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AN ESSAY 
 
 ON 
 
 THE NATURE, THE END, AND THE MEANS 
 
 • OF 
 
 IMITATION 
 
 IN 
 
 THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 
 
 M. QUATREMERE DE QUINCY. 
 
 BY J. C. KENT. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., CORNHILL, 
 
 BOOKSELLERS TO THEIR MAJESTIES. 
 
 1837. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY STEWART AND CO. 
 Ol.^ BAILEY. 
 
 THE SETTY CENTER 
 LIBRARY 
 
TO 
 
 JOHN SIMPSON, ESQ., LL.D., 
 
 AS A GUIDE IN YOUTH, 
 
 A FRIEND IN MANHOOD, AND AN EXAMPLE ALWAYS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS GRATEFULLY AND RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR 
 
Vlll 
 
 translator’s preface. 
 
 year 1823, but appears to have hitherto remained 
 almost unknown on this side the Channel. The 
 chief obstacle removed, it is to be hoped that 
 such will be the case no longer. The author, 
 M. Quatrem&re de Quincy, has long enjoyed on 
 the Continent a well earned reputation ; — the 
 consequence of the talents he has displayed as an 
 Architect and Sculptor, and of the value of the 
 numerous works he has from time to time laid 
 before the public, which all bear ample testimony 
 to his critical acumen, learning, and literary 
 attainments. A Member of the Institute of Paris, 
 he holds also the office of Perpetual Secretary to 
 the Academy of the Fine Arts, which, while it 
 has conferred honour on himself, has been attended 
 by reciprocal credit and advantage to that Society. 
 
 It was at one time in contemplation to have pre- 
 faced this translation, first, by an account of what 
 had been already done towards the elucidation of 
 the theory of the Fine Arts.* And small indeed, 
 
 * When, throughout the following pages, the Fine Arts are 
 spoken of, they must be understood, not with the limitation 
 usually adopted in England, but as comprehending all the Arts 
 of Imitation : viz., Poetry and the Drama, Music, Painting, 
 Sculpture, Architecture, and Gesture, or the art of Dancing 
 and Pantomime. 
 
translator’s preface* ix 
 
 except as regards quantity, have been the addi- 
 tions to what Aristotle has bequeathed us in the 
 three brief chapters at the commencement of his 
 Poetic ; of which, indeed, the present work is an 
 extended and lucid exposition. For the rest, 
 which concerns only Poetry, excepting a few 
 generalities that M. de Quincy has not failed to 
 notice, Aristotle commences where M. de Quincy 
 leaves off. Secondly, to have applied the canons 
 here laid down to the present state of the Arts in 
 Britain. Thirdly, to have given instances in 
 further illustration of some of the points discussed. 
 And, finally, to have pointed out how, by the 
 application of Means founded on the true principle 
 of Imitation, Landscape Gardening, which, by 
 forming as it would seem a wrong notion of that 
 in which its true merit consists, M. de Quincy 
 rejects from the circle of the Fine Arts, may be 
 brought to take rank among them as an Art of 
 Imitation; producing the “resemblance of a 
 thing in some other thing which becomes the 
 image of it.” Without, however, overlooking the 
 circumstance that as the distance that separates 
 the elements of the model from those of the image 
 is small, so the degree of pleasure, (i. e. pleasure 
 a 3 
 
X 
 
 translator’s preface. 
 
 of imitation,) and yet more, its kind, must still 
 retain it on the outer confines of Art.* 
 
 This intention, however, from causes needless 
 to state here, has been abandoned, and it may be 
 as well that it is so, since this preamble must 
 have run to a length that would perhaps have 
 seemed to overload the original, which is certainly 
 well able of itself to stand alone, without the 
 necessity for adventitious aid to recommend it to 
 general attention. 
 
 The task of translation (always a thankless one) 
 
 * I do not impugn the force of the illustration which M. de 
 Quincy has made choice of (see the close of Chapter xvi. 
 Part I.) to show how necessary to the effect of every Art, is the 
 recognition of that Art, and that “ the pleasure is greater, the 
 more widely the elements of the model are separated from those 
 of its image seeing that he himself has defined the merit of 
 the irregular style of Landscape Gardening to consist in its not 
 raising a suspicion of Art. But I cannot admit that Landscape 
 Gardening does, or ought to, aim at any such result. On the 
 contrary, the elements of composition at its command, which 
 are other than what nature has anywhere associated in one and 
 the same scene, such as trees and shrubs from all and opposite 
 climates, well kept walks, smooth turf, &c., setting aside the 
 assistance of Architecture and Sculpture, must be so employed 
 as to allow of the presence of Art being at once recognized. 
 
 But as I am precluded from entering further upon the topic 
 in this place, I must content myself with referring those who 
 feel an interest in it, to an article in vol. x. p. 558, of Loudon's 
 Gardener’s Magazine. — Translator. 
 
translator’s preface. 
 
 XI 
 
 was originally undertaken solely at the request of 
 a friend, and he who performed it has therefore 
 no right to look elsewhere for his reward ; while, 
 since the prospect of pecuniary gain has never 
 presented itself, all disappointment on that score 
 is prevented. His only source of anxiety is lest 
 continued ill health and the distractions of busi- 
 ness should have prevented him from fulfilling the 
 office devolved on him, in a befitting manner, and 
 doing justice to this essay by clothing it in a 
 dress worthy its high merits. Be this as it may, 
 he feels proud of having been the channel through 
 which it reaches the British Public, and sincerely 
 hopes that his own imperfections may prove no 
 bar to its success. It is without a wish to curry 
 indulgence for himself, that he would fain intreat 
 those who hold the keys of popular favour to 
 exercise the power they are invested with toward? 
 the promotion of that success. 
 
 Levant Lodge, 
 
 Oct. 1836 . 
 

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CONTENTS. 
 
 , Page 
 
 Introduction . . . . 1 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OF THE NATURE OF IMITATION IN THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. — Definition of the elementary princi- 
 ple of imitation in the fine arts . . .9 
 
 CHAPTER II.— Of the idea to be formed conoerning 
 resemblance in the imitation proper to the fine 
 arts . . . . . .17 
 
 CHAPTER III. — That the resemblance which it 
 belongs to every art to produce can only be a 
 partial one . . . . .24 
 
 CHAPTER IV. — The consequences drawn from the 
 foregoing definition and ideas are equally appli- 
 cable to poetry as to painting . . .31 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER V. — Nature has placed separations as 
 real, between the arts of poetry, as between those 
 of design: — 
 
 PROOF THE FIRST; 
 
 Drawn from the diversity of the faculties of the 
 mind, and of the qualities of the objects 
 available for imitation . . .40 
 
 CHAPTER VI. — Continuation of the same subject : — 
 
 PROOF THE SECOND ; 
 
 Drawn from the principle of unity in the mind, 
 and from the unity of its action, from which 
 results the principle of imitative unity, and 
 from this again the separations established 
 between all the arts . . .49 
 
 CHAPTER VII. — Of unity and variety in imitation. 
 
 Of the false notions arising from a misconception 
 of those words . . . . .61 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. — Concerning the nature and spirit 
 of the unions formed of several arts when they 
 are collectively employed about a work in common 70 
 
 CHAPTER IX. — Of the erroneous means by which, 
 employed through a desire of completing or in- 
 creasing the imitative truth of every art, that 
 truth is destroyed : — 
 
 FIRST ERROR OF THE ARTIST; 
 
 It consists in stepping beyond his own art to 
 seek, in the resources of another, an increase 
 of imitative resemblance . . . 81 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XV 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER X. — Continuation of the same subject : — 
 
 SECOND ERROR OF THE ARTIST; 
 
 It consists in seeking truth short of the limits 
 of every art, by a system of servile copy, 
 which deprives the imitation, or the image, 
 of that fictious part which constitutes at 
 once its essence and its character . . 102 
 
 CHAPTER XI. — In every art there must be, with 
 respect to truth, som ejiction, and with respect to 
 resemblance, something incomplete . .113 
 
 CHAPTER XII. — It is the fictious and the incom- 
 plete in every art, and these alone, which consti- 
 tute art, and become moreover the sources of the 
 pleasure of imitation .... 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. — In what manner and by what 
 means art is enabled to correct the Jictious, and to 
 compensate the incomplete necessarily inherent in it 128 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. — Of illusion in the works of imi- 
 tation ...... 136 
 
 CHAPTER XV. — The pleasure of imitation is pro- 
 portionate to the distance which, in every art or 
 imitative mode, and in the works of each, sepa- 
 rates the elements of the model from those of the 
 image ...... 156 
 
 CHAPTER XVI.— The comparative rank assigned 
 by common opinion to the different arts seems to 
 be confirmed by this theory, and, in turn, con- 
 firms it . . . , . 164 
 
XVI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHxAPTER XVII. — The result of the preceding facts 
 and notions leads to a knowledge of what ought 
 to be the true end of imitation . . . ]72 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE END OF IMITATION IN THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. — Pleasure, the object of imitation. Of 
 the two kinds of pleasure it affords. Which of 
 the two is its end . . . .177 
 
 CHAPTER II. — On the right understanding, accord- 
 ing to the spirit of this theory, of the idea of 
 reality or identity in imitation, and of that of the 
 pleasure resulting from it . . ,186 
 
 CHAPTER III — Of the superiority, in imitation, of 
 the pleasure of the mind over that addressed to 
 the senses alone . . . . 192 
 
 CHAPTER IV. — What imitation that is whose model 
 
 cannot be shown, and what name is given to it . 200 
 
 CHAPTER V. — Of the ideal. Definition of the 
 
 word. Of the meaning to be attached to it .210 
 
 CHAPTER VI. — Ideal imitation the result of a gene- 
 ralized study of nature . . . .219 
 
 CHAPTER VII. — Of the inferiority of the works of 
 art compared with those of nature, unless re- 
 course be had to the ideal model of imitation 226 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. — Continuation of the same subject 235 
 
 CHAPTER IX. — Wherein the work of art may sur- 
 pass that of nature .... 244 
 
 CHAPTER X. — Of the originating cause through 
 which the ideal style in works of art was intro- 
 duced into, and perpetuated in Greece . . 256 
 
 CHAPTER XI. — The works of ancient art shown to 
 
 be invested with the characteristics of the ideal 264 
 
 CHAPTER XII. — The notion of the ideal, as enter- 
 tained in this theory, is in accordance with that 
 of the writers of antiquity . . . 273 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. — The ideal in theory ought only to 
 be explained to the understanding, and can only 
 be so by rational analysis . . . 282 
 
 PART III. 
 
 OF THE MEANS OF IMITATION IN THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. — What we are to understand by means 
 of imitation, according to the object and spirit of 
 this theory ..... 287 
 
 CHAPTER II. — Of convention, understood as a 
 means of imitation. Of conventions practical 
 and poetical ..... 293 
 
XV111 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER III. — Of poetical conventions, or the 
 general means, which, common alike to all the 
 arts, imitation employs in order to attain the ideal 301 
 
 CHAPTER IV. — Of the act of generalizing consi- 
 dered as a mean of attaining to ideal imitation in 
 the works of poetry .... 307 
 
 CHAPTER V. — Of the act of generalizing in the 
 works of the arts of design, and in the imitation 
 of the human body . . . .321 
 
 CHAPTER VI. — Of the two customary phrases 
 choice of forms, and union of scattered beauties. 
 
 An analysis of those two notions . . 336 
 
 CHAPTER VII. — Of the act of transforming or 
 transposing considered as a mean of ideal imita- 
 tion, both in the inventions of poetry and the 
 forms of its language .... 358 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. — On the employment of meta- 
 phorical means, different according as the art 
 differs. — Of the errors that exist on this head, 
 more especially in the arts of design . . 367 
 
 CHAPTER IX. — Of the act of transforming and 
 transposing considered as a mean of ideal imita- 
 tion in the arts of design . . .378 
 
 CHAPTER X. — Of transformation in the historical 
 
 style of composition .... 388 
 
 CHAPTER XI. — Of transformation or transposition 
 
 in the allegorical style of composition . . 393 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER XII. — Of certain proprieties to be ob- 
 served in the allegorical style . . . 403 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. — Why the employment of modem 
 allegory has less force and produces less effect 
 in poetry than in painting . . . 413 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. — Of the effect of symbolical com- 
 position in the transformation of subjects and 
 personages . 420 
 
 CHAPTER XV. — Explains why symbolical meta- 
 phor is in poetry of but little Worth . .431 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. — On certain practical means 
 proper, exclusively, to the arts of design. Of 
 nudity poetically considered . . . 440 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. — Continuation of the same sub- 
 ject. Of ideal clothing, or of ancient costume 
 and habiliments transferred to modern subjects . 456 
 

 
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 ■ 4 ' 
 
 
 
 X, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Imitation is of so extensive and so varied an im- 
 port, when its relations and effects in all that falls 
 within the scope of the faculty of imitating are 
 considered, a faculty which is one of the distinc- 
 tive characteristics of man, that ever to have a 
 complete and exhaustive treatise on the subject 
 may well be despaired of. 
 
 Imitation would almost of itself afford means 
 for a full exposition of man, both in his natural 
 and social condition. Indeed, what is there, 
 whether in his habits, his tastes, or his works, 
 that does not admit of reference to the imitative 
 instinct ? To enter into an investigation of the 
 theory of imitation in its fullest extent, would 
 be to submit every action of human life, every 
 object that enters into the relations of social exis- 
 tence, to an analysis without end. 
 
 By restricting the idea of imitation, as is an- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 2 
 
 nounced in the title of this essay, within the cir- 
 cle of the fine arts, so called, it will have been 
 already seen that I am far from having projected 
 one of those theories which, pretending to be uni- 
 versal, far exceed the abilities of their authors 
 and the comprehension of their readers. 
 
 Some metaphysicians,* with a view to embrace 
 the whole theory of imitation in the fine arts, 
 have endeavoured to refer every idea concerning 
 it to one general principle, but one so elevated, 
 placed in a region so little accessible to the gene- 
 rality of persons, that those even who think they 
 have attained to it, seize, as it were, but a point of 
 concentration, where the whole absorbs its several 
 parts. 
 
 Others,')' crawling as theorists along the multi- 
 farious paths of analysis, have flattered themselves 
 that they have been enabled to trace out, step by 
 step, the w’hole of a general doctrine, in every 
 way applicable to each of the fine arts ; but in 
 aiming at the universal, they have been wanting 
 in unity ; they have had too many parts to join 
 together to admit of forming from them one body, 
 and from the incoherency of their production have 
 been unsuccessful in achieving a w r hole. 
 
 If, in restricting a general theory of imitation 
 to the fine arts, it were proposed to embrace the 
 
 * Kant. Kritik der Urtheilskraft. 
 t S'rilzer. Theorie des Beaux Arts. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 3 
 
 whole of each one, or the ideas relative to each 
 of its parts, the design nevertheless would be still 
 vast, and the task to be prosecuted scarcely find 
 a limit. In fact, each of the fine arts presents 
 itself to our view, within its own particular and 
 distinct province, well nigh as one of those con- 
 federate states, which with others forms one whole 
 and the same empire, but which, though submit- 
 ting to the general laws of a central government, 
 has no less its customs, its privileges, its laws of 
 exception, and its especial character impressed 
 upon it by nature. Consider then, how many 
 studies, and how great an extent of knowledge 
 must needs be united to constitute a proper quali- 
 fication to treat thoroughly the particular theory 
 of all the fine arts, since so much labour is requi- 
 site to work out that of one only. 
 
 The entire theory of one art alone is not so very 
 simple a matter. 
 
 At the very outset of an undertaking similar to 
 the present, it is immediately perceived that, in- 
 stead of one theory only, many, and among these 
 very different ones, must necessarily be included. 
 Every art produces by its works different impres- 
 sions, and very distinct effects, from which arise 
 forms of composition corresponding, either to the 
 peculiar aspects of the model, or to the organs or 
 faculties of the body or mind with which they 
 are held to be in relation. For instance, accord- 
 ing to the diversity of forms of composition in its 
 
 b 2 
 
4 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 works, an art addresses itself to the reason, the 
 imagination, the feelings, the taste, or the physical 
 organ. There will be then the theory of the 
 reason or judgment, the theory of the imagina- 
 tion, that of the feelings and the expression of 
 the passions, that of taste or of fitness, and that 
 of the practical execution or skill. 
 
 What I have said above explains far better than 
 I could otherwise render it intelligible, how foreign 
 it is to my wishes to comprise, under the general 
 expression of imitation , ideas and researches so 
 extensive. 
 
 My design is not to consider the different arts, 
 as modes of imitation, in the variety of the re- 
 sources peculiar to all and each, of the studies 
 they require, of the rules that observation and ex- 
 perience have assigned to them, of the methods 
 which are proper to them, of the reasons which 
 advance or retard perfection, of the causes of their 
 impressions, &c., &c. 
 
 Far from having proposed to myself to tread 
 such a multiplicity of paths, which may be com- 
 pared to radii terminating at the circumference of 
 a complete theory, I am contented, in the first 
 part, or that which has for its object the nature of 
 imitation , to place myself, as it were, in a kind of 
 centre, which I look upon as the starting point of 
 all the paths. It seems to me that certain alto- 
 gether primary, and central, ideas upon what con- 
 stitutes the elementary principle of that imitation 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 5 
 
 which is proper to the fine arts, have never been 
 collected together, and reconciled under one single 
 point of view, in such manner as to determine all 
 the uncertainties of opinion, and give to it an in- 
 variable rule. 
 
 After having considered the nature of imitation, 
 it cannot but be inquired what ought to be its 
 true end. Here again incomplete ideas, the re- 
 sults of views too confined, have been the means 
 of establishing doctrines which fall far short of 
 their object. I have thought it incumbent on me 
 to direct them to a more exalted end, which, with- 
 out being exclusive, without prohibiting the power 
 to desist at an inferior stage, might indicate to 
 genius the goal which it should be its ambition to 
 arrive at. Such is the subject of the second part 
 of this work. 
 
 The end once established, there will remain for 
 the theory to point out the way which conducts 
 to it. 
 
 The third part is devoted to the development 
 of the means of imitation. But what is so called, 
 according to the system of this work, has nothing 
 but the name in common with the practical, tech- 
 nical, or didactic means appertaining to each art. 
 The means to be discussed are those which arise 
 from the very nature of imitation, and are closely 
 related to the nature of its end, those which 
 depend on the action of the judgment and under- 
 standing, and which are directed by taste in accor- 
 
6 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 dance with the genius proper to each kind of 
 imitation. Nothing relative to execution, such as 
 it is understood in ordinary language, is intro- 
 duced in treating on the theory of these specific 
 means. In short, be it understood, that the ques- 
 tion to be discussed is the means of imitation, and 
 not those of the imitator. 
 
 I do not conceal from myself how much a work 
 on a theory more or less abstract, relating to the 
 fine arts, may have to dread from many of its 
 readers. On a subject of this kind, some would 
 wish to find definite ideas that the mind may 
 easily refer to things of common experience. 
 Others, thinking that in discoursing of the fine 
 arts an ornate style ought only to be employed, 
 require of the author brilliant sketches which may 
 lay hold on the imagination, high sounding pas- 
 sages, and graphic descriptions, pleasing to the 
 ear and the senses, but which leave no permanent 
 idea in the mind. But what was to be done? 
 Every one in treating on a subject selects some 
 particular point of view. To this he ought to 
 adhere, and in consequence must expect that his 
 views will not accord with the opinions or inclina- 
 tions of all. Every subject, be it what it may, 
 has its own peculiar judges, and it is their suf- 
 frages that one ought to be ambitious to obtain ; 
 their actual number being a matter of trifling 
 importance. 
 
 I foresee, moreover, an objection that will be 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 7 
 
 urged. It will be asked what good end such a 
 theory will serve, and whether it can avail towards 
 the production of better works. To this I would 
 reply, — “I think that the beautiful works of art 
 have rather given birth to theories, than theories 
 to beautiful works. But there exist also theories 
 which are, in their kind, beautiful works, and from 
 which many derive pleasure. Thus it were not 
 more fitting to ask of what use is the art of poetry, 
 than of what use is a poem.” 
 
PART I. 
 
 OF THE NATURE OF IMITATION IN THE FINE 
 
 ARTS. 
 
 Non res sed similitudines rerum. 
 
 Cicero, Be Nat. Dear., L. 1. § 27. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DEFINITION OF THE ELEMENTARY PRINCIPLE OF IMITATION IN 
 THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 After having restricted the theory of imitation, 
 as will have been seen in the Introduction, to 
 what, by common agreement, are termed the fine 
 arts, I here propose to contract still further the 
 circle of ideas which form the subject of this First 
 Part. Far from ranging the circumference, as 
 varied as extensive, of the imitative region of the 
 works of genius, whose effects are every where 
 felt, it is in the very centre of the principle on 
 which that imitation which is proper to the fine 
 arts is constituted, that I purpose to confine my- 
 self. 
 
10 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 I have then no intention, in treating on the nature 
 of imitation, to scrutinize its secret relations, by an 
 analysis of the different kinds of impressions pro- 
 duced by its works, nor, in short, to lay down all 
 that would be requisite to render the subject com- 
 plete. I wish only to investigate and point out 
 what imitation in the fine arts ought to be, in order 
 to constitute imitation. 
 
 Thus it is its elementary principle, its intrinsic 
 character, in other words, its essence which I 
 design to discover and unfold. 
 
 The imitative faculty is truly characteristic of 
 man ; it is concerned in all his acts, it enters into 
 all his works ; among all creatures it belongs to 
 him, and to him alone, in such wise that he may 
 be defined by this property, in naming him the 
 imitative animal. Hence, the numberless different 
 significations in which the word imitation is em- 
 ployed ; hence, the variety of imitative effects 
 which are continually produced in all the works of 
 human industry ; and hence, consequently, the 
 necessity of isolating the theory of imitation in the 
 fine arts , and submitting it to an especial investi- 
 gation. 
 
 In order to define it, it is necessary to disengage 
 the idea or notion of it, from those which charac- 
 terize the imitation proper to the other arts. The 
 habit of confounding properties inherent in two 
 distinct operations of the imitative faculty is the 
 cause of all the mistakes, which, from the manner 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 11 
 
 of speaking, are transferred to the manner of see- 
 ing and feeling, and which, after having warped 
 the judgment of those to whom the fine arts are 
 addressed, finish by deceiving the judgment, and 
 vitiating the taste of those who produce them. 
 
 To separate by a clear, elementary, and, by its 
 very simplicity, incontestible distinction, the prin- 
 ciple of the imitation proper to the fine arts, from 
 that of the other kinds of imitation, is not to 
 devote oneself to an unprofitable analysis ; it will 
 be seen, on the contrary, that it will be to lay 
 open, in aid of theory, a fruitful source of advan- 
 tage, if it is true that from its consequences may 
 be derived the laws of taste by which the fine arts 
 should be regulated. 
 
 I reduce this fundamental principle to its most 
 simple expression in the following terms : To 
 imitate in the fine arts, is to produce the resemblance 
 of a thing, but in some other thing which becomes 
 the image of it. 
 
 By this definition may be at once distinguished 
 the essential difference that exists between the 
 imitation which is proper to the fine arts, and the 
 other kinds of imitation. 
 
 To produce certain resemblances belongs, with- 
 out doubt, to every kind of imitation. But even 
 though all imitation produces resemblances, all 
 resemblance is not therefore necessarily a result 
 of imitation ; which is self-evident, as, for instance, 
 in the works of nature in which are found the 
 
12 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 greatest number of resemblances, and those the 
 most striking. It is sufficient to name any one of 
 those numerous objects which she is perpetually 
 reproducing. The word reproduce expresses that 
 power which she possesses of bringing forth a 
 countless number of organised bodies, which, suc- 
 ceeding each other in the same forms and with the 
 same properties, must in consequence frequently 
 present a very great similarity. Every one is 
 aware that in all this there is no imitation. It is 
 not nature that imitates ; it is she that is imitated. 
 
 Nearly the same thing holds good, of the resem- 
 blances which exist among what are called the 
 works of human industry. Man also brings forth 
 objects, which, by reproducing, he multiplies in 
 order to supply the wants of society. But these 
 objects resemble each other without, on that 
 account, begetting in us either impressions or 
 pleasure such as arise from the resemblances, 
 which the imitation of the fine arts produces. 
 
 It may truly be affirmed that the idea of the 
 similarity which exists between one ear of corn 
 and another, between one fruit and another on the 
 same tree, in no wise affects us. In like manner 
 no agreeable emotion arises within us at the innu- 
 merable resemblances which may be found among 
 the manufactured productions of human industry. 
 Every one will say that such would assuredly be 
 the case, because, in the first instance, that of 
 natural productions, the resemblance is the result 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 13 
 
 of organic power, and, in the second, of a me- 
 chanical operation. 
 
 Undoubtedly : but that is not sufficient. 
 
 Why does not this sort of organic or mechani- 
 cal repetition equally give rise in us to the idea of 
 resemblance or imitation, and, above all, to the 
 pleasurable emotion which is attached to that 
 idea ? 
 
 The reason is, simply because that which con- 
 stitutes the primary condition of imitation is want- 
 ing ; namely, the image. 
 
 I admit that those who are acquainted with the 
 nature of this process of repeating the object, 
 viewing it only in the light of a mechanical result, 
 refuse to assign the least value to a conformity 
 which has no merit in their eyes. But this judg- 
 ment is in them the consequence of their know- 
 ledge. Now, in a like case, I find that the same 
 judgment is arrived at through the feelings or in- 
 stinct of those even who are ignorant of the me- 
 chanical secret of the conformity. 
 
 The object, being thus rendered conformable 
 to its model, does, in fact, announce to all what 
 it is, and, yet better, what it is not. Now, what 
 it is, is this ; morally speaking, it is the same as 
 its model, though, physically, it may be some 
 other. And it is yet more easily seen what it is 
 not ; it is not the image of its model, but only the 
 repetition of it. 
 
 Thus then we see why the kind of imitation 
 
14 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 which ought rightly to be termed repetition, yields 
 no pleasure (of the same nature with those which 
 belong to the imitation of the fine arts). In truth, 
 the pleasure which is produced by works of imi- 
 tation proceeds from the act of comparing. It is 
 certain that the eye and the mind, whose opera- 
 tion is here the same, are required to judge, and, 
 in order to judge, they must compare, deriving 
 enjoyment only from this twofold condition. If 
 the pleasure arises from the judgment itself, 
 which is formed between the object to be imi- 
 tated, and that by which it is imitated ; if the 
 mind enjoys so much the more, as will be seen 
 hereafter (Chap, xv.), as there is more to compare 
 and more to judge, it is then obvious that, in 
 imitation by means of identical repetition, there 
 is absolutely nothing to enjoy, since nothing ap- 
 prizes us that there is aught to judge, or to com- 
 pare. 
 
 Such is the essentially negative and inconse- 
 quential effect, as far as the faculty which com- 
 pares and that which judges is concerned, of al\ 
 resemblance termed identical, of every mode of 
 reproducing one object by another, which cannot 
 be accounted an image of it, since it is confounded 
 with it. 
 
 Thus, suppose two vases of the same size be 
 placed one on each of two tables made in like 
 manner to match, no one will be struck with the 
 resemblance of the two vases, nor with the con- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 15 
 
 formity of the two tables ; but let a painter re- 
 produce upon his canvass one of these tables sur- 
 mounted by its vase, and there will result from 
 this kind of resemblance a new power which will 
 arrest the eye ; for the attention is apprized, by 
 the proof the representation on the canvass af- 
 fords of it, that the image of an object is con- 
 cerned. 
 
 If it be now supposed that the representation 
 of the same object takes place by an optical illu- 
 sion, or that the picture is so disposed as to con- 
 ceal that it is a work of painting, it will be found, 
 that, the idea of an image being no longer pre- 
 sented to the spectator, the effect of the imitation 
 with respect to it will be nullified. — Nothing- 
 appealing to him for judgment, he has nothing to 
 compare, and therefore experiences no pleasure ; 
 for the principle of the pleasure is in the refer- 
 ence, which in this case he has been unable to 
 make, of the image to its model. 
 
 Now no such reference can be made, except 
 between two objects, not only different, but dis- 
 tinct, that is to say which of themselves apprize 
 us that they are different. 
 
 As regards imitation, I call all those objects 
 identical, which do not present themselves to us 
 as different ; it being understood that it is not 
 here meant to take the words identity and differ- 
 ence in their absolute and mathematical accepta- 
 tion : I will just remark here, that according to 
 
16 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 the rigid sense of the word, there is but one sole 
 identity in nature. This well established fact 
 will become one' of the fundamental supports of 
 the theory of imitation in the fine arts, by aiding 
 to prove what kind of resemblance is proper to 
 their works. Those objects then are called iden- 
 tical, which simply appear to be so, as are all the 
 works produced by mechanical operations. This 
 kind of apparent identity, which is the cause of 
 confusion between similar objects, is precisely that 
 at which the imitation of the fine arts ought not 
 to aim. Such resemblance ought not to be its 
 end. Repetition by means of an image being the 
 exact opposite of that by means of identity, all 
 imitation which has the latter in view tends only 
 to destroy itself, since in so doing it no longer 
 aims at appearing imitation. 
 
 This idea may perhaps appear so simple that 
 there can be no need of insisting upon it ; per- 
 haps also, its simplicity considered, it may be 
 deemed little worthy of being converted into a 
 principle ; but I would observe that an elementary 
 principle, before an opportunity has been afforded 
 of developing its bearings, must necessarily be 
 simple ; if not, it is no longer a principle. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF THE IDEA TO BE FORMED CONCERNING RESEMBLANCE IN THE 
 IMITATION PROPER TO THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 Resemblance is without doubt a necessary con- 
 dition of imitation. These two expressions and 
 their corresponding ideas approach so nearly, that 
 in ordinary language they are often taken for one 
 another; but this is not the greatest error. It 
 consists in confounding resemblance by means of an 
 image , or that of the fine arts, with similarity by 
 means of identity , or that of the mechanical arts. 
 
 It is of importance to the theory which it is 
 here designed to establish, to determine also the 
 precise nature of imitative resemblance, and the 
 limits within which it is confined, since in this 
 respect there exists so much error, no less on the 
 part of those who, by extending, think to increase 
 the domain of every kind of imitation, than of 
 those who deem that the pleasure ought to be 
 greater, in proportion as the resemblance is more 
 homogeneous. It will be well also on this point 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 to examine the nature of things ; for, in order to 
 lay a firm foundation, it is scarcely possible to dig 
 too deep. 
 
 Be it in whatever it may, does the idea of 
 resemblance carry with it the necessary conclu- 
 sion, that, where it exists between two objects, 
 there can be no difference between them? No 
 one does or can understand it in such a light ; for, 
 if it were maintained that such ought to be the 
 definition of resemblance, it would only serve to 
 prove that it cannot exist. The very works of 
 nature, or what we have called the results of an 
 organic power, when we find them invested with 
 such resemblance as to create confusion among 
 them, only appear so to us on account of our in- 
 attention ; viewed nearer, and subjected to a more 
 strict examination, they present to us very great 
 varieties. These varieties are so numerous, that 
 experience, conjointly with reason, obliges us to 
 acknowledge that there are not, for instance, two 
 leaves entirely alike. 
 
 The same may be said of all the mechanical 
 productions of human industry. We defy it, by 
 any means whatever, to produce in the works it 
 elaborates with the greatest care, a complete 
 resemblance, so multiplied are the causes which 
 conduce to diversify them. 
 
 The idea of a complete resemblance is then, in 
 speculation, but an abstraction, and, in reality, a 
 chimera. If there can only be a question of an 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 19 
 
 approximate resemblance, even in those works 
 whose similarity is the result of an organic or 
 mechaaical principle, the same may with still 
 greater truth be affirmed of resemblances produced 
 by an imitation, which does not repeat the object 
 in reality, but only by an image. 
 
 This then is the elementary principle which 
 should never be lost sight of, in estimating the 
 nature and the properties of that resemblance, 
 which it is the part of imitation to produce in the 
 fine arts. 
 
 Now the fundamental idea of this kind of resem- 
 blance is afforded to us by the idea we have of what 
 an image is ; and this idea is exceedingly simple. 
 
 It will be sufficient to observe that an image is 
 nothing more nor less than an appearance of the 
 object represented. There is, between the object 
 and its appearance, all the difference that sepa- 
 rates that which truly is from that which only 
 appears to be : and the same may also be applied 
 to resemblance, since that which belongs to the 
 image is nothing else than an appearance of resem- 
 blance. 
 
 It is the identical repetition of an object which 
 produces the resemblance that may be called real, 
 and which, from that very circumstance, is incapa- 
 ble of affording us pleasure ; for it has been 
 already seen that the pleasure arising from resem- 
 blance proceeds from the comparison instituted 
 between two objects. But, morally speaking, it 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 is not true that, in resemblances produced by 
 means of identity, two objects are seen ; it is but 
 to see the same thing twice. 
 
 It is, on the contrary, the very essence of imita- 
 tion in the fine arts, to represent reality by its 
 appearance alone. Here then are two distinct 
 objects. The pleasure of resemblance arises from 
 the parallel itself, existing between the model, 
 and its appearance or image. Since it is a neces- 
 sary condition of imitation, that it furnish occasion 
 for comparison, and since the art of comparing 
 ceases where identity is present, it is necessary 
 that we should be aware that what is offered to us 
 by imitation, is only the appearance of the object. 
 
 Such is the fundamental and elementary charac- 
 ter of that resemblance which belongs to the 
 image, that is to say, to the result of imitation in 
 the fine arts. 
 
 We may hence conclude that imitation would 
 be no longer imitation, but identical repetition, if 
 it were permitted to reproduce the real resem- 
 blance of the object, that is, to represent it under 
 all those relations which constitute its reality. 
 
 * Again, that the image, in as much as it is an 
 appearance, can only furnish an incomplete resem- 
 blance of the object imitated, in other words, 
 limited to certain of its parts, its qualities, and its 
 properties. Yet further, that the image, solely in 
 that it is an image, can only produce its resem- 
 blances in and by means of the distinct elements 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 21 
 
 of those of the model, and by such as cannot be mis- 
 taken. Finally, we may come to the conclusion, that 
 imitative resemblance is that which compels us to 
 see one object in another, and that a distinct and, 
 relatively to the total of the general model, neces- 
 sarily partial one. 
 
 On these conditions rest the merit and pleasure 
 of imitative resemblance. 
 
 The merit , because, in fulfilling these, as we 
 have seen, lies both the difficulty of the art, and 
 its success, which consists in so ordering things 
 that we shall not have cause either to complain of, 
 or to discover what is wanting to the imitation in 
 order to render it complete, and to appear reality. 
 
 The pleasure , because it is always from our 
 knowing the want of reality in the image, that the 
 faculties of comparing and judging are called into 
 action, for which, without this knowledge, there 
 would be no occasion. 
 
 If imitative resemblance in the fine arts can 
 only be a partial and fictious resemblance of the 
 object imitated, and if it can only be produced 
 with and by means of elements distinct from the 
 elements of that object, it must be acknowledged 
 that the conditions of imitation, far from being the 
 result of a system, are only facts observed in and 
 drawn from the nature of things. Hence it will 
 assuredly follow, that every image, or every work 
 of the fine arts, will more or less contradict the 
 nature of imitation, in proportion as the artist has 
 
22 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 aimed more or less at producing the effect of iden- 
 tical repetition, or real similarity. 
 
 We shall presently show, that there exist, never- 
 theless, two grand sources of error, distinct only 
 as they differ in degree, which constantly tend to 
 vitiate, in its very elements, that imitation which is 
 proper to the fine arts, to destroy its beauty, and 
 nullify its means of pleasing, by affecting to 
 increase the one, and multiply the other. 
 
 As it is especially against these two errors, so 
 inimical to the fine arts, that this theory is directed, 
 I will proceed, after having pointed them out, to 
 show the result I propose to obtain, and the course 
 to be pursued to arrive at it. 
 
 The first of these evils which it is necessary to 
 contend against, consists in the endeavour to aug- 
 ment the resources and the effect of the species 
 of imitation proper to one of the arts in particular, 
 by the addition of those proper to the imitation of 
 another art. (See Chap, ix.) 
 
 The second tends to deprive every art, as much 
 as possible, of that part of its fictious and conven- 
 tional nature which makes it appear art, by sub- 
 stituting, through a spurious fidelity, the character 
 of reality for that of appearance, and similarity 
 by means of identity for resemblance by means 
 of an image. 
 
 But before exposing in all their nakedness the 
 vices of these two modes of procedure, and the 
 fallacious results arising from them, it will be 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 23 
 
 necessary to pursue the development of the prin- 
 ciples that have been established, as a general 
 theory, by applying them more directly to each 
 of the fine arts considered individually; and to 
 show how the constitution of each of them carries 
 us also back per force to the elementary principle 
 of imitation ; so that the principle of the elemen- 
 tary definition of imitation must yet further be- 
 come that of the definition of every imitative mode 
 proper to each of the fine arts in particular. 
 
24 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THAT THE RESEMBLANCE WHICH IT BELONGS TO EVERY ART 
 TO PRODUCE, CAN ONLY BE A PARTIAL ONE. 
 
 Hitherto we have been, by the very nature of 
 things, endeavouring to search out the elementary 
 principles of imitation and imitative resemblance; 
 principles from which we hope to be able to de- 
 duce doctrines and rules of taste, whereon to 
 found a general theory of the fine arts. 
 
 It is now time to quit the more or less obscure 
 region of generalities, and, proceeding to an order 
 of things less abstract, show that each one of the 
 fine arts considered as acting by imitation, can 
 exercise but one branch of it, and that, by the 
 very fact of the restriction thus placed upon its 
 power of action, it corroborates the evidence of 
 those principles which have been already laid 
 down. 
 
 The only cause for the division of the imitation 
 of nature, among the fine arts, exists in its being 
 impossible, as already shown, for any one art to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 25 
 
 attain identity or reality of resemblance, which is 
 in fact but repetition. 
 
 Certain indefinite phrases have been the cause 
 of confused ideas gaining credit with the genera- 
 lity of persons, and which, in this matter, serve to 
 perpetuate the errors that continually obscure it. 
 Thus it is again and again propounded that nature 
 is the model of the arts : an axiom as true as it is 
 insignificant. Then, what is said of the arts in 
 general, is repeated of each one in particular; 
 and forthwith there is no subdivision of an art 
 which has not nature for its model. 
 
 And this is all true enough ; but then the model 
 of every art, or, in other words, of every part of 
 the demesne of imitation, must in like manner be 
 restricted to a part only of nature. 
 
 The different arts of imitation are not inven- 
 tions of man, the creations of his fantasy, that he 
 can extend or modify them at will ; nor can the 
 productions of those arts be changed in obedience 
 to his pleasure. Each, submitting to the su- 
 preme laws of the nature of things, or of neces- 
 sity, is compelled to be exclusively in relation 
 with such or such order of imitable objects, with 
 such or such means or instruments of imitation, 
 with such or such qualities physical or moral, 
 with such or such faculty of our senses or mind ; 
 and to which there is also a necessary relation 
 between each of these things and the correspond- 
 ing art which takes cognizance of it. 
 
26 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 The different imi table objects are evidently 
 classed under two principal heads : viz., those 
 which belong to the moral,* and those which de- 
 pend on the physical order of things ; the one 
 addressed peculiarly to the faculties of the mind, 
 the other directly to the organs of the body. 
 Hence the principal division of the fine arts. 
 
 These arts are then distinguished from one 
 another by the difference of their efficient model, 
 by the difference of their instruments, and by 
 that of the faculties or organs that nature has 
 placed in reciprocal relation with them. 
 
 It follows, from the evidence that determines 
 their distinctiveness, that it is impossible for any 
 one of them, in its own respective attributes, to 
 add to its imitative resemblance the means and 
 effects which belong to the imitative resemblance 
 of another. 
 
 I say impossible, because if on the one hand, it 
 be admitted that, in matters of taste, there is no 
 abuse which is physically impossible, on the 
 other, whatever is false and vicious, must be looked 
 upon as morally impossible. But the sequel of 
 this discussion will show that there is also a kind 
 of material or matter-of-fact impossibility, in the 
 mingling one art with another, since, as we have 
 seen, the very means by which it is thought to 
 
 * An explanation of the sense in which this word has been 
 employed throughout the work will be found at the close of 
 Chapter i. Part II. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 27 
 
 add to the power of imitation, tend only to weaken 
 and often to destroy it. 
 
 I will here adduce an instance, and will select 
 it from the two arts most nearly approaching one 
 another. I mean painting and sculpture, both 
 having for their object the imitation of bodies, 
 and both being addressed to the same organ, that 
 of sight. Now what have these in common ? The 
 one represents bodies by their colour, and the 
 other by the relief of their forms. Nevertheless, 
 the model which serves for both, unites relief 
 and colour, and these two are blended so inti- 
 mately together, that they can be divided only in 
 thought. 
 
 Without any exception, that art which employs 
 colour, cannot aspire to relief ; nor can that which 
 appropriates to itself relief aim at truth of colour- 
 ing. What then is it that prevents these two 
 from uniting? Many moral reasons may be given; 
 but I will instance one wholly material or tech- 
 nical. 
 
 It is this : that provided colour could be ap- 
 plied to the figure of the statuary, the colouring 
 would no longer be that of the painter. For if 
 the attempt were made, even with the utmost 
 skill, to lay on the sculptured head the tints of 
 the coloured one, the elements of both would be 
 opposed to each other. The colouring of a pic- 
 ture is only such in painting : let it be removed 
 from the canvass, and it loses every thing, in 
 
28 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 losing the fictitious atmosphere, which is the con- 
 dition of its effect. Artificial colour upon an 
 isolated body can never appear true, precisely 
 because all around it being real can serve only to 
 convict it of falsity. 
 
 Thus, imitation is nullified by the very endea- 
 vours that are made to increase or multiply its 
 means ; and thus one art, by trenching on the 
 properties of another, loses its own, and by aim- 
 ing to be both, becomes neither. 
 
 I have chosen this illustration, because it is 
 within the reach of every body, and that the re- 
 sult cannot be disputed. Experience having to 
 deal with matters of fact, there is no refuting that 
 of which the senses are at once the witnesses and 
 judges. We shall see, nevertheless, that the only 
 difference between the error of which we have 
 just spoken and a multitude of other errors that 
 daily arise within the circle of these same two arts, 
 is that which exists between the physically im- 
 possible and the morally impossible; that is to say, 
 between that which clashes with the senses and 
 that which violates the reason. In vain are both 
 taste and the celebrated works of art appealed to 
 against all attempts at identical repetition of ob- 
 jects, and the futile ambition of producing reality 
 instead of imitative appearance; the rule of taste 
 allows over-much freedom, while the sceptre of 
 authority appears too tyrannical. 
 
 In subjects such as these, we must penetrate 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 29 
 
 more deeply, and endeavour to lay a foundation 
 for rules, by establishing a principle drawn from 
 the very essence of things. 
 
 If in truth the limits which separate the de- 
 mesne of every individual art are fixed by nature ; 
 if these limits, so called, or the separations which 
 serve to isolate every mode of imitation, are pre- 
 cisely defined (as will be shown hereafter) by the 
 irreconcilable difference of the model to be imi- 
 tated, and the means by which it is imitated ; of 
 the especial qualities of objects, and the exclusive 
 properties of organs ; and, lastly, of the faculties, 
 whether physical or moral, called to pass judg- 
 ment on the works of art; what can be concluded 
 therefrom but that nature, or the supreme law, 
 wills that each mode of imitation should be con- 
 fined within the separate bounds assigned to it ? 
 
 If then the artist transgresses limits thus ap- 
 pointed and acknowledged as invariable, be it in 
 whatever manner and to whatsoever degree it* 
 may, all disputes ought to be at an end. The 
 fact is immutable, and the law which must con- 
 demn it irrevocable. In whatever way the ar- 
 tist may have sought to heap together and re- 
 unite, in one and the same work of art, the means, 
 the processes, the objects, and the effects which 
 belong to another mode of imitation, in order to 
 attain a more real resemblance, he has overstepped 
 the bounds, which are assigned as those of an 
 image, to fall more or less into identity. Wish- 
 
30 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 to deceive, and deceiving in order to please, he 
 has thereby lost all right and all power of pleas- 
 ing those who require of the arts the charm of 
 imitation, and not the fraud of counterfeit. Let 
 him then address himself to those who wish to be 
 deceived, or who deserve to be so, that is, to the 
 ignorant. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CONSEQUENCES DRAWN FROM THE FOREGOING DEFINITION 
 AND IDEAS ARE EQUALLY APPLICABLE TO POETRY AS TO 
 PAINTING. 
 
 It has been established as an elementary principle 
 of imitation in the fine arts, that to imitate is to pro - 
 duce the resemblance of a thing in some other which 
 becomes the image of it . 
 
 Having distinguished two kinds of resemblance, 
 the one identical , being in fact only the repetition 
 of a thing by the thing itself; the other imitative , 
 being the repetition of a thing by some other 
 which becomes the image of it ; it must follow 
 from this distinction, that the idea attached to the 
 word image , is that which characterizes such re- 
 semblance as is proper to imitation in connection 
 with the fine arts. 
 
 But to render this theory general, the definition 
 of imitation, and the terms which constitute it, 
 must be alike consistent with all the fine arts, as 
 well those that are addressed to the senses, as 
 those addressed to the mind. 
 
32 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 Now it is possible that the word resemblance , 
 and yet more, image , may here occasion some dif- 
 ficulty. Image , it may be urged, can be under- 
 stood only of the works of painting, and the gra- 
 phic arts. If it is to the eyes that a resemblance 
 attained by means of an image is addressed, how 
 can a condition, which ought only to be binding 
 on some of the arts, enter into an elementary prin- 
 ciple which is sought to be rendered common to 
 them all ? 
 
 I might answer that the employment of the 
 word image is by no means unusual in poetry, 
 and every one is aware of the metaphorical ac- 
 ceptation of it, borrowed from painting. It is 
 true that this name is generally appropriated to 
 certain conceptions of detail, to partial expres- 
 sions or descriptions; but this instance will suffice 
 to authorize the employment of it in a more ex- 
 tended relation, if it can be shown that the arts of 
 poetry, like those of design, possess also the 
 power of producing two sorts of resemblance, 
 identical and imitative, that they can also be con- 
 cerned about the imitation of reality by reality, 
 instead of adhering to a mode equivalent to that 
 to which we apply the word image . Be it only 
 understood that the words image and reality are 
 here, as is the word imitation itself, taken in an 
 analagous signification, and a sense altogether as 
 true, though of a less material truth, equally in 
 speaking of poetry as when applied to painting. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 33 
 
 It must be confessed that all the forms of com- 
 position in poetry do not possess the property of 
 imitation in the same degree ; this depends in 
 general on the kind of subjects which fall within 
 the scope of each. But since poetry treats of 
 subjects (and those indeed the most numerous) 
 in which persons are to be made speak and act, 
 and in which verbal descriptions of things, actions, 
 emotions, and manners are requisite, who will 
 contend that the expression of these may not be 
 the effect of imitation, morally understood ? Now 
 the effect of such imitation is to produce a moral 
 image, that is, one addressed to the mind. And if 
 this be indisputable, it is equally so that to poetry, 
 as to painting, may belong the reproduction of 
 objects either in such a way as to constitute 
 reality, or in such as would rightly be consistent 
 with an image . 
 
 One instance of this among many others, that 
 the sequel of this work will afford (see Part II. 
 Chap, iii.) is the servile reproduction, by the 
 writer, in the language he attaches to his inter- 
 locutors, of thoughts, set forms of speech, com- 
 mon phrases, or expressions of vulgar language ; 
 this surely is the repetition of reality, instead of 
 imitative resemblance. It is evident in this in- 
 stance, that the thing to be reproduced by imita- 
 tion, namely, the dialogue, is not reproduced in 
 some other thing, that is, in another dialogue 
 which becomes the image of it. It is evident that 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 there are not two distinct things, but the same 
 twice over. 
 
 This is also expressed by the word copy ; for 
 copy, copia , means only a double . In fact, the 
 whole of this analysis is little else than an expo- 
 sition of the word copy, and the idea belonging 
 to it. It would indeed have been made use of, 
 but that in a subject where ambiguity is so easily 
 attached to every word, custom had already given 
 to the word copy , some significations which would 
 confound the idea belonging to it with that of 
 imitation. 
 
 In order to establish a parallel, on the point 
 which now engages our attention, between poetry 
 and painting, after having shown how, in the first, 
 the thing imitated may fail to be an image , by 
 being only a copy or identical repetition, it will 
 suffice to cite in anticipation (see Part III. Chapter 
 vii.) the resources, which the art of poetry has at 
 command, in order to reproduce the resemblance of 
 things in some other things which become the images 
 of them . These resources are, for instance, the 
 choice of words, arrangement of sentences, ideas, 
 the employment of metre and rhyme, the expres- 
 sion of the language of the passions, metaphor, 
 allegory, and all the varieties of style which this 
 art has at its disposal, as so many means of ex- 
 changing reality for its representation, and, to 
 speak precisely, the thing itself for its image. 
 
 As we have seen, the only difference lies be- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 35 
 
 tween the nature of the thing to be imitated, and 
 that of the thing which becomes the image of it ; 
 and this difference being that which sets a bound 
 between the order of moral, and the order of phy- 
 sical things, is also that of the arts themselves. 
 
 The elementary principle of imitation may then 
 be applied to all the arts, and may be so applied 
 in the terms of our definition, so that, when treat- 
 ing of the arts comprised under the name of 
 poetry, what is termed the image, a necessary 
 condition of all imitation, will be (as has been 
 already shown) an image only to the eyes of the 
 mind, while in the arts comprised under the name 
 of painting, what is called the image, is such to 
 the eyes of the body. 
 
 1 think I have for the present (see Part II. Chap- 
 ter ii.) where the same subject is resumed) suf- 
 ficiently explained the sense in which I make use 
 of the words image, or imitative resemblance, and 
 reality, or identical similarity. But identity of 
 resemblance is to be understood, not only (the 
 words being taken in their material sense) of that 
 which, in physical objects, is obtained by means 
 of tracing, the mould, or the pattern, nor, in the 
 before mentioned instance, the dialogue, of mere 
 exact and literal repetition, but yet further (in 
 accordance with the spirit of things) of all imita- 
 tion which aims at appearing what it is not. Now 
 such is the case when the imitator endeavours to 
 carry similarity so far, as to excite an idea of the 
 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 employment of a mechanical process, or of an 
 attempt at servile copy. In this view of the mat- 
 ter, the vice of identical similarity may be com- 
 mon alike to the work of the poet and that of the 
 painter. 
 
 For instance ; we term it the manner of identi- 
 cal similarity, in a painter, who, without having 
 used either tracing, or the pantographe, would 
 nevertheless appear servilely ambitious that his 
 drawing should convey the idea of it ; or again, who 
 should employ (as did Denner, of Nuremberg) the 
 magnifying glass, to assist him in reproducing with 
 minute exactitude, in the copy of his model, the 
 hair and the pores of the skin. We term it the 
 manner of identical similarity, in a sculptor, whose 
 aim is to excite belief that his figure was moulded 
 from nature, although he may not actually have 
 put in practice the process of moulding. 
 
 We maintain the very same thing, in poetry, of 
 the different grades of partiality, evinced whether 
 towards trivial language or thoughts, or the servile 
 enumeration of details, whether towards technical 
 fidelity in the description of corporeal objects, or 
 physical properties, or whatever else it may be 
 that is beyond the sphere of its means. (See 
 Part I. Chap, ix.) 
 
 As a consequence of the foregoing observations, 
 it is evident that our definition, thus developed, 
 presents nothing, in any one of its terms, which 
 may not be applied to the work of the poet, alike 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 37 
 
 with that of the painter, since the one and the 
 other are alike capable of producing the effect and 
 giving rise to the idea of identical similarity, 
 instead of the effect and the idea of imitative re- 
 semblance, since, in short, each is capable of 
 reproducing a thing by the same thing, instead of 
 by its image. 
 
 But it will yet be urged as an objection, that the 
 idea belonging to the word image cannot, more 
 especially in the sense in which we have taken it, 
 admit of an application so rigorously parallel in 
 reference to the arts which are addressed to the 
 mind. That the kind of confusion, between the 
 object to be imitated, and the object imitating, 
 which may, in poetry, arise to the mind, cannot 
 be censured equally with that which takes place 
 in the imitation of bodies, since the fault in ques- 
 tion does not present the same degree of evidence, 
 as that of which the physical senses are the 
 judges. 
 
 To this I may reply, that the fault would be by 
 so much the more flagrant and contagious, in pro- 
 portion as it were more difficult to combat. 
 
 But what then ! are there no faults but those 
 that are detected by the physical sense ? Has not 
 the order of moral things its truths and its errors 
 capable of being demonstrated to the judgment 
 and understanding ? For instance, would not the 
 want of proportion in a production of the mind be, 
 in its way, as real an imperfection, as the want of 
 
38 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 proportion in a material work, and that merely be- 
 cause it cannot be admeasured by the compasses ? 
 But the fact that, even in corporeal imitation, the 
 physical organ or instrument frequently only con- 
 firms to the senses, the error or fault which had 
 already been perceived by the mind, is wholly lost 
 sight of. 
 
 It is the mind or the feeling of what is true that ' 
 at once denounces the deceitful illusion of the 
 graphic arts, when their respective processes are 
 mingled together in one and the same work ; and 
 when the physical organ points out the impossi- 
 bility of it, (as has been seen in the preceding 
 chapter,) it does no more than confirm the sen- 
 tence already passed by the judgment and the 
 taste. 
 
 Since then the mind is competent to condemn 
 this fault in those arts which are neither solely nor 
 directly addressed to it, why is the same judge 
 incompetent, when the question concerns errors 
 committed in its own proper jurisdiction, — in what 
 falls within its own peculiar office ? Why, in the 
 arts of poetry, should it not condemn with the 
 same correctness, that twofold employment of 
 means, that mingling in one work the properties of 
 different arts, if such a heaping together produces, 
 as regards the mind, the same kind of confusion, 
 as that of which the senses testify the reality ; if, 
 in short, resemblance by means of an image is, in 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 39 
 
 like manner, found to be destroyed by aiming at 
 identical similarity ? 
 
 Let there then be no longer any objection raised, 
 on the score of the natural difference between the 
 arts of moral, and of physical imitation. What is 
 true of the one, is true of the other, and we shall 
 presently see, that the boundaries which separate 
 each kind of imitation, as well the arts comprised 
 under the name of poetry, as the arts of cor- 
 poreal imitation, are absolutely impassable, if it 
 be true that they can only be violated by faults 
 which carry confusion into imitation, and thence 
 destroy the pleasure which it is otherwise calcu- 
 lated to afford. 
 
40 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER V- 
 
 NATURE HAS PLACED SEPARATIONS AS REAL, BETWEEN THE 
 ARTS OF POETRY, AS BETWEEN THOSE OF DESIGN. 
 
 PROOF THE FIRST; 
 
 Drawn from the diversity of the faculties of the mind and of 
 the qualities of the objects available for imitation. 
 
 The domain of imitation (as already laid down 
 Chapter iii.) is divisible into two very distinct 
 regions; the one, consisting of the arts whose 
 model is physical nature, the other, of those which 
 have moral nature for their model. The distinc- 
 tion is here reduced to its most simple expression, 
 and it is sufficient merely to point it out, without 
 adding proofs of what is self-evident. 
 
 It can, however, be scarcely expected that the 
 particular limits of each art should be perceived 
 with the same clearness as those of the two grand 
 divisions above mentioned. Moreover, the bar- 
 riers placed by nature on the confines of each of 
 the arts, are more readily distinguishable, when 
 the model is more or less material. Some of these 
 separations are so cognizant to the senses, that 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 41 
 
 confusion regarding them is, in some cases, quite 
 out of the question. Every one, for instance, 
 knows that painting has no power of making the 
 personages it represents speak to the ear, that the 
 reality of motion, which properly belongs to the 
 mimic art, is unattainable in sculpture, that the 
 images which music presents are not intended for 
 the eye. It cannot be necessary to prove such 
 things as these to be incompatible ; and, in ad- 
 ducing them, it is only as demonstrated premises 
 of a theory whose part it is by sure deductions to 
 establish the exclusive property to which each of 
 these arts is entitled. We shall hereafter have 
 occasion to speak of the mistakes and reciprocal 
 encroachments that take place respecting them. 
 
 On the other hand, when the arts which have 
 moral nature for their model, are in question, the 
 confounding them, or the trenching of one upon the 
 properties of another, does not to the generality of 
 persons appear so real a violation. Why ? — Be- 
 cause the limits, by which the modes of moral or 
 poetical imitation are separated, are not in an 
 equal degree palpable to the senses. And since 
 it belongs to the understanding, the judgment, or 
 the sentiments to determine them, it is hence evi- 
 dent how great scope is afforded, in criticism of 
 this nature, for paradoxical subtlety to elude the 
 strictness of a demonstration which cannot be 
 other than of an abstract nature. 
 
 We have, throughout, endeavoured to show, 
 
42 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 and we think we have succeeded, (see the close 
 of the preceding chapter,) that the rule of truth, 
 in cases of imitation more especially related to the 
 mind, acquires a moral evidence, equivalent in its 
 kind, to that which the senses compel us to recog- 
 nize in the imitation of physical and corporeal 
 things. 
 
 We will then proceed to show the reality of the 
 barriers existing between the arts of moral 
 imitation, or the different forms of poetry ; and 
 further, that, nature having here also established 
 limits, to transgress them, in whatever manner it 
 takes place, is to transgress the natural laws by 
 which this branch of imitation is regulated. 
 
 In order to prove the separations which nature 
 has imperatively established between the several 
 arts of the poetical domain, or of the mind, we shall 
 be contented to advert to the entire similarity 
 which theoretical analysis displays as connecting 
 these arts with those of corporeal imitation. 
 
 We have seen that among the differences on 
 which the limits that divide all the arts are 
 founded, those of the organs and faculties to 
 which the several arts are necessarily addressed, 
 and those of the qualities inherent in the objects 
 of every form of imitation, hold the first rank. 
 
 Thus the first fact from which the natural 
 separations between the arts of moral imitation 
 are deduced, is that the mind is composed of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 43 
 
 faculties as different from each other, as are the 
 organs of the body. 
 
 The second fact is, that the objects which afford 
 matter for moral imitation, are composed of 
 qualities as different from each other, as are the 
 properties of bodies, and that these qualities 
 severally correspond as exclusively to certain 
 faculties of the mind, as do the physical qualities 
 with the organs of the body. 
 
 We have cited as a primary fact, as one which 
 admits of no controversy, that the mind is com- 
 posed of different parts, which are its distinct and 
 separate organs. They are universally acknow- 
 ledged under the names of understanding, reason, 
 sentiment, imagination, &e. ; names expressive of 
 the different ideas which we conceive of those 
 faculties and their operations. They are dis- 
 tinguished in language, because their effects can- 
 not be confounded. Who is there that, in ac- 
 counting to himself for these effects, though ever 
 so superficially, does not rest convinced that to 
 perceive is not to imagine, that the act of com- 
 prehending is other than that of reasoning, that 
 the faculty of distinguishing the relations of things 
 or their impressions, does not at all resemble 
 that of memory ? — This is no part of our system ; 
 but a fact already observed, and acknowledged 
 as such, in metaphysical science. 
 
 But this fact admitted, it as certainly follows 
 
44 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 that any one of these faculties can only perform 
 one and always the same operation, which also is 
 sufficiently acknowledged to preclude the neces- 
 sity of farther insisting on it in this place. 
 
 Every one will at once remark the similarity 
 existing between those faculties which we call the 
 organs of the mind, and the physical organs, 
 which are the faculties of the body. 
 
 If the mind, like the body, has its different 
 senses or organs, readily distinguishable from one 
 another by the particular and distinct nature of 
 their operations, then the arts of the mind or the 
 modes of moral imitation and the mental organs 
 we have above recognised must of necessity be 
 severally so related in an exclusive and especial 
 manner, the one to the other. For instance, the 
 forms of composition into which poetical imitation 
 is divided, must be each singly in relation either 
 with the perceptive, the imaginative, or the rea- 
 soning part of the mind. 
 
 It may be taken for granted, that there is no 
 work emanating from the mind, in which imitation 
 is in any degree concerned, that does not, more 
 or less, directly correspond with one or other of 
 the faculties of which the mind is constituted. It 
 is sufficient to open any one of the numerous 
 treatises on literature or the art of poetry to find 
 abundant proofs of this. What is their principal 
 object, unless it be, after having analyzed and 
 classed the different forms of composition employed 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 45 
 
 in the art of poetry, to appropriate to each its own 
 particular kind of invention, composition, taste, 
 tone, measure, diction, style, according as each of 
 those forms is more or less allied to one or other 
 of the faculties of the mind. 
 
 I may also, without undue anticipation of the 
 corollaries of this theory, remark, that all critics, 
 though without deducing their precepts from the 
 elementary principles of imitation such as I have 
 elucidated them, arrive notwithstanding at the 
 same result. Guided by instinctive truth, and the 
 influence of the example and suffrage of every 
 age, they are all unanimous in condemning the 
 anomalies arising from a non-observance of appro- 
 priate forms of composition, and the improprieties 
 of character which result from it. But these 
 anomalies and improprieties are alone occasioned 
 by a want of due regard, on the part of the author, 
 to the organ he addresses himself to, or, which is 
 the same thing in its consequences, from neglect- 
 ing the imitative means specially in relation with 
 that organ. 
 
 Thus errors, about which all the world is 
 agreed, afford the most incontestible proof of the 
 existence of distinct faculties of the mind, and of 
 the separations that nature has established between 
 them. 
 
 The second fact on which reposes the evidence 
 of these separations between the faculties of the 
 mind, and, consequently, between the different 
 
46 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 arts of moral imitation, is (as we have already 
 said) that the objects about which it is employed, 
 possess qualities to the full as distinct from one 
 another as those of physical imitation, and of 
 which any intermixture is morally impossible. 
 
 The principal objects of moral imitation, namely 
 those which are least of all dependent on the 
 senses, must be the affections, the sentiments, the 
 ideas, and those immaterial relations naturally 
 attached to subjects that poetry affects. Now the 
 affinity existing between these objects and the 
 subjects that poetical imitation deals with, imposes 
 a necessity that those subjects should correspond 
 exclusively with some one or other class of ideas, 
 sentiments, passions, &c. Thus it is the neces- 
 sary co-relation of the nature of the subjects 
 treated by the poet, with the nature of the objects 
 of his imitation, viz. the ideas, sentiments and 
 passions which he has to express, that really 
 establishes the separations between the forms of 
 composition in poetry ; the separations existing be- 
 tween the objects to be imitated also considered. 
 
 There is, then, a class of sentiments, affections, 
 passions, and ideas, which, by reason of their par- 
 ticular qualities, are appropriated to some one or 
 other class of subjects, and, consequently, to some 
 one or other of the arts of poetry. 
 
 Let us now quit for a while this region of ab- 
 straction, in order to illustrate this position by an 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 47 
 
 example. That branch of poetical imitation de^ 
 nominated tragedy has for its principal object, the 
 expression of the two emotions designated by the 
 names terror and pity . The subjects of which the 
 tragic drama treats must therefore of necessity 
 correspond with this class of emotions, and these 
 subjects will consequently possess qualities neces- 
 sarily as distinct, as are physical qualities from 
 each other. We may easily be convinced of this, 
 by comparing the object of tragic, with that of 
 comic, imitation, which latter consists in the ex- 
 pression of the two emotions mirth and malice , pro- 
 duced by ridicule and satire. The qualities proper 
 to the object and subjects of this kind of art are 
 evidently devoid of all connexion with those be 
 longing to the object and the subjects of tragedy. 
 
 Such being the case, neither the one nor the 
 other of those two arts can appropriate what na- 
 ture has not assigned it, and we shall find that in 
 reality no art whatever can do so, without thereby 
 renouncing its very existence. 
 
 If there be a certain order of sentiments or pas- 
 sions proper to every kind of art of the mind, as 
 there is of physical properties corresponding se- 
 parately each to each kind of art of the senses, 
 the existence of the same separations in the order 
 of ideas constituting moral imitation cannot be 
 disputed. That is, that to those ideas are at- 
 tached qualities differing from or contrary to each 
 
48 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 other, whose difference constitutes the elementary 
 principle of division between the forms of com- 
 position, or arts, of poetry. 
 
 Thus lyric poety is distinguished from all other 
 by its loftiness, and pastoral, by its simplicity, 
 qualities inherent in the subjects they have to do 
 with. Thus too, epic poetry can neither lend to, 
 nor borrow from, another form of composition, 
 the heroic and the marvellous which constitutes 
 its peculiar character. 
 
 In whatever way that which constitutes the 
 general model of moral imitation, or of the arts 
 of poetry be analyzed, it will always present a 
 diversity of aspects, similar to that of physical 
 imitation ; it will be seen that no art can include 
 more than one of them, because they are each, 
 by the laws of nature, limited to one alone; hence 
 the conviction will follow, that those laws are 
 founded on the elementary separations of the 
 faculties of the mind, to which every art is bound 
 to address itself separately, and on the qualities 
 of the objects of imitation, which cannot be com- 
 bined in one and the same image. In fact, as we 
 shall hereafter see, the very unity of the mind in- 
 capacitates it from receiving two simultaneous 
 impressions from two imitations at once, that is, 
 at one and the same instant, and from one and the 
 same art, in one and the same work. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 49 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 PROOF THE SECOND; 
 
 Drawn from the principle of unity in the mind , and from the 
 unity of its action, from which results the principle of imi- 
 tative unity, and from this again the separations established 
 between all the arts. 
 
 The erroneous idea too frequently entertained 
 concerning imitation in the fine arts, the kind, 
 and still more the degree, of resemblance, which 
 it belongs to each of those arts to produce, leads 
 the majority of persons to believe, that the more 
 numerous are the sorts of resemblance comprised 
 by a single art, the more lively will be the plea- 
 sure derived from its works. Hence the tendency 
 on all hands to seek to advance the arts beyond 
 the bounds of their own particular domain, and, 
 encroaching on the legitimate province of the 
 neighbouring art, to appropriate more or less some 
 part of the imitative resemblance which by nature 
 is denied them. 
 
50 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 It maybe readily perceived, that there are certain 
 arts, which, either because they have to deal with 
 a part of the common model bordering closely 
 on that of another, or that they employ like in- 
 struments, or are in relation with the same organ, 
 or address themselves, and this is more especially 
 the case in the moral world, to some faculties of 
 the mind which approximate through their mutual 
 analogy, it may, I say, be readily perceived, that 
 such arts will, in a more or less direct manner, 
 endeavour to encroach on the territory of others. 
 
 I have already remarked that the evidence that 
 gross violations of this kind carry with them, ren- 
 ders them less dangerous (see the preceding 
 chapter) nor is it against such as are there alluded 
 to, which indeed convict themselves, that I here 
 purpose to hold out a warning. 
 
 There are certain caricatures of imitation, the 
 vulgar apings of living nature, which, whether 
 produced by means of colour, relief, or motion, are 
 beyond the pale of our theory. The encroach- 
 ments I would speak of are less open to detection. 
 For instance, though sculpture cannot steal from 
 painting the natural colour of objects, it does, 
 nevertheless, too frequently pretend to dispute 
 with it, those kinds of subjects which owe their 
 true value to the effect of colouring and aerial 
 perspective, and the art of the sculptor has been 
 seen to attempt in stone, the production of skies, 
 distances, and landscapes. In like manner the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 51 
 
 painter will be found treating subjects that narra- 
 tive alone can give a value to or render intelligi- 
 ble ; and the dramatic poet making excursions 
 into the territory of the historian or the epic poet, 
 &c., &c. 
 
 Thus each believes that by heightening the de- 
 gree of resemblance proper to his own particular 
 art, he is augmenting the pleasure it is fitted to 
 afford, and by re-uniting what nature has separated 
 (that is, imitative qualities corresponding to distinct 
 organs, and to dissimilar faculties) he is providing 
 an additional enjoyment for the mind. 
 
 The mind, by its refusal to acknowledge the 
 pleasure of this twofold employment of imitation, 
 together with the moral impossibility of our re- 
 ceiving two impressions at the same time, affords 
 further proof of the reality of those separations, 
 and of the necessity for paying attention to them, 
 and they also fully demonstrate the pernicious 
 tendency of heaping together the distinct means 
 of imitation, or of any other mode of bringing 
 about an entire resemblance in the imitation of 
 the fine arts. 
 
 I have already said that moral impossibility is 
 the only one, about which, in the arts of imitation 
 addressed to the mind, there can be any question. 
 
 I now go a step farther. Although I have shown, 
 that certain intermixtures, in those arts, the imh- 
 tation proper to which is addressed to the senses, 
 are physically impossible, yet as the impressions 
 
 e 2 
 
52 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 produced by those arts having always the physi- 
 cal organ as an intermediate channel, nevertheless 
 finally appeal to the internal sense, it is perfectly 
 just to say that every discussion on these matters 
 must terminate before the tribunal of reason, sen- 
 timent, and taste. 
 
 Let it then be borne in mind, when, throughout 
 the development of this our theory, a thing is said 
 to be impossible, it is not so meant with reference 
 to the absolute fact. Experience but too truly 
 teaches us that every blunder, every error is possi- 
 ble. What we declare to be impossible is, the 
 imitative effect the desire of which is the induce- 
 ment to the committal of such like errors ; and 
 the augmentation of resemblance and pleasure 
 which is sought and believed to be found, where 
 in truth it does not exist, and by mixtures which 
 are inadequate to achieve it. 
 
