2. It is most certain that in all the arts we make difficulties in order to shew our skill in conquering them.—Some French writer calls this principle la difficultè vaincue; and this conquest is the source of much pleasure. What is it but this that induces the novellist and play-writer to embarrass their characters with difficulties and troubles? What is there but this that can make a musical canon to be thought fine in composition, or extravagant execution in performance agreeable, when the mind cannot comprehend the one, nor the ear follow the other? and, to bring it to the present subject—what is it but this that induces the painter to make use of the most unpromising objects, and produce beauty where you might expect nothing but deformity?
3. It is necessary that a painter should chuse such objects as are capable of variety either from shape or arrangement. Regular formal objects admit but little, especially those where art has the greatest share in their production, unless they are capable of motion, as ships, windmills, &c. and then they become pictoresque by a proper choice of attitude. It is curious to observe the shifts to which artists are reduced, when they are obliged to paint such objects as are in themselves unpictoresque—suppose a fine house with avenues of trees. They will vary the tint of the stones in the one, and of the leaves in the other, or by throwing in accidental shades and lights produce a variety. In like manner, portrait-painters undress the hair, loosen the coat, and wrinkle the stockings that they may produce a variety in the manner of treating a subject which wanted it in form.
Those objects which have no set form have of course most variety. A road or river may wind in any direction—trees are of all sizes and shapes, may stand here or there—loose drapery admits of a thousand folds and dispositions which the stiff modern dress is incapable of. So that the painter by taking these has ample materials for shewing his judgment in form, or skill in arrangement——for making, and overcoming difficulties—and lastly, by the uniting both these he conforms to the principles by which the cultivated taste is pleased—the ultimate end of all the fine arts.
If you are not satisfied with this solution, help me to a better—but give a fair reading to this of
Your sincere friend, &c.
LETTER VII.
I Do not admit your excuse.—A genius should never comply with local or temporary taste—instead of debasing himself to the people, he should elevate the people to him. When Milton subtilizes divinity, and Shakespeare “cracks the wind of a poor phrase;” who but wishes that those great poets had not descended from their sphere?
Your allusions to incidents which must soon be forgot, are only worthy of a writer who expects but a short existence. It is true our plays abound with such allusions. When Foigard, in the Beaux Stratagem, says he is a subject of the King of Spain—they ask him in a fury “which King of Spain?” This did very well at the time; but these two Kings of Spain are now of much less consequence than their brother monarchs of Brentford. I think it is in the same play where one of the characters is asked “when he was at church last?” he should answer “at the coronation;” but it is a point to give a reply that shall suit the time when the play is performed, forgetting that there are many expressions which remove you back into the last century when the play was written. I remember in the late King’s reign the reply used to be “at the installation;” at the accession of his present Majesty an actor thought he had a good opportunity of returning to “coronation,” but unluckily it was before the King was crowned.
Allusions of this sort soon become obscure, and yet they will not bear being altered. “Pray you avoid them.”