from the horizon like transparent films, only distinguishable from
mist by their excessively keen edges, and their brilliant flashes of
sudden light; they are as unsubstantial as the air itself, and impress
their enormous size by means of this aerialness, in a far greater degree
at these vast distances, than even when towering above the spectator's
head. Now, I ask of the candid observer, if there be the smallest
vestige of an effort to attain--if there be the most miserable, the most
contemptible shadow of attainment of such an effect by Claude? Does that
white thing on the horizon look seventy miles off? Is it faint, or
fading, or to be looked for by the eye before it can be found out? Does
it look high? does it look large? does it look impressive? You cannot
but feel that there is not a vestige of any kind or species of truth in
that horizon; and that, however artistical it may be, as giving
brilliancy to the distance, (though, as far as I have any feeling in the
matter, it only gives coldness,) it is, in the very branch of art on
which Claude's reputation chiefly rests, aerial perspective, hurling
defiance to nature in her very teeth.

Sec. 10. And violation of specific form.

But there are worse failures yet in this unlucky distance. Aerial
perspective is not a matter of paramount importance, because nature
infringes its laws herself and boldly too, though never in a case like
this before us; but there are some laws which nature never violates--her
laws of form. No mountain was ever raised to the level of perpetual
snow, without an infinite multiplicity of form. Its foundation is built
of a hundred minor mountains, and, from these, great buttresses run in
converging ridges to the central peak. There is no exception to this
rule; no mountain 15,000 feet high is ever raised without such
preparation and variety of outwork. Consequently, in distant effect,
when chains of such peaks are visible at once, the multiplicity of form
is absolutely oceanic; and though it is possible in near scenes to find
vast and simple masses composed of lines which run unbroken for a
thousand feet, or more, it is physically impossible when these masses
are thrown seventy miles back, to have simple outlines, for then these
large features become mere jags, and hillocks, and are heaped and
huddled together with endless confusion. To get a simple form, seventy
miles away, mountain lines would be required unbroken for leagues; and
this, I rep