 We would here be understood to call every 
 means impossible in its result, or in other words, 
 impossible of success, that departs from the circle 
 of true imitation, such as it has been defined, 
 every thing which may tend to outrage reason and 
 taste, and every combination of the arts, brought 
 about only by contravening the laws of their 
 nature. Thus it is not the fact of the error that 
 is termed impossible, or, where the word is made 
 use of, it is in the same sense, as when a false 
 concord in music is said to be impossible, although 
 nothing can be more possible than a discord. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 53 
 
 In these matters every thing must then be re- 
 ferred to the internal sense. 
 
 Whatever be the art in question, whatever the 
 means, whatever the process it employs, and to 
 whichever of the corporeal organs it is addressed, 
 its effect, as we have said, always appeals to the 
 mind in the end, and from it receives its final 
 judgment. We may, in this sense, assert, that it 
 is not the eye that sees, nor the ear that hears . 
 for those organs are but ministers appointed to 
 convey the impressions produced on them by the 
 arts, to one or other of the faculties of the mind, 
 the common and only centre. 
 
 The unity of the mind is one of those truths 
 whose demonstration we readily find within our- 
 selves. It is every instant revealed to us by the 
 unity of its action, and the very relations of our 
 senses with that action furnish us proofs without 
 end. Every one of our senses tells us that it 
 cannot receive simultaneous impressions from 
 several objects at once. In fact, no two senses 
 can be actively employed at the same time, nor 
 can any single one be strongly affected, at the very 
 same instant, by several or even by only two sen- 
 sations. I say actively , because in truth, all our 
 senses are endowed with an active and a passive 
 virtue, and it is by the effect of this double quality 
 that we are enabled to see, at one and the same 
 time, two objects distant from each other. There 
 is, however, in such case, a great difference be- 
 
54 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 tween the manner in which each is viewed. One 
 only is seen intuitively ; I can attentively regard 
 only one at a time. I may hear several sounds 
 together ; but can listen only to one. There is a 
 like difference between smelling and scenting, 
 between touching and feeling. 
 
 We shall again advert to this topic, (see Chap, 
 viii.), when we come to treat of the degree to 
 which, in certain instances, the combination of 
 different arts may be permitted. 
 
 The manner in which associations of this kind 
 take place, as well as the circumstances attendant 
 on the mind’s enjoyment of them, will serve only 
 the better to prove this truth: viz., that, as the 
 mind enjoys the work of imitation only by form- 
 ing a judgment respecting it, as it cannot judge 
 without an active participation, and as it can per- 
 form but one action at the same time, so it can 
 only be affected by a single image, that is, by the 
 effect of a single mode of imitation or of a single 
 art at the same time. 
 
 This arises from the very constitution of the 
 mind, that one concentric point, where only all 
 sensations meet, and its unity debars it from 
 experiencing two at once in an equal degree. 
 
 The action of the mind frequently gives rise to 
 illusion ; and the rapidity of that action is the 
 cause of its movements not being distinctly com- 
 prehended. The mind glances rapidly over the 
 objects presented to it, and passes with so much 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 55 
 
 celerity from one sensation to another, that its 
 operations appear simultaneous, while in fact they 
 are, notwithstanding, successive. Thus it appears 
 to apprehend by one and the same intuitive act 
 both the form of a body, and the colour with 
 which that form is invested ; but it can only en- 
 joy, one after the other, the impressions produced 
 by the form and the colour. 
 
 It is one thing for the mind to receive im- 
 pressions, and another to make them its own. 
 Perception may be rapid, but it requires atten- 
 tion to profit by it. It is also worthy of re- 
 mark, that this rapid transition, of which the 
 mind is capable, seldom takes place but with re- 
 gard to objects that are indifferent to it, trivial 
 ideas, or feeble sensations. This will, hereafter, 
 (see Chapter viii.) serve to explain the pecu- 
 liarities of those works which are produced by an 
 intermingling of the means common to several of 
 the arts. 
 
 But, as the end proposed in the outset of this 
 chapter, was to establish, by additional evidence, 
 the reality of the distinctions or separations placed 
 by nature between the several fine arts, we cannot 
 better fulfil that end than by proceeding to show 
 how it happens, that the mind, to please which is 
 their common object, cannot enjoy two effects at 
 once, nor, consequently, the impressions pro- 
 duced by a two-fold or multifarious imitation. 
 
 Now that such is really the case has been found 
 
56 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 by the least attentive observation on the habitual 
 action of the mind ; and in it we discover the in- 
 controvertible principle of the unity of every art. 
 Since the end of every art is to afford pleasure to 
 the mind, then, if it be true that the mind cannot 
 entertain two pleasures at once, it is evident that 
 neither can two arts procure equally, and both at 
 once, the pleasure to be derived from the- imitation 
 proper to one alone. It is clear that each must 
 be presented separately to the mind, that is, to a 
 part of it corresponding with a single mode of 
 imitation, that is, through the intervention of a 
 single organ, that is, by means of a single agent. 
 
 I again call attention to the difference between 
 a durable and a fugitive impression, for it is a 
 point on which misconception is very likely to 
 arise. It is not indeed impossible to catch, in 
 conversation, a few words from two persons 
 speaking together; but no one can follow out 
 two speeches delivered at the same time. It is 
 merely from the manner of expressing it, that 
 Caesar is said to have dictated two letters at once. 
 The absolute fact is physically impossible. He 
 had only the power of passing readily from one 
 subject to another while dictating to two amanu- 
 enses. And it may be further remarked, that 
 although he might do this by two letters of busi- 
 ness, he could not have done the same thing in 
 composing speeches to be delivered by two coun- 
 sellors before the senate. 
 
OP IMITATION. 
 
 57 
 
 Whatever goes to prove the unity of the action 
 of the mind, and the impossibility of its being so 
 divided, as to pay attention to two concurrent 
 sensations, equally tends to establish the law of 
 unity in imitation, whether considered generally, 
 as regards the respective properties of the several 
 arts, or the elements of which the work of an 
 individual art is composed. Every one will allow 
 that unity is violated wherever the work of a 
 single art presents more than one subject in a 
 composition, one interest in an action, one cha- 
 racter in a personage, one (principal) event in a 
 poem, one historical trait in a picture, one point of 
 sight in a view or perspective drawing, &c. &c. 
 Under such circumstances, the mind would re- 
 ceive only disjunctive and incongruous im- 
 pressions ; it would pass more or less rapidly 
 from one to another, but would experience neither 
 an entire impression, nor a complete sensation. 
 Not being actively affected, it would either not 
 enjoy at all, or that enjoyment would be but 
 feeble. 
 
 What, if any one in attempting this double em- 
 ployment of two arts, should endeavour to pro- 
 duce his effect, in a single composition, by an 
 absurd combination of two kinds of imitation, 
 presenting not only two themes, but those clothed 
 in two different languages ? — It will readily be 
 conceded that this could in no wise tend to di- 
 minish embarrassment and confusion. 
 
58 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 I am well aware, that, even though reason be 
 constrained to yield to these manifold proofs, 
 there is yet a lurking prejudice that will operate 
 against them. This prejudice is the offspring of 
 ignorance, prone always to require from works of 
 imitation, that they should be precisely what 
 those of nature appear. Although the foregoing 
 analysis has proved that we cannot unite in a sin- 
 gle act of vision, perception, and comprehension, 
 the different properties united by nature in a sin- 
 gle creature, and in a single subject, yet as the 
 rapidity with which the senses and the mind 
 operate, seems to render it easy to form a whole 
 from such diversities of impression, art is required 
 to furnish us with a similar aggregate. Thus it 
 is expected to bring together in one and the same 
 being, in a single image, motion, outline of form, 
 and colour which speaks to the eye as the sound 
 of the voice does to the ear : for all this does 
 nature present to us in a single personage. 
 
 But it has already been observed that the error 
 consists in applying the universal to what is only 
 partial. In speaking of nature, we speak of an 
 universal model ; while in speaking of art, we 
 notify only a partial image. In the theory of imi- 
 tation what is termed a general law is that which 
 results from the will of nature. She has not willed 
 that the same art should unite two specific pro- 
 perties, two characteristic qualities of the same 
 being; nor that two of those properties should be 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 59 
 
 identified in one and the same image, without 
 mutually destroying each other ; nor yet that two 
 of our senses should be called into action together, 
 & c. &c. It is then nature herself that has de- 
 termined the separations between the several fine 
 arts. 
 
 Nature therefore can only be imitated, by con- 
 forming to laws which she herself has imposed on 
 imitation. Instead of imitating it would scarcely 
 even be counterfeiting nature, to seek to unite in 
 one object the different kinds of resemblance 
 which she has immutably apportioned among all 
 the arts, to each its particular share. Every art 
 is therefore, both morally and physically, re- 
 stricted to unity of object in its imitation, and 
 unity of subject in its works. (See the subsequent 
 Chapter.) 
 
 To nature alone it belongs to be at once singular 
 and diversified, simple and complex, to unite in 
 a single being dissimilar qualities, in a single ac- 
 tion divergent incidents, in a single personage 
 contradictory characters, to mingle in one homo- 
 geneous whole, opposites of every description. 
 But there is a power in nature to obviate all dis- 
 cordancies; to shed harmony over every contrast; 
 her palette has no antagonist colours ; and we may 
 also remark, that the objects she mingles together 
 lose nothing of their entireness. With her every 
 whole has parts, but yet every part is a whole. 
 What she associates together is interwoven with- 
 
60 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 out being mixed, is fused without being confused ; 
 while art, if it endeavour to vie with the univer- 
 sality of nature, creates a medley of disjointed 
 parts, mutilating all it combines, neutralizing 
 whatever it mingles, and reducing the effect it 
 would attain to a mass of confusion, by an as- 
 semblage of properties and qualities opposed to 
 each other in their elements. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 (J1 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF UNITY AND VARIETY IN IMITATION. — OF THE FALSE NO- 
 TIONS ARISING FROM A MISCONCEPTION OF THOSE WORDS. 
 
 A necessary consequence of the unity of the 
 mind, and the unity of its action, is the principle of 
 the different laws of unity, the observance of which, 
 imposed by nature on every imitative mode, and 
 on every work of imitation, is a condition of their 
 existence as such, and of their means of affording 
 pleasure. 
 
 But this unity of the mind, when considered 
 (see the preceding Chapter) in the effects which 
 disclose it to us, and the unity of its action, when 
 studied in the impressions we receive from objects, 
 does not admit of being, and must not be, ap- 
 plied in so strict a sense as that we attach, for in- 
 stance, to a mathematical point, or numerical 
 unity. 
 
 It has been already observed, that the facility 
 with which the mind can pass from one object to 
 another, seems to us to endow it with a power of 
 
02 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 giving to what is 'plural , the force and effect of 
 unity ; which is as much as to say that it trans- 
 forms into a whole, parts remote or distinct from 
 one another. But a limit is set to this faculty in 
 the comparative distance or difference of objects ; 
 and it is for reason and taste to define that limit, 
 since it is by the abuse of one or other of them, 
 that those errors are committed, which it is our 
 present purpose to correct. 
 
 If reason is so far abused as to restrict the idea 
 of unity in imitation, by reducing it as nearly as 
 possible to that of unity, mathematically under- 
 stood, every art and every work of art will be- 
 come so devoid, of means, and so uniform in 
 effect, that scarcely any scope will be left to 
 the mind, and its action will be rendered next to 
 useless. 
 
 If, allowing an excessive freedom to taste, the 
 idea of unity, morally considered, be too far 
 generalized, and the power of that faculty which 
 the mind possesses of bringing near together and 
 combining objects, be over estimated, every art 
 will be compelled to abandon its unity, and be- 
 come multiple, and every work will necessarily 
 present to us, not well arranged images, but com- 
 plications of images, which, instead of forming a 
 whole, will consist of several incoherent wholes, 
 and the mind with its utmost attention will be 
 unable to grasp them. 
 
 The first of these two errors consists in con- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 63 
 
 founding unity with uniformity ; the second, in 
 taking universality for unity . 
 
 Uniformity far from being the same as unity, is, 
 on the contrary, with reference to art and imita- 
 tion, its very antagonist principle. The mind 
 requires unity, because it requires that what- 
 ever is presented for it to view or comprehend, 
 be, above all, clear and distinct, and because 
 confusion is a source of toil. It is the sim- 
 plicity attendant on unity that renders the act 
 of viewing, comparing, and judging comparatively 
 easy. But are we therefore to infer that the mind 
 requires from painting, nothing more than figures 
 arranged in a straight line ; from architecture than 
 a facade without division and without details ; from 
 the art of speaking than a discourse without al- 
 ternations ; from that of singing than unisonant 
 concords ; from the poet than a drama without ac- 
 tion, recitals without fiction, compositions without 
 episodes? Assuredly not. On the contrary, it 
 calls in variety to the aid of unity. Variety acts 
 as a stimulant to excite and keep alive the appetite. 
 
 The very clear and simple notion of the two 
 opposites of unity and universality will readily en- 
 able us to understand how little synonymous they 
 are. As 'plurality is the opposite of unity , so, as 
 we have already said in the preceding chapter, 
 the opposite of the universal is the partial . It 
 would therefore evince a total neglect, in theory, 
 of the imitative unity belonging to every art, to 
 
64 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 transfer the notion of art in general to that of a 
 single art in particular, or to attribute to its indi- 
 vidual properties the collective power of those 
 that would belong to universal imitation, could 
 such a thing exist. It would evince an equal 
 neglect of imitative unity, in practice, to endea- 
 vour to substitute for the unity of the partial 
 image, which gives only one of the aspects of the 
 object imitated, the universality of the model, that 
 is, in all its points of view; and to aim at crowding 
 together in one work of art, by borrowing and 
 filching from the properties of the rest, those 
 qualities which nature, as we have seen, has 
 divided and parcelled out among them all. 
 
 I should also be departing from the unity of my 
 subject, did I follow out these few notions, in all 
 the universality they would well require. In ad- 
 verting to the two principal errors to which the 
 notion of imitative unity is liable, I have merely 
 endeavoured to shed some little light on a point, 
 which the ambiguity of language has served to 
 render still more obscure, and at the same time to 
 explain clearly the sense in which I have here 
 made use of the words imitative unity . 
 
 Now that sense is here rather that which be- 
 longs to the general idea of imitation, than to its 
 particular acceptation, to the imitative system and 
 not to the work of the imitator ; in short, to the 
 art rather than to its work. Not that I have for- 
 gotten the particular kind of unity belonging to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 65 
 
 the work, and to which the artist is subjected in 
 the composition and execution of his subjects, in 
 order to render them clear, intelligible, and har- 
 monious, to the eye and the mind. 
 
 But the law of this kind of unity is secondary, 
 and is found to be necessarily comprised in the 
 more general principle of imitative unity , belonging 
 to art in the abstract, which principle imposes an 
 obligation on every art to employ exclusively in 
 the execution of its works, such imitative means 
 as lie within its own proper sphere and preroga- 
 tive. 
 
 The principle of imitative unity it is, that re- 
 quires that each of the fine arts, and, in the same 
 art, as poetry, each of the forms of composition, 
 distinguished by name only, but separated from 
 each other by nature, should be restricted from 
 calling to its aid, in its own proper work, any 
 other art, or form of composition in art, in order 
 to add other and foreign resources to its own 
 proper ones, — to increase the share of the uni- 
 versal model that belongs to it for imitation. 
 
 With a view to render the application of this 
 principle of imitative unity still clearer, it will be 
 well to exemplify it by a few instances drawn 
 from the technical or material labours of some of 
 the arts. By it, the sculptor is interdicted from 
 aiming at the effect of distances or perspective 
 drawing in his basso relievo ; the personages in 
 pantomime from speaking otherwise than by ges- 
 
 F 
 
OF THE NATURE 
 
 m 
 
 tures; the painter from treating more than one 
 subject in a picture. It seems to me needless to 
 enter into any lengthened disquisition to prove 
 that the consequences of the same principle apply 
 equally, in every art, to its most important, its 
 moral part, which comprehends whatever is, in 
 any of them, dependent on invention, taste in com- 
 position, choice of subjects, and all the properties 
 inherent to their nature. 
 
 I can easily conceive that numerous innovators 
 will exclaim against this restrictive system of 
 imitation, and urge in opposition the want of that 
 pleasure which arises from variety, that also being, 
 as heretofore remarked, one of the wants of the 
 mind not to be disregarded in imitation, and which 
 assuredly it must be the artist's care to satisfy. 
 
 The same confusion of ideas is prevalent with 
 regard to the notion of variety, as that of unity ; 
 which is natural enough, seeing that the notion of 
 the one is dependent on that of the other. Thus 
 nothing is so common as to see continually re- 
 newed efforts to attain imitative variety, not by 
 legitimate means and within the circle of a single 
 art, but by mixing together the heterogeneous 
 elements of many, as though genius were too 
 much straitened when confined within the limits 
 of one department of imitation, and circumscribed 
 within a horizon too narrow to furnish sufficient 
 means of variety, as if those means were or could 
 be exhausted. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 67 
 
 Yet is not the field of nature, alike infinite in 
 each of its parts, as in its whole, laid open to us ? 
 Is there any one province of any one art that does 
 not correspond to some one of the parts or divi- 
 sions of nature ? If such be the case, is there a 
 single art that fails in finding the infinite within 
 the space allotted to it, and in which, consequently, 
 the artist has not at command innumerable means 
 of variety for his work ? For instance, has a limit 
 ever been assigned to the imitative variety of ef- 
 fects which the single art of painting can pro- 
 duce, by no other means than those of four 
 colours, and without seeking beyond the subjects 
 placed by nature at its disposal. 
 
 As each of the fine arts has its imitative unity, 
 so each must have its corresponding imitative 
 variety ; but there can be no correspondence un- 
 less its means are restricted within the same circle 
 of unity in art. 
 
 It is very evident that they who would substi- 
 tute universality of imitation in lieu of imitative 
 unity, are also desirous of exchanging imitative 
 variety for diversity of imitation. The spirit of 
 paradox, in subjects like the present, readily finds 
 assistance, or takes refuge in those twofold mean- 
 ings which the words of a language acquire in 
 general usage, more especially such as admit only 
 of a relative acceptation. Of this kind is the 
 word variety, which sometimes through ignorance, 
 sometimes from want of reflection, but more fre- 
 
 f 2 
 
68 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 quently from a spirit of system, is employed as 
 synonymous with other words expressive either of 
 a different idea, or the same idea, though in a very 
 different degree and under different relations. 
 
 It is however through a wilful perversion of 
 terms, that medley , confusion and divergence , have 
 ever come to be considered as variety, because, 
 truly enough, there is variety in productions where 
 incongruity and confusion are discoverable. But 
 were those words in any wise synonymous, it must 
 follow that, as in confusion there is variety, so 
 in variety there must be confusion. The error be- 
 trays itself ; and thus sufficiently establishes the 
 distinction between the two ideas. 
 
 Will any one be bold enough to maintain that 
 there is nothing more than variety, for instance, 
 in those fantastical combinations of different na- 
 tural objects, by which the imagination is some- 
 times pleased to create monsters? There would 
 doubtless be a variety of species of animals in a 
 picture representing to us separately the creatures 
 which Horace, in his illustration of extravagance, 
 has thought fit to join together. But if in a 
 painting these several species were found jumbled 
 together, and forming one monstrous and ridicu- 
 lous being, would it be variety, would it not ra- 
 ther be considered a masterpiece of incongruities 
 and absurdities? Humano capiti cervicem pictor 
 equina m 9 8$c . 
 
 Here then is a twofold example ; first, of imi- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 69 
 
 tative and legitimate variety allowing of none 
 other than natural alliances ; and secondly, of cor- 
 rupt and factitious variety occasioned by a pro- 
 miscuous and unnatural mingling of heterogeneous 
 beings, productive only of monstrosities. 
 
 Thus may the artist find an inexhaustible source 
 of variety in the elements of his own art, those 
 only being his proper instruments. But what he 
 seeks to attain by an allayment of the different 
 natures of two or more arts, is not variety. I say 
 allayment , because that word is directly expressive 
 of an idea very distinct from that of union. Allay- 
 ment tends to form but one substance out of 
 many ; while union leaves each material distinct. 
 
 Now, as we shall presently see, it is no infringe- 
 ment on the principle of imitative unity and 
 variety, when different arts concur in a composi- 
 tion which may be the conjoint work of several, 
 but only when they mingle together and surrep- 
 titiously intervene in what ought to be the work 
 of a single art. 
 
70 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONCERNING THE NATURE AND SPIRIT OF THE UNIONS FORMED 
 OF SEVERAL ARTS WHEN THEY ARE COLLECTIVELY EMPLOYED 
 ABOUT A WORK IN COMMON. 
 
 We have already had occasion to maintain, (see 
 Chap, vi.), that the mind cannot be susceptible 
 of two impressions at once, that where several are 
 received they must be received in succession, and 
 that the impressions are slighter in proportion as 
 that succession is more rapid. 
 
 In order to arrive at this conviction, let us 
 examine more narrowly into what takes place in 
 the operation of the senses. 
 
 It cannot have escaped the observation of any 
 one that as the number of objects in propinquity 
 to the eye is greater, it becomes less capable of 
 including many of them within its range. At a 
 farther distance, not only will the eye discern a 
 greater number of them at once, but will be even 
 able to regard several fixedly and together. Why 
 is this ? because, through the effect of distance, 
 the objects lose more or less of their apparent 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 71 
 
 individuality, and are formed into unions or groups. 
 But the appearance of the object becoming then 
 less defined, the impression made upon the organ 
 is proportionably diminished. Such is precisely 
 the case with simultaneous impressions, that is to 
 say, with those that succeed each other rapidly. 
 Thus a group of trees is seen in the distance of a 
 landscape but as one tree ; were they nearer, 
 their component parts could only be viewed one 
 after the other. 
 
 I must remark, before proceeding farther, that 
 this in no wise invalidates the principle of unity 
 of impressions, so necessary to the miud’s enjoy- 
 ment, since it is evident that several objects never 
 produce a, so called, collective impression, except 
 when they approach as nearly as possible to unity. 
 
 Toward this kind of unity, to form a whole of 
 this nature, it is, that the unions of arts, concern- 
 ing which I would now speak, tend, when em- 
 ployed about a work in common. Therein does 
 both their peculiarity and their merit consist. It 
 is a condition of the pleasure they procure, and 
 without which, either they would fail to affect the 
 mind or would occasion only an irksome and dis- 
 agreeable sentiment. 
 
 There is a very sensible difference between what 
 is called a union of arts, in order to produce a 
 work formed from several works, and what I call 
 a mixture of the elements of several arts, in a 
 work proper to one only. 
 
72 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 In a union, every art remains itself and its por- 
 tion of labour is distinct. In a mixture of different 
 arts, or forms of composition in the same art, each 
 one is neutralized by the rest, and its share of 
 work decomposed. In a union the mind can enjoy 
 the labour of each art one after the other, by 
 means of a more or less rapid transition, and can 
 combine in one whole, what it has viewed sepa- 
 rately. In a mixture, every part and the whole 
 alike escape it. 
 
 When painting, sculpture and architecture con- 
 cur in the embellishment of a gallery, that embel- 
 lishment as a whole is a work in common to them 
 all, and the effect of unity resulting from it, is the 
 cause of the general pleasure that the eye expe- 
 riences, notwithstanding that it cannot rest at the 
 same time on a basso relievo and a picture. 
 
 When the means afforded by music, dramatic 
 action, and vocal expression, are concurrently 
 employed on the stage, in a common representa- 
 tion, one impression is, in like manner, produced 
 by the agreement of those means, and another 
 results from each of them separately. The mind, 
 if it so will, enjoys each art separately, and all 
 simultaneously on one point, and that point is 
 the common link, the general harmony of the 
 whole. 
 
 It is evident that there are, in these unions of 
 arts thus brought together to co-operate to a work 
 in common, two kinds of unity : the one that of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 73 
 
 the individual and partial object, considered in its 
 isolated state ; the other, that of the objects viewed 
 together, which latter is the collective unity, by 
 the effect of which the several constituent parts 
 are assembled together and compose but one 
 whole. But this kind of effect and the pleasure 
 derived from it, arise from the circumstance that 
 the works of those arts, being many, are formed 
 into one, and not on account of the diversity of 
 the combined arts, but because their diversity is 
 merged into unity. 
 
 It is then wholly out of the question that, 
 when different arts are associated for a common 
 purpose, and in the production of a collective 
 work, any single one should be intermingled with 
 several others, or that forms of composition dis- 
 tinguished by qualities mutually incompatible, 
 should be identified one with the other, since, on 
 the contrary, each is bound to continue what it 
 really is. 
 
 It is equally erroneous to suppose that, either 
 the particular effect of any art, or the pleasure the 
 mind expects from it, can be augmented by such 
 contiguity, or that such an alliance can add to its 
 own proper capabilities. 
 
 Far from arriving at the conclusion that the 
 pleasure caused by the conjunction of several arts 
 in a common work, arises from any additional 
 imitative capacity they acquire from the com- 
 binations already pointed out, enabling them to 
 
74 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 attain that totality of resemblance denied them by 
 nature, we must, on the contrary, infer conse- 
 quences the very opposite. 
 
 It must indeed be remarked that, in such asso- 
 ciations, every art, though without losing the in- 
 dividual character that separates it from another, 
 nevertheless most frequently loses a portion of its 
 special value and effect. Employed in combin- 
 ation with other arts, it holds only a subordinate 
 station, and is subjected to the laws of a harmony 
 only partly related to its individual interest, and 
 this general regulator neither allows it to do all it 
 is capable of, nor to be all it might. Hence it 
 happens that, in all unions of arts, as in those of 
 instruments in a symphony, each one co-operates 
 only by a part of its capabilities. In like manner 
 it is a condition imposed, .in every society, on all 
 who contribute their contingent, that they shall 
 be entitled only to a certain share of the resulting 
 advantages. 
 
 It is then by no means true that every art, as is 
 believed, gains by being associated with others, 
 nor that the portion of imitative resemblance 
 allotted to it, is augmented, much less rendered 
 more complete. Far from such being the case, it 
 is constrained to lose more or less of its own 
 proper worth. But this loss, which really takes 
 place with respect to every associated art, is com- 
 pensated as regards the spectator or auditor by 
 another kind of worth, arising from the pleasure 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 75 
 
 the collective whole or the general harmony 
 affords. 
 
 A striking example of this is afforded us in the 
 alliance of music and poetry on the stage. There 
 is a considerable degree of affinity between these 
 two arts, whether owing to the nature of the 
 organs and faculties to which they are addressed, 
 or to a certain similarity in the intellectual means 
 of their imitation. Notwithstanding these points 
 of coincidence, however, it has always been impos- 
 sible either to melt the two into one, to effect an 
 equal participation, or to enrich the one at the ex- 
 pense of the other. The one has always been 
 found to lose, without the other being enhanced.* 
 
 Many persons have expressed astonishment 
 that the master-pieces of ancient and modern lyric 
 poetry have not excited the enthusiasm of our 
 musicians. They complain that our ablest com- 
 posers have not wedded their skilful notes, to the 
 skilful conceptions of our dramatic poets. They 
 regret, in short, that the most beautiful verses are 
 not allied to the most beautiful airs. That asto- 
 nishment, and that regret, are but the natural 
 effect of the too common mistake regarding the 
 nature of imitation in general, and that of the imi- 
 tative allotment proper to each art. 
 
 * The reader who would try this theory by the test of con- 
 flicting opinion may turn to Chapter vi. of the Second of Janies 
 Harris’s Three Treatises. — Tr. 
 
76 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 But that which prevents the master-pieces of 
 poetry from becoming likewise those of music is, 
 that they are already complete in their kind ; that 
 they possess already all the fulness of imitative 
 force, that is, all that is requisite to render the 
 image such as to seem wanting in nothing, that no 
 further addition appear possible. A musical com- 
 poser, were he to adopt those master-pieces as the 
 themes of his invention, would himself experience 
 the difficulty of doubling, if one may use the ex- 
 pression, the finished images of the poet, by others 
 equivalent to them in force or beauty, and would 
 find himself conquered beforehand, without the 
 opportunity to contend. His own charm would 
 melt away before the virtue of another. 
 
 Suppose for a moment that we grant such an 
 union in one and the same subject, and to an 
 equal degree in a simultaneous execution of one of 
 the most beautiful passages from poetry and music 
 respectively, and admit, what is even less proba- 
 ble, that the mind can allow of it, that is, can take 
 an active part in the experiment. The conse- 
 quence would be that, as, owing to the close 
 affinity between the executive means of these two 
 arts, (supposing them thus combined,) there would 
 not be a sufficiently sensible and real succession 
 of impressions, the mind, instead of a twofold 
 pleasure, would experience a twofold disquietude, 
 from the conflicting demands of the two arts on its 
 attention ; and, obliged unceasingly to divide itself 
 
OP IMITATION. 
 
 77 
 
 between both, would receive only interrupted 
 effects, mutually annulling one another. 
 
 The examples of the past prove equally with 
 modern facts how absolutely necessary it is that 
 one of the two arts yield precedence to the other. 
 Music in the ancient dramas was a mere accom- 
 paniment. Now-a-days, the drama is become 
 an accessory to music. Indeed, in proportion as 
 music gains strength, it requires more feeble verse, 
 and the greater its own riches, the less does it 
 need those of poetry. 
 
 “ To guard a title that was rich before, 
 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
 Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.” 
 
 But it will be said that we take pleasure in 
 scenes and performances, where some sing, while 
 others at the same time dance. In the first place, 
 two different organs are here concerned. More- 
 over, the personages addressing them constitute 
 merely what is termed the chorus. There is then 
 nothing to employ the mind actively, there are but 
 half impressions, with the instrumental part as an 
 intermediate and connecting link. But do we 
 ever find that the finest singer and the ablest 
 dancer sing and dance together at the same time ? 
 
78 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 When we are all ear, can we likewise be all eye ? 
 Surely there is no one but must have experienced 
 how contradictory and inopportune is a grand 
 burst of decorative and scenic effect, allied with 
 music, in which case the excess of pageantry and 
 display tends to distract the attention from the 
 progress of the singing. The mind is anxious, 
 though unable, to divide its attention between im- 
 pressions made at the same time on two different 
 organs; hence the impropriety. 
 
 The principle of the unity of the mind has 
 proved to us the necessity of unity of imitation, 
 and the unity of the effect of imitation would, 
 were it necessary, prove the unity of the mind. 
 
 The consequence of all this is, that, when 
 several arts are united together in a common work, 
 either they must be so presented to the mind as 
 to give rise to distinct images, and successive im- 
 pressions, or, in their association, the one must be 
 so left in the background as to allow to the other 
 its full force, or the effects of each must be so 
 softened down as that, like the impressions of dis- 
 tant objects, whose individual forms (as before 
 remarked,) are attended by the intervention of the 
 atmosphere, they may seem to melt into one 
 another. For, as experience teaches, the facility 
 which the mind possesses of passing rapidly from 
 one image to another, from the impression of one 
 object to that of another, a facility on which is 
 founded the system of unions in art, renders it 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 79 
 
 imperative that no one of the objects thus brought 
 before the mind be, of itself alone, capable of 
 arresting its attention, either wholly, or for any 
 length of time. 
 
 Moreover, under these circumstances, the mind 
 really loses in force and in quality, what it gains 
 in number and diversity of impressions. 
 
 Such will in general be the effect of every com- 
 bination of arts, when associated together for 
 extensive works of embellishment, or public shows, 
 &c. But the same effect is produced on the mind 
 even by the work of a single art, when the com- 
 position of such work is of a multifarious charac- 
 ter, as when a painter, by an extraordinary dis- 
 play of the resources of the picturesque, and the 
 capabilities of colour, seeks to achieve, on an 
 extensive scale, such a combination of ideas and 
 objects, such a concourse of figures, groupes, and 
 diversified masses, that their impressions are effaced 
 as rapidly as they succeed one another. Those 
 vast compositions suspended in the spacious and 
 magnificent domes of our public edifices are here 
 more especially alluded to, in which the bounds 
 of the pictorial art are believed to have been ex- 
 tended and all its sources of enjoyment increased. 
 Yet who is he that does not know, that has not 
 learned from experience, that a larger sum of im- 
 pressions may be received from a single figure 
 within reach of the eye, than from the hundred 
 and one figures of a lofty dome, all of which, as 
 
80 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 individuals, escaping more or less the organ of 
 sight, scarcely affect at all that of the sentiment. 
 
 I have considered it necessary, in treating of the 
 nature of imitation, thus strenuously to insist on a 
 theoretical point, the misapprehension of which so 
 frequently occasions mistakes and contradictions, 
 owing to the general habit of confounding what is 
 here called a union of several arts combining to 
 produce a collective work, with what should be 
 denominated an admixture of the elements of 
 several in one and the same art. 
 
 I have endeavoured clearly to explain the dif- 
 ference between two kinds or degrees of union, 
 the one legitimate, the other spurious ; the one 
 involving no violation of propriety, no trickery as 
 a means ; the other founded on a false basis, and 
 itself rendering nugatory the title by which it 
 claims a right to existence. 
 
 But, above all, I have thought it necessary to 
 do away with the ambiguity arising from the two- 
 fold employment of the words union or association, 
 on a subject not hitherto enlightened by criticism, 
 before attacking more directly the twofold error of 
 the artist, who, neglecting the elementary principle 
 of imitation in the fine arts, is at one time desirous 
 of multiplying the imitative means of his own art 
 at the expense of some other, (see the following 
 Chapter), and at another adding to the degree of 
 imitative resemblance it is either fitted or required 
 to attain, by seeking that pretended increase in a 
 system of servile copy, (see Chap, x.) 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF THE ERRONEOUS MEANS BY WHICH, EMPLOYED THROUGH A 
 DESIRE OF COMPLETING OR INCREASING THE IMITATIVE 
 TRUTH OF EVERY ART, THAT TRUTH IS DESTROYED. 
 
 FIRST ERROR OF THE ARTIST. 
 
 It consists in stepping beyond his own art to seek , in the resources 
 of another , an increase of imitative resemblance. 
 
 The same theory that enables us to discover the 
 basis on which the conditions of imitation in the 
 fine arts rest, enables us also to detect the chief 
 cause of the errors that lead to their infraction. 
 
 Halting between two desires, the one that of 
 satisfying the reason by a strict adherence to the 
 elementary principle of imitation, the other that of 
 ministering to the instinct which often gives the 
 preference to identity, the artist is but too fre- 
 quently led to confound the true pleasure of imita- 
 tion, with the seductive charm of illusion, to forego 
 the approval of the judgment and understanding, 
 for the sole suffrage of the senses. 
 
 His first error (which forms the subject of this 
 chapter) consists then in seeking the means of 
 
 a 
 
82 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 procuring, sometimes for his image, and sometimes 
 even for his art, an increase of imitation derived 
 from resources wholly foreign to it. 
 
 We have already, in analyzing the constituent 
 elements of every art, (see Chapter iii.) laid it 
 down that all resemblance must necessarily be 
 incomplete, and we shall presently, when reverting 
 to the subject, further show that all imitative re- 
 semblance is of necessity fictions. (See Chapter x.) 
 
 Before explaining how and by what means these 
 two supposed defects become, on the contrary, the 
 very cause of the beauties and pleasures of imita- 
 tion, it will be well to put the imitator on his 
 guard against the false and vicious correctives that 
 zealous ignorance deems itself authorized to apply 
 to them, arising from a mal-founded and still more 
 mal-defined appreciation of the kind of community 
 existing between the arts. 
 
 From the idea of that community, is generally 
 derived the ambitious tendency of the artist to 
 supply what I term the incompleteness of resem- 
 blance in every mode of imitation. Thus, accord- 
 ing to the perverted interpretation of the passage 
 in Horace, at pictura poesis * the conclusion is 
 arrived at that the two arts, painting and poetry, 
 are privileged to treat the same subjects, both in 
 
 * Horace, in this passage, which it is the custom to mutilate, 
 does not say of poetry generally, that it is wholly similar to paint- 
 ing, still less does he say so of painting with regard to poetry. 
 Horace merely says, and that in a very limited relation, that it 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 83 
 
 the same parts of those subjects and under the 
 same aspects ; as though, for instance, there were 
 no physical beauty, a real impression of which it 
 would be impossible to convey in words, nor any 
 moral beauty, to give the slightest idea of which, 
 painting, be the genius of the painter ever so great, 
 would be wholly inadequate. 
 
 The two compositions in which that great 
 painter, Poussin, has represented the death of Eu- 
 damidas, and that of Germanicus, are objects of 
 general admiration, and doubtless not without 
 reason. But can the pencil express by means of 
 mute figures, the moral beauty of those two sub- 
 jects ? In the first is seen a sick man dictating 
 his last wishes in the presence of two females, 
 each afflicted according to the difference of their 
 respective ages. But how can painting, by the 
 sole aid of pantomime which constitutes its lan- 
 guage, render intelligible to the spectator the true 
 motive of the action, and reveal to him the affect- 
 ing trait of friendship that makes the moral beauty 
 of that testament? Again, does any one think 
 that the address of the dying Germanicus to his 
 friends, as given by Tacitus, is either translated or 
 countervailed in the scene of Poussin’s picture ? 
 
 Painting, which can with difficulty make it ap- 
 is in poetry, as in painting, some objects pleasing more when 
 seen near at hand, others when at a greater distance. 
 
 Ut pictura poesis erit ; quae, si propihs stes, 
 
 Te capiet magis ; et qusedam, si longihs abstes, 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 pear that its personages speak, instead of adding 
 to its field of operations by dealing with subjects 
 that language is alone able to render intelligible, 
 betrays the secret of its insufficiency, and is farther 
 than ever from remedying the defect. 
 
 The frequency with which the painter is led to 
 deceive himself in the choice of proper subjects, by 
 this vain ambition of extending the sphere of imi- 
 tation of his art, cannot be too strongly insisted 
 on. The stage contributes unceasingly to the 
 increase of such errors. There the artist is accus- 
 tomed to see a kind of speaking pictures, formed 
 by joint dramatic action and delivery, and he is 
 thence induced to believe that he can transfer the 
 same scenes to his canvass. It is true, he may as 
 far as regards the eye ; but the picture is become 
 mute, and its personages, in consequence, can no 
 longer make us acquainted with what they are 
 and what they do. 
 
 At other times we see, reduced within the frame 
 of a picture, some grand event, the proper theme 
 of the genius of history, or material of a poem. 
 Mutilated rather than abridged, and of necessity 
 concentred within the space of a single instant, 
 the historical fact becomes an enigma. Who, in 
 such a fragment of space and time could divine 
 the signification of a subject, whose development 
 and intrinsic worth must depend on a sum total of 
 objects, and a succession of actions and moral re- 
 lations unattainable by the pencil ? 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 85 
 
 Painting can transfix but one single instant of 
 time in any action ; it is constrained to omit both 
 what precedes and what follows. The subjects, 
 therefore, best fitted for representation as being 
 most in accordance with the kind of its imitation 
 are simple ones, that is, such as are but little com- 
 plicated in their impelling causes, and but little 
 varied in their effects. We shall elsewhere, when 
 treating of the means of imitation , (see Part III. 
 Chapters ix. and x.) make known how the painter, 
 by elevating his subjects into a higher sphere of 
 physical and moral imitation, may extend the 
 matter and multiply the springs of his composi- 
 tions. But the only question for consideration in 
 this first part is, as its title imports, to determine 
 the exact nature of imitation in itself, and in its 
 relations with the several fine arts ; an object 
 which can only be attained by analyzing the phy- 
 sical and moral laws by which a limit is appointed 
 to the particular sphere of activity of each. Now 
 it is by one of those laws that the painter’s art is 
 precluded from the positive imitation of actions 
 falling exclusively within the province of the nar- 
 rator and the epic or dramatic poet, seeing that 
 language written or spoken is their only adequate 
 interpreter. 
 
 As a consequence of those same laws, the poet 
 equally misapprehends the means and advantages 
 of his art, when he requires it to treat certain 
 subjects, the imitation of which must derive its 
 
86 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 chief value from that property of painting which 
 enables it to speak to the eye. 
 
 The remark has already been made by Lessing, 
 that the expression of bodily pains, and the repre- 
 sentation of passions dependent on physical or- 
 ganization produce less effect in relation, than in 
 marble or on canvass. It is certainly true that 
 the poet portrays the painful affections of the 
 mind better than the torturing ills of the body ; 
 and the reason is evident ; for while writing and 
 speaking serve to pour forth complaints of inward 
 griefs, external anguish and torture is evinced only 
 by ejaculations. The Greek dramatic poet makes 
 Philoctetes utter cries, upon the stage, and the 
 epic poet, for want of the reality of sound, has 
 recourse to a simile, and substitutes the bellowing 
 of a bull for the cries of Laocoon.* 
 
 * “ Clamores simul liorrendos ad sidera tollit : 
 
 Quales mugitus, fugit cum saucius aram 
 Taurus et incertam excussit cervice securim.” 
 
 ^Eneid, Lib. II. 1. 221. 
 
 Some of my readers will, I trust, for the sake of others, ex- 
 cuse my citing here and elsewhere passages such as the above, 
 when referred to by the author, who has throughout his work 
 omitted to append them. 
 
 Payne Knight, neglecting the above example from Sophocles , 
 has some remarks on this simile of Virgil, to which I would 
 suggest a reference. See Part III. Chapter i., page 334 of the 
 original edition of the “ Analytical Inquiry into the Principles 
 of Taste.” — ( Translator .) 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 87 
 
 The inferiority of the poet to the painter is also 
 very apparent in the imitation of objects, whose 
 especial property it is to be addressed to the sight. 
 Whatever his imagination may suggest in order to 
 borrow from the art of painting the principle and 
 force of its effects on the senses, will consist but 
 of feeble countervails, due to a very unequal inter- 
 change of impressions. He will supply the place 
 of a sun-rise, a cloudless sky, or a beautiful scene, 
 by the more or less analogous ideas of candour, 
 innocence, a tranquil state of mind, placed in co- 
 relation with the scenes of nature ; for these are 
 the true means of the poet, rising far superior to 
 those of a talent for graphic description, of which 
 hereafter. All this means that the sentiment ex- 
 cited in the mind by the sympathy existing be- 
 tween the moral and the physical, between the 
 internal and external senses, leads us to picture to 
 ourselves some scene. But every one will, not- 
 withstanding, accommodate the landscape to his 
 own fancy ; and the poet will have been no more 
 a painter, than the painter is a poet when his 
 image is fitted to inspire the genius of the writer 
 with other images equivalent to it. 
 
 Here then we see to what this community be- 
 tween painting and poetry, so often quoted and 
 so ill understood, is in fact reduced ; while it has 
 been the only ground on which to rest their mu- 
 tual claims to appropriate means of resemblance 
 
88 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 alien to their respective natures, in order to com- 
 plete what is wanting to them. (See further on this 
 head. Part III. Chapter viii.) 
 
 The union of these arts has been held to be a 
 true community of rights, while it is only a right 
 of sharing in the universal heritage. Now a com- 
 munity of rights supposes the power of making 
 use of the same things; a right of sharing, assigns 
 to each one his own. Thus understood, the com- 
 munity spoken of not only does not countenance 
 encroachment, but bars it, by determining the re- 
 spective shares of the common model, within the 
 limits we have already prescribed ; and this con- 
 sequence must especially extend to the distinctive 
 qualities of the subjects appropriate for the execu- 
 tion of every art, since it is particularly in the 
 choice of subjects that those errors and confusions 
 of properties arise, by which each art is vainly 
 supposed to be enriched. 
 
 In truth the artist very frequently impoverishes 
 himself by his larcenies. It is impossible but that 
 a subject which, well adapted to one art, would 
 prove a source of fertility to genius in that art, 
 should remain unfruitful when thus inadvisedly 
 transferred to another. 
 
 Pygmalion, in the exstasies of love, sees his 
 statue becoming gradually animated. The tint 
 that suffuses itself over the marble already ap- 
 prises the happy lover and the spectator, of the 
 metamorphosis that is taking place. Here is a 
 
OP IMITATION. 
 
 89 
 
 subject to which painting alone can do justice, 
 because, by means of graduated flesh tints, it can 
 easily diffuse over the marble an appearance of 
 life. Who would credit that sculpture, alike 
 without colour and motion, has notwithstanding 
 been employed on this subject,* as though the 
 same thing could be represented on white marble. 
 Nay more, a fact thus limited, and scarcely af- 
 fording matter for a monologue, has been pro- 
 duced on the stage,! a permanent example of a 
 choice of action the most improper, since there is 
 neither interest, incident, nor catastrophe. 
 
 Among all the arts poetry is the one occupying 
 the widest field. Nothing indeed wholly escapes the 
 kind of universality it embraces. Yet even this art 
 is subjected to restrictions through its medium of 
 language, and those restrictions are, for the most 
 part, the result of what we have termed moral im- 
 possibilities, that is, impossible to the internal 
 sense. (See Chapter vi.) Now, thus considered, 
 many, subjects are denied to the poet’s pen, that 
 is, they are morally impossible. Language is 
 often very insufficient for the description of ob- 
 jects and their qualities ; and it is that insuffi- 
 ciency which sets a limit to the prerogatives of 
 poetry. To pass that limit is, on the part of the 
 poet, an encroachment on, and a violation of, the 
 principle of imitation, which requires that a thing 
 
 * A group by Falconet. 
 
 t By J. J. Rousseau. 
 
90 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 be represented by some other which is but the image 
 of it. If it is the property of an image to be in- 
 complete, then the image afforded by poetry fails 
 in that condition, when the poet, exceeding the 
 measure of means at his command for the repre- 
 senting of certain qualities, of bodies more es- 
 pecially, by others analogous to them, aspires to 
 means of direct description which he would seem 
 desirous of wresting from the painter’s art. 
 
 Lessing has, in his Laocoon,* unquestionably 
 demonstrated that the poet is deceived who thinks 
 himself able to represent corporeal objects by the, 
 necessarily successive, detail of their parts, since 
 it is precisely that very detail and succession of 
 ideas that prevent parts so dissected and decom- 
 posed from producing on the mind an image of the 
 whole, that is, of the aggregate of the thing to be 
 conceived of. 
 
 It must, from this incontestible fact, be con- 
 cluded, that the value which, in physical nature, 
 is due to what is termed the aggregate of parts, 
 (and of this kind more especially is that corporeal 
 beauty of which the eye alone is judge,) is want- 
 ing only to poetical description, when, with its 
 partial and disjointed traits, the materiality of 
 objects is dealt with ; whence we may again infer 
 that in such subjects the kind of imitation appro- 
 
 * A work so entitled, a translation of which has very recently 
 appeared from the pen of “William Ross, Esq., late Professor 
 of Painting in the University of Glasgow.” — Trarislator. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 91 
 
 priate to poetry is that embracing moral relations, 
 details of sentiment, and the effects which exercise 
 an influence over the mind, by the aid of analogies 
 and transpositions, and by means of those similes, 
 which, carrying us back to the elementary princi- 
 ples of imitation, cause us to see one thing in 
 another. Such was the general taste of all antiquity. 
 
 Several modern poets have, notwithstanding, 
 endeavoured to bring the opposite taste into vogue, 
 by the introduction of what is termed the descrip- 
 tive style. 
 
 One would expect that the erroneous belief of a 
 community between poetry and painting, which 
 has already obtained a footing through misappre- 
 hension of the relations between those two arts, 
 would still further gain ground in consequence of 
 the reciprocal influence of their works, an influence 
 which has in our time become more active both as 
 regards authors and artists. 
 
 I have before spoken of the predilection too 
 frequently evinced by the painter towards the 
 transfer to his canvass of the subjects of the dra- 
 matic poet as seen on the stage. And who will 
 deny but that the author, becoming more fami- 
 liarised with the works and effects of the pencil, 
 may not contract a habit of the same sort, ex- 
 hibiting a poetical anomaly almost unknown to 
 antiquity, and in which, if one may so say, a new 
 employment is created for poetry, under the title 
 of descriptive poetry ? 
 
92 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 The poet smitten with this taste, chooses by 
 preference, subjects within the province of matter, 
 or, among the relations of the subject he treats, 
 those which are calculated by their nature rather 
 to awaken the senses than the sentiments. 
 
 A powerless rival of the painter, he affects to 
 trace out his piecemeal images by the pattern of 
 reality, to emulate the pencil in the multiplicity of 
 its strokes, the brush in the variety of its tints, to 
 furnish a whole by enumeration, and an aggregate 
 of parts by their dissection; — superfluous cares, 
 prompted by an ill-placed covetousness, by which 
 he loses what rightly belongs to him while striving 
 after what he can never attain. 
 
 Is any one so blind as not to perceive that such 
 mania, for it deserves no better name, is derived 
 from the opinion entertained by some, that the 
 means of one art may be added to those of another, 
 and that it is possible to complete the measure of 
 its imitative power, by borrowing in order to con- 
 ceal its deficit of resemblance ? 
 
 Able writers had already contended against this 
 false taste. They had shown that the true manner 
 in which the poet should paint material objects, 
 visible nature, and its physical "effects, was neither 
 by the frigid method of a detailed catalogue, nor 
 by the process of the demonstrator, when analyzing 
 the properties of matter ; that, on the contrary, it 
 consisted in the art of employing felicitous trans- 
 positions and of exchanging physical images for 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 93 
 
 the moral ideas corresponding to them, and which, 
 exciting in us analogous and sympathetic emotions, 
 bring our minds (as already remarked,) into co- 
 relation with the impression of the scenes of nature 
 on our senses. 
 
 But that false taste has again arisen in our day 
 under a more positive and more general form, 
 no longer as an abuse of the details of style, but 
 as a poetical system, and with pretensions to 
 being a new form of composition, an invention of 
 modern times. 
 
 This new form of composition is called the 
 romantic . 
 
 If an explanation of its name, that is, the signi- 
 fication of the word in its etymology be inquired, 
 it is derived from the roman or old romance, a 
 kind of tale so named from the langue Romane or 
 Romantsch language, because it had its origin 
 during the period that bastard idiom was in use ; 
 and hence also the word “romanesque” * perfectly 
 similar, save a trifling variation in its termination, 
 to the word romantic ( romantique ), which has been 
 borrowed from the English or German, because 
 romanesque had already a received acceptation but 
 ill adapted, as it is maintained, to convey the idea 
 of the new style of composition. 
 
 * The English language affords no parallel to the above 
 word as distinguished from romantique ; it signifies however 
 after the manner of romances , as picturesque, in its strict sense, 
 after the manner of pictures . — Translator . 
 
OF THE XATTEE 
 
 It must, hovciu, be confessed that tbe name 
 Siren by oanr neighbours to a system of dramas, 
 wherein the author takes as bis model the un- 
 bmited action of a im mam y. expresses well enough 
 that trimly rwmmmetfmt, or, §o called, mmemtic style 
 off composition. 
 
 Bust what would seem most difficult to comp re- 
 bend is, bow tbeire could be a new war of seeing', 
 bearing, thinking. and writing, in short, a new 
 mode of composition repairing a new name to de- 
 signate it, and yet tbat none couH be found to 
 characterize it without conveying an equivocal 
 meaning; fear it appears doubtful. wbetber it be 
 tbat the vagueness of tbe word is communicated 
 to tbe idea, m that tbe defect of tbe idea itself^ 
 and, more appropriately speaking, tbe pretended 
 mode of composition, presents tbe application of 
 an intelligible name. In either case one may sav 
 with Bodean : Ct qm f m comqmt Mem £ emmet? 
 cimrememS. There would be no room for disagree- 
 ment as to tbe signification of tbe word romtmtie , 
 nor any occasion given for every one to interpret it 
 differently, were there not a great deal of obscu- 
 rity, indeosiveness and confusion at tbe bottom 
 of tbat idea, which is tbe case with ail ideas 
 formed in tbe cloudy region of imagination. 
 
 What can indeed be said of a manner which, in 
 order to distinguish it, is placed in opposition to 
 tbe dm*m xtyk ? for, however negative, tbat is tbe 
 clearest definition of it. Tbe romantic style is — 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 95 
 
 what ? you will not be told what it is, but what it is 
 not : it is the opposite of the classical. And 
 what is the so called classical style ? Nothing 
 more nor less than that which has maintained its 
 ascendancy during two or three thousand years, 
 which has served as a model for all the nations of 
 modern Europe, and in accordance with which 
 every work hitherto admired by the world has 
 been composed. 
 
 Many objections here naturally present them- 
 selves, which might be brought forward against 
 this alleged discovery, but they would lead me 
 too far from the question in hand. I will offer 
 but two remarks : 1st. How has such a discovery 
 hitherto escaped the penetration of so many ages 
 and so many nations ? 2nd. Is it not possible 
 that a mere manner of viewing things, at once 
 indirect and false, may have been taken for a dis- 
 covery and a novelty ; an error of the mind, coun- 
 tenanced through the love of change, and which 
 a futile hankering after originality would fain 
 have believed to be invested with the colours of 
 genius ? 
 
 When these questions are pushed home to the 
 partizans of this new style, they defend it pre- 
 cisely by the very motives that ought to carry 
 with them its condemnation. They declare that 
 “ it is a resource which, with a race of people 
 that have grown old, (in civilization,) supplies, in 
 poetry, the place of moral inspiration ; that such 
 
96 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 resource is borrowed from invariable physical 
 nature ; * and that, in the case of a people so cir- 
 cumstanced, there is no longer any thing to de- 
 scribe, than nature which never grows old,” that 
 is, in the sense of the author, than invariable phy- 
 sical nature. 
 
 The proper scope of the romantic style of com- 
 position is then, according to the avowal of one of 
 its observers, descriptive talent applied more at 
 large to physical nature ; and here this digression 
 again falls in with the subject I am discussing 
 and the object of the present chapter. 
 
 I have already explained, but it is here neces- 
 sary to repeat it, in what manner true poetry 
 deals with the description of material objects. 
 As the arts of design, or those which speak to the 
 eye, have most frequent need to transmute moral 
 ideas into physical forms, so poetry, which paints 
 to the mind, has to convert corporeal sensations 
 into moral impressions. It portrays material 
 objects rather by their effect on the mind, than 
 their action on the senses, rather in their relation 
 with the sentiments they give rise to, than in that 
 of their visible configuration. Its secret more 
 especially consists in bringing within the unde- 
 fined pale of the understanding, which amplifies 
 their image, those subjects which the art of design 
 
 * Charles Nodier’s Preface to Trilby. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 97 
 
 can present to us only within the confined limits 
 of a determinate place. 
 
 Poetry and the so called romantic form of com- 
 position, have totally different ends in view. The 
 writer, in his pictorial mania, seems to aspire to 
 an immediate and almost graven copy of the 
 objects of matter. He endeavours to fasten on 
 their reality, as though it were possible for him to 
 stamp them on the visual organ. As though the 
 idea of painting, as applied to poetry, were not a 
 mere fiction of language, he borrows the eye of 
 the painter wherewith to consider nature, and, his 
 imagination filled with forms, tints, accidents of 
 light and shadow, and other physical effects, he 
 believes the canvass to be before him, dreams 
 that he has pencil and brushes in hand, and fancies 
 that words and sentences are to make on his 
 reader or hearer the impression that nature has 
 appointed to the spectator. It is nothing less 
 than mistaking one of our senses for another. 
 Poetry, without doubt, has its pictures, but they 
 are metaphorical ones ; and as the eye is inter- 
 dicted from seeing them, so the poet is forbidden 
 to aspire to the employment of elements which 
 have no other value than that derived from their 
 visibility. 
 
 When Virgil portrays night, it is by its effects 
 on living creatures. He makes no futile endea- 
 vour to rival the labours of the landscape painter. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 At one time he shows us men, animals, the winds, 
 and the waves of the sea, all hushed to sleep ;* at 
 another he places the traveller in the midst of a 
 gloomy forest, well nigh losing his way by the 
 doubtful glimmering of the torch of night, t 
 
 Would we see the same subject treated in the 
 spirit of the romantic style ? for to see is almost 
 the proper word, so great is the desire evinced to 
 seize on those traits which are within the province 
 of the sight. The night will have wings of sable 
 gauze . She will curtain the heavens with funereal 
 crape , and the stars will be its gilded studs. Else- 
 where we shall be told that little clouds , like airy 
 flocks of down , hovered aloft , flitting across the disk 
 of the silver moon ; the mirror of the neighbouring 
 lake will reflect its pale form, and the undulations 
 occasioned by the evening breeze will furrow its tre- 
 mulous surface. Might one not be led to believe 
 that the writer had undertaken, with a view to a 
 demonstration in optics, to describe in detail a 
 moonlight scene by Claude Lorraine ? Is it the 
 
 * Nox erat, et placidum carpebant fessa soporem 
 Corpora per terras, sylvaeque, et saeva quierant 
 iEquora : cdm meclio volvuntur sidera lapsu : 
 
 Ctim tacet omnis ager ; pecudes, pictaeque volucres, &c. 
 
 jEneid, lib. iv. 522. 
 
 -j- Quale per incertam Lunam sub luce maligna 
 Est iter in sylvis : ubi coelum condidit umbra 
 Jupiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem. 
 
 jEneid, lib. vi 270. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 99 
 
 painter thinking to translate his own work into 
 writing, or the poet struck with a fancy to become 
 a journeyman painter ? 
 
 One may say that, in the spurious form of com- 
 position above spoken of, the poet’s muse has laid 
 aside her ideal lyre, to take up the mechanical in- 
 struments of the arts of design. The author no 
 longer draws his inspiration directly from the ob- 
 jects even of physical nature, but from the imita- 
 tions and imitative processes of the artist. His 
 picturesque is that of the pencil, his descriptions 
 are formal, his metaphors technical. He lengthens 
 bodies into obelisks, rounds them into domes, and 
 hollows them into vases. He affects to model 
 forms, trace contours, draw outlines, project 
 shadows, and group masses. He colours flowers 
 vermilion, and paints the heavens ultramarine. He 
 drapes the mountains with snow, and puts them 
 on a head- dress of frost ; while he spreads abroad 
 the corrugated folds of sheets of water. He 
 passes a glaze over the dawn, and demi-tints over 
 twilight. Be assured he will not forget the 
 vapours of the aerial perspective in the distance, 
 nor the prominent objects in the foreground of his 
 pictures, nor the moss or lichen on the trunks of 
 trees, nor the greenish hue or mould on tomb- 
 stones, nor the parasitical plant on the ruin, 
 nor the embrowned hue of the tower, nor the 
 play of light on its windows, nor the fluctua- 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 tioos of the waves of the lake, nor the reflection 
 of the poplar that is admiring itself in its crystal 
 mirror. 
 
 It may with truth be alleged that the vocabu- 
 lary of the art of painting is drained to exhaus- 
 tion in paraphrasing pictures. 
 
 Not indeed that we have any intention of deny- 
 ing to poetry the expression of certain effects of 
 external nature. What we would hold up to re- 
 probation in this novel style is, that it affects 
 images drawn from material objects, instead of 
 those that may be derived from the sentiments, 
 and moral associations, preferring the delineations, 
 and if one may use the term, minute specifications 
 of bodies, to the impressions of the mind, the 
 limited relations of things visible, to the unlimited 
 associations of the world of ideas ; it is the affec- 
 tation of speaking to the senses in a language not 
 their own, while refusing to the mind that which 
 rightly belongs to it, and of abandoning resources 
 affording the most direct action on the heart and 
 the imagination, in order to wear out unavailingly 
 and falsify the strings of an instrument, un- 
 manageable to the hand that touches them, and 
 unfitted to produce the effect required ; it is in 
 short, the pulling down poetry from her high 
 places, whence its genius bears sway over the 
 moral and intellectual world, to struggle, with un- 
 equal weapons, on the ground of realities, with 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 101 
 
 arts whose property it is to express the forms and 
 colours of bodies, and their end, while employing 
 matter in their images, to elevate them to those 
 very regions of the ideal which the poet would 
 seem anxious to desert. 
 
102 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 SECOND ERROR OF THE ARTIST. 
 
 It consists in seeking truth short of the limits of every art , by 
 a system of servile copy , which deprives the imitation or the 
 image , of that fictious part which constitutes at once its es- 
 sence and its character. 
 
 Since to imitate, is to produce the resemblance of a 
 thing by some other that becomes the image of it, it 
 is evident that the imitation proper to the fine arts 
 does, and can only admit of the appearance of 
 things. Now, all appearance derived from art is 
 more or less fictious. The same may be said of 
 the kind of truth belonging to the imitative re- 
 semblance. It is truth, but truth by means of 
 fiction. (fEx ficto verumf) 
 
 It has been seen how the artist desirous of 
 achieving an entire resemblance, incompatible 
 with a necessarily partial image, is led to covet 
 resources foreign to, and beyond the bounds of, 
 his own art, and which he has no power to render 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 103 
 
 appropriate to it. We shall now show, how an 
 equally fallacious desire of attaining a miscon- 
 ceived truth, drives the imitator to the opposite 
 extreme, and, restraining him within the natural 
 limits of his art, causes him to resign a part of 
 his advantages and means. 
 
 This other error of the artist no longer consists 
 in the attempt to double or multiply the means of 
 resemblance proper to his own art, by an impro- 
 per superaddition of the means or imitative aspects 
 of another ; on the contrary, contracting the circle 
 of his privileges, neglecting both the nature of 
 imitation, and the constituent character of the 
 image, as well as the kind of resemblance that 
 belongs to every factious work, he has no other 
 aim, within his restricted horizon, than that of 
 identifying his work with the individual model. 
 He labours to bring it to such a point as to give it 
 the semblance of being traced. He exchanges 
 the charm attached to the fictiousness of appear- 
 ance, for the disenchantment of a false truth ; in 
 short, the freedom of an imitation for the servile- 
 ness of a copy. 
 
 Here then are two different errors arising from 
 the same source, viz., a confusion of ideas on the 
 elementary principle of imitation ; both however 
 terminate in the same fault, that of identity , or the 
 endeavour to attain its effect. 
 
 This latter error prevails as well in the arts of 
 design as in those of poetry ; but it is, perhaps. 
 
104 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 in poetry that it has been more openly evinced, 
 that the greater efforts have been made to substi- 
 tute the idea of servile reality in the image, for 
 that of imitative resemblance. 
 
 Some persons have, in consequence, endea- 
 voured entirely to deprive the art of the poet of 
 those fictious means, that are the necessary sources 
 of its imitative action, and of the pleasure it pro- 
 cures. Some, on the one hand, have desired to 
 lower its language to the level of prose, under 
 the pretext that it is not natural to express one- 
 self in cadence or metre. Others have contended 
 against the employment of those conventional 
 aids, whose effect is to modify, in a numerous 
 class of subjects, that truth which is reality, and 
 exchange it for poetic verisimilitude. 
 
 After banishing rhvthm, metre, and rhyme from 
 the language of poetry, they have written poems 
 in prose, out of regard for what they denominate 
 truth. 
 
 Others again have called in question the mar- 
 vellous creations of heroic poetry, under pretence 
 that they are contrary to the laws of physical 
 nature, just as if there were not a nature of the 
 imagination; as though this faculty were not a 
 gift bestowed on man, that he might, by the aid 
 of poetry, create a world of images rivalling reality. 
 
 They have attempted to banish from the stage 
 those conventional fictions, without which dra- 
 matic imitation would no longer be separated or 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 105 
 
 distinct from the manner in which things in the 
 ordinary course of this life have their positive ex- 
 istence. They have alleged that, nature being 
 subjected to no sort of unity, either of time, ac- 
 tion, or place in the events which occur on the 
 world’s stage, art ought to do as she does, and, in 
 limited representations on the theatrical stage, 
 proceed according to the example she sets us in 
 her unlimited operations. Thus have plays been 
 constructed on the model of a work of history, in 
 as many acts as the historian would have made 
 volumes; and we have seen acts of the due length 
 of an entire piece, pieces divided into days, as 
 the Decameron of Boccacio, and finally plays be- 
 come romances in dialogue. 
 
 Not only has the dramatic poet, in his regard 
 for reality, or what some take for truth, conceived 
 that he ought to accumulate incidents, and crowd 
 into the space of a few hours, facts which a suc- 
 cession of years could alone develop ; but, in or- 
 der the more closely to identify his work with its 
 alleged model, he has studied to bring all the 
 details into view. Hence those pieces called of 
 late years melo-dramas> in which, by continual 
 shifting of scenes and decorations, every actual 
 circumstance, that should have been intimated 
 only by brief narration, is unfolded before you ; 
 you are compelled to be present at murders, ca- 
 tastrophes, and conflicts ; in which every thing 
 is addressed to the sight, and from which all 
 
106 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 moral imitation is withdrawn to make room, by the 
 exhibition of the vulgar passions, for identical 
 resemblance ; so that such a drama is nothing 
 more than a pantomimic ballet explained by 
 words. 
 
 That other imitation of nature, which consists 
 in making gesticulations speak, in the scenic ac- 
 tion, by substituting the measured movements of 
 the body for the articulate language of sounds, 
 would seem, by way as it were of reprisal, to have 
 been pushed even so far, through zeal for truth, 
 as to give utterance to the pantomime, and words 
 to the dancer.* 
 
 * Even so, and it affords a striking example of the direct 
 negation of effect produced, when two arts, or two forms of the 
 same art are mingled together in the false endeavour to attain 
 a more complete resemblance or illusion. 
 
 While at Amsterdam during the last winter, I was present 
 at the performance of a ballet, or an opera, call it as you will, 
 though it was in fact neither, in which the performers, with the 
 view of heightening the effect, were made, part of them to ex- 
 press themselves in the language of song, and part to employ 
 the language of gesture; but instead of enhancing the pleasure, 
 the result was totally to destroy it. The rather, it gave rise to a 
 ludicro-painful feeling, for it was almost impossible to divest 
 oneself of the idea that the personages who spoke only by 
 gesture, were unfortunates who had lost the gift of speech. 
 Now the very contrary is the perfection of pantomime, which 
 ought to be so conducted as that we should not perceive, or, at 
 least, not have cause to complain, that the actors do not em- 
 ploy articulate language. We should be so carried along 
 and interested in the action as not to perceive the defect or 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 107 
 
 More traces of this manner of considering imi- 
 tation will be found in the musical compositions 
 of the theatre, than may at first sight appear. In- 
 deed the generality of persons take delight in 
 such conceits as those, where the art itself is 
 brought upon the scene, and is at once the sub- 
 ject and the object of the music ; I allude to those, 
 so seeming, concerts, rehearsals, lessons in singing, 
 and rival performances but too frequently pro- 
 duced on the stage. In them imitation may be 
 said to be altogether identical. (See Chapter xv.) 
 The employing certain instruments, as the drum 
 in a warlike symphony, explosions of fire-arms to 
 express a battle, artificial thunder to represent a 
 storm, are evidently errors of the same class. So 
 true is it, that too much noise to express noise, 
 too much lamentation in the song to portray suf- 
 fering, destroys the effect of imitation. The more 
 the kind of subject approaches reality, the more 
 requisite is it to respect the brief space that sepa- 
 rates them. 
 
 To require from the action of the dumb-play what 
 is expected from that of the song, and from the in- 
 terest of the drama, what music is called upon to 
 fulfil, is yet another error arising from a false idea 
 of truth in the imitative resemblance proper to 
 
 deficit, in overcoming and supplying a substitute for which it 
 is, that the triumph of the author and the actors consists. 
 
 M. Scribe was the author of the above mentioned, as of 
 many other, non-descript anomalies. — Translator. 
 
108 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 music. (See on, where the same subject is renewed.) 
 Does the singer not err when he allows the modu- 
 lations, or rather the erratic bursts of loose decla- 
 mation to mingle with the rhythmical and mea- 
 sured words of the song, thereby breaking the 
 charm of his art by a contrast that he takes for 
 truth, whereas it is mere discord ? 
 
 There are even certain actors who maintain 
 that, in delivery, metre ought to be neglected, and 
 verse wholly lost sight of. A proneness to seek 
 for a natural, short of the nature of imitation, 
 makes them regardless of all the nicer shades of 
 simplicity : they abandon the simple for the 
 familiar, and finally sink into vulgarity. 
 
 Such is the case in that dramatic system to 
 which the unregulated genius of the English poet 
 has afforded the support of his example ; if indeed 
 the name of system may be applied to a manner 
 of imitating, arising from ignorant instinct, which 
 nature will repudiate, so long as reason and taste 
 shall be found in nature. It is very possible for 
 genius to adopt a vicious form of composition, 
 more especially if it find in its irregularity, that 
 sort of independence which, favouring the soar- 
 ings of thought, may sometimes assist its daring 
 and originality. But the true genius of imitation, 
 belonging to all ages, is genius submitting to 
 nature, and ranging free, though shackled with 
 the trammels of art. 
 
 Now can that style of dramatic composition be 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 109 
 
 so characterized, where every extreme is mingled 
 in confusion, where the lowness of the language 
 is contrasted with the eminence of the personages, 
 and the vulgarity of the images with the refine- 
 ment of the thoughts ; where, in order to appear 
 natural, the tragic poet descends to the familiarity 
 of the lowest comedy, and, in consecutive pas- 
 sages of the most opposite strains, suddenly 
 sinks from the epic style to that of the mounte- 
 bank ? * 
 
 The historic muse is not less exposed to the 
 errors of this false zeal for truth. There is not a 
 doubt but that the first duty of the historian is 
 veracity, and fidelity to the facts that he relates. 
 But the manner of representing them touches 
 also, to a certain degree, upon the province of 
 poetical imitation ; but to place the causes of events 
 
 * This severe censure of our divine bard has its share of 
 justice. That Shakspeare, over and above the incongruities and 
 injudicious minglings of low-lived scenes with others of the 
 greatest pathos and power, was also wanting in some of the 
 qualifications of a good play-wright is sufficiently made evident 
 in Charles Lamb’s criticisms, and accounts for the greater 
 amount of pleasure we receive from Shakspeare’s works when 
 readingthem in the closet, than when witnessing and hearing them 
 on the stage. His character as a poet is perhaps enhanced by 
 this latter deficiency, which detracts from his merit as a writer 
 of plays for the stage. With regard, however, to both, and 
 the first is by far the greatest fault, be it remembered that if 
 they may be tolerated in Shakspeare, they are allowable to none, 
 far less to those of inferior genius. — Translator. 
 
