Charles Batteux

The Fine Arts Reduced

to a Single Principle
French Publication: 1746
Anonymous English Translation: 1749
This reprint of the English translation: 1795
Two chapters of this book are provided. Their
significance is that they are the first attempt at
defining the fine arts (Les beaux arts) in any language.
(Here, the phrase is translated as "polite arts." Within a
few years, the British talked about "the finer arts,"
and then soon after, "fine art.")
 FOR JUNE 1795.
by degrees retrench what is luxuriant in themselves, and add what is
wanting. Their manners, discourse, and outward appearance, all
seem to be reforming, and this reformation passes even into their
souls. They resolve that their thoughts, when they come from
them, shall appear just, natural, and proper, to merit the esteem
of other men. In a word, they determine that the polite man shall
shine forth and shew himself by a lively and graceful expression,
equally remote from rudeness and affectation; two vices as contrary
to taste in society, as they are in the polite arts. For taste has every
where the same rules. It requires that we avoid every thing that can
give an unlovely impression, and that we offer all that can produce
an agreeable one.
THE ORIGIN AND DIVISION OF ARTS.
ARTS may be divided into three kinds.
The first have for their object the necessities of mankind, whom
nature seems to have abandoned to themselves as soon as they are
born : exposed to cold, hunger, and a thousand evils, nature has or
dained that the remedies and preservatives which are necessary for
them should be the price of their own work and industry. Hence
arose the mechanic arts.
The next kind have pleasure for their object. These must have
taken their rise when people began to be blest with the sweets of
tranquillity and plenty : they are called by way of eminence polite
arts ; such are music, poetry, painting, sculpture, and the art of
gesture or dancing.
The third kind are those which have utility and pleasure at the
same time for their object: such are eloquence and architecture:
necessity first produced them; taste gave them their perfections;
and they hold a sort of middle place between the other two.
The arts of the first kind employ nature, such as she is, solely
for use. Those of the third polish and employ her for use and social
pleasure. The polite arts do not employ, they only imitate her, each
in its way. Thus nature alone is the object of all arts ; it is she that
occasions all our wants, and furnishes all our pleasures.
We shall treat here only of the polite arts, that is to say, of those
whose first object is to please ; and, to be the better acquainted
with them, let us go back to the cause which produced them.
Mankind made arts, and it was for themselves they made them.
Unsatisfied with too scanty an enjoyment of those objects which
simple nature offered, and finding themselves moreover in a situation
capable of receiving pleasure, they had recourse to their genius, to
procure themselves a new order of ideas and sentiments, which
should awaken their wit and enliven their taste. But what could
this genius do, thus limited in its fruitfulness and views, which it
could not carry farther than nature, and having besides to1 labour for
men whose faculties were confined by the same bounds ? All man's
3B
 THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE,
efforts must have been to make choice of the most beautiful parts
of nature, to form one exquisite whole which should be more perfect
than mere nature, without ceasing, however, to be natural. This is the
principle upon which the fundamental plan of all arts must necessarily
have been built, and which all the great artists have followed in every
age of the world. Whence we may conclude, first, that genius,
which is the father of arts, ought to imitate nature. Secondly, that
nature should not be imitated such as she is. Thirdly, that taste,
for which arts are made, and which is their judge, ought to be satis
fied whether nature be well chosen and well imitated by the arts.
Thtis all- our rules should tend to establish the imitation of (what wo
may call) beautiful nature.
The word imitation contains two ideas. First, the prototype, or
that which contains the touches to be imitated. Secondly, the copy
which represents them. Nature (that is to say, all that is, or that
we easily conceive as possible) is the prototype or model of arts.
An industrious imitator must have his eyes always fixt upon her,
and be always considering her : and why ? because it contains all
the plans of regular works, and the designs cf every ornament that
can please us. Arts do not create their own rules, they are inde
pendent of their caprice, and invariably traced in the example of
nature.
(To be continued.)

GENEROUS SENTIMENTS
ON THE PROSPERITY OF OTHERS*
CONDUCIVE TO OUR OWN HAPPINESS.

