Had the reader or I
been there, he would have carried us with him, as he did his hearers; and
as his successors carry the public with them now.
"Your brush is by no means destitute of talent, Mr. Triplet," said Mr.
Snarl. "But you are somewhat deficient, at present, in the great
principles of your art; the first of which is a loyal adherence to truth.
Beauty itself is but one of the forms of truth, and nature is our finite
exponent of infinite truth."
His auditors gave him a marked attention. They could not but acknowledge
that men who go to the bottom of things like this should be the best
instructors.
"Now, in nature, a woman's face at this distance--ay, even at this short
distance-- melts into the air. There is none of that sharpness; but, on
the contrary, a softness of outline." He made a lorgnette of his two
hands; the others did so too, and found they saw much better--oh, ever so
much better! "Whereas yours," resumed Snarl, "is hard; and, forgive me,
rather tea-board like. Then your _chiaro scuro,_ my good sir, is very
defective; for instance, in nature, the nose, intercepting the light on
one side the face, throws, of necessity, a shadow under the eye.
Caravaggio, Venetians generally, and the Bolognese masters, do particular
justice to this. No such shade appears in this portrait."
"'Tis so, stop my vitals!" observed Colley Cibber.
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