110 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 in a clear light, to display all the varieties of 
 character by well drawn portraits, and to give 
 colour, life, and bustle to the narrative, is an art 
 rivalling that of the poet and the painter. The 
 right of the historian to make use of this kind of 
 imitative talent has notwithstanding been dis- 
 puted. Some have evinced a desire to prohibit 
 the employment of those fietious dialogues, which 
 are a means of bringing the personages on the 
 scene, and of developing, in somewhat of a dra- 
 matic manner, the secret springs of policy. In 
 short, there have been those who have gone even 
 so far as to maintain, that all art should be ex- 
 cluded from historical relations, which, say they, 
 should be nothing more than mere chronicles and 
 journals. 
 
 I shall say but little here of the arts of design, 
 and that precisely because the matter for criticism 
 on that point would prove too abundant, and be- 
 cause the second part of this theory will lead to 
 the same kind of notions regarding them. It will 
 be sufficient to advert to those deviations of taste 
 which have prevailed at certain periods, and in 
 certain schools, when the artist conceived that he 
 was faithfully imitating nature, by reproducing, 
 as in a mirror, the deformities which belonged 
 only to the individual he had for his model, 
 by reducing the works of imitation to a mere 
 impress, a kind of fac simile destitute of beauty. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and deprived of every characteristic of true imi- 
 tation. 
 
 It may further be remarked, how pervading is 
 the influence of a false principle, and how, with- 
 out any attention being paid to it, it is the means 
 of corrupting little by little the works of an age 
 or nation, owing both to the genius that produces 
 and the taste that encourages them. 
 
 Is it possible that we can be mistaken in attri- 
 buting to this true materialism, this purely sensual 
 taste, the indifference evinced towards historical 
 painting, which, above all other, should appeal to 
 the mind, and the preference for a form of com- 
 position branded with disgrace by the ancients in 
 the name they applied to it,* and which is become 
 so dear to modern times, revelling as it does in the 
 objects of vulgar nature, in all that is base and 
 ignoble in the condition of society, and finding 
 numbers of admirers, now that nothing more than 
 material enjoyments for the senses are any longer 
 required ? 
 
 Is not the effect of this principle betrayed in 
 the predilection which has for a long time been 
 evinced by our audiences, for the depicting, or 
 rather the absolute reality of subjects produced 
 from the very filth of the kennels, from the vilest 
 wretches and miscreants that crowd our streets. 
 
 * Rhyparography. The depicting obscene and vulgar things. 
 
112 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 and which are no longer brought forward on the 
 stage with the mask of caricature, that might at 
 least become the image of them, and assist com- 
 parison, but with so shameless and gross a reality, 
 that there is no necessity to have actors to per- 
 form such pieces, and still less authors to com- 
 pose them ? 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN EVERY ART THERE MUST BE, WITH RESPECT TO TRUTH, 
 SOME FICTION, AND, WITH RESPECT TO RESEMBLANCE, 
 SOMETHING INCOMPLETE . 
 
 If it be true that each of the fine arts can only 
 comprehend a part of the great and universal 
 model, and can only reproduce that portion cor- 
 responding with the means that are appropriate to 
 it, by what is termed an image, one is compelled 
 to acknowledge that the imitation granted by 
 nature to every imitative mode, must necessarily 
 remain incomplete as regards similarity, and 
 fictious in what appertains to truth. 
 
 These two facts, whose consequences are as 
 important as they are numerous, cannot be im- 
 pugned in any thing whatever relating to the 
 function of the senses. As, for instance, the 
 figure designed under one point of view, is evidently 
 deficient in all the others under which the same 
 figure might have been represented ; it is in like 
 manner fully as evident, with respect to the mind, 
 that whatever qualities and properties are depen- 
 
 i 
 
114 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 dent on the especial nature of the model, material, 
 or instruments of any art, will be wanting to 
 another whose model, material, and instruments 
 are different. And this is what constitutes the 
 incompleteness of every art in as far as resemblance 
 is concerned. 
 
 What constitutes the fictions character of an 
 art, is its inability to produce any other than an 
 apparent and feigned impression of the imitable 
 object, one which is opposed to that of the thing 
 itself or of the absolute truth. Thus no one mistakes 
 the nature of that fictious truth which occasions 
 us pleasure on seeing the bust of a person chiselled 
 out of a bit of white marble or cast in bronze ; on 
 seeing an actor personate on the stage a very dif- 
 ferent being from himself ; in hearing the poet 
 compensate, by his artificial and measured lan- 
 guage, for the freedom of actual speech, or the 
 sounds of instruments, substituted for the effects 
 of the real noise or articulation of the voice. 
 All these are so many fictions that cannot be mis- 
 taken. Every one is compelled to admit their 
 existence with respect to the material or mecha- 
 nical part of all the fine arts, since they are so 
 many facts attested by the external senses. 
 
 But to acknowledge that every art is, as a con- 
 sequence of the physical laws of nature, limited 
 to an incomplete and fictious imitation, is to ac- 
 knowledge, as contrary to nature, every borrowed 
 means, by which one art might acquire, at the 
 
OF IMITATION- 
 
 115 
 
 expense of another, an increase of physical re- 
 semblance, or an excess of absolute truth. 
 
 We have before demonstrated, (see Chapter iv.) 
 that whatever is indisputable according to the 
 physical laws of imitation, cannot but hold good 
 with respect to the moral ideas or intellectual 
 qualities, which it is the office of the mind to 
 judge of. 
 
 It remains then to show by virtue of the laws 
 that govern the nature of moral imitation, that the 
 means derived from it impose on every art the 
 necessity of presenting to the mind none but 
 fictions and incomplete images. 
 
 Take for example the dramatic art ; in what 
 other is the necessity for that sort of falsity , that 
 fiction which is the main support of verisimilitude 
 on the stage, so clearly manifested to the taste 
 and understanding ? 
 
 What more appropriate name could be adopted 
 for that altogether conventional arrangement to 
 which the poet is bound to subordinate all his 
 facts, all the incidents that form the ground-work 
 of his subject, or, to use a preferable term, of his 
 fable ? What is that agreement which he would 
 fain institute between the causes of the event that 
 he modifies, and the effects he requires them to 
 produce ? What are those contrasted combinations 
 of forms and features, with which his imagination 
 clothes all the characters that he traces, in order 
 to render them mutually more forcible and vivid ? 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 What is that adjusting of the circumstances or 
 personages which the poet effects for the express 
 purpose of making his audience, by a more or 
 less natural recital of the foregone circumstances, 
 acquainted with the subject? What is that still 
 more fictitious practice, the employment of ex- 
 planatory prologues by the ancients, who aimed 
 far less than is now the case at the reality of il- 
 lusion? What are all these, but an aggregate of 
 expedients, and means jictious in the truest sense 
 of the word ? But this subject will be discussed 
 more in detail, under the head of conventions. 
 (Part III. Chapter iv.) 
 
 It is unnecessary to enter more at length into 
 the proofs that go to establish the incompleteness of 
 imitation in the dramatic art. It is well known 
 that, limited in space and time, it is prohibited 
 from unfolding all the circumstances attendant on 
 any subject. To whatever degree, in whatever 
 manner the poet may endeavour to exceed the 
 bounds appointed by nature, and despite all the 
 resources to be drawn from visibility in his images, 
 language in his actors, and motion in his person- 
 ages, his action will never be more than an 
 abridgement of action, his aggregate than a frag- 
 ment of a whole, nor his picture than a necessi- 
 tated reduction of the original. 
 
 In narrative poetry, notwithstanding that its 
 scope seems to be all comprehensive, invincible 
 obstacles arise to render the effect of its images 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 117 
 
 incomplete, when, for instance, it is employed 
 about material forms, the collective whole of 
 bodies, or many properties of the visible world. 
 
 It is necessary to remark that the Jictious is 
 discoverable less in its language, in the measure 
 or cadence of the words, than in the employment 
 of forms of style foreign to the expression of com- 
 mon discourse, and the use of metaphors, the in- 
 tervention of imaginary beings, the creation of 
 certain characters, and of certain traits of moral 
 physiognomy, whose original is everywhere, and 
 is yet nowhere. 
 
 No art, considered with respect to its imitative 
 power, or that of producing resemblance, affords 
 evidence of images more incomplete , and the result 
 of more Jictious means, than music. 
 
 Where in fact does music’s model exist? Whence 
 do we derive it ? Where is it permitted us to ap- 
 proach it so that we may compare it with its 
 image ? It may be that the model is itself but a 
 fiction of the artist. However, be it what it may, 
 every one is aware that music expresses senti- 
 ments or passions only by means of the inarticu- 
 late language of sounds, that is, by equivalents 
 in every case very far short of the reality of 
 speech. This art has never any thing determinate 
 or definite in what it represents. It has no means 
 of presenting to us in its images, traits so positive 
 as to compel us to recognize them. Its secret 
 lies in putting us in a way to see what it cannot 
 
118 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 show us, and in influencing us to picture it to 
 ourselves. In fact our imagination, as in the case 
 of a text proposed for a theme, composes pictures 
 of which music only furnishes the idea. 
 
 The magical power of music consists in its im- 
 pelling us to endow the most indefinite concep- 
 tions with form, to mould its vague sketches into 
 shape, to exchange its ideas for sensations, to 
 translate its fugitive sounds into images, and by 
 transpositions without number, to complete in us 
 the effects of an imitation which owes its success 
 as much perhaps to him who receives, as to that 
 which produces them. 
 
 As it is inseparable from the nature of a theory, 
 in which the ideas, though distinct, are approxi- 
 mate, that the same subject appear to be fre- 
 quently renewed under similar points of view, I 
 will the more willingly spare the reader, and refrain 
 from applying the subject of this chapter to the 
 graphic arts, since the two imitative conditions 
 I am discussing are as easy to distinguish in what 
 has reference to the mind, as in that which is 
 amenable to the senses. Who can be ignorant of 
 the bounds set to the moral properties, and physi- 
 cal instruments of the arts of design ? Who, that 
 the resemblances they produce are necessarily 
 incomplete ? I also deem it to be of no avail to 
 show wherein the means of painting are Jictious, 
 an art which has only a superficial extent to re- 
 present the effect of roundness and depth, fixed 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 119 
 
 lines to express motion, and which, restricted in 
 action to a single instant of time, must represent 
 what, so to speak, is already past, and what has 
 not, as yet, come to pass. 
 
 There is nothing particular, on this point, as 
 regards sculpture, which has not been already 
 proposed elsewhere, or that does not merge into 
 the notions peculiar to painting. 
 
 But many persons are instinctively and not un- 
 willingly misled as to the two theoretical points 
 now under consideration, in the opinion they form 
 of the imitative value of the art of dancing, or 
 pantomime. How, say they, can it be credited 
 that there is anything wanting to absolute truth 
 in an art which presents to us an imitation so near 
 identity ? What can there be here either fictious 
 or incomplete ? 
 
 Happily for this art, .they labour under an il- 
 lusion. For if its resemblance were complete, 
 and its truth devoid of fiction, it would cease to 
 be an imitative art. There is no difficulty in 
 pointing out where lies the error ; it is, that 
 either they forget, or are ignorant, that whatever 
 is sensual or corporeal, beyond which so few look, 
 in that art, is, as in other arts, notwithstanding 
 the closeness of the image to the model, only an 
 executive instrument, a means, fictious in its very 
 reality, of expressing ideas, producing immaterial 
 images, and portraying the sentiments and affec- 
 tions of the mind, failing in which, they would be 
 
120 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 mere feats of strength and agility. But I shall 
 not stop to prove that the art must be incomplete, 
 which uses gesture instead of words, and which 
 is compelled to resort to motion itself to give the 
 idea of repose, just as music can only represent 
 silence by means of sound. 
 
 To disfranchise every art more or less from the 
 conditions which its fictious nature imposes on it, 
 in order to give to its imitation what is deemed to 
 be an increase of truth ; 
 
 To complete more or less what is wanting to 
 the natural means of the imitation proper to every 
 art, in order to render its resemblance more entire : 
 
 These two points are what ignorant innovators 
 -are continually aiming at, and endeavouring to 
 attain. The efforts they employ, and their re- 
 sults, have been already made known. As it is 
 against these their endeavours that our theory is 
 directed, the sequel will afford many opportunities 
 of contending against them. 
 
 It is sufficient, in this brief inquiry, to have 
 proved to demonstration how erroneous, and in- 
 deed how utterly void, are those pretensions, to 
 which, ignorance on the one hand, and want of 
 talent on the other, continually lend their sup- 
 port. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IT IS THE FICTIOUS AND THE INCOMPLETE IN EVER?" ART, 
 AND THESE ALONE, WHICH CONSTITUTE ART, AND BECOME 
 MOREOVER THE SOURCES OF THE PLEASURE OF IMITATION. 
 
 Since, by the laws of nature, an art can be no- 
 thing else than a manner of seizing and present- 
 ing a single aspect of the universal model, nothing 
 can be more futile than any effort on the part of 
 the artist to give to his image an additional truth, 
 or an increase of resemblance elicited from a source 
 beyond the sphere of its imitation. In whatever 
 way he borrows, from whencesoever he may draw 
 his resources, whether by an admixture of forms 
 of composition, by a complication of means, by 
 inclining to identical fidelity, or by all and every 
 transfer of physical or moral qualities from the field 
 of reality to that of imitation, the error is the same, 
 and the result will be alike in all. The efficacy 
 of imitation is destroyed precisely by what it were 
 thus supposed would add to it, and in that case 
 also the mixture of elements neutralizes them. 
 
 Of a truth, it is the jictious and incomplete in 
 
122 OF THE NATURE 
 
 every art that constitute it art. It is thence that 
 it derives its principal force, and the effect of its 
 action. And thence, too, proceeds its power of 
 giving pleasure. 
 
 It is indeed on this two-fold defect that the con- 
 dition of the pleasure we receive from imitation is 
 dependent. That condition consists in the mind 
 being apprised, and clearly perceiving that, 
 though the scheme of seducing it may be enter- 
 tained, the means of deceiving it are wanting, 
 (see hereafter Chap. xiv. on Illusion ,) and that 
 what is presented to it, is truly a thing which is 
 the image of some other. Then, nowise doubting 
 but that the imitable object or subject is shown 
 only in a single one of its aspects, it enjoys so 
 much the more in proportion as, captivated by the 
 art that concentres it in that one point of view, 
 it neither desires, nor thinks of suspecting there is 
 any other. 
 
 Let the real be substituted more or less in 
 place of the fictious, by a near approach in the 
 work of imitation to that physical or moral iden- 
 tity of which we have so often spoken ; let the 
 resemblance in every art be rendered absolutely 
 complete by a superaddition of individual and 
 vulgar truth, or by the combination of means ap- 
 pertaining to another imitative mode ; let, for in- 
 stance, all that art has clothed with poetical 
 metaphor, be restored to precise language, and 
 what will be the consequence ? The disenchant- 
 
OF IMITATION, 
 
 123 
 
 ment of reality substituted for the charm of imita- 
 tion. But it is argued that there will be the plea- 
 sure to be derived from nature. Even so ; but 
 art has nothing to do with such pleasure. It is 
 not concerned about the pleasure experienced on 
 viewing nature herself and in herself, but con- 
 trariwise, nature in her image. To enjoy nature, 
 requires neither forms nor means of art. To dis- 
 annul art, or, which is the same thing, the repre- 
 sentative effect of its image, would be doing like 
 the child, who, when breaking the mirror, in order 
 to lay hold on his own reflected appearance, an- 
 nihilated the one by destroying the other. 
 
 Such, then, is the result of that complement 
 which foolish and ignorant persons would fain 
 add to every imitative mode ; and it is the same in 
 all, save that it will be more palpable with regard 
 to those, which, by material means, directly affect 
 the external organs. 
 
 Let, for instance, the reality instead of the 
 image of the objects be introduced in the scenery 
 of the stage. Let me behold through a real open- 
 ing at the extremity of the stage, the mountains 
 of the country beyond, and the sea with vessels* 
 floating on its waves, instead of the pictorial re- 
 presentation of a similar scene. Substitute, for 
 the curtain and the side scenes, natural trees and 
 solid columns and buildings ; I know not what 
 
 * As at the theatre at Lisbon. 
 
124 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 pleasure the display of such realities might afford 
 me ; but I am very certain that whatever pleasure 
 1 might experience, it would not be that which 
 must result from imitation. 
 
 Suppose that in the pantomimic fictions of bat- 
 tles, sieges, onsets or assaults, some real circum- 
 stance should change the combatants into actual 
 antagonists . . .You exclaim, stop ! for humanity 
 revolts at it . . . And should not good taste 
 equally revolt at appearances bordering so closely 
 on the thing itself, which, by means of a coarse 
 illusion, give too violent a shock to the senses ? 
 Such is in fact the case, when in the midst of the 
 sacking and burning of towns, we see little pup- 
 pets thrown down into the flames, and imitation 
 so far belied through an excess of truth, as that 
 those factitious tumbles are even accompanied by 
 real cries, and that too when the sight is the only 
 organ that ought rightly to be addressed. 
 
 Errors are better understood, and more readily 
 acknowledged when they are such that the ex- 
 ternal sense is a sufficient judge. No one there- 
 fore attempts to justify the spurious illusion of 
 those painted statues which at a distance surprise 
 the inattentive beholder. Every one knows that 
 the effect of such imitative combination is null, 
 inasmuch as it is not perceived, and perhaps it is 
 still more so when it is found out. For it may well 
 be said of it, Tant quon ne le salt pas, ce - nest 
 rien ; dbs quon le suit, cest peu de chose. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 125 
 
 Nevertheless, the very same thing that is by 
 common agreement censured in all those cases, 
 as destroying, in regard to the sight, the very es- 
 sence of imitation, by depriving it of its fictious 
 attributes, is committed and approved of towards 
 the mind in those arts, and in those divisions of 
 them, which are less in affinity with matter and 
 with the senses. 
 
 And what other result do they attain, than that 
 of diminishing and frequently disannulling the 
 efficacy of their own imitation, who associate with 
 it either an alien imitation, or a charm-dispelling 
 reality, and who consider themselves warranted 
 (as we have before seen) in introducing vulgar 
 language into an heroic action, by an alliance of 
 elements altogether incompatible ; who mingle, 
 with the sublime sentiments of the most affecting 
 incidents, burlesque circumstances derived from 
 the social condition of the lowest grades ; who 
 are desirous that every thing should be done and 
 said, in poetry, and on the stage, as it actually 
 takes place on the world’s stage ; who think that 
 theatrical delivery should not differ from common 
 conversation, nor theatrical action from familiar 
 bearing; who, not knowing how to distinguish 
 imitative truth from servile transcript, would wish 
 that the fidelity of the pantographe, or the camera- 
 obscura should be the measure of pictorial verisi- 
 militude in the arts of design ; who acknowledge no 
 other resemblance than that of portraiture, no other 
 
126 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 imitation of man, than that of a man ; who, mistaken 
 in their notions of imitative variety, (see Chap, vii.) 
 set the pleasure it occasions to the account of the 
 promiscuous commingling of different forms of 
 composition ; and finally, who believe they are 
 rendering a service to art by removing the diffi- 
 culty that attends the attainment of positive truth 
 in images which are but fictious, and the pro- 
 duction of a complete resemblance by means 
 fitted only to make it less perfect ? 
 
 What result can possibly follow from all such 
 endeavours ; but that, while believing they are 
 adding to the efficacy of art by augmenting the 
 identity between the image and its model, they 
 are more or less enfeebling the distinctness of that 
 line of demarcation which ought to separate na- 
 ture from imitation ; and the consequence must 
 be that both the truth of art and of nature will 
 alike be absent. 
 
 To deliver art from the trammels which occasion 
 the difficulty of its operations would be to dis- 
 pense with the efforts it must make in order to 
 appear not to need such exemption. To take 
 away its subserviency would be to cut off from it 
 the source of that resistance which is the cause of 
 its strength. It would be just as though one were 
 to free the dancer from the clog of keeping time, 
 while the merit as well as the pleasure of the 
 dance arises from the very circumstance that its 
 action is subjected to that clog. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 127 
 
 How strange is the ignorance, how singular the 
 delusion evinced by that inability to discern what 
 constitutes, throughout every form of composi- 
 tion, the merit and the pleasure of imitation! 
 which merit and pleasure consist in producing 
 resemblance, notwithstanding the dissimilarity, 
 in giving the effect of the reality and of the ob- 
 ject despite what is wanting in order to its being 
 the real object ; in appearing the thing itself, by 
 means different and far distant from it; in the 
 banishing even a suspicion of constraint while 
 under the very yoke of rules, attaining the charm 
 of ease in the midst of difficulties, producing an 
 impression of the true with the elements of the 
 false, giving life to what is but a shadow, and 
 from the nonentity of fiction calling forth the 
 wonder of existence. 
 
128 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN WHAT MANNER AND BY WHAT MEANS ART IS ENABLED TO 
 CORRECT THE FICTIOUS , AND TO COMPENSATE THE INCOM- 
 PLETE, NECESSARILY INHERENT IN IT. 
 
 In subjects like the present, too much attention 
 cannot be paid in order to render one’s meaning 
 clear and intelligible. Gross errors border closely 
 on subtle truths, and an almost imperceptible 
 partition frequently separates the rational from 
 the absurd. 
 
 We have now before us an instance where the 
 true and the false appear to come in contact. 
 Nothing more possible than that ignorance or in- 
 attention should mistake the sense of the words 
 and make the thing expressed belie the idea, and 
 the idea its expression. 
 
 In this way the most startling consequences 
 might be drawn from what we have advanced on 
 the nature of imitation, and the importance it is 
 of to the arts that it should never cease to appear 
 imitation ; from the opinion we entertain (as will 
 be developed in the followingchapter,)that illusion. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 129 
 
 as it is usually understood, is not the legitimate 
 end of imitation, and finally that something fic- 
 tious and incomplete must form part of the cha- 
 racter of every art. 
 
 Undoubtedly we do not mean that the artist 
 ought to render that deficiency , inherent in every 
 mode of imitation, still more evident than it is. 
 We do not mean that art should make a parade, 
 if we may so speak, of what is wanting to it; that, 
 turning traitor to itself, it herald its own impo- 
 tence, and put the mind on its guard against every 
 kind of seduction. 
 
 If that were the only purpose of the artist, his 
 task would be easy indeed. We know but too 
 well how numerous are the means within the 
 reach of every body for preserving the eye and 
 the mind from every possible charm. Such art 
 has small need of theory or precept. 
 
 A moment’s consideration will suffice to decide 
 that to draw such an inference would be a ridi- 
 culous exaggeration, not to say parody. 
 
 Not only should the artist be careful not to 
 overstrain the degree of that kind of improba- 
 bility, fiction and incompleteness, which is con- 
 ditional to his art; but he must exert all his 
 talent to palliate its result, and its effect on the 
 senses or the mind. 
 
 I have already said that the merit and the 
 charm of every art consists in pleasing, notwith- 
 standing the hindrances that render success dif- 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 ficult. I am now about to show in what way all 
 may succeed, and by what secret they may tri- 
 umph over every opposing obstacle. 
 
 That secret is universally known, nor is there 
 any other. 
 
 It is perfection ; and this word requires no ex- 
 planation, since it serves to characterise all the 
 kinds of qualities and excellencies that can be 
 combined in a work. 
 
 Perfection it is that must compensate and that 
 does in fact compensate, in the partial work of 
 imitation, otherwise speaking, in the image, for 
 all that nature denies to art in order to its being 
 or appearing its equal. 
 
 That perfection, when it exists in a work, be- 
 comes an indemnity for what is wanting to every 
 art. So great is the sufficiency of such indem- 
 nity, that we not only do not think of complain- 
 ing of what is deficient, but we no longer per- 
 ceive it, or, if we should chance to do so, it is but 
 that we may applaud. 
 
 The hardness of the material of a fine statue 
 and its black or white colour, is not only far 
 from offending us, but if we advert to it, it proves 
 an additional pleasure, and instead of complaining 
 of the hardness of the stone, we are desirous that 
 it should be the very hardest. In a master-piece 
 of painting, the perfection of the harmony and the 
 perspective, makes us forget its limited space and 
 flat surface. Neither does the want of resem- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 131 
 
 blance in singing strike us at the theatre if the 
 singer excel, nor do the constraints of dramatic 
 action force on us its subserviency, if perfection in 
 the language of the passions is present to conceal 
 from us all the expedients that the poet brings 
 into play. 
 
 Each of the fine arts finds in the perfection of 
 its own individual means, a corrective for the pre- 
 tended imperfection of its nature, a compensation 
 for what is necessarily fictious, and a substitute 
 for what is incomplete. But it must be confessed 
 that genius alone can discover that substitute, and 
 sentiment alone can enjoy it. Mediocrity finds 
 it a shorter way to plunder what it cannot acquire, 
 and ignorance, more easy to give itself up to the 
 reality of gross and sensual emotions. 
 
 There can scarcely be an individual who has 
 not at some time or other recognized this ascen- 
 dancy of perfection, who has not unsuspectingly 
 experienced its influence in some art or other, and 
 has not had an opportunity of learning that such 
 influence frequently derives its strength from that 
 very impotence which the art has to conceal, from 
 that difficulty which it must needs overcome. 
 One advantage that poetry possesses over paint- 
 ing, is its very want of colours ; its merit consists 
 in not having need of them. Does not the con- 
 trivance in its pictures lie in their being rendered 
 sensible, and one may even say visible, though 
 without substance, form, or colouring? Is there 
 
 k 2 
 
132 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 ground for complaint that the traits of the per- 
 sonages delineated by the great poets remain un- 
 known and incomprehensible ? Who is unac- 
 quainted with Achilles, Hector, Ulysses or 
 Eneas ? Who, in such pictures as the descriptions 
 of battles, or of enchantments in the works of 
 Tasso, has ever perceived the want of life or of 
 reality? Who then doubts but that he has seen 
 them ? 
 
 Do we remark that there is matter in the 
 master-pieces of sculpture ? Do we wish for the 
 addition of colour? Do we regret, in paintings, 
 that their beautiful scenes are presented to us 
 only on one side, or that their figures are motion- 
 less ? What then would we have ? In the paint- 
 ing of the fate of Heliodorus, do not the two 
 ministers of heavenly vengeance fly, as they dart 
 upon their victim ? Do we not really pass round 
 the Antiope of Correggio or the Venus of Titian ? 
 Are shrieks wanting to the torments of Laocoon, 
 or the accents of lamentation to the anguish of 
 Niobe ? He who has never heard sounds from the 
 chorus of the dream of Atys, has never seen 
 aught but motion in the pantomimes of Noverre. 
 
 To what, therefore, are those arts indebted for 
 their fascinations? Precisely to that deficiency 
 which prevents them from deceiving us. They 
 are owing to the very efforts they must make to 
 supply what nature has denied them. How then 
 should we repine at privations to which they owe 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 133 
 
 their riches, and an impotence which becomes the 
 cause of their power ? 
 
 To that fortunate impotence are we indebted 
 for the prodigies of art. 
 
 The artist obliged continually to keep in view 
 the weak side of his art, which, like the assailable 
 point of a fortress requires so much the more care, 
 puts all his means in requisition to point attention 
 to the side where he is strongest, and this diver- 
 sion he is enabled to bring about by virtue of that 
 perfection, which can belong only to art. We 
 shall indeed find that there is no art, however 
 inferior in many respects to its model, that is not 
 able to defy, nay, even to surpass it in some one. 
 For each, from the very circumstance of its being 
 imitation, may subject its works to combinations 
 which cannot extend their influence to the opera- 
 tions of nature. Art, moreover, to excite an in- 
 terest in its limited creation, places its reliance on 
 a single point of view, while nature, amid the 
 boundless extent of objects she includes, neglects 
 the care of minute details that would be unavail- 
 able to her purpose. But this will elsewhere be 
 further developed. (See Part II. Chap, vii.) 
 
 I have already said enough for my readers to 
 comprehend, why the happiest results of imitation 
 depend on a faithful adherence to its elementary 
 principle, why art owes the only superiority its 
 images can possess over reality, to their keeping 
 within the bounds of their particular nature ; why 
 
134 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 it is precisely to what is fictions and incomplete in 
 his imitation that the artist is indebted for its effi- 
 cacy ; and finally, why he rises superior to his 
 model, from the very cause that would be sup- 
 posed to retain him beneath it. 
 
 But this also explains to us how and why tame 
 works, in which the perfection of art is wanting, 
 have, or at least appear to have, an effect so in- 
 ferior to those of nature, and so slight an action 
 on the mind and the senses, which has justly 
 given occasion to say that there is no degree between 
 the mediocre and the bad. 
 
 What but the coldness of its marble or the 
 rigidity of matter, remains to that statue in which 
 genius, sentiment, and skill have neither created 
 the character, ennobled the expression, nor per- 
 fected the form ? What, to those painted compo- 
 sitions of figures devoid of aim, and without 
 truth of action, but the shock their immobility 
 causes to the senses? Nothing is flatter to the eye 
 than a picture, the lines of which are not flowing ; 
 nothing more mute than a pantomime, where the 
 motions are expressive of no passions ; more 
 fruitless than a concert of sounds productive only 
 of noise ; nor more prosaic than verses which 
 have nothing beyond the metre and the rhyme. 
 
 Imitative perfection, which every art may at- 
 tain by its own proper means, is alone adequate 
 to re-establish the equilibrium between the imi- 
 tated and imitating object, between the original 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 135 
 
 and the image. Every other expedient derived 
 from borrowed or stolen resources, not only ag- 
 gravates the defect it disguises, but deprives art 
 of the only compensation that can enable it to 
 vie successfully with nature. 
 
 To counterfeit nature is not to imitate her. 
 That fruitless pretension to identical similarity, 
 which belies and foils itself, is worthy of no other 
 name than that of counterfeit , mimicry , or parody. 
 Reality, life, motion, are prerogatives of nature ; 
 it is by means of those that she gives pleasure. 
 The privilege of art is that it needs neither life 
 nor reality in order to please, and that, like nature, 
 it pleases, notwithstanding all that it falls short 
 of being nature. Its privilege is, not to present 
 reality, but to supply its place. 
 
136 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OF ILLUSION, IN THE WORKS OF IMITATION. 
 
 All that has been hitherto established concerning 
 the nature of imitation, as to what it is, and what 
 it is not, what some would fain have it, and what 
 it ought never to become, applies so suitably to 
 illusion that any particular discussion on the no- 
 tion of it, might almost have been dispensed with. 
 Perhaps, too, it may be difficult to avoid the re- 
 petition of some of the preceding considerations. 
 
 The word illusion , however, exists, and it is 
 not synonymous with imitation ; it certainly ex- 
 presses a different idea as applied to our present 
 subject. It is understood in several different 
 ways. It is often proposed as the sole end of 
 imitation and the works of art ; and this has a 
 tendency to diminish its true value. For sup- 
 posing it well founded, it would still be necessary 
 to be of one consent, as to the degree of illusion 
 and the means of producing it. After what has 
 
OF IMITATION . 
 
 137 
 
 been already elicited there can be no doubt but 
 that a corrupt illusion, the offspring of ignorance 
 and error, may exist. The word itself, expressing 
 that effect or quality of imitation, might easily 
 give occasion for mistake as to its signification ; 
 and yet mayhap it contains the best explanation 
 of the idea that should accompany it. 
 
 The word illusion certainly carries with it the 
 idea that the resemblances due to imitation de- 
 ceive us. This would seem to warrant the con- 
 clusion that as we are fond of illusion, we are 
 pleased at being deceived. Yet the elementary 
 theory of imitation has placed it beyond a doubt, 
 that, if the object to be imitated and its image are 
 such as to admit of their being confounded the 
 one with the other, the resulting confusion, in 
 that it deprives us of the consciousness of imita- 
 tion, disannuls both the effect and the pleasure of 
 it. Whence again we may infer that, not wishing 
 to be deceived, we ought not to wish for illusion. 
 
 Thus, on the one hand, deception would be the 
 highest degree of imitation, and, on the other, its 
 utter ruin. How are these contradictions to be 
 reconciled ? How is such a problem to be solved? 
 I have already shown how. The word itself gives 
 the solution in the idea of deception that attaches 
 to it. If there are two kinds of deception, then 
 also are there two kinds of illusion, and thence a 
 source of ambiguity. 
 
 We all indeed are aware of the twofold sense 
 
138 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 jurisprudence itself teaches us to observe as to the 
 word deceive , taken differently according as the 
 person deceived is judged to have been himself in 
 fault, or the victim of a direct and external agent. 
 The first case is that of an improvident and unskil- 
 ful man, be it in war, politics, or business, who falls 
 into certain snares that are considered as merely 
 allowable devices, and harmless cunning, not as 
 violations of right, or treacherous plots. 
 
 This subject may be more clearly explained by 
 the instance of a game at cards. Every one will 
 grant that the stratagems of the game are allowable 
 modes of deceiving. But there are also unlawful 
 means ; as when the player cheats. In the first 
 case, where the deception takes place according 
 to the rules of the game, that is, within the limits 
 of given conditions by which it is mutually agreed 
 that each party be empowered to deceive, the 
 error that might be avoided is deemed the fault of 
 him who has suffered himself to be deceived. In 
 the second case, that of cheating, the error is un- 
 avoidable, since it is the result of fraudulent 
 means, which are contrary to the nature of the 
 game, and form no part of it. 
 
 I apply this to illusion, considering it as a game 
 of imitation, and we shall see that there may be 
 error on one side without either fraud or deception 
 on the other. 
 
 In fact, every art, or every mode of imitation 
 plays with us, if I may so speak, a sort of game, 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 139 
 
 having its rules and conditions which, if we would 
 have them observed, we must ourselves submit to. 
 In order that the game may be played, it is very 
 necessary that the mind be attentive, and we 
 shall find that what are termed the conventions of 
 art are nothing more than the share of concession 
 to which we bind ourselves, and in virtue of 
 which, if art has no right to seek to deceive us, but 
 after a certain manner, on a certain point, and by 
 means agreed upon, neither must we require other 
 effects than such as depend on those means, nor 
 look at the forbidden point ; in short, we must not 
 look over our neighbour’s cards. 
 
 Since this kind of game at deception by resem- 
 blance (that is, illusion) must, that it may take 
 place, rest on certain artifices on the one hand, 
 and certain concessions or compliances on the 
 other, it is evident that two sorts of illusion may 
 exist, the one deceiving in conformity to rules, 
 the other disregarding them in order the better to 
 deceive. But the first is plainly the only one 
 that affords the mind true pleasure on this head, — • 
 the pleasure of the game. 
 
 In fact, the means for deceiving which charac- 
 terize legitimate illusion, are such that we are 
 forewarned to be on our guard against them, and 
 prevent a surprise. We are half in the secret; 
 and if the mind allows itself to be taken unawares, 
 it hugs itself in its error, since, apprized of the 
 snare, it might have avoided falling into it. 
 
140 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 But the artifice by which deception is prac- 
 tised in unlawful illusion always misses its aim 
 with respect to imitative pleasure. I would be 
 understood to say that the more such illusion 
 deceives, the less it pleases. If the imposture be 
 unskilful, far from seducing, it disgusts ; instead of 
 attracting, it repels. If the fraud be completely 
 hidden, if by stratagems alien to the game, the 
 deception be entire, the mind, nothing conscious, 
 can have no suspicion of its error nor of the means 
 that contrived it. Illusion, to him who does not 
 suspect any artifice, is as though it were not. 
 
 It is then important to the success of illusion that 
 its effect be not infallible, and cannot be complete. 
 Therefore is it of moment that every art should be 
 exercised only in its own proper means, which 
 means are always insufficient to substitute the 
 idea of reality for that of the image. This is as 
 much as to say that it is the office of all art to 
 attempt to deceive us notwithstanding all the 
 obstacles that appear to hinder us from being 
 deceived. From the circumstance of the difficulty 
 arises the pleasure derived from seeing it over- 
 come, and such exactly is the cause of the plea- 
 sure that illusion affords. 
 
 But such is not the cause of that pleasure which 
 the generality of persons require of the fine arts 
 and of imitation. It is scarcely to be wondered 
 at; for all are not alike capable of appreciating 
 it. It will hold good as a general remark that. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 141 
 
 according as the imagination is more active, we 
 possess in a higher degree the necessary capability 
 of supplying the kind of deficit common to every 
 imitative mode; and the better also are we con- 
 tented with the specific illusion apportioned to 
 each art. In fact, the pleasure of illusion arises, 
 more than we allow for, from a sort of working of 
 the mind by which itself finishes the work of art. 
 
 The generality, on the contrary, bringing to 
 bear only the external sense, and that but little 
 cultivated in the exercise which such co-opera- 
 tion requires, desire not only a first impulse, but 
 to be forced resistlessly along by the effects of 
 arts. Coarse organizations require a reality in 
 some measure palpable, and the nearer imitation 
 approaches to it, the greater will be its success 
 with the multitude. 
 
 Some there are who imagine that they add 
 greatly to the effect of dramatic representations 
 by relieving the mind altogether from the labour 
 of supplying what may be wanting, in order to 
 induce a sort of belief of reality. They think it a 
 great matter to carry the observance of costume 
 to the greatest exactitude, in the minute details of 
 dresses, accessories, and localities. More espe- 
 cially as a thing of the utmost importance, they 
 place great stress on the adroitness with which 
 the mechanism of the scenes is conducted. There 
 is, however, every reason to believe that no such 
 feeling existed amongst the ancients with regard 
 
142 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 to these points. Metastasio* seems to have de- 
 monstrated clearly enough, that with them the 
 spectator had to exert himself, more than is sup- 
 posed, in picturing the change of scenes which 
 during the course of the performance were indi- 
 cated to the mind rather than to the eye ; which 
 amounts to saying that there was much less illu- 
 sion by reality, and much more by imagination. 
 
 It is indeed certain that the more exercise we 
 afford to the senses the less room is there for 
 exercising the mind. 
 
 What Metastasio has remarked upon the appli- 
 ances of the scenic part of the theatre of the an- 
 cients, is equally applicable to the composition and 
 recitation of their dramas. The poet neither 
 thought that it was due to the spectator, nor did 
 the spectator require of the poet that the repre- 
 sentation should transfigure, like a faithful mirror, 
 all that might be needful to induce a belief in the 
 presence of reality. Very frequently the poet 
 showed himself even during the course of the 
 piece ; and the actor also, often quitted his part 
 and addressed himself to the audience; so that we 
 may be warranted in believing that, in accordance 
 with the spirit of art, they formerly understood 
 dramatic imitation no otherwise than as that of a 
 picture, in which the painter does not pretend to 
 go so far as to deceive the senses, since if such 
 
 * Estratto dell’ Arte Poetica, Chap, v., page 147. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 143 
 
 were the effect of the illusion, that of art would 
 disappear. 
 
 Considered under this point of view, the system 
 of the theatre of the ancients, seems to have been 
 more distinct from identity than any other kind of 
 imitation. One cannot but conclude that the mode 
 of recitation adopted, which was always in mea- 
 sured language and accompanied by musical in- 
 struments, would not enable one, so easily as with 
 unfettered declamation, to resign oneself to that 
 deception which might have the effect of leading 
 one to suppose that what the actor said or did 
 was improvised or spontaneous. In that, more 
 evidently than in any other art, the thing imitated 
 was shown, in and by means of some other which 
 was the image of it ; and, more than in aught 
 else, nature was viewed only through the appear- 
 ance and under the form of fiction. Which is as 
 much as to say that illusion was what it ought 
 always to be, an effect produced by art on the 
 imagination, or the internal sense, by compelling 
 it inwardly to represent the truth of objects not- 
 withstanding all the fictious resources and foreign 
 accessories that might tend to a contrary result. 
 
 But such an effect could arise only from the 
 truly moral power of art, which consisted in the 
 poet giving to every circumstance in which the 
 personages were concerned its local truth, to every 
 passion its proper language, to every condition, to 
 every age its habits, manners and mode of speech. 
 
144 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 and lastly, in rendering the delivery and action 
 conformable to all those gradations. Now the 
 illusion, notwithstanding all that might appear to 
 contradict it, would be more vivid according as 
 the external sense had less part in it and as the 
 art had experienced greater difficulties, and con- 
 sequently the mind exercised more energy in 
 overleaping the distance that separated the object 
 imitated and the means of imitation : for, on that, 
 as we shall presently show (see the next chapter) 
 depends, far more than is supposed, the value and 
 efficacy of imitation. 
 
 What is there to prevent our applying to the 
 other arts the remarks above made concerning the 
 stage, the acknowledged field of all illusions ? 
 
 If it be true that every art can only present 
 the image, instead of the real object, and is bound 
 to produce that image in matter distinct from that 
 of the object, we also are reciprocally bound, in 
 judging, or which is the same thing, in enjoying 
 imitation, to set up no other claim than that of 
 seeing an image produced by means of matter 
 foreign to that of its model. Here we have the 
 principle of the game of illusion and these are the 
 rules to be observed on both sides. 
 
 We have already seen (in the previous chapter) 
 that one of the principal obligations on the side of 
 art is to remedy the defect of its material, and to 
 compensate the incompleteness of its resemblance 
 by the imitative perfection proper to its means ; 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 145 
 
 that this perfection, when present in the image, 
 exercises a charm over us that captivates the 
 mind to such a degree as to hinder us from re- 
 marking in what the resemblance falls short of 
 being complete. 
 
 But while on our side we require that every art 
 should remain itself and by itself, we are willingly 
 disposed to facilitate the means of a freer range of 
 action under the constraints that fetter it. Hence 
 what are termed the conventions of art. They con- 
 sist in certain concessions which we accord to it, 
 and conduce, if not to extend, at least to render 
 more ductile the encircling chain by which it is 
 girt around. 
 
 I shall cite a few of these conventions merely 
 to give a more accurate notion of them. (The 
 subject will be treated more at length in the Third 
 Part. See Chap, iii.) Among the number of 
 those on the stage are the prologues, introductory 
 scenes, confidants, the asides , soliloquies, &c.; in 
 painting, the right of the artist to substitute a part 
 for the whole, to change the natural order of 
 events, transpose ideas and transform persons. 
 
 Still farther concessions in the details are per- 
 mitted to imitation. They are termed licences; 
 and the word sufficiently indicates that they are 
 only so many permissions granted to art for de- 
 parting occasionally from the strictness of its rules, 
 not in order to violate them, but the better to ob- 
 serve their spirit, being merely exceptions, the 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 object of which is to aid in the fulfilment of the 
 conditions to which it is subjected. 
 
 But these facilities render yet more rigorous 
 the obligation which is imposed upon it of over- 
 coming, not eluding, the obstacle opposed to the 
 illusion which it is its office to produce. For not 
 only is it imperative that the obstacle exist, but it 
 must still, even when genius has rendered it im- 
 perceptible to the sentiment, be evident to the 
 reason and really cognizant to the senses. I must 
 be certain of it and be able to perceive it. It is, 
 if I may so speak, one of the stakes of the wager, 
 and the cause of the pleasure which I shall ex- 
 perience from losing it. 
 
 If an actor by putting off his own, and investing 
 himself, as it were, with the personality of ano- 
 ther, makes me believe, for a moment, that I have 
 seen a different individual, I enjoy my surprise ; 
 but it is because I know that it is not the person 
 I fancy I see, and because I am acquainted with 
 the difficulty attendant on such a transformation. 
 Too much reality in the resemblance, by means, 
 for instance, of a mask, would weaken the kind of 
 illusion I speak of, and would diminish its plea- 
 sure. 
 
 If a statue, although of marble or bronze, hard 
 and motionless matter, has almost made me be- 
 lieve in the reality of its motion, and the softness 
 of its flesh, mv mind will the more readilv cling- 
 to that error, in proportion as my sight gives notice 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 147 
 
 of the contrary. The better acquainted I am with 
 the hardness and immobility of the material, the 
 greater is the effect produced by the illusion of 
 life and action. It is therefore necessary that I 
 should know of a certainty that what I see is 
 inert matter. 
 
 When the painter includes within a narrow 
 compass a vast extent of space, when, on a flat 
 surface, he bears me through the far-off regions of 
 the infinite, and makes the air and light appear to 
 circulate around forms devoid of relief, I find de- 
 light in abandoning myself to his illusions. But 
 nevertheless 1 would not have the frame absent ; 
 I would wish to know that what I see is in fact 
 but a piece of canvass, or a perfectly plane sur- 
 face. 
 
 When the singer on the stage undertakes to 
 substitute measured sounds for those of unre- 
 stricted declamation, let him beware of infringing 
 the rules that subject his delivery to the perceptible 
 constraint of rhythm and modulation ; for the 
 pleasure of illusion is owing to the obstacle those 
 very ties present, and to their evident restraint, 
 an illusion which arises from finding the true ac- 
 cents of nature in a language so far removed from 
 the natural one. 
 
 Nor with respect to music must any of those 
 means which are the visible and material agents 
 of its execution, be withdrawn ; neither must its 
 instruments nor its orchestra be concealed. I 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 would have every thing of the kind within view, 
 that I may experience the pleasure of losing sight 
 of them. Let all those charm-dispelling instru- 
 ments, that apprise me of the fiction and its arti- 
 fice, remain. The art will consist in making me 
 forget the artifice. The place and its narrow 
 bounds matter little. The more my actual view 
 is limited on all sides, the better will my spirit 
 mount into the ideal regions, whither the magic 
 harmony is capable of leading the way. 
 
 And I would inculcate the same to the poet. 
 In like manner have I need to perceive the ties 
 that bind him down, the galling rules that restrict 
 him, and his subjection to all those unities that 
 render it difficult for him to create illusion. At 
 the theatre I desire that, triumphing over those 
 obstacles, and the knowledge I have of them, he 
 compel me, by the sole resources of an imitation 
 limited in duration, space, and action, to see that 
 which does not exist, and to believe the contrary 
 to what I know. 
 
 What advantage would that art derive from 
 seeking the inopportune aid of the resources of 
 reality in order to seduce me ; since it possesses 
 the secret of that true enchantment which is able 
 to exalt the sentiments, to command admiration, 
 to open the fountains of sensibility, and pour forth 
 the language of the passions ? These are the 
 means of illusion for the poet. True it is that 
 genius alone can produce such illusion, and that 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 149 
 
 the senses merely are not sufficient for its recep- 
 tion ; since the eyes of the mind must co-operate. 
 To them, therefore, ought the dramatic poet more 
 especially to address himself, and the illusion he 
 will thus achieve will be far more efficient than 
 that of costumes and scenic decorations. 
 
 Not that I would wish to deprive dramatic re- 
 presentations of all those accessories that tend to 
 attune the external with the internal sense. Un- 
 doubtedly I approve the additional aid of the 
 means and effects of embellishment. But I con- 
 fess that I should prefer those pieces whose suc- 
 cess depended least on such resources. I prize 
 the illusion arising from the true expression of 
 sentiments and manners, above that from faithful 
 adherence to costume. I estimate, above all, 
 that depicting of characters and passions on the 
 stage, which needs no assistance either from out- 
 ward show or scenic effects. And if the proper 
 end of illusion be to lift us out of ourselves, I had 
 rather be borne away by the power of the poet, 
 than the artifice of the machinist. 
 
 It is now evident, as I remarked in the outset, 
 that the observations which comprehend the doc- 
 trine of imitation are for the most part applicable 
 to the theory of illusion. In fact, illusion differs 
 from it only in being its effect and, in the opinion 
 of many, its end. But on this last point some 
 explanation is requisite. 
 
 This will prove neither long nor difficult, now 
 
150 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 that the nature of imitation, and the elements 
 which constitute it, are rightly understood. 
 
 No, then; illusion is not the end of imitation, 
 if by illusion is understood deception practised in 
 one art by means of undue borrowings from others, 
 or by mingling the elements of reality with those 
 of imitation. Illusion is not the end of imitation, 
 if by illusion is meant that which aspires to lead 
 the senses captive, to surprise the outward organ, 
 to substitute the idea of reality for the fiction of its 
 image, and identical similarity for imitative re- 
 semblance. 
 
 But if the end of imitation be (as will be de- 
 veloped in the subsequent part) to present to the 
 senses and the mind, through the intervention of 
 the fine arts, images which, in all the different 
 forms of imitation, shall furnish an aggregate of 
 perfection and ideal beauty to which particular 
 models afford no equal, it is certain that such 
 images will exercise a sufficiently powerful action 
 over our minds to produce on us the moral effect 
 of illusion. This is the sense in which it must be 
 taken, when considered as forming part of the 
 effects of imitation, and co-operating towards 
 what would seem to be its definitive aim. 
 
 Hence, the still more obvious conclusion that, 
 in procuring legitimate illusion, the ways con- 
 ducting to it and the end proposed are in direct 
 opposition to such as are maintained and acted 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 lot 
 
 up to, by some persons through ignorance, and 
 by others, through inadvertence. 
 
 The error commonly arises from a belief that 
 illusion is due only to our senses, and that its ac- 
 tion depends solely on what is material or mecha- 
 nical in that portion of resemblance devolving 
 upon each art, and corresponding to one or other 
 of our organs. It is in consequence of this 
 opinion which is common to the generality of per- 
 sons, that they are so prone to exceed or falsify 
 the means of resemblance, with the intention of ap- 
 proximating it more nearly to reality or identity. 
 
 On the contrary, the property of illusion in the 
 fine arts is not to make us see that reality, but 
 imagine that we see it ; not to show us what it is, 
 but lead us to suppose its existence, and make us 
 understand what is not told to us. This effect 
 will, however, be looked for in vain if we have 
 nothing to correspond to it, to wit, the faculty of 
 perceiving and that of imagining. 
 
 Of a truth we ourselves render assistance in a 
 greater degree than is supposed to the effect of an 
 action which if not reciprocal, remains effete; and 
 it is for us to aid the power of illusion on ourselves. 
 For when art has produced in its resemblances 
 the perfection which is to supply their insuffici- 
 ency it yet remains for us, that is, for our imagi- 
 nations, our sensibility, to realize the image, and 
 render its attributes complete. Genius furnishes 
 
15*2 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 the ground work, it is our part to work it out and 
 transform it. That is the crowning and ultimate 
 requisite. Illusion must be sought after, and pro- 
 duced by and for the internal sense. The true in 
 art is not attained by mechanical means, which 
 is only a secondary instrument, nor for the physi- 
 cal organ, which is only the intermediate agent of 
 its effect. Suffice it to say, that it is a fallacy to 
 believe that that effect can be achieved in any art 
 solely by those means which are in relation with 
 the senses. 
 
 Can any one, for instance, suppose that it is 
 owing to any results of onomatopoeia, to the ad- 
 ventitious effects of imitative harmony in a few 
 verses, or to the minute details of the descriptive 
 form of composition, that poetry is reputed to be 
 the world of illusions ? Is it indebted for its fasci- 
 nations to a casual euphony or the presence of 
 a few picturesque words? Or is it not rather to the 
 moral sway it bears over our minds, producing in 
 us at pleasure the immaterial images of all beings, 
 exciting ideas of every physical or intellectual 
 beauty, and arousing those impassioned emotions, 
 by which we are transported into the presence of 
 all those objects that it so well enables us to see 
 without the aid of any reality ? 
 
 Does it not in fact produce the greatest amount 
 of illusion, because it is devoid of all reality, of 
 all visibility in its images ? 
 
 Do persons suppose that the efficacy and the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 153 
 
 charm of illusion in music is owing to the circum- 
 stance of that art imitating speech by sounds, 
 and noise by noisy effects ? On the contrary, is it 
 not rather due to the fact that, by the aid of 
 sounds frequently so alien to the nature of what 
 it expresses, and so far remote from the object it 
 represents, it nevertheless produces within us the 
 most vivid images, that, without the employment 
 of matter, it causes us to create bodies, and with- 
 out words, to understand discourse, that even 
 words are only a motive or occasion for, and not 
 a subject of, its conceptions ? And hence (as a 
 passing remark) the diversity of opinions on the 
 alliance of music and singing with poems and 
 words according to the greater or less degree of 
 imaginative power brought to the enjoyment of 
 that art. One holds that the musician should be 
 but a translator, if I may so speak, of the words : 
 another that the words should only be an inter- 
 preter of the music. The one has less, the other 
 more imagination. The one requires illusion from 
 reality, the other finds reality in illusion. 
 
 It would be going somewhat too far to refuse 
 to art, be it which one it may, the share of illu- 
 sion which it naturally derives from the accordance 
 of its material, or of its imitative machinery, with 
 that part of nature constituting its model. Un- 
 doubtedly it must be taken advantage of, if it 
 were only on account of those whose only or 
 whose strongest impressions are those of the 
 
154 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 senses. Who can deny but that the actual round- 
 ness or the reality of relief in the art of the 
 statuary, is one of the elements of the pleasure 
 arising from the illusion that art is fitted to pro- 
 duce, that the colour of bodies, the gradation of 
 tints, and the fading away of the distant perspec- 
 tive are in painting powerful means of seduction 
 to the eye ? But it must also be granted that 
 harmony of compositions, lofty thoughts, the ex- 
 pression of the affections of the mind, beauty 
 of forms, and ideal character, and many other 
 qualities that go direct to the soul, dispute the ex- 
 clusive effect of illusion with the impressions of 
 the outward sense. What if it should be found 
 that the senses, in the share they have in that 
 pleasure, enjoy less that which the imitation of 
 art offers as real, than that which is deficient to it 
 in reality, and which genius is bound to provide 
 in order to supply its place ? 
 
 After having demolished the vulgar prejudice 
 that would place the merit of illusion in the at- 
 tainment of identical imitation, we are arrived at 
 a corollary which, without what has gone before, 
 might well seem a paradox. It is, that every art 
 owes its illusion, that is to say, the effect and en- 
 tire worth of the resemblances produced by imi- 
 tation, precisely to the very circumstances that 
 prevent its resemblances from being absolute and 
 complete. 
 
 It is, that every art owes its illusion less to that 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 155 
 
 portion of reality which enters into the nature, 
 and attaches to the material instruments of its imi- 
 tation, than to what it substitutes for the entire 
 reality which it is prohibited from producing. 
 
 It is, that every art owes its illusion much less 
 to its action on the senses than to that it exercises 
 over the mind. 
 
 That the more the senses are engaged by the 
 action or the work of art, the more limited will be 
 its illusion. 
 
 So that the merit and the pleasure, whether of 
 imitation or of the illusion that accompanies it, 
 are in the direct ratio of the separation or distance 
 existing between the reality of the efficient model 
 and the imitative means that art has at command 
 to produce its image. 
 
 But it will be necessary to enter on a fresh dis- 
 quisition in order to determine with still greater 
 precision both the value of the terms, and the 
 sense to which the abstract notion just enunciated 
 should be restricted. (See the following chapter.) 
 
156 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PLEASURE OF IMITATION IS PROPORTIONATE TO THE DIS- 
 TANCE WHICH, IN EVERY ART OR IMITATIVE MODE, AND IN 
 THE WORKS OF EACH, SEPARATES THE ELEMENTS OF THE 
 MODEL FROM THOSE OF THE IMAGE. 
 
 It has been before remarked, that the more there 
 is in an art or its works to occasion pleasure to the 
 senses, the less will there be to give pleasure to 
 the mind ; and it has been shown, in the previous 
 chapter, that the effect of illusion depending more 
 especially on the moral power of imitation and on 
 our own co-operation, the mind is less active in 
 proportion as imitation approaches more nearly to 
 identity, and the image is limited to the repetition 
 of reality. 
 
 The subsequent chapter will bring to the sup- 
 port of this position a fact hitherto but little taken 
 notice of, namely, the comparative scale of rank 
 that general opinion assigns to the different arts, 
 by reason of the enjoyments they procure. But, 
 however, the thing is of itself proved by the mere 
 analysis of the manner in which the mind enjoys 
 the works of imitation. 
 
 Two sorts of operations necessarily form part of 
 
OF IMITATION. 157 
 
 the kind of labour without which the mind, re- 
 maining inert, experiences no pleasure ; for, with 
 respect to imitation, to be active, is to enjoy. 
 
 The first of those operations (already spoken of 
 in Chap, i.) is that by which the mind judges 
 concerning the resemblances that the arts present 
 to it. Every such resemblance carries with it 
 the idea of a model and of an image. The judg- 
 ment that the mind forms between those two 
 things, results from the juxtaposition it brings 
 them into the one with the other, and consequently 
 from the act of comparing. Since the mind de- 
 rives pleasure from imitation, proof is afforded 
 that it delights in making comparisons. 
 
 We have already seen that the mind finds no 
 pleasure in that surreptitious imitation which, 
 being no other than a repetition of the thing to be 
 imitated, re-becomes, as it were, the thing itself ; 
 and it appears to us that the true reason of that 
 want of pleasure is the state of inactivity in which 
 the mind continues, unmoved by every, so deemed, 
 work of imitation which gives no exercise to the 
 faculty of comparison. 
 
 As a consequence of this observation, or rather 
 indisputable fact, it must be true that every work 
 of art, even without falling into material identity, 
 but only conceived in its spirit, and executed in 
 such a manner as not quite to reproduce the idea 
 of the absolute reality of a particular model, pre- 
 senting but few relations to be combined, and but 
 
158 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 slight distances to be brought together, will little 
 exercise its faculty of comparing and procure the 
 least possible amount of pleasure. 
 
 Since it is the having a great number of relations 
 to combine, and appositions to effect, that gives 
 the greatest activity to that faculty of the mind 
 which enjoys resemblances by the comparisons it 
 draws,* it is certain that it will receive the greatest 
 amount of pleasure from that work or that kind 
 of imitation which shall afford to the art and to 
 the mind, occasion to institute the greatest 
 number of parallels and on points the most widely 
 removed. 
 
 That pleasure, or, if it be preferred, that labour 
 of comparison, arises, in the enjoyment that every 
 art furnishes to the mind, not only from the dis- 
 tance which separates the elements of the model 
 from those of the image, but also from the multi- 
 tude of appositions they involve. Now it is cer- 
 tain that in every imitative mode, according as 
 either the matter of the image or the technical 
 means of imitation partake more or less of the 
 nature of the model, there will be a less or greater 
 amount of diversities to embrace, of subjects for 
 
 * I beg to refer the reader, who may find any difficulty in 
 the above, to what Locke says concerning comparison in 
 book ii., chap. 25, of the “ Essay Concerning Human Un- 
 derstanding.” It is to designate that operation by which the 
 mind brings together and sets by one another the things to be 
 compared, that I have employed the word apposition. — Transl. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 159 
 
 comparison or exercise, and consequently of plea- 
 sure for the mind. 
 
 The second operation that enters into its labours, 
 as a principle of the pleasure it receives from 
 imitation, is that, the secret of which has been 
 already laid open in the preceding chapter on 
 illusion. I speak of that action, so wholly pecu- 
 liar to the imagination, in which, exalted by the 
 perfection and beauty of the image, incomplete 
 though its resemblance must necessarily be, (as 
 previously shown,) the mind finds itself as it were 
 compelled to consummate the effect, either by 
 supplying what imitation has been obliged to 
 omit, or seconding, by a sympathetic admiration, 
 the fictious power of the art, so that we become 
 instruments for providing, at one time, thoughts 
 to bodies, at another, a body and colour to what 
 exists only in idea. 
 
 It is to this co-operation or to its effects that 
 are applied all those metaphorical phrases serving 
 to express the action by which we say we are 
 raised beyond ourselves, transported into the pre- 
 sence of objects that have no existence, by which 
 we assist at scenes that we do not see, turn around 
 what is only on a flat surface, see what is motion- 
 less move, and in short, overleap on all sides the 
 boundaries within which art has confined its image. 
 
 Those two operations which procure to the 
 mind the true pleasure of imitation and also ex- 
 plain the cause of it, consist then on our side, the 
 
160 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 one in bringing the image to, and setting it by its 
 model, the other in completing or in rendering 
 imperceptible what is wanting to the entireness of 
 the resemblance. Thence we see why the degree 
 of merit of every imitative mode and of the plea- 
 sure peculiar to every art, may be estimated by 
 the distance or difference separating its imitative 
 elements from the elements of that portion of nature 
 which constitutes its model. 
 
 Here again we revert to the elementary princi- 
 ple constituting the essence of imitation, accord- 
 ing to the definition we have already given of it. 
 Wherever we find identity or its spirit, wherever 
 the model and the image are of a nature to be 
 confounded, whether absolutely or from the effect 
 of a proneness to seek in the extreme after an ap- 
 pearance of reality, there the twofold action of 
 bringing together in order to compare, and of sup- 
 plying, in order to consummate, either do not take 
 place at all or take place but feebly. 
 
 The investigation of the abstract nature of imi- 
 tation, or in other words of the principle generating 
 its effects, lays us under the necessity of verifying 
 its consequences that we may be assured of its 
 soundness, that is, may see whether cause and 
 effect correspond. Now, pleasure being the defi- 
 nitive effect of imitation, we have been led to re- 
 cognise comparison as the active means by which 
 it is procured ; but comparison necessarily re- 
 quiring apposition, the idea of apposition compels 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 161 
 
 us to admit that of distance as existing between 
 the model and the manner of imitating by which 
 its image is produced, between the elements of 
 the object to be imitated and those of the object 
 imitating. 
 
 Whatever vagueness may at first sight seem to 
 attach to this proposition, will immediately vanish 
 when we come to consider its converse, which is 
 rendered evident in the following examples of 
 certain cases, wherein the imitative distance dis- 
 appears, and is reduced to nothing, without how- 
 ever the artist having transgressed the laws of 
 imitation. 
 
 Suppose then, that the sculptor, who has a 
 right to employ in the representation of bodies 
 any kind of material, imitates the trunk of a tree 
 in wood, a rock in stone, or a metallic instrument 
 in bronze, neither in fact, nor as regards the sight, 
 will there be any distance between the thing to 
 be imitated and that imitating. Again, we shall 
 find an extreme closeness between the original 
 and the image, in some works of painting wrought 
 in tapestry, where this art employs the same 
 coloured woollen, or silk material to represent the 
 silk, or woollen clothing of the personages, leaving 
 as it were no distance between that part of the 
 object which it imitates and its imitation. We 
 have already (see Chap, x.) instanced a sufficient 
 number of cases where, on the stage, the poet and 
 the composer of music or ballets take for the 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 subject of their imitation, that imitation itself, 
 representing the very representation of a piece, the 
 supposed composition of the play, and the seem- 
 ing rehearsal of the symphonies, the airs of the 
 songs, and the steps of the dance. 
 
 My only purpose in citing these instances, 
 within reach of all and more especially appertain- 
 ing to the outward senses, is that I may more 
 easily render intelligible the idea I attach, in a 
 higher sphere of abstract theory, to the species of 
 imitative distance existing between every kind of 
 model and every kind of image, and to prove that 
 the pleasure must be different in degree, accord- 
 ing to the distance existing between the elements 
 of the image and those of the model, and accord- 
 ing to the number or difference of the appositions 
 which the mind must bring about in order to in- 
 stitute comparisons. 
 
 But why may not what is said and rendered 
 clearly intelligible, when speaking of distance, 
 comparison, and apposition between the object to 
 be imitated and the object imitating in the positive 
 and material province of the imitative processes 
 of every art, be said and equally well compre- 
 hended of each of the fine arts when considered 
 in the properties, qualities, or fictious means 
 which establish a greater or less proximity between 
 the model and the mode of imitation in each ? 
 
 If then, an opinion commonly received and not 
 even requiring to be proved, has established a 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 163 
 
 certain order of precedence among all those arts, 
 the degrees of which are found to be entirely in 
 accordance with the scale of distances actually 
 separating the imitative mode proper to each, from 
 the reality of its model, are we not authorized in 
 recognizing in that gradation a kind of fact, which 
 may serve to confirm our theory concerning the 
 nature of imitation and the degree of pleasure to 
 be expected from it ? 
 
164 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI, 
 
 THE COMPARATIVE RANK ASSIGNED BY COMMON OPINION TO 
 THE DIFFERENT ARTS, SEEMS TO BE CONFIRMED BY THIS 
 THEORY, AND, IN TURN, CONFIRMS IT. 
 
 When we speak of comparative rank in the fine 
 arts, or of the precedence of one before another, it 
 must not, in this theory, be understood of a 
 superiority either in power of invention, difficulty 
 of execution, or merit on the part of the artist, 
 nor yet as of disputing about tastes, or arguing 
 against the inclination that may prompt a person 
 to like one mode of imitation better than another. 
 
 In the kind of estimate here made of the plea- 
 sure attached to the effects of every art, we do 
 not mean what the generality understand by plea- 
 sure, that is, the enjoyment belonging to the 
 senses ; we would be understood to speak of the 
 moral action of imitation. Consequently the de- 
 gree of pleasure which can alone determine the 
 rank in question, must be the result of a standard 
 at once moral and intellectual. 
 
 Furthermore, the subject of this chapter is 
 limited to the recognition of a fact, which, if it 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 165 
 
 coincide with what has been advanced in the pre- 
 vious one, will tend still more to demonstrate 
 what is the nature of imitation, by proving with 
 greater clearness, that the amount of pleasure it 
 procures is in proportion to the distance which 
 separates the elements of an art, from those of its 
 model. 
 
 It is generally allowed that poetry takes pre- 
 cedence of all the arts. A sort of universal con- 
 sent assigns to it the first rank. Every one com- 
 prehends and feels that this mode of imitation is 
 the least material of all, that it is farthest removed 
 from sensible objects, and also that the manner of 
 enjoying it, as well as its images, is that with 
 which the senses have the least to do. There is 
 nothing less material than the imitative instru- 
 ments of poetry, namely, speech and the rhyth- 
 mical and metrical arrangement of words. In 
 respect of the objects of the visible world, one 
 cannot conceive a greater distance between what 
 it depicts, and its manner of depicting. This dis- 
 tance is the same with that which exists between 
 the idea and the sight of a thing. Poetry only 
 produces the image of objects, by abstract and 
 indirect means, which can no otherwise render 
 them visible to us than by compelling us to picture 
 them to ourselves. It can only address itself to 
 the internal sense, to that intellectual organ, on 
 which its images have no hold but by reason of 
 the activity they excite in it. 
 
166 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 There is certainly no kind of imitation so far 
 removed from actual reality, and so little suscep- 
 tible of being confounded with its model, as that 
 which, embracing the whole of nature, lays under 
 contribution the visible and the invisible, and 
 whose combinations are unlimited, both in space 
 and deration, by any real state of comparison, 
 boundary frame, or fixed admeasurement. 
 
 Poetical imitation then, by its distance from 
 reality, and the variety of relations it embraces, 
 being that which furnishes to the mind, in the 
 exercise it creates for it, the greatest amount of 
 appositions to bring about, and of completions to 
 achieve, should rightly occupy, and, as confirmed 
 by general opinion, does occupy what I term 
 the first rank in the imitative scale of the fine 
 arts. 
 
 If it be true that general feeling places music 
 next after poetry in this scale, it is easy to per- 
 ceive that such order is conformable to the rank 
 our theory assigns to the different arts, according 
 as their means of imitating, and their images, are 
 more or less removed from reality, and the plea- 
 sure derived from them has greater need of the 
 assistance of the sentiments and mental activity. 
 Music, but for its physical impression on the ear, 
 is certainly the art most fitted to contend for the 
 first rank with poetry, owing to its power of cre- 
 ating, by combinations of sounds alone, images at 
 once the most varied and the most immaterial. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 167 
 
 Like poetry, it transports us into an ideal world, 
 where the imagination, converting mere concatena- 
 tions of song, concerts of instruments, and sono- 
 rous effects, into forms, bodies, and pictures, 
 gives to its own creations the force of existence. 
 Undoubtedly no art more imperatively requires 
 that the action and emotions of the mind should 
 co-operate with the intrinsic value of its images, 
 and make up for whatever is vague and indefinite, 
 either in that which serves for its model, or be- 
 comes the imitation of it. It is moreover worthy 
 of notice, that it is to this art that men devoid of 
 imagination or sensibility are most indifferent. 
 
 Custom is found to be in accordance with this 
 theory by classing, next in succession, painting, 
 which imitates bodies by the lineal appearance 
 and colour of bodies ; and, immediately after it, 
 sculpture, which in the representation of bodies, 
 employs existent and real matter itself. It cannot 
 be denied, that in the works of these arts, the 
 model, and what becomes the image of it, are 
 to a certain degree in actual contact. It is this 
 property that draws down the willing admiration 
 of low and vulgar prejudice, while, on the con- 
 trary, their true value and merit depend far less 
 on the representation of corporeal forms by matter, 
 than on the expression of whatever is most im- 
 material by corporeal forms ; they consist in re- 
 presenting the moral by the physical, in por- 
 traying intellectual ideas, and the affections of the 
 
168 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 mind, by palpable forms ; finally in giving, not a 
 body to thought, but thought to bodies. 
 
 Architecture, which does not imitate anything 
 real or positive, is always classed in its due place 
 on this imitative scale, its office being to employ 
 matter, its forms, and the relations of their pro- 
 portions, to express moral qualities, at least those 
 that nature shadows forth in her works, and which 
 produce in us the ideas, and their correlative emo- 
 tions, of order, harmony, grandeur, wealth, unity, 
 variety, durability, eternity, &c. ; in such a man- 
 ner that the material of the art, which, with the 
 generality of persons, is the object of a sensual 
 admiration, may be only a means, employed by 
 the artist, of leading our minds to intellectual en- 
 joyments. 
 
 The arts of dancing and 'pantomime are classed 
 by general opinion after those of design, and this 
 rank, which is that assigned to them by our 
 theory, is wholly consonant to their nature, since 
 they, of all the arts, are most exclusively ad- 
 dressed to the outward senses, least directly to 
 the mind, and whose imitation is the most strictly 
 confined to reality. 
 
