But let no man, who has not formed his taste upon antiquity, take it into his head to act the connoisseur of beauty: his ideas must be a parcel of whims. Of modern beauties I know none that could vie with the Greek female dancer of Mr. Mengs, big as life, painted in Crayons on wood, for the Marquis Croimare at Paris, or with his Apollo amidst the muses, in the Villa Albano, to whom that of Guido in the Aurora, compared, is but a mortal.
All the modern copies of ancient gems give us another proof of the decisive authority of beauty in criticisms on works of art. Natter has dared to copy that head of Minerva mentioned above, in the same size and smaller, but fell short. The nose is a hair too big, the chin too flat, and the mouth mean. And this is the case of modern imitators in general. What can we hope then of self-fancied beauties? Conclude not, however, from this, against the possibility of a perfect imitation of antique heads: ’tis enough to say, that it has not yet existed: ’twas probably the fault of the imitators themselves. Natter’s treatise on ancient gems is rather shallow; and what he wrought and wrote, even on that single branch of engraving, for which he was chiefly celebrated, has neither the strength nor the ease of genius.
To this consciousness of inferiority we owe the scarcity of modern supposititious gems and coins. Any man of taste may, upon comparison, distinguish even the best modern coin from the antique original.—I speak of the best antiques: for as to the lower Imperial coins, where the cheat was easier, the artists have been liberal enough. Padoano’s stamps, for copying antique coins, are in the Barberini Collection at Rome, and those of one Michel, a Frenchman, and false coiner in taste, at Florence, in that of the late Baron Stosch.
The third characteristic of works of art is Execution; or, the sketch being made, the method of finishing. And even here we commend good sense above industry. As in judging of styles, we distinguish the good writer by the clearness, fluency, and nervousness of his diction; so in works of art, we discover the master by the manly strength, freedom, and steadiness of his hand. The august contour, and easiness of mien, in the figures of Christ, St. Peter, and the other apostles, on the right side of the Transfiguration, speak the classic hand of Raphael, as strongly as the smooth, anxious nicety of some of Julio Romano’s figures, on the left, the more wavering one of the disciple.
Never admire either the marble’s radiant polish, or the picture’s glossy surface. For that the journeyman sweated; for this the painter vegetated only. Bernini’s Apollo is as polished as HE in the Belvedere; and there is much more labour hid in one of Trevisani’s Madonnas, than in that of Corregio. Whenever trusty arms and laborious industry prevail, we defy all the ancients. We are not their inferiors even in managing porphyry, though a mob of scriblers, with Clarencas in their rear-guard, deny it.
Nor (whatever Maffei thinks[328],) did the ancients know a peculiar method of giving a nicer polish to the figures of their concave gems (Intagli.) Our artists polish as nicely: but statues and gems may be detestable, for all their polish, as a face may be ugly, with the softest skin.
This however is not meant to blame a statue for its polish, as it is conducive to beauty: though Laocoon informs us, that the ancients knew the secret of finishing statues, merely with the chissel. Nor does the cleanness of the pencil, on a picture, want its merit: yet it ought to be distinguished from enamelled tints. A barked statue, and a bristly picture are alike absurd. Sketch with fire, and execute with phlegm. We blame workmanship only as it claims the first rank; as in the marbles à la Bernini, and the linnen of Scybold and Denner.
Friend, these instructions may be of use. For as the bulk of mankind amuse themselves with the shells of things only, your eye may be captivated by polish and glare, as they are the most obvious; to put you on your guard against which, is leading you the first step to true knowledge. For daily observation, during several years, in Italy, has taught me how lamentably most young travellers are duped by a set of blind leaders. To see them skip about in the temple of art and genius, all quite sober and cool, puts me in mind of a swarm of new-fledged grashoppers wantoning in the spring.