hours, gave me the desire of being acquainted with the late Monsieur du Fresnoy, who was generally reputed to have a thorough knowledge of it. Our acquaintance at length proceeded to that degree of intimacy, that he intrusted me with his poem, which he believed me capable both of understanding and translating, and accordingly desired me to undertake it. The truth is, we had conversed so often on that subject, and he had communicated his thoughts of it so fully to me, that I had not the least remaining difficulty concerning it. I undertook therefore to translate it, and employed myself in it with pleasure, care, and assiduity; after which, I put it into his hands, and he altered in it what he pleased, till at last it was wholly to his mind. And then he gave his consent that it should be published; but his death preventing that design, I thought it a wrong to his memory to deprive mankind any longer of this translation, which I may safely affirm to be done according to the true sense of the author, and to his liking: since he himself has given great testimonies of his approbation to many of his friends. And they, who are acquainted with him, know his humour to be such, that he would never constrain himself so far, as to commend what he did not really approve. I thought myself obliged to say thus much, in vin dication of the faithfulness of my work, to those who understand not the Latin; for as to those who are conversant in both the tongues, I leave them to make their own judgment of it. The remarks which I have added to his work, are also wholly conformable to his opinions; and I am certain that he would not have disapproved them. I have endeavoured in them to explain some of the most obscure passages, and those which are most necessary to be understood: and I have done this according to the manner wherein he used to express himself, in many conversations which we had together. I have confined them also to the narrowest compass I was able, that I might not tire the patience of the reader, and that they might be read by all persons. But if it happens that they are not to the taste of some readers, (as doubtless it will so fall out,) I leave them entirely to their own discretion, and shall not be displeased that another hand should succeed better. shall only beg this favour from them, that in reading what I have written, they will bring no particular gusto along with them, or any pre-vention of mind; and that whatsoever judgment they make, if may be purely their own, whether it be in my favour, or in my condemnation. ART OF PAINTING.† PAINTING and Poesy are two sisters, which are so like in all things, that they mutually lend to each other both their name and office. One is called a dumb poesy, and the other a speaking picture. The poets have never said any thing, but what they 5. believed would please the ears. And it has been the constant endeavour of the painters to give pleasure to the eyes. In short, those things which the poets have thought unworthy of their pens, the painters have judged to be unworthy of their pencils. * For both "those arts, that they might advance the sacred honours of re- 10. ligion," have raised themselves to heaven; and, having found a free admission into the palace of Jove himself, have enjoyed the sight and conversation of the gods; whose "awful majesty they observe, and whose dictates they communicate to mankind; whom at the same time they inspire with those celestial flames, which shine so gloriously in their works. From heaven they take their passage through the world; and "with concurring studies" collect whatsoever they find worthy of them. dive (as I may say) into all past ages; 15. and search the histories, for subjects which are proper for their use: with care, avoiding to treat of any but those which, by their nobleness, or by some remarkable accident, have deserved to be consecrated to eternity; whether on the seas, or earth, or in the heavens. And by this their care and study, it comes to pass, that the glory of he- 20. roes is not extinguished with their lives; and that those admirable works, those prodigies of skill, which even yet are the objects of our admiration, are still preserved. So much these divine arts have been almost honoured; and such authority they preserve amongst mankind. It will not here be 25. necessary to implore the succour of Apollo, and the muses, for the grace They + The passages which you see marked with an asterism, *, are more amply explained in the remarks. 