 It were needless to refer, respecting them, to 
 the voice of prejudice, and the avidity of the mul- 
 titude for this kind of imitation. The taste, or 
 rather passion, we speak of, is sufficient witness 
 against them. The fact of their obtaining priority 
 in the order of sensual enjoyment, speaking of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 169 
 
 imitation, ought at once to banish them to the 
 lowest rank. We do not here allude to the vo- 
 luptuous appetites or desires which some of the 
 arts have the power of administering to. Such 
 considerations are foreign to the nature, the merit, 
 or the pleasure of imitation, properly so called, 
 and the theory of art has no further concern with 
 them, except in as far as morality may be endan- 
 gered by lascivious pictures. The meaning of the 
 word sensual * as applied to imitation, serves to 
 designate whatever the senses are called upon, 
 either exclusively, or in great measure, to judge, 
 when the image or the elements of which it is 
 composed, trench more or less on the region of 
 reality, or matter. 
 
 In fact, there is no kind of imitation which is so 
 closely, I will not say in contact with, but almost 
 interwoven with reality, as that of the pantomimic 
 art, in which the model, the image, and even the 
 imitator, are confounded together. In the panto- 
 mimic ballet, for instance, the separation is very 
 slight between the imitated and the imitator. The 
 art is therein so little distinguished from the artist, 
 
 * Coleridge and Payne Knight make use of this word in a 
 similar signification ; it is therefore not only perfectly correct 
 and expressive, but is duly authorized in our own language. 
 Perhaps, however, the old word sensuous which Coleridge has 
 proposed in its stead, would be preferable, as not implying 
 that bad meaning which common usage attaches to sensual. 
 — Translator . 
 
170 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 that he himself becomes the art. Substance is 
 not merely represented by substance, but living 
 beings by living beings. Life and motion are ex- 
 pressed by life and motion. Hence the mental 
 pleasure is feeble in proportion as that of the 
 senses is vivid ; and the action of comparison is 
 less frequently exercised, because appositions be- 
 come no longer possible from the absence of any 
 but very slight separations. We may further re- 
 mark in corroboration, that this form of art is that 
 most in favour with the multitude, and with those 
 who, in the fine arts, place above all other, the 
 pleasure arising from illusion of the senses. 
 
 If, among the number of the fine arts it be al- 
 lowable to cite one which it has not as yet been 
 agreed upon to call an art of imitation, I allude to 
 landscape gardening, more especially in the ir- 
 regular style, it is with a view to show that, in 
 accordance with the spirit of this theory, it is of 
 itself excluded from the imitative scale. In fact, 
 every element necessary to constitute imitation is 
 absent from it. Even the idea of repetition is 
 scarcely traceable. What pretends to be an image 
 of nature is nothing more nor less than nature her- 
 self. The means of the art are reality. Every 
 one knows that the merit of its works consists in 
 obviating any suspicion of art. To constitute a 
 perfect garden, according to the irregular system 
 of landscape gardening, we must not have the 
 least suspicion that the grounds have been laid out 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 171 
 
 by art. What pleasure, (I mean pleasure of imita- 
 tion,) can the mind experience, when it is in no 
 wise apprised of the imitation it beholds ? Wliat 
 do we enjoy in such a work ? We shall be an- 
 swered, nature. But the pleasure derived from 
 nature is one thing, that from imitation another. 
 The pleasure that a landscape painting occasions 
 is other than that the landscape itself would afford 
 in nature ; what renders the pretended art of 
 landscape gardening as little art as it is possible to 
 be is, that it presents as much reality as possible. 
 Now it cannot claim to be at once reality and 
 imitation. 
 
 I would have it understood why I insist on the 
 unimitative or rather anti-imitative character of 
 this art of forming gardens. I have no wish to 
 deny the gratifications it yields, or to dispute 
 about the kind of skill it requires. Those two 
 points go for nothing in investigating the nature of 
 imitation. But I could find no example better 
 adapted to render evident, by force of contrast, 
 what imitation ought to be in order to constitute 
 imitation, the kind of pleasure by which it must 
 be recognized, and the error of those, who, with a 
 perverted desire to render the image identical 
 with its model, seek to exchange, as much as pos- 
 sible, the effect of resemblance for that of reality, 
 and set the material illusion of the senses, above 
 that more immaterial of the mind. 
 
172 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE RESULT OF THE PRECEDING FACTS AND NOTIONS LEADS TO 
 A KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT OUGHT TO BE THE TRUE END OF 
 IMITATION. 
 
 In bringing this first part to a close, I cannot 
 avoid warning the reader anew against the erro- 
 neous construction to which the preceding chap- 
 ter is liable. It is very important that the conclu- 
 sion therein arrived at, which will form the ground- 
 work of the ensuing Part, should leave no am- 
 biguity in the mind. 
 
 As in treating of imitation I propose only to 
 consider it abstractedly, that is, under a general 
 and theoretical, and not a limited and practical 
 point of view, the words I may employ should be 
 understood only as in a sense related to the na- 
 ture of an abstract theory, that is, one which 
 generalizes ideas. 
 
 Thus it should be thoroughly understood that I 
 here apply the word imitation theoretically in an 
 active sense, or one signifying imitative power, 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 173 
 
 and not as meaning a work of art or the object 
 imitated. I also employ, in a general sense, 
 the word model , which, more especially in the 
 language of the schools of art, is said of the indi- 
 vidual thing or person imitated. It will, on the 
 contrary, have been observed that, consistently 
 with the spirit of this theory, I understand by 
 model, that portion of the kingdom of nature, 
 whether moral or physical, which exclusively con- 
 stitutes the imitative province of a single art. A 
 similar sense and a like general acceptation should 
 be applied to that kind of distance between the 
 model and its imitative process, the relative pro- 
 portions of which for every art have been deter- 
 mined in the foregoing chapter. It must ap- 
 pear clearly enough that this intellectual distance 
 is wholly different in kind from that which, for 
 instance, is discoverable between a badly executed 
 portrait and its original, and which is denominated 
 want of resemblance. 
 
 Provided there existed the slightest wish to 
 misapprehend the sense which, in this theory, is 
 attached to the words in question, it were easy 
 enough to draw the conclusion that, as the merit 
 of a work of imitation consists in its non-resem- 
 blance, the merit of a representation of a man 
 would be that it might be taken for the trunk of 
 a tree. 
 
 Thus by applying one set of ideas to the con- 
 sideration of those of another, by viewing a gene- 
 
174 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 ralized in the light of a particular object, and 
 neglecting the signification the author had at- 
 tached to his terms and phrases, one would be 
 liable to pervert the most simple theory by a 
 series of blunders, to render its very perspicuity 
 obscure, and deduce from it consequences the 
 most absurd and ridiculous. 
 
 I trust then that he who may have followed out 
 this theory concerning the nature of imitation, in 
 its premises, its deductions, and its application, 
 will clearly perceive that resemblance by means of 
 identity or the repetition of reality by reality, is the 
 antagonist principle of the pleasure of imitation, as 
 well when that notion is taken in the absolute sense 
 of error, as when it is applied to works conceived 
 or executed in the spirit of this method ; and that, 
 hence, a work produced on the above named prin- 
 ciple, or in the spirit of it, will only be calculated 
 to please the rude instinct, or will be incapable 
 of affording any other pleasure than that which is 
 limited to the senses. 
 
 Nor will it be less clear that the principle of 
 resemblance by means of an image, which repro- 
 duces a thing in some other, heretofore established 
 as an essential element of true imitation, must be 
 that of a kind of pleasure opposed to the before 
 named, seeing that we enjoy imitation so much 
 the more, in proportion as the judgment and the 
 understanding have more appositions to make, 
 (that is, a greater amount of objects to bring to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 175 
 
 and set by one another), and as those objects are 
 farther removed from each other. 
 
 Such being the case it must, as a necessary 
 consequence, follow, alike from the elementary 
 idea of imitation, from the facts that have been 
 deduced from it relative to the properties of every 
 art, and from the analysis of the mind in its 
 mode of enjoying, that the artist should, in every 
 form of composition, look far less to the material 
 effects of that mechanical action, which is more 
 especially addressed to the instinct or physical 
 sense, than to the superior effect of that intellec- 
 tual action, which extends the power of art far 
 beyond the limits of its matter, and of physical 
 impressions. 
 
 Since it is acknowledged that each of these 
 two modes of imitating has its particular amount 
 of pleasure, and since we are compelled to admit 
 that the pleasure increases or diminishes, both in 
 the arts considered by themselves, and in every 
 work of art, according to the greater or less dis- 
 tance separating the model from the process by 
 which it is imitated, the elements of reality from 
 those of the image, and the effect produced from 
 the means or instruments by which it was pro- 
 duced ; it is necessary that, in every form of com- 
 position, the pleasure of the judgment and the 
 understanding be preferred before that of the 
 senses. 
 
 Pleasure then is to be regarded as the object 
 
176 
 
 OF THE NATURE 
 
 and end of imitation. But we have seen that the 
 value of this 'pleasure and its degree will be in- 
 creased or diminished, according as the one or the 
 other system of identical or of imitative resemblance 
 is acted up to, according as the work, emanating 
 more or less from the one principle or the other, 
 shall be limited to pleasing the instinct, shall be 
 restricted to the senses, or shall enter by the 
 senses only in order to reach the mind ; accord- 
 ing as the artist, contenting himself with an ap- 
 proximation to reality more or less actual, shall 
 make that approximation the goal of his efforts, 
 or shall only employ what is real in his model 
 and material in his means, in order to raise him- 
 self to a loftier and more enlarged view of his 
 model, and produce from it those generalized 
 images, the relations of which the mind alone can 
 discriminate, and whose impressions it alone can 
 receive. 
 
 Finally, it seems to me, that this theory after 
 having enabled us to discover in the very nature 
 of imitation itself, the bond that connects all the 
 fine arts by one common principle, still further 
 discloses to us a common tendency in them all 
 towards the same object, and leads us to the 
 knowledge of what ought to be their true end. 
 
PART II. 
 
 OF THE END OF IMITATION IN THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 Poeta tabulas cum cepit sibi, 
 
 Quaerit quod nusquam est gentium, reperit tamen. 
 
 Plaut. PseudoL, Act 1. sc. 4. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PLEASURE, THE OBJECT OF IMITATION. OF THE TWO KINDS 
 
 OF PLEASURE IT AFFORDS. WHICH OF THE TWO IS ITS END. 
 
 Nature, in according the faculty of imitating to 
 man, intended no doubt that it should first be sub- 
 servient to his wants, To it is man indebted for 
 the ability to form those incipient sounds, which by 
 degrees he learns to modify, as his ear conveys to 
 him the rudiments of language. By it all the arts 
 that he sees performed become his own, and he 
 appropriates the forms, motions, accents, and 
 habits of all that has preceded him, to communi- 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 cate them in like manner to those who shall come 
 after him in the career of life. 
 
 Nature having under every circumstance asso- 
 ciated pleasure with wants, the faculty of imitating 
 must consequently acquire new developments in 
 an improved state of society. After having been 
 exercised in fixing, by the imitative signs of ob- 
 jects, the ideas of those objects, it came to pass 
 that lineaments thus roughly traced by and from 
 necessity were invested with greater perfection. 
 Finally, when casting off the fetters of symbolical 
 images, writing had reached the point of repre- 
 senting ideas by abbreviated signs, or arbitrary 
 strokes designating not the things themselves, but 
 the sounds of the words expressing them, the art 
 of repeating the forms of bodies was applied to 
 another purpose, the principal object of which 
 was to please. 
 
 All this is too well known to render it necessary 
 that I should stop to point out the cradle of the 
 arts of imitation, in the wants attendant on every 
 kind of communication that by degrees society 
 establishes among men. 
 
 Thus the pleasure of imitation succeeded every 
 where to the want of imitation. 
 
 As pleasure sprang from want, so, under another 
 state of things, it created in its turn new wants. 
 To perpetuate the memory of benefactors or of 
 benefits ; to raise the mind to ideas of immortality 
 by the sight of monuments ; to embody and trea- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 179 
 
 sure up in expressive language, moral opinions, 
 and religious sentiments : these were indeed true 
 wants among civilized people ; and to supply- 
 such would prove an end as advantageous to the 
 imitation of the fine arts as to society. 
 
 This point of view, however, can never enter, 
 either directly or necessarily, into a theory which 
 has only to do with imitation in itself. It is with 
 this theory, as with poetics, in which, without 
 discussing the moral purpose of poetry, which 
 ought to have a tendency to render men better, 
 the end proposed is to show how, and of what, 
 good poems are formed, and not how they may 
 influence the manners of a people. In like manner 
 here, having to make known what imitation, 
 viewed theoretically in its nature , its end , and its 
 means , ought to be, it would be irrelevant to join 
 to those considerations, that of the moral action 
 which the lessons contained in works of art exer- 
 cise on public feelings and opinions. 
 
 The end we have assigned to imitation is that of 
 pleasing. But it will be seen* that the kind of 
 pleasure involved in that end is not denuded of 
 all action on the moral nature of man. 
 
 The better to prosecute this second Part ac- 
 cording to the conclusions arrived at in the first* 
 we shall begin by recalling what has been already 
 said : namely, that the imitation of the fine arts is 
 capable of procuring more than one sort of plea- 
 
 n 2 
 
180 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 sure, which admits of different degrees according 
 as the senses are more or less concerned in it. In 
 every art the pleasure of the senses necessarily 
 proceeds from that component part which, as in 
 man, may be termed its physical substance. 
 
 There is no one art, as already shown, that 
 does not address itself more or less directly to 
 some one of our external organs, and by some 
 means or agency more or less dependent upon 
 matter. The pleasure that the organ thus receives 
 is indeed one of the ends of every art, since, if 
 that pleasure did not exist, the action of the art 
 itself would be as though it were not. But that 
 such can be its true end, that is, the essential and 
 definitive end of imitation, is one of the errors 
 arising from ignorance and thoughtlessness : as 
 well might it be maintained that the pleasure 
 derived from eating and drinking is the aim or 
 end of that want ; while it is surely nothing 
 more than a means of attaining another plea- 
 sure, that of health, strength, and the use of our 
 faculties. 
 
 Undoubtedly the pleasure of the senses must 
 accompany the action of imitation upon us, but 
 after the same manner, that is, less as an end than 
 a means, which nature has herself placed as an 
 incentive to those appetites, that lead the way to 
 the accomplishment of all her designs. 
 
 In like manner in the action of the fine arts, the 
 charms of sensual enjoyment should only invite 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 181 
 
 and lead us on to enjoyments of a higher order. 
 The senses do but perform the office of introduc- 
 tion. The generality, it is true, having no suspi- 
 cion of any thing beyond the external impression, 
 stop short at it, like one who should take the porch 
 of the temple for the temple itself. But such 
 miscalculation proves nothing save disregard or 
 ignorance of the true value of the fine arts. For 
 our own part, without denying that the pleasure 
 of the senses may be one of the ends of imitation, 
 we look upon it only as a prelude to another 
 pleasure, constituting the definitive aim of the fine 
 arts. 
 
 The analysis of the elements of imitation dis- 
 closes to us three degrees of pleasure correspond- 
 ing to different faculties of man. 
 
 The first is that of mere instinct, which, con- 
 fined to matter, requires only in the image, the 
 repetition of reality by reality, and which is alike 
 deceived in what it requires, and in what it 
 receives. This pleasure is necessarily excluded 
 from the consideration of the theory we are dis- 
 cussing. 
 
 The second, limited to the impressions of the 
 senses, though produced by legitimate means of 
 art, stops short at the sensation derived from an 
 imitation, technical rather than intellectual. In 
 this, the choice of subjects, and the servile man- 
 ner of representing them in the spirit of reality, 
 reduces, as regards the mind, the distance that 
 
182 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 separates the model from the image. (See Part 
 I. Chap, iv.) In this kind of pleasure, as pre- 
 viously shown, the act of placing in apposition, 
 and comparing, is rendered of none effect, and 
 there is nothing for the imagination to regard be- 
 yond what the eye embraces. 
 
 The third sort of pleasure, though without ex- 
 cluding the preceding, is the true end of imitation. 
 Seeing that it is derived from all that is most ex- 
 alted in the sphere of imitable objects, and rarest 
 and most excellent within the range of imitative 
 power, this pleasure stands related to all that is 
 most noble in ourselves, I mean, to the faculties 
 which most distinguish man from other creatures, 
 to the intellectual organs, so superior in their na- 
 ture and action to those of the body. 
 
 The pleasure I speak of cannot exert its sway, 
 but through the especial co-operation of those 
 who experience it. Its impressions have no share 
 in common with those of matter. It requires 
 other eyes than those of the body to see, other 
 ears to hear. The imitation that gives rise to this 
 pleasure consists in relations which cannot influ- 
 ence the senses. The distance that separates its 
 creations from their generating principle can be 
 measured only by the understanding ; and it re- 
 quires far other sensibility than that of the nerves 
 to experience the sentiment of beauty which is its 
 effect. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 183 
 
 The pleasure here assigned as the end of imi- 
 tation is then far higher in degree than that termed 
 j physical , it is in short a moral pleasure. 
 
 I have before explained that the word moral , 
 as applied to imitation, is not intended to signify 
 any useful influence on morality or manners re- 
 sulting from works of art, but is employed in an 
 opposite sense to that attached to the words phy- 
 sical, material, sensual. A play may afford the 
 finest examples of virtue, but presented in a sys- 
 tem of low imitation so nearly approaching reality 
 that its impression may be reduced to that of 
 physical pleasure. 
 
 The subject of a painting may form a good 
 moral lesson, and yet the mode of treating it oc- 
 casion us no other kind of pleasure than that 
 limited to the senses. Such, for instance, would 
 be the case, in the representation of the fable of 
 the labourer and his children trying to break the 
 bundle of sticks. Suppose the scene be presented 
 to us as the interior of a poor and rustic cottage, 
 with the costume and portraits of its peasant in- 
 habitants, and, if you will, let Teniers be the pain- 
 ter; the imitation of an incident in itself so moral, 
 will in that case produce only the physical plea- 
 sure of imitation. Suppose now the same scene 
 expressed by the historical painter, with all the 
 nobility of character, beauty of form, variety of 
 expressions and attitudes that the subject will 
 
184 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 admit of, the mind will then enjoy the moral plea- 
 sure of imitation. Nay more, the same effect 
 may even be produced in the representation of 
 events stamped with a character of the greatest 
 immorality. I shall be content to cite the massa- 
 cre of the innocents of Raffaello. 
 
 Furthermore, in making use of the word moral 
 to express the opposite idea to that of physical 
 and material, I do so only until the development 
 of this theory concerning the true end of imita- 
 tion, has enabled me to substitute another word ; 
 the employment of which, however, not being as 
 yet defined, would here perhaps be premature,* 
 
 * In further illustration of this subject, I here subjoin an ex- 
 tract from another work of our author’s, entitled “The destina- 
 tion of Works of Art,” a translation of which by Mr. Howard, 
 R.A. appeared some years since. 
 
 “ By this last phrase is not meant to insist that subjects for 
 imitation ought to be nothing but moral representations of 
 moral effects. To be useful in the manner alluded to, it will 
 not be required that a picture should always represent a trait of 
 heroism or of virtue; that a poem should always conceal under 
 its allegories, precepts useful to conduct through life ; that the 
 features of a statue should be always those of a virtuous man, 
 or that its composition should always commemorate a virtuous 
 or beneficent action. The moral of which this theory is in- 
 tended to afford an idea, signifies no more than the opposite 
 of the material or sensual. Thus art and works of art are 
 morally useful, when imitation, instead of aiming solely to 
 please the senses, has, for its special purpose the elevation of 
 thought, and the awakening of noble affection ; when it is 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 185 
 
 and lastly that the aim of art should be moral 
 utility. 
 
 such that the sight of the objects imitated inspire us with new 
 ideas, and enlarge those we already possess. Moral imitation 
 is that which procures us moral enjoyment, or the enjoyment 
 which is the property of the mind. 
 
 “ In this sense it may be truly said that the most ideal imita- 
 tion is also the most moral.” — Translator. 
 
186 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING, ACCORDING TO THE SPIRIT 
 OF THIS THEORY, OF THE IDEA OF REALITY OR IDENTITY 
 IN IMITATION, AND OF THAT OF THE PLEASURE RESULTING 
 FROM IT. 
 
 If, as seen in the first Part of this work, the em- 
 ployment of reality, considered either in itself or 
 in the mechanical means of repetition that apper- 
 tain to it, disannuls the effect of the imitation 
 which is properly that of the fine arts, and is 
 consequently contrary to its nature, one cannot 
 disallow the consequences of a fact thus found to 
 be invariable, that is, the analogies which are de- 
 pendent on it. 
 
 Nothing in theory is more dependent on what 
 is termed the nature of a thing, than what is 
 termed its spirit. From its nature are derived the 
 general laws of its being or constitution. Such, 
 for instance, in the case of every country or peo- 
 ple, is the character impressed on it by natural 
 causes. The spirit of that people is a subsequent 
 result of such character, and is depicted in their 
 manners and opinions. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 187 
 
 It is the same with the fine arts, the natural 
 principle of imitation once discovered, what is 
 termed its spirit will assuredly partake, in a more 
 or less evident manner, of the nature of its prin- 
 ciple. That is to say, the same ideas are, in the 
 investigation of this secondary object, capable of 
 the same applications, with no other difference 
 than that which distinguishes the absolute laws of 
 nature, from the less rigorous rules of taste. 
 
 Thus the ideas of identity , reality and proximity, 
 which we have applied, in their simple and abso- 
 lute sense, to all surreptitious imitation, in which 
 a thing is found reproduced by some other that is 
 only the repetition of it, we find, I say, that those 
 ideas, though only in their figurative and relative 
 meaning, are equally applicable to that kind of 
 image, the spirit of which is to represent objects 
 just as they are, without pretending to give rise to 
 views or conceptions beyond : and the pleasure 
 resulting from such imitation is that we term the 
 pleasure of the senses. 
 
 This being understood, when, in the future 
 course of our theory we employ the words identi- 
 cal resemblance, they must no longer be taken in 
 the sense of repetition of reality by reality, but 
 in that of an imitation which gives rise to the idea 
 of it, which aspires to be only a kind of mirror or 
 fac simile of things and objects. That is, those 
 words and ideas should simply be taken in their 
 spirit, and according to their conventional sense. 
 
188 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 not according to the grammatical strictness of the 
 terms. 
 
 Although, in what is gone before, arguments 
 have been frequently drawn, as by virtue of a 
 necessary link between the nature of imitation 
 and its spirit, it would yet seem well to determine 
 this point with still greater precision, in order to 
 avoid the mistake of understanding the things in 
 question in a too material sense. 
 
 For instance, I maintain that an action is re- 
 presented according to the system of identity or 
 in the spirit of reality, when the imitator, whether 
 poet or painter, relates or reproduces its details 
 and circumstances in such manner as that, though 
 its material truth be recognizable, yet it is re- 
 stricted to that simple character, without any 
 thing that might lead the mind to perceive any 
 relation with the moral causes of the event, the 
 affections fitted to shed an interest over it, or the 
 effects that would tend to give it importance. 
 
 . But I prefer rather to limit my observations to 
 the idea of portraiture, which I shall hereafter 
 have occasion to bring forward as demonstra- 
 tive, in an inverse sense, of what ought to be the 
 end of imitation. (See the remarks on the effect 
 of portraiture, in the next Chapter.) 
 
 In painting a portrait the artist aims at nothing 
 more, than that a certain individual should be re- 
 cognized in his image. To achieve this, he 
 studies to repeat with extreme precision the par- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 189 
 
 ticular features, nay, even the deformities, of his 
 model. Thus the usual encomium on a portrait 
 (it is he himself ’) serves, in the best possible man- 
 ner, to define that spirit of identity , repetition , 
 reality, which is peculiar to this kind of image ; 
 those words thus understood, and not taken in 
 their strict sense, are applicable, in general theory, 
 either to imitation or its works, according as the 
 pleasure derived from them is more or less 
 founded on sensations that are more or less re- 
 stricted to physical effects. 
 
 Not to lose sight of the comparison, there is 
 assuredly no pleasure more limited than that 
 which is usually the result of a portrait. If we 
 abstract from it all the interest that individual 
 and public feeling, or the talent of the artist 
 clothes it with, we shall to a certainty find, that 
 the mind and the imagination have but small 
 share in such kind of imitation ; and for this rea- 
 son, because the appositions to be brought about 
 are few in number, and the operation of the mind 
 in comparing very slightly active. 
 
 From this instance, to which no one will find it 
 difficult to add many others, we may conclude, 
 that imitation, when exercised in the sphere most 
 circumscribed by reality, then contributes most to 
 that pleasure which we have termed the pleasure 
 of the senses, which may truly be said to be the 
 only one that the vulgar require of the arts, and 
 moreover the only one they receive from them. 
 
190 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 By vulgar, I would be understood to mean, as 
 well all those whose minds have not been culti- 
 vated, or at least not on this subject, as those in 
 whom the sensual part has obtained the mastery 
 over the other faculties. Hence, we may explain 
 the avidity with which the vulgar, of whom I have 
 just spoken, hasten to seek every where and in 
 every branch of art, impressions so closely bor- 
 dering on those of reality, that scarcely any room 
 is left for comparison. 
 
 It explains the preference awarded at certain 
 periods to certain kinds of imitation, to a certain 
 class of subjects, which are capable of affecting 
 the senses alone, and to relish which needs neither 
 imagination nor understanding. 
 
 And it also explains to us why, at those same 
 periods, the kinds of imitation, of subjects, and of 
 works, whose models and comparison are alike 
 beyond the ken of the vulgar, are found to have 
 been neglected. 
 
 We do not wish to infer from this, that the 
 pleasure of the senses should be excluded from 
 among the number of the pleasures of imitation. 
 The previous chapter has sufficiently shown how 
 and by what title it takes rank among them. We 
 would only maintain that this species of pleasure, 
 by its close approximation to the impressions of 
 reality and identity , so directly contrary to the 
 nature of imitation, is essentially qualified to 
 divert it from its proper aim. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 191 
 
 We come then to the conclusion that the imita- 
 tion which only presents objects to us in the spirit of 
 reality, is that by which the pleasure of the senses 
 is produced, and that such pleasure cannot be the 
 true end of the fine arts. 
 
OF THE END 
 
 192 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF THE SUPERIORITY, IX IMITATION, OF THE PLEASURE OF 
 THE MIND, OYER THAT ADDRESSED TO THE SENSES ALONE. 
 
 Ix order to form a just estimate of what ought to 
 be the end of imitation, that is, of the pleasure 
 towards which it should incline, it will be neces- 
 sary to render a further account of this pleasure, 
 not in itself, but in its effects, I mean its useful 
 effects. 
 
 It is already known what utility I speak of, and 
 that neither political utility, nor that related to 
 morality, can have any thing to do with this 
 theory. 
 
 The useful effects of the pleasure of imitation 
 consist in the knowledge, the sensations, the 
 ideas, and the images we acquire through it; in 
 other words, in that which increases the scope of 
 our understanding, enriches our minds with new 
 conceptions, and opens to our imaginations vistas 
 without number, revealing prospects without a 
 limit. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 193 
 
 Now, I ask what the imitation that is limited to 
 the senses, in the choice of its subjects and in its 
 mode of representing them, I ask what are its 
 useful effects, what its images can teach me, 
 restricted as they are to the gratification of the 
 eye. I ask what they show me that I do not 
 already know ; what they put me in a condition 
 to perceive over and above their model, what 
 impressions depending on art they communicate 
 to me ; in short, what acquisition such kind of 
 imitation can promise me or give me reason to 
 hope for. 
 
 I shall be told that it gives me what nature, 
 whose portraiture it is, gives me. I answer, no. 
 It does not give it, precisely because it is only a 
 portrait, and because a portrait is only a part of 
 the resemblance of the natural object, and pre- 
 sents only a single aspect ; because such an 
 image, thus limited, and which cannot carry my 
 imagination beyond the confines of reality, gives 
 only the finite, instead of the infinite, to which the 
 soul aspires. 
 
 There can be no doubt that what we should 
 require of imitation in the fine arts, is that it 
 satisfy the cravings of our minds after unlimited 
 impressions, and ever renewed sensations, that is, 
 inexhaustible in their effects as is nature in her 
 combinations. Such is the enjoyment that we 
 demand of art ; and such cannot be that of an 
 imitation whose sole property is to exhibit objects, 
 
 o 
 
194 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 precisely as they are everywhere and at all times 
 presented to us. This imitation is somewhat 
 similar, if I may be forgiven the comparison, to 
 that of a certain animal, whose instinct prompts 
 him to repeat the motions and outward signs of 
 the actions he witnesses, though without compre- 
 hending the reason or motive for them, and with- 
 out suspecting the intelligent principle that actu- 
 ates them. 
 
 Is this all that we are to expect from imitation ? 
 And shall we lavish our admiration on a result 
 thus fruitless as regards the mind ? 
 
 And yet what else can be said of a work of art 
 which, limited to being a mirror only of the object, 
 like a mirror, can in no wise, either add, curtail, 
 correct, modify, perfect, or generalize, and which 
 in truth, morally speaking, gives us nothing, since 
 it but gives us the same thing a second time, and, 
 according to the spirit of the principle of imitation, 
 has a tendency to be, as little as possible, 
 imitation ? 
 
 We have already had occasion to remark (see 
 Part I., Chap, iv.) in what estimation every system 
 of imitation must be held, in which is alone re- 
 peated vulgar manners, trivial phrases, the com- 
 mon-places of every day language, scenes drawn 
 from the lowest grades of society, or images pre- 
 senting only the individuality of persons and 
 bodies, as well as all representations which can 
 be accounted no other than so many copies, the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 195 
 
 types and proofs of which are matters of daily 
 experience, instead of being true originals, either 
 in the common or figurative sense of the word ; 
 for that is no true original the model of which can 
 anywhere be instanced. 
 
 Wherefore should I wish for a copy ? What 
 need have I of the appearances of things -whose 
 reality I am wholly indifferent to ? What worth 
 can I attach to the image, when I hold its model 
 in contempt, more especially since there is nothing 
 beyond to compensate for the absence of all those 
 properties which nature denies it ? 
 
 Whatever amount of sensual pleasure may 
 arise from such like productions, allowing that 
 pleasure to be the end of imitation, is there any 
 thing, I ask, to warrant me setting so high a 
 value upon its works ? Can the end attained be 
 worth the pains bestowed ? To whatever degree 
 of excellence the execution of such labours may 
 attain, can we do other than class their results 
 as among those costly productions of industry, 
 the frivolous inventions of luxury, destined to 
 pamper the cravings of a curiosity yet more 
 frivolous ? 
 
 I have surely no need to designate more clearly 
 the works to which I would apply these consi- 
 derations. The reader’s mind will have adverted 
 to the productions of a certain school of painting, 
 as remarkable for precision, technical finish, and 
 fidelity of tones, as for the insignificance of its 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 subjects, the meanness of its forms, expressions, 
 and personages, and an absence of all invention. 
 Without raising any question about the difficulty, 
 the skill, or the merit of these images of plebeian 
 nature, I shall rest contented with pointing out to 
 observation, that class of persons to whom they 
 are most pleasing. Present a picture of Teniers 
 and one of Poussin to the vulgar multitude before 
 mentioned ; there can be no doubt as to which 
 would obtain the preference. 
 
 It is requisite to make some distinction, on this 
 point of criticism, respecting the greater or less 
 estimation due to the works, in which art is limited 
 to that local, partial, or individual truth, which I 
 cannot allow to be the definitive aim of imitation. 
 And first of all it is necessary to distinguish be- 
 tween the kind of imitation, and wffiat is termed 
 style , taste , manner , as applied to the work of 
 imitation. Thus the Flemish pictures are of a 
 kind, which, presenting to us the mechanism of 
 art in its greatest perfection, have no pretension 
 beyond that of speaking to the eye, without ad- 
 dressing aught to the mind. The pleasure these 
 works afford is not the only one to be expected 
 from imitation. But we can require nothing 
 more from works which neither give promise of, 
 nor are fitted to produce any thing more. 
 
 There are others which, though destined to a higher 
 purpose, are, from the taste and manner in which 
 they are conceived and executed, far from respond- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 197 
 
 ing to it. I could cite instances in every period. 
 But, that I may be the better understood, I will 
 confine myself to those of the earliest ages of art, 
 when it was not yet brought to perfection. In 
 those works, despite the charm their want of 
 affectation, and their simplicity invest them with, 
 we nevertheless discover additional proof of the 
 positions here maintained : namely, that what is 
 too frequently taken for the end of imitation, is 
 not so ; since the pleasure arising from individual 
 truth, only exists in the productions of that 
 period, from the absence of what art had not then 
 acquired the means of producing. 
 
 It needs but to complete the parallel, in order 
 to prove to demonstration what we have just 
 advanced. If those works, conceived and exe- 
 cuted in the spirit of portraiture, (I speak of those 
 of the fifteenth century,) be compared with the 
 works of the sixteenth, (such as those of Michael 
 Angelo, Rafaello, and their schools,) it will not 
 be difficult to obtain a clear and distinct idea of 
 the description of pleasure which I maintain ought 
 to constitute the true end of imitation. 
 
 What are those paintings of the early stages of 
 the renovation of art ? Portraits, doubtless faith- 
 ful ones, of the men of that period. Physiognomy, 
 attitudes, attire, character, form, and expression, 
 in all, the exact image of the personages then 
 existing, after the manner that they really were, the 
 fashion of the habiliments, costumes, and acces- 
 
198 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 saries of the times. Well ! those paintings had 
 not, for contemporaries, and still have not, for us, 
 (setting aside the interest imparted to them by 
 antiquity,) any other value than that appertaining 
 to the repetition of what one sees ; they make no 
 other impression than that of a portrait. Nothing 
 more can be expected, and the most lively imagi- 
 nation would in vain seek for any other pleasure, 
 from them. Even subjects of history, either 
 ancient or drawn from a foreign country, per- 
 sonages to whatever age or nation they may be 
 supposed to belong, when subjected to the same 
 local costume, the same reality of portraiture, are 
 insufficient to carry the spectator beyond this limit- 
 ed point of view, and, whatever useful lessons the 
 artist may derive from them, such works leave us 
 devoid of ideas, impressions, images, feelings and 
 desires. 
 
 Pass we to the next century and the works of 
 art when fully developed. What a different world 
 do Rafaello and the grand masters of his time 
 open up to us ! How many ideas and images that 
 would have been unknown to us, had not imitation 
 attained its aim ! What another kind of truth, 
 and in what a different sphere is it revealed to the 
 artist ! By how new a manner of viewing nature 
 is her realm enlarged ! How much additional 
 food for the imagination, how many new objects for 
 the mind to observe and become acquainted with, 
 and fruitful subjects for taste to criticise ! What 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 J99 
 
 an unfailing source of pleasures for the under- 
 standing and the sentiment ! In short, what crea- 
 tions, for the existence of which we are indebted 
 to imitation, not that which is limited to showing us 
 what is real, but that which, by the aid of what 
 is, shows us what has no real existence ! 
 
 I shall not stop to apply the same standard of 
 criticism to all the fine arts, but shall content my- 
 self with indicating that the same result w^ould 
 attend it. 
 
 For, what works are they, of which the succes- 
 sion of years and ages has been as yet insufficient 
 to search out all the merits, to number all the 
 beauties, or to exhaust admiration ? What con- 
 ceptions, whether epic or dramatic, are they, from 
 which, with inexhaustible impressions, we receive 
 pleasures ever new ? What productions of the 
 chisel are those which we see again and again as 
 though we had never seen them : because the 
 mind finds in them wherewith to find on for ever ? 
 
 For myself, I have no hesitation in saying, that 
 they are the works which have been conceived in 
 that kind of imitation, the model of which can 
 be nowhere shown. 
 
200 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHAT IMITATION IT IS, WHOSE MODEL CANNOT BE SHOWN, 
 AND WHAT NAME IS GIVEN TO IT. 
 
 The poet , says Plautus, when he sets about com- 
 posing, seeks what is nowhere, and pet finds it. 
 What does Plautus mean by seeking, and finding 
 what is nowhere ? 
 
 The answer to this question, contains the 
 element of our theory, concerning what is the end 
 of imitation. 
 
 From all that has gone before, there can, I 
 presume, be no question, that to please, and, 
 consequently, to please as much as possible, is 
 the goal to which imitation tends ; and that the 
 greatest pleasure cannot be that of the senses, 
 but, on the contrary, that of the mind ; in other 
 words, that which the understanding or the imagi- 
 nation procures. Now, as already seen, that 
 which constitutes the object of physical or sensual 
 pleasure, is of a nature to be met with at all 
 times, and in all places, by the organ of the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 201 
 
 senses, and the instinct that guides it ; while that 
 which constitutes the object of moral or intellec- 
 tual pleasure, can be neither sought for, nor found, 
 but by that internal sense which is termed genius. 
 
 Every art has indeed a model, which the artist 
 finds every where, and which he has not even the 
 trouble of seeking after ; this model is reality ; 
 and the mode of reproducing it, by a conformity 
 more or less perceptible, is sufficiently known. 
 For the copyist there is the reality of actions, in 
 the representation of which he follows, without 
 any modification either, for instance, what history 
 relates concerning them, or what he himself has 
 witnessed, and exactly in the same manner that it 
 occurred. There is the reality of discourse, the 
 imitation of which consists in servilely copying 
 the common forms of familiar language. The 
 reality of manners and character, the type and 
 imprint of which may be repeated without any of 
 those changes fitted to set them forth in a better 
 light. The reality of persons and physiognomy, 
 of which the art of portrait painting affords a 
 sufficiently correct idea. In short, there are as 
 many species of realities , as there are species of 
 imitable objects in every form of composition in 
 art. Thus, in painting, there is the reality of 
 situation, and of points of sight, that of costume, 
 forms, expression, & c. But I have said more 
 than enough to render myself understood. 
 
 It has been sufficiently proved (see Chap, ii.) 
 
202 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 that the pleasure proceeding from that sort of 
 imitation which is confined to the spirit of reality, 
 is universally the most feeble. 
 
 It would seem therefore that such was not the 
 pleasure that Plautus was desirous of providing 
 for his hearers ; for he might have found the sub- 
 ject of it everywhere. Now he sought after one, 
 the subject and object of which were nowhere. 
 What is this but to say, that in composing his 
 dramatic pieces, he took for his model, an action 
 the elements and details of which, though imbued 
 with verisimilitude, could nowhere be found com- 
 bined in a true and real event ; that is, he placed 
 in the mouth of his actors, language conformable 
 to their conventional situation, for the truth of 
 which language he was indebted to no one, but 
 to general observation on the language expressive 
 of the affections of the mind : he brought into 
 play and placed in contrast, throughout the un- 
 ravelling of his plot, characters whose physiog- 
 nomy was not that of any individual; and in 
 short, gave life to personages whom every one 
 thought they could recognise, and yet of whom 
 no one could in reality show the original, an 
 original unknown even to the poet himself. 
 
 The poet l ad then good reason to say that he 
 sought what nowhere existed. The same may be 
 said of every invention, and it is perhaps the best 
 distinction that can be made, between the words 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 203 
 
 invent and find . What exists may be found. That 
 only can be invented which does not exist. 
 
 It would scarcely be judicious to found any 
 argument of importance on this synonymous dis- 
 tinction, since it rests on a point of taste, respect- 
 ing which unanimity cannot be expected except 
 between persons of a similar bias. Although it 
 may be objected that to invent , signifying in its 
 simple sense the same as to find , the object of 
 search must, from very necessity, be somewhere, 
 I do not the less persist in maintaining, that in 
 rendering an account of the thing sought by the 
 poet, one may- still allow the strictness of their 
 literal meaning to his words. 
 
 In fact, what he seeks, is an action where every 
 thing concurs towards one end, in which are 
 mingled interests and dialogues conformable to 
 the subject, in which the personages are placed 
 in situations fitted to excite curiosity, the charac- 
 ters exhibited in contrasts that render them effi- 
 cient, and all the circumstances and incidents so 
 mingled together without being confounded, as to 
 maintain variety, and produce that unity of im- 
 pression which was the effect he had proposed to 
 attain. 
 
 This is that whole, that aggregate of incidents,, 
 that harmonizing concord of relations, which 
 nature will never present to him, of which he will 
 in vain look to her for a complete and altogether 
 
204 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 real model, and which nowhere exists. Yet this 
 it is that he finds. Quod nusquam est gentium, re- 
 perit tamen. 
 
 Nor is what he thus finds one of those fantasti- 
 cal creations, the fruits of an undisciplined ima- 
 gination, which are fitly ranked in the class of 
 dreams or monstrosities. What he finds, not only 
 does not exceed the laws of nature, but is, on the 
 contrary, its very spirit and epitome : since what 
 is commonly taken for nature, is very far from 
 answering to the name, seeing that we should 
 understand by it, not all that is as it is, but what 
 ever is as it might or ought to be. There are so 
 many things in nature, as we shall further show 
 hereafter, existing as exceptions to her general 
 laws, that we are compelled to acknowledge, that 
 all she produces in detail, is not always the faith- 
 ful and entire expression of her will ; so that, as 
 regards imitation, the study of nature does not 
 consist so much in the special investigation of an 
 individual and barren reality, as in the observation 
 of the fertile principles of an ideal and generalized 
 model. 
 
 It is here necessary to anticipate what will be 
 found in the sequel (see Chap, vi.), by remarking, 
 that what the artist ought to search after, he can 
 only find in that general model which, in truth, 
 is nowhere, in as much as it is general. What is 
 individual and particular may be everywhere 
 found, and may always be evidenced to the senses ; 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 205 
 
 but that which is universal and general , can 
 only be grasped by thought or the action of the 
 mind. 
 
 This general, as regards imitation, can only be 
 defined by the understanding, and genius alone 
 can imitate it. 
 
 Here then we have the key to the enigma of 
 Plautus ; which is, that, in every art, whatever 
 comes within the scope of the understanding, of 
 sentiment, and of genius, does not really exist 
 any where, has neither substance nor place, and 
 is subjected to no one of the senses ; while he 
 who finds it is unable to point out where he has 
 seen the model of it. 
 
 That which genius finds, named invention, it 
 displays to us ready found in its works, but it 
 cannot teach us how to discover it ourselves ; else 
 might genius teach it to itself. All we can do is 
 to conjecture its course, by spying out its steps, 
 and by founding on the analysis of its effects, the 
 systematic theory of imitation. 
 
 For, be it remarked that whatever the poet may 
 tell us concerning the mysterious operation of his 
 mind in its inventions, every other artist will 
 either tell us the same himself, or will teach it us 
 by the works of his genius. 
 
 If we ask of Phidias where he found the grand 
 conception and sublime character of his Jupiter, 
 he will alike reply nowhere . For, he will say, 
 what model is included in the two verses of 
 
20 6 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 Homer ? And if it was or is there, why have not 
 others, before and since Phidias, seen it there ? 
 
 Zeuxis, having made his Helen a complete 
 beauty, we are told that five of the most beauti- 
 ful women in the city were provided for him. 
 What, if we admit the fact, one of those models 
 the less, or all, or any others in their stead, and 
 would not Helen still have been a finished work ? 
 And why have so many other painters before and 
 since Zeuxis, been unable, with the same means, 
 to attain the same beauty ? We shall be told that 
 they had not the same genius. What then is a 
 model in reality, if genius be still necessary in 
 order to imitate it ? Who shall tell us whether it 
 is the model that causes genius to see the image 
 of the beauty, or that genius sees its own idea in 
 the model ? 
 
 Well then, that which the genius of the artist 
 seeks for and finds, is nowhere. If you would 
 have proof of this in a fact that cannot be con- 
 troverted : take, for instance, in the imitation of 
 the human body, any model you please. Have 
 the most exact copy taken of it by all the de- 
 signers in the world. Lo ! you will find as 
 many different copies as there are copyists. A 
 certain proof that besides the local and individual 
 model contemplated by all alike, each one has 
 within himself another, which he consults and 
 imitates. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 207 
 
 After all then, what is it that is sought after 
 and is found, although it nowhere exists ? 
 
 It may be, that it is a something whose exis- 
 tence is only immaterial. It may be that it is 
 nothing more than that idea of the true, the beau- 
 tiful, the befitting, and the perfect, the elements 
 of which nature undoubtedly furnishes for the 
 imitator, but which she cannot present to him 
 realized, as a complete type for imitation, because 
 nature, as we shall hereafter repeat, has made 
 nothing with a view to imitation. 
 
 It may be that it is, in every kind of imitation, 
 but the image of a whole, the elements of which 
 genius discovers, combines, arranges, and perfects 
 by study, skill, and observation, according to the 
 purport, and in furtherance of, imitation ; that is, 
 with the design of bringing the work to such a 
 degree of generalized perfection on some one 
 point, as to enable it to challenge the individual 
 model in nature. 
 
 By one mode then nature is partially imitated, 
 from a model which is every where. Of such the 
 sole result is the pleasure the senses experience 
 from resemblances which are not elevated above 
 the reality of objects. This kind of imitation is 
 that, which to judge, gives the mind the least 
 possible labour, which leaves the imagination idle, 
 in which sentiment has little share, reason little 
 employ, and which has for its admirers, the vulgar 
 
208 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 and the greater number of those in whom the 
 outward organ alone receives the impressions of 
 the arts. 
 
 By another mode nature is imitated generally, 
 that is, from a model which is neither local nor 
 individual, which cannot be arrested in any de- 
 terminate place, nor, wholly, in any distinct ob- 
 ject, because it resides in the higher and invisible 
 region of principles, of causes, and of that intel- 
 ligent reason, the true source of all the effects 
 which possess any active influence on the facul- 
 ties of our minds. 
 
 It is this imitation, the works of which are not 
 the images of any object that can be called real, 
 since it is formed by the study of the artist, and 
 is manifested in his productions, by the aid of an 
 aggregate of ideas, forms, relations, and perfec- 
 tions, that no reality could furnish united in a 
 single being, — a single subject. 
 
 Finally, it is this imitation which is conceived 
 only in idea, and which is termed ideal . 
 
 Thus it would seem that so reciprocal an ac- 
 cordance is established between the notions al- 
 ready developed, and those which will accrue as 
 consequences from them, that they may serve re- 
 spectively as proofs the one of the other. If, on 
 the one hand, the corollary drawn from the theory 
 on the nature of imitation, (viz., that the pleasure 
 it affords is in the ratio of the distance that sepa- 
 rates it from reality,) leads us to regard the ideal 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 209 
 
 as necessarily producing the highest degree of 
 pleasure, and thence, as being the definitive end 
 of imitation, on the other, the superiority we shall 
 be compelled to acknowledge in the pleasure de- 
 rived from the ideal image, will confirm the truth 
 of the foregoing corollary. 
 
210 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF THE IDEAL. DEFINITION OF THE WORD. OF THE MEAN- 
 
 ING TO BE ATTACHED TO IT. 
 
 The word idea is frequently understood and in- 
 terpreted in a manner as insufficient as it is erro- 
 neous, more especially in applying it to the arts 
 of corporeal imitation, that is, to those whose 
 model belongs iii part, and would seem in some 
 to belong wholly, to the province of matter. 
 
 The word ideal being formed from the word 
 idea, which doubtless expresses whatever is least 
 material, persons are apt to imagine that it ought 
 never to be found associated with words designat- 
 ing either bodies, or their images : as though the 
 imitation of bodies embraced none but material 
 relations ; as though the properties and qualities 
 of those bodies were not connected on several 
 points with the order of moral and intellectual 
 things ; and as though their impressions could, 
 from their nature, be addressed to none but the 
 external sense. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 211 
 
 The different acceptations of the word ideal 
 have not failed to carry some confusion into this 
 subject. The word is in fact sometimes taken in 
 the sense of imaginary , chimerical ; and since, as 
 every one knows, the name ideal is applied, in 
 every kind of imitation, to productions invented 
 by whim and fancy, the vagaries of a fantastical 
 imagination, the name to many appears synony- 
 mous with whatever is false and contrary to nature. 
 
 Owing to a strange inconsequence, those even 
 who reject the notion of the ideal from the theory 
 of the arts of design, make no difficulty in asso- 
 ciating this word with the notion of the beautiful 
 or of beauty. Thus every one agrees in saying 
 ideal beauty ( le beau ideal). Yet if ideal ought 
 rightly to signify something contrary to or out of 
 nature, the beauty so called would then be neither 
 true nor natural, which no one surely would un- 
 derstand by it, or would wish to have understood. 
 But, if any thing conformable to nature and truth 
 may be allowed to be called ideal, I would ask 
 why beauty alone should have that privilege. 
 (See the close of this Chapter.) 
 
 It is clear that there is some misapprehension 
 in all this. 
 
 Etymology, though pointing out the formation 
 of words, does not always afford a key to their 
 true signification : yet, when a word carries with 
 it in so evident a manner, the impress of the pri- 
 mitive type, it were difficult to be mistaken as to 
 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 its proper meaning, or the notion it is intended to 
 express. 
 
 Properly speaking, ideal is not a word formed 
 from another. It is the adjective of idea. The 
 manner, therefore, of understanding the substan- 
 tive, will furnish that of explaining the adjective. 
 Idea being derived from the Latin idea , and from 
 the Greek a'So c, would signify no other than image. 
 These two words mutually express one another, 
 and often indistinctly, the notions of the things 
 imprinted on our minds (for it was necessary to 
 borrow from matter wherewith to express an 
 operation the most immaterial). The words idea 
 and image being synonymous, some metaphysi- 
 cians have proposed to determine their variation, 
 by applying the word idea to notions of intellec- 
 tual objects, and the word image to those of cor- 
 poreal objects. But this distinction would apply 
 only to the objects of the notions, and not to the 
 faculty of receiving them. 
 
 Ideal then is an adjective serving to designate 
 and characterize, either notions existing in the 
 mind or understanding, or works which would 
 seem to be more especially connected either with 
 the operation of the mind, or the employment of 
 intellectual means fitted to give rise to impressions 
 other than those of the physical senses. 
 
 In whatever manner the formation of ideas is 
 explained, (and I confess I have no wish even to 
 touch upon this question be it ever so slightly,) 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 213 
 
 all are agreed, that the mind of every one receives 
 from every object, and from every kind of objects, 
 or relations of objects, notions, or what are termed 
 ideas, differing widely according to the moral 
 faculties of individuals, and it is also agreed, that, 
 according to the difference of the physical facul- 
 ties, the impression on the senses produces on the 
 mind of each, very different images from the same 
 object, or the same kind either of objects or rela- 
 tions. 
 
 We recognize, therefore, two different princi- 
 ples of action in the formation of ideas : one of 
 the mind, and the other of the senses. 
 
 We also recognize both by reason and experi- 
 ence, that some men receive the impressions of 
 objects in a different manner from others, receiving 
 them more or less forcibly or energetically, tran- 
 siently or superficially ; and that those impres- 
 sions give occasion in some, more than in others, 
 to numerous appositions* — varied, simple, and 
 compound, the source of those combinations to 
 which different names are appropriated, accord- 
 ing to the particular class and nature of the works 
 resulting from them. 
 
 No one can refuse to acknowledge that the 
 
 * I should not be doing justice to the author, did I not again 
 call attention to the signification of this word, as before explained 
 to mean that preliminary process to comparison, to designate 
 which, as far as I am aware, no word has hitherto been set apart 
 in the English language. — Translator. 
 
214 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 same object, be its nature moral or physical, will 
 be viewed, according to the measure of the facul- 
 ties of each, by one under a limited point of 
 view, by another under an extended aspect and 
 the most varied relations. Supposing the same 
 fact to be witnessed and related by two persons 
 of different degrees of intelligence, it is scarcely 
 possible to conceive the difference between the 
 two narrations. And this because the person of 
 limited understanding sees in the action, nothing 
 more than what is matter-of-fact, while the other 
 seizes, in the circumstances of the case, and in 
 the apposition of effects with their causes, that 
 which attracts the mind, which excites curiosity, 
 and sustains the interest. Truth will belong to 
 both recitals. But the truth of the one, limited 
 to the outward form of the action, will be barren ; 
 that of the other fertile in impressions as the 
 source from which it emanated. 
 
 This shows us the difference between those 
 works in which the principle of action of the 
 judgment and understanding is predominant, and 
 those where it is wanting; and the works in their 
 turn enable us by their effects, to comprehend 
 the difference between the two ways of receiving 
 the impressions of things, and the two faculties 
 of producing their images. 
 
 It is natural enough that a work emanating 
 from the faculty of receiving a great number of 
 ideas, and of working them out under the most 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 215 
 
 numerous and the most extended relations, that 
 such work, when placed in opposition to that 
 proceeding from the faculty limited to the mere 
 reality of things, should have been called by a 
 name which is expressive of the elements of 
 which it is composed, namely, ideas or images 
 notably so called. For though, strictly speaking, 
 there is idea in every work of art, yet we say a 
 work is without idea, and the artist consequently 
 destitute of ideas, when it produces impressions 
 which are feeble, common-place, and confined 
 within a very narrow circle. On the other hand, 
 we say a person is rich in ideas, a work abound- 
 ing in ideas, a composition full of ideas, when 
 they are remarkable for the mental and moral 
 power displayed in them. 
 
 And as idea, according to the metaphysical de- 
 finition of the word, is the notion imprinted on 
 the mind, ideal applied to works of imitation, 
 designates their characteristic quality, in as much 
 as they are produced by the principle of the no- 
 tions which belong to the labour of the judgment 
 and understanding. 
 
 The senses and the mind are so linked together, 
 and the connection existing between the opera- 
 tions of both those faculties is such, that human 
 reason may well despair of explaining the mys- 
 tery. But in the theory of the fine arts this solu- 
 tion is not required ; it is sufficient that the two- 
 fold fact be recognized, that, in the formation of 
 
216 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 ideas, there is one action proper to the senses, 
 and another which is proper to the mind. Hence, 
 setting aside all question as to the origin of ideas, 
 our theory being in accordance with language, 
 which is a kind of universal criterion, recognizes, 
 in the works of imitation, as in the twofold faculty 
 whose concurrence is necessary, two species of 
 qualities which divide them into two classes. 
 
 The works of the first class, produced by the 
 action of the senses in particular, have the indivi- 
 dual work of nature for their absolute and exclu- 
 sive model, and it is essential to this manner of 
 imitating, that it be conformable to what it takes 
 for its model, without adding, curtailing, or 
 changing any thing whatever. It is imitation in 
 the world of realities. 
 
 The works of the second class are specially 
 produced by that faculty of the understanding, 
 which takes for their model, not only what the 
 outward sense sees in reality, but also what can 
 only be discovered by that organ which scruti- 
 nizes the causes and motives of nature, in the 
 formation of things and beings. As such a model 
 has nowhere any material existence, and as it is 
 the mind that alike copies and discovers it, the 
 works resulting from it are called creations or in- 
 ventions. It is imitation in the world of ideas; — 
 ideal imitation. 
 
 Ideal signifies, therefore, whatever, in the imi- 
 tation of the fine arts, is composed, formed, and 
 
OF IMITATION, 
 
 217 
 
 executed by virtue of that faculty in man, which 
 enables him to conceive in his mind, and to 
 realize what he has conceived, that is to say, a 
 whole such as nature would never present to him 
 in its reality. 
 
 It may now be readily seen, how wrong it is 
 to apply the notion of the ideal (as it is too much 
 the custom to do in the arts of design), solely to 
 works which require the imitation of beauty, I 
 mean corporeal beauty, whether limited to juve- 
 nile or to female figures. The idea of the beau- 
 tiful or of beauty, thus restricted, would confine 
 the ideal within too narrow a circle. There is 
 a sort of corporeal beauty belonging to every 
 time of life, even though the farthest removed 
 from that in which the charm of beauty, as com- 
 monly understood, shines forth. The customary 
 idiom of languages affords proof of it. We say 
 a beautiful old man, as we say a beautiful young 
 one. This arises from the idea of beauty being 
 formed from that of the perfection appropriate 
 to every thing and being ; and, therefore, every 
 species of object, and every kind of quality being 
 capable of perfection, may also have its ideal. 
 Ugliness may have its ideal, as well as beauty ; 
 a satyr in a work of art, as well as a Venus. 
 There may even be an ideal horrible. The Satan 
 of Paradise Lost is, in its kind, as ideal as it is 
 possible to conceive ; but its character is not of 
 that corporeal ideal beauty which the imagina- 
 
218 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 tion conjoins with youth, when it would picture 
 to itself, or would represent an angel. In like 
 manner there is in poetry an ideal of all the most 
 opposite qualities. While in Achilles we have 
 the ideal of courage, Thersites equally displays 
 the ideal of cowardice. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IDEAL IMITATION THE RESULT OF A GENERALIZED STUDY OF 
 NATURE. 
 
 Among all the ideas or notions which are formed 
 in the mind, one of the first, the most easy to 
 receive, and the most frequent of application, is 
 undoubtedly that designated by the word indi- 
 viduality. The same cannot be said of the oppo- 
 site idea or notion, that of generality . 
 
 As the eye begins by viewing in detail, before 
 it embraces the whole together, so the mind in its 
 operations particularizes before it generalizes. 
 What takes place in the habitual labour of the 
 understanding of man, has come to pass on a 
 great scale in the successive labours of the human 
 mind. Thus, little by little, has the labour of 
 imitation, in all its modes, progressed from parti- 
 cular observation to general knowledge, and from 
 the simple to the compound. 
 
 This would seem to require some explanation : 
 for it may be thought that the simple must here 
 
220 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 be found in that general which produces the col- 
 lective whole, and that the compound must apper- 
 tain to what is in detail. The words themselves 
 will afford the explanation required. Now, we 
 do not speak here of the work, but only of the 
 labour of imitation, the operation of the mind. 
 Certain it is, that the first process of this opera- 
 tion, which is that of instinct, is always addressed, 
 in the labour of imitation, to what is partial or 
 individual, and is hence confined within a very 
 narrow circle ; it is to this that the idea of simple 
 is applied. Hence the idea of compound accords 
 with that labour of the judgment and understand- 
 ing, which embraces the grand relations of objects 
 and their most extended points of view, — a labour, 
 the result of which is generalized imitation. 
 
 It is not required of us to go back into the 
 earliest periods of time to learn when imitation 
 had its commencement. 
 
 Several efforts have been made with that end 
 in view, and some differences have been found, in 
 different countries, as to its point of starting, and 
 the direction of its advance ; we shall, however, 
 again advert to this topic more especially as re- 
 specting art among the Greeks (see Chap, x.) ; 
 but the historical account hereafter given of the 
 original cause of the imitative system of the 
 Greeks being constituted on the ideal, does in no 
 wise contradict what we have here advanced re- 
 specting the natural progress of the mind, pro- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 221 
 
 ceeding in its labour of successive observations 
 from the particular to the general ; the effects of 
 which are alike evident in many of the Grecian 
 works. 
 
 Furthermore, those effects are daily manifested 
 before our eyes, in the works of pupils and begin- 
 ners. Certain it is, that in great things as in 
 little, and whatever may be the point of view 
 selected for observation, we shall always find that 
 the imitator takes at first an individual or partial 
 model. His first, his only care, is at the stage we 
 are speaking of, to render the result of his imita- 
 tion as like its original as possible, without trou- 
 bling himself about or even thinking of, making 
 himself acquainted with what may be defective 
 or imperfect in that original. 
 
 Indeed, to judge of the qualities and defects of 
 the individual, or of the particular model, requires 
 and leads to the supposition of a knowledge of 
 generalities or of the general model. Now, such 
 knowledge follows only in the train of numerous 
 comparisons, which are always necessarily the 
 result of long experience. 
 
 In following out, either by reasoning or actual 
 example, the progress of the operations of the 
 mind, we become convinced that this experience, 
 acquired at length from drawing parallels between 
 a great number of models, must render perceptible 
 to the imitator. 
 
 That extreme fidelity in adhering to the reality 
 
or THE END 
 
 222 
 
 of a single model, cannot but be extreme fidelity 
 towards nature ; 
 
 That nature could not have made or designed 
 any being individually, or any thing in particular, 
 with the view of benefiting imitation : 
 
 That the supreme Ordain er, in the organization 
 of living beings, and the direction of human things, 
 must have had other points in view, than those 
 relating to the study or the wants of art ; 
 
 That, therefore, the artist ought to seek the rules 
 of the imitation of nature, and the principle of the 
 perfection to which he aspires, not in the ever 
 varying detail of the individual creature, subject 
 to so many conditions that are foreign to the ends 
 of art, but in the aggregate of the system or 
 original type of the creation, which the limited 
 sight of the senses is incapable of grasping. 
 
 So soon as the knowledge of the proper means 
 of art and of the laws of natnre, in the reproduc- 
 tion of their respective works, had taught how 
 rightly to discern the particular from the general, 
 to view the former through and in the latter, that 
 is, bv referring the individual instance to the 
 original type, the ideal had its birth. 
 
 It was consequently acknowledged that in the 
 material world, or that of bodies, no individual 
 could combine the collective whole of external 
 perfections possible to each of its parts, and which 
 it has pleased nature to distribute more or less 
 unequally among all. (See the following Chapter.) 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 223 
 
 It was acknowledged that in the moral world it 
 would be useless to expect from a single character, 
 the universality of the qualities which our minds 
 are capable of forming an idea of, that it would 
 be vain to seek in a single man the perfected 
 compound of all the excellencies with which each 
 is differently endowed. It was acknowledged 
 that in the natural course of things, the subjects 
 of historical action proper for poetical imitation, 
 could never be presented to the poet with that 
 agreement of circumstances, and that aggregate of 
 conditions so necessary to the effect which the art 
 of the poet is bound to produce. Lastly, the con- 
 viction followed, that as nature neither had fur- 
 nished nor could furnish any perfect and complete 
 model for imitation, as regards art, so it remained 
 for the genius of the artist itself to complete by a 
 judicious combination, the qualities of the parti- 
 cular model. 
 
 This the true imitator did : and he could alone 
 do it by generalizing, through extensive observa- 
 tion, the study of nature, and reducing it to a 
 system. Now, this system is nothing else than 
 the ideal type of imitation, a type formed not on 
 this or that isolated work of nature, but on the 
 generality of the laws and motives manifested in 
 the universal whole of her works. 
 
 It was therefore no longer the particular work, 
 but the general motive of the supreme Worker, 
 that became the true regulator of the operations 
 
224 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 of art, and here we see why ideal imitation must 
 be accounted pre-eminently the imitation of 
 nature. If we consider that we are imitating her 
 when we are ruled only by one of those partial 
 productions which are frequently but deviations 
 from her plan, do we not imitate much more and 
 much better, when we appropriate the very prin- 
 ciple of her laws, and study the collective whole 
 of the universal order of nature on which those 
 laws are imprinted ? 
 
 In this new course of imitative studies the mind 
 of man must have sought out, not only whether 
 this or that production of nature were pleasing, 
 but also why it pleased. It was necessary to in- 
 quire the cause of the pleasure, as well in the 
 co-relation of our sensations with each created 
 object, as in the conformity of their properties 
 with the principal end for which they were de- 
 signed. 
 
 But, as we shall hereafter discuss more in de- 
 tail, nature, in endowing its creatures with a mul- 
 titude of different functions, could not keep in 
 view as an only or even principal end, that of 
 pleasing us, in the sense in which we understand 
 the pleasure that results from imitation. On the 
 contrary, it was by concentrating all its means on 
 this single point, by directing them to this sole 
 aim, that art became in some measure the rival of 
 nature. 
 
 Before entering farther into the investigation of 
 
225 
 
 OP IMITATION. 
 
 the notion of the ideal, and making the principle 
 of it more especially known, that is to say, before 
 pointing out to the understanding the track that 
 genius pursues in order to attain it, I deem it 
 necessary to do away with the false impressions 
 that the word ideal occasions in the minds of 
 many, and to contend against the erroneous con- 
 sequences that the misunderstanding of that no- 
 tion induces them to draw from it, both on the 
 part of those who construe the word in too re- 
 stricted a sense, and of those who, applying only 
 the lights of the imagination to this description of 
 criticism, reject all theoretical analysis from mat- 
 ters of taste and sentiment. 
 
 These last more especially, considering the 
 ideal under the confined relation of what they 
 call beauty, are not desirous of being told what it 
 is, but of being taught the practical means of 
 producing it. Now this practical notion can no 
 otherwise be communicated than by example. 
 Suffice it to say, that it is beyond the power of the 
 writer. 
 
 We cannot here entertain any other object than 
 that of setting forth the ideal in its principle, and 
 its effects, as being the definitive goal of the ef- 
 forts of art, and the true end of imitation. 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF THE INFERIORITY OF THE WORKS OF ART COMPARED WITH 
 THOSE OF NATURE, UNLESS RECOURSE BE HAD TO THE IDEAL 
 MODEL OF IMITATION. 
 
 The mistake so frequently fallen into concerning 
 the notion of the ideal in imitation, arises from 
 another very common mistake as to the meaning 
 that should be attached to the word nature. 
 
 Whatever exists, exists doubtless in nature, 
 which is the whole ; but as far as imitation is 
 concerned, nature does not conversely exist in 
 every object. It no more exists there than 
 the whole does in its part. Yet are there 
 founded on this confusion of ideas, certain man- 
 ners of seeing, reasoning, and perceiving. This 
 object, it is said, this being, this individual, is in 
 nature : it is then a natural object, and, in imita- 
 ting a natural object, I am imitating nature. Such 
 is the argument adduced. If, for instance, it be 
 applied to the arts of design, it is certain that all 
 imitation produced by virtue of this argument, 
 will be imitation of an individual. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 227 
 
 But we have already said, and every one knows 
 it, that nature (when we take account of all that 
 entered into her designs) did in no wise propose 
 to create perfect models for art, with a view to 
 the imitations man might make of her works. It 
 would be too ridiculous to suppose that she had 
 ever entertained such a design. Besides, every 
 thing teaches us the contrary. The mere diver- 
 sity apparent in the physical qualities and exter- 
 nal conformations of creatures, evinces to us that, 
 the principal end of nature being the pro-creation 
 or reproduction, and the preservation of beings, 
 she has subordinated this twofold end to adequate 
 means, whose wonderful efficiency has never been 
 belied. This vast and elaborate performance she 
 has subjected to principles of perpetual and in- 
 variable action, and also to a multitude of secon- 
 dary influences, which operate according to the 
 general tendency of her will, or her laws, and are 
 continually producing an infinite number of de- 
 viations which form probably a part of the, to us 
 unknown, disposition of her designs. 
 
 It is by studying nature, not partially and in 
 detail, but in the collective whole of her plans, 
 that we attain to a knowledge of what is, or is 
 not, conformable to her general laws, that, pene- 
 trating the mystery of her intentions, we grasp at 
 once the principle of order that rules over the 
 whole system of creation, and the reasons of the 
 irregularities we remark in the things created, 
 
 ft 2 
 
228 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 Now the irregularities we speak of, are com- 
 mon to all the works of nature of whatever kind. 
 
 “ As concerns organized bodies says a modern 
 writer, * “ nature seems to despise the individual , 
 and to have regard only to the species .” Individuals 
 must then be to us as so many means of studying 
 the species ; while we learn from the species to 
 rectify the individual. What would accrue to the 
 artist were he to confine himself to imitating an 
 individual ? He would find something of nature, 
 but not nature herself. For nature, as respects 
 the organization of bodies, has subordinated gene- 
 ration to a number of secondary causes, which 
 are insufficient to produce the entire expression of 
 her will, seeing that it is frequently necessary to 
 regard the individual in its relation with the 
 species, as the exception which only serves to 
 confirm the rule. 
 
 But, the imitator will say, I have not left it to 
 chance in selecting the individual that I imitate. 
 In the choice I have made, I have first of all re- 
 jected all deformed or mal-conformed individuals ; 
 and have afterwards taken as my model the one 
 that seemed to me the most perfectly made. 
 
 Well and good, I would reply, you have then 
 acknowledged that the nature which you propose 
 to imitate does not exist in every individual, al- 
 
 * M. Say, Economic Politique, vol. ii., p. 142. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 229 
 
 though that individual be natural. Since you 
 would make choice of one amongst several, you 
 are apparently guided by some rule. Certainly, 
 you say, I have compared ; I have brought to- 
 gether several models ; comparison has been my 
 rule of guidance. But, I would again answer, 
 you are doing no more than repeating the same 
 thing in other words. You have compared, you 
 have judged, that is all. What I ask is, whence 
 you have derived the rule of your judgment ? 
 You are compelled to avow that it was from rea- 
 soning and sentiment. Truly so, and in fact what 
 other judge is there, what other guide for our 
 judgments on the works of nature, than the sen- 
 timent of beauty, ruled by experience of what 
 is useful, that is, by reasoning, which enables us 
 to discern in every object wherein it approaches, 
 wherein it is remote from, the original design of 
 nature, from that type, the impress of which every 
 creature bears, although the perfection of that 
 impress may be more or less modified in detail by 
 secondary causes ? 
 
 If then one is compelled to arrive at this result, 
 I have only to add that such result is nothing 
 more nor less than the theoretical principle of the 
 ideal in imitation. 
 
 But it will still be necessary to persuade the 
 majority of persons, that there is not, and that 
 there cannot be, a single perfect creature ; that 
 
230 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 they can never meet with an individual capable of 
 affording to art, a model wholly conformable with 
 what ought to be its ultimate purpose. 
 
 In truth nature and art have a different end, 
 and considered in relation with that end, the per- 
 fection to be attained by each respectively, is not 
 the same. 
 
