will be our attempt to show, that, by the presence or absence of +any one of these characteristics, we shall be able to affirm or deny +in respect to the pretension of any object as a work of Art; and also +that we shall find within ourselves the corresponding law, or by +whatever word we choose to designate it, by which each will be +recognized; that is, in the degree proportioned to the developement, +or active force, of the law so judging. + +Supposing the reader to have gone along with us in what has been said of +the _Universal_, in our Preliminary Discourse, and as assenting to the +position, that any faculty, law, or principle, which can be shown to be +_essential_ to _any one_ mind, must necessarily be also predicated of +every other sound mind, even where the particular faculty or law is so +feebly developed as apparently to amount to its absence, in which case +it is inferred potentially,--we shall now assume, on the same grounds, +that the originating _cause_, notwithstanding its apparent absence in +the majority of men, is an essential reality in the condition of the +Human Being; its potential existence in all being of necessity affirmed +from its existence in one. + +Assuming, then, its reality,--or rather leaving it to be evidenced +from its known effects,--we proceed to inquire _in what_ consists +this originating power. + +And, first, as to its most simple form. If it be true, (as we hope to +set forth more at large in a future discourse,) that no two minds were +ever found to be identical, there must then in every individual mind +be _something_ which is not in any other. And, if this unknown +something is also found to give its peculiar hue, so to speak, +to every impression from outward objects, it seems but a natural +inference, that, whatever it be, it _must_ possess a pervading +force over the entire mind,--at least, in relation to what is +external. But, though this may truly be affirmed of man generally, +from its evidence in any one person, we shall be far from the fact, +should we therefore affirm, that, otherwise than potentially, the +power of outwardly manifesting it is also universal. We know that it +is not,--and our daily experience proves that the power of reproducing +or giving out the individualized impressions is widely different in +different men. With some it is so feeble as apparently never to act; +and, so far as our subject is concerned, it may practically be said +not to exist; of which we have abundant examples in other mental +phenomena, where an imperfect activity often renders the existence of +some essential faculty a virtual nullity. When it acts in the higher +decrees, so as to make another see or feel _as_ the Individual +saw or felt,--this, in relation to Art, is what we mean, in its +strictest sense, by Originality. He, therefore, who possesses the +power of presenting to another the _precise_ images or emotions +as they existed in himself, presents that which can be found nowhere +else, and was first found by and within himself; and, however light or +trifling, where these are true as to his own mind, their author is so +far an originator. + +But let us take an example, and suppose two _portraits_; simple +heads, without accessories, that is, with blank backgrounds, such as +we often see, where no attempt is made at composition; and both by +artists of equal talent, employing the same materials, and conducting +their work according to the same technical process. We will also +suppose ourselves acquainted with the person represented, with whom +to compare them. Who, that has ever made a similar comparison, will +expect to find them identical? On the contrary, though in all respects +equal, in execution, likeness, &c., we shall still perceive a certain +_exclusive something_ that will instantly distinguish the one +from the other, and both from the original. And yet they shall both +seem to us true. But they will be true to us also in a double sense; +namely, as to the living original and as to the individuality of +the different painters. Where such is the result, both artists must +originate, inasmuch as they both outwardly realize the individual +image of their distinctive minds. + +Nor can the truth they present be ascribed to the technic process, +which we have supposed the same with each; as, on such a supposition, +with their equal skill, the result must have been identical. No; +by whatever it is that one man's mental impression, or his mode of +thought, is made to differ from another's, it is that something, which +our imaginary artists have here transferred to their pencil, that +makes them different, yet both original. + +Now, whether the medium through which the impressions, conceptions, or +emotions of the mind are thus externally realized be that of colors, +words, or any thing else, this mysterious though certain principle is, +as we believe, the true and only source of all originality. + +In the power of assimilating what is foreign, or external, to our own +particular nature consists the individualizing law, and in the power +of reproducing what is thus modified consists the originating cause. + +Let us turn now to an opposite example,--to a mere mechanical copy of +some natural object, where the marks in question are wholly wanting. +Will any one be truly affected by it? We think not; we do not say that +he will not praise it,--this he may do from various motives; but his +_feeling_--if we may so name the index of the law within--will +not be called forth to any spontaneous correspondence with the object +before him. + +But why talk of feeling, says the pseudo-connoisseur, where we should +only, or at least first, bring knowledge? This is the common cant of +those who become critics for the sake of distinction. Let the Artist +avoid them, if he would not disfranchise himself in the suppression +of that uncompromising _test_ within him, which is the only sure +guide to the truth without. + +It is a poor ambition to desire the office of a judge merely for +the sake of passing sentence. But such an ambition is not likely to +possess a person of true sensibility. There are some, however, in +whom there is no deficiency of sensibility, yet who, either from +self-distrust, or from some mistaken notion of Art, are easily +persuaded to give up a right feeling, in exchange for what they may +suppose to be knowledge,--the barren knowledge of faults; as if there +could be a human production without them! Nevertheless, there is +little to be apprehended from any conventional theory, by one who is +forewarned of its mere negative power,--that it can, at best, only +suppress feeling; for no one ever was, or ever can be, argued into +a real liking for what he has once felt to be false. But, where the +feeling is genuine, and not the mere reflex of a popular notion, so +far as it goes it must be true. Let no one, therefore, distrust it, to +take counsel of his head, when he finds himself standing before a work +of Art. Does he feel its truth? is the only question,--if, indeed, the +impertinence of the understanding should then propound one; which we +think it will not, where the feeling is powerful. To such a one, the +characteristic of Art upon which we are now discoursing will force +its way with the power of light; nor will he ever be in danger of +mistaking a mechanical copy for a living imitation. + +But we sometimes hear of "faithful transcripts," nay, of fac-similes. +If by these be implied neither more nor less than exists in their +originals, they must still, in that case, find their true place in +the dead category of Copy. Yet we need not be detained by any inquiry +concerning the merits of a fac-simile, since we firmly deny that a +fac-simile, in the true sense of the term, is a thing possible. + +That an absolute identity between any natural object and its represented +image is a thing impossible, will hardly be questioned by any one who +thinks, and will give the subject a moment's reflection; and the +difficulty lies in the nature of things, the one being the work of the +Creator, and the other of the creature. We shall therefore assume as a +fact, the eternal and insuperable difference between Art and Nature. That +our pleasure from Art is nevertheless similar, not to say equal, to that +which we derive from Nature, is also a fact established by experience; to +account for which we are necessarily led to the admission of another fact, +namely, that there exists in Art a _peculiar something_ which we receive +as equivalent to the admitted difference. Now, whether we call this +equivalent, individualized truth, or human or poetic truth, it matters +not; we know by its _effects_, that some such principle does exist, and +that it acts upon us, and in a way corresponding to the operation of that +which we call Truth and Life in the natural world. Of the various laws +growing out of this principle, which take the name of Rules when applied +to Art, we shall have occasion to speak in a future discourse. At present +we shall confine ourselves to the inquiry, how far the difference alluded +to may be safely allowed in any work professing to be an imitation of +Nature. + +The fact, that truth may subsist with a very considerable admixture +of falsehood, is too well known to require an argument. However +reprehensible such an admixture may be in morals, it becomes in Art, +from the limited nature of our powers, a matter of necessity. + +For the same reason, even the realizing of a thought, or that which +is properly and exclusively human, must ever be imperfect. If Truth, +then, form but the greater proportion, it is quite as much as we may +reasonably look for in a work of Art. But why, it may be asked, where +the false predominates, do we still derive pleasure? Simply because of +the Truth that remains. If it be further demanded, What is the minimum +of truth in order to a pleasurable effect? we reply, So much only as +will cause us to feel that the truth _exists_. It is this feeling +alone that determines, not only the true, but the degrees of truth, +and consequently the degrees of pleasure. + +Where no such feeling is awakened, and supposing no deficiency in the +recipient, he may safely, from its absence, pronounce the work false; +nor could any ingenious theory of the understanding convince him to +the contrary. He may, indeed, as some are wont to do, make a random +guess, and _call_ the work true; but he can never so _feel_ +it by any effort of reasoning. But may not men differ as to their +impressions of truth? Certainly as to the degrees of it, and in this +according to their sensibility, in which we know that men are not +equal. By sensibility here we mean the power or capacity of receiving +impressions. All men, indeed, with equal organs, may be said in a +certain sense to see alike. But will the same natural object, +conveyed through these organs, leave the same impression? The fact is +otherwise. What, then, causes the difference, if it be not (as before +observed) a peculiar something in the individual mind, that modifies +the image? If so, there must of necessity be in every true work of +Art--if we may venture the expression--another, or distinctive, truth. +To recognize this, therefore,--as we have elsewhere endeavoured to +show,--supposes in the recipient something akin to it. And, though it +be in reality but a _sign_ of life, it is still a sign of which +we no sooner receive the impress, than, by a law of our mind, we feel +it to be acting upon our thoughts and sympathies, without our knowing +how or wherefore. Admitting, therefore, the corresponding instinct, +or whatever else it may be called, to vary in men,--which there is no +reason to doubt,--the solution of their unequal impression appears at +once. Hence it would be no extravagant metaphor, should we affirm that +some persons see more with their minds than others with their eyes. +Nay, it must be obvious to all who are conversant with Art, that +much, if not the greater part, in its higher branches is especially +addressed to this mental vision. And it is very certain, if there were +no truth beyond the reach of the senses, that little would remain to +us of what we now consider our highest and most refined pleasure. + +But it must not be inferred that originality consists in any +contradiction to Nature; for, were this allowed and carried out, it +would bring us to the conclusion, that, the greater the contradiction, +the higher the Art. We insist only on the modification of the natural +by the personal; for Nature is, and ever must be, at least the +sensuous ground of all Art: and where the outward and inward are +so united that we cannot separate them, there shall we find the +perfection of Art. So complete a union has, perhaps, never been +accomplished, and _may_ be impossible; it is certain, however, +that no approach to excellence can ever be made, if the _idea_ of +such a union be not constantly looked to by the artist as his ultimate +aim. Nor can the idea be admitted without supposing a _third_ as +the product of the two,--which we call Art; between which and Nature, +in its strictest sense, there must ever be a difference; indeed, a +_difference with resemblance_ is that which constitutes its +essential condition. + +It has doubtless been observed, that, in this inquiry concerning the +nature and operation of the first characteristic, the presence of the +second, or verifying principle, has been all along implied; nor could +it be otherwise, because of their mutual dependence. Still more will +its active agency be supposed in our examination of the third, namely, +Invention. But before we proceed to that, the paramount index of the +highest art, it may not be amiss to obtain, if possible, some distinct +apprehension of what we have termed Poetic Truth; to which, it will be +remembered, was also prefixed the epithet Human, our object therein +being to prepare the mind, by a single word, for its peculiar sphere; +and we think it applicable also for a more important reason, +namely, that this kind of Truth is the _true ground of the +poetical_,--for in what consists the poetry of the natural world, +if not in the sentiment and reacting life it receives from the human +fancy and affections? And, until it can be shown that sentiment and +fancy are also shared by the brute creation, this seeming effluence +from the beautiful in nature must rightfully revert to man. What, for +instance, can we suppose to be the effect of the purple haze of a +summer sunset on the cows and sheep, or even on the more delicate +inhabitants of the air? From what we know of their habits, we +cannot suppose more than the mere physical enjoyment of its genial +temperature. But how is it with the poet, whom we shall suppose +an object in the same scene, stretched on the same bank with the +ruminating cattle, and basking in the same light that flickers from +the skimming birds. Does he feel nothing more than the genial warmth? +Ask him, and he perhaps will say,--"This is my soul's hour; this +purpled air the heart's atmosphere, melting by its breath the sealed +fountains of love, which the cold commonplace of the world had frozen: +I feel them gushing forth on every thing around me; and how worthy of +love now appear to me these innocent animals, nay, these whispering +leaves, that seem to kiss the passing air, and blush the while at +their own fondness! Surely they are happy, and grateful too that they +are so; for hark! how the little birds send up their song of praise! +and see how the waving trees and waving grass, in mute accordance, +keep time with the hymn!" + +This is but one of the thousand forms in which the human spirit is +wont to effuse itself on the things without, making to the mind a +new and fairer world,--even the shadowing of that which its immortal +craving will sometimes dream of in the unknown future. Nay, there +is scarcely an object so familiar or humble, that its magical touch +cannot invest it with some poetic charm. Let us take an extreme +instance,--a pig in his sty. The painter, Morland, was able to convert +even this disgusting object into a source of pleasure,--and a pleasure +as real as any that is known to the palate. + +Leaving this to have the weight it may be found to deserve, we turn +to the original question; namely, What do we mean by Human or Poetic +Truth? + +When, in respect to certain objects, the effects are found to be +uniformly of the same kind, not only upon ourselves, but also upon +others, we may reasonably infer that the efficient cause is of one +nature, and that its uniformity is a necessary result. And, when we also +find that these effects, though differing in degree, are yet uniform in +their character, while they seem to proceed from objects which in +themselves are indefinitely variant, both in kind and degree, we are +still more forcibly drawn to the conclusion, that the _cause_ is not +only _one_, but not inherent in the object.[2] The question now arises, +What, then, is that which seems to us so like an _alter et idem_,--which +appears to act upon, and is recognized by us, through an animal, a bird, +a tree, and a thousand different, nay, opposing objects, in the same +way, and to the same end? The inference follows of necessity, that the +mysterious cause must be in some general law, which is absolute and +_imperative_ in relation to every such object under certain conditions. +And we receive the solution as true,--because we cannot help it. The +reality, then, of such a law becomes a fixture in the mind. + +But we do not stop here: we would know something concerning the +conditions supposed. And in order to this, we go back to the effect. +And the answer is returned in the form of a question,--May it not +be something _from ourselves_, which is reflected back by the +object,--something with which, as it were, we imbue the object, making +it correspond to a _reality_ within us? Now we recognize the +reality within; we recognize it also in the object,--and the affirming +light flashes upon us, not in the form of _deduction_, but of +inherent Truth, which we cannot get rid of; and we _call_ it +Truth,--for it will take no other name. + +It now remains to discover, so to speak, its location. In what part, +then, of man may this self-evidenced, yet elusive, Truth or power be +said to reside? It cannot be in the senses; for the senses can impart +no more than they receive. Is it, then, in the mind? Here we are +compelled to ask, What is understood by the mind? Do we mean the +understanding? We can trace no relation between the Truth we would +class and the reflective faculties. Or in the moral principle? Surely +not; for we can predicate neither good nor evil by the Truth in +question. Finally, do we find it identified with the truth of +the Spirit? But what is the truth of the Spirit but the Spirit +itself,--the conscious _I_? which is never even thought of in +connection with it. In what form, then, shall we recognize it? In +its own,--the form of Life,--the life of the Human Being; that +self-projecting, realizing power, which is ever present, ever acting +and giving judgment on the instant on all things corresponding with +its inscrutable self. We now assign it a distinctive epithet, and call +it Human. + +It is a common saying, that there is more in a name than we are apt +to imagine. And the saying is not without reason; for when the name +happens to be the true one, being proved in its application, it +becomes no unimportant indicator as to the particular offices for +which the thing named was designed. So we find it with respect to the +Truth of which we speak; its distinctive epithet marking out to us, as +its sphere of action, the mysterious intercourse between man and man; +whether the medium consist in words or colors, in thought or form, or +in any thing else on which the human agent may impress, be it in a +sign only, his own marvellous life. As to the process or _modus +operandi_, it were a vain endeavour to seek it out: that divine +secret must ever to man be an humbling darkness. It is enough for him +to know that there is that within him which is ever answering to that +without, as life to life,--which must be life, and which must be true. + +We proceed now to the third characteristic. It has already been +stated, in the general definition, what we would be understood to mean +by the term Invention, in its particular relation to Art; namely, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of forms already known, or by the union and modification of known +but fragmentary parts into a new and consistent whole: in both cases +tested by the two preceding characteristics. + +We shall consider first that division of the subject which stands first +in order,--the Invention which consists in the new combination of known +forms. This may be said to be governed by its exclusive relation either +to _what is_, or _has been_, or, when limited by the _probable_, to what +strictly may be. It may therefore be distinguished by the term Natural. +But though we so name it, inasmuch as all its forms have their +prototypes in the Actual, it must still be remembered that these +existing forms do substantially constitute no more than mere _parts_ to +be combined into a _whole_, for which Nature has provided no original. +For examples in this, the most comprehensive class, we need not refer +to any particular school; they are to be found in all and in every +gallery: from the histories of Raffaelle, the landscapes of Claude and +Poussin and others, to the familiar scenes of Jan Steen, Ostade, and +Brower. In each of these an adherence to the actual, if not strictly +observed, is at least supposed in all its parts; not so in the whole, as +that relates to the probable; by which we mean such a result as _would +be_ true, were the same combination to occur in nature. Nor must we be +understood to mean, by adherence to the actual, that one part is to be +taken for an exact portrait; we mean only such an imitation as precludes +an intentional deviation from already existing and known forms. + +It must be very obvious, that, in classing together any of the +productions of the artists above named, it cannot be intended to +reduce them to a level; such an attempt (did our argument require it) +must instantly revolt the common sense and feeling of every one at all +acquainted with Art. And therefore, perhaps, it may be thought that +their striking difference, both in kind and degree, might justly call +for some further division. But admitting, as all must, a wide, nay, +almost impassable, interval between the familiar subjects of the lower +Dutch and Flemish painters, and the higher intellectual works of the +great Italian masters, we see no reason why they may not be left to +draw their own line of demarcation as to their respective provinces, +even as is every day done by actual objects; which are all equally +natural, though widely differenced as well in kind as in quality. It +is no degradation to the greatest genius to say of him and of the most +unlettered boor, that they are both men. + +Besides, as a more minute division would be wholly irrelevant to the +present purpose, we shall defer the examination of their individual +differences to another occasion. In order, however, more distinctly to +exhibit their common ground of Invention, we will briefly examine a +picture by Ostade, and then compare it with one by Raffaelle, than +whom no two artists could well be imagined having less in common. + +The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of Ostade's work, +presenting something between a kitchen and a stable. Its principal +object is the carcass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry; +subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; the accessories, +various garments, pots, kettles, and other culinary utensils. + +The bare enumeration of these coarse materials would naturally +predispose the mind of one, unacquainted with the Dutch school, to +expect any thing but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would +seem to be the only possible impression from a picture composed of +such ingredients. And such, indeed, would be their effect under the +hand of any but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and follow +Ostade's _mind_, as it leaves its impress on the several objects. +Observe how he spreads his principal light, from the suspended carcass +to the surrounding objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable +shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there to an earthen +pot; then connecting it, by the flash from a brass kettle, with his +second light, the woman and child; and again turning the eye into +the dark recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old baskets, +roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a glimpse of sunshine, from +a half-open window, gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and +sending it back to the principal object, which now seems to act on the +mind as the luminous source of all these diverging lights. But the +magical whole is not yet completed; the mystery of color has been +called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that we can hardly +separate them; at least, until their united effect has first been +felt, and after we have begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even +then we cannot long proceed before we find the charm returning; as we +pass from the blaze of light on the carcass, where all the tints of +the prism seem to be faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the +dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose awhile on the white +cap and kerchief of the nursing mother; then we are roused again by +the flickering strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and +red petticoat; then the strife is softened by the low yellow of a +straw-bottomed chair; and thus with alternating excitement and repose +do we travel through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses +the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic dream. Now +all this will no doubt appear to many, if not absurd, at least +exaggerated: but not so to those who have ever felt the sorcery of +color. They, we are sure, will be the last to question the character +of the feeling because of the ingredients which worked the spell, +and, if true to themselves, they must call it poetry. Nor will they +consider it any disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to say +of Ostade that he also was an Artist. + +We turn now to a work of the great Italian,--the Death of Ananias. +The scene is laid in a plain apartment, which is wholly devoid of +ornament, as became the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. +The Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to transact the +temporal business of the Church, and are standing together on a +slightly elevated platform, about which, in various attitudes, some +standing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous assemblage of +their new converts, male and female. This quiet assembly (for we still +feel its quietness in the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly +roused by the sudden fall of one of their brethren; some of them turn +and see him struggling in the agonies of death. A moment before he was +in the vigor of life,--as his muscular limbs still bear evidence; +but he had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his frame is +convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we doubt for a moment as to the +awful cause: it is almost expressed in voice by those nearest to +him, and, though varied by their different temperaments, by terror, +astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice has yet but one +meaning,--"Ananias has lied to the Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as +if audible to the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his doom, +and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle marks him the judge; yet +not of himself,--for neither his attitude, air, nor expression has +any thing in unison with the impetuous Peter,--he is now the simple, +passive, yet awful instrument of the Almighty: while another on the +right, with equal calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated +arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate of the entering +Sapphira. Yet all is not done; lest a question remain, the Apostle on +the left confirms the judgment. No one can mistake what passes within +him; like one transfixed in adoration, his uplifted eyes seem to ray +out his soul, as if in recognition of the divine tribunal. But the +overpowering thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the human +sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, connecting the past with +the present, seem almost to articulate, "Alas, my brother!" By this +exquisite turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle almoner of the +Church, who is dealing out their portions to the needy brethren. And +here, as most remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering seems +not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of repose,--not to pass by, +but to linger upon, till we feel its quiet influence diffusing itself +over the whole mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved +Disciple, we find it leading us back through the exciting scene, +modifying even our deepest emotions with a kindred tranquillity. + +This is Invention; we have not moved a step through the picture but at +the will of the Artist. He invented the chain which we have followed, +link by link, through every emotion, assimilating many into one; and +this is the secret by which he prepared us, without exciting horror, +to contemplate the struggle of mortal agony. + +This too is Art; and the highest art, when thus the awful power, +without losing its character, is tempered, as it were, to our +mysterious desires. In the work of Ostade, we see the same inventive +power, no less effective, though acting through the medium of the +humblest materials. + +We have now exhibited two pictures, and by two painters who may be +said to stand at opposite poles. And yet, widely apart as are their +apparent stations, they are nevertheless tenants of the same ground, +namely, actual nature; the only difference being, that one is +the sovereign of the purely physical, the other of the moral and +intellectual, while their common medium is the catholic ground of the +imagination. + +We do not fear either skeptical demur or direct contradiction, when +we assert that the imagination is as much the medium of the homely +Ostade, as of the refined Raffaelle. For what is that, which has just +wrapped us as in a spell when we entered his humble cottage,--which, +as we wandered through it, invested the coarsest object with a +strange charm? Was it the _truth_ of these objects that we there +acknowledged? In part, certainly, but not simply the truth that +belongs to their originals; it was the truth of his own individual +mind superadded to that of nature, nay, clothed upon besides by his +imagination, imbuing it with all the poetic hues which float in the +opposite regions of night and day, and which only a poet can mingle +and make visible in one pervading atmosphere. To all this our own +minds, our own imaginations, respond, and we pronounce it true to +both. We have no other rule, and well may the artists of every age and +country thank the great Lawgiver that there _is no other_. The +despised _feeling_ which the schools have scouted is yet the +mother of that science of which they vainly boast. But of this we may +have more to say in another place. + +We shall now ascend from the _probable_ to the _possible_, +to that branch of Invention whose proper office is from the known but +fragmentary to realize the unknown; in other words, to embody the +possible, having its sphere of action in the world of Ideas. To this +class, therefore, may properly be assigned the term _Ideal_. + +And here, as being its most important scene, it will be necessary to +take a more particular view of the verifying principle, the agent, so +to speak, that gives reality to the inward, when outwardly manifested. + +Now, whether we call this Human or Poetic Truth, or _inward +life_, it matters not; we know by _its effects_, (as we have +already said, and we now repeat,) that some such principle does exist, +and that it acts upon us, and in a way analogous to the operation of +that which we call truth and life in the world about us. And that the +cause of this analogy is a real affinity between the two powers seems +to us confirmed, not only _positively_ by this acknowledged +fact, but also _negatively_ by the absence of the effect above +mentioned in all those productions of the mind which we pronounce +unnatural. It is therefore in effect, or _quoad_ ourselves, both +truth and life, addressed, if we may use the expression, to that +inscrutable _instinct_ of the imagination which conducts us to +the knowledge of all invisible realities. + +A distinct apprehension of the reality and of the office of this +important principle, we cannot but think, will enable us to ascertain +with some degree of precision, at least so far as relates to art, +the true limits of the Possible,--the sphere, as premised, of Ideal +Invention. + +As to what some have called our _creative_ powers, we take it +for granted that no correct thinker has ever applied such expressions +literally. Strictly speaking, we can _make_ nothing: we can +only construct. But how vast a theatre is here laid open to the +constructive powers of the finite creature; where the physical eye is +permitted to travel for millions and millions of miles, while that of +the mind may, swifter than light, follow out the journey, from star to +star, till it falls back on itself with the humbling conviction that +the measureless journey is then but begun! It is needless to dwell on +the immeasurable mass of materials which a world like this may supply +to the Artist. + +The very thought of its vastness darkens into wonder. Yet how much +deeper the wonder, when the created mind looks into itself, and +contemplates the power of impressing its thoughts on all things +visible; nay, of giving the likeness of life to things inanimate; and, +still more marvellous, by the mere combination of words or colors, of +evolving into shape its own Idea, till some unknown form, having no +type in the actual, is made to seem to us an organized being. When +such is the result of any unknown combination, then it is that we +achieve the Possible. And here the Realizing Principle may strictly be +said to prove itself. + +That such an effect should follow a cause which we know to be purely +imaginary, supposes, as we have said, something in ourselves which +holds, of necessity, a predetermined relation to every object either +outwardly existing or projected from the mind, which we thus recognize +as true. If so, then the Possible and the Ideal are convertible terms; +having their existence, _ab initio_, in the nature of the mind. +The soundness of this inference is also supported negatively, as just +observed, by the opposite result, as in the case of those fantastic +combinations, which we sometimes meet with both in Poetry and +Painting, and which we do not hesitate to pronounce unnatural, that +is, false. + +And here we would not be understood as implying the preëxistence of +all possible forms, as so many _patterns_, but only of that +constructive Power which imparts its own Truth to the unseen +_real_, and, under certain conditions, reflects the image or +semblance of its truth on all things imagined; and which must be +assumed in order to account for the phenomena presented in the +frequent coincident effect between the real and the feigned. Nor does +the absence of consciousness in particular individuals, as to this +Power in themselves, fairly affect its universality, at least +potentially: since by the same rule there would be equal ground for +denying the existence of any faculty of the mind which is of slow or +gradual developement; all that we may reasonably infer in such cases +is, that the whole mind is not yet revealed to itself. In some of the +greatest artists, the inventive powers have been of late developement; +as in Claude, and the sculptor Falconet. And can any one believe that, +while the latter was hewing his master's marble, and the former making +pastry, either of them was conscious of the sublime Ideas which +afterwards took form for the admiration of the world? When Raffaelle, +then a youth, was selected to execute the noble works which now live +on the walls of the Vatican, "he had done little or nothing," says +Reynolds, "to justify so high a trust." Nor could he have been +certain, from what he knew of himself, that he was equal to the task. +He could only hope to succeed; and his hope was no doubt founded on +his experience of the progressive developement of his mind in former +efforts; rationally concluding, that the originally seeming blank +from which had arisen so many admirable forms was still teeming with +others, that only wanted the occasion, or excitement, to come forth at +his bidding. + +To return to that which, as the interpreting medium of his thoughts +and conceptions, connects the artist with his fellow-men, we remark, +that only on the ground of some self-realizing power, like what +we have termed Poetic Truth, could what we call the Ideal ever be +intelligible. + +That some such power is inherent and fundamental in our nature, though +differenced in individuals by more or less activity, seems more +especially confirmed in this latter branch of the subject, where the +phenomena presented are exclusively of the Possible. Indeed, we cannot +conceive how without it there could ever be such a thing as true Art; +for what might be received as such in one age might also be overruled +in the next: as we know to be the case with most things depending on +opinion. But, happily for Art, if once established on this immutable +base, there it must rest: and rest unchanged, amidst the endless +fluctuations of manners, habits, and opinions; for its truth of +a thousand years is as the truth of yesterday. Hence the beings +described by Homer, Shakspeare, and Milton are as true to us now, as +the recent characters of Scott. Nor is it the least characteristic +of this important Truth, that the only thing needed for its full +reception is simply its presence,--being its own evidence. + +How otherwise could such a being as Caliban ever be true to us? We have +never seen his race; nay, we knew not that such a creature _could_ +exist, until he started upon us from the mind of Shakspeare. Yet who +ever stopped to ask if he were a real being? His existence to the mind +is instantly felt;--not as a matter of faith, but of fact, and a fact, +too, which the imagination cannot get rid of if it would, but which must +ever remain there, verifying itself, from the first to the last moment +of consciousness. From whatever point we view this singular creature, +his reality is felt. His very language, his habits, his feelings, +whenever they recur to us, are all issues from a living thing, acting +upon us, nay, forcing the mind, in some instances, even to speculate on +his nature, till it finds itself classing him in the chain of being as +the intermediate link between man and the brute. And this we do, not by +an ingenious effort, but almost by involuntary induction; for we +perceive speech and intellect, and yet without a soul. What but an +intellectual brute could have uttered the imprecations of Caliban? They +would not be natural in man, whether savage or civilized. Hear him, in +his wrath against Prospero and Miranda:-- + + "A wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed + With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, + Light on you both!" + +The wild malignity of this curse, fierce as it is, yet wants the moral +venom, the devilish leaven, of a consenting spirit: it is all but +human. + +To this we may add a similar example, from our own art, in the Puck, +or Robin Goodfellow, of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Who can look at this +exquisite little creature, seated on its toadstool cushion, and not +acknowledge its prerogative of life,--that mysterious influence which +in spite of the stubborn understanding masters the mind,--sending +it back to days long past, when care was but a dream, and its most +serious business a childish frolic? But we no longer think of +childhood as the past, still less as an abstraction; we see it +embodied before us, in all its mirth and fun and glee; and the grave +man becomes again a child, to feel as a child, and to follow the +little enchanter through all his wiles and never-ending labyrinth of +pranks. What can be real, if that is not which so takes us out of +our present selves, that the weight of years falls from us as a +garment,--that the freshness of life seems to begin anew, and the +heart and the fancy, resuming their first joyous consciousness, to +launch again into this moving world, as on a sunny sea, whose pliant +waves yield to the touch, yet, sparkling and buoyant, carry them +onward in their merry gambols? Where all the purposes of reality are +answered, if there be no philosophy in admitting, we see no wisdom in +disputing it. + +Of the immutable nature of this peculiar Truth, we have a like +instance in the Farnese Hercules; the work of the Grecian sculptor +Glycon,--we had almost said his immortal offspring. Since the time of +its birth, cities and empires, even whole nations, have disappeared, +giving place to others, more or less barbarous or civilized; yet these +are as nothing to the countless revolutions which have marked +the interval in the manners, habits, and opinions of men. Is it +reasonable, then, to suppose that any thing not immutable in its +nature could possibly have withstood such continual fluctuation? +But how have all these changes affected this _visible image of +Truth_? In no wise; not a jot; and because what is _true_ is +independent of opinion: it is the same to us now as it was to the men +of the dust of antiquity. The unlearned spectator of the present day +may not, indeed, see in it the Demigod of Greece; but he can never +mistake it for a mere exaggeration of the human form; though of mortal +mould, he cannot doubt its possession of more than mortal powers; he +feels its _essential life_, for he feels before it as in the +stirring presence of a superior being. + +Perhaps the attempt to give form and substance to a pure Idea was +never so perfectly accomplished as in this wonderful figure. Who has +ever seen the ocean in repose, in its awful sleep, that smooths it +like glass, yet cannot level its unfathomed swell? So seems to us the +repose of this tremendous personification of strength: the laboring +eye heaves on its slumbering sea of muscles, and trembles like a skiff +as it passes over them: but the silent intimations of the spirit +beneath at length become audible; the startled imagination hears it +in its rage, sees it in motion, and sees its resistless might in +the passive wrecks that follow the uproar. And this from a piece of +marble, cold, immovable, lifeless! Surely there is that in man, which +the senses cannot reach, nor the plumb of the understanding sound. + +Let us turn now to the Apollo called Belvedere. In this supernal +being, the human form seems to have been assumed as if to make visible +the harmonious confluence of the pure ideas of grace, fleetness, and +majesty; nor do we think it too fanciful to add celestial splendor; +for such, in effect, are the thoughts which crowd, or rather rush, +into the mind on first beholding it. Who that saw it in what may be +called the place of its glory, the Gallery of Napoleon, ever thought +of it as a man, much less as a statue; but did not feel rather as if +the vision before him were of another world,--of one who had just +lighted on the earth, and with a step so ethereal, that the next +instant he would vault into the air? If I may be permitted to recall +the impression which it made on myself, I know not that I could better +describe it than as a sudden intellectual flash, filling the whole +mind with light,--and light in motion. It seemed to the mind what the +first sight of the sun is to the senses, as it emerges from the ocean; +when from a point of light the whole orb at once appears to bound from +the waters, and to dart its rays, as by a visible explosion, through +the profound of space. But, as the deified Sun, how completely is the +conception verified in the thoughts that follow the effulgent original +and its marble counterpart! Perennial youth, perennial brightness, +follow them both. Who can imagine the old age of the sun? As soon +may we think of an old Apollo. Now all this may be ascribed to the +imagination of the beholder. Granted,--yet will it not thus be +explained away. For that is the very faculty addressed by every work +of Genius,--whose nature is _suggestive_; and only when it +excites to or awakens congenial thoughts and emotions, filling the +imagination with corresponding images, does it attain its proper end. +The false and the commonplace can never do this. + +It were easy to multiply similar examples; the bare mention of a +single name in modern art might conjure up a host,--the name of +Michael Angelo, the mighty sovereign of the Ideal, than whom no one +ever trod so near, yet so securely, the dizzy brink of the Impossible. + +Of Unity, the fourth and last characteristic, we shall say but little; +for we know in truth little or nothing of the law which governs +it: indeed, all that we know but amounts to this,--that, wherever +existing, it presents to the mind the Idea of a Whole,--which is +itself a mystery. For what answer can we give to the question, What +is a Whole? If we reply, That which has neither more nor less than it +ought to have, we do not advance a step towards a definite notion; for +the _rule_ (if there be one) is yet undiscovered, by which +to measure either the too much or the too little. Nevertheless, +incomprehensible as it certainly is, it is what the mind will not +dispense with in a work of Art; nay, it will not concede even a right +to the name to any production where this is wanting. Nor is it a sound +objection, that we also receive pleasure from many things which seem +to us fragmentary; for instance, from actual views in Nature,--as we +shall hope to show in another place. It is sufficient at present, +that, in relation to Art, the law of the imagination demands a whole; +in order to which not a single part must be felt to be wanting; all +must be there, however imperfectly rendered; nay, such is the craving +of this active faculty, that, be they but mere hints, it will often +fill them out to the desired end; the only condition being, that the +part hinted be founded in truth. It is well known to artists, that a +sketch, consisting of little more than hints, will frequently produce +the desired effect, and by the same means,--the hints being true so +far as expressed, and without an hiatus. But let the artist attempt to +_finish_ his sketch, that is, to fill out the parts, and suppose +him deficient in the necessary skill, the consequence must be, that +the true hints, becoming transformed to elaborate falsehoods, will +be all at variance, while the revolted imagination turns away with +disgust. Nor is this a thing of rare occurrence: indeed, he is a most +fortunate artist, who has never had to deplore a well-hinted whole +thus reduced to fragments. + +These are facts; from which we may learn, that with less than a whole, +either already wrought, or so indicated that the excited imagination +can of itself complete it, no genuine response will ever be given to +any production of man. And we learn from it also this twofold truth; +first, that the Idea of a Whole contains in itself a preëxisting law; +and, secondly, that Art, the peculiar product of the Imagination, is +one of its true and predetermined ends. + +As to its practical application, it were fruitless to speculate. It +applies itself, even as truth, both in action and reaction, verifying +itself: and our minds submit, as if it had said, There is nothing +wanting; so, in the converse, its dictum is absolute when it announces +a deficiency. + +To return to the objection, that we often receive pleasure from many +things in Nature which seem to us fragmentary, we observe, that nothing in +Nature can be fragmentary, except in the seeming, and then, too, to the +understanding only,--to the feelings never; for a grain of sand, no less +than a planet, being an essential part of that mighty whole which we call +the universe, cannot be separated from the Idea of the world without a +positive act of the reflective faculties, an act of volition; but until +then even a grain of sand cannot cease to imply it. To the mere +understanding, indeed, even the greatest extent of actual objects which +the finite creature can possibly imagine must ever fall short of the vast +works of the Creator. Yet we nevertheless can, and do, apprehend the +existence of the universe. Now we would ask here, whether the influence of +a _real_,--and the epithet here is not unimportant,--whether the influence +of a real Whole is at no time felt without an act of consciousness, that +is, without thinking of a whole. Is this impossible? Is it altogether out +of experience? We have already shown (as we think) that no _unmodified +copy_ of actual objects, whether single or multifarious, ever satisfies +the imagination,--which imperatively demands a something more, or at least +different. And yet we often find that the very objects from which these +copies are made _do_ satisfy us. How and why is this? A question more +easily put than answered. We may suggest, however, what appears to us a +clew, that in abler hands may possibly lead to its solution; namely, the +fact, that, among the innumerable emotions of a pleasurable kind derived +from the actual, there is not one, perhaps, which is strictly confined to +the objects before us, and which we do not, either directly or indirectly, +refer to something beyond and not present. Now have we at all times a +distinct consciousness of the things referred to? Are they not rather more +often vague, and only indicated in some _undefined_ feeling? Nay, is its +source more intelligible where the feeling is more definite, when taking +the form of a sense of harmony, as from something that diffuses, yet +deepens, unbroken in its progress through endless variations, the melody +as it were of the pleasurable object? Who has never felt, under certain +circumstances, an expansion of the heart, an elevation of mind, nay, a +striving of the whole being to pass its limited bounds, for which he could +find no adequate solution in the objects around him,--the apparent cause? +Or who can account for every mood that thralls him,--at times like one +entranced in a dream by airs from Paradise,--at other times steeped in +darkness, when the spirit of discord seems to marshal his every thought, +one against another? + +Whether it be that the Living Principle, which permeates all things +throughout the physical world, cannot be touched in a single point +without conducting to its centre, its source, and confluence, thus +giving by a part, though obscurely and indefinitely, a sense of the +whole,--we know not. But this we may venture to assert, and on no +improbable ground,--that a ray of light is not more continuously +linked in its luminous particles than our moral being with the +whole moral universe. If this be so, may it not give us, in a faint +shadowing at least, some intimation of the many real, though unknown +relations, which everywhere surround and bear upon us? In the deeper +emotions, we have, sometimes, what seems to us a fearful proof of it. +But let us look at it negatively; and suppose a case where this chain +is broken,--of a human being who is thus cut off from all possible +sympathies, and shut up, as it were, in the hopeless solitude of +his own mind. What is this horrible avulsion, this impenetrable +self-imprisonment, but the appalling state of _despair?_ And what +if we should see it realized in some forsaken outcast, and hear his +forlorn cry, "Alone! alone!" while to his living spirit that single +word is all that is left him to fill the blank of space? In such a +state, the very proudest autocrat would yearn for the sympathy of the +veriest wretch. + +It would seem, then, since this living cement which is diffused +through nature, binding all things in one, so that no part can be +contemplated that does not, of necessity, even though unconsciously to +us, act on the mind with reference to the whole,--since this, as we +find, cannot be transferred to any copy of the actual, it must needs +follow, if we would imitate Nature in its true effects, that recourse +must be had to another, though similar principle, which shall so +pervade our production as to satisfy the mind with an efficient +equivalent. Now, in order to this there are two conditions required: +first, the personal modification, (already discussed) of every +separate part,--which may be considered as its proper life; and, +secondly, the uniting of the parts by such an interdependence that +they shall appear to us as essential, one to another, and all to each. +When this is done, the result is a whole. But how do we obtain +this mutual dependence? We refer the questioner to the law of +Harmony,--that mysterious power, which is only apprehended by its +imperative effect. + +But, be the above as it may, we know it to be a fact, that, whilst +nothing in Nature ever affects us as fragmentary, no unmodified copy +of her by man is ever felt by us as otherwise. + +We have thus--and, we trust, on no fanciful ground--endeavoured to +establish the real and distinctive character of Art. And, if our +argument be admitted, it will be found to have brought us to the +following conclusions:--first, that the true ground of all originality +lies in the _individualizing law_, that is, in that modifying +power, which causes the difference between man and man as to their +mental impressions; secondly, that only in a _true_ reproduction +consists its evidence; thirdly, that in the involuntary response from +other minds lies the truth of the evidence; fourthly, that in order +to this response there must therefore exist some universal kindred +principle, which is essential to the human mind, though widely +differenced in the degree of its activity in different individuals; +and finally, that this principle, which we have here denominated +Human or Poetic Truth, being independent both of the will and of the +reflective faculties, is in its nature _imperative_, to affirm +or deny, in relation to every production pretending to Art, from the +simple imitation of the actual to the probable, and from the probable +to the possible;--in one word, that the several characteristics, +Originality, Poetic Truth, Invention, each imply a something not +inherent in the objects imitated, but which must emanate alone from +the mind of the Artist. + +And here it may be well to notice an apparent objection, that will +probably occur to many, especially among painters. How, then, they may +ask, if the principle in question be universal and imperative, do we +account for the mistakes which even great Artists have sometimes made +as to the realizing of their conceptions? We hope to show, that, so +far from opposing, the very fact on which the objection is grounded +will be found, on the contrary, to confirm our doctrine. Were such +mistakes uniformly permanent, they might, perhaps, have a rational +weight; but that this is not the case is clearly evident from the +additional fact of the change in the Artist's judgment, which almost +invariably follows any considerable interval of time. Nay, should +a case occur where a similar mistake is never rectified,--which is +hardly probable,--we might well consider it as one of those exceptions +that prove the rule,--of which we have abundant examples in other +relations, where a true principle is so feebly developed as to be +virtually excluded from the sphere of consciousness, or, at least, +where its imperfect activity is for all practical purposes a mere +nullity. But, without supposing any mental weakness, the case may +be resolved by the no less formidable obstacle of a too inveterate +memory: and there have been such,--where a thought or an image once +impressed is never erased. In Art it is certainly an advantage to be +able sometimes to forget. Nor is this a new notion; for Horace, it +seems, must have had the same, or he would hardly have recommended so +long a time as nine years for the revision of a poem. That Titian +also was not unaware of the advantage of forgetting is recorded by +Boschini, who relates, that, during the progress of a work, he was +in the habit of occasionally turning it to the wall, until it had +somewhat faded from his memory, so that, on resuming his labor, he +might see with fresh eyes; when (to use his expression) he would +criticize the picture with as much severity as his worst enemy. If, +instead of the picture on the canvas, Boschini had referred to that in +his mind, as what Titian sought to forget, he would have been, as +we think, more correct. This practice is not uncommon with Artists, +though few, perhaps, are aware of its real object. + +It has doubtless the appearance of a singular anomaly in the judgment, +that it should not always be as correct in relation to our own works +as to those of another. Yet nothing is more common than perfect truth +in the one case, and complete delusion in the other. Our surprise, +however, would be sensibly diminished, if we considered that the +reasoning or reflective faculties have nothing to do with either case. +It is the Principle of which we have been speaking, the life, or truth +within, answering to the life, or rather its sign, before us, that +here sits in judgment. Still the question remains unanswered; and +again we are asked, Why is it that our own works do not always respond +with equal veracity? Simply because we do not always _see_ +them,--that is, as they are,--but, looking as it were _through +them_, see only their originals in the mind; the mind here acting, +instead of being acted upon. And thus it is, that an Artist may +suppose his conception realized, while that which gave life to it in +his mind is outwardly wanting. But let time erase, as we know it often +does, the mental image, and its embodied representative will then +appear to its author as it is,--true or false. There is one case, +however, where the effect cannot deceive; namely, where it comes upon +us as from a foreign source; where our own seems no longer ours. This, +indeed, is rare; and powerful must be the pictured Truth, that, as +soon as embodied, shall thus displace its own original. + +Nor does it in any wise affect the essential nature of the Principle +in question, or that of the other Characteristics, that the effect +which follows is not always of a pleasurable kind; it may even be +disagreeable. What we contend for is simply its _reality_; the +character of the perception, like that of every other truth, depending +on the individual character of the percipient. The common truth of +existence in a living person, for instance, may be to us either a +matter of interest or indifference, nay, even of disgust. So also may +it be with what is true in Art. Temperament, ignorance, cultivation, +vulgarity, and refinement have all, in a greater or less degree, an +influence in our impressions; so that any reality may be to us either +an offence or a pleasure, yet still a reality. In Art, as in Nature, +the True is imperative, and must be _felt_, even where a timid, a +proud, or a selfish motive refuses to acknowledge it. + +These last remarks very naturally lead us to another subject, and one +of no minor importance; we mean, the education of an Artist; on this, +however, we shall at present add but a few words. We use the word +_education_ in its widest sense, as involving not only the growth +and expansion of the intellect, but a corresponding developement of +the moral being; for the wisdom of the intellect is of little worth, +if it be not in harmony with the higher spiritual truth. Nor will a +moderate, incidental cultivation suffice to him who would become a +great Artist. He must sound no less than the full depths of his being +ere he is fitted for his calling; a calling in its very condition +lofty, demanding an agent by whom, from the actual, living world, is +to be wrought an imagined consistent world of Art,--not fantastic, +or objectless, but having a purpose, and that purpose, in all its +figments, a distinct relation to man's nature, and all that pertains +to it, from the humblest emotion to the highest aspiration; the circle +that bounds it being that only which bounds his spirit,--even the +confines of that higher world, where ideal glimpses of angelic forms +are sometimes permitted to his sublimated vision. Art may, in truth, +be called the _human world_; for it is so far the work of man, +that his beneficent Creator has especially endowed him with the powers +to construct it; and, if so, surely not for his mere amusement, but +as a part (small though it be) of that mighty plan which the Infinite +Wisdom has ordained for the evolution of the human spirit; whereby is +intended, not alone the enlargement of his sphere of pleasure, but of +his higher capacities of adoration;--as if, in the gift, he had said +unto man, Thou shalt know me by the powers I have given thee. The +calling of an Artist, then, is one of no common responsibility; and it +well becomes him to consider at the threshold, whether he shall assume +it for high and noble purposes, or for the low and licentious. + + + + +Form. + + + +The subject proposed for the following discourse is the Human Form; a +subject, perhaps, of all others connected with Art, the most obscured +by vague theories. It is one, at least, of such acknowledged +difficulty as to constrain the writer to confess, that he enters +upon it with more distrust than hope of success. Should he succeed, +however, in disencumbering this perplexed theme of some of its useless +dogmas, it will be quite as much as he has allowed himself to expect. + +The object, therefore, of the present attempt will be to show, first, +that the notion of one or more standard Forms, which shall in all +cases serve as exemplars, is essentially false, and of impracticable +application for any true purpose of Art; secondly, that the only +approach to Science, which the subject admits, is in a few general +rules relating to Stature, and these, too, serving rather as +convenient _expedients_ than exact guides, inasmuch as, in most +cases, they allow of indefinite variations; and, thirdly, that +the only efficient Rule must be found in the Artist's mind,--in +those intuitive Powers, which are above, and beyond, both the senses +and the understanding; which, nevertheless, are so far from precluding +knowledge, as, on the contrary, to require, as their effective +condition, the widest intimacy with the things external,--without +which their very existence must remain unknown to the Artist himself. + +Supposing, then, certain standard Forms to have been admitted, it may +not be amiss to take a brief view of the nature of the Being to whom +they are intended to be applied; and to consider them more especially +as auxiliaries to the Artist. + +In the first place, we observe, that the purpose of Art is not to +represent any given number of men, but the Human Race; and so that the +representation shall affect us, not indeed as living to the senses, +but as true to the mind. In order to this, there must be _all_ in +the imitation (though it be but hinted) which the mind will recognize +as true to the human being: hence the first business of the Artist is +to become acquainted with his subject in all its properties. He then +naturally inquires, what is its general characteristic; and his own +consciousness informs him, that, besides an animal nature, there is +also a moral intelligence, and that they together form the man. This +important truism (we say important, for it seems to have been +not seldom overlooked) makes the foundation of all his future +observations; nor can he advance a step without continual reference +to this double nature. We find him accordingly in the daily habit of +mentally distinguishing this person from that, as a moral being, and +of assigning to each a separate character; and this not voluntarily, +but simply because he cannot avoid it. Yet, by what does he presume +to judge of strangers? He will probably answer, By their general +exterior. And what is the inference? There can be but one; namely, +that there must be--at least to him--some efficient correspondence +between the physical and the moral. This is so plain, that the wonder +is, how it ever came to be doubted. Nor is it directly denied, except +by those who from habitual disgust reject the guesswork of the various +pretenders to scientific systems; yet even these, no less than others, +do practically admit it in their common intercourse with the world. +And it cannot be otherwise; for what the Creator has joined must have +some affinity, although the palpable signs may elude our cognizance. +And that they do elude it, except perhaps in a very slight degree, +is actually the case, as is well proved by the signal failure of all +attempts to reduce them to a science; for neither diagram nor axiom +has ever yet corrected an instinctive impression. But man does not +live by science; he feels, acts, and judges right in a thousand things +without the consciousness of any rule by which he so feels, acts, or +judges. And, happily for him, he has a surer guide than human science +in that unknown Power within him,--without which he had been without +knowledge. But of this we shall have occasion to speak again in +another part of our discourse. + +Though the medium through which the soul acts be, as we have said, elusive +to the senses,--in so far as to be irreducible to any distinct form,--it +is not therefore the less real, as every one may verify by his own +experience; and, though seemingly invisible, it must nevertheless, +constituted as we are, act through the physical, and a physical medium +expressly constructed for its peculiar action; nay, it does this +continually, without our confounding for a moment the soul with its +instrument. Who can look into the human eye, and doubt of an influence not +of the body? The form and color leave but a momentary impression, or, if +we remember them, it is only as we remember the glass through which we +have read the dark problems of the sky. But in this mysterious organ we +see not even the signs of its mystery. We see, in truth, nothing; for what +is there has neither form, nor symbol, nor any thing reducible to a +sensuous distinctness; and yet who can look into it, and not be conscious +of a real though invisible presence? In the eye of a brute, we see only a +part of the animal; it gives us little beyond the palpable outward; at +most, it is but the focal point of its fierce, or gentle, affectionate, or +timorous character,--the character of the species, But in man, neither +gentleness nor fierceness can be more than as relative conditions,--the +outward moods of his unseen spirit; while the spirit itself, that daily +and hourly sends forth its good and evil, to take shape from the body, +still sits in darkness. Yet have we that which can surely reach it; even +our own spirit. By this it is that we can enter into another's soul, sound +its very depths, and bring up his dark thoughts, nay, place them before +him till he starts at himself; and more,--it is by this we _know_ that +even the tangible, audible, visible world is not more real than a +spiritual intercourse. And yet without the physical organ who can hold it? +We can never indeed understand, but we may not doubt, that which has its +power of proof in a single act of consciousness. Nay, we may add that we +cannot even conceive of a soul without a correlative form,--though it be +in the abstract; and _vice versâ_. + +For, among the many impossibilities, it is not the least to look upon +a living human form as a thing; in its pictured copies, as already +shown in a former discourse, it may be a thing, and a beautiful thing; +but the moment we conceive of it as living, if it show not a soul, we +give it one by a moral necessity; and according to the outward will be +the spirit with which we endow it. No poetic being, supposed of our +species, ever lived to the imagination without some indication of the +moral; it is the breath of its life: and this is also true in the +converse; if there be but a hint of it, it will instantly clothe +itself in a human shape; for the mind cannot separate them. In the +whole range of the poetic creations of the great master of truth,--we +need hardly say Shakspeare,--not an instance can be found where this +condition of life is ever wanting; his men and women all have souls. +So, too, when he peoples the air, though he describe no form, he never +leaves these creatures of the brain without a shape, for he will +sometimes, by a single touch of the moral, enable us to supply one. +Of this we have a striking instance in one of his most unsubstantial +creations, the "delicate Ariel." Not an allusion to its shape or +figure is made throughout the play; yet we assign it a form on its +very first entrance, as soon as Prospero speaks of its refusing to +comply with the" abhorred commands" of the witch, Sycorax. And again, +in the fifth act, when Ariel, after recounting the sufferings of the +wretched usurper and his followers, gently adds,-- + + "Your charm so strongly works them, + That, if you now beheld them, your affections + Would become tender." + +On which Prospero remarks,-- + + "Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling + Of their afflictions?" + +Now, whether Shakspeare intended it or not, it is not possible after +this for the reader to think of Ariel but in a human form; for slight +as these hints are, if they do not indicate the moral affections, they +at least imply something akin to them, which in a manner compels us to +invest the gentle Spirit with a general likeness to our own physical +exterior, though, perhaps, as indistinct as the emotion that called +for it. + +We have thus considered the human being in his complex condition, of +body and spirit, or physical and moral; showing the impossibility of +even thinking of him in the one, to the exclusion of the other. We +may, indeed, successively think first of the form, and then of +the moral character, as we may think of any one part of either +analytically; but we cannot think of the _human being_ except +as a _whole_. It follows, therefore, as a consequence, that no +imitation of man can be true which is not addressed to us in this +double condition. And here it may be observed, that in Art there is +this additional requirement, that there be no discrepancy between the +form and the character intended,--or rather, that the form _must_ +express the character, or it expresses nothing: a necessity which is +far from being general in actual nature. But of this hereafter. + +Let us now endeavour to form some general notion of Man in his various +aspects, as presented by the myriads which people the earth. But whose +imagination is equal to the task,--to the setting in array before it +the countless multitudes, each individual in his proper form, his +proper character? Were this possible, we should stand amazed at the +interminable differences, the hideous variety; and that, too, no less +in the moral, than in the physical; nay, so opposite and appalling in +the former as hardly to be figured by a chain of animals, taking for +the extremes the fierce and filthy hyena and the inoffensive lamb. +This is man in the concrete,--to which, according to some, is to be +applied the _abstract Ideal!_ + +Now let us attempt to conceive of a being that shall represent all the +diversities of mind, affections, and dispositions, that fleck this +heterogeneous mass of humanity, and then to conceive of a Form that +shall be in such perfect affinity with it as to indicate them all. The +bare statement of the proposition shows its absurdity. Yet this must +be the office of a Standard Form; and this it must do, or it will be +a falsehood. Nor should we find it easier with any given number, with +twenty, fifty, nay, an hundred (so called) generic forms. We do not +hesitate to affirm, that, were it possible, it would be quite as easy +with one as with a thousand. + +But to this it may be replied, that the Standard Form was never +intended to represent the vicious or degraded, but man in his most +perfect developement of mind, affections, and body. This is certainly +narrowing its office, and, unfortunately, to the representing of but +_one_ man; consequently, of no possible use beyond to the Painter +or Sculptor of Humanity, since every repetition of this perfect form +would be as the reflection of one multiplied by mirrors. But such +repetitions, it may be further answered, were never contemplated, that +Form being given only as an exemplar of the highest, to serve as a +guide in our approach to excellence; as we could not else know to a +certainty to what degree of elevation our conceptions might rise. +Still, in that case its use would be limited to a single object, that +is, to itself, its own perfectness; it would not aid the Artist in the +intermediate ascent to it,--unless it contained within itself all the +gradations of human character; which no one will pretend. + +But let us see how far it is possible to _realize_ the Idea of a +_perfect_ Human Form. + +We have already seen that the mere physical structure is not man, but +only a part; the Idea of man including also an internal moral being. +The external, then, in an _actually disjoined_ state, cannot, +strictly speaking, be the human form, but only a diagram of it. It is, +in fact, but a partial condition, becoming human only when united with +the internal moral; which, in proof of the union, it must of necessity +indicate. If we would have a true Idea of it, therefore, it must be as +a whole; consequently, the perfect physical exterior must have, as an +essential part, the perfect moral. Now come two important questions. +First, In what consists Moral Perfection? We use the word _moral_ +here (from a want in our language) in its most comprehensive sense, +as including the spiritual and the intellectual. With respect to that +part of our moral being which pertains to the affections, in all their +high relations to God and man, we have, it is true, a sure and holy +guide. In a Christian land, the humblest individual may answer as +readily as the most profound scholar, and express its perfection in +the single word, Holiness. But what will be the reply in regard to the +Intellect? For what is a perfect Intellect? Is it the Dialectic, the +Speculative, or the Imaginative? Or, rather, would it not include them +all? + +We proceed next to the Physical. What, then, constitutes its +Perfection? Here, it might seem, there can be no difficulty, and the +reply will probably be in naming all the excellent qualities in our +animal nature, such as strength, agility, fleetness, with every other +that can be thought of. The bare enumeration of these few qualities +may serve to show the nature of the task; yet a physically perfect +form requires them all; none must be omitted; it would else be +imperfect; nay, they must not only be there, but all be developed in +their highest degrees. We might here exclaim with Hamlet, though in a +very different sense, + + "A combination and a form indeed!" + +And yet there is no other way to express physical perfection. But +can it be so expressed? The reader must reply for himself. We will, +however, suppose it possible; still the task is incomplete without the +adjustment of these to the perfect Moral, in the highest known degrees +of its several elements. To those who can imagine _such_ a form +as shall be the sure exponent of _such_ a moral being,--and such +it must be, or it will be nothing,--we leave the task of constructing +this universal exemplar for multitudinous man. We may add, however, +one remark; that, supposing it possible thus to concentrate, and +with equal prominence, all the qualities of the species into one +individual, it can only be done by supplanting Providence, in other +words, by virtually overruling the great principle of subordination +so visibly impressed on all created life. For although, as we have +elswhere observed, there can be no sound mind (and the like may be +affirmed of the whole man), which is deficient in any one essential, +it does not therefore follow, that each of these essentials may not be +almost indefinitely differenced in the degrees of their developement +without impairing the human integrity. And such is the fact in actual +nature; nor does this in any wise affect the individual unity,--as +will be noticed hereafter. + +We will now briefly examine the pretensions of what are called the +Generic Forms. And here we are met by another important characteristic +of the human being, namely, his essential individuality. + +It is true that the human family, so called, is divided into many +distinct races, having each its peculiar conformation, color, and so +forth, which together constitute essential differences; but it is +to be remembered that these essentials are all physical; and _so +far_ they are properly generic, as implying a difference in kind. +But, though a striking difference is also observable in their moral +being, it is by no means of the same nature with that which marks +their physical condition, the difference in the moral being only of +degree; for, however fierce, brutal, stupid, or cunning, or gentle, +generous, or heroic, the same characteristics may each be paralleled +among ourselves; nay, we could hardly name a vice, a passion, or +a virtue, in Asia, Africa, or America, that has not its echo in +civilized Europe. And what is the inference? That climate and +circumstance, if such are the causes of the physical variety, have no +controlling power, except in degree, over the Moral. Does not this +undeniable fact, then, bring us to the fair conclusion, that the moral +being has no genera? To affirm otherwise would be virtually to +deny its responsible condition; since the law of its genus must be +paramount to all other laws,--to education, government, religion. Nor +can the result be evaded, except by the absurd supposition of generic +responsibilities! To us, therefore, it seems conclusive that a moral +being, as a free agent, cannot be subject to a generic law; nor +could he now be--what every man feels himself to be, in spite of +his theory--the fearful architect of his own destiny. In one sense, +indeed, we may admit a human genus,--such as every man must be in his +individual entireness. + +Man has been called a microcosm, or little world. And such, however +mean and contemptible to others, is man to himself; nay, such he must +ever be, whether he wills it or not. He may hate, he may despise, yet +he cannot but cling to that without which he is not; he is the centre +and the circle, be it of pleasure or of pain; nor can he be other. +Touch him with misery, and he becomes paramount to the whole +world,--to a thousand worlds; for the beauty and the glory of the +universe are as nothing to him who is all darkness. Then it is that he +will _feel_, should he have before doubted, that he is not a mere +part, a fraction, of his kind, but indeed a world; and though little +in one sense, yet a world of awful magnitude in its capacity of +suffering. In one word, Man is a whole, _an Individual_. + +If the preceding argument be admitted, it will be found to have +relieved the student of two delusive dogmas,--and the more delusive, +as carrying with them a plausible show of science. + +As to the flowery declamations about Beauty, they would not here be +noticed, were they not occasionally met with in works of high merit, +and not unfrequently mixed up with philosophic truth. If they have +any definite meaning, it amounts to this,--that the Beautiful is the +summit of every possible excellence! The extravagance, not to say +absurdity, of such a proposition, confounding, as it does, all +received distinctions, both in the moral and the natural world, needs +no comment. It is hardly to be believed, however, that the writers in +question could have deliberately intended this. It is more probable, +that, in so expressing themselves, they were only giving vent to an +enthusiastic feeling, which we all know is generally most vague when +associated with admiration; it is not therefore strange that the +ardent expression of it should partake of its vagueness. Among the +few critical works of authority in which the word is so used, we may +mention the (in many respects admirable) Discourses of Sir Joshua +Reynolds, where we find the following sentence:--"The _beauty_ of +the Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; +which, of course, would present three different Ideas of Beauty." If +this had been said of various animals, differing in _kind_, the +term so applied might, perhaps, have been appropriate. But the same +term is here applied to objects of the same kind, differing not +essentially even in age; we say _age_, inasmuch as in the three +great divisions, or periods, of human life, namely, childhood, +youth, and maturity, the characteristic conditions of each are so +_essentially_ distinct, as virtually to separate them into +positive kinds. + +But it is no less idle than invidious to employ our time in +overturning the errors of others; if we establish Truth, they will +fall of themselves. There cannot be two right sides to any question; +and, if we are right, what is opposed to us must of necessity he +wrong. Whether we are so or not must be determined by those who admit +or reject what has already been advanced on the subject of Beauty, in +the first Discourse. It will be remembered, that, in the course of our +argument there, we were brought to the conclusion, that Beauty was +the Idea of a certain physical _condition_, both general and +ultimate; general, as presiding over objects of many kinds, and +ultimate, as being the _perfection_ of that peculiar condition in +each, and therefore not applicable to, or representing, its degrees +in any; which, as approximations only to the one supreme Idea, should +truly be distinguished by other terms. Accordingly, we cannot, +strictly speaking, say of two persons of the same age and sex, +differing from each other, that they are equally beautiful. We hear +this, indeed, almost daily; it is nevertheless not the true expression +of the actual impression made on the speaker, though he may not take +the trouble to examine and compare them. But let him do so, and we +doubt not that he would find the one to rise (in however slight a +degree) above the other; and, if he did not assign a different term +to the lower, it would be only because he was not in the habit of +marking, or did not think it worth his while to note, such nice +distinctions. + +If there is a _first_ and a _last_ to any thing, the +intermediates can be neither one nor the other; and, if we so name +them, we speak falsely. It is no less so with Beauty, which, being at +the head, or first in a series, admits no transference of its title. +We mean, if speaking strictly; which, however, we freely acknowledge, +no one can; but that is owing to the insufficiency of language, which +in no dialect could supply a hundredth part of the terms needed to +mark every minute shade of difference. Perhaps no subject requiring a +wider nomenclature has one so contracted; and the consequence is, +that no subject is more obscured by vague expressions. But it is the +business of the Artist, if he cannot form to himself the corresponding +terms, to be prepared at least to perceive and to note these various +shades. We do not say, that an actual acquaintance with all the nice +distinctions is an essential requisite, but only that it will not be +altogether useless to be aware of their existence; at any rate, it +may serve to shield him from the annoyance of false criticism, when +censured for wanting beauty where its presence would have been an +impertinence. + +Before we quit the subject, it may not be amiss to observe, that, in +the preceding remarks, our object has been not so much to insist on +correct speaking as correct thinking. The poverty of language, +as already admitted, has made the former impossible; but, though +constrained in this, as in many other cases where a subordinate is put +for its principal, to apply the term Beautiful to its various degrees, +yet a right apprehension of what Beauty _is_ may certainly +prevent its misapplication as to other objects having no relation to +it. Nor is this a small matter where the avoiding of confusion is an +object desirable; and there is clearly some difference between an +approach to precision and utter vagueness. + +We have now to consider how far the Correspondence between the +outward form and the inward being, which is assumed by the Artist, is +supported by fact. + +In a fair statement, then, of facts, it cannot be denied that with +the mass of men the outward intimation of character is certainly very +faint, with many obscure, and with some ambiguous, while with others +it has often seemed to express the very reverse of the truth. Perhaps +a stronger instance of the latter could hardly occur than that cited +in a former discourse in illustration of the physical relation of +Beauty; where it was shown that the first and natural impression from +a beautiful form was not only displaced, but completely reversed, by +the revolting discovery of a moral discrepancy. But while we admit, on +the threshold, that the Correspondence in question cannot be sustained +as universally obvious, it is, nevertheless, not apprehended that this +admission can affect our argument, which, though in part grounded +on special cases of actual coincidence, is yet supported by other +evidences, which lead us to regard all such discrepancies rather as +exceptions, and as so many deviations from the original law of our +nature, nay, which lead us also rationally to infer at least a future, +potential correspondence in every individual. To the past, indeed, we +cannot appeal; neither can the past be cited against us, since little +is known of the early history of our race but a chronicle of their +actions; of their outward appearance scarcely any thing, certainly not +enough to warrant a decision one way or the other. Should we assume, +then, the Correspondence as a primeval law, who shall gainsay it? It +is not, however, so asserted. We may nevertheless hold it as a matter +of _faith_; and simply as such it is here submitted. But faith of +any kind must have some ground to rest on, either real or supposed, +either that of authority or of inference. Our ground of faith, then, +in the present instance, is in the universal desire amongst men to +_realize_ the Correspondence. Nothing is more common than, +on hearing or reading of any remarkable character, to find this +instinctive craving, if we may so term it, instantly awakened, and +actively employed in picturing to the imagination some corresponding +form; nor is any disappointment more general, than that which follows +the detection of a discrepancy on actual acquaintance. Indeed, we can +hardly deem it rash, should we rest the validity of this universal +desire on the common experience of any individual, taken at +random,--provided only that he has a particle of imagination. Nor +is its action dependent on our caprice or will. Ask any person of +ordinary cultivation, not to say refinement, how it is with him, +when, his imagination has not been forestalled by some definite fact; +whether he has never found himself _involuntarily_ associating +the good with the beautiful, the energetic with the strong, the +dignified with the ample, or the majestic with the lofty; the refined +with the delicate, the modest with the comely; the base with the +ugly, the brutal with the misshapen, the fierce with the coarse and +muscular, and so on; there being scarcely a shade of character to +which the imagination does not affix some corresponding form. + +In a still more striking form may we find the evidence of the law +supposed, if we turn to the young, and especially to those of a poetic +temperament,--to the sanguine, the open, and confiding, the creatures +of impulse, who reason best when trusting only to the spontaneous +suggestions of feeling. What is more common than implicit faith in +their youthful day-dreams,--a faith that lives, though dream after +dream vanish into common air when the sorcerer Fact touches their +eyes? And whence this pertinacious faith that _will_ not die, but +from a spring of life, that neither custom nor the dry understanding +can destroy? Look at the same Youth at a more advanced age, when the +refining intellect has mixed with his affections, adding thought and +sentiment to every thing attractive, converting all things fair to +things also of good report. Let us turn, at the same time, to one +still more advanced,--even so far as to have entered into the +conventional valley of dry bones,--one whom the world is preparing, +by its daily practical lessons, to enlighten with unbelief. If we see +them together, perhaps we shall hear the senior scoff at his younger +companion as a poetic dreamer, as a hunter after phantoms that never +were, nor could be, in nature: then may follow a homily on the virtues +of experience, as the only security against disappointment. But there +are some hearts that never suffer the mind to grow old. And such we +may suppose that of the dreamer. If he is one, too, who is accustomed +to look into himself,--not as a reasoner,--but with an abiding faith +in his nature,--we shall, perhaps, hear him reply,--Experience, it is +true, has often brought me disappointment; yet I cannot distrust those +dreams, as you call them, bitterly as I have felt their passing off; +for I feel the truth of the source whence they come. They could not +have been so responded to by my living nature, were they but phantoms; +they could not have taken such forms of truth, but from a possible +ground. + +By the word _poetic_ here, we do not mean the visionary or +fanciful,--for there may be much fancy where there is no poetic +feeling,--but that sensibility to _harmony_ which marks the +temperament of the Artist, and which is often most active in his +earlier years. And we refer to such natures, not only as being more +peculiarly alive to all existing affinities, but as never satisfied +with those merely which fall within their experience; ever striving, +on the contrary, as if impelled by instinct, to supply the deficiency +wherever it is felt. From such minds proceed what are called romantic +imaginings, but what we would call--without intending a paradox--the +romance of Truth. For it is impossible that the mind should ever have +this perpetual craving for the False. + +But the desire in question is not confined to any particular age or +temperament, though it is, doubtless, more ardent in some than in +others. Perhaps it is only denied to the habitually vicious. For who, +not hardened by vice, has ever looked upon a sleeping child in its +first bloom of beauty, and seen its pure, fresh hues, its ever +varying, yet according lines, moulding and suffusing, in their playful +harmony, its delicate features,--who, not callous, has ever looked +upon this exquisite creature, (so like what a poet might fancy of +visible music, or embodied odors,) and has not felt himself carried, +as it were, out of this present world, in quest of its moral +counterpart? It seems to us perfect; we desire no change,--not a line +or a hue but as it is; and yet we have a paradoxical feeling of a +want,--for it is all _physical_; and we supply that want by +endowing the child with some angelic attribute. Why do we this? To +make it a _whole_,--not to the eye, but to the mind. + +Nor is this general disposition to find a coincidence between a fair +exterior and moral excellence altogether unsupported by facts of, at +least, a partial realization. For, though a perfect correspondence +cannot be looked for in a state where all else is imperfect, he +is most unfortunate who has never met with many, and very near, +approximations to the desired union. But we have a still stronger +assurance of their predetermined affinity in the peculiar activity of +this desire where there is no such approximation. For example, when we +meet with an instance of the higher virtues in an unattractive form, +how natural the wish that that form were beautiful! So, too, on +beholding a beautiful person, how common the wish that the mind +it clothed were also good! What are these wishes but unconscious +retrospects to our primitive nature? And why have we them, if they be +not the workings of that universal law, which gathers to itself all +scattered affinities, bodying them forth in the never-ending forms of +harmony,--in the flower, in the tree, in the bird, and the animal,--if +they be not the evidence of its continuous, though fruitless, effort +to evolve too in _man_ its last consummate work, by the perfect +confluence of the body and the spirit? In this universal yearning (for +it seems to us no less) to connect the physical with its appropriate +moral,--to say nothing of the mysterious intuition that points to +the appropriate,--is there not something like a clew to what was +originally natural? And, again, in the never-ceasing strivings of the +two great elements of our being, each to supply the deficiencies of +the other, have we not also an intimation of something that _once +was_, that is now lost, and would be recovered? Surely there must +be more in this than a mere concernment of Art;--if, indeed, there be +not in Art more of the prophetic than we are now aware of. To us +it seems that this irrepressible desire to find the good in the +beautiful, and the beautiful in the good, implies an end, both +beyond and above the trifling present; pointing to deep and dark +questions,--to no less than where the mysteries which surround us will +meet their solution. One great mystery we see in part resolving itself +here. We see the deformities of the body sometimes giving place to +its glorious tenant. Some of us may have witnessed this, and felt +the spiritual presence gaining daily upon us, till the outward shape +seemed lost in its brightness, leaving no trace in the memory. + +Whether the position we have endeavoured to establish be disputed or +not, the absolute correspondence between the Moral and the Physical +is, at any rate, the essential ground of the Plastic arts; which could +not else exist, since through _Form alone_ they have to convey, +not only thought and emotion, but distinct and permanent character. +For our own part, we cannot but consider their success in this as +having settled the question. + +From the view here presented, what is the inference in relation to +Art? That Man, as a compound being, cannot be represented without an +indication as well of Mind as of body; that, by a natural law which we +cannot resist, we do continually require that they be to us as mutual +exponents, the one of the other; and, finally, that, as a responsible +being, and therefore a free agent, he cannot be truly represented, +either to the memory or to the imagination, but as an Individual. + +It would seem, also, from the indefinite varieties in men, though +occasioned only by the mere difference of degrees in their common +faculties and powers, that the coincidence of an equal developement of +all was never intended in nature; but that some one or more of them, +becoming dominant, should distinguish the individual. It follows, +therefore, if this be the case, that only through the phase of such +predominance can the human being ever be contemplated. To the Artist, +then, it becomes the only safe ground; the starting-point from +whence to ascend to a true Ideal,--which is no other than a partial +individual truth made whole in the mind: and thus, instead of one +Ideal, and that baseless, he may have a thousand,--nay, as many as +there are marked or apprehensible _individuals_. + +But we must not be understood as confining Art to actual portraits. +Within such limits there could not be Art,--certainly not Art in its +highest sense; we should have in its place what would be little better +than a doubtful empiricism; since the most elevated subject, in the +ablest hands, would depend, of necessity, on the chance success of a +search after models. And, supposing that we bring together only the +rarest forms, still those forms, simply as circumscribed portraits, +and therefore insulated parts, would instantly close every avenue +to the imagination; for such is the law of the imagination, that it +cannot admit, or, in other words, recognize as a whole, that which +remains unmodified by some imaginative power, which alone can give +unity to separate and distinct objects. Yet, as it regards man, +all true Art does, and must, find its proper object in the +_Individual_: as without individuality there could not be +character, nor without character, the human being. + +But here it may be asked, In what manner, if we resort not to actual +portrait, is the Individual Man to be expressed? We answer, By +carrying out the natural individual predominant _fragment_ which +is visible to us in actual Form, to its full, consistent developement. +The Individual is thus idealized, when, in the complete accordance of +all its parts, it is presented to the mind as a _whole_. + +When we apply the term _fragment_ to a human being, we do not +mean in relation to his species, (in regard to which we have already +shown him to be a distinct whole,) but in relation to the Idea, to +which his predominant characteristic suggests itself but as a +partial manifestation, and made partial because counteracted by +some inadequate exponent, or else modified by other, though minor, +characteristics. + +How this is effected must be left to the Artist himself. It is +impossible to prescribe a rule that would be to much purpose for any +one who stands in need of such instruction; if his own mind does not +suggest the mode, it would not even be intelligible. Perhaps our +meaning, however, may be made more obvious, if we illustrate it by +example. We would refer, then, to the restoration of a statue, (a +thing often done with success,) where, from a single fragment, the +unknown Form has been completely restored, and so remoulded, that the +parts added are in perfect unity with the suggestive fragment. Now the +parts wanting having never been seen, this cannot be called a mere +act of the memory. Nevertheless, it is not from nothing that man can +produce even the _semblance_ of any thing. The materials of the +Artist are the work of Him who created the Artist himself; but over +these, which his senses and mind are given him to observe and collect, +he has a _delegated power_, for the purpose of combining and +modifying, as unlimited as mysterious. It is by the agency of this +intuitive and assimilating Power, elsewhere spoken of, that he is able +to separate the essential from the accidental, to proceed also from a +part to the whole; thus educing, as it were, an Ideal nature from the +germs of the Actual. + +Nor does the necessity of referring to Nature preclude the +Imaginative, or any other class of Art that rests its truth in the +desires of the mind. In an especial manner must the personification +of Sentiment, of the Abstract, which owe their interest to the common +desire of rendering permanent, by embodying, that which has given us +pleasure, take its starting-point from the Actual; from something +which, by universal association or particular expression, shall recall +the Sentiment, Thought, or Time, and serve as their exponents; there +being scarcely an object in Nature which the spirit of man has not, as +it were, impressed with sympathy, and linked with his being. Of this, +perhaps, we could not have a more striking example than in the Aurora +of Michael Angelo: which, if not universal, is not so only because +the faculty addressed is by no means common. For, as the peculiar +characteristic of the Imaginative is its suggestive power, the effect +of this figure must of necessity differ in different minds. As in many +other cases, there must needs be at least some degree of sympathy with +the mind that imagined it, in order to any impression; and the degree +in which that is made will always be in proportion to the congeniality +between the agent and the recipient. Should it appear, then, to any +one as a thing of no meaning, it is not therefore conclusive that the +Artist has failed. For, if there be but one in a thousand to whose +mind it recalls the deep stillness of Night, gradually broken by the +awakening stir of Day, with its myriad forms of life emerging into +motion, while their lengthened shadows, undistinguished from their +objects, seem to people the earth with gigantic beings; then the dim, +gray monotony of color transforming them to stone, yet leaving them +in motion, till the whole scene becomes awful and mysterious as with +moving statues;--if there be but one in ten thousand who shall have +thus imagined, as he stands before this embodied Dawn, then is it, for +every purpose of feeling through the excited imagination, as true and +real as if instinct with life, and possessing the mind by its living +will. Nor is the number so rare of those who have thus felt the +suggestive sorcery of this sublime Statue. But the mind so influenced +must be one to respond to sublime emotions, since such was the +emotion which inspired the Artist. If susceptible only to the gay and +beautiful, it will not answer. For this is not the Aurora of golden +purple, of laughing flowers and jewelled dew-drops; but the dark +Enchantress, enthroned on rocks, or craggy mountains, and whose proper +empire is the shadowy confines of light and darkness. + +How all this is done, we shall not attempt to explain. Perhaps the +Artist himself could not answer; as to the _quo modo_ in every +particular, we doubt if it were possible to satisfy another. He may +tell us, indeed, that having imagined certain appearances and effects +peculiar to the Time, he endeavoured to imbue, as it were, some +_human form_ with the sentiment they awakened, so that the +embodied sentiment should associate itself in the spectator's mind +with similar images; and further endeavoured, that the _form_ +selected should, by its air, attitude, and gigantic proportions, also +excite the ideas of vastness, solemnity, and repose; adding to this +that indefinite expression, which, while it is felt to act, still +leaves no trace of its indistinct action. So far, it is true, he may +retrace the process; but of the _informing life_ that quickened +his fiction, thus presenting the presiding Spirit of that ominous +Time, he knows nothing but that he felt it, and imparted it to the +insensible marble. + +And now the question will naturally occur, Is all that has been done +by the learned in Art, to establish certain canons of Proportion, +utterly useless? By no means. If rightly applied, and properly +considered,--as it seems to us they must have been by the great +artists of Antiquity,--as _expedient fictions_, they undoubtedly +deserve at least a careful examination. And, inasmuch as they are the +result of a comparison of the finest actual forms through successive +ages, and as they indicate the general limits which Nature has been +observed to assign to her noblest works, they are so far to be valued. +But it must not be forgotten, that, while a race, or class, may be +generally marked by a certain average height and breadth, or curve and +angle, still is every class and race composed of _Individuals_, +who must needs, as such, differ from each other; and though the +difference be slight, yet is it "the little more, or the little less," +which often separates the great from the mean, the wise from the +foolish, in human character;--nay, the widest chasms are sometimes +made by a few lines: so that, in every individual case, the limits in +question are rather to be departed from, than strictly adhered to. + +The canon of the Schools is easily mastered by every student who has +only memory; yet of the hundreds who apply it, how few do so to any +purpose! Some ten or twenty, perhaps, call up life from the quarry, +and flesh and blood from the canvas; the rest conjure in vain with +their canon; they call up nothing but the dead measures. Whence the +difference? The answer is obvious,--In the different minds they each +carry to their labors. + +But let us trace, with the Artist, the beginning and progress of a +successful work; a picture, for instance. His method of proceeding may +enable us to ascertain how far he is assisted by the science, so called, +of which we are speaking. He adjusts the height and breadth of his figures +according to the canon, either by the division of heads or faces, as most +convenient. By these means, he gets the general divisions in the easiest +and most expeditious way. But could he not obtain them without such aid? +He would answer, Yes, by the eye alone; but it would be a waste of time +were he so to proceed, since he would have to do, and undo, perhaps twenty +times, before he could erect this simple scaffolding; whereas, by applying +these rules, whose general truth is already admitted, he accomplishes his +object in a few minutes. Here we admit the use of the canon, and admire +the facility with which it enables his hand, almost without the aid of a +thought, thus to lay out his work. But here ends the science; and here +begins what may seem to many the work of mutilation: a leg, an arm, a +trunk, is increased, or diminished; line after line is erased, or +retrenched, or extended, again and again, till not a trace remains of the +original draught. If he is asked now by what he is guided in these +innumerable changes, he can only answer, By the feeling within me. Nor can +he better tell _how_ he knows when he has _hit the mark_. The same feeling +responds to its truth; and he repeats his attempts until that is +satisfied. + +It would appear, then, that in the Mind alone is to be found the true +or ultimate Rule,--if, indeed, that can be called a rule which +changes its measure with every change of character. It is therefore +all-important that every aid be sought which may in any way contribute +to the due developement of the mental powers; and no one will doubt +the efficiency here of a good general education. As to the course of +study, that must be left in a great measure to be determined by the +student; it will be best indicated by his own natural wants. We +may observe, however, that no species of knowledge can ever be +_oppressive_ to real genius, whose peculiar privilege is that of +subordinating all things to the paramount desire. But it is not likely +that a mind so endowed will be long diverted by any studies that do +not either strengthen its powers by exercise, or have a direct bearing +on some particular need. + +If the student be a painter, or a sculptor, he will not need to be +told that a knowledge of the human being, in all his complicated +springs of action, is not more essential to the poet than to him. Nor +will a true Artist require to be reminded, that, though _himself_ +must be his ultimate dictator and judge, the allegiance of the world +is not to be commanded either by a dreamer or a dogmatist. And +nothing, perhaps, would be more likely to secure him from either +character, than the habit of keeping his eyes open,--nay, his very +heart; nor need he fear to open it to the whole world, since nothing +not kindred will enter there to abide; for + + "Evil into the mind ... + May come and go, so unapproved, and leave + No spot or blame behind." + +And he may also be sure that a pure heart will shed a refining light +on his intellect, which it may not receive from any other source. + +It cannot be supposed that an Artist, so disciplined, will overlook +the works of his predecessors,--especially those exquisite remains of +Antiquity which time has spared to us. But to his own discretion must +be left the separating of the factitious from the true,--a task of +some moment; for it cannot be denied that a mere antiquarian respect +for whatever is ancient has preserved, with the good, much that is +worthless. Indeed, it is to little purpose that the finest forms are +set before us, if we _feel_ not their truth. And here it may be +well to remark, that an injudicious _word_ has often given a +wrong direction to the student, from which he has found it difficult +to recover when his maturer mind has perceived the error. It is a +common thing to hear such and such statues, or pictures, recommended +as _models_. If the advice is followed,--as it too often is +_literally_,--the consequence must be an offensive mannerism; +for, if repeating himself makes an artist a mannerist, he is still +more likely to become one if he repeat another. There is but one model +that will not lead him astray,--which is Nature: we do not mean what +is merely obvious to the senses, but whatever is so acknowledged by +the mind. So far, then, as the ancient statues are found to represent +her,--and the student's own feeling must be the judge of that,--they +are undoubtedly both true and important objects of study, as +presenting not only a wider, but a higher view of Nature, than might +else be commanded, were they buried with their authors; since, with +the finest forms of the fairest portion of the earth, we have also in +them the realized Ideas of some of the greatest minds. In like manner +may we extend our sphere of knowledge by the study of all those +productions of later ages which have stood this test. There is no +school from which something may not be learned. But chiefly to the +Italian should the student be directed, who would enlarge his views +on the present subject, and especially to the works of Raffaelle and +Michael Angelo; in whose highest efforts we have, so to speak, +certain revelations of Nature which could only have been made by her +privileged seers. And we refer to them more particularly, as to the +two great sovereigns of the two distinct empires of Truth,--the +Actual and the Imaginative; in which their claims are acknowledged +by _that_ within us, of which we know nothing but that it +_must_ respond to all things true. We refer to them, also, as +important examples in their mode of study; in which it is evident +that, whatever the source of instruction, it was never considered as a +law of servitude, but rather as the means of giving visible shape to +their own conceptions. + +From the celebrated antique fragment, called the Torso, Michael Angelo +is said to have constructed his forms. If this be true,--and we have +no reason to doubt it,--it could nevertheless have been to him little +more than a hint. But that is enough to a man of genius, who stands +in need, no less than others, of a point to start from. There was +something in this fragment which he seems to have felt, as if of a +kindred nature to the unembodied creatures in his own mind; and he +pondered over it until he mastered the spell of its author. He then +turned to his own, to the germs of life that still awaited birth, +to knit their joints, to attach the tendons, to mould the +muscles,--finally, to sway the limbs by a mighty will. Then emerged +into being that gigantic race of the Sistina,--giants in mind no less +than in body, that appear to have descended as from another planet. +His Prophets and Sibyls seem to carry in their persons the commanding +evidence of their mission. They neither look nor move like beings to +be affected by the