FLAXMAN held the distinguished position of Professor of Sculpture to the Royal Academy. He was an excellent Greek and Latin scholar, and his mind seems to have been early imbued with that classic feeling and taste which it is essential for an historical sculptor to possess, and which laid the foundation of his future celebrity. He was admitted a Student of the Royal Academy, in 1770. In 1787, Mr. Flaxman went to Italy, where he pursued his studies for seven years. While resident at Rome, he made about eighty designs from the Iliad and Odyssey. These were so highly approved that he was afterwards engaged to illustrate, in the same manner, the works of Dante for Mr. Thomas Hope, and Æschylus for the late Countess Spencer. All these designs were made at Rome, and engraved there by Thomas Piroli. The Homer was published in quarto, in1793, and again, with additional plates, in 1805; the Æschylus, in 1795; the Dante, in 1807. His illustrations of Hesiod were made after his return to England; they were engraved by W. Blake, and published in 1816. Mr. Flaxman returned from Rome in 1794, and was elected on his way a Member of the Academies of Florence and Carrara. His first work after his arrival in England, and for which he received the commission before he left Rome, was the monument to Lord Mansfield, in Westminster Abbey. He designed and executed many other sepulchral monuments, the most notable being those of Earl Howe, Lord Nelson, and Sir Joshua Reynolds, in St. Paul’s cathedral; while Westminster Abbey, and various other cathedrals and churches, are enriched with exquisite productions of his genius. Flaxman died, 3rd December, 1826, at the age of seventy-one.
HIS OBLIGING DISPOSITION.
The following letter curiously illustrates the kind and obliging nature of the celebrated sculptor. It is addressed to John Bischoff, Esq., Leeds:—
“Buckingham Street, Fitzroy Square,“19th of Aug. 1814.“Dear Sir,—Your first respected letter was duly received, concerning the drawing for Dr. Whitaker’s new edition of ‘The History of Leeds;’ the answer to which has been delayed so long because I wished to send by it such information respecting the manner of engraving the monument of Captains Walker and Beckett, with the expense, as might enable Dr. Whitaker and yourself to determine what kind of print will be most likely to answer the purpose of publication—which will consequently determine the kind of drawing from which the copper-plate must be engraved. Thisinformation I have just obtained. A highly-finished shadowed engraving, of the proper size for a quarto book, will cost twenty guineas, or more; and in this department of Art there are two engravers of distinguished excellence, Mr. Bromley and Mr. Englehart. For such an engraving a drawing should be made by Mr. Stothard, who is used to draw for engravers; which is an absolute requisite, as this is a distinct branch of Art. A drawing of this kind costs about five or six guineas. If the Rev. Doctor would be satisfied with an outline of the monument—such as those published of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, as well as some in Cowper’s translations of Milton’s Latin poems, which is now a favourite style of decoration in books—I can make the outline myself, and will request the Editor’s acceptance of it. The engraving, including the copper-plate, will cost six guineas if done by Mr. Blake, the best engraver of outlines. When you favour me with Dr. Whitaker’s intentions on this subject, pray send in the letter the size of the intended book. I hope you will excuse the trouble I have occasioned you; and accept my particular thanks for your kindness and attention.“I have the honour to remain, etc.,“John Flaxman.”
“Buckingham Street, Fitzroy Square,“19th of Aug. 1814.
“Dear Sir,—Your first respected letter was duly received, concerning the drawing for Dr. Whitaker’s new edition of ‘The History of Leeds;’ the answer to which has been delayed so long because I wished to send by it such information respecting the manner of engraving the monument of Captains Walker and Beckett, with the expense, as might enable Dr. Whitaker and yourself to determine what kind of print will be most likely to answer the purpose of publication—which will consequently determine the kind of drawing from which the copper-plate must be engraved. Thisinformation I have just obtained. A highly-finished shadowed engraving, of the proper size for a quarto book, will cost twenty guineas, or more; and in this department of Art there are two engravers of distinguished excellence, Mr. Bromley and Mr. Englehart. For such an engraving a drawing should be made by Mr. Stothard, who is used to draw for engravers; which is an absolute requisite, as this is a distinct branch of Art. A drawing of this kind costs about five or six guineas. If the Rev. Doctor would be satisfied with an outline of the monument—such as those published of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, as well as some in Cowper’s translations of Milton’s Latin poems, which is now a favourite style of decoration in books—I can make the outline myself, and will request the Editor’s acceptance of it. The engraving, including the copper-plate, will cost six guineas if done by Mr. Blake, the best engraver of outlines. When you favour me with Dr. Whitaker’s intentions on this subject, pray send in the letter the size of the intended book. I hope you will excuse the trouble I have occasioned you; and accept my particular thanks for your kindness and attention.
“I have the honour to remain, etc.,“John Flaxman.”