 It is doubtless through the works of nature, 
 that we are enabled to conceive, and art to realize 
 in its productions, the ideas of order, harmony, 
 proportion, and regularity, which are the elements 
 of beauty, and which it is the part of imitation to 
 combine together. But it would appear, that in 
 order to attain her ends, and to render her crea- 
 tures capable of fulfilling the functions she assigns 
 to them, nature was not under the necessity of 
 endowing each with the total amount of external 
 perfections that the work of art demands. It 
 would even appear as though the harmony, the 
 secrets of which are revealed to us in the grand 
 whole, were, like that of sounds, but a mysterious 
 concord of skilful discordancies. If it be so, 
 may not an unequal apportioning of qualities or 
 perfections among beings, have entered into the 
 views of nature. Perhaps what we have been 
 led to consider as so many irregularities when seen 
 in detail, may be a necessary condition of the 
 supreme regularity that reigns throughout the 
 collective whole. 
 
 I admit that we find more or less pleasure in 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 231 
 
 the separate works of nature, as they each com- 
 bine a greater or less amount of those perfections, 
 the total of which forms what is termed the com- 
 plete type of beauty. But even in the most de- 
 fective beings, in those farthest removed, by the 
 action of secondary causes, from that regularity 
 which art aspires to, there still remains enough 
 to call forth our admiration, in a multitude of 
 qualities each in relation with the ends that nature 
 had designed them for. 
 
 The external form of creatures is in fact but 
 the least part, is but the envelope of the infinite 
 marvels comprised in the organization of bodies. 
 This external form, if we suppose it ever so de- 
 fective, is, nevertheless, even in that state of de- 
 formity, endowed with immense advantages over 
 all that is most regular among the productions of 
 art. Life, motion, sensibility, and that principle 
 of intelligence which animates the most imperfect 
 bodies, may each challenge, individually, all the 
 perfections of imitation. 
 
 iVrt, in the imitation of bodies, has only at its 
 disposal that external form, that least part, when 
 compared with the wonders of the inward body, 
 which are beyond its reach. What too shall we 
 say of sentiment and thought, the signs and faint 
 appearances of which, are all art is capable of 
 rendering. 
 
 In so unequal a contest with nature, what will 
 become of the image of art if it be brought down 
 
232 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 to the level of that of the individual, whether it 
 be that chance has afforded the model to the 
 artist, or even that he himself has made choice of 
 it. Since it is certain that no individual has been, 
 or ever can be, produced (according to the system 
 of nature), with that complete combination of 
 outward perfections, which it is the office of art 
 to realize in its image as one congenial whole, it 
 must be admitted that a work done after a single 
 model, will yield the palm to nature. It would 
 in the first place yield it, by the whole distance 
 that separates inert matter from the living being, 
 and in the next, by the whole interval existing 
 between the individual, considered as a partial 
 and imperfect specimen, and the universal type of 
 all perfection. 
 
 Nature and art have scarcely an approximate 
 point in the formation of their works. While 
 nature has a thousand different ends in view, art 
 has but one. There is the same inequality in 
 their means. The imitator errs greatly in sup- 
 posing, that because he appropriates one part of 
 nature, he can therefore embody them all, and 
 supply her place. One of the prerogatives of the 
 natural being, is that of having the power to 
 please us, although far from combining every ex- 
 terior quality. Thus bodies endued with life, and 
 animated by intelligence, please us on a thousand 
 points, that have no relation with those from which 
 perfection of forms proceeds. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 233 
 
 On the other hand, it is very certain that bodies 
 created by art, have but one point on which they 
 can afford us pleasure, and that is by their form 
 or outward appearance. In fact, this is the only 
 object that such description of creature has to 
 fulfil. Again, the individual that may be ad- 
 judged by the statuary to be ill-proportioned, and 
 of a form unworthy of imitation, may not the less 
 perform all the numberless functions for which it 
 was created. But what use would the statue be 
 of, were it rendered defective by its dispropor- 
 tions ? Is there any thing more useless than a 
 work of art that fails in its obligation to please ? 
 
 As the necessary and only end of art is to pro- 
 duce works capable of affording pleasure, and 
 that only by the proper means at its disposal, the 
 duty of the artist is to endeavour to search out 
 and discover those means. Now he will seek 
 where he will not find, if he look for them from 
 an individual model, since nature has not designed 
 any such to afford us the same kind of pleasure 
 that a statue does. Nature herself, therefore, 
 directs the artist to study elsewhere, and to imi- 
 tate otherwise, than in and through the same 
 model, that is, in the manner of the copyist, upon 
 pain of seeing the work of art unfitted to bear 
 the slightest comparison with its original. 
 
 Let us here recapitulate what has been said 
 above, concerning the disadvantage under which 
 the work of art labours when brought into col- 
 
234 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 lision with that of nature : viz., that if the natural 
 being has defects on any point corresponding with 
 the resources of one art, those defects are fre- 
 quently counterbalanced by beauties occurring 
 under some aspect corresponding with another 
 art. Thus even though the individual model had 
 no other advantage over its copy, which is neces- 
 sarily incomplete, than that of compensating a 
 blemish of form, for instance, by the charm of 
 colour, one may see at once, how much the art 
 which is reduced to one of those two aspects, is 
 interested in bringing to bear on that one, the 
 sum total of perfections relative to it, perfections 
 the principle of which can alone be revealed, and 
 the means of execution furnished, by the ideal 
 model. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 235 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 The foregoing observations have naturally a more 
 sensible relation with the arts of design, than with 
 the other arts. Sensible is here the proper word, 
 since by the principles of the theory of the ideal 
 we find, that, in the imitation of bodies, there are 
 some cases which come under the cognizance of 
 the senses. We have therefore willingly made 
 use of instances of this description in order to exem- 
 plify and explain our theory with greater clearness. 
 
 A perfect uniformity in this respect reigns 
 throughout all the arts. Whether an art belong 
 by the nature and means of its appropriate imita- 
 tion, to the province of bodies and matter, or, 
 being more particularly dependent on the mind, 
 be allied to the moral world, as are the different 
 kinds of poetry ; both have always a twofold 
 model in nature, and in both alike is there room 
 for error as to the idea and meaning attached to 
 the word nature. 
 
236 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 The poet, just as often as the painter, confounds 
 the idea of nature, confined to individuality, with 
 that other idea of nature considered in its gene- 
 rality. Quite as often does he persuade himself 
 that the only object of his imitation is, to counter- 
 feit the expression of vices, passions, and follies, 
 to trace the picture of human things and actions, 
 and design the character of his personages, wholly 
 and solely after such an original as he may have 
 known, such as chance circumstances, or the nar- 
 ratives of history afford, or such as local causes or 
 the manners of the age present to him. 
 
 But though passing to another order of things, 
 the error will still be the same in kind, and it will 
 be fully as easy to become convinced of this. 
 
 But, if physical nature, as already shown, 
 affords, in the imitation of bodies, no finished and 
 perfect models, as regards art and its interests, 
 why should it be otherwise in moral nature, with 
 all those subjects constituting the domain of 
 poetry ? Does that power which we name Provi- 
 dence, so dispose the course of mundane affairs 
 with the view that events, their causes, incidents, 
 and results may furnish the poet, epic, or tragic, 
 with the original ready cut and dry, if one may so 
 speak, for his art, of the action, the story of which 
 he has to tell in songs, or display in scenes upon 
 the stage ? 
 
 When we survey the whole train of the past 
 deeds of history ; when viewing what is passing 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 237 
 
 .under our own observation, we examine contem- 
 porary events, the most remarkable incidents, or 
 the parts which persons most distinguished by 
 their character and position play upon this stage 
 of which we are the spectators, can we suppose 
 that any thing therein was ordered or disposed by 
 the great Mover of things human, with a view to 
 provide models for the poet? Shall we find a 
 subject in the least possible degree adapted to 
 enter with all its historical reality, into even the 
 most extended composition ? 
 
 Poetry then has its proper subjects equally 
 with painting. The poet cannot find them in 
 nature ready made for his art. Innumerable cir- 
 cumstances are mixed up with them, which render 
 them unfitted for imitation, that is, which would 
 destroy both the effect and the truth of imitation. 
 History furnishes a whole, which, consisting of an 
 infinity of particulars, in no wise corresponds with 
 that universal whole which belongs to art, and is 
 made up of generalities : it is the greatest of 
 mistakes to believe that the truth of the image, 
 and that of reality, are the same. 
 
 Moreover, there is a sort of truth, which by 
 imitation, is converted into falsity, as there is also 
 a sort of falsity which becomes the highest degree 
 of truth in art. 
 
 I will explain. Since it is for the poet, by the 
 nature of his obligations, to bring together under 
 one head, that is, within a given space cognizable 
 
238 OF THE END 
 
 by the visual faculties of the mind, what the 
 chance of events has disjoined and scattered over 
 different times, and separate places, and among 
 incidents without coherence one with the other, 
 he would be wanting in the proper truth of art, 
 were he to proceed to the exposition of an action, 
 in like manner as would the historian. Before he 
 amuses, the historian must instruct. He has 
 many other duties besides that of pleasing. Sup- 
 posing that his account is deficient in entertain- 
 ment, it will, nevertheless, by its exactitude, and 
 precisely because he has not sought to please, 
 afford one great pleasure resulting from its ve- 
 racity, utility, &c., which are the ends of history. 
 But the end of the art of poetry is to please, and 
 as truth must be conjoined with pleasure, it is for 
 the poet to seek, amid the facts of history, for the 
 point of view most favourable to this alliance. 
 Since his art is unfitted to appropriate things in 
 their reality and in toto, if he is unable to transform 
 their bald truth, he will be wanting at once in 
 historical fidelity, and in his primary obligation, 
 that of pleasing. 
 
 There is, on the other hand, a sort of falsity 
 (and it would be really such in the historian) 
 which, as regards poetry, is the only truth to be 
 aspired to. It consists in that system, by means 
 of which the poetic writer, neglecting details in 
 order the better to grasp the whole, and abandon- 
 ing the materiality of facts and things for the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 239 
 
 spirit of them, refers back the scattered traits of 
 his subject to their principle, or to their central 
 point of view, and, instead of a review of their 
 successive parts which would exceed the limits of 
 his art, erects from them a new whole, which he 
 brings to the highest pitch of expression and sig- 
 nificance. 
 
 The poet who neglects this kind of truth when 
 thus transformed, neglects nature, and the end of 
 his art ; in like manner with the painter, when he 
 flatters himself (as seen in the preceding Chapter) 
 that the truth of bodies is to be found in their 
 visible reality, and in the individual creature. 
 
 I here anticipate the usual objection. 
 
 Why, it will be urged, may not the poet do 
 what nature has done ? Why may not art repre- 
 sent subjects, or actions, or characters, just as 
 they are found in reality, with their discrepancies, 
 their irregularities, and with that mixture of acci- 
 dents and circumstances which belong to the 
 reality of things ? 
 
 We have said why again and again. Because 
 art is not nature, and does not possess her means. 
 Because the space and time that belong to nature, 
 are not at the disposal of the poet. Because in 
 pretending to follow nature on the ground of 
 realities the poet deserts that of fiction, and ceases 
 to be a poet. Furthermore, what the poet has 
 thought to take as the model for a single kind of 
 poetical imitation, is in fact that of several arts 
 
240 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 distinct from each other ; and what he has taken 
 as the subject of a single action, might afford 
 matter for several. There may perhaps be in a 
 trait of history wherewith to form, according to 
 the aspects it presents, a tragedy, a poem, a tale, 
 and a romance. Every art has its portion of the 
 model, and what is wanting to that integrity 
 which nature denies to each one in particular, 
 must be supplied by its own proper means. Na- 
 ture herself tells us that though she has made 
 dramas, yet that she has no more destined them for 
 our stage, than her pictures for our canvass and 
 our frames, or her individuals to become statues. 
 
 The endeavour to embrace in imitation the 
 totality or reality of subjects and natural objects, 
 with means limited on every side, evinces a wil- 
 lingness to remain inferior to nature on every 
 point. 
 
 The poet then, as well as the painter, has ne- 
 cessarily two models, the one being as it were the 
 soul of the other. That is to say, whatever comes 
 within the circle of imitation of any and every 
 form of composition in poetry, has for the senses 
 a truth of reality, and for the mind that of ab- 
 straction or generalization. Now, this last kind 
 of truth, which rightly belongs to the genius of 
 every art, can alone raise the power of the means 
 of imitation to a level with those of the grand 
 model, this alone can render the image capable of 
 rivaling nature. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 241 
 
 In the third Part of this work, what may be 
 termed the machinery of the ideal will be treated 
 more in detail, when, having to discuss the means 
 available to imitation in attaining it, we shall point 
 out in what manner every art is bound to proceed, 
 in making anew, recomposing, and modifying 
 every subject, its elements, its appearance and its 
 forms. (See Part III. Chap, ix.) 
 
 It were well here to instance beforehand, the 
 extraordinary objection that is urged against this 
 theory ; extraordinary because, far from weaken- 
 ing, it only serves to corroborate it. 
 
 Many persons maintain that what we require 
 from imitation may be found in the very works 
 that we condemn, since it is physically impossible 
 to realize the effect of identical repetition ; so 
 that, they add, it is useless to enjoin the poet to 
 do what he cannot avoid doing, and what conse- 
 quently he always does more or less. 
 
 Doubtless ; but on that more or less, the whole 
 question turns ; and the more or the less depends 
 farther, on the way in which this is to be under- 
 stood, that is, in the spirit of things, rather than 
 according to the letter. 
 
 It is well known that imitation never can, ac- 
 cording to the strict meaning of the terms, be 
 wholly moulded upon any model whatever. It 
 would evince a want of fairness, or of good sense, 
 to take these notions and the terms made use of 
 for explaining them, in their strictly literal mean- 
 
 u 
 
242 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 ing. When we speak of identical imitation, and 
 the repetition of reality in works of painting, we 
 do not intend that these words should be taken in 
 any more positive sense, than that expressed by 
 the idea we have of a mirror of the objects. All 
 these phrases ought to be taken in a figurative 
 sense, and the fault we have been speaking of 
 would not be at all diminished, even though it 
 could be proved that, in the image, there was 
 nothing traced or moulded, and that there was 
 nothing mechanical in its effect. 
 
 We also aver that, even on the stage, where 
 illusion by means of identity may be carried to 
 the last degree, there can but exist an approxima- 
 tion to reality, in works the most infected with 
 that vice. Even in such pieces as are irregular 
 in their plan, false by reason of the affectation of 
 truth, and whose pretensions to the reality of action 
 seem to exclude both art and imitation, the author 
 cannot avoid making frequent compromises with 
 his model. He is compelled to curtail, and add 
 many things, and to modify many others, in order 
 to introduce them within the moral frame of his 
 composition. This would not prevent the work 
 from being considered to have been executed ac- 
 cording to the system of identity, in the spirit of 
 reality ; and he who should be unmindful of it, 
 would stand self-accused of being incapable of 
 conceiving a single idea in the world of theory. 
 
 Allowing the fullest force to the justification of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 243 
 
 the false imitation we are contending against, 
 granting that, even in works which are virtu- 
 ally tainted with its defects, the author cannot 
 but make a part of the sacrifices, and submit to a 
 part of the controlling circumstances, which tend 
 to modify and change the elements of the actual 
 reality of what he has chosen for his model ; what 
 will result from it ? That there are, in truth, no 
 means of imitating, without having recourse to the 
 system of the ideal, and that every artist idealizes 
 more or less without being aware of it. 
 
 There are indeed degrees of the ideal; and this 
 will scarcely be denied if it be granted that the 
 notion of the ideal is opposed to that of reality. 
 It is clear that the interval which, in the theory 
 as in the practice of the works of art, separates 
 these two states of imitative resemblance, will pre- 
 sent different degrees to the artist, that is, differ- 
 ently graduated means of producing more or less 
 that species of pleasure which, as we have seen, 
 is the true end of imitation. 
 
 r 2 
 
244 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHEREIN THE WORK OF ART MAY SURPASS THAT OF NATURE. 
 
 In assigning pleasure as the end of imitation, we 
 have already said, and we cannot too often repeat 
 it, that there are two kinds of pleasure ; one, that 
 of the senses, limited in its principle and its 
 effects ; the other, that of the mind, its source in- 
 exhaustible, and its effects infinite. 
 
 The difference of these two kinds of pleasure 
 is readily appreciable. The foregoing remarks 
 have afforded a reason for it, and explained how, 
 and why, imitation, when confined within the 
 bounds of the real and individual, cannot satisfy 
 us in what our better part requires of it ; for sen- 
 timent and taste require that it should be capable 
 of supporting a parallel with nature. Now, in 
 the system of individual imitation, the parallel 
 cannot but prove to the disadvantage of art, if it 
 be true that the pleasure procured by such imita- 
 tion, cannot rise higher in degree, than that which 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 245 
 
 a portrait, in whatever branch of art, would af- 
 ford us. 
 
 What matter, it will be urged in reply, though 
 imitation be confined to portraiture ; if it retrace 
 with exact fidelity the lineaments or characteris- 
 tics of a man, for instance, it will always please 
 us, because it is that property in the arts of repro- 
 ducing our own image that more especially pleases 
 us. 
 
 We neither deny the existence nor the legiti- 
 macy of this taste, which is perhaps the primary 
 source of imitation. It is indeed impossible that 
 man can do otherwise than refer to himself what 
 proceeds from himself ; now imitation is a result 
 of his instinct ; but that same instinct which leads 
 him to constitute himself the centre and aim of 
 the works of art, would end in contracting our 
 pleasures within too narrow a circle, and reducing 
 them to too small an amount. 
 
 Doubtless, man likes to see himself represented 
 by the works of art. But how, and to what end? 
 It is forming a wrong estimate of this taste to 
 imagine, that it is sufficient if we find, in the 
 images of the arts, mere mirrors reflecting the 
 reality which is always before our eyes. The 
 man that we take a pleasure in viewing, because 
 we find advantage in studying ourselves through 
 him, either in the expression of our sentiments 
 and our passions, or in the emotions of our minds, 
 or in the harmony of our outward forms, that man 
 
246 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 is not such an one as we can every where see the 
 original or the copy of ; but a man generalized by 
 art into the ideal, whose image has been modified 
 or fashioned, not after what is termed the nature 
 of a model, but after what I term the model of 
 nature. 
 
 Now the nature here in question is not cogniza- 
 ble to the senses of every body. At once invisi- 
 ble and present, it is in every place, and is yet no 
 where. It is every where discoverable by the 
 keen eye of genius, and every where eludes him 
 who sees but with the eye of a copyist. 
 
 In short, we need but remark that, since there 
 are two ways of considering nature, the one in 
 the details of her works, the other in their collec- 
 tive whole ; the one in the partial instance of 
 the individual, the other in the type of the 
 species ; the one in productions subjected to the 
 action of secondary causes, the other in the gene- 
 ral tenor of primitive laws, whose principle is 
 manifested to the understanding ; there are also 
 two models for imitation. There is the model af- 
 fording the imitation of a man , and that affording 
 the imitation of man . The difference between 
 these two models, and their imitations, is the same 
 with that which our minds distinguish between 
 the genus and the species, between the species 
 and the individual. 
 
 It is then a fact, and a philosophically evident 
 one, that the idea of nature, in so far as it em- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 247 
 
 braces generalities, corresponds with the idea 
 attached to the genus, or species, and not with 
 that of the individual. Thus art does not really 
 take nature for its model, except when it consi- 
 ders and imitates it within the sphere of the pro- 
 perties constituting the being viewed generally, 
 or taken collectively. Then, and then only, the 
 work imprinted, if one may so speak, in the 
 moral or physical type, either from the idea or 
 the general form, surpasses that fashioned after 
 the partial and individual specimen, because na- 
 ture has denied to this latter the property of 
 expressing the sum total of the perfections that 
 exist in the original design, and which a gene- 
 ralized study can alone discover and appro- 
 priate. 
 
 Imitation when it deals only with the real and 
 individual is so inferior, as we have already seen, 
 to the individual reality of nature, that no other 
 resource remains, in order that it may rival the 
 efficiency of its model and surpass it, than in- 
 voking the assistance of that other imitative pro- 
 cess which constitutes the prerogative of art. 
 And here it is necessary to revert to what has 
 been already said, namely, that, as art is not 
 nature, it must adopt different ways of proceeding. 
 Their creations have assuredly nothing in com- 
 mon. Nature, in her works, does not follow the 
 process and methods of art. Nor can art, on the 
 other hand, take as a guide, that which would 
 
248 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 divert it from the perfection it is capable of at- 
 taining. 
 
 But it is not the less indebted to nature for that 
 perfection. She alone furnishes arms to over- 
 come herself, she alone indicates the proper point 
 of attack, and the ground on which she will yield 
 the advantage. 
 
 That vantage ground is the ideal. 
 
 There, the artist, quitting the barren region of 
 reality, where men, deeds, and objects present 
 themselves only such as they are, takes his stand, 
 and creates for us a new world, in which they are 
 made to seem such as nature tells us they might 
 be. There, all existences are aggrandized and 
 ennobled, by exchanging the particular truths of 
 imitation, for that abstract and generalized truth 
 which comprehends the others also. 
 
 Here we see of what the secret of the ideal 
 consists, and wherein its power is manifested. 
 All the great works of art teach us a similar lesson. 
 
 Is the poet contented to draw the portrait of a 
 hero, or a warrior, by the minutely detailed recital 
 of his actions and the historical circumstances of 
 his life ? No, on the contrary, he brings together, 
 and intimately combines, in his personage, the 
 most prominent traits of insuperable valour drawn 
 rather from the character, than from the history 
 of his subject, and in the end has depicted heroism, 
 rather than a hero. The dramatic writer pursues 
 the same method in depicting the events which 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 249 
 
 compose his plot, under the name of this or that 
 personage; for, it must be observed, it is far less 
 the particular trait in history that serves as his 
 subject, than the very passion itself, the effects of 
 which, that trait affords him the opportunity of 
 developing. In this point of view, which is that 
 of the ideal, the epic or dramatic personage only 
 serves to give a name to the poem or piece. 
 
 According to this system, the individual dis- 
 appears and is replaced by the general. The 
 actual event or the real personage serves the poet 
 only as a means to an invention or action that is 
 to retrace to us, either the spirit of an age, or the 
 character of a people. (See Part III. Chap, ix.) 
 From those scattered traits in which the vices or 
 virtues of a part of mankind are only partially 
 and incompletely depicted, he sets forth a general 
 picture of humanity. Instead of the portraiture 
 of a criminal or a virtuous being, he delineates a 
 picture of crime, or of virtue. Thus it is not 
 Achilles, Orestes, Cleopatra, Phaedra, Moham- 
 med, &c., but pride, revenge, ambition, love, and 
 fanaticism, that he depicts to us, by bringing 
 together and generalizing the characteristics of 
 those passions, whose elementary traits nature 
 furnishes him with, while no individual could 
 present either their aggregate or entire expression. 
 
 What else does the comic poet do, when he 
 presents to our view pictures of the follies, extra- 
 vagances, and defects of man in society. His pic- 
 
25 0 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 tures are too often taken for actual portraits, and 
 people fancy that he has made, or can but have 
 made, only a copy of certain originals known in 
 his own times, or that chance may have thrown 
 under his observation. They would certainly be 
 to him, as they would to the painter, objects of 
 separate study, and from that study would equally 
 result the collective whole of an abstract and 
 generalized image. Who does not know, and 
 distinguish, in landscape painting, for instance, 
 those studies of points of sight, and localities 
 reproduced by the camera obscura, which, ac- 
 cording to the talent of the artist, may remain, 
 either what are called views, or become ideal 
 compositions? These then are the sources of 
 such continual confusion. The separate study of 
 the individual is undoubtedly necessary, but it 
 should be with a view to arrive at the knowledge 
 of the general being. What we maintain is, that 
 this study is and ought to be only as a means to 
 enable the poet to bring on the scene, the complete 
 idea of a vice, or a folly, instead of an isolated 
 picture limited to some action, or some trait, bor- 
 rowed from a single model. 
 
 Plautus and Moliere will furnish a good example 
 to illustrate my position, in the difference of 
 manner in which each has traced the character of 
 his miser. If M. Schlegel,* who has drawn a 
 
 Coins de title rat u re Diamatique, tome ii. p. 262. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 251 
 
 parallel between them, meant to say that the 
 Euclio of Plautus is more simple, that the action 
 in which his miser plays a part, has much fewer, 
 and less varied incidents, than that of Moliere, 
 that the fact of a hidden treasure, the only 
 source of the disquietudes of Euclio , predominates 
 throughout the piece, produces the denouement 
 and gives it the advantage of a greater unity of 
 object, one would be greatly inclined to accede 
 to his opinion. The very title of the piece might 
 however have taught the above mentioned critic, 
 that Plautus, by entitling it the treasure , or, as 
 we should say, the casket , did not pretend to 
 make a very extensive picture, but only a por- 
 traiture of a miser . 
 
 All that M. Schlegel has censured in Moliere 
 proves that, notwithstanding some traits borrowed 
 from Plautus, the French poet had conceived 
 quite a different idea. It was not his intention to 
 give us a single comic point of view, in one of 
 those numerous shades of madness that render 
 the miser ridiculous. On the contrary, by sub- 
 jecting his personage to the principal traits that 
 commonly give rise to the vice, and by displaying 
 all the acts of his internal and domestic life tainted 
 with this sordid passion, he proves that he wished 
 to present to us Xhe picture of avarice. 
 
 Here we see wherein the work of imitation 
 may surpass that of nature, viewed individually 
 and in particulars. For in the moral as in the 
 
•252 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 physical world, nature places before our eyes, 
 and renders sensible, all that belongs to the indi- 
 vidual, while to the mind alone she discloses what 
 is general. Every one knows some miser, and 
 has observed some particular trait of avarice. But 
 in order to attain to the ideal on that head, it is 
 not only necessary to combine in a single per- 
 sonage the follies of many individuals, but, by a 
 profound study of the human heart throughout 
 the contradictions and various aspects of vice, to 
 seize whatever is most characteristic, and best 
 adapted to present to view, not the person of a 
 miser, but avarice personified. 
 
 Thus the individual being gives place to that 
 generalized existence, which is peculiar to no 
 one, and the actual model of which cannot be 
 presented to us in any being whatever. 
 
 In nothing is this theory more plainly mani- 
 fested, than in the circumstances attendant on the 
 imitation of bodies, as the sequel will show ; 
 moreover, in nothing is one more easily deceived, 
 because in no art can the reality of partial models 
 exert so much influence over the imitator. In no 
 form of art is the individual brought before us 
 with so much power to mislead. Yet the artist 
 will in vain expect from the individual the entire 
 expression of a single one of those corporeal 
 qualities, whose character he wishes to determine 
 and represent. For instance, he might from a 
 single individual represent a strong man. But 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 253 
 
 where did the statuary Glycon find the model of 
 Strength ? Why is not that model, which we 
 see to this day in his Hercules, represented in 
 any living individual ? Why, but because it never 
 has been and never will be so found. Genius, 
 which, by the combinations of art, assembles to- 
 gether in one whole, what nature has promiscuously 
 distributed, can alone surpass it on this point, and 
 it is genius that creates the ideal of strength. 
 
 The same may with equal truth be said of every 
 corporeal quality. Granting that the artist pro- 
 duce a beautiful figure, after a beautiful person ; 
 such person, though possessed of beauty, is not 
 beauty itself, and the figure, that is, its por- 
 traiture, cannot afford us a complete image of this 
 quality, since it was made after a model neces- 
 sarily incomplete. 
 
 This (as already said) does not tend to exclude 
 the study of the individual model from the labours 
 of the artist, since it is, on the contrary, by the 
 observation of details or particulars that we 
 attain to generalities, that is, to the ideal. This 
 serves to show, that the artist must do, by the aid 
 of art, what nature has not done, because, appa- 
 rently, it was unnecessary that it should be done, 
 which is explained by the difference of the end in 
 view. (See Chap, vi.) Nature has to bestow 
 her cares in ordering the vast, the infinite, the 
 universal whole. Art, only on what is of all 
 things the most limited, on a single work and a 
 
254 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 single kind of pleasure. Herein lies its only 
 superiority, and which it is not permitted to re- 
 nounce, for if it do so, it is at once divested of the 
 only advantage it possesses over nature, in all that 
 concerns the outward form of bodies. 
 
 The view here taken which displays the true 
 end of imitation, the only one worthy of the fine 
 arts, is nothing more than (as seen in the pre- 
 ceding chapters) the system of the ideal. 
 
 This system, which sentiment had employed 
 long before reason had essayed to analyse it, does 
 not, as some would seem to believe, exclude the 
 artist from the circle of nature. Far otherwise, 
 it enlarges for him its horizon, by laying open to 
 his mind, through the effect of generalized study, 
 the mysteries of that beauty, and that truth, 
 which all the senses could not penetrate unaided. 
 For the ideal, far from being in opposition to the 
 true, is, in every form of art, the very highest 
 degree of truth, that in which objects are compre- 
 hended in their fullest extent, in order to furnish 
 an image the most complete. 
 
 It is by virtue of this system, that the secret of 
 that perfection which is hidden from the eyes of 
 the vulgar amid the generalities of existent things, 
 is revealed to the imitator. It opens to the artist 
 the depository of the universal laws of nature, and 
 leads him to the source of the profound impres- 
 sions produced through the intervention of the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 255 
 
 senses, by the enthusiastic perception of intellec- 
 tual beauty. 
 
 By it, the art of sounds becomes the interpreter 
 of the highest thoughts, simple relations of lines 
 manifest the laws of the creation, the harmony of 
 beautiful proportion raises the mind unto the 
 Creator, and a single work of art, as limited with 
 respect to its object and its constituent matter, as 
 nature is unlimited, is rendered capable of pro- 
 ducing on all men, and through all time, effects 
 that nature herself might envy. 
 
256 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF THE ORIGINATING CAUSE THROUGH WHICH THE IDEAL STYLE 
 IN WORKS OF ART WAS INTRODUCED INTO, AND PERPETUATED 
 IN GREECE. 
 
 When passing in review the different acceptations 
 of the word ideal, and the various relations under 
 which its notion may be considered in the sphere 
 of imitation, we must not omit to notice a manner 
 of employing it, which, though undoubtedly very 
 limited, is yet not without a sensible connection 
 with the object of our investigations. I here al- 
 lude to the emblematic sign, whose property it 
 also is, while partaking in some measure of the 
 force of alphabetical characters, to generalize the 
 expression of objects by the abbreviation of their 
 forms. 
 
 A sign is in fact a summary or abridged image, 
 as an image is a developed sign of each object, 
 subject, and action. A sign is, consequently, a 
 sort of ideal, and, mathematically speaking, is the 
 most generalized representation of a thing, seeing 
 that such representation is evidently the opposite 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 257 
 
 of that which particularizes the same thing by its 
 details. 
 
 The explanation of this notion cannot be any- 
 wise foreign to our theory if it contribute to our 
 rendering with clearness an account of the prin- 
 ciple and spirit, that from the very outset guided 
 in Greece the first steps of imitation towards its 
 true end, and gave to art a most fortunate direc- 
 tion. 
 
 It is indeed remarkable that art having birth in 
 writing by emblematic signs, namely, hierogly- 
 phics or symbols, could, in its first stage, be 
 exercised only in representing, by forms of the 
 greatest simplicity, the most abstract and gene- 
 ralized ideas. This cannot be doubted, when we 
 see through what a succession of ages (the heroic 
 ages) it had to repeat, and modify progressively, 
 configurations, which, instead of being the true 
 representations of things, were only more or less 
 conventional expressions of the ideas or relations 
 of those things. 
 
 The frigid conventions of the emblematic sign 
 were perpetuated in those first figures. But imi- 
 tation, speedily becoming more independent, the 
 thing or idea signified gave place, in men’s imagi- 
 nations, to the object which was only intended as 
 its expression. What had been only the sensi- 
 ble character of an abstract idea, was endued by 
 credulity with an existence, a personality, imagi- 
 nary it is true, but which was only so much the 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 more in accordance with the spirit of imitation. 
 Thus, embodying in imagination the objects of 
 the ancient symbolic writing, people came to con- 
 sider as real men, what previously were only let- 
 ters, or more or less arbitrary signs. This was 
 the second, and perhaps the most important, step 
 in the progress of imitation. 
 
 These signs having been converted into men or 
 living beings, so deemed, their figures preserved 
 somewhat of the non-imitative character and 
 simplicity of their original type. This taste and 
 style being handed down, continued to render 
 more and more sensible the principle of an ab- 
 stract existence, of a nature very far removed 
 from the principle of identity. Exercised, not as 
 elsewhere, in representing, according to the man- 
 ner or in the sense of portraiture, individuals 
 known, or real, or having really existed, but fan- 
 ciful beings, imaginary or poetical, art was con- 
 cerned only with a kind of conventional imitation 
 which, philosophically speaking, was ideal, since 
 it had no tendency to give the image of any per- 
 son in particular. 
 
 Such, strictly speaking, was the second style of 
 imitation in the earliest schools of Greece. Many 
 of their works that have come down to us testify, 
 by an uniform style common to all, the influence 
 of an abstract principle presiding over the birth 
 of imitation. It is more particularly evidenced 
 by the absence of detail of forms, by a stiff and 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 259 
 
 rectilinear style of design, by monotonous physiog- 
 nomies, and by an absolute want of expression in 
 the heads, and variety in the positions. Then, 
 again, no peculiar character, according to the dif- 
 ference of subject, is distinguishable either as to 
 person, condition, or age. At that time, and in- 
 deed long after, the art of resemblance, which 
 constitutes that of portrait painting, was un- 
 known ; for from Pliny we learn, that, at that 
 period, and even down to the time of Lysistratus, 
 co-eval with Alexander, beauty of form alone was 
 looked for in portraits.* 
 
 At length when the primitive sign, or the em- 
 blematic style that sprung from it, had been for- 
 gotten, and the works of imitation consequently 
 bore no longer the imprint of that style, which 
 may strictly be called abstract or ideal, that is to 
 say, when the sign and its equivalent had given 
 place to images conceived in another order of 
 ideas, and after the manner of poetical personifi- 
 cation, as when knowledge became Minerva , light 
 Apollo , &c., the want of another kind of ideal 
 was forced on the genius of the artist, and opened 
 to imitation that boundless career in which poetry 
 was already far advanced. 
 
 Guided by it, and emboldened by its example, 
 art created for itself a new world, in which the 
 imagination of the artist rejoiced to realize the in- 
 
 Quam pulcherrimas facere studebant. 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 ventions of the poet, by means of forms and 
 bodies. Into this world of abstractions all the 
 sentiments and passions of man were without 
 doubt transported, as well as every trait and every 
 corporeal attribute of humanity. But those beings 
 at once natural and supernatural, men and gods, 
 must, if so represented as to be in conformity 
 with established credence, necessarily surpass 
 mere mortals in perfection, beauty, strength, and 
 dignity. 
 
 The signs of emblematic writing had certainly 
 first given occasion to the mythological inventions 
 of poetry. But it is easy to conceive how the 
 poet, being freed from the restraints of matter, in 
 the creation of the beings with which he peopled 
 his Olympus, would quickly outdo his models. 
 We see also that he subsequently soared aloft into 
 the illimitable spaces of the ideal, and defied the 
 works of the chisel or the pencil ever to equal 
 the proportions with which he had invested the 
 gods. It was indeed poetry that constituted their 
 superhuman nature by the imaginative configura- 
 tion with which it endued them, by the facility it 
 enjoyed of establishing between them and men, 
 that immeasurable distance as to dimensions and 
 faculties, the relative degrees of which Homer 
 seems in some measure to have fixed with regard 
 to each divinity. 
 
 Obliged in his turn to draw upon the sources 
 of the poetic ideal, compelled to be in accordance 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 261 
 
 with the inventions of the poet, the artist had no 
 other means of rivaling them, than by producing 
 a corporeal perfection, which was itself an ab- 
 straction, that is, an imitation of man, looking 
 beyond the confined sphere of individuality, and 
 so fitted to become the image of privileged beings, 
 who could not be assimilated to any one man con- 
 sidered in particular ; and here we have at once 
 the definition and the history of that style which 
 must be termed the ideal style of imitation. 
 
 It was more especially a consequence of that 
 polytheist religion, which, after having employed 
 signs in a similar sense of relation to that of let- 
 ters with words, contributed to clothe its emblems 
 with a character fitted to convert them into purely 
 corporeal images, and adapt them to express by 
 their forms, the most abstract creations of the 
 mind. 
 
 This novel influence of religion on the arts, due 
 no doubt to the revolution they themselves had 
 contributed to bring about, produced a reciprocal 
 influence on the part of religion over the arts. 
 Instead of being, as in other instances, its slaves, 
 they became its ministers and interpreters. In 
 fact, every Grecian divinity, with its poetical forms 
 and mythological attributes, became a compound 
 of abstract ideas and general properties, which 
 art was insufficient to render sensible to the eye, 
 and intelligible to the mind, without the interven- 
 tion of an ideal or generalized style of imitation. 
 
262 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 It must, therefore, be remarked, that these 
 imaginary beings, to which the abstract sign of 
 emblematic writing had given birth, subsequently 
 received a new existence from the abstract fictions 
 of poetry ; but, being afterwards subordinated, 
 in the successive developments of art, to another 
 order of ideas, the result was that they did but 
 exchange the abstract quality of the sign, for that 
 equally abstract of the image ; in other words, 
 the character of ideal writing, literally speaking, 
 for that of an imitation which was constrained to 
 be ideal, poetically speaking. 
 
 This brief account may suffice to explain the 
 causes that have given rise to the ideal taste in all 
 the arts in Greece, and at different periods ; — a 
 singular phenomenon, without parallel in the his- 
 tory of any people, and to which familiarity with 
 its effects alone hinders us from paying more at- 
 tention. For as it is certain that we are indebted 
 to Greece for this style of imitation, and all its 
 consequences, so is it equally certain that no 
 other nation of the ancient world ever suspected 
 the existence of it, and that no modern one could 
 ever have combined the least part of the condi- 
 tions necessary to its discovery and development. 
 
 In Greece, on the contrary, as every thing con- 
 tributed to give birth to it, so every thing con- 
 curred to extend, and render it common even to 
 works which would seem to have been most alien 
 to it. The artist obliged to form, and the people 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 263 
 
 habituated to see, in their idol gods, the most 
 abstract images of human nature, it was naturally 
 enough the case, that the effigies of many other 
 personages of inferior rank were made to partici- 
 pate in the advantages of this style, although in 
 different degrees. Such at length became the 
 influence of the ideal over the senses and the 
 mind, that it was even extended to the represen- 
 tation of mere mortals. 
 
 And this, because it is as much an essential of 
 an elevated principle in imitation to raise what is 
 little, as it is belonging to a degenerate taste to 
 degrade whatever is greatest. 
 
264 
 
 OF THE ENE* 
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 
 THE WORKS OF ANCIENT ART SHOWN TO BE INVESTED WITH 
 THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE IDEAL. 
 
 It seems to me that the works of ancient art af- 
 ford, in the numerous monuments that have come 
 down to us, a support and authority to the theory 
 here brought forward, which is so much the more 
 irrefragable, since contemporaneous writers have 
 themselves (as will be seen in the next Chapter) 
 developed its principle, and extended its conse- 
 quences to all the arts. 
 
 It is beyond a doubt that nowhere, and at no 
 time, has the imitation of the human body been 
 attended by circumstances and causes so favour- 
 able to its study, as those met with amongst the 
 Greeks. We may rest assured that a like coinci- 
 dence between the nature, the end, and the means 
 of imitation will never again occur in the arts of 
 any people. Putting out of the question the 
 powerful influence of a religion founded on the 
 necessity of representing gods under the human 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 265 
 
 form, one would conceive that, in a country where 
 every kind of institution gave the artist a facility 
 of studying the human body at all times, it alone 
 would have sufficed to lead the mind to the inves- 
 tigation and discovery of a system which, by es- 
 tablishing several degrees of perfection in the 
 imitation of bodies, would fix on the ideal as the 
 supreme rank most befitting the images of divi- 
 nity. 
 
 Tracing out in the history of art the track pursued 
 through a long series of years by the Greek artists, 
 we see how, as a natural consequence, they were 
 led to the true end of imitation. After having 
 recognized the immense advantage that the most 
 ill-conformed individual in nature possessed over 
 its faithful copy, because of its reality, motion, 
 and life, they could not fail to perceive that art, 
 in as much as it created only appearances of inert 
 forms, had the power to modify those appearances, 
 and regulate their forms, by referring them to one 
 sole end, that of pleasing. 
 
 Since the forms of the particular productions 
 of nature are, as before mentioned, subjected to 
 a number of secondary causes which tend to keep 
 them remote from the perfection belonging to the 
 general design or original type, the Grecian artist, 
 deriving a knowledge of this disadvantage inherent 
 to the individual from a generalized course of 
 study, saw the weak side of nature, and opposed 
 to it all the advantages peculiar to art. 
 
266 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 Unshackled in the production of his works, 
 having it in his power to compare every part of 
 bodies, every detail of every part of the indivi- 
 dual model, with the general ordering of the uni- 
 versal model, the artist was enabled to carry his 
 work of imitation to that degree of completeness as 
 to outward perfection which nature has neglected. 
 He was thus enabled to give to all relations of 
 form, every kind of harmony ; to all proportions, 
 every degree of regularity ; and to all characters, 
 every variety of expression belonging respectively 
 to each. In Greece art seemed by this system of 
 study, to have re-made and re-ordered nature to 
 the advantage and furtherance of imitation. But 
 this was, be it always understood, by the aid of 
 nature herself. For she it ever was, that, as much 
 by the defects as by the beauties of her creatures, 
 formerly gave the artist the idea of the absolute 
 or relative perfection of the forms of the human 
 body. 
 
 No one examining the Grecian works of art 
 can refuse belief in the existence of these studies 
 and their results. What most concerns us, is the 
 assurance afforded that they were not due to the 
 accident of extraordinary talent, but to what I 
 term a system, which system is known by all, has 
 come to be universally approved, and is common 
 to all the arts. 
 
 Now this is precisely what Aristotle teaches us, 
 when he designates, by a classification truly sys- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 267 
 
 tematic, the three degrees of the imitative style of 
 the three artists Polygnotus, Dionysius, and Pau- 
 son, the first of whom represented men more 
 beautiful than they are, ^psirrovg, the second such 
 as they are, o/molov g f and the third less beautiful 
 than they are, yelpovg. 
 
 What can these three degrees of distinction 
 signify ? What but that the study of the human 
 body, having been subjected to a series of com- 
 parisons equally diversified and extensive, the 
 result had been, that man came to be viewed, 
 such as possibly he might have been, according 
 to the general laws of nature, such as he is com- 
 monly found to be, in as much as he is subjected 
 to the action of causes that hinder him from at- 
 taining to absolute perfection, and such as he too 
 often is, that is to say, farthest removed from that 
 outward perfection which ought to be proposed 
 as the end of art. 
 
 Aristotle, and the terms he employs, must be 
 here explained in a way, that not only taste and 
 sentiment, but also reason and common sense, 
 suggest. He must be understood in the sense in 
 which we should understand any one who might 
 make use of the same terms to characterize the 
 three different tastes in design of three of our 
 modern schools ; as, for instance, in the Roman 
 school, where the character of the design is raised 
 to the highest point, the Venetian, the style of 
 which is on a level with that of portrait painting, 
 
268 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 and the Flemish, so well known by its low and 
 familiar character, reducing the imitation of man 
 to the uttermost degree. It is assuredly in the 
 same sense that Sophocles says : I have depicted 
 men as they ought to be, while Euripides depicts them 
 as they are. 
 
 We know, indeed, that Euripides* greatly 
 lowered the heroic character and manners on the 
 stage, and that his personages frequently display 
 ordinary manners, and mean and every-day de- 
 portment. 
 
 Let us now proceed to inquire how far the 
 works of ancient art correspond, as well with this 
 doctrine of the Greek writers, as with the result 
 of the theoretical analysis of the ideal, which has 
 led us to recognize as the end of imitation, not 
 that which is as it is, but that which is as it might 
 or ought to be. 
 
 Who has not been struck with the character of 
 the ancient statues, more especially when com- 
 pared with that of by far the greater number of 
 modern ones, for which the ancient have not 
 served as a guide ? Let us inquire what are the 
 impressions caused by the works of the Greek 
 chisel, before one is familiarized with them. What 
 is there to remark ? Something so simple, so 
 purified in the outlines, so divested of minute 
 detail, that their simplicity is frequently taken for 
 
 * See Schlegel, vol. i. p. 227. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 269 
 
 frigidness, and their purity for stiffness. We 
 remark a grandeur of style that appears to go 
 beyond nature, a systematic agreement of forms 
 that assimilates to an arbitrary convention, a whole 
 of relations and proportions stamped with a regu- 
 larity that method alone could attain, and through- 
 out, an absence of those accidental parts that 
 destroy the general form. 
 
 It is in the heads that these characteristics are 
 more particularly evident. It is sufficient here to 
 advert to that general principle discoverable in 
 the almost rectilinear profile, the square nose, 
 angular eye-brows, articulated mouth and lips, 
 uniform outline, and an expression from which 
 grace and regularity of forms are never absent. 
 It is also frequently remarked that persons who 
 are strangers to the knowledge of art, or who have 
 not scrutinized its rules, find the most beautiful 
 heads of the antique devoid of what they believe 
 to be life and expression, the idea of which they 
 have conceived only from particular models, or 
 from the portrait-style, a style by which the works 
 of a certain modern taste are characterized. 
 
 The kind of imitation affecting the individual, 
 and the actual state of existence, is certainly most 
 within the reach of instinct, and is more in ac- 
 cordance with the taste of those who judge only 
 by the senses. The copying of every triviality, 
 so easy to judge of, and which has so great an at- 
 traction for the ignorant, a certain expression of 
 
270 
 
 OF TflE END 
 
 grimace in physiognomies, a low style of detail 
 belonging to portrait painting, even in figures 
 which are not portraits of any one, a servile 
 manner of imitating, and an absolute want of 
 system and method in the disposition of forms, 
 these are characteristic of a certain modern style 
 which I have here only opposed to that of the 
 antique, the better to denote what the character 
 of the latter consists in. 
 
 I will add that in the moderns this difference 
 must necessarily arise from the difference of their 
 studies, and the proportionately fewer means of 
 observing or comparing the diversified and scat- 
 tered elements from which alone a knowledge of 
 the human body in its generalities can be derived. 
 
 What is most striking in ancient Greek sculp- 
 ture is, that in it the human figure bears the 
 impress of a type which one might imagine must 
 have been the original type of the species ; while 
 in the modern sculpture above spoken of, one is 
 tempted to think that, comparatively speaking, 
 the human figure is as it were the image of a 
 degenerate race. 
 
 This means nothing unless it mean that in 
 ancient sculpture we recognize man , that is to say 
 the generalized being, and that modern sculpture 
 only gives the idea of a man , or the individual 
 being, that is, limited to the relative worth of 
 what may be termed a secondary and imperfect 
 specimen. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 271 
 
 The Greeks made man as he might or ought to 
 be. The moderns have made him as he is, or as 
 he appears to be. The Greeks having studied 
 the human figure in the species, have imitated 
 nature ; the moderns having studied it only in the 
 individual, have not attained to nature. To imi- 
 tate nature, is to conform to her general laws, her 
 primordial motives, her primitive will, that is, to 
 principles which are the fountains from whence 
 all knowledge of the organization and harmony of 
 bodies is derived. We do not imitate nature 
 when, neglecting her laws in their collective 
 whole, we take what are only the exceptions to 
 her will for its rule ; in other words, those devia- 
 tions that the accidents of generation, or of many 
 other causes, oppose to the regular development 
 of the individual. 
 
 If the characteristics here sketched, whose 
 evidence is abundantly apparent to all, are such 
 as commonly belong to ancient sculpture, and 
 more especially to those statues which are by 
 every one acknowledged to be of the ideal kind of 
 imitation ; if the style peculiar to this imitation of 
 the human body does really afford an image the 
 opposite to that of portraiture, or of the individual, 
 it must be acknowledged that the visible and sen- 
 sible result of works of art, is the same with that 
 derived from the theoretical notions, and the 
 metaphysical analysis of the ideal, that we have 
 antecedently given. 
 
272 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 I am aware that it is the custom to explain the 
 ideal, in all works of art, by a notion apparently 
 much more simple. It is said to be the product 
 of genius. Agreed, far be it from me to contest 
 it ; but this other question immediately recurs : 
 How does genius operate ? One cannot define 
 genius, except by investigating the ways and 
 means it employs and the effects resulting from it. 
 Such is the method hitherto pursued in the pro- 
 gress of this work, and which will be still adhered 
 to in the third and concluding Part. 
 
 We have then attained to the end of imitation 
 in the fine arts as near as it is possible to do, if 
 we have shown that the ideal is a manner of con- 
 sidering and representing objects in that general 
 point of view, which alone corresponds with the 
 idea of nature ; and that this point of view, the 
 result at once of knowledge and sentiment, is, in 
 theory, perceptible only to the understanding, and 
 can alone be caught, in practice, by the internal 
 eye of the artist, who refers the work he proposes 
 to create, to a more elevated and more perfect 
 model than that of the individual, or of reality. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE NOTION OF THE IDEAL, AS ENTERTAINED IN THIS THEORY 
 IS IN ACCORDANCE WITH THAT OF THE WRITERS OF ANTI- 
 QUITY. 
 
 The theory of the ideal, as here presented, is 
 based on notions drawn from the very nature 
 of things, and on facts or examples which are 
 irrefutable. It has also the advantage of having 
 in its favour the testimony of the writers of an- 
 tiquity, their suffrage and that of the artists being 
 mutually accordant. It would therefore seem 
 useful to compare on this point, the speculative 
 doctrine of the philosophers who of old time have 
 traced back things to their causes, with the prac- 
 tical execution, the effects of which, as evidenced 
 by the monuments of art, perfectly coincide with 
 the precepts of theory. 
 
 We shall only cite a few passages from two of 
 the philosophical writers of antiquity, the most 
 celebrated however for their genius, their taste, 
 and their varied knowledge in the arts, namely, 
 Cicero and Plato, who appear to us to have alike 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 conceived and explained with great clearness, 
 wherein the ideal consists. 
 
 There is a very remarkable passage of Cicero 
 on this subject, which is more especially worthy 
 of notice, and which might indeed serve at once as 
 text and corollary to a complete theory on this 
 matter. 
 
 The Roman writer announces that he is de- 
 sirous of tracing as the model of an orator such an 
 one as had never existed : * In summo oratore 
 Jingendo , talem informabo quails nemo fult . That 
 is to say, he proposes to show what is perfection 
 on that head, although well knowing that only 
 separate and different traits of it will be found, 
 according to the qualities by which each orator 
 may be distinguished. “ I lay it down as a 
 principle,” he continues, “that there is nothing 
 of whatever kind so beautiful, but that there is 
 something more beautiful above and beyond it, 
 which may be imitated as an original, inaccessible 
 to our senses, and which mind and thought alone 
 can embrace.” Quod neque oculis , neque auribus, 
 neque ullo sensu percipi potest , cogitatione tantum et 
 mente complectimur . 
 
 Cicero gives us to understand by this, not, for 
 instance, that this or that particular model is 
 wanting in beauty, but that there is always over 
 and above every beautiful object, how beautiful 
 
 * Cicero, Orat. ad Marc. Brutum, § 2. 7. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 275 
 
 soever it may be, a type of intellectual beauty 
 that we discover by virtue of the understanding. 
 Now this is the signification we attach to the 
 ideal. 
 
 It is rendered still more sensible in the example 
 given of it by Cicero. 
 
 He adds : “ Phidias, when he formed the 
 statue of Jupiter, or of Minerva, did not study any 
 individual in order to draw a resemblance from it, 
 but there existed in his own mind a type of 
 superior beauty, upon which he fixed his atten- 
 tion, and by which he directed his art and his 
 hand.” Neque enim ille artifex ( Phidias ) cum 
 faceret Jovis formam aut Minervce , contemplabatur 
 aliquem e quo similitudinem duceret, sed ipsius in 
 mente insidebat species eximia qucedam, quam intuens, 
 in eaque dejixus, ad illius similitudinem artem 
 manumque dirigebat. 
 
 To imagine, as some have appeared to do, by 
 the meaning they assign to this passage, that 
 Phidias formed his statues without consulting any 
 living model, that he paid no regard to that which 
 constitutes truth in the imitation of the human 
 body; that in short he worked, as we should term 
 it, empirically, is assuredly a supposition con- 
 trary to all probability, and is directly belied by 
 the most positive authority. In the remains of 
 the statues of the Parthenon, we possess, as every 
 body must be aware, works which are either 
 those of Phidias, or of his school, and in whicli 
 
276 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 the imitation of the true is carried to the highest 
 point. 
 
 So to interpret it, would consequently be re- 
 fusing to understand, in what Cicero has said, 
 what he intended to say. It is not a question 
 concerning the principle or the rules of art in 
 forming statues, but respecting a comparison 
 brought forward as being well adapted to illustrate 
 the idea of that intellectual original of which he 
 had spoken. Cicero knew well that it is by 
 studying bodies that we are enabled to imitate 
 them. He could not suppose that such study 
 would have been of no avail to Phidias. But he 
 knew also that there are two ways of applying it 
 in the imitation of the human body ; and the 
 passage proves it, by the very circumstance of his 
 having distinctly alluded to the two models of 
 such imitation. For when he says that Phidias 
 did not form Jupiter or Minerva after a model 
 which he drew the resemblance of, he affords us 
 every reason to think that he was acquainted 
 with that kind of imitation which deals in parti- 
 culars. 
 
 Those who would hence conclude without re- 
 striction, that Phidias made use of no living model 
 whatever, would miss the sense for want of em- 
 bracing the whole of the sentence. That sense is 
 determined by the words aliquem and e quo simili - 
 tudinem ducet'et. Aliquem designates a single indi- 
 vidual, or a particular model, R. similitudinem 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 277 
 
 duceret signifies to imitate after the manner of 
 portraiture or of imitation in particulars. Now 
 Phidias chose none such, either as subject, or 
 object, when he formed the statues of Jupiter, or 
 of Minerva. 
 
 Cicero specifies the kind of imitation that has 
 to do with the individual, as that to which the 
 labour of Phidias was not limited ; I say was not 
 limited , because to maintain that one does not 
 make the copy or portrait of a single model, is 
 not to maintain that one makes use of no model 
 at all. But having thus distinctly pointed out 
 individual imitation, as not being that of the 
 Jupiter or Minerva of Phidias, he characterizes 
 yet more clearly the ideal kind of imitation, ac- 
 knowledged as having been that of his works, and 
 in which this great artist especially shone, the 
 true model of which imitation can only be found 
 in the type of beauty and perfection, which the 
 artist had attained by his studies and genius, and 
 which he could nowhere see but in idea. 
 
 This point cannot be better explained than 
 Cicero has himself done in what immediately 
 follows : Ut igitur in formis et Jiguris est aliquid 
 perfect um et excellens , cujus ad cogitatam speciem 
 imitando referuntur ea qace sub oculos ipsa cadunt , 
 sic, &c. “As therefore there is in regard to the 
 forms of bodies, a superior type of perfection, to 
 the ideal example of which all objects presented 
 to the eye are referred, so,” &c. 
 
278 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 Thus, according to Cicero, we cannot but refer 
 the external images of things to another and 
 mental image which is our point of comparison. 
 
 I think this doctrine of the ideal may be verified 
 by a single fact that we have before referred to, 
 (Part II. Chap, iv.,) namely, that if ever so many 
 artists be set to copy the same model, the respec- 
 tive copies will present as many dissimilarities as 
 there are copyists. In accounting for this fact, it 
 is the custom to say that this arises from each one 
 having his own manner of seeing it. Which is as 
 much as to say, that each sees only as he sees, by 
 virtue of some cause that determines him so to 
 see. Now can this determining principle be 
 aught else than the habit of referring the imitation 
 of what is seen to the rule that every one forms 
 for himself, and the objects that memory or ima- 
 gination call up for comparison ? 
 
 “ Plato,” Cicero proceeds, “ gives to these 
 primordial types the name of ideas . He maintains 
 that they do not spring up within us, but that they 
 reside from all time in the reason and the under- 
 standing, while all else is fugitive and perishable. 
 It is, therefore, necessary to have recourse to the 
 primary and original idea of the subject to be 
 treated of.” Id est ad ultimam sui generis formam 
 speciemque redigendum. That is to say, we must 
 generalize. (See Part III. Chap. v. and vi.) 
 
 We have brought forward the whole of this 
 passage with the design of showing that what, 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 279 
 
 with us, passes under the denomination of ideal, 
 in the works of ancient art, was perceived, under- 
 stood, and defined by the philosophers of anti- 
 quity as it is at this day perceived, and as we 
 have understood, and defined it ; that the notion 
 of the ideal as applied to the arts, was that of a 
 work in which the artist had referred and con- 
 fronted the sensible and efficient model with the 
 intellectual model, that is, with the type of beauty 
 and absolute perfection present to his mind ; and 
 that this internal type was the guide of his art, 
 artem manumque dirigebat, and the point of com- 
 parison with the model in reality, serving to rectify 
 its irregularities, and correct its imperfections. 
 
 It need not be wondered at that Plato, in a 
 passage we are about to cite, lays down the same 
 doctrine, assigning as the principal end of imita- 
 tion, not the model that is scanned by the eye, or 
 reality, but that which cannot be found individu- 
 ally in nature. 
 
 The ideal form that Plato speaks of, is also em- 
 ployed by him as an object of comparison, where- 
 by the better to render intelligible the purpose he 
 had in view in tracing the plan of his republic. 
 Which proves that they are almost always deceived 
 who take that project of government in a positive 
 sense, since he assures us that he had only por- 
 trayed it in idea, to serve as a more sensible type 
 with which to confront his system of justice and 
 virtue. Now he gives this system as the maximum 
 
280 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 of a perfection, beyond the reach of human 
 power. 
 
 “ What have we done,” he says,* “ if it be 
 not that we have traced the idea of a perfect 
 government ? Should we be less in the right, al- 
 though not in a condition to prove that it is possi- 
 ble to realize it ?” 
 
 And he adds: “Would you esteem him the less 
 skilful, who, after having formed the figure of a 
 man in the highest perfection, could not prove 
 such perfection to be possible in nature ?” (jn) 
 
 S vvarr\v .) 
 
 Plato then believed that there is a perfection 
 of form which it is impossible to meet with, that 
 is, such as no one man in particular can afford the 
 model of; and the opinion he held in this respect, 
 derived from reasoning, was also proved to him by 
 experience in the works of art of his time. Now 
 this opinion is to us in our day, not merely an 
 abstract and theoretical view of the question. It 
 is well known and repeatedly avowed of some one 
 or other of the beautiful Grecian statues that have 
 come down to us, that they may defy nature, 
 considered as to individuals, and that it is impos- 
 sible to find a single one among them indued with 
 all the perfection that art has presented us in its 
 images. 
 
 It must then be allowed that the theory of the 
 
 * Plato, Rep., L. 5. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 281 
 
 ancients on this matter, is the same with that 
 which we have here unfolded, and that the word 
 ideal , of which we have made use, is equivalent to 
 the cogitata species of Cicero. Both phrases 
 equally express that internal model, or that type 
 of perfection belonging to every thing, a type 
 which no reality can offer to our senses, the exis- 
 tence of which the study of nature can alone 
 reveal, and to which we ought, in imitation, to 
 refer all the sensible and particular objects that 
 come under our notice. 
 
 Seneca broaches the same opinion when he 
 says that the model of the painter may be external 
 and internal, that the external is addressed to his 
 sight, while the internal exists in his memory or 
 his imagination. 
 
 Such also is that of the poet, a model which, 
 according to Plautus exists no where, but which 
 he nevertheless finds. Quod musquam est gentium 
 reperit tamen. 
 
 Now this model, because nowhere, is not, there- 
 fore, apart from nature or from truth, if from all 
 that has been said we are right in concluding, that 
 the ideal may be considered as the only nature, 
 and the only truth, in as much as in it alone do 
 we discover nature comprehended at large, and 
 viewed from on high. 
 
282 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE IDEAL IN THEORY OUGHT ONLY TO BE EXPLAINED TO THE 
 UNDERSTANDING, AND CAN ONLY BE SO BY RATIONAL ANA- 
 LYSIS. 
 
 The explanation of the ideal as given in this 
 theory, and the consequence that definitively it is 
 but nature viewed generally or at large , and truth 
 considered from on high , will be sufficient to satisfy 
 men whose minds do not require more from a 
 theory than can be deduced by the modes of 
 rational analysis. Now those modes are of a 
 nature to be apprehended only by the understand- 
 ing and through the channel of reasoning. 
 
 Yet that which passes under the denomination 
 of ideal, in the fine arts, has the especial property 
 of laying hold on the imagination, exciting admi- 
 ration, and arousing the sentiments. And what 
 is true with regard to that which produces such 
 effects in its works, is equally true with regard to 
 that which receives them. 
 
 Hence it is that most persons understand the 
 ideal in a certain vague and indefinite manner, of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 283 
 
 which they are able to give no account, and which 
 does not admit of any explanation. 
 
 Yet the matter is very simple. 
 
 The notion of the ideal in the operations of the 
 artist, and in the decomposition of the resources 
 by which it is attained, may be subjected to an 
 analytical investigation, which will disclose to the 
 mind its means by their effects, and its effects by 
 their means. It is for theory to do this, and it 
 does not pretend to, neither can it, address any 
 other than the reasoning portion of the mind. 
 This portion or, if it be preferred, this faculty, is 
 precisely that which is the least exercised (and 
 necessarily so) by those who have cultivated that 
 other faculty of the mind, which goes under the 
 name of imagination and sentiment. 
 
 Now the imagination and sentiment of each 
 person would fain require that it should be ex- 
 plained to them, what the ideal is, in the sense in 
 which each imagines it, and as each perceives it. 
 
 I see but one answer, which is, that the imagi- 
 nation or the sentiment can only be employed 
 about an explanation of this sort. 
 
 But how could sentiment be explained by sen- 
 timent, and the impressions of the imagination by 
 the imagination ? 
 
 I know of nothing more resembling a vicious 
 circle than the explanation of a thing by the 
 thing itself. 
 
 And this is exactly the case with those theories 
 
284 
 
 OF THE END 
 
 of the sentiments and the imagination, which, in- 
 stead of explaining a notion, only paraphrase it, 
 and by adroit combinations of ideas or words, 
 substitute ingenious speculations, and slight 
 sketches, for the thing required to be shown, for 
 the whole required to be traced out. It must be 
 confessed that lessons such as these are agreeable 
 to the sentiments since they harmonize with them. 
 But if we look for the result, we shall find it void. 
 First, because sentiment is not instrumental to 
 comprehension, it is not the organ of instruction. 
 Second, because a theory founded on sentiment 
 can only teach us to feel, and not to know. 
 
 This then is the reason why all that has been 
 said and written concerning the ideal, through the 
 promptings of sentiment, and the impulse of ima- 
 gination, has never been successful in presenting 
 a clear and distinct notion to the judgment and 
 understanding. 
 
 As from the nature of sentiment it can neither 
 be analyzed nor defined, so from the same cause 
 it can neither analyze, nor define any thing. 
 
 The ideal, therefore, cannot be explained, see- 
 ing that its effects emanate from sentiment and 
 are addressed to it. If the reasoning faculty, 
 overstepping the range of its attributes, seek to 
 become to sentiment an interpreter of its impres- 
 sions, it is mistaken as to the party addressed, 
 and will speak to what cannot understand it. 
 
 The object of all theory is to teach. One can 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 285 
 
 only teach what can be proved. One proves only 
 to the reason and understanding. If, therefore, 
 it is required that sentiment should be convinced 
 by reasoning, sentiment will require an explana- 
 tion of every explanation, a proof of every proof. 
 There is, on every subject, a limit to all reasoning, 
 which limit theory is bound to respect, and which 
 it would be imprudent to endeavour to go beyond. 
 
 There commences the insolvable. Farther we 
 cannot go. It is the mathematical line. It is the 
 region of the imaginary, where reason quits us, 
 and whither none can follow us. It is also that 
 of Icarus, where the wings of the mind too fre- 
 quently abandon him . . . Fauci quos . . . ardens 
 evexit ad (Ether a virtus. 
 
 We shall not venture on so hazardous a route, 
 but holding a middle course (inter utrumque viam ,) 
 shall proceed to point out to the understanding, 
 in accordance with the object, and in the spirit, 
 of this theory, the means through which, as taught 
 by imitation itself, we may attain its end. 
 

P A R T III. 
 
 OF THE MEANS OF IMITATION IN THE FINE 
 ARTS. 
 
 Non tam inventa a praeceptoribus quam cum fierent observata. 
 
 Quintil Orat., lib. viii., proem. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHAT WE ARE TO UNDERSTAND BY MEANS OF IMITATION, 
 ACCORDING TO THE OBJECT AND SPIRIT OF THIS THEORY. 
 
 If the ideal, such as we have defined it, be the 
 true end of imitation, which we trust has been 
 amply shown, it is because it is its most exalted 
 end. 
 
 Doubtless every one is free to consider imitation 
 under a less elevated or less extensive aspect, and 
 to confine his talent, or his admiration, to some 
 lower point more suitable to his faculties, or his 
 taste. 
 
288 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 In like manner with regard to instruction, or to 
 theories. These also admit of many degrees ; 
 for as every one may, if he choose, confine himself 
 to learning only one branch of an art, so no 
 theory can be required to exceed that relative 
 degree of knowledge which is the term of the 
 student’s inquiries. 
 
 It is otherwise with a theory purporting to be 
 general and abstract, that is, to embrace its sub- 
 ject in itself, without any application merely to 
 this or that particular point of view. If imitation 
 form the subject of such a theory, it is indispen- 
 sable that it should point out the definitive end, in 
 other words, that beyond which there is no longer 
 anything to be looked for. 
 
 Thus, since the object of our investigations falls 
 within an order of ideas that belong to speculative 
 theory, and the abstract nature of imitation leads 
 us to recognize the ideal as being its abstract end, 
 it should be understood that the means of which 
 we shall have to speak, in this third Part, are 
 very different from those to which the idea of 
 practical execution is usually attached, the pre- 
 cepts of which are often more applicable to the 
 material, than to the intellectual part of imitation. 
 
 The idea of means , in reference to the fine arts, 
 carries with it, 1 confess, that of execution . 
 
 But what is termed execution, does not ex- 
 clusively carry with it, in the theory of art, the 
 idea of practical or mechanical means, and the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 289 
 
 different treatises fox instruction in every branch 
 of art sufficiently prove it. 
 
 Elementary instruction deals with processes, or 
 practical means. This degree of instruction, and 
 the executive means corresponding to it, belong 
 to the primary or practical school, and give the 
 rudiments of each art, the rules of grammar, of 
 writing, &c. ; it is instruction with reference only 
 to the instrument. 
 
 There is in every art another and a higher 
 degree. It comprehends those executive means 
 which have their origin in the understanding, and 
 which are given to the artist to be at once the 
 ministers of his thoughts, and the guide of the 
 instrument he has to employ. Suffice it to say, 
 that they are means of this class which form the 
 subject matter of the different treatises, that have 
 from time to time been written on the art of 
 poetry, on rhetoric, on the arts of design, and on 
 those of the stage or theatre. 
 
 Thus this single division in the instruction of 
 the arts points out to us both practical and moral 
 means of execution, that is, means dependent on 
 the technical, and on the intellectual instrument. 
 
 But in these two degrees, we see that the 
 different means prescribed refer only to each art 
 individually, and are addressed to the imitator. 
 
 The theory of imitation, as we have considered 
 it, that is to say, within a much larger circuit 
 than that of the theory of each art, requires that 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 the means assigned to it, in order that it may 
 equally answer to its nature, and attain its end, 
 should embrace more general and more extensive 
 relations, than those which belong to the execu- 
 tion of each individual imitative mode. The kind 
 of execution that such means will allow, is that 
 farthest removed from the idea of practical execu- 
 tion, and which is least directly addressed to the 
 imitator. Such as these are the means of imi- 
 tation. 
 
 The means that we propose as those of imita- 
 tion, and as necessary to conduct to its end, have 
 then no resemblance whatever to the more or less 
 positive means of execution, that instruction in 
 any art furnishes to the artist ; but in them may 
 be found the analysis of the resources that the 
 understanding and genius are enabled to appro- 
 priate, and which can alone be made known 
 through examples drawn from works of art. 
 
 In fact, the means of which we are about to 
 treat, are little else than conditions necessary to 
 imitation in order to the attainment of its end, 
 which is the ideal. Hence they must be derived 
 from an order of notions in relation with those of 
 the end already pointed out. 
 
 The false opinions to this day entertained with 
 respect to the ideal in imitation, occasion the 
 artist, who, as already remarked, frequently em- 
 ploys the ideal unknown to himself, to violate the 
 harmony of the system he has adopted, so that at 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 291 
 
 one time he applies a style of execution affecting 
 particulars, to an ideal composition, at another, 
 belies by his composition the character of the 
 subject he treats, and at another, brings the 
 elements of one kind of imitation into mutual 
 contrast with those of some other one, in the 
 same work. 
 
 It is for want of an adequate knowledge of the 
 means or conditions of imitation considered as to 
 the end to be kept in view, it is for want of com- 
 prehending the conventions on which the ideal 
 depends, and the force of their consequences, 
 that the artist often commits in his works the 
 most outrageous inconsistencies. So that while 
 we see one looking forward to the right end with- 
 out following the proper track, we see another 
 entering on the proper track without thinking of 
 the end to which it leads. 
 
