THE ART OF PAINTING

FKOM THE BAROQUE THROUGH

POSTIMPRESSIONISM
 The Art of Painting
FROM THE BAROQUE THROUGH POSTIMPRESSIONISM

edited by PIERRE SEGHERS

in collaboration with JACQUES GHARPIER

excerpts translated by SALLY T. ABELES

Hawthorn Books^ Inc. publishers

NEW YORK AND LONDON
 Copyright 1964 by Hawthorn Books, Inc., 70 Fifth Avenue,
New York City, 10011. Copyright under International and Pan-
American Copyright Conventions. All rights reserved, including
the right to reproduce this hook or portions thereof, in any form
except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. This book
was manufactured in the United States of America and published
simultaneously in Canada by Prentice-Hall, Inc., of Canada,
520 Ellesmere Road, Scarborough, Ontario. It was originally
published in France under the title L'Art de la Peinture 1957
by Pierre Seghers. Library of Congress Catalogue Card
Number: 64-19203. Suggested decimal classification: 759.04.

FIRST EDITION^ November, 1964

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Permission to reprint passages from the following works is gratefully
acknowledged. Every effort has been made to locate the copyright
owners of the selections used in this book. If any credits have been
inadvertently omitted they will be corrected in subsequent editions,
provided notification is sent to the publisher.

Literary Sources of Art History^ selected and edited by Elizabeth

Gilmore Holt, Copyright Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1947.
Reprinted by permission of Princeton University Press.

The Analysis of Beauty,, by William Hogarth, edited by Joseph

Burke, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1955. Reprinted by permission of
Clarendon Press.

Artists on Art^ edited by Robert Goldwater , Pantheon Books, New

York, 1945. Reprinted by permission of Random House, Inc.

The Philosophy of Fine Art^ by Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel,

translated by F. P. B. Osmaston, Bell, London, 1920. Reprinted by
permission of G. Bell (& Sons.

Ingres^ by Walter Pach, copyright 1939 by Harper <$; Brothers.

Reprinted with the permission of Harper & Row, Publishers,
Incorporated^

Corot and his Friends, by Everard Meynell, Metheun & Company,

London, 1908. Reprinted by permission of Metheun d; Company.

The Journal of Eugene Delacroix, by Eugene Delacroix, edited by

Hubert Wellington, translated by Lucy Norton, Phaidon Press,
London, 1951. Distributed in the U.S.A. by New York Graphic
Society, Greenwich, Connecticut. Reprinted by permission of Phaidon
Press, Ltd.

Gustave Courbet, edited with commentary by J. Laran and L.

Bencdite, William Heinemann Ltd., London, 1912. Reprinted by
permission of William Heinemann Ltd.

H-0432
The Mastei-s of Past Time, by Eugene Fromentin, edited hy H.
Gerson, Phaidon Press, London, 1948. Distributed in the U.S.A. by
New York Graphic Society, Greenwich, Connecticut. Reprinted by
permission of Phaidon Press, Ltd.

The Mirror of Art: Critical Studies, by Charles Baudelaire, trans-

lated by Jonathan Mayne, Phaidon Press, London, 1955. Distributed
in the U.S.A. by New York Graphic Society, Greenwich, Connecticut.
Reprinted by permission of Phaidon Press, Ltd.

Portrait of Manet, edited by P. Courthion and P. Cailler, Cassell

and Company, London, 1960. Reprinted by permission of Roy
Company, Ltd.
Publishers, Inc., and Cassell and

Letters, by Paul Cezanne, edited by John Rewald, Bruno Cassirer,

London, 1941. Reprinted by permission of Bruno Cassirer (Pub-
Ushers) Ltd.
1410928
Renoir, by Ambroise Vollard. Copyright 1925 and renewed 1953
by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Reprinted by permission.

The Letters of Paul Gauguin to Georges Daniel de Monfreid, trans-

lated by Ruth Pielkovo, copyright 1922 by Dodd, Mead & Company,
Inc. Reprinted by permission of Dodd, Mead (S; Company.

Complete Letters, by Vincent van Gogh, translated by J. van Gogh-

Bonger, New York Graphic Society, Greenwich, Connecticut, 1958.
Reprinted by permission of the New York Graphic Society.

Modern Painters, by John Ruskin, Smith, Elder and Co., London,

1851-60. Reprinted by permission of George Allen dt Unwin Ltd.

Winslow Homer, by Lloyd Goodrich, published for the Whitney

Museum of American Art by the Macmillan Co., New York, 1944.
Reprinted by permission of the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Thomas Eakins, his Life and Work, by Lloyd Goodrich, Whitney

Museum ofAmerican Art, New York, 1933. Reprinted by permission
of the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Georges Seurat, by John Rewald, George Wittenborn, Inc., New

York, 1946. Reprinted by permission of George Wittenborn, Inc.
We must always apologize for talking painting.
PAUL TALEET
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 11

INTRODUCTION 13

The Seventeenth Century

PETER PAUL RUBENS 17

NICOLAS POUSSIN 28

ANDRE FELIBIEN 33

ROGER DE PILES 52

Quotations from Francisco Pacheco, Rembrandt,

Sebastien Bourdon, Charles Le Brun, Fenelon,
Antoine Coypel 60

The Eighteenth Century

DENIS DIDEROT 69

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 86

LOUIS DAVID 89

Quotations from Jean-Baptiste Dubos, Jean-

Baptiste Oudry, Giambattista Passeri, William
Hogarth, Jean-Baptiste-Simeon Chardin, Charles-
Joseph Natoire, Joseph Vernet, Charles-Nicolas
Cochin, Anton Raphael Mengs, Gotthold Ephraim
Lessing,Salomon Gessner, Johann Heinrich Fiissli,

Francisco Goya, Hokusai 96

The Nineteenth Century

GEOEG WILHELM FRIEDRICH HEGEL 113

JEAN-AUGUSTE-DOMINIQUE INGRES 131

JEAN-BAPTISTE-EMILE COROT 150

EUGENE DELACROIX 155

GUSTAVE COURBET 214

EUGENE EROMENTIN 222

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE 230

EDOUARD MANET 254

PAUL CEZANNE 259

CLAUDE MONET 265

AUGUSTE RENOIE 268

PAUL GAUGUIN 272

VINCENT VAN GOGH 277

Quotations from William Blake, Joseph Turner,

John Constable, David d 'Angers, Theodore Geri-
eault, Honore de Balzac, Paul Huet, Edgar Allen
Poe, Theodore Rousseau, Jean-Francois Millet,
Theodore Chasseriau, John Ruskin, Puvis de Cha-
vannes, Eugene-Louis Boudin, Gustave Moreau,
Camille Pissarro, James McNeill Whistler, Edgar
Degas, Winslow Homer, Odilon Redon, Auguste
Rodin, Thomas Eakins, J. Karl Huysmans, Georges
Seurat, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec 290

NOTES 335

BIBLIOGRAPHY 343

THE EDITORS AND THEIR BOOK 349

 List of Illustrations

FRONTISPIECE Madame Recamier by jacques-louis david louvre, parts

The Miracles of Saint Benedict (detail) by peter paul rubens mus^e des beaux-
arts, BRUSSELS

Orpheus and Eurydice by nicolas poussin lou\'re, paris

Bullock's Carcase by rembrandt louvre, paris

The Grand Canal opposite Santa Maria delta Salute by Bernardo bellotto

MUSEO CORRER, \rENICE

Boy Playing with Cards by jeax-baptiste-sim6on chardin uffizi, Florence

Monsieur Seriziat by jacques-louis david lou\^re, paris

The Majas on the Balcony by francisco goya metropolitan museum, new york
Marine Parade and Chain Pier, Brighton by john constable tate gallery,

LONDON Reproduced by courtesy of the Trustees of the Tate Gallery, London.

Diana Surprised hy Acteon or Summer by eugene delacroix museu de arte,

SAO PAULO

Cathedral at Rouen by claude monet louvre, paris

Still Life with a Souptureen by paul c^zanne museum of impressionism, parts

Model for "Bar at the Folies-Bergere^' by edouard manet mus^e des beaux-
arts, DIJON

Portrait of a Young Girl by auguste renoir museu de arte, sao paulo

A Street in Tahiti by paul gauguin museo d'arte, toledo

The Church of Auvers by vincent van gogh louvre, paris

Musicians at the Opera by edgar degas louvre, paris

Illustrations reproduced through the courtesy of Istituto Italiano d'Arti Grafiche, Bergamo, Italy
INTEODUCTION
THE seventeenth century is naturally called the century of
classicism. We may therefore regard it as heir to the Renais-
sance. Yet it was very different. Antiquity functioned as some-
thing of a stimulus and an alibi in the mind and works of
fifteenth- and sixteenth-century artists: they used antiquity
to shuck off the influence of the dogmas of their own time,
and took the ancients as their models. They were certainly
not revolutionary in the modern meaning of the word; they
did not openly oppose the ideas and institutions of the Middle
Ages, and did not even criticize them; but they did act and
create independently of them. Consequently, they ran the risk
of coming into conflict with established authority, and set up
antiquity as a counterforce to it.

Seventeenth-century artists, however, turned antiquity

into dogma. They looked to it not as a liberating agent but
as an aggregate of rules which they had to obey. This was
the beginning of academicism. Obviously, geniuses like Pous-
sin and Rubens put this academicism to their own personal
uses rather than serving it; the same was true of Racine.
Academicism does not in itself impoverish or negate art, but

it does pose an artist the same threats as any dogmatism.

Thus, the seventeenth century in France saw the rise of
the Quarrel of the Ancients and Moderns. In painting, it

occurred over Rubens, who was condemned by the Academy.^

Interestingly enough, antiquity was now attacked for reasons
contrary to those that brought it rebuke in earlier centuries,
particularly in the name of a certain ''naturalism," which was
now called ''the true," and which was set up in opposition

to the beautification of nature that the Academy espoused.

The Moderns were to carry the eighteenth century. Char-
din is the most notable example, along with all the other
painters of still lifes. But let us point out that this struggle

13


against the Academy led painters to exceed the limits of that

"truth" for which they fought. Hogarth's work became cari-

cature, Goya's hallucination. Their aim, one might say, was

a total expression of "the true," because of which the painter

was no longer afraid to depict disagreeable scenes. But the

problem was not only moral; it was optical: the painter was
seeing reality in a different way from before. This opened the
door to the great pictorial inventions of the nineteenth cen-
tury, and, in the domain of pictorial instruction, gave free

rein to the most diverse and often contradictory opinions and

precepts. The Quarrel of the Ancients and Moderns gave birth
to a thousand other quarrels, in painting as elsewhere. From
now on, every painter would be an Ancient or a Modern in
relation to another.
In the first half of the nineteenth century, this conflict
set Ingres against Delacroix and David against Courbet. Next
came the schools, the groups which followed one another
Naturalists, Impressionists, Pointillists each giving painting
new goals and methods. The individuality of the great artists

would not founder in this succession of groups which formed

and dispersed; there would still be great independents, like
Cezanne, Van Gogh, and Gauguin but ; this would only serve
to give still greater diversity to the history of pictorial theories

or ideas. To "learn to paint" came to mean to imitate one or

another painter, at least for beginners. Teaching became per-
sonalized, and hereafter people spoke more usually of one
artist's influencing another than of his adherence to a given
doctrine.

u
The Seventeenth Century

. . . GENIUS IS NECESSARY, BUT A

GENIUS TRAINED BY RULES, REFLECTION, AND
DILIGENCE IN WORK.
Felibien
PETER PAUL RUBENS
PETER PAUL RUBENS (1557-1640) left US an dhundani cor-
respondence, in u'JiicJi readers regret to find little ahout
painting. We share that regret. The absence of this painter
from our collection ivould have seemed very peculiar. However,
we recalled and decided to publish some sections of his
Theory of the Human Figure, a humanistic rather than a
technical work but one that will undoubtedly enrich the
readers* knowledge of Rubens* subject matter if not of the
artist himself. Rubens' contribution to painting is consider-

able, and we do not have the space to discuss it here. Let us

say simply that his idea of painting implies that passion,
enthusiasm, indeed a certain exaltation and intoxication must
go hand in hand with a rationally structured composition.
With Rubens, the aim of painting is not so much to "reveaV*
nature through the medium of paint as to express a dynamic
temperament which has been formally tamed.

Theory of the Human Figure

On the elements of we may reduce the basic elements or principles of the human
the human figure figure to the cube, the circle, and the triangle.

To form a cube, one must begin by describing a square,

which, being composed of four parts, is necessarily evolved
out of a number; for one is one, and always remains one as

long as it is alone ; it can then be considered as a point. Two,

or the binary number, the smallest of the numbers that express
several units, is the basic element of the line. The line mul-
tiplied produces a surface : the simplest of these figures is the
triangle, proceeding from the ternary number. It is composed
of three straight lines which are joined at their ends. The
square comes next: it has as components four straight lines
equally separated from each other at all their points and
touching at their ends. From this arrangement comes the solid

17
 ;

rectangle, called substance or material. For when four points

are posed at an equal distance from each other, and are then
joined one to the other by straight lines, they produce the
cube's base, which supports all its parts and its sides, laid out

at equal height, by means of four lines raised perpendicularly

from the angles of this base. Now, the cube has six equal

sides: one on which it is supported; another side above, op-

posite the base; and four others which form its outline. A
gambling die is like this.

This cube or perfect square is the principal element ^ of

all strong and vigorous bodies, like those of heroes and ath-
letes, and of everything which is to express simplicity, weight,

firmness, and strength; for the cube has a base on which it

can support itself without any outside help, and it exercises

universal dominion over the human body, especially in the

male sex. In the female, on the contrary, the sharp angles
are weakened and rounded off into a spherical form.

On tJie circle the circle is the second basic element of the human body ; it is

and tJie sphere derived from the single unit, that is, from the point which is

its center, this producing the circle on surfaces and the sphere
in bodies. Unity and simplicity are basic to its existence. From
this circle or from the perfect sphere derives everything con-
cerning woman, that is, everything that is round, flexible,

sinuous, curved, etc. -^ this includes the sweep of the back

the thickness of the upper parts of the body, like the chest and
shoulders ; and that of the lower parts, like the belly, buttocks,
all the fleshy and muscular areas, and all the exterior and
interior curves, whether convex or concave. The circle is

likewise prerequisite to the formation of the muscles which

make the eyebrows move and which stand out on the fore-
head; to the form of aquiline noses; to the roundness of the
eyes, for without it [i.e., the circle] there would be no muscle
falling above, nor any fold to the skin in that area; to the
beard on the jaws which spreads out sideways and forms a
circle around the face. The figure of the circle also dominates
the nape of the neck, which is very fleshy, as well as the
shoulder joints and the whole head ; the throat under the chin,
which is and covered with a thick beard and innumer-
fleshy ;

able other parts which have the circle as their principle.

18
Oji tlie triangle the triangle, the third basic element of the human body, is

and the pyramid derived from the ternary number, since it is composed of
three lines. In effect, when three points have been laid down in
such a way that they are equally distant from each other,
and have been joined by as many straight lines, the result is

a triangular form which is the base of the pyramid. The

triangle is therefore the basic element of figures on plane sur-
faces, as the pyramid is for solids.
The pyramid is a solid figure which rises from a flat

surface in the shape of a pinnacle whose point is called a cone

or peak. The name base is given to the lower part of the figure,
from which the width of the pyramid rises little by little ; its

lines, sloping in the shape of a cone, form a pyramid enclosed

within the outline of three equal sides. For if three straight
lines are raised on a triangular base and brought together at
the peak, they necessarily produce three triangles which make
up the pyramid. This figure dominates in all the parts of the
human figure, as we will see in the examples to follow : it gives

the forehead all its width, the temples their fullness, the cheeks
their narrowing toward the bottom, the eyes their separation,
the nose its width in the upper part which diminishes toward
the mouth. The triangle gives the shoulders their breadth at
the top of the body, which ends in a point at the navel, thus
forming this same figure. Finally, it presides over the width
of all parts of the body, both upper and lower, like the nar-

rowing of the stomach toward the bottom, the width of the

thigh which diminishes all the way to the foot, like a pyramid,
as do the shoulders, the arms, the hands, and the fingers,

which narrow increasingly [toward the tips]. In a word, the

sphere or circle is the basic element of the head, the cube that
of the trunk, and the pyramid is the basic element of the arms

and legs. (I)

On the composition the manly form is the true perfection of the human figure.

of the human figure The perfect idea ^ of its beauty was directly conceived by the
Deity, who created it unique and according to his own princi-

ples. He first created only one ; the second, third, fourth, and
all the other creatures who came after were farther and far-

ther removed from that first one, which sprang from the hands

19
 of the Creator, and they degenerated from his primary excel-

lence. Then, changing form and character, they assumed the

various features of the lion, the bull, and the horse, which
surpass all other animals in strength, courage, and size of
body. The following examples illustrate the relationship that
the figure of man can have with those of animals.
The cube and the square, as we have already said, are

the basic elements of everything which has extension in the

human body. The triangle and pyramid preside over it from
the shoulders to the soles of the feet, as we remarked before
in speaking of elementary proportion.
In brief, we see that all the upper parts of the human
figure are fuller and larger and that they narrow toward the
extremities. Thus, the pyramid form dominates in the figure

of a man, and the cubic in his movements for the same prin- ;

ciple does not preside over his actions as over the shapes of

his figure, as we will prove below in the examples that accom-

pany the description of the female body.

On the relationsMp a man 's face is very akin to the head of a horse ; this resem-
hetween man's blance may be seen in the head of Julius Caesar, which exem-
liead and tliat of plifies how the face that resembles a horse 's must be long and
several animals oval, with the nose long and straight, the bones prominent,
the front firm, the cheeks the same, but nonetheless retaining
something softer and more delicate. (II)

On tJie Jiuman A figure is in repose when, its balance being kept exactly, it

figure considered neither moves nor leans in any direction, but stays at rest in
in repose the position it is found in; this is the state of sturdy and
robust bodies. We have a very fine example of this in the
statue of the Emperor Commodus, which can be seen in Rome
in the Vatican gardens popularly called the Belvedere. He is
represented in the garb and likeness of Hercules, carrying a
child in his left arm. Most admirable are the poses of figures
which appear to be about to stop, or which seem ready to leave
their place and put themselves in motion. We find an example
of the first of these postures which is worthy of the highest
praise in the statue of Antinoiis (popularly, the Lantin),
which is also in Rome and in the same Vatican gardens. Its
members are arranged with so much art that the viewer would

20
 believe the figure is going to pass from movement to rest, and
to do so with extraordinary animation and liveliness.

We see an example of the second type in all its beauty

and perfection in the statue of Apollo in the same place, which
seems to want to leave the state of rest and put itself in
motion. It is very surprising that these two inimitable master-
pieces from the best days of antiquity have come down to our
time whole and undamaged through the cruel wars, pillages,
and calamities without number which have ravaged Italy for
so many centuries, and that they survived the complete ruin
and destruction of the Roman Empire.
There is another posture, a mixed one, that partakes of
the standing figure and the recumbent ; this is when the lower
part of the body, from the hip or the top of the thigh to the
soles of the feet, rests on only one leg, the upper part of the
body leaning on some support. Such are the statue of Hercules

in the court of the Farnese Castle ; that of Silenus, the teacher

of Dionysus, in the Medici gardens ; that of the dreaming faun
at the Palace of Justinian ; that of another faun, playing the
flute, in the Villa Borghese ; and numerous other statues in
Rome, all of which lean more or less on the support that holds
them.
Baccio Bandinelli likewise represented men in various

poses with as much art as intelligence in his painting of the

massacre of the Innocents, the engraving of which is known.

The ancients also left us statues in poses different from those
just described but which appear to be in full movement. Of
this type is the figure of the gladiator in the Villa Borghese,
who, with an imperious step, is preparing to deal a blow to
his adversary and warding off one aimed at him at the same
time; or, in the Medici gardens, the Niobe group, who seem
to want to flee to escape the wrath of Apollo and Diana who
are shooting arrows after them. Such also are those figures in
action seen in representations of battles : Alexander breaking
in his horse Bucephalus on the Quirinal Hill, etc.

On halance mo\^ment arises out of an unequal distribution of weight in

the human figure . . . which will be forced either to move or

to fall. In all movement, whether quick or slow, a man always

throws the upper part of his body more toward the side his

21
 weight is on; and his shoulder is lower and more sloped on
the side that corresponds to the foot on which the pose is set

and which serves to support the whole body. (Ill)

On ilie Jiuman THE movements of the human body may be divided into five

figure considered different types, namely, natural movement, mental, corporal,

in its movements mixed, and local.

We call natural movement that by means of which a body

grows and shrinks this movement
; is of no use to artists.

Purely mental movement so strips the body of all action

that it seems to be dead. Indeed, since it involves absolutely

no exterior movement, the members of the body droop and

are in a state of rest, so that it gives no sign of life or breathing.

Purely corporal movement produces only gestures devoid

of sense, like those of a madman, a drunk, or a man in a

delirium.
Movement becomes mixed when the corporal is combined
with the mental. In this union, first of all, the eyes of the
figure focus on the object on which the mind has resolved to

make the body act. Then the members are gradually arranged
in conformity with the mental movement, so that they do what
the brain proposes to carry out by means of appropriate
positions.

Local movement is that by which a body is carried from

one place to another. It may be done willingly, or hastily, or
soberly and step by step, or violently, [the body] being lifted
up, or dragged, or carried. Artists must apply themselves
most assiduously to learning all these movements, which we
will explain in the following example.

Application of IT is very difficult for an artist to express effectively the alert-

the principles of ness, liveliness, agility, energy-, and other similar qualities of
movement to some a brave and strong-hearted athlete in whom he must show
examples strength but not rigidness, the more so because any rigidness
in the members always makes a bad impression, unless the
subject is a dead body.
A man preparing to strike a violent blow, or to throw a
lance some distance and with force, twists the upper part of
his body to the side, from the shoulders to the navel, and turns
it completely away from the object he is threatening or plans

22
 to strike. Only the lower part of his body, in contrast with the
upper, faces frontward as much as he needs to in order to
retain his natural stance, and he draws back his arm and the
upper part of his body, which are strenuously thrust side-
ways, to produce a more powerful movement.
AVhen a man stands on his two feet, his pose denotes
uncertainty ; this is the ordinary posture of people weakened
from illness, or exhausted from excessive work, or else stooped
in decrepit old age. It is also the stance of toddlers, whose
carriage is quite unsteady.
He who walks against the force of a high wind does not
apply the rules of equilibrium to keep his body in balance,
perpendicular on his center of support, but leans forward
more as the wind blows harder.
A man has more strength for pulling than for pushing,
because in pulling, the arm muscles are also brought into play,
these having only pulling strength and not pushing. This is

also because of the muscle . . . that serves to flex the arm,

which is stronger and farther away from the pole of the elbow,
being on the top of the arm, than the muscle that is below,
which extends the arm, and which is weaker, being closer to
the center of the same elbow. This movement is produced by
a combined strength, when the power of the whole body's
weight is added to that of the arm. . . .

On figures icTiich the shoulder on which a man is carrying a burden is always

are carrying higher than the other, as if it were forced to push up against
sometJiing the load pressing down on it. In all laden figures, nature
poses as much natural weight on one side as there is accidental
weight on the other, in such a way that the center of gravity,
whether natural or artificial, coincides perpendicularly with
the center of balance ; otherwise, the figure could not support
itself, and would necessarily fall. Leonardo da Vinci explains
this in these terms:

''The shoulder of a man carrying a burden is always

higher than the other shoulder which is not laden; and this
can be seen in Figure ... If this mixture and composition of
weight is not divided equally over the center of balance of the
leg supporting the load, everything will necessarily topple to
the ground. But when this situation arises, nature sees to it

23
 that the same amount of the man's body weight is thrown
to the side opposite this foreign burden, to provide a balance

and counterweight: and this cannot be done without the

man's bending toward the lighter side to the pohit where he
makes it participate, by dint of the bending, in carrying this

accidental weight he is bearing. And this in turn cannot be

done if the shoulder supporting the load is not raised and
the light and tinladen shoulder lowered. And this is the ex-

pedient which industrious necessity uses in such a pass.*'

''Balance, or the equilibrium of the human figure, is

divided into two parts ; namely, the simple and the combiQed-
Simple balance is that of a man who is standing on his feet
without moving. By combined balance we mean that of a man
who is carrying some burden, which he supports by various
movements, as in Figure ... of this same plate, representing

Heracles suffocating Antaeus. As he is lifting Antaeus off

the ground and squeezing him with his arms around his chest,

Heracles has to put as much of the weight of his own members

as far behind the central line of his two feet as the center of

Antaeus' enormous weight is in front of that same central

line of the feet."

On woman's the circle, or the circular figure, dominates woman's shape;

proportions Plato tells us that it is the most beautiful figure. The circle

and the rounded solid are its basic elements, and are the source
and principle of all beauty, as in a man the cube and the
square are the basic elements of strength, height, and girth.
The elements of the human figure are different in man and
woman, in that all the elements in a man tend toward per-
fection, like the cube and the equilateral triangle in a woman, ;

on the contrary, everything is weaker and smaller. Conse-

quently, woman's perfection is less, but the elegance of her
forms is greater : in place of the cube, which is weakened in
woman's figure, is the long square or rectangular parallelo-
gram, with unequal sides, and in place of an equilateral tri-

angle Ls an isosceles triangle, lq place of the circle is an ovaL

From this we may infer that woman's perfection of form
ranks second, after man's, being more subject than his is to
prior determinations. Man's form thus relies on no other
animal, but is built on its own principles, the idea of man's
 beauty having been created perfect, as it very probably existed
primordially in Adam and Christ.

On the perfection HERE are the standards of beauty that skillful artists, whether
of various parts painters or sculptors, have established for woman's body.
of woman's body According to them, she must be of medium height, must not
have the defect of being either too tall or too short but must
be exactly in the middle, with elegantly proportioned mem-
bers, conforming with the examples the ancient Greek sculp-
toi*s left us.

The body must be neither too skinny or lean nor too

hea\y or fat. but moderately fleshed out. following the model
of the statues of antiquity.
Flesh solid, firm, and white tinted with pale pink, like

the color made by combining milk and blood, or formed by a

mixture of lilies and roses.

The face full of grace, and disfigured by no wrinkles;

the neck a little longish. rounded, columnar, snow-white, free-

standing, and without a single hair.

The shoulders medium-broad; the arms round and soft;

the hand long and plump, the fingers elongated and flexible.

bending and curving for a light touch.

The bust smooth and ample, somewhat lifted: the teats

or breasts gently separated, round, not at all flabby or droop-

ing, standing out nicely on the chest. The loins toward the
waist must be narrower than the top of the body, so that this
part will have a triangular shape.
The crease of the haunches, the hip or the top of the

thigh, and the thighs themselves must be large and full.

The skin of the belly must not be slack, nor the belly
pendulous, but soft and with a smooth and flowing line from
its most protruding point to the lower belly. The private part
small and raised.
The part of the back that is between the anupits should
be flat, a little depressed in the middle, and well-fleshed, so
as to create a sort of groove the length of the spine and to

make the outline of the shoulders almost imperceptible.

The buttocks round, plump, snow-white, tucked up and
not at all pendulous. The thigh full, especially where it joins
the buttock the knee plump and round.
;

25
 The leg must be straight, with the flesh swelling elegantly,
well-turned, descending and narrowing gracefully in a pyra-

mid to the heel. The foot small and well-proportioned, with a

rounding of flesh on the upper part called the instep. One
should never tire, says Ovid, of extolling the grace of her face,
the beauty of her hair, the delicacy of her fingers, and the
daintiness of her foot.
Nee faciem, nee te pigeat laudare capUlos,
Et teretes digitos, exiguumque peden. Ovid.*
In a word, in woman's figure, one must see to it that the

lines or contours of her muscles, her way of holding herself,

of walking, of sitting, all her movements and actions are rep-

resented so as to reflect nothing of a man in them ; but that,
in conformity with her basic element, which is the circle, she
is entirely round, delicate, and supple, and entirely different

from the robust ^drile form.

Much modesty and great simplicity and poise in her bear-
ing must be added to a woman's beauty of forms and delicacy
of lines. Most important, one must carefully avoid [giving
her] any muscled look or rigidity, either in her members or

in her posture. Finally, when a woman is standing, the space

between her feet and, when she is sitting, the separation be-
tween her thighs must accord with standards of suitability,

in keeping with the pyramid that presides over woman's

actions, the more so because the inverted pyramid is also

woman's hieroglyphic, just as the cube dominates man's ac-

tions ; from which it follows that [in] the different positions

of the latter, whether standing or sitting, his legs and feet are

always spread apart.

It may be seen that the same figure does not dominate
in the actions and in the forms of the members for the pyra- ;

mid corresponds to everj-thing that constitutes a man. in that

all his upper parts are larger than his lower, like the shoulders,
the back, the chest, etc. ; but the cube presides over his actions.
On the contrary, the oval form presides over the figure of a
woman, because roundness and elongation mark all her mem-
bers, but the pyramid presides over her actions, as we have

just remarked.

''Women must be represented in actions that are reserved

and full of modesty, the knees pressed together, the arms

26
 ;

gathered in, the head humbly bowed and tilted a little to the

side."
'
' It is not fitting for women and young people to pursue
actions in which the legs are spread apart and too open, be-
cause that bearing appears wild and impudent; but on the
contrary, legs and thighs pressed together indicate modesty/'
(Leonardo da Vinci)
We will end this work with a precept drawn from Al-
phonse Du Fresnoy 's Art of Painting.^ In painting, he said, one
can make mistakes in all sorts of ways ; like trees in a forest,
they multiply to infinity, and among the innumerable paths
that wander off in the wrong direction, there is only one that

leads to the goal. Likewise, in the great number of lines that

can be drawn from one point to another, there is only one

that is straight; all the others are more or less curved, as

they depart more or less from the straight. To keep to the

correct path, one must imitate beauteous nature, as did the

ancients, and select from it well, according as the subject one

proposes to represent demands.
Errorum est plurima sylva,
Multiplicesque vice, bene agendi terminus unus,
Linea recta velut sola est et rtiUle recurvce.

Sed juxtd antiquos nnturam iY)iitahere pulchram,

Qualem forma rei propria, ohjectumque requirit.^

On color begin to paint your umbers lightly ; be careful not to let any
white slip in, for it is poison to a picture, except in highlights
if white once blunts that lustrous and golden moment, your
color will no longer be warm, but heavy and gray. ... It is

not the same with light areas ;

you can lay on colors as thickly

as you judge appropriate: they have body. However, they

should be kept pure; you will succeed in this if you apply
each tint in and near one another, in such a way
its place,

that by mixing them slightly with the brush or pencil, you

blend them by bringing one into the other without working
them over too much, and then you can return to this prepara-

tion and give it the decided strokes that are always the dis-
mark of a great master. (VII) (Quoted by
tinctive J.-B.

Deschamps in Vie des Peintres Flamands)

27
NICOLAS POUSSIN
NICOLAS POUSSiN (1594-1665), horn at Les Andelys, is the
Racine of painting. He used to he considered a great tJieoreti-

cian; today, witJiout detraction from Ms genius, it is fhouglit

that the ideas he expressed in his correspondence do not
have the originality formerly attrihuted to them. This is

the case with his letter to M. de Chant elou called "On Modes,'*
hut it is included here nonetheless. Also included is the
letter Poussin addressed to M. de Chamhray after hecoming
acquainted with the latter 's hook Idee de la Perfection de
la Peinture. This letter constitutes the great artist's "spiritual
testament." It should he noted that despite his "classicism,'*
Poussin here ranks inspiration high: "It is the Golden
Bough of Virgil, that no one can find or pluck unless he he
led to hy Fate." We will also notice that notion of
it

"Prospect" which Poussin tells us of without, unfortunately,

developing it sufficiently. This notion implies a condemna-
tion of the passive representation of reality in painting and
the imposition of a personal vision on a scene. This "office
of reason," as Poussin calls it, is not without echoes of
Cezanne's conception.

Letters

To Rome, November 24, 1647

M. de Chantelou .... if you feel affection for the picture of Moses Found in
the Waters of the Nile, which belongs to M. Pointel, is that a
proof that I made it more lovingly than I did yours ? Do you
not see that, along with your own disposition, in the nature
of the subject lies the cause of this effect, and that the sub-
jects which I am treating for you have to be done in a differ-
ent manner ? All artifice in painting depends upon this. Pardon
me the liberty that I take in saying that you have shown your-
28
self hasty in the judgment you have made of my works. To
judge well is very difficult, if one does not possess both the
theory and the practice of this art. Not only our compulsions,
but our reason should judge.
That is why I wish to bring to your attention one im-
portant thing that will teach you what to observe in the sub-
jects depicted.

Our wise ancient Greeks, inventors of all beautiful things,

found several Modes by means of which they produced marvel-
lous effects.
This word ''Mode" means actually the rule or the meas-
ure and form, which serves us in our productions. This rule
constrains us not to exaggerate by making us act in all things
with a certain restraint and moderation; and, consequently,
this restraint and moderation is nothing more than a certain
determined manner or order, and includes the procedure by
which the object is preserved in its essence.
The Modes of the ancients were a combination of several
things put together; from their variety was born a certain
difference of Mode whereby one was able to understand that
each one of them retained in itself a subtle variation ;
particu-
larly when all the things which entered into combination were
put together in such a proportion that it was made possible

to arouse the soul of the spectator to various passions. Hence

the fact that the ancient sages attributed to each style its own
effects. Because of this they called the Dorian Mode stable,

grave, and severe, and applied it to subjects which are grave

and severe and full of wisdom.
And proceeding thence to pleasant and joyous things,
they used the Phrygian Mode, in which there are more minute
modulations than in any other mode, and a more clear-cut
aspect. These two styles and no others were praised and
approved of by Plato and Aristotle, who deemed the others
superfluous; they considered this [Phrygian Mode] intense,
vehement, violent, and very severe, and capable of astonish-
ing people.
I hope, before another year is out, to paint a subject in

this Phrygian Mode. The subject of frightful wars lends it-

self to this manner.

They [the ancients] also decided that the Lydian Mode

29
 lends itself to tragic subjects because it has neither the sim-
plicity of the Dorian nor the severity of the Phrygian.
The Hypolidian Mode contains a certain suavity and
sweetness which fills the souls of the spectators with joy; it

lends itself to subjects of divine glory, and paradise.

The ancients invented the Ionic, with which they repre-
sented bacchanalian dances and feasts in order to achieve a
festive effect.

The good poets used great care and marvelous artifice in

order to fit the words to the verses and to dispose the feet in
accordance with the usage of speech, as Virgil did throughout
his poem, where he fits the sound of the verse itself to all his
three manners of speaking with such skill that he really seems
to place the things of which he speaks before your eyes by
means of the sound of the words, with the result that, in the

portions where he speaks of love, one finds that he has skill-

fully chosen such words as are sweet, pleasant, and very de-
lightful to hear; whereas, if he sings of a feat of arms or
describes a naval battle or a storm, he chooses hard, rasping,
harsh words, so that when one hears or pronounces them, they
produce a feeling of fear. Therefore, if I had made you a pic-

ture in which such a style was adhered to, you would imagine
that I did not like you. . . .

If I would not end up writing a book instead of a letter,

I would tell you several important things that one must con-
sider in painting so that you would understand thoroughly
how much I school myself so as to serve you well. For though
you are very intelligent in all things, I fear that the company
of so many and ignoramuses who surround you might
idiots

corrupt your judgment by contagion.

To Rome, March 1, 1665

M. de Cliambray monsieur. At last I must try to arouse myself after so long
a silence and recall myself to you while my pulse still beats.
I have had ample leisure to read and examine your book on
the perfect idea of painting which was like a sweet pasture
to my afflicted heart. I am glad you are the first among French-
men to have opened the eyes of others who, unable to see with
their own eyes, were led astray by a false common opinion.
You warm and make easy a subject cold and difficult to un-

so
 :

derstand. As a result of this one might be able to find some-

one who, under your guidance, might be able to contribute
his share to painting.

After having considered the di\isions which Seigneur

FranQuis Junius^ makes of this fine art, I have dared to state
briefly here what I learned from his work
First, of all, it is necessary to know what is meant by that
kind of imitation, and to define it.

Definition

It is an imitation made on a surface with lines and colors

of everything that one sees under the sun. Its end is to please.

Principles That Every Man Capable of Reasoning Can Learn

Nothing is visible without light.

Nothing is visible without a transparent medium.

Nothing is visible without boundaries.
Nothing is visible without color.
Nothing is visible without distance.
Nothing is visible without instrument.

What comes after this cannot be learned.

It pertains to the painter.

But first and foremost as to subject matter:

It should be nobly conceived: not fashioned by man, in
order to give the painter free scope for his genius and indus-
try. The subject matter must be chosen so as to be capable

to receive treatment of the most excellent form; one should

consider first the disposition, then the ornament, the decora-
tion, beauty, grace, vivacitj^, costume, verisimilitude, and
above all, good judgment. These last things depend on the
painter and cannot be learned. It is the Golden Bough of

Virgil, which no one can find or pluck unless he be led to it

by Fate.
These nine principles contain many beautiful ideas which
deserve to be ^vritten by good and learned hands, but I beg
you to consider this little sample and to tell me your feeling

without standing on ceremony. I know very well that you not

SI
 ;

only know how to snuff out the lamp but also how to fill it

with good oil. I should say more but now when I set my fore-

head on fire with great effort of thought I feel ill. Moreover,

I am always ashamed when I talk with men whose worth and
merit are as much above my own as the star of Saturn is above
our heads. The effect of your friendship is that you see me
greater than I am. I am forever grateful to you for this and
am, Monsieur,
Your very humble and very obedient servant,
Poussin
I humbly kiss the hands of Monsieur de Chantelou, your
eldest.

To M. de Noyers you must know . . . that there are two ways of seeing objects,

one being simply to see them, and the other to consider them
attentively. Simply to see is nothing more than for the eye
to receive naturally the form and image of the thing seen. But
to see an object in considering it is, besides the simple and
natural reception of the form in the eye, to seek out with
particular diligence the means of knowing that same object
well ; therefore, one can say that a simple aspect is a natural
operation and that what I call Prospect is an office of reason
which depends on three things, namely, on the eye, on the
line of vision, and on the distance from the eye to the object

and it is in this knowledge that those who make it their busi-

ness to pass judgment will hopefully be learned.

32
ANDEE FELIBIEN
ANDR6 FELiBiEN (1619-1695) wQS lovn in Chartres. An
architect, he also devoted himself to art criticism.
His work
Entretiens sur sur
Ouvrages des plus excellents
les vies et les

Peintres anciens et modernes [Essays on the Life and Works

of the Best Ancient and Modern Painters] is one of the
best writings on painting of his time, Fclihien was a theore-
tician of the Academy of Fine Arts} He recommended a
thorough studij of antiquity. Nature was no longer to he
copied, hut was to he transfigured hy the artist. Felihien
had an analytic conception of the essence of painting which
owes not a little to the Cartesian spirit. We quote here
in extenso his Idee du Peintre parfait, in which he sum.-
marizes the principles of the Academy.

The Idea ^
of the Perfect Painter

On genius men work in vain to overcome the obstacles that prevent them
from attaining perfection if they have not been born with a
particular talent for the arts they have embraced; they will
ever be unsure of achieving the goal they have set for them-
selves. The rules of art and the example of others can cer-

tainly show them the means of doing so, but it is not at all

enough that these means be sure; they must also be easy

and agreeable.
Now, this ease can only be found in those who, before
learning the rules and studying others' works, have looked
to their inclination and examined whether they are led by an
interior light to the profession they want to follow. For this

light of the spirit, which is nothing else than genius, showing

us always the shortest and easiest path, infallibly makes us
happy in both our means and our goal.

33
 Genius is thus a light of the spirit which leads to the
goal by easy means.
It is a gift which nature makes to men at the moment
of their birth, and although she usually grants it only for a
particular thing, she is sometimes liberal enough to make it

general in a single man. We have seen a number of men like

this, and those who are fortunate enough to have received that
plethora of powers do everything they want to do easily, and
it suffices for them to apply themselves to succeed. It is true
that a particularist genius does not extend its power to all sorts

of attainment but ; it ordinarily penetrates deeper into the field

where it holds sway.
Therefore, genius is necessary, but a genius trained by
rules, reflection, and diligence in work. One must have seen
much, read much, and studied much to direct this genius and
make it capable of producing things worthy of posterity.
However, since a painter can neither see nor study all

the things desirable for the perfection of his art, it is good

for him to use others' studies without hesitation. (I)

TJiat it is good to it is not possible to make a good likeness of objects one has
use otJiers' studies not only never seen but also never drawn. If a painter has
with no Jiesitation never seen a lion, then he will not know how to paint a lion,

and if he has seen one, he will only be able to represent that

animal imperfectly, unless he has drawn or painted it from
nature or from another 's work.
On this ground, no one can fault a painter who, having
never seen or studied the object he is to draw, uses others'
studies rather than make up something false out of his own
imagination; in fine, he must have his studies either in his
head or in his portfolio his own, I say, or someone else 's.

After a painter has filled his mind with the sight of beau-
tiful things, he adds or subtracts according to his taste and the
quality of his judgment, and these changes are made by com-
paring the ideas of what he has seen and choosing the good
things he finds. The young Raphael, for example, as his master
Perugino's assistant, had only the ideas of that painter's works
in his mind ; then, comparing them with those of Michelangelo
and with antiquity, he chose what seemed the best to him, and
formed the purified taste we see in his works.
 Genius thus uses memory as a vase where it stores ideas
that present themselves; it chooses them with the help of
judgment, and builds up a storehouse which it uses as the
need arises; it draws out what it has put in, and can draw
out nothing else. In this way did Raphael draw from his store-
house (if I may use the word) the fine ideas he took from
antiquity, as Albert and Lucas ^ drew from theirs the Gothic
ideas that the practice of their times and the nature of their
country furnished them with.
A man who has genius can invent a general subject ; but
if he has not studied particular objects, he will be hindered
in the execution of his work, unless he has recourse to the

studies that others have made. 1*4^ 00*^?^

It is even likely that if a painter has neither the time nor
the opportunity to study nature, and he has true genius, he
can study nature from the pictures, drawings, and engravings
of masters who have had the talent to choose beautiful spots
and reproduce them with intelligence ; for example, one who
would like to do a landscape, and who has never seen or in-

sufficiently observed scenes unusual or pleasing enough to be

suitable for painting, will do very well to avail himself of the

works of those who have studied such scenes or who have cap-
tured extraordinary natural effects in their landscapes. He can
look at the productions of these skilled painters as if he were
looking at nature, and make them serve in turn to invent
something of his ovvti.

He will find at least two advantages in studying first from

the works of skilled masters: the first is that they will show
him nature stripped of many things that one is obliged to re-
ject when one copies her; the second is that he will learn in

this way to make a good selection from nature, to take only

the beautiful and correct whatever is defective. Thus, a genius

well-disciplined and well-grounded on theory will put to good

usage not only his own studies but also those of others.
Leonardo da Vinci wrote that stains found on an old
wall, forming confused ideas of different objects, can excite
one's genius and help it produce. Some have believed, without

giving any good reasons, that this proposition slights genius.

It is certainly true, however, that on viewing such a wall or
anything spotted in this way, not only are artists inspired to

35
 conceive general ideas, but each conceives different ones, ac^
cording to the diversity of geniuses, and that what can be
seen on it only confusedly clarifies and takes shape in the
mind according to the taste of the particular person who looks
upon it. As a result, one will see a rich and beautiful composi-
tion and objects pleasing to his taste, because his genius is

fertile and his taste good; and another, on the contrary, will

see only poor and distasteful things, because his genius is cold

and his taste poor.

But whatever the character of the minds, each can find

in that object the means to excite his imagination and produce

something that comes from himself. The imagination, thus
warming little by little, becomes able, from seeing a few fig-

ures, to conceive a great number and enrich the scene which

is its subject by means of the few undefined objects that evoke
it. In this way, it could even easily happen that one would give
birth to extraordinary ideas which otherwise would not have
come to mind.
Therefore, what Leonardo da Vinci said detracts in no
wise from genius, but on the contrary can be of use to those
who have great genius, as it can to those who have little. I will

add only this to what that author said : that the more genius
one has, the more things one sees in these kinds of stains or
vague lines. (II)

On file nature nature is thwarted not only by the accidents that occur in her
of nutural actions, actual productions, but also by the habits that the things pro-
and of habitual duced develop. We may thus consider natural actions in two
and learned actions .^^ys: those done at the behest of nature herself, and those
done out of habit at the behest of other things.
Purely natural actions are those that men would do if

from their infancy onward they were left to act according to

their innate inclinations; and habitual and learned actions
are those that men do as a result of the teaching and exam-
ples they have been given. There are as many of these as there
are different peoples, and they are so intermixed with purely
natural actions that it is very hard to tell the difference, in
my opinion. Nonetheless, this is what painters must try to do,
for they often have subjects which they must treat partially
or totally according to pure nature. It is good for them to have

36
 some acquaintance with the different actions that the major
peoples have dressed nature in; but since their differences
arise out of various affectations, which are veils that disguise
truth, theprimary study of the painter must be to uncover
and learn what is true, beautiful, and simple in that same
nature, which derives all her beauties and all her graces from
the depths of her purity and simplicity.
We can see that the ancient sculptors sought out that
natural simplicity, and that Raphael drew it out of their
works with good taste and infused it into his figures. But al-
though nature is the source of beauty, art, it is commonly said,
surpasses her; numerous writers have spoken in these terms,
and it is good to resolve this problem. (Ill)

In what sense NATURE must be considered in two ways : either in particular

one can say that objects, or in objects in general and in herself. Nature is ordi-
art is superior narily defective in particular objects, in whose formation, as
to nature we have just said, she is thwarted by some accident that runs
against her intention, which is always to make a perfect work.
But if she is considered in herself, in her intention and in the
generality of her productions, she will be found perfect.
It is from nature in general that the sculptors of antiquity

drew the perfection of their works and from which Polyclitus

took the beautiful proportions of the statue he made for pos-
terity which is called ''The Canon." The same is true with
painters. Nature's felicitous effects gave them the desire to
imitate them, and happy experience gradually reduced these
same effects to precepts. Thus, the rules of art were formu-
lated, not from a single object but from several.

If one compares the painter's art, shaped according to

nature in general, with a specific production of nature, it will

be true to say that art is superior to nature; but if one com-

pares it with nature in herself, which is art's model, that

proposition will be found false.

In sum, on careful consideration, one will find that what-
ever care painters have taken throughout history to imitate
that mistress of the arts, they still have a long road to travel

to catch up with her, and that she contains a source of beauty

they will never drain dry. This makes us realize that in the
arts one learns new things every day, because experience and

37
 reflection forever unveil sometMng new m nature's effects,

which are innumerable and infinitely varying. (IV)

On tlie antique this word is applied to all the works of painting, sculpture,
and architecture which were done, whether in Egypt or in
Greece or Italy, from the time of Alexander the Great until
the invasion of the Goths, who destroyed the fine arts in their

violence and ignorance. However, the word antique is used

more particularly to signify the sculpture of those times,
including statues, has reliefs, medals, and seals. Not all these

works are equally good ; but even in those that are mediocre,
there is a certain characteristic beauty that leads connoisseurs
to distinguish them from modern works.
We do not intend to speak here of modem sculptures, but

of the most perfect sculptures of antiquity, which can only

be marveled at. The ancient authors placed them above nature,
and praised men's beauty only insofar as it conformed with
beautiful statues.
Usque ah ungulo ad capUlum summum est festivissima.

Est ne? Considera: vide signum pictum pulchre videris.^

I could quote innumerable ancient authorities to prove

what I assert, but to avoid repetition, I refer the reader to
what I said concerning the antique in the Commentary' on
Charles-Alphonse Du Fresnoy's The Art of Painting,^ and
will rest content with reporting here the words of a modem
painter whose knowledge of antiquity was profound : this was
the illustrious Poussin. Raphael, he said, is an angel compared
with other painters; he is an ass compared with the creators
of antique art. This is a little strong; I would be content to

say that Raphael is as far below the ancients as the moderns

are below him.
It is certain that few people are capable of discovering
all the subtle perfections of antique sculptures, because this
requires a mind of the same magnitude as those of the sculp-
tors who made them, and the taste of these men was sublime,
their conception ^'i^'id, and their execution exact and vigorous.

They gave their figures proportions that suited their character,

and favored deities with more flowing and elegant lines, done
in greater taste, than those of ordinary men. They made a
discerning selection from among the beauties of nature, and

88
 they skillfully compensated for the limitations imposed on
them by their material.

A painter can therefore do no better than try to penetrate

the excellence of these works, in order better to know nature
in her purity so as to draw more knowledgeably and elegantly.
However, since there are many things in sculpture that have
no bearing at all on painting, and since moreover the painter
has means of imitating nature more perfectly, he must look
on antique art as a book to be translated into another lan-
guage where it will suffice to carry over the sense and the
spirit without sticking slavishly to the words. (V)

On fine taste it was seen in the definition I gave of fine taste in relation to

works of painting that such taste is never content with or-

dinary things. Now, mediocrity can at best be tolerated only
in those arts put to ordinary uses, and not at all in those that

were invented solely to ornament the world and to give pleas-

ure. Thus, painting must have something great, something

arresting and extraordinary, able to surprise, please, and
instruct, and this is what we call fine taste; by this do com-
mon things become beautiful, and beautiful things sublime
and inspiring. For in painting fine taste, sublimity, and
inspiration are the same thing: its tongue is silent, it is true,

but everything in it speaks. (VI)

On the essence we have said that painting is an art which, by means of line

of painting and color, reproduces all visible objects on a flat surface. This

is about the way that everyone who has spoken of it defines

it, and no one has yet taken it into his head to criticize this

definition. It contains three basic constituents: composition,

drawing, and color, which compose the essence of painting,

as the body, the soul, and reason compose the essence of man.
And just as only by means of these three latter constituents

does man exhibit a number of properties and proprieties

which are not of his essence but which are its ornament, like,

for instance, knowledge and virtues, in the same way only by

means of the essential constituents of his art does the painter

display an infinite number of things that enhance the value

of his pictures, although they are not at all of the essence of

painting; such are the capacity to instruct and to entertain.

S9
 On these points, this question may be developed at length.

(VII)

Wlietlier liistorical it appears that composition, which is an essential constituent

accuracy is of ilie of painting, includes objects which figure in history and en-
essence of pairding gender its accuracy, and consequently that this accuracy must
be essential to painting, and that the painter has a primary
obligation to insure it.

To which we reply that if historical accuracy were essen-

tial to painting, it should be found in every picture. Now.
there are innumerable beautiful pictui'es that represent noth-
ing historical, like allegoric pictures, landscapes, animal paint-
ings, seascapes, paintings of fruits and flowers, and several
other kinds that are solely the product of the painter's im-
agination.
It is true, though, that a painter is obliged to be faithful
to the history he is depicting, and that his careful study of
the circumstances that surround it add to the beauty and
value of his picture. But this obligation is not of the essence
of painting; it is only an indispensable propriety, as virtue
and knowledge are in man. And just as a man is no less man
if he is ignorant and immoral, so a painter is no less painter
if he is ignorant of history. And if it is true that virtue and
science are ornaments for men. it is also quite certain that

the works of painters are aU the more praiseworthy as they

are faithful to the historical subjects they depict, supposing,

of course, that they want for nothing in their imitation of
nature, which is their essence.
Thus, a painter can be very skilled in his art and very
ignorant of history. We find almost as many examples of
this as there are paintings by Titian, Paolo Veronese, Tinto-
retto, the Bassanos. and numbers of other Venetians who
took the gi'eatest pains with the essence of their art, that is.

with imitating nature, and who applied themselves less to

secondary matters whose presence or absence does not alter

the essence. It seems that devotees view the pictures of the
painters I have just named in this light, since they pay their
weight in gold for them, and since these works are among
those that rank highest in their collections.
There is no doubt that if the Venetian painters had
 ;;

augmented the essence of their pictures with the ornaments

that enhance a picture's value, I mean with historical and
chronological accuracy, their works would be much more
praiseworthy ; but it is also certain that painters can instruct
us only through that essence, and that we must look for
imitation of nature in their pictures before anything else.

If they instruct us, fine ; if they do not, we will still have the
pleasure of viewing a kind of creation that entertains us and
that arouses our feelings.
For if I want to learn history, I would certainly not
consult a painter, who is not an historian except by accident
but I would read books which treat specifically of history,

and whose primary obligation is not onlj^ to present the facts

but to present them accurately.
Nonetheless, we make no attempt to excuse a painter inso-

far as he is a bad historian, for people are always blameworthy

if they do badly what they have undertaken. If a painter who
has an historical subject to treat is ignorant of the objects that
must enter into his composition to make it accurate, he must
study them carefully, either in books or by consulting experts
and no one can deny that any negligence he is guilty of in this
is inexcusable. But I make an exception of those who painted
religious subjects in which they introduced saints of different
times and from different countries, not by choice but out of a
constrained compliance with the persons commissioning their
work, and who were too untutored to bend their minds to the
secondary things that help ornament painting.
Invention, which is a fundamental constituent of this art,
consists simply in finding the subjects that should figure in

a picture, according as the painter thinks of it, fiction or fact,

fable or history. And if a painter thinks Alexander was clothed

as we are today and depicts that conqueror with a hat and wig
like an actor 's, he would of course be making a ridiculous and
preposterous mistake ; but the mistake would be historical and
not pictorial, as long as the things depicted were depicted ac-
cording to all the rules of this art.
But though the painter represents nature by the essence
of his work and history by accident, this accident must be no
less a consideration for him than the essence, if he wants to
 please people, especially men of letters and those who, viewing
a picture more with the spirit than with the eye, hold that
perfection consists primarily in depicting history faithfully
and in expressing emotions. (VIII)

On imperfect ideas there are few people who have a really clear idea of painting,

of painting and I include painters themselves, many of whom make draw-

ing serve as the essence of their art, and others of whom make
it consist only in color. Most of the people who have an intelli-

gent mien to maintain in the world, among others, men of let-

ters, usually conceive of painting only in terms of invention,

and as purely an effect of the painter's imagination. They
scrutinize that invention, they dissect it, and in the degree that

it seems more or less ingenious to them they praise the picture

more or less, without considering either the effect or to what
heights the painter has carried his imitation of nature. It is

in this sense that St. Augustine said that a knowledge of paint-

ing and story are superfluous, although in the same breath
that Father praised the secular sciences.
In vain did Titian, II Giorgione, and Paolo Veronese ex-

haust themselves for this sort of person and take such care to
carry their imitation of nature so far in vain do skilled paint-
;

ers examine their works and consult them as the most perfect
models. They look at the pictures uselessly, since accurate en-
gravings would suffice to train their judgment and fill their
understanding to its limits.

To return to St. Augustine, I say that if he had had a

correct idea of painting, which is simply the imitation of truth,
and if he had reflected that through this imitation the heart
of the faithful can be raised to Divine Love in a thousand
ways, he would have eulogized that fine art with great warmth,
because he was himself very responsive to everything that led
to God.

Another Father had a fairer idea of painting; this was

St.Gregory of Nyssa, who, following a description of Abra-
ham's sacrifice, had this to say: I have often cast my gaze on
a picture that depicts this scene so worthy of pity, and I have
never withdrawn it without tears, so well does the painting
show the event, as if it were actually happening. (IX)

^2
How the residue of I have demonstrated above that the essence of painting consists
an imperfect idea in a faithful imitation, by means of which painters instruct
of painting Jias and entertain according to the measure of their genius. I then
persisted in the spoke of false ideas of painting, and in this chapter I will
niinds of many try to show how these imperfect ideas have come down to
since its revival
our time.
Painting, like the other arts, has been known only by
the progress it has made in men's minds. Those who began

its revival in Italy, and who consequently could have had

only weak pictorial principles, never failed to evoke admira-
tion because of the novelty of their works ; and as the number
of painters increased and competition brought them insights,

pictures gained in value and beauty; amateurs and connois-

seurs came into being, and things came to such a point that
people began to believe it was impossible for the brush to do
anything more perfect than what they were admiring in
those days.
Great lords visited the painters, poets sang their praises,
and after the year 1300 Charles I, king of Naples, when
passing near Florence, went to see Cimabue, who was then
renowned ; Cosimo de ' Medici was so taken with the works
of Filippo Lippi that he bent every effort to overcoming that
painter's eccentricity and laziness in order to get paintings

out of him.
Yet it is easy to judge by what has survived of these first

works that the painting of that century was of very little

consequence, if we compare it with what we see today from

the hands of fine masters. For not only were the qualities

dependent on composition and drawing not yet seasoned with

good taste, which they have since gained ; but the constituent
of color was utterly neglected, as much the color of particular
objects, which is called local color, as knowledge of chiaro-
scuro, and the harmony of the whole. It is true that they used
colors, but their development in this was trivial, and served
less to re-present the reality of objects than to remind us of it.

Given the ignorance of color which painters suffered

from, they did not conceive of the power of that enchanting
constituent, nor to whi.t heights it was capable of carrying

their works. They still swore by the word of their masters,

^3
and because they were concerned only with smoothing the
way they had been showTi, invention and drawing constituted
their entire study.
Finally, after many years, the good genius of painting

inspired great men in Tuscany and the ducal city of Urbino

who, by their strength of spirit, their high genius, and their
assiduous study elevated their ideas above the knowledge they
received from their masters and carried it to a degree of per-

fection that has evoked the admiration of all their posterity.

Those to whom we are primarily indebted for this perfec-
tion are Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael; but
this last, Avho rose above the others, acquired so many qualities

in his art and carried them to such a high level that the great
eulogies made to them have led us to believe he lacked nothing,
and have attributed to his person all the perfection of
painting.
As it is necessary in the practice of this art to begin with
drawing, and as it is an established fact that the source of
great taste and of accuracy is found in antique sculpture and
in Raphael's works, which derive their greatest merit from
the former, most young painters do not fail to go to Rome
to study, and to bring back at least a general esteem for the
works people admire there and transmit it to all who will

listen to them. In this way a great many devotees and amateurs

in painting have retained that first idea they have accepted on
the faith of others' statements or the authority of writers,
namely, that all perfection in painting can be found in
Raphael's works.
Roman painters have also maintained this opinion for
the most part, and have instilled it in foreigners, out of their
love of their land, their disregard of color, which they have
never correctly appreciated, or the preference they give to
other constituents of painting, which, being very numerous,
occupy them the rest of their lives.

Until Raphael's time, painters had given their attention

only to questions of invention and draftsmanshipand though ;

Raphael invented very ingeniously, though he drew with ac-

curacy and polished elegance, though he expressed the soul's
passions with infinite power and grace, though he treated
his subjects with all possible propriety and nobility, and
 though no painter could dispute his primacy in the great
number of qualities he possessed, it is still a fact that he did
not penetrate color deeply enough to make objects very real
and vivid or to transmit the idea of a perfect imitation.