ordinary concerns of life; but as if they could +only be moved by the vast of human events, the fall of empires, the +extinction of nations; as if the awful secrets of the future had +overwhelmed in them all present sympathies. As we have stood before +these lofty apparitions of the painter's mind, it has seemed to us +impossible that the most vulgar spectator could have remained there +irreverent. + +With many critics it seems to have been doubted whether much that +we now admire in Raffaelle would ever have been but for his great +contemporary. Be this as it may, it is a fact of history, that, after +seeing the works of Michael Angelo, both his form and his style +assumed a breadth and grandeur which they possessed not before. +And yet these great artists had little, if any thing, in common; +a sufficient proof that an original mind may owe, and even freely +acknowledge, its impetus to another without any self-sacrifice. + +As Michael Angelo adopted from others only what accorded with his +own peculiar genius, so did Raffaelle; and, wherever collected, the +materials of both could not but enter their respective minds as their +natural aliment. + +The genius of Michael Angelo was essentially _Imaginative_. It +seems rarely to have been excited by the objects with which we are +daily familiar; and when he did treat them, it was rather as things +past, as they appear to us through the atmosphere of the hallowing +memory. We have a striking instance of this in his statue of Lorenzo +de' Medici; where, retaining of the original only enough to mark the +individual, and investing the rest with an air of grandeur that should +accord with his actions, he has left to his country, not a mere +effigy of the person, but an embodiment of the mind; a portrait +for posterity, in which the unborn might recognize Lorenzo the +Magnificent. + +But the mind of Raffaelle was an ever-flowing fountain of human +sympathies; and in all that concerns man, in his vast varieties and +complicated relations, from the highest forms of majesty to the +humblest condition of humanity, even to the maimed and misshapen, he +may well be called a master. His Apostles, his philosophers, and most +ordinary subordinates, are all to us as living beings; nor do we feel +any doubt that they all had mothers, and brothers, and kindred. In +the assemblage of the Apostles (already referred to) at the Death of +Ananias, we look upon men whom the effusion of the Spirit has equally +sublimated above every unholy thought; a common power seems to have +invested them all with a preternatural majesty. Yet not an iota of the +_individual_ is lost in any one; the gentle bearing and amenity +of John still follow him in his office of almoner; nor in Peter does +the deep repose of the erect attitude of the Apostle, as he deals the +death-stroke to the offender by a simple bend of his finger, subdue +the energetic, sanguine temperament of the Disciple. + +If any man may be said to have reigned over the hearts of his fellows, +it was Raffaelle Sanzio. Not that he knew better what was in the +hearts and minds of men than many others, but that he better +understood their relations to the external. In this the greatest names +in Art fall before him; in this he has no rival; and, however derived, +or in whatever degree improved by study, in him it seems to have risen +to intuition. We know not how he touches and enthralls us; as if he +had wrought with the simplicity of Nature, we see no effort; and we +yield as to a living influence, sure, yet inscrutable. + +It is not to be supposed that these two celebrated Artists were at all +times successful. Like other men, they had their moments of weakness, +when they fell into manner, and gave us diagrams, instead of life. +Perhaps no one, however, had fewer lapses of this nature than +Raffaelle; and yet they are to be found in some of his best works. We +shall notice now only one instance,--the figure of St. Catherine in +the admirable picture of the Madonna di Sisto; in which we see an +evident rescript from the Antique, with all the received lines of +beauty, as laid down by the analyst,--apparently faultless, yet +without a single inflection which the mind can recognize as allied to +our sympathies; and we turn from it coldly, as from the work of an +artificer, not of an Artist. But not so can we turn from the intense +life, that seems almost to breathe upon us from the celestial group of +the Virgin and her Child, and from the Angels below: in these we have +the evidence of the divine afflatus,--of inspired Art. + +In the works of Michael Angelo it were easy to point out numerous +examples of a similar failure, though from a different cause; not from +mechanically following the Antique, but rather from erecting into +a model the exaggerated _shadow_ of his own practice; from +repeating lines and masses that might have impressed us with grandeur +but for the utter absence of the informing soul. And that such is the +character--or rather want of character--of many of the figures in his +Last Judgment cannot be gainsaid by his warmest admirers,--among whom +there is no one more sincere than the present writer. But the failures +of great men are our most profitable lessons,--provided only, that we +have hearts and heads to respond to their success. + +In conclusion. We have now arrived at what appears to us the +turning-point, that, by a natural reflux, must carry us back to our +original Position; in other words, it seems to us clear, that the +result of the argument is that which was anticipated in our main +Proposition; namely, that no given number of Standard Forms can with +certainty apply to the Human Being; that all Rules therefore, thence +derived, can only be considered as _Expedient Fictions_, and +consequently subject to be _overruled_ by the Artist,--in whose +mind alone is the ultimate Rule; and, finally, that without an +intimate acquaintance with Nature, in all its varieties of the moral, +intellectual, and physical, the highest powers are wanting in their +necessary condition of action, and are therefore incapable of +supplying the Rule. + + + + +Composition. + + + +The term Composition, in its general sense, signifies the union of +things that were originally separate: in the art of Painting it +implies, in addition to this, such an arrangement and reciprocal +relation of these materials, as shall constitute them so many +essential parts of a whole. + +In a true Composition of Art will be found the following +characteristics:--First, Unity of Purpose, as expressing the general +sentiment or intention of the Artist. Secondly, Variety of Parts, as +expressed in the diversity of shape, quantity, and line. Thirdly, +Continuity, as expressed by the connection of parts with each other, +and their relation to the whole. Fourthly, Harmony of Parts. + +As these characteristics, like every thing which the mind can +recognize as true, all have their origin in its natural desires, they +may also be termed Principles; and as such we shall consider them. In +order, however, to satisfy ourselves that they are truly such, and not +arbitrary assumptions, or the traditional dogmas of Practice, it may +be well to inquire whence is their authority; for, though the ultimate +cause of pleasure and pain may ever remain to us a mystery, yet it is +not so with their intermediate causes, or the steps that lead to them. + +With respect to Unity of Purpose, it is sufficient to observe, that, +where the attention is at the same time claimed by two objects, having +each a different end, they must of necessity break in upon that free +state required of the mind in order to receive a full impression from +either. It is needless to add, that such conflicting claims cannot, +under any circumstances, be rendered agreeable. And yet this most +obvious requirement of the mind has sometimes been violated by great +Artists,--though not of authority in this particular, as we shall +endeavour to show in another place. + +We proceed, meanwhile, to the second principle, namely, Variety; by +which is to be understood _difference_, yet with _relation_ +to a _common end_. + +Of a ruling Principle, or Law, we can only get a notion by observing the +effects of certain things in relation to the mind; the uniformity of +which leads us to infer something which is unchangeable and permanent. +It is in this way that, either directly or indirectly, we learn the +existence of certain laws that invariably control us. Thus, indirectly, +from our disgust at monotony, we infer the necessity of variety. But +variety, when carried to excess, results in weariness. Some limitation, +therefore, seems no less needed. It is, however, obvious, that all +attempts to fix the limit to Variety, that shall apply as a universal +rule, must be nugatory, inasmuch as the _degree_ must depend on the +_kind_, and the kind on the subject treated. For instance, if the +subject be of a gay and light character, and the emotions intended to be +excited of a similar nature, the variety may be carried to a far greater +extent than in one of a graver character. In the celebrated Marriage at +Cana, by Paul Veronese, we see it carried, perhaps, to its utmost +limits; and to such an extent, that an hour's travel will hardly conduct +us through all its parts; yet we feel no weariness throughout this +journey, nay, we are quite unconscious of the time it has taken. It is +no disparagement of this remarkable picture, if we consider the subject, +not according to the title it bears, but as what the Artist has actually +made it,--that is, as a Venetian entertainment; and also the effect +intended, which was to delight by the exhibition of a gorgeous +_pageant_. And in this he has succeeded to a degree unexampled; for +literally the eye may be said to _dance_ through the picture, scarcely +lighting on one part before it is drawn to another, and another, and +another, as by a kind of witchery; while the subtile interlocking of +each successive novelty leaves it no choice, but, seducing it onward, +still keeps it in motion, till the giddy sense seems to call on the +imagination to join in the revel; and every poetic temperament answers +to the call, bringing visions of its own, that mingle with the painted +crowd, exchanging forms, and giving them voice, like the creatures of a +dream. + +To those who have never seen this picture, our account of its effect +may perhaps appear incredible when they are told, that it not only +has no story, but not a single expression to which you can attach a +sentiment. It is nevertheless for this very reason that we here cite +it, as a triumphant verification of those immutable laws of the mind +to which the principles of Composition are supposed to appeal; where +the simple technic exhibition, or illustration of _Principles_, +without story, or thought, or a single definite expression, has +still the power to possess and to fill us with a thousand delightful +emotions. + +And here we cannot refrain from a passing remark on certain +criticisms, which have obtained, as we think, an undeserved currency. +To assert that such a work is solely addressed to the senses (meaning +thereby that its only end is in mere pleasurable sensation) is to give +the lie to our convictions; inasmuch as we find it appealing to one +of the mightiest ministers of the Imagination,--the great Law of +Harmony,--which cannot be _touched_ without awakening by its +vibrations, so to speak, the untold myriads of sleeping forms that lie +within its circle, that start up in tribes, and each in accordance +with the congenial instrument that summons them to action. He who +can thus, as it were, embody an abstraction is no mere pander to the +senses. And who that has a modicum of the imaginative would assert +of one of Haydn's Sonatas, that its effect on him was no other than +sensuous? Or who would ask for the _story_ in one of our gorgeous +autumnal sunsets? + +In subjects of a grave or elevated kind, the Variety will be found to +diminish in the same degree in which they approach the Sublime. In the +raising of Lazarus, by Lievens, we have an example of the smallest +possible number of parts which the nature of such a subject would +admit. And, though a different conception might authorize a much +greater number, yet we do not feel in this any deficiency; indeed, it +may be doubted if the addition of even one more part would not be felt +as obtrusive. + +By the term _parts_ we are not to be understood as including the +minutiae of dress or ornament, or even the several members of a group, +which come more properly under the head of detail; we apply the term +only to those prominent divisions which constitute the essential +features of a composition. Of these the Sublime admits the fewest. Nor +is the limitation arbitrary. By whatever causes the stronger passions +or higher faculties of the mind become pleasurably excited, if they be +pushed as it were beyond their supposed limits, till a sense of the +indefinite seems almost to partake of the infinite, to these causes we +affix the epithet _Sublime._ It is needless to inquire if such +an effect can be produced by any thing short of the vast and +overpowering, much less by the gradual approach or successive +accumulation of any number of separate forces. Every one can answer +from his own experience. We may also add, that the pleasure which +belongs to the deeper emotions always trenches on pain; and the sense +of pain leads to reaction; so that, singly roused, they will rise +but to fall, like men at a breach,--leaving a conquest, not over the +living, but the dead. The effect of the Sublime must therefore be +sudden, and to be sudden, simple, scarce seen till felt; coming like +a blast, bending and levelling every thing before it, till it passes +into space. So comes this marvellous emotion; and so vanishes,--to +where no straining of our mortal faculties will ever carry them. + +To prevent misapprehension, we may here observe, that, though the +parts be few, it does not necessarily follow that they should always +consist of simple or single objects. This narrow inference has often +led to the error of mistaking mere space for grandeur, especially +with those who have wrought rather from theory than from the true +possession of their subjects. Hence, by the mechanical arrangement +of certain large and sweeping masses of light and shadow, we are +sometimes surprised into a momentary expectation of a sublime +impression, when a nearer approach gives us only the notion of a vast +blank. And the error lies in the misconception of a mass. For a mass +is not a _thing_, but the condition of _things_; into which, +should the subject require it, a legion, a host, may be compressed, +an army with banners,--yet so that they break not the unity of their +Part, that technic form to which they are subordinate. + +The difference between a Part and a Mass is, that a Mass may include, +_per se_, many Parts, yet, in relation to a Whole, is no more +than a single component. Perhaps the same distinction may be more +simply expressed, if we define it as only a larger division, including +several _parts_, which may be said to be analogous to what is +termed the detail of a _Part_. Look at the ocean in a storm,--at +that single wave. How it grows before us, building up its waters as +with conscious life, till its huge head overlooks the mast! A million +of lines intersect its surface, a myriad of bubbles fleck it with +light; yet its terrible unity remains unbroken. Not a bubble or a line +gives a thought of minuteness; they flash and flit, ere the eye can +count them, leaving only their aggregate, in the indefinite sense +of multitudinous motion: take them away, and you take from the +_mass_ the very sign of its power, that fearful impetus which +makes it what it is,--a moving mountain of water. + +We have thus endeavoured, in the opposite characters of the Sublime +and the Gay or Magnificent, to exhibit the two extremes of Variety; of +the intermediate degrees it is unnecessary to speak, since in these +two is included all that is applicable to the rest. + +Though it is of vital importance to every composition that there be +variety of Lines, little can be said on the subject in addition to +what has been advanced in relation to parts, that is, to shape and +quantity; both having a common origin. By a line in Composition is +meant something very different from the geometrical definition. +Originally, it was no doubt used as a metaphor; but the needs of +Art have long since converted this, and many other words of like +application, (as _tone_, &c.,) into technical terms. _Line_ +thus signifies the course or medium through which the eye is led from +one part of the picture to another. The indication of this course is +various and multiform, appertaining equally to shape, to color, and to +light and dark; in a word, to whatever attracts and keeps the eye in +motion. For the regulation of these lines there is no rule absolute, +except that they vary and unite; nor is the last strictly necessary, +it being sufficient if they so terminate that the transition from one +to another is made naturally, and without effort, by the imagination. +Nor can any laws be laid down as to their peculiar character: this +must depend on the nature of the subject. + +In the wild and stormy scenes of Salvator Rosa, they break upon us +as with the angular flash of lightning; the eye is dashed up one +precipice only to be dashed down another; then, suddenly hurried to +the sky, it shoots up, almost in a direct line, to some sharp-edged +rock; whence pitched, as it were, into a sea of clouds, bellying with +circles, it partakes their motion, and seems to reel, to roll, and to +plunge with them into the depths of air. + +If we pass from Salvator to Claude, we shall find a system of lines +totally different. Our first impression from Claude is that of perfect +_unity_, and this we have even before we are conscious of a +single image; as if, circumscribing his scenes by a magic circle, he +had imposed his own mood on all who entered it. The _spell_ then +opens ere it seems to have begun, acting upon us with a vague sense of +limitless expanse, yet so continuous, so gentle, so imperceptible in +its remotest gradations, as scarcely to be felt, till, combining +with unity, we find the feeling embodied in the complete image of +intellectual repose,--fulness and rest. The mind thus disposed, the +charmed eye glides into the scene: a soft, undulating light leads it +on, from bank to bank, from shrub to shrub; now leaping and sparkling +over pebbly brooks and sunny sands; now fainter and fainter, dying +away down shady slopes, then seemingly quenched in some secluded dell; +yet only for a moment,--for a dimmer ray again carries it onward, +gently winding among the boles of trees and rambling vines, that, +skirting the ascent, seem to hem in the twilight; then emerging +into day, it flashes in sheets over towers and towns, and woods and +streams, when it finally dips into an ocean, so far off, so twin-like +with the sky, that the doubtful horizon, unmarked by a line, leaves no +point of rest: and now, as in a flickering arch, the fascinated eye +seems to sail upward like a bird, wheeling its flight through a +mottled labyrinth of clouds, on to the zenith; whence, gently +inflected by some shadowy mass, it slants again downward to a mass +still deeper, and still to another, and another, until it falls into +the darkness of some massive tree,--focused like midnight in the +brightest noon: there stops the eye, instinctively closing, and giving +place to the Soul, there to repose and to dream her dreams of romance +and love. + +From these two examples of their general effect, some notion may be +gathered of the different systems of the two Artists; and though +no mention has been made of the particular lines employed, their +distinctive character may readily be inferred from the kind of motion +given to the eye in the descriptions we have attempted. In the +rapid, abrupt, contrasted, whirling movement in the one, we have an +exposition of an irregular combination of curves and angles; while the +simple combination of the parabola and the serpentine will account for +all the imperceptible transitions in the other. + +It would be easy to accumulate examples from other Artists who differ +in the economy of line not only from these but from each other; as +Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, Correggio, Titian, Poussin,--in a word, +every painter deserving the name of master: for lines here may be +called the tracks of thought, in which we follow the author's mind +through his imaginary creations. They hold, indeed, the same relation +to Painting that versification does to Poetry, an element of style; +for what is meant by a line in Painting is analogous to that which +in the sister art distinguishes the abrupt gait of Crabbe from the +sauntering walk of Cowley, and the "long, majestic march" of Dryden +from the surging sweep of Milton. + +Of Continuity little needs be said, since its uses are implied in the +explanation of Line; indeed, all that can be added will be expressed +in its essential relation to a _whole_, in which alone it differs +from a mere line. For, though a line (as just explained) supposes a +continuous course, yet a line, _per se_, does not necessarily +imply any relation to other lines. It will still be a line, though +standing alone; but the principle of continuity may be called +the unifying spirit of every line. It is therefore that we have +distinguished it as a separate principle. + +In fact, if we judge from feeling, the only true test, it is no +paradox to say that the excess of variety must inevitably end in +monotony; for, as soon as the sense of fatigue begins, every new +variety but adds to the pain, till the succeeding impressions are at +last resolved into continuous pain. But, supposing a limit to variety, +where the mind may be pleasurably excited, the very sense of pleasure, +when it reaches the extreme point, will create the desire of renewing +it, and naturally carry it back to the point of starting; thus +superinducing, with the renewed enjoyment, the fulness of pleasure, in +the sense of a whole. + +It is by this summing up, as it were, of the memory, through +recurrence, not that we perceive,--which is instantaneous,--but that +we enjoy any thing as a whole. If we have not observed it in others, +some of us, perhaps, may remember it in ourselves, when we have stood +before some fine picture, though with a sense of pleasure, yet for +many minutes in a manner abstracted,--silently passing through all its +harmonious transitions without the movement of a muscle, and hardly +conscious of action, till we have suddenly found ourselves returning +on our steps. Then it was,--as if we had no eyes till then,--that +the magic Whole poured in upon us, and vouched for its truth in an +outbreak of rapture. + +The fourth and last division of our subject is the Harmony of Parts; +or the essential agreement of one part with another, and of each with +the whole. In addition to our first general definition, we may further +observe, that by a Whole in Painting is signified the complete +expression, by means of form, color, light, and shadow, of one +thought, or series of thoughts, having for their end some +particular truth, or sentiment, or action, or mood of mind. We say +_thought_, because no images, however put together, can ever +be separated by the mind from other and extraneous images, so as to +comprise a positive whole, unless they be limited by some intellectual +boundary. A picture wanting this may have fine parts, but is not a +Composition, which implies parts united to each other, and also suited +to some specific purpose, otherwise they cannot be known as united. +Since Harmony, therefore, cannot be conceived of without reference to +a whole, so neither can a whole be imagined without fitness of parts. +To give this fitness, then, is the ultimate task and test of genius: +it is, in fact, calling form and life out of what before was but a +chaos of materials, and making them the subject and exponents of the +will. As the master-principle, also, it is the disposer, regulator, +and modifier of shape, line, and quantity, adding, diminishing, +changing, shaping, till it becomes clear and intelligible, and it +finally manifests itself in pleasurable identity with the harmony +within us. + +To reduce the operation of this principle to precise rules is, +perhaps, without the province of human power: we might else expect to +see poets and painters made by recipe. As in many other operations of +the mind, we must here be content to note a few of the more tangible +facts, if we may be allowed the phrase, which have occasionally been +gathered by observation during the process. The first fact presented +is, that equal quantities, when coming together, produce monotony, +and, if at all admissible, are only so when absolutely needed, at +a proper distance, to echo back or recall the theme, which would +otherwise be lost in the excess of variety. We speak of quantity here +as of a mass, not of the minutiae; for _the essential components_ +of a part may often be _equal quantities_, (as in a piece of +architecture, of armour, &c.,) which are analogous to poetic feet, for +instance, a spondee. The same effect we find from parallel lines and +repetition of shapes. Hence we obtain the law of a limited variety. +The next is, that the quantities must be so disposed as to balance +each other; otherwise, if all or too many of the larger be on one +side, they will endanger the imaginary circle, or other figure, by +which every composition is supposed to be bounded, making it appear +"lop-sided," or to be falling either in upon the smaller quantities, +or out of the picture: from which we infer the necessity of balance. +If, without others to counteract and restrain them, the parts +converge, the eye, being forced to the centre, becomes stationary; in +like manner, if all diverge, it is forced to fly off in tangents: +as if the great laws of Attraction and Repulsion were here also +essential, and illustrated in miniature. If we add to these Breadth, I +believe we shall have enumerated all the leading phenomena of +Harmony, which experience has enabled us to establish as rules. By +_breadth_ is meant such a massing of the quantities, whether +by color, light, or shadow, as shall enable the eye to pass without +obstruction, and by easy transitions, from one to another, so that it +shall appear to take in the whole at a glance. This may be likened to +both the exordium and peroration of a discourse, including as well +the last as the first general idea. It is, in other words, a simple, +connected, and concise exposition and summary of what the artist +intends. + +We have thus endeavoured to arrange and to give a logical permanency +to the several principles of Composition. It is not to be supposed, +however, that in these we have every principle that might be named; +but they are all, as we conceive, that are of universal application. +Of other minor, or rather personal ones, since they pertain to the +individual, the number can only be limited by the variety of the +human intellect, to which these may be considered as so many simple +elementary guides; not to create genius, but to enable it to +understand itself, and by a distinct knowledge of its own operations +to correct its mistakes,--in a word, to establish the landmarks +between the flats of commonplace and the barrens of extravagance. And, +though the personal or individual principles referred to may not with +propriety be cited as examples in a general treatise like the present, +they are not only not to be overlooked, but are to be regarded by the +student as legitimate objects of study. To the truism, that we can +only judge of other minds by a knowledge of our own, we may add +its converse as especially true. In that mysterious tract of the +intellect, which we call the Imagination, there would seem to lie +hid thousands of unknown forms, of which we are often for years +unconscious, until they start up awakened by the footsteps of a +stranger. Hence it is that the greatest geniuses, as presenting a +wider field for excitement, are generally found to be the widest +likers; not so much from affinity, or because they possess the +precise kinds of excellence which they admire, but often from the +_differences_ which these very excellences in others, as the +exciting cause, awaken in themselves. Such men may be said to be +endowed with a double vision, an inward and an outward; the inward +seeing not unfrequently the reverse of what is seen by the outward. +It was this which caused Annibal Caracci to remark, on seeing for the +first time a picture by Caravaggio, that he thought a style totally +opposite might be made very captivating; and the hint, it is said, +sunk deep into and was not lost on Guido, who soon after realized what +his master had thus imagined. Perhaps no one ever caught more from +others than Raffaelle. I do not allude to his "borrowing," so +ingeniously, not soundly, defended by Sir Joshua, but rather to his +excitability, (if I may here apply a modern term,)--that inflammable +temperament, which took fire, as it were, from the very friction +of the atmosphere. For there was scarce an excellence, within his +knowledge, of his predecessors or contemporaries, which did not in a +greater or less degree contribute to the developement of his powers; +not as presenting models of imitation, but as shedding new light on +his own mind, and opening to view its hidden treasures. Such to him +were the forms of the Antique, of Leonardo da Vinci, and of Michael +Angelo, and the breadth and color of Fra Bartolomeo,--lights that +first made him acquainted with himself, not lights that he followed; +for he was a follower of none. To how many others he was indebted for +his impulses cannot now be known; but the new impetus he was known to +have received from every new excellence has led many to believe, that, +had he lived to see the works of Titian, he would have added to his +grace, character, and form, and with equal originality, the splendor +of color. "The design of Michael Angelo and the color of Titian," was +the inscription of Tintoretto over the door of his painting-room. +Whether he intended to designate these two artists as his future +models matters not; but that he did not follow them is evidenced in +his works. Nor, indeed, could he: the temptation to _follow_, +which his youthful admiration had excited, was met by an interdiction +not easily withstood,--the decree of his own genius. And yet the +decree had probably never been heard but for these very masters. Their +presence stirred him; and, when he thought of serving, his teeming +mind poured out its abundance, making _him_ a master to future +generations. To the forms of Michael Angelo he was certainly indebted +for the elevation of his own; there, however, the inspiration ended. +With Titian he was nearly allied in genius; yet he thought rather with +than after him,--at times even beyond him. Titian, indeed, may be said +to have first opened his eyes to the mysteries of nature; but they +were no sooner opened, than he rushed into them with a rapidity and +daring unwont to the more cautious spirit of his master; and, though +irregular, eccentric, and often inferior, yet sometimes he made his +way to poetical regions, of whose celestial hues even Titian himself +had never dreamt. + +We might go on thus with every great name in Art. But these examples +are enough to show how much even the most original minds, not only +may, but _must_, owe to others; for the social law of our nature +applies no less to the intellect than to the affections. When applied +to genius, it may be called the social inspiration, the simple +statement of which seems to us of itself a solution of the +oft-repeated question, "Why is it that genius always appears in +clusters?" To Nature, indeed, we must all at last recur, as to the +only true and permanent foundation of real excellence. But Nature is +open to all men alike, in her beauty, her majesty, her grandeur, and +her sublimity. Yet who will assert that all men see, or, if they see, +are impressed by these her attributes alike? Nay, so great is the +difference, that one might almost suppose them inhabitants of +different worlds. Of Claude, for instance, it is hardly a metaphor to +say that he lived in two worlds during his natural life; for Claude +the pastry-cook could never have seen the same world that was made +visible to Claude the painter. It was human sympathy, acting through +human works, that gave birth to his intellect at the age of forty. +There is something, perhaps, ludicrous in the thought of an infant of +forty. Yet the fact is a solemn one, that thousands die whose minds +have never been born. + +We could not, perhaps, instance a stronger confutation of the vulgar +error which opposes learning to genius, than the simple history of +this remarkable man. In all that respects the mind, he was literally a +child, till accident or necessity carried him to Rome; for, when the +office of color-grinder, added to that of cook, by awakening his +curiosity, first excited a love for the Art, his progress through its +rudiments seems to have been scarcely less slow and painful than that +of a child through the horrors of the alphabet. It was the struggle of +one who was learning to think; but, the rudiments being mastered, he +found himself suddenly possessed, not as yet of thought, but of new +forms of language; then came thoughts, pouring from his mind, and +filling them as moulds, without which they had never, perhaps, had +either shape or consciousness. + +Now what was this new language but the product of other minds,--of +successive minds, amending, enlarging, elaborating, through successive +ages, till, fitted to all its wants, it became true to the Ideal, and +the vernacular tongue of genius through all time? The first inventor +of verse was but the prophetic herald of Homer, Shakspeare, and +Milton. And what was Rome then but the great University of Art, where +all this accumulated learning was treasured? + +Much has been said of self-taught geniuses, as opposed to those who +have been instructed by others: but the distinction, it appears to +us, is without a difference; for it matters not whether we learn in a +school or by ourselves,--we cannot learn any thing without in some way +recurring to other minds. Let us imagine a poet who had never read, +never heard, never conversed with another. Now if he will not be +taught in any thing by another, he must strictly preserve this +independent negation. Truly the verses of such a poet would be a +miracle. Of similar self-taught painters we have abundant examples in +our aborigines,--but nowhere else. + +But, while we maintain, as a positive law of our nature, the necessity +of mental intercourse with our fellow-creatures, in order to the full +developement of the _individual_, we are far from implying that +any thing which is actually taken from others can by any process +become our own, that is, original. We may reverse, transpose, +diminish, or add to it, and so skilfully that no scam or mutilation +shall be detected; and yet we shall not make it appear original,--in +other words, _true_, the offspring of _one_ mind. A borrowed +thought will always be borrowed; as it will be felt as such in its +_effect_, even while we are ourselves unconscious of the fact: +for it will want that _effect of life_, which only the first mind +can give it[3]. + + +Of the multifarious retailers of the second-hand in style, the class +is so numerous as to make a selection difficult: they meet us at every +step in the history of the Art. One instance, however, may suffice, +and we select Vernet, as uniting in himself a singular and striking +example of the _false_ and the _true_; and also as the least +invidious instance, inasmuch as we may prove our position by opposing +him to himself. + +In the landscapes of Vernet, (when not mere views,) we see the +imitator of Salvator, or rather copyist of his lines; and these we +have in all their angular nakedness, where rocks, trees, and mountains +are so jagged, contorted, and tumbled about, that nothing but an +explosion could account for their assemblage. They have not the +relation which we sometimes find even in a random collocation, as in +the accidental pictures of a discolored wall; for the careful hand +of the contriver is traced through all this disorder; nay, the very +execution, the conventional dash of pencil, betrays what a lawyer +would call the _malice prepense_ of the Artist in their strange +disfigurement. To many this may appear like hypercriticism; but we +sincerely believe that no one, even among his admirers, has ever been +deceived into a real sympathy with such technical flourishes: they +are felt as factitious; as mere diagrams of composition deduced from +pictures. + +Now let us look at one of his Storms at Sea, when he wrought from his +own mind. A dark leaden atmosphere prepares us for something fearful: +suddenly a scene of tumult, fierce, wild, disastrous, bursts upon us; +and we feel the shock drive, as it were, every other thought from the +mind: the terrible vision now seizes the imagination, filling it with +sound and motion: we see the clouds fly, the furious waves one upon +another dashing in conflict, and rolling, as if in wrath, towards the +devoted ship: the wind blows from the canvas; we hear it roar through +her shrouds; her masts bend like twigs, and her last forlorn hope, +the close-reefed foresail, streams like a tattered flag: a terrible +fascination still constrains us to look, and a dim, rocky shore looms +on her lee: then comes the dreadful cry of "Breakers ahead!" the crew +stand appalled, and the master's trumpet is soundless at his lips. +This is the uproar of nature, and we _feel_ it to be _true_; +for here every line, every touch, has a meaning. The ragged clouds, +the huddled waves, the prostrate ship, though forced by contrast +into the sharpest angles, all agree, opposed as they seem,--evolving +harmony out of apparent discord. And this is Genius, which no +criticism can ever disprove. + +But all great names, it is said, must have their shadows. In our Art +they have many shadows, or rather I should say, reflections; which +are more or less distinct according to their proximity to the living +originals, and, like the images in opposite mirrors, becoming +themselves reflected and re-reflected with a kind of battledoor +alternation, grow dimmer and dimmer till they vanish from mere +distance. + +Thus have the great schools of Italy, Flanders, and Holland lived and +walked after death, till even their ghosts have become familiar to us. + +We would not, however, be understood as asserting that we receive +pleasure only from original works: this would be contradicting +the general experience. We admit, on the contrary, that there are +hundreds, nay, thousands, of pictures having no pretensions to +originality of any kind, which still afford pleasure; as, indeed, +do many things out of the Art, which we know to be second-hand, or +imperfect, and even trifling. Thus grace of manner, for instance, +though wholly unaided by a single definite quality, will often delight +us, and a ready elocution, with scarce a particle of sense, make +commonplace agreeable; and it seems to be, that the pain of mental +inertness renders action so desirable, that the mind instinctively +surrounds itself with myriads of objects, having little to recommend +them but the property of keeping it from stagnating. And we are +far from denying a certain value to any of these, provided they +be innocent: there are times when even the wisest man will find +commonplace wholesome. All we have attempted to show is, that the +effect of an original work, as opposed to an imitation, is marked by +a difference, not of degree merely, but of kind; and that this +difference cannot fail to be felt, not, indeed, by every one, but by +any competent judge, that is, any one in whom is developed, by +natural exercise, that internal sense by which the spirit of life is +discerned. + + * * * * * + +Every original work becomes such from the infusion, so to speak, of +the mind of the Author; and of this the fresh materials of nature +alone seem susceptible. The imitated works of man cannot be endued +with a second life, that is, with a second mind: they are to the +imitator as air already breathed. + + * * * * * + +What has been said in relation to Form--that the works of our +predecessors, so far as they are recognized as true, are to be +considered as an extension of Nature, and therefore proper objects +of study--is equally applicable to Composition. But it is not to be +understood that this extended Nature (if we may so term it) is in any +instance to be imitated as a _whole_, which would be bringing our +minds into bondage to another; since, as already shown in the second +Discourse, every original work is of necessity impressed with the mind +of its author. If it be asked, then, what is the advantage of such +study, we shall endeavour to show, that it is not merely, as some have +supposed, in enriching the mind with materials, but rather in widening +our view of excellence, and, by consequent excitement, expanding our +own powers of observation, reflection, and performance. By increasing +the power of performance, we mean enlarging our knowledge of the +technical process, or the medium through which thought is expressed; +a most important species of knowledge, which, if to be otherwise +attained, is at least most readily learned from those who have left us +the result of their experience. This technical process, which has been +well called the language of the Art, includes, of course, all that +pertains to Composition, which, as the general medium, also contains +most of the elements of this peculiar tongue. + +From the gradual progress of the various arts of civilization, it +would seem that only under the action of some great _social_ law +can man arrive at the full developement of his powers. In our +Art especially is this true; for the experience of one man must +necessarily be limited, particularly if compared with the endless +varieties of form and effect which diversify the face of Nature; and +the finest of these, too, in their very nature transient, or of rare +occurrence, and only known to occur to those who are prepared to seize +them in their rapid transit; so that in one short life, and with but +one set of senses, the greatest genius can learn but little. The +Artist, therefore, must needs owe much to the living, and more to the +dead, who are virtually his companions, inasmuch as through their +works they still live to our sympathies. Besides, in our great +predecessors we may be said to possess a multiplied life, if life +be measured by the number of acts,--which, in this case, we may all +appropriate to ourselves, as it were by a glance. For the dead in Art +may well be likened to the hardy pioneers of our own country, who have +successively cleared before us the swamps and forests that would have +obstructed our progress, and opened to us lands which the efforts of +no individual, however persevering, would enable him to reach. + + + + +Aphorisms. + +Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio. + + + +1. "No genuine work of Art ever was, or ever can be, produced but for +its own sake; if the painter does not conceive to please himself, he +will not finish to please the world."--FUSELI. + +2. If an Artist love his Art for its own sake, he will delight in +excellence wherever he meets it, as well in the work of another as in +his own. This is the test of a true love. + +3. Nor is this genuine love compatible with a craving for distinction; +where the latter predominates, it is sure to betray itself before +contemporary excellence, either by silence, or (as a bribe to the +conscience) by a modicum of praise. + +The enthusiasm of a mind so influenced is confined to itself. + +4. Distinction is the consequence, never the object, of a great mind. + +5. The love of gain never made a Painter; but it has marred many. + +6. The most common disguise of Envy is in the praise of what is +subordinate. + +7. Selfishness in Art, as in other things, is sensibility kept at +home. + +8. The Devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the +phrase "devilish good" has sometimes a literal meaning. + +9. The most intangible, and therefore the worst, kind of lie is a +half truth. This is the peculiar device of a _conscientious_ +detractor. + +10. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading +only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own +littleness by elevating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. +He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look +down. Of such minds are mannerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of +all sorts. + +11. No right judgment can ever be formed on any subject having a moral +or intellectual bearing without benevolence; for so strong is man's +natural self-bias, that, without this restraining principle, he +insensibly becomes a competitor in all such cases presented to his +mind; and, when the comparison is thus made personal, unless the odds +be immeasurably against him, his decision will rarely be impartial. +In other words, no one can see any thing as it really is through the +misty spectacles of self-love. We must wish well to another in order +to do him justice. Now the virtue in this good-will is not to blind us +to his faults, but to our own rival and interposing merits. + +12. In the same degree that we overrate ourselves, we shall underrate +others; for injustice allowed at home is not likely to be corrected +abroad. Never, therefore, expect justice from a vain man; if he has +the negative magnanimity not to disparage you, it is the most you can +expect. + +13. The Phrenologists are right in placing the organ of self-love in +the back of the head, it being there where a vain man carries his +intellectual light; the consequence of which is, that every man he +approaches is obscured by his own shadow. + +14. Nothing is rarer than a solitary lie; for lies breed like Surinam +toads; you cannot tell one but out it comes with a hundred young ones +on its back. + +15. If the whole world should agree to speak nothing but truth, what +an abridgment it would make of speech! And what an unravelling there +would be of the invisible webs which men, like so many spiders, now +weave about each other! But the contest between Truth and Falsehood +is now pretty well balanced. Were it not so, and had the latter the +mastery, even language would soon become extinct, from its very +uselessness. The present superfluity of words is the result of the +warfare. + +16. A witch's skiff cannot more easily sail in the teeth of the wind, +than the human _eye_ lie against fact; but the truth will oftener +quiver through lips with a lie upon them. + +17. An open brow with a clenched hand shows any thing but an open +purpose. + +18. It is a hard matter for a man to lie _all over_. Nature +having provided king's evidence in almost every member. The hand will +sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every +feature is set the other way; the knees smite together, and sound the +alarm of fear, under a fierce countenance; and the legs shake with +anger, when all above is calm. + +19. Nature observes a variety even in her correspondences; insomuch +that in parts which seem but repetitions there will be found a +difference. For instance, in the human countenance, the two sides of +which are never identical. Whenever she deviates into monotony, +the deviation is always marked as an exception by some striking +deficiency; as in idiots, who are the only persons that laugh equally +on both sides of the mouth. + +The insipidity of many of the antique Statues may be traced to the +false assumption of identity in the corresponding parts. No work +wrought by _feeling_ (which, after all, is the ultimate rule of +Genius) was ever marked by this monotony. + +20. He is but half an orator who turns his hearers into spectators. +The best gestures (_quoad_ the speaker) are those which he cannot +help. An unconscious thump of the fist or jerk of the elbow is more +to the purpose, (whatever that may be,) than the most graceful +_cut-and-dried_ action. It matters not whether the orator +personates a trip-hammer or a wind-mill; if his mill but move with the +grist, or his hammer knead the iron beneath it, he will not fail of +his effect. An impertinent gesture is more likely to knock down the +orator than his opponent. + +21. The only true independence is in humility; for the humble man +exacts nothing, and cannot be mortified,--expects nothing, and cannot +be disappointed. Humility is also a healing virtue; it will cicatrize +a thousand wounds, which pride would keep for ever open. But humility +is not the virtue of a fool; since it is not consequent upon any +comparison between ourselves and others, but between what we are and +what we ought to be,--which no man ever was. + +22. The greatest of all fools is the proud fool,--who is at the mercy +of every fool he meets. + +23. There is an essential meanness in the wish to _get the +better_ of any one. The only competition worthy, of a wise man is +with himself. + +24. He that argues for victory is but a gambler in words, seeking to +enrich himself by another's loss. + +25. Some men make their ignorance the measure of excellence; these +are, of course, very fastidious critics; for, knowing little, they can +find but little to like. + +26. The Painter who seeks popularity in Art closes the door upon his +own genius. + +27. Popular excellence in one age is but the _mechanism_ of what +was good in the preceding; in Art, the _technic_. + +28. Make no man your idol, for the best man must have faults; and his +faults will insensibly become yours, in addition to your own. This is +as true in Art as in morals. + +29. A man of genius should not aim at praise, except in the form of +_sympathy_; this assures him of his success, since it meets the +feeling which possessed himself. + +30. Originality in Art is the individualizing the Universal; in other +words, the impregnating some general truth with the individual mind. + +31. The painter who is content with the praise of the world in respect +to what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; +for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a +mechanic,--for his time, and not for his art. + +32. _Reputation_ is but a synonyme of _popularity_; +dependent on suffrage, to be increased or diminished at the will of +the voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of its particular age, or +rather of a particular state of society; consequently, dying with that +which sustained it. Hence we can scarcely go over a page of history, +that we do not, as in a church-yard, tread upon some buried +reputation. But fame cannot be voted down, having its immediate +foundation in the essential. It is the eternal shadow of excellence, +from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but +in the light of an intellect kindred with that of its author. It is +that light which projects the shadow which is seen of the multitude, +to be wondered at and reverenced, even while so little comprehended +as to be often confounded with the substance,--the substance being +admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the economy of +Providence to provide such lights: like rising and setting stars, they +follow each other through successive ages: and thus the monumental +form of Genius stands for ever relieved against its own imperishable +shadow. + +33. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, +then, for something beyond the true, we wish for that which is false. +According to this test, how little truth is there in Art! Little +indeed! but how much is that little to him who feels it! + +34. Fame does not depend on the _will_ of any man, but Reputation +may be given or taken away. Fame is the sympathy of kindred +intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of _willing_; while +Reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence +which may either be uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, +being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of +the envious and the ignorant; but Fame, whose very birth is +_posthumous_, and which is only known _to exist by the echo of +its footsteps through congenial minds_, can neither be increased +nor diminished by any degree of will. + +35. What _light_ is in the natural world, such is _fame_ +in the intellectual; both requiring an _atmosphere_ in order +to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some +minds, a nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible _in +vacuo_. + +36. Fame has no necessary conjunction with Praise: it may exist without +the breath of a word; it is a _recognition of excellence_, which _must +be felt_, but need not be _spoken_. Even the envious must feel it,--feel +it, and hate it, in silence. + +37. I cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever labored for +it; that is, _directly_. For, as fame is but the contingent of +excellence, it would be like an attempt to project a shadow, before +its substance was obtained. Many, however, have so fancied. "I write, +I paint, for fame," has often been repeated: it should have been, "I +write, I paint, for reputation." All anxiety, therefore, about Fame +should be placed to the account of Reputation. + +38. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained +_excellence_, when it is not all in all to him. Nay, I may add, +that, if he looks beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not the +less true for being good _Irish_. + +39. An original mind is rarely understood, until it has been +_reflected_ from some half-dozen congenial with it, so averse +are men to admitting the _true_ in an unusual form; whilst any +novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor +is this to be wondered at; for all truth demands a response, and few +people care to _think_, yet they must have something to supply +the place of thought. Every mind would appear original, if every man +had the power of _projecting_ his own into the mind of others. + +40. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the +monstrous. For no man knows himself as an original; he can only +believe it on the report of others to whom _he is made known_, as +he is by the projecting power before spoken of. + +41. There is one thing which no man, however generously disposed, can +_give_, but which every one, however poor, is bound to _pay_. This is +Praise. He cannot give it, because it is not his own,--since what is +dependent for its very existence on something in another can never +become to him a _possession_; nor can he justly withhold it, when the +presence of merit claims it as a _consequence_. As praise, then, cannot +be made a _gift_, so, neither, when not his due, can any man receive it: +he may think he does, but he receives only _words_; for _desert_ being +the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one +without the other. This is no fanciful statement; for, though praise may +be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the +course of time, an existing merit will, on _some one_, produce its +effects; inasmuch as the existence of any cause without its effect is an +impossibility. A fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an +_irreversible justice_ for the weal or woe of him who confirms or +violates it. + + * * * * * + +[From the back of a pencil sketch.] + +Let no man trust to the gentleness, the generosity, or seeming +goodness of his heart, in the hope that they alone can safely bear him +through the temptations of this world. This is a state of probation, +and a perilous passage to the true beginning of life, where even the +best natures need continually to be reminded of their weakness, and +to find their only security in steadily referring all their thoughts, +acts, affections, to the ultimate end of their being: yet where, +imperfect as we are, there is no obstacle too mighty, no temptation +too strong, to the truly humble in heart, who, distrusting themselves, +seek to be sustained only by that holy Being who is life and power, +and who, in his love and mercy, has promised to give to those that +ask.--Such were my reflections, to which I was giving way on reading +this melancholy story. + +If he is satisfied with them, he may rest assured that he is neither +fitted for this world nor the next. Even in this, there are wrongs and +sorrows which no human remedy can reach;--no, tears cannot restore +what is lost. + + * * * * * + +[Written in a book of sketches, with a pencil.] + +A real debt of gratitude--that is, founded on a disinterested act of +kindness--cannot be cancelled by any subsequent unkindness on the part +of our benefactor. If the favor be of a pecuniary nature, we may, +indeed, by returning an equal or greater sum, balance the moneyed part; +but we cannot _liquidate_ the _kind motive_ by the setting off against +it any number of unkind ones. For an after injury can no more _undo_ a +previous kindness, than we can _prevent_ in the future what has happened +in the past. So neither can a good act undo an ill one: a fearful truth! +For good and evil have a moral _life_, which nothing in time can +extinguish; the instant they _exist_, they start for Eternity. How, +then, can a man who has _once_ sinned, and who has not of _himself_ +cleansed his soul, be fit for heaven where no sin can enter? I seek not +to enter into the mystery of the _atonement_, "which even the angels +sought to comprehend and could not"; but I feel its truth in an +unutterable conviction, and that, without it, all flesh must perish. +Equally deep, too, and unalienable, is my conviction that "the fruit of +sin is misery." A second birth to the soul is therefore a necessity +which sin _forces_ upon us. Ay,--but not against the desperate _will_ +that rejects it. + +This conclusion was not anticipated when I wrote the first sentence of +the preceding paragraph. But it does not surprise me. For it is but a +recurrence of what I have repeatedly experienced; namely, that I never +lighted on _any truth_ which I _inwardly felt_ as such, however +apparently remote from our religious being, (as, for instance, in the +philosophy of my art,) that, by following it out, did not find its +illustration and confirmation in some great doctrine of the Bible,--the +only true philosophy, the sole fountain of light, where the dark +questions of the understanding which have so long stood, like chaotic +spectres, between the fallen soul and its reason, at once lose their +darkness and their terror. + + + + +The Hypochondriac.[4] + + + + He would not taste, but swallowed life at once; + And scarce had reached his prime ere he had bolted, + With all its garnish, mixed of sweet and sour, + Full fourscore years. For he, in truth, did wot not + What most he craved, and so devoured all; + Then, with his gases, followed Indigestion, + Making it food for night-mares and their foals. + + _Bridgen_.[5] + + +It was the opinion of an ancient philosopher, that we can have no want +for which Nature does not provide an appropriate gratification. As it +regards our physical wants, this appears to be true. But there are +moral cravings which extend beyond the world we live in; and, were we +in a heathen age, would serve us with an unanswerable argument for the +immortality of the soul. That these cravings are felt by all, there +can be no doubt; yet that all feel them in the same degree would be as +absurd to suppose, as that every man possesses equal sensibility or +understanding. Boswell's desires, from his own account, seem to have +been limited to reading Shakspeare in the other world,--whether with +or without his commentators, he has left us to guess; and Newton +probably pined for the sight of those distant stars whose light has +not yet reached us. What originally was the particular craving of my +own mind I cannot now recall; but that I had, even in my boyish days, +an insatiable desire after something which always eluded me, I well +remember. As I grew into manhood, my desires became less definite; and +by the time I had passed through college, they seemed to have resolved +themselves into a general passion for _doing_. + +It is needless to enumerate the different subjects which one after +another engaged me. Mathematics, metaphysics, natural and moral +philosophy, were each begun, and each in turn given up in a passion of +love and disgust. + +It is the fate of all inordinate passions to meet their extremes; +so was it with mine. Could I have pursued any of these studies with +moderation, I might have been to this day, perhaps, both learned and +happy. But I could be moderate in nothing. Not content with being +employed, I must always be _busy_; and business, as every one +knows, if long continued, must end in fatigue, and fatigue in disgust, +and disgust in change, if that be practicable,--which unfortunately +was my case. + +The restlessness occasioned by these half-finished studies brought +on a severe fit of self-examination. Why is it, I asked myself, that +these learned works, which have each furnished their authors with +sufficient excitement to effect their completion, should thus weary me +before I get midway into them? It is plain enough. As a reader I +am merely a recipient, but the composer is an active agent; a vast +difference! And now I can account for the singular pleasure, which +a certain bad poet of my acquaintance always took in inflicting his +verses on every one who would listen to him; each perusal being but a +sort of mental echo of the original bliss of composition. I will set +about writing immediately. + +Having, time out of mind, heard the epithet _great_ coupled with +Historians, it was that, I believe, inclined me to write a history. +I chose my subject, and began collating, and transcribing, night and +day, as if I had not another hour to live; and on I went with the +industry of a steam-engine; when it one day occurred to me, that, +though I had been laboring for months, I had not yet had occasion for +one original thought. Pshaw! said I, 't is only making new clothes out +of old ones. I will have nothing more to do with history. + +As it is natural for a mind suddenly disgusted with mechanic toil to +seek relief from its opposite, it can easily be imagined that my next +resource was Poetry. Every one rhymes now-a-days, and so can I. Shall +I write an Epic, or a Tragedy, or a Metrical Romance? Epics are out of +fashion; even Homer and Virgil would hardly be read in our time, but +that people are unwilling to admit their schooling to have been thrown +away. As to Tragedy, I am a modern, and it is a settled thing that no +modern _can_ write a tragedy; so I must not attempt that. Then +for Metrical Romances,--why, they are now manufactured; and, as the +Edinburgh Review says, may be "imported" by us "in bales." I will bind +myself to no particular class, but give free play to my imagination. +With this resolution I went to bed, as one going to be inspired. The +morning came; I ate my breakfast, threw up the window, and placed +myself in my elbow-chair before it. An hour passed, and nothing +occurred to me. But this I ascribed to a fit of laughter that seized +me, at seeing a duck made drunk by eating rum-cherries. I turned my +back on the window. Another hour followed, then another, and another: +I was still as far from poetry as ever; every object about me seemed +bent against my abstraction; the card-racks fascinating me like +serpents, and compelling me to read, as if I would get them by heart, +"Dr. Joblin," "Mr. Cumberback," "Mr. Milton Bull," &c. &c. I took up +my pen, drew a sheet of paper from my writing-desk, and fixed my eyes +upon that;--'t was all in vain; I saw nothing on it but the watermark, +_D. Ames_. I laid down the pen, closed my eyes, and threw my +head back in the chair. "Are you waiting to be shaved, Sir?" said +a familiar voice. I started up, and overturned my servant. "No, +blockhead!"--"I am waiting to be inspired";--but this I added +mentally. What is the cause of my difficulty? said I. Something within +me seemed to reply, in the words of Lear, "Nothing comes of nothing." +Then I must seek a subject. I ran over a dozen in a few minutes, chose +one after another, and, though twenty thoughts very readily occurred +on each, I was fain to reject them all; some for wanting pith, some +for belonging to prose, and others for having been worn out in the +service of other poets. In a word, my eyes began to open on the truth, +and I felt convinced that _that_ only was poetry which a man +writes because he cannot help writing; the irrepressible effluence +of his secret being on every thing in sympathy with it,--a kind of +_flowering_ of the soul amid the warmth and the light of nature. +I am no poet, I exclaimed, and I will not disfigure Mr. Ames with +commonplace verses. + +I know not how I should have borne this second disappointment, had not +the title of a new Novel, which then came into my head, suggested a +trial in that branch of letters. I will write a Novel. Having come to +this determination, the next thing was to collect materials. They must +be sought after, said I, for my late experiment has satisfied me that +I might wait for ever in my elbow-chair, and they would never come to +me; they must be toiled for,--not in books, if I would not deal in +second-hand,--but in the world, that inexhaustible storehouse of +all kinds of originals. I then turned over in my mind the various +characters I had met with in life; amongst these a few only seemed +fitted for any story, and those rather as accessories; such as a +politician who hated popularity, a sentimental grave-digger, and a +metaphysical rope-dancer; but for a hero, the grand nucleus of my +fable, I was sorely at a loss. This, however, did not discourage me. I +knew he might be found in the world, if I would only take the trouble +to look for him. For this purpose I jumped into the first stage-coach +that passed my door; it was immaterial whither bound, my object being +men, not places. My first day's journey offered nothing better than a +sailor who rebuked a member of Congress for swearing. But at the third +stage, on the second day, as we were changing horses, I had the good +fortune to light on a face which gave promise of all I wanted. It was +so remarkable that I could not take my eyes from it; the forehead +might have been called handsome but for a pair of enormous eyebrows, +that seemed to project from it like the quarter-galleries of a ship, +and beneath these were a couple of small, restless, gray eyes, which, +glancing in every direction from under their shaggy brows, sparkled +like the intermittent light of fire-flies; in the nose there was +nothing remarkable, except that it was crested by a huge wart with a +small grove of black hairs; but the mouth made ample amends, being +altogether indescribable, for it was so variable in its expression, +that I could not tell whether it had most of the sardonic, the +benevolent, or the sanguinary, appearing to exhibit them all in +succession with equal vividness. My attention, however, was mainly +fixed by the sanguinary; it came across me like an east wind, and +I felt a cold sweat damping my linen; and when this was suddenly +succeeded by the benevolent, I was sure I had got at the secret of +his character,--no less than that of a murderer haunted by remorse. +Delighted with this discovery, I made up my mind to follow the owner +of the face wherever he went, till I should learn his history. I +accordingly made an end of my journey for the present, upon learning +that the stranger was to pass some time in the place where we stopped. +For three days I made minute inquiries; but all I could gather was, +that he had been a great traveller, though of what country no one +could tell me. On the fourth day, finding him on the move, I took +passage in the same coach. Now, said I, is my time of harvest. But I +was mistaken; for, in spite of all the lures which I threw out to +draw him into a communicative humor, I could get nothing from him but +monosyllables. So far from abating my ardor, this reserve only the +more whetted my curiosity. At last we stopped at a pleasant village +in New Jersey. Here he seemed a little better known; the innkeeper +inquiring after his health, and the hostler asking if the balls he +had supplied him with fitted the barrels of his pistols. The latter +inquiry I thought was accompanied by a significant glance, that +indicated a knowledge on the hostler's part of more than met the ear; +I determined therefore to sound him. After a few general remarks, that +had nothing to do with any thing, by way of introduction, I began by +hinting some random surmises as to the use to which the stranger might +have put the pistols he spoke of; inquired whether he was in the habit +of loading them at night; whether he slept with them under his pillow; +if he was in the practice of burning a light while he slept; and if +he did not sometimes awake the family by groans, or by walking with +agitated steps in his chamber. But it was all in vain, the man +protesting that he never knew any thing ill of him. Perhaps, thought +I, the hostler having overheard his midnight wanderings, and detected +his crime, is paid for keeping the secret. I pumped the landlord, and +the landlady, and the barmaid, and the chambermaid, and the waiters, +and the cook, and every thing that could speak in the house; still to +no purpose, each ending his reply with, "Lord, Sir, he's as honest a +gentleman, for aught I know, as any in the world"; then would come a +question,--"But perhaps _you_ know something of him yourself?" +Whether my answer, though given in the negative, was uttered in such a +tone as to imply an affirmative, thereby exciting suspicion, I cannot +tell; but it is certain that I soon after perceived a visible change +towards him in the deportment of the whole household. When he spoke to +the waiters, their jaws fell, their fingers spread, their eyes rolled, +with every symptom of involuntary action; and once, when he asked the +landlady to take a glass of wine with him, I saw her, under pretence +of looking out of the window, throw it into the street; in short, the +very scullion fled at his approach, and a chambermaid dared not +enter his room unless under guard of a large mastiff. That these +circumstances were not unobserved by him will appear by what follows. + +Though I had come no nearer to facts, this general suspicion, added to +the remarkable circumstance that no one had ever heard his name (being +known only as _the gentleman_) gave every day new life to my +hopes. He is the very man, said I; and I began to revel in all the +luxury of detection, when, as I was one night undressing for bed, my +attention was caught by the following letter on my table. + + "SIR, + + "If you are the gentleman you would be thought, you will not + refuse satisfaction for the diabolical calumnies you have so + unprovokedly circulated against an innocent man. + + "Your obedient servant, + + "TIMOLEON BUB. + + "P.S. I shall expect you at five o'clock to-morrow morning, at the + three elms, by the river-side." + +This invitation, as may be well imagined, discomposed me not a +little. Who Mr. Bub was, or in what way I had injured him, puzzled +me exceedingly. Perhaps, thought I, he has mistaken me for another +person; if so, my appearing on the ground will soon set matters right. +With this persuasion I went to bed, somewhat calmer than I should +otherwise have been; nay, I was even composed enough to divert myself +with the folly of one bearing so vulgar an appellation taking it into +his head to play the _man of honor_, and could not help a waggish +feeling of curiosity to see if his name and person were in keeping. + +I woke myself in the morning with a loud laugh, for I had dreamt of +meeting, in the redoubtable Mr. Bub, a little pot-bellied man, with a +round face, a red snub-nose, and a pair of gooseberry wall-eyes. My +fit of pleasantry was far from passed off when I came in sight of the +fatal elms. I saw my antagonist pacing the ground with considerable +violence. Ah! said I, he is trying to escape from his unheroic name! +and I laughed again at the conceit; but, as I drew a little nearer, +there appeared a majestic altitude in his figure very unlike what I +had seen in my dream, and my laugh began to stiffen into a kind of +rigid grin. There now came upon me something very like a misgiving +that the affair might turn out to be no joke. I felt an unaccountable +wish that this Mr. Bub had never been born; still I advanced: but +if an aërolite had fallen at my feet, I could not have been more +startled, than when I found in the person of my challenger--the +mysterious stranger. The consequences of my curiosity immediately +rushed upon me, and I was no longer at a loss in what way I had +injured him. All my merriment seemed to curdle within me; and I felt +like a dog that had got his head into a jug, and suddenly finds he +cannot extricate it. "Well met, Sir," said the stranger; "now +take your ground, and abide the consequences of your infernal +insinuations." "Upon my word," replied I,--"upon my honor, Sir,"--and +there I stuck, for in truth I knew not what it was I was going to say; +when the stranger's second, advancing, exclaimed, in a voice which +I immediately recognized, "Why, zounds! Rainbow, are _you_ the +man?" "Is it you, Harman?" "What!" continued he, "my old classmate +Rainbow turned slanderer? Impossible! Indeed, Mr. Bub, there must be +some mistake here." "None, Sir," said the stranger; "I have it on +the authority of my respectable landlord, that, ever since this +gentleman's arrival, he has been incessant in his attempts to blacken +my character with every person at the inn." "Nay, my friend"--But I +put an end to Harman's further defence of me, by taking him aside, +and frankly confessing the whole truth. It was with some difficulty I +could get through the explanation, being frequently interrupted with +bursts of laughter from my auditor; which, indeed, I now began to +think very natural. In a word, to cut the story short, my friend +having repeated the conference verbatim to Mr. Bub, he was +good-natured enough to join in the mirth, saying, with one of his best +sardonics, he "had always had a misgiving that his unlucky ugly face +would one day or other be the death of somebody." Well, we passed the +day together, and having cracked a social bottle after dinner, parted, +I believe, as heartily friends as we should have been (which is saying +a great deal) had he indeed proved the favorite villain in my Novel. +But, alas! with the loss of my villain, away went the Novel. + +Here again I was at a stand; and in vain did I torture my brains +for another pursuit. But why should I seek one? In fortune I have a +competence,--why not be as independent in mind? There are thousands in +the world whose sole object in life is to attain the means of living +without toil; and what is any literary pursuit but a series of mental +labor, ay, and oftentimes more wearying to the spirits than that of +the body. Upon the whole, I came to the conclusion, that it was a very +foolish thing to do any thing. So I seriously set about trying to do +nothing. + +Well, what with whistling, hammering down all the nails in the house +that had started, paring my nails, pulling my fire to pieces and +rebuilding it, changing my clothes to full dress though I dined alone, +trying to make out the figure of a Cupid on my discolored ceiling, and +thinking of a lady I had not thought of for ten years before, I got +along the first week tolerably well. But by the middle of the second +week,--'t was horrible! the hours seemed to roll over me like +mill-stones. When I awoke in the morning I felt like an Indian +devotee, the day coming upon me like the great temple of Juggernaut; +cracking of my bones beginning after breakfast; and if I had any +respite, it was seldom for more than half an hour, when a newspaper +seemed to stop the wheels;--then away they went, crack, crack, noon +and afternoon, till I found myself by night reduced to a perfect +jelly,--good for nothing but to be ladled into bed, with a greater +horror than ever at the thought of sunrise. + +This will never do, said I; a toad in the heart of a tree lives a more +comfortable life than a nothing-doing man; and I began to perceive +a very deep meaning in the truism of "something being better than +nothing." But is a precise object always necessary to the mind? No: if +it be but occupied, no matter with what. That may easily be done. +I have already tried the sciences, and made abortive attempts in +literature, but I have never yet tried what is called general +reading;--that, thank Heaven, is a resource inexhaustible. I will +henceforth read only for amusement. My first experiment in this way +was on Voyages and Travels, with occasional dippings into Shipwrecks, +Murders, and Ghost-stories. It succeeded beyond my hopes; month after +month passing away like days, and as for days,--I almost fancied that +I could see the sun move. How comfortable, thought I, thus to travel +over the world in my closet! how delightful to double Cape Horn and +cross the African Desert in my rocking-chair,--to traverse Caffraria +and the Mogul's dominions in the same pleasant vehicle! This is living +to some purpose; one day dining on barbecued pigs in Otaheite; the +next in danger of perishing amidst the snows of Terra del Fuego; then +to have a lion cross my path in the heart of Africa; to run for my +life from a wounded rhinoceros, and sit, by mistake, on a sleeping +boa-constrictor;--this, this, said I, is life! Even the dangers of the +sea were but healthful stimulants. If I met with a tornado, it was +only an agreeable variety; water-spouts and ice-islands gave me no +manner of alarm; and I have seldom been more composed than when +catching a whale. In short, the ease with which I thus circumnavigated +the globe, and conversed with all its varieties of inhabitants, +expanded my benevolence; I found every place, and everybody in it, +even to the Hottentots, vastly agreeable. But, alas! I was doomed +to discover that this could not last for ever. Though I was still +curious, there were no longer curiosities; for the world is limited, +and new countries, and new people, like every thing else, wax stale on +acquaintance; even ghosts and hurricanes become at last familiar; and +books grow old, like those who read them. + +I was now at what sailors call a dead lift; being too old to build +castles for the future, and too dissatisfied with the life I had +led to look back on the past. In this state of mind, I bought me a +snuffbox; for, as I could not honestly recommend my disjointed self +to any decent woman, it seemed a kind of duty in me to contract such +habits as would effectually prevent my taking in the lady I had once +thought of. I set to, snuffing away till I made my nose sore, and +lost my appetite. I then threw my snuffbox into the fire, and took to +cigars. This change appeared to revive me. For a short time I thought +myself in Elysium, and wondered I had never tried them before. Thou +fragrant weed! O, that I were a Dutch poet, I exclaimed, that I might +render due honor to thy unspeakable virtues! Ineffable tobacco! Every +puff seemed like oil poured upon troubled waters, and I felt an +inexpressible calmness stealing over my frame; in truth, it seemed +like a benevolent spirit reconciling my soul to my body. But +moderation, as I have before said, was never one of my virtues. I +walked my room, pouring out volumes like a moving glass-house. My +apartment was soon filled with smoke; I looked in the glass and hardly +knew myself, my eyes peering at me, through the curling atmosphere, +like those of a poodle. I then retired to the opposite end, and +surveyed the furniture; nothing retained its original form or +position;--the tables and chairs seemed to loom from the floor, and my +grandfather's picture to thrust forward its nose like a French-horn, +while that of my grandmother, who was reckoned a beauty in her day, +looked, in her hoop, like her husband's wig-block stuck on a tub. +Whether this was a signal for the fiends within me to begin their +operations, I know not; but from that day I began to be what is called +nervous. The uninterrupted health I had hitherto enjoyed now seemed +the greatest curse that could have befallen me. I had never had the +usual itinerant distempers; it was very unlikely that I should always +escape them; and the dread of their coming upon me in my advanced age +made me perfectly miserable. I scarcely dared to stir abroad; +had sandbags put to my doors to keep out the measles; forbade my +neighbours' children playing in my yard to avoid the whooping-cough; +and, to prevent infection from the small-pox, I ordered all my male +servants' heads to be shaved, made the coachman and footman wear tow +wigs, and had them both regularly smoked whenever they returned from +the neighbouring town, before they were allowed to enter my presence. +Nor were these all my miseries; in fact, they were but a sort of +running base to a thousand other strange and frightful fancies; the +mere skeleton to a whole body-corporate of horrors. I became dreamy, +was haunted by what I had read, frequently finding a Hottentot, or a +boa-constrictor, in my bed. Sometimes I fancied myself buried in one +of the pyramids of Egypt, breaking my shins against the bones of a +sacred cow. Then I thought myself a kangaroo, unable to move because +somebody had cut off my tail. + +In this miserable state I one evening rushed out of my house. I know +not how far, or how long, I had been from home, when, hearing a +well-known voice, I suddenly stopped. It seemed to belong to a face +that I knew; yet how I should know it somewhat puzzled me, being then +fully persuaded that I was a Chinese Josh. My friend (as I afterwards +learned he was) invited me to go to his club. This, thought I, is one +of my worshippers, and they have a right to carry me wherever they +please; accordingly I suffered myself to be led. + +I soon found myself in an American tavern, and in the midst of a dozen +grave gentlemen who were emptying a large bowl of punch. They each +saluted me, some calling me by name, others saying they were happy to +make my acquaintance; but what appeared quite unaccountable was my not +only understanding their language, but knowing it to be English. A +kind of reaction now began to take place in my brain. Perhaps, said I, +I am not a Josh. I was urged to pledge my friend in a glass of punch; +I did so; my friend's friend, and his friend, and all the rest, in +succession, begged to have the same honor; I complied, again +and again, till at last, the punch having fairly turned my +head topsy-turvy, righted my understanding; and I found myself +_myself_. + +This happy change gave a pleasant fillip to my spirits. I returned +home, found no monster in my bed, and slept quietly till near noon the +next day. I arose with a slight headache and a great admiration +of punch; resolving, if I did not catch the measles from my late +adventure, to make a second visit to the club. No symptoms appearing, +I went again; and my reception was such as led to a third, and a +fourth, and a fifth visit, when I became a regular member. I believe +my inducement to this was a certain unintelligible something in three +or four of my new associates, which at once gratified and kept alive +my curiosity, in their letting out just enough of themselves while I +was with them to excite me when alone to speculate on what was kept +back. I wondered I had never met with such characters in books; and +the kind of interest they awakened began gradually to widen to others. +Henceforth I will live in the world, said I; 't is my only remedy. A +man's own affairs are soon conned; he gets them by heart till they +haunt him when he would be rid of them; but those of another can +be known only in part, while that which remains unrevealed is a +never-ending stimulus to curiosity. The only natural mode, therefore, +of preventing the mind preying on itself,--the only rational, because +the only interminable employment,--is to be busy about other people's +business. + +The variety of objects which this new course of life each day +presented, brought me at length to a state of sanity; at least, I was +no longer disposed to conjure up remote dangers to my door, or chew +the cud on my indigested past reading; though sometimes, I confess, +when I have been tempted to meddle with a very bad character, I have +invariably been threatened with a relapse; which leads me to think the +existence of some secret affinity between rogues and boa-constrictors +is not unlikely. In a short time, however, I had every reason to +believe myself completely cured; for the days began to appear of their +natural length, and I no longer saw every thing through a pair of +blue spectacles, but found nature diversified by a thousand beautiful +colors, and the people about me a thousand times more interesting than +hyenas or Hottentots. The world is now my only study, and I trust I +shall stick to it for the sake of my health. + + + + +Footnotes + + + +[1] The Frightful is not the Terrible, though often confounded with it. + +[2] See Introductory Discourse. + +[3] There is one species of imitation, however, which, as having been +practised by some of the most original minds, and also sanctioned by the +ablest writers, demands at least a little consideration; namely, the +adoption of an attitude, provided it be employed to convey a different +thought. So far, indeed, as the imitation has been confined to a +suggestion, and the attitude adopted has been modified by the new subject, +to which it was transferred, by a distinct change of character and +expression, though with but little variation in the disposition of limbs, +we may not dissent; such imitations being virtually little more than +hints, since they end in thoughts either totally different from, or more +complete than, the first. This we do not condemn, for every Poet, as well +as Artist, knows that a thought so modified is of right his own. It is the +transplanting of a tree, not the borrowing of a seed, against which we +contend. But when writers justify the appropriation, of entire figures, +without any such change, we do not agree with them; and cannot but think +that the examples they have quoted, as in the Sacrifice at Lystra, by +Raffaelle, and the Baptism, by Poussin, will fully support our position. +The antique _basso rilievo_ which Raffaelle has introduced in the former, +being certainly imitated both as to lines and grouping, is so distinct, +both in character and form, from the surrounding figures, as to render +them a distinct people, and their very air reminds us of another age. We +cannot but believe we should have had a very different group, and far +superior in expression, had he given us a conception of his own. It would +at least have been in accordance with the rest, animated with the +superstitious enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd; and especially as +sacrificing Priests would they have been amazed and awe-stricken in the +living presence of a god, instead of personating, as in the present group, +the cold officials of the Temple, going through a stated task at the +shrine of their idol. In the figure by Poussin, which he borrowed from +Michael Angelo, the discrepancy is still greater. The original figure, +which was in the Cartoon at Pisa, (now known only by a print,) is that of +a warrior who has been suddenly roused from the act of bathing by the +sound of a trumpet; he has just leaped upon the bank, and, in his haste to +obey its summons, thrusts his foot through his garment. Nothing could be +more appropriate than the violence of this action; it is in unison with +the hurry and bustle of the occasion. And this is the figure which Poussin +(without the slightest change, if we recollect aright) has transferred to +the still and solemn scene in which John baptizes the Saviour. No one can +look at this figure without suspecting the plagiarism. Similar instances +may be found in his other works; as in the Plague of the Philistines, +where the Alcibiades of Raffaelle is coolly sauntering among the dead and +dying, and with as little relation to the infected multitude as if he were +still with Socrates in the School of Athens. In the same picture may be +found also one of the Apostles from the Cartoon of the Draught of Fishes: +and we may naturally ask what business he has there. And yet such +appropriations have been made to appear no thefts, simply because no +attempt seems to have been made at concealment! But theft, we must be +allowed to think, is still theft, whether committed in the dark, or in the +face of day. And the example is a dangerous one, inasmuch as it comes from +men who were not constrained to resort to such shifts by any poverty of +invention. + +Akin to this is another and larger kind of borrowing, which, though it +cannot strictly be called copying; yet so evidently betrays a foreign +origin, as to produce the same effect. We allude to the adoption of the +peculiar lines, handling, and disposition of masses, &c., of any +particular master. + +[4] First printed in 1821, in "The Idle Man," No. II p. 38. + +[5] A feigned name.--_Editor_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LECTURES ON ART *** + +***** This file should be named 11391-8.txt or 11391-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/9/11391/ + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/11391-8.zip b/old/11391-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a16a9d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11391-8.zip diff --git a/old/11391-h.zip b/old/11391-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..93854c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11391-h.zip diff --git a/old/11391-h/11391-h.htm b/old/11391-h/11391-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..16d5ca0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11391-h/11391-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6186 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?> +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html> + +<head> +<title>Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + + body { + margin .5em; + font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; + } + + h1, h2, h3, h4 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + font-variant: small-caps + } + + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + + a { text-decoration: none; } + a:hover { background-color: #ffffcc } + + div.chapter { + margin-top: 4em; + } + + hr { + height: 1px; + width: 80%; + } + + div.note { + border-style: dashed; + border-width: 1px; + border-color: #000000; + background-color: #ccffcc; + width: 80%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + font-size: .8em; + } + + div.chapter > div.note { +margin: 10px; + width: 40%; + float: right; + } + + div.note p { + margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px; + } + +--> +</style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lectures on Art + +Author: Washington Allston + +Release Date: March 1, 2004 [EBook #11391] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LECTURES ON ART *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="note"><p>[<span class="smallcaps">Transcriber's Note:</span> Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end.]</p></div> + + +<div class="tp"> +<h1 class="title">Lectures on Art</h1> + +<p align="center" class="smallcaps">By</p> + +<h2 class="author">Washington Allston</h2> + +<h2 class="author">Edited by Richard Henry Dana, Jr.</h2> + +<h3>MDCCCL.</h3> +</div> + + +<div id="preface"> +<h2>Preface by the Editor.</h2> + + + +<p>Upon the death of Mr. Allston, it was determined, by those who had +charge of his papers, to prepare his biography and correspondence, and +publish them with his writings in prose and verse; a work which would +have occupied two volumes of about the same size with the present. A +delay has unfortunately occurred in the preparation of the biography +and correspondence; and, as there have been frequent calls for a +publication of his poems, and of the Lectures on Art he is known to +have written, it has been thought best to give them to the public in +the present form, without awaiting the completion of the whole +design. It may be understood, however, that, when the biography +and correspondence are published, it will be in a volume precisely +corresponding with the present, so as to carry out the original +design.</p> + +<p>I will not anticipate the duty of the biographer by an extended notice +of the life of Mr. Allston; but it may be interesting to some readers +to know the outline of his life, and the different circumstances under +which the several pieces in this volume were written.</p> + +<p>WASHINGTON ALLSTON was born at Charleston, in South Carolina, on the +5th of November, 1779, of a family distinguished in the history of +that State and of the country, being a branch of a family of the +baronet rank in the titled commonalty of England. Like most young +men of the South in his position at that period, he was sent to New +England to receive his school and college education. His school days +were passed at Newport, in Rhode Island, under the charge of Mr. +Robert Rogers. He entered Harvard College in 1796, and graduated in +1800. While at school and college, he developed in a marked manner +a love of nature, music, poetry, and painting. Endowed with senses +capable of the nicest perceptions, and with a mental and moral +constitution which tended always, with the certainty of a physical +law, to the beautiful, the pure, and the sublime, he led what many +might call an ideal life. Yet was he far from being a recluse, or from +being disposed to an excess of introversion. On the contrary, he was +a popular, high-spirited youth, almost passionately fond of society, +maintaining an unusual number of warm friendships, and unsurpassed by +any of the young men of his day in adaptedness to the elegancies and +courtesies of the more refined portions of the moving world. Romances +of love, knighthood, and heroic deeds, tales of banditti, and stories +of supernatural beings, were his chief delight in his early days. Yet +his classical attainments were considerable, and, as a scholar in the +literature of his own language, his reputation was early established. +He delivered a poem on taking his degree, which was much admired in +its day.</p> + +<p>On leaving college, he returned to South Carolina. Having determined +to devote his life to the fine arts, he sold, hastily and at a +sacrifice, his share of a considerable patrimonial estate, and +embarked for London in the autumn of 1801. Immediately upon his +arrival, he became a student of the Royal Academy, of which his +countryman, West, was President, with whom he formed an intimate and +lasting friendship. After three years spent in England, and a shorter +stay at Paris, he went to Italy, where he spent four years devoted +exclusively to the study of his art. At Rome began his intimacy with +Coleridge. Among the many subsequent expressions of his feeling toward +this great man, none, perhaps, is more striking than the following +extract from one of his letters:--"To no other man do I owe so much, +intellectually, as to Mr. Coleridge, with whom I became acquainted +in Rome, and who has honored me with his friendship for more than +five-and-twenty years. He used to call Rome the silent city; but I +never could think of it as such while with him; for, meet him when and +where I would, the fountain of his mind was never dry, but, like the +far-reaching aqueducts that once supplied this mistress of the world, +its living stream seemed specially to flow for every classic ruin over +which we wandered. And when I recall some of our walks under the pines +of the Villa Borghese, I am almost tempted to dream that I have once +listened to Plato in the groves of the Academy." Readers of Coleridge +know in what estimation he held the qualities and the friendship of +Mr. Allston. Beside Coleridge and West, he numbered among his friends +in England, Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Sir George Beaumont, Reynolds, +and Fuseli.</p> + +<p>In 1809, Mr. Allston returned to America, and remained two years +in Boston, his adopted home, and there married the sister of Dr. +Channing. In 1811, he went again to England, where his reputation as +an artist had been completely established. Before his departure, he +delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge. +During a severe illness, he removed from London to Clifton, at which +place he wrote "The Sylphs of the Seasons." In 1813, he made his +first, and, with the exception of "Monaldi," twenty-eight years +afterwards, his only publication. This was a small volume, entitled +"The Sylphs of the Seasons, and other Poems," published in London; +and, during the same year, republished in Boston under the direction +of his friends, Professor Willard of Cambridge and Mr. Edmund T. Dana. +This volume was well received, and gave him a place among the first +poets of his country. The smaller poems in that edition extend as far +as page 289 of the present volume.</p> + +<p>Beside the long and serious illness through which he passed, his +spirit was destined to suffer a deeper wound by the death of Mrs. +Allston, in London, during the same year. These events gave to his +mind a more earnest and undivided interest in his spiritual relations, +and drew him more closely than ever before to his religious duties. +He received the rite of confirmation, and through life was a devout +adherent to the Christian doctrine and discipline.</p> + +<p>The character of Mr. Allston's religious feelings may be gathered, +incidentally, from many of his writings. It is a subject to be treated +with the reserve and delicacy with which he himself would have had it +invested. Few minds have been more thoroughly imbued with belief in +the reality of the unseen world; few have given more full assent to +the truth, that "the things which are seen are temporal, the things +which are not seen are eternal." This was not merely an adopted +opinion, a conviction imposed upon his understanding; it was of the +essence of his spiritual constitution, one of the conditions of his +rational existence. To him, the Supreme Being was no vague, mystical +source of light and truth, or an impersonation of goodness and truth +themselves; nor, on the other hand, a cold rationalistic notion of an +unapproachable executor of natural and moral laws. His spirit rested +in the faith of a sympathetic God. His belief was in a Being as +infinitely minute and sympathetic in his providences, as unlimited +in his power and knowledge. Nor need it be said, that he was a firm +believer in the central truths of Christianity, the Incarnation and +Redemption; that he turned from unaided speculation to the inspired +record and the visible Church; that he sought aid in the sacraments +ordained for the strengthening of infirm humanity, and looked for the +resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.</p> + +<p>After a second residence of seven years in Europe, he returned to +America in 1818, and again made Boston his home. There, in a circle of +warmly attached friends, surrounded by a sympathy and admiration which +his elevation and purity, the entire harmony of his life and pursuits, +could not fail to create, he devoted himself to his art, the labor of +his love.</p> + +<p>This is not the place to enumerate his paintings, or to speak of his +character as an artist. His general reading he continued to the last, +with the earnestness of youth. As he retired from society, his taste +inclined him to metaphysical studies, the more, perhaps, from their +contrast with the usual occupations of his mind. He took particular +pleasure in works of devout Christian speculation, without, however, +neglecting a due proportion of strictly devotional literature. These +he varied by a constant recurrence to the great epic and dramatic +masters, and occasional reading of the earlier and the living +novelists, tales of wild romance and lighter fiction, voyages and +travels, biographies and letters. Nor was he without a strong interest +in the current politics of his own country and of England, as to which +his principles were highly conservative.</p> + +<p>Upon his marriage with the daughter of the late Judge Dana, in 1830, +he removed to Cambridge, and soon afterwards began the preparation of +a course of lectures on Art, which he intended to deliver to a select +audience of artists and men of letters in Boston. Four of these he +completed. Rough drafts of two others were found among his papers, but +not in a state fit for publication. In 1841, he published his tale of +"Monaldi," a production of his early life. The poems in the present +volume, not included in the volume of 1813, are, with two exceptions, +the work of his later years. In them, as in his paintings of the +same period, may be seen the extreme attention to finish, always his +characteristic, which, added to increasing bodily pain and infirmity, +was the cause of his leaving so much that is unfinished behind him.</p> + +<p>His death occurred at his own house, in Cambridge, a little past +midnight on the morning of Sunday, the 9th of July, 1843. He had +finished a day and week of labor in his studio, upon his great picture +of Belshazzar's Feast; the fresh paint denoting that the last touches +of his pencil were given to that glorious but melancholy monument of +the best years of his later life. Having conversed with his retiring +family with peculiar solemnity and earnestness upon the obligation and +beauty of a pure spiritual life, and on the realities of the world to +come, he had seated himself at his nightly employment of reading and +writing, which he usually carried into the early hours of the morning. +In the silence and solitude of this occupation, in a moment, +"with touch as gentle as the morning light," which was even then +approaching, his spirit was called away to its proper home.</p> +</div> + + +<div id="toc"> +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<p><a href="#preface">Preface by the Editor</a></p> + +<p>Lectures on Art.</p> +<ul style="list-style-type:none"> +<li><a href="#ch01">Preliminary Note.--Ideas</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch02">Introductory Discourse</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch03">Art</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch04">Form</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch05">Composition</a></li></ul> + +<p><a href="#ch06">Aphorisms.</a> + Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio</p> + +<p><a href="#ch07">The Hypochondriac</a></p> +</div> + + + +<h1 class="title">Lectures on Art.</h1> + + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> +<h2>Preliminary Note.</h2> + +<h3>Ideas.</h3> + + + +<p>As the word <i>idea</i> will frequently occur, and will be found +also to hold an important relation to our present subject, we shall +endeavour, <i>in limine</i>, to possess our readers of the particular +sense in which we understand and apply it.</p> + +<p>An Idea, then, according to our apprehension, is the highest or most +perfect <i>form</i> in which any thing, whether of the physical, the +intellectual, or the spiritual, may exist to the mind. By form, we do not +mean <i>figure</i> or <i>image</i> (though these may be included in relation to the +physical); but that condition, or state, in which such objects become +cognizable to the mind, or, in other words, become objects of +consciousness.</p> + +<p>Ideas are of two kinds; which we shall distinguish by the terms <i>primary</i> +and <i>secondary</i>: the first being the <i>manifestation</i> of objective +realities; the second, that of the reflex product, so to speak, of the +mental constitution. In both cases, they may be said to be +self-affirmed,--that is, they carry in themselves their own evidence; +being therefore not only independent of the reflective faculties, but +constituting the only unchangeable ground of Truth, to which those +faculties may ultimately refer. Yet have these Ideas no living energy in +themselves; they are but the <i>forms</i>, as we have said, through or in which +a higher Power manifests to the consciousness the supreme truth of all +things real, in respect to the first class; and, in respect to the second, +the imaginative truths of the mental products, or mental combinations. Of +the nature and mode of operation of the Power to which we refer, we know, +and can know, nothing; it is one of those secrets of our being which He +who made us has kept to himself. And we should be content with the +assurance, that we have in it a sure and intuitive guide to a reverent +knowledge of the beauty and grandeur of his works,--nay, of his own +adorable reality. And who shall gainsay it, should we add, that this +mysterious Power is essentially immanent in that "breath of life," by +which man becomes "a living soul"?</p> + +<p>In the following remarks we shall confine ourself to the first +class of Ideas, namely, the Real; leaving the second to be noticed +hereafter.</p> + +<p>As to number, ideas are limited only by the number of kinds, without +direct relation to degrees; every object, therefore, having in itself +a <i>distinctive essential</i>, has also its distinct idea; while two +or more objects of the same kind, however differing in degree, must +consequently refer only to one and the same. For instance, though a +hundred animals should differ in size, strength, or color, yet, if +none of these peculiarities are essential to the species, they would +all refer to the same supreme idea.</p> + +<p>The same law applies equally, and with the same limitation, to +the essential differences in the intellectual, the moral, and the +spiritual. All ideas, however, have but a potential existence until +they are called into the consciousness by some real object; the +required condition of the object being a predetermined correspondence, +or correlation. Every such object we term an <i>assimilant</i>.</p> + +<p>With respect to those ideas which relate to the physical world, we +remark, that, though the assimilants required are supplied by +the senses, the senses have in themselves no <i>productive, +coöperating</i> energy, being but the passive instruments, or medium, +through which they are conveyed. That the senses, in this relation, +are merely passive, admits of no question, from the obvious difference +between the idea and the objects. The senses can do no more than +transmit the external in its actual forms, leaving the images in the +mind exactly as they found them; whereas the intuitive power rejects, +or assimilates, indefinitely, until they are resolved into the proper +perfect form. Now the power which prescribes that form must, of +necessity, be antecedent to the presentation of the objects which it +thus assimilates, as it could not else give consistence and unity to +what was before separate or fragmentary. And every one who has +ever realized an idea of the class in which alone we compare the +assimilants with the ideal form, be he poet, painter, or philosopher, +well knows the wide difference between the materials and their result. +When an idea is thus realized and made objective, it affirms its own +truth, nor can any process of the understanding shake its foundation; +nay, it is to the mind an essential, imperative truth, then emerging, +as it were, from the dark potential into the light of reality.</p> + +<p>If this be so, the inference is plain, that the relation between the +actual and the ideal is one of necessity, and therefore, also, is the +predetermined correspondence between the prescribed form of an +idea and its assimilant; for how otherwise could the former become +recipient of that which was repugnant or indifferent, when the +presence of the latter constitutes the very condition by which it is +manifested, or can be known to exist? By actual, here, we do not mean +the exclusively physical, but whatever, in the strictest sense, can be +called an <i>object</i>, as forming the opposite to a mere subject of +the mind.</p> + +<p>It would appear, then, that what we call ourself must have a +<i>dual</i> reality, that is, in the mind and in the senses, since +neither <i>alone</i> could possibly explain the phenomena of the +other; consequently, in the existence of either we have clearly +implied the reality of both. And hence must follow the still more +important truth, that, in the <i>conscious presence</i> of any +<i>spiritual</i> idea, we have the surest proof of a spiritual object; +nor is this the less certain, though we perceive not the assimilant. +Nay, a spiritual assimilant cannot be perceived, but, to use the words +of St. Paul, is "spiritually discerned," that is, by a sense, so to +speak, of our own spirit. But to illustrate by example: we could not, +for instance, have the ideas of good and evil without their objective +realities, nor of right and wrong, in any intelligible form, without +the moral law to which they refer,--which law we call the Conscience; +nor could we have the idea of a moral law without a moral lawgiver, +and, if moral, then intelligent, and, if intelligent, then personal; +in a word, we could not now have, as we know we have, the idea of +conscience, without an objective, personal God. Such ideas may well be +called revelations, since, without any perceived assimilant, we find +them equally affirmed with those ideas which relate to the purely +physical.</p> + +<p>But here it may be asked, How are we to distinguish an Idea from a mere +<i>notion</i>? We answer, By its self-affirmation. For an ideal truth, having +its own evidence in itself, can neither be proved nor disproved by any +thing out of itself; whatever, then, impresses the mind <i>as</i> truth, <i>is</i> +truth until it can be <i>shown</i> to be false; and consequently, in the +converse, whatever can be brought into the sphere of the understanding, as +a dialectic subject, is not an Idea. It will be observed, however, that we +do not say an idea may not be denied; but to deny is not to disprove. Many +things are denied in direct contradiction to fact; for the mind can +command, and in no measured degree, the power of self-blinding, so that it +cannot see what is actually before it. This is a psychological fact, which +may be attested by thousands, who can well remember the time when they had +once clearly discerned what has now vanished from their minds. Nor does +the actual cessation of these primeval forms, or the after presence of +their fragmentary, nay, disfigured relics, disprove their reality, or +their original integrity, as we could not else call them up in their +proper forms at any future time, to the reacknowledging their truth: a +<i>resuscitation</i> and result, so to speak, which many have experienced.</p> + +<p>In conclusion: though it be but one and the same Power that prescribes +the form and determines the truth of all Ideas, there is yet an +essential difference between the two classes of ideas to which we have +referred; for it may well be doubted whether any Primary Idea can ever +be fully realized by a finite mind,--at least in the present state. +Take, for instance, the idea of beauty. In its highest form, as +presented to the consciousness, we still find it referring to +something beyond and above itself, as if it were but an approximation +to a still higher form. The truth of this, we think, will be +particularly felt by the artist, whether poet or painter, whose mind +may be supposed, from his natural bias, to be more peculiarly capable +of its highest developement; and what true artist was ever satisfied +with any idea of beauty of which he is conscious? From this +approximated form, however, he doubtless derives a high degree of +pleasure, nay, one of the purest of which his nature is capable; +yet still is the pleasure modified, if we may so express it, by an +undefined yearning for what he feels can never be realized. And +wherefore this craving, but for the archetype of that which called it +forth?