 The materialist spirit in which it is so much 
 the custom to view all that relates to the fine 
 arts, by limiting them to the enjoyment of the 
 senses, — the result of a doctrine that refers every 
 thing to the outward organ, has caused the moral 
 nature of imitation to be lost sight of. Hence 
 those practical theories which refer every thing to 
 a species of execution whose means are fitted for 
 the eye alone, and are, in some measure, within 
 reach of the hand. Thus it comes to pass that 
 the spirit of the conventions on which true imita- 
 tion rests, is neglected ; and it is forgotten that 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 imitation is itself but a convention, the highest 
 degree of which is the ideal. 
 
 It is then in these conventions that we shall 
 find the true means of imitation, considered under 
 the general point of view which belongs to this 
 theory. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 293 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF CONVENTION, UNDERSTOOD AS A MEAN OF IMITATION. — OF 
 CONVENTIONS PRACTICAL AND THEORETICAL. 
 
 ' 
 
 When treating of illusion, in Chapter xiv. of the 
 first Part of this work, we have already alluded 
 to that which is called convention , in the imitation 
 of the fine arts, and given what is perhaps at once 
 the truest and most palpable explanation of it. 
 
 By comparing the action of each art, in its 
 relations with ourselves, to a game having its 
 rules, and being in fact no longer played when 
 either party ceases to conform to them, we showed 
 that in like manner there are between imitation 
 and man, certain reciprocal conditions, consti- 
 tuting the devices of this species of game and the 
 means of playing it. Its end is not gain, but 
 pleasure; and this pleasure, like gain, may be 
 either lawful or unlawful. The same circum- 
 stances that render the gain unlawful, disannuls 
 the game also. That which disannuls the plea- 
 sure of imitation tends also to render void, on 
 
294 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 either part, the conditions under faith of which 
 the effect must be attained and received. 
 
 Custom has assigned the name of conventions to 
 the various sorts of compact that hold good 
 between imitation and man, and which the very 
 nature of things has occasioned. Conventions 
 are, theoretically speaking, the means of imitation, 
 since without them, it could have no ground for 
 operation. Moreover, they are very numerous. 
 
 Almost every thing with respect to art is founded 
 on conventions, if it be true that all art is itself 
 really a convention. 
 
 It will be recollected, for instance, that we 
 have already represented the fine arts as placed 
 around their common model, in such a position as 
 to allow of each one comprehending no more than 
 a single side, — a single aspect. It is precisely 
 this limited position that occasions the physical or 
 moral impossibility of re-producing in the image 
 the totality of the model, and consequently ren- 
 ders necessary the means of convention established 
 between ourselves and art ; their effect is to pre- 
 vent us from perceiving the imperfection arising 
 from what is wanting to imitation in order to its 
 being complete, and also to prevent its impression 
 from being too much weakened. 
 
 Hence, two principal classes of conventions 
 according to the greater or less degree of positive 
 or ideal imitation affected in the works of art. 
 The first class comprises the means necessary to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 295 
 
 the existence and prosecution of every art. The 
 second, conventions of a higher order, through 
 which the imitation of every art attains its most 
 exalted end. 
 
 The conventions of the first class may form two 
 sufficiently distinct divisions. The first, conven- 
 tions that must be termed practical, being con- 
 ditions of the very existence of all art. The 
 second, we may term theoretical conventions, 
 being conditions of the due effect of every art. 
 
 We shall not dwell long on the practical con- 
 ventions, seeing that they are so entirely within 
 reach of every one. For instance, all must needs 
 be agreed in not requiring of painting the round- 
 ness of objects, or to represent more than one 
 moment of time in an action. It is by virtue of 
 such like conventions that we do not require of 
 the statuary the colour of bodies, that we allow 
 pantomime to be expressed only by gestures, that 
 we ought not to complain, though in the music of 
 the theatre every thing is said and done by singing, 
 even to death itself ; though Greeks and Romans 
 speak the vernacular language on the stage ; or 
 though the actor, in conversing, turn rather toward 
 the audience than toward his interlocutor. Every 
 one understands this kind of conventions, and a 
 multitude of others altogether similar which belong 
 to the material elements of every art. They would 
 scarcely deserve to be mentioned were not their 
 necessary existence, as well as their undeniable 
 
OF THE MEAXS 
 
 *96 
 
 employment, the principle, and as it were the 
 starting point of other theoretical conventions, 
 tending to enlarge the circle of imitation in every 
 art, and which, more or less under the censorship 
 of taste, form the subject of every didactic or 
 critical treatise. 
 
 The dramatic art will best afford an idea of 
 them. 
 
 Thus it is in consequence of such theoretical 
 conventions that this art is enabled to develope 
 an action, to represent it in a place, and to confine 
 its duration within a determinate time . Here we 
 see what is required from art. 
 
 Sow, what, on the other hand, does art require, 
 when conforming itself to these three kinds of 
 unity? 
 
 It requires that we should not understand by 
 unity of action, an isolated fact, deprived of all 
 circumstances and reduced to the barrenness of 
 absolute unity. It requires that a principal and 
 predominant fact may be allowed to be presented, 
 accompanied by auxiliary facts, or incidents, ne- 
 cessary for the development of the interest, 
 having a perceptible bond of union, and tending 
 to one sole end. The idea of unity, in the spirit 
 of such convention, is that of a whole composed 
 of parts, limited however in number and extent, 
 by the measure of our attention, by that of the 
 faculties of our minds, and by their capacity to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 •297 
 
 grasp what is presented to them, according as it 
 is simple or complicated. 
 
 Some concessions on the observance of unity of 
 place are also requisite to art, and we make them, 
 provided the changes of place are not long jour- 
 neys, and provided that the drama does not 
 exceed its natural limits after the manner of 
 some gothic paintings, in which we see a his- 
 tory divided into several pictures within a single 
 frame. 
 
 Conventions on the unity of time are of the same 
 nature. One cannot fix by the dial, or the hour- 
 glass, what ought to be the exact duration of the 
 real action, of which art affords only a fictious 
 appearance, that appearance being always re- 
 stricted, on the stage, within a given time. Here 
 the convention lies between the time of the fic- 
 tious representation and the presumed duration of 
 the, supposed, real action. The question is, the 
 mutual adjustment of these two degrees of dura- 
 tion. If we grant a certain latitude to art, it is 
 on condition that it remain within the bounds of 
 verisimilitude ; and if the imagination yields itself 
 up without wishing to take a strict account, it 
 should be understood that its ductility is not to be 
 abused, and that a representation in five acts is 
 not to become a chronological exposition of the 
 actions of a hero, or of a whole century. 
 
 I have chosen the conventions that relate to 
 
298 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 dramatic representation as examples of those I 
 term theoretical , because if there are none better 
 known, there are also none in which it is more 
 difficult for theory to reconcile interests frequently 
 opposed, and contending on the somewhat doubt- 
 ful line that separates actual, from imitative 
 truth. 
 
 Conventions of this sort are from their nature 
 liable to be the subject of dispute as to the true 
 point, determined by taste, as that in which the 
 two opinions agree. On the one side, whatever 
 fails to afford a faithful portraiture of reality is 
 treated as false in imitation, and contrary to 
 nature ; while on the other, the conventions are 
 violated in order to enlarge indefinitely the circle 
 of imitation, at the expense even of the truth 
 sought after. It is forgotten that the sole object 
 of conventions is that of serving to diminish the 
 obstacle opposed to imitation, and not to elude or 
 set it aside. Now this is done on both sides, 
 either by straining the effect of the conventions, 
 or by attempting to do without them. 
 
 The use of prologues, or of confidants, which 
 afford opportunity for the preliminary information 
 necessary to the due understanding of the subject, 
 is among the number of the conventions autho- 
 rized by dramatic theory. They have doubtless 
 been abused ; but a still greater abuse is the 
 remedy some have imagined, which consists in 
 giving to the drama antecedents the same in kind 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 299 
 
 as those that belong to history, or romance ; so 
 that a theatrical piece, instead of being a picture 
 limited within its proper space, becomes a paint- 
 ing that unfolds without end. In order to avoid 
 the slight non-verisimilitude of an indispensable 
 convention, they abrogate the resources that con- 
 stitute the work of art a fictious creation, and re- 
 duce it to a reality which abjures rules and con- 
 ventions, because in fact it abjures art. As 
 without conventions there can be no art, so with- 
 out art there would be no need of conventions. 
 
 Conventions, thus understood, are then em- 
 ployed with a view of affording to every kind of 
 imitation a facility in producing its effects, and 
 enlarging the sphere of its operation as far 
 as nature permits, without going beyond the 
 limits prescribed by its physical or moral consti- 
 tution. 
 
 The conventions which, to distinguish them 
 from poetical , I have termed practical and theoreti- 
 cal , are amenable to judgment and taste. When 
 judgment or common sense requires concessions 
 on any point, it belongs afterwards to taste to 
 ratify them, by employing them in a befitting 
 manner. Here, as elsewhere, abuse borders very 
 closely on use. There is not a single convention 
 established in favour of art that may not be turned 
 against it, and against the species of illusion that 
 ought to be at once encouraged and restricted ; 
 for the power of imitation is enfeebled, as well 
 
300 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 by an excessive demand for, as a too strict denial 
 of, illusion. 
 
 A general theory of conventions, considered in 
 the point of view we have just adverted to, that 
 is, as means reciprocally established between 
 imitation and man, in order to increase and facili- 
 tate the action of the one, and the fruition of the 
 other, would undoubtedly afford a subject for in- 
 vestigation as new as it would be interesting. It 
 would furnish opportunity for a number of re- 
 marks on taste, and a variety of useful precepts, 
 which however do not fall within our proposed plan. 
 
 The only consequence that I would myself, or 
 would wish others to draw from these few observa- 
 tions is, that conventions should be looked upon 
 as means of imitation, and that certain ones 
 among them be considered as pertaining to the 
 highest departments of theory. My only motive 
 in dwelling on the first class of conventions is, in 
 order that those which I have termed poetical 
 conventions might come to be appreciated in a 
 manner more accordant with their intrinsic worth, 
 that is, as the means most nearly related to imi- 
 tation, considered with respect to its definitive end. 
 
 As to the word poetical, I do not understand 
 this epithet as signifying any thing that appertains 
 to the art of poetry. It is scarcely necessary to 
 remark that there is poetry in all the arts. Poeti- 
 cal is here employed as synonymous with jictious , 
 and consequently with metaphorical . 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 301 
 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ©F POETICAL CONVENTIONS, OR THE GENERAL MEANS, WHICH, 
 COMMON ALIKE TO ALL THE ARTS, IMITATION EMPLOYS IN 
 ORDER TO ATTAIN TO THE IDEAL. 
 
 The object of the conventions spoken of in the 
 preceding chapter is, either to empower or assist 
 every art in the execution of the subjects, or re- 
 presentation of the objects falling within the par- 
 ticular sphere of its action. Since those conven- 
 tions, as before seen, are the means specially ap- 
 propriate to that same action, restricted to its own 
 constituent part of imitation, it is in like manner ne- 
 cessary that the imitative action, considered gene- 
 rally as to all the arts, and with reference to the 
 highest end to be attained by them, should be en- 
 dowed with another class of more extensive con- 
 ventions, that is, of more general means. 
 
 I name these last, poetical conventions. They 
 differ from the former in their extent, their impor- 
 tance, and also in their nature. For while those 
 
302 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 are amenable to judgment and taste, poetical con- 
 ventions are scarcely subjected to any other tri- 
 bunal than that of sentiment and imagination. 
 
 The end of all convention in art is a sort of ad- 
 justment between what must be called the reality 
 or positive state of being of things, whether facts, 
 discourse, or the forms of bodies, and what must 
 be looked upon as a mean given to the imitator, 
 by which to effect the representation of those 
 things. As the result of this adjustment, it be- 
 comes allowable for art to change more or less 
 what serves as its model, and to depart more or 
 less from the real or positive, with a view to the 
 furtherance of imitation, and consequently of the 
 pleasure we require from it. 
 
 It is from poetical conventions that the artist 
 derives the most numerous, and the most diversi- 
 fied means of effecting in the object, or subject, 
 of his imitation, those great changes by which he 
 freely disposes both his model and the manner of 
 representing it. While practical or theoretical 
 conventions are limited to certain alterations of 
 detail, to some omissions, additions, or modifica- 
 tions, in some one of the parts of the imitable ob- 
 ject, conventions of the poetical kind, by the 
 changes they bring about, as well in the ground- 
 work as in the form of every object, by embrac- 
 ing it in its totality, give to the artist the power 
 of transforming things, actions, persons, and their 
 discourse, according to another order of fitness. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 303 
 
 and in furtherance of another kind of truth. (See 
 on Chap, vii.) 
 
 When we examine the practical and theoretical 
 conventions, either in the necessity that gives rise 
 to them, or in their effects, we discover that their 
 principle is the same in all the arts, since the 
 existence of imitation depends on it. But as to ef- 
 fects, they are so closely related to each particular 
 art, that they vary according to the mode of pro- 
 ceeding in each. It seems to me that with poeti- 
 cal conventions it is otherwise. Not only is their 
 principle common to all the arts, but their conse- 
 quences are applicable to all, with no other varia- 
 tion than that which attaches to the difference in 
 kind of their images. They all alike derive from 
 them the right of exchanging, in the conception, 
 the invention, and the execution of their subjects, 
 the appearances, the state of being, the external 
 forms; in short, the elements of the world of 
 realities, for those which constitute the ideal 
 world that genius calls into existence. 
 
 This exchange cannot be brought about but by 
 certain operations of art, which consist in recom- 
 posing all the objects or subjects of imitation, 
 with a view to, and in accordance with, the new 
 part they are called upon to play. (See on, Chap, 
 vii. and the succeeding Chapters.) 
 
 Whatever may be the quarter from which the 
 poet selects his subject, he is bound to re-order 
 the ground-work, the plan, the collective whole. 
 
304 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 and the details of the facts he would treat, to 
 give to his personages another physiognomy, to 
 places another character, to circumstances other 
 relations, and to set forth causes and effects in such 
 a light as to admit of their more easy comparison ; 
 he ought, not to betray truth, but, if one may so 
 speak, to clothe it with new appearances in con- 
 formity with the poetical conventions of imitation. 
 
 The painter (as we shall show hereafter) is 
 equally under obligation to re-make all that be- 
 longs to the visible world, that is, to recompose 
 the forms, the outlines, the relations, and the pro- 
 portions of bodies, to modify their effects and 
 colours, to change the locality of every scene, the 
 incidents of every event, the traits of every ex- 
 pression ; in a word, to exchange a local, indivi- 
 dual, and limited kind of truth, for truth as viewed 
 from on high and more at large. 
 
 Elementary and theoretical conventions are 
 slight deviations from the reality of things. Poeti- 
 cal conventions are means for operating in them a 
 moral change. 
 
 As the operations by which this recomposition 
 is effected, depend on the talent and genius of the 
 artist, they are, in execution, necessarily allied to 
 those faculties which are more especially the gift 
 of nature, and which, though study and theory 
 may add to them, they can never supply. There 
 is then one branch of instruction which is wholly 
 excluded from the theory of practical art. What- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 305 
 
 ever appertains either to the arts of industry, or 
 to the mechanical part of the arts of imitation, 
 may be reduced to rules, may be taught and 
 learned. But beyond these commences the region 
 of speculative theory, and its precepts are ad- 
 dressed to the understanding alone. Such theory 
 reverts back to the principles from which all rules 
 are deduced, it has in it nothing dogmatical. The 
 means it lays open to the artist are rather lights to 
 enlighten him in acting, than instruments to act 
 with. 
 
 In fact, it is not for us to inform the artist how, 
 or with what, or by what secret he may attain to 
 the ideal. On the contrary, he himself will in- 
 form us. While learning from him, in works that 
 display the qualities constituting the ideal, as well 
 what he has abstained from, what he has endea- 
 voured to do, and what he has done, we shall con- 
 fine ourselves to setting forth the result that the 
 merest analysis proves to have arisen from the 
 combinations of his mind. Non tarn inventa a 
 prceceptoribus quam cum Jierent observata. Quin til.. 
 Or at., 1. 8., Proem. 
 
 Setting out from the principle already laid 
 down, that every convention is more or less a 
 mean of changing the reality of the model, to the 
 enhancement of imitation, it seems to us, that, as 
 regards the ideal, the convention to which its ef- 
 fect and its force are more especially due, is the 
 recomposition of the model itself. 
 
 x 
 
306 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 Hence, it is necessary that such recomposition 
 consist in disengaging the object or subject of 
 imitation from whatever is contrary, or merely 
 alien, to the effect proposed by the artist, to the 
 impressions his imitation is intended to produce, 
 and to the kind of pleasure constituting its end. 
 
 For the better explaining this recomposition, 
 the operations of genius and understanding that 
 allow of being apprehended, defined, and rendered 
 sensible by theoretical analysis, may be reduced 
 to two principle ones, namely, the act of genera- 
 lizing, and that of transforming or transposing . 
 
 Our theory may be based on these two princi- 
 pal conventions, since by them it is enabled to 
 explain the operation of the ideal in works of imi- 
 tation. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 307 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THE ACT OF GENERALIZING CONSIDERED AS A MEANS OF 
 ATTAINING TO IDEAL IMITATION IN THE WORKS OF POETRY. 
 
 The first of the means employed by the mind, 
 being also that which it can most easily explain 
 to itself, in this recomposition of the model ef- 
 fected by imitation in order to the attainment of 
 the ideal, results from the act of generalizing, 
 which act is peculiar to the understanding, and 
 may by it be applied to all the arts. As we have 
 already made some remarks hereupon (see the 
 previous Part) our further notice of it need not 
 detain us long. 
 
 The idea of generalization , in its application to 
 the art of imitating, its operations, and its works, 
 is very clear and simple, more especially when 
 contrasted with the contrary idea, that of particu- 
 larization . 
 
 To particularize, in imitation, is to express a 
 subject, to represent an object, not scrupulously 
 part by part, which would rather infer its decom- 
 
 x 2 
 
308 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 position, but by whatever is particular or indivi- 
 dual in the subject or object, that is, which causes 
 it to be distinguished from every other. 
 
 To generalize, as regards imitation, is, not only 
 to express a subject, to represent an object, in its 
 collective whole, but rather in the character be- 
 longing to the genus of that object. So that an 
 object is particularized when, according to the 
 order of things it is dependent on, it belongs to 
 the individual rather than the species, to the 
 species rather than the genus. The contrary is 
 the case with an object that is generalized. 
 
 There is no subject, no object of imitation, that 
 does not admit of being considered by the artist, 
 in a similar light to that in which it strikes the 
 mind or the eye of those who make up the great 
 bulk of mankind. There are some persons, and 
 those not few in number, who, be the matter ever 
 so vast and extensive, perceive only the minor 
 details, or the side most nearly accordant with 
 limited acquirements and narrow views, thus de- 
 grading the idea or image of every thing to their 
 own standard. There are others capable, not only 
 of embracing the totality of the very same objects 
 in their widest extent, and taking an enlarged 
 view of things great in themselves, but who can 
 moreover refer back things the most trifling to the 
 grand principle on which they depend, and de- 
 duce from a particular object, views the most 
 general. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 309 
 
 Applied to imitation, this mental faculty un- 
 doubtedly tends to enlarge all images, in as much 
 as being formed by this operation of the mind, 
 they acquire the property of signifying a much 
 greater number of ideas, or ideas of a much higher 
 order, than those attached to the image of the 
 same subject when viewed under the limited re- 
 lation of a single part, and with individuality of 
 character. 
 
 Poetry, or the art of writing, is in the highest 
 degree favourable to generalization, whether on 
 account of the unlimited extent of images it has 
 at command, or the facilities it affords for con- 
 densing them as much as possible. For a subject 
 is at one time generalized by adding to it, at 
 another by abridging it. 
 
 To abridge, as here made use of, does not sig- 
 nify to diminish from the substance of a subject, 
 but to reduce its intrinsic value within the smallest 
 compass. 
 
 Montesquieu says of Tacitus : “ He abridges 
 every thing because nothing escapes his view .” Here 
 we have the ideal operation. It is because 
 genius embraces every thing, that it can restrict 
 every thing. While an ordinary writer leads us 
 on from detail to detail, each of which effaces in 
 turn the other, the mind that generalizes often 
 places us by a single trait, and as it were by en- 
 chantment, on an elevated site whence the whole 
 is displayed to view. 
 
310 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 In every kind of subject there is some main 
 thought that comprehends all others ; genius dis- 
 covers some point of view to which every other 
 aspect is subordinate. 
 
 Certain forms of composition in poetry admit, 
 above all others, of the generalization of the sub- 
 ject, that is, of raising it above the character that 
 would render it particular. Lyric poetry, for in- 
 stance ; in none is there more palpable evidence 
 of the intellectual operation spoken of, by which 
 the substance of a subject is recomposed, in order 
 to enlarge its image. We may remark that the 
 subject of the ode is frequently to the poet only 
 what the text is to a preacher, and that, by a pri- 
 vilege peculiar to him, the less is material, the 
 greater becomes his conception. What more 
 slight and unsubstantial than the subjects of Pin- 
 dar’s lyre ? A wrestler’s prize, a chariot or foot 
 race. Moreover, the name of a victor, that of the 
 town in which he lives, and of the river that runs 
 near it, are sufficient to lay open before the poet 
 that unlimited space, within which he raises the 
 most confined fact to a level with the greatest 
 events. If the act of generalizing consist in divest- 
 ing a subject of the individual appearance that 
 particularizes it, no poet has ever yet equalled the 
 excellence of Pindar. 
 
 No form of composition in poetry is more ideal 
 than the ode, which serves as an evidence of the 
 natural connexion between the notion of the ideal. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 311 
 
 and the method of generalizing. The understand- 
 ing and the imagination are alike concerned in 
 this operation, and it belongs as much to the 
 philosopher, as it does to the poet ; certainly no 
 writer has carried the art of generalizing farther 
 than Plato has done, seeing that to a single idea, 
 a single principle, he almost always attaches pro- 
 positions the most numerous. 
 
 As the object of generalization is to bring 
 together and unite many things, it can only be 
 attained by simplifying them. To simplify, and 
 to generalize, are therefore synonymous. Bossuet 
 was enabled to condense his universal history 
 into one volume, because he could refer a multi- 
 tude of facts, and the revolutions of every empire, 
 to their most simple idea, to a general fact em- 
 bracing all others. The history of men and 
 nations has since been detailed in a hundred 
 volumes, which present to us universality without 
 unity, and multiplicity without a collective whole. 
 
 The historian frequently finds it very difficult 
 to generalize the subject of his narration ; history 
 and the art of writing are not therefore considered 
 to be of necessity subjected to the conventions 
 from which the ideal results. True it is that 
 some historians have been assimilated to poets, 
 when they have been able to disengage them- 
 selves from the restraints that the variety of his- 
 torical detail imposes on them. But the poet is 
 not thus shackled, and as it belongs to him to 
 
312 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 render history available to his art, it is more 
 especially by generalizing his subject matter, or 
 the characters of his personages, that he exalts his 
 inventions into the region of the ideal. 
 
 The poet ought undoubtedly to select a cele- 
 brated and important subject for the object of his 
 strains; but the more abundant it is in details 
 and circumstances, the more necessary will it be 
 that he should restrict it to a point of view afford- 
 ing the simplest expression of it. To tell all, 
 would not be a means of generalizing, but on the 
 contrary, of particularizing. The genius that 
 guided Homer in the creation of his heroic poems 
 had revealed to him the secret of this theory. 
 With what art has he generalized the subject of 
 his poems, by directing towards a prominent 
 point, with one sole and simple aim, all the 
 springs of action in epic poetry, and by bringing 
 out, in every part, the master idea, the moral 
 motive of the collective whole. 
 
 On the act of generalizing does in truth depend 
 the intrinsic value of that totality, which alone 
 can give substance to the recitals of the epic 
 poem, and constitute it a sort of concentric mirror, 
 in which every thing is brought collectively to- 
 gether, instead of being a multilateral glass, where 
 all is divided, parcelled out, and particularized. 
 
 A comparison of the poem of Tasso, with that 
 of Ariosto, will afford a good example of this 
 twofold manner of viewing and setting forth the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 313 
 
 objects of poetical imitation. The first has suc- 
 ceeded in connecting in one historic whole, that 
 is, with the greatest event of the wars of the Cru- 
 saders, and in referring to a single occurrence, 
 albeit abounding in noble exploits, the interests, 
 manners, characters, passions, virtues, and vices 
 collectively of a memorable period, and his poem, 
 a posthumous monument as it were to the glory 
 of that age, appears to stand forth as its history. 
 It has pleased Ariosto by an inverse system to 
 spread out and, if one may so speak, mince up 
 all that might have furnished an historic picture 
 of another no less celebrated period. His poem 
 instead of a plan woven together by art in order 
 to re-compose the facts, presents only a succes- 
 sion of pieces tacked to one another, of narrations 
 without coherency, and of actions following each 
 other without being interlinked ; hurried from 
 particular to particular, the reader comes to the 
 end without having attained any thing, without 
 being able to discover any central point to the 
 composition. They are parts without a whole ; 
 and Ariosto’s poem would seem to be a versified 
 chronicle of the adventures of that time. 
 
 Such is the difference between the act of gene- 
 ralizing, which composes a whole, and that of 
 particularizing, which decomposes it. 
 
 The more limited is the space and duration to 
 which the poet is bound to confine the image of 
 the events that form his subject, the more will he 
 
314 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 be obliged to make use of the process of gene- 
 ralization, because, as we have already said, that 
 process, by simplifying, becomes a means of 
 abridgment. None more than the dramatic poet 
 experiences the necessity of making use of it. 
 Events like those that history presents are full of 
 diversity and contrariety. The conduct of men, 
 the direction of affairs, the qualities and charac- 
 ters of personages, most frequently are in their 
 reality but a confused mingling of contradictions, 
 which history may take time to unravel, in order 
 to discern and unfold to us the truth. 
 
 But art has neither time nor means at command 
 to enter into such discriminations ; facts, things, 
 and historical personages, are employed but as 
 materials for composing pictures susceptible of 
 giving pleasure ; art must, in all subjects, be 
 elevated to such a distance as to lose sight of the 
 discordancy of their accessaries. Through it, per- 
 sonages must be again indued with unity of cha- 
 racter, actions with simplicity of purpose, and 
 passions with uniformity of impulse ; and, in this 
 re-composition, all the springs of the scenic action, 
 which usually remain concealed on the theatre of 
 the world, must be openly displayed. 
 
 Now the poet can only attain this end by sacri- 
 ficing all the mere details of history, and by 
 generalizing whatever history particularizes, thus 
 giving to everything a conventional existence 
 consistent with imitation, and with the nature of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 315 
 
 actions which must be completed (by virtue of 
 imitative fiction) without the aid of time, and the 
 natural springs that set in motion human affairs. 
 
 Since it is by the art of generalizing that things, 
 and the notions of things, are reduced to their 
 principle, and their elements, and that, by sim- 
 plifying them through the suppression of details 
 and subordinate notions, their value and extent 
 are rendered more evident to the mind, it will be 
 readily understood how important to the poet it 
 is, that the expression of the characters of his 
 personages should be subjected to that operation. 
 
 The most interesting subjects to deal with are 
 the characters of men, as seen in the course of 
 political affairs and interests. The image that 
 sets before us the scene of events must thoroughly 
 lay bare the prime mover of them, while it is also 
 necessary that they should pass rapidly in review. 
 The first care of the poet is then to disengage this 
 prime mover from the accessory agents that would 
 otherwise clog the movements of the dramatic 
 machine ; and it is owing to the effect of this 
 operation that the characters of personages acquire 
 a degree of freedom, perspicuity, and force, that 
 can never be found in the reality. 
 
 While deviating on this, as on many other 
 points, from strict adherence to the letter of his- 
 tory, the poet is content to be faithful to its spirit ; 
 any more close conformity with fact or reality 
 would be a betrayal on his part, of the general 
 
316 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 truth to which alone he ought to incline, it being 
 that of imitation. When he generalizes the traits 
 that compose the moral physiognomy of his per- 
 sonages, he does no more than we see the statuary 
 do, when obliged to suppress the details of bodies, 
 in order the better to display their characteristic 
 forms, or when the character of the subject re- 
 quires him, by a judicious exaggeration, to bring 
 the nature of his hero into relation with the energy 
 of the act he is performing. Hercules, therefore, 
 when represented as choaking the Nemaean lion, 
 must be endowed with an ideal muscularity of 
 strength. 
 
 The more thoroughly it is understood that the 
 operation of generalizing is one of the chief con- 
 ventions of imitation, which the very nature of 
 things imposes on the artist, the firmer must the 
 conviction become that, in employing this mean, 
 it is highly necessary to be well acquainted with 
 its consequences. One is led to believe that 
 many errors have arisen from a want of knowing 
 the proper scope and tendency of this convention. 
 Now one of the first conditions imposed on the 
 artist is, that he should not draw back at will, 
 that he should not belie in one part of a work, the 
 system he had adopted in another. 
 
 How many defects of harmony, how many dis- 
 crepancies, the causes of which we frequently 
 know not in what way to explain, may be justly 
 ascribed to ignorance, on the part of the artist, as 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 317 
 
 to the consequences which, unknown to himself, 
 he has brought about. 
 
 I think that the controversy continually going 
 on respecting the two forms of composition in the 
 drama, one of which I term regular, the other 
 irregular, would never have taken place, had it 
 been sufficiently understood that those of the 
 latter class, namely, such as are in the manner of 
 Shakspeare, are but a monstrous combination of 
 two incompatible kinds of imitation, of two con- 
 trary principles. For while we find, in such like 
 theatrical pieces, the system of generalization 
 carried to the highest point with regard to the 
 characters, the expression of the passions, and the 
 moral purpose of the subject, we find the con- 
 trary proceeding pushed to the very extreme, 
 which tends to particularize the action by bur- 
 lesque incidents, and personages, by low and 
 trivial dialogue, and the total effect by a patch- 
 work of petty details unworthy every species of 
 imitation. 
 
 We can never believe that Shakspeare pur- 
 posely produced results so unbefitting, or that 
 such unseemly conjunctions arose from system 
 and reflective study. Genius, on the one hand, 
 conducted him to the sublime ; ignorance of art, 
 its nature, its end, and its means, (that is, its 
 theory,) impelled him, on the other, by force of 
 an, at that time, irresistible bias, to those digres- 
 sions which have since, by a far less excuseable 
 
318 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 error in judgment, been endeavoured to be legi- 
 timized and constituted a new style; as though 
 the false could ever be adopted as such, or be 
 other than the negation of truth. 
 
 When we consider the works of imitation under 
 the two relations which are forced upon us by an 
 investigation of their theory, we cannot but per- 
 ceive that the same thing that would shock the 
 reason and the sight in one art, cannot be ad- 
 mitted as legitimate and natural in another. Who 
 would not be disgusted to see, in the arts of 
 design, a like incongruous fusion of that mode of 
 imitation which particularizes even to the express- 
 ing the most vulgar objects in detail, with that 
 other mode of generalized imitation, which puri- 
 fies all subjects, and raises their images into the 
 regions of the ideal ? Who, we repeat, could, in 
 that case, endure the combination in one collec- 
 tive whole, of such contrasts as are to be found, 
 side by side, in the scenic representations of 
 Shakspeare ? 
 
 Though there are poems of a free and burlesque 
 nature which derive from these very contrasts the 
 humorous effect that such opposites are fitted to 
 give rise to, yet one would compare such works 
 to the pictorial whims, which, flowing from an 
 ingenious pencil, are merely intended for our 
 amusement. What can we conclude but that it 
 is the nature of parody to exceed nature, as all 
 monstrosities or caricatures invariably do ? 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 319 
 
 Imitation, like nature, has its exceptions, which, 
 as such, and from the very circumstance of their 
 being exceptions, confirm the rule. Now the first 
 rule of all imitation is that unity of the form or 
 style of composition be observed throughout the 
 same work. And this unity must be more espe- 
 cially preserved by a strict adherence to the con- 
 ventions adopted. 
 
 By the chief of these is determined the rank 
 that the subject holds, whether it ought to be 
 classed as belonging to positive and particularized, 
 or to ideal and generalized imitation. 
 
 There is no work of whatever kind, let its 
 standard appear ever so low, in which the ideal 
 may not be attempted with propriety, and which 
 does not afford room for the error tending to con- 
 found the elements of the two degrees of imitation. 
 
 But few, for instance, are aware that the Fable 
 belongs to the ideal, on account of the fiction 
 and transposal that constitute it, although its per- 
 sonages are most commonly derived from the 
 animal kingdom. It is not the greater or less 
 importance of the beings brought on the scene, 
 that authorizes, or not, the employment of the 
 ideal. The Fable is ideal because it is an imagi- 
 native convention, which does not consist in de- 
 grading to the level of the animal, the being' 
 whose place is supplied by it, but, on the contrary, 
 in raising the animal to the level of man. Now, 
 we depart from the spirit of this convention, 
 
320 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 when we endow the fictious personages of this 
 description of drama with too marked an indi- 
 viduality, either by adhering closely to minor 
 zoological details, or by graphic descriptions, 
 which are apt to present to the imagination the 
 real being instead of the intended fiction of the 
 part. Whatever charm is to be found in the 
 conceptions of the French fabulist,* it must be 
 acknowledged that he has frequently, by his 
 execution, deprived the fable of its ideal investi- 
 ture. 
 
 La Fontaine. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF THE ACT OF GENERALIZING IN THE WORKS OF THE ARTS 
 OF DESIGN. AND IN THE IMITATION OF THE HUMAN BODY. 
 
 The act of generalizing considered as an opera- 
 tion of the understanding, is very much of the 
 same nature with those, to analyse the elements 
 and develope the notions of which, is the part of 
 metaphysics. Metaphysical science is chiefly the 
 science of the operations of the mind : there is 
 therefore nothing to be wondered at, when we 
 find it appealed to as a necessary and definitive 
 judge, in a number of questions that arise, both 
 on the conception, and on the means of execution, 
 of those works of art where the imitation is espe- 
 cially addressed to the mind. But where the 
 question concerns those arts in which the forms 
 of bodies and matter are employed, many persons 
 seem to think that because their impressions are 
 received by the senses, such arts may be exempted 
 from the tribunal of metaphysics, as though the 
 impressions of the senses could be explained, even 
 materially, without recourse to the moral sciences. 
 
3 *22 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 I admit that the investigation of the operations 
 of the understanding in generalizing, has hitherto 
 been but little attended to in the theory of the 
 arts of design.* But it is because that theory 
 has been itself but little generalized. Critical 
 observations are usually confined to the isolated 
 circle of each of the fine arts separately. By a 
 more comprehensive study, including them all, 
 we come to perceive that they have a common 
 principle, and certain general laws, whence, in each 
 separate mode of imitation, a similar action arises, 
 differing only according as the organs to which 
 they are addressed, are different. We see then 
 clearly that the generalizing action is the same in 
 the works of the arts of design, as in those of 
 the arts of poetry,. Without question it belongs 
 to the same operation of the understanding to 
 generalize forms as ideas, the images of bodies as 
 the conceptions of the mind, the representation of 
 material objects as the expression of thoughts and 
 the relations of the moral world. 
 
 * In a periodical workf (fes Archives Litteraires) eighteen 
 years ago we gave, in a series of articles, an essay on this theory, 
 in which we maintained that the ideal consisted mainly in the 
 act of generalizing. 
 
 f The present matured and all-comprehensive theory is the result of 
 the mental labour and experience of more than eighteen years. In the 
 articles above alluded to we have the rough materials and model of 
 what is here built up and elaborated into a perfect and finished edifice. 
 Some of the chapters of this essay either contain the substance or are 
 verbatim transcripts of those papers. — Translator. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 323 
 
 The act of generalizing proceeds from one of 
 the innate or instinctive faculties of our minds, 
 and we scarcely utter a sentence without having 
 recourse to it. Language exists only in abstrac- 
 tions, that is, in generalized ideas. The artist 
 also, of necessity, and frequently without being 
 aware of it, brings into play, in his language ex- 
 pressed by forms, a process which is as much that 
 of instinct as of the understanding ; and it has 
 been already remarked (Part II. Chap, x.) that, 
 in the earliest period of art, imitation by signs 
 was a species of ideal, in as much as it had to do 
 with images of a most abstracted kind. Conse- 
 quently while we have an ideal in poetry, there is 
 also an ideal which may be termed that of writ- 
 ing, whether by words or emblems. The latter 
 has been here mentioned only with a view the 
 better to characterize the former. We have also 
 deemed it needless to remark that if, in the fine 
 arts, all poetical ideality results from the act of 
 generalizing, every operation that generalizes does 
 not reciprocally produce the ideal, according to 
 the meaning of the word poetical as applied to 
 the fine arts. 
 
 Be it as it may, the act of generalizing, applied 
 to the arts of design, is concerned as well in the 
 composition of subjects, as in the representation 
 of the human body. 
 
 As regards composition, the end to be kept in 
 view, equally as in the conceptions of the poet, is 
 
 v 2 
 
324 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 to reduce the most extensive and intricate sub- 
 jects to the simplest, and, at the same time, most 
 forcible expression they will admit of. Force and 
 simplicity must not here be separated. The true 
 value of every thought lies no doubt in its sim- 
 plicity ; but be it understood that it is this very 
 simplicity that renders the thought more forcible. 
 
 Painting, like language, is capable of express- 
 ing, by a small number of figures, what many 
 would only serve to weaken, It has, moreover, 
 its laconicism of form, as the poetry of language, 
 that of words in those celebrated axioms deemed 
 to be epitomies of the wisdom of ages. What 
 but a summary of a theological treatise in paint- 
 ing, is that composition of Raffaello, in which 
 religion, elevated above the clouds, is seen point- 
 ing towards the earth, and indicating that the 
 book which she holds closed in her hand, being 
 that of the knowledge of divine things, is sealed 
 from the curiosity of mortals ? 
 
 If the property of reducing all things to the 
 fewest terms, and by the most simple means, is 
 one of the springs of that poetical action which 
 generalizes the conceptions of the writer, it will 
 in the same sense appertain to the compositions of 
 the painter, and will produce in them the same 
 effects. It is not meant that the manner adopted 
 by the poet in generalizing his conception, can be 
 followed by the painter desirous of treating the 
 same subject. The parity here spoken of con- 
 
OP IMITATION. 
 
 325 
 
 sists in means, force, and effect, and must be com 
 sidered as part of a system, and not in respect to 
 particular applications. We shall hereafter show 
 more at length, that as the act of generalizing is 
 allied to that of transforming, every art has a 
 class of abstractions and metaphors inherent to 
 its own mechanism, and which can in no wise be 
 transferred to another. 
 
 What we maintain is, that this operation, by 
 means of which the painter is enabled to concen- 
 trate in the smallest number of traits, for the eye, 
 what the poet condenses into the smallest number 
 of ideas for the mind, is used in every art after its 
 own peculiar manner, and is under such circum- 
 stances rightly so used. If the infinite power of 
 the Creator is aptly rendered by the sublime con- 
 ciseness of the words, fiat lux, which generalize 
 the idea of it, the painter who has represented 
 the Almighty dispersing chaos, has repeated the 
 same thought to the eye in another manner ; and 
 the simplicity of that composition serves to display 
 with the same energy of expression, the omnipo- 
 tence evinced in the creation. 
 
 Many similar instances might be adduced, but 
 the reader will find no difficulty in supplying 
 them for himself. These few hints are I think 
 sufficient to characterize the operation of the 
 mind which is essential in almost every composi- 
 tion, apart from the more or less successful result 
 dependent on the degree of talent or genius in the 
 
326 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 artist. For, as already remarked, the operation 
 in question is much more obligatory than it is 
 usually thought to be, in so much that genius 
 does not always consist in generalizing, but in 
 deriving from that operation, those beautiful ef- 
 fects so justly admired in the great masters ; that 
 is, those parts which, simple in composition, and 
 rich in thought, are rendered equivalent, by a 
 judicious and ingenious abridgment, to a collective 
 whole, which, if taken in all its entireness, would 
 exceed the bounds of art. 
 
 The painter then is enabled in two ways to 
 generalize subjects the most abundant in particu- 
 lars, that is, to refer them to the simple expres- 
 sion of a single aspect, which shall prove a fertile 
 source to sentiment or imagination. At one time 
 he exchanges the physical and material effect of 
 the scene, for the moral impression of certain 
 situations, which serve the beholder as interpre- 
 ters of what his eye cannot inform him of; at 
 another, he augments the effect of the scene by 
 the actual suppression of details, which would 
 too much divide the attention. 
 
 Two great painters have each treated, according 
 to one and the other of these two systems of 
 generalization, one of those scenes whose variety 
 and vastness would seem to require the greatest 
 multiplicity of effects, details, and particularities. 
 
 Raffaello has painted a conflagration. Fire, 
 flames, and smoke form the least part of his pic- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 327 
 
 ture. But we see instead what is undoubtedly 
 far better ; namely, the expression of the most 
 touching circumstances ; an old man borne away 
 from the midst of the flames by his son ; a young 
 man escaping over a wall from the heat of the 
 conflagration ; and a mother who, from the top of 
 that same wall, is about to throw her son into the 
 cradle held below by the father, who is raising 
 himself on tiptoe to receive it. The child is 
 about to fall — Will it be caught ? — Thus the 
 painter instead of a display fitted to produce, on 
 the sight, the physical effects of the conflagration, 
 places before us, in the various positions, and dif- 
 ferent ages of his personages, the moral image of 
 all the terrors that such a fearful scourge could 
 occasion. 
 
 In a scene of a different nature, than which 
 there is none more vast, the universal deluge, 
 Nicholas Poussin has shown us how genius, which 
 simplifies by generalizing, can endue a small 
 number of objects with such infinite power, as to 
 compel the imagination and the sentiment to re- 
 store to the image, what want of space has pre- 
 vented him from portraying. For, how would 
 the painter render the deluge in its universal 
 whole, the Omnia pontus erant ? * — Others have 
 believed that they could comply with the spirit of 
 so extensive a subject by multiplying its episodes 
 
 Ovid, Metamorph., lib. i. 1. 292. 
 
328 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 and every kind of form under which death and 
 destruction could reach its victims. Here is Pous- 
 sin’s picture. “A sky, which the lightning pierces 
 with difficulty, lowers over the waters ; a darkened 
 sun ; a vessel in which a few human beings are 
 struggling against the waves, a tree, a rock, a 
 reptile, the only remnants of the kingdoms of 
 nature, with the last family breathing out the last 
 gasp of human kind.”* 
 
 This brief description is well fitted to give an 
 idea of the kind of convention, by means of which 
 scenes the most considerable may be reduced 
 within the circumscribed limits of every art, and 
 disengaged from their detail without losing their 
 intrinsic value. We may aver even, that it is pre- 
 cisely this kind of concentration that augments 
 their force and energy. The sequel will show in 
 what manner the act of generalizing subjects and 
 compositions, is found to be allied to another act, 
 that of transforming or transposing. (See Chapters 
 vii. and ix.) 
 
 The act of generalizing, and its effect, may be 
 more easily comprehended in what is termed 
 composition, and in those cases where the artist, 
 frequently obliged to cast aside the details that 
 would otherwise overload and obscure the princi- 
 pal action, generalizes, without knowing it, when 
 
 * On one of the distinguishing Operations of Genius, by M. 
 Guerin. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 329 
 
 he brings out either the chief point of view in a 
 subject, its cause, or its consequence. All these 
 operations take place in passing from the com- 
 pound to the simple, and in referring all ideas of 
 a subject to one principal idea comprehending the 
 details, (as the genus comprehends the species.) 
 
 But greater difficulty is experienced in con- 
 ceiving, and rendering an account of, the same 
 operation as regards the imitation, properly so 
 called, of the human body. In it the subject for 
 imitation appears simple. In it also the model is 
 presented as a whole, that is easily comprehended 
 and defined. Yet this whole is a compound of 
 parts, and the individual, as already remarked, is 
 far from furnishing, in all those parts, that com- 
 plete harmony of which corporeal beauty is the 
 result. The artist is therefore obliged to subject 
 all the forms of the individual to a critical com- 
 parison, founded on a knowledge of the type of 
 absolute perfection. Hence we find that the 
 operation of generalizing is here also to be brought 
 into play. Moreover, be the object about which 
 it is concerned what it may, its action is ever the 
 same, since it mainly consists in referring every 
 idea, as well as every particular image, to its 
 generating principle, to its own peculiar type or 
 genus. 
 
 The instance already deduced from the idea of 
 portraiture, that is, of the particularized image, will 
 serve as a parallel to show what the generalized 
 
330 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 image is. Place a /wrfraif-head* in opposition to 
 one of Grecian sculpture representing a divinity. 
 (See Part II., Chap, xi.) It will be sufficient to 
 recall attention to the characteristic traits there 
 described.! Is it not true that so great a dif- 
 ference exists between these two heads, that the 
 least experienced eye could never mistake them ? 
 Is it not certain that the most beautiful portrait - 
 head would be found to be wholly in discordance 
 with the body, (were one desirous of such a 
 transfer,) either of an antique Apollo, or Venus ? 
 Every one must allow that the same would be 
 the case with the head of an antique Venus, or 
 Apollo, on the body of a statue in the modern 
 style, that is, as before remarked, in strict accor- 
 dance with the natural model. (Part II. Chap, 
 xi.) Whence can this discordance arise, unless 
 it is that each work proceeds from one of two 
 opposite and irreconcilable systems ? 
 
 In what then do these two manners of imitating 
 the human body consist, and whence arises their 
 
 * The statua iconica of Pliny, simulacrum iconicum of 
 Suetonius. — Translator. 
 
 f It must be recollected that all the elements of minute imi- 
 tation are suppressed. The hair of the eye-brow is not rendered 
 apparent, in order to allow of the arch of the eye being better 
 defined. The ball of the eye has no pupil, the nose is of an 
 angular form, the hair and beard are disposed in factitious and 
 formal masses. The whole is fashioned agreeably to perfect 
 symmetry, and the entire contour is divested of those accidental 
 details which, in the individual, interrupt its regularity, &c. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 331 
 
 difference? In the one every part of the body, 
 every form, every muscle is imitated with all 
 the irregularities of detail, all the accidental par- 
 ticulars, that, owing to the chances of generation, 
 and numberless other causes, are present in all 
 bodies. It is no uncommon case to find the 
 bones and muscles deformed, altered, and modi- 
 fied from their natural condition, by the skin, the 
 cellular tissue, or the more or less degree of cor- 
 pulency in the individual. Again, who is not 
 aware that the relations one with another of all 
 the parts of the body, from which result the 
 beauty and harmony of proportions, are dependent 
 on an infinity of causes and circumstances tending 
 to impede or modify their development ? Nothing 
 in the imitation of the human body is more com- 
 mon than that manner which consists in re-pro- 
 ducing its forms, peculiarities, proportions, and 
 relations, just as they occur to the artist in the 
 individual model. It is imitation after the idea of 
 portraiture . 
 
 The other manner has been already described 
 and analysed, (Part II. Chap, xi.) and I shall 
 the less stop here to point out the difference 
 existing between the two, because it is of itself 
 announced, as well to the mind, as to the sight, 
 by an indubitable opposition in style. 
 
 In examining what is so legibly written before 
 the eye, in statues of the ancient style, are we 
 not obliged to confess that there is in them a cer- 
 
332 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 tain grandeur of form that excludes all accidental 
 littleness, and that a judicious combination of re- 
 lations between the several parts produces a con- 
 cord of proportions, seemingly constituting the 
 rule by which the Creator appointed human na- 
 ture, before it was subjected to the accidents that 
 generation, labour, poverty, and sickness, have 
 rendered it liable to ? 
 
 What style of imitation then is that, which offers 
 us precisely the contrary to the one in which the 
 forms are designed, and the proportions copied, 
 in the spirit of portraiture, unless it be that which 
 generalizes the form and proportion of the human 
 body, and by virtue of which the whole is found 
 to be carried beyond the particular existence of 
 the individual, to the abstract existence of the 
 species and genus ? 
 
 But the figure of man thus generalized, we have 
 already (Part II. Chap, xi.) found to possess the 
 qualifications of an ideal figure. 
 
 Hence then it is certain that, in theory, ideal, 
 and generalized, are to a certain extent synony- 
 mous, because they express the same effect, al- 
 though the analysis of these two notions proves to 
 us that the one is derived from the other, and 
 that the act of generalizing is undeniably em- 
 ployed by the mind of the imitator as a means to 
 attain to the ideal. 
 
 Thus there is a poetical convention, in virtue 
 of which the artist also, in imitating the human 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 .333 
 
 body, recomposes whatever has served him for a 
 model. And this recomposition cannot take place, 
 unless by the same proceeding as that adopted in 
 the other arts. The import of which is, that, as 
 regards design, the form of the individual model, 
 necessarily imperfect, must be generalized by a 
 knowledge of the abstract model, which is the 
 very type of the perfection of bodies, or, in other 
 words, the law of nature. 
 
 Now this type of corporeal perfection (although 
 it is a question of corporeity and matter) is not a 
 being that can be somewhere found individually, 
 that can be separately apprehended by the physi- 
 cal organ alone. It is a compound being, the 
 several parts of which are brought together by 
 observation and experience, by the imagination 
 and sentiment. This type of perfection is, to the 
 imitation of the physical man, what, to the arts of 
 immaterial imitation embracing the moral world, 
 are both that standard of the beautiful and true 
 by which the poet traces the characters of his 
 personages, and that knowledge of our minds, by 
 which he measures the effect of the passions, of 
 their expression, and of the sensations we receive 
 from them. 
 
 The physical organ undoubtedly has a share in 
 all imitation, and it cannot be denied but that the 
 senses are called upon to gather together a great 
 number of observations to serve for the advantage 
 of art. We do not therefore maintain that, in the 
 
.334 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 generalized imitation of the human body, every 
 thing should be exclusively the result of intellec- 
 tual means. It is, without doubt, on bodies that 
 observation is exercised, and that by the aid of 
 the eye. But the question is, to know what it is 
 that enlightens the observer in his investigations, 
 and directs the operation of the sight. 
 
 Now, when we would give an account of the 
 kind of observation, of the nature of the operation, 
 and of its result in the works of art, we are 
 obliged to confess that this governing type of the 
 forms of the human body, this general model pro- 
 posed to imitation, is naught else than a system, 
 or, if it be preferred, a science, the object of 
 which is an acquaintance with the general causes 
 from which the rule of human conformation is 
 derived, the principles of the organization of each 
 member in relation to its end, and the laws of 
 that harmony which is common to all the works 
 of the Creator. 
 
 Such being the elements of the knowledge that 
 forms the rule or type of the imitation of the 
 human body, it must be admitted that they are 
 neither so palpable nor so visible to the eyes of 
 the body only, as is sometimes imagined, when, 
 by an explanation referring too much to matter, 
 the whole is reduced to the action of the external 
 sense. 
 
 In order to explain the term ideal, in the imita- 
 tion of the human body, recourse has very com- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 335 
 
 monly been had to certain modes of procedure 
 which would seem to reduce the operation of the 
 artist to something positive or practical. I trust 
 to be able to show that those explanations are 
 actually nothing more than forms of speech, their 
 effect being to substitute certain definitions, which 
 would seem to be more readily appreciable by the 
 senses, for the almost indefinable action of the 
 understanding and the imagination. (See the fol- 
 lowing Chapter.) 
 
336 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF THE TWO CUSTOMARY PHRASES CHOICE OF FORMS AND 
 
 UNION OF SCATTERED BEAUTIES, AN ANALYSIS OF 
 
 THOSE TWO NOTIONS. 
 
 We have already had occasion to speak of the 
 mistakes that arise in the employment of the word 
 ideal, (see Part II. Chap, v.) more especially 
 when applied to works of art. One of those mis- 
 takes consists in restricting the notion of it to 
 corporeal beauty. The generality of persons com- 
 mit another by considering the ideal as exclusively 
 related to the works of the arts of design and the 
 forms of the human body. Hence certain restric- 
 tive systems tending to explain the ideal style, 
 the operations on which it is dependent, and the 
 effects that result from it, by means apparently 
 subordinate to the senses and by notions of abso- 
 lute, and, in some measure, practical processes. 
 
 The inadequacy of these explanations cannot 
 be better evinced than by showing that the ideal 
 belongs as much to the conceptions of the art of 
 the poet as to the inventions of the arts of design. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 337 
 
 The definition of the operations of which it is the 
 result must then be rendered capable of applica- 
 tion to works wholly dependent on mind as well 
 as to those in which art is exercised on matter or 
 bodies. 
 
 This I have endeavoured to render intelligible 
 in the two preceding chapters, where I have shown 
 that the same effect is produced in both kinds of 
 art, by the same faculty of the mind, by the same 
 act of generalizing. 
 
 All that is requisite to complete the proof is, to 
 show that the two ways above alluded to, of ex- 
 plaining the operation of the ideal, as some are 
 accustomed to conceive and express it with regard 
 to the arts of design, are nothing more than an 
 interpretation of the act of generalizing, or a cir- 
 cumlocutory mode of expressing that intellectual 
 process. If in the sequel I am enabled to prove 
 that the two modes of procedure proposed to be 
 substituted for it are of necessity employed by 
 the poet equally with the painter, it must be ac- 
 knowledged that the operation of the ideal in the 
 imitation of bodies is very far from being subject, 
 as the explanation given of it would lead one to 
 understand, to the power of the senses alone, to 
 the sole action of absolute and physical labour. 
 
 These two modes of procedure by which some 
 have imagined that they could explain in a more 
 sensible, and in some sort, materialized manner, 
 the operation of the ideal in the w'orks of art, 
 
338 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 consist, say they, in the act of choosing on the one 
 hand, and in that of uniting on the other ; and 
 this they term a choice of forms , and union of scat - 
 tered beauties. 
 
 We will now endeavour to give some account 
 of what is meant by these two terms. 
 
 As regards the term choice of forms , it is certain 
 that when all the parts of a figure in the ideal 
 style are duly estimated and it is compared with 
 a figure executed in the style of individual imita- 
 tion, that the notion of chosen forms is sufficiently 
 expressive of the effect of the former. With 
 regard to the latter, however, there evidently can 
 have been no room for the choice spoken of. 
 
 Thus the idea that is given rise to by the ideal 
 style in a figure, is well enough represented by 
 the words choice of forms. This phrase is only a 
 metaphorical way of expressing an act which is 
 far less sensible and material than it is usually 
 thought to be. In fact, what is here called 
 choosing, which would appear as though it were 
 a simple and easy operation, when it comes to be 
 analysed compels us to refer the idea of it to that 
 of comparing, and the act which succeeds it to 
 that of judging. Of a certainty to choose is to 
 judge which among several things is the best or 
 the worst. 
 
 But in order to judge what is the best, it is 
 necessary first of all to possess a knowledge of it. 
 Now, if in order to select the beautiful, it is ne- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 339 
 
 cessary to have already found it, (for to know it 
 is to have found it,) how are we to understand an 
 operation which, in order to choose, that is to 
 judge of, what is the best, requires a previous 
 operation that has already made known to the 
 artist what he is in search of. 
 
 It is evident that this notion when taken in its 
 absolute sense revolves in a circle, because as 
 already stated, (Part II. Chap, vii.) in order to 
 judge, some rule or law is necessary as a point of 
 comparison. Now since to choose is to judge, 
 where, we ask, is the rule by which the artist 
 decides, which among the forms of the human 
 body are good, which the best, and which the 
 worst ? 
 
 We have- already explained, (see Part II. 
 Chapters vi. and x.,) how in ancient times this rule 
 came to be formed, what were the causes that 
 induced its being sought out, and the means that 
 led to its discovery ; we have also shown that this 
 law or rule of judgment in the act of choosing 
 was a knowledge of the principles of the organi- 
 zation of the human body, an acquaintance with 
 the general laws of nature. 
 
 It seems to follow as a result of what we have 
 unfolded in our theoretical and historical disquisi- 
 tions on this subject that the above mentioned 
 choice of forms , whether understood generally or 
 in its partial application to the execution of 
 some stated work, was not formerly, any more 
 
340 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 than it can be now-a-days, the isolated production 
 of a single artist, the result of individual labour. 
 Mere common sense tells us that this choice, by 
 which the means and the effect of the ideal are 
 attempted to be explained, did not depend, in 
 every separate figure, on the chance whether the 
 artist was more or less fortunate in his survey of 
 the models within his reach, nor on that of the 
 judgments he might form in comparing the nu- 
 merous parts required to compose a whole. 
 
 The idea of choice as necessarily belonging to a 
 system, evidently comes within the operation of 
 taste, intellect, and genius, and this operation 
 which is sought to be withdrawn from the moral 
 principle, rejects on the contrary, far more than is 
 believed, all practical explanation, more especially 
 when attempted in particulars. 
 
 What indeed is meant by this choice , which in 
 the habitual practice of the art ought to be the 
 result arrived at by the artist from an actual con- 
 frontation of all descriptions of bodies, and forms 
 and parts of bodies ? 
 
 Is it meant that the artist can neither produce 
 nor even conceive the figure he has to execute, 
 but by actually confronting as many models or 
 individuals as would be necessary, in order that 
 he may be certain that he has found enough from 
 which to complete his choice of excellence in 
 every part and detail ? If we for a moment as- 
 sume it thus, and are willing to allow that such 
 
OP IMITATION. 
 
 341 
 
 only should be the case, it is in good earnest, 
 merely that we may point out how ridiculous 
 would be so diligent a search after models through 
 all time and in all countries, but, more especially, 
 amid our manners and the physical and moral 
 states of society. What a singular idea would be 
 formed of the arts of design and their imitation, 
 if the success of works was made to depend on a 
 fortuitous concurrence of models appropriate to 
 the subject to be treated! 
 
 Is it meant that in this operation of choice , the 
 artist may (as is most frequently the case) be 
 limited to a single model, but on condition that he 
 do not wholly conform to it, that is, by taking only 
 the beautiful parts, and supplying whatever he 
 may find to be less beautiful, or defective. It is 
 clear, by this hypothesis, that as the artist puts 
 such operation in force with but a single indivi- 
 dual in view, he must, therefore, confront the 
 forms of the body before him with those of other 
 bodies that he does not see, and which are called 
 up by his memory or his imagination. Such being 
 the case, the operation of the aforesaid choice 
 ceases to be a materialized and sensible act, and 
 can no longer be termed a real or actual compari- 
 son. It falls necessarily within the sphere of the 
 operation of the understanding, or the imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 In whatever way the act of choosing may be 
 explained, it must always proceed from a know- 
 
342 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 ledge of what constitutes beauty and perfection 
 in the forms of the body. Now this knowledge is, 
 in theory as in practice, the generating principle 
 of the ideal. The idea of choice in its applmation 
 to the imitation of corporeal forms, is, therefore, 
 but a figurative way of expressing the operation, 
 by which the artist renders the knowledge he has 
 acquired in this part of imitation available. This 
 operation is, consequently, allied to the mind 
 yet more than to the senses, which serve it for 
 agents. 
 
 I now come to the other mode of procedure, by 
 which some have pretended to explain the opera- 
 tion of the ideal as dependent on the physical ac- 
 tion of the senses, and which they term the union 
 of scattered beauties. 
 
 Ideal beauty, say they, is the union of beauties of 
 form 'partially distributed over several individuals in 
 nature, but collected together and assembled in a 
 single figure by art. 
 
 Nothing can be more true than this explanation, 
 if it is to be understood as confined within the 
 bounds of an abstract definition. As on the one 
 hand there is neither beauty nor perfection which 
 does not belong in detail to nature, and as it is 
 certain that the artists cannot (without absurdity) 
 be supposed to find any thing beyond nature ; so 
 also on the other, no individual can be found com- 
 pletely beautiful and perfect as relates to art, and 
 if the power of imitation is equal to supply what 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 343 
 
 is wanting to this perfection, it is certain that the 
 resulting work will present an union of beauties 
 no where existent but as shared in different de- 
 grees by all living beings. 
 
 This fact admitted, how did art attain to it? 
 Reason and history alike tell us that no such re- 
 sult could in ancient times have been produced by 
 any particular operation due to the unconnected 
 efforts of bach individual artist. It is evident 
 how impossible it must be that he should have at 
 his disposal the collection of models necessary to 
 attain such a union ; and, moreover, the facts 
 themselves demonstrate that it was the work of 
 time, of experience, of many successive trials, 
 and of an infinity of observations constantly re- 
 ferred for study and combination to a common 
 centre, whence arose that knowledge of the ideal 
 which the Greeks have transmitted down to us. 
 
 In this way we may suppose a recomposition of 
 the forms of the individual, according to the cha- 
 racter of the subject, and in accordance with the 
 laws of nature, to have been brought about in the 
 beautiful works of ancient art, and not an acci- 
 dental union of parts borrowed by this or that 
 artist from several models either chosen or afford- 
 ed by chance. Now an operation of this kind 
 cannot but be the result of system. And every 
 one to this day, without taking account of the 
 direction his mind is pursuing, appropriates this 
 system, as wrought out in its principles, its conse- 
 
344 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 quences, and the examples that illustrate it, and 
 attains more or less nearly to the desired end, ac- 
 cording to the measure of his talent and intellect. 
 
 There are, I grant, certain critics who do not 
 thus understand it. What they term the union of 
 scattered beauties , is in their opinion a very com- 
 mon and purely practical operation, within the 
 reach of every one, and by means of which ideal 
 beauty is attained. According to them this union 
 ought to be explained in its literal and absolute 
 sense. It ought to be a veritable aggregate of de- 
 tached parts, borrowed from different individuals 
 or actual models, one furnishing the beauty that 
 is partially wanting in another. 
 
 On the contrary, it seems to us that it is pre- 
 cisely this way of explaining the thing in a ma- 
 terial light that exposes the error of the explana- 
 tion, by revealing the impossibility entailed in the 
 execution. 
 
 Since the union in question is no longer to be 
 considered as the effect of a theoretical system 
 and as emanating, in the practical use made of it 
 by the artist, from the intellectual faculty, but 
 rather as a positive operation, I ask if it has been 
 well considered whether the putting it into exe- 
 cution is so much as physically possible. 
 
 Supposing that the artist had at his disposal as 
 many chosen models as there are parts in the 
 human body, does any one imagine that he could, 
 by imitating a part of each model, compose one 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 345 
 
 homogeneous figure from their assemblage. Is it 
 at all intelligible how, in case of his proceeding 
 by this system of division, he could attain to that 
 unity of forms, character, and proportion, which 
 is the primary condition of beauty ? How could 
 true harmony be diffused over so numerous a col- 
 lection of discrepancies ? 
 
 Let not what is reported concerning the five 
 models of Zeuxis be here brought forward as an 
 objection.* That story is, perhaps, only an apt 
 
 * We have already taken occasion (Part II. Chap, iv.) to 
 raise some doubts as to the story of the five models, said to 
 have been employed by Zeuxis for the formation of a perfect 
 beauty. There are two things to be considered in this anec- 
 dote, which is differently reported by different authors : the 
 fact in itself, and the theoretical notion attached to it. 
 
 As regards the fact, its reality can be neither proved nor 
 disputed. We frequently find it the case that the same subject 
 is reported in several ways, and this is always more likely to 
 occur when the opinion for which it serves as a ground, is of a 
 nature to be brought forward at all times, and in all places. 
 
 We find the elements both of the fact in question, and of 
 the opinion which might have suggested its narration, in the 
 dialogue where Xenophon introduces Socrates as conversing 
 with the painter Parrhasius (Xenoph. Memorabilia, lib. iv. 
 ch. x.) the painter agreeing that as no single model can be 
 found of completely perfect conformation, when a beautiful 
 figure is desired, it is necessary to unite in one body the most 
 beautiful parts of several. Now Parrhasius and Zeuxis were 
 contemporaries. 
 
 The fact of the five models of Zeuxis is, perhaps, but the 
 doctrine of Parrhasius converted into a fable. I say fable, 
 because nothing is more natural than that a story should be 
 
346 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 allegory of the ideal union which the true theory 
 and practice of art alike inculcate. When Lucian, 
 in order to describe the beauty of Panthea, brings 
 together, in order to compose her portrait, the 
 separate parts that were most vaunted in the 
 Sosandra of Calamis, the Lemnian of Phidias, 
 the Venus of Praxiteles, and in that of Alcamenes, 
 it is only a hyperbolical simile of the author. 
 Devoid of means to make the image of corporeal 
 beauty sensible to the eye, he has recourse to this 
 imaginary assemblage in order to compel the 
 reader to raise within himself the idea of a com- 
 
 founded on any one of the dicta of the schools, in order, by 
 mingling the true with the imaginary, to give consistence to a 
 merely theoretical notion. Thus we find different versions of 
 this story. According to Pliny, the circumstances occurred at 
 Agrigentam, on the picture of Helen which he destined for the 
 temple of Jnno Lacinia- Dionysius of Halicarnassus relates 
 the same fact ; bat according to him it took place at Crotona. 
 Cicero assigns this anecdote to the same city, and enters into 
 some particulars which evince to us what great facilities the 
 Greeks possessed for drawing the parallels so requisite to a 
 knowledge of the ideal in the imitation of the human body. 
 
 The least dubious consequences resulting from these different 
 accounts, are, on the one hand, the doctrine of the imperfection 
 of individual models ; on the other, the theory of the art of 
 generalizing, an operation of the understanding, although the 
 mind in order to render its combined and systematic workings 
 intelligible in language, is compelled to borrow from matter the 
 idea of a union and assemblage of parts, an idea which has tbo 
 often been taken in the sense of absolute reality, and, so taken, 
 may have riven rise to the storv of the five models of Zeuxis. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 347 
 
 plete beauty, by the remembrance of several 
 others particularly beautiful. But Lucian, like 
 the sculptor, (and he had been one in his youth) 
 would have refrained from realizing in any one single 
 figure, that actual union of the beautiful parts of 
 several different statues, which he invites his 
 readers to assort together in a mental composition. 
 
 A whole thus made up of different parts as un- 
 derstood in a matter-of-fact and rigorous sense 
 would be but a mass of discordancies. The 
 beauty of every part of a whole, immeasurably 
 depends on the relations uniting it to that whole, 
 which relations can never be transferred along 
 with the part when separated from its collective 
 whole. It would be very possible to make a most 
 ridiculous figure from a number of beautiful parts 
 taken from as many different figures, even though 
 they were copied with the greatest exactitude. 
 The truth is, that a beautiful figure must be con- 
 ceived, imagined, and composed for itself alone, 
 apart from all others, and this should be done 
 without the aid of any union understood as actual 
 and real. Otherwise it would be but an assem- 
 blage of beautiful fragments. 
 
 When the painter Eupompus said, in answer to 
 the sculptor Lysippus, that the model he ought to 
 follow was the multitude, and that by so doing he 
 might learn to imitate nature, dixisse demonstrata 
 hominum multitudine , naturam ipsam irnitandam esse 
 (Plin. 1. 34.), he certainly did not mean that the 
 
348 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 artist ought to take each individual of the multi- 
 tude as a model for any proposed work, that is, 
 by choosing as many separate persons as his 
 figure has parts (for what limit would there be to 
 the number ?) Eupompus meant, firstly, that the 
 artist should study his art in the works of nature, 
 rather than in those of artists and of his masters; 
 secondly, that he ought, like them, to study na- 
 ture in the greatest possible number of indivi- 
 duals. In fact, the question mooted by Lysippus 
 in the above passage, does not concern any par- 
 ticular figure but, generally, the course of study to 
 be followed. Now we repeat that it was by this 
 kind of study, so easily attainable in Greece, that 
 ideal perfection in art was attained. Eupompus, 
 therefore, revealed to Lysippus the secret, and 
 taught him, in a few words, the means by which 
 to generalize imitation. 
 
 We cannot then admit as really applicable to 
 the practice of imitation any actual union of parts 
 taken, that is, copied, from different individuals in 
 order to compose one figure. It is very true that 
 we see the artist after he has conceived, invented, 
 and determined on, the style, character, form, 
 and entire aspect of a figure, set himself to ob- 
 serve and compare different parts of models, 
 which may appear to him congenial with those of 
 the being he is about to represent, in order to 
 guide him in the details, and in the practical or 
 executive department, of imitation. The artist 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 349 
 
 will undoubtedly make use of several models, but 
 not in imagining his figure ; that already exists, 
 and ought to exist, whole and entire in his imagi- 
 nation ; and thus a choice and union has already in 
 idea been brought about by his mind. Without 
 that, the models he might resort to in order to aid 
 him in his creation, would be fitted only to im- 
 pede his endeavours by their differences. A new 
 proof that the greater part of those operations is 
 wholly intellectual, and rather serves to explain 
 the ways of proceeding in practice, than allows 
 of explanation by them. 
 
 We may go yet farther and ask, what the artist 
 does when, in the execution of what he has con- 
 ceived, he makes use of several models ? Does he 
 copy exactly, does he unite in a faithful imitation 
 the parts he has chosen from each just as they 
 are seen in reality, and so that the originals may 
 be rediscovered in their copies ? Certainly not ; 
 the artist seeks in his models, truths of which the 
 living being is the only source of inspiration, he 
 looks to them for points of detail and form, for 
 relative proportions, and for the impressions of 
 sentiment, motion, harmony, and partial beauties, 
 which he assimilates to the type his imagination 
 has already formed. But he does it by a process 
 that baffles all analysis. Who can say whether 
 he transforms the substance of what he has con- 
 ceived into that of what he sees, or whether the 
 contrary. 
 
350 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 Very frequently both is the case, but the nature 
 of this operation, so difficult to describe in words, 
 is such, that when a work is finished, the artist 
 may frequently point to the models he has made 
 use of without our being able to recognize wherein 
 he has imitated them. So true is this, that were 
 the same models imitated by another, in the same 
 subject figure, the result would afford other forms, 
 other unions of parts, and other effects of tint and 
 colour. This is a consequence of that elaborating 
 process by which every one transforms what he 
 imagines into what he sees, and what he sees into 
 that which he imagines, as, in another order of 
 things, is the case with the physical assimilations 
 proceeding from the natural operation of the 
 digestive organs, and which no theory is fully 
 capable of analyzing. Here in like manner meta- 
 physical analysis is at fault. 
 