90. Cum nitidâ tantum et facili digesta Ormari præcepta negent, contenta do ceri. Nec nihi mens animusve fuit con- fulness of the discourse, or for the ca- I pretend not in this treatise to tie 30. Artificum manibus, quos tantùm di- only directs;" neither would I stifle rigit usus; Indolis ut vigor inde potens obstrictus Sed rerum ut pollens ars cognitione, 35. Naturæ sese insinuet, verique, capa Primum præceptum. De pulchro. cem Transeat in genium, gentusque usu Præcipua imprimis artisque potis sima pars est, Pulchrius, idque modum juxta, men- 40. Quæ sine barbaries cæca et teme- 15. Negligit, insultans ignotæ audacior Ut curare nequit, quæ non modo no- the genius, by a jumbled heap of beautiful. * The principal and most import- Precept 1. ant part of painting, is to find out, and of what is thoroughly to understand, what nature has made most beautiful, and most proper to this art; * and that a choice of it may be made according to the taste and manner of the ancients; 40. *without which, all is nothing but a blind and rash barbarity; which rejects what is most beautiful, and seems, with an audacious insolence, to despise an art, of which it is wholly Illud aput veteres fuit unde notabile ignorant; which has occasioned these 50. Naturam exprimere ad vivum ; sed ut words of the ancients: "That no We love what we understand; 45. what is most beautiful, * as being the sovereign judge of his own art; "what is less beautiful, or is faulty, he shall freely correct by the dint of his own genius," and permit no transient beauties to escape his observation. tice. 11. In the same manner, that bare of theory practice, destitute of the lights of art, and prac is always subject to fall into a precipice, like a blind traveller, without be ing able to produce any thing which 55. contributes to a solid reputation; so the speculative part of painting, without the assistance of manual opera tion, can never attain to that perfection which is its object, but slothfully languishes as in a prison; for it was not with his tongue that Apelles performed his noble works. Therefore, to. though there are many things in painting, of which no precise rules are to be given, * (because the greatest beauties cannot always be expressed for want of terms,) yet I shall not omit to give some precepts, which I have selected from among the most considerable which we have received from nature, that exact school-mistress, after having examined her most secret recesses, as well as those master-pieces of antiquity, which were the chief examples of this art; and it is by this means, that the mind and the natural disposition are to be 65. cultivated, and that science perfecis genius; and also moderates that fury of the fancy which cannot contain itself within the bounds of reason, but often carries a man into dangerous extremes. For there is a mean in all things; and certain limits or bounds, wherein the good and the beautiful consists, and out of which they never can depart. III. the subject. 70. This being premised, the next thing Concerning is to make choice of a subject beautiful and noble; which being of itself capable of all the charms and graces, that colours, and the elegance of design, can possibly give, shall afterwards afford, to a perfect and consummate art, an ample field of matter wherein to expatiate itself; to exert all its power, and to produce somewhat to the sight, which is excellent, judicious, and ingenious; and at the same time proper to instruct, and to enlighten the understanding. Sit thematis genuina ac viva ex- Textum antiquorum, propriis cum Nec quod inane, nihil facit ad rem, Improprium, miniméque urgens, po- 85. Ornamenta operis; tragicæ sed lege Summa ubi res agitur, vis summa re- Ista labore gravi, studio, monitis- Ardua pars nequit addisci rarissima: namque, Ni priùs æthereo rapuit quod ab axe 90. Sit jubar infusum menti cum flamine "At length I come to the work it- * Invention is a kind of muse, Invention work. IV. *It is the business of a painter, The disposi in his choice of attitudes, to foresee economy of tion, or the effect and harmony of the lights the whole and shadows, with the colours which are to enter into the whole; taking from each of them that which will most conduce to the production of a 80. beautiful effect. V. ness of the * Let" there be a genuine and The faithful lively expression of the subject," con- subiect. formable to the text of ancient authors, to customs, and to times. VI. "Whatever is trivial, foreign, or Whatsoever improper, ought by no means to take subject to be palls the up the principal part of the picture." rejected. But herein imitate the sister of painting, Tragedy; which employs the 85. whole forces of her art in the main action. *This part of painting, so rarely met with, is neither to be acquired by pains or study, nor by the precepts or dictates of any master. For they alone who have been inspired at their birth with some portion of that heav- 90. enly fire, which was stolen by Non uti Dadaleam licet omnibus ire Prometheus, are capable of receiving Mortali haud cuivis divina hæc mu- Corinthum. Egypto informis quondam pictura Græcorum studiis, et mentis acu- 95. Egregiis tandem illustrata, et adulta Naturam visa est miro superare la- Quos inter, graphidos gymnasia VOL. II.-23 so divine a present. Painting in Egypt was at first rude Amongst the academies, which |