--When we say not satisfied, we do not mean discontented, but +simply not in full fruition. And it is better that it should be +so, since one of the happiest elements of our nature is that which +continually impels it towards the indefinite and unattainable. So +far as we know, the like limits may be set to every other primary +idea,--as if the Creator had reserved to himself alone the possible +contemplation of the archetypes of his universe.</p> + +<p>With regard to the other class, that of Secondary Ideas, which we +have called the reflex product of the mind, their distinguishing +characteristic is, that they not only admit of a perfect realization, +but also of outward manifestation, so as to be communicated to others. +All works of imagination, so called, present examples of this. Hence +they may also be termed imitative or imaginative. For, though they +draw their assimilants from the actual world, and are likewise +regulated by the unknown Power before mentioned, yet are they but the +forms of what, <i>as a whole</i>, have no actual existence;--they are +nevertheless true to the mind, and are made so by the same Power which +affirms their possibility. This species of Truth we shall hereafter +have occasion to distinguish as Poetic Truth.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> +<h2>Introductory Discourse.</h2> + + + +<p>Next to the developement of our moral nature, to have subordinated the +senses to the mind is the highest triumph of the civilized state. Were +it possible to embody the present complicated scheme of society, so as +to bring it before us as a visible object, there is perhaps nothing +in the world of sense that would so fill us with wonder; for what is +there in nature that may not fall within its limits? and yet how small +a portion of this stupendous fabric will be found to have any direct, +much less exclusive, relation to the actual wants of the body! It +might seem, indeed, to an unreflecting observer, that our physical +necessities, which, truly estimated, are few and simple, have rather +been increased than diminished by the civilized man. But this is not +true; for, if a wider duty is imposed on the senses, it is only to +minister to the increased demands of the imagination, which is now so +mingled with our every-day concerns, even with our dress, houses, and +furniture, that, except with the brutalized, the purely sensuous wants +might almost be said to have become extinct: with the cultivated and +refined, they are at least so modified as to be no longer prominent.</p> + +<p>But this refilling on the physical, like every thing else, has had its +opponents: it is declaimed against as artificial. If by artificial is +meant unnatural, we cannot so consider it; but hold, on the contrary, +that the whole multiform scheme of the civilized state is not only in +accordance with our nature, but an essential condition to the proper +developement of the human being. It is presupposed by the very wants +of his mind; nor could it otherwise have been, any more than could +have been the cabin of the beaver, or the curious hive of the bee, +without their preëxisting instincts; it is therefore in the highest +sense natural, as growing out of the inherent desires of the mind.</p> + +<p>But we would not be misunderstood. When we speak of the refined +state as not out of nature, we mean such results as proceed from the +legitimate growth of our mental constitution, which we suppose to +be grounded in permanent, universal principles; and, whatever +modifications, however subtile, and apparently visionary, may follow +their operation in the world of sense, so long as that operation +diverge not from its original ground, its effect must be, in the +strictest sense, natural. Thus the wildest visions of poetry, the +unsubstantial forms of painting, and the mysterious harmonies of +music, that seem to disembody the spirit, and make us creatures of the +air,--even these, unreal as they are, may all have their foundation +in immutable truth; and we may moreover know of this truth by its own +evidence. Of this species of evidence we shall have occasion to speak +hereafter. But there is another kind of growth, which may well be +called unnatural; we mean, of those diseased appetites, whose effects +are seen in the distorted forms of the <i>conventional</i>, having no +ground but in weariness of the true; and it cannot be denied that this +morbid growth has its full share, inwardly and outwardly, both of +space and importance. These, however, must sooner or later end as they +began; they perish in the lie they make; and it were well did not +other falsehoods take their places, to prolong a life whose only +tenure is inconsequential succession,--in other words, Fashion.</p> + +<p>If it be true, then, that even the commonplaces of life must all in +some degree partake of the mental, there can be but one rule by which +to determine the proper rank of any object of pursuit, and that is by +its nearer or more remote relation to our inward nature. Every system, +therefore, which tends to degrade a mental pleasure to the subordinate +or superfluous, is both narrow and false, as virtually reversing its +natural order.</p> + +<p>It pleased our Creator, when he endowed us with appetites and +functions by which to sustain the economy of life, at the same time to +annex to their exercise a sense of pleasure; hence our daily food, and +the daily alternation of repose and action, are no less grateful than +imperative. That life may be sustained, and most of its functions +performed, without any coincident enjoyment, is certainly possible. +Our food may be distasteful, action painful, and rest unrefreshing; +and yet we may eat, and exercise, and sleep, nay, live thus for years. +But this is not our natural condition, and we call it disease. Were +man a mere animal, the very act of living, in his natural or healthy +state, would be to him a continuous enjoyment. But he is also a moral +and an intellectual being; and, in like manner, is the healthful +condition of these, the nobler parts of his nature, attended with +something more than a consciousness of the mere process of existence. +To the exercise of his intellectual faculties and moral attributes the +same benevolent law has superadded a sense of pleasure,--of a kind, +too, in the same degree transcending the highest bodily sensation, as +must that which is immortal transcend the perishable. It is not for us +to ask why it is so; much less, because it squares not with the +poor notion of material usefulness, to call in question a fact that +announces a nature to which the senses are but passing ministers. Let +us rather receive this ennobling law, at least without misgiving, lest +in our sensuous wisdom we exchange an enduring gift for a transient +gratification.</p> + +<p>Of the peculiar fruits of this law, which we shall here distinguish by +the general term <i>mental pleasures</i>, it is our purpose to treat +in the present discourse.</p> + +<p>It is with no assumed diffidence that we venture on this subject; for, +though we shall offer nothing not believed to be true, we are but too +sensible how small a portion of truth it is in our power to present. +But, were it far greater, and the present writer of a much higher +order of intellect, there would still be sufficient cause for +humility in view of those impassable bounds that have ever met every +self-questioning of the mind.</p> + +<p>But whilst the narrowness of human knowledge may well preclude all +self-exaltation, it would be worse than folly to hold as naught the +many important truths which have been wrought out for us by the mighty +intellects of the past. If they have left us nothing for vainglory, +they have left us at least enough to be grateful for. Nor is it +a little, that they have taught us to look into those mysterious +chambers of our being,--the abode of the spirit; and not a little, +indeed, if what we are there permitted to know shall have brought with +it the conviction, that we are not abandoned to a blind empiricism, to +waste life in guesses, and to guess at last that we have all our +lives been guessing wrong,--but, unapproachable though it be to the +subordinate Understanding, that we have still within us an abiding +Interpreter, which cannot be gainsaid, which makes our duty to God and +man clear as the light, which ever guards the fountain of all true +pleasures, nay, which holds in subjection the last high gift of the +Creator, that imaginative faculty whereby his exalted creature, made +in his image, might mould at will, from his most marvellous world, yet +unborn forms, even forms of beauty, grandeur, and majesty, having all +of truth but his own divine prerogative,--<i>the mystery of Life</i>.</p> + +<p>As the greater part of those Pleasures which we propose to discuss are +intimately connected with the material world, it may be well, perhaps, +to assign some reason for the epithet <i>mental</i>. To many, we know, +this will seem superfluous; but, when it is remembered how often we +hear of this and that object delighting the eye, or of certain sounds +charming the ear, it may not be amiss to show that such expressions +have really no meaning except as metaphors. When the senses, as the +medium of communication, have conveyed to the mind either the sounds +or images, their function ceases. So also with respect to the objects: +their end is attained, at least as to us, when the sounds or images +are thus transmitted, which, so far as they are concerned, must for +ever remain the same within as without the mind. For, where the +ultimate end is not in mere bodily sensation, neither the senses nor +the objects possess, of themselves, any productive power; of the +product that follows, the <i>tertium aliquid</i>, whether the pleasure +we feel be in a beautiful animal or in according sounds, neither the +one nor the other is really the cause, but simply the <i>occasion</i>. +It is clear, then, that the effect realized supposes of necessity +another agent, which must therefore exist only in the mind. But of +this hereafter.</p> + +<p>If the cause of any emotion, which we seem to derive from an outward +object, were inherent exclusively in the object itself, there could +be no failure in any instance, except where the organs of sense were +either diseased or imperfect. But it is a matter of fact that they +often do fail where there is no disease or organic defect. Many of us, +perhaps, can call to mind certain individuals, whose sense of hearing +is as acute as our own, who yet can by no possibility be made to +recognize the slightest relation between the according notes of the +simplest melody; and, though they can as readily as others distinguish +the individual sounds, even to the degrees of flatness and sharpness, +the harmonic agreement is to them as mere noise. Let us suppose +ourselves present at a concert, in company with one such person and +another who possesses what is called musical sensibility. How are +they affected, for instance, by a piece of Mozart's? In the sense +of hearing they are equal: look at them. In the one we perceive +perplexity, annoyance, perhaps pain; he hears nothing but a confused +medley of sounds. In the other, the whole being is rapt in ecstasy, +the unutterable pleasure gushes from his eyes, he cannot articulate +his emotion;--in the words of one, who felt and embodied the subtile +mystery in immortal verse, his very soul seems "lapped in Elysium." +Now, could this difference be possible, were the sole cause, strictly +speaking, in mere matter?</p> + +<p>Nor do we contradict our position, when we admit, in certain +cases,--for instance, in the producer,--the necessity of a nicer +organization, in order to the more perfect <i>transmission</i> of the +finer emotions; inasmuch as what is to be communicated in space and +time must needs be by some medium adapted thereto.</p> + +<p>Such a person as Paganini, it is said, was able to "discourse most +excellent music" on a ballad-monger's fiddle; yet will any one +question that he needed an instrument of somewhat finer construction +to show forth his full powers? Nay, we might add, that he needed no +less than the most delicate <i>Cremona</i>,--some instrument, as it +were, articulated into humanity,--to have inhaled and respired those +attenuated strains, which, those who heard them think it hardly +extravagant to say, seemed almost to embody silence.</p> + +<p>Now this mechanical instrument, by means of which such marvels were +wrought, is but one of the many visible symbols of that more subtile +instrument through which the mind acts when it would manifest itself. +It would be too absurd to ask if any one believed that the music we +speak of was created, as well as conveyed, by the instrument. The +violin of Paganini may still be seen and handled; but the soul that +inspired it is buried with its master.</p> + +<p>If we admit a distinction between mind and matter, and the result we +speak of be purely mental, we should contradict the universal law +of nature to assign such a product to mere matter, inasmuch as the +natural law forbids in the lower the production of the higher. Take +an example from one of the lower forms of organic life,--a common +vegetable. Will any one assert that the surrounding inorganic elements +of air, earth, heat, and water produce its peculiar form? Though some, +or all, of these may be essential to its developement, they are so +only as its predetermined correlatives, without which its existence +could not be manifested; and in like manner must the peculiar form of +the vegetable preëxist in its life,--in its <i>idea</i>,--in order to +evolve by these assimilants its own proper organism.</p> + +<p>No possible modification in the degrees or proportion of these +elements can change the specific form of a plant,--for instance, a +cabbage into a cauliflower; it must ever remain a cabbage, <i>small or +large, good or bad. </i> So, too, is the external world to the +mind; which needs, also, as the condition of its manifestation, its +objective correlative. Hence the presence of some outward object, +predetermined to correspond to the preëxisting idea in its living +power, is essential to the evolution of its proper end,--the +pleasurable emotion. We beg it may be noted that we do not say +<i>sensation</i>. And hence we hold ourself justified in speaking of +such presence as simply the occasion, or condition, and not, <i>per +se</i>, the cause. And hence, moreover, may be inferred the absolute +necessity of Dual Forces in order to the actual existence of any +thing. One alone, the incomprehensible Author of all things, is +self-subsisting in his perfect Unity.</p> + +<p>We shall now endeavour to establish the following proposition: namely, +that the Pleasures in question have their true source in One Intuitive +Universal Principle or living Power, and that the three Ideas of +Beauty, Truth, and Holiness, which we assume to represent the +<i>perfect</i> in the physical, intellectual, and moral worlds, are +but the several realized phases of this sovereign principle, which we +shall call <i>Harmony</i>.</p> + +<p>Our first step, then, is to possess ourself of the essential or +distinctive characteristic of these pleasurable emotions. Apparently, +there is nothing more simple. And yet we are acquainted with no single +term that shall fully express it. But what every one has more or less +felt may certainly be made intelligible in a more extended form, and, +we should think, by any one in the slightest degree competent to +self-examination. Let a person, then, be appealed to; and let him put +the question as to what passes within him when possessed by these +emotions; and the spontaneous feeling will answer for us, that what we +call <i>self</i> has no part in them. Nay, we further assert, that, +when singly felt, that is, when unallied to other emotions as +modifying forces, they are wholly unmixed with <i>any personal +considerations, or any conscious advantage to the individual</i>.</p> + +<p>Nor is this assigning too high a character to the feelings in question +because awakened in so many instances by the purely physical; since +their true origin may clearly be traced to a common source with those +profounder emotions which we are wont to ascribe to the intellectual +and moral. Besides, it should be borne in mind, that no physical +object can be otherwise to the mind than a mere <i>occasion</i>; its +inward product, or mental effect, being from another Power. The proper +view therefore is, not that such alliance can ever degrade the higher +agent, but that its more humble and material <i>assimilant</i> is thus +elevated by it. So that nothing in nature should be counted mean, +which can thus be exalted; but rather be honored, since no object can +become so assimilated except by its predetermined correlation to our +better nature.</p> + +<p>Neither is it the privilege of the exclusive few, the refined and +cultivated, to feel them deeply. If we look beyond ourselves, even to +the promiscuous multitude, the instance will be rare, if existing at +all, where some transient touch of these purer feelings has not raised +the individual to, at least, a momentary exemption from the common +thraldom of self. And we greatly err if their universality is not +solely limited by those "shades of the prison-house," which, in the +words of the poet, too often "close upon the growing boy." Nay, so +far as we have observed, we cannot admit it as a question whether any +person through a whole life has always been wholly insensible,--we +will not say (though well we might) to the good and true,--but to +beauty; at least, to some one kind, or degree, of the beautiful. The +most abject wretch, however animalized by vice, may still be able to +recall the time when a morning or evening sky, a bird, a flower, or +the sight of some other object in nature, has given him a pleasure, +which he felt to be distinct from that of his animal appetites, and +to which he could attach not a thought of self-interest. And, though +crime and misery may close the heart for years, and seal it up for +ever to every redeeming thought, they cannot so shut out from the +memory these gleams of innocence; even the brutified spirit, the +castaway of his kind, has been made to blush at this enduring light; +for it tells him of a truth, which might else have never been +remembered,--that he has once been a man.</p> + +<p>And here may occur a question,--which might well be left to the ultra +advocates of the <i>cui bono</i>,--whether a simple flower may not +sometimes be of higher use than a labor-saving machine.</p> + +<p>As to the objects whose effect on the mind is here discussed, it is +needless to specify them; they are, in general, all such as are known +to affect us in the manner described. The catalogue will vary both in +number and kind with different persons, according to the degree of +force or developement in the overruling Principle.</p> + +<p>We proceed, then, to reply to such objections as will doubtless be +urged against the characteristic assumed. And first, as regards the +Beautiful, we shall probably be met by the received notion, that we +experience in Beauty one of the most powerful incentives to passion; +while examples without number will be brought in array to prove it +also the wonder-working cause of almost fabulous transformations,--as +giving energy to the indolent, patience to the quick, perseverance +to the fickle, even courage to the timid; and, <i>vice versâ</i>, as +unmanning the hero,--nay, urging the honorable to falsehood, treason, +and murder; in a word, through the mastered, bewildered, sophisticated +<i>self</i>, as indifferently raising and sinking the fascinated +object to the heights and depths of pleasure and misery, of virtue and +vice.</p> + +<p>Now, if the Beauty here referred to is of the <i>human being</i>, we +do not gainsay it; but this is beauty in its <i>mixed mode</i>,--not +in its high, passionless form, its singleness and purity. It is not +Beauty as it descended from heaven, in the cloud, the rainbow, the +flower, the bird, or in the concord of sweet sounds, that seem to +carry back the soul to whence it came.</p> + +<p>Could we look, indeed, at the human form in its simple, unallied +physical structure,--on that, for instance, of a beautiful woman,--and +forget, or rather not feel, that it is other than a <i>form</i>, there +could be but one feeling: that nothing visible was ever so framed to +banish from the soul every ignoble thought, and imbue it, as it were, +with primeval innocence.</p> + +<p>We are quite aware that the doctrine assumed in our main proposition +with regard to Beauty, as holding exclusive relation to the Physical, +is not very likely to forestall favor; we therefore beg for it only +such candid attention as, for the reasons advanced, it may appear to +deserve.</p> + +<p>That such effects as have just been objected could not be from Beauty +alone, in its pure and single form, but rather from its coincidence +with some real or supposed moral or intellectual quality, or with the +animal appetites, seems to us clear; as, were it otherwise, we might +infer the same from a beautiful infant,--the very thought of which is +revolting to common sense. In such conjunction, indeed, it cannot but +have a certain influence, but so modified as often to become a mere +accessory, subordinated to the animal or moral object, and for the +attainment of an end not its own; in proof of which, we find it almost +uniformly partaking the penalty imposed on its incidental associates, +should ever their desires result in illusion,--namely, in the aversion +that follows. But the result of Beauty can never be such; when it +seems otherwise, the effect, we think, can readily be traced to other +causes, as we shall presently endeavour to show.</p> + +<p>It cannot be a matter of controversy whether Beauty is limited to the +human form; the daily experience of the most ordinary man would answer +No: he finds it in the woods, the fields, in plants and animals, +nay, in a thousand objects, as he looks upon nature; nor, though +indefinitely diversified, does he hesitate to assign to each the same +epithet. And why? Because the feelings awakened by all are similar in +kind, though varying, doubtless, by many degrees in intenseness. Now +suppose he is asked of what personal advantage is all this beauty to +him. Verily, he would be puzzled to answer. It gives him pleasure, +perhaps great pleasure. And this is all he could say. But why should +the effect be different, except in degree, from the beauty of a human +being? We have already the answer in this concluding term. For what is +a human being but one who unites in himself a physical, intellectual, +and moral nature, which cannot in one become even an object of thought +without at least some obscure shadowings of its natural allies? How, +then, can we separate that which has an exclusive relation to his +physical form, without some perception of the moral and intellectual +with which it is joined? But how do we know that Beauty is limited +to such exclusive relation? This brings us to the great problem; so +simple and easy of solution in all other cases, yet so intricate and +apparently inexplicable in man. In other things, it would be felt +absurd to make it a question, whether referring to form, color, or +sound. A single instance will suffice. Let us suppose, then, an +unfamiliar object, whose habits, disposition, and so forth, are wholly +unknown, for instance, a bird of paradise, to be seen for the +first time by twenty persons, and they all instantly call it +beautiful;--could there be any doubt that the pleasure it produced +in each was of the same kind? or would any one of them ascribe his +pleasure to any thing but its form and plumage? Concerning natural +objects, and those inferior animals which are not under the influence +of domestic associations, there is little or no difference among men: +if they differ, it is only in degree, according to their sensibility. +Men do not dispute about a rose. And why? Because there is nothing +beside the physical to interfere with the impression it was +predetermined to make; and the idea of beauty is realized instantly. +So, also, with respect to other objects of an opposite character; they +can speak without deliberating, and call them plain, homely, ugly, and +so on, thus instinctively expressing even their degree of remoteness +from the condition of beauty. Who ever called a pelican beautiful, or +even many animals endeared to us by their valuable qualities,--such as +the intelligent and docile elephant, or the affectionate orang-outang, +or the faithful mastiff? Nay, we may run through a long list of most +useful and amiable creatures, that could not, under any circumstances, +give birth to an emotion corresponding to that which we ascribe to the +beautiful.</p> + +<p>But there is scarcely a subject on which mankind are wider at +variance, than on the beauty of their own species,--some preferring +this, and others that, particular conformation; which can only be +accounted for on the supposition of some predominant expression, +either moral, intellectual, or sensual, with which they are in +sympathy, or else the reverse. While some will task their memory, +and resort to the schools, for their supposed infallible +<i>rules</i>;--forgetting, meanwhile, that ultimate tribunal to which +their canon must itself appeal, the ever-living principle which first +evolved its truth, and which now, as then, is not to be reasoned +about, but <i>felt</i>. It need not be added how fruitful of blunders +is this mechanical ground.</p> + +<p>Now we venture to assert that no mistake was ever made, even in a +single glance, concerning any natural object, not disfigured by human +caprice, or which the eye had not been trained to look at through +some conventional medium. Under this latter circumstance, there are +doubtless many things in nature which affect men very differently; and +more especially such as, from their familiar nearness, have come under +the influence of <i>opinion</i>, and been incrusted, as it were, by +the successive deposits of many generations. But of the vast and +various multitude of objects which have thus been forced from their +original state, there is perhaps no one which has undergone so many +and such strange disfigurements as the human form; or in relation to +which our "ideas," as we are pleased to call them, but in truth our +opinions, have been so fluctuating. If an Idea, indeed, had any thing +to do with Fashion, we should call many things monstrous to +which custom has reconciled us. Let us suppose a case, by way of +illustration. A gentleman and lady, from one of our fashionable +cities, are making a tour on the borders of some of our new +settlements in the West. They are standing on the edge of a forest, +perhaps admiring the grandeur of nature; perhaps, also, they are +lovers, and sharing with nature their admiration for each other, whose +personal charms are set off to the utmost, according to the most +approved notions, by the taste and elegance of their dress. Then +suppose an Indian hunter, who had never seen one of our civilized +world, or heard of our costume, coming suddenly upon them, their faces +being turned from him. Would it be possible for him to imagine what +kind of animals they were? We think not; and least of all, that he +would suppose them to be of his own species. This is no improbable +case; and we very much fear, should it ever occur, that the unrefined +savage would go home with an impression not very flattering either to +the milliner or the tailor.</p> + +<p>That, under such disguises, we should consider human beauty as a kind +of enigma, or a thing to dispute about, is not surprising; nor even +that we should often differ from ourselves, when so much of the +outward man is thus made to depend on the shifting humors of some +paramount Petronius of the shears. But, admitting it to be an easy +matter to divest the form, or, what is still more important, our +own minds, of every thing conventional, there is the still greater +obstacle to any true effect from the person alone, in that moral +admixture, already mentioned, which, more or less, must color the +most of our impressions from every individual. Is there not, then, +sufficient ground for at least a doubt if, excepting idiots, there is +one human being in whom the purely physical is <i>at all times</i> the +sole agent? We do not say that it does not generally predominate. But, +in a compound being like man, it seems next to impossible that the +nature within should not at times, in some degree, transpire through +the most rigid texture of the outward form. We may not, indeed, always +read aright the character thus obscurely indexed, or even be able to +guess at it, one way or the other; still, it will affect us; nay, most +so, perhaps, when most indefinite. Every man is, to a certain extent, +a physiognomist: we do not mean, according to the common acceptation, +that he is an interpreter of lines and quantities, which may be +reduced to rules; but that he is born one, judging, not by any +conscious rule, but by an instinct, which he can neither explain nor +comprehend, and which compels him to sit in judgment, whether he will +or no. How else can we account for those instantaneous sympathies and +antipathies towards an utter stranger?</p> + +<p>Now this moral influence has a twofold source, one in the object, +and another in ourselves; nor is it easy to determine which is the +stronger as a counteracting force. Hitherto we have considered only +the former; we now proceed with a few remarks upon the latter.</p> + +<p>Will any man say, that he is wholly without some natural or acquired +bias? This is the source of the counteracting influence which we speak +of in ourselves; but which, like many other of the secret springs, +both of thought and feeling, few men think of. It is nevertheless one +which, on this particular subject, is scarcely ever inactive; +and according to the bias will be our impressions, whether we be +intellectual or sensual, coldly speculative or ardently imaginative. +We do not mean that it is always called forth by every thing we +approach; we speak only of its usual activity between man and man; for +there seems to be a mysterious something in our nature, that, in spite +of our wishes, will rarely allow of an absolute indifference towards +any of the species; some effect, however slight, even as that of the +air which we unconsciously inhale and again respire, must follow, +whether directly from the object or reacting from ourselves. Nay, so +strong is the law, whether in attraction or repulsion, that we cannot +resist it even in relation to those human shadows projected on air by +the mere imagination; for we feel it in art only less than in nature, +provided, however, that the imagined being possess but the indication +of a human soul: yet not so is it, if presenting only the outward +form, since a mere form can in itself have no affinity with either +the heart or intellect. And here we would ask, Does not this +striking exception in the present argument cast back, as it were, a +confirmatory reflection?</p> + +<p>We have often thought, that the power of the mere form could not be +more strongly exemplified than at a common paint-shop. Among the +annual importations from the various marts of Europe, how +many beautiful faces, without an atom of meaning, attract the +passengers,--stopping high and low, people of all descriptions, +and actually giving pleasure, if not to every one, at least to the +majority; and very justly, for they have beauty, and <i>nothing +else</i>. But let another artist, some man of genius, copy the same +faces, and add character,--breathe into them souls: from that moment +the passers-by would see as if with other eyes; the affections and +the imagination then become the spectators; and, according to the +quickness or dulness, the vulgarity or refinement, of these, would be +the impression. Thus a coarse mind may feel the beauty in the hard, +soulless forms of Van der Werf, yet turn away with apathy from the +sanctified loveliness of a Madonna by Raffaelle.</p> + +<p>But to return to the individual bias, which is continually inclining +to, or repelling, What is more common, especially with women, than +a high admiration of a plain person, if connected with wit, or a +pleasing address? Can we have a stronger case in point than that of +the celebrated Wilkes, one of the ugliest, yet one of the most +admired men of his time? Even his own sex, blinded no doubt by their +sympathetic bias, could see no fault in him, either in mind or +person; for, when it was objected to the latter, that "he squinted +confoundedly," the reply was, "No, Sir, not more than a gentleman +ought to squint."</p> + +<p>Of the tendency to particular pursuits,--to art, science, or any +particular course of life,--we do not speak; the bias we allude to is +in the more personal disposition of the man,--in that which gives a +tone to his internal character; nor is it material of what +proportions compounded, of the affections, or the intellect, or the +senses,--whether of some only, or the whole; that these form the +ground of every man's bias is no less certain, than the fact that +there is scarcely any secret which men are in the habit of guarding +with such sedulous care. Nay, it would seem as if every one were +impelled to it by some superstitious instinct, that every one might +have it to say to himself, There is one thing in me which is all <i>my +own</i>. Be this as it may, there are few things more hazardous than +to pronounce with confidence on any man's bias. Indeed, most men would +be puzzled to name it to themselves; but its existence in them is +not the less a fact, because the form assumed may be so mixed and +complicated as to be utterly undefinable. It is enough, however, that +every one feels, and is more or less led by it, whether definite or +not.</p> + +<p>This being the case, how is it possible that it should not in some +degree affect our feelings towards every one we meet,--that it should +not leave some speck of leaven on each impression, which shall +impregnate it with something that we admire and love, or else with +that which we hate and despise?</p> + +<p>And what is the most beautiful or the most ungainly form before a +sorcerer like this, who can endow a fair simpleton with the rarest +intellect, or transform, by a glance, the intellectual, noble-hearted +dwarf to an angel of light? These, of course, are extreme cases. But +if true in these, as we have reason to believe, how formidable the +power!</p> + +<p>But though, as before observed, we may not read this secret with +precision, it is sometimes possible to make a shrewd guess at the +prevailing tendency in certain individuals. Perhaps the most obvious +cases are among the sanguine and imaginative; and the guess would be, +that a beautiful person would presently be enriched with all possible +virtues, while the colder speculatist would only see in it, not what +it possessed, but the mind that it wanted. Now it would be curious to +imagine (and the case is not impossible) how the eyes of each might be +opened, with the probable consequence, how each might feel when his +eyes were opened, and the object was seen as it really is. Some +untoward circumstance comes unawares on the perfect creature: a burst +of temper knits the brow, inflames the eye, inflates the nostril, +gnashes the teeth, and converts the angel into a storming fury. What +then becomes of the visionary virtues? They have passed into air, and +taken with them, also, what was the fair creature's right,--her +very beauty. Yet a different change takes place with the dry man of +intellect. The mindless object has taken shame of her ignorance; she +begins to cultivate her powers, which are gradually developed until +they expand and brighten; they inform her features, so that no one can +look upon them without seeing the evidence of no common intellect: the +dry man, at last, is struck with their superior intelligence, and what +more surprises him is the grace and beauty, which, for the first time, +they reveal to his eyes. The learned dust which had so long buried his +heart is quickly brushed away, and he weds the embodied mind. What +third change may follow, it is not to our purpose to foresee.</p> + +<p>Has human beauty, then, no power? When united with virtue and +intellect, we might almost answer,--All power. It is the embodied +harmony of the true poet; his visible Muse; the guardian angel of his +better nature; the inspiring sibyl of his best affections, drawing him +to her with a purifying charm, from the selfishness of the world, from +poverty and neglect, from the low and base, nay, from his own frailty +or vices:--for he cannot approach her with unhallowed thoughts, whom +the unlettered and ignorant look up to with awe, as to one of a +race above them; before whom the wisest and best bow down without +abasement, and would bow in idolatry but for a higher reverence. +No! there is no power like this of mortal birth. But against the +antagonist moral, the human beauty of itself has no power, no +self-sustaining life. While it panders to evil desires, then, indeed, +there are few things may parallel its fearful might. But the unholy +alliance must at last have an end. Look at it then, when the beautiful +serpent has cast her slough.</p> + +<p>Let us turn to it for a moment, and behold it in league with elegant +accomplishments and a subtile intellect: how complete its triumph! If +ever the soul may be said to be intoxicated, it is then, when it feels +the full power of a beautiful, bad woman. The fabled enchantments +of the East are less strange and wonder-working than the marvellous +changes which her spell has wrought. For a time every thought seems +bound to her will; the eternal eye of the conscience closes before +her; the everlasting truths of right and wrong sleep at her bidding; +nay, things most gross and abhorred become suddenly invested with +a seeming purity: till the whole mind is hers, and the bewildered +victim, drunk with her charms, calls evil good. Then, what may follow? +Read the annals of crime; it will tell us what follows the broken +spell,--broken by the first degrading theft, the first stroke of the +dagger, or the first drop of poison. The felon's eye turns upon the +beautiful sorceress with loathing and abhorrence: an asp, a toad, is +not more hateful! The story of Milwood has many counterparts.</p> + +<p>But, although Beauty cannot sustain itself permanently against what is +morally bad, and has no direct power of producing good, it yet may, +and often does, when unobstructed, through its unimpassioned purity, +predispose to the good, except, perhaps, in natures grossly depraved; +inasmuch as all affinities to the pure are so many reproaches to the +vitiated mind, unless convertible to some selfish end. Witness the +beautiful wife, wedded for what is misnamed love, yet becoming the +scorn of a brutal husband,--the more bitter, perhaps, if she be also +good. But, aside from those counteracting causes so often mentioned, +it is as we have said: we are predisposed to feel kindly, and to think +purely, of every beautiful object, until we have reason to think +otherwise; and according to our own hearts will be our thoughts.</p> + +<p>We are aware of but one other objection which has not been noticed, +and which might be made to the intuitive nature of the Idea. How is +it, we may be asked, that artists, who are supposed, from their early +discipline, to have overcome all conventional bias, and also to have +acquired the more difficult power of analyzing their models, so as to +contemplate them in their separate elements, have so often varied as +to their ideas of Beauty? Whether artists have really the power thus +ascribed to them, we shall not here inquire; it is no doubt, if +possible, their business to acquire it. But, admitting it as true, we +deny the position: they do not change their ideas. They can have but +one Idea of Beauty, inasmuch as that Idea is but a specific phase of +one immutable Principle,--if there be such a principle; as we shall +hereafter endeavour to show. Nor can they have of it any +essentially different, much less opposite, conceptions: but their +<i>apprehension</i> of it may undergo many apparent changes, which, +nevertheless, are but the various degrees that only mark a fuller +conception; as their more extended acquaintance with the higher +outward assimilants of Beauty brings them, of course, nearer to a +perfect realization of the preëxisting Idea. By <i>perfect</i>, here, +we mean only the nearest approximation by man. And we appeal to every +artist, competent to answer, if it be not so. Does he ever descend +from a higher assimilant to a lower? Suppose him to have been born in +Italy; would he go to Holland to realize his Idea? But many a Dutchman +has sought in Italy what he could not find in his own country. We +do not by this intend any reflection on the latter,--a country so +fruitful of genius; it is only saying that the human form in Italy is +from a finer mould. Then, what directs the artist from one object to +another, and determines him which to choose, if he has not the guide +within him? And why else should all nations instinctively bow before +the superior forms of Greece?</p> + +<p>We add but one remark. Supposing the artist to be wholly freed from +all modifying biases, such is seldom the case with those who criticize +his work,--especially those who would show their superiority by +detecting faults, and who frequently condemn the painter simply for +not expressing what he never aimed at. As to some, they are never +content if they do not find beauty, whatever the subject, though +it may neutralize the character, if not render it ridiculous. Were +Raffaelle, who seldom sought the purely beautiful, to be judged by +the want of it, he would fall below Guido. But his object was much +higher,--in the intellect and the affections; it was the human being +in his endless inflections of thought and passion, in which there is +little probability he will ever be approached. Yet false criticism has +been as prodigal to him in the ascription of beauty, as parsimonious +and unjust to many others.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, may there not be, in the difficulty we have thus +endeavoured to solve, a probable significance of the responsible, as +well as distinct, position which the Human being holds in the world of +life? Are there no shadowings, in that reciprocal influence between +soul and soul, of some mysterious chain which links together the human +family in its two extremes, giving to the very lowest an indefeasible +claim on the highest, so that we cannot be independent if we would, +or indifferent even to the very meanest, without violation of an +imperative law of our nature? And does it not at least <i>hint</i> +of duties and affections towards the most deformed in body, the most +depraved in mind,--of interminable consequences? If man were a mere +animal, though the highest animal, could these inscrutable influences +affect us as they do? Would not the animal appetites be our true and +sole end? What even would Beauty be to the sated appetite? If it did +not, as in the last instance, of the brutal husband, become an object +of scorn,--which it could not be, from the necessary absence of moral +obliquity,--would it be better than a picked bone to a gorged dog? +Least of all could it resemble the visible sign of that pure idea, in +which so many lofty minds have recognized the type of a far higher +love than that of earth, which the soul shall know, when, in a better +world, she shall realize the ultimate reunion of Beauty with the +coëternal forms of Truth and Holiness.</p> + +<p>We will now apply the characteristic assumed to the second leading +Idea, namely, to Truth. In the first place, we take it for granted, +that no one will deny to the perception of truth some positive +pleasure; no one, at least, who is not at the same time prepared to +contradict the general sense of mankind, nay, we will add, their +universal experience. The moment we begin to think, we begin to +acquire, whether it be in trifles or otherwise, some kind of +knowledge; and of two things presented to our notice, supposing one to +be true and the other false, no one ever knowingly, and for its own +sake, chooses the false: whatever he may do in after life, for some +selfish purpose, he cannot do so in childhood, where there is no such +motive, without violence to his nature. And here we are supposing the +understanding, with its triumphant pride and subtilty, out of the +question, and the child making his choice under the spontaneous sense +of the true and the false. For, were it otherwise, and the choice +indifferent, what possible foundation for the commonest acts of life, +even as it respects himself, would there be to him who should sow with +lies the very soil of his growing nature. It is time enough in manhood +to begin to lie to one's self; but a self-lying youth can have no +proper self to rest on, at any period. So that the greatest liar, even +Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, must have loved the truth,--at least at one +time of his life. We say <i>loved</i>; for a voluntary choice implies +of necessity some degree of pleasure in the choosing, however faint +the emotion or insignificant the object. It is, therefore, <i>caeteris +paribus</i>, not only necessary, but natural, to find pleasure in +truth.</p> + +<p>Now the question is, whether the pleasurable emotion, which is, so +to speak, the indigenous growth of Truth, can in any case be free of +self, or some personal gratification. To this, we apprehend, there +will be no lack of answer. Nay, the answer has already been given from +the dark antiquity of ages, that even for her own exceeding loveliness +has Truth been canonized. If there was any thing of self in the +<i>Eureka</i> of Pythagoras, there was not in the acclamations of +his country who rejoiced with him. But we may doubt the feeling, if +applied to him. If wealth or fame has sometimes followed in the track +of Genius, it has followed as an accident, but never preceded, as the +efficient conductor to any great discovery. For what is Genius but the +prophetic revealer of the unseen True, that can neither be purchased +nor bribed into light? If it come, then, at all, it must needs be +evoked by a kindred love as pure as itself. Shall we appeal to the +artist? If he deserve the name, he will disdain the imputation that +either wealth or fame has ever aided at the birth of his ideal +offspring: it was Truth that smiled upon him, that made light his +travail, that blessed their birth, and, by her fond recognition, +imparted to his breast her own most pure, unimpassioned emotion. But, +whatever mixed feeling, through the infirmity of the agent, may have +influenced the artist, whether poet or painter, there can be but one +feeling in the reader or spectator.</p> + +<p>Indeed, so imperishable is this property of Truth, that it seems to +lose nothing of its power, even when causing itself to be reflected +from things that in themselves have, properly speaking, no truth. Of +this we have abundant examples in some of the Dutch pictures, where +the principal object is simply a dish of oysters or a pickled herring. +We remember a picture of this kind, consisting solely of these very +objects, from which we experienced a pleasure <i>almost</i> exquisite. +And we would here remark, that the appetite then was in no way +concerned. The pleasure, therefore, must have been from the imitated +truth. It is certainly a curious question why this should be, while +the things themselves, that is, the actual objects, should produce no +such effect. And it seems to be because, in the latter case, there was +no truth involved. The real oysters, &c., were indeed so far true as +they were actual objects, but they did not contain a <i>truth</i> in +<i>relation</i> to any thing. Whereas, in the pictured oysters, +their relation to the actual was shown and verified in the mutual +resemblance.</p> + +<p>If this be true, as we doubt not, we have at least one evidence, where +it might not be looked for, that there is that in Truth which is +satisfying of itself. But a stronger testimony may still be found +where, from all <i>à priori</i> reasoning, we might expect, if not +positive pain, at least no pleasure; and that is, where we find it +united with human suffering, as in the deep scenes of tragedy. Now it +cannot be doubted, that some of our most refined pleasures are often +derived from this source, and from scenes that in nature we could +not look upon. And why is this, but for the reason assigned in the +preceding instance of a still-life picture? the only difference being, +that the latter is addressed to the senses, and the former to the +heart and intellect: which difference, however, well accounts for +their vast disparity of effect. But may not these tragic pleasures +have their source in sympathy alone? We answer, No. For who ever felt +it in watching the progress of actual villany or the betrayal of +innocence, or in being an eyewitness of murder? Now, though we revolt +at these and the like atrocities in actual life, it would be both new +and false to assert that they have no attraction in Art.</p> + +<p>Nor do we believe that this acknowledged interest can well be traced +to any other source than the one assumed; namely, to the truth +of <i>relation</i>. And in this capacity does Truth stand to the +Imagination, which is the proper medium through which the artist, +whether poet or painter, projects his scenes.</p> + +<p>The seat of interest here, then, being <i>in</i> the imagination, it +is precisely on that account, and because it cannot be brought home to +self, that the pleasure ensues; which is plainly, therefore, derived +from its verisimilitude to the actual, and, though together with its +appropriate excitement, yet without its imperative condition, namely, +its call of <i>life</i> on the living affections.</p> + +<p>The proper word here is <i>interest</i>, not sympathy, for sympathy +with actual suffering, be the object good or bad, is in its nature +painful; an obvious reason why so few in the more prosaic world have +the virtue to seek it.</p> + +<p>But is it not the business of the artist to touch the heart? +True,--and it is his high privilege, as its liege-lord, to sound its +very depths; nay, from its lowest deep to touch alike its loftiest +breathing pinnacle. Yet he may not even approach it, except through +the transforming atmosphere of the imagination, where alone the +saddest notes of woe, even the appalling shriek of despair, are +softened, as it were, by the tempering dews of this visionary region, +ere they fall upon the heart. Else how could we stand the smothered +moan of Desdemona, or the fiendish adjuration of Lady Macbeth,--more +frightful even than the after-deed of her husband,--or look upon the +agony of the wretched Judas, in the terrible picture of Rembrandt, +when he returns the purchase of blood to the impenetrable Sanhedrim? +Ay, how could we ever stand these but for that ideal panoply through +which we feel only their modified vibrations?</p> + +<p>Let the imitation, or rather copy, be so close as to trench on +deception, the effect will be far different; for, the <i>condition</i> +of <i>relation</i> being thus virtually lost, the copy becomes as +the original,--circumscribed by its own qualities, repulsive or +attractive, as the case may be. I remember a striking instance of this +in a celebrated actress, whose copies of actual suffering were so +painfully accurate, that I was forced to turn away from the scene, +unable to endure it; her scream of agony in Belvidera seemed to ring +in my ears for hours after. Not so was it with the great Mrs. Siddons, +who moved not a step but in a poetic atmosphere, through which the +fiercest passions seemed rather to <i>loom</i> like distant mountains +when first descried at sea,--massive and solid, yet resting on air.</p> + +<p>It would appear, then, that there is something in truth, though but +seen in the dim shadow of relation, that enforces interest,--and, so +it be without pain, at least some degree of pleasure; which, however +slight, is not unimportant, as presenting an impassable barrier to the +mere animal. We must not, however, be understood as claiming for this +Relative Truth the power of exciting a pleasurable interest in +all possible cases; there are exceptions, as in the horrible, the +loathsome, &c., which under no condition can be otherwise than +revolting. It is enough for our purpose, to have shown that its effect +is in most cases similar to that we have ascribed to Truth absolute.</p> + +<p>But objections are the natural adversaries of every adventurer: there +is one in our path which we soon descried at our first setting +out. And we find it especially opposed to the assertion respecting +children; namely, that between two things, where there is no personal +advantage to bias the decision, they will always choose that which +seems to them true, rather than the other which appears false. To +this is opposed the notorious fact of the remarkable propensity which +children have to lying. This is readily admitted; but it does not meet +us, unless it can be shown that they have not in the act of lying an +eye to its <i>reward</i>,--setting aside any outward advantage,--in +the shape of self-complacent thought at their superior wit or +ingenuity. Now it is equally notorious, that such secret triumph will +often betray itself by a smile, or wink, or some other sign from +the chuckling urchin, which proves any thing but that the lie was +gratuitous. No, not even a child can love a lie purely for its own +sake; he would else love it in another, which is against fact. Indeed, +so far from it, that, long before he can have had any notion of what +is meant by honor, the word <i>liar</i> becomes one of his first and +most opprobrious terms of reproach. Look at any child's face when he +tells his companion he lies. We ask no more than that most logical +expression; and, if it speak not of a natural abhorrence only to be +overcome by self-interest, there is no trust in any thing. No. We +cannot believe that man or child, however depraved, <i>could</i> tell +an <i>unproductive, gratuitous lie</i>.</p> + +<p>Of the last and highest source of our pleasurable emotions we need say +little; since no one will question that, if sought at all, it can +only be for its own sake. But it does not become us--at least in this +place--to enter on the subject of Holiness; of that angelic state, +whose only manifestation is in the perfect unison with the Divine +Will. We may, however, consider it in the next degree, as it is known, +and as we believe often realized, among men: we mean Goodness.</p> + +<p>We presume it is superfluous to define a good act; for every one +knows, or ought to know, that no act is good in its true sense, which +has any, the least, reference to the agent's self. Nor is it necessary +to adduce examples; our object being rather to show that the +recognition of goodness--and we beg that the word be especially +noted--must result, of necessity, in such an emotion as shall partake +of its own character, that is, be entirely devoid of self-interest.</p> + +<p>This will no doubt appear to many a startling position. But let it be +observed, that we have not said it will <i>always</i> be recognized. +There are many reasons why it should not be, and is not. We all know +how easy it is to turn away from what gives us no pleasure. A long +course of vice, together with the consciousness that goodness has +departed from ourselves, may make it painful to look upon it. Nay, +the contemplation of it may become, on this account, so painful as to +amount to agony. But that Goodness can be hated for its own sake we do +not believe, except by a devil, or some irredeemable incarnation of +evil, if such there be on this side the grave. But it is objected, +that bad men have sometimes a pleasure in Evil from which they neither +derive nor hope for any personal advantage, that is, simply <i>because +it is evil</i>. But we deny the fact. We deny that an unmixed +pleasure, which is purely abstracted from all reference to self, is in +the power of Evil. Should any man assert this even of himself, he is +not to be believed; he lies to his own heart,--and this he may do +without being conscious of it. But how can this be? Nothing more +easy: by a simple dislocation of words; by the aid of that false +nomenclature which began with the first Fratricide, and has +continued to accumulate through successive ages, till it reached +its consummation, for every possible sin, in the French Revolution. +Indeed, there are few things more easy; it is only to transfer to the +evil the name of its opposite. Some of us, perhaps, may have witnessed +the savage exultation of some hardened wretch, when the accidental +spectator of an atrocious act. But is such exultation pleasure? Is it +at all akin to what is recognized as pleasure even by this hardened +wretch? Yet so he may call it. But should we, could we look into his +heart? Should we not rather pause for a time, from mere ignorance of +the true vernacular of sin. What he feels may thus be a mystery to all +but the reprobate; but it is not pleasure either in the deed or the +doer: for, as the law of Good is Harmony, so is Discord that of Evil; +and as sympathy to Harmony, so is revulsion to Discord. And where is +hatred deepest and deadliest? Among the wicked. Yet they often hate +the good. True: but not goodness, not the good man's virtues; these +they envy, and hate him for possessing them. But more commonly the +object of dislike is first stripped of his virtues by detraction; the +detractor then supplies their place by the needful vices,--perhaps +with his own; then, indeed, he is ripe for hatred. When a sinful act +is made personal, it is another affair; it then becomes a <i>part</i> +of <i>the man</i>; and he may then worship it with the idolatry of +a devil. But there is a vast gulf between his own idol and that of +another.</p> + +<p>To prevent misapprehension, we would here observe, that we do not +affirm of either Good or Evil any irresistible power of enforcing +love or exciting abhorrence, having evidence to the contrary in +the multitudes about us; all we affirm is, that, when contemplated +abstractly, they cannot be viewed otherwise. Nor is the fact of +their inefficiency in many cases difficult of solution, when it is +remembered that the very condition to their <i>true</i> effect is +the complete absence of self, that they must clearly be viewed <i>ab +extra</i>; a hard, not to say impracticable, condition to the very +depraved; for it may well be doubted if to such minds any act or +object having a moral nature can be presented without some personal +relation. It is not therefore surprising, that, where the condition is +so precluded, there should be, not only no proper response to the +law of Good or Evil, but such frequent misapprehension of their true +character. Were it possible to see with the eyes of others, this might +not so often occur; for it need not be remarked, that few things, if +any, ever retain their proper forms in the atmosphere of self-love; +a fact that will account for many obliquities besides the one in +question. To this we may add, that the existence of a compulsory power +in either Good or Evil could not, in respect to man, consist with his +free agency,--without which there could be no conscience; nor does it +follow, that, because men, with the free power of choice, yet so often +choose wrong, there is any natural indistinctness in the absolute +character of Evil, which, as before hinted, is sufficiently apparent +to them when referring to others; in such cases the obliquitous choice +only shows, that, with the full force of right perception, their +interposing passions or interests have also the power of giving their +own color to every object having the least relation to themselves.</p> + +<p>Admitting this personal modification, we may then safely repeat our +position,--that to hate Good or to love Evil, solely for their own +sakes, is only possible with the irredeemably wicked, in other words, +with devils.</p> + +<p>We now proceed to the latter clause of our general proposition. And here +it may be asked, on what ground we assume one intuitive universal +Principle as the true source of all those emotions which have just been +discussed. To this we reply, On the ground of their common agreement. As +we shall here use the words <i>effect</i> and <i>emotion</i> as convertible terms, +we wish it to be understood, that, when we apply the epithet <i>common</i> or +<i>same</i> to <i>effect</i>, we do so only in relation to <i>kind</i>, and for the +sake of brevity, instead of saying the same <i>class</i> of effects; implying +also in the word <i>kind</i> the existence of many degrees, but no other +difference. For instance, if a beautiful flower and a noble act shall be +found to excite a kindred emotion, however slight from the one or deep +from the other, they come in effect under the same category. And this we +are forced to admit, however heterogeneous, since a common ground is +necessarily predicated of a common result. How else, for instance, can +we account for a scene in nature, a bird, an animal, a human form, +affecting us each in a similar way? There is certainly no similitude in +the objects that compose a landscape, and the form of an animal and man; +they have no resemblance either in shape, or texture, or color, in +roughness, smoothness, or any other known quality; while their several +effects are so near akin, that we do not stop to measure even the wide +degrees by which they are marked, but class them in a breath by some +common term. It is very plain that this singular property of +assimilating to one what is so widely unlike cannot proceed from any +similar conformation, or quality, or attribute of mere being, that is, +of any thing essential to distinctive existence. There must needs, then, +be some common ground for their common effect. For if they agree not in +themselves one with the other, it follows of necessity that the ground +of their agreement must be in relation to something within our own +minds, since only <i>there</i> is this common effect known as a fact.</p> + +<p>We are now brought to the important question, <i>Where</i> and +<i>what</i> is this reconciling ground? Certainly not in sensation, +for that could only reflect their distinctive differences. Neither can +it be in the reflective faculties, since the effect in question, being +co-instantaneous, is wholly independent of any process of reasoning; +for we do not feel it because we understand, but only because we are +conscious of its presence. Nay, it is because we neither do nor can +understand it, being therefore a matter aloof from all the powers of +reasoning, that its character is such as has been asserted, and, as +such, universal.</p> + +<p>Where, then, shall we search for this mysterious ground but in the +mind, since only there, as before observed, is this common effect +known as a fact? and where in the mind but in some inherent Principle, +which is both intuitive and universal, since, in a greater or less +degree, all men feel it <i>without knowing why?</i></p> + +<p>But since an inward Principle can, of necessity, have only a potential +existence, until called into action by some outward object, it is also +clear that any similar effect, which shall then be recognized through +it, from any number of differing and distinct objects, can only arise +from some mutual relation between a <i>something</i> in the objects +and in the Principle supposed, as their joint result and proper +product.</p> + +<p>And, since it would appear that we cannot avoid the admission of +some such Principle, having a reciprocal relation to certain outward +objects, to account for these kindred emotions from so many distinct +and heterogeneous sources, it remains only that we give it a name; +which has already been anticipated in the term Harmony.</p> + +<p>The next question here is, In what consists this <i>peculiar relation?</i> We +have seen that it cannot be in any thing that is essential to any +condition of mere being or existence; it must therefore consist in some +<i>undiscoverable</i> condition indifferently applicable to the Physical, +Intellectual, and Moral, yet only applicable in each to certain kinds.</p> + +<p>And this is all that we do or <i>can</i> know of it. But of this we +may be as certain as that we live and breathe.</p> + +<p>It is true that, for particular purposes, we may analyze certain +combinations of sounds and colors and forms, so as to ascertain their +relative quantities or collocation; and these facts (of which we shall +hereafter have occasion to speak) may be of importance both in Art and +Science. Still, when thus obtained, they will be no more than mere +facts, on which we can predicate nothing but that, when they are +imitated,--that is, when similar combinations of quantities, &c., are +repeated in a work of art,--they will produce the same effect. But +<i>why</i> they should is a mystery which the reflective faculties do +not solve; and never can, because it refers to a living Power that is +above the understanding. In the human figure, for instance, we can +give no reason why eight heads to the stature please us better than +six, or why three or twelve heads seem to us monstrous. If we say, in +the latter case, <i>because</i> the head of the one is too small and +of the other too large, we give no <i>reason</i>; we only state the +<i>fact</i> of their disagreeable effect on us. And, if we make the +proportion of eight heads our rule, it is because of the fact of its +being more pleasing to us than any other; and, from the same feeling, +we prefer those statures which approach it the nearest. Suppose we +analyze a certain combination of sounds and colors, so as to ascertain +the exact relative quantities of the one and the collocation of the +other, and then compare them. What possible resemblance can the +understanding perceive between these sounds and colors? And yet a +something within us responds to both in a similar emotion. And so with +a thousand things, nay, with myriads of objects that have no other +affinity but with that mysterious harmony which began with our being, +which slept with our infancy, and which their presence only seems to +have <i>awakened</i>. If we cannot go back to our own childhood, we +may see its illustration in those about us who are now emerging into +that unsophisticated state. Look at them in the fields, among the +birds and flowers; their happy faces speak the harmony within them: +the divine instrument, which these have touched, gives them a joy +which, perhaps, only childhood in its first fresh consciousness can +know. Yet what do they understand of musical quantities, or of the +theory of colors?</p> + +<p>And so with respect to Truth and Goodness; whose preëxisting Ideas, +being in the living constituents of an immortal spirit, need but the +slightest breath of some outward condition of the true and good,--a +simple problem, or a kind act,--to awake them, as it were, from their +unconscious sleep, and start them for eternity.</p> + +<p>We may venture to assert, that no philosopher, however ingenious, +could communicate to a child the abstract idea of Right, had the +latter nothing beyond or above the understanding. He might, indeed, be +taught, like the inferior animals,--a dog, for instance,--that, if he +took certain forbidden things, he would be punished, and thus do +right through fear. Still he would desire the forbidden thing, +though belonging to another; nor could he conceive why he should not +appropriate to himself, and thus allay his appetite, what was held by +another, could he do so undetected; nor attain to any higher notion of +right than that of the strongest. But the child has something higher +than the mere power of apprehending consequences. The simplest +exposition, whether of right or wrong, even by an ignorant nurse, is +instantly responded to by something <i>within him</i>, which, thus +awakened, becomes to him a living voice ever after; and the good and +the true must thenceforth answer its call, even though succeeding +years would fain overlay them with the suffocating crowds of evil and +falsehood.</p> + +<p>We do not say that these eternal Ideas of Beauty, Truth, and Goodness +will, strictly speaking, always act. Though indestructible, they may +be banished for a time by the perverted Will, and mockeries of the +brain, like the fume-born phantoms from the witches' caldron in +Macbeth, take their places, and assume their functions. We have +examples of this in every age, and perhaps in none more startling than +in the present. But we mean only that they cannot be <i>forgotten</i>: +nay, they are but, too often recalled with unwelcome distinctness. +Could we read the annals which must needs be scored on every +heart,--could we look upon those of the aged reprobate,--who will +doubt that their darkest passages are those made visible by the +distant gleams from these angelic Forms, that, like the Three which +stood before the tent of Abraham, once looked upon his youth?</p> + +<p>And we doubt not that the truest witness to the common source of these +inborn Ideas would readily be acknowledged by all, could they return +to it now with their matured power of introspection, which is, at +least, one of the few advantages of advancing years. But, though +we cannot bring back youth, we may still recover much of its purer +revelations of our nature from what has been left in the memory. From +the dim present, then, we would appeal to that fresher time, ere +the young spirit had shrunk from the overbearing pride of the +understanding, and confidently ask, if the emotions we then felt from +the Beautiful, the True, and the Good, did not seem in some way to +refer to a common origin. And we would also ask, if it was then +frequent that the influence from one was <i>singly</i> felt,--if it +did not rather bring with it, however remotely, a sense of something, +though widely differing, yet still akin to it. When we have basked in +the beauty of a summer sunset, was there nothing in the sky that spoke +to the soul of Truth and Goodness? And when the opening intellect +first received the truth of the great law of gravitation, or felt +itself mounting through the profound of space, to travel with the +planets in their unerring rounds, did never then the kindred Ideas of +Goodness and Beauty chime in, as it were, with the fabled music,--not +fabled to the soul,--which led you on like one entranced?</p> + +<p>And again, when, in the passive quiet of your moral nature, so predisposed +in youth to all things genial, you have looked abroad on this marvellous, +ever teeming Earth,--ever teeming alike for mind and body,--and have felt +upon you flow, as from ten thousand springs of Goodness, Truth, and +Beauty, ten thousand streams of innocent enjoyment; did you not then +<i>almost hear</i> them shout in confluence, and almost <i>see</i> them gushing +upwards, as if they would prove their unity, in one harmonious fountain?</p> + +<p>But, though the preceding be admitted as all true in respect to +certain "gifted" individuals, it may yet be denied that it is equally +true with respect to all, in other words, that the Principle assumed +is an inherent constituent of the human being. To this we reply, that +universality does not necessarily imply equality.</p> + +<p>The universality of a Principle does not imply <i>everywhere</i> equal +energy or activity, or even the same mode of manifestation, any more +than do the essential Faculties of the Understanding. Of this we have +an analogous illustration in the faculty of Memory; which is almost +indefinitely differenced in different men, both in degree and mode. In +some, its greatest power is shown in the retention of thoughts, but +not of words, that is, not of the original words in which they were +presented. Others possess it in a very remarkable degree as to forms, +places, &c., and but imperfectly for other things; others, again, +never forget names, dates, or figures, yet cannot repeat a +conversation the day after it took place; while some few have the +doubtful happiness of forgetting nothing. We might go on with a long +list of the various modes and degrees in which this faculty, so +essential to the human being, is everywhere manifested. But this is +sufficient for our purpose. In like manner is the Principle of Harmony +manifested; in one person as it relates to Form, in another to Sound; +so, too, may it vary as to the degrees of truth and goodness. We say +degrees; for we may well doubt whether, even in the faculty of memory, +its apparent absence as to any one essential object is any thing more +than a feeble degree of activity: and the doubt is strengthened by the +fact, that in many seemingly hopeless cases it has been actually, as +it were, brought into birth. And we are still indisposed to admit its +entire absence in any one particular for which it was bestowed on man. +An imperfect developement, especially as relating to the intellectual +and moral, we know to depend, in no slight measure, on the <i>will</i> +of the subject. Nay, (with the exception of idiots,) it may safely be +affirmed, that no individual ever existed who could not perceive the +difference between what is true and false, and right and wrong. We +here, of course, except those who have so ingeniously <i>unmade</i> +themselves, in order to reconstruct their "humanity" after a better +fashion. As to the "<i>why</i>" of these differences, we know nothing; +it is one of those unfathomable mysteries which to the finite mind +must ever be hidden.</p> + +<p>Though it has been our purpose, throughout this discourse, to direct +our inquiries mainly to the essential Elements of the subject, it may +not be amiss here to take a brief notice of their collateral product +in those mixed modes from which we derive so large a portion of our +mental gratification: we allude to the various combinations of the +several Ideas, which have just been examined, with each other as well +as with their opposites. To this prolific source may be traced much +of that many-colored interest which we take in their various forms as +presented by the imagination,--in every thing, indeed, which is true, +or even partially true, to the great Principle of Harmony, both in +nature and in art. It is to these mixed modes more especially, that we +owe all that mysterious interest which gives the illusion of life to a +work of fiction, and fills us with delight or melts with woe, whether +in the happiness or the suffering of some imagined being, uniting +goodness with beauty, or virtue with plainness, or uncommon purity and +intellect even with deformity; for even that may be so overpowered in +the prominent harmony of superior intellect and moral worth, as to be +virtually neutralized, at least, to become unobtrusive as a discordant +force. Besides, it cannot be expected that <i>complete</i> harmony is +ever to be realized in our imperfect state; we should else, perhaps, +with such expectation, have no pleasures of the kind we speak of: +nor is this necessary, the imagination being always ready to supply +deficiencies, whenever the approximation is sufficiently near to +call it forth. Nay, if the interest felt be nothing more than mere +curiosity, we still refer to this presiding Principle; which is no +less essential to a simple combination of events, than to the higher +demands of Form or Character. But its presence must be felt, however +slightly. Of this we have the evidence in many cases, and, perhaps, +most conclusive where the partial harmony is felt to verge on a +powerful discord; or where the effort to unite them produces that +singular alternation of what is both revolting and pleasing: as in the +startling union of evil passions with some noble quality, or with a +master intellect. And here we have a solution of that paradoxical +feeling of interest and abhorrence, which we experience in such a +character as King Richard.</p> + +<p>And may it not be that we are permitted this interest for a deeper +purpose than we are wont to suppose; because Sin is best seen in the +light of Virtue,--and then most fearfully when she holds the torch to +herself? Be this as it may, with pure, unintellectual, brutal evil +it is very different. We cannot look upon it undismayed: we take no +interest in it, nor can we. In Richard there is scarce a glimmer of +his better nature; yet we do not despise him, for his intellect and +courage command our respect. But the fiend Iago,--who ever followed +him through the weaving of his spider-like web, without perpetual +recurrence to its venomous source,--his devilish heart? Even the +intellect he shows seems actually animalized, and we shudder at its +subtlety, as at the cunning of a reptile. Whatever interest may have +been imputed to him should be placed to the account of his hapless +victim; to the first striving with distrust of a generous nature; to +the vague sense of misery, then its gradual developement, then the +final overthrow of absolute faith; and, last of all, to the throes +of agony of the noble Moor, as he writhes and gasps in his accursed +toils.</p> + +<p>To these mixed modes may be added another branch, which we shall term the +class of Imputed Attributes. In this class are concerned all those natural +objects with which we connect (not by individual association, but by a +general law of the mind) certain moral or intellectual attributes; which +are not, indeed, supposed to exist in the objects themselves, but which, +by some unknown affinity, they awaken or occasion in us, and which we, in +our turn, impute to them. However this be, there are multitudes of objects +in the inanimate world, which we cannot contemplate without associating +with them many of the characteristics which we ascribe to the human being; +and the ideas so awakened we involuntarily express by the ascription of +such significant epithets as <i>stately, majestic, grand</i>, and so on. It is +so with us, when we call some tall forest stately, or qualify as majestic +some broad and slowly-winding river, or some vast, yet unbroken waterfall, +or some solitary, gigantic pine, seeming to disdain the earth, and to hold +of right its eternal communion with air; or when to the smooth and +far-reaching expanse of our inland waters, with their bordering and +receding mountains, as they seem to march from the shores, in the pomp of +their dark draperies of wood and mist, we apply the terms <i>grand</i> and +<i>magnificent</i>: and so onward to an endless succession of objects, +imputing, as it were, our own nature, and lending our sympathies, till the +headlong rush of some mighty cataract suddenly thunders upon us. But how +is it then? In the twinkling of an eye, the outflowing sympathies ebb back +upon the heart; the whole mind seems severed from earth, and the awful +feeling to suspend the breath;--there is nothing human to which we can +liken it. And here begins another kind of emotion, which we call Sublime.</p> + +<p>We are not aware that this particular class of objects has hitherto +been noticed, at least as holding a distinct position. And, if we +may be allowed to supply the omission, we should assign to it the +intermediate place between the Beautiful and the Sublime. Indeed, +there seems to be no other station so peculiarly proper; inasmuch as +they would thus form, in a consecutive series, a regular ascent from +the sensible material to the invisible spiritual: hence naturally +uniting into one harmonious whole every possible emotion of our higher +nature.</p> + +<p>In the preceding discussion, we have considered the outward world +only in its immediate relation to Man, and the Human Being as the +predetermined centre to which it was designed to converge. As the +subject, however, of what are called the sublime emotions, he holds a +different position; for the centre here is not himself, nor, indeed, +can he approach it within conceivable distance: yet still he is drawn +to it, though baffled for ever. Now the question is, Where, and +in what bias, is this mysterious attraction? It must needs be in +something having a clear affinity with us, or we could not feel it. +But the attraction is also both pure and pleasurable; and it has just +been shown, that we have in ourselves but one principle by which +to recognize any corresponding emotion,--namely, the principle of +Harmony. May we not then infer a similar Principle without us, an +Infinite Harmony, to which our own is attracted? and may we not +further,--if we may so speak without irreverence,--suppose our own to +have emanated thence when "man became a living soul"? And though this +relation may not be consciously acknowledged in every instance, or +even in one, by the mass of men, does it therefore follow that it does +not exist? How many things act upon us of which we have no knowledge? +If we find, as in the case of the Beautiful, the same, or a similar, +effect to follow from a great variety of objects which have no +resemblance or agreement with one another, is it not a necessary +inference, that for their common effect they must all refer to +something without and distinct from themselves? Now in the case of +the Sublime, the something referred to is not in man: for the emotion +excited has an outward tendency; the mind cannot contain it; and the +effort to follow it towards its mysterious object, if long continued, +becomes, in the excess of interest, positively painful.</p> + +<p>Could any finite object account for this? But, supposing the Infinite, +we have an adequate cause. If these emotions, then, from whatever +object or circumstance, be to prompt the mind beyond its prescribed +limits, whether carrying it back to the primitive past, the +incomprehensible <i>beginning</i>, or sending it into the future, to +the unknown <i>end</i>, the ever-present Idea of the mighty Author of +all these mysteries must still be implied, though we think not of it. +It is this Idea, or rather its influence, whether we be conscious of +it or not, which we hold to be the source of every sublime emotion. To +make our meaning plainer, we should say, that that which has the power +of possessing the mind, to the exclusion, for the time, of all other +thought, and which presents no <i>comprehensible</i> sense of a whole, +though still impressing us with a full apprehension of such as a +reality,--in other words, which cannot be circumscribed by the forms +of the understanding while it strains them to the utmost,--that we +should term a sublime object. But whether this effect be occasioned +directly by the object itself, or be indirectly suggested by its +relations to some other object, its unknown cause, it matters not; +since the apparent power of calling forth the emotion, by whatever +means, is, <i>quoad</i> ourselves, its sublime condition. Hence, if a +minute insect, an ant, for instance, through its marvellous instinct, +lift the mind of the amazed spectator to the still more inscrutable +Creator, it must possess, as to <i>him</i>, the same power. This is, +indeed, an extreme case, and may be objected to as depending on the +individual mind; on a mind prepared by cultivation and previous +reflection for the effect in question. But to this it may be replied, +that some degree of cultivation, or, more properly speaking, of +developement by the exercise of its reflective faculties, is obviously +essential ere the mind can attain to mature growth,--we might almost +say to its natural state, since nothing can be said to have attained +its true nature until all its capacities are at least called into +birth. No one, for example, would refer to the savages of Australia +for a true specimen of what was proper or natural to the human mind; +we should rather seek it, if such were the alternative, in a civilized +child of five years old. Be this as it may, it will not be denied +that ignorance, brutality, and many other deteriorating causes, do +practically incapacitate thousands for even an approximation, not only +to this, but to many of the inferior emotions, the character of +which is purely mental. And this, we think, is quite sufficient to +neutralize the objection, if not, indeed, to justify the application +of the term to all cases where the <i>immediate</i> effect, whether +directly or indirectly, is such as has been described. But, to reduce +this to a common-sense view, it is only saying,--what no one will +deny,--that a man of education and refinement has not only more, but +higher, pleasures of the mind than a mere clown.</p> + +<p>But though the position here advanced must necessarily exclude many +objects which have hitherto, though, as we think, improperly, been +classed with the sublime, it will still leave enough, and more than +enough, for the utmost exercise of our limited powers; inasmuch as, in +addition to the multitude of objects in the material world, not only +the actions, passions, and thoughts of men, but whatever concerns the +human being, that in any way--by a hint merely--leads the mind, though +indirectly, to the Infinite attributes,--all come of right within the +ground assumed.</p> + +<p>It will be borne in mind, that the conscious presence of the Infinite +Idea is not only <i>not</i> insisted on, but expressly admitted to be, in +most cases, unthought of; it is also admitted, that a sublime effect is +often powerfully felt in many instances where this Idea could not truly +be predicated of the apparent object. In such cases, however, some kind +of resemblance, or, at least, a seeming analogy to an infinite +attribute, is nevertheless essential. It must <i>appear</i> to us, for the +time, either limitless, indefinite, or in some other way beyond the +grasp of the mind: and, whatever an object may <i>seem</i> to be, it must +needs <i>in effect</i> be to <i>us</i> even that which it seems. Nor does this +transfer the emotion to a different source; for the Infinite Idea, or +something analogous, being thus imputed, is in reality its true cause.</p> + +<p>It is still the unattainable, the <i>ever-stimulating</i>, yet +<i>ever-eluding</i>, in the character of the sublime object, that +gives to it both its term and its effect. And whence the conception of +this mysterious character, but from its mysterious prototype, the Idea +of the Infinite? Neither does it matter, as we have said, whether +actual or supposed; for what the imagination cannot master will master +the imagination. Take, for instance, but a single <i>passion</i>, and +clothe it with this character; in the same instant it becomes sublime. +So, too, with a single thought. In the Mosaic words so often quoted, +"Let there be light, and there was light," we have the sublime of +thought, of mere naked thought; but what could more awe the mind with +the power of God? Of like nature is the conjecture of Newton, when he +imagined stars so distant from the sun that their coeval light has not +yet reached us. Let us endeavour for one moment to conceive of this; +does not the soul seem to dilate within us, and the body to shrink +as to a grain of dust? "Woe is me! unclean, unclean!" said the holy +Prophet, when the Infinite Holiness stood before him. Could a more +terrible distance be measured, than by these fearful words, between +God and man?</p> + +<p>If it be objected to this view, that many cases occur, having the same +conditions with those assumed in our general proposition, which are +yet exclusively painful, unmitigated even by a transient moment of +pleasure,--in Despair, for instance,--as who can limit it?--to this we +reply, that no emotion having its sole, or circle of existence in +the individual mind itself, can be to that mind other than a +<i>subject</i>. A man in despair, or under any mode of extreme +suffering of like nature, may, indeed, if all interfering sympathy +have been removed by time or after-description, be to <i>another</i> +a sublime object,--at least in one of those suggestive forms just +noticed; but not to <i>himself</i>. The source of the sublime--as all +along implied--is essentially <i>ab extra</i>. The human mind is not +its centre, nor can it be realized except by a contemplative act.</p> + +<p>Besides, as a mental pleasure,--indeed the highest known,--to +be recognized as such, it must needs be accompanied by the same +<i>relative character</i> by which is tested every other pleasure +coming under that denomination; namely, by the entire absence +of <i>self</i>, that is, by the same freedom from all personal +consideration which has been shown to characterize the true effect of +the Three leading Ideas already considered. But if to this also it be +further objected, that in certain particular cases, as of +personal danger,--from which the sublime emotion has often been +experienced,--some personal consideration must necessarily be +involved, as without a sense of security we could not enjoy it; we +answer, that, if it be meant only that the mind should be in such a +state as to enable us to receive an unembarrassed impression, it seems +to us superfluous,--an obvious truism placed in opposition to an +absurd impossibility. We needed not to be told, that no pleasurable +emotion is likely to occur while we are unmanned by fear. The same +might be said, also, in respect to the Beautiful: for who was ever +alive to it under a paroxysm of terror, or pain of any kind? A +terrified person is in any thing but a fit state for such emotion. He +may indeed <i>afterwards</i>, when his fear is passed off, contemplate +the circumstance that occasioned it with a different feeling; but the +object of his dismay is <i>then</i> projected, as it were, completely +from himself; and he feels the sublimity in a contemplative state: +he can feel it in no other. Nor is that state incompatible with a +consciousness of peril, though it can never be with personal terror. +And, if it is meant that we should have a positive, present +conviction that we are in no danger, this we must deny, as we find it +contradicted in innumerable instances. So far, indeed, is a sense of +security from being essential to the condition of a sublime emotion, +that the sense of danger, on the contrary, is one of its most exciting +accompaniments. There is a fascination in danger which some persons +neither can nor would resist; which seems, as it were, to disenthral +them of self;--as if the mysterious Infinite were actually drawing +them on by an invisible power.</p> + +<p>Was it mere scientific curiosity that cost the elder Pliny his life? +Might it not have been rather this sublime fascination? But we have +repeated examples of it in our own time. Many who will read this may +have been in a storm at sea. Did they never feel its sublimity while +they knew their danger? We will answer for ourselves; for we have been +in one, when the dismasted vessels that surrounded us permitted no +mistake as to our peril; it was strongly felt, but still stronger was +the sublime emotion in the awful scene. The crater of Vesuvius is even +now, perhaps for the thousandth time, reflecting from its lake of fire +some ghastly face, with indrawn breath and hair bristling, bent, as by +fate, over its sulphurous brink.</p> + +<p>Let us turn to Mont Blanc, that mighty pyramid of ice, in whose shadow +might repose all the tombs of the Pharaohs. It rises before the +traveller like the accumulating mausoleum of Europe: perhaps he looks +upon it as his own before his natural time; yet he cannot away from +it. A terrible charm hurries him over frightful chasms, whose blue +depths seem like those of the ocean; he cuts his way up a polished +precipice, shining like steel,--as elusive to the touch; he creeps +slowly and warily around and beneath huge cliffs of snow; now he looks +up, and sees their brows fretted by the percolating waters like a +Gothic ceiling, and he fears even to whisper, lest an audible breath +should awaken the avalanche: and thus he climbs and climbs, till the +dizzy summit fills up his measure of fearful ecstasy.</p> + +<p>Now, though cases may occur where the emotion in question is attended +with a sense of security, as in the reading or hearing the description +of an earthquake, such as that of 1768 in Lisbon, while we are safely +housed and by a comfortable fire, it does not therefore follow, that +this consciousness of safety is its essential condition. It is merely +an accidental circumstance. It cannot, therefore, apply, either as a +rule or an objection. Besides, even if supported by fact, we might +well dismiss it on the ground of irrelevancy, since a sense of +personal safety cannot be placed in opposition to and as inconsistent +with a disinterested or unselfish state; which is that claimed for +the emotion as its true condition. If there be not, then, a sounder +objection, we may safely admit the characteristic in question; for +the reception of which we have, on the other hand, the weight of +experience,--at least negatively, since, strictly speaking, we cannot +experience the absence of any thing.</p> + +<p>But though, according to our theory, there are many things now called +sublime that would properly come under a different classification, such +as many objects of Art, many sentiments, and many actions, which are +strictly human, as well in their <i>end</i> as in their origin; it is not to +be inferred that the exclusion of any work of man is <i>because</i> of <i>its +apparent origin</i>, but of its <i>end</i>, the end only being the determining +point, as referring to its <i>Idea</i>. Now, if the Idea referred to be of +the Infinite, which is <i>out</i> of his nature, it cannot strictly be said +to originate with man,--that is, absolutely; but it is rather, as it +were, a reflected form of it from the Maker of his mind. If we are led +to such an Idea, then, by any work of imagination, a poem, a picture, a +statue, or a building, it is as truly sublime as any natural object. +This, it appears to us, is the sole mystery, without which neither +sound, nor color, nor form, nor magnitude, is a true correlative to the +unseen cause. And here, as with Beauty, though the test of that be +within us, is the <i>modus operandi</i> equally baffling to the scrutiny of +the understanding. We feel ourselves, as it were, lifted from the earth, +and look upon the outward objects that have so affected us, yet learn +not how; and the mystery deepens as we compare them with other objects +from which have followed the same effects, and find no resemblance. For +instance; the roar of the ocean, and the intricate unity of a Gothic +cathedral, whose beginning and end are alike intangible, while its +climbing tower seems visibly even to rise to the Idea which it strives +to embody,--these have nothing in common,--hardly two things could be +named that are more unlike; yet in relation to man they have but one +end: for who can hear the ocean when breathing in wrath, and limit it in +his mind, though he think not of Him who gives it voice? or ascend that +spire without feeling his faculties vanish, as it were with its +vanishing point, into the abyss of space? If there be a difference in +the effect from these and other objects, it is only in the intensity, +the degree of impetus given; as between that from the sudden explosion +of a volcano and from the slow and heavy movement of a rising +thunder-cloud; its character and its office are the same,--in its awful +harmony to connect the created with its Infinite Cause.</p> + +<p>But let us compare this effect with that from Beauty. Would the +Parthenon, for instance, with its beautiful forms,--made still more +beautiful under its native sky,--seeming almost endued with the breath +of life, as if its conscious purple were a living suffusion brought +forth in sympathy by the enamoured blushes of a Grecian sunset;--would +this beautiful object even then elevate the soul above its own roof? +No: we should be filled with a pure delight,--but with no longing to +rise still higher. It would satisfy us; which the sublime does not; +for the feeling is too vast to be circumscribed by human content.</p> + +<p>On the supernatural it is needless to enlarge; for, in whatever form +the beings of the invisible world are supposed to visit us, they are +immediately connected in the mind with the unknown Infinite; whether +the faith be in the heart or in the imagination; whether they bubble +up from the earth, like the Witches in Macbeth, taking shape at will, +or self-dissolving into air, and no less marvellous, foreknowing +thoughts ere formed in man; or like the Ghost in Hamlet, an +unsubstantial shadow, having the functions of life, motion, will, +and speech; a fearful mystery invests them with a spell not to be +withstood; the bewildered imagination follows like a child, leaving +the finite world for one unknown, till it aches in darkness, +trackless, endless.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, as being nearest in station to the unsearchable Author of +all things, the highest example of this would be found in the +Angelic Nature. If it be objected, that the poets have not always so +represented it, it rests with them to show cause why they have not. +Milton, no doubt, could have assigned a sufficient reason in <i>the +time chosen for his poem</i>,--that of the creation of the first man, +when his intercourse with the highest order of created beings was not +only essential to the plan of the poem, but according with the express +will of the Creator: hence, he might have considered it no violation +of the <i>then</i> relation between man and angels to assign even the +epithet <i>affable</i> to the archangel Raphael; for man was then +sinless, and in all points save knowledge a fit object of regard, and +certainly a fit pupil to his heavenly instructor. But, suppose the +poet, throughout his work, (as in the process of his story he was +forced to do near the end,)--suppose he had chosen, assuming the +philosopher, to assign to Adam the <i>altered relation of one of his +fallen posterity</i>, how could he have endured a holy spiritual +presence? To be consistent, Adam must have been dumb with awe, +incapable of holding converse such as is described. Between sinless +man and his sinful progeny, the distance is immeasurable. And so, too, +must be the effect on the latter, in such a presence; and for this +conclusion we have the authority of Scripture, in the dismay of the +soldiers at the Saviour's sepulchre, on which more directly. If there +be no like effect attending the other angelic visits recorded in +Scripture, such as those to Lot and Abraham, the reason is obvious in +the <i>special mission</i> to those individuals, who were doubtless +<i>divinely prepared</i> for their reception; for it is reasonable +to suppose the mission had else been useless. But with the Roman +soldiers, where there was no such qualifying circumstance, the case +was different; indeed, it was in striking contrast with that of the +two Marys, who, though struck with awe, yet being led there, as +witnesses, by the Spirit, were not so overpowered.</p> + +<p>And here, as the Idea of Angels is universally associated with every +perfection of <i>form</i>, may naturally occur the question so often +agitated,--namely, whether Beauty and Sublimity are, under any +circumstances, compatible. To us it seems of easy solution. For we see +no reason why Beauty, as the condition of a subordinated object or +component part, may not incidentally enter into the Sublime, as well +as a thousand other conditions of opposite characters, which pertain +to the multifarious assimilants that often form its other components.</p> + +<p>When Beauty is not made <i>essential</i>, but enters as a mere +contingent, its admission or rejection is a matter of indifference. In +an angel, for instance, beauty is the condition of his mere form; but +the angel has also an intellectual and moral or spiritual nature, +which is essentially paramount: the former being but the condition, so +to speak, of his visibility, the latter, his very life,--an Essence +next to the inconceivable Giver of life.</p> + +<p>Could we stand in the presence of one of these holy beings, (if to +stand were possible,) what of the Sublime in this lower world would so +shake us? Though his beauty were such as never mortal dreamed of, +it would be as nothing,--swallowed up as darkness,--in the awful, +spiritual brightness of the messenger of God. Even as the soldiers +in Scripture, at the sepulchre of the Saviour, we should fall before +him,--we should "become," like them, "as dead men."</p> + +<p>But though Milton does not unveil the "face like lightning"; and +though the angel Raphael is made to hold converse with man, and the +"severe in youthful beauty" gives even the individual impress to +Zephon, and Michael and Abdiel are set apart in their prowess; there +is not one he names that does not breathe of Heaven, that is not +encompassed with the glory of the Infinite. And why the reader is not +overwhelmed in their supposed presence is because he is a beholder +<i>through</i> Adam,--through him also a listener; but whenever he is +made, by the poet's spell, to forget Adam, and to see, as it were in +his own person, the embattled hosts....</p> + +<p>If we dwell upon Form <i>alone</i>, though it should be of surpassing +beauty, the idea would not rise above that of man, for this is +conceivable of man: but the moment the angelic nature is touched, we +have the higher ideas of supernal intelligence and perfect holiness, +to which all the charms and graces of mere form immediately +become subordinate, and, though the beauty remain, its agency is +comparatively negative under the overpowering transcendence of a +celestial spirit.</p> + +<p>As we have already seen that the Beautiful is limited to no particular +form, but possesses its power in some mysterious <i>condition</i>, +which is applicable to many distinct objects; in like manner does the +Sublime include within its sphere, and subdue to its condition, an +indefinite variety of objects, with their distinctive conditions; and +among them we find that of the Beautiful, as well as, to a <i>certain +degree</i>, its reverse, so that, though we may truly recognize their +coexistence in the same object, it is not possible that their effect +upon us should be otherwise than unequal, and that the higher law +should not subordinate the lower. We do not deny that the Beautiful +may, so to speak, mitigate the awful intensity of the Sublime; but it +cannot change its character, much less impart its own; the one will +still be awful, the other, of itself, never.</p> + +<p>When at Rome, we once asked a foreigner, who seemed to be talking +somewhat vaguely on the subject, what he understood by the Sublime. +His answer was, "Le plus beau"; making it only a matter of degree. Now +let us only imagine (if we can) a beautiful earthquake, or a beautiful +hurricane. And yet the foreigner is not alone in this. D'Azzara, +the biographer of Mengs, speaking of Beauty, talks of "this sublime +quality," and in another place, for certain reasons assigned, he says, +"The grand style is beautiful." Nay, many writers, otherwise of high +authority, seem to have taken the same view; while others who could +have had no such notion, having used the words Beauty and the +Beautiful in an allegorical or metaphorical sense, have sometimes been +misinterpreted literally. Hence Winckelmann reproaches Michael Angelo +for his continual talk about Beauty, when he showed nothing of it +in his works. But it is very evident that the <i>Bellà</i> and +<i>Bellezza</i> of Michael Angelo were never used by him in a literal +sense, nor intended to be so understood by others: he adopted the +terms solely to express abstract Perfection, which he allegorized as +the mistress of his mind, to whose exclusive worship his whole life +was devoted. Whether it was the most appropriate term he could have +chosen, we shall not inquire. It is certain, however, that the literal +adoption of it by subsequent writers has been the cause of much +confusion, as well as vagueness.</p> + +<p>For ourselves, we are quite at a loss to imagine how a notion so +obviously groundless has ever had a single supporter; for, if a +distinct effect implies a distinct cause, we do not see why distinct +terms should not be employed to express the difference, or how the +legitimate term for one can in any way be applied to signify a +particular degree of the other. Like the two Dromios, they sometimes +require a conjurer to tell which is which. If only Perfection, which +is a generic term implying the summit of all things, be meant, +there is surely nothing to be gained (if we except <i>intended</i> +obscurity) by substituting a specific term which is limited to a few. +We speak not here of allegorical or metaphorical propriety, which is +not now the question, but of the literal and didactic; and we may +add, that we have never known but one result from this arbitrary +union,--which is, to procreate words.</p> + +<p>In further illustration of our position, it may be well here to notice +one mistaken source of the Sublime, which seems to have been sometimes +resorted to, both in poems and pictures; namely, in the sympathy +excited by excruciating bodily suffering. Suppose a man on the rack +to be placed before us,--perhaps some miserable victim of the +Inquisition; the cracking of his joints is made frightfully audible; +his calamitous "Ah!" goes to our marrow; then the cruel precision +of the mechanical familiar, as he lays bare to the sight his whole +anatomy of horrors. And suppose, too, the executioner <i>compelled</i> +to his task,--consequently an irresponsible agent, whom we cannot +curse; and, finally, that these two objects compose the whole scene. +What could we feel but an agony even like that of the sufferer, the +only difference being that one is physical, the other mental? And this +is all that mere sympathy has any power to effect; it has led us to +its extreme point,--our flesh creeps, and we turn away with almost +bodily sickness. But let another actor be added to the drama in the +presiding Inquisitor, the cool methodizer of this process of torture; +in an instant the scene is changed, and, strange to say, our feelings +become less painful,--nay, we feel a momentary interest,--from an +instant revulsion of our moral nature: we are lost in wonder at the +excess of human wickedness, and the hateful wonder, as if partaking of +the infinite, now distends the faculties to their utmost tension; for +who can set bounds to passion when it seizes the whole soul? It is as +the soul itself, without form or limit. We may not think even of the +after judgment; we become ourselves <i>justice</i>, and we award a +hatred commensurate with the sin, so indefinite and monstrous that we +stand aghast at our own judgment.</p> + +<p><i>Why</i> this extreme tension of the mind, when thus outwardly +occasioned, should create in us an interest, we know not; but such is +the fact, and we are not only content to endure it for a time, but +even crave it, and give to the feeling the epithet <i>sublime</i>.</p> + +<p>We do not deny that much bodily suffering may be admitted with effect +as a subordinate agent, when, as in the example last added, it is made +to serve as a necessary expositor of moral deformity. Then, indeed, +in the hands of a great artist, it becomes one of the most powerful +auxiliaries to a sublime end. All that we contend for is that sympathy +alone is insufficient as a cause of sublimity.</p> + +<p>There are yet other sources of the false sublime, (if we may so call +it,) which are sometimes resorted to also by poets and painters; such +as the horrible, the loathsome, the hideous, and the monstrous: these +form the impassable boundaries to the true Sublime. Indeed, there +appears to be in almost every emotion a certain point beyond which we +cannot pass without recoiling,--as if we instinctively shrunk from +what is forbidden to our nature.</p> + +<p>It would seem, then, that, in relation to man, Beauty is the extreme +point, or last summit, of the natural world, since it is in that that +we recognize the highest emotion of which we are susceptible from the +purely physical. If we ascend thence into the moral, we shall find its +influence diminish in the same ratio with our upward progress. In the +continuous chain of creation of which it forms a part, the link above +it where the moral modification begins seems scarcely changed, yet the +difference, though slight, demands another name, and the nomenclator +within us calls it Elegance; in the next connecting link, the moral +adjunct becomes more predominant, and we call it Majesty; in the next, +the physical becomes still fainter, and we call the union Grandeur; in +the next, it seems almost to vanish, and a new form rises before us, +so mysterious, so undefined and elusive to the senses, that we turn, +as if for its more distinct image, within ourselves, and there, with +wonder, amazement, awe, we see it filling, distending, stretching +every faculty, till, like the Giant of Otranto, it seems almost to +burst the imagination: under this strange confluence of opposite +emotions, this terrible pleasure, we call the awful form Sublimity. +This was the still, small voice that shook the Prophet on +Horeb;--though small to his ear, it was more than his imagination +could contain; he could not hear it again and live.</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that we have enumerated all the forms of +gradation between the Beautiful and the Sublime; such was not our +purpose; it is sufficient to have noted the most prominent, leaving +the intermediate modifications to be supplied (as they can readily be) +by the reader. If we descend from the Beautiful, we shall pass in like +manner through an equal variety of forms gradually modified by the +grosser material influences, as the Handsome, the Pretty, the Comely, +the Plain, &c., till we fall to the Ugly.</p> + +<p>There ends the chain of pleasurable excitement; but not the chain of +Forms; which, taking now as if a literal curve, again bends upward, +till, meeting the descending extreme of the moral, it seems to +complete the mighty circle. And in this dark segment will be found the +startling union of deepening discords,--still deepening, as it rises +from the Ugly to the Loathsome, the Horrible, the Frightful,[1] the +Appalling.</p> + +<p>As we follow the chain through this last region of disease, misery, +and sin, of embodied Discord, and feel, as we must, in the mutilated +affinities of its revolting forms, their fearful relation to this +fair, harmonious creation,--how does the awful fact, in these its +breathing fragments, speak to us of a fallen world!</p> + +<p>As the living centre of this stupendous circle stands the Soul of Man; +the <i>conscious Reality</i>, to which the vast inclosure is but the +symbol. How vast, then, his being! If space could measure it, the +remotest star would fall within its limits. Well, then, may he tremble +to essay it even in thought; for where must it carry him,--that winged +messenger, fleeter than light? Where but to the confines of the +Infinite; even to the presence of the unutterable <i>Life</i>, on +which nothing finite can look and live?