or ideas by which emotion is excited; and, 2dly, They have a principle of connexion by which the whole train have a tendency to excite the same emotion. That the complex emotions of beauty and sublimity are never felt except when some simple emotion is excited, or affection is kindled, is capable of various proof. Who ever calls that beautiful, which he, at the same time, declares to be indifferent to him? If an object also is beautiful to us, and not to another, do we not ascribe it to some association by which it has laid hold of our mind, or formed a lodgement in our feelings? In like manner, all which contributes to give us an interest in any pursuit or object, invests it with new beauties. "The lover reads or hears with indifference, of all that is most sublime in the history of ambition, and wonders only at the folly of mankind, who can sacrifice their ease, their comforts, and all the best pleasures of life to the unsubstantial pursuit of power. The man, whose life has been passed in the pursuits of commerce, and who has learned to estimate every thing by its value in money, laughs at the labours of the philosopher or the poet, and beholds with indifference the most splendid pursuits of life, if they are not repaid by wealth. The anecdote of a late celebrated mathematician is well known, who read the Paradise Lost, without being able to discover in it any thing that was sublime, but who said that he could never read the queries, at the end of Newton's Opticks, without feeling his hair stand on end, and his blood run cold. There are thousands who have read the old ballad of Chevy Chace, without having their imaginations inflamed with the ideas of military glory. It is the brave only, who, in the perusal of it, like the gallant Sir Philip Sydney, feel their hearts moved, as by the sound of a trumpet." Vol. i. pp. 87-89. In like manner, when, through the circumstances of the moment, the sensibility is deadened, a pall seems to be cast over the most splendid objects. And in the same way, when the attention is withdrawn from the interesting, and directed to the uninteresting, qualities of an object, the emotion of beauty decays. The artist who withdraws his attention from the expression of the Apollo Belvidere to measure its proportions; the affluent who are familiarized to their splendid furniture, and who look on them not as the mere ornament of the drawing-room, but as the apparatus of daily life; the auctioneer whose enthusiasm is divided between the colours of a picture and the construction of its frame; one and all cease to perceive the beauties upon which others are feasting. It is scarcely less obvious, that the train of images by which the emotion of taste is excited is distinguished by some general principle of connexion. When the eye, for instance, wanders over a landscape, the taste is often offended by some feature which does not harmonize with the rest. In like manner, in poetry, in painting, or in musick, a discordant sentiment, image, or tone, often checks the rising emotion of taste. In each of these cases it is evidently a certain character or expression to which the discordant part is referred, and by its discrepancy with which it of fends. This expression is the charm by which the emotion is kindled, and as the one is weakened, the other vanishes. The corner-stone of the edifice of our feeling or affection is touched, and the fairy fabrick falls to the ground. It is curious to observe how nature, in some rare instances, by her very prodigality tarnishes the beauty of her own scenes. One object clashes with another, and so destroys the expression of the whole. Nor is it less curious to observe the artist or poet, by the labour of selection and assimilation, endeavouring to improve upon this profuse expenditure and bold irregularity of nature. The author, however, by stating this point too broadly, seems to us to do a little dishonour to Nature. The discordancies discovered in her scenes are often less in the prospect than in the examiner. The narrowness of the mind often betrays us into a false interpretation of their character. If a spectator mistook the expression which a painter meant to give to his picture, and which he actually did convey to the accurate eye, many parts, really appropriate, must seem to him out of place. And thus, if we narrow the expression of the landscape, parts, which in fact conspire to adorn the scene, appear discordancies to us. Man, in this instance, should do homage to the great Artist of the scenery before him; and not cripple the landscape to the mind, but strain the mind to follow and embrace the landscape. "Non mihi res, sed me rebus subjungere conor," should be our motto here; and a readiness be discovered to vindicate Nature at our own expense. The foregoing observations, however, we think, sufficiently establish the two last mentioned propositions of the author; so that we may rest in the conclusion stated by him at the end of his first essay, that wherever the emotions of beauty or sublimity are felt, an exercise of imagination is promoted, and that the train of thought upon which the imagination is employed is made up of ideas of emotion, associated by a general principle of connexion. Hence, he adds, the difference between our emotions of simple pleasure and the emotions of taste are obvious. "In the case of these last emotions, no additional train of thought is necessary. The pleasurable feeling follows immediately the presence of the object or quality, and has no dependence upon any thing for its perfection, but the sound state of the sense by which it is received. The emotions of joy, pity, benevolence, gratitude, utility, propriety, novelty, &c. might undoubtedly be felt, although we had