ON looking into life I have often dwelt in pensive contemplation*

upon the discontent which so generally prevails among men,
and their frequent complaints occasioned by the disposal of worldly
good.
Why are we so dissatisfied with our situation ? Why does every
little disappointment add a thorn to our hearts, every observation of
increased prosperity around us distil a deadlier drop into our minds,
and the lowliness of our condition make us peevish and unthankful ?
This misery of life can proceed only from a narrow and selfish
principle. If others of our fellow-creatures were not shining under
the warm rays of apparent happiness in a more elevated station, and
enjoying thereby those comforts and elegances which we vainly
flatter ourselves are the just dues of our virtues and industry, the sigh
of discontent, and the voice of complaint, would not be so frequently
heard. We are, then, happy or otherwise only by comparison, and
the state of our minds depends principally upon the eye with which
we view the various scenes of prosperity or affliction that a;e scat-
tered around us.
 FOR JULY 1795. *7

THE MURDERER OF CHARLES I.

ASCERTAINED.
[From " Anecdotes of Distinguished Persons, &c." just published.]
LILLY, in the History of his Life and Times, says, " The next
Sunday after Charles the First was beheaded, Robert Spavin,
secretary to Oliver Cromwell, invited himself to dine with me, and
brought Anthony Peirson, and several others, along with him to
dinner ; and that the principal discourse at dinner was only, Who it
was that beheaded the King? One said, it was the common hang
man ; another, Hugh Peters ; others also were nominated, but none
concluded. Robert .Spavin, so soon as dinner was done, took me by
the hand, and carried me to the south window. These are all
mistaken, saith he ; they have not named the man that did the fact.
It was Lieutenant-Colonel Joyce. I was in the room when he
fitted himself for the work, stood behind him when he did it, when
done went in again with him. —There is no man knows this but my
master Cromwell, Commissary Ireton, and myself. —Doth not Mr.
Rushworth know it ? quoth I. No; he did not know it said Spavin.
The same thing," adds Lilly, " Spavin since had often related unto
Fie when we were alone."

DISSERTATIONS ON THE
POLITE ARTS. ,
No. II.