Yet this perfect imitation and vividness constitute the

essential in painting, as I have said. They come from drawing
and color; and if Raphael and the skilled men of his time
grasped this last constituent only imperfectly, the idea of the
essence of painting that their works evoke must be imperfect,
as will be that which was subsequently introduced into the
minds of some persons who were otherwise very enlightened.
It would seem that the works of Titian and other painters
who displayed their ideas by means of a faithful imitation
should have destroyed the incorrect residue we are speaking
of and put the ideas aright according as nature and reason
demand of good judgment. But since young people travel with

prejudiced eyes from Rome to Venice, as we have said, and

since they stay but a short time in that latter city, they only

see in passing, as it were, the beautiful works that could give

them a correct idea, and thus have little chance to learn a
good habit of coloring from them, which would turn the
studies they made in Rome to account, and which would raise

them above reproach in all constituents of their practice.

But what is astonishing is that certain devotees who are

saddled with the residues of that false idea, and yet who are

themselves entranced with the beauty of the Venetian paint-

ings, pay a great price for them, as is proper, although the
merits of these pictures derive almost entirely from the idea
of the essence of painting that I have laid down. (X)

Composition: the thus far, I have used only the word invention to speak of
first constituent the first constituent of painting. Many have identified it with
of painting genius, others with fertility of thought, others with arrange-

ment of objects; but all these things are different. I have

decided that to give a precise idea of the first constituent of

painting, it should be called composition, and should be di-

vided into two parts: invention and arrangement. Invention

only finds the objects for a picture, and arrangement places
them. These two divisions are different, of course, but there

i5
 are so many ties between them that we can incorporate them
into a single term.
Invention is formed by reading in subjects drawn from
history or story. It is a pure product of the imagination in
metaphorical subjects. It contributes to historical accuracy,
as to the clarity of allegories, and no matter how it is used, it

must not keep the mind of the viewer in suspense by any

obscurity. But how^ever accurately or ingeniously the painter
selects the objects that figure in a picture, they will never
create a good effect if they are not advantageously arranged
according to the demands of economy and the rules of art and ;

it is the balanced union of these two divisions that I call

composition. (XI)

Drawing: good taste and correct draftsmanship are so necessary in paint-

tlie second ing that a painter who lacks them must work miracles in
constituent of other ways to win any esteem ; and since drawing is the basis
painting ^^^^ -j-j^g foundation of all the other constituents, and since
it serves to set the limits to color and to differentiate objects,

its elegance and correctness are no less necessary to painting

than is purity of language to oratory.
Painters who habitually give all their figures the same
look and the same proportions have never really understood
that nature is no less wonderful for the variety of her pro-
ductions than for their beauty, and that they will achieve
perfect imitation by means of a proper mixture of the two.
(XII)

On poses IN poses, balance and contrast are founded in nature. There

is no natural action that does not partake of these two factors,
and any which lacks them w411 be either deprived of movement
or hindered in its action. (XIII)

On expressions expressions are the touchstone of a painter's spirit. He shows

liis acuity and discernment by the appropriateness of their
cast; but the viewer must have the same power of mind to
appreciate them correctly as the painter does to execute them
well.

A picture must be viewed as a scene in which each figure

plays its role. Well-drawn and well-colored figures are indeed

Jf6
 admirable; but most intelligent people, who have not yet
formed a very correct idea of painting, are not aware of these
constituents except insofar as they are accompanied by liveli-

ness, appropriateness, and delicacy in the expressions. These

qualities represent some of the rarest talents in painting,
and he who is fortunate enough to handle [expressions] well
involves not only the parts of the face but also all the parts
of the body, and makes even completely inanimate objects
participate in the general expression of a subject by the way
he lays them out. (XIV)

On tJie extremities SINCE the extremities, that is, the head, feet, and hands, are
more distinguishable and more noticed, and since it is they
that speak to us in pictures, they must be outlined better than
other things, providing that the action they are involved in
arranges and places them in such a way as to be prominent.
(XV)

On draperies in painting terminology^ "to throw a drape" means to clothe

a figure and give it a drapery. This word tJirow seems par-
ticularly expressive to me, because drapery must not be
arranged like the clothing worn in public, but should follow
purely natural lines, which allow for no affectation. The folds

must fall around the members as by chance, and must make

them appear to be what they are; by skillful artistry, they
must give them contrast in setting them off; and they must
caress them, so to speak, with their tender suppleness and
softness.

Because the sculptors of antiquity did not have a variety

of colors at their disposal, and worked in only one material
on a given creation, they avoided great expanses of folds,

for fear, since they fell around the limbs, of attracting the
eye and impeding the easy view of the bare parts of their
figures. They very often used wet cloths for drapes, or else

they multiplied the same folds, the repetition making a sort

of hatching whose shadows made the members it surrounded

stand out. They used this latter method particularly in bas
reliefs. But in both methods of treating drapery, they placed
folds in a marvelously systematic way.
The painter, who must use the diversity of his colors

i7
 and lights to distinguish members clearly from drapery, can
very well guide himself by the system of placing folds in
antiquity, without copying the number, and can vary his

cloths according to the character of his figures. Painters, who

have not understood the freedom they had in this, have done
themselves as much injury by following the sculptors of an-
tiquity as sculptors have in wanting to follow painters.

The reason that folds must set off bare flesh is that paint-

ing is done on a flat surface which must be overmastered by

tricking the eyes and by leaving nothing indistinct. The
painter is thus required to retain this system in all drapery
of whatever kind fine or coarse, elaborate or simple ; but he
should above all prefer majestic folds to rich cloths, which
are only suitable in a historic scene where they have actually
been or could be used convincingly in keeping with the times
and the dress.

Since the painter must avoid sharp and rigid folds, and
prevent their giving the feeling, as they say, of a dummy, he
must likewise utilize fluttering drapes prudently. For they
can only be blown by the wind, and in a place where one can
reasonabh" suppose the wind to blow, or by the movement
of the air when the figure appears to be in motion. This type
of drape is useful because it helps give life to figures by
means of contrast, but great care must be taken that the
cause is natural and likely, and that the draperies in the
same picture are not shown fluttering in different directions,
when they can only be stirred by the wind or when the figure
is at rest, an error many skilled painters have fallen into

without thinking. (XVI)

On landscapes if painting is a kind of creation, it shows an even deeper stamp

of this in pictures of landscapes than in others. Usually, they
depict nature freed of her chaos, and the elements better
ordered ; the earth is adorned in her different fruits, and the
heavens in their adornments. And as this genre of painting
contains all the others in miniature, the painter who adopts
it must have a thorough knowledge of the constituents of his
art, if not in such great detail as those who usually paint
historic scenes, at least theoretically and in general. And if he
does not complete all the particular objects that compose his

J^8
 picture or accompany his landscape, he must at least specify
the kind and character, and give his work more spirit the less

finished it is.

I nonetheless do not mean to exclude exactness from

this wurk; on the contrary, the more studiously it is done,
the greater will be its value. But however finished a landscape

may be, if the comparison of objects does not set them off,

and does not preserve their character ; and if their placement

is not well chosen, or is not w^ell finished with a good under-

standing of light and shadow; if the brush strokes are not
sprightly ; if the various parts of the picture are not enlivened
with figures, animals, or other objects which are ordinarily in
motion ; and if the truth and artlessness of nature are not
united with good taste in color and unusual vividness, then
the picture will never win a place in men 's esteem, nor in the
collections of true connoisseurs.

On perspective some writer has said that perspective and painting were the
same thing, because there was no such thing as painting with-

out perspective. Although the statement is false, speaking

absolutely, in that a body which cannot exist without shadow
is not for this reason the same thing as a shadow, nonetheless
it is true in this sense, that a painter cannot do ^vithout
perspective in any of his operations, and draws no line and
makes no brush stroke without involving perspective, at least
ordinarily. Perspective regulates the measurements of forms

and the gradation of colors wherever they meet in a picture.

The painter is forced to understand its necessity, and though

he may be perfectly skilled in this, as he should be, he wall
often run the risk of making serious mistakes in this science

if he is lazy about checking it over, at least in the most visible

parts, and about using a rule and a compass to avoid all

guesswork, and thus not expose himself to blame.

Michelangelo was criticized for neglecting perspective,
and the greatest Italian painters were so convinced that with-

out one could not make a regular composition that they

it

sought to learn it thoroughly. In some of Raphael 's drawings

we see a scale of gradation, so exact was he on this point.

(XVIII)
49
Color: the tliird the less than proper way in which several of our painters had
constituent been speaking of color made me take up its defense in a

of painting Dialogue that I had printed twenty-four years ago ; and hav-
ing nothing better to say today than what is contained in that
little work, I pray the reader to consult it. In it I tried to

explain the merit of color and its prerogatives as clearly as

possible. (XIX)

On liarmony there is harmony and disharmony among the families of

of colors colors, as there is in tones of light ;

just as in a musical com-

position not only must the notes be true, but also the in-
struments must agree in their execution. And as musical
instruments do not always accord with each other, for example,
the lute with the oboe or the harpsichord with the bagpipe,
in the same way there are colors which cannot sit together
without offending the eye. like vermilion with greens, blues,
and yellows. But also as the most strident instruments take
refuge among many others, and sometimes create a very good
effect, thus the most opposed colors, being placed appro-
priately among several others that blend well, make certain
areas more vivid and draw the gaze.

Titian, as I have said elsewhere, utilized colors this way

in the picture he painted of the triumph of Bacchus, in
which he placed Ariadne on one side of the picture, and for
that reason could not mark her out with rays of light, which
he wanted to reserve for the center. He gave her a veiTnilion
scarf on a blue drapery, as much to detach her from the
background, which is a blue sea, as because she is one of the
principal figures of the scene, and he wanted the eye to be
drawn to her. In Paolo Veronese's ''Marriage of Cana,'' where
Christ, who is the principal figure of the scene, is set back a
little in the picture and could therefore not be marked out
by the light of the chiaroscuro, Veronese clothed him in blue
and vermilion so that the gaze would be attracted to that
figure. (XX)

On fhe Irxisk the term trusk is sometimes taken as the source of aU the
constituents of painting, as when one says that Raphael's pic-
ture of the Transfiguration is the most beautiful work ever

50
 to come from Ms bmsli; and sometimes it means the work
itself, and people say, for example, that of all the brushes of

antiquity, the best was Apelles'. But here the word hrusJi

means simply the way it was handled to apply the paint ; and
since this paint was not overly worked, and, as they say, too
roiled by the movement of a heavy hand, and since on the
contrary the movement appears free, quick, and light, people
say that the work is by a good brush. But this free brush is

of little value if the head does not direct it, and if it does not
serve to demonstrate that the painter has a good understand-
ing of his art. In a word, a fine brush is to painting what a
fine voice is to music: both are admired in proportion to the

great effect and the harmony they produce. (XXI)

On liherfies [artistic] liberties are so necessary that they exist in all the
arts. They run counter to rules that present things according

to the letter, but present things according to the spirit. Liber-

ties serve as rules when they are appropriately understood.

Now, no person of good sense will not find them appropriate
when the work in which they are taken is more impressive,
and when the painter, by taking them, achieves his aim more
effectually, which is to command the gaze. But not all painters

have the ability to apply them usefully. Only great geniuses

are above the rules and know how to take liberties ingeniously,

whether they invoke them for the essence of their art or

whether they concern history. (XXII)

51
ROGEE DE PILES
ROGER DE PILES (1635-1709) pvovoked a lieated dispute in tJie
ranks of tJie French Academy in 1676 by extolling Rubens,
then in disrepute. The dispute was the Quarrel of the Ancients
and Moderns. In this regard, de Piles was an innovator. In
opposition to Poussin's partisans, he came to the defense of
colorand naturalistic inspiration, and was bold enough
todeny that a systematic study of antiquity was necessary.
Yet do not expect to find defiant outbursts in the text we give
below, though de Piles does add some unorthodox touches
to the ideas professed by his elder, Felibien. He puts his
reliance on "inverition,^' which is a discreet way of affirm-
ing a painter's need for some freedom. And he dwells in too
much detail on ^' truth'' to leave any doubt about his

inclinations in the dispute. In fact, his conception of "perfect

truth," which contains "ideal truth" as well as "simple
truth," tends to go beyond and to depart somewhat from
Felibien' s thinking on the artist's transfiguration
of nature.

The Principles of Painting

The idea real painting must attract its viewer by the power and great
of painting truth of its imitation; and the captivated \dewer must go to

it as if to enter into conversation with the figures it represents.

when it bears the mark of truth, it seems

Effectively, to have
drawn us simply to entertain and instruct us.
However, ideas of painting are generally as various as
the manners of the different schools. This is not to say that
painters lack the particular ideas they must have. But the
use they put them to, which is not always very correct; the
habits they develop from this usage ; the preference they have
for one constituent of painting over another ; and the affection

52
they maintain for the manner of the masters they have imi-
tated leads them into a predilection for some favorite con-
stituent, whereas they have a strict obligation to be skilled
in all of them in order to contribute to the general idea
we
spoke of. For most painters have always been divided accord-
ing to their different inclinations, some preferring Raphael,
others ^lichelangelo, others the Carraccis, others their dis-
ciples; some have valued draftsmanship above all, others
abundance of ideas, others grace, others the expression of
the soul's passions; and finally, some have abandoned them-
selves to the tide of their genius without having cultivated

it sufficiently through study and reflection.

So what ^vill we do with all these vague and uncertain

notions? Obviously, it would be dangerous to reject them but;

the course we must take is rather to seek out the truth which
we have presupposed in the general idea. All painted objects

must appear true before appearing in a certain way because ;

truth in painting is the basis of all the other qualities that

heighten the excellence of this art, as the sciences and virtues
heighten the excellence of man, who is their foundation. Thus,

we must always presuppose both in their perfection when we

speak of the excellent qualities they may exhibit, which cannot
create a good effect except when they are intimately attached
to [that truth]. The viewer is not required to go looking for
truth in a work of painting ; but the truth in a painting must
attract viewers by its effect.

It would be useless to preserve the rarest things in the

world in a magnificent palace if there were no access to them,

or if the entrance were not harmonized with the beauty of the

building so as to evoke people's desire to enter and satisfy
their curiosity. All visible objects enter the mind only through
the organs of the eyes, as the sounds of music enter the mind
only by the ears. The ears and eyes are the doors through
which come our judgments of musical concerts and works of
painting. The painter's first concern, like the musician's, must
therefore be to make passage through these doors easy and
attractive by dint of harmony, one in coloring, along with

its chiaroscuro, and the other in its chords.

This being the case, and the viewer being drawn by the
power of a work, his eyes will discover the particular beauties

53
which are able to instruct and entertain. The inquirer will
find in it what suits his taste, and the painter will observe
in it the different qualities of his art and will profit by the
good and reject the bad in what he meets. A work of painting

is not always even in quality. A given picture may have nu-

merous faults when it is considered in detail, but it may still
arrest the gaze of those who pass before it because the painter
has made excellent use of his colors and his chiaroscuro.

Kembrandt, for example, amused himself one day by

doing a portrait of his maidservant to put in a window and
trick the eyes of the passers-by. He was successful, for not

until some days later was the trick discovered. As we may well

imagine of Rembrandt, it was neither the beauty of the draw-

ing nor the nobility of the expression that produced this effect.

Being in Holland, I was curious to see this portrait, which

I found to be done with a fine brush and great power ; I bought
it, and it occupies an important place in my collection.

Other painters, on the contrary, have exhibited in their

works great perfection in the various constituents of their art,

but they have not been fortunate enough to attract favorable

' '
notice at first. I say ' fortunate enough, ' because if they have
done so sometimes, this has been owing to an arrangement of
objects which chance has caused, and to the fact that their

placement in the painting has demanded an undeniably agree-

able chiaroscuro, which the painter 's skill has had little to do
with, since if he had done it intentionally, he could have
repeated it in all his pictures.
Thus, nothing is more common than to see pictures that

ornament rooms with the richness of their frames alone, while

the insipidness and dullness of the paintings they surround
let people pass peacefully, without attracting them with any
sign of that truth which draws us.
To make this clearer, I will take as an example the most
able painters, who have nonetheless not displayed sufficient
mastery of that constituent which first strikes the eyes through
a very faithful imitation and through a truth that art uses
to seduce us, if possible, by rising above even nature. But
among the examples that might be cited, I can offer none
more remarkable than that of Raphael by reason of his great
repute, and because it is certain that of all painters, there is

54
none who has had so many qualities, or who has possessed
them to such a high degree of perfection.
It is continually happening, according to the statements

of many persons, that . . . people of refinement look for

Raphael when they are in the midst of Raphael, that is, in
the midst of the Vatican rooms which contain that painter's
most beautiful things, and simultaneously ask their guides to

point out Raphael's works to them, without giving any sign

that they have been struck by them at first glance, as they

had imagined they would be, given Raphael's enormous repu-

tation. The idea they had conceived of this great genius'
paintings was not satisfied, because they measured it against
that which one should naturally have of a perfect painting.
They could not imagine that the imitation of nature would
not make itself felt in all its vigor and perfection at the sight
of works by so marvelous a painter. This makes us see very

well that without ability in chiaroscuro and everything related

to color, the other constituents in a painting lose much of their

merit, even when they have been brought to such a point of

perfection as Raphael did.
I can give here a rather recent example of the slight
effect which Raphael's works first produce. This example was
given me by a friend ^ of mine, whose spirit and genius are
known to everyone. He carries his esteem for that famous
painter to the point of admiration, and in this he is like all

men of refinement. Some time ago,when he was in Rome, he

was very desirous of seeing Raphael's works. The most ad-
mired of these are the frescoes he painted in the Vatican
rooms. The enthusiast I am speaking of was led there, and,
passing indifferently through the rooms, he did not notice that
what he was seeking with such eagerness was right before
his eyes. His guide stopped him suddenly, and said to him:
*
Where are you going in such a hurry, sir ? Here is what you
'

are looking for, and you take no heed of it.

'
' Our enthusiast

had no sooner perceived the beauties that his keen spirit then
uncovered for him than he resolved to return many more times
to satisfy his curiosity fully and to form his taste with what

interested him most. How much better it would have been if,
turning away charmed at the sight of so many beautiful
things, he had first been drawn by Raphael himself, because

55
 of the effect of the colors belonging to each object, supported

by excellent chiaroscuro ?

The gentleman I have just spoken of had thought he

would be forcefully struck by the sight of such highly re-

garded paintings. He was not at all, and since he was not a

painter, he was content to examine and praise the set of the
heads, the expressions, the nobility of the postures, and the
grace that imbued the whole, which was the most his under-
standing encompassed; for the rest, he had little interest in

dwelling on other qualities that pertain only to studies by

painters.
What I have just related is a fact that often recurs, not
only among ignorant enthusiasts but even with regard to pro-
fessional painters who have as yet seen none of Raphael's
works.
It is not that one cannot find a few pictures by Raphael
which have good coloring; but one must not judge according
to the very small number of this sort which he did. The basis
for deciding the extent of his capabilities, like those of all
other painters, must be the whole of his work.
Some object that this great and perfect imitation is not
of the essence of painting, and that if it were, one would see
its effects in most pictures, that a picture which attracts does
not always fit the idea of the one who goes to it, and that it is

not necessary for the figures which compose a picture to ap-

pear ready to enter into conversation with those who look at
it, since they are well aware that it is only a painting.
It is true that the number of pictures which attract the
viewer is not large ; but this is not the fault of painting, whose
essence it is to engage the eyes and trick them, if possible;
the fault must be imputed simply to the negligence of the

painter, or rather of his spirit, which is not elevated or trained

enough in principles to force the passers-by, so to speak, to
look at his pictures and give their attention to them.
Much more genius is needed to make good use of lights
and shadows, of the harmony of colors and their appropriate-
ness to each particular object, than to draw a figure correctly.

On truth man, liar though he is, hates nothing so much as a lie, and
in painting the most forceful way to attract his confidence is sincerity.

56
Therefore, it is useless to euloo:ize truth here. There is no one
who does not love it, and who does not feel its beauties. Noth-
ing: is good, nothing pleases without truth ; it is the cause, it is

the equity, it is the good sense and the basis of all perfection,
it is the goal of the sciences ; and all the arts that have imita-
tion as their object are practiced only to instruct and entertain
men by a faithful representation of nature. Thus it is that
those who study the sciences or who practice the arts would be
incapable of calling themselves happy if, after all their efforts,
they did not find that truth which they consider the reward
of their labors.

Besides that general truth which must be found every-

where, there is a particular truth in each of the fine arts and
sciences. ^ly purpose is to reveal here what truth in painting
is and how consequential it is for the painter to express it well.
But before broaching the subject, it is well to say in pass-
ing that in the imitation that is painting, it should be observed
that although the natural object is true and the object in the
painting is only simulated, the latter is nonetheless called
true when it imitates the characteristics of its model perfectly.
Hence, it is this truth in painting that I shall try to reveal

in order to demonstrate its value and necessity.

I find three sorts of truth in painting:
simple truth,
ideal truth, and
composite or perfect truth.
Simple truth, which I call primary truth, is a simple and
faithful imitation of the expressive movements in nature and
in objects, just as the painter has chosen them for models
and as they first appear to our eyes, so that complexions seem to
be real flesh and draperies to be real cloth according to their
diverse characteristics ; so that each object preserves in detail
its real natural character ; and so that through skillful chiaro-

scuro and union of colors the painted objects appear in relief,

and the whole is harmonious.

This simple truth finds in all sorts of phenomena the

means of leading the painter to his goal, which is the sensitive

and vivid imitation of nature, so that the figures seem able to

detach themselves from the picture, so to speak, and enter

into conversation with those who look at it.

57
 In the idea of this simple truth, I set aside the beauties

which may embellish this primary truth, and which genius

or the rules of art should be able to unite with it in order to

create a perfect whole.

Ideal truth is a choice of various perfections which are
never found together in a single model but which are drawn
from many, and usually from antiquity.
This ideal truth includes abundance of ideas, richness of

invention, propriety of poses, elegance of contours, the selec-

tion of lovely expressions, a fine fall to the draperies in brief,

everything which, without altering primary truth, can render

it more captivating and more seemly. But since all these per-

fections can subsist only in the idea related to the painting,

they need a proper subject to contain them and present them

advantageously; and this proper subject is simple truth, just
as the moral virtues exist only in idea form if they do not
have a proper subject, that is, a subject well disposed to
receive them and give them subsistence, without which they
would be mere false appearances and phantoms of virtue.
Simple truth subsists in itself ; it is the seasoning of the
perfections that accompany it, giving them savor and life;

and if of itself it does not lead to the imitation of perfect

nature (which depends on the choice of model that the painter
makes), it leads at least to the imitation of nature, which is

generally the goal of the painter. It is a fact that ideal truth

alone guides one along a most agreeable path but [if he takes] ;

this path, the painter, being unable to achieve the goal of his
art, is constrained to continue on his way, and the only help
he may hope for to assist him in completing his task must
come from simple truth. It seems, therefore, that these two
truths, simple truth and ideal truth, make a perfect composite,
in which they give each other mutual support, with this spe-

cial circumstance that primary truth pierces and makes

: itself

felt through all the perfections joined to it.

The third truth, which is composed of simple and ideal

truth, is a union which constitutes the final achievement of
art and the perfect imitation of glorious nature. It is that fine

verisimilitude which often seems more true than truth itself,

because in that union the first truth grips the viewer, conceals

58
numerous oversights, and makes itself felt first without being
thought about.
This third truth is the target that no one has yet hit;
we can say only that those who have come closest are the most
able. Simple and ideal truth have been parceled out according
to the genius and training of the painters who have possessed
them. Giorgio da Castelfranco, called Giorgione, Titian. Porde-
none, Palma Vecchio, the Bassanos, and the whole Venetian
School had no other merit than that they possessed primary
truth. And Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, II Romanino, Poli-
doro da Caravaggio, Poussin, and others of the Roman School
established the major part of their reputations on ideal truth;
but above all Raphael, who, along with the beauties of ideal
truth, possessed simple truth in considerable measure, and by
this means approached perfect truth more closely tlian any
of his countrymen. Actually, it would seem that to imitate

nature in her variety, he ordinarily used as many different

characters as he had different figures to represent ; and if he

added anything of his 0"vvn, it was to make the traits more
regular and more expressive, while always preserving truth
and the singular character of his model. Although he did not
entirely realize simple truth in the other constituents of paint-
ing, he nonetheless had such a feeling for truth in general that

with most of the parts of the body that he drew according to

nature, he expressed them on paper as they actually were,

and so gave witness to all-simple reality, and joined it to the

idea he had formed of the beauty of antiquity an admirable

procedure that no other painter has grasped so well as Raphael
since the revival of painting.
As perfect truth is a composite of simple truth and ideal

truth, we may say that painters are skillful in relation to how

well they have learned the qualities of the first and second
truths, and to how much facility they have acquired in making

a good composite of them.

59
FEANCISCO PACHECO
FRANCISCO PACHECO (1571-1654), tom in Seville, was
Velasquez' teaclier and fatlier -in-law. He is remembered
mostly for his incompetence in relation to El Greco. For our
pari, we recalled Ms Arte de la Pintura, in wJiich, among
otJier tilings, lie eulogizes drawing at tlie expense of color.

Art of Painting

Of invention in speaking of invention, I will begin by saying that it com-

prises many elements, the most important of which are order
and appropriateness; for if a painter is going to represent
Christ or Saint Paul preaching, for example, he will be wrong
to paint the first dressed as a sailor or the second as a soldier.

For he must give proper garb to the one as to the other. And
above all, he must give Christ a grave expression, accom-
panied with a loving goodness and gentleness; in the same
way, he must make Saint Paul a face that is suitable for so
great an apostle, so that he who sees them will think he is
looking at a true portrait of the Saviour and the chosen vessel.

Of color COLOR is the quality by which natural and artificial things are
revealed and distinguished. And, although it is not subsumed
under infallible precepts, like drawing, and as a result can
only follow different opinions and methods, great artists have
nonetheless expounded and written on it a great deal for the
guidance of others.
We discern in color three necessary qualities, namely,
beauty, harmony, and relief.

THE most important of the three parts into which we divide

coloring is relief, of which we will speak now. I say it is most

60
 important because perhaps sometimes you might find a good
painting lacking beauty and delicacy. If it possesses, however,
force and plastic power (relief) and seems round like a solid

object and lifelike and deceives the eye as if it were coming

out of the picture frame, in this case the lack of the other
two requirements is forgiven. These other two are not as im-
portant as the first one. Many spirited painters, such as Bas-
sano, Michelangelo, Caravaggio and our Spaniard, Jusepe de
Ribera, did without beauty and delicacy but not without relief.

We may even count among this group El Greco, because, al-

though we wrote elsewhere against some opinions and para-

doxes of his, we cannot exclude him from the great painters.

DRA^^^NG is . . . the substantial form of painting. It is its soul

and its life, without which it would be dead, graceless, without

beauty or movement. It is the constituent most difficult to

master, and, strictly speaking, one could say that painting

presents no other difficulty. It is thus drawing that demands
great perseverance and strength of character. ... It is the

thing that gives trouble and opposition to the most valiant.

It is the universal capital of painting.

REMBRANDT
REMBRANDT HARMENSZ VAN RUN (1606-1669), Called Rem-
brandt, was horn at Leiden. NofJiing remains to he said,
to he sure, about his grandeur and importance, hut
unfortunately Tie left us nothing from his own hand con-

cerning his idea of the essence of painting.

IN your country itself, you will find such beauty that your life

Italy, beautiful as it is, will

will be too short to take it all in.

be useless to you if you are incapable of expressing the nature

that surrounds you. (To Hoogstraten)

A picture is not made to be smelled; step back: the odor of

paint is not healthy. (Quoted by Paillot de Montabert)

ai
 ;

SEBASTIEX BOUEDOX
SEBASTiEN BOURDOX (1616-1671), tom at MontpelUer, ivas

a painter with widely varying inspirations, and a frequent

lecturer at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts.

IT is not enough to have taught the painter who wants to please

the necessity of varying his lights ; he must also be shown that
light is part of the subject he is to treat and that consequently,
above all else, he must begin by investigating at what time of
day and under what sort of sky the thing that constitutes his

subject must have taken place. He cannot refuse to conform

to history if it prescribes something essential and specific in

this regard; but if it leaves him free ground, he must be all

the more circumspect and careful to choose seasonable details

he will judge for himself what hour and season will be the
most correct and realistic, as well as the interest his composi-
tion might gain from a light producing one of the effects I am
going to discuss. (Discourse at the Royal Academy)

CHARLES LE BEUN
CHARLES LE BRUN (1619-1690), lom in Paris, was a very
well-known painter and an important official in Jiis time.
Among other functions, he served as director of the Gobelins
and of the Academie Royale. He also presided over the
decoration of the Palais de Versailles. The most academic
of the academicians, he composed a little treatise with en-
gravings to teach student painters the various expressions
of human passions.

YOU must know that there are two sorts of drawing: one is

intellectual and theoretical, and the other practical.

62
 The first depends purely on the imagination; it is ex-
pressed in words, and permeates all the productions of the
mind.
Practical drawing is produced bj^ intellect, and conse-
quently depends on the imagination and the hand ; it can also
be expressed in words.
This last, with a pencil, engenders form and proportion,
and imitates all visible things, to the point of expressing the
passions of the soul, without needing color for this, except to
show flushing and pallor.

One can add to what I have just said that drawing imi-
tates all real things, whereas color represents only what is

accidental.

. . . One can also add to this that color depends on draw-

ing, because it is impossible for color to represent or picture
anything at all except within the bounds of the drawing.
. . . Therefore, we see that it is drawing which consti-

tutes the merit of painting, and not color. (Discourse at the

Academy)

FRAXgOIS FENELON
FRANCOIS DE SALIGNAC DE LA MOTHE-Fl^NELON (1651-1715) WaS,
as we know, tlie tutor of the Due de Bourgogne. For liis use
Fenelon composed the Dialogues of the Dead, a pedagogic
work intended to make his student's lessons enjoyable. In it,

Parrhasius and Poussin chat about painting.

Poussin: I painted that great city of Athens on the slope

make it easier to see.
of a long hill to . . .

Parrhasius: Did you avoid confusion in it?

Poussin: I avoided both confusion and symmetry. I made

lots of buildings irregular ; but they still form a graceful en-

semble, in which each thing has its most natural place. Every-
thing stands out clearly and is easy to distinguish; everything

unitesand draws together hence, there : is seeming confusion,

and real order when you look close.
63
ANTOINE COYPEL
ANTOiNE COYPEL (1661-1722), hom at Paris, was tJie eldest

of Noel Coy pel's three sons. TJie fatJier and sons were
all painters of modest talent. First painter to Louis XV,

Antoine, tlie ynost esteemed aynong tliem, gave discourses and

lectures on paintings from which we have extracted some
quotations.

GRANDEUR lies in the choice of subject and the manner of

treating it : in the arrangement, the expression, and the craft

of the drawing.

WHEN the painter is a master in choosing his subject, as he

must ever try to be, he must pay great heed to choosing great,
famous, and unusual events whose action is lively and well
delineated.
When a moving quality is added to grandeur in the choice
of a subject, one may expect a happy outcome.

GREAT art is the exact imitation of nature, making one object

stand out in comparison with another by setting colors in
opposition, which, lending each other reciprocal value, always
heightens the power, reality, and harmony of the work.
The more different parts are used in a musical choir, the
more perfect its harmony will be. The more tones of various
colors are used in the scheme of a picture, the more harmonious
it will become. If each part that composes a choir sings well,

the harmony of the whole is infinitely heightened.

SOMETIMES it is neccssary for things to look as if they were

done by chance. ... It is often necessary to neglect certain
areas to make others take on value ; but in creating this air of
abruptness and disregard, which must be done by design, hard
and choppy strokes must be avoided, for one cannot paint
too softly.

6i
WHEN the idea is vividly filled with its object, then the hand
cannot execute it too rapidly. The bright fire that animates it

must be seized quickly. . . .

One should try to vary his stroke according to the nature

of the objects he wants to represent. Soft, glossy, and gleaming
objects must not be painted in the same way as rough, un-
polished, and coarse ones a certain brusqueness with the brush
;

sits well on some occasions.

THE art of imitating nature's visible objects is what character-

izes the painter absolutely; but what distinguishes painting
from almost all the other arts and one painter from another
is not only a certain elevation of mind, which conceives
thoughts fortuitously, but also that enthusiasm and moving
quality that touch the spirit, that move the heart because of
an exact representation of characteristics and because the
passions are shown, which comes from greatness of soul and
imagination. "Not only must poems have beauty," says
they must also be affecting, and evoke in the heart
*
Horace ; '

of those who hear them all the passions that the poet wants

to excite." (Discourses and Lectures)

65
The Eighteenth Century

YOU CAN STUDY THE MASTERS BUT NATURE

;

ALONE, NOT THE MASTERS, MUST BE FOLLOWED ;

IN FOLLOWING IT, YOU WILL DO WELL,

LIKE THEM.
David
DENIS DIDEROT
DENIS DIDEROT (1713-1784), hom at Langres, holds a dominant
place in the history of art criticism. For twenty-two years
of his life, he continually visited painting exhibitions and
wrote critiques of them. His "Essay on Painting,'' written
in 1765, ivhich we print almost in entirety below, embodies
his ideas on the subject of pictorial art. This is the first time
subjectivism has intruded into art. The doctrine of the
Academy of Fine Arts is vehemently attacked. The passions
and a certain form of ethic, he finds, play their role in
painting; and color becomes an expressive function this
intuition of Diderot's will be fulfilled in Van Gogh. In
Diderot's thought, the idea of perfection is no longer
analytic in character but synthesizing : it is the harmony
obtainedamong heterogeneous elements. In the name of this
harmony, Diderot disparages the search for exactness.
He recognizes obscurely that harmony in painting is not
between the picture and the outside world but among the
various constituents of the picture
itself, even if they are in

themselves deformed." With Diderot, a new era began;

*'

Bomanticistn was introduced, as also the idea of a "pure"

painting whose presence could only be felt in works
where the "story" still held it back.

Essay on Painting

My peculiar NATURE does nothing incorrect. Every form, beautiful or ugly,

thoughts on has its cause ; and of all the beings that exist, there is not one
drawing that is not as it should be.
Take that woman who lost her eyes in her youth. There was
no further growth of the orb to distend her eyelids ; these fell
back into the cavity created by the absence of the organs, and
shrank. The top ones pulled the eyebrows with them; the

69
 ' ;
'

bottom ones made the cheeks climb slightly the upper ; lip felt

this movement, and was raised the alteration affected ; all the

parts of the face, in relation to their distance or closeness to

the site of the accident. But do you think the deformity has
been limited to the oval? Do you think that the neck was
completely preserved from it? And the shoulders and the
throat 1 Yes, it has, to your eyes and mine. But summon nature
present her with this neck, these shoulders, this throat, and
nature will say: ''That is the neck, those are the shoulders,

that is the throat of a woman who lost her eyes in her youth. '

Turn your gaze on that man whose back and chest have
taken a convex shape. "While the cartilage in the front has
stretched, the vertebrae in the back have sunk in the head has
;

been drawn back, the hands are held up at the wrist joint,

the elbows are pulled rearward, all the members have sought
the common center of gravity that best suited this anomalous
system ; the face has taken on a look of contraction and pain.
Cover this figure ; show only the feet to nature, and nature will
' '
say unhesitatingly : ' These are the feet of a humpback.
If the causes and effects were apparent we could do
to us,

no better than to represent beings as they are. The more

perfect and analogous to causes an imitation was, the more
satisfied we would be with it.

Despite our ignorance of effects and causes, and the rules

of convention that have followed from this, I can hardly doubt
that an artist who dared disregard these rules in obedience
to a rigorous imitation of nature would not often be justified

in his overly large feet, his short legs, his swollen knees, his

heavy and clumsy heads, by that fine touch which we gain

from a continual observation of phenomena, and which would
make us feel a hidden connection, a necessary linking of these
deformities.
A twisted nose in nature gives no offense, because every-
thing is interrelated; we are led to this deformity by little

alterations in neighboring areas that introduce it and palliate

it. Twist Antinoiis' nose, leaving everything else as it is, and
this nose will be bad. Why? Because Antinoiis would have
not a twisted nose but a broken one.
We say of a man passing in the street that he is badly
formed. Yes, according to our poor rules; but this is not the

70
case according to nature. We say of a statue that it has the
most beautiful proportions. Yes, in keeping with our poor
rules; but according to nature?
Allow me to transfer the cover from my humpback to
the Venus de Medicis, letting only the end of her foot show.^
If nature, called anew, and given only the end of that foot
to see, were charged with completing the figure, you would
perhaps be surprised to see her pencils produce some hideous
and deformed monster. But it would surprise me if anything
different emerged.

A human figure is too interconnected a system for the

results of an unconscious inconsistency in its principle not to

throw the most perfect work of art a thousand leagues apart
from the work of nature.
If I were an initiate in the mysteries of art, I would
perhaps know to what point the artist must bow to the pro-

portions he receives, and I would tell you. But I do know

that they cannot hold against the despotism of nature, and
that age and circumstances involve sacrifice in a hundred
different ways. I have never heard anyone criticize a figure as

badly drawn when its exterior organization accurately por-

trayed age and the habit or ease of fulfilling its daily functions.

It is functions that determine both the overall grandeur of

the figure and the true proportions of each member and the

whole ; it is from this that I see the child, the adult, and
the old man emerge, as well as the savage, the disciplined
man, the magistrate, the soldier, and the porter. If there were a

difficult figure to find, it would be that of a twenty-five-year-old

man who was suddenly born from the mud of the earth and
who had as yet done nothing; but that man is a myth.
Childhood is almost a caricature; I say as much of old

age. The child is an unformed and fluid mass seeking to

develop itself; the old man is another unformed mass, but

dried out, that shrinks into itself and tends to reduce itself

to nothing. It is only in the interval between these two ages,

from the beginning of perfect adolescence to the end of virility,
that the artist submits himself to purity, to rigorous precision
in traits, and that the poco piu or poco meno, the trait within

and makes flaw or beauty.

outside,

Studying an anatomical model doubtless has its advan-

71
tages ; but should we not fear that this model might remain for-
ever in the imagination ; that the artist might stubbornly show
off his knowledge out of conceit that his corrupted eye might
;

no longer be able to stop at the surface ; that despite the skin

and flesh, he might always expose the muscle and its root,

attachment, and insertion ; that he might make everything too

pronounced that he might be hard and dry and that

; ; I might
find that blasted anatomical model even in his figures of
w^omen? Since I have only the outside to show, I would far
prefer to be trained in seeing it well and to be dispensed from
a perfidious knowledge that I would have to forget.
They say that an anatomical model is studied only so as
to train the eye to look at nature ; but experience teaches us
that people who have made this study have a great deal of
trouble not seeing her other than she is.

None but you, my f riend,^ will read these papers ; hence

I can w^rite all I wish. Now these seven years spent at the
Academy drawing from the model, do you consider them well
employed and would you like to know what I think about it ?

It is there, during those seven laborious and cruel years, that

you adopt mannerism in drawing. All these academic positions,

strained, prepared, arranged, all these poses coldly and awk-

wardly taken up by some poor devil, and always the same
poor devil, hired to come three times a week to undress and let

a professor set him up as a lay figure what have these to do

with the positions and actions of nature? The man drawing
water at the well in your courtyard, and the one awkwardly
pretending to do so without the same load both arms raised,

on the school platform what have they in common? Or this

one there who acts out dying, and the one breathing his last

in his bed, or beaten down on the street, what have they in

common? What has this school fighter in common with the
one on my street-corner? This man imploring, begging, sleep-
ing, reflecting, fainting at his convenience, what has he in
common with the peasant stretched out in weariness on the
ground, with the philosopher meditating at his fireside, with
the choked man fainting in the crowd ? Not a thing, my friend,
not a thing.
I should be as pleased to make the absurdity complete,
if,

they would send the pupils when they left there to Marcel or
72
Dupre to learn grace or to any other dancing master you like.

Meanwhile the truth of nature is forgotten ; the imagination is

crammed with actions, positions, and forms that are false,

prepared, ridiculous, and cold. They are in stock there, and

will come forth to get fixed to the canvas. Every time the artist

takes up pencils or brush, these dull ghosts will awake and

appear before him ; he will not be able to divert his attention
from them, and if he succeeds in exorcising them to run them
out of his head, it will be a miracle. I knew a young man
of much taste who, before touching the least stroke to his
canvas, would fall on his knees and say, ''Lord, deliver me
from the model." If today it is rare to see a picture made
up of a certain number of figures without finding in it, here
and there, some of these academic figures, positions, actions,

attitudes, that mortally offend a man of taste and can impose

only on those unacquainted with truth, blame it on the endless
study of the school model.
It is not in school that you learn the general fitting into
each other of movements, a fitting that is felt and seen, that

extends and winds from head to foot. Suppose a weary woman

drops her head forward all her members obey this weight;
she raises it and holds it straight the same obedience from
the rest of the machine.
Oh yes indeed, it's an art, and a great art, to pose the
model ;
you must see how^ proud of it the Professor is. Never
fear that he will think of telling the poor hired devil: ''My
friend, pose yourself by yourself; do what you like." He much
prefers giving him some unusual attitude to letting him take
a simple and natural one; still, one must put up with it.

A hundred times I have tried to tell the young students

that I found on the way to the Louvre, their portfolios under
their arms: "My friends, how long have you been drawing
there? Two years? Well! that's more than one should. Leave
this stock-in-trade of mannerism with me. Go off to the

Carthusians', and there you will see the real attitude of piety
and contrition. Today is a great holiday eve ;
go to the parish

church, prowl about the confessionals, and there you will

see the true attitude of self-collectedness and repentance.

Go tomorrow to the public-house, and you will see the true

action of man in anger. Seek out public sights, be observers in

73
 '

the streets, in parks, in markets, in houses, and you will gaiQ

just ideas of true moTement in the actions of life. Now!
Look at TOUT two comrades quarrelling, see how it is the very

quarrel that establishes the position of their limbs, all un-

known to them. Study them closely and you will be contemptu-

ous of your insipid professor's teaching and of imitating your

insipid model. How sorry I am for you, my friends, lest one

day you must substitute for all the errors you have learned,
the simplicity and truth of Le Sueur !^ And you must indeed,
if you want to be something.

''An attitude is one thing, an action is another thing.

Every attitude is false and little; every action is beautiful
and true.

"Ill-understood contrast is one of the most fatal causes

of the mannered. The only real contrast arises from the basis

of the action, or from the difference either in organism or in

interest. Look at Raphael, Le Sueur; they sometimes place

three, four, or five figures upright one beside the other, and
the effect of it is sublime. At mass or vespers at the Carthu-
sians', you see forty or fifty monks in two long parallel rows,
same stalls, same function, same vestment, and yet no two of

the monks are alike ; look for no other contrast than this that
distinguishes them. Here is the truth; all else is mischievous
'
and false.

My snmil ideas de^gn gives beings form ; color gives them life. This is the
on color divine breath that animates them.
Only masters in art are good judges of design ; everybody
can judge color.

There is no lack of excellent draftsmen; there are few

great colorists. The same is true of literature; [there are] a
hundred cold logicians for every great orator, ten great
orators for every sublime poet. A deep interest will make
an eloquent man bloom suddenly, though Helvetius says a
man cannot write ten good verses even under pain of death.
My friend, take yourself to an atelier; watch the artist

work. If you see him arrange his tints and mezzotints quite
symmetrically all around his palette, or if fifteen minutes of
work has not disturbed that order, state without fear of
contradiction that the artist is cold, and that he will never do

7i
 ;

anything of value. He is the counterpart of a slow and heaw

pedant who needs a quotation, climbs his ladder, takes and
opens his author, goes to his desk, copies the line he needs,
climbs back up the ladder, and puts the book back in its place.

This is not the pace of genius.

He who has a lively sense of color has his eyes pinned
on his canvas ; his mouth is half-open ; he breathes quickly
his palette is the picture of chaos. In this chaos he dips his
brush ; and he draws out the work of creation, and the birds
and the shades of color in their plumage, and the flowers and
their velvety texture, and the trees and their various greenery,

and the azure of the heavens, and the mist of the water that

darkens them, and the animals, and long fur, and the variety
of spots on their skin, and the fire their eyes glow with. He
gets up. he steps back, he glances at his work; he sits down
again ; and you will see flesh bom. and cloth, velvet, dama.sk.

taffeta, muslin, linen, canvas, coarse cloth; you will see

the ripe yellow pear fall from the tree, and the green grape
attached to the vine.
But why are there so few artists who can do the thing
that ever>'body agrees on ? AVhy this variety of colorists, when
color is one in nature? The disposition of the visnal organ

doubtless has something to do with it. The eye, sensitive and

delicate, would not welcome strong and vivid colors. The man
who paints will be loath to introduce effects into his picture
that hurt his eye in nature. He will not like either bright reds

or stark whites. Like the tapestries he covers the walls of his

apartment with, his canvas will be colored in a moderate tone,
gentle and mild ; and generally, he will give you back in

harmony what he denies you in vigor. But why wouldn't the

character, the \evy temperament of the man influence his

coloring? If his habitual thinking is sad, somber, and dark:

if it is always night in his melancholy head and his lugubrious
atelier; if he banishes daylight from his room; if he seeks

solitude and shadows, wouldn't you be right to expect perhaps

a scene full of movement but one that is dark, dim, and somber
?

If he suffers from jaundice and sees everything yeUow, how

can he avoid throwing the same yellow veil over his composi-
tion that his diseased eye throws over natural objects,
and that
vexes him when he goes to compare the green tree he has in
75
Ms imagination with, the yellow tree he has before his eyes*
Be assured that a painter reveals himself in his work as
much as and more than a writer does in his. It may happen

once that he gets out of character, overcomes the disposition

and bent of his organ. This is like the taciturn and silent man
who raises his voice : the explosion finished, he subsides into
his natural state, silence. The sad artist, or the artist born

with a weak eye. may produce a vividly colored picture; but

he will quickly revert to his natural coloring.

Again, if the orb is afflicted, whatever be its affliction.

it will spread a mist over all bodies, interposing it between

itself and them, which wlQ distort nature and its imitation.

The artist taking color from his palette does not always
know what it will produce in his picture. Actually, what will
he compare that color with, that tint on his palette? With
other isolated tints, with primary colors. He does better : he
looks at it on the palette where he has prepared it. and he
carries it from the idea to the place where it must be applied.
But how often it happens that he errs in his perception!

In passing from the palette to the whole scene of the composi-

tion, the color is modified, reduced, and heightened, and
changes effect entirely. Then the artist gropes around, works.
reworks, and roils his paint. In the process, his tint becomes
a compound of various substances that react more or less on
each other, and sooner or later lose their harmony.
Thus, in general, the harmony of a composition wiU be
the more durable as the painter will have been surer of the
effect of his brush ; wiU have made his strokes more proudly,
more reworked and roiled his paint
freely; will have less;

wiU have used them more simply and directly.

"We see modern pictures lose their attraction in very
little time : we see works of antiquity that have preserved their
freshness, harmony, and vigor, despite the lapse of time.
This superiority seems to me to be rather a reward for
execution than an effect of the quality of the colors.
Nothing in a picture attracts nke true color: it speaks
to the ignorant as to the knowledgeable. A semi-connoisseur
will pass unseeing before a masterpiece of drawing, expression,

composition : the eye has never bypassed the colorist.

But what makes the true colorist rare is the master

76
 ;;

he adopts. For an infinite time, the student copies the pictures

of that master, and does not look at nature ; that is, he
becomes accustomed to seeing through another's eyes, and
loses the use of his own. Little by little he develops a technique
that chains him and that he can neither free himself from
or draw away from; it is a chain he has put on his eye, as
the slave has one put on his foot. This is the origin of so much
false coloring. He who copies Lagrenee will copy brilliance

and solidity; he who copies Le Prince will be reddish and

brick-colored ; he who copies Greuze will be gray and purplish
he who studies Chardin will be true. And thence that variety
of judgments on drawing and color, even among artists. One
will tell you that Poussin is dry; another that Rubens is

excessive ; and I, I am the Lilliputian who taps them gently

on the shoulder and informs them that they are talking
nonsense.
People have said that the most beautiful color there is

in the world is that charming pink with which innocence,

youth, health, modesty, and shyness will color the cheeks of

a girl ; and what they have said is not only pleasing, touching,
and delicate, but also true ; for flesh is so hard to do ; a

striking white, smooth without being either pallid or dull,

the mixture of red and blue that breathes imperceptibly;

blood, life are the despair of the colorist. He who has acquired
a feeling for flesh has taken a great step forward ; the rest is

nothing by comparison. A thousand painters have died with-

out having gotten this feeling for flesh; a thousand more will
die without having gotten it.

The diversity of our cloths and draperies has contributed

not a little to perfecting the art of coloring. There is an
illusion it is hard to avoid falling for; it is that of a great

harmonizer. I do not know how to make my thought clear

to you. There is a canvas of a woman clothed in w^hite satin

cover the rest of the picture, and look only at the clothing;
this satin may seem dirty, dull, unreal to you; but replace

that woman in the middle of the objects she is surrounded

with, and simultaneously the satin and its color will regain

their eiTect. The reason is that the whole tone is too weak;

but as each object is lacking proportionally, the failure of

77
 ;

each escapes you: it is saved by the harmony. This is like

nature seen at dusk.

The general tone of the color may be weak without being
The
false. general tone of the color may be weak without the
harmony being destroyed on the contrary, ; it is vigorous color-
ing that is difficult to incorporate harmoniously.
To whiten and to lighten are two very different things.
All else being equal between two compositions, the more
luminous will certainly please you more; the difference is as

between night and day.

So then, who do I think is a true, a great colorist?
He who captures the tones in nature and of well-lighted
objects, and who knows how to harmonize his painting. . . .

You might think that to strengthen a sense of color,

some study of birds and flowers would do no harm. No, my
friend; that imitation will never teach a feeling for flesh.
See what happened to Bachelier when he lost sight of his rose,

his jonquil, and his pink. Invite M. Vien to do a portrait,

and then take this portrait to La Tour. But no, don*t take

it to him; the traitor hasn't enough respect for any of his

confreres to tell him the truth. Eather, invite Jiim, who knows
how to do flesh, to paint a piece of cloth, a sky, a pink, a plum
with its dew, a peach with its bloom, and you will see how
much better he will acquit himself. And that Chardin, why
do people take his imitations of inanimate beings for nature
itself? Because he does flesh when he wants to.

But what drives a great colorist crazy is the changeable-

ness of flesh ; it flows and then fades at the wink of an eye
when the artist's eye is fixed on his canvas, and his brush is

busy painting me, I pass ; and when he raises his head, I am

not there. Abbe Le Blanc has entered my head, and I yawn
with boredom. Abbe Trublet has turned up, and I have an
ironic expression. My friend Grimm or my Sophie has
appeared to me, and my heart beats, and tenderness and
equanimity spread over my face; joy flows from the pores
of my skin, my heart dilates, the little blood vessels vibrate,
and the invisible font of escaped fluid spills color and life

everywhere. Fruits and flowers change under the attentive

gaze of La Tour and Bachelier. What a torment, then, man's
face must be, that canvas which trembles, moves, stretches,

78
 relaxes, colors, deadens according to the infinite multitude
of turns of that light and mobile breath called the soul!
But I was forgetting to speak to you about the color
of passion, though I was close by the subject. Doesn't each
passion have its own? Is it the same in every moment of
a passion ? The coloration of anger has nuances. If it inflames
the face, the eyes spark; ii it is extreme, and squeezes the
heart instead of swelling it, the eyes wander, a pallor washes
over the forehead and cheeks, the lips begin to tremble and
turn white. Does a woman keep the same hue when she is
awaiting pleasure, in the arms of pleasure, on leaving its arms?
Ah, my friend, what an art is painting ! I do in a line what
the painter scarcely sketches out in a week; and to his un-
happiness he knows, sees, and feels like me, and cannot express
it and satisfy himself; the feeling that carries him forward
tricks him about what he can do, and makes him spoil a
masterpiece without a doubt, he was on the outer limits
of art.

What everybody Sunt lacrymae rerum, et mentem mortalia pectora tangunt.^

knows about EXPRESSION is generally the image of a feeling.
expression, and An actor who does not see himself as a painting is a poor
something that not actor ; a painter who is not a physiognomist is a poor painter.
everybody knows Each country in every part of the world, each province in

a country, each city in a province, each family in a city,

each individual in a family, each moment for an individual
has its physiognomy, its expression.
A man becomes angry, he is intent, he is curious, he loves,

he hates, he scorns, he despises, he admires and each of the

movements of his soul is painted on his face in clear, bold
characters which are totally unmistakable.
On his face ! What am I saying ? On his mouth, on his
cheeks, in his eyes, in every part of his face. The eye brightens,
dulls, droops, wanders, focuses; and a great imagination in
painting is an immense collection of all these expressions.

Each of us has his little stock of them; and it forms the basis
of the judgment we make of ugliness and beauty. Note it well,

my friend; question yourself when you regard a man or a

woman, and you will realize that what attracts or repels you

79
 ;

is the image of a good quality or the more or less marked

imprint of a bad.
Suppose that the Antinoiis were before you. His features
are handsome and regular. His broad, full cheeks betoken

health. We love health; it is the cornerstone of happiness.

He is quiet ; we love repose. He has a reflective and wise look

we love reflection and wisdom. I will leave the rest of the

figure at that, and will concentrate only on the head.

Keep all the features of this fine face as they are : only
lift one corner of the mouth, the expression becomes ironical,
and the face will please you less. Put the mouth back as it was
and lift the eyebrows, the character becomes proud, and it

will please you less. Lift both corners of the mouth at the

same time, and hold the eyes wide open, you will have a
cynical expression, and you will fear for your daughter if

you are a father. Let the corners of the mouth fall, and bring
the eyelids back down so that they half-cover the iris and
divide the pupils in two, and you will have a false, secretive,

dissembling man whom you will avoid.

IN society, each order of citizens has its character and expres-

sion the artisan, the noble, the commoner, the man of letters,

the ecclesiastic, the magistrate, the soldier.

Among artisans, there are bodily attitudes, physiognomies
corresponding to shop and atelier.

Each society has its government, and each government

has its dominant quality, real or presumed, which is its soul,

its support, and its prime mover.

The republic is an egalitarian state. Every subject regards
himself as a little monarch. The look of a republican will be
elevated, hard, and proud.
In a monarchy, where some command and some obey,
the character, the expression, will include affability, grace,
gentleness, honor, gallantry.
Under a despotic rule, beauty will belong to the slave.
Show me mild, submissive, timid, circumspect, supplicant,
and modest faces. The slave walks with his head bowed; he
seems always to be offering it to a sword ready to strike.
And what is empathy? I mean that ready, sudden, un-
thinking impulse that makes two beings cling togther at

80


first sight, at first meeting ; for empathy, even in this sense,

is no illusion. It is an immediate and reciprocal attraction of
some Beauty engenders admiration, admiration esteem,
virtue.

the desire to possess, and love.

So much for characters and their divers expressions;
but this is not all : we must add to this knowledge a profound
experience with the scenes of life. Let me explain. "We must
have studied man's happiness and misery in all its aspects
battles, famines, plagues, floods, storms and tempests; the
sensitive nature, the dull, the twisted. We must leaf through
historians, fill ourselves with poets, study their images. When
the poet says, ''Vera inccssu patiiit dea,'' we must look for
this figure in ourselves. When he says, ''Summa placidum
caput extuUt unda/' ^we must model that head, feel what we
must take from it and what leave behind, understand gentle
and strong passions and represent them without grimaces.
Laocoon is suffering, but he does not grimace, although cruel

pain snakes from his toe to the top of his head. It affects us
deeply without evoking horror. Make it so that I can neither
stop my eyes nor tear them away from your canvas.
Do not mix smirks, grimaces, little turned-up corners of
mouths, little pinched snouts, and a thousand other childish
mannerisms with grace, and even less with expression.
^lake your head handsome, first of all. Passions are easier
to paint on a handsome face. When they are extreme, they
become only more terrible. The Eumenides of antiquity are

beautiful, and are consequently all the more terrifying. It is

when one is strongly attracted and repelled at the same time

that he feels the most uneasiness ; and this would be the effect

of a Eumenide who has retained traits of great beauty.

The oval of the face, elongated in a man, broad at the

top and narrowing at the bottom: characteristic of nobility.

The oval of the face, rounded in a woman, a child:
characteristic of youth, principle of grace.
A trait can heighten or detract from beauty by being
changed by so much as the breadth of a hair.

You must understand what grace is, or that strict and

precise conformity of the members with the nature of the

action. Above all, don't take it to be that of the actor or

the dancing master. Grace in action and Marcel's grace are

81
 ;

exactly contradictory. If Marcel met a man posed like An-

tinoiis, he would put one hand under his chin and the other
around his shoulders and say to him, "Come on, you big stoop,

do people stand like that?" Then, pushing the man's knees

back with his own and lifting him up under the arms, he
would add, ''You look as though you were made of wax
and were about to melt. Come on, dope, straighten up those
legs; put that face up, raise that nose a little." And when
he had made the most insipid fop out of him he would smile
at him and congratulate himself on his work.

If you lose your feeling for the difference between the

spectator and the participant, or the man who is alone and
the man who is being looked at, throw your brushes in the
fire. You will academicize, you will reform, you will stiffen

all your figures.

Do you want to feel that difference, my friend? You are

at home alone. You are waiting for my papers, which do not

come. You are thinking that a man's home is his castle. There
you are, stretched out on your straw-bottom chair, your arms
resting on your knees, your night cap pulled down over your
eyes or your hair disheveled and sloppily tucked up under a
curved comb, your dressing gown half-open and falling in
long folds on each side: you are altogether picturesque and
handsome. M. le Marquis de Castries is announced, and there
you go pushing up the night cap, closing the dressing gown
my man upright, all his members disposed nicely, putting on
his manners, giving himself the marcel treatment, making
himself very presentable for the visitor who is coming, very
unpresentable for the artist. A little while ago you were his
man now you
; aren 't.

A little corollary but what is the significance of all these principles if taste is

to tlie above a whimsical thing and if there is no eternal, immutable rule

for beauty ?
If taste is a whimsical thing, if there is no rule for beauty,
whence come those delightful emotions that rise so suddenly,
so involuntarily, so tumultuously in the depth of our souls,

that gladden or depress them, and that force from our eyes
tears of joy, pain, admiration, whether at seeing some great
physical phenomenon or on hearing of some great moral deed 1

82
A page, Sophista!^ You will never persuade my heart that
it is wrong to tremble, or my guts that they are wrong to stir.

The true, the good, and the beautiful stand very close
together. Add to one of the first two qualities some rare,
striking circumstance, and the true will be beautiful and the
good will be beautiful. As long as the solution to the three-
body problem is simply the movement of three given points
on a scrap of paper, this is nothing, it is a purely speculative
truth. But if one of these three bodies is the star that lights
us by day, the second the star that shines on us at night, and
the third the globe we inhabit, suddenly the truth becomes

great and beautiful.