</p> + +<p>Finally, we shall conclude our Discourse with a few words on the +master Principle, which we have supposed to be, by the will of the +Creator, the realizing life to all things fair and true and good: and +more especially would we revert to its spiritual purity, emphatically +manifested through all its manifold operations,--so impossible +of alliance with any thing sordid, or false, or wicked,--so +unapprehensible, even, except for its own most sinless sake. Indeed, +we cannot look upon it as other than the universal and eternal witness +of God's goodness and love, to draw man to himself, and to testify +to the meanest, most obliquitous mind,--at least once in life, be it +though in childhood,--that there <i>is</i> such a thing as <i>good +without self</i>. It will be remembered, that, in all the various +examples adduced, in which we have endeavoured to illustrate the +operation of Harmony, there was but one character to all its effects, +whatever the difference in the objects that occasioned them; that it +was ever untinged with any personal taint: and we concluded thence +its supernal source. We may now advance another evidence still more +conclusive of its spiritual origin, namely, in the fact, that it +cannot be realized in the Human Being <i>quoad</i> himself. With the +fullest consciousness of the possession of this principle, and with +the power to realize it in other objects, he has still no power in +relation to himself,--that is, to become the object to himself.</p> + +<p>Now, as the condition of Harmony, so far as we can know it through its +effect, is that of <i>impletion</i>, where nothing can be added or +taken away, it is evident that such a condition can never be realized +by the mind in itself. And yet the desire to this end is as evidently +implied in that incessant, yet unsatisfying activity, which, under all +circumstances, is an imperative, universal law of our nature.</p> + +<p>It might seem needless to enlarge on what must be generally felt as an +obvious truth; still, it may not be amiss to offer a few remarks, by +way of bringing it, though a truism, more distinctly before us. In all +ages the majority of mankind have been more or less compelled to some +kind of exertion for their mere subsistence. Like all compulsion, this +has no doubt been considered a hardship. Yet we never find, when by +their own industry, or any fortunate circumstance, they have been +relieved from this exigency, that any one individual has been +contented with doing nothing. Some, indeed, before their liberation, +have conceived of idleness as a kind of synonyme with happiness; but a +short experience has never failed to prove it no less remote from that +desirable state. The most offensive employments, for the want of +a better, have often been resumed, to relieve the mind from the +intolerable load of <i>nothing</i>,--the heaviest of all weights,--as +it needs must be to an immortal spirit: for the mind cannot stop, +except it be in a mad-house; there, indeed, it may rest, or rather +stagnate, on one thought,--its little circle, perhaps of misery. From +the very moment of consciousness, the active Principle begins to +busy itself with the things about it: it shows itself in the infant, +stretching its little hands towards the candle; in the schoolboy, +filling up, if alone, his play-hour with the mimic toils of after age; +and so on, through every stage and condition of life; from the wealthy +spend-thrift, beggaring himself at the gaming-table for employment, to +the poor prisoner in the Bastile, who, for the want of something to +occupy his thoughts, overcame the antipathy of his nature, and found +his companion in a spider. Nay, were there need, we might draw out the +catalogue till it darkened with suicide. But enough has been said to +show, that, aside from guilt, a more terrible fiend has hardly been +imagined than the little word Nothing, when embodied and realized as +the master of the mind. And well for the world that it is so; since to +this wise law of our nature, to say nothing of conveniences, we owe +the endless sources of innocent enjoyment with which the industry and +ingenuity of man have supplied us.</p> + +<p>But the wisdom of the law in question is not merely that it is a +preventive to the mind preying on itself; we see in it a higher +purpose,--no less than what involves the developement of the human +being; and, if we look to its final bearing, it is of the deepest +import. It might seem at first a paradox, that, the natural condition +of the mind being averse to inactivity, it should still have so +strong a desire for rest; but a little reflection will show that this +involves no real contradiction. The mind only mistakes the <i>name</i> +of its object, neither rest nor action being its real aim; for in a +state of rest it desires action, and in a state of action, rest. Now +all action supposes a purpose, which purpose can consist of but one +of two things; either the attainment of some immediate object as its +completion, or the causing of one or more future acts, that shall +follow as a consequence. But whether the action terminates in an +immediate object, or serves as the procreating cause of an indefinite +series of acts, it must have some ultimate object in which it +ends,--or is to end. Even supposing such a series of acts to be +continued through a whole life, and yet remain incomplete, it would +not alter the case. It is well known that many such series have +employed the minds of mathematicians and astronomers to their last +hour; nay, that those acts have been taken up by others, and continued +through successive generations: still, whether the point be arrived at +or no, there must have been an end in contemplation. Now no one can +believe that, in similar cases, any man would voluntarily devote all +his days to the adding link after link to an endless chain, for +the mere pleasure of labor. It is true he may be aware of the +wholesomeness of such labor as one of the means of cheerfulness; but, +if he have no further aim, his being aware of this result makes an +equable flow of spirits a positive object. Without <i>hope</i>, +uncompelled labor is an impossibility; and hope implies an object. Nor +would the veriest idler, who passes a whole day in whittling a stick, +if he could be brought to look into himself, deny it. So far from +having no object, he would and must acknowledge that he was in +fact hoping to relieve himself of an oppressive portion of time by +whittling away its minutes and hours. Here we have an extreme instance +of that which constitutes the real business of life, from the most +idle to the most industrious; namely, to attain to a <i>satisfying +state</i>.</p> + +<p>But no one will assert that such a state was ever a consequence of the +attainment of any object, however exalted. And why? Because the motive +of action is left behind, and we have nothing before us.</p> + +<p>Something to desire, something to look forward to, we <i>must</i> +have, or we perish,--even of suicidal rest. If we find it not here in +the world about us, it must be sought for in another; to which, as we +conceive, that secret ruler of the soul, the inscrutable, ever-present +spirit of Harmony, for ever points. Nor is it essential that the +thought of harmony should even cross the mind; for a want may be +felt without any distinct consciousness of the form of that which is +desired. And, for the most part, it is only in this negative way that +its influence is acknowledged. But this is sufficient to account +for the universal longing, whether definite or indefinite, and the +consequent universal disappointment.</p> + +<p>We have said that man cannot to himself become the object of +Harmony,--that is, find its proper correlative in himself; and we have +seen that, in his present state, the position is true. How is it, +then, in the world of spirit? Who can answer? And yet, perhaps,--if +without irreverence we might hazard the conjecture,--as a finite +creature, having no centre in himself on which to revolve, may it not +be that his true correlative will there be revealed (if, indeed, it be +not before) to the disembodied man, in the Being that made him? And +may it not also follow, that the Principle we speak of will cease to +be potential, and flow out, as it were, and harmonize with the +eternal form of Hope,--even that Hope whose living end is in the +unapproachable Infinite?</p> + +<p>Let us suppose this form of hope to be taken away from an immortal +being who has no self-satisfying power within him, what would be +his condition? A conscious, interminable vacuum, were such a thing +possible, would but faintly image it. Hope, then, though in its nature +unrealizable, is not a mere <i>notion</i>; for so long as it continues +hope, it is to the mind an object and an object <i>to be</i> realized; +so, where its form is eternal, it cannot but be to it an ever-during +object. Hence we may conceive of a never-ending approximation to what +can never be realized.</p> + +<p>From this it would appear, that, while we cannot to ourselves become +the object of Harmony, it is nevertheless certain, from the universal +desire <i>so</i> to realize it, that we cannot suppress the continual +impulse of this paramount Principle; which, therefore, as it seems to +us, must have a double purpose; first, by its outward manifestation, +which we all recognize, to confirm its reality, and secondly, to +convince the mind that its true object is not merely out of, but +above, itself,--and only to be found in the Infinite Creator.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> +<h2>Art.</h2> + + + +<p>In treating on Art, which, in its highest sense, and more especially +in relation to Painting and Sculpture, is the subject proposed for +our present examination, the first question that occurs is, In +what consists its peculiar character? or rather, What are the +characteristics that distinguish it from Nature, which it professes to +imitate?</p> + +<p>To this we reply, that Art is characterized,--</p> + +<p>First, by Originality.</p> + +<p>Secondly, by what we shall call Human or Poetic Truth; which is the +verifying principle by which we recognize the first.</p> + +<p>Thirdly, by Invention; the product of the Imagination, as grounded on +the first, and verified by the second. And,</p> + +<p>Fourthly, by Unity, the synthesis of all.</p> + +<p>As the first step to the right understanding of any discourse is a +clear apprehension of the terms used, we add, that by Originality we +mean any thing (admitted by the mind as <i>true</i>) which is peculiar +to the Author, and which distinguishes his production from that of +all others; by Human or Poetic Truth, that which may be said to exist +exclusively in and for the mind, and as contradistinguished from the +truth of things in the natural or external world; by Invention, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of entire objects already known, or by the union and modification +of known but fragmentary parts into new and consistent forms; and, +lastly, by Unity, such an agreement and interdependence of all the +parts, as shall constitute a whole.</p> + +<p>It will be our attempt to show, that, by the presence or absence of +any one of these characteristics, we shall be able to affirm or deny +in respect to the pretension of any object as a work of Art; and also +that we shall find within ourselves the corresponding law, or by +whatever word we choose to designate it, by which each will be +recognized; that is, in the degree proportioned to the developement, +or active force, of the law so judging.</p> + +<p>Supposing the reader to have gone along with us in what has been said of +the <i>Universal</i>, in our Preliminary Discourse, and as assenting to the +position, that any faculty, law, or principle, which can be shown to be +<i>essential</i> to <i>any one</i> mind, must necessarily be also predicated of +every other sound mind, even where the particular faculty or law is so +feebly developed as apparently to amount to its absence, in which case +it is inferred potentially,--we shall now assume, on the same grounds, +that the originating <i>cause</i>, notwithstanding its apparent absence in +the majority of men, is an essential reality in the condition of the +Human Being; its potential existence in all being of necessity affirmed +from its existence in one.</p> + +<p>Assuming, then, its reality,--or rather leaving it to be evidenced +from its known effects,--we proceed to inquire <i>in what</i> consists +this originating power.</p> + +<p>And, first, as to its most simple form. If it be true, (as we hope to +set forth more at large in a future discourse,) that no two minds were +ever found to be identical, there must then in every individual mind +be <i>something</i> which is not in any other. And, if this unknown +something is also found to give its peculiar hue, so to speak, +to every impression from outward objects, it seems but a natural +inference, that, whatever it be, it <i>must</i> possess a pervading +force over the entire mind,--at least, in relation to what is +external. But, though this may truly be affirmed of man generally, +from its evidence in any one person, we shall be far from the fact, +should we therefore affirm, that, otherwise than potentially, the +power of outwardly manifesting it is also universal. We know that it +is not,--and our daily experience proves that the power of reproducing +or giving out the individualized impressions is widely different in +different men. With some it is so feeble as apparently never to act; +and, so far as our subject is concerned, it may practically be said +not to exist; of which we have abundant examples in other mental +phenomena, where an imperfect activity often renders the existence of +some essential faculty a virtual nullity. When it acts in the higher +decrees, so as to make another see or feel <i>as</i> the Individual +saw or felt,--this, in relation to Art, is what we mean, in its +strictest sense, by Originality. He, therefore, who possesses the +power of presenting to another the <i>precise</i> images or emotions +as they existed in himself, presents that which can be found nowhere +else, and was first found by and within himself; and, however light or +trifling, where these are true as to his own mind, their author is so +far an originator.</p> + +<p>But let us take an example, and suppose two <i>portraits</i>; simple +heads, without accessories, that is, with blank backgrounds, such as +we often see, where no attempt is made at composition; and both by +artists of equal talent, employing the same materials, and conducting +their work according to the same technical process. We will also +suppose ourselves acquainted with the person represented, with whom +to compare them. Who, that has ever made a similar comparison, will +expect to find them identical? On the contrary, though in all respects +equal, in execution, likeness, &c., we shall still perceive a certain +<i>exclusive something</i> that will instantly distinguish the one +from the other, and both from the original. And yet they shall both +seem to us true. But they will be true to us also in a double sense; +namely, as to the living original and as to the individuality of +the different painters. Where such is the result, both artists must +originate, inasmuch as they both outwardly realize the individual +image of their distinctive minds.</p> + +<p>Nor can the truth they present be ascribed to the technic process, +which we have supposed the same with each; as, on such a supposition, +with their equal skill, the result must have been identical. No; +by whatever it is that one man's mental impression, or his mode of +thought, is made to differ from another's, it is that something, which +our imaginary artists have here transferred to their pencil, that +makes them different, yet both original.</p> + +<p>Now, whether the medium through which the impressions, conceptions, or +emotions of the mind are thus externally realized be that of colors, +words, or any thing else, this mysterious though certain principle is, +as we believe, the true and only source of all originality.</p> + +<p>In the power of assimilating what is foreign, or external, to our own +particular nature consists the individualizing law, and in the power +of reproducing what is thus modified consists the originating cause.</p> + +<p>Let us turn now to an opposite example,--to a mere mechanical copy of +some natural object, where the marks in question are wholly wanting. +Will any one be truly affected by it? We think not; we do not say that +he will not praise it,--this he may do from various motives; but his +<i>feeling</i>--if we may so name the index of the law within--will +not be called forth to any spontaneous correspondence with the object +before him.</p> + +<p>But why talk of feeling, says the pseudo-connoisseur, where we should +only, or at least first, bring knowledge? This is the common cant of +those who become critics for the sake of distinction. Let the Artist +avoid them, if he would not disfranchise himself in the suppression +of that uncompromising <i>test</i> within him, which is the only sure +guide to the truth without.</p> + +<p>It is a poor ambition to desire the office of a judge merely for +the sake of passing sentence. But such an ambition is not likely to +possess a person of true sensibility. There are some, however, in +whom there is no deficiency of sensibility, yet who, either from +self-distrust, or from some mistaken notion of Art, are easily +persuaded to give up a right feeling, in exchange for what they may +suppose to be knowledge,--the barren knowledge of faults; as if there +could be a human production without them! Nevertheless, there is +little to be apprehended from any conventional theory, by one who is +forewarned of its mere negative power,--that it can, at best, only +suppress feeling; for no one ever was, or ever can be, argued into +a real liking for what he has once felt to be false. But, where the +feeling is genuine, and not the mere reflex of a popular notion, so +far as it goes it must be true. Let no one, therefore, distrust it, to +take counsel of his head, when he finds himself standing before a work +of Art. Does he feel its truth? is the only question,--if, indeed, the +impertinence of the understanding should then propound one; which we +think it will not, where the feeling is powerful. To such a one, the +characteristic of Art upon which we are now discoursing will force +its way with the power of light; nor will he ever be in danger of +mistaking a mechanical copy for a living imitation.</p> + +<p>But we sometimes hear of "faithful transcripts," nay, of fac-similes. +If by these be implied neither more nor less than exists in their +originals, they must still, in that case, find their true place in +the dead category of Copy. Yet we need not be detained by any inquiry +concerning the merits of a fac-simile, since we firmly deny that a +fac-simile, in the true sense of the term, is a thing possible.</p> + +<p>That an absolute identity between any natural object and its represented +image is a thing impossible, will hardly be questioned by any one who +thinks, and will give the subject a moment's reflection; and the +difficulty lies in the nature of things, the one being the work of the +Creator, and the other of the creature. We shall therefore assume as a +fact, the eternal and insuperable difference between Art and Nature. That +our pleasure from Art is nevertheless similar, not to say equal, to that +which we derive from Nature, is also a fact established by experience; to +account for which we are necessarily led to the admission of another fact, +namely, that there exists in Art a <i>peculiar something</i> which we receive +as equivalent to the admitted difference. Now, whether we call this +equivalent, individualized truth, or human or poetic truth, it matters +not; we know by its <i>effects</i>, that some such principle does exist, and +that it acts upon us, and in a way corresponding to the operation of that +which we call Truth and Life in the natural world. Of the various laws +growing out of this principle, which take the name of Rules when applied +to Art, we shall have occasion to speak in a future discourse. At present +we shall confine ourselves to the inquiry, how far the difference alluded +to may be safely allowed in any work professing to be an imitation of +Nature.</p> + +<p>The fact, that truth may subsist with a very considerable admixture +of falsehood, is too well known to require an argument. However +reprehensible such an admixture may be in morals, it becomes in Art, +from the limited nature of our powers, a matter of necessity.</p> + +<p>For the same reason, even the realizing of a thought, or that which +is properly and exclusively human, must ever be imperfect. If Truth, +then, form but the greater proportion, it is quite as much as we may +reasonably look for in a work of Art. But why, it may be asked, where +the false predominates, do we still derive pleasure? Simply because of +the Truth that remains. If it be further demanded, What is the minimum +of truth in order to a pleasurable effect? we reply, So much only as +will cause us to feel that the truth <i>exists</i>. It is this feeling +alone that determines, not only the true, but the degrees of truth, +and consequently the degrees of pleasure.</p> + +<p>Where no such feeling is awakened, and supposing no deficiency in the +recipient, he may safely, from its absence, pronounce the work false; +nor could any ingenious theory of the understanding convince him to +the contrary. He may, indeed, as some are wont to do, make a random +guess, and <i>call</i> the work true; but he can never so <i>feel</i> +it by any effort of reasoning. But may not men differ as to their +impressions of truth? Certainly as to the degrees of it, and in this +according to their sensibility, in which we know that men are not +equal. By sensibility here we mean the power or capacity of receiving +impressions. All men, indeed, with equal organs, may be said in a +certain sense to see alike. But will the same natural object, +conveyed through these organs, leave the same impression? The fact is +otherwise. What, then, causes the difference, if it be not (as before +observed) a peculiar something in the individual mind, that modifies +the image? If so, there must of necessity be in every true work of +Art--if we may venture the expression--another, or distinctive, truth. +To recognize this, therefore,--as we have elsewhere endeavoured to +show,--supposes in the recipient something akin to it. And, though it +be in reality but a <i>sign</i> of life, it is still a sign of which +we no sooner receive the impress, than, by a law of our mind, we feel +it to be acting upon our thoughts and sympathies, without our knowing +how or wherefore. Admitting, therefore, the corresponding instinct, +or whatever else it may be called, to vary in men,--which there is no +reason to doubt,--the solution of their unequal impression appears at +once. Hence it would be no extravagant metaphor, should we affirm that +some persons see more with their minds than others with their eyes. +Nay, it must be obvious to all who are conversant with Art, that +much, if not the greater part, in its higher branches is especially +addressed to this mental vision. And it is very certain, if there were +no truth beyond the reach of the senses, that little would remain to +us of what we now consider our highest and most refined pleasure.</p> + +<p>But it must not be inferred that originality consists in any +contradiction to Nature; for, were this allowed and carried out, it +would bring us to the conclusion, that, the greater the contradiction, +the higher the Art. We insist only on the modification of the natural +by the personal; for Nature is, and ever must be, at least the +sensuous ground of all Art: and where the outward and inward are +so united that we cannot separate them, there shall we find the +perfection of Art. So complete a union has, perhaps, never been +accomplished, and <i>may</i> be impossible; it is certain, however, +that no approach to excellence can ever be made, if the <i>idea</i> of +such a union be not constantly looked to by the artist as his ultimate +aim. Nor can the idea be admitted without supposing a <i>third</i> as +the product of the two,--which we call Art; between which and Nature, +in its strictest sense, there must ever be a difference; indeed, a +<i>difference with resemblance</i> is that which constitutes its +essential condition.</p> + +<p>It has doubtless been observed, that, in this inquiry concerning the +nature and operation of the first characteristic, the presence of the +second, or verifying principle, has been all along implied; nor could +it be otherwise, because of their mutual dependence. Still more will +its active agency be supposed in our examination of the third, namely, +Invention. But before we proceed to that, the paramount index of the +highest art, it may not be amiss to obtain, if possible, some distinct +apprehension of what we have termed Poetic Truth; to which, it will be +remembered, was also prefixed the epithet Human, our object therein +being to prepare the mind, by a single word, for its peculiar sphere; +and we think it applicable also for a more important reason, +namely, that this kind of Truth is the <i>true ground of the +poetical</i>,--for in what consists the poetry of the natural world, +if not in the sentiment and reacting life it receives from the human +fancy and affections? And, until it can be shown that sentiment and +fancy are also shared by the brute creation, this seeming effluence +from the beautiful in nature must rightfully revert to man. What, for +instance, can we suppose to be the effect of the purple haze of a +summer sunset on the cows and sheep, or even on the more delicate +inhabitants of the air? From what we know of their habits, we +cannot suppose more than the mere physical enjoyment of its genial +temperature. But how is it with the poet, whom we shall suppose +an object in the same scene, stretched on the same bank with the +ruminating cattle, and basking in the same light that flickers from +the skimming birds. Does he feel nothing more than the genial warmth? +Ask him, and he perhaps will say,--"This is my soul's hour; this +purpled air the heart's atmosphere, melting by its breath the sealed +fountains of love, which the cold commonplace of the world had frozen: +I feel them gushing forth on every thing around me; and how worthy of +love now appear to me these innocent animals, nay, these whispering +leaves, that seem to kiss the passing air, and blush the while at +their own fondness! Surely they are happy, and grateful too that they +are so; for hark! how the little birds send up their song of praise! +and see how the waving trees and waving grass, in mute accordance, +keep time with the hymn!"</p> + +<p>This is but one of the thousand forms in which the human spirit is +wont to effuse itself on the things without, making to the mind a +new and fairer world,--even the shadowing of that which its immortal +craving will sometimes dream of in the unknown future. Nay, there +is scarcely an object so familiar or humble, that its magical touch +cannot invest it with some poetic charm. Let us take an extreme +instance,--a pig in his sty. The painter, Morland, was able to convert +even this disgusting object into a source of pleasure,--and a pleasure +as real as any that is known to the palate.</p> + +<p>Leaving this to have the weight it may be found to deserve, we turn +to the original question; namely, What do we mean by Human or Poetic +Truth?</p> + +<p>When, in respect to certain objects, the effects are found to be +uniformly of the same kind, not only upon ourselves, but also upon +others, we may reasonably infer that the efficient cause is of one +nature, and that its uniformity is a necessary result. And, when we also +find that these effects, though differing in degree, are yet uniform in +their character, while they seem to proceed from objects which in +themselves are indefinitely variant, both in kind and degree, we are +still more forcibly drawn to the conclusion, that the <i>cause</i> is not +only <i>one</i>, but not inherent in the object.[2] The question now arises, +What, then, is that which seems to us so like an <i>alter et idem</i>,--which +appears to act upon, and is recognized by us, through an animal, a bird, +a tree, and a thousand different, nay, opposing objects, in the same +way, and to the same end? The inference follows of necessity, that the +mysterious cause must be in some general law, which is absolute and +<i>imperative</i> in relation to every such object under certain conditions. +And we receive the solution as true,--because we cannot help it. The +reality, then, of such a law becomes a fixture in the mind.</p> + +<p>But we do not stop here: we would know something concerning the +conditions supposed. And in order to this, we go back to the effect. +And the answer is returned in the form of a question,--May it not +be something <i>from ourselves</i>, which is reflected back by the +object,--something with which, as it were, we imbue the object, making +it correspond to a <i>reality</i> within us? Now we recognize the +reality within; we recognize it also in the object,--and the affirming +light flashes upon us, not in the form of <i>deduction</i>, but of +inherent Truth, which we cannot get rid of; and we <i>call</i> it +Truth,--for it will take no other name.</p> + +<p>It now remains to discover, so to speak, its location. In what part, +then, of man may this self-evidenced, yet elusive, Truth or power be +said to reside? It cannot be in the senses; for the senses can impart +no more than they receive. Is it, then, in the mind? Here we are +compelled to ask, What is understood by the mind? Do we mean the +understanding? We can trace no relation between the Truth we would +class and the reflective faculties. Or in the moral principle? Surely +not; for we can predicate neither good nor evil by the Truth in +question. Finally, do we find it identified with the truth of +the Spirit? But what is the truth of the Spirit but the Spirit +itself,--the conscious <i>I</i>? which is never even thought of in +connection with it. In what form, then, shall we recognize it? In +its own,--the form of Life,--the life of the Human Being; that +self-projecting, realizing power, which is ever present, ever acting +and giving judgment on the instant on all things corresponding with +its inscrutable self. We now assign it a distinctive epithet, and call +it Human.</p> + +<p>It is a common saying, that there is more in a name than we are apt +to imagine. And the saying is not without reason; for when the name +happens to be the true one, being proved in its application, it +becomes no unimportant indicator as to the particular offices for +which the thing named was designed. So we find it with respect to the +Truth of which we speak; its distinctive epithet marking out to us, as +its sphere of action, the mysterious intercourse between man and man; +whether the medium consist in words or colors, in thought or form, or +in any thing else on which the human agent may impress, be it in a +sign only, his own marvellous life. As to the process or <i>modus +operandi</i>, it were a vain endeavour to seek it out: that divine +secret must ever to man be an humbling darkness. It is enough for him +to know that there is that within him which is ever answering to that +without, as life to life,--which must be life, and which must be true.</p> + +<p>We proceed now to the third characteristic. It has already been +stated, in the general definition, what we would be understood to mean +by the term Invention, in its particular relation to Art; namely, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of forms already known, or by the union and modification of known +but fragmentary parts into a new and consistent whole: in both cases +tested by the two preceding characteristics.</p> + +<p>We shall consider first that division of the subject which stands first +in order,--the Invention which consists in the new combination of known +forms. This may be said to be governed by its exclusive relation either +to <i>what is</i>, or <i>has been</i>, or, when limited by the <i>probable</i>, to what +strictly may be. It may therefore be distinguished by the term Natural. +But though we so name it, inasmuch as all its forms have their +prototypes in the Actual, it must still be remembered that these +existing forms do substantially constitute no more than mere <i>parts</i> to +be combined into a <i>whole</i>, for which Nature has provided no original. +For examples in this, the most comprehensive class, we need not refer +to any particular school; they are to be found in all and in every +gallery: from the histories of Raffaelle, the landscapes of Claude and +Poussin and others, to the familiar scenes of Jan Steen, Ostade, and +Brower. In each of these an adherence to the actual, if not strictly +observed, is at least supposed in all its parts; not so in the whole, as +that relates to the probable; by which we mean such a result as <i>would +be</i> true, were the same combination to occur in nature. Nor must we be +understood to mean, by adherence to the actual, that one part is to be +taken for an exact portrait; we mean only such an imitation as precludes +an intentional deviation from already existing and known forms.</p> + +<p>It must be very obvious, that, in classing together any of the +productions of the artists above named, it cannot be intended to +reduce them to a level; such an attempt (did our argument require it) +must instantly revolt the common sense and feeling of every one at all +acquainted with Art. And therefore, perhaps, it may be thought that +their striking difference, both in kind and degree, might justly call +for some further division. But admitting, as all must, a wide, nay, +almost impassable, interval between the familiar subjects of the lower +Dutch and Flemish painters, and the higher intellectual works of the +great Italian masters, we see no reason why they may not be left to +draw their own line of demarcation as to their respective provinces, +even as is every day done by actual objects; which are all equally +natural, though widely differenced as well in kind as in quality. It +is no degradation to the greatest genius to say of him and of the most +unlettered boor, that they are both men.</p> + +<p>Besides, as a more minute division would be wholly irrelevant to the +present purpose, we shall defer the examination of their individual +differences to another occasion. In order, however, more distinctly to +exhibit their common ground of Invention, we will briefly examine a +picture by Ostade, and then compare it with one by Raffaelle, than +whom no two artists could well be imagined having less in common.</p> + +<p>The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of Ostade's work, +presenting something between a kitchen and a stable. Its principal +object is the carcass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry; +subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; the accessories, +various garments, pots, kettles, and other culinary utensils.</p> + +<p>The bare enumeration of these coarse materials would naturally +predispose the mind of one, unacquainted with the Dutch school, to +expect any thing but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would +seem to be the only possible impression from a picture composed of +such ingredients. And such, indeed, would be their effect under the +hand of any but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and follow +Ostade's <i>mind</i>, as it leaves its impress on the several objects. +Observe how he spreads his principal light, from the suspended carcass +to the surrounding objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable +shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there to an earthen +pot; then connecting it, by the flash from a brass kettle, with his +second light, the woman and child; and again turning the eye into +the dark recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old baskets, +roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a glimpse of sunshine, from +a half-open window, gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and +sending it back to the principal object, which now seems to act on the +mind as the luminous source of all these diverging lights. But the +magical whole is not yet completed; the mystery of color has been +called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that we can hardly +separate them; at least, until their united effect has first been +felt, and after we have begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even +then we cannot long proceed before we find the charm returning; as we +pass from the blaze of light on the carcass, where all the tints of +the prism seem to be faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the +dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose awhile on the white +cap and kerchief of the nursing mother; then we are roused again by +the flickering strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and +red petticoat; then the strife is softened by the low yellow of a +straw-bottomed chair; and thus with alternating excitement and repose +do we travel through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses +the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic dream. Now +all this will no doubt appear to many, if not absurd, at least +exaggerated: but not so to those who have ever felt the sorcery of +color. They, we are sure, will be the last to question the character +of the feeling because of the ingredients which worked the spell, +and, if true to themselves, they must call it poetry. Nor will they +consider it any disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to say +of Ostade that he also was an Artist.</p> + +<p>We turn now to a work of the great Italian,--the Death of Ananias. +The scene is laid in a plain apartment, which is wholly devoid of +ornament, as became the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. +The Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to transact the +temporal business of the Church, and are standing together on a +slightly elevated platform, about which, in various attitudes, some +standing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous assemblage of +their new converts, male and female. This quiet assembly (for we still +feel its quietness in the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly +roused by the sudden fall of one of their brethren; some of them turn +and see him struggling in the agonies of death. A moment before he was +in the vigor of life,--as his muscular limbs still bear evidence; +but he had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his frame is +convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we doubt for a moment as to the +awful cause: it is almost expressed in voice by those nearest to +him, and, though varied by their different temperaments, by terror, +astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice has yet but one +meaning,--"Ananias has lied to the Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as +if audible to the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his doom, +and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle marks him the judge; yet +not of himself,--for neither his attitude, air, nor expression has +any thing in unison with the impetuous Peter,--he is now the simple, +passive, yet awful instrument of the Almighty: while another on the +right, with equal calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated +arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate of the entering +Sapphira. Yet all is not done; lest a question remain, the Apostle on +the left confirms the judgment. No one can mistake what passes within +him; like one transfixed in adoration, his uplifted eyes seem to ray +out his soul, as if in recognition of the divine tribunal. But the +overpowering thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the human +sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, connecting the past with +the present, seem almost to articulate, "Alas, my brother!" By this +exquisite turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle almoner of the +Church, who is dealing out their portions to the needy brethren. And +here, as most remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering seems +not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of repose,--not to pass by, +but to linger upon, till we feel its quiet influence diffusing itself +over the whole mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved +Disciple, we find it leading us back through the exciting scene, +modifying even our deepest emotions with a kindred tranquillity.</p> + +<p>This is Invention; we have not moved a step through the picture but at +the will of the Artist. He invented the chain which we have followed, +link by link, through every emotion, assimilating many into one; and +this is the secret by which he prepared us, without exciting horror, +to contemplate the struggle of mortal agony.</p> + +<p>This too is Art; and the highest art, when thus the awful power, +without losing its character, is tempered, as it were, to our +mysterious desires. In the work of Ostade, we see the same inventive +power, no less effective, though acting through the medium of the +humblest materials.</p> + +<p>We have now exhibited two pictures, and by two painters who may be +said to stand at opposite poles. And yet, widely apart as are their +apparent stations, they are nevertheless tenants of the same ground, +namely, actual nature; the only difference being, that one is +the sovereign of the purely physical, the other of the moral and +intellectual, while their common medium is the catholic ground of the +imagination.</p> + +<p>We do not fear either skeptical demur or direct contradiction, when +we assert that the imagination is as much the medium of the homely +Ostade, as of the refined Raffaelle. For what is that, which has just +wrapped us as in a spell when we entered his humble cottage,--which, +as we wandered through it, invested the coarsest object with a +strange charm? Was it the <i>truth</i> of these objects that we there +acknowledged? In part, certainly, but not simply the truth that +belongs to their originals; it was the truth of his own individual +mind superadded to that of nature, nay, clothed upon besides by his +imagination, imbuing it with all the poetic hues which float in the +opposite regions of night and day, and which only a poet can mingle +and make visible in one pervading atmosphere. To all this our own +minds, our own imaginations, respond, and we pronounce it true to +both. We have no other rule, and well may the artists of every age and +country thank the great Lawgiver that there <i>is no other</i>. The +despised <i>feeling</i> which the schools have scouted is yet the +mother of that science of which they vainly boast. But of this we may +have more to say in another place.</p> + +<p>We shall now ascend from the <i>probable</i> to the <i>possible</i>, +to that branch of Invention whose proper office is from the known but +fragmentary to realize the unknown; in other words, to embody the +possible, having its sphere of action in the world of Ideas. To this +class, therefore, may properly be assigned the term <i>Ideal</i>.</p> + +<p>And here, as being its most important scene, it will be necessary to +take a more particular view of the verifying principle, the agent, so +to speak, that gives reality to the inward, when outwardly manifested.</p> + +<p>Now, whether we call this Human or Poetic Truth, or <i>inward +life</i>, it matters not; we know by <i>its effects</i>, (as we have +already said, and we now repeat,) that some such principle does exist, +and that it acts upon us, and in a way analogous to the operation of +that which we call truth and life in the world about us. And that the +cause of this analogy is a real affinity between the two powers seems +to us confirmed, not only <i>positively</i> by this acknowledged +fact, but also <i>negatively</i> by the absence of the effect above +mentioned in all those productions of the mind which we pronounce +unnatural. It is therefore in effect, or <i>quoad</i> ourselves, both +truth and life, addressed, if we may use the expression, to that +inscrutable <i>instinct</i> of the imagination which conducts us to +the knowledge of all invisible realities.</p> + +<p>A distinct apprehension of the reality and of the office of this +important principle, we cannot but think, will enable us to ascertain +with some degree of precision, at least so far as relates to art, +the true limits of the Possible,--the sphere, as premised, of Ideal +Invention.</p> + +<p>As to what some have called our <i>creative</i> powers, we take it +for granted that no correct thinker has ever applied such expressions +literally. Strictly speaking, we can <i>make</i> nothing: we can +only construct. But how vast a theatre is here laid open to the +constructive powers of the finite creature; where the physical eye is +permitted to travel for millions and millions of miles, while that of +the mind may, swifter than light, follow out the journey, from star to +star, till it falls back on itself with the humbling conviction that +the measureless journey is then but begun! It is needless to dwell on +the immeasurable mass of materials which a world like this may supply +to the Artist.</p> + +<p>The very thought of its vastness darkens into wonder. Yet how much +deeper the wonder, when the created mind looks into itself, and +contemplates the power of impressing its thoughts on all things +visible; nay, of giving the likeness of life to things inanimate; and, +still more marvellous, by the mere combination of words or colors, of +evolving into shape its own Idea, till some unknown form, having no +type in the actual, is made to seem to us an organized being. When +such is the result of any unknown combination, then it is that we +achieve the Possible. And here the Realizing Principle may strictly be +said to prove itself.</p> + +<p>That such an effect should follow a cause which we know to be purely +imaginary, supposes, as we have said, something in ourselves which +holds, of necessity, a predetermined relation to every object either +outwardly existing or projected from the mind, which we thus recognize +as true. If so, then the Possible and the Ideal are convertible terms; +having their existence, <i>ab initio</i>, in the nature of the mind. +The soundness of this inference is also supported negatively, as just +observed, by the opposite result, as in the case of those fantastic +combinations, which we sometimes meet with both in Poetry and +Painting, and which we do not hesitate to pronounce unnatural, that +is, false.</p> + +<p>And here we would not be understood as implying the preëxistence of +all possible forms, as so many <i>patterns</i>, but only of that +constructive Power which imparts its own Truth to the unseen +<i>real</i>, and, under certain conditions, reflects the image or +semblance of its truth on all things imagined; and which must be +assumed in order to account for the phenomena presented in the +frequent coincident effect between the real and the feigned. Nor does +the absence of consciousness in particular individuals, as to this +Power in themselves, fairly affect its universality, at least +potentially: since by the same rule there would be equal ground for +denying the existence of any faculty of the mind which is of slow or +gradual developement; all that we may reasonably infer in such cases +is, that the whole mind is not yet revealed to itself. In some of the +greatest artists, the inventive powers have been of late developement; +as in Claude, and the sculptor Falconet. And can any one believe that, +while the latter was hewing his master's marble, and the former making +pastry, either of them was conscious of the sublime Ideas which +afterwards took form for the admiration of the world? When Raffaelle, +then a youth, was selected to execute the noble works which now live +on the walls of the Vatican, "he had done little or nothing," says +Reynolds, "to justify so high a trust." Nor could he have been +certain, from what he knew of himself, that he was equal to the task. +He could only hope to succeed; and his hope was no doubt founded on +his experience of the progressive developement of his mind in former +efforts; rationally concluding, that the originally seeming blank +from which had arisen so many admirable forms was still teeming with +others, that only wanted the occasion, or excitement, to come forth at +his bidding.</p> + +<p>To return to that which, as the interpreting medium of his thoughts +and conceptions, connects the artist with his fellow-men, we remark, +that only on the ground of some self-realizing power, like what +we have termed Poetic Truth, could what we call the Ideal ever be +intelligible.</p> + +<p>That some such power is inherent and fundamental in our nature, though +differenced in individuals by more or less activity, seems more +especially confirmed in this latter branch of the subject, where the +phenomena presented are exclusively of the Possible. Indeed, we cannot +conceive how without it there could ever be such a thing as true Art; +for what might be received as such in one age might also be overruled +in the next: as we know to be the case with most things depending on +opinion. But, happily for Art, if once established on this immutable +base, there it must rest: and rest unchanged, amidst the endless +fluctuations of manners, habits, and opinions; for its truth of +a thousand years is as the truth of yesterday. Hence the beings +described by Homer, Shakspeare, and Milton are as true to us now, as +the recent characters of Scott. Nor is it the least characteristic +of this important Truth, that the only thing needed for its full +reception is simply its presence,--being its own evidence.</p> + +<p>How otherwise could such a being as Caliban ever be true to us? We have +never seen his race; nay, we knew not that such a creature <i>could</i> +exist, until he started upon us from the mind of Shakspeare. Yet who +ever stopped to ask if he were a real being? His existence to the mind +is instantly felt;--not as a matter of faith, but of fact, and a fact, +too, which the imagination cannot get rid of if it would, but which must +ever remain there, verifying itself, from the first to the last moment +of consciousness. From whatever point we view this singular creature, +his reality is felt. His very language, his habits, his feelings, +whenever they recur to us, are all issues from a living thing, acting +upon us, nay, forcing the mind, in some instances, even to speculate on +his nature, till it finds itself classing him in the chain of being as +the intermediate link between man and the brute. And this we do, not by +an ingenious effort, but almost by involuntary induction; for we +perceive speech and intellect, and yet without a soul. What but an +intellectual brute could have uttered the imprecations of Caliban? They +would not be natural in man, whether savage or civilized. Hear him, in +his wrath against Prospero and Miranda:--</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "A wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed<br /> +With raven's feather from unwholesome fen,<br /> +Light on you both!"</p></blockquote> + +<p>The wild malignity of this curse, fierce as it is, yet wants the moral +venom, the devilish leaven, of a consenting spirit: it is all but +human.</p> + +<p>To this we may add a similar example, from our own art, in the Puck, +or Robin Goodfellow, of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Who can look at this +exquisite little creature, seated on its toadstool cushion, and not +acknowledge its prerogative of life,--that mysterious influence which +in spite of the stubborn understanding masters the mind,--sending +it back to days long past, when care was but a dream, and its most +serious business a childish frolic? But we no longer think of +childhood as the past, still less as an abstraction; we see it +embodied before us, in all its mirth and fun and glee; and the grave +man becomes again a child, to feel as a child, and to follow the +little enchanter through all his wiles and never-ending labyrinth of +pranks. What can be real, if that is not which so takes us out of +our present selves, that the weight of years falls from us as a +garment,--that the freshness of life seems to begin anew, and the +heart and the fancy, resuming their first joyous consciousness, to +launch again into this moving world, as on a sunny sea, whose pliant +waves yield to the touch, yet, sparkling and buoyant, carry them +onward in their merry gambols? Where all the purposes of reality are +answered, if there be no philosophy in admitting, we see no wisdom in +disputing it.</p> + +<p>Of the immutable nature of this peculiar Truth, we have a like +instance in the Farnese Hercules; the work of the Grecian sculptor +Glycon,--we had almost said his immortal offspring. Since the time of +its birth, cities and empires, even whole nations, have disappeared, +giving place to others, more or less barbarous or civilized; yet these +are as nothing to the countless revolutions which have marked +the interval in the manners, habits, and opinions of men. Is it +reasonable, then, to suppose that any thing not immutable in its +nature could possibly have withstood such continual fluctuation? +But how have all these changes affected this <i>visible image of +Truth</i>? In no wise; not a jot; and because what is <i>true</i> is +independent of opinion: it is the same to us now as it was to the men +of the dust of antiquity. The unlearned spectator of the present day +may not, indeed, see in it the Demigod of Greece; but he can never +mistake it for a mere exaggeration of the human form; though of mortal +mould, he cannot doubt its possession of more than mortal powers; he +feels its <i>essential life</i>, for he feels before it as in the +stirring presence of a superior being.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the attempt to give form and substance to a pure Idea was +never so perfectly accomplished as in this wonderful figure. Who has +ever seen the ocean in repose, in its awful sleep, that smooths it +like glass, yet cannot level its unfathomed swell? So seems to us the +repose of this tremendous personification of strength: the laboring +eye heaves on its slumbering sea of muscles, and trembles like a skiff +as it passes over them: but the silent intimations of the spirit +beneath at length become audible; the startled imagination hears it +in its rage, sees it in motion, and sees its resistless might in +the passive wrecks that follow the uproar. And this from a piece of +marble, cold, immovable, lifeless! Surely there is that in man, which +the senses cannot reach, nor the plumb of the understanding sound.</p> + +<p>Let us turn now to the Apollo called Belvedere. In this supernal +being, the human form seems to have been assumed as if to make visible +the harmonious confluence of the pure ideas of grace, fleetness, and +majesty; nor do we think it too fanciful to add celestial splendor; +for such, in effect, are the thoughts which crowd, or rather rush, +into the mind on first beholding it. Who that saw it in what may be +called the place of its glory, the Gallery of Napoleon, ever thought +of it as a man, much less as a statue; but did not feel rather as if +the vision before him were of another world,--of one who had just +lighted on the earth, and with a step so ethereal, that the next +instant he would vault into the air? If I may be permitted to recall +the impression which it made on myself, I know not that I could better +describe it than as a sudden intellectual flash, filling the whole +mind with light,--and light in motion. It seemed to the mind what the +first sight of the sun is to the senses, as it emerges from the ocean; +when from a point of light the whole orb at once appears to bound from +the waters, and to dart its rays, as by a visible explosion, through +the profound of space. But, as the deified Sun, how completely is the +conception verified in the thoughts that follow the effulgent original +and its marble counterpart! Perennial youth, perennial brightness, +follow them both. Who can imagine the old age of the sun? As soon +may we think of an old Apollo. Now all this may be ascribed to the +imagination of the beholder. Granted,--yet will it not thus be +explained away. For that is the very faculty addressed by every work +of Genius,--whose nature is <i>suggestive</i>; and only when it +excites to or awakens congenial thoughts and emotions, filling the +imagination with corresponding images, does it attain its proper end. +The false and the commonplace can never do this.</p> + +<p>It were easy to multiply similar examples; the bare mention of a +single name in modern art might conjure up a host,--the name of +Michael Angelo, the mighty sovereign of the Ideal, than whom no one +ever trod so near, yet so securely, the dizzy brink of the Impossible.</p> + +<p>Of Unity, the fourth and last characteristic, we shall say but little; +for we know in truth little or nothing of the law which governs +it: indeed, all that we know but amounts to this,--that, wherever +existing, it presents to the mind the Idea of a Whole,--which is +itself a mystery. For what answer can we give to the question, What +is a Whole? If we reply, That which has neither more nor less than it +ought to have, we do not advance a step towards a definite notion; for +the <i>rule</i> (if there be one) is yet undiscovered, by which +to measure either the too much or the too little. Nevertheless, +incomprehensible as it certainly is, it is what the mind will not +dispense with in a work of Art; nay, it will not concede even a right +to the name to any production where this is wanting. Nor is it a sound +objection, that we also receive pleasure from many things which seem +to us fragmentary; for instance, from actual views in Nature,--as we +shall hope to show in another place. It is sufficient at present, +that, in relation to Art, the law of the imagination demands a whole; +in order to which not a single part must be felt to be wanting; all +must be there, however imperfectly rendered; nay, such is the craving +of this active faculty, that, be they but mere hints, it will often +fill them out to the desired end; the only condition being, that the +part hinted be founded in truth. It is well known to artists, that a +sketch, consisting of little more than hints, will frequently produce +the desired effect, and by the same means,--the hints being true so +far as expressed, and without an hiatus. But let the artist attempt to +<i>finish</i> his sketch, that is, to fill out the parts, and suppose +him deficient in the necessary skill, the consequence must be, that +the true hints, becoming transformed to elaborate falsehoods, will +be all at variance, while the revolted imagination turns away with +disgust. Nor is this a thing of rare occurrence: indeed, he is a most +fortunate artist, who has never had to deplore a well-hinted whole +thus reduced to fragments.</p> + +<p>These are facts; from which we may learn, that with less than a whole, +either already wrought, or so indicated that the excited imagination +can of itself complete it, no genuine response will ever be given to +any production of man. And we learn from it also this twofold truth; +first, that the Idea of a Whole contains in itself a preëxisting law; +and, secondly, that Art, the peculiar product of the Imagination, is +one of its true and predetermined ends.</p> + +<p>As to its practical application, it were fruitless to speculate. It +applies itself, even as truth, both in action and reaction, verifying +itself: and our minds submit, as if it had said, There is nothing +wanting; so, in the converse, its dictum is absolute when it announces +a deficiency.</p> + +<p>To return to the objection, that we often receive pleasure from many +things in Nature which seem to us fragmentary, we observe, that nothing in +Nature can be fragmentary, except in the seeming, and then, too, to the +understanding only,--to the feelings never; for a grain of sand, no less +than a planet, being an essential part of that mighty whole which we call +the universe, cannot be separated from the Idea of the world without a +positive act of the reflective faculties, an act of volition; but until +then even a grain of sand cannot cease to imply it. To the mere +understanding, indeed, even the greatest extent of actual objects which +the finite creature can possibly imagine must ever fall short of the vast +works of the Creator. Yet we nevertheless can, and do, apprehend the +existence of the universe. Now we would ask here, whether the influence of +a <i>real</i>,--and the epithet here is not unimportant,--whether the influence +of a real Whole is at no time felt without an act of consciousness, that +is, without thinking of a whole. Is this impossible? Is it altogether out +of experience? We have already shown (as we think) that no <i>unmodified +copy</i> of actual objects, whether single or multifarious, ever satisfies +the imagination,--which imperatively demands a something more, or at least +different. And yet we often find that the very objects from which these +copies are made <i>do</i> satisfy us. How and why is this? A question more +easily put than answered. We may suggest, however, what appears to us a +clew, that in abler hands may possibly lead to its solution; namely, the +fact, that, among the innumerable emotions of a pleasurable kind derived +from the actual, there is not one, perhaps, which is strictly confined to +the objects before us, and which we do not, either directly or indirectly, +refer to something beyond and not present. Now have we at all times a +distinct consciousness of the things referred to? Are they not rather more +often vague, and only indicated in some <i>undefined</i> feeling? Nay, is its +source more intelligible where the feeling is more definite, when taking +the form of a sense of harmony, as from something that diffuses, yet +deepens, unbroken in its progress through endless variations, the melody +as it were of the pleasurable object? Who has never felt, under certain +circumstances, an expansion of the heart, an elevation of mind, nay, a +striving of the whole being to pass its limited bounds, for which he could +find no adequate solution in the objects around him,--the apparent cause? +Or who can account for every mood that thralls him,--at times like one +entranced in a dream by airs from Paradise,--at other times steeped in +darkness, when the spirit of discord seems to marshal his every thought, +one against another?</p> + +<p>Whether it be that the Living Principle, which permeates all things +throughout the physical world, cannot be touched in a single point +without conducting to its centre, its source, and confluence, thus +giving by a part, though obscurely and indefinitely, a sense of the +whole,--we know not. But this we may venture to assert, and on no +improbable ground,--that a ray of light is not more continuously +linked in its luminous particles than our moral being with the +whole moral universe. If this be so, may it not give us, in a faint +shadowing at least, some intimation of the many real, though unknown +relations, which everywhere surround and bear upon us? In the deeper +emotions, we have, sometimes, what seems to us a fearful proof of it. +But let us look at it negatively; and suppose a case where this chain +is broken,--of a human being who is thus cut off from all possible +sympathies, and shut up, as it were, in the hopeless solitude of +his own mind. What is this horrible avulsion, this impenetrable +self-imprisonment, but the appalling state of <i>despair?</i> And what +if we should see it realized in some forsaken outcast, and hear his +forlorn cry, "Alone! alone!" while to his living spirit that single +word is all that is left him to fill the blank of space? In such a +state, the very proudest autocrat would yearn for the sympathy of the +veriest wretch.</p> + +<p>It would seem, then, since this living cement which is diffused +through nature, binding all things in one, so that no part can be +contemplated that does not, of necessity, even though unconsciously to +us, act on the mind with reference to the whole,--since this, as we +find, cannot be transferred to any copy of the actual, it must needs +follow, if we would imitate Nature in its true effects, that recourse +must be had to another, though similar principle, which shall so +pervade our production as to satisfy the mind with an efficient +equivalent. Now, in order to this there are two conditions required: +first, the personal modification, (already discussed) of every +separate part,--which may be considered as its proper life; and, +secondly, the uniting of the parts by such an interdependence that +they shall appear to us as essential, one to another, and all to each. +When this is done, the result is a whole. But how do we obtain +this mutual dependence? We refer the questioner to the law of +Harmony,--that mysterious power, which is only apprehended by its +imperative effect.</p> + +<p>But, be the above as it may, we know it to be a fact, that, whilst +nothing in Nature ever affects us as fragmentary, no unmodified copy +of her by man is ever felt by us as otherwise.</p> + +<p>We have thus--and, we trust, on no fanciful ground--endeavoured to +establish the real and distinctive character of Art. And, if our +argument be admitted, it will be found to have brought us to the +following conclusions:--first, that the true ground of all originality +lies in the <i>individualizing law</i>, that is, in that modifying +power, which causes the difference between man and man as to their +mental impressions; secondly, that only in a <i>true</i> reproduction +consists its evidence; thirdly, that in the involuntary response from +other minds lies the truth of the evidence; fourthly, that in order +to this response there must therefore exist some universal kindred +principle, which is essential to the human mind, though widely +differenced in the degree of its activity in different individuals; +and finally, that this principle, which we have here denominated +Human or Poetic Truth, being independent both of the will and of the +reflective faculties, is in its nature <i>imperative</i>, to affirm +or deny, in relation to every production pretending to Art, from the +simple imitation of the actual to the probable, and from the probable +to the possible;--in one word, that the several characteristics, +Originality, Poetic Truth, Invention, each imply a something not +inherent in the objects imitated, but which must emanate alone from +the mind of the Artist.</p> + +<p>And here it may be well to notice an apparent objection, that will +probably occur to many, especially among painters. How, then, they may +ask, if the principle in question be universal and imperative, do we +account for the mistakes which even great Artists have sometimes made +as to the realizing of their conceptions? We hope to show, that, so +far from opposing, the very fact on which the objection is grounded +will be found, on the contrary, to confirm our doctrine. Were such +mistakes uniformly permanent, they might, perhaps, have a rational +weight; but that this is not the case is clearly evident from the +additional fact of the change in the Artist's judgment, which almost +invariably follows any considerable interval of time. Nay, should +a case occur where a similar mistake is never rectified,--which is +hardly probable,--we might well consider it as one of those exceptions +that prove the rule,--of which we have abundant examples in other +relations, where a true principle is so feebly developed as to be +virtually excluded from the sphere of consciousness, or, at least, +where its imperfect activity is for all practical purposes a mere +nullity. But, without supposing any mental weakness, the case may +be resolved by the no less formidable obstacle of a too inveterate +memory: and there have been such,--where a thought or an image once +impressed is never erased. In Art it is certainly an advantage to be +able sometimes to forget. Nor is this a new notion; for Horace, it +seems, must have had the same, or he would hardly have recommended so +long a time as nine years for the revision of a poem. That Titian +also was not unaware of the advantage of forgetting is recorded by +Boschini, who relates, that, during the progress of a work, he was +in the habit of occasionally turning it to the wall, until it had +somewhat faded from his memory, so that, on resuming his labor, he +might see with fresh eyes; when (to use his expression) he would +criticize the picture with as much severity as his worst enemy. If, +instead of the picture on the canvas, Boschini had referred to that in +his mind, as what Titian sought to forget, he would have been, as +we think, more correct. This practice is not uncommon with Artists, +though few, perhaps, are aware of its real object.</p> + +<p>It has doubtless the appearance of a singular anomaly in the judgment, +that it should not always be as correct in relation to our own works +as to those of another. Yet nothing is more common than perfect truth +in the one case, and complete delusion in the other. Our surprise, +however, would be sensibly diminished, if we considered that the +reasoning or reflective faculties have nothing to do with either case. +It is the Principle of which we have been speaking, the life, or truth +within, answering to the life, or rather its sign, before us, that +here sits in judgment. Still the question remains unanswered; and +again we are asked, Why is it that our own works do not always respond +with equal veracity? Simply because we do not always <i>see</i> +them,--that is, as they are,--but, looking as it were <i>through +them</i>, see only their originals in the mind; the mind here acting, +instead of being acted upon. And thus it is, that an Artist may +suppose his conception realized, while that which gave life to it in +his mind is outwardly wanting. But let time erase, as we know it often +does, the mental image, and its embodied representative will then +appear to its author as it is,--true or false. There is one case, +however, where the effect cannot deceive; namely, where it comes upon +us as from a foreign source; where our own seems no longer ours. This, +indeed, is rare; and powerful must be the pictured Truth, that, as +soon as embodied, shall thus displace its own original.</p> + +<p>Nor does it in any wise affect the essential nature of the Principle +in question, or that of the other Characteristics, that the effect +which follows is not always of a pleasurable kind; it may even be +disagreeable. What we contend for is simply its <i>reality</i>; the +character of the perception, like that of every other truth, depending +on the individual character of the percipient. The common truth of +existence in a living person, for instance, may be to us either a +matter of interest or indifference, nay, even of disgust. So also may +it be with what is true in Art. Temperament, ignorance, cultivation, +vulgarity, and refinement have all, in a greater or less degree, an +influence in our impressions; so that any reality may be to us either +an offence or a pleasure, yet still a reality. In Art, as in Nature, +the True is imperative, and must be <i>felt</i>, even where a timid, a +proud, or a selfish motive refuses to acknowledge it.</p> + +<p>These last remarks very naturally lead us to another subject, and one +of no minor importance; we mean, the education of an Artist; on this, +however, we shall at present add but a few words. We use the word +<i>education</i> in its widest sense, as involving not only the growth +and expansion of the intellect, but a corresponding developement of +the moral being; for the wisdom of the intellect is of little worth, +if it be not in harmony with the higher spiritual truth. Nor will a +moderate, incidental cultivation suffice to him who would become a +great Artist. He must sound no less than the full depths of his being +ere he is fitted for his calling; a calling in its very condition +lofty, demanding an agent by whom, from the actual, living world, is +to be wrought an imagined consistent world of Art,--not fantastic, +or objectless, but having a purpose, and that purpose, in all its +figments, a distinct relation to man's nature, and all that pertains +to it, from the humblest emotion to the highest aspiration; the circle +that bounds it being that only which bounds his spirit,--even the +confines of that higher world, where ideal glimpses of angelic forms +are sometimes permitted to his sublimated vision. Art may, in truth, +be called the <i>human world</i>; for it is so far the work of man, +that his beneficent Creator has especially endowed him with the powers +to construct it; and, if so, surely not for his mere amusement, but +as a part (small though it be) of that mighty plan which the Infinite +Wisdom has ordained for the evolution of the human spirit; whereby is +intended, not alone the enlargement of his sphere of pleasure, but of +his higher capacities of adoration;--as if, in the gift, he had said +unto man, Thou shalt know me by the powers I have given thee. The +calling of an Artist, then, is one of no common responsibility; and it +well becomes him to consider at the threshold, whether he shall assume +it for high and noble purposes, or for the low and licentious.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> +<h2>Form.</h2> + + + +<p>The subject proposed for the following discourse is the Human Form; a +subject, perhaps, of all others connected with Art, the most obscured +by vague theories. It is one, at least, of such acknowledged +difficulty as to constrain the writer to confess, that he enters +upon it with more distrust than hope of success. Should he succeed, +however, in disencumbering this perplexed theme of some of its useless +dogmas, it will be quite as much as he has allowed himself to expect.</p> + +<p>The object, therefore, of the present attempt will be to show, first, +that the notion of one or more standard Forms, which shall in all +cases serve as exemplars, is essentially false, and of impracticable +application for any true purpose of Art; secondly, that the only +approach to Science, which the subject admits, is in a few general +rules relating to Stature, and these, too, serving rather as +convenient <i>expedients</i> than exact guides, inasmuch as, in most +cases, they allow of indefinite variations; and, thirdly, that +the only efficient <b>Rule</b> must be found in the Artist's mind,--in +those intuitive Powers, which are above, and beyond, both the senses +and the understanding; which, nevertheless, are so far from precluding +knowledge, as, on the contrary, to require, as their effective +condition, the widest intimacy with the things external,--without +which their very existence must remain unknown to the Artist himself.</p> + +<p>Supposing, then, certain standard Forms to have been admitted, it may +not be amiss to take a brief view of the nature of the Being to whom +they are intended to be applied; and to consider them more especially +as auxiliaries to the Artist.</p> + +<p>In the first place, we observe, that the purpose of Art is not to +represent any given number of men, but the Human Race; and so that the +representation shall affect us, not indeed as living to the senses, +but as true to the mind. In order to this, there must be <i>all</i> in +the imitation (though it be but hinted) which the mind will recognize +as true to the human being: hence the first business of the Artist is +to become acquainted with his subject in all its properties. He then +naturally inquires, what is its general characteristic; and his own +consciousness informs him, that, besides an animal nature, there is +also a moral intelligence, and that they together form the man. This +important truism (we say important, for it seems to have been +not seldom overlooked) makes the foundation of all his future +observations; nor can he advance a step without continual reference +to this double nature. We find him accordingly in the daily habit of +mentally distinguishing this person from that, as a moral being, and +of assigning to each a separate character; and this not voluntarily, +but simply because he cannot avoid it. Yet, by what does he presume +to judge of strangers? He will probably answer, By their general +exterior. And what is the inference? There can be but one; namely, +that there must be--at least to him--some efficient correspondence +between the physical and the moral. This is so plain, that the wonder +is, how it ever came to be doubted. Nor is it directly denied, except +by those who from habitual disgust reject the guesswork of the various +pretenders to scientific systems; yet even these, no less than others, +do practically admit it in their common intercourse with the world. +And it cannot be otherwise; for what the Creator has joined must have +some affinity, although the palpable signs may elude our cognizance. +And that they do elude it, except perhaps in a very slight degree, +is actually the case, as is well proved by the signal failure of all +attempts to reduce them to a science; for neither diagram nor axiom +has ever yet corrected an instinctive impression. But man does not +live by science; he feels, acts, and judges right in a thousand things +without the consciousness of any rule by which he so feels, acts, or +judges. And, happily for him, he has a surer guide than human science +in that unknown Power within him,--without which he had been without +knowledge. But of this we shall have occasion to speak again in +another part of our discourse.</p> + +<p>Though the medium through which the soul acts be, as we have said, elusive +to the senses,--in so far as to be irreducible to any distinct form,--it +is not therefore the less real, as every one may verify by his own +experience; and, though seemingly invisible, it must nevertheless, +constituted as we are, act through the physical, and a physical medium +expressly constructed for its peculiar action; nay, it does this +continually, without our confounding for a moment the soul with its +instrument. Who can look into the human eye, and doubt of an influence not +of the body? The form and color leave but a momentary impression, or, if +we remember them, it is only as we remember the glass through which we +have read the dark problems of the sky. But in this mysterious organ we +see not even the signs of its mystery. We see, in truth, nothing; for what +is there has neither form, nor symbol, nor any thing reducible to a +sensuous distinctness; and yet who can look into it, and not be conscious +of a real though invisible presence? In the eye of a brute, we see only a +part of the animal; it gives us little beyond the palpable outward; at +most, it is but the focal point of its fierce, or gentle, affectionate, or +timorous character,--the character of the species, But in man, neither +gentleness nor fierceness can be more than as relative conditions,--the +outward moods of his unseen spirit; while the spirit itself, that daily +and hourly sends forth its good and evil, to take shape from the body, +still sits in darkness. Yet have we that which can surely reach it; even +our own spirit. By this it is that we can enter into another's soul, sound +its very depths, and bring up his dark thoughts, nay, place them before +him till he starts at himself; and more,--it is by this we <i>know</i> that +even the tangible, audible, visible world is not more real than a +spiritual intercourse. And yet without the physical organ who can hold it? +We can never indeed understand, but we may not doubt, that which has its +power of proof in a single act of consciousness. Nay, we may add that we +cannot even conceive of a soul without a correlative form,--though it be +in the abstract; and <i>vice versâ</i>.</p> + +<p>For, among the many impossibilities, it is not the least to look upon +a living human form as a thing; in its pictured copies, as already +shown in a former discourse, it may be a thing, and a beautiful thing; +but the moment we conceive of it as living, if it show not a soul, we +give it one by a moral necessity; and according to the outward will be +the spirit with which we endow it. No poetic being, supposed of our +species, ever lived to the imagination without some indication of the +moral; it is the breath of its life: and this is also true in the +converse; if there be but a hint of it, it will instantly clothe +itself in a human shape; for the mind cannot separate them. In the +whole range of the poetic creations of the great master of truth,--we +need hardly say Shakspeare,--not an instance can be found where this +condition of life is ever wanting; his men and women all have souls. +So, too, when he peoples the air, though he describe no form, he never +leaves these creatures of the brain without a shape, for he will +sometimes, by a single touch of the moral, enable us to supply one. +Of this we have a striking instance in one of his most unsubstantial +creations, the "delicate Ariel." Not an allusion to its shape or +figure is made throughout the play; yet we assign it a form on its +very first entrance, as soon as Prospero speaks of its refusing to +comply with the" abhorred commands" of the witch, Sycorax. And again, +in the fifth act, when Ariel, after recounting the sufferings of the +wretched usurper and his followers, gently adds,--</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "Your charm so strongly works them,<br /> +That, if you now beheld them, your affections<br /> +Would become tender."</p></blockquote> + +<p>On which Prospero remarks,--</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling<br /> + Of their afflictions?"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Now, whether Shakspeare intended it or not, it is not possible after +this for the reader to think of Ariel but in a human form; for slight +as these hints are, if they do not indicate the moral affections, they +at least imply something akin to them, which in a manner compels us to +invest the gentle Spirit with a general likeness to our own physical +exterior, though, perhaps, as indistinct as the emotion that called +for it.</p> + +<p>We have thus considered the human being in his complex condition, of +body and spirit, or physical and moral; showing the impossibility of +even thinking of him in the one, to the exclusion of the other. We +may, indeed, successively think first of the form, and then of +the moral character, as we may think of any one part of either +analytically; but we cannot think of the <i>human being</i> except +as a <i>whole</i>. It follows, therefore, as a consequence, that no +imitation of man can be true which is not addressed to us in this +double condition. And here it may be observed, that in Art there is +this additional requirement, that there be no discrepancy between the +form and the character intended,--or rather, that the form <i>must</i> +express the character, or it expresses nothing: a necessity which is +far from being general in actual nature. But of this hereafter.</p> + +<p>Let us now endeavour to form some general notion of Man in his various +aspects, as presented by the myriads which people the earth. But whose +imagination is equal to the task,--to the setting in array before it +the countless multitudes, each individual in his proper form, his +proper character? Were this possible, we should stand amazed at the +interminable differences, the hideous variety; and that, too, no less +in the moral, than in the physical; nay, so opposite and appalling in +the former as hardly to be figured by a chain of animals, taking for +the extremes the fierce and filthy hyena and the inoffensive lamb. +This is man in the concrete,--to which, according to some, is to be +applied the <i>abstract Ideal!</i></p> + +<p>Now let us attempt to conceive of a being that shall represent all the +diversities of mind, affections, and dispositions, that fleck this +heterogeneous mass of humanity, and then to conceive of a Form that +shall be in such perfect affinity with it as to indicate them all. The +bare statement of the proposition shows its absurdity. Yet this must +be the office of a Standard Form; and this it must do, or it will be +a falsehood. Nor should we find it easier with any given number, with +twenty, fifty, nay, an hundred (so called) generic forms. We do not +hesitate to affirm, that, were it possible, it would be quite as easy +with one as with a thousand.</p> + +<p>But to this it may be replied, that the Standard Form was never +intended to represent the vicious or degraded, but man in his most +perfect developement of mind, affections, and body. This is certainly +narrowing its office, and, unfortunately, to the representing of but +<i>one</i> man; consequently, of no possible use beyond to the Painter +or Sculptor of Humanity, since every repetition of this perfect form +would be as the reflection of one multiplied by mirrors. But such +repetitions, it may be further answered, were never contemplated, that +Form being given only as an exemplar of the highest, to serve as a +guide in our approach to excellence; as we could not else know to a +certainty to what degree of elevation our conceptions might rise. +Still, in that case its use would be limited to a single object, that +is, to itself, its own perfectness; it would not aid the Artist in the +intermediate ascent to it,--unless it contained within itself all the +gradations of human character; which no one will pretend.</p> + +<p>But let us see how far it is possible to <i>realize</i> the Idea of a +<i>perfect</i> Human Form.</p> + +<p>We have already seen that the mere physical structure is not man, but +only a part; the Idea of man including also an internal moral being. +The external, then, in an <i>actually disjoined</i> state, cannot, +strictly speaking, be the human form, but only a diagram of it. It is, +in fact, but a partial condition, becoming human only when united with +the internal moral; which, in proof of the union, it must of necessity +indicate. If we would have a true Idea of it, therefore, it must be as +a whole; consequently, the perfect physical exterior must have, as an +essential part, the perfect moral. Now come two important questions. +First, In what consists Moral Perfection? We use the word <i>moral</i> +here (from a want in our language) in its most comprehensive sense, +as including the spiritual and the intellectual. With respect to that +part of our moral being which pertains to the affections, in all their +high relations to God and man, we have, it is true, a sure and holy +guide. In a Christian land, the humblest individual may answer as +readily as the most profound scholar, and express its perfection in +the single word, Holiness. But what will be the reply in regard to the +Intellect? For what is a perfect Intellect? Is it the Dialectic, the +Speculative, or the Imaginative? Or, rather, would it not include them +all?</p> + +<p>We proceed next to the Physical. What, then, constitutes its +Perfection? Here, it might seem, there can be no difficulty, and the +reply will probably be in naming all the excellent qualities in our +animal nature, such as strength, agility, fleetness, with every other +that can be thought of. The bare enumeration of these few qualities +may serve to show the nature of the task; yet a physically perfect +form requires them all; none must be omitted; it would else be +imperfect; nay, they must not only be there, but all be developed in +their highest degrees. We might here exclaim with Hamlet, though in a +very different sense,</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "A combination and a form indeed!"</p></blockquote> + +<p>And yet there is no other way to express physical perfection. But +can it be so expressed? The reader must reply for himself. We will, +however, suppose it possible; still the task is incomplete without the +adjustment of these to the perfect Moral, in the highest known degrees +of its several elements. To those who can imagine <i>such</i> a form +as shall be the sure exponent of <i>such</i> a moral being,--and such +it must be, or it will be nothing,--we leave the task of constructing +this universal exemplar for multitudinous man. We may add, however, +one remark; that, supposing it possible thus to concentrate, and +with equal prominence, all the qualities of the species into one +individual, it can only be done by supplanting Providence, in other +words, by virtually overruling the great principle of subordination +so visibly impressed on all created life. For although, as we have +elswhere observed, there can be no sound mind (and the like may be +affirmed of the whole man), which is deficient in any one essential, +it does not therefore follow, that each of these essentials may not be +almost indefinitely differenced in the degrees of their developement +without impairing the human integrity. And such is the fact in actual +nature; nor does this in any wise affect the individual unity,--as +will be noticed hereafter.</p> + +<p>We will now briefly examine the pretensions of what are called the +Generic Forms. And here we are met by another important characteristic +of the human being, namely, his essential individuality.</p> + +<p>It is true that the human family, so called, is divided into many +distinct races, having each its peculiar conformation, color, and so +forth, which together constitute essential differences; but it is +to be remembered that these essentials are all physical; and <i>so +far</i> they are properly generic, as implying a difference in kind. +But, though a striking difference is also observable in their moral +being, it is by no means of the same nature with that which marks +their physical condition, the difference in the moral being only of +degree; for, however fierce, brutal, stupid, or cunning, or gentle, +generous, or heroic, the same characteristics may each be paralleled +among ourselves; nay, we could hardly name a vice, a passion, or +a virtue, in Asia, Africa, or America, that has not its echo in +civilized Europe. And what is the inference? That climate and +circumstance, if such are the causes of the physical variety, have no +controlling power, except in degree, over the Moral. Does not this +undeniable fact, then, bring us to the fair conclusion, that the moral +being has no genera? To affirm otherwise would be virtually to +deny its responsible condition; since the law of its genus must be +paramount to all other laws,--to education, government, religion. Nor +can the result be evaded, except by the absurd supposition of generic +responsibilities! To us, therefore, it seems conclusive that a moral +being, as a free agent, cannot be subject to a generic law; nor +could he now be--what every man feels himself to be, in spite of +his theory--the fearful architect of his own destiny. In one sense, +indeed, we may admit a human genus,--such as every man must be in his +individual entireness.</p> + +<p>Man has been called a microcosm, or little world. And such, however +mean and contemptible to others, is man to himself; nay, such he must +ever be, whether he wills it or not. He may hate, he may despise, yet +he cannot but cling to that without which he is not; he is the centre +and the circle, be it of pleasure or of pain; nor can he be other. +Touch him with misery, and he becomes paramount to the whole +world,--to a thousand worlds; for the beauty and the glory of the +universe are as nothing to him who is all darkness. Then it is that he +will <i>feel</i>, should he have before doubted, that he is not a mere +part, a fraction, of his kind, but indeed a world; and though little +in one sense, yet a world of awful magnitude in its capacity of +suffering. In one word, Man is a whole, <i>an Individual</i>.</p> + +<p>If the preceding argument be admitted, it will be found to have +relieved the student of two delusive dogmas,--and the more delusive, +as carrying with them a plausible show of science.</p> + +<p>As to the flowery declamations about Beauty, they would not here be +noticed, were they not occasionally met with in works of high merit, +and not unfrequently mixed up with philosophic truth. If they have +any definite meaning, it amounts to this,--that the Beautiful is the +summit of every possible excellence! The extravagance, not to say +absurdity, of such a proposition, confounding, as it does, all +received distinctions, both in the moral and the natural world, needs +no comment. It is hardly to be believed, however, that the writers in +question could have deliberately intended this. It is more probable, +that, in so expressing themselves, they were only giving vent to an +enthusiastic feeling, which we all know is generally most vague when +associated with admiration; it is not therefore strange that the +ardent expression of it should partake of its vagueness. Among the +few critical works of authority in which the word is so used, we may +mention the (in many respects admirable) Discourses of Sir Joshua +Reynolds, where we find the following sentence:--"The <i>beauty</i> of +the Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; +which, of course, would present three different Ideas of Beauty." If +this had been said of various animals, differing in <i>kind</i>, the +term so applied might, perhaps, have been appropriate. But the same +term is here applied to objects of the same kind, differing not +essentially even in age; we say <i>age</i>, inasmuch as in the three +great divisions, or periods, of human life, namely, childhood, +youth, and maturity, the characteristic conditions of each are so +<i>essentially</i> distinct, as virtually to separate them into +positive kinds.</p> + +<p>But it is no less idle than invidious to employ our time in +overturning the errors of others; if we establish Truth, they will +fall of themselves. There cannot be two right sides to any question; +and, if we are right, what is opposed to us must of necessity he +wrong. Whether we are so or not must be determined by those who admit +or reject what has already been advanced on the subject of Beauty, in +the first Discourse. It will be remembered, that, in the course of our +argument there, we were brought to the conclusion, that Beauty was +the Idea of a certain physical <i>condition</i>, both general and +ultimate; general, as presiding over objects of many kinds, and +ultimate, as being the <i>perfection</i> of that peculiar condition in +each, and therefore not applicable to, or representing, its degrees +in any; which, as approximations only to the one supreme Idea, should +truly be distinguished by other terms. Accordingly, we cannot, +strictly speaking, say of two persons of the same age and sex, +differing from each other, that they are equally beautiful. We hear +this, indeed, almost daily; it is nevertheless not the true expression +of the actual impression made on the speaker, though he may not take +the trouble to examine and compare them. But let him do so, and we +doubt not that he would find the one to rise (in however slight a +degree) above the other; and, if he did not assign a different term +to the lower, it would be only because he was not in the habit of +marking, or did not think it worth his while to note, such nice +distinctions.</p> + +<p>If there is a <i>first</i> and a <i>last</i> to any thing, the +intermediates can be neither one nor the other; and, if we so name +them, we speak falsely. It is no less so with Beauty, which, being at +the head, or first in a series, admits no transference of its title. +We mean, if speaking strictly; which, however, we freely acknowledge, +no one can; but that is owing to the insufficiency of language, which +in no dialect could supply a hundredth part of the terms needed to +mark every minute shade of difference. Perhaps no subject requiring a +wider nomenclature has one so contracted; and the consequence is, +that no subject is more obscured by vague expressions. But it is the +business of the Artist, if he cannot form to himself the corresponding +terms, to be prepared at least to perceive and to note these various +shades. We do not say, that an actual acquaintance with all the nice +distinctions is an essential requisite, but only that it will not be +altogether useless to be aware of their existence; at any rate, it +may serve to shield him from the annoyance of false criticism, when +censured for wanting beauty where its presence would have been an +impertinence.</p> + +<p>Before we quit the subject, it may not be amiss to observe, that, in +the preceding remarks, our object has been not so much to insist on +correct speaking as correct thinking. The poverty of language, +as already admitted, has made the former impossible; but, though +constrained in this, as in many other cases where a subordinate is put +for its principal, to apply the term Beautiful to its various degrees, +yet a right apprehension of what Beauty <i>is</i> may certainly +prevent its misapplication as to other objects having no relation to +it. Nor is this a small matter where the avoiding of confusion is an +object desirable; and there is clearly some difference between an +approach to precision and utter vagueness.</p> + +<p>We have now to consider how far the Correspondence between the +outward form and the inward being, which is assumed by the Artist, is +supported by fact.</p> + +<p>In a fair statement, then, of facts, it cannot be denied that with +the mass of men the outward intimation of character is certainly very +faint, with many obscure, and with some ambiguous, while with others +it has often seemed to express the very reverse of the truth. Perhaps +a stronger instance of the latter could hardly occur than that cited +in a former discourse in illustration of the physical relation of +Beauty; where it was shown that the first and natural impression from +a beautiful form was not only displaced, but completely reversed, by +the revolting discovery of a moral discrepancy. But while we admit, on +the threshold, that the Correspondence in question cannot be sustained +as universally obvious, it is, nevertheless, not apprehended that this +admission can affect our argument, which, though in part grounded +on special cases of actual coincidence, is yet supported by other +evidences, which lead us to regard all such discrepancies rather as +exceptions, and as so many deviations from the original law of our +nature, nay, which lead us also rationally to infer at least a future, +potential correspondence in every individual. To the past, indeed, we +cannot appeal; neither can the past be cited against us, since little +is known of the early history of our race but a chronicle of their +actions; of their outward appearance scarcely any thing, certainly not +enough to warrant a decision one way or the other. Should we assume, +then, the Correspondence as a primeval law, who shall gainsay it? It +is not, however, so asserted. We may nevertheless hold it as a matter +of <i>faith</i>; and simply as such it is here submitted. But faith of +any kind must have some ground to rest on, either real or supposed, +either that of authority or of inference. Our ground of faith, then, +in the present instance, is in the universal desire amongst men to +<i>realize</i> the Correspondence. Nothing is more common than, +on hearing or reading of any remarkable character, to find this +instinctive craving, if we may so term it, instantly awakened, and +actively employed in picturing to the imagination some corresponding +form; nor is any disappointment more general, than that which follows +the detection of a discrepancy on actual acquaintance. Indeed, we can +hardly deem it rash, should we rest the validity of this universal +desire on the common experience of any individual, taken at +random,--provided only that he has a particle of imagination. Nor +is its action dependent on our caprice or will. Ask any person of +ordinary cultivation, not to say refinement, how it is with him, +when, his imagination has not been forestalled by some definite fact; +whether he has never found himself <i>involuntarily</i> associating +the good with the beautiful, the energetic with the strong, the +dignified with the ample, or the majestic with the lofty; the refined +with the delicate, the modest with the comely; the base with the +ugly, the brutal with the misshapen, the fierce with the coarse and +muscular, and so on; there being scarcely a shade of character to +which the imagination does not affix some corresponding form.</p> + +<p>In a still more striking form may we find the evidence of the law +supposed, if we turn to the young, and especially to those of a poetic +temperament,--to the sanguine, the open, and confiding, the creatures +of impulse, who reason best when trusting only to the spontaneous +suggestions of feeling. What is more common than implicit faith in +their youthful day-dreams,--a faith that lives, though dream after +dream vanish into common air when the sorcerer Fact touches their +eyes? And whence this pertinacious faith that <i>will</i> not die, but +from a spring of life, that neither custom nor the dry understanding +can destroy? Look at the same Youth at a more advanced age, when the +refining intellect has mixed with his affections, adding thought and +sentiment to every thing attractive, converting all things fair to +things also of good report. Let us turn, at the same time, to one +still more advanced,--even so far as to have entered into the +conventional valley of dry bones,--one whom the world is preparing, +by its daily practical lessons, to enlighten with unbelief. If we see +them together, perhaps we shall hear the senior scoff at his younger +companion as a poetic dreamer, as a hunter after phantoms that never +were, nor could be, in nature: then may follow a homily on the virtues +of experience, as the only security against disappointment. But there +are some hearts that never suffer the mind to grow old. And such we +may suppose that of the dreamer. If he is one, too, who is accustomed +to look into himself,--not as a reasoner,--but with an abiding faith +in his nature,--we shall, perhaps, hear him reply,--Experience, it is +true, has often brought me disappointment; yet I cannot distrust those +dreams, as you call them, bitterly as I have felt their passing off; +for I feel the truth of the source whence they come. They could not +have been so responded to by my living nature, were they but phantoms; +they could not have taken such forms of truth, but from a possible +ground.</p> + +<p>By the word <i>poetic</i> here, we do not mean the visionary or +fanciful,--for there may be much fancy where there is no poetic +feeling,--but that sensibility to <i>harmony</i> which marks the +temperament of the Artist, and which is often most active in his +earlier years. And we refer to such natures, not only as being more +peculiarly alive to all existing affinities, but as never satisfied +with those merely which fall within their experience; ever striving, +on the contrary, as if impelled by instinct, to supply the deficiency +wherever it is felt. From such minds proceed what are called romantic +imaginings, but what we would call--without intending a paradox--the +romance of Truth. For it is impossible that the mind should ever have +this perpetual craving for the False.</p> + +<p>But the desire in question is not confined to any particular age or +temperament, though it is, doubtless, more ardent in some than in +others. Perhaps it is only denied to the habitually vicious. For who, +not hardened by vice, has ever looked upon a sleeping child in its +first bloom of beauty, and seen its pure, fresh hues, its ever +varying, yet according lines, moulding and suffusing, in their playful +harmony, its delicate features,--who, not callous, has ever looked +upon this exquisite creature, (so like what a poet might fancy of +visible music, or embodied odors,) and has not felt himself carried, +as it were, out of this present world, in quest of its moral +counterpart? It seems to us perfect; we desire no change,--not a line +or a hue but as it is; and yet we have a paradoxical feeling of a +want,--for it is all <i>physical</i>; and we supply that want by +endowing the child with some angelic attribute. Why do we this? To +make it a <i>whole</i>,--not to the eye, but to the mind.</p> + +<p>Nor is this general disposition to find a coincidence between a fair +exterior and moral excellence altogether unsupported by facts of, at +least, a partial realization. For, though a perfect correspondence +cannot be looked for in a state where all else is imperfect, he +is most unfortunate who has never met with many, and very near, +approximations to the desired union. But we have a still stronger +assurance of their predetermined affinity in the peculiar activity of +this desire where there is no such approximation. For example, when we +meet with an instance of the higher virtues in an unattractive form, +how natural the wish that that form were beautiful! So, too, on +beholding a beautiful person, how common the wish that the mind +it clothed were also good! What are these wishes but unconscious +retrospects to our primitive nature? And why have we them, if they be +not the workings of that universal law, which gathers to itself all +scattered affinities, bodying them forth in the never-ending forms of +harmony,--in the flower, in the tree, in the bird, and the animal,--if +they be not the evidence of its continuous, though fruitless, effort +to evolve too in <i>man</i> its last consummate work, by the perfect +confluence of the body and the spirit? In this universal yearning (for +it seems to us no less) to connect the physical with its appropriate +moral,--to say nothing of the mysterious intuition that points to +the appropriate,--is there not something like a clew to what was +originally natural? And, again, in the never-ceasing strivings of the +two great elements of our being, each to supply the deficiencies of +the other, have we not also an intimation of something that <i>once +was</i>, that is now lost, and would be recovered? Surely there must +be more in this than a mere concernment of Art;--if, indeed, there be +not in Art more of the prophetic than we are now aware of. To us +it seems that this irrepressible desire to find the good in the +beautiful, and the beautiful in the good, implies an end, both +beyond and above the trifling present; pointing to deep and dark +questions,--to no less than where the mysteries which surround us will +meet their solution. One great mystery we see in part resolving itself +here. We see the deformities of the body sometimes giving place to +its glorious tenant. Some of us may have witnessed this, and felt +the spiritual presence gaining daily upon us, till the outward shape +seemed lost in its brightness, leaving no trace in the memory.</p> + +<p>Whether the position we have endeavoured to establish be disputed or +not, the absolute correspondence between the Moral and the Physical +is, at any rate, the essential ground of the Plastic arts; which could +not else exist, since through <i>Form alone</i> they have to convey, +not only thought and emotion, but distinct and permanent character. +For our own part, we cannot but consider their success in this as +having settled the question.</p> + +<p>From the view here presented, what is the inference in relation to +Art? That Man, as a compound being, cannot be represented without an +indication as well of Mind as of body; that, by a natural law which we +cannot resist, we do continually require that they be to us as mutual +exponents, the one of the other; and, finally, that, as a responsible +being, and therefore a free agent, he cannot be truly represented, +either to the memory or to the imagination, but as an Individual.</p> + +<p>It would seem, also, from the indefinite varieties in men, though +occasioned only by the mere difference of degrees in their common +faculties and powers, that the coincidence of an equal developement of +all was never intended in nature; but that some one or more of them, +becoming dominant, should distinguish the individual. It follows, +therefore, if this be the case, that only through the phase of such +predominance can the human being ever be contemplated. To the Artist, +then, it becomes the only safe ground; the starting-point from +whence to ascend to a true Ideal,--which is no other than a partial +individual truth made whole in the mind: and thus, instead of one +Ideal, and that baseless, he may have a thousand,--nay, as many as +there are marked or apprehensible <i>individuals</i>.</p> + +<p>But we must not be understood as confining Art to actual portraits. +Within such limits there could not be Art,--certainly not Art in its +highest sense; we should have in its place what would be little better +than a doubtful empiricism; since the most elevated subject, in the +ablest hands, would depend, of necessity, on the chance success of a +search after models. And, supposing that we bring together only the +rarest forms, still those forms, simply as circumscribed portraits, +and therefore insulated parts, would instantly close every avenue +to the imagination; for such is the law of the imagination, that it +cannot admit, or, in other words, recognize as a whole, that which +remains unmodified by some imaginative power, which alone can give +unity to separate and distinct objects. Yet, as it regards man, +all true Art does, and must, find its proper object in the +<i>Individual</i>: as without individuality there could not be +character, nor without character, the human being.</p> + +<p>But here it may be asked, In what manner, if we resort not to actual +portrait, is the Individual Man to be expressed? We answer, By +carrying out the natural individual predominant <i>fragment</i> which +is visible to us in actual Form, to its full, consistent developement. +The Individual is thus idealized, when, in the complete accordance of +all its parts, it is presented to the mind as a <i>whole</i>.</p> + +<p>When we apply the term <i>fragment</i> to a human being, we do not +mean in relation to his species, (in regard to which we have already +shown him to be a distinct whole,) but in relation to the Idea, to +which his predominant characteristic suggests itself but as a +partial manifestation, and made partial because counteracted by +some inadequate exponent, or else modified by other, though minor, +characteristics.</p> + +<p>How this is effected must be left to the Artist himself. It is +impossible to prescribe a rule that would be to much purpose for any +one who stands in need of such instruction; if his own mind does not +suggest the mode, it would not even be intelligible. Perhaps our +meaning, however, may be made more obvious, if we illustrate it by +example. We would refer, then, to the restoration of a statue, (a +thing often done with success,) where, from a single fragment, the +unknown Form has been completely restored, and so remoulded, that the +parts added are in perfect unity with the suggestive fragment. Now the +parts wanting having never been seen, this cannot be called a mere +act of the memory. Nevertheless, it is not from nothing that man can +produce even the <i>semblance</i> of any thing. The materials of the +Artist are the work of Him who created the Artist himself; but over +these, which his senses and mind are given him to observe and collect, +he has a <i>delegated power</i>, for the purpose of combining and +modifying, as unlimited as mysterious. It is by the agency of this +intuitive and assimilating Power, elsewhere spoken of, that he is able +to separate the essential from the accidental, to proceed also from a +part to the whole; thus educing, as it were, an Ideal nature from the +germs of the Actual.