n the real scenes,
were they presented before us." We have quoted the above passage,
because it is wanted--we are making great mistakes in that delightful,
and (may we not say?) that high branch of art. He pursues the same
argument with regard to acting, and condemns the _ignorant_ praise
bestowed by Fielding on Garrick. Not an idea of deception enters the
mind of actor or author. On the stage, even the expression of strong
passion must be without the natural distortion and screaming voice.
Transfer, he observes, acting to a private room, and it would be
ridiculous. "Quid enim deformius, quum scenam in vitam transferre?" Yet
he gives here a caution, "that no art can be grafted with success on
another art." "If a painter should endeavour to copy the theatrical pomp
and parade of dress and attitude, instead of that simplicity which is
not a greater beauty in life than it is in painting, we should condemn
such pictures, as painted in the meanest style." What will our
academician, Mr Maclise, say of this remark? He then adduces gardening
in support of his theory,--"nature to advantage dressed," "beautiful and
commodious for the recreation of man." We cannot, however, go with Sir
Joshua, who adds, that "so dressed, it is no longer a subject for the
pencil of a landscape painter, as all landscape painters know." It is
certainly unlike the great landscape he has described, but not very
unlike Claude's, nor out of the way of his pencil. We have in our mind's
eye a garden scene by Vander Heyden, most delightful, most elegant. It
is some royal garden, with its proper architecture, the arch, the steps,
and balustrades, and marble walks. The queen of the artificial paradise
is entering, and in the shade with her attendants, but she will soon
place her foot upon the prepared sunshine. Courtiers are here and there
walking about, or leaning over the balustrades. All is elegance--a scene
prepared for the recreation of pure and cultivated beings. We cannot
say the picture is not landscape. We are sure it gave us ten times more
pleasure than ever we felt from any of our landscape views, with which
modern landscape painting has covered the walls of our exhibitions, and
brought into disrepute our "annuals." He proceeds to architecture, and
praises Vanburgh for his poetical imagination; though he, with Perrault,
was a mark for the wits of the day.[11] Sir Joshua points to the facade
of the Louvre, Blenheim, and Castle Howard, as "the fairest