WHAT is the function of arts? It is to transport those touches

which are in nature, and to present them in objects to which they
are not natural. It is thus that the statuary's chizzel shows or pro-
duces a heroin a block of marble. Thepainterj by his light and
shade, makes visible objects seem to project from the canvas. The
musician, by artificial sounds, makes the tempest roar, whilst all is
quiet around us ; and the poet too, by his invention, and by the
harmony of his verses, fills our minds with counterfeit images, and
our hearts with fictitious sentiments, often more charming than if
they were true and natural. Whence I conclude, that arts are only
imitations, resemblances which are not really nature, but seem to be
so ; and that thus the matter of the polite arts is not the true, but
only the probable. This consequence is important enough to be ex
plained and proved immediately by the application.
Painting is an imitation of visible objects. It has nothing that is
real, nothing that is true, and its perfections depend only upon its
resemblance to reality.
Music and dancing may very well regulate the tones and gestures
of an orator in his pulpit, or of a citizen who tells a story in conver
F2
 THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE,
sation ; but it is not properly in those respects that they are called
arts. They may also wander, 6ne into little caprices, where the
sounds break upon one another with design ; the other into leaps and
fantastic capers : but neither the one nor the other are then in their
just bounds. To be what they ought to be, they must return to imi
tation, and become the artificial portrait of the human passions.
Fiction, finally, is the very life and soul of poetry. In this art the
•wolf bears all the characters of man powerful and unjust; the lamb
those of innocence oppressed. Pastoral offers us poetical shepherds,
which are mere resemblances or images. Comedy draws the picture
of an ideal miser, on whom all the characters of real avarice are
bestowed.
Tragedy is not properly poetry but in that which it feigns by imi
tation. Cajsar has had a quarrel with Pompey, this is not poetry,
but history. But if actions, discourses, intrigues, are invented, all
after the ideas which history gives us of the characters and fortune of
Cassar and Pompey, this is what may be called poetry, because it is
the work of genius and art.
The epic, too, is only a recital of probable actions, represented
with all the characters of"existence. Juno and jEneas neither said
nor did what Virgil attributes to them ; but they might have said or
done it, and that is enough for poetry. It is one perpetual fiction,
graced with all the characters of truth.
Thus every art, in all that is truly artificial in it, is only an ima
ginary thing, a feigned being, copied and imitated from true ones.
It is for this reason that art is always put in opposition to nature j
that we hear it every where said, that we must imitate nature ; that
art is perfect when she is well represented ; and, in short, that all
master-pieces of art are those where nature is so well imitated that
they seem nature herself.
And this imitation, for which we have all so natural a disposition
(since it is example which instructs and governs mankind, vivimus
ad exempla ), is one of the principal springs of that pleasure which
we derive from arts. The mind exercises itself in comparing the
model with the picture; and the judgment it gives is so much the
more agreeable, as it is a proof of its own knowledge and penetration.
Genius and taste have so intimate a connection in arts, that there
are cases where they cannot be united without seeming to confound
one another, nor separated without almost taking away their func
tions. This is the case here, where it is impossible to say what a
genius ought to do in imitating nature, without supposing taste to be
his guide.
Aristotle compares poetry with history; their difference, according
to him, is not in the form, or stile, but in the very nature of the
things. But how so ?. History only paints what has happened, poetry
what might have happened. One is tied down to truth, it creates
neither actions nor actors. The other regards nothing but the pro
bable; it invents; it designs at its own pleasure, and paints only
 FOR JULY 1795.
from the brain. History gives examples, such as they are, often im
perfect. The poet gives them such as they ougbt to be'. And it is
for this reason, according to the same philosopher, that poetry is a
much more instructive lesson than history. A10 «u <pi?io<ro$QTff>o», ksw
e^raJatcTspov iroiqai; Sarofiaf sirltv, Poet. cap. g.
Upon this principle we must conclude, that if arts are imitations
of nature, they ought to be bright and lively imitations, that do not
copy her servilely, but having chosen objects, represents them with
. all the perfections they are capable of ; always taking care, that in
such compositions the parts have a proper relation to one another;
otherwise the whole may be absurd, while every single part taken se
parately remains beautiful : in a word, imitations where nature is
seen, not such as she really is, but such as she may be, and such as
may be conceived in the mind.
What did Zeuxis wheu about to paint a perfect beauty ? Did he
draw the picture of an}' particular fine woman ? No ; he collected
the separate features of several beauties who were at that time living.
Then he formed in his mind an idea that resulted from all these fea
tures united ; and this idea was the prototype or model of his picture,
which was probable and poetical in the whole, and was true and his
torical only in the parts taken separately. And this is what every
painter does, when he represents the persons he paints with more
beauty and grace than they really have. This is an example given
to all artists : this is the road they ought to take, and it is the prac
tice of every great master without exception.
When Moliere wanted to paint a man-hater, he did not search for
an original, of which his character should be an exact copy ; had he
so done he had made but a picture, a history ; he had then instructed
but by halves : but he collected every mark, every stroke of a gloomy
temper, that he could observe amongst men. To this he added all
that the strength of his own genius could furnish him of the same
kind ; and from all these hints, well connected, and well laid out, he
drew a single character, which was not the representation of the true,
but of the probable. His comedy was not the history of Alcestes,
but his picture of Alcestes was the history of man-hatred taken in
general. And hence he has given much better instruction than a
scrupulous historian could possibly have done by only relating some
strictly true strokes of a real misanthrope.
It was a saying among the ancients, that Such a thing is beautiful as
a statue. And it is in the same sense that Juvenal, to express ali
the possible horrors of a tempest, calls it a poetical tempest.
Omnia fittnt
Talia, tiim gravlttr, si quandu Poctica surgit
Tempestas. Sat. 12.
These examples are sufficient to give a clear and distinct idea of
what we call beautiful nature. It is not the truth that does exist,
but that truth which may exist, beautiful truth; which is represented
as if it really existed, and with all the perfections it can receive.
 THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE,
The quality of the object makes no difference. Let it be a Hydra or
a miser, an hypocrite or a Nero, if they are well drawn, and repre
sented with all the fine touches that belong to them, we still say,
that beautiful nature is there painted. It matters not whether it be
the Furies or the Graces.
This does not, however, prevent truth and reality being made
use of by the Polite Arts. It is thus that the Muses express them^
selves in Hesiod :