</p> + +<p>Nor does the necessity of referring to Nature preclude the +Imaginative, or any other class of Art that rests its truth in the +desires of the mind. In an especial manner must the personification +of Sentiment, of the Abstract, which owe their interest to the common +desire of rendering permanent, by embodying, that which has given us +pleasure, take its starting-point from the Actual; from something +which, by universal association or particular expression, shall recall +the Sentiment, Thought, or Time, and serve as their exponents; there +being scarcely an object in Nature which the spirit of man has not, as +it were, impressed with sympathy, and linked with his being. Of this, +perhaps, we could not have a more striking example than in the Aurora +of Michael Angelo: which, if not universal, is not so only because +the faculty addressed is by no means common. For, as the peculiar +characteristic of the Imaginative is its suggestive power, the effect +of this figure must of necessity differ in different minds. As in many +other cases, there must needs be at least some degree of sympathy with +the mind that imagined it, in order to any impression; and the degree +in which that is made will always be in proportion to the congeniality +between the agent and the recipient. Should it appear, then, to any +one as a thing of no meaning, it is not therefore conclusive that the +Artist has failed. For, if there be but one in a thousand to whose +mind it recalls the deep stillness of Night, gradually broken by the +awakening stir of Day, with its myriad forms of life emerging into +motion, while their lengthened shadows, undistinguished from their +objects, seem to people the earth with gigantic beings; then the dim, +gray monotony of color transforming them to stone, yet leaving them +in motion, till the whole scene becomes awful and mysterious as with +moving statues;--if there be but one in ten thousand who shall have +thus imagined, as he stands before this embodied Dawn, then is it, for +every purpose of feeling through the excited imagination, as true and +real as if instinct with life, and possessing the mind by its living +will. Nor is the number so rare of those who have thus felt the +suggestive sorcery of this sublime Statue. But the mind so influenced +must be one to respond to sublime emotions, since such was the +emotion which inspired the Artist. If susceptible only to the gay and +beautiful, it will not answer. For this is not the Aurora of golden +purple, of laughing flowers and jewelled dew-drops; but the dark +Enchantress, enthroned on rocks, or craggy mountains, and whose proper +empire is the shadowy confines of light and darkness.</p> + +<p>How all this is done, we shall not attempt to explain. Perhaps the +Artist himself could not answer; as to the <i>quo modo</i> in every +particular, we doubt if it were possible to satisfy another. He may +tell us, indeed, that having imagined certain appearances and effects +peculiar to the Time, he endeavoured to imbue, as it were, some +<i>human form</i> with the sentiment they awakened, so that the +embodied sentiment should associate itself in the spectator's mind +with similar images; and further endeavoured, that the <i>form</i> +selected should, by its air, attitude, and gigantic proportions, also +excite the ideas of vastness, solemnity, and repose; adding to this +that indefinite expression, which, while it is felt to act, still +leaves no trace of its indistinct action. So far, it is true, he may +retrace the process; but of the <i>informing life</i> that quickened +his fiction, thus presenting the presiding Spirit of that ominous +Time, he knows nothing but that he felt it, and imparted it to the +insensible marble.</p> + +<p>And now the question will naturally occur, Is all that has been done +by the learned in Art, to establish certain canons of Proportion, +utterly useless? By no means. If rightly applied, and properly +considered,--as it seems to us they must have been by the great +artists of Antiquity,--as <i>expedient fictions</i>, they undoubtedly +deserve at least a careful examination. And, inasmuch as they are the +result of a comparison of the finest actual forms through successive +ages, and as they indicate the general limits which Nature has been +observed to assign to her noblest works, they are so far to be valued. +But it must not be forgotten, that, while a race, or class, may be +generally marked by a certain average height and breadth, or curve and +angle, still is every class and race composed of <i>Individuals</i>, +who must needs, as such, differ from each other; and though the +difference be slight, yet is it "the little more, or the little less," +which often separates the great from the mean, the wise from the +foolish, in human character;--nay, the widest chasms are sometimes +made by a few lines: so that, in every individual case, the limits in +question are rather to be departed from, than strictly adhered to.</p> + +<p>The canon of the Schools is easily mastered by every student who has +only memory; yet of the hundreds who apply it, how few do so to any +purpose! Some ten or twenty, perhaps, call up life from the quarry, +and flesh and blood from the canvas; the rest conjure in vain with +their canon; they call up nothing but the dead measures. Whence the +difference? The answer is obvious,--In the different minds they each +carry to their labors.</p> + +<p>But let us trace, with the Artist, the beginning and progress of a +successful work; a picture, for instance. His method of proceeding may +enable us to ascertain how far he is assisted by the science, so called, +of which we are speaking. He adjusts the height and breadth of his figures +according to the canon, either by the division of heads or faces, as most +convenient. By these means, he gets the general divisions in the easiest +and most expeditious way. But could he not obtain them without such aid? +He would answer, Yes, by the eye alone; but it would be a waste of time +were he so to proceed, since he would have to do, and undo, perhaps twenty +times, before he could erect this simple scaffolding; whereas, by applying +these rules, whose general truth is already admitted, he accomplishes his +object in a few minutes. Here we admit the use of the canon, and admire +the facility with which it enables his hand, almost without the aid of a +thought, thus to lay out his work. But here ends the science; and here +begins what may seem to many the work of mutilation: a leg, an arm, a +trunk, is increased, or diminished; line after line is erased, or +retrenched, or extended, again and again, till not a trace remains of the +original draught. If he is asked now by what he is guided in these +innumerable changes, he can only answer, By the feeling within me. Nor can +he better tell <i>how</i> he knows when he has <i>hit the mark</i>. The same feeling +responds to its truth; and he repeats his attempts until that is +satisfied.</p> + +<p>It would appear, then, that in the Mind alone is to be found the true +or ultimate Rule,--if, indeed, that can be called a rule which +changes its measure with every change of character. It is therefore +all-important that every aid be sought which may in any way contribute +to the due developement of the mental powers; and no one will doubt +the efficiency here of a good general education. As to the course of +study, that must be left in a great measure to be determined by the +student; it will be best indicated by his own natural wants. We +may observe, however, that no species of knowledge can ever be +<i>oppressive</i> to real genius, whose peculiar privilege is that of +subordinating all things to the paramount desire. But it is not likely +that a mind so endowed will be long diverted by any studies that do +not either strengthen its powers by exercise, or have a direct bearing +on some particular need.</p> + +<p>If the student be a painter, or a sculptor, he will not need to be +told that a knowledge of the human being, in all his complicated +springs of action, is not more essential to the poet than to him. Nor +will a true Artist require to be reminded, that, though <i>himself</i> +must be his ultimate dictator and judge, the allegiance of the world +is not to be commanded either by a dreamer or a dogmatist. And +nothing, perhaps, would be more likely to secure him from either +character, than the habit of keeping his eyes open,--nay, his very +heart; nor need he fear to open it to the whole world, since nothing +not kindred will enter there to abide; for</p> + +<blockquote class="poem"><p> "Evil into the mind ...<br /> +May come and go, so unapproved, and leave<br /> +No spot or blame behind."</p></blockquote> + +<p>And he may also be sure that a pure heart will shed a refining light +on his intellect, which it may not receive from any other source.</p> + +<p>It cannot be supposed that an Artist, so disciplined, will overlook +the works of his predecessors,--especially those exquisite remains of +Antiquity which time has spared to us. But to his own discretion must +be left the separating of the factitious from the true,--a task of +some moment; for it cannot be denied that a mere antiquarian respect +for whatever is ancient has preserved, with the good, much that is +worthless. Indeed, it is to little purpose that the finest forms are +set before us, if we <i>feel</i> not their truth. And here it may be +well to remark, that an injudicious <i>word</i> has often given a +wrong direction to the student, from which he has found it difficult +to recover when his maturer mind has perceived the error. It is a +common thing to hear such and such statues, or pictures, recommended +as <i>models</i>. If the advice is followed,--as it too often is +<i>literally</i>,--the consequence must be an offensive mannerism; +for, if repeating himself makes an artist a mannerist, he is still +more likely to become one if he repeat another. There is but one model +that will not lead him astray,--which is Nature: we do not mean what +is merely obvious to the senses, but whatever is so acknowledged by +the mind. So far, then, as the ancient statues are found to represent +her,--and the student's own feeling must be the judge of that,--they +are undoubtedly both true and important objects of study, as +presenting not only a wider, but a higher view of Nature, than might +else be commanded, were they buried with their authors; since, with +the finest forms of the fairest portion of the earth, we have also in +them the realized Ideas of some of the greatest minds. In like manner +may we extend our sphere of knowledge by the study of all those +productions of later ages which have stood this test. There is no +school from which something may not be learned. But chiefly to the +Italian should the student be directed, who would enlarge his views +on the present subject, and especially to the works of Raffaelle and +Michael Angelo; in whose highest efforts we have, so to speak, +certain revelations of Nature which could only have been made by her +privileged seers. And we refer to them more particularly, as to the +two great sovereigns of the two distinct empires of Truth,--the +Actual and the Imaginative; in which their claims are acknowledged +by <i>that</i> within us, of which we know nothing but that it +<i>must</i> respond to all things true. We refer to them, also, as +important examples in their mode of study; in which it is evident +that, whatever the source of instruction, it was never considered as a +law of servitude, but rather as the means of giving visible shape to +their own conceptions.</p> + +<p>From the celebrated antique fragment, called the Torso, Michael Angelo +is said to have constructed his forms. If this be true,--and we have +no reason to doubt it,--it could nevertheless have been to him little +more than a hint. But that is enough to a man of genius, who stands +in need, no less than others, of a point to start from. There was +something in this fragment which he seems to have felt, as if of a +kindred nature to the unembodied creatures in his own mind; and he +pondered over it until he mastered the spell of its author. He then +turned to his own, to the germs of life that still awaited birth, +to knit their joints, to attach the tendons, to mould the +muscles,--finally, to sway the limbs by a mighty will. Then emerged +into being that gigantic race of the Sistina,--giants in mind no less +than in body, that appear to have descended as from another planet. +His Prophets and Sibyls seem to carry in their persons the commanding +evidence of their mission. They neither look nor move like beings to +be affected by the ordinary concerns of life; but as if they could +only be moved by the vast of human events, the fall of empires, the +extinction of nations; as if the awful secrets of the future had +overwhelmed in them all present sympathies. As we have stood before +these lofty apparitions of the painter's mind, it has seemed to us +impossible that the most vulgar spectator could have remained there +irreverent.</p> + +<p>With many critics it seems to have been doubted whether much that +we now admire in Raffaelle would ever have been but for his great +contemporary. Be this as it may, it is a fact of history, that, after +seeing the works of Michael Angelo, both his form and his style +assumed a breadth and grandeur which they possessed not before. +And yet these great artists had little, if any thing, in common; +a sufficient proof that an original mind may owe, and even freely +acknowledge, its impetus to another without any self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>As Michael Angelo adopted from others only what accorded with his +own peculiar genius, so did Raffaelle; and, wherever collected, the +materials of both could not but enter their respective minds as their +natural aliment.</p> + +<p>The genius of Michael Angelo was essentially <i>Imaginative</i>. It +seems rarely to have been excited by the objects with which we are +daily familiar; and when he did treat them, it was rather as things +past, as they appear to us through the atmosphere of the hallowing +memory. We have a striking instance of this in his statue of Lorenzo +de' Medici; where, retaining of the original only enough to mark the +individual, and investing the rest with an air of grandeur that should +accord with his actions, he has left to his country, not a mere +effigy of the person, but an embodiment of the mind; a portrait +for posterity, in which the unborn might recognize Lorenzo the +Magnificent.</p> + +<p>But the mind of Raffaelle was an ever-flowing fountain of human +sympathies; and in all that concerns man, in his vast varieties and +complicated relations, from the highest forms of majesty to the +humblest condition of humanity, even to the maimed and misshapen, he +may well be called a master. His Apostles, his philosophers, and most +ordinary subordinates, are all to us as living beings; nor do we feel +any doubt that they all had mothers, and brothers, and kindred. In +the assemblage of the Apostles (already referred to) at the Death of +Ananias, we look upon men whom the effusion of the Spirit has equally +sublimated above every unholy thought; a common power seems to have +invested them all with a preternatural majesty. Yet not an iota of the +<i>individual</i> is lost in any one; the gentle bearing and amenity +of John still follow him in his office of almoner; nor in Peter does +the deep repose of the erect attitude of the Apostle, as he deals the +death-stroke to the offender by a simple bend of his finger, subdue +the energetic, sanguine temperament of the Disciple.</p> + +<p>If any man may be said to have reigned over the hearts of his fellows, +it was Raffaelle Sanzio. Not that he knew better what was in the +hearts and minds of men than many others, but that he better +understood their relations to the external. In this the greatest names +in Art fall before him; in this he has no rival; and, however derived, +or in whatever degree improved by study, in him it seems to have risen +to intuition. We know not how he touches and enthralls us; as if he +had wrought with the simplicity of Nature, we see no effort; and we +yield as to a living influence, sure, yet inscrutable.</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that these two celebrated Artists were at all +times successful. Like other men, they had their moments of weakness, +when they fell into manner, and gave us diagrams, instead of life. +Perhaps no one, however, had fewer lapses of this nature than +Raffaelle; and yet they are to be found in some of his best works. We +shall notice now only one instance,--the figure of St. Catherine in +the admirable picture of the Madonna di Sisto; in which we see an +evident rescript from the Antique, with all the received lines of +beauty, as laid down by the analyst,--apparently faultless, yet +without a single inflection which the mind can recognize as allied to +our sympathies; and we turn from it coldly, as from the work of an +artificer, not of an Artist. But not so can we turn from the intense +life, that seems almost to breathe upon us from the celestial group of +the Virgin and her Child, and from the Angels below: in these we have +the evidence of the divine afflatus,--of inspired Art.</p> + +<p>In the works of Michael Angelo it were easy to point out numerous +examples of a similar failure, though from a different cause; not from +mechanically following the Antique, but rather from erecting into +a model the exaggerated <i>shadow</i> of his own practice; from +repeating lines and masses that might have impressed us with grandeur +but for the utter absence of the informing soul. And that such is the +character--or rather want of character--of many of the figures in his +Last Judgment cannot be gainsaid by his warmest admirers,--among whom +there is no one more sincere than the present writer. But the failures +of great men are our most profitable lessons,--provided only, that we +have hearts and heads to respond to their success.</p> + +<p>In conclusion. We have now arrived at what appears to us the +turning-point, that, by a natural reflux, must carry us back to our +original Position; in other words, it seems to us clear, that the +result of the argument is that which was anticipated in our main +Proposition; namely, that no given number of Standard Forms can with +certainty apply to the Human Being; that all Rules therefore, thence +derived, can only be considered as <i>Expedient Fictions</i>, and +consequently subject to be <i>overruled</i> by the Artist,--in whose +mind alone is the ultimate Rule; and, finally, that without an +intimate acquaintance with Nature, in all its varieties of the moral, +intellectual, and physical, the highest powers are wanting in their +necessary condition of action, and are therefore incapable of +supplying the Rule.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> +<h2>Composition.</h2> + + + +<p>The term Composition, in its general sense, signifies the union of +things that were originally separate: in the art of Painting it +implies, in addition to this, such an arrangement and reciprocal +relation of these materials, as shall constitute them so many +essential parts of a whole.</p> + +<p>In a true Composition of Art will be found the following +characteristics:--First, Unity of Purpose, as expressing the general +sentiment or intention of the Artist. Secondly, Variety of Parts, as +expressed in the diversity of shape, quantity, and line. Thirdly, +Continuity, as expressed by the connection of parts with each other, +and their relation to the whole. Fourthly, Harmony of Parts.</p> + +<p>As these characteristics, like every thing which the mind can +recognize as true, all have their origin in its natural desires, they +may also be termed Principles; and as such we shall consider them. In +order, however, to satisfy ourselves that they are truly such, and not +arbitrary assumptions, or the traditional dogmas of Practice, it may +be well to inquire whence is their authority; for, though the ultimate +cause of pleasure and pain may ever remain to us a mystery, yet it is +not so with their intermediate causes, or the steps that lead to them.</p> + +<p>With respect to Unity of Purpose, it is sufficient to observe, that, +where the attention is at the same time claimed by two objects, having +each a different end, they must of necessity break in upon that free +state required of the mind in order to receive a full impression from +either. It is needless to add, that such conflicting claims cannot, +under any circumstances, be rendered agreeable. And yet this most +obvious requirement of the mind has sometimes been violated by great +Artists,--though not of authority in this particular, as we shall +endeavour to show in another place.</p> + +<p>We proceed, meanwhile, to the second principle, namely, Variety; by +which is to be understood <i>difference</i>, yet with <i>relation</i> +to a <i>common end</i>.</p> + +<p>Of a ruling Principle, or Law, we can only get a notion by observing the +effects of certain things in relation to the mind; the uniformity of +which leads us to infer something which is unchangeable and permanent. +It is in this way that, either directly or indirectly, we learn the +existence of certain laws that invariably control us. Thus, indirectly, +from our disgust at monotony, we infer the necessity of variety. But +variety, when carried to excess, results in weariness. Some limitation, +therefore, seems no less needed. It is, however, obvious, that all +attempts to fix the limit to Variety, that shall apply as a universal +rule, must be nugatory, inasmuch as the <i>degree</i> must depend on the +<i>kind</i>, and the kind on the subject treated. For instance, if the +subject be of a gay and light character, and the emotions intended to be +excited of a similar nature, the variety may be carried to a far greater +extent than in one of a graver character. In the celebrated Marriage at +Cana, by Paul Veronese, we see it carried, perhaps, to its utmost +limits; and to such an extent, that an hour's travel will hardly conduct +us through all its parts; yet we feel no weariness throughout this +journey, nay, we are quite unconscious of the time it has taken. It is +no disparagement of this remarkable picture, if we consider the subject, +not according to the title it bears, but as what the Artist has actually +made it,--that is, as a Venetian entertainment; and also the effect +intended, which was to delight by the exhibition of a gorgeous +<i>pageant</i>. And in this he has succeeded to a degree unexampled; for +literally the eye may be said to <i>dance</i> through the picture, scarcely +lighting on one part before it is drawn to another, and another, and +another, as by a kind of witchery; while the subtile interlocking of +each successive novelty leaves it no choice, but, seducing it onward, +still keeps it in motion, till the giddy sense seems to call on the +imagination to join in the revel; and every poetic temperament answers +to the call, bringing visions of its own, that mingle with the painted +crowd, exchanging forms, and giving them voice, like the creatures of a +dream.</p> + +<p>To those who have never seen this picture, our account of its effect +may perhaps appear incredible when they are told, that it not only +has no story, but not a single expression to which you can attach a +sentiment. It is nevertheless for this very reason that we here cite +it, as a triumphant verification of those immutable laws of the mind +to which the principles of Composition are supposed to appeal; where +the simple technic exhibition, or illustration of <i>Principles</i>, +without story, or thought, or a single definite expression, has +still the power to possess and to fill us with a thousand delightful +emotions.</p> + +<p>And here we cannot refrain from a passing remark on certain +criticisms, which have obtained, as we think, an undeserved currency. +To assert that such a work is solely addressed to the senses (meaning +thereby that its only end is in mere pleasurable sensation) is to give +the lie to our convictions; inasmuch as we find it appealing to one +of the mightiest ministers of the Imagination,--the great Law of +Harmony,--which cannot be <i>touched</i> without awakening by its +vibrations, so to speak, the untold myriads of sleeping forms that lie +within its circle, that start up in tribes, and each in accordance +with the congenial instrument that summons them to action. He who +can thus, as it were, embody an abstraction is no mere pander to the +senses. And who that has a modicum of the imaginative would assert +of one of Haydn's Sonatas, that its effect on him was no other than +sensuous? Or who would ask for the <i>story</i> in one of our gorgeous +autumnal sunsets?</p> + +<p>In subjects of a grave or elevated kind, the Variety will be found to +diminish in the same degree in which they approach the Sublime. In the +raising of Lazarus, by Lievens, we have an example of the smallest +possible number of parts which the nature of such a subject would +admit. And, though a different conception might authorize a much +greater number, yet we do not feel in this any deficiency; indeed, it +may be doubted if the addition of even one more part would not be felt +as obtrusive.</p> + +<p>By the term <i>parts</i> we are not to be understood as including the +minutiae of dress or ornament, or even the several members of a group, +which come more properly under the head of detail; we apply the term +only to those prominent divisions which constitute the essential +features of a composition. Of these the Sublime admits the fewest. Nor +is the limitation arbitrary. By whatever causes the stronger passions +or higher faculties of the mind become pleasurably excited, if they be +pushed as it were beyond their supposed limits, till a sense of the +indefinite seems almost to partake of the infinite, to these causes we +affix the epithet <i>Sublime.</i> It is needless to inquire if such +an effect can be produced by any thing short of the vast and +overpowering, much less by the gradual approach or successive +accumulation of any number of separate forces. Every one can answer +from his own experience. We may also add, that the pleasure which +belongs to the deeper emotions always trenches on pain; and the sense +of pain leads to reaction; so that, singly roused, they will rise +but to fall, like men at a breach,--leaving a conquest, not over the +living, but the dead. The effect of the Sublime must therefore be +sudden, and to be sudden, simple, scarce seen till felt; coming like +a blast, bending and levelling every thing before it, till it passes +into space. So comes this marvellous emotion; and so vanishes,--to +where no straining of our mortal faculties will ever carry them.</p> + +<p>To prevent misapprehension, we may here observe, that, though the +parts be few, it does not necessarily follow that they should always +consist of simple or single objects. This narrow inference has often +led to the error of mistaking mere space for grandeur, especially +with those who have wrought rather from theory than from the true +possession of their subjects. Hence, by the mechanical arrangement +of certain large and sweeping masses of light and shadow, we are +sometimes surprised into a momentary expectation of a sublime +impression, when a nearer approach gives us only the notion of a vast +blank. And the error lies in the misconception of a mass. For a mass +is not a <i>thing</i>, but the condition of <i>things</i>; into which, +should the subject require it, a legion, a host, may be compressed, +an army with banners,--yet so that they break not the unity of their +Part, that technic form to which they are subordinate.</p> + +<p>The difference between a Part and a Mass is, that a Mass may include, +<i>per se</i>, many Parts, yet, in relation to a Whole, is no more +than a single component. Perhaps the same distinction may be more +simply expressed, if we define it as only a larger division, including +several <i>parts</i>, which may be said to be analogous to what is +termed the detail of a <i>Part</i>. Look at the ocean in a storm,--at +that single wave. How it grows before us, building up its waters as +with conscious life, till its huge head overlooks the mast! A million +of lines intersect its surface, a myriad of bubbles fleck it with +light; yet its terrible unity remains unbroken. Not a bubble or a line +gives a thought of minuteness; they flash and flit, ere the eye can +count them, leaving only their aggregate, in the indefinite sense +of multitudinous motion: take them away, and you take from the +<i>mass</i> the very sign of its power, that fearful impetus which +makes it what it is,--a moving mountain of water.</p> + +<p>We have thus endeavoured, in the opposite characters of the Sublime +and the Gay or Magnificent, to exhibit the two extremes of Variety; of +the intermediate degrees it is unnecessary to speak, since in these +two is included all that is applicable to the rest.</p> + +<p>Though it is of vital importance to every composition that there be +variety of Lines, little can be said on the subject in addition to +what has been advanced in relation to parts, that is, to shape and +quantity; both having a common origin. By a line in Composition is +meant something very different from the geometrical definition. +Originally, it was no doubt used as a metaphor; but the needs of +Art have long since converted this, and many other words of like +application, (as <i>tone</i>, &c.,) into technical terms. <i>Line</i> +thus signifies the course or medium through which the eye is led from +one part of the picture to another. The indication of this course is +various and multiform, appertaining equally to shape, to color, and to +light and dark; in a word, to whatever attracts and keeps the eye in +motion. For the regulation of these lines there is no rule absolute, +except that they vary and unite; nor is the last strictly necessary, +it being sufficient if they so terminate that the transition from one +to another is made naturally, and without effort, by the imagination. +Nor can any laws be laid down as to their peculiar character: this +must depend on the nature of the subject.</p> + +<p>In the wild and stormy scenes of Salvator Rosa, they break upon us +as with the angular flash of lightning; the eye is dashed up one +precipice only to be dashed down another; then, suddenly hurried to +the sky, it shoots up, almost in a direct line, to some sharp-edged +rock; whence pitched, as it were, into a sea of clouds, bellying with +circles, it partakes their motion, and seems to reel, to roll, and to +plunge with them into the depths of air.</p> + +<p>If we pass from Salvator to Claude, we shall find a system of lines +totally different. Our first impression from Claude is that of perfect +<i>unity</i>, and this we have even before we are conscious of a +single image; as if, circumscribing his scenes by a magic circle, he +had imposed his own mood on all who entered it. The <i>spell</i> then +opens ere it seems to have begun, acting upon us with a vague sense of +limitless expanse, yet so continuous, so gentle, so imperceptible in +its remotest gradations, as scarcely to be felt, till, combining +with unity, we find the feeling embodied in the complete image of +intellectual repose,--fulness and rest. The mind thus disposed, the +charmed eye glides into the scene: a soft, undulating light leads it +on, from bank to bank, from shrub to shrub; now leaping and sparkling +over pebbly brooks and sunny sands; now fainter and fainter, dying +away down shady slopes, then seemingly quenched in some secluded dell; +yet only for a moment,--for a dimmer ray again carries it onward, +gently winding among the boles of trees and rambling vines, that, +skirting the ascent, seem to hem in the twilight; then emerging +into day, it flashes in sheets over towers and towns, and woods and +streams, when it finally dips into an ocean, so far off, so twin-like +with the sky, that the doubtful horizon, unmarked by a line, leaves no +point of rest: and now, as in a flickering arch, the fascinated eye +seems to sail upward like a bird, wheeling its flight through a +mottled labyrinth of clouds, on to the zenith; whence, gently +inflected by some shadowy mass, it slants again downward to a mass +still deeper, and still to another, and another, until it falls into +the darkness of some massive tree,--focused like midnight in the +brightest noon: there stops the eye, instinctively closing, and giving +place to the Soul, there to repose and to dream her dreams of romance +and love.</p> + +<p>From these two examples of their general effect, some notion may be +gathered of the different systems of the two Artists; and though +no mention has been made of the particular lines employed, their +distinctive character may readily be inferred from the kind of motion +given to the eye in the descriptions we have attempted. In the +rapid, abrupt, contrasted, whirling movement in the one, we have an +exposition of an irregular combination of curves and angles; while the +simple combination of the parabola and the serpentine will account for +all the imperceptible transitions in the other.</p> + +<p>It would be easy to accumulate examples from other Artists who differ +in the economy of line not only from these but from each other; as +Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, Correggio, Titian, Poussin,--in a word, +every painter deserving the name of master: for lines here may be +called the tracks of thought, in which we follow the author's mind +through his imaginary creations. They hold, indeed, the same relation +to Painting that versification does to Poetry, an element of style; +for what is meant by a line in Painting is analogous to that which +in the sister art distinguishes the abrupt gait of Crabbe from the +sauntering walk of Cowley, and the "long, majestic march" of Dryden +from the surging sweep of Milton.</p> + +<p>Of Continuity little needs be said, since its uses are implied in the +explanation of Line; indeed, all that can be added will be expressed +in its essential relation to a <i>whole</i>, in which alone it differs +from a mere line. For, though a line (as just explained) supposes a +continuous course, yet a line, <i>per se</i>, does not necessarily +imply any relation to other lines. It will still be a line, though +standing alone; but the principle of continuity may be called +the unifying spirit of every line. It is therefore that we have +distinguished it as a separate principle.</p> + +<p>In fact, if we judge from feeling, the only true test, it is no +paradox to say that the excess of variety must inevitably end in +monotony; for, as soon as the sense of fatigue begins, every new +variety but adds to the pain, till the succeeding impressions are at +last resolved into continuous pain. But, supposing a limit to variety, +where the mind may be pleasurably excited, the very sense of pleasure, +when it reaches the extreme point, will create the desire of renewing +it, and naturally carry it back to the point of starting; thus +superinducing, with the renewed enjoyment, the fulness of pleasure, in +the sense of a whole.</p> + +<p>It is by this summing up, as it were, of the memory, through +recurrence, not that we perceive,--which is instantaneous,--but that +we enjoy any thing as a whole. If we have not observed it in others, +some of us, perhaps, may remember it in ourselves, when we have stood +before some fine picture, though with a sense of pleasure, yet for +many minutes in a manner abstracted,--silently passing through all its +harmonious transitions without the movement of a muscle, and hardly +conscious of action, till we have suddenly found ourselves returning +on our steps. Then it was,--as if we had no eyes till then,--that +the magic Whole poured in upon us, and vouched for its truth in an +outbreak of rapture.</p> + +<p>The fourth and last division of our subject is the Harmony of Parts; +or the essential agreement of one part with another, and of each with +the whole. In addition to our first general definition, we may further +observe, that by a Whole in Painting is signified the complete +expression, by means of form, color, light, and shadow, of one +thought, or series of thoughts, having for their end some +particular truth, or sentiment, or action, or mood of mind. We say +<i>thought</i>, because no images, however put together, can ever +be separated by the mind from other and extraneous images, so as to +comprise a positive whole, unless they be limited by some intellectual +boundary. A picture wanting this may have fine parts, but is not a +Composition, which implies parts united to each other, and also suited +to some specific purpose, otherwise they cannot be known as united. +Since Harmony, therefore, cannot be conceived of without reference to +a whole, so neither can a whole be imagined without fitness of parts. +To give this fitness, then, is the ultimate task and test of genius: +it is, in fact, calling form and life out of what before was but a +chaos of materials, and making them the subject and exponents of the +will. As the master-principle, also, it is the disposer, regulator, +and modifier of shape, line, and quantity, adding, diminishing, +changing, shaping, till it becomes clear and intelligible, and it +finally manifests itself in pleasurable identity with the harmony +within us.</p> + +<p>To reduce the operation of this principle to precise rules is, +perhaps, without the province of human power: we might else expect to +see poets and painters made by recipe. As in many other operations of +the mind, we must here be content to note a few of the more tangible +facts, if we may be allowed the phrase, which have occasionally been +gathered by observation during the process. The first fact presented +is, that equal quantities, when coming together, produce monotony, +and, if at all admissible, are only so when absolutely needed, at +a proper distance, to echo back or recall the theme, which would +otherwise be lost in the excess of variety. We speak of quantity here +as of a mass, not of the minutiae; for <i>the essential components</i> +of a part may often be <i>equal quantities</i>, (as in a piece of +architecture, of armour, &c.,) which are analogous to poetic feet, for +instance, a spondee. The same effect we find from parallel lines and +repetition of shapes. Hence we obtain the law of a limited variety. +The next is, that the quantities must be so disposed as to balance +each other; otherwise, if all or too many of the larger be on one +side, they will endanger the imaginary circle, or other figure, by +which every composition is supposed to be bounded, making it appear +"lop-sided," or to be falling either in upon the smaller quantities, +or out of the picture: from which we infer the necessity of balance. +If, without others to counteract and restrain them, the parts +converge, the eye, being forced to the centre, becomes stationary; in +like manner, if all diverge, it is forced to fly off in tangents: +as if the great laws of Attraction and Repulsion were here also +essential, and illustrated in miniature. If we add to these Breadth, I +believe we shall have enumerated all the leading phenomena of +Harmony, which experience has enabled us to establish as rules. By +<i>breadth</i> is meant such a massing of the quantities, whether +by color, light, or shadow, as shall enable the eye to pass without +obstruction, and by easy transitions, from one to another, so that it +shall appear to take in the whole at a glance. This may be likened to +both the exordium and peroration of a discourse, including as well +the last as the first general idea. It is, in other words, a simple, +connected, and concise exposition and summary of what the artist +intends.</p> + +<p>We have thus endeavoured to arrange and to give a logical permanency +to the several principles of Composition. It is not to be supposed, +however, that in these we have every principle that might be named; +but they are all, as we conceive, that are of universal application. +Of other minor, or rather personal ones, since they pertain to the +individual, the number can only be limited by the variety of the +human intellect, to which these may be considered as so many simple +elementary guides; not to create genius, but to enable it to +understand itself, and by a distinct knowledge of its own operations +to correct its mistakes,--in a word, to establish the landmarks +between the flats of commonplace and the barrens of extravagance. And, +though the personal or individual principles referred to may not with +propriety be cited as examples in a general treatise like the present, +they are not only not to be overlooked, but are to be regarded by the +student as legitimate objects of study. To the truism, that we can +only judge of other minds by a knowledge of our own, we may add +its converse as especially true. In that mysterious tract of the +intellect, which we call the Imagination, there would seem to lie +hid thousands of unknown forms, of which we are often for years +unconscious, until they start up awakened by the footsteps of a +stranger. Hence it is that the greatest geniuses, as presenting a +wider field for excitement, are generally found to be the widest +likers; not so much from affinity, or because they possess the +precise kinds of excellence which they admire, but often from the +<i>differences</i> which these very excellences in others, as the +exciting cause, awaken in themselves. Such men may be said to be +endowed with a double vision, an inward and an outward; the inward +seeing not unfrequently the reverse of what is seen by the outward. +It was this which caused Annibal Caracci to remark, on seeing for the +first time a picture by Caravaggio, that he thought a style totally +opposite might be made very captivating; and the hint, it is said, +sunk deep into and was not lost on Guido, who soon after realized what +his master had thus imagined. Perhaps no one ever caught more from +others than Raffaelle. I do not allude to his "borrowing," so +ingeniously, not soundly, defended by Sir Joshua, but rather to his +excitability, (if I may here apply a modern term,)--that inflammable +temperament, which took fire, as it were, from the very friction +of the atmosphere. For there was scarce an excellence, within his +knowledge, of his predecessors or contemporaries, which did not in a +greater or less degree contribute to the developement of his powers; +not as presenting models of imitation, but as shedding new light on +his own mind, and opening to view its hidden treasures. Such to him +were the forms of the Antique, of Leonardo da Vinci, and of Michael +Angelo, and the breadth and color of Fra Bartolomeo,--lights that +first made him acquainted with himself, not lights that he followed; +for he was a follower of none. To how many others he was indebted for +his impulses cannot now be known; but the new impetus he was known to +have received from every new excellence has led many to believe, that, +had he lived to see the works of Titian, he would have added to his +grace, character, and form, and with equal originality, the splendor +of color. "The design of Michael Angelo and the color of Titian," was +the inscription of Tintoretto over the door of his painting-room. +Whether he intended to designate these two artists as his future +models matters not; but that he did not follow them is evidenced in +his works. Nor, indeed, could he: the temptation to <i>follow</i>, +which his youthful admiration had excited, was met by an interdiction +not easily withstood,--the decree of his own genius. And yet the +decree had probably never been heard but for these very masters. Their +presence stirred him; and, when he thought of serving, his teeming +mind poured out its abundance, making <i>him</i> a master to future +generations. To the forms of Michael Angelo he was certainly indebted +for the elevation of his own; there, however, the inspiration ended. +With Titian he was nearly allied in genius; yet he thought rather with +than after him,--at times even beyond him. Titian, indeed, may be said +to have first opened his eyes to the mysteries of nature; but they +were no sooner opened, than he rushed into them with a rapidity and +daring unwont to the more cautious spirit of his master; and, though +irregular, eccentric, and often inferior, yet sometimes he made his +way to poetical regions, of whose celestial hues even Titian himself +had never dreamt.</p> + +<p>We might go on thus with every great name in Art. But these examples +are enough to show how much even the most original minds, not only +may, but <i>must</i>, owe to others; for the social law of our nature +applies no less to the intellect than to the affections. When applied +to genius, it may be called the social inspiration, the simple +statement of which seems to us of itself a solution of the +oft-repeated question, "Why is it that genius always appears in +clusters?" To Nature, indeed, we must all at last recur, as to the +only true and permanent foundation of real excellence. But Nature is +open to all men alike, in her beauty, her majesty, her grandeur, and +her sublimity. Yet who will assert that all men see, or, if they see, +are impressed by these her attributes alike? Nay, so great is the +difference, that one might almost suppose them inhabitants of +different worlds. Of Claude, for instance, it is hardly a metaphor to +say that he lived in two worlds during his natural life; for Claude +the pastry-cook could never have seen the same world that was made +visible to Claude the painter. It was human sympathy, acting through +human works, that gave birth to his intellect at the age of forty. +There is something, perhaps, ludicrous in the thought of an infant of +forty. Yet the fact is a solemn one, that thousands die whose minds +have never been born.</p> + +<p>We could not, perhaps, instance a stronger confutation of the vulgar +error which opposes learning to genius, than the simple history of +this remarkable man. In all that respects the mind, he was literally a +child, till accident or necessity carried him to Rome; for, when the +office of color-grinder, added to that of cook, by awakening his +curiosity, first excited a love for the Art, his progress through its +rudiments seems to have been scarcely less slow and painful than that +of a child through the horrors of the alphabet. It was the struggle of +one who was learning to think; but, the rudiments being mastered, he +found himself suddenly possessed, not as yet of thought, but of new +forms of language; then came thoughts, pouring from his mind, and +filling them as moulds, without which they had never, perhaps, had +either shape or consciousness.</p> + +<p>Now what was this new language but the product of other minds,--of +successive minds, amending, enlarging, elaborating, through successive +ages, till, fitted to all its wants, it became true to the Ideal, and +the vernacular tongue of genius through all time? The first inventor +of verse was but the prophetic herald of Homer, Shakspeare, and +Milton. And what was Rome then but the great University of Art, where +all this accumulated learning was treasured?</p> + +<p>Much has been said of self-taught geniuses, as opposed to those who +have been instructed by others: but the distinction, it appears to +us, is without a difference; for it matters not whether we learn in a +school or by ourselves,--we cannot learn any thing without in some way +recurring to other minds. Let us imagine a poet who had never read, +never heard, never conversed with another. Now if he will not be +taught in any thing by another, he must strictly preserve this +independent negation. Truly the verses of such a poet would be a +miracle. Of similar self-taught painters we have abundant examples in +our aborigines,--but nowhere else.</p> + +<p>But, while we maintain, as a positive law of our nature, the necessity +of mental intercourse with our fellow-creatures, in order to the full +developement of the <i>individual</i>, we are far from implying that +any thing which is actually taken from others can by any process +become our own, that is, original. We may reverse, transpose, +diminish, or add to it, and so skilfully that no scam or mutilation +shall be detected; and yet we shall not make it appear original,--in +other words, <i>true</i>, the offspring of <i>one</i> mind. A borrowed +thought will always be borrowed; as it will be felt as such in its +<i>effect</i>, even while we are ourselves unconscious of the fact: +for it will want that <i>effect of life</i>, which only the first mind +can give it[3].</p> + +<p> +Of the multifarious retailers of the second-hand in style, the class +is so numerous as to make a selection difficult: they meet us at every +step in the history of the Art. One instance, however, may suffice, +and we select Vernet, as uniting in himself a singular and striking +example of the <i>false</i> and the <i>true</i>; and also as the least +invidious instance, inasmuch as we may prove our position by opposing +him to himself.</p> + +<p>In the landscapes of Vernet, (when not mere views,) we see the +imitator of Salvator, or rather copyist of his lines; and these we +have in all their angular nakedness, where rocks, trees, and mountains +are so jagged, contorted, and tumbled about, that nothing but an +explosion could account for their assemblage. They have not the +relation which we sometimes find even in a random collocation, as in +the accidental pictures of a discolored wall; for the careful hand +of the contriver is traced through all this disorder; nay, the very +execution, the conventional dash of pencil, betrays what a lawyer +would call the <i>malice prepense</i> of the Artist in their strange +disfigurement. To many this may appear like hypercriticism; but we +sincerely believe that no one, even among his admirers, has ever been +deceived into a real sympathy with such technical flourishes: they +are felt as factitious; as mere diagrams of composition deduced from +pictures.</p> + +<p>Now let us look at one of his Storms at Sea, when he wrought from his +own mind. A dark leaden atmosphere prepares us for something fearful: +suddenly a scene of tumult, fierce, wild, disastrous, bursts upon us; +and we feel the shock drive, as it were, every other thought from the +mind: the terrible vision now seizes the imagination, filling it with +sound and motion: we see the clouds fly, the furious waves one upon +another dashing in conflict, and rolling, as if in wrath, towards the +devoted ship: the wind blows from the canvas; we hear it roar through +her shrouds; her masts bend like twigs, and her last forlorn hope, +the close-reefed foresail, streams like a tattered flag: a terrible +fascination still constrains us to look, and a dim, rocky shore looms +on her lee: then comes the dreadful cry of "Breakers ahead!" the crew +stand appalled, and the master's trumpet is soundless at his lips. +This is the uproar of nature, and we <i>feel</i> it to be <i>true</i>; +for here every line, every touch, has a meaning. The ragged clouds, +the huddled waves, the prostrate ship, though forced by contrast +into the sharpest angles, all agree, opposed as they seem,--evolving +harmony out of apparent discord. And this is Genius, which no +criticism can ever disprove.</p> + +<p>But all great names, it is said, must have their shadows. In our Art +they have many shadows, or rather I should say, reflections; which +are more or less distinct according to their proximity to the living +originals, and, like the images in opposite mirrors, becoming +themselves reflected and re-reflected with a kind of battledoor +alternation, grow dimmer and dimmer till they vanish from mere +distance.</p> + +<p>Thus have the great schools of Italy, Flanders, and Holland lived and +walked after death, till even their ghosts have become familiar to us.</p> + +<p>We would not, however, be understood as asserting that we receive +pleasure only from original works: this would be contradicting +the general experience. We admit, on the contrary, that there are +hundreds, nay, thousands, of pictures having no pretensions to +originality of any kind, which still afford pleasure; as, indeed, +do many things out of the Art, which we know to be second-hand, or +imperfect, and even trifling. Thus grace of manner, for instance, +though wholly unaided by a single definite quality, will often delight +us, and a ready elocution, with scarce a particle of sense, make +commonplace agreeable; and it seems to be, that the pain of mental +inertness renders action so desirable, that the mind instinctively +surrounds itself with myriads of objects, having little to recommend +them but the property of keeping it from stagnating. And we are +far from denying a certain value to any of these, provided they +be innocent: there are times when even the wisest man will find +commonplace wholesome. All we have attempted to show is, that the +effect of an original work, as opposed to an imitation, is marked by +a difference, not of degree merely, but of kind; and that this +difference cannot fail to be felt, not, indeed, by every one, but by +any competent judge, that is, any one in whom is developed, by +natural exercise, that internal sense by which the spirit of life is +discerned.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Every original work becomes such from the infusion, so to speak, of +the mind of the Author; and of this the fresh materials of nature +alone seem susceptible. The imitated works of man cannot be endued +with a second life, that is, with a second mind: they are to the +imitator as air already breathed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>What has been said in relation to Form--that the works of our +predecessors, so far as they are recognized as true, are to be +considered as an extension of Nature, and therefore proper objects +of study--is equally applicable to Composition. But it is not to be +understood that this extended Nature (if we may so term it) is in any +instance to be imitated as a <i>whole</i>, which would be bringing our +minds into bondage to another; since, as already shown in the second +Discourse, every original work is of necessity impressed with the mind +of its author. If it be asked, then, what is the advantage of such +study, we shall endeavour to show, that it is not merely, as some have +supposed, in enriching the mind with materials, but rather in widening +our view of excellence, and, by consequent excitement, expanding our +own powers of observation, reflection, and performance. By increasing +the power of performance, we mean enlarging our knowledge of the +technical process, or the medium through which thought is expressed; +a most important species of knowledge, which, if to be otherwise +attained, is at least most readily learned from those who have left us +the result of their experience. This technical process, which has been +well called the language of the Art, includes, of course, all that +pertains to Composition, which, as the general medium, also contains +most of the elements of this peculiar tongue.</p> + +<p>From the gradual progress of the various arts of civilization, it +would seem that only under the action of some great <i>social</i> law +can man arrive at the full developement of his powers. In our +Art especially is this true; for the experience of one man must +necessarily be limited, particularly if compared with the endless +varieties of form and effect which diversify the face of Nature; and +the finest of these, too, in their very nature transient, or of rare +occurrence, and only known to occur to those who are prepared to seize +them in their rapid transit; so that in one short life, and with but +one set of senses, the greatest genius can learn but little. The +Artist, therefore, must needs owe much to the living, and more to the +dead, who are virtually his companions, inasmuch as through their +works they still live to our sympathies. Besides, in our great +predecessors we may be said to possess a multiplied life, if life +be measured by the number of acts,--which, in this case, we may all +appropriate to ourselves, as it were by a glance. For the dead in Art +may well be likened to the hardy pioneers of our own country, who have +successively cleared before us the swamps and forests that would have +obstructed our progress, and opened to us lands which the efforts of +no individual, however persevering, would enable him to reach.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> +<h2>Aphorisms.</h2> + +<h3>Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio.</h3> + + + +<p>1. "No genuine work of Art ever was, or ever can be, produced but for +its own sake; if the painter does not conceive to please himself, he +will not finish to please the world."--FUSELI.</p> + +<p>2. If an Artist love his Art for its own sake, he will delight in +excellence wherever he meets it, as well in the work of another as in +his own. This is the test of a true love.</p> + +<p>3. Nor is this genuine love compatible with a craving for distinction; +where the latter predominates, it is sure to betray itself before +contemporary excellence, either by silence, or (as a bribe to the +conscience) by a modicum of praise.</p> + +<p>The enthusiasm of a mind so influenced is confined to itself.</p> + +<p>4. Distinction is the consequence, never the object, of a great mind.</p> + +<p>5. The love of gain never made a Painter; but it has marred many.</p> + +<p>6. The most common disguise of Envy is in the praise of what is +subordinate.</p> + +<p>7. Selfishness in Art, as in other things, is sensibility kept at +home.</p> + +<p>8. The Devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the +phrase "devilish good" has sometimes a literal meaning.</p> + +<p>9. The most intangible, and therefore the worst, kind of lie is a +half truth. This is the peculiar device of a <i>conscientious</i> +detractor.</p> + +<p>10. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading +only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own +littleness by elevating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. +He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look +down. Of such minds are mannerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of +all sorts.</p> + +<p>11. No right judgment can ever be formed on any subject having a moral +or intellectual bearing without benevolence; for so strong is man's +natural self-bias, that, without this restraining principle, he +insensibly becomes a competitor in all such cases presented to his +mind; and, when the comparison is thus made personal, unless the odds +be immeasurably against him, his decision will rarely be impartial. +In other words, no one can see any thing as it really is through the +misty spectacles of self-love. We must wish well to another in order +to do him justice. Now the virtue in this good-will is not to blind us +to his faults, but to our own rival and interposing merits.</p> + +<p>12. In the same degree that we overrate ourselves, we shall underrate +others; for injustice allowed at home is not likely to be corrected +abroad. Never, therefore, expect justice from a vain man; if he has +the negative magnanimity not to disparage you, it is the most you can +expect.</p> + +<p>13. The Phrenologists are right in placing the organ of self-love in +the back of the head, it being there where a vain man carries his +intellectual light; the consequence of which is, that every man he +approaches is obscured by his own shadow.</p> + +<p>14. Nothing is rarer than a solitary lie; for lies breed like Surinam +toads; you cannot tell one but out it comes with a hundred young ones +on its back.</p> + +<p>15. If the whole world should agree to speak nothing but truth, what +an abridgment it would make of speech! And what an unravelling there +would be of the invisible webs which men, like so many spiders, now +weave about each other! But the contest between Truth and Falsehood +is now pretty well balanced. Were it not so, and had the latter the +mastery, even language would soon become extinct, from its very +uselessness. The present superfluity of words is the result of the +warfare.</p> + +<p>16. A witch's skiff cannot more easily sail in the teeth of the wind, +than the human <i>eye</i> lie against fact; but the truth will oftener +quiver through lips with a lie upon them.</p> + +<p>17. An open brow with a clenched hand shows any thing but an open +purpose.</p> + +<p>18. It is a hard matter for a man to lie <i>all over</i>. Nature +having provided king's evidence in almost every member. The hand will +sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every +feature is set the other way; the knees smite together, and sound the +alarm of fear, under a fierce countenance; and the legs shake with +anger, when all above is calm.</p> + +<p>19. Nature observes a variety even in her correspondences; insomuch +that in parts which seem but repetitions there will be found a +difference. For instance, in the human countenance, the two sides of +which are never identical. Whenever she deviates into monotony, +the deviation is always marked as an exception by some striking +deficiency; as in idiots, who are the only persons that laugh equally +on both sides of the mouth.</p> + +<p>The insipidity of many of the antique Statues may be traced to the +false assumption of identity in the corresponding parts. No work +wrought by <i>feeling</i> (which, after all, is the ultimate rule of +Genius) was ever marked by this monotony.</p> + +<p>20. He is but half an orator who turns his hearers into spectators. +The best gestures (<i>quoad</i> the speaker) are those which he cannot +help. An unconscious thump of the fist or jerk of the elbow is more +to the purpose, (whatever that may be,) than the most graceful +<i>cut-and-dried</i> action. It matters not whether the orator +personates a trip-hammer or a wind-mill; if his mill but move with the +grist, or his hammer knead the iron beneath it, he will not fail of +his effect. An impertinent gesture is more likely to knock down the +orator than his opponent.</p> + +<p>21. The only true independence is in humility; for the humble man +exacts nothing, and cannot be mortified,--expects nothing, and cannot +be disappointed. Humility is also a healing virtue; it will cicatrize +a thousand wounds, which pride would keep for ever open. But humility +is not the virtue of a fool; since it is not consequent upon any +comparison between ourselves and others, but between what we are and +what we ought to be,--which no man ever was.</p> + +<p>22. The greatest of all fools is the proud fool,--who is at the mercy +of every fool he meets.</p> + +<p>23. There is an essential meanness in the wish to <i>get the +better</i> of any one. The only competition worthy, of a wise man is +with himself.</p> + +<p>24. He that argues for victory is but a gambler in words, seeking to +enrich himself by another's loss.</p> + +<p>25. Some men make their ignorance the measure of excellence; these +are, of course, very fastidious critics; for, knowing little, they can +find but little to like.</p> + +<p>26. The Painter who seeks popularity in Art closes the door upon his +own genius.</p> + +<p>27. Popular excellence in one age is but the <i>mechanism</i> of what +was good in the preceding; in Art, the <i>technic</i>.</p> + +<p>28. Make no man your idol, for the best man must have faults; and his +faults will insensibly become yours, in addition to your own. This is +as true in Art as in morals.</p> + +<p>29. A man of genius should not aim at praise, except in the form of +<i>sympathy</i>; this assures him of his success, since it meets the +feeling which possessed himself.</p> + +<p>30. Originality in Art is the individualizing the Universal; in other +words, the impregnating some general truth with the individual mind.</p> + +<p>31. The painter who is content with the praise of the world in respect +to what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; +for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a +mechanic,--for his time, and not for his art.</p> + +<p>32. <i>Reputation</i> is but a synonyme of <i>popularity</i>; +dependent on suffrage, to be increased or diminished at the will of +the voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of its particular age, or +rather of a particular state of society; consequently, dying with that +which sustained it. Hence we can scarcely go over a page of history, +that we do not, as in a church-yard, tread upon some buried +reputation. But fame cannot be voted down, having its immediate +foundation in the essential. It is the eternal shadow of excellence, +from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but +in the light of an intellect kindred with that of its author. It is +that light which projects the shadow which is seen of the multitude, +to be wondered at and reverenced, even while so little comprehended +as to be often confounded with the substance,--the substance being +admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the economy of +Providence to provide such lights: like rising and setting stars, they +follow each other through successive ages: and thus the monumental +form of Genius stands for ever relieved against its own imperishable +shadow.</p> + +<p>33. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, +then, for something beyond the true, we wish for that which is false. +According to this test, how little truth is there in Art! Little +indeed! but how much is that little to him who feels it!</p> + +<p>34. Fame does not depend on the <i>will</i> of any man, but Reputation +may be given or taken away. Fame is the sympathy of kindred +intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of <i>willing</i>; while +Reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence +which may either be uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, +being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of +the envious and the ignorant; but Fame, whose very birth is +<i>posthumous</i>, and which is only known <i>to exist by the echo of +its footsteps through congenial minds</i>, can neither be increased +nor diminished by any degree of will.</p> + +<p>35. What <i>light</i> is in the natural world, such is <i>fame</i> +in the intellectual; both requiring an <i>atmosphere</i> in order +to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some +minds, a nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible <i>in +vacuo</i>.</p> + +<p>36. Fame has no necessary conjunction with Praise: it may exist without +the breath of a word; it is a <i>recognition of excellence</i>, which <i>must +be felt</i>, but need not be <i>spoken</i>. Even the envious must feel it,--feel +it, and hate it, in silence.</p> + +<p>37. I cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever labored for +it; that is, <i>directly</i>. For, as fame is but the contingent of +excellence, it would be like an attempt to project a shadow, before +its substance was obtained. Many, however, have so fancied. "I write, +I paint, for fame," has often been repeated: it should have been, "I +write, I paint, for reputation." All anxiety, therefore, about Fame +should be placed to the account of Reputation.</p> + +<p>38. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained +<i>excellence</i>, when it is not all in all to him. Nay, I may add, +that, if he looks beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not the +less true for being good <i>Irish</i>.</p> + +<p>39. An original mind is rarely understood, until it has been +<i>reflected</i> from some half-dozen congenial with it, so averse +are men to admitting the <i>true</i> in an unusual form; whilst any +novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor +is this to be wondered at; for all truth demands a response, and few +people care to <i>think</i>, yet they must have something to supply +the place of thought. Every mind would appear original, if every man +had the power of <i>projecting</i> his own into the mind of others.</p> + +<p>40. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the +monstrous. For no man knows himself as an original; he can only +believe it on the report of others to whom <i>he is made known</i>, as +he is by the projecting power before spoken of.</p> + +<p>41. There is one thing which no man, however generously disposed, can +<i>give</i>, but which every one, however poor, is bound to <i>pay</i>. This is +Praise. He cannot give it, because it is not his own,--since what is +dependent for its very existence on something in another can never +become to him a <i>possession</i>; nor can he justly withhold it, when the +presence of merit claims it as a <i>consequence</i>. As praise, then, cannot +be made a <i>gift</i>, so, neither, when not his due, can any man receive it: +he may think he does, but he receives only <i>words</i>; for <i>desert</i> being +the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one +without the other. This is no fanciful statement; for, though praise may +be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the +course of time, an existing merit will, on <i>some one</i>, produce its +effects; inasmuch as the existence of any cause without its effect is an +impossibility. A fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an +<i>irreversible justice</i> for the weal or woe of him who confirms or +violates it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>[From the back of a pencil sketch.]</p> + +<p>Let no man trust to the gentleness, the generosity, or seeming +goodness of his heart, in the hope that they alone can safely bear him +through the temptations of this world. This is a state of probation, +and a perilous passage to the true beginning of life, where even the +best natures need continually to be reminded of their weakness, and +to find their only security in steadily referring all their thoughts, +acts, affections, to the ultimate end of their being: yet where, +imperfect as we are, there is no obstacle too mighty, no temptation +too strong, to the truly humble in heart, who, distrusting themselves, +seek to be sustained only by that holy Being who is life and power, +and who, in his love and mercy, has promised to give to those that +ask.--Such were my reflections, to which I was giving way on reading +this melancholy story.</p> + +<p>If he is satisfied with them, he may rest assured that he is neither +fitted for this world nor the next. Even in this, there are wrongs and +sorrows which no human remedy can reach;--no, tears cannot restore +what is lost.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>[Written in a book of sketches, with a pencil.]</p> + +<p>A real debt of gratitude--that is, founded on a disinterested act of +kindness--cannot be cancelled by any subsequent unkindness on the part +of our benefactor. If the favor be of a pecuniary nature, we may, +indeed, by returning an equal or greater sum, balance the moneyed part; +but we cannot <i>liquidate</i> the <i>kind motive</i> by the setting off against +it any number of unkind ones. For an after injury can no more <i>undo</i> a +previous kindness, than we can <i>prevent</i> in the future what has happened +in the past. So neither can a good act undo an ill one: a fearful truth! +For good and evil have a moral <i>life</i>, which nothing in time can +extinguish; the instant they <i>exist</i>, they start for Eternity. How, +then, can a man who has <i>once</i> sinned, and who has not of <i>himself</i> +cleansed his soul, be fit for heaven where no sin can enter? I seek not +to enter into the mystery of the <i>atonement</i>, "which even the angels +sought to comprehend and could not"; but I feel its truth in an +unutterable conviction, and that, without it, all flesh must perish. +Equally deep, too, and unalienable, is my conviction that "the fruit of +sin is misery." A second birth to the soul is therefore a necessity +which sin <i>forces</i> upon us. Ay,--but not against the desperate <i>will</i> +that rejects it.</p> + +<p>This conclusion was not anticipated when I wrote the first sentence of +the preceding paragraph. But it does not surprise me. For it is but a +recurrence of what I have repeatedly experienced; namely, that I never +lighted on <i>any truth</i> which I <i>inwardly felt</i> as such, however +apparently remote from our religious being, (as, for instance, in the +philosophy of my art,) that, by following it out, did not find its +illustration and confirmation in some great doctrine of the Bible,--the +only true philosophy, the sole fountain of light, where the dark +questions of the understanding which have so long stood, like chaotic +spectres, between the fallen soul and its reason, at once lose their +darkness and their terror.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> +<h2>The Hypochondriac.[4]</h2> + + + +<blockquote class="epi"><p> He would not taste, but swallowed life at once;<br /> +And scarce had reached his prime ere he had bolted,<br /> +With all its garnish, mixed of sweet and sour,<br /> +Full fourscore years. For he, in truth, did wot not<br /> +What most he craved, and so devoured all;<br /> +Then, with his gases, followed Indigestion,<br /> +Making it food for night-mares and their foals.</p> + +<p> <i>Bridgen</i>.[5]</p></blockquote> + + +<p>It was the opinion of an ancient philosopher, that we can have no want +for which Nature does not provide an appropriate gratification. As it +regards our physical wants, this appears to be true. But there are +moral cravings which extend beyond the world we live in; and, were we +in a heathen age, would serve us with an unanswerable argument for the +immortality of the soul. That these cravings are felt by all, there +can be no doubt; yet that all feel them in the same degree would be as +absurd to suppose, as that every man possesses equal sensibility or +understanding. Boswell's desires, from his own account, seem to have +been limited to reading Shakspeare in the other world,--whether with +or without his commentators, he has left us to guess; and Newton +probably pined for the sight of those distant stars whose light has +not yet reached us. What originally was the particular craving of my +own mind I cannot now recall; but that I had, even in my boyish days, +an insatiable desire after something which always eluded me, I well +remember. As I grew into manhood, my desires became less definite; and +by the time I had passed through college, they seemed to have resolved +themselves into a general passion for <i>doing</i>.</p> + +<p>It is needless to enumerate the different subjects which one after +another engaged me. Mathematics, metaphysics, natural and moral +philosophy, were each begun, and each in turn given up in a passion of +love and disgust.</p> + +<p>It is the fate of all inordinate passions to meet their extremes; +so was it with mine. Could I have pursued any of these studies with +moderation, I might have been to this day, perhaps, both learned and +happy. But I could be moderate in nothing. Not content with being +employed, I must always be <i>busy</i>; and business, as every one +knows, if long continued, must end in fatigue, and fatigue in disgust, +and disgust in change, if that be practicable,--which unfortunately +was my case.</p> + +<p>The restlessness occasioned by these half-finished studies brought +on a severe fit of self-examination. Why is it, I asked myself, that +these learned works, which have each furnished their authors with +sufficient excitement to effect their completion, should thus weary me +before I get midway into them? It is plain enough. As a reader I +am merely a recipient, but the composer is an active agent; a vast +difference! And now I can account for the singular pleasure, which +a certain bad poet of my acquaintance always took in inflicting his +verses on every one who would listen to him; each perusal being but a +sort of mental echo of the original bliss of composition. I will set +about writing immediately.</p> + +<p>Having, time out of mind, heard the epithet <i>great</i> coupled with +Historians, it was that, I believe, inclined me to write a history. +I chose my subject, and began collating, and transcribing, night and +day, as if I had not another hour to live; and on I went with the +industry of a steam-engine; when it one day occurred to me, that, +though I had been laboring for months, I had not yet had occasion for +one original thought. Pshaw! said I, 't is only making new clothes out +of old ones. I will have nothing more to do with history.</p> + +<p>As it is natural for a mind suddenly disgusted with mechanic toil to +seek relief from its opposite, it can easily be imagined that my next +resource was Poetry. Every one rhymes now-a-days, and so can I. Shall +I write an Epic, or a Tragedy, or a Metrical Romance? Epics are out of +fashion; even Homer and Virgil would hardly be read in our time, but +that people are unwilling to admit their schooling to have been thrown +away. As to Tragedy, I am a modern, and it is a settled thing that no +modern <i>can</i> write a tragedy; so I must not attempt that. Then +for Metrical Romances,--why, they are now manufactured; and, as the +Edinburgh Review says, may be "imported" by us "in bales." I will bind +myself to no particular class, but give free play to my imagination. +With this resolution I went to bed, as one going to be inspired. The +morning came; I ate my breakfast, threw up the window, and placed +myself in my elbow-chair before it. An hour passed, and nothing +occurred to me. But this I ascribed to a fit of laughter that seized +me, at seeing a duck made drunk by eating rum-cherries. I turned my +back on the window. Another hour followed, then another, and another: +I was still as far from poetry as ever; every object about me seemed +bent against my abstraction; the card-racks fascinating me like +serpents, and compelling me to read, as if I would get them by heart, +"Dr. Joblin," "Mr. Cumberback," "Mr. Milton Bull," &c. &c. I took up +my pen, drew a sheet of paper from my writing-desk, and fixed my eyes +upon that;--'t was all in vain; I saw nothing on it but the watermark, +<i>D. Ames</i>. I laid down the pen, closed my eyes, and threw my +head back in the chair. "Are you waiting to be shaved, Sir?" said +a familiar voice. I started up, and overturned my servant. "No, +blockhead!"--"I am waiting to be inspired";--but this I added +mentally. What is the cause of my difficulty? said I. Something within +me seemed to reply, in the words of Lear, "Nothing comes of nothing." +Then I must seek a subject. I ran over a dozen in a few minutes, chose +one after another, and, though twenty thoughts very readily occurred +on each, I was fain to reject them all; some for wanting pith, some +for belonging to prose, and others for having been worn out in the +service of other poets. In a word, my eyes began to open on the truth, +and I felt convinced that <i>that</i> only was poetry which a man +writes because he cannot help writing; the irrepressible effluence +of his secret being on every thing in sympathy with it,--a kind of +<i>flowering</i> of the soul amid the warmth and the light of nature. +I am no poet, I exclaimed, and I will not disfigure Mr. Ames with +commonplace verses.</p> + +<p>I know not how I should have borne this second disappointment, had not +the title of a new Novel, which then came into my head, suggested a +trial in that branch of letters. I will write a Novel. Having come to +this determination, the next thing was to collect materials. They must +be sought after, said I, for my late experiment has satisfied me that +I might wait for ever in my elbow-chair, and they would never come to +me; they must be toiled for,--not in books, if I would not deal in +second-hand,--but in the world, that inexhaustible storehouse of +all kinds of originals. I then turned over in my mind the various +characters I had met with in life; amongst these a few only seemed +fitted for any story, and those rather as accessories; such as a +politician who hated popularity, a sentimental grave-digger, and a +metaphysical rope-dancer; but for a hero, the grand nucleus of my +fable, I was sorely at a loss. This, however, did not discourage me. I +knew he might be found in the world, if I would only take the trouble +to look for him. For this purpose I jumped into the first stage-coach +that passed my door; it was immaterial whither bound, my object being +men, not places. My first day's journey offered nothing better than a +sailor who rebuked a member of Congress for swearing. But at the third +stage, on the second day, as we were changing horses, I had the good +fortune to light on a face which gave promise of all I wanted. It was +so remarkable that I could not take my eyes from it; the forehead +might have been called handsome but for a pair of enormous eyebrows, +that seemed to project from it like the quarter-galleries of a ship, +and beneath these were a couple of small, restless, gray eyes, which, +glancing in every direction from under their shaggy brows, sparkled +like the intermittent light of fire-flies; in the nose there was +nothing remarkable, except that it was crested by a huge wart with a +small grove of black hairs; but the mouth made ample amends, being +altogether indescribable, for it was so variable in its expression, +that I could not tell whether it had most of the sardonic, the +benevolent, or the sanguinary, appearing to exhibit them all in +succession with equal vividness. My attention, however, was mainly +fixed by the sanguinary; it came across me like an east wind, and +I felt a cold sweat damping my linen; and when this was suddenly +succeeded by the benevolent, I was sure I had got at the secret of +his character,--no less than that of a murderer haunted by remorse. +Delighted with this discovery, I made up my mind to follow the owner +of the face wherever he went, till I should learn his history. I +accordingly made an end of my journey for the present, upon learning +that the stranger was to pass some time in the place where we stopped. +For three days I made minute inquiries; but all I could gather was, +that he had been a great traveller, though of what country no one +could tell me. On the fourth day, finding him on the move, I took +passage in the same coach. Now, said I, is my time of harvest. But I +was mistaken; for, in spite of all the lures which I threw out to +draw him into a communicative humor, I could get nothing from him but +monosyllables. So far from abating my ardor, this reserve only the +more whetted my curiosity. At last we stopped at a pleasant village +in New Jersey. Here he seemed a little better known; the innkeeper +inquiring after his health, and the hostler asking if the balls he +had supplied him with fitted the barrels of his pistols. The latter +inquiry I thought was accompanied by a significant glance, that +indicated a knowledge on the hostler's part of more than met the ear; +I determined therefore to sound him. After a few general remarks, that +had nothing to do with any thing, by way of introduction, I began by +hinting some random surmises as to the use to which the stranger might +have put the pistols he spoke of; inquired whether he was in the habit +of loading them at night; whether he slept with them under his pillow; +if he was in the practice of burning a light while he slept; and if +he did not sometimes awake the family by groans, or by walking with +agitated steps in his chamber. But it was all in vain, the man +protesting that he never knew any thing ill of him. Perhaps, thought +I, the hostler having overheard his midnight wanderings, and detected +his crime, is paid for keeping the secret. I pumped the landlord, and +the landlady, and the barmaid, and the chambermaid, and the waiters, +and the cook, and every thing that could speak in the house; still to +no purpose, each ending his reply with, "Lord, Sir, he's as honest a +gentleman, for aught I know, as any in the world"; then would come a +question,--"But perhaps <i>you</i> know something of him yourself?" +Whether my answer, though given in the negative, was uttered in such a +tone as to imply an affirmative, thereby exciting suspicion, I cannot +tell; but it is certain that I soon after perceived a visible change +towards him in the deportment of the whole household. When he spoke to +the waiters, their jaws fell, their fingers spread, their eyes rolled, +with every symptom of involuntary action; and once, when he asked the +landlady to take a glass of wine with him, I saw her, under pretence +of looking out of the window, throw it into the street; in short, the +very scullion fled at his approach, and a chambermaid dared not +enter his room unless under guard of a large mastiff. That these +circumstances were not unobserved by him will appear by what follows.</p> + +<p>Though I had come no nearer to facts, this general suspicion, added to +the remarkable circumstance that no one had ever heard his name (being +known only as <i>the gentleman</i>) gave every day new life to my +hopes. He is the very man, said I; and I began to revel in all the +luxury of detection, when, as I was one night undressing for bed, my +attention was caught by the following letter on my table.</p> + +<blockquote class="letter"><p> "SIR,</p> + +<p> "If you are the gentleman you would be thought, you will not + refuse satisfaction for the diabolical calumnies you have so + unprovokedly circulated against an innocent man.</p> + +<p> "Your obedient servant,</p> + +<p> "TIMOLEON BUB.</p> + +<p> "P.S. I shall expect you at five o'clock to-morrow morning, at the + three elms, by the river-side."</p></blockquote> + +<p>This invitation, as may be well imagined, discomposed me not a +little. Who Mr. Bub was, or in what way I had injured him, puzzled +me exceedingly. Perhaps, thought I, he has mistaken me for another +person; if so, my appearing on the ground will soon set matters right. +With this persuasion I went to bed, somewhat calmer than I should +otherwise have been; nay, I was even composed enough to divert myself +with the folly of one bearing so vulgar an appellation taking it into +his head to play the <i>man of honor</i>, and could not help a waggish +feeling of curiosity to see if his name and person were in keeping.</p> + +<p>I woke myself in the morning with a loud laugh, for I had dreamt of +meeting, in the redoubtable Mr. Bub, a little pot-bellied man, with a +round face, a red snub-nose, and a pair of gooseberry wall-eyes. My +fit of pleasantry was far from passed off when I came in sight of the +fatal elms. I saw my antagonist pacing the ground with considerable +violence. Ah! said I, he is trying to escape from his unheroic name! +and I laughed again at the conceit; but, as I drew a little nearer, +there appeared a majestic altitude in his figure very unlike what I +had seen in my dream, and my laugh began to stiffen into a kind of +rigid grin. There now came upon me something very like a misgiving +that the affair might turn out to be no joke. I felt an unaccountable +wish that this Mr. Bub had never been born; still I advanced: but +if an aërolite had fallen at my feet, I could not have been more +startled, than when I found in the person of my challenger--the +mysterious stranger. The consequences of my curiosity immediately +rushed upon me, and I was no longer at a loss in what way I had +injured him. All my merriment seemed to curdle within me; and I felt +like a dog that had got his head into a jug, and suddenly finds he +cannot extricate it. "Well met, Sir," said the stranger; "now +take your ground, and abide the consequences of your infernal +insinuations." "Upon my word," replied I,--"upon my honor, Sir,"--and +there I stuck, for in truth I knew not what it was I was going to say; +when the stranger's second, advancing, exclaimed, in a voice which +I immediately recognized, "Why, zounds! Rainbow, are <i>you</i> the +man?" "Is it you, Harman?" "What!" continued he, "my old classmate +Rainbow turned slanderer? Impossible! Indeed, Mr. Bub, there must be +some mistake here." "None, Sir," said the stranger; "I have it on +the authority of my respectable landlord, that, ever since this +gentleman's arrival, he has been incessant in his attempts to blacken +my character with every person at the inn." "Nay, my friend"--But I +put an end to Harman's further defence of me, by taking him aside, +and frankly confessing the whole truth. It was with some difficulty I +could get through the explanation, being frequently interrupted with +bursts of laughter from my auditor; which, indeed, I now began to +think very natural. In a word, to cut the story short, my friend +having repeated the conference verbatim to Mr. Bub, he was +good-natured enough to join in the mirth, saying, with one of his best +sardonics, he "had always had a misgiving that his unlucky ugly face +would one day or other be the death of somebody." Well, we passed the +day together, and having cracked a social bottle after dinner, parted, +I believe, as heartily friends as we should have been (which is saying +a great deal) had he indeed proved the favorite villain in my Novel. +But, alas! with the loss of my villain, away went the Novel.</p> + +<p>Here again I was at a stand; and in vain did I torture my brains +for another pursuit. But why should I seek one? In fortune I have a +competence,--why not be as independent in mind? There are thousands in +the world whose sole object in life is to attain the means of living +without toil; and what is any literary pursuit but a series of mental +labor, ay, and oftentimes more wearying to the spirits than that of +the body. Upon the whole, I came to the conclusion, that it was a very +foolish thing to do any thing. So I seriously set about trying to do +nothing.</p> + +<p>Well, what with whistling, hammering down all the nails in the house +that had started, paring my nails, pulling my fire to pieces and +rebuilding it, changing my clothes to full dress though I dined alone, +trying to make out the figure of a Cupid on my discolored ceiling, and +thinking of a lady I had not thought of for ten years before, I got +along the first week tolerably well. But by the middle of the second +week,--'t was horrible! the hours seemed to roll over me like +mill-stones. When I awoke in the morning I felt like an Indian +devotee, the day coming upon me like the great temple of Juggernaut; +cracking of my bones beginning after breakfast; and if I had any +respite, it was seldom for more than half an hour, when a newspaper +seemed to stop the wheels;--then away they went, crack, crack, noon +and afternoon, till I found myself by night reduced to a perfect +jelly,--good for nothing but to be ladled into bed, with a greater +horror than ever at the thought of sunrise.</p> + +<p>This will never do, said I; a toad in the heart of a tree lives a more +comfortable life than a nothing-doing man; and I began to perceive +a very deep meaning in the truism of "something being better than +nothing." But is a precise object always necessary to the mind? No: if +it be but occupied, no matter with what. That may easily be done. +I have already tried the sciences, and made abortive attempts in +literature, but I have never yet tried what is called general +reading;--that, thank Heaven, is a resource inexhaustible. I will +henceforth read only for amusement. My first experiment in this way +was on Voyages and Travels, with occasional dippings into Shipwrecks, +Murders, and Ghost-stories. It succeeded beyond my hopes; month after +month passing away like days, and as for days,--I almost fancied that +I could see the sun move. How comfortable, thought I, thus to travel +over the world in my closet! how delightful to double Cape Horn and +cross the African Desert in my rocking-chair,--to traverse Caffraria +and the Mogul's dominions in the same pleasant vehicle! This is living +to some purpose; one day dining on barbecued pigs in Otaheite; the +next in danger of perishing amidst the snows of Terra del Fuego; then +to have a lion cross my path in the heart of Africa; to run for my +life from a wounded rhinoceros, and sit, by mistake, on a sleeping +boa-constrictor;--this, this, said I, is life! Even the dangers of the +sea were but healthful stimulants. If I met with a tornado, it was +only an agreeable variety; water-spouts and ice-islands gave me no +manner of alarm; and I have seldom been more composed than when +catching a whale. In short, the ease with which I thus circumnavigated +the globe, and conversed with all its varieties of inhabitants, +expanded my benevolence; I found every place, and everybody in it, +even to the Hottentots, vastly agreeable. But, alas! I was doomed +to discover that this could not last for ever. Though I was still +curious, there were no longer curiosities; for the world is limited, +and new countries, and new people, like every thing else, wax stale on +acquaintance; even ghosts and hurricanes become at last familiar; and +books grow old, like those who read them.</p> + +<p>I was now at what sailors call a dead lift; being too old to build +castles for the future, and too dissatisfied with the life I had +led to look back on the past. In this state of mind, I bought me a +snuffbox; for, as I could not honestly recommend my disjointed self +to any decent woman, it seemed a kind of duty in me to contract such +habits as would effectually prevent my taking in the lady I had once +thought of. I set to, snuffing away till I made my nose sore, and +lost my appetite. I then threw my snuffbox into the fire, and took to +cigars. This change appeared to revive me. For a short time I thought +myself in Elysium, and wondered I had never tried them before. Thou +fragrant weed! O, that I were a Dutch poet, I exclaimed, that I might +render due honor to thy unspeakable virtues! Ineffable tobacco! Every +puff seemed like oil poured upon troubled waters, and I felt an +inexpressible calmness stealing over my frame; in truth, it seemed +like a benevolent spirit reconciling my soul to my body. But +moderation, as I have before said, was never one of my virtues. I +walked my room, pouring out volumes like a moving glass-house. My +apartment was soon filled with smoke; I looked in the glass and hardly +knew myself, my eyes peering at me, through the curling atmosphere, +like those of a poodle. I then retired to the opposite end, and +surveyed the furniture; nothing retained its original form or +position;--the tables and chairs seemed to loom from the floor, and my +grandfather's picture to thrust forward its nose like a French-horn, +while that of my grandmother, who was reckoned a beauty in her day, +looked, in her hoop, like her husband's wig-block stuck on a tub. +Whether this was a signal for the fiends within me to begin their +operations, I know not; but from that day I began to be what is called +nervous. The uninterrupted health I had hitherto enjoyed now seemed +the greatest curse that could have befallen me. I had never had the +usual itinerant distempers; it was very unlikely that I should always +escape them; and the dread of their coming upon me in my advanced age +made me perfectly miserable. I scarcely dared to stir abroad; +had sandbags put to my doors to keep out the measles; forbade my +neighbours' children playing in my yard to avoid the whooping-cough; +and, to prevent infection from the small-pox, I ordered all my male +servants' heads to be shaved, made the coachman and footman wear tow +wigs, and had them both regularly smoked whenever they returned from +the neighbouring town, before they were allowed to enter my presence. +Nor were these all my miseries; in fact, they were but a sort of +running base to a thousand other strange and frightful fancies; the +mere skeleton to a whole body-corporate of horrors. I became dreamy, +was haunted by what I had read, frequently finding a Hottentot, or a +boa-constrictor, in my bed. Sometimes I fancied myself buried in one +of the pyramids of Egypt, breaking my shins against the bones of a +sacred cow. Then I thought myself a kangaroo, unable to move because +somebody had cut off my tail.</p> + +<p>In this miserable state I one evening rushed out of my house. I know +not how far, or how long, I had been from home, when, hearing a +well-known voice, I suddenly stopped. It seemed to belong to a face +that I knew; yet how I should know it somewhat puzzled me, being then +fully persuaded that I was a Chinese Josh. My friend (as I afterwards +learned he was) invited me to go to his club. This, thought I, is one +of my worshippers, and they have a right to carry me wherever they +please; accordingly I suffered myself to be led.</p> + +<p>I soon found myself in an American tavern, and in the midst of a dozen +grave gentlemen who were emptying a large bowl of punch. They each +saluted me, some calling me by name, others saying they were happy to +make my acquaintance; but what appeared quite unaccountable was my not +only understanding their language, but knowing it to be English. A +kind of reaction now began to take place in my brain. Perhaps, said I, +I am not a Josh. I was urged to pledge my friend in a glass of punch; +I did so; my friend's friend, and his friend, and all the rest, in +succession, begged to have the same honor; I complied, again +and again, till at last, the punch having fairly turned my +head topsy-turvy, righted my understanding; and I found myself +<i>myself</i>.</p> + +<p>This happy change gave a pleasant fillip to my spirits. I returned +home, found no monster in my bed, and slept quietly till near noon the +next day. I arose with a slight headache and a great admiration +of punch; resolving, if I did not catch the measles from my late +adventure, to make a second visit to the club. No symptoms appearing, +I went again; and my reception was such as led to a third, and a +fourth, and a fifth visit, when I became a regular member. I believe +my inducement to this was a certain unintelligible something in three +or four of my new associates, which at once gratified and kept alive +my curiosity, in their letting out just enough of themselves while I +was with them to excite me when alone to speculate on what was kept +back. I wondered I had never met with such characters in books; and +the kind of interest they awakened began gradually to widen to others. +Henceforth I will live in the world, said I; 't is my only remedy. A +man's own affairs are soon conned; he gets them by heart till they +haunt him when he would be rid of them; but those of another can +be known only in part, while that which remains unrevealed is a +never-ending stimulus to curiosity. The only natural mode, therefore, +of preventing the mind preying on itself,--the only rational, because +the only interminable employment,--is to be busy about other people's +business.</p> + +<p>The variety of objects which this new course of life each day +presented, brought me at length to a state of sanity; at least, I was +no longer disposed to conjure up remote dangers to my door, or chew +the cud on my indigested past reading; though sometimes, I confess, +when I have been tempted to meddle with a very bad character, I have +invariably been threatened with a relapse; which leads me to think the +existence of some secret affinity between rogues and boa-constrictors +is not unlikely. In a short time, however, I had every reason to +believe myself completely cured; for the days began to appear of their +natural length, and I no longer saw every thing through a pair of +blue spectacles, but found nature diversified by a thousand beautiful +colors, and the people about me a thousand times more interesting than +hyenas or Hottentots. The world is now my only study, and I trust I +shall stick to it for the sake of my health.</p> +</div> + + +<div id="footnotes"> +<h2>Footnotes</h2> + + + +<div id="fn01" class="fn"><p>1. The Frightful is not the Terrible, though often confounded with it.</p></div> + +<div id="fn02" class="fn"><p>2. See Introductory Discourse.</p></div> + +<div id="fn03" class="fn"><p>3. There is one species of imitation, however, which, as having been +practised by some of the most original minds, and also sanctioned by the +ablest writers, demands at least a little consideration; namely, the +adoption of an attitude, provided it be employed to convey a different +thought. So far, indeed, as the imitation has been confined to a +suggestion, and the attitude adopted has been modified by the new subject, +to which it was transferred, by a distinct change of character and +expression, though with but little variation in the disposition of limbs, +we may not dissent; such imitations being virtually little more than +hints, since they end in thoughts either totally different from, or more +complete than, the first. This we do not condemn, for every Poet, as well +as Artist, knows that a thought so modified is of right his own. It is the +transplanting of a tree, not the borrowing of a seed, against which we +contend. But when writers justify the appropriation, of entire figures, +without any such change, we do not agree with them; and cannot but think +that the examples they have quoted, as in the Sacrifice at Lystra, by +Raffaelle, and the Baptism, by Poussin, will fully support our position. +The antique <i>basso rilievo</i> which Raffaelle has introduced in the former, +being certainly imitated both as to lines and grouping, is so distinct, +both in character and form, from the surrounding figures, as to render +them a distinct people, and their very air reminds us of another age. We +cannot but believe we should have had a very different group, and far +superior in expression, had he given us a conception of his own. It would +at least have been in accordance with the rest, animated with the +superstitious enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd; and especially as +sacrificing Priests would they have been amazed and awe-stricken in the +living presence of a god, instead of personating, as in the present group, +the cold officials of the Temple, going through a stated task at the +shrine of their idol. In the figure by Poussin, which he borrowed from +Michael Angelo, the discrepancy is still greater. The original figure, +which was in the Cartoon at Pisa, (now known only by a print,) is that of +a warrior who has been suddenly roused from the act of bathing by the +sound of a trumpet; he has just leaped upon the bank, and, in his haste to +obey its summons, thrusts his foot through his garment. Nothing could be +more appropriate than the violence of this action; it is in unison with +the hurry and bustle of the occasion. And this is the figure which Poussin +(without the slightest change, if we recollect aright) has transferred to +the still and solemn scene in which John baptizes the Saviour. No one can +look at this figure without suspecting the plagiarism. Similar instances +may be found in his other works; as in the Plague of the Philistines, +where the Alcibiades of Raffaelle is coolly sauntering among the dead and +dying, and with as little relation to the infected multitude as if he were +still with Socrates in the School of Athens. In the same picture may be +found also one of the Apostles from the Cartoon of the Draught of Fishes: +and we may naturally ask what business he has there. And yet such +appropriations have been made to appear no thefts, simply because no +attempt seems to have been made at concealment! But theft, we must be +allowed to think, is still theft, whether committed in the dark, or in the +face of day. And the example is a dangerous one, inasmuch as it comes from +men who were not constrained to resort to such shifts by any poverty of +invention.</p> + +<p>Akin to this is another and larger kind of borrowing, which, though it +cannot strictly be called copying; yet so evidently betrays a foreign +origin, as to produce the same effect. We allude to the adoption of the +peculiar lines, handling, and disposition of masses, &c., of any +particular master.</p></div> + +<div id="fn04" class="fn"><p>4. First printed in 1821, in "The Idle Man," No. II p. 38.</p></div> + +<div id="fn05"><p>5. A feigned name.--<i>Editor</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LECTURES ON ART *** + +***** This file should be named 11391-h.htm or 11391-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/9/11391/ + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/11391.txt b/old/11391.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5af93f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11391.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6095 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lectures on Art + +Author: Washington Allston + +Release Date: March 1, 2004 [EBook #11391] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LECTURES ON ART *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +Lectures on Art + +By + +Washington Allston + +Edited by Richard Henry Dana, Jr. + +MDCCCL. + + + + +Preface by the Editor. + + + +Upon the death of Mr. Allston, it was determined, by those who had +charge of his papers, to prepare his biography and correspondence, and +publish them with his writings in prose and verse; a work which would +have occupied two volumes of about the same size with the present. A +delay has unfortunately occurred in the preparation of the biography +and correspondence; and, as there have been frequent calls for a +publication of his poems, and of the Lectures on Art he is known to +have written, it has been thought best to give them to the public in +the present form, without awaiting the completion of the whole +design. It may be understood, however, that, when the biography +and correspondence are published, it will be in a volume precisely +corresponding with the present, so as to carry out the original +design. + +I will not anticipate the duty of the biographer by an extended notice +of the life of Mr. Allston; but it may be interesting to some readers +to know the outline of his life, and the different circumstances under +which the several pieces in this volume were written. + +WASHINGTON ALLSTON was born at Charleston, in South Carolina, on the +5th of November, 1779, of a family distinguished in the history of +that State and of the country, being a branch of a family of the +baronet rank in the titled commonalty of England. Like most young +men of the South in his position at that period, he was sent to New +England to receive his school and college education. His school days +were passed at Newport, in Rhode Island, under the charge of Mr. +Robert Rogers. He entered Harvard College in 1796, and graduated in +1800. While at school and college, he developed in a marked manner +a love of nature, music, poetry, and painting. Endowed with senses +capable of the nicest perceptions, and with a mental and moral +constitution which tended always, with the certainty of a physical +law, to the beautiful, the pure, and the sublime, he led what many +might call an ideal life. Yet was he far from being a recluse, or from +being disposed to an excess of introversion. On the contrary, he was +a popular, high-spirited youth, almost passionately fond of society, +maintaining an unusual number of warm friendships, and unsurpassed by +any of the young men of his day in adaptedness to the elegancies and +courtesies of the more refined portions of the moving world. Romances +of love, knighthood, and heroic deeds, tales of banditti, and stories +of supernatural beings, were his chief delight in his early days. Yet +his classical attainments were considerable, and, as a scholar in the +literature of his own language, his reputation was early established. +He delivered a poem on taking his degree, which was much admired in +its day. + +On leaving college, he returned to South Carolina. Having determined +to devote his life to the fine arts, he sold, hastily and at a +sacrifice, his share of a considerable patrimonial estate, and +embarked for London in the autumn of 1801. Immediately upon his +arrival, he became a student of the Royal Academy, of which his +countryman, West, was President, with whom he formed an intimate and +lasting friendship. After three years spent in England, and a shorter +stay at Paris, he went to Italy, where he spent four years devoted +exclusively to the study of his art. At Rome began his intimacy with +Coleridge. Among the many subsequent expressions of his feeling toward +this great man, none, perhaps, is more striking than the following +extract from one of his letters:--"To no other man do I owe so much, +intellectually, as to Mr. Coleridge, with whom I became acquainted +in Rome, and who has honored me with his friendship for more than +five-and-twenty years. He used to call Rome the silent city; but I +never could think of it as such while with him; for, meet him when and +where I would, the fountain of his mind was never dry, but, like the +far-reaching aqueducts that once supplied this mistress of the world, +its living stream seemed specially to flow for every classic ruin over +which we wandered. And when I recall some of our walks under the pines +of the Villa Borghese, I am almost tempted to dream that I have once +listened to Plato in the groves of the Academy." Readers of Coleridge +know in what estimation he held the qualities and the friendship of +Mr. Allston. Beside Coleridge and West, he numbered among his friends +in England, Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Sir George Beaumont, Reynolds, +and Fuseli. + +In 1809, Mr. Allston returned to America, and remained two years +in Boston, his adopted home, and there married the sister of Dr. +Channing. In 1811, he went again to England, where his reputation as +an artist had been completely established. Before his departure, he +delivered a poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge. +During a severe illness, he removed from London to Clifton, at which +place he wrote "The Sylphs of the Seasons." In 1813, he made his +first, and, with the exception of "Monaldi," twenty-eight years +afterwards, his only publication. This was a small volume, entitled +"The Sylphs of the Seasons, and other Poems," published in London; +and, during the same year, republished in Boston under the direction +of his friends, Professor Willard of Cambridge and Mr. Edmund T. Dana. +This volume was well received, and gave him a place among the first +poets of his country. The smaller poems in that edition extend as far +as page 289 of the present volume. + +Beside the long and serious illness through which he passed, his +spirit was destined to suffer a deeper wound by the death of Mrs. +Allston, in London, during the same year. These events gave to his +mind a more earnest and undivided interest in his spiritual relations, +and drew him more closely than ever before to his religious duties. +He received the rite of confirmation, and through life was a devout +adherent to the Christian doctrine and discipline. + +The character of Mr. Allston's religious feelings may be gathered, +incidentally, from many of his writings. It is a subject to be treated +with the reserve and delicacy with which he himself would have had it +invested. Few minds have been more thoroughly imbued with belief in +the reality of the unseen world; few have given more full assent to +the truth, that "the things which are seen are temporal, the things +which are not seen are eternal." This was not merely an adopted +opinion, a conviction imposed upon his understanding; it was of the +essence of his spiritual constitution, one of the conditions of his +rational existence. To him, the Supreme Being was no vague, mystical +source of light and truth, or an impersonation of goodness and truth +themselves; nor, on the other hand, a cold rationalistic notion of an +unapproachable executor of natural and moral laws. His spirit rested +in the faith of a sympathetic God. His belief was in a Being as +infinitely minute and sympathetic in his providences, as unlimited +in his power and knowledge. Nor need it be said, that he was a firm +believer in the central truths of Christianity, the Incarnation and +Redemption; that he turned from unaided speculation to the inspired +record and the visible Church; that he sought aid in the sacraments +ordained for the strengthening of infirm humanity, and looked for the +resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. + +After a second residence of seven years in Europe, he returned to +America in 1818, and again made Boston his home. There, in a circle of +warmly attached friends, surrounded by a sympathy and admiration which +his elevation and purity, the entire harmony of his life and pursuits, +could not fail to create, he devoted himself to his art, the labor of +his love. + +This is not the place to enumerate his paintings, or to speak of his +character as an artist. His general reading he continued to the last, +with the earnestness of youth. As he retired from society, his taste +inclined him to metaphysical studies, the more, perhaps, from their +contrast with the usual occupations of his mind. He took particular +pleasure in works of devout Christian speculation, without, however, +neglecting a due proportion of strictly devotional literature. These +he varied by a constant recurrence to the great epic and dramatic +masters, and occasional reading of the earlier and the living +novelists, tales of wild romance and lighter fiction, voyages and +travels, biographies and letters. Nor was he without a strong interest +in the current politics of his own country and of England, as to which +his principles were highly conservative. + +Upon his marriage with the daughter of the late Judge Dana, in 1830, +he removed to Cambridge, and soon afterwards began the preparation of +a course of lectures on Art, which he intended to deliver to a select +audience of artists and men of letters in Boston. Four of these he +completed. Rough drafts of two others were found among his papers, but +not in a state fit for publication. In 1841, he published his tale of +"Monaldi," a production of his early life. The poems in the present +volume, not included in the volume of 1813, are, with two exceptions, +the work of his later years. In them, as in his paintings of the +same period, may be seen the extreme attention to finish, always his +characteristic, which, added to increasing bodily pain and infirmity, +was the cause of his leaving so much that is unfinished behind him. + +His death occurred at his own house, in Cambridge, a little past +midnight on the morning of Sunday, the 9th of July, 1843. He had +finished a day and week of labor in his studio, upon his great picture +of Belshazzar's Feast; the fresh paint denoting that the last touches +of his pencil were given to that glorious but melancholy monument of +the best years of his later life. Having conversed with his retiring +family with peculiar solemnity and earnestness upon the obligation and +beauty of a pure spiritual life, and on the realities of the world to +come, he had seated himself at his nightly employment of reading and +writing, which he usually carried into the early hours of the morning. +In the silence and solitude of this occupation, in a moment, +"with touch as gentle as the morning light," which was even then +approaching, his spirit was called away to its proper home. + + + + +Contents + +Preface By The Editor + +Lectures on Art. + Preliminary Note.