REALIZATION

VOLUME III, CHAPTER 2

In the outset of this inquiry, the reader must thoroughly understand
that we are not now considering _what_ is to be painted, but _how far_
it is to be painted. Not whether Raphael does right in representing
angels playing upon violins, or whether Veronese does right in
allowing cats and monkeys to join the company of kings: but whether,
supposing the subjects rightly chosen, they ought on the canvas to
look like real angels with real violins, and substantial cats looking
at veritable kings; or only like imaginary angels with soundless
violins, ideal cats, and unsubstantial kings.

Now, from the first moment when painting began to be a subject of
literary inquiry and general criticism, I cannot remember any writer,
not professedly artistical, who has not, more or less, in one part of
his book or another, countenanced the idea that the great end of art
is to produce a deceptive resemblance of reality. It may be, indeed,
that we shall find the writers, through many pages, explaining
principles of ideal beauty, and professing great delight in the
evidences of imagination. But whenever a picture is to be definitely
described,--whenever the writer desires to convey to others some
impression of an extraordinary excellence, all praise is wound up with
some such statements as these: "It was so exquisitely painted that you
expected the figures to move and speak; you approached the flowers to
enjoy their smell, and stretched your hand towards the fruit which had
fallen from the branches. You shrunk back lest the sword of the
warrior should indeed descend, and turned away your head that you
might not witness the agonies of the expiring martyr."

In a large number of instances, language such as this will be found to
be merely a clumsy effort to convey to others a sense of the
admiration, of which the writer does not understand the real cause in
himself. A person is attracted to a picture by the beauty of its
colour, interested by the liveliness of its story, and touched by
certain countenances or details which remind him of friends whom he
loved, or scenes in which he delighted. He naturally supposes that
what gives him so much pleasure must be a notable example of the
painter's skill; but he is ashamed to confess, or perhaps does not
know, that he is so much a child as to be fond of bright colours and
amusing incidents; and he is quite unconscious of the associations
which have so secret