One poet said to another, ''He will not go far; he does
not have the secret." What secret? That of choosing objects
of great interest fathers, mothers, spouses, women, children.
I see a high mountain covered with a dark, deep, ancient
forest. I see, I hear a torrent descend from it noisily, the

waters breaking against the sharp points of a rock. The sun

is going down; it transforms the drops of water hanging at-

tached to the uneven edges of the stones into so many dia-

monds. Yet when the waters have passed beyond the obstacles
that hinder them, they will flow together again in a huge,
wide canal, which will channel them toward a machine a cer-

tain distance away. There, under enormous weights, man's

most basic food is ground and prepared. I glimpse the ma-
chine, I glimpse its paddle wheels whitened with the water's
form; I glimpse the top of the proprietor's cottage through
some willows ; I draw into myself, and I dream.
Doubtless the forest that leads me back to the origin of

the world is a beautiful thing ; doubtless that rock, the image

of constancy and durability, is a beautiful thing; doubtless

those drops of water transformed by the sun's rays, splat-

tered and scattered into so many sparkling liquid diamonds,

are a beautiful thing; doubtless the noise, the tumult of a

torrent that breaks the vast silence of the mountain and its

solitude and gives my soul a violent shock, a secret terror,

is a beautiful thing!
But those willows, that cottage, those animals that graze
nearby doesn't this whole spectacle of utility add something
to my pleasure? And again, what a difference between the

83
 ;

feelings of an ordinary man and those of a philosopher! He

reflects, and he sees in the forest tree the mast that will one
day aim its proud head into tempest and winds; he sees in

the bowels of the mountain the crude ore that one day will

boil at the heart of red-hot furnaces and take the form of

machines both to work the earth and to destroy its inhabitants

he sees in the rock the masses of stone that will be used to

raise palaces for kings and temples to gods; he sees in the

torrent 's waters fertility and destruction alike for the country-

side, the formation of streams, rivers, commerce, the inter-

relation among the inhabitants of the universe, their treasures
carried from shore to shore and then dispersed across all the
continents; and his mobile soul will pass suddenly from the
gentle and caressing emotion of pleasure to a feeling of terror

if his imagination happens to raise the ocean's currents.

Thus will pleasure grow in proportion to imagination,
sensiti\4ty, and knowledge. Neither nature nor art, which
copies it, will say anything to a stupid or cold man, and little

to an ignorant man.
What is taste, now? A facility, acquired by repeated
experience, for seizing upon the true or the good along with
the circumstance that makes it beautiful, and for being quickly
and deeply touched by it.

If the experiences that form judgment are present in the

memory, one will have intelligent taste ; if the memories have

gone, leaving only impressions, one will have tact, instinct.
Michelangelo gave the dome of St. Peter's in Rome the
most beautiful form possible. The geometrician La Hire, struck
by this form, made a working drawing of it, and found that
this drawing represented the curve with the greatest resist-

ance. ^Yho inspired Michelangelo to choose this curve from

among an infinite number of others he could have chosen?
Life's everyday experience. This is what tells the master car-
penter, as surely as the sublime Euler, the angle of the support
with the wall that threatens ruin; this is what teaches him
to give the arm of the windmill the tilt most favorable for
rotation; this is what often introduces into his fine calcula-
tions elements that the geometry of the Academy could not
explain.
Experience and study, there are the preliminaries for

<5i
both him who makes and him who judges. I then require
sensitivity. But since we find men who practice justice, benefi-
cence, virtue simply out of an enlightened self-interest, out

of a spirit and sense of order, without feeling the joys and

delights, there can also be taste without sensitivity, as well as

sensitivity without taste. When sensitivity is extreme, it is

undiscriminating; everything moves it indistinctly. The first

[type of person] will tell you coldly: ''That is beautiful." The

second will be moved, transported, drunk:
. . . Etiam stillahit amicis

Ex oculis rorem; saliet, tundet pede terramJ

He will stammer he ; will not be able to find words to express

the state of his soul.

The happier is indisputably the latter. The better judge?
That's another matter. Cold men, severe and calm observers
of nature, often know better w^hich delicate strings must be
plucked; they make others enthusiastic, without being so
themselves; this is man and animal.
Reason sometimes rectifies rapid judgment and sensi-
tivity; it appeals their decisions. This is why so many pro-

ductions are almost forgotten as soon as they are applauded,

and so many others, either unappreciated or dismissed, later

receive the tribute they merit because of time, the progress

of the mind and the arts, or a calmer appraisal.

85
SIE JOSHUA REYNOLDS
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS (1723-1792), hom at Plympton,
England, was a great teacher rather than a great painter,
though he is considered a colorist of worth. He was a doctrine-
maker for the Royal Academy, hut he brought a marked
concern with discrimination and balance to the study and
imitation of the masters. His discerning principles, which
he formulated in his Discourses at the Academy, encompass
a high ideal of painting, and avoid all notion of servility.
In the interesting extract we give below, he proceeds,
prudently but very clearly, to present a critique of
naturalism and the ' ^
mechanicaV imitation of
*
reality,

and to eulogize poetry.

Discourses

WITH respect to the choice, no subject can be proper that is

not generally interesting. It ought to be either some eminent

instance of heroic suffering. There must be something, either

in the action or in the object, in which men are universally

concerned, and which powerfully strikes upon the public
sympathy. (IV)

IN a composition, when the objects are scattered and divided

into many equal parts, the eye is perplexed and fatigued,
from not knowing where to find the principal action, or which
is the principal figure ; for where all are making equal preten-
sions to notice, all are in equal danger of neglect.
The expression which is used very often on these occa-
sions is, the piece wants repose; a word which perfectly
expresses a relief of the mind from that state of hurry and
anxiety which it suffers when looking at a work of this
character.

86
 On the other hand, absolute unity that is, a large work,
consisting of one group or mass of light onlywould be as
defective as an heroic poem without episode, or any collateral
incidents to recreate the mind with that variety which it
always requires. . . .

THE same just moderation must be observed in regard to

ornaments; nothing will contribute more to destroy repose
than profusion, of whatever kind, whether it consists in the
multiplicity of objects, or the variety and brightness of
colours. On the other hand, a work without ornament, instead
of simplicity, to which it makes pretensions, has rather the
appearance of poverty.

ONE of the first rules, for instance, that I believe every master
would give to a young pupil, respecting his conduct and
management of light and shadow, would be what Leonardo
da Vinci has actually given; that you must oppose a light
ground to the shadowed side of your figure, and a dark ground

to the light side. If Leonardo had lived to see the superior

splendour and effect which has been since produced by the

exactly contrary conduct by joining light light and shadow to

to shadow though without doubt he would have admired it,

yet, as it ought not, so probably it would not be the first rule

with which he would have begun his instructions . . . (VIII)

I am very ready to allow that some circumstances of minute-

ness and particularity frequently tend to give an air of truth
to a piece, and to interest the spectator in an extraordinary
manner. Such circumstances, therefore, cannot wholly be re-

jected: but if there be anything in the Art which require

peculiar nicety of discernment, it is the disposition of these
minute circumstantial parts; which, according to the judg-

ment employed in the choice, become so useful to truth, or

so injurious to grandeur.

However, the usual and most dangerous error is on the

side of minuteness and, therefore, I think caution most neces-
:

sary where most have failed. The general idea constitutes real
excellence. All smaller things, however perfect in their way,

are to be sacrificed without mercy to the greater. The Painter

87
 :

will not inquire what things may be admitted without much

censure ; he will not think it enough to show that they may be
there ; he will show that they must be there : that their absence
would render his picture maimed and defective. (IV)

A h.iter to amongst the Painters and the writers on Painting, there is

tlie Idler one maxim universally admitted and continually inculcated.

Imitate Nature, is the invariable rule; but I know none who
have explained in what manner this rule is to be understood
the consequence of which is. that everyone takes it in the most
obvious sense that objects are represented naturally, when
they have such relief that they seem real. It may appear
strange, perhaps, to hear this sense of the rule disputed : but
it must be considered, that if the excellency of a Painter
consisted only in this kind of imitation. Painting must lose

its rank, and be no longer considered as a liberal art, and

sister to Poetry: this imitation being merely mechanical, in
which the slowest intellect is always sure to succeed best : for
the Painter of genius cannot stoop to drudgery, in which the
understanding has no part : and what pretence has the Art
to claim kindred with Poetry, but by its power over the imagi-
nation? To this power the Painter of genius directs his aim:
in this sense he studies Nature, and often arrives at his end,

even by being unnatural, in the confined sense of the word.

(No. 79)

88
LOUIS DAVID
LOUIS DAVID (1748-1825), horn in Paris, tvas the leader
of the Neoclassical School. He had a profound influence on
his contemporaries. If he was the instigator of an insipid
academicism against ivhich all the great painters of the
succeeding generation would rebel, he was no less a violent
opponent of academies, and his utterances on his art often
show him committed to painting that rejected polish, man-
nerism, ^'literatur,'' routine, conventions. He wanted to
paint for everybody, and inclination prompted by the
moment and his republican sentiments. His ideas
in history
on painting derive from classicism, as revived by the French
Revolution, and show him as a democratized Foussin.
We publish here David's "Freface to the Exhibition of
'The Rape of the Sahines,' '' and some observations of his
reported by Faillot de Montabert and David's son, or quoted
by E.-J. Delecluze and Alcide Gaboriaux.

Preface to the Exhibition

of '^The Rape of the Sahines'^

ANTIQUITY has not ceased to be the great school for modern

painters and the source from which they draw the beauties
of their art. We seek to imitate antiquity in genius of con-
ceptions, purity of design, facial expressions, grace of forms.
Couldn't we take an additional step, and imitate it also in its

manners and institutions, to carry the arts to their ultimate

perfection ?
There is nothing new in a painter's exposing his works
to the view of his fellow citizens by charging an individual
contribution. The scholar Abbe Barthelemy, writing of the

famous Zeuxis in his Travels of the Young Anacharsis in

Greece, takes the occasion to observe that this painter earned

89
so mnch money from the contributions he received from ex-

hibits of his works that he often gave his masterpieces to the

state, saying that no individnal was in a position to pay for

them. In this connection. Barthelemy cites the testimony of
Elien and Pansanias. These prove to ns that public exposition
of works of painting was practiced among the Greeks; and
snrely, with respect to the arts, we shonld not be afraid of
going astray if we follow in their footsteps.
In OUT time, this practice is observed in England, where
it is caUed exJiibiiion.^ The pictnres of the death of General
Wolfe and Lord Chatham, painted by onr contemporary
[Benjamin] West, have brought him enormous sums in that
coimtry. Exhibition was common there long ere this, and was
introduced during the last century by Van Dyck. whose works
the public flocked to admire he came by a considerable fortune
;

this way.

Isn't it as equitable as it is wise to provide means by

which the arts may stand alone, support themselves out of
their self -earned resources, and enjoy the noble independence
which is suitable to genius and without which the flame that
feeds genius soon dies? From another standpoint, what better
way [for the artist] to procure an honorable share of the
fruits of his labor than to submit it to the judgment of the
public, and to expect as recompense only the welcome they
are willing to give it f If the production is mediocre, the public
judgment will quickly do justice to it. The creator, receiving

neither glory nor remuneration, will leam from harsh expe-

rience how to correct his faults and capture the attention of
Hs viewers by more worthy conceptions.
Of aU the arts that genius professes, painting is un-
deniably the one that demands the greatest sacriflce. It is not
unusual to spend three or four years finishing a historical
picture. I will not go into any detail on the preli mi nary ex-
penses the painter is obliged to assume. The single item of
costumes and models is very costly. You may rest assured
that these difficulties have discouraged any number of paint-
ers; and we have perhaps lost many a masterpiece that the
genius of several of them has conceived of but that their
poverty has prevented them from executing. I will go further
and ask, how many honest and upright painters, who would
90
never have lent their brushes to any but noble and moral
subjects, have degraded and vilified themselves because of
need? They have prostituted themselves for the money of
PhrjTies and Lais ;
^ their indigence alone has made them
guilty ; and their talent, intended to fortify respect for moral-
ity, has helped corrupt it.

How good it would be, how happy I would be if, by

giving an example of public exposition, I could help it be-
come a custom !
if this practice could furnish men of talent
the means of overcoming their poverty, and if, in consequence
of this first benefit, I could help reorient the arts toward
their true objective, which is to serve morality and elevate
souls, by making those in the audience experience the gen-
erous sentiments called up by artistic works! It is a great
gift to be able to stir the human heart ; and this means might
give a great impetus to the public energy- and the national
character. Who could deny that the French people are pres-
ently strangers to the arts, and that they live among them
without participating in them ? When a rare work of painting

or sculpture was created, it immediately became the posses-

sion of some rich person who often procured it at a modest
price, and who, possessive about his exclusive property, al-

lowed only a small circle of friends to see it ; the rest of

society was denied [this privilege]. At the very least, if the

system of public exposition were promoted, the people could

share in the riches of genius for a small sum; they would
become educated in the arts, toward which they are not so

indifferent as some seem to believe ; their insights would grow,

their taste be formed; and though they are not sufficiently

trained to discern the subtleties or dem.ands of art, their

judgment, always inspired by nature and always begotten

by feeling, could often gratify and even guide a creator who
knew how to appreciate it.

Moreover, what regret and what pain it causes (to men

sincerely devoted to the arts and to their country) to see

numerous national treasures of great value be sent to foreign

nations with their country of origin having hardly known
them! Public exposition tends to keep masterpieces in the
fortunate land where they were born ; by this means we may
hope to see a revival of the golden age of Greece, when an

91
 ;

artist, content with the sums he garnered through the pay-

ments of his fellow citizens, was happy to make a gift to his

country of these same masterpieces it had admired; after

honoring it with his talents, he ended by deserving well of it

because of his generosity.

The objection may well be raised that each people have
their customs, and that the custom of public exposition for

art objects has never been introduced in France. I answer

first that I am not of a mind to explain human contradictions
but I ask whether a dramatic author does not give his work
the greatest possible public exposure, and whether he does
not receive a part of the spectators ' money in exchange for the

emotions or the various pleasures he evokes with his depictions

of sufferings or comic situations. I ask whether a composer of
music, who has given soul and life to a lyric poem, blushes
at sharing the profits from its performance with the author
of the words. Can what is honorable for some be shameful for
others? And if the various arts form but one family, cannot
all artists consider themselves brothers, and follow the same
procedures to gain fame and fortune ?
I answer further that one must hasten to do something
as yet undone if good will result. What is stopping us from
introducing a custom into the French Republic that has a
precedent in Greece and in modern nations? Our prejudiced
men of old no longer oppose the exercise of public liberty.

The nature and direction of our ideas have changed since the
Revolution; and we will hopefully not revert to the false

delicacy that suppressed genius so long. For myself, I know

of no honor greater than that of having the public as judge.
I fear neither prejudice nor partiality on their part; their
contributions are voluntary gifts that prove their liking for
the arts ; their praises are the free expression of the pleasure
they feel ; and such returns certainly equal those of academic
times.
The thoughts I have put forward, as also the system of
public exhibition, which I will have been the first to assay,
have been prompted mainly by my desire to procure for artists
who work as painters the means of earning compensation for
the use of their time and the expenses they have incurred,
and to furnish them with a buffer against poverty, which is
too often their sad lot. I have been encouraged and helped
in these views by the government, which, on this occasion,

has given me great proof of the broad protection it tenders

the arts by providing me with premises for my exposition,
along with other noteworthy considerations. But my recom-
pense will be most gratifying if, because the public comes to
enjoy my picture, I can open a useful path to other artists

which will encourage them and thus assist the advancement

of art and the elevation of morality, which we should always
keep before us as our aim.
As I have now declared my true intentions, it remains
for me only to give the public an explanatory note on the
subject I present for its viewing.
. . . ament meminisse periti.^

Observations
FOR a painter, an idea is just an intention, a vague project,
if he has not been able to give it a body and make it simul-
taneously understandable and moving by means of sure-
handed and skillful execution. There are people who have
exceedingly good ideas, but are incapable of making them
materialize ; it is as though they did not have them. Thus it is

certain, despite the opinion of some informed men, that a

painter like Masaccio, for instance, who hardly did more than
paint excellent studies or portraits, was truly a greater painter,
a greater artist, than a crowd of composers on canvas like
Vasari and others.

IN my pictures, I would like for one to be able to take out a

figure w^ithout spoiling the arrangement of the whole.

IT is not necessary to be more attentive to tints than to forms.

As it is difficult to change something from bad

to good,

so when a thing is good it cannot easily be changed to bad.

Thus, when one knows how to draw, application to color takes

nothing away from the drawing.

I want a painter to be just as much on his mettle after twenty

years as he was the first day ; for then he will be skillful but

his facility will not be routine.

98
 ;

TO paint over a section without scraping clean "onderneatli

makes a bad piece of work: the paint comes tkrongh and

spoils [it].

CARE, attention, effort. . . .

However, not too mncli finishing: for. as Doyen used to

say. ''The finishing, my children, does not finish." The valne

of the tones and the vigor of the strokes must be calculated
for the planes of perspective and combined with the distance
from which the picture will be seen: this is what constitutes
finishing.

AX academy is like a barbershop : you cannot come out of it

without powder on your clothes. How much time do you lose

forgetting those conventional poses and movements with which
its professors stretch a model's chest, like a chicken carcass?
The model himself, with their manipulations, is not free of
their manner. They will doubtless teach you to make your
torso, then at length your trade ; for they make a trade of
painting: as for me. I despise the trade as if it were mud.
(Quoted by J. David)

A m.an who does shepherds exceptionally weU. will make a fool

of himself if he tries to paint heros. One must examine him-
self, know himself, and then proceed without forcing himself.
(Quoted by E.-J. Delecluze)

BE true first, and then noble.

I know painters who do not know how to paint men and
who pretend to climb to the sky to paint gods.
There are some who. trying to paint a model, make some-
thing uglier than him, and who, trying to rise above the model,
draw nothing better than ordinary.
It is not hard to draw more or less weU from an idea
but what is hard is to do something beautiful and natural in
following a model. '^tVhen one doesn't love nature, he makes
it base and trivial.
You can study the masters: but nature alone, not the
masters, must be followed ; in following it, you will do well,
like them.

H
 A mannerist is incapable of seeing clearly in the presence
of a model.
Why is one most often stymied? Because he does not
want to cede to nature, but rather to follow his head and his
ideas of procedure.

I like what they call style, but I do not like manner.

95
JEAN-BAPTISTE DUBOS
JEAN-BAPTISTE DUBOS (1670-1742), hoTu at Beauvais,
is famous for Ms work Critical Reflections on Poetry and
Painting, and Music. An advocate of reasonableness in art, Tie

nonetheless had some presentiment of depths in art

unknown in his time, which he designated by the word
feeling. This opened the door to the subjective content of

painting and laid siege to the objectivity propounded

in the academic conception, whose criteria remained
impersonal.

THE principal aim of painting is to touch us. A work that

touches us deeply must be excellent on the whole. For the
same reason, the work that touches us not at all and that
does not engage us is worthless ; and if a critical examination
finds nothing that breaks the rules to reprove, the reason is

that a work can be bad without breaking the rules, as a work

that breaks the rules in many ways can be excellent.

FEELING teaches much better, if the work touches us, than all

the dissertations written by critics. The way of discussion and

analysis which these gentlemen use is indeed good, when it is

a matter of discovering the reasons a work pleases or does not

please ; but this way does not equal the way of feeling when
it is a matter of deciding that question.

SINCE the principal charm of poetry and painting, even the

very power of moving and pleasing, proceeds from the imita-
tions of objects capable of engaging us; the greatest im-
prudence a poet or painter can commit, is to chuse for a
principal object of imitation, such things as we should look
upon with an eye of indifference in nature ; or to employ their

96
 art in the description of such actions, as would draw only a
middling attention, were we really to behold them. How is it

possible for us to be touched with the copy of an original,

when the original itself is incapable of moving us?

WE commend the painter's art in copying nature so well, but

we disapprove of his choice of objects that have so little in
them to engage us.

I call picturesque composition, the arrangement of such objects

as are to have place in a picture with regard to the general

effect of the piece. A good picturesque composition is that,

whereof the first glance produces a great effect, pursuant to

the painter's intention, and to the end he had in view. For
this purpose a picture ought not to be embarrassed with fig-

ures, tho' it should have enough to fill up the picture. The

objects ought to be easy to be disintricated ; wherefore the
figures should not maim one another, by hiding mutually one
half of their heads, or of some other parts of the body, which
the subject requires to be rendered visible. 'Tis proper also
that the group be well composed; that their light be dis-
tributed judiciously; and that the local colors, instead of
destroying one another, be disposed in such a manner, as the
whole may afford of itself an agreeable harmony to the eye.

The poetic composition is an ingenious disposition of the

figures, calculated to render the action it represents, more
moving and probable. It requires that all the personages be
connected by a principal action ; . . . The rules of painting are

as much averse to duplicity of action, as those of dramatic

poetry.

JEAN-BAPTISTE OUDEY
jEAN-BAPTiSTE OUDRY (1686-1755), hom in Paris, was
a painter of animals and engraver wlio followed faitJifully
the principles of Ms teacher Nicolas de Largilliere
(1656-1746).

MONSIEUR LARGILLIERE . . . told me One momiug that one

should sometimes paint flowers; I went to find some, and I

97
thought I had done very well to bring back some of every color.

When he saw them he said to me: "It's to teach you

color better that I proposed this study ; but do you think the
variety you've just chosen is quite right to achieve that aim?

Go along.
'
' he continued,
'
' and bring back a bunch of flowers
that are all white." I obeyed immediately. ^Yhen I had put
them before me, he came and stood in my place he set them ;

against a light background, and began by pointing out to me

that, on the shadow side, they were very brown against that
background, and, on the daylight side, they stood out clearly
on it in halftones that were rather light for the most part.
Next, he took my palette up to the light parts of these flowers,

which were very white, and demonstrated to me that my white

was still whiter ; he showed me at the same time that in this

clump of white flowers the light parts, which needed to be

painted with a purer white, were not numerous compared with

the places that were in halftones, and that even then there
were very few of the flrst. He led me to see that this was what
made for the roundness of the bouquet, and that this principle

determined the roundness of every other object to which one

wanted to give this appearance of relief; that is. this effect

could only be produced with large halftone areas and never

by extending the lightest parts. After that, he had me notice
the very strong touches of brown that could be seen in the
middle of the shadows and the places where these touches
were free of reflections. "Few of our painters," he told me,
'

' have dared reproduce the effect you see there, though nature
shows it to them at every turn. Remember," he added, "that
this is one of the great keys to the magic of chiaroscuro ; re-

member too always to take advantage of the shadowed side

so as not to drown yourself in the light areas, not to extend

them or load them Tsdth color to make your object shine out;
and finally, take it as a general rule that in ever^-thing you
might do using this artifice, you must never try to do it with
the thickness of the paint, because being laid onto a flat sur-

face, it could not help your effort but could only hurt it,

except in certain very rare cases."

. . . WHTH this story, you can see the truth of what I have just
told you, that there is no object in nature so small that we

98
 cannot draw great insights from it by studying it with care
and according to valid principles. . . .

GIAMBATTISTA PASSERI
GiAMBATTiSTA p.\ssERi (1610-1679) was fl hiograpliev of fhe
painters of the Roman School of the second half of the
seventeenth century.

THE painter's most essential prerequisite is good draftsman-

ship, because this is the principal pillar of his art; after this

comes coloring, by which he must express everything that is

comprised in his imitation of nature. Invention is the most

significant quality of the imagination; it is essential for
composition; [invention] is the bearer of expression, of the
nobility and appropriateness of what is represented, and finally
of that whole conception of harmony which the consistency of
all the constituents creates. {Vite del Pittori)

WILLIAM HOGARTH
WILLIAM HOGARTH (1697-1764), lom in London, is commonly
considered the inventor of caricature. The frequent repro-
duction of his pictures ''The Shrimp Girl," and his
series ''A Harlot's Progress" and ''A Rake's Progress" has
made his nume familiar to the public at large. Specialists
make happy sport of his theories, which he expressed
in the ambitiously titled work The Analysis of Beauty. Some
do not share this scorn, and we also feel it is unjustified. The
naturalistic viewpoint which he professed in his time and
which constituted a rebellion against all academicism
is meritorious.

Preface: intricacy in form, therefore, I shall define to be that pecu-

of intricacy liarity in the lines, which compose it, that leads the eye a

wanton kind of chace, and from the pleasure that gives the

99
 ;

mind, intitles it to the name of beautiful : and it may be justly

said, that the cause of the idea of grace more immediately
resides in this principle, than in the other five, except variety
which indeed includes this, and all others.

IN a word, it may be said, the art of composing well is the art

of varjdng well.
There is no object composed of straight lines, that has so
much variety, with so few parts, as the pyramid: and it is

its constantly varying from its base gradually upwards in

every situation of the eye, (without giving the idea of same-
ness, as the eye moves round it) that has made it been esteemed
in all ages, in preference to the cone, which in all views
appears nearly the same, being varied only by light and shade.

. . . THE utmost beauty of colouring depends on the great

principle of varying, and on the proper and artful union of
that variety ; which may be farther proved by supposing the
rules here laid down, all or any part of them reversed. I am
apt to believe, that the not knowing nature's artful, and
intricate method of uniting colours for the production of the
variegated composition, or prime tint of flesh, hath made
colouring, in the art of painting, a kind of mystery in all
ages; inasmuch, that it may fairly be said, out of the many
thousands who have labour 'd to attain it, not above ten or
twelve painters have happily succeeded therein, ....

JEAN-BAPTISTE-SIMEON CHARDIN
JEAN-BAPTISTE-SIMEON CHARDiN (1699-1779), hom in Pavis,
is perliaps tlie greatest French painter of tlie eigJiteentli

century. He hrougJit everyday subjects of tlie utmost sim-

plicity into painting, and is tlie fatlier of modern still life.

He felt constrained to approach Ms subject witli a

completely fresh eye, cleansed of all learned responses, of
any manner other than his own. Chardin personified the school
of simplicity, and was at the same time the first painter
to find himself alone in confrontation with his model.

100
 hi this regard, lie was not a naturalist hut a painter who
directed a pure and honest gaze at the things that surrounded
him. And he imbued the humblest of these things with
profound pictorial dignity.

BY the means and effect of color, the most ordinary things can
be made interesting and a masterpiece can be painted of a pot
and some fruit. But how to arrive at this 1 One looks, scratches,

rubs, glazes, one paints over, and when that I-don't-know-what

has been captured, the picture is done. (Quoted by Charles
Blanc)

ONE uses colors, but one paints with feeling. {Eloge de Char din
by Haillet de Couronne)

TO be concerned only with making [an object] true, I have to

forget everything I have seen and even the way others have
treated the object. I must put it far enough away so that I no
longer see the details. (Quoted by C.-N. Cochin in Essai sur
la vie de Chardin)

CHARLES-JOSEPH NATOIRE
CHARLES-JOSEPH NATOIRE (1700-1777), bom at Ntmes, was
often reproached for being mannered until the day when he
and his faults were forgotten. Actually, he was an adversary
of the naturalism of his time. Curiously enough, this opinion
of him has become a commonplace in modern painting.

WHAT good is it to paint according to nature? Can nature

furnish figures in the background and beyond ? How hard it is

to take a model and copy it! (Quoted by 0. Mersow)

CLAUDE-JOSEPH VERNET
CLAUDE-JOSEPH VERNET (1714-1789), bom at Avignon,
is known for his seascapes. He was a fast and
vigorous painter,

101
 who withal did not neglect his composition. His taste
and
his search for ^'general harmony^* saved him from the
pitfalls of detail and labored painting. In some respects he
was a forerunner of Romanticism's torment. If his paint-
ings do not show genius, his works are nonetheless worth
more than the sparse attention he has unjustly heen given.

I am not accustomed to making sketches for my pictures. My

habit is to work directly on the canvas of the picture I am
to make and paint it immediately so as to profit by the heat
of my imagination; moreover, the space makes me see in a

glance what I must do with it, and makes me arrange [my

picture] accordingly. I am sure that if I made a little sketch,

not only would I not put in it what would be in the picture,

but I would expend all my fire on it and the whole picture

would become cold for certain. This would also be a sort of

copj'ing, which would bother me. . . . Thus, I weigh and

examine everything for the good of the thing; I must be left

free. This I ask of all those for whom I want to do my best.

(Letter to M. de Marigny)

CHARLES-NICOLAS COCHIN
CHARLES-NICOLAS COCHIN (1715-1790), lom in Paris, is a
*
^ philosopher" -painter in the eighteenth-century style.

For his time, he had firm notions on landscape and costume

in painting.

AS far as possible, I would like to see [a painter] not study

landscapes without the support of [his] colors, because they
lead one to imitate all the effects without taking license. Oil
paint really demands too many precautions and too much
time ; but he could use pastels or gouache. Pastels are hard to
use for delicate foliage ; nonetheless, with practice, this dif-
ficulty can be surmounted; moreover, the attempts made in
this regard will teach as much as easier methods could. Fur-
thermore, since the delicate foliage nature displays cannot be

102
 ;

drawn in detail, [an artist] must develop a manner of showing

it in masses and with a touch that simply indicates it, and
it is not at all impossible to do this with pastels. (Discourse
at Rouen, 1777)

THE effect of light and color is one of the most essential things,
and is what the painter always needs most. He may note the
effect that objects have at various times of day, especially in
the evening and the morning; for these are ordinarily the
hours the historical painter is supposed to represent, and one
would hardly risk noon, when the glare of the light is too

sharp and the shadows too short and contrasting. He must

observe the tones of color the light areas take at these different
times, the effect the shadows produce on them, and where they
are strongest. I would prefer our study of landscape to be

only a rough draft as to details, but to incorporate the true

effect of light and shadow. {Lettre a un jeune artiste)

ANTOX RAPHAEL MENGS

ANTON RAPHAEL MENGS (1728-1779), hom in Aussig,
Germany, was a painter very renowned in his time, hut Jiis
fame ended with the century. Neoclassicism, of which he ivas
one of the principal craftsmen, found the means of sur-
viving in the works of others. His ideas on the perfection
of art are nonetheless not dry intellectualizings, and some
sections of his writings, condemning the injurious effects

of Baroquism, deserve to he reread.

On invention invention is the most far-reaching constituent of Painting,

and by it the genius and talents of each Painter can be judged

it is even the poetical [content] of this art. To the last brush-

stroke, the artist must hold in view the first idea he has chosen

for a piece of painting. It is not enough for him to draw a

good idea and to cover a great expanse of canvas with a lot

of figures if they do not all serve to explain the first and

primary idea, if the whole of the work does not express and

108
 clearly develop the idea of the subject for the spectator's eyes
so as to incline his soul to be moved by the expression and

postures of the principal figures. It will be useless to use

strained expressions and forced poses to make oneself out as

a genius of an inventor ; on the contrary, all exaggeration is

absolutely opposed to good invention.

Composition means the art of interrelating in the most
appropriate manner all the objects chosen with the help of
invention. These two constituents must never be separated,
for the best thoughts and the most ingenious invention will
have little charm if the composition is not good. Beauty of
[composition] depends mainly on the variety, oppositions,
contrast, and arrangement of all the constituents that enter

into the plan of a work. With all this, invention must order
all parts of the composition properly, each one according to
its own distinction.

BEAUTY in color requires an exact imitation of local color, or

a careful observation of tones ; that is, the same tones must be

preserved everywhere in the light parts and in the shadows,
as well as in the halftones ; each color or tint must lose strength
by degrees, as the light dims or as air intervenes between the
objects and our eyes to produce the effect; and finally, there

must be perfect harmony among the colors, and they must

reflect all the accidents that are seen in nature, so that the

color will be beautiful, brilliant, mellow, strong, and mild.

(Letter to M. Ponz)

IN Painting, touch means the handling of the brush and the

paints. Every object supposedly seen at some distance must
be shown more indistinctly, because of the interposition of the
surrounding air, than those that are near us. ... A Painter
has a good touch [when it is] vigorous, smooth, facile, delicate,
broad, etc. . . .

General rules PAINTING nas different parts, as well general as particular.

to judge of the Some are so essential that without them no one can call himself
merit of painters a Painter ; others render the possessors more precious or more
distinct, more common or more trivial.

The quality most necessary is the imitation of all things,

104>
 which can be conceived and represented in a moment. The
second consists in the ideal, that is, in the representation of
things which have no original from whence the Painter has
;

to represent in according to the conception which he has of it

in his mind, without its having passed by way of the senses.
In order to arrive to the first degree, which is nothing
more than simple imitation, it is sufficient to have the sight
exact, and not to be deceived in the object which one has to
copy. For the ideal part it requires much talent, and great
imagination.
This last part, when Painting first began, was not able
to arrive to that point which it reached afterwards, for this
simple reason, that the ideal part is the perfection of the Art,
and no Art can be perfect in the beginning.

GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSING

GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM LESSiNG (1729-1781), hovu in Kameuz,
Saxony, ivas ilie clianipion of ''ideal heaufij," tlie battle
horse of the German Classicists. His principles led him to
touch upon a conception of "pure*' painting which
forecasts a distant and paradoxical disciple: Kandinsky.

... IF painting, in virtue of her signs or the methods of her

imitation, which she can combine only in space, must wholly
renounce time, then continuous actions as such cannot be reck-
oned among her subjects; but she must content herself with
actions set side by side, or with mere bodies which by their
attitudes can be supposed an action.

. . . SUCCESSION in time is the sphere of the poet, as space is

that of the painter.

THE expression, the representation of the historical fact that

was chosen, Avas never the primary aim of the painter. History
was only a means for him. His final aim was to paint diver-

sified beauty.

105
 Modern painters have done the contrary ; with them, the
means have apparently become the end. They paint history to

paint history. And they do not think that in acting this way
they reduce their art to the status of a mere auxiliary to the

other arts and the sciences, or at least that the help of these
arts and these sciences becomes indispensable to them, that

their art loses all the value, all the dignity of a primary art.

To express corporeal beauty is the aim of painting.

Supreme corporeal beauty is therefore its supreme aim.

SALOMON GESSXER
SALOMON GESSXER (1730-1788), hom at Zuricli, icas a painter
and poet. His affection for landscapes icas not enough in
itself to make him a great artist. Xonetheless, in his

Letter on Landscape, he showed himself capable of taking

up the cudgels against labored painting and a narrow
conception of naturalisyn.

MY penchant fixed me on landscapes. I earnestly sought the

means of satisfying my desires ; and, puzzled at what path
'
I should take, I said, ' There is only one model ; there is only
'

one master, ' and I set myself to drawing according to nature ;

but I soon learned that this great and sublime master ex-
plained himself clearly only to those who have learned to

understand him. My determination to follow him exactly in

every way led me astray ; I became lost in minute details that

destroyed the effect of the whole; I could not grasp that

manner which expresses the tnie character of objects without
being slavish or labored. My trees were dryly executed, and
did not form coherent masses : the whole was chopped up with
graceless detail work ; in a word, my eye, bent too fixedly on a
point, was not at all trained to embrace a space.

I did not have that skill which adds or subtracts in the areas
that human effort cannot reach. The first progress I made was
therefore to recognize that I was making none; the next was

106
 to refer myself to the great masters and the principles they
established in their precepts or their works; and isn't this
step natural in all the arts?

WOE to artists and poets who are cringing slaves to their

models! They arp like one's shadow, which follows the body
in its slightest movements. {Lettre sur la paysage)

JOHAXX HEIXRICH FUSSLI

JOHAxx HEixRicH FtJssLi (1741-1825), Called Henry Fuseli
in Englishy horn in Zuricli, took himself at an early age
to England, where he studied under Reynolds. He was a
Romantic painter who went so far as to treat dream subjects,
which relates him to Goya. His "Nightmare'' is widely
known. Fuseli was a good friend of William Blake's.

THE principle of invention is form in its largest meaning, that

is, the visible universe which surrounds our senses and its

counterpart, the invisible universe which appears only to our

mind. The mind discovers, selects, combines the possible and
the probable, so as to create a striking effect of truth and
novelty. The possible, strictly speaking, signifies an effect

resulting from a cause, a body composed of material elements,

a combination of forms which imply neither contradiction nor
absurdity among themselves. But relative to art, the possible

takes on a broader sense : it means forms composed of elements

which are heterogeneous and incompatible of themselves, but

made plausible to our senses ... to the point that the ancients
represented what seems impossible.

FEANCISCO DE GOYA
FRAXCISCO JOSE DE GOYA Y LUCIENTES (1746-1828), hom at
Fuendetodos, Spain, was one of those rare painters who was
able to reconcile his genius with the painting of topical

107
smhjedM. Ru wmk, pmrt mf wMdk dewmUi U
wmmcmimm ff cmt m dD tfs

U o mDmianc twmuipimm ff w^^tHy B

riM> ry mi m Kftadk
I t
-

f Jbttlwy ii4 a Urran &f fke

-

pimf Om rde mf

-
eiFTir:-: -
tL--

rriy.n J_

- - ^ - > ^ - ' ~ - 7 I^z'It^? . i~*.{ rZZ'Z'*,^^ rofTTf:

:
-
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108
 ; ;

THE ancients said that to make a great painter, three conditions

were necessary:
elevation of the mind;
freedom of brush (execution)
a conception of things.

SINCE olden times, man has copied the form of things; from
the sky he took the sun, the moon, and the stars, and from the
earth mountains, trees, fish, and then houses, fields ; and these
images, simplified, modified, and distorted, became the char-
acters of writing. But he who is called a draftsman must
respect the original form of things, and when he draws houses,
palaces, temples, it is essential for this draftsman to know
how the structures are fitted together.

THE colors must be neither too turgid nor too light, and the
brush must be held flat ; otherwise it will do sloppy things

the coloring water light rather than dark, because it would

harden the tone ; the outline never too sharp, but very
gradated; the paint used only when it has rested and when
the powder that has risen to the surface has been cleared

awa}'; the paint blended with the finger, and never with the
brush; color laid only onto the dark shadow lines, for there

alone can color be superimposed.

THERE is old black and fresh black, brilliant black and dull
black, black in light and black in shadow. For old black, red

must be mixed with it ; for fresh black, blue ; for dull black,

white; for brilliant black, an addition of glue; for black in

light, gray reflections must be given it.

THE tone called the tone of the smile, warai-guma, is used on

women's faces to give them the flesh color of life, and is also

used for coloring flowers. To make this tone, here is what

to do : take some mineral red, shoyen-ji, melt this red in boiling
water, and let the solution rest ; this is a secret that painters

do not tell.

THE ancients declared that mountains are made to the height

of ten feet, trees to the height of one foot. (Quoted by E.

de Goncourt)

109
The Nineteenth Century

TO EXPRESS HOPE BY SOME STAR, THE EAGERNESS

OF A SOUL BY A SUNSET RADIANCE. CERTAINLY
THERE IS NO DELUSIVE REALISM IN THAT, BUT
isn't it SOMETHING THAT ACTUALLY EXISTS?
Yan GogJi
GEOEG WILHELM FKIEDRICH HEGEL
GEORG WILHELM FRiEDRicH HEGEL (1770-1831), hom at Stutt-
gart, is the philosopher who indubitably formulated the
highest idea of art. In it he saw the spirit that frees itself
from forms and from the containment of finiteness, the
presence and reconciliation of the absolute in the sensible
and apparent, an unfolding of truth which is not drained off
as natural history, but which is revealed in universal
history, of which it is the most beautiful aspect, the best
recompense for the conscious mind's hard work with
reality and its laborious efforts, hi this connection, he
attaches particular importance to painting, which shows us
the objective and subjective worlds better than does sculpture.
The reader will follow this train of thought in the excerpt
from Hegel we give below. We could add a thousand
comments to it; it would support and nourish them. Let us
point out,among others, the passage where Hegel prophesies
modern painting with remarkable accuracy, when he tells us
that painting must reach the point where ^' every content
is a matter of indifference'' and the picture appears as pure
"phenomenalism."

The Philosophy of Fine Art

General character AFTER having thus emphasized as the essential principle of
of the art painting that world of the soul in its vitality of feeling,
of painting conception, and action cast in embrace round heaven and
earth, in the variety of its manifestations and external dis-

closures within the bodily frame, and affirmed on this account

that the focus and centre of this art is to be sought for in
romantic and Christian art, it may immediately occur to the
reader that not only do we find excellent artists among the
ancients, who are as distinguished in this art as others of
their age in sculpture and we cannot praise them more

113
highly but also that other peoples, notably the Chinese,

Hindoos, and Egyptians, have secured distinction in the

direction of painting. Without question the art of painting is,

by virtue of the variety of the objects treated and the par-

ticular type of its manner of execution, less restricted (than

sculpture) in the range of nations that exemplify its pursuit.

This, however, is not the point at issue. 1:2 our question is

simply that of the historian doubtless we find single examples

of one type of painting or another have been produced at

the most varied epochs by the nations already mentioned and
others. It is, however, a profounder question altogether when
we ask ourselves what is the principle of painting, examine
the means of its exposition and in doing so seek to establish

that content, which by virtue of its own nature is emphatically

consonant with the painter ^s art as such and its mode of

presentment, so that we can affirm the form thus selected

to be wholly adequate to the content in question. We have

but little left us of the painting of the ancient world, examples,
in fact, which we see can neither have formed part of the most
consummate work of antiquity in this respect, nor have been
the product of its most famous masters. At least all that has

been discovered through excavation in private houses is of

this character. It is impossible, however, not to admire the
delicacy of taste, the suitability of the objects selected, the
clearness of the grouping, and, we may add, the lightness of
the handling and freshness of the colouring, excellences which
without doubt were present in the originals of such pictures
in a far higher degree, in imitation of which, for example,
the wall paintings in the so-called house of the tragedian at
Pompeii have been executed. We have, unfortunately, no
examples of the works of famous masters. Whatever degree of
excellence, however, these more original productions attained,
we may none the less affirm that the ancients could not, along-
side of the unmatched beauty of their sculptures, have lifted
the art of painting to the level of artistic elaboration as
painting which we find secured in the Christian era of the
Middle Ages, and pre-eminently in the sixteenth and seven-
teenth centuries. And we may assume this to be so on the
philosophical ground that the most genuine heart of the Greek
outlook is, in a degree which is inapplicable to the other arts,

lli
concordant with the root and fragrance of that which sculpture
and sculpture alone can supply. And we are not entitled
in art

to separate spiritual content mode of presentation.

from its

If, having this clear to our minds, we inquire how it is that

painting only reached its most characteristic consummation
through the content of the romantic type of art, we can but
reply that it is precisely the intimacy of feeling, the blessed-
ness and pain that give to us the soul of this profounder
content, whose demand is for such a vital infusion, which
has paved the way to and in fact been the cause of this higher
perfection of painting.
As an example of what I mean I will recall to recollection

one particular instance already cited, namely, that we borrow

from Raoul-Rochettc of the treatment of Isis carrying Horus
on her knees. In general the subject is identical with the Ma-
donna pictures, a Divine mother and her child. The difference

of handling and conception in the two cases, however, is im-

measurable. The Egyptian Isis, as we find her thus situated

on bas-reliefs, has nothing maternal about her, no tenderness,

no trait of soul or emotion, such as is not even wholly absent
in the stiffer Byzantine pictures of the Madonna. And if we
think of Raphael, or any other great Italian master, what
results have they not achieved from this subject of the Mother
and Christ -babe! What depth of emotion, what spiritual
life, what intimacy and wealth of heart, what exaltation and
endearment, how human and yet how entirely filled with
divine spirit is the soul which speaks to us from every line

and feature. And under what infinite variety of forms and

situations is this one subject presented to us even by particular
masters taken singly and still more by different artists. The
mother, the pure Virgin, the physical, the spiritual beauty,
loftiness, and devotion of love, all this and countless other
features are emphasized in their turn as the main significance
of the expression. But chief of all we find throughout that
it is not the sensuous beauty of mere form, but the animate
life of Spirit, by virtue of which artistic genius no less than
mastery of execution is asserted and secured. Now it is quite
true that Greek art has passed a long way beyond Egyptian
art, and we may add that it has made the expression of man's
soul an object aimed for. But it was not capable of grasping

115
that intimacy and depth of emotion which is discovered to us
in the Christian type of expression, and indeed was careful, in

accordance with its entire character, not to attach itself to

such intensity of feeling. Take, for instance, the case I have

more than once already cited of the faun, who carries the

youthful Bacchus in his arms; it is, no doubt, expressive of

extremely tender and amiable qualities. The nymphs are
equally so who tend upon Bacchus, a situation which is
depicted by a gem in a very beautiful group of figures.
In such cases we have an analogous sentiment of unconstrained
love for a child, equally free from passion and yearning;
but, even putting on one side the maternal relation, the
expression possesses in no respect the intimacy, the depth of
soul, which confront us in Christian paintings. The ancients
may very well have painted excellent portraits, but neither
their way of conceiving natural fact, nor the point of view
from which they regarded human and divine conditions was
of the kind that, in the case of painting, an infusion of soul-

life could be expressed with such intimate intensity as was

possible in Christian painting.
The demand of painting, however, for this more personal
type of inspiration, is a result of its very material. In other
words, the sensuous medium in which it moves is an extension
on pure surface, and the display of form by means of the
use of diversified colours, by virtue of which process the objec-
tive shape, as we have it presented to the vision, is converted
to an artificial illusion adopted by a spiritual agency (the
creative artist) in the place of the actual form of fact. It is

part of the principle of such a treatment of material that

[that] which is external should not ultimately retain its validity
in its independent native existence, even in the modified form it

takes as a vital product of human hands, but should in this

form of realization be lowered as reality to a purely phe-
nomenal reflex of the inward soul-life itself, which seeks to
contemplate itself independently as such. When we look into
the heart of the matter we shall find that the advance from
the rounded form of sculpture amounts to nothing less
than the above statement. It is the soul-life, the ideality of
Spirit w^hich undertakes to express itself in an intimate way
through the counterfeit of the objective world. Add to this.

116
in the second place, that the surface on which the art of
painting makes its objects visible opens independently the

path to the employment of a surrounding background and

other complex relations ; and color too, regarded as the articu-

lation of that which appears, requires a correspondent dif-

ferentiation of soul-life, which can only be rendered clearly
through the definition of expression, situation, and action,
and consequently makes necessary- variety, movement, and the
detailed exposition of both the inward and external life. This
principle of inwardness taken alone, which at the same time in
its actual manifestation is associated with the variety of
external existence and is cognizable on the face of such
particular existence as an essentially complete and independent
complex of conditions, we have already seen to be the principle

of the romantic type of art, in whose configuration and mode

of presentation consequently the medium of painting discovers
in a unique way its ichoUy adequate object. Conversely we may
affirm at the same time that romantic art, when the question is

actually one of definite works of art, must seek for material

which is consonant with its content, and in the first instance

it finds such in paintLug. which consequently remains more or

less of a formal character when dealing with all objects and
compositions not of this type. Granting, then, the fact that we
find outside the Christian paintings an Oriental, Greek and
Roman school of painting, yet the real centre and focus of
all is none the less the elaboration which this art secured

within the boundaries of romantic art. We can only speak of

Oriental and Greek painting in the same kind of way as we
did when, despite our main thesis that sculpture attained its

highest crown of perfection in the classical Ideal, we referred

to a subordinate Christian type of sculpture. In other words
we are forced to admit that the art of painting first appre-
hends its content in the material of the romantic type of art.

which completely corresponds to its instruments and its modes,

and consequently that it was only after the treatment of

such material that it discovered how best to use and elaborate

in every direction all the means at its disposal.

Following now the course of the above remarks in a

wholly general way we have to observe as follows in connection

117
 ;

with the conicnt, maferiaL and artistic mode of treatment

of painting.
(a) The fundamental definition of the conteixt of paint-

ing is, as we have seen, subjectivity as an independent

^
process.
(a) In this process, looking at it from the point of view

of a re ilex of soul -life, individuality must not wholly pass into

the universality of its substance, but must on the contrary
disclose how it retains that content as a distinctive personality.-

and possesses and expresses its inward life, that is the vitality

of its own conception and feeling in the same : neither should the
external form be wholly dominated by the ideal individuality

as is the case in sculpture. For the principle of subjecti^"ity,

albeit that it permeates the external material as the mode of

objectivity adequate to express it. is notwithstanding likewise
an identity which withdraws itself into itself out of that
objective domain, and by virtue of this self -seclusion is rela-

tively to that objective aspect neutral, leaving it quite un-

trammelled. Just as therefore, on the spiritual side of the

content, the particularity of the personal life is not set forth
in direct union with its substance and universality, but is

essentially reflected as the culminating feature of its inde-

pendent embodiment,^ so. too. in the objective envisagement

of form, the particularity and universality of the same are
carried from their previous plastic union ^ to a predominance
of the individual aspect, and indeed of comparatively acci-
dental and indifferent features, and in a r^anner much the
same as that which, in the reality of sense experience,, is the
prevailing character of all phenomena.
(3) A furtlier important point is that connected with
the range of scope that is permitted to the art of painting
in virtue of its principle with regard to the objects to be
thus presented.
The free principle of subjectivity suffers on the one hand
the entire field of natural objects, and every department of
himian activity to remain in its substantive mode of existence
on the other, it is capable of entering into fusion with all

possible detail, and creating therefrom a content of its own

ideal life, or rather we should say that only in this interfusion
with concrete actuality does it assert itself as concrete and

118
vital in its products. Consequently it is possible for the painter

to import a wealth of material into the realm occupied by

his artistic works, which remains outside the reach of the

sculptor. The entire world of the religious idea, conceptions

of heaven and hell, the history of Christ, his disciples and

saints, external Nature, all that concei*ns humanity down to

the most fugitive of situations and characters, all this material

and more can find a place here. For as we have seen all that
pertains to the detail, caprice, and accidental features of
human need and interest is affected by this principle, which
at once strives to comprehend and compose it.

(y) And along with this fact we have as its corollary

that painting makes the soul of man itself the subject of its

creative work. All that is alive within the soul is present in

ideal form, if it is, when we consider its content, at once
objective and absolute in the abstract sense. ^ For the emotional
life of soul can without question carry the universal wdthin
its content, a content, however, which, as feeling, does not
retain the form of this universality, but appears under the
mode as I, this individual person I know my identity therein
and feel the same. In order to educe and set forth this objective
content as objective, I must forget myself. In this way the
painter no doubt reveals to our sight the ideal substance of
soul in the form of external objects, but the truly real content

which it expresses is the personal soul that feels. For which

reason painting, from the point of view of form, is unable to
offer such distinctive envisagements of the Divine as sculpture,
but only ideas of less defined character such as belong to the
emotions. It may appear as a contradiction to this position that

we find again and again selected as subjects of the paintings

of masters, who stand without question in the highest rank,

the external environment of mankind, mountains, valleys,

meadows, brooks, trees, ships, buildings, their interiors, in

short earth, sea, and sky. What, however, constitutes the core
in the content of such works of art is not the objects them-
selves but the vitality and soul imported into them by the
artist's conception and execution, his emotional life in fact,
which is reflected in his work, and gives us not merely a

counterfeit of external objects, but therewith his own per-

sonality and temperament.^ And it is precisely by his doing

119
this that the objects of Nature, as reflected by painting, even
from this realistic point of view, are relatively insignificant,

because the influence of soul-life begins to assert itself in them

as the main significance. In this tendency towards tempera-
ment, which, in the case of objects borrowed from external
Nature, may frequently only amount to a general response
emphasized between the two sides, we find the most important
distinction between painting on the one hand and sculpture
and architecture on the other. Painting indeed approximates
in this respect more closely to music and emphasizes here the
point of transition from the plastic arts to that of tone.
(h) To proceed to our second main division I have al-

ready several times referred, if only in respect to features

of fundamental importance, to the difference we discover
between the sensuous material of painting and that of sculp-
ture. I will therefore in this place only touch upon the closer
connection which obtains between this material and the
spiritual content which it most notably has to display to us.

(a) The first fact we have to consider in this connection

is this that painting compresses the tJiree dimensions of Space.

Absolute concentration would be carried to the point, as
elimination of all juxtaposition, and as unrest essentially pre-

dictable of such concentration, as we find it in the point of

Time. Such a mode of negation carried out in its entire result,
however, we only meet with in the art of music. Painting, on
the contrary, permits the spatial relation still to subsist, and
only effaces one of the three dimensions; superfices is made
the element of its representations. This reduction of the three
dimensions to level surface is implied in the principle of
increasing ideality, which is only capable thereby of asserting
itself in spatial relation as such ideal transmutation, owing
to the fact that it does not suffer the complete totality of
objective fact to persist as such, but restricts the same.
Ordinarily we are accustomed to view this reduction as a
caprice of the art which amounts to a defect. What is here
sought for, it appears, is that natural objects in all their naked
reality, or spiritual ideas and feelings, by means of the human
body and its postures should be made visible to our senses:
for such an aim it is obvious that the surface is insufficient

120
 ^

and inferior to Nature, which appears before us with a

completeness wholly different.
(aa) Painting is unquestionably yet more abstract than
sculpture in respect to material conditioned in Space ; but this
abstraction, remote as it is from being a purely capricious
limitation, or an indication of human incapacity, is just that
which brings about the necessary advance from sculpture.
Even sculpture is not simply an imitation of natural or
physical existence, but a creation of intelligence, which re-
moves from form all aspects of natural existence which are
not in accord with the definite content it undertakes to present.

This elimination was carried out by sculpture in the case of

all colour detail, so that what remained to it was only the
abstraction of material form. In painting we have the opposite
process, its content being the ideality of soul-life, which can
only appear on the face of objective reality, by a process of
self-absorption from that very material.'^ The art of painting,
therefore, no doubt, works for the sense-perception, but in
a way, through which the object which it displays remains
no longer an actual natural existence wholly in Space, but is

changed to a counterfeit creation of intelligence, in which it

only so far reveals its spiritual source as it annuls the actual

existence of its object, re-creating it for itself in a purely

phenomenal semblance within its own spiritual realm for

Spirit.

(pft) And to this intent painting must necessarily effect

a breach with the totality of the spatial condition, and there

is no reason for charging to human incapacity this loss of
Nature's completeness. In other words, inasmuch as the object
of painting from the point of view of its spatial existence,
is merely a semblance, reflective of the soul of man, exhibited
by art for his spirit, the self-subsistency of the object as we
find it actually in Space is dissolved, and the object is related
in a far more restricted way to the spectator than is the case
in sculpture. A statue is by itself wholly an isolated object,
independent of the spectator, who may place himself where
he pleases; his point of view, his movements, his walking
round it, not one of them affect the work of art as a whole.
If this self-subsistency is to be preserved the sculptured
figure must also have some definite impression to offer each

121
and every point of view. And this independence of the work
must be retained in sculpture for the reason that its content
is the tranquillity, self-seclusion, and objective presence w^hich,

in both an external and ideal sense, reposes on their own

substance. In painting, on the contrary, whose content is

conditioned by an ideal atmosphere, and in fact is composed

of ideal relations essentially particularized, it is precisely

this aspect of discord in a work of art between object and

spectator which has to be emphasized, and yet with a like

directness to be resolved in the fact, that the work, as depict-

ing the ideality of intelligence in its entire mode of presenta-

tion, can be only defined under the assumption that it stands

there related to an individual mind, that is a spectator, and
apart from the same has no self-subsistency. The spectator
is assumed and reckoned to be there from the first, and the
work of art is only intelligible as related to this point of
personal contemplation.^ For such a relation to mere visibility
and its reflection upon an individual consciousness, however,

the mere show of reality is sufficient ; or rather the actual

totality of the spatial condition is a defect, because in that

case the objects seen retain an independent existence, and do

not appear to be created by Spirit for its own contemplation.
Nature consequently is not entitled to reduce its images to
the plain surface; its objects possess and claim to possess a

real and independent existence. The satisfaction, however, we

derive from painting is not in actual existence, but in the
contemplative interest we receive from the external repro-
duction of ideal truths, things born of the soul, and its art
therefore dispenses wholly with the need and apparatus of
spatial reality in its complete organization.

(yy) And together with this reduction to the level surface

we may tJiirdly associate the fact that painting is placed in a
still more remote position to architecture than that occupied
by sculpture. Works of sculpture even where exhibited inde-
pendently for themselves in public places or gardens, require
some kind of pedestal treated architectonically, and, in the
case of apartments, forecourts, and halls, either the art of
building merely assists in presenting the statue's fitting

environment, or conversely the sculptured figure is used as the

decoration of the building, and between these two thus related

122
objects we find a close association. Painting, on the contrary,
whether placed in the enclosed apartment, or in public halls,

or under the open sky, is limited to the wall. Originally its

function is simply to fill up empty wall spaces. Among the

ancients this original destination is mainly sufficient, and
they decorated in this way the walls of their temples, and in

more recent times also their private chambers. Gothic archi-

tecture, whose main task is the enclosure under the most

grandiose conditions, supplies no doubt still larger surfaces,
or rather the largest possible, yet it is only in the most ancient
mosaics that we find painting is employed as a decoration of
empty spaces, whether in the case of the outside or the interior.

The more recent architecture of the fourteenth century, on the

contrary, fills up its enormous wall surfaces in an architectural
manner, the most imposing example I know of which is the
main fagade of Strassburg cathedral. Here we find that the

empty surfaces, excluding the entrance doors, the rose and

other window^s, are filled in by the ornamental work analogous
to that of windows traced over the walls, and decorated by
figures of considerable delicacy and variety of form, so that

we have no need here for painting. In the case of religious

architecture, therefore, painting mainly appears in buildings
which begin to approximate to the ancient type of architecture.
As a rule, however. Christian painting is to be distinguished

from the arts of building, and presents its works in inde-

pendent form, as for example in large pictures, whether placed
in chapels or on high altars. It is true that here, too, the
picture must retain some relation to the character of the place,
which it is destined to fill ; for the rest, however, it is not
merely intended to fill up wall spaces, but to hang them as a
work of art independently just as a work of sculpture may do.

In conclusion painting has its use as a decoration of halls

and apartments in public buildings, town halls, palaces, and
private houses, in which respect its association with architec-
ture is once more closely marked, an association, however, in
which its independence as a free art ought not to be lost.

(/?) A further necessary ground for the contraction of

the spatial dimensions in painting to bare surface is due to

the fact that the art of painting is concerned to express ideal

conditions essentially in their separation,^^ and thereby rich in

123
every kind of particular character. A mere restriction to the

shapes of spatial form, with which sculpture is able to rest

satisfied, vanishes therefore in the more luxuriant art ; for the

forms of spatial dimension are the most abstract in Nature,

and an attempt must now be made to seize particular distinc-

tions, in so far as the demand is now for an essentially more

multifold material. The matter specifically defined in the
physical sense is attached to the very principle of presentation
in Space, the differences of which,^^ if they are to appear as
^^
essential in the work of art, themselves disclose this fact

in the total configuration of spatial form, which no longer

remains the final mode of presentation, and they are compelled
to make a breach in the complete form of spatial dimensions,

in order to cancel the exclusive appearance of the physical

medium. For the dimensions in painting are not presented

by themselves in their actual reality, but are merely by means

of this physical aspect made to appear and be visible as such.
(aa) If we further inquire what is the nature of the
physical element which the art of painting makes use of
we shall find this to be Light, regarding it as that medium
which renders all objects whatever visible.
Previously the senuous, concrete material of architecture
was the resisting matter of gravity, which more particularly
in the aii; of building asserted this character of heavy material
in its features of burden, constraint, power to support and be
supported, and even in sculpture still retain such character-
istics. Heavy material encumbers because it does not possess
its centre of material unity in itself, but in something else;
and it seeks for this centre and strives towards it, though it

retains its position through the resistance of other bodies,

which become by doing so bodies of support. The principle of
light is an opposite, or extreme, of that material of weight
which is not as yet enclosed within its unity. Whatever else

we may predicate of light it is obvious that it is absolutely

devoid of weight and offers no resistance; rather it is pure
identity with itself, and thereby simple self-relation, the
primordial ideality, the original self of Nature. In light Nature
make its start on the path of ideality or inwardness,^^ and
is the universal physical ego, which of course is not carried
here to the point of particularity,^^ nor has as yet concen-
trated itself within the unit of indi\4duality and self -seclusion,
yet is thereby enabled to cancel the bare objectivity and
external show of heavy matter and abstract from the sensuous
and spatial totality of the same.^^ From this aspect of the

more ideal quality of light it becomes the physical principle

of the art of painting.