 When the artist sees in imagination the figure 
 which it is his wish, though at the same time he 
 despairs of being able, to execute, what does he 
 require in order to realize it as promptly and as 
 completely as it has been created in thought ? 
 What but a means of execution as rapid. Time 
 is, however, of no importance ; what matter 
 though Phidias were years in embodying his ideal 
 of Jupiter ? If he had not from the very first con- 
 ceived it as a whole, if he had not formed it in 
 idea, if he had not seen it velut tonantem, all the 
 so pretended positive ways of proceeding by 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 351 
 
 choice of form and union of beauties , could never 
 have suggested to him its majestic aspect, nor 
 enabled him to execute its sublime composition. 
 
 It is then consistent with truth to say with 
 Cicero, (see Part II. Chap, xii.) that the artist, 
 besides all those means which are as it were the 
 material instruments of imitation, (and among 
 these is the model before his eyes,) ought to have 
 an internal model by which to direct his art and 
 his hand, qui artem manumque dirigat , and to which 
 his mind’s eye turns, quern intuens in eaque dtfxus, 
 in order to realize that ideal perfection which is 
 the end of imitation. 
 
 We have already shown that this internal model, 
 as explained by theoretical analysis, must be the 
 result of observations, comparisons, and combina- 
 tions of every kind, on which the knowledge of 
 the imitation of the human body is founded. But 
 this knowledge, because applied to bodies, was 
 not, in its acquirement, and is not, in its commu- 
 nication, the less subjected to the full action of 
 the understanding. Determined of old by genius, 
 it cannot in this our day be learnt, nor can it 
 produce its effects, but through the rarest faculties 
 of the mind and the most refined sources of senti- 
 ment. 
 
 It is then clear that what is termed a choice of 
 forms and union of beauties when applied to the 
 imitated configuration of the human body, is 
 necessary to the recomposition of the individual 
 
352 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 model as a means for generalizing its form, sub- 
 jected however to the action of the understanding 
 far more than to that of the senses and of practical 
 execution. 
 
 Such being the case, it rests as certain, that 
 these two phrases are, like many others, forms of 
 speech borrowed from sensible objects, the better 
 to render intelligible the operation that generalizes 
 the imitation of the human body, that is, leads 
 from the study of the individual to that of the 
 genus, and from the expression of particular, to 
 the character of universal beauty. 
 
 We have already stated in the beginning of this 
 chapter, that one reason why so absolute a signi- 
 fication as that in which some consider it, should 
 not be given to these two customary phrases in 
 the exercise of the arts of design, is the use that 
 may be and indeed is made of them in applying 
 them to the arts of poetry. If, in fact, the ope- 
 ration of choosing and of uniting belongs equally to 
 the poet as to the painter, with this difference, 
 that the objects which the former has for choice 
 and union exist for the most part in the moral 
 order of things and are accessible only to the 
 mind, this simple parallel will sufficiently prove 
 that the act of choosing and of uniting is an act 
 peculiar to the understanding, and tends also to 
 generalize the subjects of poetical imitation. 
 
 As regards the operation of choosing, there is 
 certainly as much difference between the beings 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 353 
 
 or objects of the moral world, as between those of 
 the world of matter, and, consequently, a like 
 obligation on the poet to draw parallels and com- 
 parisons, without the concurrence of any positive 
 standard or any material process. 
 
 When, for instance, he has to bring upon the 
 stage personages of every condition, age, country, 
 and character, and to make them think, act, and 
 speak, when he has to depict the passions which 
 have been the exciting causes of great events, and 
 to give to each the language accordant with it, 
 can any one believe that there is not also in such 
 imitation abundant room for choice amongst a 
 multitude of moral figures and forms, varying 
 more perhaps from one another than do the confi- 
 gurations of bodies ? 
 
 What actual models, what determinate points 
 of comparison are presented to the tragic author ? 
 What means has he for embracing in their reality, 
 for studying in the play of their machinery, the 
 springs of interest and intrigue, and their admix- 
 ture with the mazes of politics ? Is it necessary 
 that he should have been present at the struggles 
 of the Forum, the debates of councils, the meet- 
 ings of conspirators, in order, amid reality itself, 
 to make choice of the characters, thoughts, mo- 
 tions, and language with which he has to endue 
 his actors ? To argue thus would be preposterous 
 indeed. 
 
 Whence then is the poet to make choice of his 
 
 A A 
 
354 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 models ? From the study he has prosecuted into 
 the human heart, from the observations he has col- 
 lected on the causes and effects of the passions, 
 from reflection on the consequences that expe- 
 rience teaches him to draw from events such as 
 history, ancient or cotemporary, lays open; finally, 
 from the very works in which this branch of imi- 
 tation has been put in practice with a due em- 
 ployment of the art of generalizing. 
 
 The same is the case with that other ideal ope- 
 ration which is equally designated in poetical 
 imitation by the word union. 
 
 The poet brings together in his personages, and 
 combines into one whole, the traits relating to the 
 character of the passion, vice, or folly he is de- 
 sirous of expressing. But are we to suppose that 
 each separate trait is borrowed from some actual 
 being either ancient or modern, from some real 
 or historical fact ? Mav not other actions be attri- 
 buted to Achilles, Agamemnon, or Ulysses, than 
 such as are related of them in well-grounded 
 tradition, or taken from the history of other real 
 warriors? In the subjects of comedy, as the 
 jealous man, the hypocrite, the gambler, is it 
 merely requisite that they should consist of a 
 jumble of ludicrous details, selected and brought 
 together by the poet, but from circumstances of 
 notoriety that may serve to guarantee their authen- 
 ticity ? How then, it will be asked, is the poet 
 to proceed in bringing about this union ? In the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 355 
 
 same manner as that employed by the artist in 
 the composition of his figure ? 
 
 He studies not this or that individual of the 
 society in which he lives, but the dispositions, the 
 habits, and manners of society in general, human 
 frailties, their first causes, and their effects. Duly 
 qualified by such studies and his own reflections, 
 he traces the picture of human life, less after the 
 portraits of some individuals, than the original 
 character of man. The imitation of man , in this 
 wise, belongs to all time and to all countries. 
 And while we see the ephemeral images of some 
 particular person, some temporary custom, or 
 some passing folly, disappear from the scene, the 
 paintings of which we speak never become old, 
 because they are in true accordance with nature. 
 
 We will not follow out any further on this 
 point, the parallel between the arts of poetry and 
 of design. It is sufficient to have hinted at this 
 uniformity in order to be convinced that as regards 
 the fine arts, to choose and to unite , far from con- 
 veying the idea of a wholly practical operation 
 brought to bear after a material manner on objects, 
 carry with them, on the contrary, the idea of an 
 act of the understanding which admits but of a 
 metaphysical elucidation. 
 
 This is even yet more true, whatever may be 
 said to the contrary, of the act of uniting, al- 
 though it may appear to be more intimately de- 
 pendent on the senses. 
 
 a a 2 
 
356 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 In considering the beautiful works of the an- 
 cients, in which the ideal style is so predominant, 
 we become convinced, not only that they are not 
 the isolated imitations of any individual in parti- 
 cular, but they prove to us that neither are they 
 the material and collective imitations of parts 
 absolutely borrowed from several individuals. An 
 artist copying with strict reality, and so composing 
 a figure formed from the dismemberment of several 
 actual models, would in no wise produce a gene- 
 ralized imitation, but would only make a collection 
 of individualities. 
 
 In fine, have those who imagine that they can 
 explain ideal imitation in the arts of design by the 
 notion of an absolute union of individual parts, 
 previously chosen and faithfully expressed, have 
 they seen the full extent of their theory ? Have 
 they taken account of the parts which would 
 require to be chosen , with due relation to the style 
 of the figure, and which must afterwards be 
 united ? The number of the parts of the human 
 body, as already mentioned, are, so to speak, 
 infinite. Every principal part is composed of 
 lesser parts, which again include others still less ; 
 so that it is impossible to see where, in this 
 operation, taken in its absolute and practical 
 sense, the act of choosing and uniting would termi- 
 nate. 
 
 We come then to the conclusion that the ideal 
 in imitation consists especially in that the works 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 357 
 
 wherein it resides are not, and cannot be, either 
 the expression of any individual, of any object in 
 particular, nor the union, positively understood, of 
 parts of different objects or individuals. 
 
 And, again, that the notions of a choice and union 
 are truly abstract, that the words expressive of 
 them are but figurative expressions of an operation 
 of the understanding, which in this, as in all other 
 cases, necessarily employs the intervention of the 
 senses. 
 
 Hence too, the error in straining the explanation 
 either one way or the other. For, as it would be 
 absurd to maintain that the senses go for nothing 
 in estimating the relations and drawing the paral- 
 lels requisite to the act of generalizing, so it would 
 be unreasonable to deny the agency of the intel- 
 lectual and moral faculties, admitting no other 
 agents than the senses and no other combinations 
 than those of a material and physical order. 
 
358 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF THE ACT OF TRANSFORMING OR TRANSPOSING CONSIDERED 
 AS A MEANS OF IDEAL IMITATION, BOTH IN THE INVENTIONS 
 OF POETRY AND THE FORMS OF ITS LANGUAGE. 
 
 It has been seen that in order to withdraw the 
 objects and subjects that imitation has to do with, 
 from the region of vulgar realities, and to elevate 
 them into those of the ideal, the poet and the 
 artist are alike under the obligation of recomposing 
 them. (See Chap, iii.) 
 
 We have shown that the first means for bringing 
 about this recomposition is the exchanging the 
 particular form and existence of things for a gene- 
 ralized form and existence, and also that the 
 accustomed phrases by which the artist’s manner 
 of proceeding in order to attain the ideal are pre- 
 tended to be defined, are merely figurative ex- 
 pressions purporting to explain, in a more sensible 
 manner, the generalizing operation of the under- 
 standing. 
 
 In taking account of the act of generalizing, 
 understood as a means adapted for recomposing 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 359 
 
 the objects and subjects of imitation, one cannot 
 but perceive that this act is intimately linked in 
 with that of transforming or transposing. There 
 is nevertheless a very essential difference between 
 them. In truth, though whatever is generalized 
 undergoes a sort of transformation, yet all that is 
 transformed, is not therefore necessarily gene- 
 ralized ; for, the form of an object may also be 
 changed by passing from the order of general 
 images or ideas, to that of particular images or 
 ideas. 
 
 Moreover, the act of generalizing seems to be 
 applicable solely to that which constitutes the 
 very nature of beings, the essence of things, the 
 character of persons ; in short, to that which changes 
 or modifies them in their individuality ; while the 
 act of transforming or transposing embraces, in 
 the operations of the artist who aspires to the 
 ideal, both a greater diversity of points of view 
 and a much greater number of relations. Such, 
 for instance, are all those changes that belong to 
 the composition of subjects, resulting from the 
 accessaries that are conjoined with their per- 
 sonages by associating with them fictious or alle- 
 gorical beings, and all those imaginative combina- 
 tions whose effect doubtless contributes to gene- 
 ralize the objects of imitation, though by modes 
 of proceeding wholly distinct, and which it is for 
 theoretical analysis to develope separately. 
 
 This second means of recomposition , which may 
 
360 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 be termed metaphorical , will give us occasion to 
 pass in review a much greater number of critical 
 observations, and customary modes of procedure, 
 and those of a much less abstract nature. 
 
 We may premise that poetry is nothing more 
 than the art of transforming all objects by the 
 manner in which they are represented, of trans- 
 forming the ideas attached to those objects and 
 even the elements of the language which expresses 
 those ideas. Poetry , in the sense of its etymology, 
 is synonymous with jiction, and fiction is at bottom 
 but a means of transposition. For as man is in- 
 capable of creating otherwise than by effecting 
 new combinations, one cannot under any form of 
 composition whatever, bring two things together 
 which were previously not so, without transferring 
 the one or the other and sometimes both. 
 
 The creations that belong to the epic poem 
 consist almost always in the transpositions which 
 the poet makes of his personages, their circum- 
 stances, and their actions. The marvellous belongs 
 properly to this kind of poetry, the most essen- 
 tially metaphorical of all, because it is the most 
 powerful and most active engine for effecting 
 those transpositions which the subject of the poem 
 must undergo. 
 
 As the action of such subject is diverted into a 
 channel altogether different from that of human 
 affairs in their ordinary course by the intervention 
 of supernatural powers, it is absolutely necessary 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 361 
 
 that the real or historical beings placed in another 
 sphere of existence and in relation with imagi- 
 nary or superhuman beings, should themselves be 
 more or less transformed and that they should 
 exchange the qualities of their ordinary condition, 
 for those of a more exalted nature. 
 
 Was the employment of the marvellous by the 
 ancients the cause or the effect of an ideal system 
 of poetry ? The same question may be asked 
 concerning the style of the figures of their gods. 
 But whatever may be the answer given, we know 
 that the imitation of the forms of the body is 
 found to accord with the want of representing 
 their divinities under corporeal forms. In like 
 manner the custom of making the gods act with 
 mortals in their epic inventions must have ren- 
 dered some agreement necessary in the qualities 
 common to both. They transferred to the human 
 personages a part of the characteristic strength 
 and size, which they attributed to the inhabitants 
 of Olympus. Hence that poetical exaggeration 
 the impression of which he experienced who, 
 reading Homer, regarded his heroes as having the 
 dimensions of giants. This effect was the result 
 of that convention, by virtue of which, the poet is 
 bound to elevate the idea of his personages into a 
 higher region than that of the ordinary state of 
 human things. 
 
 The act of transforming and transposing persons 
 and actions, more or less, is so appropriate to 
 
362 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 poetry and so plainly establishes the nature of its 
 imitative means, that through it may best be ex- 
 plained the necessity the poet experiences of 
 choosing subjects that are rendered obscure by 
 remote time and place. 
 
 Those who feel surprised that poems are not 
 composed on contemporary events, forget that 
 poetry is an art and that all art is fiction. When 
 it is allowed that every subject may be rendered 
 poetical, it is at the same understood that every 
 subject is capable of undergoing some transforma- 
 tion. The versification does not make the poem, 
 and a history, because written in verse, is not the 
 less what it was already. Now it must be con- 
 fessed that in this case reality opposes a moral 
 obstacle to the employment of fiction ; viz. the 
 reality of facts which one has been witness to, of 
 persons with whom one is immediately acquainted. 
 As the historical truth required of the poet is only 
 conventional, so he in return requires only a con- 
 ventional belief. But is it not reasonable to sup- 
 pose that a thorough knowledge of the circum- 
 stances may counteract this compact on our parts ? 
 How can we yield to a belief the contrary of what 
 we know and see ? 
 
 On this account poets for a long time abstained 
 from presenting on the stage events of modern 
 history, and Racine besought that the contempo- 
 raneous subject of his tragedy of Bajazet might 
 be excused on the score of remoteness of place. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 303 
 
 One can only dispute the justness of this taste 
 by denying the constituent principles of poetical 
 artifice. The taste for modern historical pieces 
 and contemporary subjects evidently has its source 
 in the error of which we have so often spoken, 
 which tends to confound imitation with identity, 
 to require reality in the image, and to exchange 
 the intellectual pleasure of the mind, for the 
 material enjoyment of the senses. To the same 
 prejudice may be attributed the custom that is 
 at the same time become so prevalent in painting, 
 of choosing subjects of every-day occurrence and 
 from low life, and treating them in the spirit of 
 exact portraiture, consequently in direct opposition 
 to that of the ideal. 
 
 Thus we see that in both arts alike the more 
 the power of the imagination and with it the 
 action of moral pleasure is enfeebled, the more 
 does the artist find that he is obliged to confine 
 himself to positive and material truth, which dis- 
 penses with mind, alike to enjoy and to invent. 
 
 What means of transformation, as regards per- 
 sons, or of transposition, as regards place, can the 
 artist and the poet employ in representing sub- 
 jects which by their reality repel the means of 
 fiction, or denude them of every charm in their 
 employment ? It is not that we would deny the 
 physical possibility of such employment. Too 
 many examples teach us how easy it is to mingle 
 in an injudicious manner, the elements of fiction 
 
364 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 or allegory, with those of historical reality, of 
 which abuse we shall treat hereafter. We would 
 here speak of possibility only under the moral 
 relations of fitness and taste. The same observa- 
 tions apply to poetry. What has modern genius 
 not attempted by alliances of this description, 
 tending to introduce either the style of reality, 
 that is, prose,* into inventions the most fictious, 
 or the grandeur of the most ideal style into sub- 
 jects the most vulgar in conception, f as though 
 with a view to degrade the epic, one while in the 
 form of its language, another by the nature of its 
 subject ? 
 
 It must be allowed that the poet, in treating 
 the subjects of contemporary history, not only 
 does resort, but is obliged to resort, to such ill 
 combined associations. Nor is this the least evil 
 arising from such kind of subjects ; and nothing- 
 more plainly evinces the unfitness of them, than 
 that necessity for startling anachronisms belieing 
 what every one knows, which arise out of the 
 employment of the feigned personages and facts 
 substituted by the author for the true facts and 
 persons. 
 
 All these errors are but fresh proofs of what 
 has been advanced, namely, that dramatic art 
 exists by fiction, and that this fiction is grounded 
 
 * Telemaque par Fenelon. 
 
 t The poem of Hermann and Dorothea, by Gothe. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 365 
 
 on transformation and transposition. (See Chap- 
 ters iii. and iv.) 
 
 The poet will in vain use the right of transform- 
 ing personages and transposing events, the mate- 
 rials of his subject, within the bounds of a more 
 or less ideal world, if, limiting his power to that 
 and neglecting the conditions of the privilege 
 accorded to him, he himself establish between the 
 ground- work and the requisite form of his inven- 
 tion, that is, style, a discordance tending to belie 
 the spirit of this system. 
 
 A conception, the effect of which is to exalt in 
 our minds the nature and existence of the per- 
 sonages, would present, if found to be contra- 
 dicted by mean and ordinary language, the same 
 kind of incongruity as that which in parody gives 
 rise to the ridiculous, owing to the burlesque 
 union of two contraries. This error, it must be 
 confessed, is more rare in the works of poetry 
 than in those of the arts of design, in which, as we 
 shall hereafter have occasion to note, (see Chapters 
 vii. and xiii.,) a wrong idea respecting a commu- 
 nity of means between the poet and the painter, 
 produces frequent discrepancies between the in- 
 vention and its execution. 
 
 In poetry the transposition adopted in the gene- 
 ral conception of the work is apt to induce, as a 
 necessary consequence, the kind of transposition 
 or transformation that the style ought to undergo, 
 the word style being taken in that acceptation of 
 
366 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 it which comprehends the choice of ideas, the 
 employment of words, and the disposal of sen- 
 tences. 
 
 Mere language is already of itself almost wholly 
 composed of figures ; one cannot express oneself 
 without employing them, and moreover the word 
 figure is itself a figurative or metaphorical expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Now poetry is but an assemblage of all sorts of 
 figures, among which may be distinguished those 
 of words, of diction, and of thought. These are 
 the principal means of transposition offered to the 
 choice of the poet, to accommodate his style to 
 the nature of his conception. The figurative style, 
 so called because it rests on the habitual employ- 
 ment of every figure, is that most befitting the 
 ideal order of subjects. 
 
 We do not pretend to enter here into the infi- 
 nite detail of the tropes of the poetic style, and 
 of what they consist in. The purpose of this 
 chapter has been to set forth what are the means 
 that the poet has at command to recompose his 
 subjects after the manner of the ideal, and that 
 those means of recomposition, as well with regard 
 to its matter as its form, are to be found in the 
 art of transforming or transposing. Whence it 
 follows that they may almost all be referred to the 
 general idea of metaphor. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 367 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ON THE EMPLOYMENT OF METAPHORICAL MEANS, DIFFERENT 
 
 ACCORDING AS THE ART DIFFERS. OF THE ERRORS THAT 
 
 EXIST ON THIS HEAD, MORE ESPECIALLY IN THE ARTS OF 
 DESIGN. 
 
 The act of transforming or transposing is certainly 
 common to all the arts, and is, in all, a means of 
 attaining to the ideal, their common end. But the 
 springs of this act, that is, the means of producing 
 it, differ in one art from another according to the 
 particular nature of each. For want of a due 
 regard to this difference of nature, and conse- 
 quently of means, numerous errors are continu- 
 ally committed, more especially in painting or 
 the arts of design. It will be sufficient to point 
 out, in a few critical remarks, the source of this 
 confusion. 
 
 Let us select, for instance, those of most ordi- 
 nary occurrence amongst the figures of the poeti- 
 cal style, such as metaphor, simile, and hyper- 
 bole. Why does the poet use them so frequently? 
 Because not having at command the visible means 
 
368 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 belonging to painting, he is compelled, in order 
 to render the qualities of objects intelligible to 
 the senses, to have recourse to a substitute com- 
 mensurate in value to the material of which he 
 is deficient. 
 
 Thus metaphor, by which the idea of the 
 physical and sensible object is substituted for 
 that of the moral or abstract being, serves in 
 poetry as a kind of painting, which is addressed 
 to the eye of the imagination, and seems to endow 
 with corporeity things the most incorporeal. 
 
 Poetry cannot display before our sight the 
 angry man, and he is, therefore, described as 
 with lightning flashing from his eyes. It cannot 
 dazzle us with the brilliancy and whiteness of a 
 beautiful complexion, and, therefore, it unites the 
 lily and the rose on a beauteous cheek. Since 
 it is inadequate to represent visibly the terrified 
 man taking to flight, it gives wings to his feet. 
 
 The power of metaphor proceeds in a great de- 
 gree from the effect of simile, which is to a certain 
 extent inseparable from it. Simile possesses the 
 property of enabling us to comprehend the quali- 
 ties of a less known and less sensible object, by 
 leading the mind to the perception of the more 
 sensible qualities of a more familiar object. 
 
 Hence, the reason that similes are usuallv taken 
 from the physical world, when applied to intellec- 
 tual things, and still more frequently from amongst 
 the commonest objects within the reach of the 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 369 
 
 generality of persons. Courage is likened to the 
 lion, prudence to the serpent, and meekness to 
 the lamb. The passions of the heart are whirl- 
 winds ; mental attainments are luminaries, anger 
 is an ebullition, discord is armed with torches, the 
 chief of a state is a pilot, kings are termed the pas- 
 tors of man, &c. 
 
 In describing material objects, and more es- 
 pecially those whose worth consists in their mag- 
 nitude, poetry is insufficient to trace out their di- 
 mensions ; then it is that the poet finds himself 
 obliged to resort to exaggeration or hyperbole. 
 As the image of the painter reaches the imagina- 
 tion through the senses, so that of the poet affects 
 the senses only through the imagination ; it is, 
 therefore, necessary so to excite it that it may rise 
 to a level with the object. Hence, the similes 
 derived from the oak, from mountains, the ocean, 
 the sun, and from storms. But it is evident 
 that it is from necessity, and not from choice 
 that the poet has recourse to the means afforded 
 by metaphorical hyperbole. 
 
 In the arts of design, in their turn, the same 
 obligation is experienced, and the same need to 
 recur to the use of metaphor in order to the de- 
 velopment of ideas ; we shall in the sequel (see 
 Chapters xi. and xiv.) treat of the means avail- 
 able to that end. The question at present in hand 
 is to show that poetical figures cannot for the 
 most part be employed in them, or at least not in 
 
 B B 
 
370 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 the same manner and on the same subjects as in 
 poetry, because the virtue of metaphors depends 
 on the language peculiar to each art. 
 
 Those, for instance, which in poetry are intend- 
 ed to render things sensible to the mind which 
 language is inadequate to present to the eye, are 
 no longer metaphors, but merely twofold applica- 
 tions in the images of an art which possesses the 
 property of representing bodies, and the appear- 
 ance of motion. Why give wings to the man that 
 I see running and hastening towards that vessel 
 whose sails are already set ? Why snakes on the 
 head that is already expressive of envy? Painting 
 is adequate to represent the positive and visible 
 qualities of objects without any explanatory allu- 
 sion. What need to superadd to the thing which 
 is of itself visible that which is employed to sup- 
 ply the place of visibility where it is absent ? 
 Why explain what is intelligible in itself, more es- 
 pecially when the explanation is less clear than 
 the thing it explains ? 
 
 When the poet in order to impress on the ima- 
 gination the delightful sensations occasioned by a 
 beautiful morning, moist with dew, likens its effect 
 to that of a youthful beauty adorned with flowers 
 whose rosy fingers drop pearls ; when vice versa 
 the awakening of beauty is compared to the 
 charms of Aurora and the freshness of a beautiful 
 morning, we perceive that each of these transpo- 
 sitions supplies to the poet the place of the colours 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 371 
 
 that are wanting to him. Thus we commend all 
 those similes borrowed from one order of things in 
 favour of another as so many substitutes for the 
 co-operation of sight ; and we approve of that 
 stanza of Ariosto* in which the modest virgin, 
 and the morning rose, mutually exchange their 
 bashful demeanour and unexpanded leaves. 
 
 But in a picture of sunrise, or of a landscape 
 in which the artist disputes, as it were, with na- 
 ture the charm of colour, the effect of the coming 
 dawn and the freshness of the dew, what more 
 would the figure of a young damsel scattering 
 pearls from her hands do, what more could it 
 say ? Such a figure would be only an emblem of 
 a beautiful morn. But of what good would the 
 emblem be when the thing typified is before us ? f 
 The most customary defect in the images or 
 
 * The stanza here alluded to is, I believe, xi. canto x. — 
 Translator. 
 
 La damigella non passava ancora 
 Quattordici anni ; ed era bella e fresca, 
 
 Come rosa che spunti allora allora 
 Fuor della buccia, e col Sol nuovo cresca. 
 f Let it not be said that Poussin has so done. The subject of 
 the picture in which he has introduced Aurora as sowing pearls 
 before the sun’s chariot, is wholly allegorical. The object of the 
 landscape is not to represent the effect of a sun-rise. The picture 
 betokens the shortness of life’s career. Every thing therein is 
 emblematical ; Aurora, the Sun, and the last Hours already 
 enveloped in the shades of night, are only symbols telling that 
 life is but a day. 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 transpositions borrowed from the poet in the pic- 
 tures of the painter is an inevitable incongruity, 
 perplexing to the eye and the reason, between the 
 object represented as real, and what ought to be 
 only its locum tenens. Since the painter has at 
 command bodies only with which to express un- 
 embodied beings, it is clear that the object which 
 in poetry might be metaphorical, would cease to 
 be so when invested by painting with a figure 
 visible and real to the eye. 
 
 The poet enjoys an especial privilege in the 
 employment of his metaphorical figures ; for he is 
 in no wise bound to endow any of the beings that 
 he transforms or transposes, either with real di- 
 mensions or determinate proportions. What is 
 the stature of the heroes of Homer, what that of 
 his gods or of the allegorical personages that are 
 introduced in his pictures ? The poet may asso- 
 ciate, may connect all things, because the rela- 
 tions of his combinations admit not of compass or 
 scale of proportions. As with him the sun is a 
 giant running his course, so the eyes of his fair 
 one are so many suns. He unites every extreme. 
 To him nothing is impossible, nothing immeasur- 
 able, because to him there is neither space nor di- 
 mension. 
 
 On the contrary, if the painter seeks to appro- ' 
 priate metaphors of a similar nature, the limits of 
 space and matter within which he is bound to 
 confine them give the lie to his attempts. He is 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 373 
 
 amenable to the laws of proportion and optics, 
 which allow of no deviation or irregularity. The 
 poetical image vanishes on the mere appearance 
 of reality in the bodies. Thus metaphor exists 
 no longer when it has become visible, and, when 
 once embodied, disappears. 
 
 When Anacreon compares love to a bee, making 
 it hover round a rose, and then lulling it to sleep 
 on its bosom, a thousand fleeting ideas teeming 
 with tender associations mingle with the poet’s 
 image ; for thus withheld from absolute sight, in 
 how many ways may we not view it ? A painter 
 borrows this subject from poetry, and sets before 
 our eyes a little child fallen asleep in a rose blos- 
 som. I leave my readers to judge how fantasti- 
 cal a combination it would seem, and what incon- 
 gruity such appearance of reality would present. 
 The poet, it will be said, has finely imagined it. 
 Undoubtedly, I reply, his love may nestle in the 
 calix of a flower, as well as in the smile or the 
 eyes of his fair one ; and for this reason, that the 
 rose of Anacreon is not a plant, nor has his love 
 a corporeal shape. * * 
 
 Even the commonest discourse, as already re- 
 marked in the preceding chapter, is composed of 
 a number of figurative or metaphorical phrases. 
 All language derives its efficiency from the faculty 
 of transposition, that is, from a mutual interchange 
 between the images of the material, and the ideas 
 of the intellectual world ; and it is perverting the 
 
374 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 art of design to realize in it the abstractions that 
 belong to that of language. The error of em- 
 bodying in reality to the eye, what language has 
 addressed only to the imagination, is sometimes 
 sufficient to mar the most beautiful compositions. 
 
 The fine picture of Coriolanus by Poussin will 
 afford an instance. 
 
 When Veturia, according to Titus Livius, in 
 order to move the enraged general to compassion, 
 personifies the city of Rome, and represents her 
 as in mourning and in tears, the image of the 
 personified city is depicted to the imagination 
 with vast proportions, or at least with arbitrary 
 dimensions. What is the painter to do who bor- 
 rows this subject ? What stature ought he to in- 
 vest her with ? Poussin has, I think, done best by 
 giving to his figure of Rome the same proportions 
 as those of the other personages. But she is thus 
 only a female on a par with all the rest. The 
 metaphor has lost its effect, because the image 
 has found a measure. The poetical genius of 
 painting would, perhaps, require that the compo- 
 sition should in this case be confined within the 
 limits of the historical form of composition. 
 
 What gives rise in part to the charm and the 
 power of the metaphor of the poet is, that whereas 
 it is a fiction of the imagination, it acquires no 
 consistency excepting what it receives from the 
 fancy of the reader or hearer. No one can sup- 
 pose that these figures are to be taken strictly to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 375 
 
 the lettef, and we are in fact more struck with 
 what they ought to make known than with what 
 they do, with what they are intended than with 
 what they really do convey. 
 
 When the genius of death is said to pour out 
 the waters of contagion on a desolate city, when 
 adversity hurls her last shaft at her victim, or 
 presents the cup of grief to the dying man, when 
 the arbiter of mankind is represented as between 
 two urns from which he draws good and evil, 
 nothing positive fixes the mind on determinate 
 forms, on a type the reality of which diverts it 
 from the thing typified : nor is precision required 
 in any similar relations. 
 
 When in metaphorical language, instead of a 
 personage dying or being represented to us as 
 dead, the act of going down or of having gone 
 down to the tomb, is substituted for a common 
 idea or a motionless image, no precise form is 
 given to the personage, no existence either to the 
 action or place ; there is nothing definite in the 
 image, which remains under the veil, and in the 
 indeterminate vagueness of a general expression. 
 A mere change of article before the word tomb 
 would, by particularizing the figure of speech, 
 render it null or ridiculous. It needs but to say, 
 go down into a tomb. Just in this manner is the 
 work of the artist ridiculous, who, being com- 
 pelled by the material of his art to particularize 
 the same image, has shown us in very reality his 
 
376 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 personage going down some steps that terminate 
 in a sarcophagus.* Here the poetry of the image 
 has vanished with the idea that rendered it gene- 
 ral. What ought to be taken in a figurative sense 
 necessarily reverts to a simple one. The imma- 
 terial is become material, and the sculptor has 
 unsuspectingly reconverted into prose, the image 
 he believed he had purloined from poetry. 
 
 In order to evince how frequently such kinds 
 of mistakes occur in the arts of design it is but 
 necessary to call attention here to the numerous 
 monuments in the composition of which the artist, 
 borrowing from the poet and the orator those 
 metaphors in which death is presented under 
 every sort of idea from the terrible to the pathetic, 
 those prosopopeias in which the dead are awakened 
 and brought forth from the tomb, and a great 
 variety of figures of speech which personify death 
 or its destroying power, has allowed himself to 
 set before us hideous allegories which, while 
 shocking the senses, have by their reality dis- 
 pelled the charm that attached to those images 
 and have closed the way to the heart and the 
 imagination. 
 
 I have already remarked, (see Part I. Chap, ix.) 
 on the ill advised desire of being otherwise than 
 is necessary a poet in painting, and a painter in 
 poetry. The spirit of this criticism would how- 
 
 * The monument to Marshal Saxe at Strasbourg. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 377 
 
 ever be misunderstood if it were supposed that 
 this meant that there is no poetry in painting, and 
 that poetry has not its pictures. Every art un- 
 doubtedly has its means of transposition or meta- 
 phor, but in each they should be derived only 
 from the nature of the language that belongs to it. 
 The arts are like so many different dialects each 
 with its own particular genius. We know that 
 what, according to the spirit of one language is 
 poetical, very frequently loses this virtue and 
 becomes prosaical and oftentimes ridiculous, 
 when transferred word for word into another. 
 The case is the same between one art and another 
 when the artist undertakes the literal translation 
 of images, transferring them to a station not their 
 own, and yet investing them with the very same 
 garb, which only serves to render them still more 
 alien. 
 
378 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 (ft 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 OF THE ACT OF TRANSFORMING AND TRANSPOSING CONSIDERED 
 AS A MEAN OF IDEAL IMITATION IN THE ARTS OF DESIGN. 
 
 What has been said above does not in any wise 
 tend to take from the arts of design their faculty 
 of metaphor, to deprive them of the act of trans- 
 forming or transposing, a privilege of poetical 
 genius, a powerful means of ideal imitation, and a 
 resource common alike to all the arts. 
 
 On the contrary I propose to show that the 
 arts of design are entitled to a much more exten- 
 sive range of metaphor than is usually assigned 
 them ; and we have already seen (Chap, v.) that 
 however much the act of generalizing may equally 
 belong to them, that yet it does not produce its 
 full effect except when linked with that which 
 transforms or transposes persons, facts, and things 
 of whatever nature. 
 
 It is not against the use of metaphor in the arts 
 of design that I have argued in the preceding 
 chapter, but only against the employment of cer- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 379 
 
 tain metaphorical means which are not adapted to 
 them ; it is not against the propriety of changing 
 the appearance of things, but of pretending to 
 bring about that effect by modes of procedure 
 which make no change, or, if so, only to a wrong- 
 purport. 
 
 1 now propose to contend against the prejudices 
 of those who, referring every thing to matter in 
 the imitation of bodies, look upon every change of 
 appearance wrought in the subjects or objects 
 which the metaphorical system of art is fitted to 
 deal with and modify, as a violation of truth. 
 
 This averseness to metaphor in the arts of de- 
 sign is both very common and very widely diffused. 
 It is supposed that because the imitation belonging 
 to them is employed about corporeal forms, that 
 it ought therefore to be confined within the limits 
 of material reality. Living in continual asso- 
 ciation with all that constitutes the physical 
 models of these arts, persons become familiarized 
 with a state of being and a manner of viewing it 
 that is closely allied to instinctive habits, and 
 would allow of no imitation but that directly 
 addressed to instinctive perception. Thus the 
 generality refuse to acknowledge as fitting or 
 allowable, any change in the images of persons or 
 subjects, which is due to metaphor in the ideal 
 style of design, to the transpositions of allegory 
 or to the conventions on which are founded the 
 different styles of composition that are so many 
 means of ideal imitation. 
 
380 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 Be it also remembered that it is in a still more 
 absolute manner maintained, that no metaphorical 
 change should be wrought on subjects appertain- 
 ing to the class of recent or modern facts, of per- 
 sonages either cotemporary or invested with well 
 known pre-eminence, in short, of all things to 
 which a knowledge of their reality is attached. 
 
 Those who, on the one hand, evince the greatest 
 obstinacy in this view of the question, approve, on 
 the other, or at least consent, that the same men, 
 the same facts, the same things should change 
 their forms in the hands of the writer, should 
 appear under other aspects, be invested with 
 other colouring, and be allied with supernatural 
 and imaginary beings. 
 
 The fact is that in the art of writing every body 
 acknowledges two very distinct degrees of style 
 and composition which, hallowed by custom, pass 
 under the names of plain or prosaic and figurative 
 or poetical according as the writer by the method 
 in which he treats his subject, designs it chiefly 
 either to satisfy the reason or flatter the imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 When therefore the same freedom is refused to 
 the arts of design, it is owing to a neglect of the 
 twofold property they also possess of being exer- 
 cised with regard to the subjects of their imitation, 
 at one time, in a prosaic, at another in a poetical 
 style, more or less directly in relation, the one 
 with the senses, the other with the mind. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 381 
 
 This prejudice has its source (as already re- 
 marked) in the false idea, formed by the gene- 
 rality, of the kind of truth belonging to imitation, 
 which they confound with that which is proper to 
 reality. They forget that every art is more or 
 less fiction and that all fiction consists in ex- 
 changing reality for some semblance. They for- 
 get that the model of the arts of design does not 
 the less, because material, afford the most diver- 
 sified aspects to the mind’s eye as well as to that 
 of the body, and that its materiality may always 
 be converted by the genius of metaphor into a 
 vehicle for the highest conceptions of the under- 
 standing. And in fact such changes do not in 
 any wise alter the truth. The artist does but 
 exchange one kind of truth for another. Since 
 in the subject the point of view is transposed, it 
 cannot be rendered in conformity with truth 
 unless that be likewise transformed. 
 
 In this consists the main secret of our theory, 
 and it is applicable alike to the arts of design and 
 to those of poetry. 
 
 In the fictions of the poet, which are nothing- 
 more than realities transformed, there is truth, 
 but it is truth transposed from one order of things 
 to another. It is the same with the artist. When 
 he brings about the transformations his subject 
 requires, we still find in it truth, but we must 
 place ourselves in the same point of view in which 
 it is presented to us. That is to say, we must 
 
382 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 view such subjects with the eye, and judge them 
 in the spirit, that metaphor requires, after the 
 same manner, in short, that we should judge the 
 works of the poet. 
 
 Every one is agreed that, for instance, scenic 
 imitation rests on a more or less palpable exchange 
 of the real truth of facts and personages for the 
 fictious truth of their image, (see Part I. Chap, x., 
 and Part II. Chapters viii. and ix.,) and that the 
 poet could not become the faithful copyist of the 
 former without being wanting in what is due to 
 his art ; it is also allowed that truth, not. that 
 which adheres closely to the text of history, but 
 which is the spirit of it, does not the less exist 
 upon the stage because the poet has been capable 
 of grasping it elsewhere than in detailed reality, 
 and has by the force of his genius transformed it 
 in order to bring it within the scope of his epic or 
 dramatic action. 
 
 Undoubtedly he pursues a proper course when 
 he confines himself to describing, through the 
 virtue of abstract metaphor, now the effects of 
 political events by their causes, and the result of 
 actions by the passions that moved them, and 
 now, on the other hand, setting forth by some 
 convulsion or memorable event the train of secret 
 motives and multifarious agents that were the 
 authors of it. Far then from accusing him of 
 having falsified truth by this change of features, we 
 should commend him for having advanced it to a 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 383 
 
 higher degree of splendour. Thus does Polyeucte * * * § 
 present us with the truest picture of the establish- 
 ment of Christianity, though all the facts of the 
 piece are feigned. And thus though differing from 
 the historian in the detail of the facts may the 
 author of Britannicust be accounted as truthful, 
 in his form of composition, as Tacitus in his. 
 
 It may in like manner happen that a poem with 
 its fictions, or perhaps by its fictions, will afford 
 a clearer idea of certain events, a more striking 
 resemblance of certain personages, that it will 
 better depict the spirit of some particular period, 
 or the physiognomy of some man, than could the 
 most scrupulously detailed chronicle. The Hen- 
 riade, for instance, might contain as great an 
 amount of truths, as to worth, as the Journal de 
 rEtoile ; J and the poem of Tasso as the history 
 of Guillaume de Tyr. § 
 
 All this merely means that there are more kinds 
 of truth than one in imitating the many-sided 
 model of nature. Whichever face of the object 
 is considered, or whatever be the manner of con- 
 sidering it, that is, of applying to it one or another 
 process of imitation, we find an option between 
 
 * One of P . Corneille’s most admired Tragedies. 
 
 t Racine. 
 
 X Pierre de 1* Estoile was the author of Journal de Henri III. 
 and Journal du Regne de Henri IV. 
 
 § Guillaume de Tyr, Archbishop of Tyre, wrote “ Histoires 
 des Croisades” as far as the year 1184. — Translator. 
 
384 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 the absolute truth of reality and the conventional 
 truth of imitation. Nevertheless, for want of a 
 due knowledge and perception of these different 
 modes of truth, either the art or the artist is ac- 
 cused of falsifying and deceiving, when, in fact, 
 the accusers themselves are deceived, both as to 
 the work to be judged and the point of view co- 
 inciding with it, as well as on the rule by which 
 a judgment is to be formed. 
 
 I have already pointed out why this confusion 
 is more likely to arise in the art of painting, be- 
 cause though it undoubtedly admits of a prosaic 
 and a poetical mode, yet both are necessarily and 
 first of all addressed to the physical senses, and 
 are, as necessarily, invested with all the attributes 
 of matter. 
 
 Surely if this art possesses the means of trans- 
 forming, at the artist’s pleasure, things, persons, 
 and actions, in their several images, no one will 
 dispute the propriety of employing those means 
 in its compositions. 
 
 But have we not seen that this art is capable of 
 representing objects in each of the two systems 
 of imitation, positive, and ideal ? May not every 
 subject, by the resources which are proper to it, 
 be transferred from the one to the other ? It does 
 not admit of doubt but that in this art, as in that 
 of poetry, all facts may be recomposed according 
 to their intellectual or moral point of view. It is 
 alike adequate to multiply the most simple, to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 385 
 
 condense the most multifarious, to unravel the 
 chief point of view in the most complicated, and, 
 by referring them to their most simple expression, 
 to give to what is only a part, the intrinsic value 
 of the whole. It, therefore, possesses the power 
 of transposing actions from the physical to the 
 moral order of things. 
 
 Is it necessary to prove that, like the art of 
 the poet, it has at command every kind of means 
 fitted for transforming persons and things, with a 
 view to embellish their appearance and enlarge 
 their proportions ? Can any one be ignorant that 
 by virtue of this connexion between the physical 
 and moral world our minds are led to the concep- 
 tion of grand ideas, our hearts to experience noble 
 sentiments, and our understandings to grasp high 
 relations, by the sole effect of the magnitude of 
 forms, the purity of their outlines, and the har- 
 mony of their collective whole ? And will it still 
 be said when the artist thus exchanges in his 
 works the means of material expression for those 
 of a moral energy, that he falsifies, that he de- 
 ceives, and that he leads into error ? 
 
 It is with a view to moral truth that the poet 
 calls hyperbole in aid of those images, the traits 
 of which he would aggrandize to our imagina- 
 tions. It is to comply with this truth that, being 
 reduced to the necessity of depicting the great 
 man only by the thoughts, language, and actions, 
 with which he invests him, he amplifies the ex- 
 
 c c 
 
386 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 pression of them in order to raise them to a level 
 with the character he would represent. 
 
 With a view to this same truth it is that the 
 artist works certain analogous changes on the 
 outward appearance of man and the configurations 
 of bodies, and these changes relate to the same 
 end. There is but this difference, that in poetry 
 ideas convey to us the forms of things and per- 
 sons, and that in painting forms become the cor- 
 relative signs of the ideas proposed to our con- 
 ception. 
 
 Thus while the one, by the aid of metaphori- 
 cal conceptions and the figures of poetical lan- 
 guage, augments m idea the energy of a personage 
 by the actions he is made to do, heightens the 
 worth of his sentiments by the expression given 
 to them, and ennobles his thoughts by a choice of 
 words and discourse ; the other effects in the same 
 personage changes of form, physiognomy, and 
 proportion, which, in his own peculiar language, 
 are equivalent to the metaphors of the poet. 
 
 Now these changes are still more necessary and 
 more imperatively required of an art which, ad- 
 dressed to the mind through the eyes of the body, 
 can render moral qualities perceptible only 
 through the intervention of the physical organs, 
 and by means of the forms of matter. 
 
 It cannot be too strongly urged against those 
 who complain of such like introversions in the 
 order of sensible things, that in painting, that is. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 387 
 
 to the eye, no greatness of soul can co-exist with 
 a diminutive body, no worth with a feeble frame. 
 Great and noble sentiments do not dwell within 
 mean and stunted forms. In sculpture, it cannot 
 be a hero under a coarse exterior. 
 
 Hence, the necessity in the arts of design, of 
 effecting a change in all subjects, whatever they 
 may be, in which moral and intellectual beauty is 
 to be represented, and of changing, as well in the 
 form of the personages as by the style of compo- 
 sition, the elements of real and material, for those 
 of a conventional and ideal existence. Now 
 every physical change is more or less perceptible 
 to the eye. 
 
 That is to say, that in the arts of design every 
 metaphor is more or less a metamorphosis. 
 
 I say more or less ; and in fact the changes 
 that actions and persons are made to undergo, ac- 
 cording to the manner in which the artist represents 
 their images, require very numerous degrees. 
 Perhaps, indeed, they would be found number- 
 less if one attempted to reckon up all the differ- 
 ent gradations that genius might render percepti- 
 ble in the varying expression of every subject. 
 
 But we are about to reduce the different means 
 of transformation dependent on the arts of design 
 to three chief modes of procedure, being those 
 most frequently practised in ideal imitation. They 
 consist of what are termed the styles of historical , 
 allegorical , and symbolical composition. 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF TRANSFORMATION IN THE HISTORICAL STYLE OF 
 COMPOSITION. 
 
 The historical style of composition, understood 
 as a metaphorical means of imitation in the works 
 of design, will not require at our hands any 
 lengthened observations. Since this form of com- 
 position allows also of the employment of alle- 
 gory, notions which may be readily applied to it 
 will be found in the subsequent chapters. 
 
 But it is first of all necessary to explain in what 
 sense the word ‘historical’ is to be applied, accord- 
 ing to the analysis adopted in our theory, and 
 indeed according to the actual usage of the arts. 
 It usually serves to designate that division of the 
 art of painting in which the highest subjects are 
 treated, and it establishes in this art a like dis- 
 tinction, with respect to worth and superiority, as 
 that which has appeared to us to separate the 
 imitation belonging to the ideal style from that 
 belonging to what may be termed the low style. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 389 
 
 as seen in the works of the Dutch and Flemish 
 school. 
 
 A comparison between a picture of Raffaello, 
 and another of Teniers will be found a sufficient 
 illustration of the above distinction. Although 
 it is probable that the name of historical painter, 
 in opposition to that of the painter of low or do- 
 mestic pieces, arose from the circumstance of the 
 former usually representing subjects and person- 
 ages drawn from history, yet it must not be sup- 
 posed that the title ‘ historical ’ does not equally 
 belong to pictures which express subjects taken 
 from other categories, as poetry or fable. In fact, 
 and moreover according to the custom of the pro- 
 fession, the word ‘ historical ’ whether applied to 
 the kind of subject, the character of design, or the 
 nature and style of composition, may be best de- 
 fined negatively, by saying that it includes every 
 subject, design, invention, and composition that 
 may be looked upon as differing from, or opposed 
 to, the style above mentioned, which affects low, 
 homely, or trifling subjects, and is limited to the 
 imitation of reality. 
 
 Thus it is sufficiently evident that the historical 
 style of composition, considered as a means of 
 ideal imitation, cannot exist but by the aid of me- 
 taphor, and by virtue of some transformation of 
 the elements of reality. 
 
 The transformation belonging to the historical 
 style of composition is not the less appropriate to 
 
390 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 the genius of imitation, because it is less absolute 
 than that of the two other styles of which we 
 shall hereafter treat. The painter has the same 
 right and power of changing the appearance of 
 his subject. With regard even to those which he 
 draws from the truest and best authenticated 
 narratives, he is equally under the necessity of 
 recomposing the substance of them, and changing 
 their details and circumstances. His first care 
 must be to enhance the proportions, and refine 
 the physiognomy of all his personages. 
 
 If the historical style does not go so far in its 
 changes as to arrive at absolute fiction, which 
 privilege belongs to the other styles (see the suc- 
 ceeding Chapter), and if the metaphor is not urged 
 so far as to become metamorphosis, it is because 
 this form of composition holds relation with reason 
 as well as with imagination. Grand, noble, and 
 dignified in its character, it would seem rather to 
 be analagous with eloquence than with poetry. 
 But it must on no account be supposed that the 
 historical painter is to limit himself to the mere 
 part of an historian, and be contented with the 
 same kind of truth that, above all other, is re- 
 quired in history. We again repeat that the spirit, 
 and not the letter, of that truth is the only proper 
 object of his imitation. 
 
 Let it not be forgotten that what is here termed 
 composition, in conformity with customary lan- 
 guage, should rather, in compliance with the tenor 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 391 
 
 of our theory, be named re- composition : for, 
 whether the artist generalizes or transforms his 
 subject, he equally does it by substituting for the 
 state of reality one that is more or less fictious. 
 In delineating the images even of personages the 
 best known in history, he is in no wise bound to 
 such a strict adherence to the fidelity of portrai- 
 ture as would weaken the impression of the his- 
 torical style. Though Alexander is described by 
 his historians as of a diminutive height, the kind 
 of truth required in the historical style would by 
 no means render it necessary that he should be 
 represented in the midst of his companions-in- 
 arms under inferior proportions. That painter 
 would evince a false respect for truth, who should 
 represent Hannibal with but one eye, and Mar- 
 shal Venddme hump-backed. 
 
 The historical style of composition holds a mid- 
 dle rank as to form or design between the ordi- 
 nary state of existence and that which, from its 
 purity and a character of abstract beauty, is at- 
 tributed to supernatural beings, the free creations 
 of poetical imagination in a superhuman order of 
 things. 
 
 The introduction of allegorical personages is 
 not excluded from this style, more especially 
 when those personages form, according to current 
 belief, a part of the subject treated, or are, in re- 
 ceived opinion, the object of it. We here allude 
 to those passages of sacred history in which, for 
 
392 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 instance, miraculous visions, and apparitions of 
 angels, saints, or mysterious beings occur. The 
 addition of these more or less imaginary beings 
 to the historical scene or action is considered as 
 in itself constituting the historical. The artist, in 
 that case, is not obliged to change the character 
 and forms of the human personages in order to 
 make their appearance accord with that of the 
 supernatural beings. 
 
 This is not the case as we shall see presently 
 with those compositions the subject or prime 
 mover of which is allegory and of which it becomes, 
 in consequence of the convention adopted, the 
 essential and active spring of a poetical machinery, 
 in which the marvellous requires that all besides 
 should be in accordance with it, that is to say, 
 undergo a total change of appearance. (See the 
 two following Chapters.) 
 
 I think I have said enough to show that the his- 
 torical style of composition may, from the constant 
 nature of the subjects belonging to it, be defined 
 as holding a middle rank between the style of 
 absolute and that of ideal truth. It will also be 
 seen that, in their fullest extent, certain conven- 
 tions which are necessarily attended by the ab- 
 solute re-composition and entire transformation of 
 the subject, are inconsistent with it. Among 
 these is metaphorical or poetical nudity, a con- 
 vention more especially appropriate to sculpture, 
 and which ought not to be indiscriminately em- 
 ployed in all the subjects of historical painting. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 393 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OF TRANSFORMATION OR TRANSPOSITION IN THE ALLEGORICAL 
 STYLE OF COMPOSITION.* 
 
 Of all the metaphorical means employed by the 
 artist in the arts of design, to enable him to 
 idealize his personages and subjects, none affords 
 him more scope for changing their appearance 
 than the style of composition termed allegorical. 
 The historical is much more closely restricted. 
 Its personages, though placed in a higher region 
 than that of realities, are not admitted into that of 
 the ideal. It occupies, as we have already said, 
 nearly the same rank with regard to the latter, as 
 does the elevated style of prose, or of eloquence, 
 in relation to poetry. As respects the symbolical 
 style of composition, it has less the property of 
 representing things or persons, than of occasioning 
 
 * By a composition in the allegorical style, we do not mean 
 one in which mere allegory constitutes the subject, but where it 
 is resorted to as a means of effecting a change in the spirit and 
 appearance of a historical subject. 
 
394 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 them to be conceived or imagined by means of 
 conventional signs. 
 
 Allegorical composition partakes also of this 
 property, that is to say, as respects the impres- 
 sions produced by the subjects it embraces, it is 
 addressed as much to the mind as to the eye, if 
 allegory be truly defined as presenting one thing 
 to signify another, at one time designating a real 
 personage in the shape of an imaginary figure, 
 and at another expressing a thought or the most 
 abstract idea under a bodily form. 
 
 In allegorical composition in the works of the 
 arts of design, subjects are changed or transformed 
 after two manners, in whole, or in part. 
 
 According to the first, the subject undergoes a 
 total transformation, especially as regards the 
 personages. In sculpture for instance, in a great 
 number of the ancient statues, the appearance 
 being entirely transformed, the different person- 
 ages are metamorphosed into a Mars, a Mercury, 
 or an Apollo. Thus the artist of old was afforded 
 a poetical means of representing moral qualities 
 under corporeal forms. Hercules betokened 
 strength and courage, Minerva prudence, and 
 Venus grace. It is the same with the allegorical 
 conceptions of later times; they afford for the 
 transformation of persons a variety of images indi- 
 cative of the virtues that distinguish them. Such 
 are the allegorical figures of Justice, Generosity, 
 Meekness, &c. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 395 
 
 Actions also are easily subjected to a total 
 transformation. In this case the allegory results 
 from a peculiar operation in which the artist 
 reduces the image of a fact or event to the elemen- 
 tary causes or to the summary idea of the effects 
 that are capable of being personified by art. The 
 power of allegorical composition extends even so 
 far as to render perceptible and plainly speaking 
 to the eyes, moral ideas which one would suppose 
 could only be expressed by language. 
 
 The means employed by calumny in order to 
 deceive an ignorant prince, the effects of the 
 credulity that prompted the denunciation, the 
 death of the innocent, and the tardy repentance 
 leading to a confession of the truth, all these 
 Apelles was able to render intelligible in that 
 beautiful allegorical composition, which Lucian 
 has given us a description of, and the image of 
 which has been restored in a design by Raffaello. 
 
 One mode of employing the allegorical style 
 of composition when it becomes necessary to 
 apply it to subjects that are very extensive or 
 much crowded with figures, is to effect their 
 representation by a system of reduction. The 
 artist who so makes use of it must either seize 
 the predominating idea of the action, or, attaching 
 himself to the principal personage in the subject, 
 invest his person with such a generalized character 
 as to include all the particular ideas found united 
 in the subject. This description of allegory may 
 
396 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 be termed collective. According to the tenor of 
 this species of metaphor we find the passage of 
 the Rhine by the French army expressed by the 
 single figure of Louis the Fourteenth trampling 
 the river, as personified, under foot. 
 
 This collective metaphor is most appropriately 
 employed by the sculptor, in the representation of 
 cities, provinces, kingdoms, and whatever carries 
 with it the idea of a number of persons and a 
 great extent of space in the subject. 
 
 The art of sculpture would indeed express the 
 fewest things of any, did it not compensate by the 
 significancy of its images for what is wanting to 
 them in circumstantiality. In none, therefore, is 
 there more need, in order to its being understood, 
 of allegorical composition as an interpreter, which 
 unfortunately but too often requires an interpreter 
 itself. But it is for the genius of the artist to dis- 
 cover amid the resources of the ideal the true 
 means of rendering metaphor intelligible, by com- 
 pelling the mind of the beholder to yield itself up 
 to the felicitous transposition by which the reality 
 of objects is exchanged for their allegorical image. 
 
 Unable to relate actions by their details and 
 accompanying circumstances, devoid of the ad- 
 vantages of colour and the expedients which the 
 painter employs to extend the space which his 
 subject occupies, the sculptor has recourse to a 
 fiction peculiar to his art, by which he induces 
 the supposition that his figures, in the basso-relievo 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 397 
 
 style of composition, are the personified characters 
 of a species of emblematic writing. It is evident 
 how very necessary it is for the artist to have 
 recourse to those metaphorical conventions, which, 
 by recomposing the elements of the action to be 
 expressed, reproduce it abridged to its most cha- 
 racteristic features. Now all allegorical composi- 
 tion has the same property. 
 
 Conventions of this kind which belong rather to 
 sculpture than to painting, evince to us how neces- 
 sary to the language of that art, are all resources 
 that may tend to change what, in personages, is 
 termed their costume, and what I term the actual 
 condition of the portrait; in a word, whatever in 
 the subject is particular. Hence, as we shall see 
 hereafter, (Chapters xvi. and xvii.,) the necessity 
 of employing in the ideal style of design, either 
 poetical nudity, or the drapery and habiliments 
 sanctioned by the arts of antiquity. 
 
 We have been observing that in allegory the 
 object of the painter’s or sculptor’s composition 
 may be wholly transformed by substituting fictious 
 for real personages and by appropriating actions 
 and subjects in order to metamorphose them, to 
 change their substance, and to transpose them, 
 now from the moral to the physical order, and 
 again vice versa from the region of realities to that 
 of intellectual beings. 
 
 We now come to speak of a mode of allegorical 
 composition in which the subjects of imitation are 
 
398 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 transposed or transformed after a less absolute 
 manner. It consists in the introduction of fictious 
 or allegorical personages and their association 
 with historical or real personages, that is, such as 
 those which we have seen to be the object of the 
 style of composition treated of in the preceding 
 chapter. It will be recollected that to the changes 
 wrought in it by metaphor was assigned, as re- 
 gards the conception and style of its forms, an 
 intermediate degree between the natural and 
 poetical, between the real and the ideal. 
 
 I think I have made it sufficiently understood 
 that the historical style of composition, although 
 in a less degree requiring the employment of alle- 
 gorical fictions, has, notwithstanding, its poetry 
 and its metaphors, nor fails to use the power of 
 transforming the personages and the aspect of the 
 subjects adapted to it. Transformation admits of 
 a considerable number of degrees. The artist 
 applies to historical subjects means of metaphor 
 which are not on that account allegories. The 
 varieties of character that result from forms more 
 or less noble, drapery more or less imposing, 
 materials and ornaments more or less rich, change 
 it is true the aspect of the action but without 
 changing its nature. It is the same in the art of 
 dressing, one may change one’s apparel without 
 disguising oneself. In general, historical meta- 
 phor does not tend to a complete change in the 
 appearance of beings ; it is confined to the veri- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 399 
 
 similar, the probable, and only embellishes the 
 natural condition of things. 
 
 When the allegorical style of composition is 
 introduced in historical subjects, the artist is 
 required to make a greater change of appearance. 
 It then becomes necessary that he should raise, 
 so much the more, the proportions of his per- 
 sonages, that he should embellish their forms, 
 ennoble their action, their attitudes, their counte- 
 nances, and that he should elevate the character 
 of all the accessaries. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that if he would remain faith- 
 ful to the reality of place, time, manners, cos- 
 tumes, and whatever serves to particularize the 
 subject of his composition, he must eschew the 
 employment of allegorical beings or give rise to a 
 repulsive discordancy. This will be greater in 
 proportion as the difference of costume between 
 the real personages of the subject and the imagi- 
 nary beings of the allegory is more perceptible. 
 This it is that prevents the admission of allegory 
 into modern subjects, the appearance of which it 
 is not deemed well to transform by an absolute 
 qhange of costume ; and this it is which requires 
 their transformation, when the personified beings 
 of allegory are admitted into such compositions. 
 
 Who indeed does not see that the readiest way 
 of rendering allegory insignificant or ridiculous 
 would be to apply it, as above supposed, to a 
 modern subject, either by making the allegorical 
 
400 OF THE MEANS 
 
 being take the costume of the real personage, or 
 allowing the difference of the respective appear- 
 ance of these two sorts of personages to subsist 
 between them ? In the one case, the allegory 
 would be nullified for want of a visible character ; 
 in the other, there would be nothing but confusion 
 and ambiguity, since two contradictory kinds of 
 appearances would lay claim to possession of the 
 same subject. Hence it is that in the composition 
 of every subject in which allegorical beings assist 
 in a historical action, and are conjoined with 
 others, either modern or derived from history, the 
 moral harmony requires that the costume (by 
 which is understood all the accessaries and cir- 
 cumstances of existence) of the personages deemed 
 real, should approach as near as possible to that 
 of the imaginary or poetical personages. 
 
 We shall in the next chapter bring forward 
 some examples to prove with still greater clear- 
 ness, the incompatibility of these two elements 
 thus commingled in one and the same subject. 
 
 Some, in objecting to this decision as regards 
 the arts of design, have put forward the authority 
 of the poets, who, say they, freely associate in 
 their inventions, allegorical with historical and 
 even modern personages without at all troubling 
 themselves about the suitableness of their costume, 
 or attempting in the description to accommodate 
 the differences of their respective states of being. 
 Although, they add, the historical personage may 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 401 
 
 be accompanied by Mars or Minerva we do not 
 find that the poet is obliged to forewarn us, for 
 instance, that his hero, though modern, wears the 
 helmet and armour, or the costume of the heroic 
 ages. 
 
 The reply to this objection has already been 
 given more than once in what we have said con- 
 cerning the difference of the imitative means be- 
 longing to each art. The poet would endeavour 
 in vain, even by a purposed description, to offend 
 the mind by the difference between the outward 
 costume or appearance of these two orders of per- 
 sonages ; it is absolutely impossible that these 
 differences can have the same contradictory effect 
 in poetry as in painting. Suppose the desire of 
 rendering an incongruity of this sort perceptible 
 to be actually entertained, which indeed is even 
 less probable. Then on the part of the poet it 
 can but affect the imagination ; while in painting 
 it will offend both the eye and the imagination. 
 Tn pictorial metaphor all poetry is visible poetry. 
 In painting the beings are poetical or fail to be so, 
 through the effect of the corporeal form. So that 
 every discrepancy of the kind in question is not 
 only an error of taste, but is also a contradiction 
 in matter. 
 
 The comparison instituted on this point between 
 the poet and the painter, is just enough, were it 
 correctly drawn. The mistake lies in the parti- 
 cular parallels chosen. For that which corre- 
 
 D D 
 
402 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 sponds to what is termed the material costume of 
 the figures of the painter is the moral costume of 
 the personages of the poet; in other words, the 
 manners of those he makes speak and act. Now 
 there can be no doubt but that the poet, in asso- 
 ciating historical or such as are accounted real 
 personages, with allegorical or ideal beings, is 
 bound to make them accordant by raising their 
 language, sentiments, and manners to a level with 
 the proprieties enjoined by the order of things or 
 persons to which they are transferred. 
 
 But sentiments, language, and deportment in 
 poetry, are correlative with character, form, and 
 costume in painting. 
 
 It must therefore be allowed that in allegorical 
 compositions, whether those in which the whole 
 of the subject undergoes a poetical transformation 
 or those in which the transformation is effected by 
 the association of allegorical with historical beings, 
 the painter no more changes the persons and 
 actions when he gives them other bodies and 
 other forms than does the poet in his ideal con- 
 ceptions. He changes them indeed after another 
 manner, he changes them according to the proper 
 means of his art and with a view to the organ to 
 which that art must necessarily correspond. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 403 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OF CERTAIN PROPRIETIES TO BE OBSERVED IN THE ALLEGORI- 
 CAL STYLE. 
 
 The allegorical personages introduced into the 
 compositions of the arts of imitation, in order to 
 the transformation of their subjects, are either the 
 divinities of Paganism that have as it were been 
 naturalized into our poetry, or those imaginary 
 beings that have at all times been created by an 
 abuse of language, and which imitation has in- 
 vested with corporeal forms, although they are in 
 fact only personified abstractions to which no 
 creed has ever attributed a real existence. 
 
 To these last it is that the term allegorical more 
 particularly belongs. Although different from the 
 former, they have for the most part, under other 
 denominations, been identified with the Pagan 
 deities. Prudence, knowledge, victory, strength, 
 justice, courage, beauty, grace, mental endow- 
 ments, and physical properties and effects have, 
 in the imitation of the arts of design, very natu- 
 d d 2 
 
404 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 rally assumed the features, forms, characters and 
 resemblances of the ancient divinities. Under 
 the pencil and the chisel of the modem artist, 
 Minerva, Mercury, Hercules, Mars, Themis, 
 Apollo, the Muses, the Graces, the Nymphs, and 
 the Naiads have lent their forms to all the intel- 
 lectual qualities that language expresses, and to 
 the artist there is no difference between the Wis- 
 dom of allegory and the Minerva of mythology. 
 
 Thus the mythological of ancient times, and 
 the allegorical of the present are necessarily con- 
 founded the one with the other in as far as regards 
 their images. If, as we have seen in the fore- 
 going chapter, the right and the power of trans- 
 forming historical subjects by means of allegory 
 belong to the art of design, and if the figures of 
 modern allegory resemble those of mythology, 
 we must thence infer that the artist, when he as- 
 sociates real with fictious personages, the model of 
 which is derived from antiquity, is so much the 
 more obliged to invest them with the ancient cos- 
 tume, character, and circumstances, lest, in ne- 
 glecting to do so, one part of his composition 
 should belie the other. 
 
 This leads us at once to discuss the strictures 
 which some critics have passed on the employ- 
 ment, in modern subjects, of what they term the 
 figures of Paganism. 
 
 Since the mythological and the modem allegorical 
 are necessarily confounded, and taken the one for 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 405 
 
 the other in corporeal imitation, the critical re- 
 marks of the Abbe Dubos against the use of the 
 figures of Paganism in subjects or events which, 
 says he, have taken place since the extinction of that 
 religion * cannot be admitted without some re- 
 striction. Indeed the exclusion thus pronounced 
 against the beings of the mythology, because a 
 belief in them no longer exists, would carry with 
 it also the exclusion from the arts of design of the 
 allegorical beings that have assumed their forms, 
 attributes, and whole appearance. It does not 
 appear that the Abbe Dubos wished to push 
 his theory so far as this. But a want of due dis- 
 tinction on this head seems to prove that he had 
 not taken account of the comparative force of 
 allegorical figures, according to the circumstances 
 under which they are employed, and the manner 
 of employing them. Truly, the alliance by the 
 poet of the gods of Paganism, presented as such, 
 and under their own proper names, with the per- 
 sonages of a Christian subject, would be a mon- 
 strous incompatibility offensive to the imagination 
 and repugnant to reason. The same may un- 
 doubtedly be said of the painter, who, in a picture 
 devoted to some event pertaining to the Christian 
 religion, should introduce and bring into play, the 
 beings of the Pagan mythology. But there is a 
 
 * Reflexions critiques sur la poesie et la peinture, tom. i. 
 sect. 24. 
 
406 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 great difference between a Christian subject, and 
 a subject that merely belongs to some time or 
 country in which Christianity reigns. Human 
 things, and historical actions and persons, may 
 always, in art, be considered as distinct from re- 
 ligion. The hero of the poet and the painter may 
 always be transformed by metaphor, and trans- 
 posed into an imaginary order of things, whatever 
 be the religion of his time and country, without 
 any outrage on religious belief, provided such 
 transpositions have no relation with it. 
 
 Now the above distinction is dictated by fitness 
 of taste, even though it were not by the spirit of 
 Christianity itself. 
 
 Though the spirit of the Christian religion re- 
 jects the profane admixture of mythological fictions 
 with its articles of faith, alike in the composition 
 of the poet and the painter, it does not the less 
 admit of, and approve, the employment of alle- 
 gorical figures in the representations and images 
 which concern it, which figures, as personified 
 virtues, assume every form of the ancient mytho- 
 logical sculpture. The same toleration is extended 
 towards the representations of the Eternal Father, 
 the angels, and other mysterious beings, the forms 
 of which have been borrowed from those in which 
 ancient art invested its Pagan creations. 
 
 Returning to the question of taste and fitness 
 we would remark that, supposing all the condi- 
 tions of the subject observed, the artist's error 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 407 
 
 does not consist in mingling allegorical beings 
 with historical personages. His error most fre- 
 quently consists in not knowing how to assimilate 
 the style, character, and design of the one with 
 that of the other. Now, we have seen that the 
 historical personage must as much as possible be 
 clothed with the appearance of the allegorical or- 
 der of things, because the allegorical personage 
 cannot, in painting, change its appearance without 
 ceasing to be allegorical. 
 
 A striking example of the error of employing 
 allegory in a subject, the historical personages of 
 which cannot admit of a change of appearance or 
 costume, is that afforded by a picture in the gal- 
 lery of Marie de Medicis in which Rubens has 
 associated, under the positive form of the Mer- 
 cury of fable, the messenger who is bearing the 
 emblem of peace to two cardinals, one of whom 
 is persuading the queen to accept the olive branch, 
 while the other dissuades her from it. Here is 
 a twofold contradiction, the one between the 
 mythological character of Mercury represented 
 naked, and the appearance of the two personages 
 dressed in the costume of one of the chief digni- 
 ties of the Christian church, the other between 
 the altogether metaphorical style of the two allego- 
 rical beings. Prudence and Peace, and the wholly 
 positive style of imitation in the personages that 
 attend on the queen. 
 
 I must remark, in order to the better under- 
 
408 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 standing of this theory, that Rubens has not, so 
 often as some are pleased to think, fallen into this 
 kind of incongruity. Not only are the greater 
 number of the pictures in his gallery exempt from 
 it, but the general system that reigns throughout 
 in the composition of that series of historico-poeti- 
 cal subjects, agrees more than is supposed with 
 that which I am endeavouring to establish. 
 