HENRY FUSELI was a native of Zurich, and came to England at an early age, being undecided whether to make Literature or Art his study. He happened to take some of his drawings to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and requested the great painter to give his candid opinion upon theirexecution. The President was so struck with the power of conception displayed in them, that after attentively viewing them, he said, “Young man, were I the author of these drawings, and offered ten thousand a year not to practise as an artist, I would reject it with contempt.” This opinion, so flattering, decided him. In 1798, on the opening of his Milton Gallery, he fully satisfied all who might previously have had misgivings, by a rare display of lofty imagination, blended with extensive intellectual acquirements. All were agreed upon his marvellous genius as displayed in that exhibition. Among his masterly works in the Shakspeare Gallery, his “Ghost of Hamlet’s Father” was, perhaps, the grandest. Mr. Fuseli enjoyed the friendship of the most distinguished literati of the age. His townsman, Lavater, entertained a very high opinion of him before ever he discovered his genius by his after career. On leaving his native town to begin life, Lavater put into his hand a small piece of paper, beautifully framed, on which was written, “Do but the tenth part of what youcando.” “Hang that up in your bed-room,” said Lavater, “and I know what will be the result.” Mr. Fuseli enjoyed excellent health, no doubt the result of his habitual temperance; whether in town or country, summer or winter, he was seldom in bed after five o’clock. He died in the year 1825, at the ripe old age of 84, and his remains were interred in St. Paul’s cathedral.
HIS CAT.
It is related of the famous Fuseli, that he had a very imperfect sympathy for the harmless domestic cat. One day he was heard roaring at the top of his voice, “Same, Same, why the devil don’t you come?” The affectionate Mrs. F., who was in an adjoining room, rushed out, and catching sight of her husband’s agonized features, asked indismay, “What do you want of Sam, my dear Henry?” The only reply to which was, “Oh! d—— your dear Henry; send up Same.” On hastening to his assistance, the professor was found sprawling on his back, and pointing to the great doors of his painting room. It was found that he had a few minutes before gone there to take out a large picture to paint upon, when a couple of cats that had crawled through the roof rushed out and confronted him, thus causing all the disturbance. The man for whom he had called so vigorously by the name of “Same,” was Samuel Stronger, his model, who found his patron as white as a ghost.
HIS GAITERS.
It was not unusual for Fuseli to walk into the students’ room, with his gaiters in his hand. He would put them on just before the Academy closed for the night. One night, in his hurry to begin, he forgot the gaiters, or rather mislaid them. A long-continued grumbling announced to the students present that something was wrong. One of the students, less careful than the others, began to titter; this caught the professor’s ears, who bounced out of the room, exclaiming, “Oh! you are all a set of teeves; you have stolen my gaiters!” The merriment had not subsided, when, reappearing with the missing articles in his hand, and assuming as bland a smile as he could command, he apologetically added, “Oh, no! I was the teef myself. It was I who stole the gaiters!”
THE DRAMA.
Fuseli was a profound scholar in the works of Shakspeare, so much so that he had the various passages of the plays at his fingers’ ends. As an illustration, the following incident occurred at a dinner table, at which many were present.Sitting beside Fuseli was a very garrulous, shallow young man, who several times misquoted the great dramatist. After receiving blunder upon blunder with an audible growl, he addressed the young gentleman with, “Where’s that to be found?”
“In Titus Andronicus, where the black, as you recollect, says—”
“No, saar, I do not recollect; I do not think it is in Taitus Andronicus at all.”
“Macbeth, perhaps,” ventured the quoter.
“No, no; it is not in Maac-beath.”
“In Hamlet.”
“No, nor in Haamlet, saar.”
“Well, then, I do not recollect where it is,” admitted the speaker. To which Fuseli added, “Perhaps you do not know, but it is in Otello, saar,” much to the diversion of the assembled guests.
NOISY STUDENTS.
Hearing a violent noise in the studio, and inquiring the cause, he was answered by one of the porters, “It’s only those fellows, the students, sir.” “Fellows!” exclaimed Fuseli; “I would have you to know, sir, thosefellowsmay one day become Academicians.” The noise increasing, he opened the door with, “You are a den of wild beasts.” Munro, who was one of the students, bowed, and said, “And Fuseli is our keeper.”
THE YORKSHIREMAN.
Discoursing one day upon the merits of Phocion, the Athenian, a gentleman gravely put the question, “Pray, sir, who was Mr. Phocion?” Fuseli as gravely answered, “From your dialect, sir, I presume you are from Yorkshire; and, ifso, I wonder you do not recollect Mr. Phocion’s name, as he was Member for your county in the Long Parliament!”
RICHARDSON’S NOVELS.
A gentleman speaking one day in the presence of Fuseli, of books, remarked, “No one now reads the works of Richardson.” “Do they not?” said the painter, “then by G— they ought. If people are tired of old novels, I should be glad to know your criterion of books. If Richardson is old, Homer is obsolete.Clarissato me is pathetic; I never read it without crying like a child.”
CLASSICAL ATTAINMENTS.
Haydon, in his lectures on painting, observes: “In general literature, what is called polite literature, Fuseli was highly accomplished. He perhaps knew as much of Homer as any man; but he was not a deep classic; he could puzzle Dr. Burney by a question, but he was more puzzled if Dr. Burney questioned him. Porson spoke lightly of his knowledge of Greek, but in comparison with Porson, a man might know little and yet know a great deal; a friend once asked him to construe a difficult passage in the chorus in the Agamemnon of Æschylus—he cursed all choruses, and said he never read them! But his power of acquiring, idiomatically, a living language was certainly extraordinary; six weeks, he said, was enough for him to speak any language; yet though his tendency to literature gave him in society the power of being very amusing, I think it my duty to caution the young men present; he, for an artist, allowed literature to take too predominant a part in his practice, and sunk too much the painter in the critic.”