" 'Tis ours to speak the truth in language plain,

" Or give the face of tcuth to what we feign."
Ifan historical fact were found so well worked up as to be fit to serve
for a plan to a poem or a piece of painting, poetry and painting
too would immediately employ it as such, and would on the other
hand make use of their privileges, in inventing circumstances,
contrasts, situations, &c. When Le Brun paintfd the battles of
Alexander, he found in history the facts, the actors, and the scene
of action; but, notwithstanding this, what noble invention! What a
glow of poetry in his work ! The dispositions, attitudes, expressions
of passions, all these remained for his own genius to create ; there art
built upon the basis of truth, and this truth ought to be so elegantly
mixt with the feigned, as to form one whole of the same nature.
Atque ifa menlitur, sic verisfalsa remisceta
Primo ne medium, medio ne discrepet imum.
The most fruitful minds, however, do not always feel the presence
of the Muses. Shakspeare, who was born a poet, fell into the most
shameful meannesses. Milton sometimes cools, he does not always
Soar
Above the Aonian mount.
And not to speak of Statius, Claudian, and many more who have
experienced the returns of languor and feebleness, does not Horace
say, that Homer himself sometimes slumbers, even in the midst of
his gods and heroes ? There are then certain happy moments for
genii, when the soul, as if filled with fire divine, takes in all nature,
and spreads upon all objects that heavenly life which animates them,
those engaging strokes which warm and ravish us.
This situation of tire soul is called enthusiasm, a word which all the
world understands, and which hardly any one has defined. The
ideas which most authors give of it, seem rather to come from an en
raptured imagination, filled with enthusiasm itself, than from a head
that thinks and reflects coolly. At one time it is a celestial vision, a
divine influence, a prophetic spirit; at another it is an intoxication,
an extasy, a joy mixt with trouble, and admiration in the presence of
the divinity. Was it their design to elevate the polite arts by this
emphatieal way of speaking,* and to hide from the profane the mys
teries of the Muses ?
 FOR JULY 1795.
But let those who seek to enlighten their ideas, despise this alle
goric pomp that blinds them. Let them consider enthusiasm as a
philosopher considers great men, without any regard to the vaia shew
that surrounds them.
The spirit which irispires excellent authors when they compose,
is like that which animates heroes in battle.
Sua cuique Deus jit dira Cupido.
In the one it is a boldness and a natural intrepidity, provoked by the
presence even of danger itself. In the others it is a great fund of
genius, a just and exquisite wit, a fruitful imagination ; and, above
all, a heart filled with noble fire, and which easily acts at the sight of
objects. These privileged souls receive strongly the impression of
those things they conceive, and never fail to reproduce them, adorned
with new beauty, force, and elegance.
This is the source and principle of enthusiasm. We may already
perceive what must be the effect with regard to the arts which imitate
nature. Let us call back the example of Zeuxis. Nature has in her
treasures all those images of which the most beautiful imitations can
be composed : they are like sketches in the painters tablets. The
artist, who is essentially an observer, views them, takes them from
the heap, and assembles them. He composes from these a complete
whole, of which he conceives an idea that fills him, , and is at the
same time both bright and lively. Presently his fire glows at the
sight of the object ; he forgets himself ; his soul passes into the things
he creates ; he is by turns Cassar, Brutus, Macbeth, and Romeo. It
is in these transports that Homer sees the chariots and courses of the
Gods, that Virgil hears the dismal streams of Phlegyas in the infernal
shades ; and that each of them discovers things which are nowhere
to be found, and which notwithstanding are true.
Poeta cum tabulas cepit sibi,
Quarit quod nusquam est gentium, repperit tamen.
It is for the same effect that this enthusiasm is necessary for painters
and musicians. They ought to forget their situation, and to fancy
themselves in the midst of those things they would represent. If
they would paint a battle, they transport themselves in the same
manner as the poet, into the middle of the fight : they hear the clash-
of arms, the groans of the dying ; they see rage, havoc, and blood.
They rouse their own imaginations, till they find themselves moved,
distressed, frighted : then Deus ecce Deus. Let them write or paint,
it is a god that inspires them,
Bella borrida bella,
Et Tybrim multo spumantem sanguine Cerno.
It is what Cicero calls, Mentis viribus [Link], divino spiritu qfflari.
This is poetic rage ; this is enthusiasm ; this is the god that the poet
invokes in the epic, that inspires the hero in tragedy, that transforms
himself into the simple citizen in comedy, into the shepherd in pasto
ral, that gives reason and speech to animals in the apologue or fable.
In short, the god that makes true painters, musicians, and poets.
(To be continued.)