(^^) Light regarded simply as such, however, only exists

as one aspect contained in the principle of subjectivity, that
is, as this more ideal identity. In this respect light is mani-
festation, just that, which, however, in Nature is only asserted
generally as the power of making objects visible, holding the
particular content of that which it reveals outside itself as an
objective world, which is not light, but rather that which
confronts it and consequently is dark. These objects light
renders cognizable under their distinctions of form by ir-

radiating them, that is, illuminating to a greater or less degree

their obscurity and invisibility, and permitting certain parts
to be more visible, namely, as they approach the spectator,
and others, on the contrary, more obscure as they withdraw
from him. For light and darkness, putting for the present
on one side the particular colour of an object, is generally

speaking due to the relative remoteness of the illuminated

objects from us in their specific degree of illumination. In

this direct relation to objectivity light is no longer asserted

simply as light, but as essentially particularized brightness
and obscurity, light and shadow, whose varied manifestations
render the shape and distance of objects from one another
intelligible to the spectator. This is the principle which
painting makes use of, because from the first differentiation
is implied in its notion. If we compare this art in this respect

with sculpture and architecture we shall see that in these

latter arts the actual distinctions of spatial configuration are

set forth in their nakedness, and light and shadow are suffered
to retain the ordinary effect which light produces in Nature
relatively to the position of the spectator, so that the rondure

of form is here already independently ^^ present and light

and shade, whereby they are rendered visible, are merely a
result of that which was already actually on the spot inde-
pendently of this further aspect of their becoming visible. In
the art of painting, however, brightness and darkness together

125
with all their gradations and finest transitions are themselves
part of the fundamental artistic material, and it is a purely
intentional appearance they produce of that medium, which
sculpture gives form to in its native state. Light and shade,
in short, the appearance of objects under this illumination, is

effected by art rather than the mere natural light, which

consequently only makes that kind of brightness, darkness,
and lighting visiMe, which are the products of painting. And
this it is which constitutes the positive rationale deduced
from the material of the art itself, why painting does not
require three dimensions. Form is the creation of light and
shadow simply, and that form which exists in spatial reality

is superfluous.

(yy) Bright and dark, shadow and light, no less than

their interplay are, however, merely an abstraction, which
do not exist in Nature as such abstraction, and consequently
cannot be utilized as sensuous material. In other words Light,
as we have already seen, is related to its opposite Dark. In
this relation both principles have no self-subsistency apart
from each other, but can only be asserted in their unity, that
is, as the interplay of light and dark. The light, which is in
this way essentially impaired and obscured, which, however,
to a like extent transpierces and illumines darkness,^''' supplies
us with the principle of colour as the genuine material of
painting. Light in its purity is devoid of colour, it is the pure
indeterminacy of essential identity. Distinction from bare
light, a lowering of its value, is the characteristic of colour,
which in contrast to light is already in some degree obscurity,
and together with which the principle of light is asserted in
union. It is consequently an incorrect and false idea to hold
that light is the aggregate result of different colours, or in
other words different degrees of obscuration.^^
Form, distance, limitation, rounded shape, in short, all
spatial relations and distinctions visible in the phenomena
of Space are unfolded in the art of painting entirely by
means of colour, the more ideal principle of which is capable
of presenting a more ideal content and by virtue of its pro-
founder oppositions, the infinite variety of its transitional
gradations and the delicacy of its softest modulations relatively
to the fulness and detail of the objects it accepts as subject-

126
matter, is possessed of a field for its activity of the widest

range. It is beyond belief what mere colour is able to ac-

complish in this art. Two human beings are, for example,
something totally distinct. Either is in his self-conscious

identity no less than his bodily organism and independent

and exclusive spiritual and bodily totality, yet the entire result

of this difference is in a picture reduced to a distinction of

colours. In one place some particular shade of colour ceases,

in another a particular one starts up, and by such means we

get everything set before us, shape, distance, play of posture,

expression, what is nearest to sense and what is most akin to

intelligence. And we are not to regard this reduction as a make-

shift and defect. Quite the reverse is the fact ; the art of paint-
ing dispensing with the third dimension in no such way, but
deliberately rejecting it in order to set in the place of purely

spatial reality the higher and richer principle of colour.

(y) This wealth enables painting to elaborate in its

reproductions the entire extent of the phenomenal world.

Sculpture is more or less restricted to the stable self-seclusion

of individuality. In painting, however, the individual cannot

remain in such limitations of stability whether regarded in his
ideal aspect or relatively to the external world, but is placed
in every kind of varied definition. For on the one hand, as
already pointed out, he is placed in a far closer relation to
the spectator, and on the other he receives a more varied
connection with other individuals and the environment of
Nature. A process, therefore, which merely illuminates
semblance of objective fact makes possible the widest expan-
sion of distances and spaces and the present of such and all

the varied objects that appear in them in one and the same
w^ork of art. Yet it must no less, as a work of art, prove itself
to be a self-contained and unified whole, and exhibit itself in

this synthesis, not simply as an aggregate who limits and

boundaries are defined by no principle, but rather as a totality
whose unified consistency is due to its own subject-matter.
(c) In the third place we have, after this general con-
sideration of the content and sensuous material of painting,
briefly to adduce in general terms the principle of the artistic

mode of treatment adopted by it.

The art of painting more so than either sculpture or

127
architecture admits of the two extremes. In the first case
prominence is given to the religious and ethical severity of
the conception and presentation of the ideal beauty of form,
and in the second, where the subject-matter is, taken by itself,

insignificant, to the detail of what it contains and the personal

aspect of the creative art. We may therefore not unfrequently
hear two extreme kinds of criticism. Our critic in the one
case apostrophizes the nobility of the object, the depth and
astonishing sufficiency of the conception, the greatness of the
expression, and the boldness of the delineation.^^ And in the

other equal praise is given to the fine and unexampled char-

acter of the painter's treatment of his colour. This contrast is

implied in the very notion of the art ; indeed, we may affirm

that it is impossible to unite both aspects on one plane of

elaboration. Each must remain inevitably independent of the
other. For painting has shape simply as such, that is, the
forms of spatial limitation, no less than colour as means
contributive to its artistic result, and is placed thereby mid-
way between the Ideal of the plastic arts and the extreme
form of the direct detail of Nature's reality; by reason of
which we get two distinct types of painting. One, that is the
ideal, whose essential basis is universality; and the other,

that which presents particular objects in all their closeness

of detail.
(a) In this respect painting must accept, in the first

instance, as sculpture, that which is substantive in the sense

that the objects of religious belief are such, no less than the
great events of history, and its pre-eminent individual char-
acters, albeit it renders visible this substance in a form
wherein the ideal and personal aspect is emphasized. It is the
imposing character, the serious significance of the action
portrayed, or the depth of the soul expressed which is here
of most importance, so that the elaboration and employment of
all the rich artistic means which are within the reach of
painting, and the dexterity, which the wholly consummate use
of these means demands regarded as a tour de force of
technique, cannot here be entirely indicated. In cases of this
kind it is the force of the content to be presented and the
absorption in what is essential and substantive in the same,
which tend to drive into the background the overwhelming

128
facility in the art of painting as that aspect which is less

essential. In this sense, for instance, the Cartoons of Raphael

are of invaluable merit, and fully display the entire excellence
of their composition, although Raphael, even in the case of
particular pictures, despite all his mastery in drawing, and
the purity of his ideal, and at the same time wholly vital
personal figures, and the composition he may have arrived at,

most certainly in colour, and all that concerns landscape and

other aspects, is excelled by the Dutch masters. This is yet
more the case with the earlier Italian heroes of art, in contrast
to whom Raphael is to a somewhat similar degree inferior

in depth, power, and ideality of expression, as he surpasses

such in the technique of his craft, in the beauty of vital

grouping, in draughtsmanship and the like.-^

(/?) Conversely, however, the art of painting, as we have

seen, ought to advance further than this exclusive absorption

in the ideal and infinite content of man's soul-life; its func-

tion is equally to assert the subsistency and freedom of detail,

which however incidental it may be, contributes to the en-
vironment and background of the Avork. In this advance from
the profoundest seriousness to the objective features of inde-
pendent detail it is bound to force its way to the extreme
articulation of the purely phenomenal, where any and every
content is a matter of indifference, and artistic illusion in a

realistic sense is the main interest. In such a type of art we

find depicted for us the most fugitive aspect of the sky, the
time of day, the lighting up of the woods, the gleam and
reflection of the clouds, waves, lakes, streams, the shimmer
and glitter of wine in the glass, the glance of the eye, and
every conceivable look and smile of the human countenance.
Painting in such cases moves from the idealistic standpoint
to that of living reality, whose phenomenal effect it mainly
seeks to reproduce by means of accuracj' in the execution of

every bit of detail.^^ Yet this effort is no mere assiduity of

elaboration, but a real exercise of genuine talent, which strives

to present every kind of detail in its independent perfection,

and yet retain the whole composition in unity and fusion, and
this can only be done by the finest art. In such work the
vital force of the realistic appearance thus secured tends to
be more near to the artist's aim than the Ideal; and it is

129
precisely this kind of art, as I have already found occasion to

remark, which raises, as no other, controversial points over

the significance of the Ideal and Nature. No doubt it is very
possible to blame the use of the most elaborate technique in

subjects of little importance by themselves as mere extrava-

gance; yet there is no real reason for rejecting such material,
and it is precisely of that kind which ought to be treated in
this way by art, and be permitted to keep every conceivable

subtlety and refinement of surface appearance that it pos-

sesses.

(y) The artistic treatment does not, however, stop at this

more general kind of opposition, but, inasmuch as painting
reposes on the principle of soul-expression and particularity,
proceeds yet further in the direction of differentiation in its

results. Both architecture and sculpture, it is true, assert dif-

ferences of national type, and in particular we are made aware

in sculpture of a closer individuality typical of certain schools

and masters. In the art of painting this distinction and per-

sonal aspect in the modes of representation expands to an
incalculable degree in proportion as the objects, which it may
accept, are taken from a field without definable limitations.
In this art to a pre-eminent extent the genius of particular
peoples, provinces, epochs and individuals asserts its claims

and affects not merely the choice of subjects and the spirit
of their conception, but also the character of drawing, group-
ing, colouring, handling of the dry point no less than that
of particular colours down to characteristics of personal style

and wont.
Inasmuch as the function of painting is so without re-

striction concerned with the ideal aspect and the details of

its subject-matter, it follows of course that it gives us quite

as little opportunity to make definite statements of universal

validity as to adduce specific facts which can always without

exception be accepted as true of it. We must, however, not
rest satisfied with what I have already discussed in respect
of the principle of the content, the material and the artistic

treatment, but make a further effort, however much we leave

on one side all that confronts us in its multifold variety, still

to subject certain aspects, that most emphatically enlist our

attention, to further examination.

130
JEAN-AUGUSTE-DOMINIQUE INGRES
JEAN-AUGUSTE-DOMINIQUE INGRES (1780-1867), hom at
Montaxihan, w one of the most curious men of modern painting.
On tJie one hand, he personifies the coldest, the most dismal,
the most self-sufficient academicism ; on the other, as if
unwittingly and hy the strangest inadvertence, he is guilty
of marvelous hrazenness and perfect crimes. For example,
think of that lyrical lengthening of Mme. Riviere's right
arm, that elongation both voluptuous and ethereal of his
*'Odalisque," that dismembered Thetis, the strange sphericity
of the portrait of Mme. Ingres. These distortions of anatomy
and this taste for pure plasticity are incomprehensible in this
senator of painting. The reader will find the same sort of
inconsistency in his thoughts, a selection of which we give
here. '^Long live mediocrity!'' he exclaimed. But there is

obviously something other than mediocrity here

there is provocativeness.

On art there are not two arts, there is only one : it is the one which
and the beautiful has as its foundation the beautiful, which is eternal and
natural. Those who seek elsewhere deceive themselves, and
in the most fatal manner. What do those so-called artists
mean, when they preach the discovery of the **new"? Is there
anything new? Everything has been done, everything has
been discovered. Our task is not to invent but to continue,
and we have enough to do if, following the examples of the
masters, we utilize those innumerable types which nature
constantly offers to us, if we interpret them with whole-
hearted sincerity, and ennoble them through that pure and
firm style without which no work has beauty. What an ab-

surdity it is to believe that the natural dispositions and

faculties can be compromised by the study by the imitation,
ISl
even, of the classic works! The ori^nal type, man, still re-

mains: vre have only to consult it in order to know whether

the classics have been right or wrong and whether, when we
use the same means as they, we lie or tell the truth.

THERE is no longer any question of discovering the conditions,

the principles of the beautiful. The thing is to apply them
without letting the desire to invent cause us to lose sight of
them. Beauty, pure and natural, has no need to surprise
through novelty: it is enough that it be beauty. But man is

in love with change, and change, in art, is very often the

cause of decadence.

PHIDIAS arrives at the sublime by correcting nature through

herself. For his Olympian Jupiter he made use of all natural

beauties together, so that he might reach what is clumsily

called ideal beauty. That term should be conceived only as
expressing the association of the most beautiful elements of
nature, which is rarely found to be perfect in this matter;
nature being, moreover, so constituted that there is nothing
above it, when it is beautiful, all human effort cannot surpass
it, nor even equal it.

IT is on our knees that we should study the beautiful.

IN art one arrives at an honorable result only through one's

tears. He who does not suffer does not believe.

YOU should look upon your art with religious feeling. Do not
think to produce ami:hing good, even approximately good,
without elevation of soul. In order to form yourself for the
beautiful, look on nothing save the sublime. Look neither to

the right nor to the left, and even less to what is beneath. Go
forward with your head raised toward the skies, instead of
inclining it toward the earth, like the pigs who keep their
eyes on the mud.

ART lives on elevated thoughts and noble passions. Let us have

character, let us have warmth! One does not die of warmth:
one dies of cold.

132
WHAT one knows, one must know sword in hand. It is only

through fighting that one gains anything and, in art, fighting

is the work which one imposes upon oneself.

DRAW, paint, imitate above all, and were it no more than a

still life. All that is imitated from nature is a work, and that
imitation leads to art.

THE nature of the masterpieces is not to dazzle. Their nature

is to persuade, to convince, to enter into us through our pores.

BAD practices kill everything they do not exist in nature.

:

POUSSES' had the habit of saying that it is through observing

things that the painter becomes skillful rather than through
wearying himself by copying them. Yes: but it is necessary
that the painter have eyes.

THE gi'eat point is to be guided by reason in order to dis-

tinguish the true from the false, and that result is reached
only by learning to become exclusive which, in turn, is learned
by the sole and continual frequentation of the beautiful. Oh,
the comic and monstruous love that men have when, with the
same passion, they love Murillo and Raphael!

IN the matter of the true, I prefer to see men overshoot the

mark a little, whatever risk there may be in doing so for, as
I know, the true may be lacking in probability. Very often
the question is no more than that of a hair's breadth.

LET us seek to please so that we may the better impose the

true. It is not with vinegar that one catches flies, it is with
honey and sugar.

LOOK at that [the living model] : it is like the ancients and

the ancients are like that. It is an antique bronze. When you
study the ancients you see that they did not correct their
models, by which I mean that they did not denature them. If
you sincerely translate what is there, you will be proceeding

as they did and you will arrive at the beautiful as they did.

If you follow any other course, if you think to correct what

183
 !

you are seeing, you will arrive only at the falac, at the equivocal

and the ridiculous.

WHEN you are lacking in the respect which you owe to nature,
when you dare to offend her in your work, you are kicking
your mother in the belly.

ART is never at so high a degree of perfection as when it re-

sembles nature so strongly that one might take it for nature

herself. Art never succeeds better than when it is concealed.

THE secret of beauty must be discovered by way of truth. The

ancients did not create, they did not make : they recognized.

YOU tremble before nature tremble, but do not doubt

:

ONE always reaches beauty when one reaches truth. All the

faults that you commit come, not from any lack of taste and
imagination on your part, but from your not having put in
enough of nature. Raphael and that [the living model] are
synonjTnous with each other. And what was the road that
Raphael took? Even he was modest, even he Raphael that
he was was submissive. Let us therefore be humble before
nature.

WOE to him who deals lightly with his art! Woe to the artist

who does not retain seriousness of mind!

DO not concern yourself with other people, concern yourself

with your work alone think only of doing
; it the best way you
can. See how the ant carries its egg: it goes its way without
stopping, then, when it has arrived, it looks back to see where
the others are. When you shall have reached old age, then you
will be able to do the same and compare what you will have
produced with the productions of your rivals. Then, but only
then will you look at all things without danger, and then
will you estimate all things at their true value.

On taste when he is sure of walking in the right road, when he is

and criticism following the traces of those among his predecessors who right-
fully enjoy their title to great celebrity, the artist may arm


himself with the boldness and the assurance which are proper
to true talent. He should not let himself be turned from the
straight road by the blame of an ignorant crowd. It is he who
is right, it is from him that come the lessons and examples
of taste.

THE misfortune of great artists, the one that is known only

to themselves and that they complain about only among them-
selves, is that they are not sufficiently appreciated. There is

a general feeling as to their success but those details by which

;

they reach perfection, that infinitude of precious strokes

either because they cost so much or because they cost nothing
at all those are the things that only a few connoisseurs enjoy
in private, those are the things that public applause does not

tell about, that envy always conceals, that ignorance can never
hear and that, were they well known, would be the first recom-
pense of true talents.

TIME metes out justice to all things. Absurd works may have
been able to surprise, to deceive a century by qualities that
are dazzling but false, because, in general, men rarely judge
for themselves, because they follow the torrent, and because
pure taste is almost as rare as talent. Taste! It consists less

in appreciating the good wherever that appears, than in rec-

ognizing it under the thick layer of defects which hide it. The
formless beginnings of certain arts sometimes possess, in real-
ity, more of perfection than art when it has been perfected.

THE ignorant populace shows as little taste in its judgments

on the effect of the picture as it does when faced with animate
objects. In life, it will go into ecstacies over violence or em-
phasis ; in art, it will alw^ays prefer forced or stilted attitudes

and brilliant colors to a noble simplicity, to a tranquil gran-

deur, as we see them in the pictures of the ancients.

CAN one ever sufficiently love, sufficiently admire supreme

beauty? What flower, among the flowers that are most
beautiful, can equal the rose, and among the birds of the air,

which one could one compare to the eagle of Jupiter? In the

same way, is there anything comparable to the works of

135
 Homer, to a statue by Phidias, to a lyric tragedy by Gluck,
to a quartet or a sonata by Haydn? Is there anything more
beautiful, more divine, and consequently more worthy of love ?

PALLID praise of a beautiful thing is an offense.

One may cast one's eyes on inferior beauties, but not study
art : to concern oneself with other study is to waste one 's time.

ONE must at all times form one 's taste on the masterpieces of
them, still less imitate them.

WHEN the ancients went on a journey, when they went to the

country, they always took works of art with them, pictures,

or small bronzes. The Emperor Tiberius invariably traveled
with a picture by Zeuxis or Apelles representing a priest of
Cybele. When we of today are away from the places where we
ordinarily live, let us always have under our eyes our engrav-
ings, or our sketches after the masters, in order to keep up
our taste, to help us understand new things or to preserv^e us
from temptations.

THE same sagacity which causes a man to excel in his art

should lead him properly to utilize the judgment both of

learned and of inept persons.

IN order to be a good critic of great art and of great style, it is

necessary for a person to be endowed with the same pure taste

which guided the artist and presided over the carrying out
of his work.

THERE are few persons, whether well taught or even ignorant

who, if they freely spoke their thought on the work of artists,

could not be useful to the latter. The only opinions from

which one can draw no fruit whatever are those of semi-
connoisseurs . . .

On drawing drawing is the probity of art.

TO draw does not mean simply to reproduce contours drawing ;

does not consist merely of line: drawing is also expression,

the inner form, the plane, modeling. See what remains after

136
that. Drawing includes three and a half quarters of the content
of painting. If I were asked to put up a sign over my door,
I should inscribe it : School for Drawing, and I am sure that
I should bring forth painters.

DRAWING contains everything, except the hue.

ONE must keep right on drawing; draw with your eyes when
you cannot draw with a pencil. As long as you do not hold a
balance between your seeing of things and your execution,
you will do nothing that is really good.

THE painter who trusts to his compass is leaning on a ghost.

NEVER spend a single day without tracing a line, said Apelles.

By that he meant what I repeat to you : line is drawing, it is

everything.

IF I could make musicians of you all, you would thereby profit

as painters. Everything in nature is harmony: a little too

much, or else too little, disturbs the scale and makes a false

note. One must reach the point of singing true with the pencil
or with brush quite as much as with the voice; Tightness of

forms is like Tightness of sounds.

WHEN studying nature, have eyes only for the ensemble at

first. Interrogate it and interrogate nothing but it. The details

are self-important little things which have to be put in their

place. Breadth of form and breadth again! Form: it is the
foundation and the condition of all things ; smoke itself should
be rendered by a line.

CONSIDER the relationships of size in the model therein resides

;

the whole of character. Let yourselves be vigorously impressed

by that, and it is vigorously, also, that you should render these
relative sizes. If instead of following this method, you merely
feel about, if you make your research on the paper, you will

do nothing of value. Have in your eyes, and in your mind,

the entirety of the figure that you want to represent, and let
the execution be only the bodying forth of that image which

1S7
 ;

has already been made your own by being preconceived.

WHEN tracing a figure, set yourself above all to determine and

characterize the movement. I cannot too often repeat to you
that movement is the life of the drawing.

LET US not complain as to the time or the labor we give in

order to arrive at purity of expression and at perfection of
style. Let us even, in order to correct ourselves without cease,
use whatever facility we may have. Malherbe, it is said, worked
with prodigious slowness: yes, because he was working for
immortality.

ONE must render invisible all the traces of facility; it is the

results and not the means employed which should appear.
Facility is a thing to be used and at the same time despised
but despite that, if one has a hundred thousand francs' worth
of it, one must still get another two cents' worth.

THE simpler the lines and forms are, the more there is of
beauty and of strength. Every time that you divide up the
forms, you weaken them. The case is the same as that of the
breaking up of anything else.

WHY do men not get largeness of character 1 Because in place

of one large form, they make three little ones.

WHEN character is not based above all upon the great lines,

the resemblance arrived at is no more than a doubtful one.

IN constructing a figure, do not proceed piecemeal. Carry the

whole thing along together and, as our good expression has it,

draw the ''ensemble.'*

ONE must not attempt to learn to produce fine character : one

must discover it in one's model.

THE beautiful forms are those with flat planes and with rounds.
The beautiful forms are those which have firmness and fullness,
those in which the details do not compromise the aspect of the
great masses.

138
WHAT is necessary is to give health to the form.

THE completion of the form is achieved by finish. There are

people who, in drawing, are satisfied by feeling; with feeling
once expressed, the thing suffices them. Raphael and Leonardo
da Vinci are there to prove that feeling and precision can be
allied.

THE great painters, like Raphael and Michelangelo, have in-

sisted on line in finishing. They have reiterated it with a fine

brush, and thus they have reanimated the contour ; they have
imprinted vitality and rage upon their drawing.

FROM the material standpoint, we do not proceed like the

sculptors, but we should produce sculptural painting.

A painter is perfectly right to be preoccupied with finesse,

but to that he should add force, which does not exclude finesse
far from it. The whole of painting resides in drawing that
is at once strong and delicate. Let anyone say what he w^ill,

painting is a matter of drawing that is firm, proud and well

characterized, even if the picture in question is supposed to
impress by its grace. Grace alone does not suffice, neither does
a chastened drawing. More is needed : drawing must amplify,
it must envelop.

THERE is good always, whatever defects may also appear, in a

work where the head has commanded the hand. One should
feel that, even in the attempts of a beginner. Skill of hand
is acquired by experience ; but rectitude of feeling, of intel-

ligence, there is a thing which may be shown from the very

start, and there also, to a certain extent, is a thing that can
make up for everything else.

DRAW with purity, but with breadth. Pure and broad: there
you see drawing, there you see art.

DRAW for a long time before thinking of painting. When one

builds on a solid foundation, one sleeps in peace.

EXPRESSION in painting demands a very great science of draw-

139
ing; for expression cannot be good if it has not been formu-
lated with absolute exactitude. To seize it only approximately
is to miss it, and to represent only those false people whose
study it is to counterfeit sentiments which they do not expe-

rience. The extreme precision we need is to be arrived at only

through the surest talent for drawing. Thus the painters of

expression, among the moderns, turn out to be the greatest
draftsmen. Look at Raphael!

EXPRESSION, an essential element of art, is therefore intimately

bound up with form. Perfection of coloring is so little required

that excellent painters of expression have not had, as colorists,

the same superiority. To blame them for that is to lack ade-
quate knowledge of the arts. One may not ask the same man
for contradictory qualities. Moreover the promptness of execu-
tion which color needs in order to preserve all its prestige
does not harmonize with the deep study demanded by the
great unity of the forms.

TO attain beautiful form, one must not proceed by square or

angular modeling one needs round modeling, and without any
;

too apparent interior details.

WHEN one has a single figure in one's picture, the modeling

of it should give the effect of the full round, and the pic-
turesque effect be obtained in that way.

ALWAYS have a sketchbook in your pocket, and note down with

the fewest strokes of the pencil the objects which strike you,
if you do not have time to indicate them entirely. But if you
have leisure to make a more exact sketch, seize upon your
subject lovingly, envisage and reproduce it in all its forms,
so that it may be lodged in your head, incrusted there, as
your own property.

I believe strongly in having a thorough knowledge of the

skeleton, because the bones form the very framework of the
body and determine its lengths, thus giving a constant basis
for judgment to the draftsman. I believe less in an anatomical
acquaintance with the muscles. Too much science in such a

HO
 matter works against sincerity in drawing and may lead away.
from characteristic expression, bringing about, instead, a banal

image of the form. It is, however, necessary to take careful

note of the order and the relative disposition of the muscles,

so that, from that aspect also, mistakes of construction may

be avoided.

THEY are, all of them, my friends, those muscles: but I don't

know one of them by his name.

NEVER do the exterior contours bend inward. On the contrary,

they bulge, they curve outward like the wicker of a basket.

THE term "types of beauty" is applied to the results of ob-

servations frequently made from fine models. A broad neck,
for example, is found, fifteen times out of twenty, among
well-built men we may ; therefore regard it as one of the con-
ditions of beauty. However, if your model has a slim neck,
don 't give him a heavy^ one ; but take care not to exaggerate
the smallness of it. To express character, a certain exaggera-
tion is permitted, at times it is even necessary, but principally
when the question is one of separating and emphasizing an
element of beauty.

RAPHAEL drew his draperies from the students who worked

under him, because they naturally knew better than other
people how to make the cloth take on beautiful folds.

wt: must follow that example to the letter, and banish lay
figures except in the case of portraits, and then only use them
in the case of trinkets such as women wear and which call

for detailed finish.

THEREFORE, uo lay figures. Once a fine bit of drapery has been

found, one must adapt it to the nature, dress the model in
this preconceived drapery and get from life the movement of
folds and the indication of details.

On color, color adds adornment to painting: but it is only the tiring-

tone, and effect woman [court lady charged with dressing a queen], for she
does not go beyond rendering more amiable the veritable per-
fections of art.

HI
 :
;

IT is unexampled that a great draftsman has not had the color

quality exactly suited to the character of his drawing. In the

eyes of many persons, Raphael did not use color ; he did not
use color like Rubens and Van Dyck: parhleu, I should say

not! He would take good care not to do such a thing.

RUBENS and Van Dyck may please the eye, but they deceive it

they are of a bad school of color, the school of the lie. Titian
there is true color, there is nature without exaggeration,
without forced brilliance ! He is exact.

NEVER use a too ardent color; it is anti-historical. Fall into

gray rather than into ardent tones, if you cannot attain a

perfectly true tone.

THE historical tone leaves the mind tranquil. Have no more

ambition about that than about other things.

THE essential matters about color do not reside in the ensemble

of light or dark masses in the picture ; they are rather in the
particular distinguishing of the tone of each object. For
example, place a fine and brilliant white cloth upon a dark
or olive-hued body, above all let your spectator see the dif-

ference between a blond color and a cold color, between

accidental colors and those which result from local tints. This
thought was inspired in me by the chance which caused me
to see on the thigh of my Oedipus, reflected in a mirror, a
white drapery, so brilliant and beautiful in its contrast with
that warm and golden flesh color!

PAINTERS make a big mistake when, giving too little thought

to their pictures, they use an excess of white ; later on they
have to lower and dull it in tone. White should be reserved
for those passages of light, for those points of special bril-
liance which determine the effect of the painting. Titian used
to say that the desirable thing would be to have white as costly
as ultramarine, and Zeuxis, who was the Titian of the painters
of antiquity, rebukes those who were ignorant of the harmful
effect of using white to excess. Nothing is white in animated
bodies, nothing is positively white ; everything is relative. See

U2
the contrast between women who gleam in their whiteness and
the color of a sheet of paper!

IT is indubitable that one can obtain great breadth and warmth

in the tints, in a word, do hea^y and golden painting like the

Venetians, without using canvases of a coarse texture, as they

did. The proof resides in the contrary effect produced by
the portraits and other pictures of certain painters, among
them Allori, who have painted in a very solid and finished

manner on smooth preparations.

THE means of painting in the Venetian fashion was revealed

to me through a sketch by Mr. Lewis, an English painter.
This sketch was one that he did from the fine Titian in our
museum. The Entombment. In order to imitate the master,

the artist painted on a canvas having no more texture than

was given by a light coat of glue, as it seems that all the
painters have used, most often spreading out that coat on
ticking or drill. He recognized the fact that, in order to
obtain transparence and a fine warmth of tone, it was neces-
sary to glaze everything, and consequently do all the under-
painting in a more or less colored gray, in a kind of mono-
chrome :

No. 1. Blond flesh in a very light violet-gray, dark flesh

in a stronger gray, the same thing for hair.

No. 2. Green draperies with yellow, the blues with white,

as also the reds and the skies.

In general, painting should be hard, sharp and frank in

its oppositions. One may lay things in very lightly, still

maintaining this same practice; but when one comes back to

the work one must strengthen the contrasts and thoroughly

thicken the paint.
The picture thus prepared should; despite its monotony,
One should let it di/ for at least one
give a feeling of color.
good month before taking it up again to finish it, and then
paint everything with glazes, except in the case of white cloths.

THERE is nothing better than the use of glazes to imitate the

beautiful color procedure of the old Italian painters. Many
a piece of drapery painted with white has been glazed with
color. That is, I think, the means almost always employed by
Titian, Andrea del Sarto, and Fra Bartolommeo.

FLOWERS should be consulted in order to get beautiful tones

for draperies.

WARM violet and the gray of linen turning toward a watery

green have a fine effect when large white meanders are then
embroidered upon them.

DRAPERIES lined with a different color produce a fine effect.

The proof resides in works of the Renaissance. A thing to put

into habitual practice.

TONES of draperies suited to a fine figure effect : in the fresco

of St. Joseph by Baroccio, for the Virgin, a red brown jerkin

with a little crimson, but of a very dull character ; ultramarine
blue mantle. A figure in the Flagellation by the Chevalier
d'Arpin [Giuseppe Cesari] : a very dark man with black;
light breeches with yellow that gets the whole of the light.

Make plenty of notes like this one, especially after Titian.

IN judging the effect, one should see one's picture in the dark-
est place in the studio. The old-time sculptors placed their
figures in cellars in order to get a better judgment of the
masses.

IN a picture, the light should fall on one part with more power
than on others and concentrate there, so that the eye is im-.

mediately drawn to that place and travels to it. The same

applies to a figure : hence the gradations.

IN the shadow on a contour, one must never put the tint along-
side the line ; one must put it on the line.

NARROW refiections in the shadow, the reflections that run

along the contours, are unworthy of the majesty of art.

THE quality of making objects in painting "detach" (which

many people regard as such an important thing) was not one
of the matters on which Titian, who is moreover the greatest
 ;

colorist of all, principally fixed his attention. It was painters

of inferior talent who treated that as the essential merit of
painting, as it is still considered by herds of art enthusiasts,
inevitably satisfied and charmed when they see in a picture
'
a figure so painted that, as they say, '
It seems as if one could
walk around it."

On the study \ve must copy nature always and learn to see it well. It is for

of the antique that purpose that we need to study the antique and the
and of the masters masters, not to imitate them ; what we need, as I repeat, is

to learn to see.

Do you think that I send you to the Louvre to find what

is conventionally called *' ideal beauty," something different

from what is in nature? It is foolish ideas like that which,

in bad periods, have brought on the decadence of art. I send

you to the Louvre because you will learn from the antique
to see nature, because it is itself nature : and so you must live

upon it, feed upon it. The same is true of the paintings of
the great centuries. Do you think that in ordering you to
copy them I want to turn you into copyists? No, I want you
to get the juice of the plant.

Address yourselves to the masters, therefore, speak to

them, they will answer you, for they are still living. It is they
who will instruct you ; I myself am no more than their quizz-
master.

TO such a degree did the Greeks excel in sculpture, in archi-

tecture, in poetry, in everything they touched, that the word
Greek has become the synonym for the word beautiful. It is

only they who are absolutely true, absolutely beautiful, be-

cause they saw, recognized and rendered. You have seen them,
those masters : they do not tantalize us with doubtful words
they say : it is thus, it is so ! The Romans imitated them, and
they are still admirable ; but as for us, we are Gauls, we are
Barbarians, and it is only by striving to approach the Greeks,
it is only by proceeding as they did, that we can merit and
obtain the name of artists.

On practice there is no need of excessive research for subjects : a painter

and its conditions can make gold with four pennies. I won my reputation with
an ex voto, and all subjects will serve the man who can pro-

U5
duce poems. Neither should one concern oneself too much with
accessories ; they should be sacrificed to that which is essential,

and the essential thing is the turning of the form, the contour,

the modeling of the figures. The accessories should play the

same role in a picture as the confidants in tragedies. Authors

put them in as a frame for the heroes, so that the latter may
stand out strongly: we painters should render surrounding
objects, way that makes them fix
but we should do so in a
attention upon our figures, so that we enrich the principal
things through whatever brilliance we take away from sur-
rounding things.

A useless half-figure suffices to spoil the composition of a pic-

ture.

IT is through engravings that pictures and their merit are

frequently judged. As people can have engraving under their

eyes more easily and more habitually than the picture itself,

they can better grasp the weak points of the composition or of

the style ; they can appreciate each intention more rigorously
and more at their ease. The painter must therefore consider
his work closely when he thinks of letting it be engraved ; he
must take careful note of his armor before submitting himself
to that test. If he comes forth from it victorious, the reason

doubtless is that he deserved the victory.

WHAT is called ''the touch" [in English, 'brushwork' is per-

haps the nearest modern equivalent for this term] is an abuse
of execution. It is the quality of false talents alone, of false
artists alone, those who depart from the imitation of nature
in order to exhibit their mere skill. The touch, able as it may
be, ought not to be apparent : otherwise it becomes an obstacle
to illusion, and arrests all movement. Instead of the object
represented, it causes you to see the mode of procedure; in
place of the thought, it makes you observe the hand.
There is a great difference between the art of reproducing
in a picture the characteristic traits of nature that one has de-
termined on in advance, and the talent which consists of a
merely exact copying on the canvas of the man whom one
has called in to pose. It is related that Annibale Carracci,

U6
having begun to paint the altarpieee of the Dead Christ on
tlie Knees of the Virgin, which is in the church of San Fran-
cesco, at Ripa, produced a figure which was admirable and
really divine, but then afterward, having engaged a nude
model when retouching the body of the Christ, he changed
that whole first production of his, which had been a thing of

the mind. Because he too much distrusted his means, he spoiled

his picture. Here, then, is an example for us, and one that
we ought to remember when we are faced with the question
of executing a picture. Besides, even without that example,
there are a thousand proofs that the old painters and all the
great masters, beginning TN-ith Raphael, executed their frescoes
from cartoons, and their small, easel pictures from more or
less finished drawings. . . . Your model is never the thing that
you really want to paint, whether quality of drawing be your
goal, or whether it be color ; however, it is indispensable to
have recourse to the model. To paint Achilles, the handsomest
of men, you may have only a poor lout before you; but he
has got to serve, and he will serve you for the structure of the
human body, for the movement, and for the sense of being
planted on his feet. The proof of this is seen in what Raphael
did when he used his pupils to get a start on the studies of
movement for the figures in his divine pictures.
As much genius as you may have, if you paint directly
from the model and not from the nature already copied by
you, you will always be a slave, and your picture will give
the feeling of servitude. Raphael, on the contrary, had mas-
tered nature so thoroughly, he had it so well in memory, that
instead of its commanding him, one would say that she herself
obeyed him, that she came spontaneously to place herself in
his works. One would say that, like a passionate mistress, her

beautiful eyes and all her other compelling charms existed

only that she might offer them to the happy and privileged
Raphael, a sort of divinity on earth. And so the epitaph com-
posed by Bembo is perfectly exact.
The ancients had a liking for clear separation among the
objects in their pictures. We may see therein a principle which

all of them followed to a greater or lesser degree, and which

has been one of the special reasons for criticism of them by
the moderns, because the latter have imposed upon themselves

1^7
the absolutely contrary principle of binding everything to-
gether. If one thinks oneself authorized to condemn this prin-

ciple of the ancients, then one must equally condemn their

dramatic works. Go on then with your condemnation, senseless
men! Condemn all among the works in which they have de-
manded simplicity, for today a vain brilliance and a mean
pomp are sought for, in all types of art we are climbing onto;

stilts in order to look big. That rule of spacing objects in paint-

ing and in bas-reliefs came from the desire fully to express

beauty and to express it in the development of lines. They
would not have consented, as we do, to sacrifice considerable

portions of a figure by concealing them behind a neighboring

figure. In those days it was not permitted to an artist to

resolve upon the smallest sacrifice or to abandon himself to

the slightest negligence. Everything was to be beautiful in his
picture, because everything had to be clearly distinguishable.

FRESCO has always been cherished and employed by the greatest

painters as the process which most inspires and which, through
its more simple and easy execution, is best adapted to bringing
great things to birth : that is the whole story, it is monumental
. . . but over-rich decoration, the juxtaposition with marbles,
for example, may hurt the effect of this austere water painting.
The greatest use of this technique is to be found at the Sistine
Chapel, in the Stanze, the Loggie, at the Farnesina and in
other places, all decorated with fresco alone, with arabesque
ornaments and small architectural pictures, the whole thing
being set off with gold alone and with the most beautiful colors.

THE painter of history renders the race in general, whereas

the painter of portraits represents only the individual in
particular a model, consequently, and frequently one who is

ordinary or full of defects.

TO succeed well with a portrait, one must first penetrate

oneself with the face that one wants to paint, considering it for
a long time, attentively, and from all sides ; one should indeed
devote the first sitting to this part of the work.

OFTENTIMES a portrait is lacking in resemblance because in

U8
the beginning the model was badly posed, because he was
placed under such bad conditions of light and shade that he
would fail to recognize himself in the place where he was
painted.

THERE are faces that will be more advantageous to paint from

in front, others in three-quarter view or as seen from the side,

and certain ones in profile. Some demand a great deal of light,

others have more effect when there are shadows. It is above all
for thin faces that one must get shadow in the cavity of the

eyes, because in this way a head has a great deal of effect and
of character. To this end, let the light fall from above and in
small quantity.
In portraits, plenty of background above the head; for
this background, one side light and the other dark.

U9
JEAN-BAPTISTE-EMILE COROT
jean-batiste-]6mile corot (1796-1875), horn in Paris, is one
of the best men painting has ever had. His modesty
sometimes touched on timidity, hut he was decisive when
he was good, going so far as to sign forgeries so that
their author would not he troubled. His temperament was
responsible for his painting genius. His discretion, his
good sense, his tenderness toward nature made him take
giant steps. He achieved what might he called a subjective
naturalism, a realism in imponderables that makes him a
Preimpressionist. We publish here some extracts from his
notebooks, spoken words, and selections from his
correspondence. He is always simple, and sometimes
profound.

A man should embrace the profession of artist only after he

has perceived in himself an ardent passion for nature and a
determination to pursue it with a perserverance that nothing
can frustrate. He must not thirst after approval or monetary
returns. He must not be discouraged by the criticism that
people may bring down on his works he must be armed with ;

a strong conviction that allows him to walk straight ahead

without fearing any obstacle. Incessant work either doing or
observing. An invulnerable conscience. Filled with this sense
of duty, were he to do works in which a salient defect became
apparent, he would still continue; an artist is not made in a
day. Let him persevere ; his conscience will save him. He sees
black? Conscientious, he will put everything into proper rela-
tion and, after a time, he will come closer to nature day by
day. What is important is for him to do nothing but what
he sees and as he sees it. The only cane he may use from
time to time to help him walk is to take a look at the works

150
of the masters, and then only the best : Michelangelo, Raphael,
Leonardo da Vinci, Holbein, Correggio, Titian, Poussin, Le
Sueur. Claude Lorrain, Hobbema, Terborch, Metsu, Canaletto.
These inspirations are only to help him develop his ability.

{Notebooks)

THE first two things to study are form and then values. To me,
these two things are the important pillars of art. Color and
execution give the work its charm. It seems very important
to me to prepare a study or picture beginning with indicating
the strongest values (assuming that the canvas is white) and
then following that order to the lightest value. I would grade
the values, from the strongest to the lightest, in twenty
numbers. In this way your study or picture would be set out
in good order. This order should in no way hinder either the

draftsman or the colorist. What strikes us should always be

the mass, the whole. We should never take the first impression
that moves us. The design is the first thing to look for. Then,
the values the relationship between forms and values. These
are the pillars. Then, color ; finally, execution. When you want
to do a study or picture, first, apply yourself to looking for

the form in your perception. When you have put every effort

into this task, pass to the values. Seek them out with the mass.
Perception. A good procedure to follow: if your canvas is

white, begin with the strongest tone. Follow the order to the
lightest tone. There is little logic in beginning with the sky.

(On a flyleaf)

YOU must interpret nature with entire simplicity and according

to your personal sentiment, altogether detaching yourself from
what you know of the old masters or of contemporaries. Only
in this way will you do work of real feeling. I know gifted

people who will not avail themselves of their power. Such

people seem to me like a billiard-player whose adversary is

constantly giving him good openings but who makes no use

of them. I think that if I were playing with that man, I would
say,
'
' Very well, then, I will give you no more. " If I were to

sit in judgement, I would punish the miserable creatures who

squander their natural gifts, and I would turn their hearts

151
to cork. (A conversation at Alfred Robaut's, November 19,

1872)

I never hurry to the details of a picture : its masses and general

character interest me before ever^i:hing else. '^iVhen those are
Tvell established I search out the subtleties of form and color.
Incessantly and without system I return to any and every
part of my canvas. {Xotehook 68)

WHILE seeking for a perceptive imitation, I do not for an

instant lose the emotion that has seized me. Reality is one
constituent of art ; feeling completes it.

If we have really been touched, the sincerity of our

emotion will be communicated to others. (On a pocket note-
book)

WHEN one stands exposed, face to face with nature, he extri-

cates himself as best he can and, naturally, forms a manner
of his own. Yes. I put white in all my tones, but I swear to
you that I do not do so on principle. It is my instinct that

prompts me to it. and I obey my instinct. (A conversation

with Alfred Robaut)

LET your feelings be your only guide. Yet, as we are only

simple mortals, we are subject to errors: listen to criticisms,
but follow only such as you understand and agree with in
sentiment. Fermete, docUite follow your convictions. It is

better not to exist than to be the echo of other painters. As

the wise man says, if one follows, one is behind. Beauty in
art is truth bathed in the impression, the emotion, that is

received from nature. When the grace and charm of a view

strike you. never neglect it. Seek truth and exactitude, but
with the envelope of sentiment which you felt at first. If you
have been sincere in your emotion, you will be able to pass it

on to others. (On a flyleaf)

AN artist need not be born a genius ; he need not even become

a very skillful executant; anybody can take count of the
proportion of forms and the relation of colours one to another.
Even dressmakers do not fail in their assortments : there is at

152
 '

my sister's house at Ville d'Avray a garden-woman who makes

beautiful bouquets; she could teach the laws of harmony to
many of our celebrated painters. (Quoted by Silvestre)

SUPPOSING there were two objects absolutely alike, the sun

would not illuminate both in the same way. {Corot raconte
par lui-mhne by E. Moreau-Nelaton)

A young beginner was introduced to him, and exhibited his

work. He examined it carefully; then, without disguising his
reactions, [said:] "It lacks accent. The values are indecisive.
You must not do that. Exaggerate in the opposite direction.
Take pure black and pure white too, if you want. You will be

too harsh. But harshness is much better in a beginner than

'
weakness.

I interpret with my heart as much as with my eye. (Quoted

by Alfred Robaut)

ONE must first feel his subject deeply; then, when he has seen
it, understood it well, do it; and then, confidence.

NATURE above all.

ONE always makes progress by copying nature. And if I

progressed only an inch in copying it, I would still go to any

lengths to seek it out.

I try always to see the effect right away; I do like a child

who makes a soap bubble. It is very small, but it is already
spherical ; then he blows very slowly until he is afraid he will
break it. In the same way, I work all parts of my picture
simultaneously, perfecting very slowly until I find the effect
complete.
I always begin with the shadows, and this is logical;

because since this is what strikes you most strongly, it is also

what you must do first.

What there is to see in painting, or rather what I look for,

is form, the whole, the value of the tones. Color for me comes
after. It is like a person you welcome. Because he is upright,

158
honest, a man wiflunit leproaeh, yon receive him fearlessly

and even with pleasure. If he has a bad disjKwition, his honesty

will make him pass. If then he has a good disposition, this

will be an additional charm to be profited by; but it is not

essentiaL That is why, for me, color comes second because I :

like the whole,harmony in the tones, above all; while color

sometimes gives you a shock that I do not Hke. It is perhaps
an excess of this principle that makes people say my tones
are often leaden. . . .

There is always a luminous point ui a picture : but it

should be unique. You may put it where you want : in a cloud,

in the reflection in water, or in a hat ; but there must be only

a single tone of that value. T Quoted by lime. Aviat)

151
 s -

EUGENE DELACROIX
EUGENE DELACROIX (1798-1863), hom at Char eni on -Saint
Maurice, near Paris w undeniahly the only French Romantic
painter. The quarrel between Ingres and Delacroix in the
nineteentli century was the same as the Quarrel of the
Ancients and Moderns two centuries earlier. Delacroix*
battle horse was imagination. But in his conception
imagination did nx>t have an exclusively '' literary*' nature,
as it ivas later alleged, hi fact, he gave considerable importance
to color, disregarding drawing though it is more capable
of '^ telling** the story in the picture. He even reached
the points of thinking that the subject should not count
in an appreciation of a work. He imbued painting with
musical qualities, and gave pictorial emotion a quasi-mystical
value. Sometimes his pictures have the look of a surging
epic in which rhythm and color alone seem to count.
Be that as it may, Delacroix was also a great writer.
His Journal proves this, better than do the writings he did
for publication. Delacroix* s m.ajor gift is in the realm of
improvisation, of immediate expression. We give extracts
from his Journal below, regretting that the scope of
this book does not allow us to include some of the same

author's more general considerations on art and literature,

which are of the greatest interest and which constitute a
very important contribution to the history of French
Romanticism.

Journal
October 8, 1822
WHEN I have painted a fine picture I have not given expression
to a thought! This is what they say. What fools people are!

They would strip painting of all its advantages. A writer has

to say almost everything in order to make himself understood,

155
but in painting it is as if some mysterious bridge were set up
between the spirit of the persons in the picture and the
beholder. The beholder sees figures, the external appearance
of nature, but inwardly he meditates ; the true thinking that

is common to all men. Some give substance to it in writing,

but in so doing they lose the subtle essence. Hence, grosser

minds are more easily moved by writers than by painters or
musicians. The art of the painter is all the nearer to man's
heart because it seems to be more material. In painting, as
in external nature, proper justice is done to what is finite

and to what is infinite, in other words, to what the soul finds

inwardly moving in objects that are known through the senses

alone.

October 22, 1822

I can't prevent myself blushing, and in other ways, too,

I've not enough self-control. I'm always thinking about the

model's discomfort. I don't observe closely enough before
beginning to paint.

December 22 or 23, 1822

LET us work with calm and without haste. When sweat begins
to break out on me and my blood to quicken, be careful.
Sloppy painting is painting by a slob.

February 20, 1824

EVERY time I look at the engravings of Faust I am seized with

a longing to use an entirely new style of painting that would

consist, so to speak, in making a literal tracing of nature.
The simplest poses could be made interesting by varying the
amount of foreshortening. For small pictures, one could draw
in the subject and rather vaguely rub in the colour on the
canvas, and then copy the exact pose from the model. I must
try this method with the work that remains to be done on
my picture.

February 27, 1824

THE things that are most real to me are the illusions which I
create with my painting. Everything else is a quicksand. . . .

156
 ;

AprU 7, 1824
THE first and most important thing in painting is the contour.
Even if all the rest were to be neglected, provided the contours
were there, the painting would be strong and finished. I have
more need than most to be on my guard about this matter;

think coiistanilxj about it, and always begin that ivay. . . .

April 11, 1824

I believe that when one needs a subject, it is best not to hark

back to the Classics and to choose something there. For really,

what could be more stupid? How am I to choose between all

the subjects I have remembered because they once seemed

beautiful to me, now that I feel much the same about them
all? The very fact that I am able to hesitate between two of
them suggests lack of inspiration. What is certain, is that if

I were to pick up my palette at this moment, and I am longing

to do so, I should be obsessed by that lovely Velazquez. What
I want to do, is to spread good, fat paint thickly on to a brown
or red canvas, and therefore what I must do to find a subject

is to open some book capable of giving me inspiration, and

then allow myself to be guided by my mood. . . . There are
certain books that should never fail, also certain engravings;

Dante, Lamartine, Byron, Michelangelo. . . .

Apra 25, 1824

WHY am I not a poet 1 But at least, let me feel as strongly as

possible in all my pictures the emotion that I want to pass on

to others! Allegory gives a fine range of subjects! . . .

April 27, 1824

I think that it is imagination alone or, what amounts to the

same thing, a delicacy of the senses that makes some men see

where others are blind, or rather, makes them see in a different

way. . . . Hence, no rules whatsoever for the greatest minds

rules are only for people who merely have talent, which can
be acquired. The proof is that genius cannot be transmitted.

May 7, 1824
NEVER seek after an empty perfection. Some faults, some

157
 ;

things which the \Tilgar call faults, often give vitality to a

work.
My picture is beginning to develop a rhythm, a powerful
spiral momentum, I must make the most of it. I must keep
that good black, that happy, rather dirty quality, and those
limbs which I know how to paint and few others even attempt.

The mulatto will do very well. I must get fullness. J^ven

though it loses in naturalness, it will gain in richness and
beauty. If only it hangs together ! ! the smile of the dying

man! The look in the mother's eyes! Embraces of despair!

Precious realm of painting! That silent power that speaks at
first only to the eyes and then seizes and captivates every
faculty of the soul ! Here is your real spirit ; here is your own
true beauty, beautiful painting, so much insulted, so griev-

ously misunderstood and delivered up to fools who exploit you.

But there are still hearts ready to welcome you devoutly, souls
who will no more be satisfied with mere phrases than with in-

ventions and clever artifices. You have only to be seen in your

masculine and simple vigour to give pleasure that is pure
and absolute. I confess that I have worked logically. I, who
have no love for logical painting. I see now that my turbulent
mind needs acti^dty, that it must break out and try a hundred
different ways before reaching the goal towards which I am
always straining. There is an old leaven working in me, some
black depth that must be appeased. Unless I am writhing like
a serpent in the coils of a pythoness I am cold. I must recog-
nize this and accept it, and to do so is the greatest happiness.
Everything good that I have ever done has come about in
this way. No more 'Don'
Quixotes
'
' and such unworthy things I

Concentrate deeply when you are at jomy painting and

think only of Dante. In his works lie what I have always felt

in myself.

May 11, 1824

PAINTING and I have said this a hundred times has ad-
vantages which no other art possesses. Poetry is full of riches

always remember certain passages from Byron, they are an

unfailing spur to your imagination; they are right for
you. . . .

158
May 14, 1824
YOU can add one more to the number
who have seen of those

nature in their own way. What they portrayed was made new-
through their vision and you will renew^ these things once
more. When they painted they expressed their souls, and now
yours is demanding its turn. . . . Newness is in the mind of
the artist who creates, and not in the object he portrays. . . .

July 20, 1824

I must make a number of sketches and give myself plenty of

time; this is where I most need to improve. Incidentally, I

must try to get hold of some fine Poussin engravings and study
them. The great thing is to avoid that infernal facility of the

brush. For preference choose a medium that is hard to work,

like marble this would be something quite new. Choose stub-
born material, and conquer it by patience.

August 19, 1824

LEARNED ouc of Horacc Vernet's favourite maxims: always
finish a thing when you've got a grasp of it. It's the only way
to achieve a great volume of production.

January 27, 1847

I do not think it possible to make any satisfactory comparison
between the actual techniques of an actor and a painter.
The former has a moment of violent, almost passionate in-

spiration during which, by an act of imagination, he can put

himself in the place of the character he is representing; but
once his rendering has been decided, he must inevitably become
colder at each successive performance. All he can do at each
repetition is to give a new version of his original conception,
and the further he gets from the moment when his half-realized

ideal can still reach his mind, albeit somewhat confusedly,

the nearer he approaches to perfection. He makes tracings,

so to speak, of the original idea. A painter, too, has this first,

passionate glimpse of his subject, but in his case the earliest

attempt at self-expression has less form than the actor's. The
more talented he is, the more beauties he will add to his work
by quiet study ; not be conforming as closely as possible to his

159
. .BE CAREFUL NOT TO LET ANY WHITE SLIP IN,
.

FOR IT IS POISON TO A PICTURE, EXCEPT IN HIGHLIGHTS . . .

Rubens
YOU MUST KNOW . . . THAT THERE ARE TWO WAYS
OF SEEING OBJECTS, ONE BEING SIMPLY TO SEE THEM,
AND THE OTHER TO CONSIDER THEM ATTENTIVELY.
Poussin
I

> #

\m.
A PICTURE IS NOT MADE TO BE SMELTED;
STEP back: the odor of paint is not healthy.
Rembrandt
 \

'k
. . . TO COLOR PERFECTLY IS THE RAREST
AND MOST PRECIOUS POWER AN ARTIST CAN POSSESS.

Rusk in
DiKK ,<
[:M'ilitt
^^'i m
ONE USES COLORS, BUT ONE PAINTS WITH FEELING.
Char din-
I LIKE WHAT THEY CALL STYLE, BUT I DO NOT LIKE MANNER.
David
WHERE DO THEY FIND LINES IN NATURE ? AS FOR ME.

I CAN DISTINGUISH ONLY LUMINOUS AND DARK BODIES ....

Gov a
THE LANDSCAPE PAINTER MUST WALK
IN THE FIELDS WITH AN HUMBLE MIND.
Constable
WITHOUT DARING, WITHOUT
EXTREME DARING EVEN, THERE IS NO BEAUTY.
Delacroiyc
PICTURES aren't MADE OUT OF DOCTRINES.
Moyiet
 ^'^j

3R*-'

y *

-.>^'<'

^^
j^

f
iX^i

S:
. . . WE MUST RENDER THE IMAGE OF WHAT WE SEE,

FORGETTING EVERYTHING THAT EXISTED BEFORE US.

Cezanne
WHO WILL SHOW US THE WAY
TO MAKE PAINTING SIMPLE AND CLEAR?

E. Manet
fv

\
YOU COME TO NATURE WITH YOUR THEORIES.
AXD SHE KNOCKS THEM ALL FLAT . . .

Renoir
 il^^

^ r
>

f m^
BUT ART IS VERY TERRIBLE AND DIFFICULT TO FATHOM . . -

Gatiguin
 -"li

/ 4

,-^-,.

!rN
NATURE ALWAYS BEGINS BY RESISTING THE ARTIST . . .

Van Gosh
DRAWING IS NOT FORM, IT 15 THE WAY FORM IS Sr^-N-

Deeas
 ^ 'f

* rriii.1.'

.<;..<

-rx'
J^

V
first conception, but by strengthening it with the warmth of
his execution.

There must always be an element of improvisation in the

execution of a painter, and therein lies its fundamental dif-

ference from that of the actor. A painter's execution will be

beautiful only if he reserves the right to be carried away
by his inspiration, to a certain extent, and to make discoveries

as his work proceeds.

January 29, 1847

IF one is in the habit of working without a model however
happy the original conception one misses those striking effects

which the great masters obtained so simply, because they

rendered an effect in nature even a commonplace one in a

naive way. And this will always be the danger; effects like

those which Prud'hon and Correggio produced \vill never be

like those of Rubens, for example. In Vandyke's little "St.
Martin" (the one which Gericault copied) there is nothing
extraordinary in the composition, and yet the effect of the
horse and rider is immense. This is probably due to the artist's
having seen the subject in the li\Hing model. And my o^\ti little

Greek (''Count Palatiano") has the same quality.

It might be argued that with the other method you get
more delicate and subtle effects, even though they may not
have the striking and authoritative look that at once compels
admiration. The white horse in Ruben's ''St. Benoit" would
seem to have been painted wholly from imagination, yet it

creates a most powerful effect.

February 4, 1847
COMING home in the omnibus, I watched the effects of half-

tones on the horses' backs; that is to say on the shiny coats

of the bays and blacks. They must be treated like the rest, as a
mass, with a local colour lying half way between the sheen and
the warm colouring. Over this preparation, a warm, trans-
parent glaze should be enough to show the change of plane for
the parts in shadow, with reflected lights. Then, on the parts
that project into this half-tone colour, the high lights can be
marked with bright, cold tones. This was very remarkable
in the bay horse.

193
Fehruary 9, 1S47
I said to Demay ^ that a great number of talented artists had
never done anything worth while because they surrounded
themselves with a mass of prejudices, or had them thrust upon
them by the fashion of the moment. It is the same with their
famous word beauty which, everyone says, is the chief aim of
the arts. But if beauty were the only aim, what would become
of men like Rubens and Rembrandt and all the northern

temperaments, generally speaking, who prefer other qualities ?

Demand purity, in other words, beauty, from an artist like

Puget and farewell to his verve ! . . .

Fehruary 14, 1847

BEAUTY is surely the confluence of all good qualities.

February 15, 1847

WITH a good drawing to settle the maiti lines of the composi-

tion and the placing of the figures the sketch can be done away
with. It almost becomes an unnecessary repetition of the work
itself. The qualities of the sketch are retained in the picture

by leaving the details vague. . . .

Fehruary 19, 1847

AN artist of imagination strives to raise the model to the ideal
of his conception but, in spite of himself, he is drawn towards
the vulgarity that besets him on every side, and which he sees
in front of his eyes. . . .