--Ideas + Introductory Discourse + Art + Form + Composition + +Aphorisms. + Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio + +The Hypochondriac + + + + +Lectures on Art. + + + + +Preliminary Note. + +Ideas. + + + +As the word _idea_ will frequently occur, and will be found +also to hold an important relation to our present subject, we shall +endeavour, _in limine_, to possess our readers of the particular +sense in which we understand and apply it. + +An Idea, then, according to our apprehension, is the highest or most +perfect _form_ in which any thing, whether of the physical, the +intellectual, or the spiritual, may exist to the mind. By form, we do not +mean _figure_ or _image_ (though these may be included in relation to the +physical); but that condition, or state, in which such objects become +cognizable to the mind, or, in other words, become objects of +consciousness. + +Ideas are of two kinds; which we shall distinguish by the terms _primary_ +and _secondary_: the first being the _manifestation_ of objective +realities; the second, that of the reflex product, so to speak, of the +mental constitution. In both cases, they may be said to be +self-affirmed,--that is, they carry in themselves their own evidence; +being therefore not only independent of the reflective faculties, but +constituting the only unchangeable ground of Truth, to which those +faculties may ultimately refer. Yet have these Ideas no living energy in +themselves; they are but the _forms_, as we have said, through or in which +a higher Power manifests to the consciousness the supreme truth of all +things real, in respect to the first class; and, in respect to the second, +the imaginative truths of the mental products, or mental combinations. Of +the nature and mode of operation of the Power to which we refer, we know, +and can know, nothing; it is one of those secrets of our being which He +who made us has kept to himself. And we should be content with the +assurance, that we have in it a sure and intuitive guide to a reverent +knowledge of the beauty and grandeur of his works,--nay, of his own +adorable reality. And who shall gainsay it, should we add, that this +mysterious Power is essentially immanent in that "breath of life," by +which man becomes "a living soul"? + +In the following remarks we shall confine ourself to the first +class of Ideas, namely, the Real; leaving the second to be noticed +hereafter. + +As to number, ideas are limited only by the number of kinds, without +direct relation to degrees; every object, therefore, having in itself +a _distinctive essential_, has also its distinct idea; while two +or more objects of the same kind, however differing in degree, must +consequently refer only to one and the same. For instance, though a +hundred animals should differ in size, strength, or color, yet, if +none of these peculiarities are essential to the species, they would +all refer to the same supreme idea. + +The same law applies equally, and with the same limitation, to +the essential differences in the intellectual, the moral, and the +spiritual. All ideas, however, have but a potential existence until +they are called into the consciousness by some real object; the +required condition of the object being a predetermined correspondence, +or correlation. Every such object we term an _assimilant_. + +With respect to those ideas which relate to the physical world, we +remark, that, though the assimilants required are supplied by +the senses, the senses have in themselves no _productive, +cooeperating_ energy, being but the passive instruments, or medium, +through which they are conveyed. That the senses, in this relation, +are merely passive, admits of no question, from the obvious difference +between the idea and the objects. The senses can do no more than +transmit the external in its actual forms, leaving the images in the +mind exactly as they found them; whereas the intuitive power rejects, +or assimilates, indefinitely, until they are resolved into the proper +perfect form. Now the power which prescribes that form must, of +necessity, be antecedent to the presentation of the objects which it +thus assimilates, as it could not else give consistence and unity to +what was before separate or fragmentary. And every one who has +ever realized an idea of the class in which alone we compare the +assimilants with the ideal form, be he poet, painter, or philosopher, +well knows the wide difference between the materials and their result. +When an idea is thus realized and made objective, it affirms its own +truth, nor can any process of the understanding shake its foundation; +nay, it is to the mind an essential, imperative truth, then emerging, +as it were, from the dark potential into the light of reality. + +If this be so, the inference is plain, that the relation between the +actual and the ideal is one of necessity, and therefore, also, is the +predetermined correspondence between the prescribed form of an +idea and its assimilant; for how otherwise could the former become +recipient of that which was repugnant or indifferent, when the +presence of the latter constitutes the very condition by which it is +manifested, or can be known to exist? By actual, here, we do not mean +the exclusively physical, but whatever, in the strictest sense, can be +called an _object_, as forming the opposite to a mere subject of +the mind. + +It would appear, then, that what we call ourself must have a +_dual_ reality, that is, in the mind and in the senses, since +neither _alone_ could possibly explain the phenomena of the +other; consequently, in the existence of either we have clearly +implied the reality of both. And hence must follow the still more +important truth, that, in the _conscious presence_ of any +_spiritual_ idea, we have the surest proof of a spiritual object; +nor is this the less certain, though we perceive not the assimilant. +Nay, a spiritual assimilant cannot be perceived, but, to use the words +of St. Paul, is "spiritually discerned," that is, by a sense, so to +speak, of our own spirit. But to illustrate by example: we could not, +for instance, have the ideas of good and evil without their objective +realities, nor of right and wrong, in any intelligible form, without +the moral law to which they refer,--which law we call the Conscience; +nor could we have the idea of a moral law without a moral lawgiver, +and, if moral, then intelligent, and, if intelligent, then personal; +in a word, we could not now have, as we know we have, the idea of +conscience, without an objective, personal God. Such ideas may well be +called revelations, since, without any perceived assimilant, we find +them equally affirmed with those ideas which relate to the purely +physical. + +But here it may be asked, How are we to distinguish an Idea from a mere +_notion_? We answer, By its self-affirmation. For an ideal truth, having +its own evidence in itself, can neither be proved nor disproved by any +thing out of itself; whatever, then, impresses the mind _as_ truth, _is_ +truth until it can be _shown_ to be false; and consequently, in the +converse, whatever can be brought into the sphere of the understanding, as +a dialectic subject, is not an Idea. It will be observed, however, that we +do not say an idea may not be denied; but to deny is not to disprove. Many +things are denied in direct contradiction to fact; for the mind can +command, and in no measured degree, the power of self-blinding, so that it +cannot see what is actually before it. This is a psychological fact, which +may be attested by thousands, who can well remember the time when they had +once clearly discerned what has now vanished from their minds. Nor does +the actual cessation of these primeval forms, or the after presence of +their fragmentary, nay, disfigured relics, disprove their reality, or +their original integrity, as we could not else call them up in their +proper forms at any future time, to the reacknowledging their truth: a +_resuscitation_ and result, so to speak, which many have experienced. + +In conclusion: though it be but one and the same Power that prescribes +the form and determines the truth of all Ideas, there is yet an +essential difference between the two classes of ideas to which we have +referred; for it may well be doubted whether any Primary Idea can ever +be fully realized by a finite mind,--at least in the present state. +Take, for instance, the idea of beauty. In its highest form, as +presented to the consciousness, we still find it referring to +something beyond and above itself, as if it were but an approximation +to a still higher form. The truth of this, we think, will be +particularly felt by the artist, whether poet or painter, whose mind +may be supposed, from his natural bias, to be more peculiarly capable +of its highest developement; and what true artist was ever satisfied +with any idea of beauty of which he is conscious? From this +approximated form, however, he doubtless derives a high degree of +pleasure, nay, one of the purest of which his nature is capable; +yet still is the pleasure modified, if we may so express it, by an +undefined yearning for what he feels can never be realized. And +wherefore this craving, but for the archetype of that which called it +forth?--When we say not satisfied, we do not mean discontented, but +simply not in full fruition. And it is better that it should be +so, since one of the happiest elements of our nature is that which +continually impels it towards the indefinite and unattainable. So +far as we know, the like limits may be set to every other primary +idea,--as if the Creator had reserved to himself alone the possible +contemplation of the archetypes of his universe. + +With regard to the other class, that of Secondary Ideas, which we +have called the reflex product of the mind, their distinguishing +characteristic is, that they not only admit of a perfect realization, +but also of outward manifestation, so as to be communicated to others. +All works of imagination, so called, present examples of this. Hence +they may also be termed imitative or imaginative. For, though they +draw their assimilants from the actual world, and are likewise +regulated by the unknown Power before mentioned, yet are they but the +forms of what, _as a whole_, have no actual existence;--they are +nevertheless true to the mind, and are made so by the same Power which +affirms their possibility. This species of Truth we shall hereafter +have occasion to distinguish as Poetic Truth. + + + + +Introductory Discourse. + + + +Next to the developement of our moral nature, to have subordinated the +senses to the mind is the highest triumph of the civilized state. Were +it possible to embody the present complicated scheme of society, so as +to bring it before us as a visible object, there is perhaps nothing +in the world of sense that would so fill us with wonder; for what is +there in nature that may not fall within its limits? and yet how small +a portion of this stupendous fabric will be found to have any direct, +much less exclusive, relation to the actual wants of the body! It +might seem, indeed, to an unreflecting observer, that our physical +necessities, which, truly estimated, are few and simple, have rather +been increased than diminished by the civilized man. But this is not +true; for, if a wider duty is imposed on the senses, it is only to +minister to the increased demands of the imagination, which is now so +mingled with our every-day concerns, even with our dress, houses, and +furniture, that, except with the brutalized, the purely sensuous wants +might almost be said to have become extinct: with the cultivated and +refined, they are at least so modified as to be no longer prominent. + +But this refilling on the physical, like every thing else, has had its +opponents: it is declaimed against as artificial. If by artificial is +meant unnatural, we cannot so consider it; but hold, on the contrary, +that the whole multiform scheme of the civilized state is not only in +accordance with our nature, but an essential condition to the proper +developement of the human being. It is presupposed by the very wants +of his mind; nor could it otherwise have been, any more than could +have been the cabin of the beaver, or the curious hive of the bee, +without their preexisting instincts; it is therefore in the highest +sense natural, as growing out of the inherent desires of the mind. + +But we would not be misunderstood. When we speak of the refined +state as not out of nature, we mean such results as proceed from the +legitimate growth of our mental constitution, which we suppose to +be grounded in permanent, universal principles; and, whatever +modifications, however subtile, and apparently visionary, may follow +their operation in the world of sense, so long as that operation +diverge not from its original ground, its effect must be, in the +strictest sense, natural. Thus the wildest visions of poetry, the +unsubstantial forms of painting, and the mysterious harmonies of +music, that seem to disembody the spirit, and make us creatures of the +air,--even these, unreal as they are, may all have their foundation +in immutable truth; and we may moreover know of this truth by its own +evidence. Of this species of evidence we shall have occasion to speak +hereafter. But there is another kind of growth, which may well be +called unnatural; we mean, of those diseased appetites, whose effects +are seen in the distorted forms of the _conventional_, having no +ground but in weariness of the true; and it cannot be denied that this +morbid growth has its full share, inwardly and outwardly, both of +space and importance. These, however, must sooner or later end as they +began; they perish in the lie they make; and it were well did not +other falsehoods take their places, to prolong a life whose only +tenure is inconsequential succession,--in other words, Fashion. + +If it be true, then, that even the commonplaces of life must all in +some degree partake of the mental, there can be but one rule by which +to determine the proper rank of any object of pursuit, and that is by +its nearer or more remote relation to our inward nature. Every system, +therefore, which tends to degrade a mental pleasure to the subordinate +or superfluous, is both narrow and false, as virtually reversing its +natural order. + +It pleased our Creator, when he endowed us with appetites and +functions by which to sustain the economy of life, at the same time to +annex to their exercise a sense of pleasure; hence our daily food, and +the daily alternation of repose and action, are no less grateful than +imperative. That life may be sustained, and most of its functions +performed, without any coincident enjoyment, is certainly possible. +Our food may be distasteful, action painful, and rest unrefreshing; +and yet we may eat, and exercise, and sleep, nay, live thus for years. +But this is not our natural condition, and we call it disease. Were +man a mere animal, the very act of living, in his natural or healthy +state, would be to him a continuous enjoyment. But he is also a moral +and an intellectual being; and, in like manner, is the healthful +condition of these, the nobler parts of his nature, attended with +something more than a consciousness of the mere process of existence. +To the exercise of his intellectual faculties and moral attributes the +same benevolent law has superadded a sense of pleasure,--of a kind, +too, in the same degree transcending the highest bodily sensation, as +must that which is immortal transcend the perishable. It is not for us +to ask why it is so; much less, because it squares not with the +poor notion of material usefulness, to call in question a fact that +announces a nature to which the senses are but passing ministers. Let +us rather receive this ennobling law, at least without misgiving, lest +in our sensuous wisdom we exchange an enduring gift for a transient +gratification. + +Of the peculiar fruits of this law, which we shall here distinguish by +the general term _mental pleasures_, it is our purpose to treat +in the present discourse. + +It is with no assumed diffidence that we venture on this subject; for, +though we shall offer nothing not believed to be true, we are but too +sensible how small a portion of truth it is in our power to present. +But, were it far greater, and the present writer of a much higher +order of intellect, there would still be sufficient cause for +humility in view of those impassable bounds that have ever met every +self-questioning of the mind. + +But whilst the narrowness of human knowledge may well preclude all +self-exaltation, it would be worse than folly to hold as naught the +many important truths which have been wrought out for us by the mighty +intellects of the past. If they have left us nothing for vainglory, +they have left us at least enough to be grateful for. Nor is it +a little, that they have taught us to look into those mysterious +chambers of our being,--the abode of the spirit; and not a little, +indeed, if what we are there permitted to know shall have brought with +it the conviction, that we are not abandoned to a blind empiricism, to +waste life in guesses, and to guess at last that we have all our +lives been guessing wrong,--but, unapproachable though it be to the +subordinate Understanding, that we have still within us an abiding +Interpreter, which cannot be gainsaid, which makes our duty to God and +man clear as the light, which ever guards the fountain of all true +pleasures, nay, which holds in subjection the last high gift of the +Creator, that imaginative faculty whereby his exalted creature, made +in his image, might mould at will, from his most marvellous world, yet +unborn forms, even forms of beauty, grandeur, and majesty, having all +of truth but his own divine prerogative,--_the mystery of Life_. + +As the greater part of those Pleasures which we propose to discuss are +intimately connected with the material world, it may be well, perhaps, +to assign some reason for the epithet _mental_. To many, we know, +this will seem superfluous; but, when it is remembered how often we +hear of this and that object delighting the eye, or of certain sounds +charming the ear, it may not be amiss to show that such expressions +have really no meaning except as metaphors. When the senses, as the +medium of communication, have conveyed to the mind either the sounds +or images, their function ceases. So also with respect to the objects: +their end is attained, at least as to us, when the sounds or images +are thus transmitted, which, so far as they are concerned, must for +ever remain the same within as without the mind. For, where the +ultimate end is not in mere bodily sensation, neither the senses nor +the objects possess, of themselves, any productive power; of the +product that follows, the _tertium aliquid_, whether the pleasure +we feel be in a beautiful animal or in according sounds, neither the +one nor the other is really the cause, but simply the _occasion_. +It is clear, then, that the effect realized supposes of necessity +another agent, which must therefore exist only in the mind. But of +this hereafter. + +If the cause of any emotion, which we seem to derive from an outward +object, were inherent exclusively in the object itself, there could +be no failure in any instance, except where the organs of sense were +either diseased or imperfect. But it is a matter of fact that they +often do fail where there is no disease or organic defect. Many of us, +perhaps, can call to mind certain individuals, whose sense of hearing +is as acute as our own, who yet can by no possibility be made to +recognize the slightest relation between the according notes of the +simplest melody; and, though they can as readily as others distinguish +the individual sounds, even to the degrees of flatness and sharpness, +the harmonic agreement is to them as mere noise. Let us suppose +ourselves present at a concert, in company with one such person and +another who possesses what is called musical sensibility. How are +they affected, for instance, by a piece of Mozart's? In the sense +of hearing they are equal: look at them. In the one we perceive +perplexity, annoyance, perhaps pain; he hears nothing but a confused +medley of sounds. In the other, the whole being is rapt in ecstasy, +the unutterable pleasure gushes from his eyes, he cannot articulate +his emotion;--in the words of one, who felt and embodied the subtile +mystery in immortal verse, his very soul seems "lapped in Elysium." +Now, could this difference be possible, were the sole cause, strictly +speaking, in mere matter? + +Nor do we contradict our position, when we admit, in certain +cases,--for instance, in the producer,--the necessity of a nicer +organization, in order to the more perfect _transmission_ of the +finer emotions; inasmuch as what is to be communicated in space and +time must needs be by some medium adapted thereto. + +Such a person as Paganini, it is said, was able to "discourse most +excellent music" on a ballad-monger's fiddle; yet will any one +question that he needed an instrument of somewhat finer construction +to show forth his full powers? Nay, we might add, that he needed no +less than the most delicate _Cremona_,--some instrument, as it +were, articulated into humanity,--to have inhaled and respired those +attenuated strains, which, those who heard them think it hardly +extravagant to say, seemed almost to embody silence. + +Now this mechanical instrument, by means of which such marvels were +wrought, is but one of the many visible symbols of that more subtile +instrument through which the mind acts when it would manifest itself. +It would be too absurd to ask if any one believed that the music we +speak of was created, as well as conveyed, by the instrument. The +violin of Paganini may still be seen and handled; but the soul that +inspired it is buried with its master. + +If we admit a distinction between mind and matter, and the result we +speak of be purely mental, we should contradict the universal law +of nature to assign such a product to mere matter, inasmuch as the +natural law forbids in the lower the production of the higher. Take +an example from one of the lower forms of organic life,--a common +vegetable. Will any one assert that the surrounding inorganic elements +of air, earth, heat, and water produce its peculiar form? Though some, +or all, of these may be essential to its developement, they are so +only as its predetermined correlatives, without which its existence +could not be manifested; and in like manner must the peculiar form of +the vegetable preexist in its life,--in its _idea_,--in order to +evolve by these assimilants its own proper organism. + +No possible modification in the degrees or proportion of these +elements can change the specific form of a plant,--for instance, a +cabbage into a cauliflower; it must ever remain a cabbage, _small or +large, good or bad. _ So, too, is the external world to the +mind; which needs, also, as the condition of its manifestation, its +objective correlative. Hence the presence of some outward object, +predetermined to correspond to the preexisting idea in its living +power, is essential to the evolution of its proper end,--the +pleasurable emotion. We beg it may be noted that we do not say +_sensation_. And hence we hold ourself justified in speaking of +such presence as simply the occasion, or condition, and not, _per +se_, the cause. And hence, moreover, may be inferred the absolute +necessity of Dual Forces in order to the actual existence of any +thing. One alone, the incomprehensible Author of all things, is +self-subsisting in his perfect Unity. + +We shall now endeavour to establish the following proposition: namely, +that the Pleasures in question have their true source in One Intuitive +Universal Principle or living Power, and that the three Ideas of +Beauty, Truth, and Holiness, which we assume to represent the +_perfect_ in the physical, intellectual, and moral worlds, are +but the several realized phases of this sovereign principle, which we +shall call _Harmony_. + +Our first step, then, is to possess ourself of the essential or +distinctive characteristic of these pleasurable emotions. Apparently, +there is nothing more simple. And yet we are acquainted with no single +term that shall fully express it. But what every one has more or less +felt may certainly be made intelligible in a more extended form, and, +we should think, by any one in the slightest degree competent to +self-examination. Let a person, then, be appealed to; and let him put +the question as to what passes within him when possessed by these +emotions; and the spontaneous feeling will answer for us, that what we +call _self_ has no part in them. Nay, we further assert, that, +when singly felt, that is, when unallied to other emotions as +modifying forces, they are wholly unmixed with _any personal +considerations, or any conscious advantage to the individual_. + +Nor is this assigning too high a character to the feelings in question +because awakened in so many instances by the purely physical; since +their true origin may clearly be traced to a common source with those +profounder emotions which we are wont to ascribe to the intellectual +and moral. Besides, it should be borne in mind, that no physical +object can be otherwise to the mind than a mere _occasion_; its +inward product, or mental effect, being from another Power. The proper +view therefore is, not that such alliance can ever degrade the higher +agent, but that its more humble and material _assimilant_ is thus +elevated by it. So that nothing in nature should be counted mean, +which can thus be exalted; but rather be honored, since no object can +become so assimilated except by its predetermined correlation to our +better nature. + +Neither is it the privilege of the exclusive few, the refined and +cultivated, to feel them deeply. If we look beyond ourselves, even to +the promiscuous multitude, the instance will be rare, if existing at +all, where some transient touch of these purer feelings has not raised +the individual to, at least, a momentary exemption from the common +thraldom of self. And we greatly err if their universality is not +solely limited by those "shades of the prison-house," which, in the +words of the poet, too often "close upon the growing boy." Nay, so +far as we have observed, we cannot admit it as a question whether any +person through a whole life has always been wholly insensible,--we +will not say (though well we might) to the good and true,--but to +beauty; at least, to some one kind, or degree, of the beautiful. The +most abject wretch, however animalized by vice, may still be able to +recall the time when a morning or evening sky, a bird, a flower, or +the sight of some other object in nature, has given him a pleasure, +which he felt to be distinct from that of his animal appetites, and +to which he could attach not a thought of self-interest. And, though +crime and misery may close the heart for years, and seal it up for +ever to every redeeming thought, they cannot so shut out from the +memory these gleams of innocence; even the brutified spirit, the +castaway of his kind, has been made to blush at this enduring light; +for it tells him of a truth, which might else have never been +remembered,--that he has once been a man. + +And here may occur a question,--which might well be left to the ultra +advocates of the _cui bono_,--whether a simple flower may not +sometimes be of higher use than a labor-saving machine. + +As to the objects whose effect on the mind is here discussed, it is +needless to specify them; they are, in general, all such as are known +to affect us in the manner described. The catalogue will vary both in +number and kind with different persons, according to the degree of +force or developement in the overruling Principle. + +We proceed, then, to reply to such objections as will doubtless be +urged against the characteristic assumed. And first, as regards the +Beautiful, we shall probably be met by the received notion, that we +experience in Beauty one of the most powerful incentives to passion; +while examples without number will be brought in array to prove it +also the wonder-working cause of almost fabulous transformations,--as +giving energy to the indolent, patience to the quick, perseverance +to the fickle, even courage to the timid; and, _vice versa_, as +unmanning the hero,--nay, urging the honorable to falsehood, treason, +and murder; in a word, through the mastered, bewildered, sophisticated +_self_, as indifferently raising and sinking the fascinated +object to the heights and depths of pleasure and misery, of virtue and +vice. + +Now, if the Beauty here referred to is of the _human being_, we +do not gainsay it; but this is beauty in its _mixed mode_,--not +in its high, passionless form, its singleness and purity. It is not +Beauty as it descended from heaven, in the cloud, the rainbow, the +flower, the bird, or in the concord of sweet sounds, that seem to +carry back the soul to whence it came. + +Could we look, indeed, at the human form in its simple, unallied +physical structure,--on that, for instance, of a beautiful woman,--and +forget, or rather not feel, that it is other than a _form_, there +could be but one feeling: that nothing visible was ever so framed to +banish from the soul every ignoble thought, and imbue it, as it were, +with primeval innocence. + +We are quite aware that the doctrine assumed in our main proposition +with regard to Beauty, as holding exclusive relation to the Physical, +is not very likely to forestall favor; we therefore beg for it only +such candid attention as, for the reasons advanced, it may appear to +deserve. + +That such effects as have just been objected could not be from Beauty +alone, in its pure and single form, but rather from its coincidence +with some real or supposed moral or intellectual quality, or with the +animal appetites, seems to us clear; as, were it otherwise, we might +infer the same from a beautiful infant,--the very thought of which is +revolting to common sense. In such conjunction, indeed, it cannot but +have a certain influence, but so modified as often to become a mere +accessory, subordinated to the animal or moral object, and for the +attainment of an end not its own; in proof of which, we find it almost +uniformly partaking the penalty imposed on its incidental associates, +should ever their desires result in illusion,--namely, in the aversion +that follows. But the result of Beauty can never be such; when it +seems otherwise, the effect, we think, can readily be traced to other +causes, as we shall presently endeavour to show. + +It cannot be a matter of controversy whether Beauty is limited to the +human form; the daily experience of the most ordinary man would answer +No: he finds it in the woods, the fields, in plants and animals, +nay, in a thousand objects, as he looks upon nature; nor, though +indefinitely diversified, does he hesitate to assign to each the same +epithet. And why? Because the feelings awakened by all are similar in +kind, though varying, doubtless, by many degrees in intenseness. Now +suppose he is asked of what personal advantage is all this beauty to +him. Verily, he would be puzzled to answer. It gives him pleasure, +perhaps great pleasure. And this is all he could say. But why should +the effect be different, except in degree, from the beauty of a human +being? We have already the answer in this concluding term. For what is +a human being but one who unites in himself a physical, intellectual, +and moral nature, which cannot in one become even an object of thought +without at least some obscure shadowings of its natural allies? How, +then, can we separate that which has an exclusive relation to his +physical form, without some perception of the moral and intellectual +with which it is joined? But how do we know that Beauty is limited +to such exclusive relation? This brings us to the great problem; so +simple and easy of solution in all other cases, yet so intricate and +apparently inexplicable in man. In other things, it would be felt +absurd to make it a question, whether referring to form, color, or +sound. A single instance will suffice. Let us suppose, then, an +unfamiliar object, whose habits, disposition, and so forth, are wholly +unknown, for instance, a bird of paradise, to be seen for the +first time by twenty persons, and they all instantly call it +beautiful;--could there be any doubt that the pleasure it produced +in each was of the same kind? or would any one of them ascribe his +pleasure to any thing but its form and plumage? Concerning natural +objects, and those inferior animals which are not under the influence +of domestic associations, there is little or no difference among men: +if they differ, it is only in degree, according to their sensibility. +Men do not dispute about a rose. And why? Because there is nothing +beside the physical to interfere with the impression it was +predetermined to make; and the idea of beauty is realized instantly. +So, also, with respect to other objects of an opposite character; they +can speak without deliberating, and call them plain, homely, ugly, and +so on, thus instinctively expressing even their degree of remoteness +from the condition of beauty. Who ever called a pelican beautiful, or +even many animals endeared to us by their valuable qualities,--such as +the intelligent and docile elephant, or the affectionate orang-outang, +or the faithful mastiff? Nay, we may run through a long list of most +useful and amiable creatures, that could not, under any circumstances, +give birth to an emotion corresponding to that which we ascribe to the +beautiful. + +But there is scarcely a subject on which mankind are wider at +variance, than on the beauty of their own species,--some preferring +this, and others that, particular conformation; which can only be +accounted for on the supposition of some predominant expression, +either moral, intellectual, or sensual, with which they are in +sympathy, or else the reverse. While some will task their memory, +and resort to the schools, for their supposed infallible +_rules_;--forgetting, meanwhile, that ultimate tribunal to which +their canon must itself appeal, the ever-living principle which first +evolved its truth, and which now, as then, is not to be reasoned +about, but _felt_. It need not be added how fruitful of blunders +is this mechanical ground. + +Now we venture to assert that no mistake was ever made, even in a +single glance, concerning any natural object, not disfigured by human +caprice, or which the eye had not been trained to look at through +some conventional medium. Under this latter circumstance, there are +doubtless many things in nature which affect men very differently; and +more especially such as, from their familiar nearness, have come under +the influence of _opinion_, and been incrusted, as it were, by +the successive deposits of many generations. But of the vast and +various multitude of objects which have thus been forced from their +original state, there is perhaps no one which has undergone so many +and such strange disfigurements as the human form; or in relation to +which our "ideas," as we are pleased to call them, but in truth our +opinions, have been so fluctuating. If an Idea, indeed, had any thing +to do with Fashion, we should call many things monstrous to +which custom has reconciled us. Let us suppose a case, by way of +illustration. A gentleman and lady, from one of our fashionable +cities, are making a tour on the borders of some of our new +settlements in the West. They are standing on the edge of a forest, +perhaps admiring the grandeur of nature; perhaps, also, they are +lovers, and sharing with nature their admiration for each other, whose +personal charms are set off to the utmost, according to the most +approved notions, by the taste and elegance of their dress. Then +suppose an Indian hunter, who had never seen one of our civilized +world, or heard of our costume, coming suddenly upon them, their faces +being turned from him. Would it be possible for him to imagine what +kind of animals they were? We think not; and least of all, that he +would suppose them to be of his own species. This is no improbable +case; and we very much fear, should it ever occur, that the unrefined +savage would go home with an impression not very flattering either to +the milliner or the tailor. + +That, under such disguises, we should consider human beauty as a kind +of enigma, or a thing to dispute about, is not surprising; nor even +that we should often differ from ourselves, when so much of the +outward man is thus made to depend on the shifting humors of some +paramount Petronius of the shears. But, admitting it to be an easy +matter to divest the form, or, what is still more important, our +own minds, of every thing conventional, there is the still greater +obstacle to any true effect from the person alone, in that moral +admixture, already mentioned, which, more or less, must color the +most of our impressions from every individual. Is there not, then, +sufficient ground for at least a doubt if, excepting idiots, there is +one human being in whom the purely physical is _at all times_ the +sole agent? We do not say that it does not generally predominate. But, +in a compound being like man, it seems next to impossible that the +nature within should not at times, in some degree, transpire through +the most rigid texture of the outward form. We may not, indeed, always +read aright the character thus obscurely indexed, or even be able to +guess at it, one way or the other; still, it will affect us; nay, most +so, perhaps, when most indefinite. Every man is, to a certain extent, +a physiognomist: we do not mean, according to the common acceptation, +that he is an interpreter of lines and quantities, which may be +reduced to rules; but that he is born one, judging, not by any +conscious rule, but by an instinct, which he can neither explain nor +comprehend, and which compels him to sit in judgment, whether he will +or no. How else can we account for those instantaneous sympathies and +antipathies towards an utter stranger? + +Now this moral influence has a twofold source, one in the object, +and another in ourselves; nor is it easy to determine which is the +stronger as a counteracting force. Hitherto we have considered only +the former; we now proceed with a few remarks upon the latter. + +Will any man say, that he is wholly without some natural or acquired +bias? This is the source of the counteracting influence which we speak +of in ourselves; but which, like many other of the secret springs, +both of thought and feeling, few men think of. It is nevertheless one +which, on this particular subject, is scarcely ever inactive; +and according to the bias will be our impressions, whether we be +intellectual or sensual, coldly speculative or ardently imaginative. +We do not mean that it is always called forth by every thing we +approach; we speak only of its usual activity between man and man; for +there seems to be a mysterious something in our nature, that, in spite +of our wishes, will rarely allow of an absolute indifference towards +any of the species; some effect, however slight, even as that of the +air which we unconsciously inhale and again respire, must follow, +whether directly from the object or reacting from ourselves. Nay, so +strong is the law, whether in attraction or repulsion, that we cannot +resist it even in relation to those human shadows projected on air by +the mere imagination; for we feel it in art only less than in nature, +provided, however, that the imagined being possess but the indication +of a human soul: yet not so is it, if presenting only the outward +form, since a mere form can in itself have no affinity with either +the heart or intellect. And here we would ask, Does not this +striking exception in the present argument cast back, as it were, a +confirmatory reflection? + +We have often thought, that the power of the mere form could not be +more strongly exemplified than at a common paint-shop. Among the +annual importations from the various marts of Europe, how +many beautiful faces, without an atom of meaning, attract the +passengers,--stopping high and low, people of all descriptions, +and actually giving pleasure, if not to every one, at least to the +majority; and very justly, for they have beauty, and _nothing +else_. But let another artist, some man of genius, copy the same +faces, and add character,--breathe into them souls: from that moment +the passers-by would see as if with other eyes; the affections and +the imagination then become the spectators; and, according to the +quickness or dulness, the vulgarity or refinement, of these, would be +the impression. Thus a coarse mind may feel the beauty in the hard, +soulless forms of Van der Werf, yet turn away with apathy from the +sanctified loveliness of a Madonna by Raffaelle. + +But to return to the individual bias, which is continually inclining +to, or repelling, What is more common, especially with women, than +a high admiration of a plain person, if connected with wit, or a +pleasing address? Can we have a stronger case in point than that of +the celebrated Wilkes, one of the ugliest, yet one of the most +admired men of his time? Even his own sex, blinded no doubt by their +sympathetic bias, could see no fault in him, either in mind or +person; for, when it was objected to the latter, that "he squinted +confoundedly," the reply was, "No, Sir, not more than a gentleman +ought to squint." + +Of the tendency to particular pursuits,--to art, science, or any +particular course of life,--we do not speak; the bias we allude to is +in the more personal disposition of the man,--in that which gives a +tone to his internal character; nor is it material of what +proportions compounded, of the affections, or the intellect, or the +senses,--whether of some only, or the whole; that these form the +ground of every man's bias is no less certain, than the fact that +there is scarcely any secret which men are in the habit of guarding +with such sedulous care. Nay, it would seem as if every one were +impelled to it by some superstitious instinct, that every one might +have it to say to himself, There is one thing in me which is all _my +own_. Be this as it may, there are few things more hazardous than +to pronounce with confidence on any man's bias. Indeed, most men would +be puzzled to name it to themselves; but its existence in them is +not the less a fact, because the form assumed may be so mixed and +complicated as to be utterly undefinable. It is enough, however, that +every one feels, and is more or less led by it, whether definite or +not. + +This being the case, how is it possible that it should not in some +degree affect our feelings towards every one we meet,--that it should +not leave some speck of leaven on each impression, which shall +impregnate it with something that we admire and love, or else with +that which we hate and despise? + +And what is the most beautiful or the most ungainly form before a +sorcerer like this, who can endow a fair simpleton with the rarest +intellect, or transform, by a glance, the intellectual, noble-hearted +dwarf to an angel of light? These, of course, are extreme cases. But +if true in these, as we have reason to believe, how formidable the +power! + +But though, as before observed, we may not read this secret with +precision, it is sometimes possible to make a shrewd guess at the +prevailing tendency in certain individuals. Perhaps the most obvious +cases are among the sanguine and imaginative; and the guess would be, +that a beautiful person would presently be enriched with all possible +virtues, while the colder speculatist would only see in it, not what +it possessed, but the mind that it wanted. Now it would be curious to +imagine (and the case is not impossible) how the eyes of each might be +opened, with the probable consequence, how each might feel when his +eyes were opened, and the object was seen as it really is. Some +untoward circumstance comes unawares on the perfect creature: a burst +of temper knits the brow, inflames the eye, inflates the nostril, +gnashes the teeth, and converts the angel into a storming fury. What +then becomes of the visionary virtues? They have passed into air, and +taken with them, also, what was the fair creature's right,--her +very beauty. Yet a different change takes place with the dry man of +intellect. The mindless object has taken shame of her ignorance; she +begins to cultivate her powers, which are gradually developed until +they expand and brighten; they inform her features, so that no one can +look upon them without seeing the evidence of no common intellect: the +dry man, at last, is struck with their superior intelligence, and what +more surprises him is the grace and beauty, which, for the first time, +they reveal to his eyes. The learned dust which had so long buried his +heart is quickly brushed away, and he weds the embodied mind. What +third change may follow, it is not to our purpose to foresee. + +Has human beauty, then, no power? When united with virtue and +intellect, we might almost answer,--All power. It is the embodied +harmony of the true poet; his visible Muse; the guardian angel of his +better nature; the inspiring sibyl of his best affections, drawing him +to her with a purifying charm, from the selfishness of the world, from +poverty and neglect, from the low and base, nay, from his own frailty +or vices:--for he cannot approach her with unhallowed thoughts, whom +the unlettered and ignorant look up to with awe, as to one of a +race above them; before whom the wisest and best bow down without +abasement, and would bow in idolatry but for a higher reverence. +No! there is no power like this of mortal birth. But against the +antagonist moral, the human beauty of itself has no power, no +self-sustaining life. While it panders to evil desires, then, indeed, +there are few things may parallel its fearful might. But the unholy +alliance must at last have an end. Look at it then, when the beautiful +serpent has cast her slough. + +Let us turn to it for a moment, and behold it in league with elegant +accomplishments and a subtile intellect: how complete its triumph! If +ever the soul may be said to be intoxicated, it is then, when it feels +the full power of a beautiful, bad woman. The fabled enchantments +of the East are less strange and wonder-working than the marvellous +changes which her spell has wrought. For a time every thought seems +bound to her will; the eternal eye of the conscience closes before +her; the everlasting truths of right and wrong sleep at her bidding; +nay, things most gross and abhorred become suddenly invested with +a seeming purity: till the whole mind is hers, and the bewildered +victim, drunk with her charms, calls evil good. Then, what may follow? +Read the annals of crime; it will tell us what follows the broken +spell,--broken by the first degrading theft, the first stroke of the +dagger, or the first drop of poison. The felon's eye turns upon the +beautiful sorceress with loathing and abhorrence: an asp, a toad, is +not more hateful! The story of Milwood has many counterparts. + +But, although Beauty cannot sustain itself permanently against what is +morally bad, and has no direct power of producing good, it yet may, +and often does, when unobstructed, through its unimpassioned purity, +predispose to the good, except, perhaps, in natures grossly depraved; +inasmuch as all affinities to the pure are so many reproaches to the +vitiated mind, unless convertible to some selfish end. Witness the +beautiful wife, wedded for what is misnamed love, yet becoming the +scorn of a brutal husband,--the more bitter, perhaps, if she be also +good. But, aside from those counteracting causes so often mentioned, +it is as we have said: we are predisposed to feel kindly, and to think +purely, of every beautiful object, until we have reason to think +otherwise; and according to our own hearts will be our thoughts. + +We are aware of but one other objection which has not been noticed, +and which might be made to the intuitive nature of the Idea. How is +it, we may be asked, that artists, who are supposed, from their early +discipline, to have overcome all conventional bias, and also to have +acquired the more difficult power of analyzing their models, so as to +contemplate them in their separate elements, have so often varied as +to their ideas of Beauty? Whether artists have really the power thus +ascribed to them, we shall not here inquire; it is no doubt, if +possible, their business to acquire it. But, admitting it as true, we +deny the position: they do not change their ideas. They can have but +one Idea of Beauty, inasmuch as that Idea is but a specific phase of +one immutable Principle,--if there be such a principle; as we shall +hereafter endeavour to show. Nor can they have of it any +essentially different, much less opposite, conceptions: but their +_apprehension_ of it may undergo many apparent changes, which, +nevertheless, are but the various degrees that only mark a fuller +conception; as their more extended acquaintance with the higher +outward assimilants of Beauty brings them, of course, nearer to a +perfect realization of the preexisting Idea. By _perfect_, here, +we mean only the nearest approximation by man. And we appeal to every +artist, competent to answer, if it be not so. Does he ever descend +from a higher assimilant to a lower? Suppose him to have been born in +Italy; would he go to Holland to realize his Idea? But many a Dutchman +has sought in Italy what he could not find in his own country. We +do not by this intend any reflection on the latter,--a country so +fruitful of genius; it is only saying that the human form in Italy is +from a finer mould. Then, what directs the artist from one object to +another, and determines him which to choose, if he has not the guide +within him? And why else should all nations instinctively bow before +the superior forms of Greece? + +We add but one remark. Supposing the artist to be wholly freed from +all modifying biases, such is seldom the case with those who criticize +his work,--especially those who would show their superiority by +detecting faults, and who frequently condemn the painter simply for +not expressing what he never aimed at. As to some, they are never +content if they do not find beauty, whatever the subject, though +it may neutralize the character, if not render it ridiculous. Were +Raffaelle, who seldom sought the purely beautiful, to be judged by +the want of it, he would fall below Guido. But his object was much +higher,--in the intellect and the affections; it was the human being +in his endless inflections of thought and passion, in which there is +little probability he will ever be approached. Yet false criticism has +been as prodigal to him in the ascription of beauty, as parsimonious +and unjust to many others. + +In conclusion, may there not be, in the difficulty we have thus +endeavoured to solve, a probable significance of the responsible, as +well as distinct, position which the Human being holds in the world of +life? Are there no shadowings, in that reciprocal influence between +soul and soul, of some mysterious chain which links together the human +family in its two extremes, giving to the very lowest an indefeasible +claim on the highest, so that we cannot be independent if we would, +or indifferent even to the very meanest, without violation of an +imperative law of our nature? And does it not at least _hint_ +of duties and affections towards the most deformed in body, the most +depraved in mind,--of interminable consequences? If man were a mere +animal, though the highest animal, could these inscrutable influences +affect us as they do? Would not the animal appetites be our true and +sole end? What even would Beauty be to the sated appetite? If it did +not, as in the last instance, of the brutal husband, become an object +of scorn,--which it could not be, from the necessary absence of moral +obliquity,--would it be better than a picked bone to a gorged dog? +Least of all could it resemble the visible sign of that pure idea, in +which so many lofty minds have recognized the type of a far higher +love than that of earth, which the soul shall know, when, in a better +world, she shall realize the ultimate reunion of Beauty with the +coeternal forms of Truth and Holiness. + +We will now apply the characteristic assumed to the second leading +Idea, namely, to Truth. In the first place, we take it for granted, +that no one will deny to the perception of truth some positive +pleasure; no one, at least, who is not at the same time prepared to +contradict the general sense of mankind, nay, we will add, their +universal experience. The moment we begin to think, we begin to +acquire, whether it be in trifles or otherwise, some kind of +knowledge; and of two things presented to our notice, supposing one to +be true and the other false, no one ever knowingly, and for its own +sake, chooses the false: whatever he may do in after life, for some +selfish purpose, he cannot do so in childhood, where there is no such +motive, without violence to his nature. And here we are supposing the +understanding, with its triumphant pride and subtilty, out of the +question, and the child making his choice under the spontaneous sense +of the true and the false. For, were it otherwise, and the choice +indifferent, what possible foundation for the commonest acts of life, +even as it respects himself, would there be to him who should sow with +lies the very soil of his growing nature. It is time enough in manhood +to begin to lie to one's self; but a self-lying youth can have no +proper self to rest on, at any period. So that the greatest liar, even +Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, must have loved the truth,--at least at one +time of his life. We say _loved_; for a voluntary choice implies +of necessity some degree of pleasure in the choosing, however faint +the emotion or insignificant the object. It is, therefore, _caeteris +paribus_, not only necessary, but natural, to find pleasure in +truth. + +Now the question is, whether the pleasurable emotion, which is, so +to speak, the indigenous growth of Truth, can in any case be free of +self, or some personal gratification. To this, we apprehend, there +will be no lack of answer. Nay, the answer has already been given from +the dark antiquity of ages, that even for her own exceeding loveliness +has Truth been canonized. If there was any thing of self in the +_Eureka_ of Pythagoras, there was not in the acclamations of +his country who rejoiced with him. But we may doubt the feeling, if +applied to him. If wealth or fame has sometimes followed in the track +of Genius, it has followed as an accident, but never preceded, as the +efficient conductor to any great discovery. For what is Genius but the +prophetic revealer of the unseen True, that can neither be purchased +nor bribed into light? If it come, then, at all, it must needs be +evoked by a kindred love as pure as itself. Shall we appeal to the +artist? If he deserve the name, he will disdain the imputation that +either wealth or fame has ever aided at the birth of his ideal +offspring: it was Truth that smiled upon him, that made light his +travail, that blessed their birth, and, by her fond recognition, +imparted to his breast her own most pure, unimpassioned emotion. But, +whatever mixed feeling, through the infirmity of the agent, may have +influenced the artist, whether poet or painter, there can be but one +feeling in the reader or spectator. + +Indeed, so imperishable is this property of Truth, that it seems to +lose nothing of its power, even when causing itself to be reflected +from things that in themselves have, properly speaking, no truth. Of +this we have abundant examples in some of the Dutch pictures, where +the principal object is simply a dish of oysters or a pickled herring. +We remember a picture of this kind, consisting solely of these very +objects, from which we experienced a pleasure _almost_ exquisite. +And we would here remark, that the appetite then was in no way +concerned. The pleasure, therefore, must have been from the imitated +truth. It is certainly a curious question why this should be, while +the things themselves, that is, the actual objects, should produce no +such effect. And it seems to be because, in the latter case, there was +no truth involved. The real oysters, &c., were indeed so far true as +they were actual objects, but they did not contain a _truth_ in +_relation_ to any thing. Whereas, in the pictured oysters, +their relation to the actual was shown and verified in the mutual +resemblance. + +If this be true, as we doubt not, we have at least one evidence, where +it might not be looked for, that there is that in Truth which is +satisfying of itself. But a stronger testimony may still be found +where, from all _a priori_ reasoning, we might expect, if not +positive pain, at least no pleasure; and that is, where we find it +united with human suffering, as in the deep scenes of tragedy. Now it +cannot be doubted, that some of our most refined pleasures are often +derived from this source, and from scenes that in nature we could +not look upon. And why is this, but for the reason assigned in the +preceding instance of a still-life picture? the only difference being, +that the latter is addressed to the senses, and the former to the +heart and intellect: which difference, however, well accounts for +their vast disparity of effect. But may not these tragic pleasures +have their source in sympathy alone? We answer, No. For who ever felt +it in watching the progress of actual villany or the betrayal of +innocence, or in being an eyewitness of murder? Now, though we revolt +at these and the like atrocities in actual life, it would be both new +and false to assert that they have no attraction in Art. + +Nor do we believe that this acknowledged interest can well be traced +to any other source than the one assumed; namely, to the truth +of _relation_. And in this capacity does Truth stand to the +Imagination, which is the proper medium through which the artist, +whether poet or painter, projects his scenes. + +The seat of interest here, then, being _in_ the imagination, it +is precisely on that account, and because it cannot be brought home to +self, that the pleasure ensues; which is plainly, therefore, derived +from its verisimilitude to the actual, and, though together with its +appropriate excitement, yet without its imperative condition, namely, +its call of _life_ on the living affections. + +The proper word here is _interest_, not sympathy, for sympathy +with actual suffering, be the object good or bad, is in its nature +painful; an obvious reason why so few in the more prosaic world have +the virtue to seek it. + +But is it not the business of the artist to touch the heart? +True,--and it is his high privilege, as its liege-lord, to sound its +very depths; nay, from its lowest deep to touch alike its loftiest +breathing pinnacle. Yet he may not even approach it, except through +the transforming atmosphere of the imagination, where alone the +saddest notes of woe, even the appalling shriek of despair, are +softened, as it were, by the tempering dews of this visionary region, +ere they fall upon the heart. Else how could we stand the smothered +moan of Desdemona, or the fiendish adjuration of Lady Macbeth,--more +frightful even than the after-deed of her husband,--or look upon the +agony of the wretched Judas, in the terrible picture of Rembrandt, +when he returns the purchase of blood to the impenetrable Sanhedrim? +Ay, how could we ever stand these but for that ideal panoply through +which we feel only their modified vibrations? + +Let the imitation, or rather copy, be so close as to trench on +deception, the effect will be far different; for, the _condition_ +of _relation_ being thus virtually lost, the copy becomes as +the original,--circumscribed by its own qualities, repulsive or +attractive, as the case may be. I remember a striking instance of this +in a celebrated actress, whose copies of actual suffering were so +painfully accurate, that I was forced to turn away from the scene, +unable to endure it; her scream of agony in Belvidera seemed to ring +in my ears for hours after. Not so was it with the great Mrs. Siddons, +who moved not a step but in a poetic atmosphere, through which the +fiercest passions seemed rather to _loom_ like distant mountains +when first descried at sea,--massive and solid, yet resting on air. + +It would appear, then, that there is something in truth, though but +seen in the dim shadow of relation, that enforces interest,--and, so +it be without pain, at least some degree of pleasure; which, however +slight, is not unimportant, as presenting an impassable barrier to the +mere animal. We must not, however, be understood as claiming for this +Relative Truth the power of exciting a pleasurable interest in +all possible cases; there are exceptions, as in the horrible, the +loathsome, &c., which under no condition can be otherwise than +revolting. It is enough for our purpose, to have shown that its effect +is in most cases similar to that we have ascribed to Truth absolute. + +But objections are the natural adversaries of every adventurer: there +is one in our path which we soon descried at our first setting +out. And we find it especially opposed to the assertion respecting +children; namely, that between two things, where there is no personal +advantage to bias the decision, they will always choose that which +seems to them true, rather than the other which appears false. To +this is opposed the notorious fact of the remarkable propensity which +children have to lying. This is readily admitted; but it does not meet +us, unless it can be shown that they have not in the act of lying an +eye to its _reward_,--setting aside any outward advantage,--in +the shape of self-complacent thought at their superior wit or +ingenuity. Now it is equally notorious, that such secret triumph will +often betray itself by a smile, or wink, or some other sign from +the chuckling urchin, which proves any thing but that the lie was +gratuitous. No, not even a child can love a lie purely for its own +sake; he would else love it in another, which is against fact. Indeed, +so far from it, that, long before he can have had any notion of what +is meant by honor, the word _liar_ becomes one of his first and +most opprobrious terms of reproach. Look at any child's face when he +tells his companion he lies. We ask no more than that most logical +expression; and, if it speak not of a natural abhorrence only to be +overcome by self-interest, there is no trust in any thing. No. We +cannot believe that man or child, however depraved, _could_ tell +an _unproductive, gratuitous lie_. + +Of the last and highest source of our pleasurable emotions we need say +little; since no one will question that, if sought at all, it can +only be for its own sake. But it does not become us--at least in this +place--to enter on the subject of Holiness; of that angelic state, +whose only manifestation is in the perfect unison with the Divine +Will. We may, however, consider it in the next degree, as it is known, +and as we believe often realized, among men: we mean Goodness. + +We presume it is superfluous to define a good act; for every one +knows, or ought to know, that no act is good in its true sense, which +has any, the least, reference to the agent's self. Nor is it necessary +to adduce examples; our object being rather to show that the +recognition of goodness--and we beg that the word be especially +noted--must result, of necessity, in such an emotion as shall partake +of its own character, that is, be entirely devoid of self-interest. + +This will no doubt appear to many a startling position. But let it be +observed, that we have not said it will _always_ be recognized. +There are many reasons why it should not be, and is not. We all know +how easy it is to turn away from what gives us no pleasure. A long +course of vice, together with the consciousness that goodness has +departed from ourselves, may make it painful to look upon it. Nay, +the contemplation of it may become, on this account, so painful as to +amount to agony. But that Goodness can be hated for its own sake we do +not believe, except by a devil, or some irredeemable incarnation of +evil, if such there be on this side the grave. But it is objected, +that bad men have sometimes a pleasure in Evil from which they neither +derive nor hope for any personal advantage, that is, simply _because +it is evil_. But we deny the fact. We deny that an unmixed +pleasure, which is purely abstracted from all reference to self, is in +the power of Evil. Should any man assert this even of himself, he is +not to be believed; he lies to his own heart,--and this he may do +without being conscious of it. But how can this be? Nothing more +easy: by a simple dislocation of words; by the aid of that false +nomenclature which began with the first Fratricide, and has +continued to accumulate through successive ages, till it reached +its consummation, for every possible sin, in the French Revolution. +Indeed, there are few things more easy; it is only to transfer to the +evil the name of its opposite. Some of us, perhaps, may have witnessed +the savage exultation of some hardened wretch, when the accidental +spectator of an atrocious act. But is such exultation pleasure? Is it +at all akin to what is recognized as pleasure even by this hardened +wretch? Yet so he may call it. But should we, could we look into his +heart? Should we not rather pause for a time, from mere ignorance of +the true vernacular of sin. What he feels may thus be a mystery to all +but the reprobate; but it is not pleasure either in the deed or the +doer: for, as the law of Good is Harmony, so is Discord that of Evil; +and as sympathy to Harmony, so is revulsion to Discord. And where is +hatred deepest and deadliest? Among the wicked. Yet they often hate +the good. True: but not goodness, not the good man's virtues; these +they envy, and hate him for possessing them. But more commonly the +object of dislike is first stripped of his virtues by detraction; the +detractor then supplies their place by the needful vices,--perhaps +with his own; then, indeed, he is ripe for hatred. When a sinful act +is made personal, it is another affair; it then becomes a _part_ +of _the man_; and he may then worship it with the idolatry of +a devil. But there is a vast gulf between his own idol and that of +another. + +To prevent misapprehension, we would here observe, that we do not +affirm of either Good or Evil any irresistible power of enforcing +love or exciting abhorrence, having evidence to the contrary in +the multitudes about us; all we affirm is, that, when contemplated +abstractly, they cannot be viewed otherwise. Nor is the fact of +their inefficiency in many cases difficult of solution, when it is +remembered that the very condition to their _true_ effect is +the complete absence of self, that they must clearly be viewed _ab +extra_; a hard, not to say impracticable, condition to the very +depraved; for it may well be doubted if to such minds any act or +object having a moral nature can be presented without some personal +relation. It is not therefore surprising, that, where the condition is +so precluded, there should be, not only no proper response to the +law of Good or Evil, but such frequent misapprehension of their true +character. Were it possible to see with the eyes of others, this might +not so often occur; for it need not be remarked, that few things, if +any, ever retain their proper forms in the atmosphere of self-love; +a fact that will account for many obliquities besides the one in +question. To this we may add, that the existence of a compulsory power +in either Good or Evil could not, in respect to man, consist with his +free agency,--without which there could be no conscience; nor does it +follow, that, because men, with the free power of choice, yet so often +choose wrong, there is any natural indistinctness in the absolute +character of Evil, which, as before hinted, is sufficiently apparent +to them when referring to others; in such cases the obliquitous choice +only shows, that, with the full force of right perception, their +interposing passions or interests have also the power of giving their +own color to every object having the least relation to themselves. + +Admitting this personal modification, we may then safely repeat our +position,--that to hate Good or to love Evil, solely for their own +sakes, is only possible with the irredeemably wicked, in other words, +with devils. + +We now proceed to the latter clause of our general proposition. And here +it may be asked, on what ground we assume one intuitive universal +Principle as the true source of all those emotions which have just been +discussed. To this we reply, On the ground of their common agreement. As +we shall here use the words _effect_ and _emotion_ as convertible terms, +we wish it to be understood, that, when we apply the epithet _common_ or +_same_ to _effect_, we do so only in relation to _kind_, and for the +sake of brevity, instead of saying the same _class_ of effects; implying +also in the word _kind_ the existence of many degrees, but no other +difference. For instance, if a beautiful flower and a noble act shall be +found to excite a kindred emotion, however slight from the one or deep +from the other, they come in effect under the same category. And this we +are forced to admit, however heterogeneous, since a common ground is +necessarily predicated of a common result. How else, for instance, can +we account for a scene in nature, a bird, an animal, a human form, +affecting us each in a similar way? There is certainly no similitude in +the objects that compose a landscape, and the form of an animal and man; +they have no resemblance either in shape, or texture, or color, in +roughness, smoothness, or any other known quality; while their several +effects are so near akin, that we do not stop to measure even the wide +degrees by which they are marked, but class them in a breath by some +common term. It is very plain that this singular property of +assimilating to one what is so widely unlike cannot proceed from any +similar conformation, or quality, or attribute of mere being, that is, +of any thing essential to distinctive existence. There must needs, then, +be some common ground for their common effect. For if they agree not in +themselves one with the other, it follows of necessity that the ground +of their agreement must be in relation to something within our own +minds, since only _there_ is this common effect known as a fact. + +We are now brought to the important question, _Where_ and +_what_ is this reconciling ground? Certainly not in sensation, +for that could only reflect their distinctive differences. Neither can +it be in the reflective faculties, since the effect in question, being +co-instantaneous, is wholly independent of any process of reasoning; +for we do not feel it because we understand, but only because we are +conscious of its presence. Nay, it is because we neither do nor can +understand it, being therefore a matter aloof from all the powers of +reasoning, that its character is such as has been asserted, and, as +such, universal. + +Where, then, shall we search for this mysterious ground but in the +mind, since only there, as before observed, is this common effect +known as a fact? and where in the mind but in some inherent Principle, +which is both intuitive and universal, since, in a greater or less +degree, all men feel it _without knowing why?_ + +But since an inward Principle can, of necessity, have only a potential +existence, until called into action by some outward object, it is also +clear that any similar effect, which shall then be recognized through +it, from any number of differing and distinct objects, can only arise +from some mutual relation between a _something_ in the objects +and in the Principle supposed, as their joint result and proper +product. + +And, since it would appear that we cannot avoid the admission of +some such Principle, having a reciprocal relation to certain outward +objects, to account for these kindred emotions from so many distinct +and heterogeneous sources, it remains only that we give it a name; +which has already been anticipated in the term Harmony. + +The next question here is, In what consists this _peculiar relation?_ We +have seen that it cannot be in any thing that is essential to any +condition of mere being or existence; it must therefore consist in some +_undiscoverable_ condition indifferently applicable to the Physical, +Intellectual, and Moral, yet only applicable in each to certain kinds. + +And this is all that we do or _can_ know of it. But of this we +may be as certain as that we live and breathe. + +It is true that, for particular purposes, we may analyze certain +combinations of sounds and colors and forms, so as to ascertain their +relative quantities or collocation; and these facts (of which we shall +hereafter have occasion to speak) may be of importance both in Art and +Science. Still, when thus obtained, they will be no more than mere +facts, on which we can predicate nothing but that, when they are +imitated,--that is, when similar combinations of quantities, &c., are +repeated in a work of art,--they will produce the same effect. But +_why_ they should is a mystery which the reflective faculties do +not solve; and never can, because it refers to a living Power that is +above the understanding. In the human figure, for instance, we can +give no reason why eight heads to the stature please us better than +six, or why three or twelve heads seem to us monstrous. If we say, in +the latter case, _because_ the head of the one is too small and +of the other too large, we give no _reason_; we only state the +_fact_ of their disagreeable effect on us. And, if we make the +proportion of eight heads our rule, it is because of the fact of its +being more pleasing to us than any other; and, from the same feeling, +we prefer those statures which approach it the nearest. Suppose we +analyze a certain combination of sounds and colors, so as to ascertain +the exact relative quantities of the one and the collocation of the +other, and then compare them. What possible resemblance can the +understanding perceive between these sounds and colors? And yet a +something within us responds to both in a similar emotion. And so with +a thousand things, nay, with myriads of objects that have no other +affinity but with that mysterious harmony which began with our being, +which slept with our infancy, and which their presence only seems to +have _awakened_. If we cannot go back to our own childhood, we +may see its illustration in those about us who are now emerging into +that unsophisticated state. Look at them in the fields, among the +birds and flowers; their happy faces speak the harmony within them: +the divine instrument, which these have touched, gives them a joy +which, perhaps, only childhood in its first fresh consciousness can +know. Yet what do they understand of musical quantities, or of the +theory of colors? + +And so with respect to Truth and Goodness; whose preexisting Ideas, +being in the living constituents of an immortal spirit, need but the +slightest breath of some outward condition of the true and good,--a +simple problem, or a kind act,--to awake them, as it were, from their +unconscious sleep, and start them for eternity. + +We may venture to assert, that no philosopher, however ingenious, +could communicate to a child the abstract idea of Right, had the +latter nothing beyond or above the understanding. He might, indeed, be +taught, like the inferior animals,--a dog, for instance,--that, if he +took certain forbidden things, he would be punished, and thus do +right through fear. Still he would desire the forbidden thing, +though belonging to another; nor could he conceive why he should not +appropriate to himself, and thus allay his appetite, what was held by +another, could he do so undetected; nor attain to any higher notion of +right than that of the strongest. But the child has something higher +than the mere power of apprehending consequences. The simplest +exposition, whether of right or wrong, even by an ignorant nurse, is +instantly responded to by something _within him_, which, thus +awakened, becomes to him a living voice ever after; and the good and +the true must thenceforth answer its call, even though succeeding +years would fain overlay them with the suffocating crowds of evil and +falsehood. + +We do not say that these eternal Ideas of Beauty, Truth, and Goodness +will, strictly speaking, always act. Though indestructible, they may +be banished for a time by the perverted Will, and mockeries of the +brain, like the fume-born phantoms from the witches' caldron in +Macbeth, take their places, and assume their functions. We have +examples of this in every age, and perhaps in none more startling than +in the present. But we mean only that they cannot be _forgotten_: +nay, they are but, too often recalled with unwelcome distinctness. +Could we read the annals which must needs be scored on every +heart,--could we look upon those of the aged reprobate,--who will +doubt that their darkest passages are those made visible by the +distant gleams from these angelic Forms, that, like the Three which +stood before the tent of Abraham, once looked upon his youth? + +And we doubt not that the truest witness to the common source of these +inborn Ideas would readily be acknowledged by all, could they return +to it now with their matured power of introspection, which is, at +least, one of the few advantages of advancing years. But, though +we cannot bring back youth, we may still recover much of its purer +revelations of our nature from what has been left in the memory. From +the dim present, then, we would appeal to that fresher time, ere +the young spirit had shrunk from the overbearing pride of the +understanding, and confidently ask, if the emotions we then felt from +the Beautiful, the True, and the Good, did not seem in some way to +refer to a common origin. And we would also ask, if it was then +frequent that the influence from one was _singly_ felt,--if it +did not rather bring with it, however remotely, a sense of something, +though widely differing, yet still akin to it. When we have basked in +the beauty of a summer sunset, was there nothing in the sky that spoke +to the soul of Truth and Goodness? And when the opening intellect +first received the truth of the great law of gravitation, or felt +itself mounting through the profound of space, to travel with the +planets in their unerring rounds, did never then the kindred Ideas of +Goodness and Beauty chime in, as it were, with the fabled music,--not +fabled to the soul,--which led you on like one entranced? + +And again, when, in the passive quiet of your moral nature, so predisposed +in youth to all things genial, you have looked abroad on this marvellous, +ever teeming Earth,--ever teeming alike for mind and body,--and have felt +upon you flow, as from ten thousand springs of Goodness, Truth, and +Beauty, ten thousand streams of innocent enjoyment; did you not then +_almost hear_ them shout in confluence, and almost _see_ them gushing +upwards, as if they would prove their unity, in one harmonious fountain? + +But, though the preceding be admitted as all true in respect to +certain "gifted" individuals, it may yet be denied that it is equally +true with respect to all, in other words, that the Principle assumed +is an inherent constituent of the human being. To this we reply, that +universality does not necessarily imply equality. + +The universality of a Principle does not imply _everywhere_ equal +energy or activity, or even the same mode of manifestation, any more +than do the essential Faculties of the Understanding. Of this we have +an analogous illustration in the faculty of Memory; which is almost +indefinitely differenced in different men, both in degree and mode. In +some, its greatest power is shown in the retention of thoughts, but +not of words, that is, not of the original words in which they were +presented. Others possess it in a very remarkable degree as to forms, +places, &c., and but imperfectly for other things; others, again, +never forget names, dates, or figures, yet cannot repeat a +conversation the day after it took place; while some few have the +doubtful happiness of forgetting nothing. We might go on with a long +list of the various modes and degrees in which this faculty, so +essential to the human being, is everywhere manifested. But this is +sufficient for our purpose. In like manner is the Principle of Harmony +manifested; in one person as it relates to Form, in another to Sound; +so, too, may it vary as to the degrees of truth and goodness. We say +degrees; for we may well doubt whether, even in the faculty of memory, +its apparent absence as to any one essential object is any thing more +than a feeble degree of activity: and the doubt is strengthened by the +fact, that in many seemingly hopeless cases it has been actually, as +it were, brought into birth. And we are still indisposed to admit its +entire absence in any one particular for which it was bestowed on man. +An imperfect developement, especially as relating to the intellectual +and moral, we know to depend, in no slight measure, on the _will_ +of the subject. Nay, (with the exception of idiots,) it may safely be +affirmed, that no individual ever existed who could not perceive the +difference between what is true and false, and right and wrong. We +here, of course, except those who have so ingeniously _unmade_ +themselves, in order to reconstruct their "humanity" after a better +fashion. As to the "_why_" of these differences, we know nothing; +it is one of those unfathomable mysteries which to the finite mind +must ever be hidden. + +Though it has been our purpose, throughout this discourse, to direct +our inquiries mainly to the essential Elements of the subject, it may +not be amiss here to take a brief notice of their collateral product +in those mixed modes from which we derive so large a portion of our +mental gratification: we allude to the various combinations of the +several Ideas, which have just been examined, with each other as well +as with their opposites. To this prolific source may be traced much +of that many-colored interest which we take in their various forms as +presented by the imagination,--in every thing, indeed, which is true, +or even partially true, to the great Principle of Harmony, both in +nature and in art. It is to these mixed modes more especially, that we +owe all that mysterious interest which gives the illusion of life to a +work of fiction, and fills us with delight or melts with woe, whether +in the happiness or the suffering of some imagined being, uniting +goodness with beauty, or virtue with plainness, or uncommon purity and +intellect even with deformity; for even that may be so overpowered in +the prominent harmony of superior intellect and moral worth, as to be +virtually neutralized, at least, to become unobtrusive as a discordant +force. Besides, it cannot be expected that _complete_ harmony is +ever to be realized in our imperfect state; we should else, perhaps, +with such expectation, have no pleasures of the kind we speak of: +nor is this necessary, the imagination being always ready to supply +deficiencies, whenever the approximation is sufficiently near to +call it forth. Nay, if the interest felt be nothing more than mere +curiosity, we still refer to this presiding Principle; which is no +less essential to a simple combination of events, than to the higher +demands of Form or Character. But its presence must be felt, however +slightly. Of this we have the evidence in many cases, and, perhaps, +most conclusive where the partial harmony is felt to verge on a +powerful discord; or where the effort to unite them produces that +singular alternation of what is both revolting and pleasing: as in the +startling union of evil passions with some noble quality, or with a +master intellect. And here we have a solution of that paradoxical +feeling of interest and abhorrence, which we experience in such a +character as King Richard. + +And may it not be that we are permitted this interest for a deeper +purpose than we are wont to suppose; because Sin is best seen in the +light of Virtue,--and then most fearfully when she holds the torch to +herself? Be this as it may, with pure, unintellectual, brutal evil +it is very different. We cannot look upon it undismayed: we take no +interest in it, nor can we. In Richard there is scarce a glimmer of +his better nature; yet we do not despise him, for his intellect and +courage command our respect. But the fiend Iago,--who ever followed +him through the weaving of his spider-like web, without perpetual +recurrence to its venomous source,--his devilish heart? Even the +intellect he shows seems actually animalized, and we shudder at its +subtlety, as at the cunning of a reptile. Whatever interest may have +been imputed to him should be placed to the account of his hapless +victim; to the first striving with distrust of a generous nature; to +the vague sense of misery, then its gradual developement, then the +final overthrow of absolute faith; and, last of all, to the throes +of agony of the noble Moor, as he writhes and gasps in his accursed +toils. + +To these mixed modes may be added another branch, which we shall term the +class of Imputed Attributes. In this class are concerned all those natural +objects with which we connect (not by individual association, but by a +general law of the mind) certain moral or intellectual attributes; which +are not, indeed, supposed to exist in the objects themselves, but which, +by some unknown affinity, they awaken or occasion in us, and which we, in +our turn, impute to them. However this be, there are multitudes of objects +in the inanimate world, which we cannot contemplate without associating +with them many of the characteristics which we ascribe to the human being; +and the ideas so awakened we involuntarily express by the ascription of +such significant epithets as _stately, majestic, grand_, and so on. It is +so with us, when we call some tall forest stately, or qualify as majestic +some broad and slowly-winding river, or some vast, yet unbroken waterfall, +or some solitary, gigantic pine, seeming to disdain the earth, and to hold +of right its eternal communion with air; or when to the smooth and +far-reaching expanse of our inland waters, with their bordering and +receding mountains, as they seem to march from the shores, in the pomp of +their dark draperies of wood and mist, we apply the terms _grand_ and +_magnificent_: and so onward to an endless succession of objects, +imputing, as it were, our own nature, and lending our sympathies, till the +headlong rush of some mighty cataract suddenly thunders upon us. But how +is it then? In the twinkling of an eye, the outflowing sympathies ebb back +upon the heart; the whole mind seems severed from earth, and the awful +feeling to suspend the breath;--there is nothing human to which we can +liken it. And here begins another kind of emotion, which we call Sublime. + +We are not aware that this particular class of objects has hitherto +been noticed, at least as holding a distinct position. And, if we +may be allowed to supply the omission, we should assign to it the +intermediate place between the Beautiful and the Sublime. Indeed, +there seems to be no other station so peculiarly proper; inasmuch as +they would thus form, in a consecutive series, a regular ascent from +the sensible material to the invisible spiritual: hence naturally +uniting into one harmonious whole every possible emotion of our higher +nature. + +In the preceding discussion, we have considered the outward world +only in its immediate relation to Man, and the Human Being as the +predetermined centre to which it was designed to converge. As the +subject, however, of what are called the sublime emotions, he holds a +different position; for the centre here is not himself, nor, indeed, +can he approach it within conceivable distance: yet still he is drawn +to it, though baffled for ever. Now the question is, Where, and +in what bias, is this mysterious attraction? It must needs be in +something having a clear affinity with us, or we could not feel it. +But the attraction is also both pure and pleasurable; and it has just +been shown, that we have in ourselves but one principle by which +to recognize any corresponding emotion,--namely, the principle of +Harmony. May we not then infer a similar Principle without us, an +Infinite Harmony, to which our own is attracted? and may we not +further,--if we may so speak without irreverence,--suppose our own to +have emanated thence when "man became a living soul"? And though this +relation may not be consciously acknowledged in every instance, or +even in one, by the mass of men, does it therefore follow that it does +not exist? How many things act upon us of which we have no knowledge? +If we find, as in the case of the Beautiful, the same, or a similar, +effect to follow from a great variety of objects which have no +resemblance or agreement with one another, is it not a necessary +inference, that for their common effect they must all refer to +something without and distinct from themselves? Now in the case of +the Sublime, the something referred to is not in man: for the emotion +excited has an outward tendency; the mind cannot contain it; and the +effort to follow it towards its mysterious object, if long continued, +becomes, in the excess of interest, positively painful. + +Could any finite object account for this? But, supposing the Infinite, +we have an adequate cause. If these emotions, then, from whatever +object or circumstance, be to prompt the mind beyond its prescribed +limits, whether carrying it back to the primitive past, the +incomprehensible _beginning_, or sending it into the future, to +the unknown _end_, the ever-present Idea of the mighty Author of +all these mysteries must still be implied, though we think not of it. +It is this Idea, or rather its influence, whether we be conscious of +it or not, which we hold to be the source of every sublime emotion. To +make our meaning plainer, we should say, that that which has the power +of possessing the mind, to the exclusion, for the time, of all other +thought, and which presents no _comprehensible_ sense of a whole, +though still impressing us with a full apprehension of such as a +reality,--in other words, which cannot be circumscribed by the forms +of the understanding while it strains them to the utmost,--that we +should term a sublime object. But whether this effect be occasioned +directly by the object itself, or be indirectly suggested by its +relations to some other object, its unknown cause, it matters not; +since the apparent power of calling forth the emotion, by whatever +means, is, _quoad_ ourselves, its sublime condition. Hence, if a +minute insect, an ant, for instance, through its marvellous instinct, +lift the mind of the amazed spectator to the still more inscrutable +Creator, it must possess, as to _him_, the same power. This is, +indeed, an extreme case, and may be objected to as depending on the +individual mind; on a mind prepared by cultivation and previous +reflection for the effect in question. But to this it may be replied, +that some degree of cultivation, or, more properly speaking, of +developement by the exercise of its reflective faculties, is obviously +essential ere the mind can attain to mature growth,--we might almost +say to its natural state, since nothing can be said to have attained +its true nature until all its capacities are at least called into +birth. No one, for example, would refer to the savages of Australia +for a true specimen of what was proper or natural to the human mind; +we should rather seek it, if such were the alternative, in a civilized +child of five years old. Be this as it may, it will not be denied +that ignorance, brutality, and many other deteriorating causes, do +practically incapacitate thousands for even an approximation, not only +to this, but to many of the inferior emotions, the character of +which is purely mental. And this, we think, is quite sufficient to +neutralize the objection, if not, indeed, to justify the application +of the term to all cases where the _immediate_ effect, whether +directly or indirectly, is such as has been described. But, to reduce +this to a common-sense view, it is only saying,--what no one will +deny,--that a man of education and refinement has not only more, but +higher, pleasures of the mind than a mere clown. + +But though the position here advanced must necessarily exclude many +objects which have hitherto, though, as we think, improperly, been +classed with the sublime, it will still leave enough, and more than +enough, for the utmost exercise of our limited powers; inasmuch as, in +addition to the multitude of objects in the material world, not only +the actions, passions, and thoughts of men, but whatever concerns the +human being, that in any way--by a hint merely--leads the mind, though +indirectly, to the Infinite attributes,--all come of right within the +ground assumed. + +It will be borne in mind, that the conscious presence of the Infinite +Idea is not only _not_ insisted on, but expressly admitted to be, in +most cases, unthought of; it is also admitted, that a sublime effect is +often powerfully felt in many instances where this Idea could not truly +be predicated of the apparent object. In such cases, however, some kind +of resemblance, or, at least, a seeming analogy to an infinite +attribute, is nevertheless essential. It must _appear_ to us, for the +time, either limitless, indefinite, or in some other way beyond the +grasp of the mind: and, whatever an object may _seem_ to be, it must +needs _in effect_ be to _us_ even that which it seems. Nor does this +transfer the emotion to a different source; for the Infinite Idea, or +something analogous, being thus imputed, is in reality its true cause. + +It is still the unattainable, the _ever-stimulating_, yet +_ever-eluding_, in the character of the sublime object, that +gives to it both its term and its effect. And whence the conception of +this mysterious character, but from its mysterious prototype, the Idea +of the Infinite? Neither does it matter, as we have said, whether +actual or supposed; for what the imagination cannot master will master +the imagination. Take, for instance, but a single _passion_, and +clothe it with this character; in the same instant it becomes sublime. +So, too, with a single thought. In the Mosaic words so often quoted, +"Let there be light, and there was light," we have the sublime of +thought, of mere naked thought; but what could more awe the mind with +the power of God? Of like nature is the conjecture of Newton, when he +imagined stars so distant from the sun that their coeval light has not +yet reached us. Let us endeavour for one moment to conceive of this; +does not the soul seem to dilate within us, and the body to shrink +as to a grain of dust? "Woe is me! unclean, unclean!" said the holy +Prophet, when the Infinite Holiness stood before him. Could a more +terrible distance be measured, than by these fearful words, between +God and man? + +If it be objected to this view, that many cases occur, having the same +conditions with those assumed in our general proposition, which are +yet exclusively painful, unmitigated even by a transient moment of +pleasure,--in Despair, for instance,--as who can limit it?