ion,
inasmuch as several ideas of truth were united in it, was nobler than a
simple idea of truth. And if it were necessary that the ideas of truth
should be perfect, or should be subjects of contemplation _as such_, it
would be so. But, observe, we require to produce the effect of imitation
only so many and such ideas of truth as the _senses_ are usually
cognizant of. Now the senses are not usually, nor unless they be
especially devoted to the service, cognizant, with accuracy, of any
truths but those of space and projection. It requires long study and
attention before they give certain evidence of even the simplest truths
of form. For instance, the quay on which the figure is sitting, with his
hand at his eyes, in Claude's seaport, No. 14, in the National Gallery,
is egregiously out of perspective. The eye of this artist, with all his
study, had thus not acquired the power of taking cognizance of the
apparent form even of a simple parallelopiped. How much less of the
complicated forms of boughs, leaves, or limbs? Although, therefore,
something resembling the real form is necessary to deception, this
something is not to be called a _truth_ of form; for, strictly speaking,
there are no degrees of truth, there are only degrees of approach to it;
and an approach to it, whose feebleness and imperfection would instantly
offend and give pain to a mind really capable of distinguishing truth,
is yet quite sufficient for all the purposes of deceptive imagination.
It is the same with regard to color. If we were to paint a tree
sky-blue, or a dog rose-pink, the discernment of the public would be
keen enough to discover the falsehood; but, so that there be just so
much approach to truth of color as may come up to the common idea of it
in men's minds, that is to say, if the trees be all bright green, and
flesh unbroken buff, and ground unbroken brown, though all the real and
refined truths of color be wholly omitted, or rather defied and
contradicted, there is yet quite enough for all purposes of imitation.
The only facts then, which we are usually and certainly cognizant of,
are those of distance and projection, and if these be tolerably given,
with something like truth of form and color to assist them, the idea of
imitation is complete. I would undertake to paint an arm, with every
muscle out of its place, and every bone of false form and dislocated
articulation, and yet to observe certain coarse and broad resemblances
of true out