March 2, 1847
OXE of the great advantages of a lay-in by tone and general
effect, without worrying about the details, is that you need
to put in only those which are absolutely essential. Beginning
by completing the backgrounds, as I have done here. I have
made them as simple as possible, so as to avoid their appearing
overloaded beside the simple masses that stiU represent the
figures. Conversely, when I come to finish the figures, the
simplicity of the backgrounds wiU allow even compel me
to put in only what is absolutely essential. Once the sketch
has been brought to this stage, the right thing to do is to
carry each part as far as possible, and to refrain from
working over the picture as a whole, assuming of course that
the effect and tone hare been determined throughout. What I

mean is, that when you decide to finish a particular figure

among others as yet only laid in, you must be careful to keep
the details simple, so as to avoid being too much out of
harmony with figures that are still in the stage of a sketch.

If a picture in its first lay-in satisfies your mind by its lines,

colour and general effect, and you then proceed to finish it in

the same way (that is, by continuing to work over it as a

whole), it is plain that you will lose much of the great

simplicity of impression which you achieved at the start.
One's eye becomes accustomed to details, when they arc

introduced gradually into one figure after another, and into

all at the same sitting, and the picture never seems finished.
First disadvantage of the method : the details smother the
masses. Second disadvantage: the work takes much longer
to do.

September 19, 1847

I can distinguish poets and prose-writers among painters.
The rhyme, the restraints imposed by the metre, the form
that is indispensable to poetry and gives it so much vigour,
are like the inner symmetry in a picture, the studied, yet

inspired rhythm that governs the junction or separation of

lines and spaces, the echoing notes of colour, etc. It w^ould be
easy to demonstrate this thesis, were it not that more active
faculties and keener sensibilities are needed to distinguish
errors, discords, and mis-statements among lines and colours,

than to discover that a rhyme is faulty, or a hemistich

clumsily or wrongly put together. But the beauty of poetry
does not depend on exact obedience to laws, whose neglect is

obvious to the most ignorant. It lies in a thousand harmonies

and subtle arrangements of words and sounds which give to
poetry its power and appeal directly to the imagination, just

as in painting, the imagination is affected by a happy selection

of forms and a proper understanding of their relationship one

to another. David's picture ''Thermopylae" is, I consider, an

essay in masculine and vigorous prose. And Poussin hardly
ever uses other means to rouse our ideas than the more or less

195
expressive gestures of Ms figures. His landscapes seem to be

more carefully thought out. but like those other painters

whom I call the prose writers in contrast to the poets, he
seems more often than not to assemble the tones and arrange
the lines of his composition at random. The poetic or expressive
idea never strikes one at first glance.

October 5, 1847
YTiTH the usual methods you always have to spoil one effect
in order to obtain another. Rubens was unrestrained in the

''Naiads" so as to avoid losing his light and colour. It is

the same with portraiture; if you want to obtain extreme

strength of expression and character, the freedom of the

touch disappears, and with it the light and the colour.

July 15, 1349

THIS famous quality, the beautiful, which some see in a
curved line and others in a straight, all are determined to see
in line alone. But here am I. sitting at my window, looking at
the most beautiful countryside imaginable and the idea of a
line does not enter into my head. . . . Without the ideal there

is neither painting, nor drawing, nor colour. But worse than

having no ideal is to have that second-hand one which these
people learn at the Ecole, and which is enough to make one
hate their models. . . .

JanvMry 25, 1350

IT has occurred to me that artists who have a sufficiently

vigorous style are most to be excused from exact imitation,

^Michelangelo, for example. When they reach a certain point,
they more than make up in independence and audacity for
what they lose in literal truth.

February 8, 1350
WHEN one is beginning to work out the scale of a picture it

would be a good idea to settle on some light object in which

the tones and value were exactly taken from nature, a hand-
kerchief, for instance, or a piece of material Ciceri advised

me to do this some years ago.

196
June 8, 1850
AS I considered the composition for the ceiling (I only began
to like it yesterday, after I had made the alterations to the

sk^' with pastel), it struck me that a good picture is like a

good dish. It is made of exactly the same ingredients as a
bad one the artist does everj-thing! How many magnificent
compositions would be worthless without a pinch of salt from
the hand of the grreat cook! . . .

The new is very old; you might even say that it is the
oldest thing of all.

July 18, 1350

COLD accuracy is not art. Skilful invention, when it is pleasing
or expressive, is art itself. The so-called conscientiousness of

the great majority of painters is nothing but perfection in the

art of boring. If it were possible, these fellows would labour
with equal care over the backs of their pictures. It might be
interesting to write a treatise on all the falsities that can be
added together to make a truth.

August 10, 1850

FOR the grand style it is essential to have the drawing estab-
lished in advance. When a picture is built up by the half-tone
method the contour comes last, this gives greater reality but
also a softer quality, and possibly less character. . . .

September 29, 1850

IF you allow the light and the breadth of plane to dominate un-
duly it leads to an absence of half-tints, and consequently to

loss of colour ; to err in the other direction is especially damag-

ing in large compositions, such as ceilings, etc., which are
intended to be seen at a distance. . . .

October 16, 1350

On pictorial licence. The most sublime effects of every master
are often the result of pictorial licence for example, the lack of ;

finish in Rmbrandt's work, the exaggeration in Rubens.

Mediocre painters never have sufficient daring, they never get
beyond themselves. Method cannot supply a rule for every-
thing, it can only lead everyone to a certain point. Why have

197
no great artists ever attempted to break down this mass of
prejudice ? They were probably frightened by the magnitude
of the task and therefore abandoned the mob to their foolish
ideas.

June 6y 1851
I should be inclined to say that colour is a very much more
mysterious, and perhaps a greater force than is generally
supposed; it functions, so to speak, without our being aware

of it. . . .

February 23, 1852

PAINTERS who are not colourists practise illumination, not
painting. Unless you are deliberately setting out to do a mono-
chrome or camaieu ^ painting in the proper sense of the word,
you must consider colour as one of the most essential factors,

together with chiaroscuro, proportion, and perspective. Pro-

portion applies as well to sculpture as to painting perspective ;

determines the contour chiaroscuro gives relief by the arrange-

;

ment of lights and shadows in relation to the background;

colour gives the semblance of life, etc. . . .

The colourists, by whom I mean those artists who unite

all the factors of painting, must establish everjrthing that is

proper and necessary to their art at once, from the start of

the work. And just as the sculptor masses-in his work with
clay or marble or stone, so the colourist must mass-in colour,
and his sketch, like the sculptor's, must render at the same
time proportion, perspective, colour and effect.

In painting, the contour is a matter of idea and conven-

tion just as it is in sculpture, and should arise naturally out
of a proper arrangement of the essential parts. In the early
stages of preparation, when the effect, which includes the
perspective, is united with colour, the work approximates
more or less closely to its ultimate appearance according to
the ability of the artist, but even in the first stage of all, it

will unmistakably contain the germ of all that is to come after.

May 5, 1852
A picture should be laid-in as
if one were looking at the subject

on a grey day, with no sunlight or clear-cut shadows. Funda-

198
mentally, lights and shadows do not exist. Every object
presents a colour mass, having different reflections on all sides.

Suppose a ray of sunshine should suddenly light up the

objects in this open-air scene under grey light, you will then

have w^hat are called lights and shadows but they will be pure
accidents. This, strange as it may appear, is a profound truth
and contains the whole meaning of colour in painting. How-

extraordinary that it should have been understood by so few

of the great painters, even among those who are generally
^
regarded as colourists !

TJjuiated

REMEMBER that grey is the enemy of all painting. Paintings

almost invariably appear greyer than they actually are because

they are hung at an oblique angle to the light. . . .

This suggests a w^ay of avoiding long hours spent in re-

touching: make up your mind before beginning the work.

To do this, you must try to be completely satisfied with the

figures painted in without a background, it is then easier to

keep the background in place at a later stage.
It is absolutely essential that the half-tints in a picture

(that is to say all the tones, generally speaking) should be

exaggerated. You can safely wager that the picture will be

hung with the light falling obliquely on to it and therefore,

what is true from one point of view only when it is facing
the light will inevitably be grey and false when seen from
any other angle.

January 2, 1853
C0LX)UR is nothing unless it is appropriate to the subject and
increases the effect of the picture through the power of the
imagination. . . .

April 13, 1853

ONE always has to spoil a picture a little in order to finish it.

The last touches, which are given to bring the different parts
into harmony, take away from the freshness. It has to appear
in public shorn of all those happy negligences which an artist

delights in. I compare these murderous retouchings to the

boring ritornellos that end every melody and the insignificant

199
passages which a composer must place between interesting
parts of his work so as to lead on from one theme to another,
or display them to advantage. At the same time, retouchings

are not so harmful as one might suppose, so long as the picture

is well thought out and executed with real feeling. By effacing

the separate touches (the first as well as the last) time restores
,

to the picture its final unity.

ApnJ 20, 1853

A finished building encloses the imagination within a circle

and prevents it from straying beyond its limits. Perhaps the

only reason why the sketch for a work gives so much pleasure
is that each beholder can finish it as he chooses. . . . Thus an
artist does not spoil a picture by finishing it, but when he
abandons the vagueness of the sketch he reveals his personality
more fully, thereby displaying the full scope of his talent,
but also its limitations.

AprU 28, 1853

YOU need to make a host of sacrifices in order to give painting
its full value, and I think I do make a great many, but I
cannot stand it when an artist shows his hand too much in his
pictures. Yet many exceedingly fine things have been conceived
by exaggerating the emotional effect. . . .

May 19, 1853

WHILE I was lunching I read Peisse's article, in which he
reviews the Salon as a whole and inquires into the trend of
modern art. He is quite right in seeing a tendency towards
the picturesque which he considers to be a sign of inferiority.
Yes, if it were only a question of arranging lines and colours
to create a visual effect an arabesque would do as well, but
when you add to a composition already interesting on account
of its subject, an arrangement of lines that heightens the
impression, a chiaroscuro that grips the imagination and a
colour scheme suited to the characters, you have solved a more
difficult problem and, moreover, you are moving on a higher
plane. Like a musician, you are adapting to a simple melody
the wealth of harmony and its mutations. Peisse calls this

200
tendency musical, and he uses the word in a derogatory sense;
personally, I think it as praiseworthy as any other.

October 12, 1853

WHEN an artist is very learned and very intelligent the use of
a model, if properly understood, allows details to be suppressed
which a painter who works from his imagination always
includes too lavishly for fear of leaving out something im-
portant. This fear prevents him from treating really character-

istic details freely and from showing them in their full light.

Shadows, for example, always have too much detail in the

painting one does from imagination, especially in trees,

draperies, etc.

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS over showing only what is seen in nature

always makes a painter colder than the nature he believes he
is imitating, and for that matter nature is by no means
invariably interesting from the point of view of the effect
of the whole ensemble . . . Even though each detail taken

separately has a perfection which I call inimitable, collectively,

they rarely produce an effect equal to what a great artist

obtains from his feeling for the whole scene and its composition.

IT is therefore far more important for an artist to come near

to the ideal which he carries in his mind, and which is char-
acteristic of him, than to be content with recording, however
strongly, any transitory ideal that nature may offer and
she does offer such aspects: but once again, it is only certain
men who see them and not the average man, which is a proof
that the beautiful is created by the artist's imagination
precisely because he follows the bent of his own genius.

IF therefore you can introduce into a composition of this kind

a passage that has been carefully painted from the model, and
can do this without creating utter discord, you will have
accomplished the greatest feat of all, that of harmonizing
what seems irreconcilable. You will have introduced reality
into a dream, and united two different arts. Indeed, the art of

the truly idealistic painter is as different from that of the

201
cold copyist as are the eloquent orations in PJiedre from the
love-letters of some little chorus-girl.

October 20, 1853

THE impressions that the arts produce on sensitive natures
are a curious mystery when you try to describe them they seem
;

confused but each time you experience them, if only in recol-

lection, they are strong and clear. I firmly believe that we
always mingle something of ourselves in the emotions that
seem to arise out of objects that impress us. And I think it

probable that these things delight me so much only because

they echo feelings that are also my own. If, although so
different, they give me the same degree of pleasure, it must
be because I recognize in myself the source of the kind of effect
they produce.
The type of emotion peculiar to painting is, so to speak,

tangible ;
poetry and music cannot give rise to it. In painting
you enjoy the actual representation of objects as though you
were really seeing them and at the same time you are warmed
and carried away by the meaning which these images contain
for the mind. The figures and objects in the picture, which
to one part of your intelligence seem to be the actual things
themselves, are like a solid bridge to support your imagination
as it probes the deep mysterious emotions, of which these forms
are, so to speak, the hieroglyph, but a hieroglyph far more
eloquent than any cold representation, the mere equivalent
of a printed symbol. In this sense the art of painting is sublime

if you compare it with the art of writing wherein the thought

reaches the mind only by means of printed letters arranged in
a given order. It is a far more complicated art, if you like,

since the symbol is nothing and the thought appears to be

everything, but it is a thousand times [less] expressive when
you consider that independently of idea, the visible sign, the
eloquent hieroglyph itself which has no value for the mind in
the work of an author, becomes in the painter 's hands a source
of the most intense pleasure ^that pleasure which we gain from
seeing beauty, proportion, contrast, and harmony of colour
in the things around us, in everything which our eyes love to
contemplate in the outside world, and which is the satisfaction
of one of the profoundest needs of our nature.

202
 a

December 24, 1853

EXPERTS are more shrewd in their criticisms than other people,
but they become very excited over technical matters. Painters
worry over nothing else. Interest, subject matter, even pictorial
qualities amount to nothing beside virtues of technique, I mean
academic technique.

Undated, 1854
THE Beautiful implies a combination of many different qual-

ities. Strength alone, without elegance, etc., is not beauty.

In a single word, the broadest definition would be Harmony.

March 26, 1854

THE human mind is such an imperfect instrument, so hard to
concentrate, that even those most sensitive to the arts feel a
kind of uneasiness when faced with a really fine work
difficulty in enjoying it completely which cannot be over-
come by cheap ways of procuring an artificial unity, such as
the repetition of the theme in a piece of music, for instance,
or the concentration of the effect in a painting. Such devices
are paltry little tricks, which the average artist learns to
achieve very easily and uses just as freely. It would seem
that a picture should be able to satisfy the need for unity more
fully and easily than a musical composition because you have
the impression of seeing it all at once, but unless it is well
composed it will be no more successful than a piece of music.
Indeed, I would add that even though it exhibited a unity of
effect carried to the highest degree of perfection it would not
be completely satisfying to the soul for that reason alone.
The feeling that a picture inspires in us must return to our

memory when we no longer have it before our eyes, and then

it is that the impression of unity will predominate provided
that it does really possess that quality.

April 23, 1854

UNFORTUNATELY, it oftcu happens that either the execution,
or some difficulty, or even some quite minor consideration,
causes one to deviate from the original intention. The first

idea, the sketch the egg or embryo of the idea, so to speak

is nearly always far from complete; everything is there, if

203
you like, but this everything has to be released, which simply
means joining up the various parts. The precise quality that
renders the sketch the highest expression of the idea is not

the suppression of details, but their subordination to the

great sweeping lines that come before everything else in

making the impression. The greatest difficulty therefore, when

it comes to tackling the picture, is this subordination of details

which, nevertheless, make up the composition and are the very

warp and weft of the picture itself.

If I am not mistaken, even the greatest artists have had

tremendous struggles in overcoming this, the most serious

difficulty of all. Here, it becomes even more obvious that the

disadvantage of gi^^ng too much interest to details by grace
of charm in execution is that at a later stage you bitterly

regret having to sacrifice them when they spoil the whole effect.

This is where the specialists in light and witty touches, those

people who go in for expressive heads and brilliant torsos,

meet with defeat where they are accustomed to triumph. A

picture built up bit by bit with pieces of patclnvork, each
separate piece carefully finished and neatly placed beside the
rest, will look like a masterpiece and the very height of skill
as long as it is unfinished ; as long, that is to say, as the ground
is not covered, for to painters who complete every detail as

they place it on the canvas., finishing means covering the whole

of that canvas. As you watch a work of this t^-pe proceeding
so smoothly, and those details that seem all the more interest-
ing because you have nothing else to admire, you involuntarily
feel a rather empty astonishment, but when the last touch has
been added, when the architect of this agglomeration of separate
details has placed the topmost pinnacle of his motley edifice in

position and has said his final word, you see nothing but blanks
or overcrowding, an assemblage without order of any kind.
The interest given to each separate object is lost in the general
confusion, and an execution that seemed precise and suitable
becomes dr\Tiess itself because of the total absence of
sacrifices. . . .

AprU 29, 1854

SINCE coming here I am beginning to understand the principle
of the trees better, although the leaves are not yet fully out.

20U
They must be modelled with a coloured reflection, as in treat-

ing flesh; the method seems even more suitable in their case.
The reflection should not be entirely a reflection. When you
are finishing you must increase the reflection in places where
it appears necessary, and when you paint on top of light or
grey passages the transition is less abrupt. I notice that one
should always model with masses that turn, as one would in
objects not composed of an infinity of small parts, such as

leaves. But as the latter are extremely transparent, the tone

of the reflection plays an important part in their treat-
ment. . . .

The more I think about colour, the more convinced I

become that this reflected half-tint is the principle that must
predominate, because it is this that gives the true tone, the

tone that constitutes the value, the thing that matters in

gi\ing life and character to the object. Light, to which the
schools teach us to attach equal importance and which they
place on the canvas at the same time as the half-tint and
shadow, is really only an accident. Without grasping this

principle, one cannot understand true colour, I mean the

colour that gives the feeling of thickness and depth and of
that essential difference that distinguishes one object from
another.

May 25, 1854

IT is not the thing that must be done, but only the appearance
of the thing; again, it is for the mind and not for the eye
that this effect must be produced. . . .

July 29, 1854

SIMPLICITY is the quality that gives to portraits their principal
charm. . . .

Exaggerating the darkness of the background makes a

strongly lighted face stand out well, if required, but such
strong light is apt to be crude; in other words, it is an
exceptional effect that we see before us rather than a natural
object. . . .

October 4, 1854
*
WE talked about the rules of composition. I said to Chenavard

205
that absolute truth can give an impression contrary to the
truth, or at least contrary to that relative truth at which art
must aim. Now that I come to consider the matter thoroughly,
I see that it is perfectly logical to exaggerate the imporant
passages intended to create the chief impression, in order to
make them suitably outstanding, because it is to them that
the mind of the beholder must be directed. . . .

October 12, 1854

HE is moved because he sees nature through the eye of his
memory while he looks at your picture. Your picture must
already have been beautified, idealized, if you are not to seem
inferior to the conception of nature formed by the ideal, which
memory thrust willy-nilly into all our recollections. . . .

October 15, 1854

I have made it a rule never to allow myself to finish a picture
unless the effect and the tone have been completely caught,
and I find this plan very successful. I am always going back
over my work, redrawing and correcting, and always in the
light of what I feel is needed at that particular moment;
indeed, it would be stupid to do otherwise. . . . When every-
thing has been carried forward in this way there is no difficulty

about finishing, especially when one uses tones that at once

fit in with those already set down. Without this, the freshness
of the execution is lost and one spoils the liveliness of sensitive
touches; proceeding in this way, the touches seem scarcely to
have been modified. . . .

August 8, 1856
THE finest works of art are those that express the pure fantasy
of the artist. . . .

January 5, 1857
MANNERED talcuts havc but one bias, one usage only. They are
more apt to follow the impulse of the hand than to control it.
Those that are less mannered must be more varied, for they
continually respond to genuine emotion. The artist must ex-
press this emotion in his work; embellishments and vain
displays of facility and skill do not come into his mind; on

206
 the contrary, he despises every thing that does not lead to a
more vital expression of his thought. . . .

I quite realize that to call a man a colourist is considered

more of a disadvantage than a recommendation by modern

schools which regard the study of dra\ving as a \4rtue in itself
and are willing to sacrifice everything to it. It would appear
that colourists are solely concerned with the inferior, the
more mundane aspects of painting, that fine dra^ving is in-

finitely finer when combined with a depressing colour-scheme,

and that colour merely serves to distract attention from more

sublime qualities that can very easily stand without the
support of its prestige. This might be called the abstract side
of painting in which the contour is the prime object. Apart
from colour, such a conception subordinates other essential

factors of painting, for example the right distribution of

effect, and even composition itself.

A Dictionury of January 11, 1857

^
the Fine Arts Contour. Should come last, contrary to the usual practice. . . .

Drawing. From the centre or from the contour.

Simplicity. Examples of simplicity, the final achievement in

art, the Antique, etc.

Academics. What Voltaire says of them, that they have never

produced the greatest men.
SJiadoics. Accurately speaking there are no such things as
shadows. There are only reflections. Importance of defining
the edges of shadows. Always too strong. . . . The younger
the model, the lighter the shadows w^ill be.

January 13, 1857

Foreshortening. There is always a certain amount of fore-
shortening, even in figures standing perfectly erect with arms
at the sides. The arts of foreshortening (or perspective) and
drawing are one and the same. . . .

Frames, Mounts. Can have a good or bad influence on the effect

of the picture. . . .

Light, the point of brilliance or high light. Why is the true

tone of the object always to be seen beside the high light?

Because the point of light only appears on parts where the

207
light strikes directly, i.e., on those parts which do not turn
away from the light. In a rounded object such as an ovoid

this does not occur because it all recedes from the light.

The more highly polished the object, the less one is able

to see the true colour ; it literally becomes a mirror reflecting

surrounding colours.
Cohesion. The effect of atmosphere and reflections that brings
objects of the most incongruous colours into one whole.
Reflections. Every reflection contains green, and the edge of

every shadow contains violet.

Proportion. . . . When the proportions are too perfect it

detracts from a sense of the sublime.

Sketch. The best sketch is one that sets the artist's mind at rest
about the outcome of his picture.
Distance. To give objects distance one usually makes them
more grey : it is a question of touch, etc. Also, use the colours

flat.

Touch, [i.e., the brush-stroke] Many masters have avoided

showing the touch, thinking, no doubt, that by so doing they
were coming closer to nature, where there is of course no such
thing. Touch is merely one of several means that contribute
towards rendering a thought in painting. No doubt it is

possible to paint a very beautiful picture in which touch is

not apparent, but it is childish to imagine that in so doing

you are getting closer to nature ;
you might as well construct
actual reliefs in colour upon the picture, on the pretext that
all bodies have projection ! . . . . Thus it would seem that a
sketch in which the touch is good can never give so much
pleasure as a very highly finished picture, I mean a picture
where touch is not stressed, for in many pictures touch is

completely absent, although they are very far from being

finished. . . . When touch is judiciously handled it can be
used to stress the different planes of an object more suitably.
The planes are brought forward when the touch is strongly
marked, and vice versa. Many painters who take the . . .

greatest possible pains to avoid showing touch on the pretext

that it does not exist in nature, exaggerate contours although
these also are non-existent. They seek thus to bring a quality of
precision into their work, but it remains unreal to any but the
dull eyes of semi-connoisseurs. . . .

208
Interest. . . . One must not show everything. . . .

Subject. . . . Painting does not always need a subject.

January 25, 1857

WITHOUT daring, without extreme daring even, there is no
beauty. . . .

Cohesion. When we look at the objects around us, whether in

a landscape or an interior, we notice that between each of them
there is a kind of connexion produced by the surrounding
envelope of air and the various reflections which, as it were,
cause each separate object to be part of a general harmony.
This is a charm which painting seems unable to dispense with,

and yet the majority of painters and even some of the great

masters paid little attention to it. By far the greater number

seem not even to have obser^^ed in nature this essential
harmony that establishes in a painting a unity which lines
alone would be unable to create, in spite of the most skilful
arrangement. It seems almost superfluous to add that painters
who were not primarily interested in effect and colour dis-
regarded it completely. What is even more surprising is that
it was neglected by many of the great colourists, which could
only have been a result of their lack of sensitivity to this
quality. . . .

Execution. Good, or rather true execution is one that fulfils

the thought by means of an apparently materialistic technical

skill without which it would be incomplete; this is the case

with great poetry. Great ideas can be expressed prosaically.

David's execution is cold; it would be enough to chill loftier

and more vital ideas than any he possessed. True execution,

on the other hand, redeems the idea from any element of
feebleness or commonplace.
Imagination. This is the paramount quality for an artist, and
no less essential for an art lover. I cannot conceive a man
buying pictures and being devoid of imagination; his vanity
would need to be insensate. How^ever, strange as it may seem,
the great majority of people are devoid of imagination. Not
only do they lack the keen, penetrating imagination which
would allow them to see objects in a vivid way which would
lead them, as it were, to the very root of things but they are
209
equally incapable of any clear understanding of works in
which imagination predominates.
Advocates of that truism of the sensualists, nil est in

intellectu quod non fuerit prius in sensu,^ may pretend that

imagination is nothing more than a form of memory, but they
are bound to acknowledge that although all men have sensa-

tionand memory, very few possess the imagination which they

claim to be composed of those two elements. With an artist,
imagination does not merely consist in conjuring up a vision
of various objects, it combines them for the purpose which he
has in mind ; it makes pictures, images that he arranges as he

pleases. Where then is the acquired experience that can

develop this faculty of composition?
Dust, Dust colour is the most universal half -tint. It is, in fact,

a combination of every tone. The tones of the palette mixed

together always give a dust-tone of greater or less intensity.
Interest, interesting. ... A kind of instinct teaches the su-
perior artist to find where the chief interest of his composition

should lie. The art of grouping, the art of ordering the lighting

appropriately, or of colouring brilliantly or soberly, the art

of sacrificing or of multiplying the possibilities of the effect,
and a whole host of other qualities belonging to the great

artist are needed to awaken interest, and all contribute to it

in some degree. The exact truth of the forms, or their exag-

geration, the profusion or moderation of details, the uniting

or dispersal of the masses, in a word all the resources of art

are like a keyboard under the hand of the artist, from some
notes of which he draws chosen sounds whilst others he allows
to lie dormant.
The main source of interest comes from the soul of the
artist, and flows into the soul of the beholder in an irresistible
way. Not that every interesting work strikes all its beholders
with equal force merely because each of them is supposed to
possess a soul ; only people gifted with feeling and imagination
are capable of being moved. These two faculties are equally
indispensable to the beholder and the artist, although in dif-
ferent proportions.
Sensitivity. ... It is the intelligent touch that summarizes;
and offers an equivalent of feeling.

210
Marcli 16, 1857
YOU must use methods familiar to the times in which you live,

otherwise you will not be understood, and you will not live. . . .

May, 1857
don't ask a cavalry colonel his opinion on pictures or statues;
at most, all he knows is horses!

May 16, 1857

A simple outline is less expressive and gives less pleasure
than a drawing in which the lights and shadows are rendered.
And the latter is less expressive than a picture, provided that
the picture is brought to the degree of harmony where drawing
and color combine to form a single effect.

June 26, 1857

OUGHT one to say that the best way of discovering the sublime
is to polish one's work less? . . .

February 22, 1860

Realism. Realism should be described as the antipodes of
art. . . .

A mere cast taken from nature will always be more real

than the best copy a man can produce. . . .

Marcli 8, 1860
EXPERIENCE ought to tcach us two things ; first, that we should
do a great deal of correcting; secondly, that we must not
correct too much.

June 22, 1863

TiiE first quality in a picture is to be a delight for the eyes.

This does not mean that there need be no sense in it ; it is like

poetry which, if it offend the ear, all the sense in the world
will not save from being bad. They speak of having an ear for
music not every eye
: is fit to taste the subtle joys of painting.

The eyes of many people are dull or false; they see objects
literally, of the exquisite they see nothing.

211
Supplement to the Journal
Undated
OUR painters are delighted to have a fine ideal ready-made and
in their pocket that they can communicate to each other and
to their friends. . . . The sovereign ugliness is our conventions
and our illiberal dispositions of great and sublime nature. . . .

Ugliness is our embellished heads, our embellished folds, art

and nature corrected according to the passing taste of a few

dwarfed minds, who rap the knuckles of antiquity, the Middle
Ages, and finally nature itself.

Undated
AS soon as an idea calls forth the form that suits it, the form,
or consonance, alone determines everything.

December 16, 1843

THE poet manages with a succession of images; the painter
with their simultaneity.

Undated
IN every object, the first thing to take hold of in order to
produce [the object] in drawing is the contrast of the principal
line. . . . For example, when one does wholes with that
knowledge of cause, when one knows the lines by heart, so
to speak, he could reproduce them rather geometrically in the
picture.

Undated
DISTINGUISH clearly the different planes in circumscribing
them respectively; class each one in the order in which the
light falls on it, and before painting distinguish those that
have the same value. . . . When you have a little more light
on the edge of a clearly established plane than you do in the
center, you accentuate its juncture with other planes or its

own prominence all the more. This is the prime secret of relief.
It will avail you nothing to use black; you will not achieve
relief. It follows that with a mere trifle you can create relief.

212
Undated
THERE are lines that are monsters the straight
: line, the regular
serpentine, above all two parallel lines. When man lays them
out, the elements corrode them. Mosses and accidents break
the lines of his monuments. A line by itself has no meaning;
it needs a second one to give it expression. ... It would be
interesting to know whether regular lines exist only in man's
skull.

213
GUSTAYE COURBET
GUSTAVE couRBET (1819-1877), hom at Ornans, was the enfant
terrible of nineteenth-century painting. He was an exuberant
and fertile artist. And all that power is solidly contained in
his painting, where it is not imprisoned hut implanted.
Courhet is unclassifiahle. He cannot properly he called either a
Romantic or a Classicist. Realist f Yes, hut many a picture, so
poetic in tone ^'The Woman with the Parrot,^' or ^'The Girl
with the Seagidls,'' or again ^^
Venus and Psyche" negates
these efforts to tag him. Courhet was rather a Le Nain
imhued with a pagan grace, hut there was also some Flemish
and Italian in him. His was a unique nature that fused itself
with the universal. He has left us an interesting correspond-
ence with Proudhon; we have numerous documents from him
on his political life, hut few writings where he speaks to us of
painting in general. We include helow his ^^ Letter to His
Students" and some of his spoken words, hoping that
they will he sufficiently comprehensive to show the intentional
character of his pictorial conception, which in a completely
different spirit would inspire Cezanne and an Gogh. Courhet
wanted to grasp the fullness of the concrete. He could
conceive of imagination only in this sense. His painting is

physical poetry, without emhellishment or commentary ; it is

reality carried to its supreme expression in painting.

Observations and Writings

THE word realist has been forced on me as the word romantic
was forced on the men of 1830. Such titles have never given a
just idea of the work to which they are attached ; if they could
and did, then there would be no need for the pictures. . . .

Without expounding on the greater or lesser correctness of

a qualification that none, we must hope, pretends really to

214
understand, I will limit myself to a few explanatory remarks
to clear up some misunderstandings.

... I have studied, with a complete disregard for any system,

the art of the ancients and the art of the moderns. I have

neither tried to imitate the first nor to copy the latter; nor
have I come to the blind alley of "Art for Art's Sake." No!
I have tried only in a full knowledge of tradition to discover a

reasoned and independent consciousness of my own individu-

ality. My only aim has been to find power in knowledge. It has
been my aim to transcribe the manners, ideas, aspects of my
own generation, as fully and as closely as I can, to be not only

a painter but also a man; in a word, my aim is to create a

living art.

"how did you learn to paint?" I asked him one day.

"Oh, it was quite simple," he answered. "I wasn't rich,

and models cost a lot. Then too, I had fast reached the con-

clusion that all models are helpful to somebody who wants to

learn. One day I put a white cloth on my night table and

on that white cloth I put a white vase. White on white all

the difficulties in painting. With my model placed, I tried to

paint it, I painted it a good fifty times ; on the fiftieth, I got it.

And I '11 say that Monsieur Ingres,

'
' he added in a joking tone,
"couldn't do as much!" (Castagnary)

"look at the shadow on the snow," Courbet said to me (on

the road from Nans) ; "how blue it is. . . . Painters who do
snow in their rooms don't know this." (Castagnary)

HE said of Manet, no longer seeing the modeling but rather

the splash of color: "He paints card games." "Manet didn't
invent highlights, but he gave them an enormous boost. From
this standpoint, he was a master of masters. Like me, he wanted

the land of France. He was a man of his country. He didn't

go abroad to find subjects." (Castagnary)

"what Spaniards!" Courbet cried on entering the premises

where Manet was exhibiting (1867) on the Avenue de I'Alma.
"I am seeing too clearly. I must put out an eye."

215
 "Let us throw three dice on a table before all the painters
of the Institute. ^ I defy them to paint these three dice in
their respective places and with their coloring varying accord-

ing to perspective." (Castagnary)

DECIDE whether in the picture you intend doing there is a tint

even darker than that one; mark its place, and lay on that
tint with your knife or your brush ; it will probably show no
details in its darkness. Next attack the less intense shades by
degrees, trying your hand at putting them in their place, and
then the mezzotints; then all you'll have to do is brighten the
highlights there are many fewer of these than the Romantics
use and your work will suddenly be lighted, your judg- if

ment has been right, and the lights caught on the fly will be
placed at their correct spots.

. . . WHY govern the arts? If the arts can be governed, they

won't exist in France. How can a direction be laid out for art?

This thing would seem impossible to me unless there is no

genius in France. If a direction can be marked out for art,
this is because the arts have been governed, because people
have taken recognized traditions as a mold.

GOVERNMENT in the arts (by the very meaning of the word)

cannot have genius ; it would fail its mission. It cannot govern
existing things except by comparison with the past. . . . There
are many kinds of public. The public that has artistic aspira-
tions is the most distinguished of the different publics that
constitute society. Right or wrong, it must be submitted to.

It is the only master for and against all.

(Written in pencil on a flyleaf)

Why Society in this socialist century we live in, what could be sadder for
Does Not Know an artist to see than that exhibition of pictures he mounts
and Does Not annually . . . what could [make him sadder than] to see
'S'ee Art that crowd of people who look without seeing (as if they had
fallen from the clouds) and who have their minds on business.
Nonetheless, it is for them that all this was done, for the artist
has degenerated since his contact with this world of money
216
 ;

and no longer fulfills his mission. No longer does he put his

handprint on the world ; it is the world that puts its handprint
on him, so much so that we have descended from art to fashion.
But then too, what shall we do with a century whose pleasures
consist exclusively in material things? As men are appreciated
for their wealth, so the spirit has bowed to money. The artist

is a businessman too. Among fifteen fellow artists how many

are seeking? you sometimes discover ten-odd who are on the
watch, and on whom alone rests the hope of times to come.
They are picked men, God-given men who in all ages have been

informed without tiring our minds with historical studies. Let

us take that soldierly period we are now leaving, and tell me
what would have become of art in France in the hands of
Monsieur David and his band, without Prud'hon, Gros, and
Gericault.

UTTLE pictures do not make one's i-eputation. For the coming

year I must execute a large picture that will show me decisively
in my true light. For I want everything or nothing. Little
pictures are not all I can do. I see things larger.

YES, Monsieur Peisse, art must be downgraded Too long have !

painters, my contemporaries, worked from fixed ideas or

copied from drawing handbooks. . . .

YES, my friend, I hope to work a unique miracle in my life

I hope to live off my art all my life without departing an inch

from my principles, without ever ha\ang lied to my conscience
for an instant, without ever having done even a painting the
size of my hand to do a favor for somebody or to be sold. I

have always said to my friends (who were appalled at my

courage and who feared for me) : don't be fearful; even if I

have to travel the world over, I am sure I will find men who
will understand me; if I found only five or six, they would
sustain me, they would take to me. I am right I am right,

I have met you, it was inevitable, for it's not ourselves who
have met, it's our resolutions. (To Alfred Bruyas, May, 1854)

I have gotten a magnificent letter from Victor Hugo. He wants

me to go do his portrait. He ends by telling me that he throws

217
his i : : rs open to me and he gives me his head and his thought.
P:rs:ript to a letter from Salins-les-Bains, December 27,

As vou have said, I hare the ferocioTis independence of a

mountaineer; I think they could put the bold words on my
tomb, as says friend Bnchon, "'Conrbet the Cocksure.'"'
Yon know better than anyone else. Poet, that onr conntry

is happily France, the reservoir of those men who are some-

rJzirS sh 7:- -irie the lands to which they belong, but who
: : : in granite.^
r : ^=;T-ate my value: the little I have done has
LizZ. Lz: il: :: do. When I arrived, in the same way as my
friends, you had just absorbed the whole worid, as a humane

Caesar in good foruL

A: :hr prime of your lives, you and Delacroix did not
hi"T 'It Empire to tell you as it did me: '"Outside us, there is

:: V-. ition,'' You did not have a warrant out against your
person, your mothers did not have to make underground hiding
places beneath the h i : _t iid, to keep you fr:~ :he

men-at-anns.
Delacroix never s:-^ ^t. iir:^? ri"?.z:nr his house. ~'^h:r.^

his pictures away ~: _ :. : r: : 7:i::T~e. by orir ;: r.

minister. No one put his works out the door of the Ezt :si:::n -

arbitrarily; no one put his pgiinTinrs iuto ridiculous little

exhibitions outside Ihe Ei'^ :-*;: n h:/,s: the ftnnTial oflScial

pronouncements did not r m: ::

~ : :: ::r public animadver-

sion; titiItVp zie. he i:i n:: h^-r^ hii: li :h of mongrel dogs

howling at his heeis a: :hr ri^rs of their equally mongrel
masters. The ::n:en:::ns ~ere artistic, the questions concerned
principles, you tTt :i:: Threatened with proscription.
The pigs tr.ei :: i^- :ir democratic art in its cradle;
despite everything, CTniiradc art grew, and it will devour
them.
Despite the :ppression weighing on our generation, de-
'' ' ~' " "
:r i-r i= tracked, even with dogs, in the Morvan
- ; :_- r ;tir or five of us, . , . We are strong
enough despite the renegaies. de=r::e hir Jrinee of today

S18
 with its demented herds, we will save art. spirit, and honesty
in our country.
Yes, I will come to see you; I owe it to my conscience
to make this pilgrimage. With your Chdtiyyieyits, you have
half avenged me.
I will come to your congenial retreat to contemplate the
spectacle of your sea. The sites of our mountains also offer

us the limitless spectacle of immensity the void one cannot

; fill

is calming. I admit. Poet, I like the earth underfoot and the

orchestra of the numberless herds that inhabit our mountains.
The sea ! The sea with its charms saddens me. When it is

joyful, it makes me think of a laughing tiger ; when it is sad,

it reminds me of crocodile tears, and when it growls in fury,

of a caged monster that cannot swallow me.
Yes, yes, I will come, though I do not know to what point
I can prove myself worthy of the honor you do me in posing

for me. (To Victor Hugo, November 28, 1864)

Letter to sirs and dear confreres:

his studcriis You have decided to open a painting atelier where you
might continue your education as artists freely, and you have
been kind enough to offer to put it under my direction.

Before making any answer, I must tell you my feelings

about the word direction. I cannot expose myself to any situa-

tion where we will be professor and students.
I must explain to you what I recently had occasion to say
at the Congress of Anvers : I do not have, I cannot have any
students.

I believe that every artist must be his own master; I

cannot conceive of setting myself up as a professor.

I cannot teach my art, nor the art of any school, since I

deny that art can be taught, or, in other words, I claim that

art is entirely individual, and for each artist is only the talent

accruing from his own inspiration and his own studies of

tradition.

I add that in my opinion, art or talent could only be for

the artist the means of applying his personal faculties to the

ideas and things of the period in which he lives.

Specifically, the art of painting could only consist in the

219
representation of objects that are visible and tangible for the
artist.

A period can be reproduced only by its own artists, I

mean to say, by the artists who live in it. I am persuaded that

the artists of a given century are radically incompetent to
reproduce the things of a preceding or future century, or, to

put it differently, to paint the past or the future.

It is in this sense that I deny that historical art can be

applied to the past. Historical art is contemporary by its essence.

Each period must have its artists who express it and reproduce
it for the future. A period that has not been expressed by its

own artists does not have the right to be expressed by later

artists. This would be a falsification of history.
The history of a period finishes with that same period
and with those of its representatives who have expressed it.

It is not given to the new time to add something to the

expression of old times, to aggrandize or embellish the past.

What has been has been! The human spirit has the duty of
always working from a fresh start, in the present, setting
out from the acquired results. [Men] must never begin any-
thing over again, but must move always from synthesis to
synthesis, from conclusion to conclusion.

True artists are those who take up the period just at the
point to which it has been brought by previous times. To retro-
gress is to do nothing, to act to no purpose, to have neither
understood nor turned to profit the teachings of the past. This
is why archaic schools of all sorts always descend into the most
useless complications.

I also hold that painting is an essentially concrete art,

and can consist only in the representation of real and existing
things. It is a thoroughly physical language, which is composed
of all visible objects instead of words; an abstract object,
invisible, nonexistent, does not belong in the domain of
painting.
Artistic imagination consists in knowing how to find the
most complete expression of an existing thing, but never in
hypothesizing or creating the thing itself.

Beauty is in nature, and is found in reality under the

most diverse forms. From the moment it is discovered, it be-
longs to art, or rather to the artist who can see it. From the

220
moment beauty is real and visible, it already has its own
artistic expression. But artifice has no place amplifying that
expression. [The artist] cannot resort to it without running
the risk of distorting and finally weakening [this expression].

Beauty as given by nature is superior to all the artist's

conventions.
Beauty, like truth, is relative to the times one lives in and
the individual capable of conceiving it. The expression of
beauty is in direct proportion to the perceptive power the
artist has acquired.

This is the foundation of my ideas on art. With such

ideas, to conceive of the project of opening a school to teach

conventional principles would be to readopt the inadequate

and banal premises that till now have guided art everywhere.

There must be no schools; there must only be painters.

The function of schools is merely to examine the analytic
processes of art. No school could lead to a synthesis by itself.

Without descending into abstraction, painting cannot allow a

single aspect of art to dominate, whether it be drawing, color,

composition, or any other of the many media which all together
constitute that art.
I cannot therefore have any desire to open a school, to
form students, to teach one or another partial tradition of art.

I can only explain to artists, whom I would consider col-

laborators, not students, the method by which I think one

becomes a painter, by which I have tried to become one from
the beginning, leaving to each one the entire direction of his
individuality, the full freedom of his own expression in apply-
ing this method. For this aim, the establishment of a common
atelier, reminiscent of the very fertile collaborations in the
Renaissance ateliers, can certainly be useful and help in-

augurate the modern phase of painting, and I will devote

myself eagerly to anything you want of me to attain it.

Most affectionately yours,

GUSTAVE COURBET

221
EUGENE FROMENTIN
EUGENE FROMENTIN (1820-1876), hom in La Rochelle, is better
known and more respected as a writer than as a painter,
for works like The Masters of Past Time and Dominique.
Fromentin came under Delacroix's influence, hut threw
it off in the realistic works he executed after a stay in
North Africa. His Masters of Past Time is known to a some-
what scholarly audience; we have chosen some passages
from A Year in the Sahel, as did Andre Lhote in his
anthology, because these pages are less widely read.
We have also added some quotations from Fromentin as set

down hy Huysman^. They show ambiguity of all the

our author's character, divided between the museum and

nature. He judged exoticism conventionally . He ventured
to broach the problem of the artist's transformation of the
real. His doubts and his principles have been outmoded;
bolder painters than Fromentin have gone beyond his limits.
But he was able to speak of painting honestly, without
soothing his soul with a damaging fidelity to conventions.
Finally, he was a painter who could write, an excellent reason
that he should be quoted here.

A Year in the Sahel

THE external world is like a dictionary: it is a book full of

repetitions and synonyms, A\dth many equivalent words for the
same idea. Ideas are simple, forms multiple; it is up to you
to choose and summarize.

IN the matter of art, there is no reason to fear repetition.

Everything is old and everything is new : things change with
the point of view ; nothing is definite and absolute except the
laws of beauty. Happily for us, art does not exhaust any

222
 !

[subject] ; it transforms everything it touches, it adds more

than it takes away ; it replenishes, rather than exhausts, the

bottomless well of ideas. The day a work of art appears, even

if it is perfect, everyone can say, with the ambition of pursuing
his own work and the certainty of repeating no one else's,
that this work can be done again, which is very encouraging
for the human Our problems in
spirit. art are the same as
everything else : how many truths there are which are as old
as the world and which, without the help of God, will still need
to be defined in a thousand years

THEY claim that the goal continues to be the same ; I doubt it,

seeing a thousand paths open and each one taking a new turn
to get there. . . .

WHAT has ruined us ... is curiosity and a taste for events.

People have been saying this for some time, and it is true,

but irremediable. ^lan used to be everything. A human figure

equaled a poem. When nature appeared behind man, it was as

a corona of light, to replace the portraitist's black background

or the gold nimbuses of the Italian primitives. Painting and
sculpture went hand in hand, to the point that painting
appeared to be supported by its older sister. Still bearing many
traces of their common origin and education, [painting] had
the feeling of individuality, the abstract and positive relief of
statuary. And in the greatest period of the Italian Renaissance,

such was the relationship between these coupled arts that the
man who united them and almost confounded them in his
works has consequently remained the world 's principal artist,

less perfect than the Greeks and more complete. I find the

''Last Judgment" to be nothing else than an immense bas

relief with movement and colour. The day the separation took
place, art shrank. It was transformed the day subjects w^re
introduced into painting; it fell completely on the everlast-
ingly lamentable day the ''subject" became the focus of
interest. In other words, "genre" destroyed great painting
and distorted landscape itself.

"Subjects" date far back, as does "genre." If we really

traced them back to their beginnings, we would perhaps show
a lack of respect to some singularly vulnerable names that I

223
 a

would be afraid to speak aloud even between ourselves. We

have always used our heads too much in PVanee. This inclina-
tion has brought our great men to misfortune. ^Ve could per-
haps ascribe greater genius to the man-king of the eighteenth
century if he had been less cerebral, and it is little noticed
that the greatest French painter of the seventeenth century
himself had as much mental agility as reasoning power. Rea-

soning and thought, discrimination and logic are Gallic qual-

ities that the Italians were unaware of. or that they never
allowed to show. This is why Poussin is modem : he is so in

spite of himself, in spite of his traditions, in spite of his deep

feeling for antiquity. He accomplished nothing by living and
dying in Rome; at bottouL he remained the Norman of Les
Andelys, Comeille's neighbor and La Fontaine's kinsman. He
accomplished nothing: he was serious, but cerebral. He took
pains, but he reasoned: he had the features, the feelings, and
the education : in brief, he was not very artless in the simple,

telling, ingenuously plastic meaning the ancients gave that

word. The greatest art does not reason, at least in a syllogistic
way; it conceives, it dreams, it sees, it feels, it expresses
simpler and more artless mechanism. What is a ''subject" if
not an event introduced into art, a fact instead of a plastic
idea, a story when there is a story, a scene, correct costume,

fidelity of execution in a word, truth, be it historical or

scenic? ETerything is deduced from and linked with every-
thing else. The logic carried in the "subject*' leads directly

to local colour, that is, to an impasse, for, having reached this

point, an can move no farther; it is finished.

Religious history, the Old and Xew Testaments, rose

above story-telling because of the nobility of their concept.
which was concerned with faith their contact with depths of :

beliefs, their legendary remoteness, and the mystery of their

events, and took the form of an epic but on what condition ? ;

On the condition of being the credo of a moved souL as with

the monk of Fiesole,^ or of being cast in the mold of a sublime
form, as in Leonardo. Raphael. Andrea del Sarto, those pagans.
The "subject"* never did more for them than serve as the
occasion for representing man's ai>otheosis in all his attributes.
From the moment the setting became more explanatorr, one
of two things happened : either the
'
' subject
'
' was transfigared,
00 f
 :
;

as it was in tlie hands of tlie Venetian colourist-draftsmen,

and, because all iruc colour was missing and history and chro-
nology were scorned, served as a pretext for an epic fantasy
in which it passed unnoticed in the background; or else the
desire to be realistic gained the ascendancy, and art was
suddenly diminished. From the way the Venetian scenemakers
understood ''subject," it is easy to see the mediocre thing
they made of it. A Titian paints ''The Burial of Christ";
what does he see in it? A contrast and this is a plastic idea

a white body, ashen and dead, carried by ruddy men, and

mourned, with a grief that makes them more beautiful, by
tall Lombards with red hair; this is how people understood
"subject." You see that the quest for truth was not very
serious, and the desire to be new went no farther than the
desire to be exact. To be beautiful was the first and last word,
the alpha and the omega of a catechism that we are barely
acquainted with today.
Suddenly, some twenty years ago, having exhausted ancient
history and then local history, out of boredom or otherwise,
painters took to the road. From this period dates a very un-
expected movement: I speak of the adventures of and taste
for travel. Now, let me point out that one is traveling from
the moment he takes an interest in nature's diversities. Dis-
tance has no importance. One may never go beyond Saint-
Denis, and yet he will bring back works from the banks of the
Seine that I will call travel notes. On the contrary, one may
make a tour of the world and produce only more general
works, impossible to localize, carrying neither the stamp nor
any evidence of distance, and which are therefore simply pic-

tures. In a word, there are two men we must not confuse

there is the traveler who paints, and then there is the painter
who travels. . . .

The painter who bravely decides to be truthful at any

price will return from his travels bringing something so com-
pletely unknown, so difficult to define, that since the "artistic

dictionary" does not have a term which fits such innovations,

I will call this order of subject documents. By documents
I mean the description of a country, what distinguishes it,

what makes it itself, what makes it live again for those who
know it, what makes it known to those who have not seen it

225
I mean the exact type of its inhabitants, whether it is mag-
nified by Negro blood, or whether it has no other interest than
its nnusualness; [I mean] their strangers' and strange cloth-
ing, their attitudes, their bearing, their customs, their gait,

which are not like ours. Now, since there are no other limits
on a traveler's investigations once he has taken exactness as a
rule, these detailed images, copied with the scrupulous authen-
ticity of a portrait, will teach and show us unmistakably how
people abroad dress, how they wear their hair, how they are
shod. We will learn what their arms are, and the painter will

describe them as well as a brush can describe. We must also

be acquainted with their riding tackle ; what is more, we must

be able to understand it, because the traveling painter will be
obliged to be categorical and to explain, in addition to the
ingenious artifice of showing so many things. And since the

attraction of the unknown corresponds to that unfortunate

universal instinct of curiosity, many people, out of misunder-
standing, will then demand of painting what a travelogue
alone can give; they will want pictures to be composed like

inventories, and an interest in ethnography will end by blend-

ing with a feeling for beauty.
Landscapes have similar effects, less obvious perhaps but
no less real. There is an irresistible pleasure in saying about
a country that few people have visited, ''I have been there."
You know this, you who spend your lives making discoveries.

A painter must first be very modest and this is already a

rather rare
human virtue and play down his travel titles and
not post the name of the places beside his own. He must be
still more modest and this modesty becomes a principle of
art and summarize his many precious notes in a picture,
sacrificing his own satisfaction in his memories to the im-
precise quest for a general and uncertain goal. Let us say
it straight out : he must practice true self-denial and hide his
studies and display only their result. . . .

I was on the bank of the Seine one spring day with a cele-

brated landscape artist who was my master. He was explaining

to me the changes that experience, study in museums, and
above all his travels in Italy had made in his way of seeing
things and feeling. He told me that today he saw only sum-
mations where formerly he had been enchanted by details,

226
 ' ;

and that where once he had sought out the particular, he

now sought out the typical form and idea. A shepherd passed
along the very edge of the river, leading a flock of sheep, their
rippling movement profiled against the water whitened in the

gray, late-April sky. The shepherd had his knapsack on his

back, a black felt hat, the leather leggings of a flock leader
two black dogs, looking very picturesque, strolled slowly close

to his legs, for the flock moved along in good order. ^'Do you
know," my master said to me, ''that a shepherd on a river
bank is a lovely thing to paint?" The Seine had changed its

name, as the subject had changed its meaning: the Seine had
become ''the river." "Who of us would be able, as they are
in the Orient, to do something individual enough and at the

same time general enough to become the equivalent of this

'

simple idea of river f

Reduced to its simplest terms, the question can be for-
mulated thus : choose colours beautiful in themselves, and sec-
ondly combine them in beautiful relationships, intelligent and
balanced. I would add that colours can be deep or light ; rich
in tint or neutral, that is, duller; "bold," that is, closer to

the "matrix colour," or shaded and "blended," as they say

in technical parlance ; and finally, of differing values ...
all this is a matter of temperament, preference, and also

suitableness. Thus Rubens, whose palette w^as very limited in

number of colours but very rich in "matrix colours," and who
plaj^ed the whole keyboard from pure white to pure black,
knew how to softpedal when necessary and to blend his paint
when he saw fit to apply a damper. ... I should say too that
it is not necessary to use a lot of bright colours in order to do
great colouring. There are men witness Velasquezwho did
marvelous colouring with the gloomiest shades.

On value by this word [value] of rather vague origin, of obscure mean-

ing, is understood the amount of light or dark that is found
in a tone. Expressed in drawing or engraving, the shade is

easily perceived : such and such a black will have, in relation

to the paper which represents the unity of lightness, more
value than such and such a grey. Expressed in colour, it is

an abstraction not less positive but less easy to define . . .

The interest of this inquiry is this: a colour does not

227
 exist of itself, for it is modified, as ifb know, by the inftuenre
of a ndg^iboiimig colour. AH the more, ttlieii, has it neillier

Tirtue ncr beauty in itself. Its quality fsamea to it fmn its

sTUTOimdiiigs called also its complciiiCTitaries. We can thus,

by means of contrasts and faTomaMc oppositirais, give it very

diverse ehaiacters. To eolonr well I shall say it more defi-
nitely elsewhere ^is either to know or to feel by in^inet the
necessity of these oppositions; bat to colour wdl is, besides
and above all, to know bow dalfiilly to oppose the Talnes of

the tones. K yon take a-w-ay from a Veronese, from a Titian,

or from a Hnbens this aeocDrate rdationBhip of the Tables

in their colouring, yon win ba^e nothing left but an nn-
harmonious mass of eolonr wifhoot straigfb, withoat deli-

e^.cy, -without rareness. In pixiportian as the eolonring prin-

ciple diminishes in a tone, the element, value, predominates.

If it comes to pass, as it does in the half-tones in which all

colour pales, as in the pietores of exaggerated ehiarosenro
in wMdi an ^lade Tani^ies, as in Rembrandt, for example,
i:i -J^-hom at times everything is monoehroiii : "is if it happens,
I say, that the element of colouring disappears almost entirely,

there remains on the palette a neartral principle, snbtie and

yet actnal, the abstract value, so to speak of the things that
have disappeared, and it is ^th x'lLs iirgaiiTe principle,
colourless, infinitely delicate, -ri- -:-7 : irest pictures are some-
times made. {The Masters of Past Time)

On mod-emity you irritate me "crith your modernity. Certainly, one . . .

must paint hit c -^rn time. I know that ; but the material aspects
mnst be nsed to translate setting and people, and especially
yon mnst trandbte customs, feeiings, befoie rfn^hiwg and ae-
cessories. These things jday only a seeondary role. No one
will ever xierEHiade me that a wiman in a bine gown readily
a letter, a lady in a pink gown gazing at a fan, and a girl
in a white gown lifting her eyes to the sky to see whether it 's

raining eonstitnte very interesting sides of mnd^*" life. . . .

Ten photographs in an albnm win give me the aaMHint of mod-

ernity indnded in [the paintings] inaamuA as the woman, ,

ihB lady, and the giii were mat takem on fke sped, but were
led by the hundreds to tiimy atdia^ to pnt en the m
abore-mentinned gowns and repiiaaent modon life. It's as if
 ;

I took the date merchant from the Rue de Rivoli, put a

chihouk in his paws, and painted Algeria after this Tunisian
Jew. It's as stupid as that! Where is modern life in all these

pictures, which Worth - might have painted if he had a paint-

er 's temperament ?
Oh, life, life ! The world is there, it laughs, cries, suffers,
has fun, and no one represents it! Me, I was contemplative
and I went toward the Orient, toward large and calm coun-
tries, where life was primitive. If I could relive my life, I

would perhaps do otlierwise; but at any rate, I have rep-

resented the appearance and passions, the last grandeur of a
race that was disappearing, and this is still in my century;
I did not spend my life painting inert matter. ... I do not
mean to say that one must exercise a great deal of sense, but
that one must see the sense of things, which is enormous and
which flows from all of nature as water flows from springs
but see how idiotic these painters of modernity are ! I was at

the house of one of them, a week ago. Enter, with a snotty

youngster fabricated in the realm of the White Queen, a little

twenty-year-old girl, common-looking, pretty as could be and

with a penny's worth of lampblack under the eyes. Superb
enough to knock a ''seer" off his feet. The painter makes
her wash her face, bundles the brat into a corner, throws a
beautiful velvet gown on the slut, puts some piece of junk
in her paws, and that trollop, so pretty to paint as a trollop,

becomes a lady gazing at some knickknack! Modernity, . . .

modernity! You have to go see a real lady if you want to

paint a lady! (Quoted in Joris Karl Huysmans, L'Art Mod-

erne)

229
BAUDELAIRE
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE (1821-1867), hom in Paris, is tJie Diderot
of the nineteentli century in art criticism. The foundation
of his aesthetic is individualism and honesty. For him,
drawing must have the quality of '' precision.^ ^ And he states,
with approbation, that Delacroix's color ^^ thinks for itself,

independently of the objects it clothes.*' In this sense his

thought is one of the last landmarks before Expressionism.

Baudelaire recognized imagination as equally necessary
to painting. We publish here a selection of his *' Aesthetic
Curiosities," a work which contains most of his concepts.

'
The Salon of 1846

To the bourgeois you are the majority in number and intelligence; therefore

you are the force which is justice.

Some are scholars, others are owners ; a glorious day will

come when the scholars shall be owners and the owners schol-
ars. Then your power will be complete, and no man will protest
against it.

Until that supreme harmony is achieved, it is just that

those who are but owners should aspire to become scholars;
for knowledge is no less of an enjoyment than ownership.
The government of the city is in your hands, and that
is just, for you are the force. But you must also be capable
of feeling beauty ; for as not one of you today can do without
power, so not one of you has the right to do without poetry.
You can live three days without bread without poetry,
never! and those of you who say the contrary are mistaken;
they are out of their minds.
The aristocrats of thought, the distributors of praise and

230
blame, the monopolists of the things of the mind, have told you
that you have no right to feel and to enjoj' they are Pharisees.
For you have in your hands the government of a city

whose public is the public of the universe, and it is necessary

that you should be worthy of that task.

EnjojTuent is a science, and the exercise of the five senses

calls for a particular initiation which only comes about through
good will and need.
Very well, you need art.

Art is an infinitely precious good, a draught both refresh-

ing and cheering which restores the stomach and the mind to
the natural equilibrium of the ideal.
You understand its function, you gentlemen of the bour-
geoisie whether law-givers or business-men when the sev-
enth or the eighth hour strikes and you bend your tired head
towards the embers of your hearth or the cushions of your
arm-chair.
That is the time when a keener desire and a more active
reverie would refresh you after your daily labours.
But the monopolists have decided to keep the forbidden
fruit of knowledge from 3^ou, because knowledge is their

counter and their shop, and they are infinitely jealous of it.

If they had merely denied you the power to create works of

art or to understand the processes by which they are created,

they would have asserted a truth at which you could not take
offence, because public business and trade take up three quar-
ters of your day. And as for your leisure hours, they should

be used for enjoyment and pleasure.