--to this we +reply, that no emotion having its sole, or circle of existence in +the individual mind itself, can be to that mind other than a +_subject_. A man in despair, or under any mode of extreme +suffering of like nature, may, indeed, if all interfering sympathy +have been removed by time or after-description, be to _another_ +a sublime object,--at least in one of those suggestive forms just +noticed; but not to _himself_. The source of the sublime--as all +along implied--is essentially _ab extra_. The human mind is not +its centre, nor can it be realized except by a contemplative act. + +Besides, as a mental pleasure,--indeed the highest known,--to +be recognized as such, it must needs be accompanied by the same +_relative character_ by which is tested every other pleasure +coming under that denomination; namely, by the entire absence +of _self_, that is, by the same freedom from all personal +consideration which has been shown to characterize the true effect of +the Three leading Ideas already considered. But if to this also it be +further objected, that in certain particular cases, as of +personal danger,--from which the sublime emotion has often been +experienced,--some personal consideration must necessarily be +involved, as without a sense of security we could not enjoy it; we +answer, that, if it be meant only that the mind should be in such a +state as to enable us to receive an unembarrassed impression, it seems +to us superfluous,--an obvious truism placed in opposition to an +absurd impossibility. We needed not to be told, that no pleasurable +emotion is likely to occur while we are unmanned by fear. The same +might be said, also, in respect to the Beautiful: for who was ever +alive to it under a paroxysm of terror, or pain of any kind? A +terrified person is in any thing but a fit state for such emotion. He +may indeed _afterwards_, when his fear is passed off, contemplate +the circumstance that occasioned it with a different feeling; but the +object of his dismay is _then_ projected, as it were, completely +from himself; and he feels the sublimity in a contemplative state: +he can feel it in no other. Nor is that state incompatible with a +consciousness of peril, though it can never be with personal terror. +And, if it is meant that we should have a positive, present +conviction that we are in no danger, this we must deny, as we find it +contradicted in innumerable instances. So far, indeed, is a sense of +security from being essential to the condition of a sublime emotion, +that the sense of danger, on the contrary, is one of its most exciting +accompaniments. There is a fascination in danger which some persons +neither can nor would resist; which seems, as it were, to disenthral +them of self;--as if the mysterious Infinite were actually drawing +them on by an invisible power. + +Was it mere scientific curiosity that cost the elder Pliny his life? +Might it not have been rather this sublime fascination? But we have +repeated examples of it in our own time. Many who will read this may +have been in a storm at sea. Did they never feel its sublimity while +they knew their danger? We will answer for ourselves; for we have been +in one, when the dismasted vessels that surrounded us permitted no +mistake as to our peril; it was strongly felt, but still stronger was +the sublime emotion in the awful scene. The crater of Vesuvius is even +now, perhaps for the thousandth time, reflecting from its lake of fire +some ghastly face, with indrawn breath and hair bristling, bent, as by +fate, over its sulphurous brink. + +Let us turn to Mont Blanc, that mighty pyramid of ice, in whose shadow +might repose all the tombs of the Pharaohs. It rises before the +traveller like the accumulating mausoleum of Europe: perhaps he looks +upon it as his own before his natural time; yet he cannot away from +it. A terrible charm hurries him over frightful chasms, whose blue +depths seem like those of the ocean; he cuts his way up a polished +precipice, shining like steel,--as elusive to the touch; he creeps +slowly and warily around and beneath huge cliffs of snow; now he looks +up, and sees their brows fretted by the percolating waters like a +Gothic ceiling, and he fears even to whisper, lest an audible breath +should awaken the avalanche: and thus he climbs and climbs, till the +dizzy summit fills up his measure of fearful ecstasy. + +Now, though cases may occur where the emotion in question is attended +with a sense of security, as in the reading or hearing the description +of an earthquake, such as that of 1768 in Lisbon, while we are safely +housed and by a comfortable fire, it does not therefore follow, that +this consciousness of safety is its essential condition. It is merely +an accidental circumstance. It cannot, therefore, apply, either as a +rule or an objection. Besides, even if supported by fact, we might +well dismiss it on the ground of irrelevancy, since a sense of +personal safety cannot be placed in opposition to and as inconsistent +with a disinterested or unselfish state; which is that claimed for +the emotion as its true condition. If there be not, then, a sounder +objection, we may safely admit the characteristic in question; for +the reception of which we have, on the other hand, the weight of +experience,--at least negatively, since, strictly speaking, we cannot +experience the absence of any thing. + +But though, according to our theory, there are many things now called +sublime that would properly come under a different classification, such +as many objects of Art, many sentiments, and many actions, which are +strictly human, as well in their _end_ as in their origin; it is not to +be inferred that the exclusion of any work of man is _because_ of _its +apparent origin_, but of its _end_, the end only being the determining +point, as referring to its _Idea_. Now, if the Idea referred to be of +the Infinite, which is _out_ of his nature, it cannot strictly be said +to originate with man,--that is, absolutely; but it is rather, as it +were, a reflected form of it from the Maker of his mind. If we are led +to such an Idea, then, by any work of imagination, a poem, a picture, a +statue, or a building, it is as truly sublime as any natural object. +This, it appears to us, is the sole mystery, without which neither +sound, nor color, nor form, nor magnitude, is a true correlative to the +unseen cause. And here, as with Beauty, though the test of that be +within us, is the _modus operandi_ equally baffling to the scrutiny of +the understanding. We feel ourselves, as it were, lifted from the earth, +and look upon the outward objects that have so affected us, yet learn +not how; and the mystery deepens as we compare them with other objects +from which have followed the same effects, and find no resemblance. For +instance; the roar of the ocean, and the intricate unity of a Gothic +cathedral, whose beginning and end are alike intangible, while its +climbing tower seems visibly even to rise to the Idea which it strives +to embody,--these have nothing in common,--hardly two things could be +named that are more unlike; yet in relation to man they have but one +end: for who can hear the ocean when breathing in wrath, and limit it in +his mind, though he think not of Him who gives it voice? or ascend that +spire without feeling his faculties vanish, as it were with its +vanishing point, into the abyss of space? If there be a difference in +the effect from these and other objects, it is only in the intensity, +the degree of impetus given; as between that from the sudden explosion +of a volcano and from the slow and heavy movement of a rising +thunder-cloud; its character and its office are the same,--in its awful +harmony to connect the created with its Infinite Cause. + +But let us compare this effect with that from Beauty. Would the +Parthenon, for instance, with its beautiful forms,--made still more +beautiful under its native sky,--seeming almost endued with the breath +of life, as if its conscious purple were a living suffusion brought +forth in sympathy by the enamoured blushes of a Grecian sunset;--would +this beautiful object even then elevate the soul above its own roof? +No: we should be filled with a pure delight,--but with no longing to +rise still higher. It would satisfy us; which the sublime does not; +for the feeling is too vast to be circumscribed by human content. + +On the supernatural it is needless to enlarge; for, in whatever form +the beings of the invisible world are supposed to visit us, they are +immediately connected in the mind with the unknown Infinite; whether +the faith be in the heart or in the imagination; whether they bubble +up from the earth, like the Witches in Macbeth, taking shape at will, +or self-dissolving into air, and no less marvellous, foreknowing +thoughts ere formed in man; or like the Ghost in Hamlet, an +unsubstantial shadow, having the functions of life, motion, will, +and speech; a fearful mystery invests them with a spell not to be +withstood; the bewildered imagination follows like a child, leaving +the finite world for one unknown, till it aches in darkness, +trackless, endless. + +Perhaps, as being nearest in station to the unsearchable Author of +all things, the highest example of this would be found in the +Angelic Nature. If it be objected, that the poets have not always so +represented it, it rests with them to show cause why they have not. +Milton, no doubt, could have assigned a sufficient reason in _the +time chosen for his poem_,--that of the creation of the first man, +when his intercourse with the highest order of created beings was not +only essential to the plan of the poem, but according with the express +will of the Creator: hence, he might have considered it no violation +of the _then_ relation between man and angels to assign even the +epithet _affable_ to the archangel Raphael; for man was then +sinless, and in all points save knowledge a fit object of regard, and +certainly a fit pupil to his heavenly instructor. But, suppose the +poet, throughout his work, (as in the process of his story he was +forced to do near the end,)--suppose he had chosen, assuming the +philosopher, to assign to Adam the _altered relation of one of his +fallen posterity_, how could he have endured a holy spiritual +presence? To be consistent, Adam must have been dumb with awe, +incapable of holding converse such as is described. Between sinless +man and his sinful progeny, the distance is immeasurable. And so, too, +must be the effect on the latter, in such a presence; and for this +conclusion we have the authority of Scripture, in the dismay of the +soldiers at the Saviour's sepulchre, on which more directly. If there +be no like effect attending the other angelic visits recorded in +Scripture, such as those to Lot and Abraham, the reason is obvious in +the _special mission_ to those individuals, who were doubtless +_divinely prepared_ for their reception; for it is reasonable +to suppose the mission had else been useless. But with the Roman +soldiers, where there was no such qualifying circumstance, the case +was different; indeed, it was in striking contrast with that of the +two Marys, who, though struck with awe, yet being led there, as +witnesses, by the Spirit, were not so overpowered. + +And here, as the Idea of Angels is universally associated with every +perfection of _form_, may naturally occur the question so often +agitated,--namely, whether Beauty and Sublimity are, under any +circumstances, compatible. To us it seems of easy solution. For we see +no reason why Beauty, as the condition of a subordinated object or +component part, may not incidentally enter into the Sublime, as well +as a thousand other conditions of opposite characters, which pertain +to the multifarious assimilants that often form its other components. + +When Beauty is not made _essential_, but enters as a mere +contingent, its admission or rejection is a matter of indifference. In +an angel, for instance, beauty is the condition of his mere form; but +the angel has also an intellectual and moral or spiritual nature, +which is essentially paramount: the former being but the condition, so +to speak, of his visibility, the latter, his very life,--an Essence +next to the inconceivable Giver of life. + +Could we stand in the presence of one of these holy beings, (if to +stand were possible,) what of the Sublime in this lower world would so +shake us? Though his beauty were such as never mortal dreamed of, +it would be as nothing,--swallowed up as darkness,--in the awful, +spiritual brightness of the messenger of God. Even as the soldiers +in Scripture, at the sepulchre of the Saviour, we should fall before +him,--we should "become," like them, "as dead men." + +But though Milton does not unveil the "face like lightning"; and +though the angel Raphael is made to hold converse with man, and the +"severe in youthful beauty" gives even the individual impress to +Zephon, and Michael and Abdiel are set apart in their prowess; there +is not one he names that does not breathe of Heaven, that is not +encompassed with the glory of the Infinite. And why the reader is not +overwhelmed in their supposed presence is because he is a beholder +_through_ Adam,--through him also a listener; but whenever he is +made, by the poet's spell, to forget Adam, and to see, as it were in +his own person, the embattled hosts.... + +If we dwell upon Form _alone_, though it should be of surpassing +beauty, the idea would not rise above that of man, for this is +conceivable of man: but the moment the angelic nature is touched, we +have the higher ideas of supernal intelligence and perfect holiness, +to which all the charms and graces of mere form immediately +become subordinate, and, though the beauty remain, its agency is +comparatively negative under the overpowering transcendence of a +celestial spirit. + +As we have already seen that the Beautiful is limited to no particular +form, but possesses its power in some mysterious _condition_, +which is applicable to many distinct objects; in like manner does the +Sublime include within its sphere, and subdue to its condition, an +indefinite variety of objects, with their distinctive conditions; and +among them we find that of the Beautiful, as well as, to a _certain +degree_, its reverse, so that, though we may truly recognize their +coexistence in the same object, it is not possible that their effect +upon us should be otherwise than unequal, and that the higher law +should not subordinate the lower. We do not deny that the Beautiful +may, so to speak, mitigate the awful intensity of the Sublime; but it +cannot change its character, much less impart its own; the one will +still be awful, the other, of itself, never. + +When at Rome, we once asked a foreigner, who seemed to be talking +somewhat vaguely on the subject, what he understood by the Sublime. +His answer was, "Le plus beau"; making it only a matter of degree. Now +let us only imagine (if we can) a beautiful earthquake, or a beautiful +hurricane. And yet the foreigner is not alone in this. D'Azzara, +the biographer of Mengs, speaking of Beauty, talks of "this sublime +quality," and in another place, for certain reasons assigned, he says, +"The grand style is beautiful." Nay, many writers, otherwise of high +authority, seem to have taken the same view; while others who could +have had no such notion, having used the words Beauty and the +Beautiful in an allegorical or metaphorical sense, have sometimes been +misinterpreted literally. Hence Winckelmann reproaches Michael Angelo +for his continual talk about Beauty, when he showed nothing of it +in his works. But it is very evident that the _Bella_ and +_Bellezza_ of Michael Angelo were never used by him in a literal +sense, nor intended to be so understood by others: he adopted the +terms solely to express abstract Perfection, which he allegorized as +the mistress of his mind, to whose exclusive worship his whole life +was devoted. Whether it was the most appropriate term he could have +chosen, we shall not inquire. It is certain, however, that the literal +adoption of it by subsequent writers has been the cause of much +confusion, as well as vagueness. + +For ourselves, we are quite at a loss to imagine how a notion so +obviously groundless has ever had a single supporter; for, if a +distinct effect implies a distinct cause, we do not see why distinct +terms should not be employed to express the difference, or how the +legitimate term for one can in any way be applied to signify a +particular degree of the other. Like the two Dromios, they sometimes +require a conjurer to tell which is which. If only Perfection, which +is a generic term implying the summit of all things, be meant, +there is surely nothing to be gained (if we except _intended_ +obscurity) by substituting a specific term which is limited to a few. +We speak not here of allegorical or metaphorical propriety, which is +not now the question, but of the literal and didactic; and we may +add, that we have never known but one result from this arbitrary +union,--which is, to procreate words. + +In further illustration of our position, it may be well here to notice +one mistaken source of the Sublime, which seems to have been sometimes +resorted to, both in poems and pictures; namely, in the sympathy +excited by excruciating bodily suffering. Suppose a man on the rack +to be placed before us,--perhaps some miserable victim of the +Inquisition; the cracking of his joints is made frightfully audible; +his calamitous "Ah!" goes to our marrow; then the cruel precision +of the mechanical familiar, as he lays bare to the sight his whole +anatomy of horrors. And suppose, too, the executioner _compelled_ +to his task,--consequently an irresponsible agent, whom we cannot +curse; and, finally, that these two objects compose the whole scene. +What could we feel but an agony even like that of the sufferer, the +only difference being that one is physical, the other mental? And this +is all that mere sympathy has any power to effect; it has led us to +its extreme point,--our flesh creeps, and we turn away with almost +bodily sickness. But let another actor be added to the drama in the +presiding Inquisitor, the cool methodizer of this process of torture; +in an instant the scene is changed, and, strange to say, our feelings +become less painful,--nay, we feel a momentary interest,--from an +instant revulsion of our moral nature: we are lost in wonder at the +excess of human wickedness, and the hateful wonder, as if partaking of +the infinite, now distends the faculties to their utmost tension; for +who can set bounds to passion when it seizes the whole soul? It is as +the soul itself, without form or limit. We may not think even of the +after judgment; we become ourselves _justice_, and we award a +hatred commensurate with the sin, so indefinite and monstrous that we +stand aghast at our own judgment. + +_Why_ this extreme tension of the mind, when thus outwardly +occasioned, should create in us an interest, we know not; but such is +the fact, and we are not only content to endure it for a time, but +even crave it, and give to the feeling the epithet _sublime_. + +We do not deny that much bodily suffering may be admitted with effect +as a subordinate agent, when, as in the example last added, it is made +to serve as a necessary expositor of moral deformity. Then, indeed, +in the hands of a great artist, it becomes one of the most powerful +auxiliaries to a sublime end. All that we contend for is that sympathy +alone is insufficient as a cause of sublimity. + +There are yet other sources of the false sublime, (if we may so call +it,) which are sometimes resorted to also by poets and painters; such +as the horrible, the loathsome, the hideous, and the monstrous: these +form the impassable boundaries to the true Sublime. Indeed, there +appears to be in almost every emotion a certain point beyond which we +cannot pass without recoiling,--as if we instinctively shrunk from +what is forbidden to our nature. + +It would seem, then, that, in relation to man, Beauty is the extreme +point, or last summit, of the natural world, since it is in that that +we recognize the highest emotion of which we are susceptible from the +purely physical. If we ascend thence into the moral, we shall find its +influence diminish in the same ratio with our upward progress. In the +continuous chain of creation of which it forms a part, the link above +it where the moral modification begins seems scarcely changed, yet the +difference, though slight, demands another name, and the nomenclator +within us calls it Elegance; in the next connecting link, the moral +adjunct becomes more predominant, and we call it Majesty; in the next, +the physical becomes still fainter, and we call the union Grandeur; in +the next, it seems almost to vanish, and a new form rises before us, +so mysterious, so undefined and elusive to the senses, that we turn, +as if for its more distinct image, within ourselves, and there, with +wonder, amazement, awe, we see it filling, distending, stretching +every faculty, till, like the Giant of Otranto, it seems almost to +burst the imagination: under this strange confluence of opposite +emotions, this terrible pleasure, we call the awful form Sublimity. +This was the still, small voice that shook the Prophet on +Horeb;--though small to his ear, it was more than his imagination +could contain; he could not hear it again and live. + +It is not to be supposed that we have enumerated all the forms of +gradation between the Beautiful and the Sublime; such was not our +purpose; it is sufficient to have noted the most prominent, leaving +the intermediate modifications to be supplied (as they can readily be) +by the reader. If we descend from the Beautiful, we shall pass in like +manner through an equal variety of forms gradually modified by the +grosser material influences, as the Handsome, the Pretty, the Comely, +the Plain, &c., till we fall to the Ugly. + +There ends the chain of pleasurable excitement; but not the chain of +Forms; which, taking now as if a literal curve, again bends upward, +till, meeting the descending extreme of the moral, it seems to +complete the mighty circle. And in this dark segment will be found the +startling union of deepening discords,--still deepening, as it rises +from the Ugly to the Loathsome, the Horrible, the Frightful,[1] the +Appalling. + +As we follow the chain through this last region of disease, misery, +and sin, of embodied Discord, and feel, as we must, in the mutilated +affinities of its revolting forms, their fearful relation to this +fair, harmonious creation,--how does the awful fact, in these its +breathing fragments, speak to us of a fallen world! + +As the living centre of this stupendous circle stands the Soul of Man; +the _conscious Reality_, to which the vast inclosure is but the +symbol. How vast, then, his being! If space could measure it, the +remotest star would fall within its limits. Well, then, may he tremble +to essay it even in thought; for where must it carry him,--that winged +messenger, fleeter than light? Where but to the confines of the +Infinite; even to the presence of the unutterable _Life_, on +which nothing finite can look and live? + +Finally, we shall conclude our Discourse with a few words on the +master Principle, which we have supposed to be, by the will of the +Creator, the realizing life to all things fair and true and good: and +more especially would we revert to its spiritual purity, emphatically +manifested through all its manifold operations,--so impossible +of alliance with any thing sordid, or false, or wicked,--so +unapprehensible, even, except for its own most sinless sake. Indeed, +we cannot look upon it as other than the universal and eternal witness +of God's goodness and love, to draw man to himself, and to testify +to the meanest, most obliquitous mind,--at least once in life, be it +though in childhood,--that there _is_ such a thing as _good +without self_. It will be remembered, that, in all the various +examples adduced, in which we have endeavoured to illustrate the +operation of Harmony, there was but one character to all its effects, +whatever the difference in the objects that occasioned them; that it +was ever untinged with any personal taint: and we concluded thence +its supernal source. We may now advance another evidence still more +conclusive of its spiritual origin, namely, in the fact, that it +cannot be realized in the Human Being _quoad_ himself. With the +fullest consciousness of the possession of this principle, and with +the power to realize it in other objects, he has still no power in +relation to himself,--that is, to become the object to himself. + +Now, as the condition of Harmony, so far as we can know it through its +effect, is that of _impletion_, where nothing can be added or +taken away, it is evident that such a condition can never be realized +by the mind in itself. And yet the desire to this end is as evidently +implied in that incessant, yet unsatisfying activity, which, under all +circumstances, is an imperative, universal law of our nature. + +It might seem needless to enlarge on what must be generally felt as an +obvious truth; still, it may not be amiss to offer a few remarks, by +way of bringing it, though a truism, more distinctly before us. In all +ages the majority of mankind have been more or less compelled to some +kind of exertion for their mere subsistence. Like all compulsion, this +has no doubt been considered a hardship. Yet we never find, when by +their own industry, or any fortunate circumstance, they have been +relieved from this exigency, that any one individual has been +contented with doing nothing. Some, indeed, before their liberation, +have conceived of idleness as a kind of synonyme with happiness; but a +short experience has never failed to prove it no less remote from that +desirable state. The most offensive employments, for the want of +a better, have often been resumed, to relieve the mind from the +intolerable load of _nothing_,--the heaviest of all weights,--as +it needs must be to an immortal spirit: for the mind cannot stop, +except it be in a mad-house; there, indeed, it may rest, or rather +stagnate, on one thought,--its little circle, perhaps of misery. From +the very moment of consciousness, the active Principle begins to +busy itself with the things about it: it shows itself in the infant, +stretching its little hands towards the candle; in the schoolboy, +filling up, if alone, his play-hour with the mimic toils of after age; +and so on, through every stage and condition of life; from the wealthy +spend-thrift, beggaring himself at the gaming-table for employment, to +the poor prisoner in the Bastile, who, for the want of something to +occupy his thoughts, overcame the antipathy of his nature, and found +his companion in a spider. Nay, were there need, we might draw out the +catalogue till it darkened with suicide. But enough has been said to +show, that, aside from guilt, a more terrible fiend has hardly been +imagined than the little word Nothing, when embodied and realized as +the master of the mind. And well for the world that it is so; since to +this wise law of our nature, to say nothing of conveniences, we owe +the endless sources of innocent enjoyment with which the industry and +ingenuity of man have supplied us. + +But the wisdom of the law in question is not merely that it is a +preventive to the mind preying on itself; we see in it a higher +purpose,--no less than what involves the developement of the human +being; and, if we look to its final bearing, it is of the deepest +import. It might seem at first a paradox, that, the natural condition +of the mind being averse to inactivity, it should still have so +strong a desire for rest; but a little reflection will show that this +involves no real contradiction. The mind only mistakes the _name_ +of its object, neither rest nor action being its real aim; for in a +state of rest it desires action, and in a state of action, rest. Now +all action supposes a purpose, which purpose can consist of but one +of two things; either the attainment of some immediate object as its +completion, or the causing of one or more future acts, that shall +follow as a consequence. But whether the action terminates in an +immediate object, or serves as the procreating cause of an indefinite +series of acts, it must have some ultimate object in which it +ends,--or is to end. Even supposing such a series of acts to be +continued through a whole life, and yet remain incomplete, it would +not alter the case. It is well known that many such series have +employed the minds of mathematicians and astronomers to their last +hour; nay, that those acts have been taken up by others, and continued +through successive generations: still, whether the point be arrived at +or no, there must have been an end in contemplation. Now no one can +believe that, in similar cases, any man would voluntarily devote all +his days to the adding link after link to an endless chain, for +the mere pleasure of labor. It is true he may be aware of the +wholesomeness of such labor as one of the means of cheerfulness; but, +if he have no further aim, his being aware of this result makes an +equable flow of spirits a positive object. Without _hope_, +uncompelled labor is an impossibility; and hope implies an object. Nor +would the veriest idler, who passes a whole day in whittling a stick, +if he could be brought to look into himself, deny it. So far from +having no object, he would and must acknowledge that he was in +fact hoping to relieve himself of an oppressive portion of time by +whittling away its minutes and hours. Here we have an extreme instance +of that which constitutes the real business of life, from the most +idle to the most industrious; namely, to attain to a _satisfying +state_. + +But no one will assert that such a state was ever a consequence of the +attainment of any object, however exalted. And why? Because the motive +of action is left behind, and we have nothing before us. + +Something to desire, something to look forward to, we _must_ +have, or we perish,--even of suicidal rest. If we find it not here in +the world about us, it must be sought for in another; to which, as we +conceive, that secret ruler of the soul, the inscrutable, ever-present +spirit of Harmony, for ever points. Nor is it essential that the +thought of harmony should even cross the mind; for a want may be +felt without any distinct consciousness of the form of that which is +desired. And, for the most part, it is only in this negative way that +its influence is acknowledged. But this is sufficient to account +for the universal longing, whether definite or indefinite, and the +consequent universal disappointment. + +We have said that man cannot to himself become the object of +Harmony,--that is, find its proper correlative in himself; and we have +seen that, in his present state, the position is true. How is it, +then, in the world of spirit? Who can answer? And yet, perhaps,--if +without irreverence we might hazard the conjecture,--as a finite +creature, having no centre in himself on which to revolve, may it not +be that his true correlative will there be revealed (if, indeed, it be +not before) to the disembodied man, in the Being that made him? And +may it not also follow, that the Principle we speak of will cease to +be potential, and flow out, as it were, and harmonize with the +eternal form of Hope,--even that Hope whose living end is in the +unapproachable Infinite? + +Let us suppose this form of hope to be taken away from an immortal +being who has no self-satisfying power within him, what would be +his condition? A conscious, interminable vacuum, were such a thing +possible, would but faintly image it. Hope, then, though in its nature +unrealizable, is not a mere _notion_; for so long as it continues +hope, it is to the mind an object and an object _to be_ realized; +so, where its form is eternal, it cannot but be to it an ever-during +object. Hence we may conceive of a never-ending approximation to what +can never be realized. + +From this it would appear, that, while we cannot to ourselves become +the object of Harmony, it is nevertheless certain, from the universal +desire _so_ to realize it, that we cannot suppress the continual +impulse of this paramount Principle; which, therefore, as it seems to +us, must have a double purpose; first, by its outward manifestation, +which we all recognize, to confirm its reality, and secondly, to +convince the mind that its true object is not merely out of, but +above, itself,--and only to be found in the Infinite Creator. + + + + +Art. + + + +In treating on Art, which, in its highest sense, and more especially +in relation to Painting and Sculpture, is the subject proposed for +our present examination, the first question that occurs is, In +what consists its peculiar character? or rather, What are the +characteristics that distinguish it from Nature, which it professes to +imitate? + +To this we reply, that Art is characterized,-- + +First, by Originality. + +Secondly, by what we shall call Human or Poetic Truth; which is the +verifying principle by which we recognize the first. + +Thirdly, by Invention; the product of the Imagination, as grounded on +the first, and verified by the second. And, + +Fourthly, by Unity, the synthesis of all. + +As the first step to the right understanding of any discourse is a +clear apprehension of the terms used, we add, that by Originality we +mean any thing (admitted by the mind as _true_) which is peculiar +to the Author, and which distinguishes his production from that of +all others; by Human or Poetic Truth, that which may be said to exist +exclusively in and for the mind, and as contradistinguished from the +truth of things in the natural or external world; by Invention, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of entire objects already known, or by the union and modification +of known but fragmentary parts into new and consistent forms; and, +lastly, by Unity, such an agreement and interdependence of all the +parts, as shall constitute a whole. + +It will be our attempt to show, that, by the presence or absence of +any one of these characteristics, we shall be able to affirm or deny +in respect to the pretension of any object as a work of Art; and also +that we shall find within ourselves the corresponding law, or by +whatever word we choose to designate it, by which each will be +recognized; that is, in the degree proportioned to the developement, +or active force, of the law so judging. + +Supposing the reader to have gone along with us in what has been said of +the _Universal_, in our Preliminary Discourse, and as assenting to the +position, that any faculty, law, or principle, which can be shown to be +_essential_ to _any one_ mind, must necessarily be also predicated of +every other sound mind, even where the particular faculty or law is so +feebly developed as apparently to amount to its absence, in which case +it is inferred potentially,--we shall now assume, on the same grounds, +that the originating _cause_, notwithstanding its apparent absence in +the majority of men, is an essential reality in the condition of the +Human Being; its potential existence in all being of necessity affirmed +from its existence in one. + +Assuming, then, its reality,--or rather leaving it to be evidenced +from its known effects,--we proceed to inquire _in what_ consists +this originating power. + +And, first, as to its most simple form. If it be true, (as we hope to +set forth more at large in a future discourse,) that no two minds were +ever found to be identical, there must then in every individual mind +be _something_ which is not in any other. And, if this unknown +something is also found to give its peculiar hue, so to speak, +to every impression from outward objects, it seems but a natural +inference, that, whatever it be, it _must_ possess a pervading +force over the entire mind,--at least, in relation to what is +external. But, though this may truly be affirmed of man generally, +from its evidence in any one person, we shall be far from the fact, +should we therefore affirm, that, otherwise than potentially, the +power of outwardly manifesting it is also universal. We know that it +is not,--and our daily experience proves that the power of reproducing +or giving out the individualized impressions is widely different in +different men. With some it is so feeble as apparently never to act; +and, so far as our subject is concerned, it may practically be said +not to exist; of which we have abundant examples in other mental +phenomena, where an imperfect activity often renders the existence of +some essential faculty a virtual nullity. When it acts in the higher +decrees, so as to make another see or feel _as_ the Individual +saw or felt,--this, in relation to Art, is what we mean, in its +strictest sense, by Originality. He, therefore, who possesses the +power of presenting to another the _precise_ images or emotions +as they existed in himself, presents that which can be found nowhere +else, and was first found by and within himself; and, however light or +trifling, where these are true as to his own mind, their author is so +far an originator. + +But let us take an example, and suppose two _portraits_; simple +heads, without accessories, that is, with blank backgrounds, such as +we often see, where no attempt is made at composition; and both by +artists of equal talent, employing the same materials, and conducting +their work according to the same technical process. We will also +suppose ourselves acquainted with the person represented, with whom +to compare them. Who, that has ever made a similar comparison, will +expect to find them identical? On the contrary, though in all respects +equal, in execution, likeness, &c., we shall still perceive a certain +_exclusive something_ that will instantly distinguish the one +from the other, and both from the original. And yet they shall both +seem to us true. But they will be true to us also in a double sense; +namely, as to the living original and as to the individuality of +the different painters. Where such is the result, both artists must +originate, inasmuch as they both outwardly realize the individual +image of their distinctive minds. + +Nor can the truth they present be ascribed to the technic process, +which we have supposed the same with each; as, on such a supposition, +with their equal skill, the result must have been identical. No; +by whatever it is that one man's mental impression, or his mode of +thought, is made to differ from another's, it is that something, which +our imaginary artists have here transferred to their pencil, that +makes them different, yet both original. + +Now, whether the medium through which the impressions, conceptions, or +emotions of the mind are thus externally realized be that of colors, +words, or any thing else, this mysterious though certain principle is, +as we believe, the true and only source of all originality. + +In the power of assimilating what is foreign, or external, to our own +particular nature consists the individualizing law, and in the power +of reproducing what is thus modified consists the originating cause. + +Let us turn now to an opposite example,--to a mere mechanical copy of +some natural object, where the marks in question are wholly wanting. +Will any one be truly affected by it? We think not; we do not say that +he will not praise it,--this he may do from various motives; but his +_feeling_--if we may so name the index of the law within--will +not be called forth to any spontaneous correspondence with the object +before him. + +But why talk of feeling, says the pseudo-connoisseur, where we should +only, or at least first, bring knowledge? This is the common cant of +those who become critics for the sake of distinction. Let the Artist +avoid them, if he would not disfranchise himself in the suppression +of that uncompromising _test_ within him, which is the only sure +guide to the truth without. + +It is a poor ambition to desire the office of a judge merely for +the sake of passing sentence. But such an ambition is not likely to +possess a person of true sensibility. There are some, however, in +whom there is no deficiency of sensibility, yet who, either from +self-distrust, or from some mistaken notion of Art, are easily +persuaded to give up a right feeling, in exchange for what they may +suppose to be knowledge,--the barren knowledge of faults; as if there +could be a human production without them! Nevertheless, there is +little to be apprehended from any conventional theory, by one who is +forewarned of its mere negative power,--that it can, at best, only +suppress feeling; for no one ever was, or ever can be, argued into +a real liking for what he has once felt to be false. But, where the +feeling is genuine, and not the mere reflex of a popular notion, so +far as it goes it must be true. Let no one, therefore, distrust it, to +take counsel of his head, when he finds himself standing before a work +of Art. Does he feel its truth? is the only question,--if, indeed, the +impertinence of the understanding should then propound one; which we +think it will not, where the feeling is powerful. To such a one, the +characteristic of Art upon which we are now discoursing will force +its way with the power of light; nor will he ever be in danger of +mistaking a mechanical copy for a living imitation. + +But we sometimes hear of "faithful transcripts," nay, of fac-similes. +If by these be implied neither more nor less than exists in their +originals, they must still, in that case, find their true place in +the dead category of Copy. Yet we need not be detained by any inquiry +concerning the merits of a fac-simile, since we firmly deny that a +fac-simile, in the true sense of the term, is a thing possible. + +That an absolute identity between any natural object and its represented +image is a thing impossible, will hardly be questioned by any one who +thinks, and will give the subject a moment's reflection; and the +difficulty lies in the nature of things, the one being the work of the +Creator, and the other of the creature. We shall therefore assume as a +fact, the eternal and insuperable difference between Art and Nature. That +our pleasure from Art is nevertheless similar, not to say equal, to that +which we derive from Nature, is also a fact established by experience; to +account for which we are necessarily led to the admission of another fact, +namely, that there exists in Art a _peculiar something_ which we receive +as equivalent to the admitted difference. Now, whether we call this +equivalent, individualized truth, or human or poetic truth, it matters +not; we know by its _effects_, that some such principle does exist, and +that it acts upon us, and in a way corresponding to the operation of that +which we call Truth and Life in the natural world. Of the various laws +growing out of this principle, which take the name of Rules when applied +to Art, we shall have occasion to speak in a future discourse. At present +we shall confine ourselves to the inquiry, how far the difference alluded +to may be safely allowed in any work professing to be an imitation of +Nature. + +The fact, that truth may subsist with a very considerable admixture +of falsehood, is too well known to require an argument. However +reprehensible such an admixture may be in morals, it becomes in Art, +from the limited nature of our powers, a matter of necessity. + +For the same reason, even the realizing of a thought, or that which +is properly and exclusively human, must ever be imperfect. If Truth, +then, form but the greater proportion, it is quite as much as we may +reasonably look for in a work of Art. But why, it may be asked, where +the false predominates, do we still derive pleasure? Simply because of +the Truth that remains. If it be further demanded, What is the minimum +of truth in order to a pleasurable effect? we reply, So much only as +will cause us to feel that the truth _exists_. It is this feeling +alone that determines, not only the true, but the degrees of truth, +and consequently the degrees of pleasure. + +Where no such feeling is awakened, and supposing no deficiency in the +recipient, he may safely, from its absence, pronounce the work false; +nor could any ingenious theory of the understanding convince him to +the contrary. He may, indeed, as some are wont to do, make a random +guess, and _call_ the work true; but he can never so _feel_ +it by any effort of reasoning. But may not men differ as to their +impressions of truth? Certainly as to the degrees of it, and in this +according to their sensibility, in which we know that men are not +equal. By sensibility here we mean the power or capacity of receiving +impressions. All men, indeed, with equal organs, may be said in a +certain sense to see alike. But will the same natural object, +conveyed through these organs, leave the same impression? The fact is +otherwise. What, then, causes the difference, if it be not (as before +observed) a peculiar something in the individual mind, that modifies +the image? If so, there must of necessity be in every true work of +Art--if we may venture the expression--another, or distinctive, truth. +To recognize this, therefore,--as we have elsewhere endeavoured to +show,--supposes in the recipient something akin to it. And, though it +be in reality but a _sign_ of life, it is still a sign of which +we no sooner receive the impress, than, by a law of our mind, we feel +it to be acting upon our thoughts and sympathies, without our knowing +how or wherefore. Admitting, therefore, the corresponding instinct, +or whatever else it may be called, to vary in men,--which there is no +reason to doubt,--the solution of their unequal impression appears at +once. Hence it would be no extravagant metaphor, should we affirm that +some persons see more with their minds than others with their eyes. +Nay, it must be obvious to all who are conversant with Art, that +much, if not the greater part, in its higher branches is especially +addressed to this mental vision. And it is very certain, if there were +no truth beyond the reach of the senses, that little would remain to +us of what we now consider our highest and most refined pleasure. + +But it must not be inferred that originality consists in any +contradiction to Nature; for, were this allowed and carried out, it +would bring us to the conclusion, that, the greater the contradiction, +the higher the Art. We insist only on the modification of the natural +by the personal; for Nature is, and ever must be, at least the +sensuous ground of all Art: and where the outward and inward are +so united that we cannot separate them, there shall we find the +perfection of Art. So complete a union has, perhaps, never been +accomplished, and _may_ be impossible; it is certain, however, +that no approach to excellence can ever be made, if the _idea_ of +such a union be not constantly looked to by the artist as his ultimate +aim. Nor can the idea be admitted without supposing a _third_ as +the product of the two,--which we call Art; between which and Nature, +in its strictest sense, there must ever be a difference; indeed, a +_difference with resemblance_ is that which constitutes its +essential condition. + +It has doubtless been observed, that, in this inquiry concerning the +nature and operation of the first characteristic, the presence of the +second, or verifying principle, has been all along implied; nor could +it be otherwise, because of their mutual dependence. Still more will +its active agency be supposed in our examination of the third, namely, +Invention. But before we proceed to that, the paramount index of the +highest art, it may not be amiss to obtain, if possible, some distinct +apprehension of what we have termed Poetic Truth; to which, it will be +remembered, was also prefixed the epithet Human, our object therein +being to prepare the mind, by a single word, for its peculiar sphere; +and we think it applicable also for a more important reason, +namely, that this kind of Truth is the _true ground of the +poetical_,--for in what consists the poetry of the natural world, +if not in the sentiment and reacting life it receives from the human +fancy and affections? And, until it can be shown that sentiment and +fancy are also shared by the brute creation, this seeming effluence +from the beautiful in nature must rightfully revert to man. What, for +instance, can we suppose to be the effect of the purple haze of a +summer sunset on the cows and sheep, or even on the more delicate +inhabitants of the air? From what we know of their habits, we +cannot suppose more than the mere physical enjoyment of its genial +temperature. But how is it with the poet, whom we shall suppose +an object in the same scene, stretched on the same bank with the +ruminating cattle, and basking in the same light that flickers from +the skimming birds. Does he feel nothing more than the genial warmth? +Ask him, and he perhaps will say,--"This is my soul's hour; this +purpled air the heart's atmosphere, melting by its breath the sealed +fountains of love, which the cold commonplace of the world had frozen: +I feel them gushing forth on every thing around me; and how worthy of +love now appear to me these innocent animals, nay, these whispering +leaves, that seem to kiss the passing air, and blush the while at +their own fondness! Surely they are happy, and grateful too that they +are so; for hark! how the little birds send up their song of praise! +and see how the waving trees and waving grass, in mute accordance, +keep time with the hymn!" + +This is but one of the thousand forms in which the human spirit is +wont to effuse itself on the things without, making to the mind a +new and fairer world,--even the shadowing of that which its immortal +craving will sometimes dream of in the unknown future. Nay, there +is scarcely an object so familiar or humble, that its magical touch +cannot invest it with some poetic charm. Let us take an extreme +instance,--a pig in his sty. The painter, Morland, was able to convert +even this disgusting object into a source of pleasure,--and a pleasure +as real as any that is known to the palate. + +Leaving this to have the weight it may be found to deserve, we turn +to the original question; namely, What do we mean by Human or Poetic +Truth? + +When, in respect to certain objects, the effects are found to be +uniformly of the same kind, not only upon ourselves, but also upon +others, we may reasonably infer that the efficient cause is of one +nature, and that its uniformity is a necessary result. And, when we also +find that these effects, though differing in degree, are yet uniform in +their character, while they seem to proceed from objects which in +themselves are indefinitely variant, both in kind and degree, we are +still more forcibly drawn to the conclusion, that the _cause_ is not +only _one_, but not inherent in the object.[2] The question now arises, +What, then, is that which seems to us so like an _alter et idem_,--which +appears to act upon, and is recognized by us, through an animal, a bird, +a tree, and a thousand different, nay, opposing objects, in the same +way, and to the same end? The inference follows of necessity, that the +mysterious cause must be in some general law, which is absolute and +_imperative_ in relation to every such object under certain conditions. +And we receive the solution as true,--because we cannot help it. The +reality, then, of such a law becomes a fixture in the mind. + +But we do not stop here: we would know something concerning the +conditions supposed. And in order to this, we go back to the effect. +And the answer is returned in the form of a question,--May it not +be something _from ourselves_, which is reflected back by the +object,--something with which, as it were, we imbue the object, making +it correspond to a _reality_ within us? Now we recognize the +reality within; we recognize it also in the object,--and the affirming +light flashes upon us, not in the form of _deduction_, but of +inherent Truth, which we cannot get rid of; and we _call_ it +Truth,--for it will take no other name. + +It now remains to discover, so to speak, its location. In what part, +then, of man may this self-evidenced, yet elusive, Truth or power be +said to reside? It cannot be in the senses; for the senses can impart +no more than they receive. Is it, then, in the mind? Here we are +compelled to ask, What is understood by the mind? Do we mean the +understanding? We can trace no relation between the Truth we would +class and the reflective faculties. Or in the moral principle? Surely +not; for we can predicate neither good nor evil by the Truth in +question. Finally, do we find it identified with the truth of +the Spirit? But what is the truth of the Spirit but the Spirit +itself,--the conscious _I_? which is never even thought of in +connection with it. In what form, then, shall we recognize it? In +its own,--the form of Life,--the life of the Human Being; that +self-projecting, realizing power, which is ever present, ever acting +and giving judgment on the instant on all things corresponding with +its inscrutable self. We now assign it a distinctive epithet, and call +it Human. + +It is a common saying, that there is more in a name than we are apt +to imagine. And the saying is not without reason; for when the name +happens to be the true one, being proved in its application, it +becomes no unimportant indicator as to the particular offices for +which the thing named was designed. So we find it with respect to the +Truth of which we speak; its distinctive epithet marking out to us, as +its sphere of action, the mysterious intercourse between man and man; +whether the medium consist in words or colors, in thought or form, or +in any thing else on which the human agent may impress, be it in a +sign only, his own marvellous life. As to the process or _modus +operandi_, it were a vain endeavour to seek it out: that divine +secret must ever to man be an humbling darkness. It is enough for him +to know that there is that within him which is ever answering to that +without, as life to life,--which must be life, and which must be true. + +We proceed now to the third characteristic. It has already been +stated, in the general definition, what we would be understood to mean +by the term Invention, in its particular relation to Art; namely, any +unpractised mode of presenting a subject, whether by the combination +of forms already known, or by the union and modification of known +but fragmentary parts into a new and consistent whole: in both cases +tested by the two preceding characteristics. + +We shall consider first that division of the subject which stands first +in order,--the Invention which consists in the new combination of known +forms. This may be said to be governed by its exclusive relation either +to _what is_, or _has been_, or, when limited by the _probable_, to what +strictly may be. It may therefore be distinguished by the term Natural. +But though we so name it, inasmuch as all its forms have their +prototypes in the Actual, it must still be remembered that these +existing forms do substantially constitute no more than mere _parts_ to +be combined into a _whole_, for which Nature has provided no original. +For examples in this, the most comprehensive class, we need not refer +to any particular school; they are to be found in all and in every +gallery: from the histories of Raffaelle, the landscapes of Claude and +Poussin and others, to the familiar scenes of Jan Steen, Ostade, and +Brower. In each of these an adherence to the actual, if not strictly +observed, is at least supposed in all its parts; not so in the whole, as +that relates to the probable; by which we mean such a result as _would +be_ true, were the same combination to occur in nature. Nor must we be +understood to mean, by adherence to the actual, that one part is to be +taken for an exact portrait; we mean only such an imitation as precludes +an intentional deviation from already existing and known forms. + +It must be very obvious, that, in classing together any of the +productions of the artists above named, it cannot be intended to +reduce them to a level; such an attempt (did our argument require it) +must instantly revolt the common sense and feeling of every one at all +acquainted with Art. And therefore, perhaps, it may be thought that +their striking difference, both in kind and degree, might justly call +for some further division. But admitting, as all must, a wide, nay, +almost impassable, interval between the familiar subjects of the lower +Dutch and Flemish painters, and the higher intellectual works of the +great Italian masters, we see no reason why they may not be left to +draw their own line of demarcation as to their respective provinces, +even as is every day done by actual objects; which are all equally +natural, though widely differenced as well in kind as in quality. It +is no degradation to the greatest genius to say of him and of the most +unlettered boor, that they are both men. + +Besides, as a more minute division would be wholly irrelevant to the +present purpose, we shall defer the examination of their individual +differences to another occasion. In order, however, more distinctly to +exhibit their common ground of Invention, we will briefly examine a +picture by Ostade, and then compare it with one by Raffaelle, than +whom no two artists could well be imagined having less in common. + +The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of Ostade's work, +presenting something between a kitchen and a stable. Its principal +object is the carcass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry; +subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; the accessories, +various garments, pots, kettles, and other culinary utensils. + +The bare enumeration of these coarse materials would naturally +predispose the mind of one, unacquainted with the Dutch school, to +expect any thing but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would +seem to be the only possible impression from a picture composed of +such ingredients. And such, indeed, would be their effect under the +hand of any but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and follow +Ostade's _mind_, as it leaves its impress on the several objects. +Observe how he spreads his principal light, from the suspended carcass +to the surrounding objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable +shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there to an earthen +pot; then connecting it, by the flash from a brass kettle, with his +second light, the woman and child; and again turning the eye into +the dark recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old baskets, +roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a glimpse of sunshine, from +a half-open window, gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and +sending it back to the principal object, which now seems to act on the +mind as the luminous source of all these diverging lights. But the +magical whole is not yet completed; the mystery of color has been +called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that we can hardly +separate them; at least, until their united effect has first been +felt, and after we have begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even +then we cannot long proceed before we find the charm returning; as we +pass from the blaze of light on the carcass, where all the tints of +the prism seem to be faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the +dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose awhile on the white +cap and kerchief of the nursing mother; then we are roused again by +the flickering strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and +red petticoat; then the strife is softened by the low yellow of a +straw-bottomed chair; and thus with alternating excitement and repose +do we travel through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses +the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic dream. Now +all this will no doubt appear to many, if not absurd, at least +exaggerated: but not so to those who have ever felt the sorcery of +color. They, we are sure, will be the last to question the character +of the feeling because of the ingredients which worked the spell, +and, if true to themselves, they must call it poetry. Nor will they +consider it any disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to say +of Ostade that he also was an Artist. + +We turn now to a work of the great Italian,--the Death of Ananias. +The scene is laid in a plain apartment, which is wholly devoid of +ornament, as became the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. +The Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to transact the +temporal business of the Church, and are standing together on a +slightly elevated platform, about which, in various attitudes, some +standing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous assemblage of +their new converts, male and female. This quiet assembly (for we still +feel its quietness in the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly +roused by the sudden fall of one of their brethren; some of them turn +and see him struggling in the agonies of death. A moment before he was +in the vigor of life,--as his muscular limbs still bear evidence; +but he had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his frame is +convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we doubt for a moment as to the +awful cause: it is almost expressed in voice by those nearest to +him, and, though varied by their different temperaments, by terror, +astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice has yet but one +meaning,--"Ananias has lied to the Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as +if audible to the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his doom, +and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle marks him the judge; yet +not of himself,--for neither his attitude, air, nor expression has +any thing in unison with the impetuous Peter,--he is now the simple, +passive, yet awful instrument of the Almighty: while another on the +right, with equal calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated +arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate of the entering +Sapphira. Yet all is not done; lest a question remain, the Apostle on +the left confirms the judgment. No one can mistake what passes within +him; like one transfixed in adoration, his uplifted eyes seem to ray +out his soul, as if in recognition of the divine tribunal. But the +overpowering thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the human +sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, connecting the past with +the present, seem almost to articulate, "Alas, my brother!" By this +exquisite turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle almoner of the +Church, who is dealing out their portions to the needy brethren. And +here, as most remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering seems +not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of repose,--not to pass by, +but to linger upon, till we feel its quiet influence diffusing itself +over the whole mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved +Disciple, we find it leading us back through the exciting scene, +modifying even our deepest emotions with a kindred tranquillity. + +This is Invention; we have not moved a step through the picture but at +the will of the Artist. He invented the chain which we have followed, +link by link, through every emotion, assimilating many into one; and +this is the secret by which he prepared us, without exciting horror, +to contemplate the struggle of mortal agony. + +This too is Art; and the highest art, when thus the awful power, +without losing its character, is tempered, as it were, to our +mysterious desires. In the work of Ostade, we see the same inventive +power, no less effective, though acting through the medium of the +humblest materials. + +We have now exhibited two pictures, and by two painters who may be +said to stand at opposite poles. And yet, widely apart as are their +apparent stations, they are nevertheless tenants of the same ground, +namely, actual nature; the only difference being, that one is +the sovereign of the purely physical, the other of the moral and +intellectual, while their common medium is the catholic ground of the +imagination. + +We do not fear either skeptical demur or direct contradiction, when +we assert that the imagination is as much the medium of the homely +Ostade, as of the refined Raffaelle. For what is that, which has just +wrapped us as in a spell when we entered his humble cottage,--which, +as we wandered through it, invested the coarsest object with a +strange charm? Was it the _truth_ of these objects that we there +acknowledged? In part, certainly, but not simply the truth that +belongs to their originals; it was the truth of his own individual +mind superadded to that of nature, nay, clothed upon besides by his +imagination, imbuing it with all the poetic hues which float in the +opposite regions of night and day, and which only a poet can mingle +and make visible in one pervading atmosphere. To all this our own +minds, our own imaginations, respond, and we pronounce it true to +both. We have no other rule, and well may the artists of every age and +country thank the great Lawgiver that there _is no other_. The +despised _feeling_ which the schools have scouted is yet the +mother of that science of which they vainly boast. But of this we may +have more to say in another place. + +We shall now ascend from the _probable_ to the _possible_, +to that branch of Invention whose proper office is from the known but +fragmentary to realize the unknown; in other words, to embody the +possible, having its sphere of action in the world of Ideas. To this +class, therefore, may properly be assigned the term _Ideal_. + +And here, as being its most important scene, it will be necessary to +take a more particular view of the verifying principle, the agent, so +to speak, that gives reality to the inward, when outwardly manifested. + +Now, whether we call this Human or Poetic Truth, or _inward +life_, it matters not; we know by _its effects_, (as we have +already said, and we now repeat,) that some such principle does exist, +and that it acts upon us, and in a way analogous to the operation of +that which we call truth and life in the world about us. And that the +cause of this analogy is a real affinity between the two powers seems +to us confirmed, not only _positively_ by this acknowledged +fact, but also _negatively_ by the absence of the effect above +mentioned in all those productions of the mind which we pronounce +unnatural. It is therefore in effect, or _quoad_ ourselves, both +truth and life, addressed, if we may use the expression, to that +inscrutable _instinct_ of the imagination which conducts us to +the knowledge of all invisible realities. + +A distinct apprehension of the reality and of the office of this +important principle, we cannot but think, will enable us to ascertain +with some degree of precision, at least so far as relates to art, +the true limits of the Possible,--the sphere, as premised, of Ideal +Invention. + +As to what some have called our _creative_ powers, we take it +for granted that no correct thinker has ever applied such expressions +literally. Strictly speaking, we can _make_ nothing: we can +only construct. But how vast a theatre is here laid open to the +constructive powers of the finite creature; where the physical eye is +permitted to travel for millions and millions of miles, while that of +the mind may, swifter than light, follow out the journey, from star to +star, till it falls back on itself with the humbling conviction that +the measureless journey is then but begun! It is needless to dwell on +the immeasurable mass of materials which a world like this may supply +to the Artist. + +The very thought of its vastness darkens into wonder. Yet how much +deeper the wonder, when the created mind looks into itself, and +contemplates the power of impressing its thoughts on all things +visible; nay, of giving the likeness of life to things inanimate; and, +still more marvellous, by the mere combination of words or colors, of +evolving into shape its own Idea, till some unknown form, having no +type in the actual, is made to seem to us an organized being. When +such is the result of any unknown combination, then it is that we +achieve the Possible. And here the Realizing Principle may strictly be +said to prove itself. + +That such an effect should follow a cause which we know to be purely +imaginary, supposes, as we have said, something in ourselves which +holds, of necessity, a predetermined relation to every object either +outwardly existing or projected from the mind, which we thus recognize +as true. If so, then the Possible and the Ideal are convertible terms; +having their existence, _ab initio_, in the nature of the mind. +The soundness of this inference is also supported negatively, as just +observed, by the opposite result, as in the case of those fantastic +combinations, which we sometimes meet with both in Poetry and +Painting, and which we do not hesitate to pronounce unnatural, that +is, false. + +And here we would not be understood as implying the preexistence of +all possible forms, as so many _patterns_, but only of that +constructive Power which imparts its own Truth to the unseen +_real_, and, under certain conditions, reflects the image or +semblance of its truth on all things imagined; and which must be +assumed in order to account for the phenomena presented in the +frequent coincident effect between the real and the feigned. Nor does +the absence of consciousness in particular individuals, as to this +Power in themselves, fairly affect its universality, at least +potentially: since by the same rule there would be equal ground for +denying the existence of any faculty of the mind which is of slow or +gradual developement; all that we may reasonably infer in such cases +is, that the whole mind is not yet revealed to itself. In some of the +greatest artists, the inventive powers have been of late developement; +as in Claude, and the sculptor Falconet. And can any one believe that, +while the latter was hewing his master's marble, and the former making +pastry, either of them was conscious of the sublime Ideas which +afterwards took form for the admiration of the world? When Raffaelle, +then a youth, was selected to execute the noble works which now live +on the walls of the Vatican, "he had done little or nothing," says +Reynolds, "to justify so high a trust." Nor could he have been +certain, from what he knew of himself, that he was equal to the task. +He could only hope to succeed; and his hope was no doubt founded on +his experience of the progressive developement of his mind in former +efforts; rationally concluding, that the originally seeming blank +from which had arisen so many admirable forms was still teeming with +others, that only wanted the occasion, or excitement, to come forth at +his bidding. + +To return to that which, as the interpreting medium of his thoughts +and conceptions, connects the artist with his fellow-men, we remark, +that only on the ground of some self-realizing power, like what +we have termed Poetic Truth, could what we call the Ideal ever be +intelligible. + +That some such power is inherent and fundamental in our nature, though +differenced in individuals by more or less activity, seems more +especially confirmed in this latter branch of the subject, where the +phenomena presented are exclusively of the Possible. Indeed, we cannot +conceive how without it there could ever be such a thing as true Art; +for what might be received as such in one age might also be overruled +in the next: as we know to be the case with most things depending on +opinion. But, happily for Art, if once established on this immutable +base, there it must rest: and rest unchanged, amidst the endless +fluctuations of manners, habits, and opinions; for its truth of +a thousand years is as the truth of yesterday. Hence the beings +described by Homer, Shakspeare, and Milton are as true to us now, as +the recent characters of Scott. Nor is it the least characteristic +of this important Truth, that the only thing needed for its full +reception is simply its presence,--being its own evidence. + +How otherwise could such a being as Caliban ever be true to us? We have +never seen his race; nay, we knew not that such a creature _could_ +exist, until he started upon us from the mind of Shakspeare. Yet who +ever stopped to ask if he were a real being? His existence to the mind +is instantly felt;--not as a matter of faith, but of fact, and a fact, +too, which the imagination cannot get rid of if it would, but which must +ever remain there, verifying itself, from the first to the last moment +of consciousness. From whatever point we view this singular creature, +his reality is felt. His very language, his habits, his feelings, +whenever they recur to us, are all issues from a living thing, acting +upon us, nay, forcing the mind, in some instances, even to speculate on +his nature, till it finds itself classing him in the chain of being as +the intermediate link between man and the brute. And this we do, not by +an ingenious effort, but almost by involuntary induction; for we +perceive speech and intellect, and yet without a soul. What but an +intellectual brute could have uttered the imprecations of Caliban? They +would not be natural in man, whether savage or civilized. Hear him, in +his wrath against Prospero and Miranda:-- + + "A wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed + With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, + Light on you both!" + +The wild malignity of this curse, fierce as it is, yet wants the moral +venom, the devilish leaven, of a consenting spirit: it is all but +human. + +To this we may add a similar example, from our own art, in the Puck, +or Robin Goodfellow, of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Who can look at this +exquisite little creature, seated on its toadstool cushion, and not +acknowledge its prerogative of life,--that mysterious influence which +in spite of the stubborn understanding masters the mind,--sending +it back to days long past, when care was but a dream, and its most +serious business a childish frolic? But we no longer think of +childhood as the past, still less as an abstraction; we see it +embodied before us, in all its mirth and fun and glee; and the grave +man becomes again a child, to feel as a child, and to follow the +little enchanter through all his wiles and never-ending labyrinth of +pranks. What can be real, if that is not which so takes us out of +our present selves, that the weight of years falls from us as a +garment,--that the freshness of life seems to begin anew, and the +heart and the fancy, resuming their first joyous consciousness, to +launch again into this moving world, as on a sunny sea, whose pliant +waves yield to the touch, yet, sparkling and buoyant, carry them +onward in their merry gambols? Where all the purposes of reality are +answered, if there be no philosophy in admitting, we see no wisdom in +disputing it. + +Of the immutable nature of this peculiar Truth, we have a like +instance in the Farnese Hercules; the work of the Grecian sculptor +Glycon,--we had almost said his immortal offspring. Since the time of +its birth, cities and empires, even whole nations, have disappeared, +giving place to others, more or less barbarous or civilized; yet these +are as nothing to the countless revolutions which have marked +the interval in the manners, habits, and opinions of men. Is it +reasonable, then, to suppose that any thing not immutable in its +nature could possibly have withstood such continual fluctuation? +But how have all these changes affected this _visible image of +Truth_? In no wise; not a jot; and because what is _true_ is +independent of opinion: it is the same to us now as it was to the men +of the dust of antiquity. The unlearned spectator of the present day +may not, indeed, see in it the Demigod of Greece; but he can never +mistake it for a mere exaggeration of the human form; though of mortal +mould, he cannot doubt its possession of more than mortal powers; he +feels its _essential life_, for he feels before it as in the +stirring presence of a superior being. + +Perhaps the attempt to give form and substance to a pure Idea was +never so perfectly accomplished as in this wonderful figure. Who has +ever seen the ocean in repose, in its awful sleep, that smooths it +like glass, yet cannot level its unfathomed swell? So seems to us the +repose of this tremendous personification of strength: the laboring +eye heaves on its slumbering sea of muscles, and trembles like a skiff +as it passes over them: but the silent intimations of the spirit +beneath at length become audible; the startled imagination hears it +in its rage, sees it in motion, and sees its resistless might in +the passive wrecks that follow the uproar. And this from a piece of +marble, cold, immovable, lifeless! Surely there is that in man, which +the senses cannot reach, nor the plumb of the understanding sound. + +Let us turn now to the Apollo called Belvedere. In this supernal +being, the human form seems to have been assumed as if to make visible +the harmonious confluence of the pure ideas of grace, fleetness, and +majesty; nor do we think it too fanciful to add celestial splendor; +for such, in effect, are the thoughts which crowd, or rather rush, +into the mind on first beholding it. Who that saw it in what may be +called the place of its glory, the Gallery of Napoleon, ever thought +of it as a man, much less as a statue; but did not feel rather as if +the vision before him were of another world,--of one who had just +lighted on the earth, and with a step so ethereal, that the next +instant he would vault into the air? If I may be permitted to recall +the impression which it made on myself, I know not that I could better +describe it than as a sudden intellectual flash, filling the whole +mind with light,--and light in motion. It seemed to the mind what the +first sight of the sun is to the senses, as it emerges from the ocean; +when from a point of light the whole orb at once appears to bound from +the waters, and to dart its rays, as by a visible explosion, through +the profound of space. But, as the deified Sun, how completely is the +conception verified in the thoughts that follow the effulgent original +and its marble counterpart! Perennial youth, perennial brightness, +follow them both. Who can imagine the old age of the sun? As soon +may we think of an old Apollo. Now all this may be ascribed to the +imagination of the beholder. Granted,--yet will it not thus be +explained away. For that is the very faculty addressed by every work +of Genius,--whose nature is _suggestive_; and only when it +excites to or awakens congenial thoughts and emotions, filling the +imagination with corresponding images, does it attain its proper end. +The false and the commonplace can never do this. + +It were easy to multiply similar examples; the bare mention of a +single name in modern art might conjure up a host,--the name of +Michael Angelo, the mighty sovereign of the Ideal, than whom no one +ever trod so near, yet so securely, the dizzy brink of the Impossible. + +Of Unity, the fourth and last characteristic, we shall say but little; +for we know in truth little or nothing of the law which governs +it: indeed, all that we know but amounts to this,--that, wherever +existing, it presents to the mind the Idea of a Whole,--which is +itself a mystery. For what answer can we give to the question, What +is a Whole? If we reply, That which has neither more nor less than it +ought to have, we do not advance a step towards a definite notion; for +the _rule_ (if there be one) is yet undiscovered, by which +to measure either the too much or the too little. Nevertheless, +incomprehensible as it certainly is, it is what the mind will not +dispense with in a work of Art; nay, it will not concede even a right +to the name to any production where this is wanting. Nor is it a sound +objection, that we also receive pleasure from many things which seem +to us fragmentary; for instance, from actual views in Nature,--as we +shall hope to show in another place. It is sufficient at present, +that, in relation to Art, the law of the imagination demands a whole; +in order to which not a single part must be felt to be wanting; all +must be there, however imperfectly rendered; nay, such is the craving +of this active faculty, that, be they but mere hints, it will often +fill them out to the desired end; the only condition being, that the +part hinted be founded in truth. It is well known to artists, that a +sketch, consisting of little more than hints, will frequently produce +the desired effect, and by the same means,--the hints being true so +far as expressed, and without an hiatus. But let the artist attempt to +_finish_ his sketch, that is, to fill out the parts, and suppose +him deficient in the necessary skill, the consequence must be, that +the true hints, becoming transformed to elaborate falsehoods, will +be all at variance, while the revolted imagination turns away with +disgust. Nor is this a thing of rare occurrence: indeed, he is a most +fortunate artist, who has never had to deplore a well-hinted whole +thus reduced to fragments. + +These are facts; from which we may learn, that with less than a whole, +either already wrought, or so indicated that the excited imagination +can of itself complete it, no genuine response will ever be given to +any production of man. And we learn from it also this twofold truth; +first, that the Idea of a Whole contains in itself a preexisting law; +and, secondly, that Art, the peculiar product of the Imagination, is +one of its true and predetermined ends. + +As to its practical application, it were fruitless to speculate. It +applies itself, even as truth, both in action and reaction, verifying +itself: and our minds submit, as if it had said, There is nothing +wanting; so, in the converse, its dictum is absolute when it announces +a deficiency. + +To return to the objection, that we often receive pleasure from many +things in Nature which seem to us fragmentary, we observe, that nothing in +Nature can be fragmentary, except in the seeming, and then, too, to the +understanding only,--to the feelings never; for a grain of sand, no less +than a planet, being an essential part of that mighty whole which we call +the universe, cannot be separated from the Idea of the world without a +positive act of the reflective faculties, an act of volition; but until +then even a grain of sand cannot cease to imply it. To the mere +understanding, indeed, even the greatest extent of actual objects which +the finite creature can possibly imagine must ever fall short of the vast +works of the Creator. Yet we nevertheless can, and do, apprehend the +existence of the universe. Now we would ask here, whether the influence of +a _real_,--and the epithet here is not unimportant,--whether the influence +of a real Whole is at no time felt without an act of consciousness, that +is, without thinking of a whole. Is this impossible? Is it altogether out +of experience? We have already shown (as we think) that no _unmodified +copy_ of actual objects, whether single or multifarious, ever satisfies +the imagination,--which imperatively demands a something more, or at least +different. And yet we often find that the very objects from which these +copies are made _do_ satisfy us. How and why is this? A question more +easily put than answered. We may suggest, however, what appears to us a +clew, that in abler hands may possibly lead to its solution; namely, the +fact, that, among the innumerable emotions of a pleasurable kind derived +from the actual, there is not one, perhaps, which is strictly confined to +the objects before us, and which we do not, either directly or indirectly, +refer to something beyond and not present. Now have we at all times a +distinct consciousness of the things referred to? Are they not rather more +often vague, and only indicated in some _undefined_ feeling? Nay, is its +source more intelligible where the feeling is more definite, when taking +the form of a sense of harmony, as from something that diffuses, yet +deepens, unbroken in its progress through endless variations, the melody +as it were of the pleasurable object? Who has never felt, under certain +circumstances, an expansion of the heart, an elevation of mind, nay, a +striving of the whole being to pass its limited bounds, for which he could +find no adequate solution in the objects around him,--the apparent cause? +Or who can account for every mood that thralls him,--at times like one +entranced in a dream by airs from Paradise,--at other times steeped in +darkness, when the spirit of discord seems to marshal his every thought, +one against another? + +Whether it be that the Living Principle, which permeates all things +throughout the physical world, cannot be touched in a single point +without conducting to its centre, its source, and confluence, thus +giving by a part, though obscurely and indefinitely, a sense of the +whole,--we know not. But this we may venture to assert, and on no +improbable ground,--that a ray of light is not more continuously +linked in its luminous particles than our moral being with the +whole moral universe. If this be so, may it not give us, in a faint +shadowing at least, some intimation of the many real, though unknown +relations, which everywhere surround and bear upon us? In the deeper +emotions, we have, sometimes, what seems to us a fearful proof of it. +But let us look at it negatively; and suppose a case where this chain +is broken,--of a human being who is thus cut off from all possible +sympathies, and shut up, as it were, in the hopeless solitude of +his own mind. What is this horrible avulsion, this impenetrable +self-imprisonment, but the appalling state of _despair?_ And what +if we should see it realized in some forsaken outcast, and hear his +forlorn cry, "Alone! alone!" while to his living spirit that single +word is all that is left him to fill the blank of space? In such a +state, the very proudest autocrat would yearn for the sympathy of the +veriest wretch. + +It would seem, then, since this living cement which is diffused +through nature, binding all things in one, so that no part can be +contemplated that does not, of necessity, even though unconsciously to +us, act on the mind with reference to the whole,--since this, as we +find, cannot be transferred to any copy of the actual, it must needs +follow, if we would imitate Nature in its true effects, that recourse +must be had to another, though similar principle, which shall so +pervade our production as to satisfy the mind with an efficient +equivalent. Now, in order to this there are two conditions required: +first, the personal modification, (already discussed) of every +separate part,--which may be considered as its proper life; and, +secondly, the uniting of the parts by such an interdependence that +they shall appear to us as essential, one to another, and all to each. +When this is done, the result is a whole. But how do we obtain +this mutual dependence? We refer the questioner to the law of +Harmony,--that mysterious power, which is only apprehended by its +imperative effect. + +But, be the above as it may, we know it to be a fact, that, whilst +nothing in Nature ever affects us as fragmentary, no unmodified copy +of her by man is ever felt by us as otherwise. + +We have thus--and, we trust, on no fanciful ground--endeavoured to +establish the real and distinctive character of Art. And, if our +argument be admitted, it will be found to have brought us to the +following conclusions:--first, that the true ground of all originality +lies in the _individualizing law_, that is, in that modifying +power, which causes the difference between man and man as to their +mental impressions; secondly, that only in a _true_ reproduction +consists its evidence; thirdly, that in the involuntary response from +other minds lies the truth of the evidence; fourthly, that in order +to this response there must therefore exist some universal kindred +principle, which is essential to the human mind, though widely +differenced in the degree of its activity in different individuals; +and finally, that this principle, which we have here denominated +Human or Poetic Truth, being independent both of the will and of the +reflective faculties, is in its nature _imperative_, to affirm +or deny, in relation to every production pretending to Art, from the +simple imitation of the actual to the probable, and from the probable +to the possible;--in one word, that the several characteristics, +Originality, Poetic Truth, Invention, each imply a something not +inherent in the objects imitated, but which must emanate alone from +the mind of the Artist. + +And here it may be well to notice an apparent objection, that will +probably occur to many, especially among painters. How, then, they may +ask, if the principle in question be universal and imperative, do we +account for the mistakes which even great Artists have sometimes made +as to the realizing of their conceptions? We hope to show, that, so +far from opposing, the very fact on which the objection is grounded +will be found, on the contrary, to confirm our doctrine. Were such +mistakes uniformly permanent, they might, perhaps, have a rational +weight; but that this is not the case is clearly evident from the +additional fact of the change in the Artist's judgment, which almost +invariably follows any considerable interval of time. Nay, should +a case occur where a similar mistake is never rectified,--which is +hardly probable,--we might well consider it as one of those exceptions +that prove the rule,--of which we have abundant examples in other +relations, where a true principle is so feebly developed as to be +virtually excluded from the sphere of consciousness, or, at least, +where its imperfect activity is for all practical purposes a mere +nullity. But, without supposing any mental weakness, the case may +be resolved by the no less formidable obstacle of a too inveterate +memory: and there have been such,--where a thought or an image once +impressed is never erased. In Art it is certainly an advantage to be +able sometimes to forget. Nor is this a new notion; for Horace, it +seems, must have had the same, or he would hardly have recommended so +long a time as nine years for the revision of a poem. That Titian +also was not unaware of the advantage of forgetting is recorded by +Boschini, who relates, that, during the progress of a work, he was +in the habit of occasionally turning it to the wall, until it had +somewhat faded from his memory, so that, on resuming his labor, he +might see with fresh eyes; when (to use his expression) he would +criticize the picture with as much severity as his worst enemy. If, +instead of the picture on the canvas, Boschini had referred to that in +his mind, as what Titian sought to forget, he would have been, as +we think, more correct. This practice is not uncommon with Artists, +though few, perhaps, are aware of its real object. + +It has doubtless the appearance of a singular anomaly in the judgment, +that it should not always be as correct in relation to our own works +as to those of another. Yet nothing is more common than perfect truth +in the one case, and complete delusion in the other. Our surprise, +however, would be sensibly diminished, if we considered that the +reasoning or reflective faculties have nothing to do with either case. +It is the Principle of which we have been speaking, the life, or truth +within, answering to the life, or rather its sign, before us, that +here sits in judgment. Still the question remains unanswered; and +again we are asked, Why is it that our own works do not always respond +with equal veracity? Simply because we do not always _see_ +them,--that is, as they are,--but, looking as it were _through +them_, see only their originals in the mind; the mind here acting, +instead of being acted upon. And thus it is, that an Artist may +suppose his conception realized, while that which gave life to it in +his mind is outwardly wanting. But let time erase, as we know it often +does, the mental image, and its embodied representative will then +appear to its author as it is,--true or false. There is one case, +however, where the effect cannot deceive; namely, where it comes upon +us as from a foreign source; where our own seems no longer ours. This, +indeed, is rare; and powerful must be the pictured Truth, that, as +soon as embodied, shall thus displace its own original. + +Nor does it in any wise affect the essential nature of the Principle +in question, or that of the other Characteristics, that the effect +which follows is not always of a pleasurable kind; it may even be +disagreeable. What we contend for is simply its _reality_; the +character of the perception, like that of every other truth, depending +on the individual character of the percipient. The common truth of +existence in a living person, for instance, may be to us either a +matter of interest or indifference, nay, even of disgust. So also may +it be with what is true in Art. Temperament, ignorance, cultivation, +vulgarity, and refinement have all, in a greater or less degree, an +influence in our impressions; so that any reality may be to us either +an offence or a pleasure, yet still a reality. In Art, as in Nature, +the True is imperative, and must be _felt_, even where a timid, a +proud, or a selfish motive refuses to acknowledge it. + +These last remarks very naturally lead us to another subject, and one +of no minor importance; we mean, the education of an Artist; on this, +however, we shall at present add but a few words. We use the word +_education_ in its widest sense, as involving not only the growth +and expansion of the intellect, but a corresponding developement of +the moral being; for the wisdom of the intellect is of little worth, +if it be not in harmony with the higher spiritual truth. Nor will a +moderate, incidental cultivation suffice to him who would become a +great Artist. He must sound no less than the full depths of his being +ere he is fitted for his calling; a calling in its very condition +lofty, demanding an agent by whom, from the actual, living world, is +to be wrought an imagined consistent world of Art,--not fantastic, +or objectless, but having a purpose, and that purpose, in all its +figments, a distinct relation to man's nature, and all that pertains +to it, from the humblest emotion to the highest aspiration; the circle +that bounds it being that only which bounds his spirit,--even the +confines of that higher world, where ideal glimpses of angelic forms +are sometimes permitted to his sublimated vision. Art may, in truth, +be called the _human world_; for it is so far the work of man, +that his beneficent Creator has especially endowed him with the powers +to construct it; and, if so, surely not for his mere amusement, but +as a part (small though it be) of that mighty plan which the Infinite +Wisdom has ordained for the evolution of the human spirit; whereby is +intended, not alone the enlargement of his sphere of pleasure, but of +his higher capacities of adoration;--as if, in the gift, he had said +unto man, Thou shalt know me by the powers I have given thee. The +calling of an Artist, then, is one of no common responsibility; and it +well becomes him to consider at the threshold, whether he shall assume +it for high and noble purposes, or for the low and licentious. + + + + +Form. + + + +The subject proposed for the following discourse is the Human Form; a +subject, perhaps, of all others connected with Art, the most obscured +by vague theories. It is one, at least, of such acknowledged +difficulty as to constrain the writer to confess, that he enters +upon it with more distrust than hope of success. Should he succeed, +however, in disencumbering this perplexed theme of some of its useless +dogmas, it will be quite as much as he has allowed himself to expect. + +The object, therefore, of the present attempt will be to show, first, +that the notion of one or more standard Forms, which shall in all +cases serve as exemplars, is essentially false, and of impracticable +application for any true purpose of Art; secondly, that the only +approach to Science, which the subject admits, is in a few general +rules relating to Stature, and these, too, serving rather as +convenient _expedients_ than exact guides, inasmuch as, in most +cases, they allow of indefinite variations; and, thirdly, that +the only efficient Rule must be found in the Artist's mind,--in +those intuitive Powers, which are above, and beyond, both the senses +and the understanding; which, nevertheless, are so far from precluding +knowledge, as, on the contrary, to require, as their effective +condition, the widest intimacy with the things external,--without +which their very existence must remain unknown to the Artist himself. + +Supposing, then, certain standard Forms to have been admitted, it may +not be amiss to take a brief view of the nature of the Being to whom +they are intended to be applied; and to consider them more especially +as auxiliaries to the Artist. + +In the first place, we observe, that the purpose of Art is not to +represent any given number of men, but the Human Race; and so that the +representation shall affect us, not indeed as living to the senses, +but as true to the mind. In order to this, there must be _all_ in +the imitation (though it be but hinted) which the mind will recognize +as true to the human being: hence the first business of the Artist is +to become acquainted with his subject in all its properties. He then +naturally inquires, what is its general characteristic; and his own +consciousness informs him, that, besides an animal nature, there is +also a moral intelligence, and that they together form the man. This +important truism (we say important, for it seems to have been +not seldom overlooked) makes the foundation of all his future +observations; nor can he advance a step without continual reference +to this double nature. We find him accordingly in the daily habit of +mentally distinguishing this person from that, as a moral being, and +of assigning to each a separate character; and this not voluntarily, +but simply because he cannot avoid it. Yet, by what does he presume +to judge of strangers? He will probably answer, By their general +exterior. And what is the inference? There can be but one; namely, +that there must be--at least to him--some efficient correspondence +between the physical and the moral. This is so plain, that the wonder +is, how it ever came to be doubted. Nor is it directly denied, except +by those who from habitual disgust reject the guesswork of the various +pretenders to scientific systems; yet even these, no less than others, +do practically admit it in their common intercourse with the world. +And it cannot be otherwise; for what the Creator has joined must have +some affinity, although the palpable signs may elude our cognizance. +And that they do elude it, except perhaps in a very slight degree, +is actually the case, as is well proved by the signal failure of all +attempts to reduce them to a science; for neither diagram nor axiom +has ever yet corrected an instinctive impression. But man does not +live by science; he feels, acts, and judges right in a thousand things +without the consciousness of any rule by which he so feels, acts, or +judges. And, happily for him, he has a surer guide than human science +in that unknown Power within him,--without which he had been without +knowledge. But of this we shall have occasion to speak again in +another part of our discourse. + +Though the medium through which the soul acts be, as we have said, elusive +to the senses,--in so far as to be irreducible to any distinct form,--it +is not therefore the less real, as every one may verify by his own +experience; and, though seemingly invisible, it must nevertheless, +constituted as we are, act through the physical, and a physical medium +expressly constructed for its peculiar action; nay, it does this +continually, without our confounding for a moment the soul with its +instrument. Who can look into the human eye, and doubt of an influence not +of the body? The form and color leave but a momentary impression, or, if +we remember them, it is only as we remember the glass through which we +have read the dark problems of the sky. But in this mysterious organ we +see not even the signs of its mystery. We see, in truth, nothing; for what +is there has neither form, nor symbol, nor any thing reducible to a +sensuous distinctness; and yet who can look into it, and not be conscious +of a real though invisible presence? In the eye of a brute, we see only a +part of the animal; it gives us little beyond the palpable outward; at +most, it is but the focal point of its fierce, or gentle, affectionate, or +timorous character,--the character of the species, But in man, neither +gentleness nor fierceness can be more than as relative conditions,--the +outward moods of his unseen spirit; while the spirit itself, that daily +and hourly sends forth its good and evil, to take shape from the body, +still sits in darkness. Yet have we that which can surely reach it; even +our own spirit. By this it is that we can enter into another's soul, sound +its very depths, and bring up his dark thoughts, nay, place them before +him till he starts at himself; and more,--it is by this we _know_ that +even the tangible, audible, visible world is not more real than a +spiritual intercourse. And yet without the physical organ who can hold it? +We can never indeed understand, but we may not doubt, that which has its +power of proof in a single act of consciousness. Nay, we may add that we +cannot even conceive of a soul without a correlative form,--though it be +in the abstract; and _vice versa_. + +For, among the many impossibilities, it is not the least to look upon +a living human form as a thing; in its pictured copies, as already +shown in a former discourse, it may be a thing, and a beautiful thing; +but the moment we conceive of it as living, if it show not a soul, we +give it one by a moral necessity; and according to the outward will be +the spirit with which we endow it. No poetic being, supposed of our +species, ever lived to the imagination without some indication of the +moral; it is the breath of its life: and this is also true in the +converse; if there be but a hint of it, it will instantly clothe +itself in a human shape; for the mind cannot separate them. In the +whole range of the poetic creations of the great master of truth,--we +need hardly say Shakspeare,--not an instance can be found where this +condition of life is ever wanting; his men and women all have souls. +So, too, when he peoples the air, though he describe no form, he never +leaves these creatures of the brain without a shape, for he will +sometimes, by a single touch of the moral, enable us to supply one. +Of this we have a striking instance in one of his most unsubstantial +creations, the "delicate Ariel." Not an allusion to its shape or +figure is made throughout the play; yet we assign it a form on its +very first entrance, as soon as Prospero speaks of its refusing to +comply with the" abhorred commands" of the witch, Sycorax. And again, +in the fifth act, when Ariel, after recounting the sufferings of the +wretched usurper and his followers, gently adds,-- + + "Your charm so strongly works them, + That, if you now beheld them, your affections + Would become tender." + +On which Prospero remarks,-- + + "Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling + Of their afflictions?" + +Now, whether Shakspeare intended it or not, it is not possible after +this for the reader to think of Ariel but in a human form; for slight +as these hints are, if they do not indicate the moral affections, they +at least imply something akin to them, which in a manner compels us to +invest the gentle Spirit with a general likeness to our own physical +exterior, though, perhaps, as indistinct as the emotion that called +for it. + +We have thus considered the human being in his complex condition, of +body and spirit, or physical and moral; showing the impossibility of +even thinking of him in the one, to the exclusion of the other. We +may, indeed, successively think first of the form, and then of +the moral character, as we may think of any one part of either +analytically; but we cannot think of the _human being_ except +as a _whole_. It follows, therefore, as a consequence, that no +imitation of man can be true which is not addressed to us in this +double condition. And here it may be observed, that in Art there is +this additional requirement, that there be no discrepancy between the +form and the character intended,--or rather, that the form _must_ +express the character, or it expresses nothing: a necessity which is +far from being general in actual nature. But of this hereafter. + +Let us now endeavour to form some general notion of Man in his various +aspects, as presented by the myriads which people the earth. But whose +imagination is equal to the task,--to the setting in array before it +the countless multitudes, each individual in his proper form, his +proper character? Were this possible, we should stand amazed at the +interminable differences, the hideous variety; and that, too, no less +in the moral, than in the physical; nay, so opposite and appalling in +the former as hardly to be figured by a chain of animals, taking for +the extremes the fierce and filthy hyena and the inoffensive lamb. +This is man in the concrete,--to which, according to some, is to be +applied the _abstract Ideal!_ + +Now let us attempt to conceive of a being that shall represent all the +diversities of mind, affections, and dispositions, that fleck this +heterogeneous mass of humanity, and then to conceive of a Form that +shall be in such perfect affinity with it as to indicate them all. The +bare statement of the proposition shows its absurdity. Yet this must +be the office of a Standard Form; and this it must do, or it will be +a falsehood. Nor should we find it easier with any given number, with +twenty, fifty, nay, an hundred (so called) generic forms. We do not +hesitate to affirm, that, were it possible, it would be quite as easy +with one as with a thousand. + +But to this it may be replied, that the Standard Form was never +intended to represent the vicious or degraded, but man in his most +perfect developement of mind, affections, and body. This is certainly +narrowing its office, and, unfortunately, to the representing of but +_one_ man; consequently, of no possible use beyond to the Painter +or Sculptor of Humanity, since every repetition of this perfect form +would be as the reflection of one multiplied by mirrors. But such +repetitions, it may be further answered, were never contemplated, that +Form being given only as an exemplar of the highest, to serve as a +guide in our approach to excellence; as we could not else know to a +certainty to what degree of elevation our conceptions might rise. +Still, in that case its use would be limited to a single object, that +is, to itself, its own perfectness; it would not aid the Artist in the +intermediate ascent to it,--unless it contained within itself all the +gradations of human character; which no one will pretend. + +But let us see how far it is possible to _realize_ the Idea of a +_perfect_ Human Form. + +We have already seen that the mere physical structure is not man, but +only a part; the Idea of man including also an internal moral being. +The external, then, in an _actually disjoined_ state, cannot, +strictly speaking, be the human form, but only a diagram of it. It is, +in fact, but a partial condition, becoming human only when united with +the internal moral; which, in proof of the union, it must of necessity +indicate. If we would have a true Idea of it, therefore, it must be as +a whole; consequently, the perfect physical exterior must have, as an +essential part, the perfect moral. Now come two important questions. +First, In what consists Moral Perfection? We use the word _moral_ +here (from a want in our language) in its most comprehensive sense, +as including the spiritual and the intellectual. With respect to that +part of our moral being which pertains to the affections, in all their +high relations to God and man, we have, it is true, a sure and holy +guide. In a Christian land, the humblest individual may answer as +readily as the most profound scholar, and express its perfection in +the single word, Holiness. But what will be the reply in regard to the +Intellect? For what is a perfect Intellect? Is it the Dialectic, the +Speculative, or the Imaginative? Or, rather, would it not include them +all? + +We proceed next to the Physical. What, then, constitutes its +Perfection? Here, it might seem, there can be no difficulty, and the +reply will probably be in naming all the excellent qualities in our +animal nature, such as strength, agility, fleetness, with every other +that can be thought of. The bare enumeration of these few qualities +may serve to show the nature of the task; yet a physically perfect +form requires them all; none must be omitted; it would else be +imperfect; nay, they must not only be there, but all be developed in +their highest degrees. We might here exclaim with Hamlet, though in a +very different sense, + + "A combination and a form indeed!" + +And yet there is no other way to express physical perfection. But +can it be so expressed? The reader must reply for himself. We will, +however, suppose it possible; still the task is incomplete without the +adjustment of these to the perfect Moral, in the highest known degrees +of its several elements. To those who can imagine _such_ a form +as shall be the sure exponent of _such_ a moral being,--and such +it must be, or it will be nothing,--we leave the task of constructing +this universal exemplar for multitudinous man. We may add, however, +one remark; that, supposing it possible thus to concentrate, and +with equal prominence, all the qualities of the species into one +individual, it can only be done by supplanting Providence, in other +words, by virtually overruling the great principle of subordination +so visibly impressed on all created life. For although, as we have +elswhere observed, there can be no sound mind (and the like may be +affirmed of the whole man), which is deficient in any one essential, +it does not therefore follow, that each of these essentials may not be +almost indefinitely differenced in the degrees of their developement +without impairing the human integrity. And such is the fact in actual +nature; nor does this in any wise affect the individual unity,--as +will be noticed hereafter. + +We will now briefly examine the pretensions of what are called the +Generic Forms. And here we are met by another important characteristic +of the human being, namely, his essential individuality. + +It is true that the human family, so called, is divided into many +distinct races, having each its peculiar conformation, color, and so +forth, which together constitute essential differences; but it is +to be remembered that these essentials are all physical; and _so +far_ they are properly generic, as implying a difference in kind. +But, though a striking difference is also observable in their moral +being, it is by no means of the same nature with that which marks +their physical condition, the difference in the moral being only of +degree; for, however fierce, brutal, stupid, or cunning, or gentle, +generous, or heroic, the same characteristics may each be paralleled +among ourselves; nay, we could hardly name a vice, a passion, or +a virtue, in Asia, Africa, or America, that has not its echo in +civilized Europe. And what is the inference? That climate and +circumstance, if such are the causes of the physical variety, have no +controlling power, except in degree, over the Moral. Does not this +undeniable fact, then, bring us to the fair conclusion, that the moral +being has no genera? To affirm otherwise would be virtually to +deny its responsible condition; since the law of its genus must be +paramount to all other laws,--to education, government, religion. Nor +can the result be evaded, except by the absurd supposition of generic +responsibilities! To us, therefore, it seems conclusive that a moral +being, as a free agent, cannot be subject to a generic law; nor +could he now be--what every man feels himself to be, in spite of +his theory--the fearful architect of his own destiny. In one sense, +indeed, we may admit a human genus,--such as every man must be in his +individual entireness. + +Man has been called a microcosm, or little world. And such, however +mean and contemptible to others, is man to himself; nay, such he must +ever be, whether he wills it or not. He may hate, he may despise, yet +he cannot but cling to that without which he is not; he is the centre +and the circle, be it of pleasure or of pain; nor can he be other. +Touch him with misery, and he becomes paramount to the whole +world,--to a thousand worlds; for the beauty and the glory of the +universe are as nothing to him who is all darkness. Then it is that he +will _feel_, should he have before doubted, that he is not a mere +part, a fraction, of his kind, but indeed a world; and though little +in one sense, yet a world of awful magnitude in its capacity of +suffering. In one word, Man is a whole, _an Individual_. + +If the preceding argument be admitted, it will be found to have +relieved the student of two delusive dogmas,--and the more delusive, +as carrying with them a plausible show of science. + +As to the flowery declamations about Beauty, they would not here be +noticed, were they not occasionally met with in works of high merit, +and not unfrequently mixed up with philosophic truth. If they have +any definite meaning, it amounts to this,--that the Beautiful is the +summit of every possible excellence! The extravagance, not to say +absurdity, of such a proposition, confounding, as it does, all +received distinctions, both in the moral and the natural world, needs +no comment. It is hardly to be believed, however, that the writers in +question could have deliberately intended this. It is more probable, +that, in so expressing themselves, they were only giving vent to an +enthusiastic feeling, which we all know is generally most vague when +associated with admiration; it is not therefore strange that the +ardent expression of it should partake of its vagueness. Among the +few critical works of authority in which the word is so used, we may +mention the (in many respects admirable) Discourses of Sir Joshua +Reynolds, where we find the following sentence:--"The _beauty_ of +the Hercules is one, of the Gladiator another, of the Apollo another; +which, of course, would present three different Ideas of Beauty." If +this had been said of various animals, differing in _kind_, the +term so applied might, perhaps, have been appropriate. But the same +term is here applied to objects of the same kind, differing not +essentially even in age; we say _age_, inasmuch as in the three +great divisions, or periods, of human life, namely, childhood, +youth, and maturity, the characteristic conditions of each are so +_essentially_ distinct, as virtually to separate them into +positive kinds. + +But it is no less idle than invidious to employ our time in +overturning the errors of others; if we establish Truth, they will +fall of themselves. There cannot be two right sides to any question; +and, if we are right, what is opposed to us must of necessity he +wrong. Whether we are so or not must be determined by those who admit +or reject what has already been advanced on the subject of Beauty, in +the first Discourse. It will be remembered, that, in the course of our +argument there, we were brought to the conclusion, that Beauty was +the Idea of a certain physical _condition_, both general and +ultimate; general, as presiding over objects of many kinds, and +ultimate, as being the _perfection_ of that peculiar condition in +each, and therefore not applicable to, or representing, its degrees +in any; which, as approximations only to the one supreme Idea, should +truly be distinguished by other terms. Accordingly, we cannot, +strictly speaking, say of two persons of the same age and sex, +differing from each other, that they are equally beautiful. We hear +this, indeed, almost daily; it is nevertheless not the true expression +of the actual impression made on the speaker, though he may not take +the trouble to examine and compare them. But let him do so, and we +doubt not that he would find the one to rise (in however slight a +degree) above the other; and, if he did not assign a different term +to the lower, it would be only because he was not in the habit of +marking, or did not think it worth his while to note, such nice +distinctions. + +If there is a _first_ and a _last_ to any thing, the +intermediates can be neither one nor the other; and, if we so name +them, we speak falsely. It is no less so with Beauty, which, being at +the head, or first in a series, admits no transference of its title. +We mean, if speaking strictly; which, however, we freely acknowledge, +no one can; but that is owing to the insufficiency of language, which +in no dialect could supply a hundredth part of the terms needed to +mark every minute shade of difference. Perhaps no subject requiring a +wider nomenclature has one so contracted; and the consequence is, +that no subject is more obscured by vague expressions. But it is the +business of the Artist, if he cannot form to himself the corresponding +terms, to be prepared at least to perceive and to note these various +shades. We do not say, that an actual acquaintance with all the nice +distinctions is an essential requisite, but only that it will not be +altogether useless to be aware of their existence; at any rate, it +may serve to shield him from the annoyance of false criticism, when +censured for wanting beauty where its presence would have been an +impertinence. + +Before we quit the subject, it may not be amiss to observe, that, in +the preceding remarks, our object has been not so much to insist on +correct speaking as correct thinking. The poverty of language, +as already admitted, has made the former impossible; but, though +constrained in this, as in many other cases where a subordinate is put +for its principal, to apply the term Beautiful to its various degrees, +yet a right apprehension of what Beauty _is_ may certainly +prevent its misapplication as to other objects having no relation to +it. Nor is this a small matter where the avoiding of confusion is an +object desirable; and there is clearly some difference between an +approach to precision and utter vagueness. + +We have now to consider how far the Correspondence between the +outward form and the inward being, which is assumed by the Artist, is +supported by fact. + +In a fair statement, then, of facts, it cannot be denied that with +the mass of men the outward intimation of character is certainly very +faint, with many obscure, and with some ambiguous, while with others +it has often seemed to express the very reverse of the truth. Perhaps +a stronger instance of the latter could hardly occur than that cited +in a former discourse in illustration of the physical relation of +Beauty; where it was shown that the first and natural impression from +a beautiful form was not only displaced, but completely reversed, by +the revolting discovery of a moral discrepancy. But while we admit, on +the threshold, that the Correspondence in question cannot be sustained +as universally obvious, it is, nevertheless, not apprehended that this +admission can affect our argument, which, though in part grounded +on special cases of actual coincidence, is yet supported by other +evidences, which lead us to regard all such discrepancies rather as +exceptions, and as so many deviations from the original law of our +nature, nay, which lead us also rationally to infer at least a future, +potential correspondence in every individual. To the past, indeed, we +cannot appeal; neither can the past be cited against us, since little +is known of the early history of our race but a chronicle of their +actions; of their outward appearance scarcely any thing, certainly not +enough to warrant a decision one way or the other. Should we assume, +then, the Correspondence as a primeval law, who shall gainsay it? It +is not, however, so asserted. We may nevertheless hold it as a matter +of _faith_; and simply as such it is here submitted. But faith of +any kind must have some ground to rest on, either real or supposed, +either that of authority or of inference. Our ground of faith, then, +in the present instance, is in the universal desire amongst men to +_realize_ the Correspondence. Nothing is more common than, +on hearing or reading of any remarkable character, to find this +instinctive craving, if we may so term it, instantly awakened, and +actively employed in picturing to the imagination some corresponding +form; nor is any disappointment more general, than that which follows +the detection of a discrepancy on actual acquaintance. Indeed, we can +hardly deem it rash, should we rest the validity of this universal +desire on the common experience of any individual, taken at +random,--provided only that he has a particle of imagination. Nor +is its action dependent on our caprice or will. Ask any person of +ordinary cultivation, not to say refinement, how it is with him, +when, his imagination has not been forestalled by some definite fact; +whether he has never found himself _involuntarily_ associating +the good with the beautiful, the energetic with the strong, the +dignified with the ample, or the majestic with the lofty; the refined +with the delicate, the modest with the comely; the base with the +ugly, the brutal with the misshapen, the fierce with the coarse and +muscular, and so on; there being scarcely a shade of character to +which the imagination does not affix some corresponding form. + +In a still more striking form may we find the evidence of the law +supposed, if we turn to the young, and especially to those of a poetic +temperament,--to the sanguine, the open, and confiding, the creatures +of impulse, who reason best when trusting only to the spontaneous +suggestions of feeling. What is more common than implicit faith in +their youthful day-dreams,--a faith that lives, though dream after +dream vanish into common air when the sorcerer Fact touches their +eyes? And whence this pertinacious faith that _will_ not die, but +from a spring of life, that neither custom nor the dry understanding +can destroy? Look at the same Youth at a more advanced age, when the +refining intellect has mixed with his affections, adding thought and +sentiment to every thing attractive, converting all things fair to +things also of good report. Let us turn, at the same time, to one +still more advanced,--even so far as to have entered into the +conventional valley of dry bones,--one whom the world is preparing, +by its daily practical lessons, to enlighten with unbelief. If we see +them together, perhaps we shall hear the senior scoff at his younger +companion as a poetic dreamer, as a hunter after phantoms that never +were, nor could be, in nature: then may follow a homily on the virtues +of experience, as the only security against disappointment. But there +are some hearts that never suffer the mind to grow old. And such we +may suppose that of the dreamer. If he is one, too, who is accustomed +to look into himself,--not as a reasoner,--but with an abiding faith +in his nature,--we shall, perhaps, hear him