no such power of mind as that by which we follow out a train of ideas, and certainly are felt in a thousand cases, when this faculty is unemployed. "In the case of the emotions of taste, on the other hand, it seems evident, that this exercise of mind is necessary, and that unless this train of thought is produced, these emotions are unfelt." Vol. i. pp. 159, 160. The author having thus, in his first essay, shown the nature of the emotions of sublimity and beauty, proceeds to show, in the second, that it is by a process of this kind that the sublimity and beauty of the "material world" are discovered and felt. In this argument also, we shall endeavour to follow him. The qualities of matter are known to us only by the senses, by which, though sensation and perception are conveyed to the mind, emotion plainly is not. The smell of a rose, or the taste of a pineapple, produces agreeable sensations, but not agreeable emotions. But although the qualities of matter are incapable, in themselves, of producing such emotions, they may acquire a new power upon the mind by their being associated with other qualities, of which they may thus become the signs or expressions. And such asso VOL. INo. II. 3 I ciations are very numerous. All external objects, for instance, employed for use or pleasure, become signs to us of the uses or pleasures for which we employ them. The plough suggests the idea of rustick labour, and of the plenty which follows it; and the harp, of the animation it has often communicated; and thus each produces the emotion which properly belong to the qualities they signify. In like manner, all works of art suggest the idea of design, wisdom, and skill in the artist. In the same way, we are accustomed to associate the qualities of quickness, tenderness, magnanimity, with certain casts of countenance; and thus the features acquire the influence of the qualities they represent. Having thus also learned that certain features of body indicate certain qualities of mind, when we discover, in animate matter, forms resembling these features, we insensibly erect them into representatives of the same qualities. We speak of the strength of the oak, the delicacy of the myrtle, the boldness of the rock, the modesty of the violet, &c. &c. which are qualities not of matter but of mind. Besides these, language is productive of many such associations, by conveying to us, in its figurative expressions, the analogies between the qualities of matter and mind discovered by other men in other places and ages. To all these are to be added the associations springing from the peculiar circumstances of every individual. Particular sounds, colours, motions, scenes, suggest images, and therefore emotions, to us, which they may not to any other. Having thus explained the various processes by which these associations are generated, the author proceeds to show, in successive chapters, that it is only through these associations that we are impressed with the beauty or sublimity of sounds and colours. It would be absolutely Quixotick to attempt to follow him through this part of his career. We shall content ourselves, like the chartmakers, simply with dotting his track through these, in a degree unexplored, regions, now and then pausing to give a sketch of some particular scene. The general arguments by which he establishes his main posi tion appear to be these; that if beauty were the mere object of a sense, then all possessed of that sense must be familiar with it; must discover in it the same properties; must be affected by it in the same manner; must be affected by it in the same way, at different times; must be able with certainty to define its effect upon others, and to reduce it to certain general laws. But no part of this description applies to the case of the emotions of sublimity and beauty. Here all is irregularity. No two men are affected in the same way; no one man, perhaps, in the same manner, at two different times; and the alleged objects of this sense appear and disappear according to the frame of the examiner, or the society in which the object is viewed. Take, in the first place, the case of sounds. heard as the "artillery of heaven," is sublime. quality of loudness which renders it sublime? Let Thunder, when Is it the mere it, on the con trary, be discovered that what we supposed to be thunder is the mere rumbling of a cart, and the emotion of sublimity is destroyed. Indeed, there are instances in which the lowest sounds are invested with the same sublimity: "Along the woods, along the moorish fens, Or to take a more striking instance from that unfathomable mine of all that is beautiful or sublime, the Scriptures. It is a passage in which the appearance of the Deity to the prophet Elijah is described. "And he said, Goforth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And behold the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a small still voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle." Here, then, we have instances both of the same sound, by differ ent associations, affecting the mind in an opposite manner; and of the most opposite sounds affecting the mind in the same manner. Can we need any stronger proof that the beauty or sublimity does not reside in the mere sound, but in the quality of which it is the sign or expression? In proceeding to apply his theory to colours, the author remarks, that the greatest part of colours are "connected with a kind of established imagery in the mind," and are considered as 66 expres sive of many pleasing and interesting qualities." These associa tions are, 1st, such as arise from the nature of the objects thus permanently coloured; as black, from being the complexion of night, is expressive of gloom: or, 2dly, such as arise from some analogy between certain colours and certain dispositions of the mind, whence these colours are called mild, or bold, gay, or gloomy: and 3dly, such as arise from accidental connexions; as purple is to us the sign of imperial dignity, and yellow to the Chinese. These associations will sufficiently explain the peculiar attractions of some colours, while a few plain observations will show that they have no intrinsick beauty. For, if they had, the same colour would always be beautiful, and we should rejoice to see the pink of the cheek extended to the nose: neither would the beauty of colours vary with the caprices of fashion, whereas half a dozen duchesses may, by dint of the associations which rank can convey, clothe the town in a new colour every winter: nor would different nations make their elections of opposite colours, and the dusky beauties of one hemisphere be the monsters of another. In chapter IV. upon Forms, the course of argument is nearly the same as before. The illustrations are numerous and convincing. As it is on the subject of forms that the old theories chiefly dwelt, the author had here many prejudices to combat, and difficulties to overcome. We think, however, that the hither to wavering converts of Hogarth and Burke, and of the more recent upholders of the intrinsick beauty of lines, will rejoice to find here a key to many difficulties confessedly impervious by their ancient masters. In successive sections, the influence of design, of fitness, and of utility, upon the beauty of forms, is examined with great acuteness. Many striking extracts might be made. We owe it, however, to our readers, to whom we have hitherto manifested, perhaps, unbecoming parsimony in quotation, to give them one or two, which may both teach them some curious truths, and supply them with a fair specimen of the manner of the author. The first is a curious history of the decay of works of taste.> "However obvious or important the principle which I have now stated may be, the fine arts have been unfortunately governed by a very different principle; and the undue preference which artists are naturally disposed to give to the display of design, has been one of the most powerful causes of that decline and degeneracy which has uniformly marked the history of the fine arts, after they have arrived at a certain period of perfection. To a common spectator, the great test of excellence in beautiful forms is character or expression; or, in other words, the appearance of some interesting or affecting quality in the form itself. To the artist, on the other hand, the great test of excellence is skill; the production of something new in point of design, or difficult in point of execution. It is by the expression of character, therefore, that the generality of men determine the beauty of forms. It is by the expression of design, that the artist determines it. When, therefore, the arts which are conversant in the beauty of form, have attamed to that fortunate stage of their progress, when this expression of character is itself the great expression of design, the invention and taste of the artist take, almost necessarily, a different direction. When his excel. lence can no longer be distinguished by the production of merely beautiful or expressive form, he is naturally led to distinguish it by the production of what is uncommon or difficult; to signalize his works by the fertility of his invention, or the dexterity of his execution; and thus gradually to forget the end of his art, in his attention to display his superiority in the art itself." Vol. ii. pp. 110-112. "Nor is this melancholy progress peculiar to those arts which respect the beauty of form. The same causes extend to every other of those arts which are employed in the production of beauty; and they who are acquainted with the history of the fine arts of antiquity, will recollect, that the history of statuary, of painting, of musick, of poetry, and of prose composition, have been alike distinguished, in their latter periods, by the same gradual desertion of the end of the art, for the display of the art itself; and by the same prevalence of the expression of design, over the expres sion of the composition in which it was employed. It has been seldom found in the history of any of these arts, that the artist, like the great master of painting in this country, has united the philosophy with the practice of his art, and regulated his own sublime inventions, by the chaste principles of truth and science. "For an errour, which so immediately arises from the nature, and from the practice of these arts themselves, it is difficult, perhaps impossible, to find a remedy. Whether, (as I am willing to believe,) there may not be circumstances in the modern state of Europe, which may serve to check at least, this unfortunate progression; whether the beautiful models of antiquity in every art, may not serve to fix in some degree the standard of taste in these arts; whether the progress of philosophy and criticism may not tend to introduce greater stability, as well as greater delicacy of taste; and whether the general diffusion of science, by increasing in so great a proportion the number of judges, may not rescue these arts from the sole dominion of the artists, and thus establish more just and philosophical principles of decision, it is far beyond the limits of these essays to inquire. But I humbly conceive, that there is no rule of criticism more important in itself, or more fitted to preserve the taste of the individual, or of the publick, than to consider every composition as faulty and defective, in which the expression of the art is more striking than the expression of "Sir Joshua Reynolds." |