But the monopolists have forbidden you even to enjoy,

because you do not understand the technique of the arts, as

you do those of the law and of business.

And yet it is just that if two-thirds of your time are
devoted to knowledge, then the remaining third should be
occupied by feeling and it is by feeling alone that art is to

be understood ; and it is in this way that the equilibrium of

your soul 's forces will be established.

Truth, for all its multiplicity, is not two-faced ; and just

as in your politics you have increased both rights and benefits,

so in the arts you have set up a greater and more abundant

communion.

281
 You, the bourgeois be you king, law-giver or business-

man have founded collections, museums and galleries. Some

of those which sixteen years ago were only open to the monop-
olists have thro^vn wide their doors to the multitude.
You have combined together, you have formed companies
and raised loans in order to realize the idea of future in all
its varied forms political, industrial and artistic. In no noble
enterprise have you ever left the initiative to the protesting
and suffering minority,^ which an\"way is the natural enemy
of art.
For to allow oneself to be outstripped in art and in politics

is to commit suicide; and for a majority to commit suicide

is impossible.
And what you have done for France, you have done for
other countries too. The Spanish Museum ^ is there to increase
the volume of general ideas that you ought to possess about
art ; for you know perfectly well that just as a national museum
is a kind of communion by whose gentle influence men 's hearts
are softened and their wills unbent, so a foreign museum is
an international communion where two peoples, observing and
studying one another more at their ease, can penetrate one
another's mind and fraternize without discussion.
You are the natural friends of the arts, because you are
some of you rich men and others scholars.

AVhen you have given to society your knowledge, your

industry, your labour and your money, you claim back your
payment in enjoyments of the body, the reason and the imagi-
nation. If you recover the amount of enjo^^nents which is

needed to establish the equilibrium of all parts of your being,

then you are happy, satisfied and well-disposed, as society wiU
be satisfied, happy and well-disposed when it has found its

own general and absolute equilibrium.

And so it is to you, the bourgeois, that this book is

naturally dedicated; for any book which is not addressed to

the majority in number and intelligence is a stupid book.
{1st May 1846)

On colour let us suppose a beautiful expanse of nature, where there is

full licence for everything to be as green, red, dusty or iri-

descent as it wishes; where all things, variously coloured in

232
 a

accordance with their molecular structure, suffer continual

alteration through the transposition of shadow and light;
where the workings of latent heat allow^ no rest, but every-
thing is in a state of perpetual vibration which causes lines

to tremble and fulfils the law of eternal and universal move-

ment. An immensity which is sometimes blue, and often green,
extends to the confines of the sky ; it is the sea. The trees are

green, the grass and the moss are green; the tree-trunks are
snaked with green, and the unripe stalks are green; green is

nature's ground-bass, because green marries easily with all

the other colours. * What strikes me first of all is that every-

where whether it be poppies in the grass, pimpernels, parrots,
etc. red sings the glory of green; black (where it exists
solitary and insignificant cipher) intercedes on behalf of blue
or red. The blue that is, the sky is cut across wdth airy
flecks of white or with grey masses, which pleasantly temper
its bleak crudeness ; and as the vaporous atmosphere of the
season winter or summer bathes, softens or engulfs the
contours, nature seems like a spinning-top which revolves so
rapidly that it appears grey, although it embraces within itself

the whole gamut of colours.

The sap rises, and as the principles mix, there is a flower-
ing of mixed tones; trees, rocks and granite boulders gaze at
themselves in the water and cast their reflections upon them;
each transparent object picks up light and colour as it passes
from nearby or afar. According as the daystar alters its posi-

tion, tones change their values, but, always respecting their

natural sympathies and antipathies, they continue to live in
harmony by making reciprocal concessions. Shadows slowly
shift, and colours are put to flight before them, or extinguished

altogether, according as the light, itself shifting, may wish to

bring fresh ones to life. Some colours cast back their reflections
upon one another, and by modifying their own qualities with

a glaze of transparent, borrowed qualities, they combine and

recombine in an infinite series of melodious marriages which
are thus made more easy for them. When the great brazier

of the sun dips beneath the waters, fanfares of red surge forth
on all sides ; a harmony of blood flares up at the horizon, and
green turns richly crimson. Soon vast blue shadows are rhyth-
mically sweeping before them the host of orange and rose-

233
pink tones which are like a faint and distant echo of the light.

This great symphony of today, which is an eternal variation

of the symphony of yesterday, this succession of melodies

whose variety ever issues from the infinite, this complex hymn
is called colour.
In colour are to be found harmony, melody and counter-
point.

If you will examine the detail within the detail in an

object of medium dimensions for example, a woman's hand,
rosy, slender, with skin of the finest you will see that there

is perfect harmony between the green of the strong veins

with which it is ridged and the ruby tints which mark the
knuckles; pink nails stand out against the topmost- joints,
which are characterized by several grey and brown tones. As
for the palm of the hand, the life-lines, which are pinker and
more wine-coloured, are separated one from another by the
system of green or blue veins which run across them. A study
of the same object, carried out with a lens, will afford, within
however small an area, a perfect harmony of grey, blue,
brown, green, orange and white tones, warmed by a touch of
yellow a harmony which, when combined with shadows, pro-
duces the colourist's type of modelling, which is essentially

different from that of the draughtsman, whose difficulties more

or less boil down to the copying of a plaster-cast.
Colour is thus the accord of two tones. Warmth and cold-

ness of tone, in whose opposition all theory resides, cannot

be defined in an absolute manner ; they only exist in a relative
sense.

The lens is the colourist 's eye.

I do not wish to conclude from all this that a colourist
should proceed by a minute study of the tones commingled
in a very limited space. For if you admit that every molecule
is endowed with its own particular tone, it would follow that
matter should be infinitely divisible; and besides, as art is

nothing but an abstraction and a sacrifice of detail to the

whole, it is important to concern oneself above all with masses.
I merely wished to prove that if the case were possible, any
number of tones, so long as they were logically juxtaposed,
would fuse naturally in accordance with the law which governs
them.

23i
 Chemical affinities are the grounds whereby Nature can-
not make mistakes in the arrangement of her tones ; for with
Nature, form and colour are one.
No more can make mistakes everything
the true colourist ;

is allowed him, because from birth he knows the whole scale

of tones, the force of tone, the results of mixtures and the
whole science of counterpoint, and thus he can produce a
harmony of twenty different reds.
This is so true that if an anti-colourist landowner took
it into his head to repaint his property in some ridiculous
manner and in a system of cacophonous colours, the thick and
transparent varnish of the atmosphere and the learned eye of
Veronese between them would put the whole thing right and
would produce a satisfying ensemble on canvas conventional,
no doubt, but logical.

This explains how a colourist can be paradoxical in his

way of expressing colour, and how the study of nature often
leads to a result quite different from nature.
The air plays such an important part in the theory of
colour that if a landscape-painter were to paint the leaves of
a tree just as he sees them, he would secure a false tone,
considering that there is a much smaller expanse of air between
the spectator and the picture than between the spectator and
nature.
Falsifications are continually necessary, even in order to

achieve a trompe-roeil.
Harmony is the basis of the theory of colour.
Melody is unity within colour, or overall colour.
Melod}^ calls for a cadence ; it is a whole, in which every
effect contributes to a general effect.

Thus melody leaves a deep and lasting impression in

the mind.
Most of our young colourists lack melody.
The right way know if a picture is melodious is to look
to

at it from far enough away to make it impossible to under-

stand its subject or to distinguish its lines. If it is melodious,
it already has a meaning and has already taken its place in
your store of memories.
Style and feeling in colour come from choice, and choice
comes from temperament.

285
 Colours can be gay and playful, playful and sad, rich
and gay, rich and sad, commonplace and original.
Thus Veronese's colour is tranquil and gay. Delacroix's
colour is often plaintive, and that of M. Catlin ^ is often
terrible.

For a long time I lived opposite a drinking-shop which

was crudely striped in red and green; it afforded my eyes a
delicious pain.

I do not know if any analogist has ever established a

complete scale of colours and feelings, but I remember a pas-

sage in Hoffmann which expresses my idea perfectly and which

will appeal to all those who sincerely love nature: '"It is not
only in dreams, or in that mild delirium which precedes sleep,
but it is even awakened when I hear music that perception
of an analog^' and an intimate connexion between colours,
sounds and perfumes. It seems to me that all these things were
created by one and the same ray of light, and that their combi-
nation must result in a wonderful concert of harmony. The
smell of red and brown marigolds above all produces a magical
effect on my being. It makes me fall into a deep reverie, in
which I seem to hear the solemn, deep tones of the oboe in
^
the distance."
It is often asked if the same man can be at once a great
colourist and a great draughtsman.
Yes and no for there are; different kinds of drawing.
The quality of pure draughtsmanship consists above all in
precision, and this precision excludes touch; but there are
such things as happy touches, and the colourist who under-
takes to express nature through colour would often lose more
by suppressing his happy touches than by studying a greater
austerity of drawing.
Certainly colour does not exclude great draughtsmanship
that of Veronese, for example, which proceeds above all by
ensemble and by mass; but it does exclude the meticulous
drawing of detail, the contour of the tiny fragment, where
touch will always eat away line.

The love of air and the choice of subjects in movement

call for the emplo\mient of flowing and fused lines.

Exclusive draughtsmen act in accordance with an inverse

procedure which is yet analogous. With their eyes fixed upon
236
 ;

tracking and surprising their line in its most secret convolu-

tions, they have no time to see air and light that is to say,

the effects of these things and they even compel themselves

7iot to see them, in order to avoid offending the dogma of
their school.
It is thus possible to be at once a colourist and a draughts-
man, but only in a certain sense. Just as a draughtsman can
be a colourist in his broad masses, so a colourist can be a
draughtsman by means of a total logic in his linear ensemble
but one of these qualities always engulfs the detail of the
other.

The draughtsmanship of colourists is like that of nature

their figures are naturally bounded by a harmonious collision

of coloured masses.
Pure draughtsmen are philosophers and dialecticians.

Colourists are epic poets. (Ill)

Oji the ideal since colour is the most natural and the most visible thing,
and the model the party of the colourists is the most numerous and the most
important. But analysis, which facilitates the artist's means
of execution, has divided nature into colour and line; and
before I proceed to an examination of the men who form the
second party, I think that it would be well if I explained
some of the principles by which they are guided sometimes
even without their kno\ving it.

The title of this chapter is a contradiction, or rather an

agreement of contraries for the drawing of a great draughts-
;

man ought to epitomize both things the ideal and the model.
Colour is composed of coloured masses which are made up
of an infinite number of tones, which, through harmony, be-

come a unity ; in the same way. Line, which also has its masses
and its generalizations, can be subdivided into a profusion of
particular lines, of which each one is a feature of the model.
The circumference of a circle the ideal of the curved

line may be compared with an analogous figure, composed of

an infinite number of straight lines which have to fuse with

it, the inside angles becoming more and more obtuse.

But since there is no such thing as a perfect circumference,

the absolute ideal is a piece of nonsense. By his exclusive taste

for simplicity, the feeble-minded artist is led to a perpetual

237
 ;

imitation of the same type. But poets, artists, and the whole
human race vrould be miserable indeed if the ideal that ab-

surdity, that impossibility were ever discovered. If that hap-

pened, what would everyone do with his poor ego with his

crooked line?
I have already observed that memory* is the great crite-

rion of art; art is a kind of mnemotechny of the beautiful.

Now exact imitation spoils a memory. There are some wretched

painters for whom the least wart is a stroke of luck ; not only
is there no fear of their forgetting it. but they find it necessary
to paint it four times as large as life. And thus they are the
despair of lovers and when a people commissions a portrait

of its king, it is nothing less than a lover.

A memory is equally thwarted by too much particulariza-
tion as by too much generalization. I prefer the Aniinous to
the Apollo Belvedere or to the Gladiator, because the Aniinous
is the ideal of the charming Antinous himself.
Although the universal principle is one. Nature presents
;

us with nothing absolute, nothing even complete " I see only

individuals. Every animal of a similar species differs in some
respect from its neighbour, and among the thousands of fruits
that the same tree can produce, it is impossible to find two
that are identical, for if so, they would be one and the same
and duality, which is the contradiction of unity, is also its

consequence. ^ But it is in the human race above all that we

see the most appalling capacity for variety. Without counting
the major t^-pes which nature has distributed over the globe,
every day I see passing beneath my window a certain number
of Kalmouks, Osages, Indians, Chinamen and Ancient Greeks,
aU more or less Parisianized. Each individual is a unique
harmony; for you must often have had the surprising expe-
rience of turning back at the sound of a known voice and
finding yourself face to face v.-ith an unkno-wn stranger the
lining reminder of someone else endowed with a similar voice
and similar gestures. This is so true that Lavater has estab-
lished a nomenclature of noses and mouths which agree to-

gether, and he has pointed out several errors of this kind in

the old masters, who have been known to clothe religious or
historical characters in forms which are contrary to their
proper natures. It is possible that Lavater was mistaken in

288
detail; but he had the basic idea. Such and such a hand
demands such and such a foot ; each epidermis produces its

own hair. Thus each individual has his ideal.

I am not claiming that there are as many fundamental

ideals as there are individuals, for a mould gives several im-
pressions ; but in the painter's soul there are just as many
ideals as individuals, because a portrait is a model complicated
hy an artist.

Thus the ideal is not that vague thing that boring and
impalpable dream which we see floating on the ceilings of
academies; an ideal is an individual put right by an indi-

vidual, reconstructed and restored by brush or chisel to the

dazzling truth of its native harmony.

The first quality of a draughtsman is therefore a slow
and sincere study of his model. Not only must the artist have
a profound intuition of the character of his model but further, ;

he must generalize a little, he must deliberately exaggerate

some of the details, in order to intensify a physiognomy and
make its expression more clear.
It is curious to note that, when guided by this principle

namely, that the sublime ought to avoid details art finds

the way of self-perfection leading back towards its childhood.
For the first artists also used not to express details. The great
difference, however, is that, in doing the arms and the legs of

their figures like drain-pipes, it was not fkey who were avoid-
ing the details, but the details which were avoiding tJiem; for
in order to choose, you have first to possess.

Drawing is a struggle between nature and the artist, in

which the artist will triumph the more easily as he has a better

understanding of the intentions of nature. For him it is not

a matter of copying, but of interpreting in a simpler and
more luminous language.
The introduction of the portrait that is to say, of the

idealized model into historical, religious or imaginative sub-

jects necessitates at the outset an exquisite choice of model,

and is certainly capable of rejuvenating and revitalizing mod-
ern painting, which, like all our arts, is too inclined to be

satisfied with the imitation of the old masters.

Everything else that I might say on the subject of ideals

239


seems to me to be contained in a chapter of Stendhal, whose

title is as clear as it is insolent :

"How are we to go one better than Raphael f*

In the affecting scenes brought about by the passions, the great

painter of modern times if ever he appears will give to each
one of his characters an ideal beauty^ derived from a tempera-
ment which is constituted to feel the effect of that passion with
the utmost vividness.
Werther will not be indifferently sanguine or melancholic,
nor Lovelace phlegmatic or bilious. Neither good Doctor Prim-
rose nor gentle Cassio will have a bilious temperament; this is

reserved for Shylock the Jew, for dark lago, for Lady Macbeth,
for Richard III. The pure and lovely Imogen will be a trifle

phlegmatic.
The artist's first observations led him to fashion the Apollo
Belvedere. But will he restrict himself to coldly producing copies
of the Apollo every time that he wishes to represent a young and
handsome god? No, he will set a link between the action and the
type of beauty. Apollo delivering the Earth from the serpent
Python will be more robust; Apollo paying court to Daphne
will be more delicate of feature. ^ (VII)

On portraiture there are two ways of understanding portraiture either as

history or as fiction.
The first is to set forth the contours and the modelling
of the model faithfully, severely and minutely ; this does not

however exclude idealization, which, for enlightened natural-

ists, will consist in choosing the sitter's most characteristic
attitude the attitude which best expresses his habits of mind.
Further, one must know how to give a reasonable exaggeration
to each important detail to lay stress on everything which is

naturally salient, marked and essential, and to disregard (or

to merge with the whole) everything which is insignificant or
which is the effect of some accidental blemish.
The masters of the ''historical" school are David and
Ingres, and its best manifestations are the portraits by David
which were to be seen at the Bonne Nouvelle exhibition,^^ and
those of M. Ingres, such as M. Bertin and Cherubini.
The second method, which is the special province of the
colourists, is to transform the portrait into a picture a poem
with all its accessories, a poem full of space and reverie. This

2i0


is a more difficult art, because it is a more ambitious one. The

artist has to be able to immerse a head in the soft haze of a
warm atmosphere, or to make it emerg^e from depths of gloom.
Here the imagination has a greater part to play, and yet, just

as it often happens that fiction is truer than history, so it can

happen that a model is more clearly realized by the abundant
and flo^^-ing brush of a colourist than by the draughtsman's
pencil. (IX)

Tlie ''chic" the word ''chic" a dreadful, outlandish word of modern

and the ''poncif" invention, which I do not even know how to spell correctly,

but which I am obliged to use, because it has been sanctioned

by artists in order to describe a modern monstrosity the
word '
' chic
'
' means a total neglect of the model and of nature.
The ''chic" is an abuse of the memory; moreover it is a
manual, rather than an intellectual, memory that it abuses
for there are artists who are gifted with a profound memory
for characters and forms Delacroix or Daumier, for exam-

ple and who have nothing to do with it.

The "chic" may be compared with the work of those

writing-masters who, with an elegant hand and a pen shaped

for italic or running script, can shut their eyes and boldly
trace a head of Christ or Napoleon's hat, in the form of a
flourish.

The meaning of the word "poncif " has much in common

w4th that of the word "chic." Nevertheless it applies . . .

more particularly to attitudes and to expressions of the head.

Rage can be "poncif," and so can astonishment for

example, the kind of astonishment expressed by a horizontal
arm with the thumb splayed out.

There are certain beings and things, in life and in nature,

which are "poncif" that is to say, which are an epitome of

the vulgar and banal ideas which are commonly held about
those beings and those things; great artists, therefore, have
a horror of them.
Everything that is conventional and traditional owes
something to the "chic" and the "poncif."
When a singer places his hand upon his heart, this com-
monly means "I shall love her always!" If he clenches his

2^1
 fists and scowls at the boards or at the prompter, it means
''Death to him, the traitor!" That is the ''poncif " for you.

On landscape in Landscape, as in portraiture and history-painting, it is

possible to establish classifications based on the different

methods used ; thus there are landscape-colourists, landscape-
draughtsmen, and imaginative landscapists there are natural- ;

ists who idealize without knowing it, and partisans of the

*'poncif," who devote themselves to a weird and peculiar genre

called Jiistorical landscape.
At the time of the romantic revolution, the landscape-
painters, following the example of the most celebrated Flemish
masters, devoted themselves exclusively to the study of nature ;

it was this that was their salvation and gave a particular lustre

to the modern school of landscape. The essence of their talent

lay in an eternal adoration of visible creation, under all its

aspects and in all its details.

Others, more philosophic and more dialectical, concen-

trated chiefly on style that is to say, on the harmony of the
principal lines, and on the architecture of nature.
As for the landscape of fantasy, which is the expression
of man's dreaming, or the egoism of man substituted for
nature, it was little cultivated. This curious genre, of which
the best examples are offered by Kembrandt, Rubens, Watteau
and a handful of English illustrated annuals, and which is

itself a small-scale counterpart of the magnificent stage decors

at the Opera, represents our natural need for the marvellous.
It is the ''graphic imagination" imported into landscape.
Fabulous gardens, limitless horizons, streams more limpid than
in nature, and Solving in defiance of the laws of topography,
gigantic boulders constructed according to ideal proportions,
mists fioating like a dream the landscape of fantasy, in
short, has had but few enthusiastic followers among us,

either because it was a somewhat un-French fruit, or because

our school of landscape needed before all else to reinvigorate
itself at purely natural springs.
As for historical landscape, overwhich I want to say a
few words manner of a requiem-mass, it is neither free
in the
fantasy, nor has it any connection with the admirable slavish-
ness of the naturalists ; it is ethics applied to nature.

2^.2
 What a contradiction, and what a monstrosity! Nature
has no other ethics but the brute facts, because Nature is her
own ethics ; nevertheless we are asked to believe that she must
be reconstructed and set in order according to sounder and
purer rules rules which are not to be found in simple enthu-
siasm for the ideal, but in esoteric codes which the adepts
reveal to no one.
Thus, Tragedy that genre forgotten of men, of which it

is only at the Comedie Francaise (the most deserted theatre

in the universe) that one can find a few samples the art of

Tragedy, I say, consists in cutting out certain eternal patterns

(for example, patterns of love, hate, filial piety, ambition,

etc.), and after suspending them on wires, in making them

walk, bow, sit down and speak, according to a sacred and mys-
terious ceremonial. Never, even by dint of using a mallet and
a wedge, will you cause an idea of the infinite degrees of
variety to penetrate the skull of a tragic poet, and even if you
beat or kill him, you will not persuade him that there must
be different sorts of morality too. Have you ever seen tragic
persons eat or drink? It is obvious that these people have
invented their own moral system to fit their natural needs,

and that they have created their o^^^l temperament, whereas

the majority of mankind have to submit to theirs. I once
heard a poet-in-ordinary to the Comedie Frangaise say that
Balzac 's novels wrung his heart with pain and disgust ; that,

as far as he was concerned, he could not conceive of lovers

existing on anything else but the scent of flowers and the tear-
drops of the dawn. It seems to me that it is time the govern-
ment took a hand ; men of letters, who each have their
for if

own labours and their own dreams, and for whom there is
no such thing as
Sunday if men of letters can escape the risk
of tragedy quite naturally, there are nevertheless a certain

number of people who have been persuaded that the Comedie

Francaise is the sanctuary of art, and whose admirable good-
will is cheated one day in every seven. Is it reasonable to
allow some of our citizens to besot themselves and to contract
false ideas ? But it seems that tragedy and historical landscape
are stronger than the gods themselves.
So now you understand what is meant by a good tragic

landscape. It is an arrangement of master-patterns of trees.

 fountains, tombs and funerary urns. The dogs are cut out on
some sort of historical dog-pattern ; a historical shepherd could
never allow himself any others, on pain of disgrace. Every
immoral tree that has allowed itself to grow up on its own,
and in its own way, is, of necessity, cut down: every toad-
or tadpole-pond is pitilessly buried beneath the earth. And if

ever a historical landscape-painter feels remorse for some

natural peccadillo or other, he imagines his Hell in the guise
of a real landscape, a pure sky, a free and rich vegetation;

a savannah, for example, or a \argin forest. (XV)

The Salon of 1859

TJie governance yesterday evening I sent you the last pages of my letter, in

of the imagination which I wrote, not without a certain diffidence, "Since Imagi-
nation created tlie world, it is Imagination that governs it."
Afterwards, as I was turning the pages of The Night Side of
Nature,^^ I came across this passage, which I quote simply
because it is a paraphrase and justification of the line which
was worrying me: "By imagination, I do not simply mean to

convey the common notion implied hy that much abused word,

which is only fancy, tut the constructive imagination, which
isa much higher function, and y;hich, in as much as man is
made in the likeness of God, hears a distant relation to the
sublime power by which the Creator projects, creates, and
upholds his universe/' I feel no shame on the contrary, I am
very happy to have coincided with the excellent Mrs. Crowe
on this point ; I have always admired and en\ded her capacity
for belief, which is as fully developed as is that of doubt in
others.

I said that a long time ago I had heard a man who was
a true scholar and deeply learned in his art, expressing the
most spacious and yet the simplest of ideas on this subject.
When I met him for the first time, I possessed no other expe-
rience but that which results from a consuming love, nor any
other power of reasoning but instinct. It is true that this love
and this instinct were passably lively for even in ; my extreme
youth my eyes had never been able to drink their full of
painted or sculpted images, and I think that worlds could
have come to an end, impavidum ferient, before I had become
an iconoclast. Obviously he wished to show the greatest in-

2U
 ;

diligence and kindness to me; for we talked from the very

beginning of commojiplaces that is to say, of the vastest and
most profound questions. About nature, for example: ''Nature
'
is but a dictionary, ' he kept on repeating. Properly to under-
stand the extent of meaning implied in this sentence, you
should consider the numerous ordinary usages of a dictionary.
In it you look for the meaning of words, their genealogy and
their etymology in brief, you extract from it all the elements
that compose a sentence or a narrative: but no one has ever
thought of his dictionary as a coynposition, in the poetic sense
of the word. Painters who are obedient to the imagination seek
in their dictionary for the elements which suit with their
conception; in adjusting those elements, however, wdth more
or less of art, they confer upon them a totally new physiog-
nomy. But those who have no imagination just copy the dic-

tionary. The result is a great vice, the vice of banality, to

which those painters are particularly prone whose speciality
brings them closer to external nature landscape-painters, for
example, who generally consider it a triumph if they contrive
not to show their personalities. By dint of contemplating, they
forget to feel and to think.
For this great painter, however, no element of art, of

w^hich one man takes this and another that as the most impor-
tant, was I should rather say, is anything but the humblest
servant of a unique and superior faculty.
If a very neat execution is called for, that is so that the

language of the dream may be translated as neatly as possible

if it should be very rapid, that is lest anything may be lost
of the extraordinary vividness which accompanied its con-
ception ; if the artist's attention should even be directed to
something so humble as the material cleanliness of his tools,

that is easily intelligible, seeing that every precaution must be

taken to make his execution both deft and unerring.
With such a method, which is essentially logical, all the

figures, their relative disposition, the landscape or interior

which provides them with horizon or background, their gar-

ments everything, in fact, must serve to illuminate the idea

which gave them birth, must carry its original warmth, its

livery, so to speak. Just as a dream inhabits its own proper

atmosphere, so a conception which has become a composition

2^5


needs to move within a coloured setting which is peculiar to

itself. Obviously a particular tone is allotted to whichever part

of a picture is to become the key and to govern the others.

Everyone knows that yellow, orange and red inspire and
express the ideas of joy, richness, glory and love: but there
are thousands of different yellow or red atmospheres, and all

the other colours will be affected logically and to a proportion-

ate degree by the atmosphere which dominates. In certain of

its aspects the art of the colourist has an evident affinity with
mathematics and music. And yet its most delicate operations
are performed by means of a sentiment or perception to which
long practice has given an unqualifiable sureness. We can see
that this great law of overall harmony condemns many in-

stances of dazzling or raw colour, even in the work of the

most illustrious painters. There are paintings by Rubens which

not only make one think of a coloured firework, but of several
fireworks set off on the same platform. It is obvious that the
larger a picture, the broader must be its touch; but it is better

that individual touches should not be materially fused, for

they will fuse naturally at a distance determined by the law
of sympathy which has brought them together. Colour will
thus achieve a greater energy and freshness.
A good picture, which is a faithful equivalent of the
dream which has begotten it, should be brought into being like
a world. Just as the creation, as we see it, is the result of
several creations in which the preceding ones are always com-
pleted by the following, so a harmoniously-conducted picture
consists of a series of pictures superimposed on one another,
each new layer conferring greater reality upon the dream, and
raising it by one degree towards perfection. On the other hand
I remember ha\dng seen in the studios of Paul Delaroche and
Horace Yernet huge pictures, not sketched but actually begun
that is to say, with certain passages completely finished,
while others were only indicated with a black or a white out-
line. You might compare this kind of work to a piece of purely
manual labour
so much space to be covered in a given time
or to a long road divided into a great number of stages. As
soon as each stage is reached, it is finished with, and when
the whole road has been run, the artist is delivered of his
picture.

24,6
 It is clear that all these rules are more or less modifiable,

in accordance with the varying temperaments of artists. Nev-

ertheless I am convinced that what I have just described is

the surest method for men of a rich imagination. Consequently,

if an artist's divergences from the method in question are too

great, there is evidence that an abnormal and undue impor-

tance is being set upon some secondary element of art.
I have no fear that anyone may consider it absurd to
suppose a single education to be applicable to a crowd of dif-

ferent individuals. For it is obvious that systems of rhetoric

or prosody are no arbitrarily invented tyrannies, but rather
they are collections of rules demanded b}^ the very constitution
of the spiritual being. And systems of prosody and rhetoric
have never yet prevented originality from clearly emerging.
The contrary namely that they have assisted the birth of
originality would be infinitely more true.
To be brief, I must pass over a whole crowd of corol-
laries resulting from my principal formula, in which is con-
tained, so to speak, the entire formulary of the true aesthetic,
and which may be expressed thus The whole : visible universe

is but a storehouse of images and signs to which the imagina-

tion will give a relative place and value ; it is a sort of pasture
which the imagination must digest and transform. All the
faculties of the human soul must be subordinated to the imagi-

nation, which puts them in requisition all at once. Just as a

good knowledge of the dictionary does not necessarily imply

a knowledge of the art of composition, and just as the art of
composition does not itself imply a universal imagination,
in the same way a good painter need not be a great painter.
But a great painter is perforce a good painter, because a
universal imagination embraces the understanding of all means
of expression and the desire to acquire them.

As a result of the ideas which I have just been making

as clear as I have been able (but there are still so many things
that I should have mentioned, particularly concerning the
concordant aspects of all the arts, and their similarities in

method), it is clear that the vast family of artists that is to

say, of men who have devoted themselves to artistic expression

can be divided into two quite distinct camps. There are
those who call themselves ''realists" a word with a double

2i7
 meaning, whose sense has not been properly defined, and so
in order the better to characterize their error, I propose to
call them ^'positivists"; and they say, '^I want to represent

things as they are, or rather as they would be, supposing that

I did not exist." In other words, the universe without man.
The others however the ''imaginatives" say, ''I want to

illuminate things with my mind, and to project their reflection

upon other minds." Although these two absolutely contrary
methods could magnify or diminish any subject, from a reli-
gious scene to the most modest landscape, nevertheless the
man of imagination has generally tended to express himself
in religious painting and in fantasy, while landscape and the
type of painting called ''genre" would appear to offer enor-
mous opportunities to those whose minds are lazy and excitable
only with difficulty.

But besides the imaginatives and the self-styled realists,

there is a third class of painters who are timid and servile,

and who place all their pride at the disposal of a code of false
dignity. While one group believes that it is copying nature,
and another is seeking to paint its own soul, these men con-
form to a purely conventional set of rules rules entirely
arbitrary, not derived from the human soul, but simply im-
posed by the routine of a celebrated studio. In this very
numerous but very boring class we include the false amateurs
of the antique, the false amateurs of style in short, all those

men who by their impotence have elevated the ''poncif " to the
honours of the grand style. (IV)

12
The Exposition TJniverselle, 1855
Critical metliod THERE can be few occupations so interesting, so attractive, so

071 the modern full of surprises and revelations for a critic, a dreamer whose
idea of progress mind is given to generalization as well as to the study of
as applied to details or, to put it even better, to the idea of an universal
the fine arts order and hierarchy as a comparison of the nations and their
on the shift respective products. "When I say ''hierarchy," I have no wish
of vitality supremacy of any one nation over another. Al-
to assert the

though Nature contains certain plants which are more or less

holy, certain forms more or less spiritual, certain animals more
or less sacred ; and although, following the promptings of the
immense universal analogy, it is legitimate for us to conclude

2i8
that certain nations (vast animals, whose organisms are ade-
quate to their surroundings) have been prepared and edu-
cated by Providence for a determined goal a goal more or
less lofty, more or less near to Heaven; nevertheless all I

wish to do here is to assert their equal utility in the eyes of

Him who is indefinable, and the miraculous way in which they

come to one another 's aid in the harmony of the universe,
Anj' reader who has been at all accustomed by solitude
(far better than by books) to these vast contemplations will

already have guessed the point that I am wanting to make;

and, to cut across the periphrastics and hesitations of Style
with a question which is almost equivalent to a formula, I will
put it thus to any honest man, always provided that he has
thought and travelled a little. Let him imagine a modern
Winckelmann (we are full of them; the nation overflows with
them; they are the idols of the lazy). What would lie say, if

faced with a product of China something weird, strange,

distorted in form, intense in colour, and sometimes delicate

to the point of evanescence? And yet such a thing is a speci-

men of universal beauty ; but in order for it to be understood,

it is necessary for the critic, for the spectator, to work a

transformation in himself which partakes of the nature of a
myster}' it is necessary for him, by means of a phenomenon
of the will acting upon the imagination, to learn of himself

to participate in the surroundings which have given birth to

this singular flowering. Few men have the divine grace of

cosmopolitanism in its entirety; but all can acquire it in
different degrees. The best endowed in this respect are those

solitary wanderers who have lived for years in the heart of

forests, in the midst of illimitable prairies, with no other

companion but their gun contemplating, dissecting, writing.
No scholastic veil, no university paradox, no academic utopia
has intervened between them and the complex truth. They
know the admirable, eternal and inevitable relationship be-
tween form and function. Such people do not criticize; they
contemplate, they study.
If, instead of a pedagogue, I were to take a man of the
world, an intelligent being, and transport him to a faraway
country, I feel sure that, while the shocks and surprises of
disembarkation might be great, and the business of habituation

2i9
more or less long and laborious, nevertheless sooner or later
his sympathy would be so keen, so penetrating, that it would

create in him a whole new world of ideas, which would form

an integral part of himself and would accompany him, in the
form of memories, to the day of his death.^^ Those curiously-
shaped buildings, which at first provoke his academic eye (all

peoples are academic when they judge others, and barbaric

when they are themselves judged) ; those plants and trees

which are disquieting for a mind filled with memories of its

native land ; those men and women whose muscles do not pulse
to the classic rh}i:hms of his country, whose gait is not
measured according to the accustomed beat, and whose gaze
is not directed with the same magnetic power ; those perfumes,
which are no longer the perfumes of mother 's boudoir ; those
mysterious flowers, whose deep colour forces an entrance into
his eye, while his glance is teased by their shape ; those fruits
whose taste deludes and deranges the senses, and reveals to the

palate ideas which belong to the sense of smell; all that

world of new harmonies will enter slowly into him, will
patiently penetrate him, like the vapours of a perfumed
Turkish bath; all that undreamt-of vitality will be added to
his own vitality; several thousands of ideas and sensations
will enrich his earthly dictionary, and it is even possible that,
going a step too far and transforming justice into revolt, he
will do like the converted Sicambrian ^* and burn what he had
formerly adored and adore what he had formerly burnt.
Or take one of those modern ''aesthetic pundits," as
Heinrich Heine ^^ calls them Heine, that delightful creature,
who would be a genius if he turned more often towards the
divine. What would Tie say? what, I repeat, would he write

if faced with such unfamiliar phenomena? The crazy doc-

trinaire of Beauty would rave, no doubt; locked up within
the blinding fortress of his system, he would blaspheme both
life and nature; and under the influence of his fanaticism,
be it Greek, Italian or Parisian, he would prohibit that insolent
race from enjoying, from dreaming or from thinking in any
other ways but his very own. Oh ink-smudged science, bastard
taste, more barbarous than the barbarians themselves! you
that have forgotten the colour of the sky, the movement and
the smell of animality ! you whose wizened fingers, paralysed

250
 !

by the pen, can no longer run with agility up and down the
immense keyboard of the universal correspondences I

Like all my friends I have tried more than once to lock

myself up within a system in order to preach there at my ease.

But a system is a kind of damnation which forces one to a

perpetual recantation; it is always necessary to be inventing
a new one, and the drudgery involved is a cruel punishment.
Now my system was always beautiful, spacious, vast, con-
venient, neat, and above all, water-tight ; at least so it seemed
to me. But always some spontaneous, unexpected product of
universal vitality would come to give the lie to my childish
and superannuated wisdom that lamentable child of Utopia
It was no good shifting or stretching my criterion always it

lagged behind universal man, and never stopped chasing

after multiform and multicoloured Beauty as it moved in the
infinite spirals of life. Condemned unremittingly to the hu-

miliation of a new conversion, I took a great decision. To

escape from the horror of these philosophical apostasies, I
haughtily resigned myself to modesty; I became content to
feel; I returned to seek refuge in impeccable naivete. I humbly
beg pardon of the academics of all kinds who occupy the
various workrooms of our artistic factory. But it is there that
my philosophic conscience has found its rest; and at least I

can declare in so far as any man can answer for his virtues

that my mind now rejoices in a more abundant impartiality.

Anyone can easily understand that if those whose business
it is to express beauty were to conform to the rules of the

pundits, beauty itself would disappear from the earth, since

all types, all ideas and all sensations would be fused into a
vast, impersonal and monotonous unity, as immense as boredom
or total negation. Variety, the sine qua non of life, would be
effaced from life. So true is it that in the multiple productions
of art there is an element of the ever-new which will eternally

elude the rules and analyses of the school! That shock of

surprise, which is one of the great joys produced by art and
literature, is due to this very variety of types and sensations.
The aestJietic pundit a kind of mandarin-tyrant always
puts me in mind of a godless man who substitutes himself

for God.
With all due respect to the over-proud sophists who have

251
taken their wisdom from books, I shall go even further, and
however delicate and difficult of expression my idea may be,

I do not despair of succeeding. Tlie Beautiful is always strange.

I do not mean that it is coldly, deliberately strange, for in

that case it would be a monstrosity that had jumped the rails

of life. I mean that it always contains a touch of strangeness,

of simple, unpremeditated and unconscious strangeness, and
that it is this touch of strangeness that gives it its particular
quality as Beauty. It is its endorsement, so to speak its

mathematical characteristic. Reverse the proposition, and try

to imagine a commonplace Beauty! Now how could this neces-
sary, irreducible and infinitely varied strangeness, depending
upon the environment, the climate, the manners, the race, the
religion and the temperament of the artist how could it ever
be controlled, amended and corrected by Utopian rules con-
ceived in some little scientific temple or other on this planet,
without mortal danger to art itself ? This dash of strangeness,
which constitutes and defines individuality (without which
there can be no Beauty), plays in art the role of taste and
seasoning in cooking (may the exactness of this comparison
excuse its triviality!), since, setting aside their utility or the
quantity of nutritive substance which they contain, the only
way in which dishes differ from one another is in the idea
which they reveal to the palate.

Therefore, in the glorious task of analysing this fine

exhibition, so varied in its elements, so disturbing in its

variety, and so baffling for the pedagogues, I shall endeavour

to steer clear of all kind of pedantry. Others enough will speak
the jargon of the studio and will exhibit tJiemselves to the
detriment of the pictures. In many cases erudition seems to me
to be a childish thing and but little revealing of its true
nature. I would find it only too easy to discourse subtly upon
symmetrical or balanced composition, upon tonal equipoise,
upon warmth and coldness of tone, etc. Oh Vanity ! I choose

instead to speak in the name of feeling, of morality and of

pleasure. And I hope that a few people who are learned with-
out pedantry will find my ignorance to their liking.
The story is told of Balzac (and who would not listen with
respect to any anecdote, no matter how trivial, concerning that
crreat genius?) that one day he found himself in front of a

252
beautiful picture a melancholy winter-scene, heav^^ with hoar-
frost and thinly sprinkled with cottages and mean-lookinf?
peasants; and that after gazing at a little house from which
a thin wisp of smoke was rising, "How beautiful it is!" he
cried. "But what are they doing in that cottage? What are
their thoughts? what are their sorrows? has it been a good
harvest?Xo doubt ihey have hills to payf"
Laugh if you will at M. de Balzac. I do not know the
name of the painter whose honour it was to set the great
novelist's soul a-quiver with anxiety and conjecture; but I

think that in this way, with his delectable naivete, he has given
us an excellent lesson in criticism. You will often find me
appraising a picture exclusively for the sum of ideas or of

dreams that it suggests to my mind.

Painting is an evocation, a magical operation (if only we
could consult the hearts of children on the subject !) , and when
the evoked character, when the reanimated idea has stood forth
and looked us in the face, we hav* no right
at least it would

be the acme of imbecility !

to discuss the magician's formulae
of evocation. I know of no problem more mortifying for
pedants and philosophizers than to attempt to discover in
virtue of what law it is that artists who are the most opposed
in their method can evoke the same ideas and stir up analogous
feelings within us.

253
EDOUARD MANET
lEDOUARD MANET (1832-1883), hom in Paris, marhed the
beginning of the end of all romanticism and literature in
painting. He had little imagination, and preferred irony to
great gestures in the Courhet style. He was a resolute
and vigorous painter, at first devoted to ivhites and blacks
but awakening toward the end of his life to the subtle
delights of color and allowing his brush more freedom.
He began as a Caravaggist and ended as an Impressionist.
His correspondence is poor in reflections on painting, and
we are grateful that one of his intimates, Antonin Proust,
put down some of his words to pass on to us.

I loathe all that is unnecessary in painting, but the snag is

how to see what is necessary. We have been led astray by

painters' tricks-of-the-trade. How can we rid ourselves of
them ? who will show us the way to make painting simple and
clear? who will get rid of all these trimmings? Look, my
friend, the truth of the matter, what we've got to do, is to

go right ahead without bothering what people think.

I can't think why I'm here [in Couture 's atelier]. Everything
we see here is absurd ; the light 's false, the shadows are false.
When I arrive at the studio I feel as though I'm entering a
tomb. I know quite w^ell that you can 't undress a model in the
street, but after all, there are the fields, and in the summer
at least, one could make studies from the nude in the country-
side, since the nude seems to be the first and final word in art.

THE most important thing a painter should learn is never to

walk down the rue Lafitte if he 's forced to go there, he should
;

never look at the displays of the picture-dealers.

25i


it's only too easy to accept ready-made formulas, to bow

dowTi before what
' '
's called ' ideal classical beauty, ' as though
beauty was something constant. To hell with those catch
phrases! Beauty, of course, is always changing. But when I

say ''beauty is always changing," that's not quite what I

mean. Beauty is something malleable. What would one think,

for example, of a painter who studied the head of a man, say,
like Gambetta, and, after he had anah^zed all its special
characteristics, went off to the Louvre to copy the Discobolus,

saying only that was beautiful? However, that's exactly what

they're trying to teach us. Charles Blanc ^ holds by this
shibboleth and a good many others too ; but, the truth is,

our only job is to extract from our own period everything

that it has to offer us, not forgetting at the same time to learn
from the past. But to try and mix vintages, as wine merchants
say, would be absurd. For my part, I would have liked to have
painted Gambetta in the way that I myself understood him
but I'd better forget all about that.

*'iT seems," he said to me, *'that I've got to paint a nude.

Very well! I'll do 'em one. When we were working at the
atelier, I copied a picture of some women by Giorgione the
women with the musicians but it's too black, that picture

the background 's too strong. I would like to re-do it and make
it translucent, using models like those people we see over
there."
'
' I know I will be slated, but they can say what they like.

Ah ! Fat paint laid on with a palette knife bitumen prepara-

tions! They're effective all right, so what! Courbet doesn't
despise those sorts of tricks but he knows what he's about.

He's got a cheek that fellow. The other day he payed a visit

to Deforge Diaz was there. 'How much will you sell your
Turk for?' he asks Diaz, pointing to one of the pictures on
show. 'But that's not a Turk,' says Diaz, 'it's a Virgin.' 'Oh,
in that case it doesn't answer my purpose what I wanted
was a Turk!' "

"museums have always been my despair. Every time I go

into one I 'm overcome with sadness and am convinced thiit the

255
 "

paintings are wortlilessw The vtsitiuaiy the attendants all mill

around the portraits lo(^ dead, eren thon^ among them

yon can find" (And here he smacked his lips in appreciation)
"YelasqraeZy Goya, Hals and our own Largilliere and Nattier,
who are not to he sneezed at. They were fine fellows in those
day? ::: nueh eonseions cfflnposition perhaps but they
never lo*i sight of Xatnre and as for the Clonets And just !

t>n'-nk that H06SO and Primaticeio were preferred to Clonet T'

'Wliat I woxild'TB Mked to hare done would he to pose
sine ~:iiriL like yon in the middle of greenery and amonggt
f : ers :
7 :
"-- seashore somewhere where yon'd
^bere everything is enTeLox)ed in light,
_.__-. - I 'm not done for yet, " *

. . . I 7'i: :]i:r.^s ii'^^n ::i canvas, as simply as I can. as I

- -
"
" ' "

'
-
: ; :
" :
- ' -^ /' '
' '
^ nore

s; :!.T.T :-.: that's h:~ I si" :!:._. I .._" \ \/:Z I saw.

Ani -I13: i:-::i: --Le Port de Brili^eT" Z,'L :.. is there

a more sinjere :.: m rr ittt :: li : :i-t1.-::~ lit^ Tir
to life?

"What wonld have he- :_ :: : 7 ^ -; :ia :

these pietures those qnalities ^hi :h Me - . ie t 5 :

much? People wrangle over what pie

they -ere d^ ;: : 7 7
from n: di; ._ __.l_^ -"
::
-
: t
'

. _:_ : .^ ._.v.

oirty
nr.-.-nT.^i

kn ^^n to the put

C0T3

stnay,
^T V

256
HE [Sir Frederick Leighton] wandered round my studio and
then, stopping in front of my picture "Skating/* he said to
me. * *
That *s very good, but don 't you think. Monsieur Manet,
that the figures look as though they are dancing and that the
contour isn't sufficiently defined?" I told him, "They're not
dancing, they're skating: but you're quite right, they are
moving, and when people move I can't paint them as though
they're still. On the other hand. I'm told that the outline of
my 'Olympia' is too hard so that makes up for it,''

. . . WHEN I start something I always tremble to think that

sitters will let me down, or that I won't see them as often
as I would like, or that the next time will be under conditions
I don 't like. They come they pose and then they go saying
: ; :

to themselves, **He can finish that by himself. Xo. no one

ever finishes anything *'by himself,'' not unless he finishes
a picture on the same day as it is begun; otherwise, one
has to make several fresh starts and take a long time over it.

** COLLECTORS. " he told me, "will turn this country into a

junk shop. Oh, these collectors! When they've managed to

cram every conceivable style of furniture into the same room,

they're as pleased as Punch. If it's in their own home it's

of no concern to anybody else, but for Grod's sake, let them

respect the countryside. We're losing all idea of unity and
harmony: what a joy it is to wander through towns like

Toledo, Xiimberg, Bruges or Venice! There's a unity of

style about them but you just teU that to people today."
(Memoirs of Antonin Proust)

COLOR is aU a question of taste and sensibility. You must

have something to say if not, you might as well pack up.

One isn't a painter if one doesn't love painting more than

anything else in the world, and it isn't enough to know your
job : you've got to be excited by it. Scientific knowledge is all

very well, but imagination, for people like us. is much more
important. . . . One day coming back from Versailles I got

up on to the footplate of a locomotive, alongside the engine

driver and fireman. It was a wonderful sight to see these

two men, both so calm and patient. Theirs is a dog's life.

257
 ;

but it's those men who are the heroes of today. When I'm
well again I will take them as a subject for a picture. (Pensee

de Manet, as told to G. Jeanniot, 1882)

. . . there's something I've always wanted to paint. I would

like to paint a Christ on the Cross. Christ on the Cross, what a

symbol! One could live for ever and never find anything

comparable. Minerva is all very well, Venus is all right, but

Heroism or Love as a subject for a picture or sculpture is

nothing compared with Sorrow. Sorrow is at the root of all

humanity and poetry.

CONCISENESS in art is both a necessity and an elegance. A

concise man makes us reflect; a verbose man bores us. Move
constantly in the direction of conciseness. . . .

In a figure, find the greatest light and the greatest shadow

the rest will come naturally ; it is often a mere trifle. And then
cultivate your memory, for nature will give you only informa-
tion. It is like a guard rail that keeps you from falling into
banality. . . .You must always remain the master and do
what is fun. No extra homework, oh, no extra homework!

TO show is the vital question, the sine qua non of the artist,
for it happens that after some exposure one becomes familiar
with what was surprising and, if you will, shocking. Little by
little one understands and admits it.

OH, it's terribly difficult to paint an interesting canvas with

only a fellow in it. You can't just do the portrait. There is the
background, which must be versatile, living; for the back-

ground lives. If the background is opaque, dead, there is

nothing. (Memoirs of Antonin Proust)

258
PAUL CEZANNE
PAUL CEZANNE ( 1839-1906 ), hom in Aix-en-Provence, came
into his century as a silcyit revolutionary. It is not
correct, tliougli it is often done, to relate all liis teacliing
to xeliat lie said on tJie cylinder, tlie sphere, and the cone.
Painters had long mixed geometry in their art. Cezanne's
ta.sk was to find new laws for the construction of a
picture, ichich could no longer derive simply from
classic perspective or a play on the antithesis of shadow
and light. It would rest on the principle of an autonomous
pictorial space, provided with appropriate rhythms,
where light, consisting of coloring sensations, should determine
the planes and the form of the objects. Despite this,
Cezanne was filled with a fierce love of nature. Painting
for him was not a means of escaping it hut on the
contrary of knowing and understayiding it in its own
structure. This is an amhition proper to a Renaissance painter.
Though he had a theoretical mind, he did not leave us
any writings where his message was explained. We can look
only to his correspondence for his too-rare clarifications.

Letters

I [substitute] a study of tones for relief.

I have been gone from Aix for a month. I have begun two
little themes showing the sea for Monsieur Chocquet, who
had spoken to me about this. It's like a playing card. Red
roofs against the blue sea. If the weather is favorable, maybe
I can push ahead and finish them. At the present time, I have

as yet done nothing. But there are some themes that would
need three or four months of work and that could be found,
for the vegetation doesn't change. There are olive trees and

259
pines that always keep their foliage. The sun is so dazzling

that it seems to me objects stand out in silhouettes that are

not just in black and white but also in blue, red, brown,
violet. I may be mistaken, but this seems to me to be the

antipode of relief.

November 27, 1884

AFTER groaning, let us cry Yive le soleil, which gives us such
beautiful light. (To Emile Zola)

May 11, 1886

ALWAYS it is the sky, the things without limits that attract me
and give me the opportunity of looking at them with pleasure.

(To Victor Chocquet)

April 15, 1904

MAY I repeat what I told you here: treat nature by the
cylinder, the sphere, the cone, everything in proper perspec-

tive so that each side of an object or a plane is directed towards

a central point. Lines parallel to the horizon give breadth,
that is a section of nature or, if you prefer, of the spectacle

that the Pater Omnipotens Sterne Deus spreads out before

our eyes. Lines perpendicular to this horizon give depth. But
nature for us men is more depth than surface whence the
need of introducing into our light vibrations, represented by
reds and yellows, a sufficient amount of blue to give the im-
pression of air.

May 12, 1904

I am progressing very slowly, for nature reveals herself to me
in very complex forms ; and the progress needed is incessant.
One must see one's model correctly and experience it in the
right way and furthermore
; express oneself forcibly and with
distinction.

Taste is the best judge. It is rare. Art only addresses itself

to an excessively small number of individuals.

The artist must scorn all judgement that is not based on
an intelligent observation of character. He must be aware of
the literary spirit which so often causes painting to deviate

260
 :

from its true path the concrete study of nature to lose itself

all too long in intangible speculations.

The Louvre is a good book to consult but it must only be
an intermediary. The real and immense study that must be
taken up is the manifold picture of nature.

December 23, 1904

YOUR desire to find a moral, an intellectual point of support

in the works, which assuredly we shall never surpass, makes

you continually on the qui vivc, searching incessantly for the

way that you dimly apprehend, which will lead you surely
to the recognition in front of nature, of what your means of

expression are; and the day you will have found them, be
convinced that you will find also without effort and in front
of nature, the means employed by the four or five great
ones of Venice.
This is true without possible doubt I am very positive
an optical impression is produced on our organs of sight
which makes us classify as light, half-tone or quarter-tone the

surfaces represented by colour sensations. (So that light does

not exist for the painter. ) As long as we are forced to proceed
from black to white, the first of these abstractions being
like a point of support for the eye as much as for the mind,
we are confused, we do not succeed in mastering ourselves in
possessing ourselves. During this period (I am necessarily
repeating myself a little) we turn towards the admirable works
that have been handed down to us throughout the ages, where
we find comfort, a support such as a plank is for the bather.

(To Emile Bernard)

February 22, 1903

ALL things, particularly in art, are theory developed and

applied in contact with nature.

Primary force alone, id est temperament, can bring a
person to the end he must attain.

September 13, 1903

COUTURE used to say to his pupils: ''Keep good company,
that is: Go to the Louvre. But after having seen the great
masters who repose there, we must hasten out and by contact

261
with nature revive in us the instincts and sensations of art
that dwell within us." (To Charles Camoin)

January 25, 1904

IN your letter you speak of my realization in art. I think that

every day I am attaining it more, although with some difficulty.

For if the strong experience of nature and assuredly I have

it is the necessary basis for all conception of art on which
rests the grandeur and beauty of all future work, the knowl-
edge of the means of expressing our emotion is no less

essential, and is only to be acquired through very long

experience.
The approbation of others is a stimulus of which, how-
ever, one must sometimes be wary. The feeling of one's own
strength renders one modest. (To Louis Aurenche)

May 26, 1904

BUT I must always come back to this: painters must devote
themselves entirely to the study of nature and try to produce
pictures which are an instruction. Talks on art are almost
useless. The work which goes to bring progress in one's own
subject is sufficient compensation for the incomprehension of
imbeciles.

Literature expresses itself by abstractions whereas paint-

ing by means of drawing and colour, gives concrete shape to
sensations and perceptions. One is neither too scrupulous nor
too sincere nor too submissive to nature ; but one is more or less

master of one's model, and above all, of the means of expres-

sion. Get to the heart of what is before you and continue to
express yourself as logically as possible.

July 25, 1904

TO achieve progress nature alone counts, and the eye is trained
through contact with her. It becomes concentric by looking
and working. I mean to say that in an orange, an apple, a
bowl, a head, there is a culminating point ; and this point is
always in spite of the tremendous effect of light and shade
and colorful sensations the closest to our eye; the edges of
the objects recede to a center on our horizon. With a small
temperament one can be very much of a painter. One can do

262


good things without being very much of a harmonist or a

colourist. It is sufficient to have a sense of art and this sense

is doubtless the horror of the bourgeois. Therefore institutions,

pensions, honours can only be made for cretins, rogues and
rascals. Do not be an art critic, but paint, therein lies salvation.

(To :fimile Bernard)

December 9, 1904
STUDYING the model and realizing it is sometimes very slow in
coming for the artist.

Whoever the master is whom you prefer this must only

be a directive for you. Otherwise you will never be anything
but an imitator. With any feeling for nature whatever, and
some fortunate gifts and you have someyou should be able
to dissociate yourself; advice, the methods of another must
not make you change your own manner of feeling. Should you
at the moment be under the influence of one who is older
than you, believe me as soon as you begin to feel yourself,
your own emotions will finally emerge and conquer their place
in the sun get the upper liand, confidence, what you must
strive to attain is a good method of construction. Drawing is

merely the outline of what you see.

Michelangelo is a constructor, and Rafael an artist who,

great as he is, is always limited by the model. When he tries

to be thoughtful he falls below the niveau [level] of his great

rival. (To Charles Camoin)

1905
IF the official Salons remain so inferior it is because they only
employ more or less widely known methods of production.
It would be better to bring more personal feeling, observation

and character.
Draw; but it is the reflection which envelops; light,
through the general reflection, is the envelope.

October 23, 1905

. . . NOW the theme to develop is that whatever our tempera-
ment or power in the presence of nature may bewe must
render the image of what we see, forgetting everything that

263
existed before us. 'Which, I believe, must permit the artist to

give his eutire personalitj' whether great or small.

Now, being old. nearly 70 years, the sensations of colour,
which give light, are the reasons for the abstractions which
prevent me from either covering my canvas or continuing
the delimitation of the objects when their points of contact

are fine and delicate; from which it results that my image

or picture is incomplete. On the other hand the planes are
placed one on top of the other from whence neoimpressionism
emerged, which outlines the contours with a black stroke, a
failing that must be fought at all costs. Well, nature when
consulted, gives us the means of attaining this end. (To Emile
Bernard)

I have little to tell you: one speaks of painting more and

perhaps better, really, by working on a theme than by devising
pui'ely speculative theories in which one often goes astray.
(To Monsieur Gasquet)

September 8, 1906
HERE on the edge of the river, the motifs are very plentiful, the
same subject seen from a different angle gives a subject for

study of the highest interest and so varied that I think I could

be occupied for months without changing my place. Simply
bending a little more to the right or left.

September 22, 1906

I have come to the conclusion that it is not possible really to
help others. (To his son Paul)

26It,
CLAUDE MOXET
c-inz itoxTT (1840-1926), harm t Paris, is, as it is often
said^ f\ father of Impressionism. In fact, it irtw the title

of one of Mis pictures (the stanf appears helow) that

gart birth to the term. There is no charter of Impressionism
that is signed Monet. Bather, there a body of fruitful
is

work, rigoroudy logical in its development, which does

carry his signature and in tchick the whole history of this
very important school of modem painting earn be read.
To sum it up in a few words would be difficult.
And Monet himself seems to have refused to do so;
hence this painter's very small share in our book, which
includes only a few quotations taken down by others. We
wHl only point out here that the major revolution Monet
instigated consisted in abolishing drawing from painting
(or rather, letting it be deduced from the color) and
refusing to consider light as an external agent casting its

rays and shadows on things. At

same time, the subject was
the
not chosen for its intrinsic value but by reason of the
richness of the ocular impressions it could cause. By means
of a delicate alchemy worked with orange and blue, Monet
invented a new kind of light. He displaced drawing with
a series of colored waves distributed over the surface of
a picture. He gave flowers a primordial role. Embarking on
a search for visual "impression" totally detached from
form, he arrived at the end of a long and industrious
life with his famous Xjmpheas paintings, which are generally
seen as a "dead end," a sort of colored nullity, which
would be a disavowal of all painting. Be this as it may,
this endeavor, at which the elderly Monet exhamsted
himself, has been taken up again today, consdoudy or not,
by our youngest painters.

X. :.-

265
NO one is an artist unless he carries his picture in his head
before painting it, and is sure of his method and composition.
Techniques vary, art stays the same : it is a transposition of

nature at once forceful and sensitive.

PICTURES aren't made out of doctrines.

THE people who bought us liked us. Sometimes they were

trying to help us. They didn't think at all of speculating on
our future worth.

iT^s shameful, the prices they put on canvases. There is no

little dabbler who doesn't have a revue, a magazine, at his
disposal. Everybody discusses and pretends to understand,

when, simply, they should love. When dealers choose among

my canvases, they habitually bypass the best without seeing
them. I have only met one man who really loved painting

with a passion, and this was Monsieur Chocquet: "I don't

need to have anybody explain to me whj^ and how I must like

painting," he would say. Passing by Nadar's one day when

our exhibition of the Impressionists was on there, he wanted
to enter, but was dissuaded from it. The next year, at our

sale, I met him in front of the Hotel Drouot. He had bought

one of my canvases of Argenteuil for 100 francs. We were intro-
duced, and with real tears in his ej'es he said to me,
'
' When I
think that I have lost a whole year, that I could have known
your painting a year earlier! How could they deprive me of
such a pleasure! . . ."At that time we were judged without
indulgence, and instead of saj^ng, "I don't understand,"
' '
people said, ' It 's stupid, it 's trash, ' and that stimulated us,

gave us courage, made us work.

