the hurried step of compassion, in the wild disorder of maternal anxiety, or in the sudden ardours of generous friendship, that we find attitudes or gestures of grace. It is in the more temperate period of these affections, when we see the dominion of emotion, rather than passion, and when the gestures assume the repose of habitual characThere is not a more exquisite picture of generous affection than that which Virgil has described in the well known exclamation of Nisus,

ter.

Me, me adsum qui feci! in me convertite ferrum, &c.

Yet the painter would certainly be much mistaken, who should seize this frantic and breathless moment as the moment of grace. There are no affections so susceptible perhaps of graceful attitude or gesture as those which belong to devotion; and they have, from many causes, been the great object of imitation among the painters of modern times. Every one must have observed, however, that it is not in their periods of violence or extremity, amid the transports of hope, or the raptures of joy, or the agonies of penitence, that grace is to be found; that the attitudes which are graceful are always those on the other hand which represent chastened and subdued emotion; and that the painters who are most eminent for the production of grace, are those who have given this chastened character to their forms, and repressed all the expressions of intemperate or unrestrained emotion.

In the opposite class of passions; in those which be long to pain and to suffering, it will be found, in the same manner, that although the extreme violence of the expressions may be sublime, the point or degree of passion which alone is susceptible of grace, is that which evinces a mind unsubdued by affliction, and which continues to possess itself amid all the sufferings which surround it.

There is none of these passions perhaps, which does not admit of the graceful either in position or in movement, and it is in the expression of some of them that the highest degree of grace is exhibited of which the human form is capable; yet every one must have perceived that it is never in their state of violence and intemperance that this quality is found, and that the hurry and tumult of the gestures of fear, of pain, of horror, of despair, &c. if they cease to be felt as sublime, tend always to degenerate into the ridiculous or contemptible. Whenever, on the contrary, under such circumstances, we perceive the presence of a high and unconquered mind; whenever, in the composure of the attitudes, or in the tranquillity of the gestures, we see the dominion of lofty thought and exalted sentiment, we feel immediately these gestures and attitudes to be graceful; and as signs of these high qualities of mind, we regard them with the same sentiments of admiration and of respect that we are formed to feel for the qualities they signify. Give to the dying Gladiator the attitude of agony or of horror, and, although the expression might be sublime, yet it would lose all the grace which is acknowledged to distinguish it. Give to the Apollo Belvidere any gesture of rage or revenge; and though its beauty would not be lost, it would lose all the matchless grace, which every age has felt, in that expression of divinity which radiates from every limb of its form; in that composure which marks the superiority of a celestial being; and in that lofty scorn which disdains even to feel a victory over an enemy so unworthy of his arms. It is not, in the same manner, in the agonizing limbs, or in the convulsed muscles of the Laocoon, that the secret grace of its composition resides; it is in the majestic air of the head, which has not yielded to suffering, and in the deep se

1

renity of the forehead, which seems to be still superior to all its afflictions, and significant of a mind that cannot be subdued.

"What GRACE," says Mr. Smith with his usual persuasive eloquence, "what noble propriety do we not feel "in the conduct of those who exert that recollection and "self-command which constitute the dignity of every 66 passion, and which bring it down to what others can enter into? We are disgusted with that clamorous grief, which, without any delicacy, calls upon our compassion with sighs, and tears, and importunate lamenta❝tions. But we reverence that reserved, that silent and 66 majestic sorrow, which discovers itself only in the swelling of the eyes, in the quivering of the lips and "cheeks, and in the distant, but affecting coldness of the "whole behaviour. It imposes the like silence upon 66 us; we regard it with respectful attention, and watch over our whole behaviour, lest, by any impropriety we "should disturb that concerted tranquillity, which it requires so great an effort to support."* It is "this re"collection and self-command," which in such scenes constitutes what even in common language is called the graceful in behaviour or deportment; and it is the expression of the same qualities in the attitude and gesture, which constitutes, in my apprehension, the grace of such gestures or attitudes.

As a farther illustration of the same truth, I must again hint to my readers the observation of the theatre. Within the limits which I must prescribe to myself, it is impossible for me to enter into any detail upon this pleasing subject. I shall satisfy myself by appealing to this observation, and by stating, that if the hypothesis which I have proposed is just, it ought to be found, that, whether

• Theory of Moral Sentiments, p. 31.

in comic or in tragic passions, the moment of grace should be that of composure and self-command; that every attitude or gesture which is significant of this character of mind should in some degree or other be graceful; that no characters should admit of grace in the representation, which are distinguished by violence or intemperance of passion; and that the scenes or moments in the representation of any character, which are most susceptible of graceful representation, should be those in which the dignity of the character is most displayed in superiority to the passions which subdue ordinary men. If the reader should arrive at these conclusions, he will perhaps be led to perceive the cause of the acknowledged superiority of the French to the English stage, in the article of grace; and that the bold delineations of character which distinguish the drama which Shakspeare has formed, can be represented only by the display of an energy and extremity of passion which is incompatible with the temperance of graceful gesture.

In the preceding observations I have alluded only to the positions and movements of the human form, under the dominion of emotion or passion. It seems to me, however, that the observation may be carried farther, and that wherever, in the movements of the form, selfcommand or self-possession is expressed, some degree of grace, at least, is always produced. I shall state only two instances of this; the first is in the movements of the form, in cases of difficulty, and the second, of similar movements in cases of danger.

The common motions of walking, running, &c. have in themselves nothing of difficulty, and are therefore, in general, incapable of producing any emotion. But dancing is an art of real difficulty, and we observe it always with the consciousness of this difficulty. To acquire

all the different motions which are most commonly taught in this branch of education: to appropriate them to the particular time and character of the music: to understand the figure of every dance, which is purposely made as intricate as the time will permit; and to be able to execute all this with ease and facility, are in truth acquisitions of more difficulty than we generally believe, and require more composure and presence of mind than we are commonly disposed to imagine. When, accord. ingly, we see all this well performed, when we see the dancer move without hurry or disorder, perform all the steps of the dance with ease, accommodate his motions with justice to the measure, and extricate himself from all the apparent intricacies of the figure, with order and facility, we feel a very perceptible sentiment of surprise and admiration, and are conscious of the grace of gestures, in which so much skill, and composure, and pres. ence of mind are displayed. If we compare such a performance with the rude gestures of the untaught vulgar, or with the hurried and extravagant postures of those who happen unfortunately to mingle in the dance without the requisite instruction, we shall soon perceive how much the grace of gesture is dependent upon the character of mind which it exhibits; and if we ascend from this common example to the higher exhibitions of the art, to the serious or heroic dances of the opera stage, we shall see this grace expand from the same cause, into loftier dimensions, and be satisfied, that the applause we hear around us is justly due to every exhibition where dignity of mind is expressed, or where difficult things are performed with ease and facility. I have chosen this instance as the most familiar that occurs to me: but the reader who will prosecute the subject, will find a thousand illustrations of it, in his observation of the gestures