 In the greater number of those pictures, setting 
 aside such as contain only portraits, Marie de 
 Medicis, from her infancy, which Minerva, Mer- 
 cury, and the Graces combine to instruct, to her 
 death, is always represented according to an ab- 
 stract and ideal system of composition. The painter 
 has nowhere expressed an absolute and material 
 action. All the compositions that are explained 
 by personages apparently taking a more or less 
 active part in them, have only for their subjects, 
 either the motives and results of the queen’s un- 
 dertakings, or the causes and effects of the acts 
 of her government and councils. The different 
 circumstances of the stormy period in which she 
 lived are not so shown in detail as to present the 
 facts in their reality, but by metaphorical images 
 of the passions that influenced events. In fact, 
 she is concerned in no material action ; every 
 situation in which she is associated by the painter 
 with metaphorical personages, gives rise on her 
 part but to an allegorical action. 
 
 But for some inconsistencies such as that we 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 409 
 
 have remarked above and, putting out of the 
 question his not sufficiently ideal style of design, 
 and that tendency which the great colourist 
 evinced towards the incorrect and somewhat low 
 style of portraiture, Rubens might be cited as 
 having for the most part in the compositions of his 
 gallery, furnished a true model of the manner 
 most in accordance with the system of transform- 
 ing historical subjects by the admixture of alle- 
 gory, and the method of generalizing actions, by 
 exchanging their real and absolute aspect for that 
 point of view in which their political causes and 
 effects, their general results and relations, may be 
 considered. 
 
 I cannot then refrain from further contending 
 against the opinions of the Abbe Dubos who, in his 
 critical reflections, seems to me to have never entered 
 into any of the considerations relative to genera- 
 lized imitation. He thinks that the picture of the 
 accouchement of Marie de Medicis , would please 
 more , had Rubens, instead of the Genius and allego- 
 rical figures introduced in the composition, substituted 
 those of the ladies of that time who might have been 
 present at the bed-side of the queen, 8$c. 
 
 This means nothing more than that Rubens 
 might have conceived and executed this subject 
 according to the system of reality. Who doubts 
 it ? And further, who would doubt but that as a 
 great portrait painter he would, by a group of 
 ladies of that time , have represented a domestic 
 
410 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 scene affording another kind of interest ? But 
 these portrait ladies would have served only to 
 express a particular idea. Rubens, on the con- 
 trary, wished by his allegorical figures to repre- 
 sent collective beings, signs of general ideas, and 
 the universality of the public sentiments and af- 
 fections, that is, the moral and political effect that 
 must be produced by the birth of an heir to the 
 throne, bringing destruction to the hopes of the 
 promoters of discord. It was, therefore, neces- 
 sary that he should avail himself of allegorical 
 composition. Had he substituted that proposed 
 by the Abbe Dubos he would merely have given 
 a scene in the private life of Marie de Medicis. 
 We may add to the farther praise of Rubens as 
 regards this picture, that he has neither belied 
 the style of the allegorical image, nor weakened 
 its effect on the mind by any admixture of per- 
 sonages seemingly real or appertaining to the op- 
 posite style. 
 
 Lebrun, on the ceiling of the gallery of Ver- 
 sailles, has represented the principal passages in 
 the life of Louis XIV. with a still closer obser- 
 vance of the allegorical style, both as regards 
 conception and execution. But this painter’s 
 style and taste of design were more accordant 
 with the poetical and ideal style of allegory than 
 was that of Rubens. 
 
 I have merely cited these examples the better 
 to explain wherein the artist is sometimes wanting, 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 411 
 
 and how he conforms to what is required in alle- 
 gorical composition. The first condition then ne- 
 cessary to be observed, when the subject allows 
 of the mixture of individuals of a supposed dif- 
 ferent nature, is to accommodate and reconcile their 
 character, forms, and appearance by raising, as 
 much as may be, the existent state of the real to 
 a level with that of the poetical personages ; an 
 operation which, as before remarked, cannot take 
 place reciprocally, because if the appearance of 
 the latter were brought down to a level with the 
 low character of the former, the allegory would 
 cease to be visible, and would, therefore, not 
 exist. 
 
 But there is still another class of proprieties to 
 be observed in order to bring about this accord- 
 ance ; (no allusion is here intended to the degree 
 of talent, skill, and sentiment in the artist.) The 
 question merely concerns a rule of taste which 
 requires that the poetical or allegorical personage, 
 when participating in human actions, should not 
 be figured in awkward attitudes, nor with ges- 
 tures expressive of strenuous efforts, nor with 
 motions irreconcilable with outward dignity. In- 
 dependent of some subjects whose purport is to 
 betoken by the very action of the personages, ef- 
 fort and motion, it is usually befitting to represent 
 them in an attitude of composure, with a calm 
 physiognomy, and with subdued gestures. 
 
412 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 It is the only means* afforded by the language 
 of corporeal signs, to express to the eye and the 
 mind an idea of the superior intelligence and 
 power of beings who must be looked upon as 
 above and beyond humanity. And the ancients 
 hare always so conceived and represented their 
 divinities in action, whether alone or associated 
 with mortals. 
 
 * L e. as regards action, of wliidh only we are here speaking. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 413 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WWT THE EJOLOYMLST OF MOBLEY ALLEGORY HAS LESS FBRCE 
 A5D PRODUCES LESS OTECT Of POETRY T&AY 1Y PAIYTIYG. 
 
 Moral abstractions, the necessary results of the 
 forms of speech, have become the source of the 
 allegorical personifications, employed in the arts 
 of design as signs of the general ideas required 
 to be expressed. 
 
 We have shown that for the most part these 
 signs must be nearly related to the creations of 
 Paganism, which creations, although, owing to 
 religious credence, they obtained formerly the force 
 of corporeal existence, are nevertheless considered 
 as a result of the same operatkm of the mind as 
 in the formation of language. 
 
 Thus the modern allegorical figures, necessarily 
 appealing to the eye under forms borrowed from 
 mythological beings, have perpetuated in our arts 
 a great number of images or signs, which have 
 been changed only in name. 
 
 How is it that this has not also been the case 
 
414 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 in modern languages and in their poetry ? It is 
 the property of poetry to animate all things, to 
 give to every thing a body , a mind, a soul, a counte- 
 nance ; that is to say, to transform, to personify 
 all things. Hence the infinite number of tropes, 
 figures, metaphors, and allegorical emblems, which 
 frequently are proper only to discourse, and lose 
 their virtue when, as shown in Chapter ix, they 
 are transferred to another sphere of imitation. 
 
 Modern poetry has not, like painting, been al- 
 lowed to adopt and place among the number of its 
 metaphorical means, certain mythological images 
 which, from the frequent use made of them in 
 language, are received as the synonymes of 
 words or phrases serving to express moral notions 
 or qualities. Thus Mars, Venus, Love, the 
 Graces, &c., have become in the poetical vocabu- 
 lary mere words, customary expressions; and, 
 perhaps, there is no other restriction to their use 
 than as regards religious subjects, and that for 
 reasons of fitness as already given in the preced- 
 ing Chapter. 
 
 Owing to this use of metaphors derived from 
 Paganism, but now considered as mere synony- 
 mous terms, to which customarily the mind at- 
 taches no image, it has been inferred that the poet 
 is justified in employing the marvellous of the 
 ancient mythology as the principal machinery of 
 the epic poem, and again to introduce the fabu- 
 lous deities as the movers and instruments of 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 415 
 
 poetical action. But common sense was not slow 
 in rejecting, more especially with regard to Chris- 
 tian subjects, the active intervention of these 
 powers obliterated from general estimation by be- 
 lief in Christianity. It became equally evident, 
 that with the exception of some poetical trifles 
 of no importance, or certain subjects that the 
 imagination borrows from the history of Pagan 
 times and people, the poet could not be permitted 
 in subjects of a modern date to employ as super- 
 natural agents, beings that have wholly fallen out 
 of belief with those on whom it is proposed that 
 they should be made to act ; since their agency 
 must be thought at least possible by those who 
 are expected to be influenced by it. 
 
 The respect due to the mysteries and dogmas 
 of Christianity, the very different nature of a re- 
 ligion that is in nowise addressed to the senses, 
 the paucity of supernatural beings that it admits 
 of personifying, and the danger of anthropomor- 
 phism, all contributed to render the employment 
 of a marvellous drawn from Christian creeds still 
 more difficult, unless by forming a poem, as Mil- 
 ton has done, the poetical marvellous, or the su- 
 pernatural of which is, if one may so say, the sole 
 subject, the subject itself, instead of being only 
 an auxiliary resort. 
 
 Nevertheless, since all poetry exists by fiction, 
 and since the poet, more especially in the crea- 
 tions of the epic muse, has need, according to 
 
416 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 Boileau, to press all things into the service in order 
 to charm us, he, therefore, looked about for some 
 other means of subordinating the action and its 
 springs, events and their course, to some cause at 
 once supernatural and palpable ; such causes 
 would, however, be equally incapable in poetry as 
 in painting, of laying hold on the imagination 
 without the aid of transformation and personifica- 
 tion under corporeal forms. 
 
 The poet, therefore, called modern allegory to 
 his aid ; believing that he could employ, with the 
 same success as the painter and, like him, bring 
 into play, Wisdom instead of Minerva, Justice 
 instead of Themis, &c., and substitute Discord, 
 the vices, and the virtues, for the mythological 
 deities that personify them. He conceived that 
 the names of the moral qualities, the physical 
 phenomena, and the active principles of nature 
 might supply the place of the beings that formerly 
 represented them to the imagination. 
 
 Mere names took the place of bodies ; but 
 names which, in language, call up no forms, are 
 capable of giving rise to no images. Hence 
 nothing for the imagination. Such allegorical 
 beings have only a nominal or at most a phraseo- 
 logical existence. Their physiognomies being 
 devoid of colour, and their forms of outline, elude 
 the eyes of the mind ; these pretended creations 
 far from diffusing life and stir through the poet’s 
 compositions, do but throw over them the cold- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 417 
 
 ness of their own proper nature, still none other 
 than metaphysical. 
 
 This last word affords a clue to the difference 
 of effect produced by modern allegorical beings 
 in poetry and in painting. The truth is, that lan- 
 guage, while it suffices to give life and substance 
 to abstract ideas, cannot also endue them with 
 that active and motive virtue which would be re- 
 quisite to their becoming, in poetry, a powerful 
 spring of human affairs. An art, moreover, that 
 is unfitted to render such beings visible, requires 
 that some cause independent of it should excite 
 a belief in them. Religion alone, by its forms 
 of worship, its dogmas, its doctrines, its em- 
 blems, and its images, can occasion that general 
 faith, by the aid of which the metaphysical con- 
 ception acquires a consistency that allows of 
 the imagination attributing to it a physical exis- 
 tence. 
 
 There is then this inconvenience attendant on 
 the use, in modern poetry, of the personages of 
 purely moral allegory — that, as regards the ima- 
 gination, they do not exist. They are not the 
 object of any positive or even fictious belief. It 
 is not merely that one does not know that they 
 do exist, but that one knows they do not and 
 cannot exist. In how small a degree, conse- 
 quently, is it possible to make them play a part, 
 or to attribute to them an action that the mind 
 
 E E 
 
418 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 can admit even as conventional, that is to say, as 
 poetically verisimilar. 
 
 But, it is urged by some, the same criticism 
 ought to apply in the arts of design, and the share 
 the painter awards to them in human affairs when 
 he makes them play a part therein, is equally in- 
 admissible. True, we reply, it would be so were 
 reason and mental judgment alone appealed to. 
 But the painter has the advantage of being first 
 of all judged by the eye ; and he has a means of 
 raising a belief in the existence of the beings he 
 creates, by exhibiting them invested with corpo- 
 real forms, each with its own characteristic figure 
 set in motion and co-operating to an action. One 
 sees Vengeance pursuing crime. Religion sustain- 
 ing innocence. One sees Discord shaking her 
 torch. Envy her snakes. Time flying rapidly away. 
 Calumny distilling her poisons, Love sharpening, 
 and taking aim with, his arrows, &c. 
 
 We may add further, that in the painter’s com- 
 position, the allegorical person plays by no means 
 so active, so extensive a part, or one which re- 
 quires so much power as that imposed on it by 
 the epic poet, who rests on it the chief conduct 
 of the events of his poem. Its intervention in 
 painting is limited, at one time, to a particular 
 action, at another, to a co-operation that the 
 mind of the spectator must look upon as under- 
 stood. The moral allegory of the painter is fre- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 419 
 
 quently, but a more or less conventional expla- 
 nation of the subject with which it is associated ; 
 and in many instances it only bears the import 
 of an emblematic or symbolic sign, as will be 
 seen in the following chapter. 
 
 e e 2 
 
420 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 OF THE EFFECT OF SYMBOLICAL* COMPOSITION IN THE TRANS- 
 FORMATION OF SUBJECTS AND PERSONAGES. 
 
 The method and the art of transforming real per- 
 sonages into metaphorical beings, in the style of 
 composition that I have termed allegorical, the 
 measure, the accordance, and the conditions of 
 this kind of metamorphosis would undoubtedly, 
 were one writing a treatise on the subject, require 
 a much more extended and diversified considera- 
 tion. But I have merely endeavoured to point 
 out some of the sources, whence are derived the 
 various means that the fine arts, each according to 
 the properties inherent to its nature, have at com- 
 mand in order to attain the end of imitation, and 
 also some of the mistakes that arise from a sup- 
 posititious and imperfectly understood community 
 of means. 
 
 * By symbolical composition we mean, not a mere combina- 
 tion of symbols, but one in which the symbolical attributes or 
 emblems determine the system and signification. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 421 
 
 The reader must not forget that our theory, 
 being purely speculative, does not include among 
 the means of the several arts, those which arise 
 from skill in execution, and the gift of genius in 
 the individual artist, which, indeed, may either 
 modify the consequences of principles or soften 
 down the defects resulting from a use of meta- 
 phor in itself erroneous. It is not a direct im- 
 possibility that the poet should be able to wield 
 the moral allegory of the moderns so as to remedy 
 its insignificancy. Neither can it be a matter of 
 doubt, that the sense and potential effect of which 
 this allegory is susceptible in painting, depends 
 much on the greater or less ideality of character 
 imparted to it by the artist in the execution which 
 is dependent on himself. 
 
 1 shall, therefore, have been imperfectly com- 
 prehended, if, in what I have said concerning the 
 allegorical form of composition as applied by 
 Rubens to his metaphorical history of Marie de 
 Medicis, it has been supposed that, while I ap- 
 proved of it relatively to the general plan of con- 
 ception, I also approved the taste of design and 
 disposition, the style, character, and details of 
 execution. 
 
 In nothing is discrimination on the part of the 
 artist more requisite than in the use of an emble- 
 matic language, whose elements are often so 
 variable, so arbitrary, and so liable to ambiguity. 
 This inconvenience is still more perceptible when 
 
422 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 (as is sometimes the ease with Rubens) the artist 
 is himself the inventor of allegories to which he 
 for the first time attaches a signification not pre- 
 viously sanctioned by custom. 
 
 It is the same with symbols, which constitute 
 a distinct branch of allegorical language. 
 
 Symbolical composition (which I have so termed 
 because to the use of symbols is its metaphorical 
 virtue more especially due) partakes still more of 
 the nature and spirit of writing. Its personages, 
 in the light in which they are employed, may be 
 said to be, as it were, hieroglyphic characters, 
 purporting to speak to the mind through abbre- 
 viated signs of the images of objects. 
 
 To sculpture, whether considered at large in 
 statues or the ornaments of architecture, or in its 
 minor department of medals or coins, more es- 
 pecially belongs both the use of symbols, and of 
 symbolical writing. Although it may be, and in 
 fact is, made use of in painting, yet there is one 
 remark to be made respecting the taste and fitness 
 of the use so made of it, that must not be passed 
 over. 
 
 It is this. Symbols in relation to the figures 
 with which they are associated can only be looked 
 upon as emblematic signs ; I mean as represent- 
 ing things whose image is purely intellectual. 
 Since, therefore, they must not wear an appear- 
 ance too closely approaching to real existence, 
 their employment is much more in accordance 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 423 
 
 with the arts which, owing to the nature of their 
 materials, are debarred the resources of colour, 
 the effect of which is to give objects the semblance 
 of life and reality. 
 
 For instance, Nicholas Poussin, in one of his 
 pictures representing Moses saved from the waters, 
 has been pleased to invest with the colours of 
 life, the female head of the Sphinx, a symbol 
 against which, as in the ancient statue, is resting 
 the allegorical figure of the Nile personified. 
 This surely must be considered an error. The 
 Sphinx with the body of a lion and the head of a 
 woman was of old time only one of the emble- 
 matical signs of hieroglyphic writing ; and this, 
 being to us wholly chimerical, was not deemed 
 real even by the ancient Egyptians. Since its 
 existence was at no time considered as even 
 poetically probable, is it fitting that the pencil 
 should give to a factitious symbol, a most palpa- 
 ble appearance of animated existence ? Whatever 
 be the opinion adopted in this respect, it is evi- 
 that what in painting is a difficulty, becomes an 
 advantage to sculpture, in as much as were the 
 Sphinx wholly of marble it could not produce the 
 same incoherence of ideas, nor so heterogeneous 
 a mingling of inert matter with living beings. 
 
 The motive for employing symbols in sculpture, 
 and the engraving of medals, is sufficient to deter- 
 mine their significative import, and by this should 
 the artist be guided in his manner of using, and 
 
424 
 
 OF THE MEAtfS 
 
 the spectator in the light in which he considers 
 them. As signs of ideas, as conventional comple- 
 ments of the forms of objects, and as a portion or 
 mere abridgment of their images, they are fre- 
 quently found together in compositions, from no 
 other reason than that for which written charac- 
 ters are combined. Their co-existence is purely 
 intellectual, and their connexion merely conven- 
 tional. 
 
 Hence, the want of correlative proportion, urged 
 as an objection by certain critics against objects 
 so employed. But the least consideration might 
 suffice to convince them that such disproportions 
 belong to the very nature of a form of composi- 
 tion which does not admit the figures of bodies 
 for their own sake ; but only for that of the idea 
 they serve tp convey. It is clear that no propor- 
 tional ratio is possible between signs which em- 
 brace the forms of all existent things and beings, 
 from that of the gnat to that of the terrestrial 
 globe. 
 
 The symbol being a conventional sign, it is not 
 necessary that it should always wear an appear- 
 ance such as would constitute it the actual imita- 
 tion of reality, nay, rather it would frequently 
 contradict itself were too close a resemblance as- 
 pired to. Associated with allegorical figures, the 
 signification of which it enforces and explains, it 
 also becomes necessary that those figures should 
 be of an abstract or generalized character, that is, 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 425 
 
 as already defined, the opposite of that particu- 
 larized imitation, the object of which is to excite 
 a belief in the reality of the individual. Now 
 this applies alike to all figures, whether they are 
 of themselves allegorical or approach the ideal by 
 being associated with allegorical personages. We 
 have already pointed out the importance of this 
 necessary harmony. 
 
 It equally holds good with regard to personages, 
 whatever they may be, that are endued with the 
 same metaphorical property by applying to them 
 symbolical attributes. For we know that the 
 symbols which characterize the moral qualities, 
 and the abstract ideas of personages themselves 
 abstract, such as the scales in the hand of justice, 
 the rudder, the club, and the sword, indicative of 
 civil administration, of strength, and of power, 
 are equally applicable, metaphorically, to the re- 
 presentations of celebrated men and living indi- 
 viduals. Thus the thunderbolt was formerly 
 placed in the hand of Pericles to express the 
 wonderful power of his eloquence. Thus too the 
 images of men renowned for their knowledge or 
 their abilities are continually accompanied by 
 well known symbols appertaining to the arts and 
 sciences. 
 
 The physical and moral effect that results from 
 thus accompanying real or historical personages 
 with symbolical attributes is evidently to give 
 them a metaphorical signification. I say evidently , 
 
426 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 and the word must be here taken in its strictest 
 meaning. For since the effect of the symbol is 
 intellectual, where this takes place, the mind’s 
 sight must not be contravened by that of the 
 body, which is as much as to say, that the intent 
 of the metaphor must first of all strike the eye. 
 But the symbolical metaphor cannot be visible 
 unless the figure that is accompanied by the me- 
 taphorical attribute clearly interprets its idea, — 
 unless it is visibly in accordance with it. 
 
 Now to render this accordance perceptible, the 
 taste, style, and character of the two objects must 
 correspond. Here all is correlative. The sym- 
 bolical sign exerts a moral action on the figure it 
 is to illustrate, and the figure a like re-action on 
 the signification of the symbol with which it is 
 placed in relation. I may add, that the intent of 
 the symbol, so frequently liable to a twofold in- 
 terpretation, is much more readily determined by 
 the figure, than is the subject either of the figure 
 or of the composition in which it forms a part, by 
 the symbolical sign, which is, from its very na- 
 ture, equivocal. Hence, we must conclude that 
 the ideal style impressed, for instance, on a statue 
 is to be regarded much more as a medium through 
 which to metaphorize the symbolical sign than 
 the symbol to allegorize the statue. 
 
 When, therefore, a figure which is accompanied 
 by symbolical attributes is neither conceived nor 
 treated in the ideal style, tending to change its 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 427 
 
 costume and ordinary appearance, the attribute 
 resuming the simple meaning attached to its na- 
 tural form, loses the power of signifying what 
 was intended by its use and presence. 1 will give, 
 as an instance, a sculptor who once made a statue 
 of Moliere. Desirous of designating the poet’s 
 art, and looking on that art, according to the me- 
 taphor employed in language, as the mirror of 
 civil life, he represented his personage, habited 
 with strict adherence to the modern costume of 
 the day, as holding a mirror, also of a modern 
 fashion. The figure afforded no other idea than 
 that of a dealer in looking glasses, and was so 
 nick-named. 
 
 The same would be the case with every figure 
 or composition, in the low style of imitation, ac- 
 companied by symbolical attributes borrowed from 
 the ordinary things of life ; as the scales, the 
 crook, the curb, the wheel, the rudder, and 
 many others which are not susceptible of a moral 
 acceptation, unless with the concurrent aid of the 
 ideal style in the representations of the persons 
 they accompany. 
 
 It is scarcely, I think, necessary to remark that 
 the same will hold good with regard to the signifi- 
 cancy of symbolical animals, when associated with 
 figures or compositions of persons, whose moral 
 qualities it is intended to designate by the relation 
 existing between those qualities and the instinc- 
 tive properties of different animals. It is also re- 
 
428 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 quisite that the form of the personages should be 
 so rendered metaphorical as to intimate to the 
 spectator that the animals are used only in the 
 sense of symbolical metaphor. Now, their moral 
 signification, that is, the acceptation in which they 
 are to be understood, depends solely in such cases 
 on the visible accordance of style and character 
 existing between the accessary and the principal 
 personage in the composition. It i$ the character 
 of the latter that determines the sense of the 
 former. By such means alone is our imagination 
 led to conceive that, for instance, a young girl 
 with a sheep signifies gentleness or innocence, 
 that a female with a pair of scales is indicative of 
 justice, or equality, which is never other than 
 justice. 
 
 What would be required in imitating their cor- 
 poreal forms, in order that these two figures to 
 which the above attributes are assigned, instead 
 of representing innocence and justice, should be 
 nothing more than a shepherdess and a shop- 
 woman ? Merely to give them an every-day form 
 and a costume not ideal. 
 
 So great is the difference between the positive 
 and the ideal, that according as the style, character, 
 and costume of the figures proposed to be rendered 
 allegorical, belongs to the one or the other, the 
 idea formed of them rises or falls, the one exalts 
 their significancy to the moral region of intellec- 
 tual beings, the other depresses it to a level with 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 429 
 
 the commonest things. And this effect takes 
 place almost mechanically ; it arises from the mere 
 instinct of the spectator, from that sympathy 
 through which a necessary co-relation is main- 
 tained between visible objects and purely intel- 
 lectual things. 
 
 As the appearance and the external form of the 
 figure that is accompanied by a symbol, ratifies 
 or contradicts its intent, strengthens or neutra- 
 lizes the effect of the sign, in itself arbitrary, 
 and as we have seen that there is a reciprocal 
 action between them, if not as regards the eye, 
 at least as regards the mind, so it is necessary 
 further to remark that this reciprocity must have 
 place only after the manner already indicated 
 with respect to personified allegory. That is 
 to say, the symbol must receive its intellectual 
 import from the ideal style of the figure it accom- 
 panies, but cannot communicate it to one deficient 
 in that style ; and when the low style of the 
 figure reduces the idea of the symbol to its simple 
 meaning, the idea of the symbol cannot raise the 
 aspect of that figure to a metaphorical sense. 
 Whence it follows, that not only will the interven- 
 tion of the symbolical sign be ill-timed, but will 
 not be supposed to have occurred when a compo- 
 sition is treated in the positive and low style of 
 imitation. 
 
 The symbolical form of composition considered 
 as a means of expressing moral or abstract ideas 
 
430 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 and transforming subjects and personages, coin- 
 cides, as already seen, to a certain degree with 
 the system of emblematical writing. In this 
 view, the use of symbols and the system of com- 
 position derived from it are not equally available 
 in every subject, nor to all the arts. Designed as 
 a substitute for the natural expression of ideas and 
 objects in arts and subjects which have at com- 
 mand but few means of explanation, the symbol, 
 which frequently conveys to the eye a twofold 
 meaning, would but furnish obscure enigmas in 
 those arts which, having the aid of language, can 
 render every idea clear, palpable, and significant. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 431 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 EXPLAINS WHY SYMBOLICAL METAPHOR IS IN POETRY OF BUT 
 LITTLE WORTH. 
 
 Of all the arts, that of sculpture is the one pos- 
 sessing the least extensive means as concerns the 
 representation of actions, the least various in that 
 of personages. Devoid of the resources of colours 
 and their effects, and limited to a very small 
 number of figures in statuary, and of aspects in 
 basso-relievo, this art would express fewer things 
 than any other, did it not compensate by the 
 intrinsic worth of its images for what they want 
 in diversity, and attain in them by a collective 
 and condensed significance what they cannot 
 acquire in number, extent, and narrative qualities. 
 Hence therefore, this art endeavours to collect 
 together under a small number of signs, a very 
 large mass of ideas, and to produce the most 
 forcible impression by the fewest means. As it 
 is the ideal or generalized style of design which 
 furnishes the highest idea of individuals, and as 
 this style does not acquire its fullest value, but in 
 the expression of the beauty of bodies, so it is 
 more necessary in sculpture than in painting to 
 
432 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 represent nudity, — that poetical and really meta- 
 phorical nudity, (see it treated of in the succeed- 
 ing chapters,) by the aid of which, as well as by 
 some other means, the ordinary is exchanged for 
 the ideal appearance of things. 
 
 The secret of this art consists in expressing so 
 much the more, the less it speaks ; and the same 
 is the case with allegory, which, as we have seen, 
 betokens more things than it exhibits : it is so, in 
 short, with all metaphor and all fiction, which 
 carry the mind far beyond the object immediately 
 before the eye. 
 
 It does not altogether arise from the artist’s 
 will, but very frequently from necessity that he 
 uses these resources in the art of sculpture, both 
 in its greater and lesser department. By its 
 lesser department, I mean, for instance, medal 
 engraving. In it all the imitative means of art 
 are circumscribed within the narrowest compass, 
 and reduced to very small dimensions ; while* 
 contrary wise, the subjects to be represented are 
 among the most considerable, and the most 
 abounding in circumstances. It< is therefore 
 frequently requisite to conceive and express those 
 subjects with the fewest possible figures. 
 
 But in corporeal imitation it belongs only to 
 metaphorical conceptions to express many ideas 
 under a few figures ; and as it would seem that 
 the symbolical conception is more than any other 
 of these fitted to reduce the most extended moral 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 433 
 
 or intellectual idea to the minimum of image, sym- 
 bols are therefore the proper characters in the 
 figurative writing of medals. 
 
 But the more necessary symbolical language 
 may, in many cases, be to an art which, devoid of 
 many other means of expression, can frequently 
 express itself only by signs, the less must be its 
 utility to an art which possesses within itself every 
 possible resource for speaking to the mind, which 
 is capable of expressing all moral and intellectual 
 ideas, and whose very property it is that it can 
 address nothing to the visual organ, can render 
 nothing intelligible, when material objects are 
 concerned, but by the aid of mental images. And 
 that art is poetry. 
 
 We may also remark that the ancient poets, 
 while they personified at pleasure whatever they 
 desired to render sensible, and frequently resorted 
 to allegorical personification, have yet very rarely 
 introduced symbolical descriptions in their images. 
 Besides that descriptions by means of attributes 
 and emblems are in themselves frigid, and can 
 give no animation to the theme, they are open to 
 another objection, that of being obscure and 
 enigmatical. 
 
 True it is that in poetry certain traits borrowed 
 from the images and properties of bodies may 
 make a significant, expressive, and congenial pic- 
 ture to the mind, which, nevertheless, the pain- 
 ter’s art cannot reproduce without destroying their 
 
 F F 
 
434 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 moral force, precisely because it would give them 
 the force of reality ; so that what would be noble 
 in the ideal painting of the poet, would become 
 ridiculous in the corporeal poetry of the painter. 
 
 When, for instance, Horace represents tardy 
 punishment pursuing crime, as lame-footed, this 
 allegory has the advantage of being expressive 
 without its image proving offensive to us through 
 a natural deformity which, to the eye alone, would 
 be highly so. Some artist may perhaps one of 
 these days take it into his head to translate the 
 poet’s allegory into a visible image ; I leave the 
 reader to imagine the impression that would be 
 produced on seeing the figure of Punishment, 
 stumping along after the criminal, with a wooden 
 leg. 
 
 But has not Horace, in his turn, made the same 
 mistake, bordering closely on the ridiculous, 
 when, in his ode to Fortune, he seems to have 
 been desirous of forming, as though intended for 
 the eye, a symbolical composition of the person- 
 ages attendant on the fickle goddess ? If any 
 thing can prove how ambiguous are symbolical 
 attributes in description, it is that figure of Neces- 
 sity carrying in her brazen hand, nails and wedges, 
 without forgetting cramps and melted lead.* 
 
 * Te semper anteit sceva necessitas, 
 
 Clavos trabales et cuneos manu 
 Gestans ahena ; nec severus 
 Uncus abest, liquidumque plumbum. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 435 
 
 This description has exercised the criticism of 
 various commentators, who are divided in opinion, 
 not as to the sense of the words, but the use of the 
 things they express. 
 
 Some have maintained that the poet borrowed 
 his symbolical composition from a picture of For- 
 tune in the temple at Antium, Hypothesis on 
 hypothesis, I should rather suppose that his figure 
 of Necessity was derived from some statue, and 
 probably a brazen one, as the words manu gestans 
 ahena would indicate. 
 
 It is the part of necessity to give fixedness to 
 things, to subdue elements, however combined, 
 by constraining them to yield to the law of force. 
 One would expect that in order to express this 
 abstract idea to the eye the artist would seek 
 some images derived from perceptible and well 
 known objects ; such as nails serving to give 
 stability to carpentry work, wedges to rend vio- 
 lently asunder or to force things to adhere closely 
 together, and cramps fastened with molten lead to 
 secure their juncture. How else than by means 
 of this kind could the statuary unfold the mean- 
 ing or subject of his figure ? 
 
 But the poet who, in fewer words even than are 
 required to enumerate the symbols of the sculptor, 
 might unfold to us, in its fullest extent, the power 
 of necessity both as to its action on human affairs 
 and its effects on their final consequences, which 
 again might induce grave reflections and most 
 
 f f 2 
 
436 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 important ideas, what, I say, does he, in endea- 
 vouring to represent it by means of material attri- 
 butes, but convert his art into an ambiguous 
 interpreter of another art ? He exchanges the 
 force of ideas for that of words. He neglects the 
 moral impression of the thing, to grasp its sign 
 only, and depicts not Necessity, but merely its 
 statue. 
 
 The Goddess Fortune had also, as every o$S 
 must know, her symbolical attributes, and Horace 
 might in like manner have described her ball, her 
 wheel, and her rudder. But is he not far more 
 truly a poet when, in four lines, he gives us an 
 idea of that power which could snatch the sons of 
 mortality from the most degraded condition and 
 convert the proudest triumphs into funereal mourn- 
 ing ?* Here we have a specimen of the true 
 paintings of poetry. These are the imagerial 
 associations which it is privileged to make, the 
 secret of which cannot be stolen from it by the 
 other arts. Wherefore then should poetry seek to 
 borrow means of expression which to them are 
 only supplementary, or but feeble substitutes for 
 a property which nature has denied them? It 
 were truly a ridiculous error! It would be to 
 prefer hieroglyphics to writing ; to substitute the 
 
 * O Diva, grata quse regis Antium, 
 
 Presens, vel imo tollere de gradu 
 Mortale corpus, vel superbos 
 Vertere funeribus triumphos : 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 437 
 
 expedients of the deaf and dumb for the gift of 
 language, and that, forsooth, in order to the being 
 better understood. 
 
 While in an art the proper language of which is 
 all sufficient, we would deprecate such like vapid 
 translations of the material signs of another art, 
 which alone can render symbols expressive to the 
 eye, we do not mean to censure, in poetry, similes 
 derived from the corporeal kingdom. 
 
 We have heretofore shown (see Part III. Chap, 
 viii.) that simile is one among the metaphorical 
 means of poetry. But here is the proper place 
 to point out how it is sometimes abused, by 
 neglecting the purpose of the simile, in the choice 
 of objects that form the ground of it. It is this 
 abuse which has been reprobated in some of our 
 modern poets, who have drawn the subjects of 
 their similes either from an exclusive circle of 
 usages within reach of a few only, or from a 
 certain class of mechanical objects or manufac- 
 turing processes but little known. Hence it hap- 
 pens that the simile which ought to serve as an 
 explanation, frequently requires to be explained 
 itself. 
 
 This will be the case, and to a much greater 
 degree, as respects the use of symbolical signs in 
 poetry. For the symbol, as primarily made use 
 of, I mean, as employed in material imitation, has 
 already a conventional and borrowed purport, 
 which, being rendered clear by the artist, still 
 
438 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 requires that transposing effort of the mind which 
 occasions one thing to be seen or conceived of 
 under the appearance of another. The symbol 
 thus employed, as it were, at second-hand, im- 
 poses a necessity on the mind of a two-fold trans- 
 position,^ — first from the image of the poet to that 
 of the sculptor, and again from that to reality. 
 Now as the external sense is in nowise concerned 
 in this operation, which wholly appertains to the 
 intellect, confusion is the more likely to arise, 
 since the eye is unable to discern the nature of 
 the objects. Thus it is with the symbols of the 
 Necessity of Horace ; they are become an enigma 
 to the commentators. 
 
 Some, because they do not actually see the 
 kind of nails termed trabales, the form of the wedges, 
 and the crooked cramps (uncus') fastened with 
 molten lead, would have it that those objects 
 were instruments of punishment. On the con- 
 trary, it is scarcely probable, supposing a brazen 
 statue holding in its hand large nails and wedges, 
 with large metal cramps by its side and a vessel 
 for melting lead, that the spectator could be mis- 
 taken on the nature of such accessaries, their 
 relation with the art of building, with the idea of 
 solidity which they give rise to, and thence with 
 the metaphorical meaning intended to be con- 
 veyed by the character of the figure. 
 
 But the poet, who can only bring symbolical 
 things to view in idea, and cannot (without 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 439 
 
 absurdity) give a technical description, adds to the 
 moral obscurity of the image, the invisibility of 
 the object itself from which it is borrowed, and 
 thence produces only a sign without discernible 
 value, an image that is inexpressive to the mind. 
 
440 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ON CERTAIN POETICAL MEANS PROPER, EXCLUSIVELY, TO THE 
 ARTS OF DESIGN. — OF NUDITY POETICALLY CONSIDERED. 
 
 Each of the fine arts is undoubtedly entitled to 
 the use of metaphor ; but not to the same species 
 of metaphorical means. The title being founded 
 on the power, we have seen that the kind of 
 transformation must depend on the means of 
 transforming proper to each art, on the object to 
 which they are applied in that art, and on the 
 organ receiving the impression. It is in vain 
 therefore for the poet and the painter to consider 
 themselves entitled to use the same metaphorical 
 elements, while nature refuses to one of our 
 organs the pleasure and discrimination which is 
 granted to and enjoyed by another. 
 
 The direct and absolute expression of corporeal 
 beauty can, in the works of nature as in those of 
 imitation, be addressed only to the eye. Words 
 and figures can never give other than a vague and 
 inconclusive idea of it. The details of the beau- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 441 
 
 ties of any individual, however described, will give 
 rise to as many different individuals in imagination 
 as there are readers of those details. There is 
 the same difference between the description of 
 corporeal beauty and its imitation, as between 
 even the most minute description of a man and 
 his portrait. 
 
 Thus a metaphorical worth is attached to the 
 image of bodies, which are the materials of imita- 
 tion in the arts of design, and we have en- 
 deavoured to point out the rules and properties to 
 be observed in resorting to the metaphorical sys- 
 tem appropriate to those arts. 
 
 I must not however omit to mention some other 
 metaphorical means belonging to them, on the 
 employment of which opinions are widely contra- 
 dictory. I speak of nudity, considered as a 
 poetical mean, and of those dresses or draperies 
 which are no longer in vogue among the moderns. 
 
 Nudity, employed and considered as a meta- 
 phorical mean in the historical subjects treated in 
 painting and sculpture, may in some wise, accord- 
 ing to the times, country, and manners, offend 
 against certain opinions even as relating to taste. 
 
 It is first of all necessary that one principal 
 point on this subject be clearly understood, and it 
 is one about which there can be no difficulty, 
 namely : That if the arts of design have for their 
 elementary object the imitation of bodies, and if 
 among all bodies that of man is the most general 
 
442 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 and most especial object of study, then it is 
 certain that to deny them such imitation would be 
 to deprive them of existence. And such has in 
 fact been the case wherever, no matter from what 
 cause, the imitation of the human body has been 
 interdicted or discouraged. Wherever therefore 
 it is desired that the arts of design should exist 
 there can be no ground for disputing what is the 
 very condition of their existence. 
 
 Thus even those who object to the employment 
 of nudity, that is, of the imitation of the human 
 body, in historical subjects, so called, admit it in 
 all others, when the nudity does not contradict 
 the usual state of being of the personages who, 
 as for instance those of fable, are the object of the 
 compositions of art. 
 
 This is not the place to weigh the objections 
 that might be urged by a morality, more or less 
 stern, against the indiscreet or licentious represen- 
 tation of nudity. We grant that there are subjects 
 in which the merest sense of decorum would for- 
 bid the employment of the naked ; and as to what 
 is termed a licentious image, we think morality 
 and good taste must be alike agreed to condemn 
 both the limner and the beholder. It is plain 
 that we would here be understood to speak only 
 of the imitation of the naked, in a philosophical 
 view, as constituting a necessary part of imitative 
 language expressed by corporeal forms. 
 
 We may then safely declare that in whatever 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 443 
 
 way its use may have obtained, whether as ulti- 
 mately linked, such being the case in ancient 
 times, with religion and every social institution, 
 or simply, as with modern nations, as a luxury of 
 society and a mental occupation or pleasure, it is 
 impossible so far to indemnify, if one may use the 
 expression, those arts that work by the forms 
 of bodies as ever to enable them to forego the 
 means they have of pleasing, so necessarily is 
 pleasure the end or the spring of their action. 
 
 Now in the art of sculpture more especially, 
 ought it not to be in the first class of its requisites 
 which is also that of its merits, that it be capable 
 of producing and realizing those impressions of 
 beauty, proportion, and harmony, of which the 
 wonderful organization of the human body is the 
 inexhaustible subject? 
 
 While we are forced to acknowledge that the 
 work of the painter and sculptor has, like that of 
 the poet, its poetical sphere, why may not the 
 expression of visible beauty attached to the per- 
 fection of bodies be comprehended therein ? Is 
 there, in fact, any more powerful means of exciting- 
 in us, through the charm arising from symmetrical 
 lines and graceful forms, ideas analogous to those 
 produced in poetry by the metaphorical means of 
 style, thoughts, and even images, which it borrows 
 from times and opinions that exist no longer ? 
 
 The poet is permitted without cavil to employ, 
 when the conditions of his subject allow, the 
 
444 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 mythological creations of ancient poetry, although 
 they are not sanctioned by the opinions of the 
 moderns, and are contrary to their belief, by rea- 
 son that, being naturalized in poetry, they belong 
 to a system of metaphors become universal. 
 
 It should be the same in this respect with the 
 artist (except that he also must, as already said, 
 observe the proprieties prescribed by certain 
 classes of subjects) : I would further remark, that 
 there are some especial considerations in his favour. 
 
 One may, in truth, pronounce that in the use 
 the sculptor, for instance, makes of nudity as ap- 
 plicable to the effigy of a modern personage, he 
 really borrows nothing from times gone by, nor 
 from other nations ; since the human body and its 
 imitation belong to all times and all countries. 
 
 But, it is said in reply that he does borrow a 
 usage, a practice which has no longer any re- 
 lation with the actual state of our social manners. 
 For the representation of a modern personage 
 is thus assimilated to such as the Greeks and 
 Romans would have given of their cotemporaries, 
 through a convention which was far more accor- 
 dant with their manners, than it can be with ours. 
 
 Two positions are here advanced. The one, 
 that nudity received, in the countries above spoken 
 of, a much greater sanction from ancient habits ; 
 and that thence the portrait-statue of a personage, 
 represented naked, was less in opposition to the 
 general cast of opinion than it would be in our 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 445 
 
 climes ; the other, that a taste for the works of 
 imitation, singularly favoured as it then was by 
 all manner of causes, must have countenanced still 
 further the employment of nudity. 
 
 But what conclusion is to be drawn from all 
 this? None, except that its employment should 
 be less general now-a-days, because opinion is 
 more opposed to it, and that one is led to be op- 
 posed to itj because it is less general. 
 
 Yet there is sufficient reason to authorize its 
 use among the moderns, derived from the very 
 nature of the relations existing between imitation 
 and the people and customs of our time. Those 
 customs may indeed prescribe the fulfilment of 
 certain conditions, the observance of certain pro- 
 prieties, nor would we deny that imitation must 
 submit to them. But, on the other hand, art 
 having once attained its development, it is no 
 longer possible to take away without destroying 
 (as was the case in Egypt, for instance) what con- 
 stitutes its essential property, that is, the repre- 
 senting the truth of bodies, and especially that of 
 the human body. If then it be found that the 
 accustomed dress of certain times and countries 
 so far conceals or disguises the model of art as to 
 deprive the artist of all truth of nature and of 
 imitation, by reducing it to the nullity of an iden- 
 tical copy (as we shall have occasion to remark 
 on in the subsequent chapter), it becomes an in- 
 dispensable resource, particularly in sculpture, 
 
446 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 to imitate what is never subjected to the caprice 
 of fashion, I mean the very forms themselves of 
 the body (subordinated always to the proprieties 
 required by the nature of the subject.) 
 
 Nudity is in that case a true metaphor, a poeti- 
 cal transposition in art, provided that the artist 
 observes the conditions that render it such ; of 
 these we shall speak hereafter. 
 
 Now we need not doubt but that the same was 
 the case with the ancients. Although certain 
 usages had more accustomed their eyes to it, and 
 their climate had rendered the sight of it more 
 frequent, yet nudity wanted much of ever being 
 in fact admitted into the habits of civil life, and 
 of religious offices and ceremonies, Numberless 
 examples prove to us that it was used by artists 
 with a sole view to art, and as a metaphorical 
 method, either of generalizing the personage or 
 expressing moral by physical qualities, on which 
 it may be truly said they set a far higher value 
 than is done in our day. 
 
 Hence it follows, that nudity is for us, with 
 our manners, only a yet more poetical conven- 
 tion, a bolder metaphor, and ought, therefore, 
 to be employed with greater care and circum- 
 spection. 
 
 Finally, this convention, like all others, holds 
 to the distinction between the two kinds of imi- 
 tation concerning which we have so often spoken. 
 
 To represent men such as they are, whether 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 447 
 
 in their individual form, or under the forms, and 
 with the outward appearance arising from the 
 local habits of any particular age and country is 
 the low or prosaical imitation of art. To repre- 
 sent them such as they might be, or such as the 
 proprieties of a superior order of existences al- 
 lows of our imagining them, is what in a great 
 measure constitutes the poetical language of the 
 imitation of bodies. 
 
 Nudity then, in the representation of contem- 
 porary or modern historical personages, is, when 
 no casual propriety requires it otherwise, that is, 
 when considered generally and theoretically, 
 simply a convention of the same kind with those 
 that constitute the ideal or poetical style of the 
 arts of design. 
 
 I confess that it is frequently the artist’s fault 
 that nudity, as applied to certain subjects in a 
 metaphorical sense, is not fully understood. It 
 is only by the aid of the ideal style or character 
 that it can serve to excite enlarged ideas, that is, 
 generalized images of personages ; while imita- 
 tion of a low style or character, whether as re- 
 gards man or his costume, tends only to render 
 the image particular, and confine it to the class of 
 portraits. 
 
 What does the artist declare, what does he in- 
 dicate when in the representation of a contem- 
 porary or modern historical personage he employs 
 nudity in his effigy? He, thereby, announces that 
 
448 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 the celebrity acquired by that personage, has in a 
 manner withdrawn him from the narrow circle of 
 the partial society of which he was a member, 
 and that, therefore, he endows the physical man 
 with that more general existence which renown 
 confers on the moral man or his qualities. It is 
 assuredly the plainest manner of showing by cor- 
 poreal signs that a man has ceased to be an indi- 
 vidual of any particular place and time, and has 
 become a man of all ages and all countries. 
 
 But the metaphorical meaning conveyed by the 
 use of nudity in the statue above mentioned, must 
 not be contradicted by a principle or style of exe- 
 cution opposed to it. Now the artist himself 
 sometimes unsuspectingly nullifies the metaphor 
 he is employing ; take as a notorious instance, the 
 statue of a celebrated poet represented naked, 
 where the artist has rather made an anatomical 
 study, than an honorary monument.* 
 
 The metaphorical system must be accompanied 
 by an ideal style. If the artist neglects this neces- 
 sary accordance, he will produce, instead of a 
 naked statue, nothing more than a figure devoid 
 of clothing. 
 
 I must here guard against some false conse- 
 quences that might be drawn from this theory 
 by applying it indiscriminately to painting as well 
 as sculpture. Although the two arts have a num- 
 
 * The statue of Voltaire by Pigalle. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 449 
 
 ber of conventions in common, yet it will readily 
 be conceived that by reason of the difference ex- 
 isting between their technical or material means 
 and effects, certain metaphors or transpositions in 
 the appearance of persons and subjects may ac- 
 cord more with the one and less with the other. 
 
 Thus nudity considered as a means of genera- 
 lizing, in an isolated statue, the representation of 
 a personage, may no longer possess the same vir- 
 tue when employed by another art, having more 
 numerous means of particularizing, and the use of 
 which very frequently cannot be laid aside. Now 
 such is necessarily the case with the art of paint- 
 ing in the effect of colour added to that of form, 
 in the very advantage derived from the locality 
 attached to the subject, and again in the acces- 
 saries to particular truth, dependent on that 
 locality. 
 
 The personage represented by the naked statue, 
 is the habitant of no place, in the work of art ; he 
 is not in relation with any thing that can contra- 
 dict his state of being. Even in subjects treated 
 by basso-relievo which, like the picture of the 
 painter, admits of various accompaniments, it is 
 still true that the artist, if he remain within the 
 limits of his art, is bound to confine himself to 
 terms, both physically and morally speaking, far 
 less favourable to the development of whatever 
 might tend to particularize his representations. 
 
 We allow that the painter also is not debarred 
 
 G G 
 
450 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 from confining himself, in the images which he has 
 to do with, to a less degree of particular truth and 
 consequently of historical strictness. But it is evi- 
 dently but little to his advantage, to conform volun- 
 tarily to conditions imposed on the sculptor by ne- 
 cessity. Since he resorts to the natural means of an 
 art which affords him infinitely more descriptive or 
 narrative resources, he takes on himself the re- 
 sponsibility of observing with greater fidelity the 
 true and natural relations that ought to exist be- 
 tween the several parts of his composition. Thus 
 the painter is not justified in arbitrarily introducing 
 nudity in the figure of one personage, contrary to 
 historical truth, while he strictly adheres to that 
 same truth in the other figures of his picture. 
 For in allowing himself such discrepancies, he 
 destroys, although he might have done otherwise, 
 the unity of his scene, by establishing a double 
 order of things, times, manners, and state of being, 
 offensive at once to the eye and the reason. He 
 must either wholly renounce the expression of 
 historical truth or adhere to it throughout every 
 part. We say to him with Horace, 
 
 Aut famam sequere aut sibi convenientia finge. 
 
 It is urged as a pretext to excuse such incon- 
 gruities (and they are very frequent in pictures) that 
 they arise from a desire on the part of the artist 
 to show his skill in representing the naked.* But 
 
 * Our British artists run into the opposite extreme, but the 
 stricture is very applicable to the French school of design. — TV. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 451 
 
 the excuse is not admissible, for such is not the 
 purpose for which an artist is supposed to execute 
 his works ; nor is his vanity to be gratified at the 
 expense of reason. 
 
 These anomalies in painting are also endea- 
 voured to be justified by instances drawn from 
 the works of sculpture itself, and even from an- 
 cient engraving, that is, engraved medals and 
 stones, in which subjects are necessarily abridged 
 or condensed in their representation, requiring an 
 especial convention not admissible in painting. 
 
 Finally, it is said that the artist has always a 
 right to renounce, in furtherance of his art, the 
 system of historical fidelity or reality ; in this we 
 fully concur ; and our whole theory tends but to 
 establish this right, although in different degrees, 
 and with altered conditions. But this concession 
 rests on other principles and other reasons than 
 those alleged in favour of the employment of 
 nudity, from motives of verisimilitude which are 
 either irrelevant or erroneous. 
 
 I will furnish an instance from the several dicta 
 on the nudity of the group of Laocoon, — so often 
 the subject of controversy. 
 
 Laocoon, say some, was a priest of Apollo, and 
 was offering a sacrifice when the serpents attacked 
 him. The artist has, in that case, sinned against 
 historical truth and verisimilitude, by representing 
 a high priest as naked in the exercise of his 
 functions. 
 
 g g 2 
 
452 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 According to others, the artist would be en- 
 titled to change the instant and place of the oc- 
 currence. As custom, say they, required that 
 the priest should purify himself in the bath pre- 
 vious to the sacrifice, it may be supposed that it 
 is then that Laocoon is attacked by the serpents. 
 
 Others again reply in a still more evasive man- 
 ner to the objection urged against the nudity, by 
 saying that Laocoon and his history being, per- 
 haps, but a fabulous subject, the artist was not 
 obliged to treat an imaginary fact historically. 
 
 But enough of this fruitless controversy. 
 
 The sculptor of Laocoon has represented him 
 naked, because he was neither the annalist nor 
 chronicler of the Trojan wars ; because he rather 
 chose to be the historian of nature and the im- 
 pressions that a scene so tragic was fitted to pro- 
 duce. Laocoon is naked, because without nudity 
 the artist could but feebly have represented that 
 terrific and piteous spectacle, afforded by the 
 contraction of every part of a body a prey to every 
 excruciating pain ; because the stings and tighten- 
 ing coils of the serpents would have had less ef- 
 fect on a clothed body, and would have produced 
 a feebler impression on the spectator. Finally, 
 Laocoon is naked because the artist had it not so 
 much in view to perpetuate the memory of the 
 tragical death, supposing it true, of the high priest 
 of the Trojans, as to show the power of imitation 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 453 
 
 and the triumph of art, in the expression of the 
 direst agonies of the mind and body. 
 
 Such are the effects produced by this class of 
 metaphors, by which, in the arts of design, a par- 
 ticular fact from local story may be converted 
 into a general scene from physical and moral 
 nature, as seen struggling against the power of in- 
 exorable fate. 
 
 To return to the particular proprieties required 
 of painting in the employment of nudity, can the 
 painter exercise the same liberty as the sculptor, 
 in the representation of the same subject ? We 
 answer, yes, if, confining himself to the subject 
 in its fewest and simplest elements, he separate 
 from it whatever might tend to particularize, and 
 so reinvest it with a historical character. But if 
 he introduce into the scene of his picture, through 
 the more multifarious means of his art, all the ac- 
 cessaries, such as locality, reality, and historical 
 details, that it may or, as some would say, ought to 
 admit of ; if he paint the catastrophe of Laocoon 
 seized while in the performance of his sacrifice in 
 the temple of Minerva, and in the presence of nu- 
 merous assistants, a subject undoubtedly fruitful in 
 points of interest, action, and expression, would 
 he be equally free to represent Laocoon and his 
 children naked? Would it be in accordance with 
 the merest propriety to represent the high priest 
 alone devoid of clothing in the very act of sacri- 
 
454 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 lice ; for our hypothesis has nothing to do with 
 the question of representing all the assistants 
 naked ? 
 
 Mere common sense will at once answer, no. 
 And why ? Because the event as the subject of 
 the group, and the personages as objects of its 
 composition, being generalized in the sculptor’s 
 isolated work, are found particularized anew in 
 the painter’s picture. 
 
 In the group of the statuary, the nominal in- 
 dividual, — the priest or sacrificer has disappeared, 
 with all the adjuncts of the historical scene, in 
 order to give place to the sole spectacle of suffer- 
 ing nature, and his system of ideal generalization 
 is here adopted less from taste than necessity by 
 an art, which, unfitted, seeing the limitation of 
 its means, to represent actions embracing nume- 
 rous details and circumstances, must seek in ano- 
 ther sphere of impressions, an equivalent for what 
 nature has denied it. 
 
 On the other hand, in a picture such as that we 
 have described, the very nature of the subject 
 prevents the action being thus generalized. The 
 temple, the altar, the victim, the sacrificers, and 
 the assistants are so many elements necessarily 
 particularizing the scene, and subjecting it to the 
 conditions of truth or historical verisimilitude. 
 Now, to represent Laocoon naked, that is, accord- 
 ing to an ideal and conventional system, amid 
 adjuncts and assistant sacrificers represented ac- 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 455 
 
 cording to the positive system of historical truth, 
 is to present to the eye two mutually contradictory 
 things. Tt were to pretend that the event repre- 
 sented may be at the same time believed and not 
 believed. It were to render it at once true and 
 false. 
 
 Aut famam sequere aut sil>i convenientia tinge. 
 
456 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. OF IDEAL CLOTHING, 
 
 OR OF ANCIENT COSTUME AND HABILIMENTS TRANSFERRED 
 TO MODERN SUBJECTS. 
 
 In corporeal imitation, as already remarked, there 
 can be no metaphor without metamorphosis. The 
 Greeks, who were the founders of art, and who 
 are our models, have in all their works, trans- 
 mitted to us instruction and example on this head. 
 
 It is frequently imagined that what to us ap- 
 pears poetical and metaphorical in the circum- 
 stances of the personages or subjects of ancient 
 sculpture, is due merely to the habits of the times 
 and is but the faithful repetition of what was con- 
 tinually before the eyes of all. Yet what has 
 been said in the preceding chapter respecting the 
 nudity of their statues, shows plainly enough that 
 such nudity was far more frequently than it is 
 usual to suppose, a mere convention of art, con- 
 trary to the customs of social life. Thus when 
 gymnastic exercises and the games of the circus 
 are brought forward as circumstances tending to 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 457 
 
 authorize the employment of nudity by them, the 
 inference is just, provided that it is not intended 
 to convey more than that the eye being more 
 habituated to nudity, its application to the works 
 of s the chisel would seem more natural. But 
 because they had frequent occasion to make the 
 statues of wrestlers, for instance, naked, it does 
 not follow that the statues of so many other per- 
 sonages which are represented naked were intended 
 for wrestlers or gymnasts. It was not even with 
 any allusion to the exercises of the stadium or 
 gymnasium that they represented princes, war- 
 riors, orators, philosophers, poets, &c., as wholly 
 or half naked. 
 
 The nudity in the greater number of those 
 works, was a true poetical metaphor ; and it were 
 easily proved that the cause of its employment 
 did not always exist in civil institutions. Who is 
 there that does not at once perceive that the same 
 genius which had filled the world with super- 
 natural beings, would not be slow in associating 
 with them deified men whose characters it was 
 for art also to determine ? Thus several classes 
 of divine personages, so deemed, were formed, to 
 which flattery could not fail to assimilate cele- 
 brated men. Such in reality was the true first 
 cause of metaphors in the art of statuary. 
 
 At one time, Homer, Pericles, Alexander, were 
 changed into divinities ; at another, the statues 
 of living personages were executed in the heroic 
 
458 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 style, that is, according to the state of being in 
 the most ancient times. This explains the intro- 
 duction of nudity into the representations of co- 
 temporary or historical personages among the 
 Greeks ; and such an explanation is in itself a 
 proof that nudity was really but a transformation, 
 a poetical metaphor of art and not a copy of civil 
 usages. 
 
 It will no doubt be objected that this metaphor 
 being founded on the opinions of the Greeks, was 
 thence upheld by reasons which we cannot now 
 put forward since we no longer entertain the same 
 opinions. But the same answer is applicable 
 here, that we shall presently make to a still 
 stronger objection ; it is that every poetical meta- 
 phor being a fiction of the imagination will always 
 as far as regards its elements and the spirit prompt- 
 ing it, be met with in the poetical metaphor of 
 other times and other countries. The fictions of 
 art, from whatever more or less real opinion they 
 may emanate, have always their common source 
 in the imagination, in the wants of the human 
 mind. Thus, in point of art, there is no one 
 poetical spring or agent, which is not met with 
 under the same combinations and the same effects 
 among the poetical expedients resorted to by the 
 Greeks. But this coincidence in the employment 
 of the same means is yet more natural with us, 
 seeing that from the Greeks and their traditions 
 we' derive all the poetical elements of our arts, so 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 459 
 
 that it may be truly said of metaphorical means of 
 every description, that we make use of them not 
 as being Grecian, but poetical ; and it is on this 
 account that our artists are justified in the em- 
 ployment of nudity. 
 
 Still more serious objections are urged against 
 the use of what is commonly termed the ancient 
 costume, or the forms of the Grecian and Roman 
 habiliments applied to modern subjects. 
 
 On this point, as on that of nudity, we can 
 only repeat what common sense must readily 
 suggest, namely, that in the representations of 
 personages and subjects, there are some which 
 are in no wise fitted to undergo the changes 
 of appearance that an ideal or foreign costume 
 would effect in them without rendering them alto- 
 gether impossible of recognition. A mere sense 
 of fitness will suffice to determine the range of 
 subjects here alluded to. 
 
 But this preliminary concession once made, the 
 question of taste, as regards all other subjects, 
 remains to be discussed under its general rela- 
 tions ; for we do not pretend to enter here into 
 particular cases. 
 
 And in the outset we acknowledge that inclina- 
 tion to be very natural by which the generality of 
 men are led to desire that persons, whose like- 
 nesses are taken, should be represented with all 
 those details and particularities of costume, which 
 so effectually assist in rendering them recog- 
 
460 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 nizable ; and did the question concern merely the 
 portraits of individuals taken for individuals, criti- 
 cism would have no right to interfere. 
 
 Yet the same inclination will prompt men to 
 require the same fidelity, in the images of cele- 
 brated personages to whom monuments are erected 
 by public gratitude or admiration. And here 
 commences the struggle between the positive and 
 ideal systems of imitation. 
 
 The pleasure afforded by the statue-portraits of 
 modern or cotemporary personages, in which all 
 the details of dress and its accessaries are pre- 
 sented, is exactly of the same nature with that 
 arising from the instinct which requires reality in 
 imitation. It is the pleasure of the ignorant mul- 
 titude, who always regard what is meanest in the 
 works of art ; witness the criticism of the cobler 
 on the picture of Apelles respecting the sole of 
 the shoe. 
 
 INow what we have just advanced is proved by 
 the very nature of modern costume or dress* 
 which, if put in comparison with that of antiquity, 
 will explain not only why imitation gives, but 
 why it is compelled to give the preference to the 
 latter, more especially in sculpture. 
 
 By reference to what we have said in the first 
 part of this work, concerning the opposite princi- 
 ple to that of imitation, namely, identical repetition 
 of every object that can be reproduced by the aid 
 of moulds, patterns, and admeasurement, it will 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 461 
 
 be at once seen that as the form of all our habili- 
 ments and their several parts is derived from an 
 uniform pattern, the copy of them made by the 
 sculptor cannot but be a repetition of them after a 
 mechanical manner, without art and without 
 talent, since the use of the rule or compass is 
 sufficient to obtain their resemblance. 
 
 I here allude chiefly to sculpture, that art 
 which, reproducing the forms of objects without 
 their colour, has to represent nothing more in a 
 geometrical body than its form ; therein differing 
 from painting, which has a further property, to 
 express in such subjects the harmony of tones and 
 the effect of light or shade. 
 
 In our garments all is symmetrical, squared, 
 and uniform. A thousand dresses would present 
 but a thousand times the same dress. 
 
 Without entering into an exact analysis and 
 description either of the fashion of dress among 
 the ancients or of its forms and use, it is sufficient 
 for the notions we would deduce from it to say 
 that it was almost wholly the opposite of the 
 modern, since it in general consisted of a very 
 ample garment, left free, that is, having received 
 no particular form from the tailor’s craft. It 
 enwrapped the body and was adjusted in different 
 ways dependent either on the taste of the wearer 
 or on chance, by which its combinations were 
 infinitely multiplied and the folds of the stuff 
 shifted in so many ways that a thousand dresses 
 
OF THE MEANS 
 
 4 62 
 
 would present a thousand casts of drapery all 
 different. 
 
 This kind of dress was therefore natural, in as 
 much as its forms were neither fashioned nor con- 
 strained by art. Here then is nature with respect 
 to stuffs, or drapery. Since nature, cm this point, 
 is such, the art imitating it has therefore nature for 
 its model. 
 
 Art imitating dresses or staffs artificially cut oat 
 by a pattern, has not therefore nature on this 
 point for its model. 
 
 We here see why imitation requires the em- 
 ployment of habiliments which on the one hand 
 are favourable to the development of the beauties 
 of the body, and on the other may serve as matter 
 for imitation. 
 
 Imitation is therefore entitled to use the forms 
 of drapery which constituted more or less the 
 apparel of the ancients, and that for two reasons. 
 
 The first, founded on the very spirit of meta- 
 phor which, as we have seen, may often transfer 
 both personages and subjects from one country to 
 another. When, therefore, the subject is in other 
 respects well adapted there is nothing to hinder 
 the assimilation by art of a modem personage to 
 some one or other of the great men of antiquity; and 
 this can only be effected by borrowing judiciously 
 from the appearance of ancient costume. Thus 
 good taste has never disapproved in great monu- 
 ments, such as the equestrian statues of kings, in 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 463 
 
 bronze, the employment of parts of the military or 
 heroic accoutrements of the ancients. These 
 things belong to the allegorical part of the arts of 
 design. 
 
 The second reason may be found in the definition 
 already given of the nature and disposition of the 
 stuffs serving for apparel in ancient times. For 
 while we fully agree that they formed what we 
 should term the fashion of the ancients, we have 
 also declared that they belong also to a more general 
 fashion, that is, the universal fashion of nature. 
 Hence the errors that have arisen, and into which 
 the censurers of the form of metaphor which we 
 term that of ideal clothing, have fallen. 
 
 The ancient clothing is then employed by art 
 not as ancient but as natural, not because it was 
 adopted by the Greeks and Romans, but because 
 no other can be employed in imitation, and fur- 
 ther, not even so much because it is accordant 
 with the metaphorical style, but because the 
 modern costume is anti-imitative. 
 
 This being the case, the interest of every nation 
 requires that in confiding to sculpture the task of 
 perpetuating its exploits and its great men, it 
 should watch over the taste and style of imitation 
 in works which, while they inspire respect for the 
 images so enshrined, may bear favourable testi- 
 mony to future ages of the period when they were 
 upraised. 
 
 I am far from desirous of entering into all the 
 
464 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 particular considerations attached to this subject. 
 I seek but to establish one that proceeds from the 
 very nature of the subject, and on which every 
 person may be competent to form a judgment. 
 
 Although the dress of the ancients had not been 
 so favourable to imitation, so suitable to all the 
 inventions of art as we have seen it to be, it must 
 nevertheless be admitted that it possesses a pecu- 
 liar advantage in the works of sculpture, con- 
 sidered with a view to the future. It is perhaps 
 to the very principle of variety compatible with 
 its arrangement, that is due, in spite of the predi- 
 lection for change so natural to man, that long 
 and steadfast adherence to the same fashion, use, 
 and mode of wearing, contrasting so singularly 
 with the habits of modern dress. We do not find 
 that during a long course of ages, the mode of 
 dress underwent any sensible change ; and when 
 we judge of it by the monuments of art, we can 
 ascribe the varieties remarked in the attire of the 
 personages only to the artist’s imagination, for 
 there is always something to be imagined in the 
 disposition of a loose and natural garb. 
 
 We may therefore hence conclude, that more 
 or less faithful representations of habiliments were 
 not subject to caprices of fashion that might at 
 the end of a few years cause them to appear anti- 
 quated, and finally, even foreign to the very nation 
 whose work they were/ 
 
 The experience of modern times and manners 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 405 
 
 affords, however, results the very contrary. The 
 different modes of dress which have succeeded 
 one another in Europe since the renovation of art, 
 present, in portraits executed during a period of 
 three centuries, contrasts than which none could 
 be found more striking, even between the dress of 
 countries the most alien to one another. It is 
 matter of notoriety how much the fickleness of 
 fashion has increased since a fresh impulse, given 
 to commerce by luxury, and to luxury by the 
 subdivision of commerce, has added frequent 
 changes in the forms of the commonest things^ 
 such as dress and its accessaries, to the number of 
 commercial interests. In a very short space of 
 time we see the forms of dress grow out of date, 
 and become an object of ridicule in portraits to 
 which, through a want of foresight, they had been 
 attached. So frequent are these changes become 
 now-a-days that a statue, we may safely assert, 
 would be too long an undertaking to expect that 
 the fashion according to which it had been rough 
 hewn should still remain in vogue at the comple- 
 tion of the work. 
 
 We may then boldly declare that the faithful 
 representation of our fashions in sculpture, does 
 but furnish subjects for ridicule, not only to future 
 generations, but to men of our own times, since it 
 is the effect of the spirit of fashion to render ridi- 
 culous whatever is not conformable to the taste of 
 the day. 
 
 H H 
 
466 
 
 OF THE MEANS 
 
 We may add, as a consequence of this, that 
 the duration of our fashions is too fleeting to ad- 
 mit of their representation having the least in- 
 terest for future ages, or affording them the least 
 point of instruction. It is clear that we may de- 
 rive some advantage from the examination of 
 forms of habiliments that have lasted so long as to 
 be associated with many customs, and from which 
 we may draw an explanation of some details that 
 history has passed over. But what interest can 
 attach to ephemeral fashions that die in being 
 born, that succeed one another without ever sur- 
 viving, and which do but serve to testify how 
 fruitful is the spirit of frivolity. 
 
 If, indeed, it belong to any art or to any part of 
 imitation to enregister objects thus trivial, it is 
 most assuredly not to that art which by its nature 
 is destined to live to future ages, and bear testi- 
 mony to them of the mind, the taste, and the 
 sentiments of the people who have constituted it 
 the depositary of their glory. 
 
 The art of sculpture, as Hemsterhuis has ob- 
 served,* must speak to the remotest posterity. 
 And hence, continues he, the reason that it is for- 
 bidden to treat a vast number of subjects depen- 
 dent only on passing opinions and local circum- 
 stances ; and of this kind are dresses that are 
 peculiar only to some age and country. 
 
 Hemsterh. Ueber die Bildhaurey, vol. i. p. 51. 
 
OF IMITATION. 
 
 467 
 
 There ought, therefore, to be, and there really 
 is, in the arts of design, and more especially in 
 sculpture, a monumental costume. 
 
 This costume were it such that it could not but 
 be regarded as peculiar to the Greeks and Romans, 
 would on that account even be sufficiently in re- 
 lation, that is, moral accordance with poetical 
 conventions ; in the first place, as having through 
 a long period appertained to celebrated nations, 
 who have also disseminated throughout the uni- 
 verse the most beautiful language of imitation 
 that men have ever spoken ; secondly, as essen- 
 tially partaking all the qualities of the ideal style ; 
 and, lastly, as having become a kind of universal 
 convention through the whole of Europe. 
 
 Far be it from us to maintain that the artist, in 
 compositions of modern subjects or personages, 
 should become, without choice or degree, the 
 exact copyist of the particularities and details of 
 the Greek and Roman costume. An over fidelity 
 in this respect would even be to depart from the 
 requisites of a system, the end of which is to 
 generalize the object of representation. We do not, 
 therefore, deny but that metaphor may be abused by 
 rendering it too nearly identical (with that which 
 it were sufficient for it merely to point towards.) 
 For in borrowing from the appearance of Grecian 
 or Roman costume, it is not with a view of at- 
 taining entire illusion, nor of producing an ana- 
 chronism. On the other hand, we must repeat that 
 
468 
 
 OF THE MEANS OF IMITATION. 
 
 purely ideal clothing, without any intention of 
 approximating to ancient costume, comes in also 
 for a share, which critics frequently do wrong by 
 confounding with it. 
 
 We would add, in concluding, that it is on this 
 boundary line between two abuses that the errors 
 of both artists and critics occur. The former fre- 
 quently go wrong in following the Grecian or the 
 Roman too closely instead of aiming at the ideal ; 
 the latter are still more frequently deceived, and 
 take even 7 clothing for Grecian or Roman which 
 is in fact ideal, and may consequently be the cos- 
 tume of all countries and all times. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINYFD BY SILW'ART ASP OO. 15 , OLD BAILEY* 
 

 
 
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