I know few young people each ; visit to the Salon discourages

me, bores me. I no longer see painters. Among the young
painters, I sometimes get a visit from Bonnard and Vuillard.
These are fine painters. I do not see the Cubists, but I am sure
they are worth more than the reproductions in the re\aies
show us. In any case, they have their spirit of battle and
discovery. For myself, I would hope to make progress. With
266
my eyes, there is no longer any way, although I continue
to paint. (Quoted by F. Fels in Claude Monet)

ONE is born a painter, and if one is born for that, he always

finds the way to express what he experiences, expressing it

badly at first but finding the way himself. (Quoted by E.

Hareux)

LANDSCAPE is but an instantaneous impression, whence comes

that label they have given us, because of me, moreover. I had
sent something I did in Le Havre from my windowsunlight
in the mist, and in the foreground some boat masts pointing.
. . . They asked me the title for the catalogue. It couldn't
really pass for a view of Le Havre, so I answered: ''Put
'Impression.' " They made Impressionism out of it, and the
jokes began to spread. (Quoted by M. Guillemot)

I paint as a bird sings.

267
AUGUSTE EENOIR
PIERRE AUGUSTE RENOIR (1841-1919), hom in Limoges,
is for many simply a painter of women, simultaneously
vaporous and fleshy. He Jiad Jiardly begun to paint his

hathers around 1884. It would doubtless he impossible to

say who is the real Benoir: in the Moulin de la Galette

or on the Cagnes beaches. It is also indisputable that in this

very abundant production there are pictures called

genre that seem to contain the strongest charge of plastic
value, evidently because they incorporate solutions to a greater
number of problems. Such successes cannot be properly
appreciated unless they are considered within the frame-
work of Impressionism. In this regard, Renoir appears
as the only painter of this school who, while entertaining the
same theories as Monet on light, was able to bring
drawing into this pictorial universe of blendings. Renoir's
drawing surely owes nothing to Ingres': it is not based on
a more or less heavy contour line. Renoir's drawing is

** interior," depending only on his brush, begotten by

the ''warm" and ''cool" tints of the picture, and flowing
out of the colored forms without circumscribing them at all.

Benoir did no theoretical writing on his work; he was

toofond of the fertile silence of light to cloud it with
any written remarks. But we include below some quotations
from him and the reader will recall his letter-preface to
the test from Cennino Cennini in The Art of Painting
From Prehistory Through the Renaissance. It contained an
unexpected homage to Ingres, which was not accidental.
It also revealed a certain nostalgia for a myth capable of
uniting artists in the depths of their art and of the human
race. In addition, it affirmed the painter's great need of
"craft" that same
craft, intelligently developed and
formed by patient study, which characterizes Renoir's great
compositions.

268
I love pictures that make me want to walk around in them, if

they are landscapes, or to run my hand over a back, if they

are figures of women.
There is a point, however, at which imitation of nature
must stop.

I am much more comfortable in France than anywhere else.

I don't need many comforts, but still I need some; and the
damned countries where I don't even know the language
always frighten me. You are lower than a native idiot there;
and ... I, who am only a painter, and a dedicated one, I
'*
think, do not need to go so far, what is more, to find '^
exotic
subjects and themes. Yes, now I no longer like that ''exoti-

cism," and have not for a long time, to boot. I have gotten
greater joy out of Berbeval, on the Channel beach or at
Guernsey, or again out of Varangeville and Wargemont, at
the Berards', than out of Florence; how bored I have felt

especially in that damned museum-city, where you're always

walking around in the midst of architecture, sculpture, and
painting ! ... In Italy, if there are superior masters, for me
everything looks like ruhis like art ruins, if I may say so,

now that the word art is associated with everything, even

false hair. . . . The museums are hogwash; they are a waste
of time ; one should take nothing second-hand.
... A picture has no chance of doing well unless it is
alone. As soon as you put it too close to another picture, you
ruin it or better, you lessen the impact of each.

A painter's palette means nothing. It is in his eye that does

everything.

OUT of doors there is a greater variety of light than in the

studio, where, to all intents and purposes, it is constant ; but,

for just that reason, light plays too great a part outdoors;
you have no time to work out the composition; you can't see

what you are doing. I remember a white wall which reflected

on my canvas one day while I was painting; I keyed down

the color to no purpose everything I put on was too light;
but when I took it back to the studio, the picture looked
black ... If the painter works directly from Nature, he

269
 :

ultimately looks for nothing but momentary effects; he does

not try to compose, and soon he gets monotonous.

THE truth is that in painting, as in the other arts, there 's not a
single process, no matter how insignificant, which can reason-
ably be made into a formula. [. . . .]

There is something in painting which cannot be explained,

and that something is the essential. You come to Nature with
your theories, and she knocks them all flat.

ONE morning, one of us was out of black and used blue

Impressionism was born.

A picture must be able to take the varnish, the gook, and all

the incivilities that time and restorations may subject it to.

IN reality, we no longer know anything, we are sure of nothing.

When people look at the works of the ancients, they don't
really have to be malicious. . . .

One learns to paint in museums. I had numerous discus-

sions on this subject with certain of my friends, who on the

contrary proposed a study only of nature.

THE simplest subjects are eternal. A nude woman wUl come out
of a briny wave or her bed, and she will be called Venus or
Nini.^ Nothing better could be invented.
Any pretext for grouping a few figures is enough. Not
too much literature, not too many thinking figures.
Father Corot said: ''When I paint, I want to be a
beast. . . ."I am somewhat of Father Corot 's opinion.
Moreover, all those elements of expression are almost
always at variance with good, healthy art.

[the model] is there only to light my way, ... to allow me

to venture things I could not invent without it and to bring
me down to earth if I go too wide of the mark. I fight with
my figures until they are hand in glove with the landscape
that serves them as background. (Quoted by A. Andre)

the palette of the Pompeian painters was the same as that

270
of today's painters, by way of Poussin, Corot, and Cezanne.
I mean to say that it has not been enriched. They used earths,
ochers, and ivory black, which one can do very well Avith.

Since nothing can escape progress, several other tones have

been added since, but we could have done without them, and
how! So they thought they had made a great discovery by
substituting blue and red for black, but that mixture doesn't

have nearly the fineness of ivory black, which in addition

doesn't make the poor painter go all around Robin Hood's
barn.
With a restricted palette, ancient painters did as well as

today one must be polite to one's contemporaries and, for

sure, did solider work.

SOME of these newcomers would have liked very much to re-

establish the link with a tradition whose enormous benefits

they have felt unconsciously; but for this the}" would need
above all to learn the painter's craft, and, when one has set

sail under his own wind, he must necessarily start with the
simple to arrive at the complicated, as, to read a book, one
must begin by learning the letters of the alphabet. Thus we
consider that for us our greatest efforts have been to paint as
simply as possible. {La Revue)

271
PAUL GAUGUIN
EUGEXE HENRI PAUL GAUGUIN (1848-1903), hom lu Paris, was,
with Van Gogh, the first of the publicly castigated painters.
But we should not forget that he deliheratelij abandoned
the security of the Exchange for the adventure of painting,
and his wife and children for the solitude of Tahiti.
Gauguin chose his destiny. For him, exoticism was a culture
as well as a way of life. He had a passion for the oriental
arts, and departed for Oceania to paint the '^primitive"
world. But he is also a painter who could not possibly
have any posterity. Those who have tried to follow in his

footsteps have failed, both as disciples and as original artists.

Some have seen him as a great decorative painter.
He did in fact have a gift for formal synthesis and flat tints

of pure colors. But we should perhaps seek the full

imprint of his genius in his less-known and least "exotic^*

works in the Moisson Blonde, for instance, or the Alyscampes,
or again in his Paysage pres d'un Puits, paintings dated
1888, 1889, and 1890, that is, prior to his Tahiti period.

Letters

WHERE does the execution of a painting commence and where

does it end? At that moment, when the most intense emotions
are in fusion in the depths of one's being, when they burst
forth and when thought comes up like lava from a volcano,
is there not then something like an explosion? The work is

created suddenly, brutally if you like, and is not its appear-

ance great, almost superhuman?
The cold calculations of reason have not presided at this
birth, forwho knows when in the depths of his being the
work was commenced? Have you ever noticed that when
recopying a sketch, done in a moment of emotion, and with

272
 !

which you are content, only an inferior copy results, especially

ifyou correct the proportions, the mistakes your reason tells

you are there?

Sometimes I hear people say: that arm is too lon^^. Yes
and no. No, principally, provided as you elongate, you discard
verisimilitude to reach out for mystery. That is never a bad
thing. But of course all the work must reflect the same style,

the same will. If Bouguereau made an arm too long, ah yes

"What would be left him? For his vision, his artistic will only

consists in that stupid precision which chains us to material

reality.

IN this way many, Gustave Moreau, for instance, try to excuse

their lack of imagination, of creative power, by the finesse and
perfection of their craftsmanship. Through excess of emphasis
there is no promise. And does not promise evoke mystery,
our nature not being attuned to the absolute? It is a good
thing for people to realise this danger. The Salon has made
the finished picture so fashionable that sometimes one is glad
to find an unfinished masterpiece in a museum ; like the
Corots, above all the Corots, sketched with so much charm.
You say :
* *
Why do you not paint more thickly, so as to give
a richer surface?" I do not refuse, and I should often like to

do so, but it is growing more and more impossible, for I have

to take the expense of materials into account. I have hardly
any left, despite all my economy. . . .

The important thing is to know whether I am on the right

track, whether I am progressing, or w^hether I am making
artistic mistakes. For after all the questions of material, of

technique, even of the preparation of the canvas, are of the

least importance. They can always be remedied, can't they?
But art is very terrible and difficult to fathom.
. . . with practice the craft will come almost of itself,

in spite of you, and all the more easily if you think of some-
thing besides technique. (To Georges Daniel de Monfreid)

Journal

CRITIQUE is our censure watchful watchtower! Watchtower,

that's a lot. Why watchful? Alongside the semaphore that

273
 ;

signals, there is the avant-garde, those who see before others

do. The enemy in view does not resemble the friend.

EITHER the artist is a superior man, and by this fact able to

understand his art and consequently to compare it with the

literary arts (providing the comparison was useful) ; or he
is an inferior man whom it isn't worth bothering about feeble
head and will. One critic will tell him, go north; another
will tell him, go south, as he would say to him, go have a seat.

Which road to take?

THE plastic art requires too many areas of broad knowledge
it demands a whole existence as a superior artist, especially

when instead of generalizing it particularizes, when it becomes

individual, having to take account of the particular nature of
him who does works, to take account also of the circumstances of

his life and his education. With the artist, there's the future
to look at, while the so-called informed critic is informed only
about the past. And what does he retain of the past except
names out of catalogues?

THE plastic arts don't let themselves be fathomed easily; to

make them speak, you must question them every time you
question yourself. Complex arts, as it were. There is some-
thing of everything in them, literature, virtuosity (I do not
say dexterity), gifts, eye, music. ... Most of all, you must
love them very much.

TO know how to draw is not to draw well. Let us examine that

fine science of drawing; but it's a science known by all the
Prix de Rome entrants, even those who, having competed,
have come out in good last places; a science that everyone,

without exception, has learned in a few years, like good sheep

led by their shepherd Cabanel.^ A science they learn easily,
effortlessly, as they frequent saloons and whorehouses. Includ-
ing Biblical history, which allows them to make great composi-
tions forever.
No, a thousand times no, an artist is not born all of a piece.
If he adds a new link to the chain already begun, he's done
a lot.

27 U
 :

Then, ideas : do we know where they come from ? Genius,

said a doctor in the Revue Blanche, is perhaps a race that is

tending to disappear, overwhelmed by our modern civilization.

AN artist is recognized by quality of transposition; to trans-

pose is not to change the color of the garters.

IN him who is doing a picture there are emotions which cannot

be crystallized for the eyes of the public ; at the most, a pale

reflection of a mystery. In the plastic arts, the author's intel-

ligence, however abstract it may be, is subordinated to

judgment; but his emotionality! The bottle of ink. . . . The

emotions of the painter or sculptor, of the musician, are of
a totally different order from those of the art of literature,
depending on life, hearing, its entire instinctive nature, its
struggles with matter.
He is a composer and virtuoso.
And the Oriental painter says to his disciples: ''Do not
finish too much afterward; with boiling blood you cool lava,

you turn it into a stone. Be it even a ruby, throw it far from

you."

A painter takes a model as representative of legend ; it is not

the attributes, i.e., the symbol this model holds in the hand,
that illustrate the legend, but rather the style. Othermse it's

hocus-pocus to make us believe it's so. Precisely thus does

composition allow nuances which pass from the possible to the
impossible. A God, gods are made in the image of man
so be it. But there is still something else internally, and not
externally.

ALL the while taking into account the efforts made and all the
studies, even scientific, it was necessary to dream of a complete
liberation, to break windows, at the risk of cutting the fingers
leaving to the generation following, now independent and
delivered from every shackle, the task of resolving the problem
with its genius.
I do not say definitively, for what is in question is pre-

cisely an endless art, rich in technique of every sort, capable

of translating all the emotions of nature and man, adapting

275
itself to each individuality, to each period, in joys and
sufferings.

It was necessary ... to do everything that was for-

bidden, and to reconstruct more or less successfully without
fear of exaggeration: even with exaggeration.
To learn anew, then once knowing, to learn still; to

conquer all the timidities, whatever the ridicule that this may
provoke.
Before his easel, the painter is a slave of neither the past
nor the present; nor of nature, nor of his neighbor.

276
YIXCEXT VAX GOGH
VINCENT VAN GOGH (1853-1890), hom at Groot-Zundert, in
the Xetherlands, ivas, aswe Jinow, the agonizing liero of a
drama in which painting
was liis sole protagonist. Remark-
ably enough, however, his work hears no trace of Eomanticism.
Yan Gogh was fundamentally a painter; his language was
fundamentally plastic. And yet no one was less an aesthete
than this painter. He conciliated some elemental power
which he carried in himself and discovered in the universe
with indefatigable pictorial toil. No formula can be applied
to him and his art, and even more than Gauguin he is

completely unique in the history of painting. We coidd

perhaps say that the great lesson Van Gogh has taught us
is that of a man faced with an intolerable condition ivho
found the yncans to rise above its horror by forging his
creative instruments in the same furnace that was consuming
his life. With Van Gogh, we witness a hand-to-hand struggle
between the artist and nature, a splendid battle which his

contemporaries turned their backs on indifferently but

which is perhaps one of the rare sagas in painting equal
to Greek tragedy. This moving story is fully told in
Van Gogh's correspondence. From his letters to his brother
Theo and his friend tmile Bernard we have taken several
pages most revealing of his attitude toward painting.

[Saint Remy Beginning of December 1889]

. . . YOU will realize that this combination of red-ocher, of

green gloomed over by gray, the black streaks surrounding

the contours, produces something of the sensation of anguish,
called ''noir-rouge," from which certain of my companions
in misfortune frequently suffer. Moreover the motif of the
great tree struck by lightning, the sickly green-pink smile
of the last flower of autumn serve to confirm this impression.

277
 Another canvas shows the sun rising over a field of young
wheat; lines fleeting away, furrows rising up high into the
picture toward a Avail and a row of lilac hills. The field is

violet and yellow-green. The white sun is surrounded by a

great yellow halo. Here, in contrast to the other canvas, I
have tried to express calmness, a great peace.

I am telling you about these two canvases, especially

about the first one, to remind you that one can try to give

an impression of anguish without aiming straight at the

historic Garden of Gethsemane; that it is not necessary to
portray the characters of the Sermon on the Mount in order
to produce a consoling and gentle motif.

SOMETIMES by erring one finds the right road. Go make up

for it by painting your garden just as it is, or whatever you
like. In any case it is a good thing to seek for distinction,
nobility in the figures; and studies represent a real effort,

and consequently something quite different from a waste of

time. Being able to divide a canvas into great planes which
intermingle, to find lines, forms which make contrasts, that

is technique, tricks if you like, cuisine, but it is a sign all

the same that you are studying your handicraft more deeply,
and that is a good thing.
However hateful painting may be, and however cumber-
some in the times we are living in, if anyone who has chosen
this handicraft pursues it zealously, he is a man of duty,
sound and faithful. Society makes our existence wretchedly
difficult at times, hence our impotence and the imperfection
of our work. . . .

[Aries Second Jialf of June 1888]

MORE and more it seems to me that the pictures which must
be made so that painting should be wholly itself, and should
raise itself to a height equivalent to the serene summits which
the Greek sculptors, the German musicians, the writers of
French novels reached, are beyond the power of an isolated
individual; so they will probably be created by groups of
men combining to execute an idea held in common.
One may have a superb orchestration of colors and lack
ideas. Another one is cram-full of new concepts, tragically

278


sad or charming, but does not know how to express them in

a sufficiently sonorous manner because of the timidity of a
limited palette. All the more reason to regret the lack of
corporative spirit among the artists, who criticize and perse-
cute each other, fortunately without succeeding in annihilating
each other.
You will say that this whole line of reasoning is banal
so be it I However, the thing itself the existence of a
renaissance this fact is certainly no banality.
A technical question. Just give me your opinion on it in
your next letter. I am going to put the black and the wliite,

just as the color merchant sells them to us, boldly on my

palette and use them just as they are. When and observe
that I am speaking of the simplification of color in the Japan-
ese manner when in a green park with pink paths I see

a gentleman dressed in black and a justice of the peace by

trade (the Arab Jew in Daudet's Tartarin calls this honor-
able functionary zouge de paix) who is reading L'lntran-
sigeant . . .

Over him and the park a sk^' of a simple cobalt.

. . . then why not paint the said zouge de paix with
ordinary bone black and the Intransigeant with simple, quite
raw white? For the Japanese artist ignores reflected colors,
and puts the flat tones side by side, with characteristic lines
marking off the movements and the forms.
In another category of ideas when for instance one
composes a motif of colors representing a yellow evening sk^-.

then the fierce hard white of a white wall against this sky
may be expressed if necessary and this in a strange way
by raw white, softened by a neutral tone, for the sky itself

colors it with a delicate lilac hue. Furthermore imagine in

that landscape which is so naive, and a good thing too. a

cottage whitewashed all over (the roof too") standing in an

orange field certainly orange, for the southern sk^* and the
blue Mediterranean provoke an orange tint that gets more
intense as the scale of blue colors gets a more vigorous tone
then the black note of the door, the windows and the little

cross on the ridge of the roof produce a simultaneous con-

trast of black and white just as pleasing to the eye as that of

blue and oransre. . . .



[Aries Beginning of August 1383]

. . . WE can and this was done by these Dutchmen who are
so desperately naughty in the eyes of people with a system

we can paint an atom of the chaos, a horse, a portrait, your

grandmother, apples, a landscape.

[Aries End of June 1888]

THE patron saint of painters St. Luke, physician, painter,
evangelist whose symbol is, alas, nothing but an ox, is there
to give us hope.

Yet our real and true lives are rather humble, these lives
of us painters, who drag out our existence under the stupefy-
ing yoke of the difficulties of a profession which can hardly
be practiced on this thankless planet on whose surface "the
love of art makes us lose the true love."

But seeing that nothing opposes it supposing that there

are also lines and forms as well as colors on the other in-
numerable planets and suns it would remain praiseworthy
of us to maintain a certain serenity with regard to the pos-
sibilities of painting under superior and changed conditions
of existence, an existence changed by a phenomenon no queerer
and no more surprising than the transformation of the cater-

pillar into a butterfly, or of the white grub into a cockchafer.

The existence of painter-butterfly would have for its field

of action one of the innumerable heavenly bodies, which would

perhaps be no more inaccessible to us, after death, than the

black dots which s^-mbolize towns and villages on geographical
maps are in our terrestrial existence.

YOU discuss shadows with Laval and ask me whether I give

a damn. Insofar as explaining light is concerned, yes. Look at

the Japanese, who draw so very well, however, and you will
see life in the open and in sunlight without shadows. Using
color only as a combination of tones, various harmonies giving

the impression of warmth, etc.

FURTHERMORE, I Consider Impressionism to be a completely

new approach, moving sharply away from everything that is

mechanical, like photography, etc.

28Q
FOR this reason, I will move as far as possible away from
what gives the illusion of a thing, and shadow being sunlight 's
deception, I am obliged to suppress it. If shadow enters into
5'our composition as a necessary form, this is quite another

thing. So, in place of a figure, you put only the shadow of a

person; this is an original point of departure whose strange-
ness you have calculated. Such is the raven on the head of
the Pallas Athene, appearing there instead of a parrot as a
result of the artist's choice a calculated choice. Therefore,
my dear Bernard, putting in shadows if you think it useful
or not putting any in is the same thing if you consider your-
self *'not the slave of shadow." In a way, shadow is at
your service. I tell you my thoughts very grosso modo; you
must read between the lines.

[Aries End of July 1888]

COMING to France as a foreigner, I, perhaps better than French-
men born and bred, have felt Delacroix and Zola, and my
sincere and wholehearted admiration for them is boundless.
Since I had a somewhat complete notion of Kembrandt,
one, Delacroix, got his results by colors, the other, Rembrandt,
by tonal values, but they are on a par.

HOWEVER, let us return to Daumier and your grandmother.

When are you going to show us studies of such vigorous

soundness again? I urgently invite you to do it, although I

most certainly do not despise your researches relating to the
property of lines in opposite motion as I am not at all indif-

ferent, I hope, to the simultaneous contrasts of lines, forms.

The trouble is you see, my dear comrade Bernard that

Giotto and Cimabue, as well as Holbein and Van Dyck, lived
in an obeliscal excuse the word solidly framed society,

architecturally constructed, in which each individual was a

stone, and all the stones clung together, forming a monumental
society. When the socialists construct their logical social edifice

which they are still pretty far from doing I am sure man-

kind will see a reincarnation of this society. But, you know,

we are in the midst of downright laisser-aller and anarchy.
We artists, who love order and symmetry, isolate ourselves and
are working to define only one tiling.

281
 ! !
;

[A-Us F : : / of August 1888]

a:-: '.

: -7 dear comrades, let us crazy ones take delight in our

eyesight in spite of everything, yes. let 's

Alas, nature takes it out of the animal, and our bodies

are despicable and sometimes a heavy burden. But it has been

like that ever since Giotto, that man with his poor health.
Ah and what
! a feast for the eyes all the same and what
a smile is that toothless smile of the old lion Rembrandt, with

a piece of white cloth around his head, his palette in his hand
How much I would like to spend these days in Port-Aven
however. I find comfort in contemplating the sunflowers.

[Saint Rimy Beginning of Becemher 1889]

so I am working at present among the olive trees, seeking
after the various effects of a gray sky against a yellow soil,

with a green-black note in the foliage : another time the soU

and the foliage all of a violet hue against a yellow sky ; then
again a red-ocher soil and a pinkish-green sky. Yes, certainly,

this interests me far more than the above mentioned abstrac-

tions. (To Emile Bernard)

[Borinage July ISSO]

MAYBE for a short time somebody takes a free course at the

great university of misery, and pays attention to the things

he sees with Ms eyes and hears with his ears, and thinks them
over : he. too, will end in believing, and he will perhaps have

learned more than he can tell. To try to understand the real

significance of what the great artists, the serious masters.
tell us in their masterpieces, ilxai leads to God one man wrote
;

or told it in a book : another, in a picture.

[Exi^n Ocioo^.r ISSl]

NATLTiE al~ay5 begins by resisting the anist. but he who really

takes it seriously does not allow that resistance to put him off

his stride : on the contrary, it is that much more of a stimtilus

to fight for victory, and at bottom nature and a true artist

agree. Nature certainly is '"intangible," yet one must seize

her, and with a strong hand. And then after one has straggled
and wrestled with nature, sometimes she becomes a little more

282
 ' '

docile and yielding. I do not mean to say that I have reached

that point already no one thinks so less than I but somehow
I get on better. The struggle with nature sometimes reminds
one of what Shakespeare calls "the taming of the shrew" (that
means conquering the opposition by perseverance, bon gre
etmal gre). In many things, but especially in drawing, I think
that "serrer de pres vaut mieux que lacher" [pressing hard
is better than letting go].
More and more I feel that drawing the figure is a good
thing which indirectly has a good influence on drawing land-
scape. If one draws a willow as if it were a living being and
after all, it really is then the surroundings follow in due
course if one has concentrated all one 's attention only on that
same tree, not giving up until one has put some life into it.

[The Hague March f 1882]

IF you became a painter, one of the things that would astonish
you is that painting and everything connected with it is really

hard work from a physical point of view ; besides the mental

stress, the worry of mind, it requires a rather great exertion
of strength, and this day after day.

[The Hague March 1882]

THERE are two ways of thinking about painting, how not to do

it and how to do it : how to do it with

much drawing and
little color; how not to do it with much color and little
drawing.

[The Hague April 1882]

MAUVE takes offence at my having said, ''I am an artist"

which I won't take back, because, of course, these words con-

note, "Always seeking without absolutely finding." It is just
'

the opposite of saying,

'
' I know, I have found it.

As far as I know, that word means, "I am seeking, I am

striving, I am in it with all my heart.
'

[The Hague September? 1882]

IN a certain way I am glad I have not learned painting, be-
cause then I might have learned to pass by such effects as this.

Now I say, No, this is just what I want if it is impossible.

283
it is impossible; I will try it, though I do not know how it

ought to be done. I do not know myself how I paint it. I sit

down with a white board before the spot that strikes me, I look
at what is before my eyes, I say to myself, That white board
must become something; I come back dissatisfied I put it

away, and when I have rested a little, I go and look at it with

a kind of fear. Then I am still dissatisfied, because I still have
that splendid scene too clearly in my mind to be satisfied with
what I made of it. But I find in my work an echo of what

struck me, after all. I see that nature has told me something,
has spoken to me, and that I have put it down in shorthand. In
my shorthand there may be words that cannot be deciphered,
there may be mistakes or gaps but there ; is something of what
wood or beach or figure has told me in it, and it is not the
tame or conventional language derived from a studied manner
or a system rather than from nature itself.

[TJie Hague Fall 1883]

WHAT is drawing? How does one learn it? It is working
through an invisible iron wall that seems to stand between
what one feels and what one can do. How is one to get through
that wall since pounding against it is of no use? One must
undermine the wall and drill through it slowly and patiently,
in my opinion. And, look here, how can one continue such
a work assiduously without being disturbed or distracted from
it unless one reflects and regulates one's life according to
principles? And it is the same with other things as it is with
art. Great things are not accidental, but they certainly must
be willed. Whether a man's principles originate in actions or
the actions in principles is something which seems to me in-

soluble, and as little worth decision as the question of which

came first, the chicken or the egg. But I consider it of very
positive and great value that one must try to develop one's

power of reflection and will.

AND if I want very much to paint, the explanation is precisely

because with my work I have wished to do something firm

and, I admit quite freely though I have heard it said many
times,
^
' You mustn 't have any system '
'
something systematic.

28^
[Drenthe November 1883]
I know the soul 's struggle of two people : Am I a painter or
not ? Of Rappard and of myself a struggle, hard sometimes,
a struggle which accurately marks the difference between us
and certain other people who take things less seriously; as

for us, we feel wretched at times; but each fit of melancholy

brings a little light, a little progress ; certain other people have

less trouble, work more easily perhaps, but then their personal

character develops less.

THERE is a saying of Gustave Dore's which I have always ad-

mired, '' J'ai la patience d'un boeuf," I find a certain goodness
in it, a certain resolute honesty in short, that saying has a

deep meaning, it is the word of a real artist. When one thinks

of the man from whose heart such a saying sprang, all those

oft-repeated art dealer's arguments about ''natural gifts"

seem to become an abominably discordant raven's croaking.
*'J'ai la patience" how quiet it sounds, how dignified; they

wouldn't even say it except for that very raven's croaking.

[Nuenen February? 1885]

I think that if one has tried to follow the great masters atten-
tively, one finds them all back at certain moments, deep in
reality, I mean one will see their so-called creations in reality

if one has similar eyes, a similar sentiment, as they had. And

I do believe that if the critics and connoisseurs w^ere better

acquainted Avith nature, their judgment would be more correct

than it is now, w^hen the routine is to live only among pictures,

and to compare them mutually. Which of course, as one side

of the question, is good in itself, but lacks a solid foundation

if one begins to forget nature and looks only superficially.

[Nuenen April 1885]

ENCLOSED you will find some interesting pages about color,

namely the great principles which Delacroix believed in.

Add to this ''les anciens ne prenaient pas par la ligne,

that means, starting with the circular

'

mais par les milieux, '

or elliptical bases of the masses, instead of with the contour.

285
[\u^y\^n AprU 1885]
I mean there are i
rather than persons) roles or principles or
fundamental truths for draiving as well as for color, which
one proves to fall hack on when one finds ont an actual truth.
In drawing, for instance that question of drawing the
figure starting with the circle that is to say. using the ellip-

tical planes as a foundation. A thing which the ancient Greeks

already knew, and which will remain valid till the end of

the world.

[Nuenen Mayf 1885]

A>"D then again, there are people who assert that all dogmas
are practically absurd. It is a pity that this is again a dogma
in itself.

The only thing to do is to go one's own way. to try one's

best, to make the thing live.

[Xuenen July! 13S5]

TFTJ. Serret that / should he desperate if my figures uere
correct, tell him that I do not want them to be academically

correct, tell him that I mean: If one photographs a digger.

he certainly would not he digging then. TeU him that I adore
the figures by ^Michelangelo though the legs are undoubtedly
too long, the hips and the backsides too large. Tell him that,

for me, ^lillet and Lhermitte are the real artists for the very
reason that they do not paint things as they are. traced in a
dry analytical way. but as they !Millet, Lhermitte. Michel-
angelo feel them. Tell him that my great longing is to learn
to make those very incorrectnesses, those deviations, remodel-
ings, changes in reality, so that they may become, yes. lies if

yon like but truer than the literal truth.

... To draw a peasa'nt's figure in action, I repeat, that's

what an essentially modem figure is. the very core of modem

art. which neither the Greeks nor the Renaissance nor the old
Dutch school have done.

[Xueyxen Octoher? 1SS5]

rr is a fact that by studying the laws of the colors one can go
from an instinctive belief in the great masters to the analysis

286
 '

of why one admires what one admires and that is indeed

necessary nowadays when one realizes how terribly arbitrarily
and superficially people criticize.

IT is true, I still often blunder when I undertake a thing, but

the colors follow of their own accord, and taking one color
as a starting point. I have cleaxly in mind what must foUow
and how to get life into it.

COLOR expresses someiliing in itself, one cannot do without this,

one must use it: what is beautiful, really beautiful is also

correct

[Xuenen Xovemher 1885]

BUT either in figure or in landscape, how the painters always
did try to convince people that a picture is something different
from nature in a mirror, different from imitation, i.e. re-

creation.

[Aries May 5. 1888]

BIT the painter of the future will be a colorist su^h as has
n^ver yet existed.

[Aries May 1S88]

AND 80, if we believe in the new art and in the artists of the
future, our faith does not cheat us. When good old Corot said
a few days before his

death ''Last night in a dream I saw
landscapes with skies all pink. '
well, haven "t they come, those
skies aU pink, and yeUow and green into the bargain, in the
impressionist landscapes?

[ArJe^ JuJy 1888]

AS for landscapes. I begin to find that some done more rapidly
than ever are the best of what I do. For instance, the one I sent

you the cartoon of, the harvest, and the stacks too. It is true
that I have to retouch the whole to rearrange the composition
a bit, and to make the touch harmonious, but all the essential
work was done in a single long sitting, and I change them
as little as possible when I 'm retouching.

287


AND very often indeed I think of that excellent painter Monti-

celli \Yho they said \s'as such a drinker, and off his head
when I come back myself from the mental labor of balancing

the six essential colors, red blue yelloworange lilac

green. Sheer work and calculation, with one's mind strained

to the utmost, like an actor on the stage in a difficult part,

with a hundred things to think of at once in a single half hour.

[Aries August 1888]

PAINTING as it is now promises to become more subtle more
music and less sculpture; lasth', it promises color. Provided
it keeps that promise.

[Aries August 1888]

AND in a picture I want to say something comforting, as music
is comforting. I want to paint men and women with that some-
thing of the eternal which the halo used to symbolize, and
which we seek to convey by the actual radiance and vibration
of our coloring.

... TO express the love of two lovers by a wedding of two

complementary colors, their mingling and their opposition, the
mysterious vibrations of kindred tones. To express the thought
of a brow by the radiance of a light tone against a somber
background.
To express hope by some star, the eagerness of a soul by
a sunset radiance. Certainly there is no delusive realism in
that, but isn't it something that actually exists?

[Aries September 8, 1888]

I have tried to express the terrible passions of humanity by
means of red and green.

[Aries September 1888]

IF we study Japanese art, we see a man who is undoubtedly
wise, philosophic and intelligent, who spends his time doing
what? In studying the distance between the earth and the
moon? No. In studying Bismarck's policy? No. He studies a
single blade of grass.

But this blade of grass leads him to draw every plant

288
and then the s^isns :i:f -^de aspects of the conntryside. then
anJTnals, then the hninaa ngnre. So he passes his life, and life

is too abort to do the whole.

OH Someday
! I must manage to do a figure in a few strokesL
That will keep me busy all winter.

[ArUsOc: zS]
HESE, under a stronger sun. I hare found what Pissarro said
confirmed, and also what Gangniii wrote to me, the simplicity,

the Elding of the colors, the gravity of great snnli^t effects.

THTY say that in painting yon mustn't look for anything, or

hope for anything, except a good picture and a good chat and
a good diuner as your greatest happiness, without counting
the less brOliant digressions. Perhaps it 's true ; and why refuse
to accept the possible, especially if by doing so you throw
off the scent. (To his brother Theo)

2.^Q
WILLIAM BLAKE
WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827), hom in London, was indubitably
a better poet than painter. He was a bitter enemy of Reynolds.
In painting as in poetry, Blake was a visionary, but his very

original stylistic qualities in writing are less apparent

in his drawing, which, inspired by Michelangelo, sometimes
descends into bombast. It is odd that this preBomantic
disdained color so.

THE distinction that is made in modern times between a Paint-

ing and a Drawing proceeds from ignorance of art. The merit
of a Picture is the same as the merit of a Drawing. The
dawber dawbs his Drawings; he who draws his Drawings
draws his Pictures. There is no difference between Rafael's
Cartoons and his Frescos, or Pictures, except that the Frescos,
or Pictures, are more finished. When Mr. B. formerly painted
in oil colours his Pictures were shewn to certain painters and
connoisseurs, who said that they were very admirable Draw-
ings on canvass, but not Pictures; but they said the same of
Rafael's Pictures. Mr. B. thought this the greatest of com-
pliments, though it was meant otherwise. If losing and oblit-

erating the outline constitutes a Picture, Mr. B. will never

be so foolish as to do one. Such art of losing the outlines is

the art of Venice and Flanders; it loses all character, and

leaves what some people call expression; but this is a false
notion of expression; expression cannot exist without char-
acter as its stamina ; and neither character nor expression can
exist without firm and determinate outline. Fresco Painting
is susceptible of higher finishing than Drawing on Paper, or
than any other method of Painting. But he must have a

290
 :

strange organization of sight who does not prefer a Drawing

on Paper to a Dawbing in Oil by the same master, supposing
both to be done with equal care.
The great and golden rule of art, as well as of life, is this
That the more distinct, sharp, and wirey the bounding line,

the more perfect the work of art, and the less keen and sharp,
the greater is the evidence of weak imitation, plagiarism, and
bungling. Great inventors, in all ages, knew this: Protogenes
and Apelles knew each other by this line. Rafael and Michael
Angelo and Albert Diirer are known by this and this alone.

The want of this determinate and bounding form evidences

the want of idea in the artist's mind, and the pretence of the
plagiary in all its branches. How do we distinguish the oak
from the beech, the horse from the ox, but by the bounding
outline ? How do we distinguish one face or countenance from
another, but by the bounding line and its infinite inflexions

and movements? What is it that builds a house and plants a

garden, but the definite and determinate? What is it that
distinguishes honesty from knavery, but the hard and wirey
line of rectitude and certainty in the actions and intentions?
Leave out this line, and you leave out life itself; all is chaos
again, and the line of the almighty must be drawn out upon
it before man or beast can exist. Talk no more then of Cor-
reggio, or Rembrandt, or any other of those plagiaries of
Venice or Flanders. They were but the lame imitators of lines

drawn by their predecessors, and their works prove themselves

contemptible, disarranged imitations, and blundering, mis-
applied copies. (A Descriptive Catalogue)

J. M. W. TURNER
JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER (1775-1851), hom in LoU-
don, prefigured Impressionism in his way of freeing color
from form.

NEVER lose an accident. (Quoted by Rene Bazin)

291
JOHN CONSTABLE
JOHN CONSTABLE (1776-1837), hom in East BergJiolt, Suffolk,
was a resolute landscapist who took pains to paint nature
without niceties. Sometimes, in his celebrated skies, he
achieved a certain scenic grandeur.

THE landscape painter must walk in the fields with an humble

mind. No arrogant man was ever permitted to see nature in
all her beauty.

WHEN I sit down to make a sketch from nature, the first thing
I try to do is, to forget that I have ever seen a picture.

CHIAROSCURO is by no means confined to dark pictures ... It

may be defined as that power which creates space ; we find it

everywhere, and at all times in nature; opposition, union,

light, shade, reflection, and refraction, all contribute to it.

(Memoirs of the Life of John Constable, B.A.)

DAVID D'ANGERS
PIERRE- JEAN DAVID d'angers (1788-1856), bom in Angers, is

the sculptor to whom we owe the pediment of the Pantheon

in Paris. In his notes, he wrote occasionally, though
knowledgeably, about painting.

IN my opinion, painting, as the colorists feel it, should rep-

resent only scenes that do not come from our terrestrial sphere.

For color that befits the apotheosis, a man of genius could

vary his tones to infinity; he would find tints in nature, in
things foreign to man, which would make his figures natural,
but a naturalness felt by the soul and not by our coarse senses.

292
THEODORE GERICAULT
THEODORE GERICAULT (1791-1824), hom in Rouen, is
universaUy renowned for his ''Baft of the Medusa.^' He had
a somewhat overly *' theatrical conception of painting,
hut before his very early death he demonstrated a plastic vigor
which could have made him a very great painter if
he had had the time to develop it.

On schools THE government has built public art schools which are main-
of painting tained at great expense and to which all young people are
and sculpture and admitted. Frequent contests seem to excite great rivalry, and
the competition for at first glance these institutions appear to be extremely useful
the Prix de Rome and to be the firmest encouragement that could be given to
the arts. Never did the citizens of Athens or Rome find it so
easy to study the sciences or arts as our numerous schools
of all sorts have made it. But since they have been established,

I have noticed with regret that they have produced a situation

far different from what peopie seemed to expect, and that
instead of helping they have become a real hindrance, since
while promoting thousands of mediocre talents, they cannot
lay claim to having formed the most distinguished men among
our painters, as these have been in a way the founders of these
same schools, or at least they were the first to broadcast prin-
ciples of taste.

David, first among our artists and regenerator of the

school, owes to his genius alone the success that drew the
whole world 's attention. He took nothing from schools, which
on the contrary would have hurt him if his taste had not
early snatched him from their influence and led him to thor-

oughly reform the absurd and monstrous system of the Van

Loos, the Bouchers, the Restouts, and so many other painters
then in possession of an art that they only abused. Studying
the great masters and seeing Italy inspired in him that noble
character he was always able to give historical compositions,
and he became the paragon and master of a new school. His
principles rapidly cultivated new talents whose spark needed

293
only to be fanned, and several famous names soon came to
proclaim the glory of their master and to share their triumphs
and crowns with him.
After that first impulse, that impetus toward a noble
and pure style, enthusiasm could not but wane, although the
excellent lessons in discernment already learned would not be
entirely lost, and all the government's efforts tended to pro-
long this beneficial movement. But the sacred fire which alone
can produce great things grew dimmer every day, and the
exhibitions, though numerous too numerous became less

interesting every year. We no longer find those great talents

which used to create such a stir and which the public, ever

appreciative of beauty, hastened to crown. Painters like Gros,

Gerard, Guerin, and Girodet-Trioson no longer found worthy
rivals to challenge their talent, and, though they have taken
on the teaching of highly competitive young people, it is

unhappily possible that they will come to the end of their

long and honorable careers with regret at not seeing them-
selves worthily replaced. However, it would be unjust to think

that they have not lavished every care on those who come to

take lessons from them. Where, then, does this barrenness, this
poverty come from, despite the distribution of medals, the
various Prix de Rome, and the competition at the Academy [of

Fine Arts] ?

I have always thought that a good education should be

an indispensable foundation for all professions, and that it

alone could bring a person true distinction in whatever career

he embraced. It serves to ripen the mind and make it more
able, by enlightening it, to discern the goal toward which it

should move. One cannot choose a way of life until he has

become capable of weighing its advantages and disadvantages,
and except in a few precocious individuals, tastes are rarely

developed before the age of sixteen ; then one can really know
what he wants to do, and he still has all the necessary aptitude
for studying a profession which he chooses as appropriate or
toward which an overpowering bent pushes him. I would
therefore like to see the schools of design open only to those
who have at least reached that age.
The nation should not intend these establishments to
create a race of nothing but painters, but should only use

29J!i,
 ;

them to offer real talent the means of developing itself ; and

instead of that, what we have gotten is really a population
made up entirely of artists. The bait of the Prix de Rome
and the facilities of the schools have attracted a mob of com-
petitors whom love of the art alone would never have made
painters and v/ho could have covered themselves with honors
in other professions. Thus they waste their youth and their
time pursuing a success they cannot possibly achieve, while
they might have used them productively for themselves and
their country.

A man w^orthy of the name doesn't boggle at any obstacles,

because he feels capable of surmounting them they even serve ;

him as an additional prod ; the fever they can provoke in his

soul is not wasted ; it can even become the source of the most
remarkable creations.
The concern of an enlightened government should be
directed toward just these men; by encouraging them, by
using their faculties it can guarantee the glory of the nation
they will regenerate the century which has had the wit to
discover them and accord them their proper distinction.
Suppose that all the young people accepted in the schools

were gifted with all the qualities that form a painter; isn't it

dangerous for them to study together for years under the

same influence, copying the same models and following the
same path? How can anybody hope that after this they will
still be able to preserve their originality? Will they not, in
spite of themselves, have exchanged the special qualities they
may have had and blended their separate and personal ways
of conceiving the beauties of nature into a single and uniform
feeling?
The nuances that can survive this kind of mixing are
imperceptible; thus, it is with real disgust that we see ten
or a dozen compositions every year which have almost the
same execution, are painted from one end to the other with
a discouraging perfection, and offer nothing original. Having
long denied their own feelings, none of these competitors has
been able to preserve any distinctive features. The same style

in drawing, the same coloring, conformity A\dth the same system

right down to gesture and facial expressions all the sad

results of our school seem to have come from the same source,

295
 inspired by the same soul, even if we can admit that this soul

still retains some of its faculties in the midst of this corruption

and in no way participates in like works.

I say further that if obstacles and difficulties dishearten

a mediocre man. on the contrary they are necessary for a
genius and like food to him; they mature and exalt him; he
would never take fire on an easy road. Everything that stands
in the way of a genius' ruling passion irritates him and gives

him that fever of exaltation which overcomes and dominates

everything and produces masterpieces. These are the men who
redound to a nation's glory for having produced them, and no
events, no poverty, no persecutions will fetter their flight.

They have a volcanic fire which absolutely must erupt : they

have a constitutional necessity to shine, to enlighten, to astound
the world. Would you hope to see men of this race created?

The Academy unhappily does the contrary : it suffocates those

who possess a few sparks of sacred fire; it stifles them by

refusing to allow nature alone the time to develop their facul-
ties, and. wanting to produce premature fruit, it deprives
itself of those whom a slower maturation would have made
succulent.

HOXORE DE BALZAC
HoxoRE DE BALZAC (1799-1850), lom in Tours, v:as too prolific
a writer luver io liuve spoke Ji of painting. He did so, in

a ficiionul setting, in liis sliort story Le Chef-d 'CEuvre inconnu

(The Hidden Masterpiece). It is fhe story of a painter
nnmed Frenliofer who, trying to achieve perfection in a
work, ended up icith a colored chaos. Wliat did Balzac
m^anf 'Vi'as he making a case out of a kind of painting
which a desire for perfection hrings to nothing? Was he
ohscurely prophesying modern painting, without reaching
fhe point of justifying his central character, hut sejising
that there was a road the painter should take? At any rate,
he clearly condemned copying nature. He intended for his
painter to go heyond the appearance of things and express
their inner truth. He sketched a theory of light according
to which its Uluminatioiis and sliadows would no longer

296
distort the real color of an object. He asserted that drawing
does not exist, and that relief alone gives us contours.
Ultimately Frenhofer fails in his efforts to express nature:
he creates a work whose subject is unrecognizable but
ivhich satisfies him. In his time, Balzac could not do other-
wise than repudiate such a way of satisfying pictorial
exigencies. Yet it is remarkable that he was able to think up
a FrenJiofer and a story like this one. Balzac's thought here
certainly goes beyond the problem of painting; his aim was
to depict a craving for the absolute and man's absorption
in pure subjectivity. But it is no less true that he includes
a possible justification for the pictorial investigations
of the century to follow.

THE mission of art is not to copy nature, but to represent it.

You are not an abject copyist, but a poet ... If it were not
so, a sculptor could reach the height of his art by merely
moulding a woman. ... It is our mission to seize the mind,
soul, countenance of things and beings. Effects! effects! what
are they? The mere accidents of the life, and not the life

itself. A hand ... is not merely part of the body, it is far

more; it expresses and carries on a thought which we must
seize and render. Neither the painter nor the poet nor the
sculptor should separate the effect from the cause, for they
are indissolubly one. The true struggle of art lies there. Many
a painter has triumphed through instinct without knowing
this theory of art as a theory.

. . . You draw a woman, but you do not see her. That is

not the way to force an entrance into the arcana of Nature.
Your hand reproduces, without an action of your mind, the

model you copied under a master. You do not search out the
secrets of form, nor follow its windings and evolutions with
enough love and perseverance. Beauty is solemn and severe,
and cannot be attained in that way we must wait and watch :

itstimes and seasons, and clasp and hold it firmly ere it yields
to us. Form is a Proteus less easily captured, more skilful to
double and escape, than the Proteus of fable; it is only at
the cost of struggle that we compel it to come forth in its true

aspects. You young men are content with the first glimpse
you get of it; or, at any rate, with the second or third. This

297
iiii:^:^ ~j.e"

rfgfrt. C-

piece)

"X vm Fimnm,
'
' mgwgii^MVMpnifiny
ifririfL

-^ - -'',- ^--..^.1 -
-
'-iji :i<!apisa la ihe

:iiijj. iLLiTITlcis. : - ; -:- r indrvid-

Tr.^T^ T-r ^1 U T J. TIJ - -

.-fj-i^ /Tr\-n_

-, -. -^ -^ .,- -., _---,, ,,,

niaiie a

to "
. . _- _ :iia:: serret;

i - le looddlr ife SF ODC iRslAes iiL

TiPff- aie% jtanfair,. w&st cssezl wis* sbe^

wftffnt tfiat: 2rstas siraws . i ra

 THE daguerreotype has bothered many a head nothing is ;

falser or more dangerous than the extreme perfection of that

instrument. It can be used for information regarding a detail,
but one must be careful not to let himself be captivated by
that impossible likeness and its false perspective.
Tree knots must be left to science; the eyes are enough
for enjoying the beauties of landscapes.

THE two primary agents of painting are drawing and color;

for landscape, color is indispensable: it is its most vivid ex-
pression, and it cannot do without it, any more than without
drawing. Why didn't God make the flowers black and white
and sunsets ''factual"?
Color draws and drawing colors. Drawing, which provides
the apparel, also provides the lines, the accent, that contribute
to the character and moral impression of the work. Color,

one of the most vivid elements of beauty, expression, and

character, adds to the line that it softens, corrects, or con-

denses. {Paul Huct: documents collected by his son)

EDGAR ALLAN POE

EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849), hom in Boston, Jiad
a teleological conception of the universe, wJiicJi lie considered
as emanating from tJie irradiation of a ''self-contained,
unique, individual, unconditional, independent, and absolute
particle,'' and destined to return to the original unity. This
is the reason he said that landscape painting can and must
strive to harmonize the elements found discordant in nature.
In bringing about this harmony, the painter aims at unity,
that is, at producing the figuration of the world as it was
primordially conceived to be given to man. This idea of Poe's
is comparable to that of Raphael, who, according
to

Taddeo Zucchero, thought that ''nature must be painted

not as it is, but as it ought to be."

IN the most enchanting of natural landscapes there will always

be found a defect or an excess many excesses and defects.
299
 '

While the component parts may defy, individually, the highest

skill of the artist, the arrangement of these parts will always

be susceptible of improvement. In short, no position can be

attained on the wide surface of the n<itural earth, from which
an artistical eye, looking steadily, will not find matter of
'

offence in what is termed the '

composition '
of the landscape.

And yet how unintelligible is this! In all other matters we

are justly instructed to regard nature as supreme. AYith her
details we shrink from competition. Who shall presume to

imitate the colors of the tulip, or to improve the proportions

of the lily of the valley ? The criticism which says, of sculpture

or portraiture, that here nature is to be exalted or idealized

rather than imitated, is in error. No pictorial or sculptural
combinations of points of human loveliness do more than
approach the living and breathing beauty. In landscape alone
is the principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth
here, it is but the headlong spirit of generalization which has
led him to pronounce it true throughout all the domains of
art. Having, I say, felt its truth here ; for the feeling is no
affectation or chimera. The mathematics afford no more abso-
lute demonstrations than the sentiment of his art yields the

artist. He not only believes, but positively knows, that such

and such apparently arbitrary arrangements of matter consti-

tute, and alone constitute, the true beauty. His reasons, how-
ever, have not yet been matured into expression. It remains
for a more profound analysis than the world has yet seen
fully to investigate and express them. Nevertheless he is

confirmed in his instinctive opinions by the voice of all his

brethren. Let a '' composition" be defective; let an emenda-

tion be wrought in its mere arrangement of form; let this

emendation be submitted to every artist in the world by each

;

will its necessity be admitted. And even far more than this:
in remedy of the defective composition, each insulated laember

of the fraternity would have suggested the identical emen-

dation.
I repeat that in landscape arrangements alone is the
physical nature susceptible of exaltation, and that, therefore,
her susceptibility of improvement at this one point was a
mystery I had been unable to solve. My own thoughts on the
subject had rested in the idea that the primitive intention

300
 of nature would have so arranged the earth's surface as to

have fulfilled at all points man's sense of perfection in the

beautiful, the sublime, or the picturesque ; but that this primi-
tive intention had been frustrated by the known geological
disturbances disturbances of form and color-grouping, in

the correction or allaying of which lies the soul of art. The

force of this idea was much weakened, however, by the neces-
sity which it involved of considering the disturbances abnormal
or unadapted to any purpose. It was Ellison who suggested
that they were prognostic of death. He thus explained:
Admit the earthly immortality of man to have been the first

invention. We have then the primitive arrangement of the

earth's surface adapted to his blissful estate, as not existent
but designed. The disturbances were the preparations for his
subsequently conceived deathful condition.
**Now, " said my friend, 'Svhat we regard as exaltation

of the landscape may be really such, as respects only the

moral or human point of view." {The Domain of Arnheim)

THEODORE ROUSSEAU
THEODORE ROUSSEAU (1812-1867), lom in Paris, perhaps
does not deserve the shadow that Impressionism threw on
his work.His love of landscape corresponds to a whole period
in French painting
that of the Barhizon painters.
Romanticism and Naturalism unite in him, without hril-
liance hut not without a deep sincerity. Thishardy and
zealous painter suffered a Mallarmean anguish; he thought
a cloudless sky a ''marvelous sphinx.'' Mallarme, too,
was haunted by the Purity.

PEOPLE want art to abandon retrospective history, to stick with

the present and repudiate the past. This is evidently a healthy

and fruitful idea, but an artist is innately sensitive, and is

not master of his emotions; what moves him most he will

paint best.

NOW, who will create the sea, if not the soul of the artist ?

301
 There is composition when the objects are represented not
for themselves but in view of containing, in a natural appear-
ance, the echoes they have sounded in our soul.

IF my picture represents exactly and without sterile refining

the simple and true physiognomy of the place you have fre-

quented; if, by combining the air with what it makes live

and the light with what it makes bloom and die, I am able

to give generic life to that world of vegetation, then you will

hear the trees sigh in the wind that must break them down,
the birds call their young and cry when they have been dis-

persed ;
you will feel the old chateau tremble, and it will tell

you that, like the woman you loved, it will come to an end
and disappear to be reborn in multiple forms. If finally I

have imbued my canvas with the powerful breath of creation

that begets in order to destroy, I will have interpreted your
thought.

ANY man, be he the most idiotic, the most misled in his inven-
tions, the dullest in imagination, the most primitive or barba-
rous in his execution, redeems himself and becomes impressive
if he creates light. If he has been able to take a flicker of fire

from his palette, he will be a painter, he must be welcomed,

and he ranks with the great family of artists ; for light spread
through a work is universal life, is the whole of a world, be
it as small as a fingernail, diminutive as the little paintings
on snuffbox covers ; this is the distinctive mark of art. Without
light, there is no creation; all is chaotic, dead, or pedantic.

WHAT a man touches he can become master of, but that cloud-
less sky, that point of light, is a problem as terrible to paint

as it is impossible to measure ; that luminous mezzotint, always

charming to the eye, always terrifying to the mind, is a chaos
and a marvelous sphinx.

[the artist] must always have in himself the yeast of his

nature and the feeling of his entire liberty.

WHAT perfects a picture is not the quantity of details but the

balance of the whole. A picture is not circumscribed by the

302
 frame alone. No matter what the subject is, there is a principal
object on which your eyes rest; the other objects are only
complementary to it ; they interest you less. . . . That prin-
cipal object must also strike one who looks at our work more
forcefully. If on the contrary our picture is exquisitely finished
from one end of the canvas to the other, the viewer will look
at it indifferently. When everything interests him, nothing
will interest him.

IF necessary, one can do without colors but one can do nothing

;

without harmony.

JEAN-FRANgOIS MILLET
jEAN-FRANQois MILLET (1814-1875), hom lit GrSvUle, owes
mucli of his glory to the Minister e des Postes TeUphoniques
et TeUgraphiques} His somewliat naive rigorism, his liking
for simple subjects, his Jansenist realism should nonetheless
hriyig him more attention than he is ordinarily given.

ONE must be able to make the trivial serve to express the

sublime.

I try not to have things look as if chance had brought them

together, but as if they had a necessary bond between them.
I want the people I represent to look as if they belonged to
their station, and as if their imaginations could not conceive
of their ever being anything else. People and things should
always be there with an object. I want to put strongly and
completely all that is necessary, for I think things weakly said
might as well not be said at all, for they are, as it were,

deflowered and spoiled but I profess the greatest horror for

uselessness (however brilliant) and filling up. These things
can only weaken a picture by distracting the attention toward
secondary things. I don't know whether this is worth saying
but here it is.

WE should accustom ourselves to receive from Nature all our

303
impressions, whatever they may be and whatever temperament
we may have. We should be saturated and impregnated with
her, and think what she wishes to make us think. Truly, she

is rich enough to supply us all. And whence should we draw,

if not from the fountain-head ? Why forever urge, as a supreme
aim to be reached, that which the great minds have already
discovered in her, because they have mined her with constancy
and labor, as Palissy says? But, nevertheless, they have no
right to set up for mankind one example forever. By that
means the productions of one man would become the type
and the aim of all the productions of the future.
Men of genius are gifted with a sort of divining-rod ; some
discover in Nature this, others that, according to their kind
of scent. Their productions assure you that he who finds is

formed to find ; but it is funny to see how, when the treasure

is unearthed, people come for ages to scratch at that one hole.
The point is to know where to find truffles. A dog who has not
scent will be but a poor hunter if he can only run at sight
of another who scents the game, and who, of course, must
always be the first. And
we only hunt through imitativeness,
if

we can not run with much spirit, for it is impossible to be

enthusiastic about nothing. Finally, men of genius have the
mission to show, out of the riches of Nature, only that which
they are permitted to take away, and to show them to those
who would not have suspected their presence nor ever found
them, as they have not the necessary faculties. They serve as
translators and interpreters to those who can not understand
her language. They can say, like Palissy: ''You see these
things in my cabinet." They, too, may say: ''If you give
yourself up to Nature, as we have done, she will let you take
away of these treasures according to your powers. You only
need intelligence and good- will."
It must be an enormous vanity or an enormous folly that
makes certain men believe that they can rectify the pretended
lack of taste or the errors of Nature. On what authority do
they lean? With them who do not love her and who do not
trust her, she does not let herself be understood, and retires
into her shell. She must be constrained and reserved with
them. And, of course, they say :
'
' The grapes are green. Since
we can not reach them, let us speak ill of them." We might
here apply the words of the prophet : God resisteth the proud,
and giveth grace to the humble.

Nature gives herself to those who take the trouble to

court her, but she wishes to be loved exclusively. We love
certain works only because they proceed from her. Every other
work is pedantic and empty.
We can start from any point and arrive at the sublime,
and all is proper to be expressed, provided our aim is high
enough. Then what you love with the greatest passion and
power becomes a beauty of your own, which imposes itself

upon others. Let each bring his own. An impression demands

expression, and especially requires that which is capable of
showing it most clearly and strongly. The whole arsenal of
Nature has ever been at the command of strong men, and their
genius has made them take, not the things which are con-
ventionally called the most beautiful, but those which suited
best their places. In its own time and place, has not everything

its part to play 1 Who shall dare to say that a potato is inferior
to a pomegranate?
Decadence set in when people began to believe that art,

which she (Nature) had made, was the supreme end; when
such and such an artist was taken as model and aim without
remembering that he had his eyes fixed on infinity.

They still spoke of Nature, but meant thereby only the

life-model which they used, but from whom they got nothing
but conventionalities. If, for instance, they had to paint a

figure out-of-doors, they still copied, for the purpose, a model

lighted by a studio light, without appearing to dream that it

had no relation to the luminous diffusion of light out-of-doors

a proof that they were not moved by a very deep emotion,

which would have prevented artists from being satisfied with
so little. For, as the spiritual can only be expressed by the
observation of objects in their truest aspect, this physical
untruth annihilated all others. There is no isolated truth.
The moment that a man could do something masterly in
painting, it was called good. If he had great anatomical
knowledge, he made that pre-eminent, and was greatly praised
for it, without thinking that these fine acquirements ought to
serve, as indeed all others should, to express the thoughts of

the mind. Then, instead of thoughts, he would have a pro-

305
 gramme. A subject would be songbt wbich woiQd give him a
chance to exhibit certain things which came easiest to his
hand. Finally, instead of making one 's knowledge the humble
servant of one's thought, on the contrarv. the thought was
suffocated under the display of a noisy cleTemess. Each eyed
his neighbor, and was full of enthusiasm for a manner.
My small experience in writing . . . makes me omit a great
many things, which causes obscurities. Try. therefore, to guess

what I intended to say without taking literally what I have

said. (Quoted by Alfred Sensier in Jean^Fran^ois MtUet,
Peasamt and Painter)

THEODOEE CHASSERIAU
THzcooRZ CHASst?.:AU (1819-1856), horn in Sainte-Barle
de Samana, in the Antilles, teas one of Ingres's most
hrilliant students; he rejected that master's teaching in

joining Delacroix's school. Chasseriau combined romantic

rapture with correctness in drawing.

