Persons in their last moments are generally seized with an anxiety to be buried with their relations. In the _Amynta_ of Tasso, the lover, hearing that his mistress was torn to pieces by a wolf, expresses a desire to die the same death[86].
Upon the subject in general, I have two remarks to add. The first concerns resemblance, which when too entire hath no effect, however different in kind the things compared may be. This remark is applicable to works of art only; for natural objects of different kinds, have scarce ever an entire resemblance. Marble is a sort of matter, very different from what composes an animal; and marble cut into a human figure, produces great pleasure by the resemblance. But let a marble statue be coloured like a picture, the resemblance is so entire as to produce no effect. At a distance, it appears a real person. We discover the mistake when we approach; and no other emotion is raised but surprise occasioned by the deception. The idea of resemblance is sunk into that of identity. The figure still appears to our eyes rather to be a real person than a resemblance of it; and we must make use of our reflection to correct the mistake. This cannot happen in a picture; for the resemblance can never be so entire as to disguise the imitation.
The other remark regards contrast. Emotions make the greatest figure when contrasted in succession. But then the succession ought neither to be precipitate nor immoderately slow. If too slow, the effect of contrast becomes faint by the distance of the emotions; and if precipitate, no single emotion has room to expand itself to its full size; but is stifled as it were in the birth by a succeeding emotion. The funeral oration of the Bishop of Meaux upon the Duchess of Orleans, is a perfect hotchpotch of chearful and melancholy representations following each other in the quickest succession. Opposite emotions are best felt in succession: but each emotion separately should be raised to its due pitch, before another be introduced.
What is above laid down, will enable us to determine a very important question concerning emotions raised by the fine arts, _viz._ What ought to be the rule of succession; whether ought resemblance to be studied or contrast? The emotions raised by the fine arts, are generally too nearly related to make a figure by resemblance; and for that reason, their succession ought to be regulated as much as possible by contrast. This holds confessedly in epic and dramatic compositions: and the best writers, led perhaps by a good taste more than by reasoning, have generally aimed at this beauty. In the same cantata, all the variety of emotions that are within the power of music, may not only be indulged, but, to make the greatest figure, ought to be contrasted. In gardening there is an additional reason for the rule. The emotions raised by that art, are at best so faint, that every artifice should be used to give them their utmost strength. A field may be laid out in grand, sweet, gay, neat, wild, melancholy scenes. When these are viewed in succession, grandeur ought to be contrasted with neatness, regularity with wildness, and gaiety with melancholy; so as that each emotion may succeed its opposite. Nay it is an improvement to intermix in the succession, rude uncultivated spots as well as unbounded views, which in themselves are disagreeable, but in succession heighten the feeling of the agreeable objects. And we have nature for our guide, who in her most beautiful landscapes often intermixes rugged rocks, dirty marshes, and barren stony heaths. The greatest matters of music, have the same view in their compositions: the second part of an Italian song seldom conveys any sentiment; and, by its harshness, seems purposely contrived to give a greater relish for the interesting parts of the composition.