reply,--Experience, it is +true, has often brought me disappointment; yet I cannot distrust those +dreams, as you call them, bitterly as I have felt their passing off; +for I feel the truth of the source whence they come. They could not +have been so responded to by my living nature, were they but phantoms; +they could not have taken such forms of truth, but from a possible +ground. + +By the word _poetic_ here, we do not mean the visionary or +fanciful,--for there may be much fancy where there is no poetic +feeling,--but that sensibility to _harmony_ which marks the +temperament of the Artist, and which is often most active in his +earlier years. And we refer to such natures, not only as being more +peculiarly alive to all existing affinities, but as never satisfied +with those merely which fall within their experience; ever striving, +on the contrary, as if impelled by instinct, to supply the deficiency +wherever it is felt. From such minds proceed what are called romantic +imaginings, but what we would call--without intending a paradox--the +romance of Truth. For it is impossible that the mind should ever have +this perpetual craving for the False. + +But the desire in question is not confined to any particular age or +temperament, though it is, doubtless, more ardent in some than in +others. Perhaps it is only denied to the habitually vicious. For who, +not hardened by vice, has ever looked upon a sleeping child in its +first bloom of beauty, and seen its pure, fresh hues, its ever +varying, yet according lines, moulding and suffusing, in their playful +harmony, its delicate features,--who, not callous, has ever looked +upon this exquisite creature, (so like what a poet might fancy of +visible music, or embodied odors,) and has not felt himself carried, +as it were, out of this present world, in quest of its moral +counterpart? It seems to us perfect; we desire no change,--not a line +or a hue but as it is; and yet we have a paradoxical feeling of a +want,--for it is all _physical_; and we supply that want by +endowing the child with some angelic attribute. Why do we this? To +make it a _whole_,--not to the eye, but to the mind. + +Nor is this general disposition to find a coincidence between a fair +exterior and moral excellence altogether unsupported by facts of, at +least, a partial realization. For, though a perfect correspondence +cannot be looked for in a state where all else is imperfect, he +is most unfortunate who has never met with many, and very near, +approximations to the desired union. But we have a still stronger +assurance of their predetermined affinity in the peculiar activity of +this desire where there is no such approximation. For example, when we +meet with an instance of the higher virtues in an unattractive form, +how natural the wish that that form were beautiful! So, too, on +beholding a beautiful person, how common the wish that the mind +it clothed were also good! What are these wishes but unconscious +retrospects to our primitive nature? And why have we them, if they be +not the workings of that universal law, which gathers to itself all +scattered affinities, bodying them forth in the never-ending forms of +harmony,--in the flower, in the tree, in the bird, and the animal,--if +they be not the evidence of its continuous, though fruitless, effort +to evolve too in _man_ its last consummate work, by the perfect +confluence of the body and the spirit? In this universal yearning (for +it seems to us no less) to connect the physical with its appropriate +moral,--to say nothing of the mysterious intuition that points to +the appropriate,--is there not something like a clew to what was +originally natural? And, again, in the never-ceasing strivings of the +two great elements of our being, each to supply the deficiencies of +the other, have we not also an intimation of something that _once +was_, that is now lost, and would be recovered? Surely there must +be more in this than a mere concernment of Art;--if, indeed, there be +not in Art more of the prophetic than we are now aware of. To us +it seems that this irrepressible desire to find the good in the +beautiful, and the beautiful in the good, implies an end, both +beyond and above the trifling present; pointing to deep and dark +questions,--to no less than where the mysteries which surround us will +meet their solution. One great mystery we see in part resolving itself +here. We see the deformities of the body sometimes giving place to +its glorious tenant. Some of us may have witnessed this, and felt +the spiritual presence gaining daily upon us, till the outward shape +seemed lost in its brightness, leaving no trace in the memory. + +Whether the position we have endeavoured to establish be disputed or +not, the absolute correspondence between the Moral and the Physical +is, at any rate, the essential ground of the Plastic arts; which could +not else exist, since through _Form alone_ they have to convey, +not only thought and emotion, but distinct and permanent character. +For our own part, we cannot but consider their success in this as +having settled the question. + +From the view here presented, what is the inference in relation to +Art? That Man, as a compound being, cannot be represented without an +indication as well of Mind as of body; that, by a natural law which we +cannot resist, we do continually require that they be to us as mutual +exponents, the one of the other; and, finally, that, as a responsible +being, and therefore a free agent, he cannot be truly represented, +either to the memory or to the imagination, but as an Individual. + +It would seem, also, from the indefinite varieties in men, though +occasioned only by the mere difference of degrees in their common +faculties and powers, that the coincidence of an equal developement of +all was never intended in nature; but that some one or more of them, +becoming dominant, should distinguish the individual. It follows, +therefore, if this be the case, that only through the phase of such +predominance can the human being ever be contemplated. To the Artist, +then, it becomes the only safe ground; the starting-point from +whence to ascend to a true Ideal,--which is no other than a partial +individual truth made whole in the mind: and thus, instead of one +Ideal, and that baseless, he may have a thousand,--nay, as many as +there are marked or apprehensible _individuals_. + +But we must not be understood as confining Art to actual portraits. +Within such limits there could not be Art,--certainly not Art in its +highest sense; we should have in its place what would be little better +than a doubtful empiricism; since the most elevated subject, in the +ablest hands, would depend, of necessity, on the chance success of a +search after models. And, supposing that we bring together only the +rarest forms, still those forms, simply as circumscribed portraits, +and therefore insulated parts, would instantly close every avenue +to the imagination; for such is the law of the imagination, that it +cannot admit, or, in other words, recognize as a whole, that which +remains unmodified by some imaginative power, which alone can give +unity to separate and distinct objects. Yet, as it regards man, +all true Art does, and must, find its proper object in the +_Individual_: as without individuality there could not be +character, nor without character, the human being. + +But here it may be asked, In what manner, if we resort not to actual +portrait, is the Individual Man to be expressed? We answer, By +carrying out the natural individual predominant _fragment_ which +is visible to us in actual Form, to its full, consistent developement. +The Individual is thus idealized, when, in the complete accordance of +all its parts, it is presented to the mind as a _whole_. + +When we apply the term _fragment_ to a human being, we do not +mean in relation to his species, (in regard to which we have already +shown him to be a distinct whole,) but in relation to the Idea, to +which his predominant characteristic suggests itself but as a +partial manifestation, and made partial because counteracted by +some inadequate exponent, or else modified by other, though minor, +characteristics. + +How this is effected must be left to the Artist himself. It is +impossible to prescribe a rule that would be to much purpose for any +one who stands in need of such instruction; if his own mind does not +suggest the mode, it would not even be intelligible. Perhaps our +meaning, however, may be made more obvious, if we illustrate it by +example. We would refer, then, to the restoration of a statue, (a +thing often done with success,) where, from a single fragment, the +unknown Form has been completely restored, and so remoulded, that the +parts added are in perfect unity with the suggestive fragment. Now the +parts wanting having never been seen, this cannot be called a mere +act of the memory. Nevertheless, it is not from nothing that man can +produce even the _semblance_ of any thing. The materials of the +Artist are the work of Him who created the Artist himself; but over +these, which his senses and mind are given him to observe and collect, +he has a _delegated power_, for the purpose of combining and +modifying, as unlimited as mysterious. It is by the agency of this +intuitive and assimilating Power, elsewhere spoken of, that he is able +to separate the essential from the accidental, to proceed also from a +part to the whole; thus educing, as it were, an Ideal nature from the +germs of the Actual. + +Nor does the necessity of referring to Nature preclude the +Imaginative, or any other class of Art that rests its truth in the +desires of the mind. In an especial manner must the personification +of Sentiment, of the Abstract, which owe their interest to the common +desire of rendering permanent, by embodying, that which has given us +pleasure, take its starting-point from the Actual; from something +which, by universal association or particular expression, shall recall +the Sentiment, Thought, or Time, and serve as their exponents; there +being scarcely an object in Nature which the spirit of man has not, as +it were, impressed with sympathy, and linked with his being. Of this, +perhaps, we could not have a more striking example than in the Aurora +of Michael Angelo: which, if not universal, is not so only because +the faculty addressed is by no means common. For, as the peculiar +characteristic of the Imaginative is its suggestive power, the effect +of this figure must of necessity differ in different minds. As in many +other cases, there must needs be at least some degree of sympathy with +the mind that imagined it, in order to any impression; and the degree +in which that is made will always be in proportion to the congeniality +between the agent and the recipient. Should it appear, then, to any +one as a thing of no meaning, it is not therefore conclusive that the +Artist has failed. For, if there be but one in a thousand to whose +mind it recalls the deep stillness of Night, gradually broken by the +awakening stir of Day, with its myriad forms of life emerging into +motion, while their lengthened shadows, undistinguished from their +objects, seem to people the earth with gigantic beings; then the dim, +gray monotony of color transforming them to stone, yet leaving them +in motion, till the whole scene becomes awful and mysterious as with +moving statues;--if there be but one in ten thousand who shall have +thus imagined, as he stands before this embodied Dawn, then is it, for +every purpose of feeling through the excited imagination, as true and +real as if instinct with life, and possessing the mind by its living +will. Nor is the number so rare of those who have thus felt the +suggestive sorcery of this sublime Statue. But the mind so influenced +must be one to respond to sublime emotions, since such was the +emotion which inspired the Artist. If susceptible only to the gay and +beautiful, it will not answer. For this is not the Aurora of golden +purple, of laughing flowers and jewelled dew-drops; but the dark +Enchantress, enthroned on rocks, or craggy mountains, and whose proper +empire is the shadowy confines of light and darkness. + +How all this is done, we shall not attempt to explain. Perhaps the +Artist himself could not answer; as to the _quo modo_ in every +particular, we doubt if it were possible to satisfy another. He may +tell us, indeed, that having imagined certain appearances and effects +peculiar to the Time, he endeavoured to imbue, as it were, some +_human form_ with the sentiment they awakened, so that the +embodied sentiment should associate itself in the spectator's mind +with similar images; and further endeavoured, that the _form_ +selected should, by its air, attitude, and gigantic proportions, also +excite the ideas of vastness, solemnity, and repose; adding to this +that indefinite expression, which, while it is felt to act, still +leaves no trace of its indistinct action. So far, it is true, he may +retrace the process; but of the _informing life_ that quickened +his fiction, thus presenting the presiding Spirit of that ominous +Time, he knows nothing but that he felt it, and imparted it to the +insensible marble. + +And now the question will naturally occur, Is all that has been done +by the learned in Art, to establish certain canons of Proportion, +utterly useless? By no means. If rightly applied, and properly +considered,--as it seems to us they must have been by the great +artists of Antiquity,--as _expedient fictions_, they undoubtedly +deserve at least a careful examination. And, inasmuch as they are the +result of a comparison of the finest actual forms through successive +ages, and as they indicate the general limits which Nature has been +observed to assign to her noblest works, they are so far to be valued. +But it must not be forgotten, that, while a race, or class, may be +generally marked by a certain average height and breadth, or curve and +angle, still is every class and race composed of _Individuals_, +who must needs, as such, differ from each other; and though the +difference be slight, yet is it "the little more, or the little less," +which often separates the great from the mean, the wise from the +foolish, in human character;--nay, the widest chasms are sometimes +made by a few lines: so that, in every individual case, the limits in +question are rather to be departed from, than strictly adhered to. + +The canon of the Schools is easily mastered by every student who has +only memory; yet of the hundreds who apply it, how few do so to any +purpose! Some ten or twenty, perhaps, call up life from the quarry, +and flesh and blood from the canvas; the rest conjure in vain with +their canon; they call up nothing but the dead measures. Whence the +difference? The answer is obvious,--In the different minds they each +carry to their labors. + +But let us trace, with the Artist, the beginning and progress of a +successful work; a picture, for instance. His method of proceeding may +enable us to ascertain how far he is assisted by the science, so called, +of which we are speaking. He adjusts the height and breadth of his figures +according to the canon, either by the division of heads or faces, as most +convenient. By these means, he gets the general divisions in the easiest +and most expeditious way. But could he not obtain them without such aid? +He would answer, Yes, by the eye alone; but it would be a waste of time +were he so to proceed, since he would have to do, and undo, perhaps twenty +times, before he could erect this simple scaffolding; whereas, by applying +these rules, whose general truth is already admitted, he accomplishes his +object in a few minutes. Here we admit the use of the canon, and admire +the facility with which it enables his hand, almost without the aid of a +thought, thus to lay out his work. But here ends the science; and here +begins what may seem to many the work of mutilation: a leg, an arm, a +trunk, is increased, or diminished; line after line is erased, or +retrenched, or extended, again and again, till not a trace remains of the +original draught. If he is asked now by what he is guided in these +innumerable changes, he can only answer, By the feeling within me. Nor can +he better tell _how_ he knows when he has _hit the mark_. The same feeling +responds to its truth; and he repeats his attempts until that is +satisfied. + +It would appear, then, that in the Mind alone is to be found the true +or ultimate Rule,--if, indeed, that can be called a rule which +changes its measure with every change of character. It is therefore +all-important that every aid be sought which may in any way contribute +to the due developement of the mental powers; and no one will doubt +the efficiency here of a good general education. As to the course of +study, that must be left in a great measure to be determined by the +student; it will be best indicated by his own natural wants. We +may observe, however, that no species of knowledge can ever be +_oppressive_ to real genius, whose peculiar privilege is that of +subordinating all things to the paramount desire. But it is not likely +that a mind so endowed will be long diverted by any studies that do +not either strengthen its powers by exercise, or have a direct bearing +on some particular need. + +If the student be a painter, or a sculptor, he will not need to be +told that a knowledge of the human being, in all his complicated +springs of action, is not more essential to the poet than to him. Nor +will a true Artist require to be reminded, that, though _himself_ +must be his ultimate dictator and judge, the allegiance of the world +is not to be commanded either by a dreamer or a dogmatist. And +nothing, perhaps, would be more likely to secure him from either +character, than the habit of keeping his eyes open,--nay, his very +heart; nor need he fear to open it to the whole world, since nothing +not kindred will enter there to abide; for + + "Evil into the mind ... + May come and go, so unapproved, and leave + No spot or blame behind." + +And he may also be sure that a pure heart will shed a refining light +on his intellect, which it may not receive from any other source. + +It cannot be supposed that an Artist, so disciplined, will overlook +the works of his predecessors,--especially those exquisite remains of +Antiquity which time has spared to us. But to his own discretion must +be left the separating of the factitious from the true,--a task of +some moment; for it cannot be denied that a mere antiquarian respect +for whatever is ancient has preserved, with the good, much that is +worthless. Indeed, it is to little purpose that the finest forms are +set before us, if we _feel_ not their truth. And here it may be +well to remark, that an injudicious _word_ has often given a +wrong direction to the student, from which he has found it difficult +to recover when his maturer mind has perceived the error. It is a +common thing to hear such and such statues, or pictures, recommended +as _models_. If the advice is followed,--as it too often is +_literally_,--the consequence must be an offensive mannerism; +for, if repeating himself makes an artist a mannerist, he is still +more likely to become one if he repeat another. There is but one model +that will not lead him astray,--which is Nature: we do not mean what +is merely obvious to the senses, but whatever is so acknowledged by +the mind. So far, then, as the ancient statues are found to represent +her,--and the student's own feeling must be the judge of that,--they +are undoubtedly both true and important objects of study, as +presenting not only a wider, but a higher view of Nature, than might +else be commanded, were they buried with their authors; since, with +the finest forms of the fairest portion of the earth, we have also in +them the realized Ideas of some of the greatest minds. In like manner +may we extend our sphere of knowledge by the study of all those +productions of later ages which have stood this test. There is no +school from which something may not be learned. But chiefly to the +Italian should the student be directed, who would enlarge his views +on the present subject, and especially to the works of Raffaelle and +Michael Angelo; in whose highest efforts we have, so to speak, +certain revelations of Nature which could only have been made by her +privileged seers. And we refer to them more particularly, as to the +two great sovereigns of the two distinct empires of Truth,--the +Actual and the Imaginative; in which their claims are acknowledged +by _that_ within us, of which we know nothing but that it +_must_ respond to all things true. We refer to them, also, as +important examples in their mode of study; in which it is evident +that, whatever the source of instruction, it was never considered as a +law of servitude, but rather as the means of giving visible shape to +their own conceptions. + +From the celebrated antique fragment, called the Torso, Michael Angelo +is said to have constructed his forms. If this be true,--and we have +no reason to doubt it,--it could nevertheless have been to him little +more than a hint. But that is enough to a man of genius, who stands +in need, no less than others, of a point to start from. There was +something in this fragment which he seems to have felt, as if of a +kindred nature to the unembodied creatures in his own mind; and he +pondered over it until he mastered the spell of its author. He then +turned to his own, to the germs of life that still awaited birth, +to knit their joints, to attach the tendons, to mould the +muscles,--finally, to sway the limbs by a mighty will. Then emerged +into being that gigantic race of the Sistina,--giants in mind no less +than in body, that appear to have descended as from another planet. +His Prophets and Sibyls seem to carry in their persons the commanding +evidence of their mission. They neither look nor move like beings to +be affected by the ordinary concerns of life; but as if they could +only be moved by the vast of human events, the fall of empires, the +extinction of nations; as if the awful secrets of the future had +overwhelmed in them all present sympathies. As we have stood before +these lofty apparitions of the painter's mind, it has seemed to us +impossible that the most vulgar spectator could have remained there +irreverent. + +With many critics it seems to have been doubted whether much that +we now admire in Raffaelle would ever have been but for his great +contemporary. Be this as it may, it is a fact of history, that, after +seeing the works of Michael Angelo, both his form and his style +assumed a breadth and grandeur which they possessed not before. +And yet these great artists had little, if any thing, in common; +a sufficient proof that an original mind may owe, and even freely +acknowledge, its impetus to another without any self-sacrifice. + +As Michael Angelo adopted from others only what accorded with his +own peculiar genius, so did Raffaelle; and, wherever collected, the +materials of both could not but enter their respective minds as their +natural aliment. + +The genius of Michael Angelo was essentially _Imaginative_. It +seems rarely to have been excited by the objects with which we are +daily familiar; and when he did treat them, it was rather as things +past, as they appear to us through the atmosphere of the hallowing +memory. We have a striking instance of this in his statue of Lorenzo +de' Medici; where, retaining of the original only enough to mark the +individual, and investing the rest with an air of grandeur that should +accord with his actions, he has left to his country, not a mere +effigy of the person, but an embodiment of the mind; a portrait +for posterity, in which the unborn might recognize Lorenzo the +Magnificent. + +But the mind of Raffaelle was an ever-flowing fountain of human +sympathies; and in all that concerns man, in his vast varieties and +complicated relations, from the highest forms of majesty to the +humblest condition of humanity, even to the maimed and misshapen, he +may well be called a master. His Apostles, his philosophers, and most +ordinary subordinates, are all to us as living beings; nor do we feel +any doubt that they all had mothers, and brothers, and kindred. In +the assemblage of the Apostles (already referred to) at the Death of +Ananias, we look upon men whom the effusion of the Spirit has equally +sublimated above every unholy thought; a common power seems to have +invested them all with a preternatural majesty. Yet not an iota of the +_individual_ is lost in any one; the gentle bearing and amenity +of John still follow him in his office of almoner; nor in Peter does +the deep repose of the erect attitude of the Apostle, as he deals the +death-stroke to the offender by a simple bend of his finger, subdue +the energetic, sanguine temperament of the Disciple. + +If any man may be said to have reigned over the hearts of his fellows, +it was Raffaelle Sanzio. Not that he knew better what was in the +hearts and minds of men than many others, but that he better +understood their relations to the external. In this the greatest names +in Art fall before him; in this he has no rival; and, however derived, +or in whatever degree improved by study, in him it seems to have risen +to intuition. We know not how he touches and enthralls us; as if he +had wrought with the simplicity of Nature, we see no effort; and we +yield as to a living influence, sure, yet inscrutable. + +It is not to be supposed that these two celebrated Artists were at all +times successful. Like other men, they had their moments of weakness, +when they fell into manner, and gave us diagrams, instead of life. +Perhaps no one, however, had fewer lapses of this nature than +Raffaelle; and yet they are to be found in some of his best works. We +shall notice now only one instance,--the figure of St. Catherine in +the admirable picture of the Madonna di Sisto; in which we see an +evident rescript from the Antique, with all the received lines of +beauty, as laid down by the analyst,--apparently faultless, yet +without a single inflection which the mind can recognize as allied to +our sympathies; and we turn from it coldly, as from the work of an +artificer, not of an Artist. But not so can we turn from the intense +life, that seems almost to breathe upon us from the celestial group of +the Virgin and her Child, and from the Angels below: in these we have +the evidence of the divine afflatus,--of inspired Art. + +In the works of Michael Angelo it were easy to point out numerous +examples of a similar failure, though from a different cause; not from +mechanically following the Antique, but rather from erecting into +a model the exaggerated _shadow_ of his own practice; from +repeating lines and masses that might have impressed us with grandeur +but for the utter absence of the informing soul. And that such is the +character--or rather want of character--of many of the figures in his +Last Judgment cannot be gainsaid by his warmest admirers,--among whom +there is no one more sincere than the present writer. But the failures +of great men are our most profitable lessons,--provided only, that we +have hearts and heads to respond to their success. + +In conclusion. We have now arrived at what appears to us the +turning-point, that, by a natural reflux, must carry us back to our +original Position; in other words, it seems to us clear, that the +result of the argument is that which was anticipated in our main +Proposition; namely, that no given number of Standard Forms can with +certainty apply to the Human Being; that all Rules therefore, thence +derived, can only be considered as _Expedient Fictions_, and +consequently subject to be _overruled_ by the Artist,--in whose +mind alone is the ultimate Rule; and, finally, that without an +intimate acquaintance with Nature, in all its varieties of the moral, +intellectual, and physical, the highest powers are wanting in their +necessary condition of action, and are therefore incapable of +supplying the Rule. + + + + +Composition. + + + +The term Composition, in its general sense, signifies the union of +things that were originally separate: in the art of Painting it +implies, in addition to this, such an arrangement and reciprocal +relation of these materials, as shall constitute them so many +essential parts of a whole. + +In a true Composition of Art will be found the following +characteristics:--First, Unity of Purpose, as expressing the general +sentiment or intention of the Artist. Secondly, Variety of Parts, as +expressed in the diversity of shape, quantity, and line. Thirdly, +Continuity, as expressed by the connection of parts with each other, +and their relation to the whole. Fourthly, Harmony of Parts. + +As these characteristics, like every thing which the mind can +recognize as true, all have their origin in its natural desires, they +may also be termed Principles; and as such we shall consider them. In +order, however, to satisfy ourselves that they are truly such, and not +arbitrary assumptions, or the traditional dogmas of Practice, it may +be well to inquire whence is their authority; for, though the ultimate +cause of pleasure and pain may ever remain to us a mystery, yet it is +not so with their intermediate causes, or the steps that lead to them. + +With respect to Unity of Purpose, it is sufficient to observe, that, +where the attention is at the same time claimed by two objects, having +each a different end, they must of necessity break in upon that free +state required of the mind in order to receive a full impression from +either. It is needless to add, that such conflicting claims cannot, +under any circumstances, be rendered agreeable. And yet this most +obvious requirement of the mind has sometimes been violated by great +Artists,--though not of authority in this particular, as we shall +endeavour to show in another place. + +We proceed, meanwhile, to the second principle, namely, Variety; by +which is to be understood _difference_, yet with _relation_ +to a _common end_. + +Of a ruling Principle, or Law, we can only get a notion by observing the +effects of certain things in relation to the mind; the uniformity of +which leads us to infer something which is unchangeable and permanent. +It is in this way that, either directly or indirectly, we learn the +existence of certain laws that invariably control us. Thus, indirectly, +from our disgust at monotony, we infer the necessity of variety. But +variety, when carried to excess, results in weariness. Some limitation, +therefore, seems no less needed. It is, however, obvious, that all +attempts to fix the limit to Variety, that shall apply as a universal +rule, must be nugatory, inasmuch as the _degree_ must depend on the +_kind_, and the kind on the subject treated. For instance, if the +subject be of a gay and light character, and the emotions intended to be +excited of a similar nature, the variety may be carried to a far greater +extent than in one of a graver character. In the celebrated Marriage at +Cana, by Paul Veronese, we see it carried, perhaps, to its utmost +limits; and to such an extent, that an hour's travel will hardly conduct +us through all its parts; yet we feel no weariness throughout this +journey, nay, we are quite unconscious of the time it has taken. It is +no disparagement of this remarkable picture, if we consider the subject, +not according to the title it bears, but as what the Artist has actually +made it,--that is, as a Venetian entertainment; and also the effect +intended, which was to delight by the exhibition of a gorgeous +_pageant_. And in this he has succeeded to a degree unexampled; for +literally the eye may be said to _dance_ through the picture, scarcely +lighting on one part before it is drawn to another, and another, and +another, as by a kind of witchery; while the subtile interlocking of +each successive novelty leaves it no choice, but, seducing it onward, +still keeps it in motion, till the giddy sense seems to call on the +imagination to join in the revel; and every poetic temperament answers +to the call, bringing visions of its own, that mingle with the painted +crowd, exchanging forms, and giving them voice, like the creatures of a +dream. + +To those who have never seen this picture, our account of its effect +may perhaps appear incredible when they are told, that it not only +has no story, but not a single expression to which you can attach a +sentiment. It is nevertheless for this very reason that we here cite +it, as a triumphant verification of those immutable laws of the mind +to which the principles of Composition are supposed to appeal; where +the simple technic exhibition, or illustration of _Principles_, +without story, or thought, or a single definite expression, has +still the power to possess and to fill us with a thousand delightful +emotions. + +And here we cannot refrain from a passing remark on certain +criticisms, which have obtained, as we think, an undeserved currency. +To assert that such a work is solely addressed to the senses (meaning +thereby that its only end is in mere pleasurable sensation) is to give +the lie to our convictions; inasmuch as we find it appealing to one +of the mightiest ministers of the Imagination,--the great Law of +Harmony,--which cannot be _touched_ without awakening by its +vibrations, so to speak, the untold myriads of sleeping forms that lie +within its circle, that start up in tribes, and each in accordance +with the congenial instrument that summons them to action. He who +can thus, as it were, embody an abstraction is no mere pander to the +senses. And who that has a modicum of the imaginative would assert +of one of Haydn's Sonatas, that its effect on him was no other than +sensuous? Or who would ask for the _story_ in one of our gorgeous +autumnal sunsets? + +In subjects of a grave or elevated kind, the Variety will be found to +diminish in the same degree in which they approach the Sublime. In the +raising of Lazarus, by Lievens, we have an example of the smallest +possible number of parts which the nature of such a subject would +admit. And, though a different conception might authorize a much +greater number, yet we do not feel in this any deficiency; indeed, it +may be doubted if the addition of even one more part would not be felt +as obtrusive. + +By the term _parts_ we are not to be understood as including the +minutiae of dress or ornament, or even the several members of a group, +which come more properly under the head of detail; we apply the term +only to those prominent divisions which constitute the essential +features of a composition. Of these the Sublime admits the fewest. Nor +is the limitation arbitrary. By whatever causes the stronger passions +or higher faculties of the mind become pleasurably excited, if they be +pushed as it were beyond their supposed limits, till a sense of the +indefinite seems almost to partake of the infinite, to these causes we +affix the epithet _Sublime._ It is needless to inquire if such +an effect can be produced by any thing short of the vast and +overpowering, much less by the gradual approach or successive +accumulation of any number of separate forces. Every one can answer +from his own experience. We may also add, that the pleasure which +belongs to the deeper emotions always trenches on pain; and the sense +of pain leads to reaction; so that, singly roused, they will rise +but to fall, like men at a breach,--leaving a conquest, not over the +living, but the dead. The effect of the Sublime must therefore be +sudden, and to be sudden, simple, scarce seen till felt; coming like +a blast, bending and levelling every thing before it, till it passes +into space. So comes this marvellous emotion; and so vanishes,--to +where no straining of our mortal faculties will ever carry them. + +To prevent misapprehension, we may here observe, that, though the +parts be few, it does not necessarily follow that they should always +consist of simple or single objects. This narrow inference has often +led to the error of mistaking mere space for grandeur, especially +with those who have wrought rather from theory than from the true +possession of their subjects. Hence, by the mechanical arrangement +of certain large and sweeping masses of light and shadow, we are +sometimes surprised into a momentary expectation of a sublime +impression, when a nearer approach gives us only the notion of a vast +blank. And the error lies in the misconception of a mass. For a mass +is not a _thing_, but the condition of _things_; into which, +should the subject require it, a legion, a host, may be compressed, +an army with banners,--yet so that they break not the unity of their +Part, that technic form to which they are subordinate. + +The difference between a Part and a Mass is, that a Mass may include, +_per se_, many Parts, yet, in relation to a Whole, is no more +than a single component. Perhaps the same distinction may be more +simply expressed, if we define it as only a larger division, including +several _parts_, which may be said to be analogous to what is +termed the detail of a _Part_. Look at the ocean in a storm,--at +that single wave. How it grows before us, building up its waters as +with conscious life, till its huge head overlooks the mast! A million +of lines intersect its surface, a myriad of bubbles fleck it with +light; yet its terrible unity remains unbroken. Not a bubble or a line +gives a thought of minuteness; they flash and flit, ere the eye can +count them, leaving only their aggregate, in the indefinite sense +of multitudinous motion: take them away, and you take from the +_mass_ the very sign of its power, that fearful impetus which +makes it what it is,--a moving mountain of water. + +We have thus endeavoured, in the opposite characters of the Sublime +and the Gay or Magnificent, to exhibit the two extremes of Variety; of +the intermediate degrees it is unnecessary to speak, since in these +two is included all that is applicable to the rest. + +Though it is of vital importance to every composition that there be +variety of Lines, little can be said on the subject in addition to +what has been advanced in relation to parts, that is, to shape and +quantity; both having a common origin. By a line in Composition is +meant something very different from the geometrical definition. +Originally, it was no doubt used as a metaphor; but the needs of +Art have long since converted this, and many other words of like +application, (as _tone_, &c.,) into technical terms. _Line_ +thus signifies the course or medium through which the eye is led from +one part of the picture to another. The indication of this course is +various and multiform, appertaining equally to shape, to color, and to +light and dark; in a word, to whatever attracts and keeps the eye in +motion. For the regulation of these lines there is no rule absolute, +except that they vary and unite; nor is the last strictly necessary, +it being sufficient if they so terminate that the transition from one +to another is made naturally, and without effort, by the imagination. +Nor can any laws be laid down as to their peculiar character: this +must depend on the nature of the subject. + +In the wild and stormy scenes of Salvator Rosa, they break upon us +as with the angular flash of lightning; the eye is dashed up one +precipice only to be dashed down another; then, suddenly hurried to +the sky, it shoots up, almost in a direct line, to some sharp-edged +rock; whence pitched, as it were, into a sea of clouds, bellying with +circles, it partakes their motion, and seems to reel, to roll, and to +plunge with them into the depths of air. + +If we pass from Salvator to Claude, we shall find a system of lines +totally different. Our first impression from Claude is that of perfect +_unity_, and this we have even before we are conscious of a +single image; as if, circumscribing his scenes by a magic circle, he +had imposed his own mood on all who entered it. The _spell_ then +opens ere it seems to have begun, acting upon us with a vague sense of +limitless expanse, yet so continuous, so gentle, so imperceptible in +its remotest gradations, as scarcely to be felt, till, combining +with unity, we find the feeling embodied in the complete image of +intellectual repose,--fulness and rest. The mind thus disposed, the +charmed eye glides into the scene: a soft, undulating light leads it +on, from bank to bank, from shrub to shrub; now leaping and sparkling +over pebbly brooks and sunny sands; now fainter and fainter, dying +away down shady slopes, then seemingly quenched in some secluded dell; +yet only for a moment,--for a dimmer ray again carries it onward, +gently winding among the boles of trees and rambling vines, that, +skirting the ascent, seem to hem in the twilight; then emerging +into day, it flashes in sheets over towers and towns, and woods and +streams, when it finally dips into an ocean, so far off, so twin-like +with the sky, that the doubtful horizon, unmarked by a line, leaves no +point of rest: and now, as in a flickering arch, the fascinated eye +seems to sail upward like a bird, wheeling its flight through a +mottled labyrinth of clouds, on to the zenith; whence, gently +inflected by some shadowy mass, it slants again downward to a mass +still deeper, and still to another, and another, until it falls into +the darkness of some massive tree,--focused like midnight in the +brightest noon: there stops the eye, instinctively closing, and giving +place to the Soul, there to repose and to dream her dreams of romance +and love. + +From these two examples of their general effect, some notion may be +gathered of the different systems of the two Artists; and though +no mention has been made of the particular lines employed, their +distinctive character may readily be inferred from the kind of motion +given to the eye in the descriptions we have attempted. In the +rapid, abrupt, contrasted, whirling movement in the one, we have an +exposition of an irregular combination of curves and angles; while the +simple combination of the parabola and the serpentine will account for +all the imperceptible transitions in the other. + +It would be easy to accumulate examples from other Artists who differ +in the economy of line not only from these but from each other; as +Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, Correggio, Titian, Poussin,--in a word, +every painter deserving the name of master: for lines here may be +called the tracks of thought, in which we follow the author's mind +through his imaginary creations. They hold, indeed, the same relation +to Painting that versification does to Poetry, an element of style; +for what is meant by a line in Painting is analogous to that which +in the sister art distinguishes the abrupt gait of Crabbe from the +sauntering walk of Cowley, and the "long, majestic march" of Dryden +from the surging sweep of Milton. + +Of Continuity little needs be said, since its uses are implied in the +explanation of Line; indeed, all that can be added will be expressed +in its essential relation to a _whole_, in which alone it differs +from a mere line. For, though a line (as just explained) supposes a +continuous course, yet a line, _per se_, does not necessarily +imply any relation to other lines. It will still be a line, though +standing alone; but the principle of continuity may be called +the unifying spirit of every line. It is therefore that we have +distinguished it as a separate principle. + +In fact, if we judge from feeling, the only true test, it is no +paradox to say that the excess of variety must inevitably end in +monotony; for, as soon as the sense of fatigue begins, every new +variety but adds to the pain, till the succeeding impressions are at +last resolved into continuous pain. But, supposing a limit to variety, +where the mind may be pleasurably excited, the very sense of pleasure, +when it reaches the extreme point, will create the desire of renewing +it, and naturally carry it back to the point of starting; thus +superinducing, with the renewed enjoyment, the fulness of pleasure, in +the sense of a whole. + +It is by this summing up, as it were, of the memory, through +recurrence, not that we perceive,--which is instantaneous,--but that +we enjoy any thing as a whole. If we have not observed it in others, +some of us, perhaps, may remember it in ourselves, when we have stood +before some fine picture, though with a sense of pleasure, yet for +many minutes in a manner abstracted,--silently passing through all its +harmonious transitions without the movement of a muscle, and hardly +conscious of action, till we have suddenly found ourselves returning +on our steps. Then it was,--as if we had no eyes till then,--that +the magic Whole poured in upon us, and vouched for its truth in an +outbreak of rapture. + +The fourth and last division of our subject is the Harmony of Parts; +or the essential agreement of one part with another, and of each with +the whole. In addition to our first general definition, we may further +observe, that by a Whole in Painting is signified the complete +expression, by means of form, color, light, and shadow, of one +thought, or series of thoughts, having for their end some +particular truth, or sentiment, or action, or mood of mind. We say +_thought_, because no images, however put together, can ever +be separated by the mind from other and extraneous images, so as to +comprise a positive whole, unless they be limited by some intellectual +boundary. A picture wanting this may have fine parts, but is not a +Composition, which implies parts united to each other, and also suited +to some specific purpose, otherwise they cannot be known as united. +Since Harmony, therefore, cannot be conceived of without reference to +a whole, so neither can a whole be imagined without fitness of parts. +To give this fitness, then, is the ultimate task and test of genius: +it is, in fact, calling form and life out of what before was but a +chaos of materials, and making them the subject and exponents of the +will. As the master-principle, also, it is the disposer, regulator, +and modifier of shape, line, and quantity, adding, diminishing, +changing, shaping, till it becomes clear and intelligible, and it +finally manifests itself in pleasurable identity with the harmony +within us. + +To reduce the operation of this principle to precise rules is, +perhaps, without the province of human power: we might else expect to +see poets and painters made by recipe. As in many other operations of +the mind, we must here be content to note a few of the more tangible +facts, if we may be allowed the phrase, which have occasionally been +gathered by observation during the process. The first fact presented +is, that equal quantities, when coming together, produce monotony, +and, if at all admissible, are only so when absolutely needed, at +a proper distance, to echo back or recall the theme, which would +otherwise be lost in the excess of variety. We speak of quantity here +as of a mass, not of the minutiae; for _the essential components_ +of a part may often be _equal quantities_, (as in a piece of +architecture, of armour, &c.,) which are analogous to poetic feet, for +instance, a spondee. The same effect we find from parallel lines and +repetition of shapes. Hence we obtain the law of a limited variety. +The next is, that the quantities must be so disposed as to balance +each other; otherwise, if all or too many of the larger be on one +side, they will endanger the imaginary circle, or other figure, by +which every composition is supposed to be bounded, making it appear +"lop-sided," or to be falling either in upon the smaller quantities, +or out of the picture: from which we infer the necessity of balance. +If, without others to counteract and restrain them, the parts +converge, the eye, being forced to the centre, becomes stationary; in +like manner, if all diverge, it is forced to fly off in tangents: +as if the great laws of Attraction and Repulsion were here also +essential, and illustrated in miniature. If we add to these Breadth, I +believe we shall have enumerated all the leading phenomena of +Harmony, which experience has enabled us to establish as rules. By +_breadth_ is meant such a massing of the quantities, whether +by color, light, or shadow, as shall enable the eye to pass without +obstruction, and by easy transitions, from one to another, so that it +shall appear to take in the whole at a glance. This may be likened to +both the exordium and peroration of a discourse, including as well +the last as the first general idea. It is, in other words, a simple, +connected, and concise exposition and summary of what the artist +intends. + +We have thus endeavoured to arrange and to give a logical permanency +to the several principles of Composition. It is not to be supposed, +however, that in these we have every principle that might be named; +but they are all, as we conceive, that are of universal application. +Of other minor, or rather personal ones, since they pertain to the +individual, the number can only be limited by the variety of the +human intellect, to which these may be considered as so many simple +elementary guides; not to create genius, but to enable it to +understand itself, and by a distinct knowledge of its own operations +to correct its mistakes,--in a word, to establish the landmarks +between the flats of commonplace and the barrens of extravagance. And, +though the personal or individual principles referred to may not with +propriety be cited as examples in a general treatise like the present, +they are not only not to be overlooked, but are to be regarded by the +student as legitimate objects of study. To the truism, that we can +only judge of other minds by a knowledge of our own, we may add +its converse as especially true. In that mysterious tract of the +intellect, which we call the Imagination, there would seem to lie +hid thousands of unknown forms, of which we are often for years +unconscious, until they start up awakened by the footsteps of a +stranger. Hence it is that the greatest geniuses, as presenting a +wider field for excitement, are generally found to be the widest +likers; not so much from affinity, or because they possess the +precise kinds of excellence which they admire, but often from the +_differences_ which these very excellences in others, as the +exciting cause, awaken in themselves. Such men may be said to be +endowed with a double vision, an inward and an outward; the inward +seeing not unfrequently the reverse of what is seen by the outward. +It was this which caused Annibal Caracci to remark, on seeing for the +first time a picture by Caravaggio, that he thought a style totally +opposite might be made very captivating; and the hint, it is said, +sunk deep into and was not lost on Guido, who soon after realized what +his master had thus imagined. Perhaps no one ever caught more from +others than Raffaelle. I do not allude to his "borrowing," so +ingeniously, not soundly, defended by Sir Joshua, but rather to his +excitability, (if I may here apply a modern term,)--that inflammable +temperament, which took fire, as it were, from the very friction +of the atmosphere. For there was scarce an excellence, within his +knowledge, of his predecessors or contemporaries, which did not in a +greater or less degree contribute to the developement of his powers; +not as presenting models of imitation, but as shedding new light on +his own mind, and opening to view its hidden treasures. Such to him +were the forms of the Antique, of Leonardo da Vinci, and of Michael +Angelo, and the breadth and color of Fra Bartolomeo,--lights that +first made him acquainted with himself, not lights that he followed; +for he was a follower of none. To how many others he was indebted for +his impulses cannot now be known; but the new impetus he was known to +have received from every new excellence has led many to believe, that, +had he lived to see the works of Titian, he would have added to his +grace, character, and form, and with equal originality, the splendor +of color. "The design of Michael Angelo and the color of Titian," was +the inscription of Tintoretto over the door of his painting-room. +Whether he intended to designate these two artists as his future +models matters not; but that he did not follow them is evidenced in +his works. Nor, indeed, could he: the temptation to _follow_, +which his youthful admiration had excited, was met by an interdiction +not easily withstood,--the decree of his own genius. And yet the +decree had probably never been heard but for these very masters. Their +presence stirred him; and, when he thought of serving, his teeming +mind poured out its abundance, making _him_ a master to future +generations. To the forms of Michael Angelo he was certainly indebted +for the elevation of his own; there, however, the inspiration ended. +With Titian he was nearly allied in genius; yet he thought rather with +than after him,--at times even beyond him. Titian, indeed, may be said +to have first opened his eyes to the mysteries of nature; but they +were no sooner opened, than he rushed into them with a rapidity and +daring unwont to the more cautious spirit of his master; and, though +irregular, eccentric, and often inferior, yet sometimes he made his +way to poetical regions, of whose celestial hues even Titian himself +had never dreamt. + +We might go on thus with every great name in Art. But these examples +are enough to show how much even the most original minds, not only +may, but _must_, owe to others; for the social law of our nature +applies no less to the intellect than to the affections. When applied +to genius, it may be called the social inspiration, the simple +statement of which seems to us of itself a solution of the +oft-repeated question, "Why is it that genius always appears in +clusters?" To Nature, indeed, we must all at last recur, as to the +only true and permanent foundation of real excellence. But Nature is +open to all men alike, in her beauty, her majesty, her grandeur, and +her sublimity. Yet who will assert that all men see, or, if they see, +are impressed by these her attributes alike? Nay, so great is the +difference, that one might almost suppose them inhabitants of +different worlds. Of Claude, for instance, it is hardly a metaphor to +say that he lived in two worlds during his natural life; for Claude +the pastry-cook could never have seen the same world that was made +visible to Claude the painter. It was human sympathy, acting through +human works, that gave birth to his intellect at the age of forty. +There is something, perhaps, ludicrous in the thought of an infant of +forty. Yet the fact is a solemn one, that thousands die whose minds +have never been born. + +We could not, perhaps, instance a stronger confutation of the vulgar +error which opposes learning to genius, than the simple history of +this remarkable man. In all that respects the mind, he was literally a +child, till accident or necessity carried him to Rome; for, when the +office of color-grinder, added to that of cook, by awakening his +curiosity, first excited a love for the Art, his progress through its +rudiments seems to have been scarcely less slow and painful than that +of a child through the horrors of the alphabet. It was the struggle of +one who was learning to think; but, the rudiments being mastered, he +found himself suddenly possessed, not as yet of thought, but of new +forms of language; then came thoughts, pouring from his mind, and +filling them as moulds, without which they had never, perhaps, had +either shape or consciousness. + +Now what was this new language but the product of other minds,--of +successive minds, amending, enlarging, elaborating, through successive +ages, till, fitted to all its wants, it became true to the Ideal, and +the vernacular tongue of genius through all time? The first inventor +of verse was but the prophetic herald of Homer, Shakspeare, and +Milton. And what was Rome then but the great University of Art, where +all this accumulated learning was treasured? + +Much has been said of self-taught geniuses, as opposed to those who +have been instructed by others: but the distinction, it appears to +us, is without a difference; for it matters not whether we learn in a +school or by ourselves,--we cannot learn any thing without in some way +recurring to other minds. Let us imagine a poet who had never read, +never heard, never conversed with another. Now if he will not be +taught in any thing by another, he must strictly preserve this +independent negation. Truly the verses of such a poet would be a +miracle. Of similar self-taught painters we have abundant examples in +our aborigines,--but nowhere else. + +But, while we maintain, as a positive law of our nature, the necessity +of mental intercourse with our fellow-creatures, in order to the full +developement of the _individual_, we are far from implying that +any thing which is actually taken from others can by any process +become our own, that is, original. We may reverse, transpose, +diminish, or add to it, and so skilfully that no scam or mutilation +shall be detected; and yet we shall not make it appear original,--in +other words, _true_, the offspring of _one_ mind. A borrowed +thought will always be borrowed; as it will be felt as such in its +_effect_, even while we are ourselves unconscious of the fact: +for it will want that _effect of life_, which only the first mind +can give it[3]. + + +Of the multifarious retailers of the second-hand in style, the class +is so numerous as to make a selection difficult: they meet us at every +step in the history of the Art. One instance, however, may suffice, +and we select Vernet, as uniting in himself a singular and striking +example of the _false_ and the _true_; and also as the least +invidious instance, inasmuch as we may prove our position by opposing +him to himself. + +In the landscapes of Vernet, (when not mere views,) we see the +imitator of Salvator, or rather copyist of his lines; and these we +have in all their angular nakedness, where rocks, trees, and mountains +are so jagged, contorted, and tumbled about, that nothing but an +explosion could account for their assemblage. They have not the +relation which we sometimes find even in a random collocation, as in +the accidental pictures of a discolored wall; for the careful hand +of the contriver is traced through all this disorder; nay, the very +execution, the conventional dash of pencil, betrays what a lawyer +would call the _malice prepense_ of the Artist in their strange +disfigurement. To many this may appear like hypercriticism; but we +sincerely believe that no one, even among his admirers, has ever been +deceived into a real sympathy with such technical flourishes: they +are felt as factitious; as mere diagrams of composition deduced from +pictures. + +Now let us look at one of his Storms at Sea, when he wrought from his +own mind. A dark leaden atmosphere prepares us for something fearful: +suddenly a scene of tumult, fierce, wild, disastrous, bursts upon us; +and we feel the shock drive, as it were, every other thought from the +mind: the terrible vision now seizes the imagination, filling it with +sound and motion: we see the clouds fly, the furious waves one upon +another dashing in conflict, and rolling, as if in wrath, towards the +devoted ship: the wind blows from the canvas; we hear it roar through +her shrouds; her masts bend like twigs, and her last forlorn hope, +the close-reefed foresail, streams like a tattered flag: a terrible +fascination still constrains us to look, and a dim, rocky shore looms +on her lee: then comes the dreadful cry of "Breakers ahead!" the crew +stand appalled, and the master's trumpet is soundless at his lips. +This is the uproar of nature, and we _feel_ it to be _true_; +for here every line, every touch, has a meaning. The ragged clouds, +the huddled waves, the prostrate ship, though forced by contrast +into the sharpest angles, all agree, opposed as they seem,--evolving +harmony out of apparent discord. And this is Genius, which no +criticism can ever disprove. + +But all great names, it is said, must have their shadows. In our Art +they have many shadows, or rather I should say, reflections; which +are more or less distinct according to their proximity to the living +originals, and, like the images in opposite mirrors, becoming +themselves reflected and re-reflected with a kind of battledoor +alternation, grow dimmer and dimmer till they vanish from mere +distance. + +Thus have the great schools of Italy, Flanders, and Holland lived and +walked after death, till even their ghosts have become familiar to us. + +We would not, however, be understood as asserting that we receive +pleasure only from original works: this would be contradicting +the general experience. We admit, on the contrary, that there are +hundreds, nay, thousands, of pictures having no pretensions to +originality of any kind, which still afford pleasure; as, indeed, +do many things out of the Art, which we know to be second-hand, or +imperfect, and even trifling. Thus grace of manner, for instance, +though wholly unaided by a single definite quality, will often delight +us, and a ready elocution, with scarce a particle of sense, make +commonplace agreeable; and it seems to be, that the pain of mental +inertness renders action so desirable, that the mind instinctively +surrounds itself with myriads of objects, having little to recommend +them but the property of keeping it from stagnating. And we are +far from denying a certain value to any of these, provided they +be innocent: there are times when even the wisest man will find +commonplace wholesome. All we have attempted to show is, that the +effect of an original work, as opposed to an imitation, is marked by +a difference, not of degree merely, but of kind; and that this +difference cannot fail to be felt, not, indeed, by every one, but by +any competent judge, that is, any one in whom is developed, by +natural exercise, that internal sense by which the spirit of life is +discerned. + + * * * * * + +Every original work becomes such from the infusion, so to speak, of +the mind of the Author; and of this the fresh materials of nature +alone seem susceptible. The imitated works of man cannot be endued +with a second life, that is, with a second mind: they are to the +imitator as air already breathed. + + * * * * * + +What has been said in relation to Form--that the works of our +predecessors, so far as they are recognized as true, are to be +considered as an extension of Nature, and therefore proper objects +of study--is equally applicable to Composition. But it is not to be +understood that this extended Nature (if we may so term it) is in any +instance to be imitated as a _whole_, which would be bringing our +minds into bondage to another; since, as already shown in the second +Discourse, every original work is of necessity impressed with the mind +of its author. If it be asked, then, what is the advantage of such +study, we shall endeavour to show, that it is not merely, as some have +supposed, in enriching the mind with materials, but rather in widening +our view of excellence, and, by consequent excitement, expanding our +own powers of observation, reflection, and performance. By increasing +the power of performance, we mean enlarging our knowledge of the +technical process, or the medium through which thought is expressed; +a most important species of knowledge, which, if to be otherwise +attained, is at least most readily learned from those who have left us +the result of their experience. This technical process, which has been +well called the language of the Art, includes, of course, all that +pertains to Composition, which, as the general medium, also contains +most of the elements of this peculiar tongue. + +From the gradual progress of the various arts of civilization, it +would seem that only under the action of some great _social_ law +can man arrive at the full developement of his powers. In our +Art especially is this true; for the experience of one man must +necessarily be limited, particularly if compared with the endless +varieties of form and effect which diversify the face of Nature; and +the finest of these, too, in their very nature transient, or of rare +occurrence, and only known to occur to those who are prepared to seize +them in their rapid transit; so that in one short life, and with but +one set of senses, the greatest genius can learn but little. The +Artist, therefore, must needs owe much to the living, and more to the +dead, who are virtually his companions, inasmuch as through their +works they still live to our sympathies. Besides, in our great +predecessors we may be said to possess a multiplied life, if life +be measured by the number of acts,--which, in this case, we may all +appropriate to ourselves, as it were by a glance. For the dead in Art +may well be likened to the hardy pioneers of our own country, who have +successively cleared before us the swamps and forests that would have +obstructed our progress, and opened to us lands which the efforts of +no individual, however persevering, would enable him to reach. + + + + +Aphorisms. + +Sentences Written by Mr. Allston on the Walls of His Studio. + + + +1. "No genuine work of Art ever was, or ever can be, produced but for +its own sake; if the painter does not conceive to please himself, he +will not finish to please the world."--FUSELI. + +2. If an Artist love his Art for its own sake, he will delight in +excellence wherever he meets it, as well in the work of another as in +his own. This is the test of a true love. + +3. Nor is this genuine love compatible with a craving for distinction; +where the latter predominates, it is sure to betray itself before +contemporary excellence, either by silence, or (as a bribe to the +conscience) by a modicum of praise. + +The enthusiasm of a mind so influenced is confined to itself. + +4. Distinction is the consequence, never the object, of a great mind. + +5. The love of gain never made a Painter; but it has marred many. + +6. The most common disguise of Envy is in the praise of what is +subordinate. + +7. Selfishness in Art, as in other things, is sensibility kept at +home. + +8. The Devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the +phrase "devilish good" has sometimes a literal meaning. + +9. The most intangible, and therefore the worst, kind of lie is a +half truth. This is the peculiar device of a _conscientious_ +detractor. + +10. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading +only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own +littleness by elevating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. +He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look +down. Of such minds are mannerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of +all sorts. + +11. No right judgment can ever be formed on any subject having a moral +or intellectual bearing without benevolence; for so strong is man's +natural self-bias, that, without this restraining principle, he +insensibly becomes a competitor in all such cases presented to his +mind; and, when the comparison is thus made personal, unless the odds +be immeasurably against him, his decision will rarely be impartial. +In other words, no one can see any thing as it really is through the +misty spectacles of self-love. We must wish well to another in order +to do him justice. Now the virtue in this good-will is not to blind us +to his faults, but to our own rival and interposing merits. + +12. In the same degree that we overrate ourselves, we shall underrate +others; for injustice allowed at home is not likely to be corrected +abroad. Never, therefore, expect justice from a vain man; if he has +the negative magnanimity not to disparage you, it is the most you can +expect. + +13. The Phrenologists are right in placing the organ of self-love in +the back of the head, it being there where a vain man carries his +intellectual light; the consequence of which is, that every man he +approaches is obscured by his own shadow. + +14. Nothing is rarer than a solitary lie; for lies breed like Surinam +toads; you cannot tell one but out it comes with a hundred young ones +on its back. + +15. If the whole world should agree to speak nothing but truth, what +an abridgment it would make of speech! And what an unravelling there +would be of the invisible webs which men, like so many spiders, now +weave about each other! But the contest between Truth and Falsehood +is now pretty well balanced. Were it not so, and had the latter the +mastery, even language would soon become extinct, from its very +uselessness. The present superfluity of words is the result of the +warfare. + +16. A witch's skiff cannot more easily sail in the teeth of the wind, +than the human _eye_ lie against fact; but the truth will oftener +quiver through lips with a lie upon them. + +17. An open brow with a clenched hand shows any thing but an open +purpose. + +18. It is a hard matter for a man to lie _all over_. Nature +having provided king's evidence in almost every member. The hand will +sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every +feature is set the other way; the knees smite together, and sound the +alarm of fear, under a fierce countenance; and the legs shake with +anger, when all above is calm. + +19. Nature observes a variety even in her correspondences; insomuch +that in parts which seem but repetitions there will be found a +difference. For instance, in the human countenance, the two sides of +which are never identical. Whenever she deviates into monotony, +the deviation is always marked as an exception by some striking +deficiency; as in idiots, who are the only persons that laugh equally +on both sides of the mouth. + +The insipidity of many of the antique Statues may be traced to the +false assumption of identity in the corresponding parts. No work +wrought by _feeling_ (which, after all, is the ultimate rule of +Genius) was ever marked by this monotony. + +20. He is but half an orator who turns his hearers into spectators. +The best gestures (_quoad_ the speaker) are those which he cannot +help. An unconscious thump of the fist or jerk of the elbow is more +to the purpose, (whatever that may be,) than the most graceful +_cut-and-dried_ action. It matters not whether the orator +personates a trip-hammer or a wind-mill; if his mill but move with the +grist, or his hammer knead the iron beneath it, he will not fail of +his effect. An impertinent gesture is more likely to knock down the +orator than his opponent. + +21. The only true independence is in humility; for the humble man +exacts nothing, and cannot be mortified,--expects nothing, and cannot +be disappointed. Humility is also a healing virtue; it will cicatrize +a thousand wounds, which pride would keep for ever open. But humility +is not the virtue of a fool; since it is not consequent upon any +comparison between ourselves and others, but between what we are and +what we ought to be,--which no man ever was. + +22. The greatest of all fools is the proud fool,--who is at the mercy +of every fool he meets. + +23. There is an essential meanness in the wish to _get the +better_ of any one. The only competition worthy, of a wise man is +with himself. + +24. He that argues for victory is but a gambler in words, seeking to +enrich himself by another's loss. + +25. Some men make their ignorance the measure of excellence; these +are, of course, very fastidious critics; for, knowing little, they can +find but little to like. + +26. The Painter who seeks popularity in Art closes the door upon his +own genius. + +27. Popular excellence in one age is but the _mechanism_ of what +was good in the preceding; in Art, the _technic_. + +28. Make no man your idol, for the best man must have faults; and his +faults will insensibly become yours, in addition to your own. This is +as true in Art as in morals. + +29. A man of genius should not aim at praise, except in the form of +_sympathy_; this assures him of his success, since it meets the +feeling which possessed himself. + +30. Originality in Art is the individualizing the Universal; in other +words, the impregnating some general truth with the individual mind. + +31. The painter who is content with the praise of the world in respect +to what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but an artisan; +for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a +mechanic,--for his time, and not for his art. + +32. _Reputation_ is but a synonyme of _popularity_; +dependent on suffrage, to be increased or diminished at the will of +the voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of its particular age, or +rather of a particular state of society; consequently, dying with that +which sustained it. Hence we can scarcely go over a page of history, +that we do not, as in a church-yard, tread upon some buried +reputation. But fame cannot be voted down, having its immediate +foundation in the essential. It is the eternal shadow of excellence, +from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but +in the light of an intellect kindred with that of its author. It is +that light which projects the shadow which is seen of the multitude, +to be wondered at and reverenced, even while so little comprehended +as to be often confounded with the substance,--the substance being +admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the economy of +Providence to provide such lights: like rising and setting stars, they +follow each other through successive ages: and thus the monumental +form of Genius stands for ever relieved against its own imperishable +shadow. + +33. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, +then, for something beyond the true, we wish for that which is false. +According to this test, how little truth is there in Art! Little +indeed! but how much is that little to him who feels it! + +34. Fame does not depend on the _will_ of any man, but Reputation +may be given or taken away. Fame is the sympathy of kindred +intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of _willing_; while +Reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence +which may either be uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, +being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of +the envious and the ignorant; but Fame, whose very birth is +_posthumous_, and which is only known _to exist by the echo of +its footsteps through congenial minds_, can neither be increased +nor diminished by any degree of will. + +35. What _light_ is in the natural world, such is _fame_ +in the intellectual; both requiring an _atmosphere_ in order +to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some +minds, a nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible _in +vacuo_. + +36. Fame has no necessary conjunction with Praise: it may exist without +the breath of a word; it is a _recognition of excellence_, which _must +be felt_, but need not be _spoken_. Even the envious must feel it,--feel +it, and hate it, in silence. + +37. I cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever labored for +it; that is, _directly_. For, as fame is but the contingent of +excellence, it would be like an attempt to project a shadow, before +its substance was obtained. Many, however, have so fancied. "I write, +I paint, for fame," has often been repeated: it should have been, "I +write, I paint, for reputation." All anxiety, therefore, about Fame +should be placed to the account of Reputation. + +38. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained +_excellence_, when it is not all in all to him. Nay, I may add, +that, if he looks beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not the +less true for being good _Irish_. + +39. An original mind is rarely understood, until it has been +_reflected_ from some half-dozen congenial with it, so averse +are men to admitting the _true_ in an unusual form; whilst any +novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor +is this to be wondered at; for all truth demands a response, and few +people care to _think_, yet they must have something to supply +the place of thought. Every mind would appear original, if every man +had the power of _projecting_ his own into the mind of others. + +40. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the +monstrous. For no man knows himself as an original; he can only +believe it on the report of others to whom _he is made known_, as +he is by the projecting power before spoken of. + +41. There is one thing which no man, however generously disposed, can +_give_, but which every one, however poor, is bound to _pay_. This is +Praise. He cannot give it, because it is not his own,--since what is +dependent for its very existence on something in another can never +become to him a _possession_; nor can he justly withhold it, when the +presence of merit claims it as a _consequence_. As praise, then, cannot +be made a _gift_, so, neither, when not his due, can any man receive it: +he may think he does, but he receives only _words_; for _desert_ being +the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one +without the other. This is no fanciful statement; for, though praise may +be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the +course of time, an existing merit will, on _some one_, produce its +effects; inasmuch as the existence of any cause without its effect is an +impossibility. A fearful truth lies at the bottom of this, an +_irreversible justice_ for the weal or woe of him who confirms or +violates it. + + * * * * * + +[From the back of a pencil sketch.] + +Let no man trust to the gentleness, the generosity, or seeming +goodness of his heart, in the hope that they alone can safely bear him +through the temptations of this world. This is a state of probation, +and a perilous passage to the true beginning of life, where even the +best natures need continually to be reminded of their weakness, and +to find their only security in steadily referring all their thoughts, +acts, affections, to the ultimate end of their being: yet where, +imperfect as we are, there is no obstacle too mighty, no temptation +too strong, to the truly humble in heart, who, distrusting themselves, +seek to be sustained only by that holy Being who is life and power, +and who, in his love and mercy, has promised to give to those that +ask.--Such were my reflections, to which I was giving way on reading +this melancholy story. + +If he is satisfied with them, he may rest assured that he is neither +fitted for this world nor the next. Even in this, there are wrongs and +sorrows which no human remedy can reach;--no, tears cannot restore +what is lost. + + * * * * * + +[Written in a book of sketches, with a pencil.] + +A real debt of gratitude--that is, founded on a disinterested act of +kindness--cannot be cancelled by any subsequent unkindness on the part +of our benefactor. If the favor be of a pecuniary nature, we may, +indeed, by returning an equal or greater sum, balance the moneyed part; +but we cannot _liquidate_ the _kind motive_ by the setting off against +it any number of unkind ones. For an after injury can no more _undo_ a +previous kindness, than we can _prevent_ in the future what has happened +in the past. So neither can a good act undo an ill one: a fearful truth! +For good and evil have a moral _life_, which nothing in time can +extinguish; the instant they _exist_, they start for Eternity. How, +then, can a man who has _once_ sinned, and who has not of _himself_ +cleansed his soul, be fit for heaven where no sin can enter? I seek not +to enter into the mystery of the _atonement_, "which even the angels +sought to comprehend and could not"; but I feel its truth in an +unutterable conviction, and that, without it, all flesh must perish. +Equally deep, too, and unalienable, is my conviction that "the fruit of +sin is misery." A second birth to the soul is therefore a necessity +which sin _forces_ upon us. Ay,--but not against the desperate _will_ +that rejects it. + +This conclusion was not anticipated when I wrote the first sentence of +the preceding paragraph. But it does not surprise me. For it is but a +recurrence of what I have repeatedly experienced; namely, that I never +lighted on _any truth_ which I _inwardly felt_ as such, however +apparently remote from our religious being, (as, for instance, in the +philosophy of my art,) that, by following it out, did not find its +illustration and confirmation in some great doctrine of the Bible,--the +only true philosophy, the sole fountain of light, where the dark +questions of the understanding which have so long stood, like chaotic +spectres, between the fallen soul and its reason, at once lose their +darkness and their terror. + + + + +The Hypochondriac.[4] + + + + He would not taste, but swallowed life at once; + And scarce had reached his prime ere he had bolted, + With all its garnish, mixed of sweet and sour, + Full fourscore years. For he, in truth, did wot not + What most he craved, and so devoured all; + Then, with his gases, followed Indigestion, + Making it food for night-mares and their foals. + + _Bridgen_.[5] + + +It was the opinion of an ancient philosopher, that we can have no want +for which Nature does not provide an appropriate gratification. As it +regards our physical wants, this appears to be true. But there are +moral cravings which extend beyond the world we live in; and, were we +in a heathen age, would serve us with an unanswerable argument for the +immortality of the soul. That these cravings are felt by all, there +can be no doubt; yet that all feel them in the same degree would be as +absurd to suppose, as that every man possesses equal sensibility or +understanding. Boswell's desires, from his own account, seem to have +been limited to reading Shakspeare in the other world,--whether with +or without his commentators, he has left us to guess; and Newton +probably pined for the sight of those distant stars whose light has +not yet reached us. What originally was the particular craving of my +own mind I cannot now recall; but that I had, even in my boyish days, +an insatiable desire after something which always eluded me, I well +remember. As I grew into manhood, my desires became less definite; and +by the time I had passed through college, they seemed to have resolved +themselves into a general passion for _doing_. + +It is needless to enumerate the different subjects which one after +another engaged me. Mathematics, metaphysics, natural and moral +philosophy, were each begun, and each in turn given up in a passion of +love and disgust. + +It is the fate of all inordinate passions to meet their extremes; +so was it with mine. Could I have pursued any of these studies with +moderation, I might have been to this day, perhaps, both learned and +happy. But I could be moderate in nothing. Not content with being +employed, I must always be _busy_; and business, as every one +knows, if long continued, must end in fatigue, and fatigue in disgust, +and disgust in change, if that be practicable,--which unfortunately +was my case. + +The restlessness occasioned by these half-finished studies brought +on a severe fit of self-examination. Why is it, I asked myself, that +these learned works, which have each furnished their authors with +sufficient excitement to effect their completion, should thus weary me +before I get midway into them? It is plain enough. As a reader I +am merely a recipient, but the composer is an active agent; a vast +difference! And now I can account for the singular pleasure, which +a certain bad poet of my acquaintance always took in inflicting his +verses on every one who would listen to him; each perusal being but a +sort of mental echo of the original bliss of composition. I will set +about writing immediately. + +Having, time out of mind, heard the epithet _great_ coupled with +Historians, it was that, I believe, inclined me to write a history. +I chose my subject, and began collating, and transcribing, night and +day, as if I had not another hour to live; and on I went with the +industry of a steam-engine; when it one day occurred to me, that, +though I had been laboring for months, I had not yet had occasion for +one original thought. Pshaw! said I, 't is only making new clothes out +of old ones. I will have nothing more to do with history. + +As it is natural for a mind suddenly disgusted with mechanic toil to +seek relief from its opposite, it can easily be imagined that my next +resource was Poetry. Every one rhymes now-a-days, and so can I. Shall +I write an Epic, or a Tragedy, or a Metrical Romance? Epics are out of +fashion; even Homer and Virgil would hardly be read in our time, but +that people are unwilling to admit their schooling to have been thrown +away. As to Tragedy, I am a modern, and it is a settled thing that no +modern _can_ write a tragedy; so I must not attempt that. Then +for Metrical Romances,--why, they are now manufactured; and, as the +Edinburgh Review says, may be "imported" by us "in bales." I will bind +myself to no particular class, but give free play to my imagination. +With this resolution I went to bed, as one going to be inspired. The +morning came; I ate my breakfast, threw up the window, and placed +myself in my elbow-chair before it. An hour passed, and nothing +occurred to me. But this I ascribed to a fit of laughter that seized +me, at seeing a duck made drunk by eating rum-cherries. I turned my +back on the window. Another hour followed, then another, and another: +I was still as far from poetry as ever; every object about me seemed +bent against my abstraction; the card-racks fascinating me like +serpents, and compelling me to read, as if I would get them by heart, +"Dr. Joblin," "Mr. Cumberback," "Mr. Milton Bull," &c. &c. I took up +my pen, drew a sheet of paper from my writing-desk, and fixed my eyes +upon that;--'t was all in vain; I saw nothing on it but the watermark, +_D. Ames_. I laid down the pen, closed my eyes, and threw my +head back in the chair. "Are you waiting to be shaved, Sir?" said +a familiar voice. I started up, and overturned my servant. "No, +blockhead!"--"I am waiting to be inspired";--but this I added +mentally. What is the cause of my difficulty? said I. Something within +me seemed to reply, in the words of Lear, "Nothing comes of nothing." +Then I must seek a subject. I ran over a dozen in a few minutes, chose +one after another, and, though twenty thoughts very readily occurred +on each, I was fain to reject them all; some for wanting pith, some +for belonging to prose, and others for having been worn out in the +service of other poets. In a word, my eyes began to open on the truth, +and I felt convinced that _that_ only was poetry which a man +writes because he cannot help writing; the irrepressible effluence +of his secret being on every thing in sympathy with it,--a kind of +_flowering_ of the soul amid the warmth and the light of nature. +I am no poet, I exclaimed, and I will not disfigure Mr. Ames with +commonplace verses. + +I know not how I should have borne this second disappointment, had not +the title of a new Novel, which then came into my head, suggested a +trial in that branch of letters. I will write a Novel. Having come to +this determination, the next thing was to collect materials. They must +be sought after, said I, for my late experiment has satisfied me that +I might wait for ever in my elbow-chair, and they would never come to +me; they must be toiled for,--not in books, if I would not deal in +second-hand,--but in the world, that inexhaustible storehouse of +all kinds of originals. I then turned over in my mind the various +characters I had met with in life; amongst these a few only seemed +fitted for any story, and those rather as accessories; such as a +politician who hated popularity, a sentimental grave-digger, and a +metaphysical rope-dancer; but for a hero, the grand nucleus of my +fable, I was sorely at a loss. This, however, did not discourage me. I +knew he might be found in the world, if I would only take the trouble +to look for him. For this purpose I jumped into the first stage-coach +that passed my door; it was immaterial whither bound, my object being +men, not places. My first day's journey offered nothing better than a +sailor who rebuked a member of Congress for swearing. But at the third +stage, on the second day, as we were changing horses, I had the good +fortune to light on a face which gave promise of all I wanted. It was +so remarkable that I could not take my eyes from it; the forehead +might have been called handsome but for a pair of enormous eyebrows, +that seemed to project from it like the quarter-galleries of a ship, +and beneath these were a couple of small, restless, gray eyes, which, +glancing in every direction from under their shaggy brows, sparkled +like the intermittent light of fire-flies; in the nose there was +nothing remarkable, except that it was crested by a huge wart with a +small grove of black hairs; but the mouth made ample amends, being +altogether indescribable, for it was so variable in its expression, +that I could not tell whether it had most of the sardonic, the +benevolent, or the sanguinary, appearing to exhibit them all in +succession with equal vividness. My attention, however, was mainly +fixed by the sanguinary; it came across me like an east wind, and +I felt a cold sweat damping my linen; and when this was suddenly +succeeded by the benevolent, I was sure I had got at the secret of +his character,--no less than that of a murderer haunted by remorse. +Delighted with this discovery, I made up my mind to follow the owner +of the face wherever he went, till I should learn his history. I +accordingly made an end of my journey for the present, upon learning +that the stranger was to pass some time in the place where we stopped. +For three days I made minute inquiries; but all I could gather was, +that he had been a great traveller, though of what country no one +could tell me. On the fourth day, finding him on the move, I took +passage in the same coach. Now, said I, is my time of harvest. But I +was mistaken; for, in spite of all the lures which I threw out to +draw him into a communicative humor, I could get nothing from him but +monosyllables. So far from abating my ardor, this reserve only the +more whetted my curiosity. At last we stopped at a pleasant village +in New Jersey. Here he seemed a little better known; the innkeeper +inquiring after his health, and the hostler asking if the balls he +had supplied him with fitted the barrels of his pistols. The latter +inquiry I thought was accompanied by a significant glance, that +indicated a knowledge on the hostler's part of more than met the ear; +I determined therefore to sound him. After a few general remarks, that +had nothing to do with any thing, by way of introduction, I began by +hinting some random surmises as to the use to which the stranger might +have put the pistols he spoke of; inquired whether he was in the habit +of loading them at night; whether he slept with them under his pillow; +if he was in the practice of burning a light while he slept; and if +he did not sometimes awake the family by groans, or by walking with +agitated steps in his chamber. But it was all in vain, the man +protesting that he never knew any thing ill of him. Perhaps, thought +I, the hostler having overheard his midnight wanderings, and detected +his crime, is paid for keeping the secret. I pumped the landlord, and +the landlady, and the barmaid, and the chambermaid, and the waiters, +and the cook, and every thing that could speak in the house; still to +no purpose, each ending his reply with, "Lord, Sir, he's as honest a +gentleman, for aught I know, as any in the world"; then would come a +question,--"But perhaps _you_ know something of him yourself?" +Whether my answer, though given in the negative, was uttered in such a +tone as to imply an affirmative, thereby exciting suspicion, I cannot +tell; but it is certain that I soon after perceived a visible change +towards him in the deportment of the whole household. When he spoke to +the waiters, their jaws fell, their fingers spread, their eyes rolled, +with every symptom of involuntary action; and once, when he asked the +landlady to take a glass of wine with him, I saw her, under pretence +of looking out of the window, throw it into the street; in short, the +very scullion fled at his approach, and a chambermaid dared not +enter his room unless under guard of a large mastiff. That these +circumstances were not unobserved by him will appear by what follows. + +Though I had come no nearer to facts, this general suspicion, added to +the remarkable circumstance that no one had ever heard his name (being +known only as _the gentleman_) gave every day new life to my +hopes. He is the very man, said I; and I began to revel in all the +luxury of detection, when, as I was one night undressing for bed, my +attention was caught by the following letter on my table. + + "SIR, + + "If you are the gentleman you would be thought, you will not + refuse satisfaction for the diabolical calumnies you have so + unprovokedly circulated against an innocent man. + + "Your obedient servant, + + "TIMOLEON BUB. + + "P.S. I shall expect you at five o'clock to-morrow morning, at the + three elms, by the river-side." + +This invitation, as may be well imagined, discomposed me not a +little. Who Mr. Bub was, or in what way I had injured him, puzzled +me exceedingly. Perhaps, thought I, he has mistaken me for another +person; if so, my appearing on the ground will soon set matters right. +With this persuasion I went to bed, somewhat calmer than I should +otherwise have been; nay, I was even composed enough to divert myself +with the folly of one bearing so vulgar an appellation taking it into +his head to play the _man of honor_, and could not help a waggish +feeling of curiosity to see if his name and person were in keeping. + +I woke myself in the morning with a loud laugh, for I had dreamt of +meeting, in the redoubtable Mr. Bub, a little pot-bellied man, with a +round face, a red snub-nose, and a pair of gooseberry wall-eyes. My +fit of pleasantry was far from passed off when I came in sight of the +fatal elms. I saw my antagonist pacing the ground with considerable +violence. Ah! said I, he is trying to escape from his unheroic name! +and I laughed again at the conceit; but, as I drew a little nearer, +there appeared a majestic altitude in his figure very unlike what I +had seen in my dream, and my laugh began to stiffen into a kind of +rigid grin. There now came upon me something very like a misgiving +that the affair might turn out to be no joke. I felt an unaccountable +wish that this Mr. Bub had never been born; still I advanced: but +if an aerolite had fallen at my feet, I could not have been more +startled, than when I found in the person of my challenger--the +mysterious stranger. The consequences of my curiosity immediately +rushed upon me, and I was no longer at a loss in what way I had +injured him. All my merriment seemed to curdle within me; and I felt +like a dog that had got his head into a jug, and suddenly finds he +cannot extricate it. "Well met, Sir," said the stranger; "now +take your ground, and abide the consequences of your infernal +insinuations." "Upon my word," replied I,--"upon my honor, Sir,"--and +there I stuck, for in truth I knew not what it was I was going to say; +when the stranger's second, advancing, exclaimed, in a voice which +I immediately recognized, "Why, zounds! Rainbow, are _you_ the +man?" "Is it you, Harman?" "What!" continued he, "my old classmate +Rainbow turned slanderer? Impossible! Indeed, Mr. Bub, there must be +some mistake here." "None, Sir," said the stranger; "I have it on +the authority of my respectable landlord, that, ever since this +gentleman's arrival, he has been incessant in his attempts to blacken +my character with every person at the inn." "Nay, my friend"--But I +put an end to Harman's further defence of me, by taking him aside, +and frankly confessing the whole truth. It was with some difficulty I +could get through the explanation, being frequently interrupted with +bursts of laughter from my auditor; which, indeed, I now began to +think very natural. In a word, to cut the story short, my friend +having repeated the conference verbatim to Mr. Bub, he was +good-natured enough to join in the mirth, saying, with one of his best +sardonics, he "had always had a misgiving that his unlucky ugly face +would one day or other be the death of somebody." Well, we passed the +day together, and having cracked a social bottle after dinner, parted, +I believe, as heartily friends as we should have been (which is saying +a great deal) had he indeed proved the favorite villain in my Novel. +But, alas! with the loss of my villain, away went the Novel. + +Here again I was at a stand; and in vain did I torture my brains +for another pursuit. But why should I seek one? In fortune I have a +competence,--why not be as independent in mind? There are thousands in +the world whose sole object in life is to attain the means of living +without toil; and what is any literary pursuit but a series of mental +labor, ay, and oftentimes more wearying to the spirits than that of +the body. Upon the whole, I came to the conclusion, that it was a very +foolish thing to do any thing. So I seriously set about trying to do +nothing. + +Well, what with whistling, hammering down all the nails in the house +that had started, paring my nails, pulling my fire to pieces and +rebuilding it, changing my clothes to full dress though I dined alone, +trying to make out the figure of a Cupid on my discolored ceiling, and +thinking of a lady I had not thought of for ten years before, I got +along the first week tolerably well. But by the middle of the second +week,--'t was horrible! the hours seemed to roll over me like +mill-stones. When I awoke in the morning I felt like an Indian +devotee, the day coming upon me like the great temple of Juggernaut; +cracking of my bones beginning after breakfast; and if I had any +respite, it was seldom for more than half an hour, when a newspaper +seemed to stop the wheels;--then away they went, crack, crack, noon +and afternoon, till I found myself by night reduced to a perfect +jelly,--good for nothing but to be ladled into bed, with a greater +horror than ever at the thought of sunrise. + +This will never do, said I; a toad in the heart of a tree lives a more +comfortable life than a nothing-doing man; and I began to perceive +a very deep meaning in the truism of "something being better than +nothing." But is a precise object always necessary to the mind? No: if +it be but occupied, no matter with what. That may easily be done. +I have already tried the sciences, and made abortive attempts in +literature, but I have never yet tried what is called general +reading;--that, thank Heaven, is a resource inexhaustible. I will +henceforth read only for amusement. My first experiment in this way +was on Voyages and Travels, with occasional dippings into Shipwrecks, +Murders, and Ghost-stories. It succeeded beyond my hopes; month after +month passing away like days, and as for days,--I almost fancied that +I could see the sun move. How comfortable, thought I, thus to travel +over the world in my closet! how delightful to double Cape Horn and +cross the African Desert in my rocking-chair,--to traverse Caffraria +and the Mogul's dominions in the same pleasant vehicle! This is living +to some purpose; one day dining on barbecued pigs in Otaheite; the +next in danger of perishing amidst the snows of Terra del Fuego; then +to have a lion cross my path in the heart of Africa; to run for my +life from a wounded rhinoceros, and sit, by mistake, on a sleeping +boa-constrictor;--this, this, said I, is life! Even the dangers of the +sea were but healthful stimulants. If I met with a tornado, it was +only an agreeable variety; water-spouts and ice-islands gave me no +manner of alarm; and I have seldom been more composed than when +catching a whale. In short, the ease with which I thus circumnavigated +the globe, and conversed with all its varieties of inhabitants, +expanded my benevolence; I found every place, and everybody in it, +even to the Hottentots, vastly agreeable. But, alas! I was doomed +to discover that this could not last for ever. Though I was still +curious, there were no longer curiosities; for the world is limited, +and new countries, and new people, like every thing else, wax stale on +acquaintance; even ghosts and hurricanes become at last familiar; and +books grow old, like those who read them. + +I was now at what sailors call a dead lift; being too old to build +castles for the future, and too dissatisfied with the life I had +led to look back on the past. In this state of mind, I bought me a +snuffbox; for, as I could not honestly recommend my disjointed self +to any decent woman, it seemed a kind of duty in me to contract such +habits as would effectually prevent my taking in the lady I had once +thought of. I set to, snuffing away till I made my nose sore, and +lost my appetite. I then threw my snuffbox into the fire, and took to +cigars. This change appeared to revive me. For a short time I thought +myself in Elysium, and wondered I had never tried them before. Thou +fragrant weed! O, that I were a Dutch poet, I exclaimed, that I might +render due honor to thy unspeakable virtues! Ineffable tobacco! Every +puff seemed like oil poured upon troubled waters, and I felt an +inexpressible calmness stealing over my frame; in truth, it seemed +like a benevolent spirit reconciling my soul to my body. But +moderation, as I have before said, was never one of my virtues. I +walked my room, pouring out volumes like a moving glass-house. My +apartment was soon filled with smoke; I looked in the glass and hardly +knew myself, my eyes peering at me, through the curling atmosphere, +like those of a poodle. I then retired to the opposite end, and +surveyed the furniture; nothing retained its original form or +position;--the tables and chairs seemed to loom from the floor, and my +grandfather's picture to thrust forward its nose like a French-horn, +while that of my grandmother, who was reckoned a beauty in her day, +looked, in her hoop, like her husband's wig-block stuck on a tub. +Whether this was a signal for the fiends within me to begin their +operations, I know not; but from that day I began to be what is called +nervous. The uninterrupted health I had hitherto enjoyed now seemed +the greatest curse that could have befallen me. I had never had the +usual itinerant distempers; it was very unlikely that I should always +escape them; and the dread of their coming upon me in my advanced age +made me perfectly miserable. I scarcely dared to stir abroad; +had sandbags put to my doors to keep out the measles; forbade my +neighbours' children playing in my yard to avoid the whooping-cough; +and, to prevent infection from the small-pox, I ordered all my male +servants' heads to be shaved, made the coachman and footman wear tow +wigs, and had them both regularly smoked whenever they returned from +the neighbouring town, before they were allowed to enter my presence. +Nor were these all my miseries; in fact, they were but a sort of +running base to a thousand other strange and frightful fancies; the +mere skeleton to a whole body-corporate of horrors. I became dreamy, +was haunted by what I had read, frequently finding a Hottentot, or a +boa-constrictor, in my bed. Sometimes I fancied myself buried in one +of the pyramids of Egypt, breaking my shins against the bones of a +sacred cow. Then I thought myself a kangaroo, unable to move because +somebody had cut off my tail. + +In this miserable state I one evening rushed out of my house. I know +not how far, or how long, I had been from home, when, hearing a +well-known voice, I suddenly stopped. It seemed to belong to a face +that I knew; yet how I should know it somewhat puzzled me, being then +fully persuaded that I was a Chinese Josh. My friend (as I afterwards +learned he was) invited me to go to his club. This, thought I, is one +of my worshippers, and they have a right to carry me wherever they +please; accordingly I suffered myself to be led. + +I soon found myself in an American tavern, and in the midst of a dozen +grave gentlemen who were emptying a large bowl of punch. They each +saluted me, some calling me by name, others saying they were happy to +make my acquaintance; but what appeared quite unaccountable was my not +only understanding their language, but knowing it to be English. A +kind of reaction now began to take place in my brain. Perhaps, said I, +I am not a Josh. I was urged to pledge my friend in a glass of punch; +I did so; my friend's friend, and his friend, and all the rest, in +succession, begged to have the same honor; I complied, again +and again, till at last, the punch having fairly turned my +head topsy-turvy, righted my understanding; and I found myself +_myself_. + +This happy change gave a pleasant fillip to my spirits. I returned +home, found no monster in my bed, and slept quietly till near noon the +next day. I arose with a slight headache and a great admiration +of punch; resolving, if I did not catch the measles from my late +adventure, to make a second visit to the club. No symptoms appearing, +I went again; and my reception was such as led to a third, and a +fourth, and a fifth visit, when I became a regular member. I believe +my inducement to this was a certain unintelligible something in three +or four of my new associates, which at once gratified and kept alive +my curiosity, in their letting out just enough of themselves while I +was with them to excite me when alone to speculate on what was kept +back. I wondered I had never met with such characters in books; and +the kind of interest they awakened began gradually to widen to others. +Henceforth I will live in the world, said I; 't is my only remedy. A +man's own affairs are soon conned; he gets them by heart till they +haunt him when he would be rid of them; but those of another can +be known only in part, while that which remains unrevealed is a +never-ending stimulus to curiosity. The only natural mode, therefore, +of preventing the mind preying on itself,--the only rational, because +the only interminable employment,--is to be busy about other people's +business. + +The variety of objects which this new course of life each day +presented, brought me at length to a state of sanity; at least, I was +no longer disposed to conjure up remote dangers to my door, or chew +the cud on my indigested past reading; though sometimes, I confess, +when I have been tempted to meddle with a very bad character, I have +invariably been threatened with a relapse; which leads me to think the +existence of some secret affinity between rogues and boa-constrictors +is not unlikely. In a short time, however, I had every reason to +believe myself completely cured; for the days began to appear of their +natural length, and I no longer saw every thing through a pair of +blue spectacles, but found nature diversified by a thousand beautiful +colors, and the people about me a thousand times more interesting than +hyenas or Hottentots. The world is now my only study, and I trust I +shall stick to it for the sake of my health. + + + + +Footnotes + + + +[1] The Frightful is not the Terrible, though often confounded with it. + +[2] See Introductory Discourse. + +[3] There is one species of imitation, however, which, as having been +practised by some of the most original minds, and also sanctioned by the +ablest writers, demands at least a little consideration; namely, the +adoption of an attitude, provided it be employed to convey a different +thought. So far, indeed, as the imitation has been confined to a +suggestion, and the attitude adopted has been modified by the new subject, +to which it was transferred, by a distinct change of character and +expression, though with but little variation in the disposition of limbs, +we may not dissent; such imitations being virtually little more than +hints, since they end in thoughts either totally different from, or more +complete than, the first. This we do not condemn, for every Poet, as well +as Artist, knows that a thought so modified is of right his own. It is the +transplanting of a tree, not the borrowing of a seed, against which we +contend. But when writers justify the appropriation, of entire figures, +without any such change, we do not agree with them; and cannot but think +that the examples they have quoted, as in the Sacrifice at Lystra, by +Raffaelle, and the Baptism, by Poussin, will fully support our position. +The antique _basso rilievo_ which Raffaelle has introduced in the former, +being certainly imitated both as to lines and grouping, is so distinct, +both in character and form, from the surrounding figures, as to render +them a distinct people, and their very air reminds us of another age. We +cannot but believe we should have had a very different group, and far +superior in expression, had he given us a conception of his own. It would +at least have been in accordance with the rest, animated with the +superstitious enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd; and especially as +sacrificing Priests would they have been amazed and awe-stricken in the +living presence of a god, instead of personating, as in the present group, +the cold officials of the Temple, going through a stated task at the +shrine of their idol. In the figure by Poussin, which he borrowed from +Michael Angelo, the discrepancy is still greater. The original figure, +which was in the Cartoon at Pisa, (now known only by a print,) is that of +a warrior who has been suddenly roused from the act of bathing by the +sound of a trumpet; he has just leaped upon the bank, and, in his haste to +obey its summons, thrusts his foot through his garment. Nothing could be +more appropriate than the violence of this action; it is in unison with +the hurry and bustle of the occasion. And this is the figure which Poussin +(without the slightest change, if we recollect aright) has transferred to +the still and solemn scene in which John baptizes the Saviour. No one can +look at this figure without suspecting the plagiarism. Similar instances +may be found in his other works; as in the Plague of the Philistines, +where the Alcibiades of Raffaelle is coolly sauntering among the dead and +dying, and with as little relation to the infected multitude as if he were +still with Socrates in the School of Athens. In the same picture may be +found also one of the Apostles from the Cartoon of the Draught of Fishes: +and we may naturally ask what business he has there. And yet such +appropriations have been made to appear no thefts, simply because no +attempt seems to have been made at concealment! But theft, we must be +allowed to think, is still theft, whether committed in the dark, or in the +face of day. And the example is a dangerous one, inasmuch as it comes from +men who were not constrained to resort to such shifts by any poverty of +invention. + +Akin to this is another and larger kind of borrowing, which, though it +cannot strictly be called copying; yet so evidently betrays a foreign +origin, as to produce the same effect. We allude to the adoption of the +peculiar lines, handling, and disposition of masses, &c., of any +particular master. + +[4] First printed in 1821, in "The Idle Man," No. II p. 38. + +[5] A feigned name.--_Editor_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures on Art, by Washington Allston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LECTURES ON ART *** + +***** This file should be named 11391.txt or 11391.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/9/11391/ + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/11391.zip b/old/11391.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2165f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11391.zip |