As the preface had thus been of service to me, I was in hopes from the title of the book (and the assurance of the translator, that the author had by his great learning discovered the secret of the ancients,) to have met with something there that might have assisted, or confirmed, the scheme I had in hand; but was much disappointed in finding nothing of the sort and no explanation, or even after-mention of what at first agreeably alarmed me, the word analogy. I have given the reader a specimen, in his own words, how far the author has discovered this grand secret of the ancients, or great key of knowledge, as the translator calls it:
The sublime part that I so greatly esteem, and of which I have begun to speak, is a real Je ne sais quoi, or an unaccountable something to most people, and it is the most important part to all the connoisseurs. I shall call it a harmonious propriety, which is a touching or moving unity, or a pathetic agreement or concord, not only of each member to its body, but also of each part to which the member belongs. It is also an infinite variety of parts; however conformable, with respect to each different subject so that all the attitude and all the adjustment of the draperies of each figure ought to answer or correspond to the subject chosen. Briefly, it is a true decorum, a bienseance or a congruent disposition of ideas, as much for the face and stature as for the attitudes. A bright genius, in my opinion, who aspires to excel in the ideal, should propose this to himself, such has been the principal study of the most famous artists. It is in this part that the great masters cannot be imitated or copied except by themselves, or by those that are advanced in the knowledge of the ideal, and who are as knowing as those masters in the rules or laws of the picturesque and poetical nature, although inferior to the masters in the high spirit of invention.
William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode: 2, The Tête a Tête, c. 1743. Oil on canvas, 69.9 × 90.8 cm. The National Gallery, London.
The words in this quotation, “It is also an infinite variety of parts”, seem at first to have some meaning in them, but it is entirely destroyed by the rest of the paragraph, and all the other pages are filled, according to custom, with descriptions of pictures.
Now, as everyone has a right to conjecture what this discovery of the ancients might be, it will be my business to show it was a key to the thorough knowledge of variety both in form and movement. Shakespeare, who had the deepest penetration into nature, has summed up all the charms of beauty in two words, ‘infinite variety’; where, speaking of Cleopatra’s power over Anthony, he says, “Nor custom stale / Her infinite variety” (Act 2, Scene 3). It has been ever observed that the ancients made their doctrines mysterious to the vulgar, and kept them secret from those who were not of their particular sects and societies by means of symbols and hieroglyphics. Lomazzo says: “The Grecians, in imitation of antiquity, searched out the truly renowned proportion wherein the exact perfection of most exquisite beauty and sweetness appeared; dedicating the fame in a triangular glass unto Venus the goddess of divine beauty, from whence all the beauty of inferior things is derived.” (chap. 29, book. 1). If we suppose this passage to be authentic, may we not also imagine it probable that the symbol in the triangular glass might be similar to the line Michelangelo recommended? Thus especially, if it can be proved, that the triangular form of the glass and the serpentine line itself are the two most expressive figures that can be thought of to signify not only beauty and grace, but the whole order of form.
There is a circumstance in the account Pliny gives of Apelles’ visit to Protogenes, which strengthens this supposition. I hope I may have leave to repeat the story. Apelles, having heard of the fame of Protogenes, went to Rhodes to pay him a visit. However, upon not finding him at home, Apelles asked for a board on which he drew a line, thus telling the maid servant that the line would signify to her master who had been to see him. We are not clearly told what sort of a line it was that could so particularly signify one of the first of his profession: if it was only a stroke (though as fine as a hair, as Pliny seems to think) it could not possibly, by any means, denote the abilities of a great painter. However, if we suppose it to be a line of some extraordinary quality, such as the serpentine line will appear to be, Apelles could not have left a more satisfactory signature of the compliment he had paid him. Protogenes, upon coming home, took the hint and drew a finer or rather more expressive line within it, to show Apelles, if he came again, that he understood his meaning. Apelles, soon returning, was well pleased with the answer Protogenes had left for him, by which he was convinced that fame had done him justice, and so correcting the line again, perhaps, by making it more precisely elegant, he took his leave. The story thus may be reconciled to common sense, which, as it has been generally received could never be understood but as a ridiculous tale.
Let us add to this that there is scarce an Egyptian, Greek, or Roman deity that does not have a twisted serpent, cornucopia, or some other symbol winding in this manner to accompany it. The two small heads over the bust of the Hercules, of the goddess Isis, one crowned with a globe between two horns, the other with a lily, are of this kind. Harpocrates, the god of silence, is still more remarkably so, having a large twisted horn growing out of the side of his head, a cornucopia in his hand, and another at his feet, with his finger placed on his lips indicating secrecy. It is equally remarkable that the deities of barbarous and gothic nations never had, even to this day, any of these elegant forms of their own.
Antonio Allegri, known as Correggio, Assumption of the Virgin, 1526–1530. Fresco, 1093 cm × 1195 cm. Parma Cathedral, Parma.
Antonio Allegri, known as Correggio, Saint John’s Vision in Patmos, c. 1520–1522. Fresco, 969 cm × 889 cm. San Giovanni Evangelista, Parma.
Jean-Marc Nattier, Marie Leszczinska, Queen of France, 1748. Oil on canvas, 139 × 107.1 cm. Musée national du château de Versailles, Versailles.
How absolutely void of these turns are the pagodas of China, and what a mean taste runs through most of their attempts at painting and sculpture, despite finishing with such excessive neatness! The whole nation in these matters seems to have but one eye; this mischief naturally follows from the prejudices they imbibe by copying one another’s works, which the ancients seem seldom to have done.
Upon the whole, it is evident that the ancients studied these arts very differently from the moderns. Lomazzo seems to be partly aware of this based on the division of his work: “There is a two-fold proceeding in all arts and sciences: the one is called the order of nature, and the other of teaching. Nature proceeds ordinarily, beginning with the imperfect, as the particulars, and ending with the perfect, as the universals. Now, if in searching out the nature of things, our understanding shall proceed after that order, by which they are brought forth by nature, undoubtedly, it will be the most absolute and ready method that can be imagined. For we begin to know things by their first and immediate principles, etc. and this is not only my opinion, but Aristotle’s also;” yet, mistaking Aristotle’s meaning and clearly deviating from his advice, he afterwards says, “all which if we could comprehend within our understanding, we should be most wise; however, it is impossible and after giving some dark reasons as to why he thinks so, he tells you he resolves to follow the order of teaching,” which all the writers on painting have done in a similar manner since.
Had I observed the foregoing passage, before I undertook this essay, it probably would have put me to a stand and deterred me from venturing upon what Lomazzo calls an impossible task. However, upon observing in the aforementioned controversies that the torrent generally ran against me and that several of my opponents had turned my arguments into ridicule (yet were availing themselves daily of their use and venting them even to my face as their own), I began with the publication of something on this subject and accordingly applied myself to several of my friends, whom I thought capable of taking up the pen for me, offering to furnish them with materials by word of mouth. After finding this method impracticable, from the difficulty of one man’s expressing the ideas of another especially