“Painting, said Socrates, one day, in a conversation with the painter Parrhasius, is, I think, the resemblance or imitation of sensible objects. For you represent in colours, bodies of all sorts, hollow and projecting, bright and obscure, hard and soft, old and new. “We do.” And, when you would draw beautiful pourtraits, since it is not possible to find any single figure of a man, faultless in all its parts and of exact proportion; your way is to collect, from several, those members or features, which are most perfect in each, and so, by joining them together, to compound one whole body, completely beautiful. “That is our method.” What then, continued Socrates, and are you not able, also, to imitate in colours, the MANNERS; those tendencies and dispositions of the soul, which are benevolent, friendly, and amiable; such as inspire love and affection into the heart, and whose soft insinuations carry with them the power of persuasion?
“How, replied Parrhasius, can the pencil imitate that, which hath no proportion, colour, or any other of those properties, you have been just now enumerating, as the objects of sight?” Why, is it not true, returned Socrates, that a man sometimes casts a kind, sometimes, an angry, look on others? “It is.” There must then be something in the eyes capable of expressing those passions. “There must.” And is there not a wide difference between the look of him, who takes part in the prosperity of a friend, and another, who sympathizes with him in his sorrows? “Undoubtedly, there is the widest. The countenance, in the one case, expresses joy, in the other, concern.” These affections may then be represented in picture. “They may so.” In like manner, all other dispositions of our nature, the lofty and the liberal, the abject and ungenerous, the temperate and the prudent, the petulant and profligate, these are severally discernible by the look or attitude: and that, whether we observe men in action, or at rest. “They are.” And these, therefore, come within the power of graphical imitation? “They do.” Which then, concluded Socrates, do you believe, men take the greatest pleasure in contemplating; such imitations, as set before them the GOOD, the LOVELY, and the FAIR, of those, which represent the BAD, the HATEFUL, and the UGLY, qualities and affections of humanity? There can be no doubt, said Parrhasius, of their giving the preference to the former.” [Lib. iii.]
The conclusion, the philosopher drives at in this conversation, and which the painter readily concedes to him, is what, I am persuaded, every master of the art would be willing to act upon, were he at liberty to pursue the bent of his natural genius and inclination. But it unfortunately happens, to the infinite prejudice of this mode of imitation, above all others, that the artist designs not so much what the dignity of his profession requires of him, or the general taste of those, he would most wish for his judges, approves; as what the rich or noble Connoisseur, who bespeaks his work, and prescribes the subject, demands. What this has usually been, let the history of ancient and modern painting declare[50]. Yet, considering its vast power in MORALS, as explained above, one cannot enough lament the ill destiny of this divine ART; which, from the chaste hand-maid of virtue, hath been debauched, in violence to her nature, to a shameless prostitute of vice, and procuress of pleasure.
117. Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim.] The DOCTI POETAE have at all times been esteemed by the wise and good, or, rather, have been reverenced, as Plato speaks, ὥσπερ πατέρες τῆς σοφίας καὶ ἡγεμόνες.
As for the INDOCTI, we may take their character as drawn by the severe, but just pen of our great Milton—“Poetas equidem verè doctos et diligo et colo et audiendo saepissimè delector—istos verò versiculorum nugivendos quis non oderit? quo genere nihil stultius aut vanius aut corruptius, aut mendacius. Laudant, vituperant, sine delectu, sine discrimine, judicio aut modo, nunc principes, nunc plebeios, doctos juxta atque indoctos, probos an improbos perindè habent; prout cantharus, aut spes nummuli, aut fatuus ille furor inflat ac rapit; congestis undique et verborum et rerum tot discoloribus ineptiis tamque putidis, ut laudatum longè praestet sileri, et pravo, quod aiunt, vivere naso, quàm sic laudari: vituperatus verò qui sit, haud mediocri sanè honori sibi ducat, se tam absurdis, tam stolidis nebulonibus displicere.” Def. Secund. pro Pop. Ang. p. 337. 4to Lond. 1753.
118. Hic error tamen, &c.] What follows from hence to v. 136, containing an encomium on the office of poets, is one of the leading beauties in the epistle. Its artifice consists in this, that, under the cover of a negligent commendation, interspersed with even some traits of pleasantry upon them, it insinuates to the emperor, in the manner the least offensive and ostentatious, the genuin merits, and even sacredness of their character. The whole is a fine instance of that address, which, in delivering rules for this kind of writing, the poet prescribes elsewhere.
Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,
Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae;
Interdum URBANI PARCENTIS VIRIBUS ATQUE
Extenuantis eas consulto.
[1 S. x. 14.]
This conduct, in the place before us, shews the poet’s exquisite knowledge of human nature. For there is no surer method of removing prejudices, and gaining over others to an esteem of any thing we would recommend, than by not appearing to lay too great a stress on it ourselves. It is, further, a proof of his intimate acquaintance with the peculiar turn of the great; who, not being forward to think highly of any thing but themselves and their own dignities, are, with difficulty, brought to conceive of other accomplishments, as of much value; and can only be won by the fair and candid address of their apologist, who must be sure not to carry his praises and pretensions too high. It is this art of entering into the characters, prejudices, and expectations of others, and of knowing to suit our application, prudently, but with innocence, to them, which constitutes what we call A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. An art, of which the great poet was a consummate master, and than which there cannot be a more useful or amiable quality. Only we must take care not to confound it with that supple, versatile, and intriguing genius, which, taking all shapes, and reflecting all characters, generally passes for it in the commerce of the world, or rather is prized much above it; but, as requiring no other talents in the possessor than those of a low cunning and corrupt design, is of all others the most mischievous, worthless, and contemptible character, that infests human life.