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of the art of modern fortifications. Vauban, Pagan, Blondel, Scheither, &c. only modified his suggestions and developed his principles. History ascribes, by a kind of courtesy, the honour of inventions and discoveries to the persons who first make them public, or bring them into use. It is thus that, in naval architecture, Usoo, a Phoenician, is considered as the father of the art, because he is the first on record that navigated a canoe. But in this the courtesy of history goes too far, for Noah has certainly a superior claim, both on account of the magnitude and the purpose of his vessel. Although the Greeks excelled all the world in the beauty of their works of art, they did not furnish any treatise on the theory of architecture till after they had constructed their finest buildings. This was natural.— The rules which instruct us to produce beauties in any kind of art, must be derived from the practice of those who have previously, by the instinct of genius, produced excellent works. The rules for composing a perfect epic poem were derived from the practice of Homer, as it appeared in the Iliad. In like manner, the principles of architecture, as a science, are founded on the result, not of rules previously delivered, but of experiments; hence we are assured, that by an adherence to the rules, we shall produce the same beautiful effects as the result of the experiments from which the rules were deduced. Vitruvius was the first author who established the principles of ancient architecture; but he did not write until the finest specimens of the art had been long completed. He mentions, indeed, the names of many architects, but they were practical men-men of genius who had erected models, and thereby furnished the means of giving rules for the guidance of others.

"It is surprising, that although the work of Vitruvius is admitted by all students to be deficient, obscure,

and ill arranged, it is still the best of its kind, especially in what relates to the proper and appropriate use of the different orders. A work embracing the Saxon, Norman, and Gothic styles, in addition to the classic orders, and discriminating the uses to which they are respectively adapted, is a desideratum in the literature of Europe. In England, a work of this kind is particularly required, for the English are perhaps less than any other people of Europe, sensible or even acquainted with the proprieties of architecture. In the St Paul's of London, one of the very finest works of the moderns, and admired by the English equal to its merits, the architect has employed the gayest orders, and in their most ornamented style. The sublime magnitude of the building diminishes, at the first view, the effect of its preposterous gaudiness. It is not, till after contemplating it with relation to its uses, that we perceive how much the style of the architecture is at variance with the purpose of the fabric. Surely the flaunting luxuriance of the Corinthian and Composite orders are ill placed on a temple dedicated to the service of God, and appointed to receive the ashes of great and illustrious men. The decorum of architecture has been equally disregarded in the construction of the new theatre of Covent Garden. The portico is undoubtedly a beautiful specimen of the Grecian Doric, and as such would not have disgraced Athens itself; but the august simplicity of the Doric is as much out of place at the entrance of the playhouse, as the gaudier elegance of the Corinthian and Composite is on the church. Perhaps, if the theatre were entirely devoted to the exhibition of tragedies, the grave majesty of its portico would not be objectionable. Still, however, both the theatre and the cathedral are fine monuments of the skill of their respective architects, but they are curious examples of the want of that taste for propriety which is as requisite in the art of building

as in the compositions of the muse, It has been said of the English, that they build their hospitals like palaces, and their palaces like hospitals; it may be added, that they also ornament their churches like theatres, and their theatres like chuches.

"Of all the fine arts, architecture is not only that which is most easily traced to its origin in the wants of mankind, but that on which all the others are dependent. All the others, when compared with architecture, are only representative, and contribute only to the gratification of those wants which arise from the experience of pleasure. But this primeval art is, in its rudimental state, almost as necessary to man as food, and in its réfined, no less essential to the improvement of every other.

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Painting and sculpture are the arts which seem to have the greatest affinity to architecture, and to be immediately connected with its use and progress. For the origin of painting, we have no evidence of any such obvious instinct as that which led man to the art of building; and it may be doubted, whether it ought to be considered as an invention anterior or coeval with sculpture.

"The Greeks, with that vanity which their extraordinary proficiency in art and science almost justified them in assuming, a vanity which is probably constitutional, as it exists in them as strongly as ever, although they have nothing left of their ancestors but their vices, the lees and dregs of civilization, take to themselves the honour of the invention of painting; and tell us that, in particular, the art of portrait-painting was discovered among them by a girl, who was fond of a youth devoted to travelling, and who, to sweeten the time of his absence, delineated on the wall, with the assistance of a lamp, the profile of her lover. Instead, however, of accepting this as an historical fact, we ought to reflect how

prone the Greeks were to allegory, and that this elegant fable is but another way of telling us that portraitpainting was suggested by adolescent affection.

"Although Anaxagoras and Democritus wrote on the rules of perspective, we have no proof that the Greeks, notwithstanding their excellence in the delineation of objects, ever made any proficiency in the application of them. We have no account of any landscape-painter of any great eminence in Greece. Among all the artists of antiquity there was no Claude. But they doubtless excelled in the drawing of figures. We are witnesses of the still surpassing beauty of their statues; and we should not, therefore, question the excellence of their figure-painters; indeed, the sketches in outline on their funeral vases put this matter beyond question.

"In comparing the remains of Grecian sculpture with the works of the moderns, particularly with the public monuments of the British nation, a very obvious and striking difference is at once perceived and felt. We are sensible, in looking at the relics of Greece, of the presence of a simple grace, an admirable naturalness of form and figure, which is rarely discoverable in the sculptures of the moderns. This seems to be owing to a cause which admits of an easy explanation. The inferiority of the moderns arises from their superior scientific knowledge. They understand the theory of the art so well, that they think attention to the rules preferable to the study of natural phenomena. The Greek artists, on the contrary, appear to have worked from living forms and existing things. This is remarkably obvious in the remaining sculptures on the Parthenon. The riders in them are not singly persons, whose muscles and joints are disposed with exquisite anatomical exactness, and placed on horses individually, equally, correctly formed; but the riders and the horses, as in nature, though two distinct beings, are there shown under

the influence of one impulse, and all those minute and indescribable contractions and dilatations of parts, which arise from their separate conformation, are shewn with the effect of that impulse which constitutes the unity of their mutual exertion. I am not here alluding to the centaurs of the metopes, but to the horsemen of the bas-reliefs on the frieze. It is impossible that this felicitous result could have been obtained by the most careful attention to any system of rules. It is indeed impossible that the artist, whose business is to attain perfection of design and beauty of execution, should be able to give so much time and consideration to the study of rules, as would enable him to work without reference to models in nature. He must unquestionably furnish himself with such a competent knowledge of principles as will prevent him from falling into error; but, if he expects to excel in his art, he must study other things than the principles by which the critics will estimate his proficiency. As poets must be so far acquainted with grammar, as to be able to write correct language, painters and sculptors are required to know the principles of their respective arts. But as that knowledge of grammar which constitutes the merit of a grammarian will never make a poet, so that knowledge of perspective and anatomy which constitutes the merit of a connoisseur will never make a painter or a sculptor. Painting and sculpture are representative arts. Their province is confined to forms that can be exhibited, and excellence cannot be attained in them but by studying such forms as naturally exist. In groups the sculptor may bring together figures that might never have met; as the landscape-painter may combine into one picture objects selected from different views, and thereby produce an effect that, while perfectly natural, shall be more pleasing and impressive than any particular view in nature. But the sculptor must not attempt to

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