THES'GS decided.. I must take courage and put my whole soul

into them. Listen to myself when I work remember and dare
;

to do everything I saw in Rome ; bring a great deal of order

into my life and chase care away paint only
;
the things that
touch my soul: never forget that a simple and significant
e5ect is the essential object m great painting: few tones, much
strength, brilliance in harmony and that "s all : then always
have varied and decisive types, study nature, especially when
it will be for big things, for vivid and vigorous drawings in ;

my future portraits, look for strong and clear effects in

simplicity, be extremely natural and always lofty, see the
eternal beauty in heads when copying them and seize the best

moment, go like an arrow without hesitating a single instant.

(March, 1841;

DO striking but true things. The difference between great

S06
masters and the second-rate is that the first are true, the
second impossible and consequently mannered.

WITHOUT destroying the simple and meaningful aspect of

works, mix in the spirited and unexpected elements in nature.
. . . Do nothing impossible, find poetry in the real.

GREAT character cannot really exist without a real admission

of nature ; and this, despite an original, personal, and even
profound quality, will not constitute artistic beauty unless it

is mixed with the simplest and purest truth.

TO do something beautiful, one must see well and an invented ;

thing, no matter how great, is inferior to a mediocre thing

that has been copied.

THE idea of art is to execute, to reproduce intelligently what is.

TO remember that when one has an original talent, there is

never any need to seek it out; to push the study of truth

as far as possible, to be natural, and consequently never
niggardly ; to think often of the great masters, and remember
well that even the least great artists of ages past give excellent
counsel and are always painters. To concern myself in my
pictures only with the general aspect, like tone, and work over
the tints, glazes, or brighter dry colors, so as not to kill the
ever-necessary flower of truth. Never to be arid or German,
but rather Italian or French, that is, have charm and reason.
For successful tones in cloths, to see whether there is not
another tone under the real one and begin with the former
so as to achieve transparency ; to let the form be on top of the
idea rather than the idea on top of the form ; always to keep
the idea of beauty in mind, but to seek in others only what
can perfect the nature I have, rather than what can lead
me away from it.

307
JOHX EUSKIX
JCH> p.rsKix (1819-1900), ham t Lamdon, imaugurated
ike modem school of art Idstory. To Jktm, artistic creation

did not consist simply of stall, knowledge, and resp<i

for ike great masters. It also had to he dbsolutdy A;:uoi
the artist delving into hhnsdf, and his genius moving
hand in hand with the fertility of his imagination and
sensitivity. This "psychological" conception of art
caught the attention of Marcel Proust, who introduced
Buskin to tJi- F'-t >:* public.

. - 10 eveiy^jLizi^ ^.^; z :: :: -

:: : :: he caa colour, bnt tha: It si:: il:: :i:: ':r

i;r laithfnl studj of eel ^ ^

g. r I . .vr. ..r_ f omu ihougji thc mos* izit?:!; t : : - _

will give no power over colour. The zi:.:: 1: t 11 ^ir

grevs, and reds, and purples in a pei _: ~'-r z-i:'-

ri^tiy round, and rightly altogether; but the ni- -

only studied its roundness, may not see its purples 1 1^

and if he does not, will never get it to look likr i i-_._:

so that srres: t :~rr :~rT colour is 8l~i7s a -Irz :z a lar^
griiT : T
"
Zxpression :: ::7 : ' - _

'.-'-:- bv the slight ST :

-

::_ 1 by the toil of tt 1^ _ r

s : : feeble ; but to e: 1 Ult : It :

iy, and to e:l::ir iTiirOtly is the raresr a:ii

1- :
^" - T : ;
-
:: an arti^- : ; :.
"
- - Z"^:'- v 7_ __::

into folly by j _i
is always safe, ii he ho'

I'i/; I urnerian Light)

exist

308
PUVIS DE CHAVAXXES
PEERRE-CECILE POHS DE CHAVANXES (1824-1898), hom in
Lyons, probably makes the students yawn icitJi boredom
at the frescoes he did at the Sorbonne. But he was not
dismissed by the great men among his contemporaries.

YOU tell me that the artist sets things up according to his

dream ; I would rather say that he sets things in order accord-

ing to his dream. For I am persuaded that the best-ordered

conception is at the same time the most beautiful. I love order
because I love clarity passionately.

THERE exists a plastic thought to translate every clear idea.

But ideas most often come to us tangled up and confused.
Thus it is important to untangle them first in order to be

able to hold them, pure, before the inner eye. A work is born
out of a sort of confused emotion in which it is contained as an
animal is in an e^g. The thought that lives in this emotion
I roll around, I roll around until it is intelligible to my eyes
and appears with all the clarity possible. Then I look for a

subject that will translate it exactly. . . . This is symbolism,

if you want. ... (To Maurice Denis)

EUGEXE-LOUIS BOUDIX
EUGENE-LOUIS BOUDiN (1824-1898), bom in Honfleur, was a
precursor of Impressionisyn. Though his dates and those of
Puvis de Chavannes coincide, their works are completely
different. Boudin was an infinitely sensitive painter.

He belongs with those artists who despair at the

imponderability of the sky and the delicacy of clouds.

Boudin was too humble to form a school; his genius was
perhaps victim to that humility.

309
 ! ! !

TO the degree that you enlarge your design, increase the

intensity of your tones ; a tone is only true relative to another
tone. Absolute purity of tones does not exist.

IT is not one part that should be striking in a picture, but

rather the whole; a part is incapable of making a defective
whole pass muster.

WHAT is essential is that ever^'thing be arranged as color

and harmony.

DO not be afraid of the great phenomena in the sky and on

the sea ; approach them in their variety and power without
worrj'ing about what is proper.

ALL painting that does not transmit feeling is void. It must

be disregarded or dismissed.
Solidity is a condition of good quality. Always model
solidly with light, and powerfully so that the painting will

not be weak.
Try to color without falling into dark shades. . . .

Look for the colored parts of nature, the powerful effects.

PAINT for yourself.

SPOTS, spots, less relief

Finishing throughout ; nothing neglected

Well-enclosed shadows.

REFLECTION aloue establishes the distances from one plane to

another.

THREE brushstrokes painting from nature are worth more than

two days of work at an easel.

PAINTINGS can be called direct when done on the spot or

according to a ver}' fresh impression.
But how often one misses the chance of doing fine sketches,
living sketches on wharfs, on beaches, and in the streets

SIO
 isEYER deaden color. It is a flower. If you handle it again and
again, it will lose all its velvety texture, all its charm, all its

appeal. And then those dull and leaden tones they must be
banished forever.

ONE must paint for himself, try to satisfy himself, let himself
be carried away by his inspiration.

GUSTAVE MOREAU
GUSTAVE MOREAU (1826-1898), hom in Paris, painted works
of a tedious syynholisy7i, quickly outmoded. He tauglit
Matisse, Roiiault, and Marquet. There is such a thing as
commendable disloyalty!

BEING modern does not consist in looking for something dif-

ferent from everything that has been done. ... On the
contrary, it consists in coordinating everything that former

ages have given us, to demonstrate how our century has

accepted that heritage and how it uses it.

CAMILLE PISSARRO
CAMiLLE PissARO (1830-1903),
the island of St. Thomas,
who was concerned with
notions on light and color.
hom in Antilles on
was an orthodox Impressionist
scientifically justifying his

INVESTIGATE the modern synthesis using methods based on

science ; they will be based on the theory of colors discovered
by Monsieur Chevreul and following on Maxwell's experi-
ments and N. 0. Rood's measurements.
Substitute an optical mixture for a pigment mixture. To
say it another way: the decomposition of tones into their

311
 constitutive elements. Because an optical mixture creates much
more intense luminosities than a pigment mixture.
As for execution, we look on it as nothing ; besides, it has
little importance, art having nothing to gain from it, in our

opinion. The only originality consists in the character of the

drawing and the vision peculiar to each artist. (Letter to

Durand-Ruel, November 6, 18S6)

JAMES ABBOT McXEILL TTHISTLEH

JAMES ABBOTT MCNTZLL WHISTLER (1834-1903), hom itl
owed his considerable notoriety
Loxcell, ILassacliusetts,
among liis contemporaries to liis comhative personality.
In liis famous ''Ten O'ClocJi Lecture," translated into FrencTi
hy Mallarme, lie made a case out of Xaturalisyn and opened
io painting the perspectives of true Symbolism, in

coyitradistinction to that of Gustave Moreau.

"Ten O'CJocl:"
XATUEE contains the elements, in colour and form, of all

pictures, as the keyboard contains the notes of all music.

But the artist is born to pick, and choose, and group with
science, these elements, that the result may be beautiful as

the musician gathers his notes, and forms his chords, until he
bring forth from chaos glorious harmony.
To say to the painter, that Nature is to be taken as she is,

is to say to the player, that he may sit on the piano.

That Nature is always right, is an assertion, artistically,

as untrue, as it is one whose truth is universally taken for

gi-anted. Nature is very rarely right, to such an extent, even,
that it might almost be said that Nature is usually wrong:
that is to say, the condition of things that shall bring about

the perfection of harmony worthy a picture is rare, and not

common at all.

This would seem, to even the most intelligent, a doctrine

almost blasphemous. So incorporated with our education has
the supposed aphorism become, that its belief is held to be
part of our moral being, and the words themselves have, in

312
our ear, the ring of religion. Still, seldom does Nature succeed
in producing a picture. The sun blares, the wind blows from
the east, the sky is bereft of cloud, and without, all is of iron.

The windows of the Crystal Palace are seen from all points of
London. The holiday maker rejoices in the glorious day, and
the painter turns aside to shut his eyes.
How little this is understood, and how dutifully the
casual in nature is accepted as sublime, may be gathered from
the unlimited admiration daily produced by a very foolish
sunset.
The dignity of the snow-capped mountain is lost in dis-
tinctness, but the joy of the tourist is to recognise the traveller

on the top. The desire to see, for the sake of seeing, is, with
the mass, alone the one to be gratified, hence the delight in
detail.

And when the evening mist clothes the riverside with

poetry, as with a veil, and the poor buildings lose themselves

in the dim sky, and the tall chimneys become campanili, and
the warehouses are places in the night, and the w^hole city
hangs in the heavens, and fairy-land is before us then the
wayfarer hastens home; the working man and the cultured
one, the wise man and the one of pleasure, cease to understand,
as they have ceased to see, and Nature, who, for once, has

sung in tune, sings her exquisite song to the artist alone,

her son and her master her son in that he loves her, her
master in that he knows her.
To him her secrets are unfolded, to him her lessons have

become gradually clear. He looks at her flower, not with the

enlarging lens, that he may gather facts for the botanist, but
with the light of the one who sees in her choice selection of
brilliant tones and delicate tints, suggestions of future
harmonies.
He does not confine himself to purposeless copying, with-
out thought, each blade of grass, as commended by the incon-

sequent, but, in the long curve of the narrow leaf, corrected

by the straight tall stem, he learns how grace is wedded to

dignity, how strength enhances sweetness, that elegance shall

be the result.
In the citron wdng of the pale butterfly, with its dainty

spots of orange, he sees before him the stately halls of fair

313
 gold, with their slender saffron pillars, and is taught how the
delicate drawing high upon the walls shall be traced in tender

tones of orpiment, and repeated by the base in notes of

graver hue.
In all that is dainty and lovable he finds hints for his
own combinations, and tJius is Nature ever his resource and
always at his service, and to him is naught refused.
Through his brain, as through the last alembic, is distilled

the refined essence of that thought which began with the Gods,
and which they left him to carry out.

Set apart by them to complete their works, he produces

that wondrous thing called the masterpiece, which surpasses
in perfection all that they have contrived in what is called

Nature and the Gods stand by and marvel, and perceive how
;

faraway more beautiful is the Venus of Melos than was their

own Eve.

EDGAR DEGAS
EDGAR DE GAS, Called Degas (1834-1917), horn in Paris,
could doubtless thank Tiis preoccupation wifh the dance and
its young performers for a rather large puUic following

which the austerity this painter exhibited in the rest of

his work would have discouraged. He was haunted by
the example of the great masters. He judged painting to be
a *' scientific art/' a sort of mathematics. His contempt
was easily provoked and his wit ivas murderous. He teas not
an eager painter; he shunned facUeness, and subjected
himself to arduous studies. What Yalery liked in him
was precisely that law of effort which he felt all
great men had to obey. Degas left us a most interesting
correspondence and some less interesting poetry.
He wrote nothing on painting in general, but some quotations
from him are included here.

DRAWING and arrangement, two totally different things, must

never be confused.

DRA\^^NG is not form, it is the way form is seen.

3U
 !

A study of nature has no significance, painting being an art

of convention. It is infinitely more valuable to learn to draw
following Holbein.

ART is falsity ! An artist is an artist only at special times, with

an effort of will. Objects have the same appearance for every-
body. . . .

ORANGE colors, green neutralizes, violet darkens.

A painting demands a certain mystery, a vagueness, imagina-

tion. When one dots all the i's, he ends by being boring. Even

when painting from nature, one must compose. There are

people who fancy that this is forbidden

A picture is an original combination of lines and tones that

take on value.

WINSLOW HOMER
wiNSLOW HOMER (1836-1910), horu in Boston, began Jiis

career as a litliograpJier and illustrator. Only later in life

did he devote Mmself to Jiis painting, always retaining

Jiis very direct realism and Jiis spendid color. Homer,
a taciturn man, eventually became a recluse, and
among tJie sayings presented Jiere is Jiis longest recorded
utterance on art.

TALENT There ! is no such thing as talent. What they call talent

is nothing but the capacity for doing continuous work in

the right way.

IF a man wants to be an artist, he must never look at pictures.

(Quoted from The Life and Works of Winslow Homer by
William Howe Downes)

WHEN I have selected the thing carefully, I paint it exactly

as it appears.

815
 ;

THE rare thing is to find a painter who knows a good thing

when he sees it! It is a gift to be able to see the beauties
of nature.

YOU must not paint everything you see. You must wait, and
wait patiently until the exceptional, the wonderful effect or
aspect comes. Then, if you have sense enough to see it well,

that is all there is to that.

I tell you it is impossible to paint an out-door figure in

studio-light with any degree of certainty. Out-doors you have
the skv- overhead giving one light ; then the reflected light
from whatever reflects; then the direct light of the sun;
so that, in the blending and suffusing of these several lumina-
tions, there is no such thing as a line to be seen anj^where.

I prefer every time a picture composed and painted out-doors.

The thing is done without your knowing it. Very much of the
work now done in studios should be done in the open air.
This making studies and then taking them home to use them
is only half right. You get composition but you lose freshness

you miss the subtle and, to the artist, the finer characteristics

of the scene itself.

I never try to make things stronger than they actually are

in nature.

YOU simply have to get the truth of it, as you see it ; but the
knowledge of the influence of one color upon another is neces-
sary anyhow. You can't do it unless you know when you put
down one positive color what influence that color is going to
have on the color next to it.

I have never tried to do ami;hing but get the true relationship

of values ; that is, the values of dark and light and the values
of color.

IT is wonderful how much depends upon the relationship of

black and white. ^Vhy, do you know, a black and white, if

properly balanced, suggests color.

316
 !

I have learned two or three things in my years of experience.

One is, never paint a blue sky, because it looks like the devil
. . . Another thing a horizon ; is horrible that straight line
(Quoted from Winslow Homer by Lloyd Goodrich, 1944)

ODILON EEDON
ODILON REDON (1840-1916), hom in Bordeaux, is one of
those artists wJio have a presentiment of future values
without reaching the point of realizing them in their
own works. Thus, Redon prefigured Surrealism to a degree
in that intuition he had of the value of ''dreams,'^
*' imagination,'' and "surprise'' in painting. A 1956
exhibition of his work in Paris gave some appreciation
for the enigmatic, dreamlike character of his works.
But whether he icas a great painter is another question.
He confided some thoughts ''to himself" which are
interesting for that taste for the unknown which they contain.

Reciprocal IF complementary colors are taken at equal values, human

intensification eyes can hardly stand the sight. A mixture of blue and orange
of colors in equal quantities: colorless gray.
or simultaneous But if two complementary colors are mixed together in
contrast unequal portions, they will only partly cancel each other and
you will get a blended tone which will be a variety of gray.

This being so, new contrasts can be created by juxtaposing

two complementary colors, one pure and the other blended.
The struggle being unequal, one of the two colors will
dominate and the intensity of the dominant will not prevent

the two from being harmonious. If, then, like colors are in a

pure state but have different degrees of brilliance, for example

dark blue and light blue, another effect will be obtained, in that

there will be a contrast in the difference of intensity and

harmony in the similarity of the colors.

Finally, if two like colors are juxtaposed, one in a pure

state and the other blended, for instance pure blue with blue-
gray, another kind of contrast will be obtained which will be
tempered by the similarity. We see therefore that several

317
 :

different but equally infallible methods exist for streng:tliening,

supporting, attenuating, or neutralizing the effect of a color,

and this by using what is close to it, by touching what is not
[the color].
One of the most valuable resources is the introduction of

black and white. Black and white are noncolors, so to speak,

which by separating the others serve to rest the eye, to refresh

it, especially when it might be fatigued by extreme variety

as much as by extreme richness. Follo^-ing the proportions

given them, following the setting they are used in, white and
black lessen or heighten the neighboring tones ; sometimes the
role of white in a dark picture is the same as a sounding of a
gong in an orchestra. Other times white can be used to tone

down any clash there might be between two contiguous bold

colors, such as red and blue.
Modulation of colors. The principal modulations come
to us from the Orientals. Shimmering of a surface colored with

tone on tone: vibrant tone.

Optical mixture. Two colors juxtaposed or super-
imposed in certain proportions (that is, according to the space
each will occupy) will form a third color that our gaze will
perceive at a distance without the weaver or painter having
put it in ; this third color is a resultant color which the artist

has foreseen and which arises out of optical mixture (or the
reciprocal reactions of one tone on the other) . Example
cupola of the Luxembourg Palace ; a half -nude woman seated
in shadow. Woman of Algiers: chemise seeded with little

flowers. The walls are ornamented with blue and yellow

mosaic work in small designs, composing an overall tonality
in a soft, fresh, indefinable green. Aperture in a bright red.
Paving composed of small violet and green flagstones forming
a mosaic. To enhance and harmonize these colors, he used
both the contrast of complementary colors and the concordance
of similar colors (in other words, repetition of a bright tone
by the same blended tone). He used the action of whites and
blacks, which serves in turn to foil, to attract, and to rest
the eye. He also used color modulation and what they call

optical mixture.
For example, the orange bodice of the woman lying on
the divan lets the edge of its blue satin lining show the purple
;

318
silk skirt with gold stripes. The Negress is wearing a light blue
bolero and an orange handkerchief, three tones that support
each other and give each other value, to the point that the
last, made even more brilliant by the Negress' brown skin,
had to be cut with the background colors so as not to stand
out too sharply. These contrasts, as we see, are made by the
juxtaposition of complementary and similar colors.
Contrast must be tempered without being destroyed tones ;

must be tamed by bringing them together the woman with a ;

rose in her hair seated near the Negress is wearing green

half-pants strewn with yellow dots, while the color of her
silk chemise is modified by an imperceptible scattering of green
florets. The tones are set down, not independently, but in
series, and are interlaced and made to interpenetrate, to inter-

react, to mitigate each other, to sustain each other.

WHAT made my work so hard at the beginning, and so late?

Was it that my gifts did not come up to my eye? A sort of
conflict between the heart and the head ? I don 't know.
It is true that when I began I always aimed at perfection,
and, you may believe it, perfection in form. But let me tell

you now that no plastic form, I mean objectively perceived,

for itself, according to the laws of shadow and light, by con-
ventional means of ''relief," could be found in my works.
At most, at the beginning, because one must know everything
as far as possible, I often tried to reproduce visible objects
in this way, according to that artistic mode of ancient optics.

I did this only for purposes of practice. But I tell you today,
in full and mature awareness, and I insist on it, that my
whole art is restricted to the unaided resources of chiaroscuro,

and that it also owes much to the effects of the abstract line,

that instrument with deep roots, acting directly on the mind.

Suggestive art can give us nothing without referring solely
to the mysterious play of shadows and of rhythm in mentally
conceived lines. . . .

Nature enjoins us to follow the gifts she has given us.

Mine have led me to dreams; I have suffered the torments

of imagination and the surprises it has pulled on me under

my pencil but I have corralled and directed them, these sur-
;

prises, according to the laws of the organism of art which I

819


know, which I feel, to the single end of evoking in the spectator

by means of a sudden attraction, all the suggestiveness, all the
charm of the uncertain, within the confines of thought.
Furthermore, I have said nothing that was not largely
foreseen by Albrecht Diirer in his engraving Melancholy.
People would say it is incoherent. No, it is written according
to the line alone and his great powers. A grave and profound
spirit that rocks us, in that print, as if to the quick and
crowded notes of a stern fugue. We sing only fragments of
motifs, a few measures long, after him. . . .

THIS suggestive art is found free and radiant, entirely in

music; but it is also mine by a combination of different

elements brought together, transposed and transformed forms,

without any relation to contingencies; nevertheless, having a
logic. All the errors of glib criticism at my openings were that
they did not see that it was not anything to define, anything
to understand, anything to limit, anything precise, because

everything that is sincerely and quietly new as beauty

carries its significance in itself.

The designation by a title even is often unnecessary.

The title is justified only when it is vague, indetermined,
confused and on the equivocal side. My drawings inspire and
do not define themselves. They determine nothing. They place
us, like music, in the ambiguous world of the undeter-
mined. . . .

May 14, 1888

THE painter who paints a nude woman, leaving in our mind
the idea that she is going to dress herself immediately, is

not an intellectual.
The intellectual painter shows us a nude which reassures
us because she does not hide her nudity ; she lives in an Eden
for glances which are not ours but those of a cerebral world,
an imaginary world created by the painter where stirring and
spreading beauty never engenders shamelessness but, on the
contrary, gives nudity a pure attraction which does not abase
us. The nudes of Puvis de Chavannes will not dress them-
selves again; the same with many others like Correggio and
Giorgione, masters of the past who painted women's worlds.

320
 In the Dejeuner sur Vherhe by Manet, the nude will
hasten to dress after the discomfiture and boredom of sitting
on the cold grass where nearby some men without ideals sit

and talk. What are they saying? Nothing good, I suspect.

As for painting substances even as well as a master,
would one feel the same pleasure of painting a dress as what
it conceals? To paint a fabric or fabrics like the nude is to

represent to us most freely and decisivel}^ the nude for the

nude, that is to say, something of the human being without
heroism.

1908. The painter who has discovered his technique does not

interest me. He gets up every morning without enthusiasm,

and, tranquil and peaceful, he pursues the labors begun the
day before. I feel a certain boredom in him, similar to the

virtuous worker who continues his task without the unexpected

illumination of the happy moment. He does not have the
sacred torment whose source is in the unconscious and the
unknown he ; expects nothing from what -will be. I love what
has never been.
Anxiety must be the habitual and constant host in the
good atelier. Anxiety is like an equation between palette and
dream. It is the ferment of the new : it revitalizes the creative

faculty: it is the evidence of honest errors and of the in-

equality of talent. The man is then visible in the artist, and

he who looks at his work is closer to him. (To Himself)

AUGUSTS RODIN
AUGUSTE RODIN ( 1840-1917 )y hom in Paris, is tlie sculptor
everyone knows. Paul Gsell set down some of Rodin's
observations on art in general wliicli also concern
painting. Rodin was a realist in tlie manner of Courhet,
that is, in tlie freest way tJiere is.

YET it is better, in my opinion, that the works of painters and

sculptors should contain all their interest in themselves. Art

can offer thought and imagination without recourse to litera-

321
ture. Instead of illustrating scenes from poems, it need only
use plain symbols which do not require any written text.

I grant you that the artist does not see Nature as she appears
to the vidgar, because his emotion reveals to him the hidden
truths beneath appearances.
But, after all, the only principle in Art is to copy what
you see. Dealers in aesthetics to the contrary, every other
method is fatal. There is no recipe for improving nature.
The only thing is to see.

NOW color ... is the flower of fine modelling. These two

qualities always accompany each other. . . .

THERE is really neither beautiful style, nor beautiful drawing,

nor beautiful color ; there is but one sole beauty, that of the

truth which is revealed. . . .

In the color of Titian, what should be admired is not

merely a more or less agreeable harmony, but the meaning
that it offers. His color has no true beauty except as it con-
veys the ideas of a sumptuous and dominant sovereignty.
In the color of Veronese, the true beauty exists in its

power to evoke in silvery play of color the elegant conviviality

of patrician feasts.
The color of Rubens is nothing in itself; its flaming
wonder would be vain did it not give the impression of life,

of joy, and of robust sensuousness.

There does not perhaps exist a single work of art which
owes its charm only to balance of line or tone, and which
makes an appeal to the eyes alone.

IT is not only in living beings that [the landscape painter]

sees the reflection of the universal soul; it is in the trees, the

bushes, the valleys, the hills. What to other men is only wood
and earth appears to the great landscapist like the face of a

great being. Corot saw kindness abroad in the trunks of the

trees, in the grass of the fields, in the mirroring water of the
lakes. But there Millet read suffering and resignation.

... IN reality time does not stop, and if the artist succeeds

322
 :

in producing the impression of a movement which takes several

moments for accomplishment, his work is certainly much less
conventional than the scientific image, where time is abruptly
suspended.
It is that which condemns certain modern painters w^ho,
when they wish to represent horses galloping, reproduce the
poses furnished by instantaneous photography.

AND as it is solely the power of cliaracter which makes for

beauty in art, it often happens that the uglier a being is in

nature, the more beautiful it becomes in art.

There is nothing ugly in art except that which is without

character, that is to say, that which offers no outer or inner
truth.
Whatever is false, whatever is artificial, whatever seeks
to be pretty rather than expressive, whatever is capricious and
affected, whatever smiles ^vithout motive, bends or struts
without cause, is mannered without reason ; all that is without
soul and without truth ; all that is only a parade of beauty
and grace; all, in short, that lies, is ugliness in art.

IT is a false idea that drawing in itself can be beautiful.

It is only beautiful through the truths and the feelings that

it translates.

BUT first let us understand the kind of resemblance demanded

in a bust or portrait.
If the artist only reproduces superficial features as

photography does, if he copies the lineaments of a face exactly,

without reference to character, he deserves no admiration.
The resemblance which he ought to obtain is that of the soul

that alone matters; it is that which the sculptor or painter

should seek beneath the mask of features.

In a word, all the features must be expressive that is

to say, of use in the revelation of a conscience. (Observations

collected by Paul Gsell)

323
THOMAS EAKINS
THOMAS EAKINS (1844-1916), was horn in PJiiladelpJiia.
After study in Paris and a visit to Spain, ufhere Tie was much
struck hy the works of Velazquez, he returned to
Philadelphia and spent most of the rest of his life there.
Although he painted portraits and taught at the
Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts much of his
career, he associated mostly with the humble characters who
often appear in his paintings. In his art, Eakins avoided
the grotesque or exotic, developing instead a careful,
sober realism which was not in favor in his day.
His teaching method was unorthodox and was greatly
criticized, but it had a deep and beneficial effect on his

students. He would present them with facts and natural laws,

and they would be left to think out the problems for
themselves. Some of the sayings here were written
down by one of these students, Charles Bregler.

MY attention to the living model even when I was doing my

worst work has benefited me and improved my standard of
beauty.

AN attractive studymade from experience and calculations.

is

The picture-maker sets down his grand landmarks and lets

them dry and never disturbs them, but the study-maker must
keep many of his landmarks entirely in his head, for he m.ust

paint at the first lick and only part at a time, and that must
be entirely finished at once, so that a wonderful study is an
accomplishment and not power. There are enough difficulties

in painting itself, without multiplying them, without search-

ing what it is useless to vanquish. The best artists never make
what is so often thought by the ignorant to be flashing studies.

A teacher can do very little for a pupil and should only be

thankful if he don't hinder him, and the greater the master,
mostly the less he can say.

324
An interview Brownell: Don't you think a student should know how to
draw before beginning to color ?

Eakins: I think he should learn to draw with color. The

brush is a more powerful and rapid tool than the point or
stump. Very often, practically, before the student has had time
to get his broadest masses of light and shade with either of
these, he has forgotten what he is after. Charcoal would do
better, but it is clumsy and rubs too easily for students' work.

The main thing that the brush secures is the instant grasp
of the grand construction of a figure. There are no lines in
nature, as was found out long before Fortuny exhibited his
destestation of them, there are only form and color. The least

important, the most changeable, the most difficult thing to

catch about a figure is the outline. The student drawing the out-

line of that model with a point is confused and lost if the model
moves a hair 's-breadth ; already the whole outline has been
changed, and you notice how often he has had to rub out and
correct ; meantime he will get discouraged and disgusted long
before he has made any sort of portrait of the man. Moreover,
the outline is not the man; the grand construction is. Once
that is got. the details follow naturally. And as the tendency

of the point or stump is, I think, to reverse this order, I prefer

the brush. I don't at all share the old fear that the beauties
of color will intoxicate the pupil, and cause him to neglect

the form. I have never known anything of that kind to happen

unless a student fancied he had mastered drawing before he
began to paint. Certainly it is not likely to happen here.
The first things to attend to in painting the model are
themovement and the general color. The figure must balance,
appear solid and of the right weight. The movement once
understood, every detail of the action will be an integral part
of the main continuous action; and every detail of color
auxiliary to themain system of light and shade. The student
should learn to block up his figure rapidly, and then give to
any part of it the highest finish without injuring its unity.

To these ends, I haven't the slightest hesitation in calling the

brush and an immediate use of it, the best possible means.

ALL the sciences are done in a simple way. In mathematics the

325
complicated things are reduced to simple things. So it is in

painting. You reduce the whole thing to simple factors. You

establish these, and work out from them, pushing them toward
one another. This will make strong work. The old masters
worked this way.

DON 't paint when you are tired. A half an hour of work that
you thoroughly feel will do more good than a whole day spent
in copying.

IF America is to produce great painters and if young art

students wish to assume a place in the history of the art of

their country, their first desire should be to remain in Amer-
ica, to peer deeper into the heart of American life, rather
than to spend their time abroad obtaining a superficial view
of the art of the Old World. In the days when I studied

abroad conditions were entirely different. The facilities for

study in their country were meagre. There were even no life

classes in our art schools and schools of painting. Naturally

one had to seek instruction elsewhere, abroad. Today we need

not do that. It would be far better for American art students
and painters to study their o^vn country and portray its life

and types. To do that they must remain free from any foreign
superficialities. Of course, it is well to go abroad and see

the works of the old masters, but Americans must branch

out into their own field, as they are doing. They must strike
out for themselves, and only by doing this will we create a
great and distinctly American art.

THERE is as much difference in bodies as in faces, and the

character should be sought in its complete unity. On seeing
a hand one should know instinctively what the foot must be.

. . . Nature builds harmoniously.

THERE is too much of this common, ordinary work. Respect-

ability in art is appalling.

don't copy. Feel the forms. Feel how much it swings, how
much it slants these are big factors. The more factors you
have, the simpler will be your work.

326
 !

GET life into the middle line. If you get life into that, the rest
will be easy to put on.

THE more planes you have to work by, the solider will be your
work. One or two planes is little better than an outline.
(Quoted in Lloyd Goodrich Tlioynas Eakins, His Life and
Work)

JOEIS KAEL HUYSMANS

jORis KARL HUYSMANS (1848-1907), hom in Paris, teas a sup-
porter of Xaturalis7n, hut everytliing liappened with Mm
a^ if lie were a Xaturalist only hy way of juystical expiation.

THE less education a painter has received, the more he wants

to do great art or painting with feeling. A painter brought
up among workers will never depict workers but rather men
in black clothing whom he does not know. Certainly no one
can deny that the ideal is a beautiful thing

THE new school proclaimed this scientific truth: that great

light takes the color out of tones, that the silhouette, the color

of a house or tree, for instance, painted in an enclosed room,

differ radically from the silhouette and color of the house or

tree painted under the sky in the open. This truth, which
would make no impact on people accustomed to the more or
less restricted light of ateliers, would be very obvious to land-

scapists, who, leading the high bay windows draped in serge,

go outside to paint, simply and directly, the nature surround-
ing them.
This attempt to express the mass of beings and things
in the atomization of light or to show them in their unalloyed

tones, without gradations, without mezzotints, in the straight-

falling rays of the sun, shortening and almost obliterating

the shadows, as in Japanese scenes was it successful, in the

time painters ventured to try it ? Almost never, I must admit.

Beginning with a good vantage point, zealously observing

327
 ;

contrary to the practice of Corot, who is pointed out as a

precursor, I don't know why the appearance of nature modi-
fied by the era, the weather, the time of day, the more or less

glaring heat of the sun or the greater or lesser threat of rain,

they wandered, hesitated, wanting like Claude Monet to depict
the roughness of choppy water by the moving reflections of
the banks. What this produced, where nature had the delight-
ful delicacy of fleeting nuances, was a crushing, opaque heavi-
ness. Not one of them has expressed either the fluid glassiness

of water, marbled with the changing configurations of the sky,

streaked with the reflected tips of foliage, pierced with the
spiral of a tree trunk that seems to turn on itself as it plunges
or, on land, the flowing lines of a tree whose contours become
hazy when the sun strikes it from behind. These iridescences,

these reflections, these vapors, these powderings change on

their canvases into a chalk mud, crosshatched with harsh blue,

crude violet, quarrelsome orange, cruel red.

OH, the female nude! Who has painted her superb and real,

without premeditated dispositions, without falsifications, of

both features and flesh? Who has shown in an unclothed
woman the country and period to which she belongs, her
situation in life, her age, the virginal or deflowered state of
her body? Who has made her so living, so real in a canvas

that we dream about the existence she leads, that we can

almost look for the childbirth contractions in her womb,
reconstruct her sorrows and joys, become incarnate in her for
a few moments?
In these days when nudity is possible, it would be very
good if gifted artists . . . raided beds, ateliers, amphitheaters,
and baths for Frenchwomen to draw, and stopped making
their bodies out of bits and pieces the arm posed by one
model, the head or belly by another and, over and above
these construction jobs, stealing a technique that belongs to
the old masters.
But alas! These hopes will long remain unfulfilled, for
they persist in shutting people up in rooms, spouting the same
nonsense to them about art, making them copy antiquity and ;

they do not tell them that beauty is not at all uniform and
invariable, that it changes, according to climatic conditions,

328
 according to century, that the Venus de Milo, to take but one
example, is neither more interesting nor more beautiful today
than the old statues of the New World, checkered with tat-

tooing and wearing feather headdresses ; that both are simply

diverse manifestations of a same ideal of beauty pursued by
races who differ ; that today we should no longer express
beauty in the Venetian or Greek, Dutch or Flemish idiom,
but should attempt to extract it from, contemporary life, from
the world around us. And it exists, and it is there, in the
street where those wretches who have dug into the Louvre
galleries do not see, as they leave, the girls who pass by,
displaying the delightful charm of a youth made fragile and
as if divinized by the unhealthy city air; the nude is there,

beneath those tight coverings that squeeze the arms and thighs,
mold the pelvis, and protrude the throat, a nude other than
that of older centuries, a tired, delicate, ripe, vibrant, a
civilized nude whose studied grace is a torment!

THERE is no more reason ... to protect and bemedal painters

than there is to assist and decorate writers and musicians.
Those who have character will perhaps end by attracting
notice, and as for the rest, their fate will be the same whether
the medals and commissions are abolished or continued, since

they are assured of never getting any ; as for the others, they

will become businessmen if they are educated, peddlers or

scavengers if they do not know how to count or read. More-
over, I do not worry about their fate; they will continue to

dabble in painting, for the less talent one has the more chance
he has of earning his living in art.

GEORGES SEURAT
GEORGES SEURAT (1859-1891), hom in Paris, inspired
Divisionism, hut all we Jiave from Jiim is tJie ^^tJieoreticaV^

text we puhlish below, wJiicJi expresses Ms pictorial conception

only very tersely. However, in The Art of Painting in the

Twentieth Century we will include a selection by Paul Signac,
wJio develops tJiis conception. We draw notice to tJie fact

that for Seurat and the Divisionists, painting stipulates

329
 .

an a posteriori syntJiesis, so to speak, of tlie pictorial

elements in the eye of the viewer, and not an a priori synthesis
made by the artist in the course of executing his work.
These are only formal distinctions, hut they imply a very
special method of painting, easily recognizable, too much
so perhaps, although in Seurat it gave rise to great works,
like the Pont de Courbevoie, Coin d'un Bassin a Honfleur,
and others. We should perhaps not limit ourselves to seeing
Seurat only as the painter of Le Cirque or La Parade,
which are ''genre'' pictures whose elements, modern in their
time, today bother its somewhat with their aspect of dated
documentary, of old news. A work like La Grande Jatte,
on the contrary, escapes this climate despite its figures;
the values of plastic transformation in it are firmer, and the
extreme synthesis of the relief fills the space in a very
original way.

Aesthetic art is harmony. Harmony is in the analogy of contrary and

in the analogy of similar elements of tone, tint and line, con-

sidered according to their dominants and under the influence

of light, in gay, calm or sad combinations.
The contraries are:
T^ ,
f luminous , ,
1^ or tone, a more < ,
for a more dark.
1 clear
For tint, the complementaries, that is to say a certain

red opposed to its complementary, and so on (red-green;

orange-blue ;
yellow- violet)
For line, those forming a right angle.
Gayety of tone is given by the luminous dominant; of
tint, by the warm dominant; of line, by lines above the hori-
zontal : I

Calm of tone is the equality of dark & light; of tint,

equality of warm and cold; calm of line is given by the
horizontal.

Sadness of tone is given by the dark dominant ; of tint by

the cold dominant; of line by descending directions:

330


Technique taking for granted the phenomena of the duration of a light-

impression on the retina

Synthesis necessarily follows as a result. The means of
expression is the optical mixture of the tones, the tints (local
color and that resulting from illumination by the sun, an oil

lamp, gas, and so on), that is to say, of lights and their effects

(shadows), in accordance with the laws of contrast, gradation

and irradiation.

The frame is in the harmony opposed to that of the tones,

tints and lines of the picture. (Letter to Maurice Beaubourg)

I t

TOULOUSE-LAUTREC
HENRI DE TOULOUSE-LAUTREC (1864-1901), hom in Alhi,
would certainly have been a great painter if he had not
confined himself to sarcastic or "worldly'' paintings.
We ask the reader's indulgence for the vigor of the first phrase
quoted below.

PAINTING is like dung; you smell it, but you can't explain it!

RARELY is newness the essential ; to improve a thing starting

from the depths of its being this is the only thing that

matters.

331
Notes and Bibliography
NOTES
The editors have chosen among the many scholarly notes to these
selections those that have the greatest interest for the ordinary reader.
Unless otherwise designated, these footnotes are taken from the edition
of the hook which appears in the Bibliography, hut they are not num-
bered according to the original work.

INTRODUCTION
1. [The Academic JRoyale de Peintureet de Sculpture was founded in
1648. All painters favored by the court were ordered to join the Acad-
emy, which assumed a more or less bureaucratic monopoly on the
training of art students. In 1795 this academy was reconstituted as
the Academic des Beaux-Arts. Ed.]

THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

Ruhens
1. Ex cuho, five figurd ah omni latere quadratd, fit omne masculum,
aut virile, & quidquid grave, forte, rohustum, compactum, & athlet-
icum est: & quidquid forme quadrat: detraxeris, ampUtudini quoque
perihit. Quintil. Lib. I, cap. X.

2. Ex ciculo, five gloho perfecto, fit omne faemineum ac muliehre, et

quidquid carnosum, torosum, flexum, tortum, curvatum et incurvum

est. Hdc formam ullam negat esse pulchriorem Plato. Cicero, de
naturd. Deorum, lib. I.

3. [The word Idee, here as in the Felibien selection which follows, has
been translated simply as ''idea," but may also be read as ''ideal,"
"image," or "notion" depending on the context. Tr.]
335
 4. And you must not tire of praising Jier face, Iter Jiair, Tier well-
turned fingers, and Tier tiny foot.
Ovid, Ars Amatoria, I, 621-2.

5. [Charles-Alphonse Du Fresnoy (1611-1665), Be arte graphica, a

Latin poem summarizing on the art of painting. Tr.]
his observations
6. TJiis is a forest with many
a wrong turning. There are manifold
roads, hut one fixed way The straight way is as it were
of doing well.
alone and a thousand ways meander. But along with the ancients you
will imitate lovely nature such as the form proper to the thing requires
[her to he] and such as the presentation requires,

Poussin
1. [Francois Junius (1598-1677) was born in Heidelberg, educated
at Leyden, and applied himself to the study of letters. Junius' De
Pictura Veterum, Amsterdam, 1637, is a monumental work on antiquity
comparable to Winckelmann 's work a century later.]

Felihien
1. [See footnote 1 of the Introduction.]

2. [See footnote 3 under Rubens.]

3. [Probably a reference to Albert Diirer (1471-1528) and Lucas van

Leyden (1494-1533)
Charpier and Seghers.]

4. From her nail to her crown she's a very pretty girl.

Is she? Consider her. You'll see a statue heautifully done.
Plautus, Epidicus, 623-4.
[The quotation here seems to be somewhat irregular. Ed.]
5. The poem De arte graphica (The Art of Fainting), written over
a twenty -year period, was translated and published in 1668, shortly
after Du Fresnoy 's death. It gives expression to the principles of the
Roman School according to French taste.

Roger de Piles
1. Monsieur de Valincourt.

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

Diderot
1. [The Venus de Medici is in the Uffizi in Florence. Ed.]
2. [The German-Parisian man of letters, Friedrich Grimm (1723-

336
 1807), made a profession of collecting notes of literarj^ and artistic
events in Paris for which German and other Francophile princes
in
Europe subscribed. From 1759 his close friend Diderot contributed
notes on the biennial Salon, thus perhaps inventing the program
note,
and in 1765 attached a short Essai sur la peinture in the sent to MS
his friend.]

3. [French painter (1616-1655), a pupil of Vouet and a founder of

the Academv.l

4. There isa sadness in things, and the lot of mortals touches the mind.
Virgil, JEneid, lib. I, v. 466.
[This is the sense of the passage as Diderot intended it, but this
rendering is no longer generally accepted. Ed.]
5. ... the true goddess ivas disclosed in her stately gait . . . he
showed his calm head above the waves.
Virgil, JSneid.

6. Away with you, Sophist!

7. He wUl even distill moisture from his eyes for his friends; he will
jump up, he will hang the ground with his foot.

David
1. [The word exhibition is in English in the original. Tr.]
2. [Greek courtesans. Phryne lived in the fourth century b.c. ; one Lais
lived in the fifth and the other in the fourth. Tr.]
3. . . . let those who have experience of it he pleased to remember it.

THE NINETEENTH CENTUKY

Hegel
1. Die seyende Subjektivitdt. That is a process that elaborates
fiir sich
itself in independent form consonant to its own substance.

2. Als dieses Subjekt. That is, I assume, as the distinctive personality

of the artist. This must appear on the face of the work as the crown
of its independent type and concrete unity {Zur Spitze des Fiirsich-
seyns) but must not dominate it to the extent of destroying all natural
detail, not even to the extent of sculpture.

337
3. Zur Spitze des Filrsichseyns. See note above.

4. That is their union in sculpture.

5. Als solcher. Hegel means that the universal present in emotion is

life, but is only presented
objective therein as part of the self-conscious
in the concrete objective shape in the work of the artist who therein
suffers to escape the wholly personal side.

6. Sein Inneres, his ideal substance, with more direct reference to

feeling.

7. Aus demselhen in sich JiineingeJiend. I think what is meant is that

the material is idealized out of one of its spatial conditions rather than
that the artist selects his medium in consonance with his temperament
and technique.

8. That is, does not affect the stability and total effect of the work.
Of course the actual effect may vary.

9. Fiir diesen festen Punkt des Suhjekts,

10. Die in sick hesonderte Innerlichkeit.

11. The distinctions in matter conditioned in Space.

12. The meaning, if rather obscurely expressed, appears to be this.

The art of sculpture shows us when it treats the spatial dimensions
as essential that we must have the entire spatial form to do this, and
it shows us that if we wish to pass from the mere presentment of

bodily form to a fuller ideal quality we must contract this exclusive

appearance of physical matter.

13. Lit., '^ Begins to be subjective. '^ Begins to possess a self-excluding

center of unity, i.e., self -identity.

14. That is to the point of a real subject or ego.

15. E.g., secure an abstract result in superficies only.

16. Apart from artistic means.

17. Though the statements here are suggestive, they are obviously
influenced by Hegel's belief in the false theory of light propounded
by Goethe.

338
18. This is a direct reference to the Newtonian theory, of course.

19. ZeicJinung here refers to line rather than technical excellence in

draughtsmanship. It must be admitted Hegel's emphasis of these two
aspects is carried rather too far.

20. The above passage is open to criticism. Hegel hardly makes allow-
ance for the fact that the defective technique, so far as it is defective,
of the earlier masters, was mainly due to their state of knowledge.
Art was, in a certain aspect of technique, in its infancy. Moreover
to compare Dutch landscape with that of Bellini or Raphael is to
compare things that are each unique of their kind and not comparable.
Their aim was entirely different. In such pictures as the San Sisto
Madonna of Raphael, the great Crucifixion of Tintoret, or the Entomb-
ment of Titian it is quite impossible to maintain that the earnestness
of conception is in any way inferior to the technique, although we
have no doubt a different degree of conviction expressed by Fra
Angelico. And the classical landscape of Titian or Tintoret is of its
type supreme.

21. This statement of Hegel again requires parenthesis or at least

interpretation. There a realism such as that Ave find in the most
is

consummate work of a Titian, or the genre work of the Dutch school,

or [the] Pre-Raphaelites, to say nothing of mere academical realism,
which hardly comes within his remarks. It is obvious that the Ideal
is subserved in different degrees by such examples, and in fact to

preserve that unity of conception despite the greatest elaboration, is

to serve the Ideal at least in one aspect of it. Hegel, at least in the
concluding part of this paragraph, appears mainly to have in his
mind still life and the genre pictures of the Dutch, and rather seems
to overlook his own statement as to the necessity of selection and the
power to express detail by the shorthand of genius rather than deliber-
ate imitation.

Delacroix
1. [Jean-Germain Demay (1819-1886) was a sculpture until the Revo-
He became a caster
lution of 1848 put an end to his artistic career.
and mold-maker in the National Archives in 1853, and J&nished his
career as an antiquarian. Ed.]
2. [In painting, the term applied generally to any picture executed
in monochrome.
M. L. Wolf Dictionary of the Arts.]

3. The problem was one of the great issues

of coloured reflections
among major difference for example between Delacroix
painters, a
and Ingres. This note of May 1852 heralds the coming doctrine of
Impressionism.
339


4.Paul Chenavard (1807-1895), pupil of Ingres, a painter with lofty-

ideals but mediocre gifts, was preparing a scheme for the decoration
of the Pantheon with a history of Humanity. Delacroix relished de-
bates on aesthetics and ethics with this indefatigable talker, though
he was irritated at times by the rigidity of his theories.

5. Delacroix was at last elected to the Academy on January 10, 1857,

after seven previous failures. The next day he began work on his
Dictionary. He . . . felt that he had ideas and experience worth
preserving, and looking back over his diaries, compiled these notes,
experimenting with various titles.

6. TJiere is notJiing in the understanding tJiat was not first in the

senses.

Courhet
1. [L'Institut de France comprises five academies, one of which is the
Academie des Beaux- Arts. Ed.]
2. [Courhet sans courhettes; literally, ''Courbet the Uncringing."
Tr.]

3. [Hugo was in his thirteenth year of partially self-imposed exile in

the Channel Islands, where he had gone because of his opposition to
Napoleon III and whence he would return to Paris in 1870. Tr.]
4. [The Exposition of 1863, at which the painters turned down by
the Salon could exhibit their works.
Charpier and Seghers.]

Fromentin
1. [Fra Angelico. Tr.]
2. [Charles Frederick Worth (1825-1895), the Anglo-French designer
of women's clothes. Tr.]
Baudelaire
1. The exhibition opened on 16th March at the Musee Royal. Baude-
laire's review appeared as a booklet on 13th May.

2. i.e., the Republicans.

3. [The Musee Espagnol comprised Spanish pictures belonging to the

Orleans family. Ed.]
4. Except for yellow and blue, its progenitors but I am only speaking ;

here of pure colours. For this rule cannot be applied to transcendent

340
colourists who are thoroughly acquainted with the science of counter-
point. (C.B.)

5. [George Catlin (1796-1872), called the ''Impresario of the Red-

skins" by Baudelaire, had lived and painted portraits among Amer-

ican Indian tribes. He later toured the United States with his collec-
tion, ending in London and finally in Paris in 1845, bringing with
him not only his paintings but several live Indians as well. Ed.]
6. Kreisleriana. (C.B.). It is the third of the detached observations
entitled Hochst zerst rente Gedanken.

7. Nothing absolute
thus the geometric ideal is the worst of idiocies.
;

Nothing complete; thus everything has to be completed, and every
ideal recaptured. (C.B.)

8. I say contradiction J and not contrary; for contradiction is an in-

vention of man's. (C.B.)

9. Stendahl, Histoire de la Peinture en Italic, ch. 101. This was printed

in 1817. (C.B.)

10. This exhibition took place in January 1846. Baudelaire wrote an

article about it at the time.

11. On Mrs. Crowe's The NigJit Side of Nature (London 1848) see
Gilman pp. 128 ff. and notes.

12. The Exposition Universelle opened at the Palais des Beaux-Arts

(the new Palais de I' Industrie) Avenue Montaigne, on 15th May 1855.
,

Baudelaire had been commissioned to write a series of articles on the

subject for Le Pays, but only the first and third of [these] articles
were published in that paper (26th May and 3rd June) the second ;

article was published later in Le Portefeuille (12th August). It seems

that Baudelaire's approach to his task was not acceptable to his em-
ployers, and from the 6th July a journalist called Louis Enault took
over the succession.

13. Baudelaire was doubtless thinking of his own experience, and of

that of Delacroix and Decamps (both of whom had made early jour-
neys, to Morocco and Turkey respectively, and had been indelibly
affected by them) The ''journey
. to the Orient" was a classic Romantic
experience.

14. i.e., Clovis.

341


15. In his Salon of 1831.

Manet
1. Charles Blanc (1813-1882), art critic and member of the Academie
7-15-64 4 Raf
Frangaise, editor of Histoire des Peintres.

2. These remarks were made by Manet to Madame Mery Laurent, who

afterwards often posed for the painter, notably in his picture L'Au-
tomne.

Renoir
1. [Nini is a nickname for a woman of easy virtue. Charpier and
Seghers.]

Gauguin
1. [Alexandre Cabanel (1823-1889) was an academic painter.
Charpier and Seghers.]

Millet
1. [Two of Millet's most famous paintings (The Gleaners and The

Angelus) are reproduced on the ministry's almanacs. Ed.]

342
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Balzac, Hoxor^ de. The HiddeJi Masterpiece, (in the Centenary Edi-
tion of Balzac's Works, vol. 28) Boston. Little. Brown and Co..
1896.
Baudelaire. Charles. Tlie Mirror of Art: Critical Studies, (translated
by Jonathan Mayne) London. Phaidon Press. 1955.
Blake, William, see The Portable Blake, (edited by Alfred Kazin)
New York. The Viking Press. 1946.
Cezanne, Paul, Letters, (edited by John Rewald) London, Bruno
Cassirer, 1941.
Constable. John, see C. R. Leslie Meynoirs of tlie Life of Jolui Con-
stable, R.A., London, The Medici Society. 1937.
CoROT, Jean-Baptiste-Emile. see Everard MeyneU Corot and His
Friends, London. Metheun and Co.. 190S.
Courbet. Gustave. see Gustave Courbet, (edited ^Tith commentary by
J. Laran and L. Benedite) London, Heinemann. 1912.
CoYPEL. Antoine. Discourses of Coy pel, London. Annals of Fine Arts,
vol. 3. 1819.
Delacroix. Eugene. The Journal of Fugbie Delacroix, (edited by
Hubert Wellington, translated by Lucy Norton) London,
Phaidon Press, 1951.
Diderot, Denis, selections in English in Elizabeth G. Holt Literary
Sources of Art History, Princeton. Xew Jersey. Princeton L'ni-
versity Press. 1947.
Du Bos. J. B.. Critical Reflections on Poetry, Painting and Music,
translated by Thomas Nugent) Fifth Edition. London, eighteenth
(,

century.
Eakins, Thomas, see Lloyd Goodrich Thomas Eakins, His Life and
Work, New York, Whitney Museum, 1933.
FiLiBiEN, Andre, L'Idee du Peintre Parfait, London, Mortier, 1707.

3A3
F^NELON, FRANgois DE Salignac de LA MoTHE-, DidloQues dcs morts,
Paris, Delestre-Boulage, 1821.
Fromentin, Eugene, The Masters of Past Time, (translated by
Andrew Boyle) New York, Phaidon Press, 1948.
Gauguin, Paul, The Letters of Paul Gauguin to Georges Daniel de
Monfried, (translated by Rnth Pielkovo) New York, Dodd, Mead
and Co., 1922.
Gogh, Vincent van, Complete Letters, (translated by J. van Gogh-
Bonger) 3 vols., Greenwich, Conn., New York Graphic Society,
1958.
Goya, Francisco de, selections in Robert Goldwater, ed.. Artists on
Art, New York, Pantheon Books, 1945.
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, The Philosophy of Fine Art,
London, Bell, 1920.
Hogarth, William, The Analysis of Beauty, (edited by Joseph Burke)
Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1955.
Homer, Winslow, see Lloyd Goodrich Winslow Homer, New York,
Macmillan Co. and Whitney Museum, 1944.
HuYSMANS, Joris-Karl, L'art moderne, Paris, 1883.
Ingres, Jean-Auguste-Dominique, see Walter Pach Ingres, New York,
Harper and Brothers, 1939.
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, Laocoon (Everyman's Library edition),
London, Dent, 1961.
Manet, Edouard, see P. Courthion and P. Cailler, eds.. Portrait of
Manet, London, Cassell, 1960.
Mengs, Raphael, The Works of Anthony Raphael Mengs, London,
1796.
Millet, Jean-Franqois, see Alfred Sensier Jean-Frangois Millet,
Peasant and Painter, Boston, Osgood and Co., 1881.
Pacheco, Francisco, selections in Elizabeth G. Holt Literary Sources
of Art History, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1947.
DE Piles, Roger, Cours de Peinture par Principes, Paris, Etienne, 1708.
PoE, Edgar Allen, The Domain of Arnheim, (in vol. 2, Tales of
Natural Beauty) New York, Colonial Co., 1894.
PoussiN, Nicolas, Lettres de Poussin, (edited and with an introduction
by P. du Colombier) Paris, Cite des Livres, 1929. Selections in
English in Elizabeth G. Holt Literary Sources of Art History,
Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1947.

344
Redon, Odilon, An Artist's Journal, (translated by Hyman Swetzoff)
in Tricolor, February, 1945.
Eenoir, Auguste, see Amboise Yolard Benoir, An Intijiiate Record,
(translatedby H. L. Van Doren and R. T. Weaver) New York,
A. A. Knopfi 1925.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, selections in Robert Goldwater, ed., Artists on
Art, New York, Pantheon Books, 1945.
RoDix, Auguste, On Art and Artists, (translated by Romilly Fedden)
New York, Philosophical Library, 1957.
Rubens, Peter Paul, Tlicorie de la figure liumaine consideree dans ses
principes soit en repos on en mouvement, (translated into French
by C. A. Jombert) 1773.
RusKiN, John, Modern Painters, London, Smith, Elder and Co.,
1851-60.
Seurat, Georges, see John Rewald Georges Seurat, New York, Witten-
born and Co., 1946.
\Yhistler, James Abbott McNeill, Ten O'clock, Portland, Maine,
Thomas Bird Mosher, 1920.

345
The Editors and Their Book
THE EDITORS AND THEIR BOOK
Pierre Seghers was born on January 5, 1906, in Paris, and received
his education at the College de Carpentras in Vaucluse, France. He is
a member of La Societe des Gens de Lettres, of La Societe des Auteurs
et Compositeurs and Le Syndicat des Editeurs and is listed in Who's

Wlio t?i France. Monsieur Seghers is a well-known editor, writer and

anthologist, and a distinguished critic of the arts.
His published poetic w^orks are: Boime-Esperance, (Ed. de la
Tour, 1939) Pour les qiiatre saisons, (Poesie 42) Le Cliien de pique,
; ;

(Ides et Calendes, 1943) Le Domaine public, (Poesie 45 et Parizeau,

;

Montreal) Le Futur anterieur, (Editions de Minuit) Jeune Fille,

; ;

(1947) Menaces de mort, (La presse a bras, 1948) Six poemes pour
; ;

Veronique, (Poesie 50) Poemes clioisis, (Ed. Seghers, 1952) Le

; ;

Coeur-Volant, (Les Ecrivains Reunis, 1954) Poemes clioisis, (Ed. ;

Seghers, 1952) ; Racines, (Interc. du Livre, 1956) ; Les Pierres,

(Interc. du Livre, 1958) ; Chansons et complaintes, (Ed. Seghers,
1959); Piranese, (Ides et Calendes, 1961). His prose works are:
Richaud-du-Comtat, (Stols, 1944) L'Homme du commun, (Poesie;

44) ; Considerations, on Histoires sous la langue, (Coll. des 150).

Included among his widely acclaimed anthologies are: L'Art Poetique
(in collaboration with J. Charpier) L'Art de la Peinture (in collabo-
;

ration with J. Charpier) ; La France

a livre ouvert.
has also edited several record albums: Poemes, recited by
He
himself, (Coll. Vox poetica, Monteiro) Douai chant e Seghers, (Ed. ;

B.A.M.) Amours perdues, (Ed. Vega) Laurent Terzieff dit les

; ;

poemes de P. Seghers, (Ed. Vega).

Jacques Charpier was born on July 5, 1926, in Avignon, was grad-

uated from the Lycee there and later attended Tlnstitut dArt et
dArcheologie in Paris. He is at present a literary director for a
French publishing house. Like M. Seghers, he is a writer of both
poetry and prose. His books of verse are Pay sage du Salut (Fontaine,
1946) Mythologie du Vent, (Ed. du Dragon, 1955) Le Fer et Laurier,
;
;

(Editions Seghers). His works of non-fiction are: Paul Valery (Edi-

tions Seghers); Charles d'Orleans, (Editions Seghers); St.
John
349
Perce, (Gallimard) ; and L^Art Poetique (Editions Seghers), which
he edited in collaboration with M. Seghers. He is now at work on an
essay in poetry.

The Art of Painting from the Baroque through Postimpressionism

(Hawthorn, 1964) was type by Spartan Typographers, Inc.,
set into
Hackensack, New Jersey,and was printed and bound by the Montauk
Book Manufacturing Company, New York, New York. The body t>T)e
is De Vinne, a type named after T. L. De Vinne and cut in 1894 by

Gustav Schroeder. The display face is Torino, a modern English design

(1908) from an Italian foundry. The color inserts were printed by
the Istituto Italiano d'Arti Grafiche, Bergamo, Italy.

A HAWTHORN BOOK

350