THIS eminent landscape painter was born at Sudbury, in Suffolk, in 1727. His father was a clothier by trade, and of very peculiar habits. It was to his mother, an accomplished woman, that he owed so much affectionate encouragement during his boyhood. He often absented himself from school, and spent the time sketching the picturesque dwellings with overhanging storeys in his neighbourhood. It has been said of him, “Nature was his teacher, and the woods of Suffolk were his Academy.” His affection for his birthplace was very great throughout his career, and there was not a tree of any beauty there that was not treasured in his memory. At the age of fifteen he left for London, and returned disappointed to Sudbury after four years’ absence. On his return to his native town he devoted himself to the study of landscape, and soon after married the handsome Margaret Burr, who brought an annuity of £200. Still he studied hard, and his fame extended. It was in 1774, after thirty-three years, he returned to the metropolis, his fame having long preceded him. With a splendid income, he occupied Schomberg House, Pall Mall, at a rental of £300 a year. Here there was much demand upon his industry by royalty, peers, and commoners. He died in August, 1788, in the sixty-second year of his age.
THE CONCEITED ALDERMAN.
Gainsborough was one day painting the portrait of a rich citizen, who told the painter that he had come in his new five-guinea wig. His manner and his attempts to look pretty had such an effect upon the artist, it was with the greatest difficulty he was prevented laughing in his face. At length,when the worthy alderman begged he would not overlook the dimple in his chin, his manner was so simpering that no power of his face could withstand it; Gainsborough burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, threw his pencils on the floor, and d—ning the dimple, declared he could not paint that or the alderman either, and never touched the picture more.
THE ARTIST’S INDEPENDENCE.
A gentleman being disappointed at not receiving his picture, called upon the painter, and inquired of the porter in a loud voice, “Has that fellow, Gainsborough, finished my portrait?” He was shown into the studio, where he beheld his portrait, and was much pleased with it. After ordering the artist to send it home forthwith, he added, “I may as well give you a cheque for the other fifty guineas.” “Stay a minute,” said Gainsborough, “it just wants a finishing stroke;” and snatching up a background brush, he dashed it across the smiling features, indignantly exclaiming, “Sir, where is my fellow now?”
HIS LETTER TO THE DUKE OF BEDFORD.
“My Lord Duke,—A most worthy, honest man, and one of the greatest geniuses for musical compositions England ever produced, is now in London, and has got two or three members of parliament along with him out of Devonshire, to make application for one of the receivers of the land-tax of that county, now resigned by a very old man, one Mr. Haddy. His name is William Jackson; lives at Exeter; and for his plainness, truth, and ingenuity, at the same time, is beloved as no man ever was. Your grace has doubtless heard his compositions; but he is no fiddler, your grace may take my word for it. He is extremely clever and good,is a married man with a young family, and is qualified over and over for the place; has got friends of fortune who will be bound for him in any sum; and they are all making application to His Grace the Duke of Grafton to get him the place. But, my Lord Duke, I told him they could not do it without me; that I must write to your grace about it. He is at Mr. Arnold’s, in Norfolk Street, in the Strand; and if your grace would be pleased to think of it, I should be ever bound to pray for your grace. Your grace knows that I am anoriginal, and therefore, I hope, will be the more ready to pardon this monstrous freedom from your grace’s, etc.,Thomas Gainsborough.”
“My Lord Duke,—A most worthy, honest man, and one of the greatest geniuses for musical compositions England ever produced, is now in London, and has got two or three members of parliament along with him out of Devonshire, to make application for one of the receivers of the land-tax of that county, now resigned by a very old man, one Mr. Haddy. His name is William Jackson; lives at Exeter; and for his plainness, truth, and ingenuity, at the same time, is beloved as no man ever was. Your grace has doubtless heard his compositions; but he is no fiddler, your grace may take my word for it. He is extremely clever and good,is a married man with a young family, and is qualified over and over for the place; has got friends of fortune who will be bound for him in any sum; and they are all making application to His Grace the Duke of Grafton to get him the place. But, my Lord Duke, I told him they could not do it without me; that I must write to your grace about it. He is at Mr. Arnold’s, in Norfolk Street, in the Strand; and if your grace would be pleased to think of it, I should be ever bound to pray for your grace. Your grace knows that I am anoriginal, and therefore, I hope, will be the more ready to pardon this monstrous freedom from your grace’s, etc.,
Thomas Gainsborough.”
MRS. SIDDONS’S NOSE.
Mrs. Siddons sat for her portrait to Mr. Scott, of North Britain, who observed, the nose gave him great trouble. “Ah!” said the great actress, “Gainsborough was a good deal troubled the same way. He had altered and varied the shape a long while, when at last he threw down the pencil, exclaiming, ‘D—n the nose! there is no end to it.’” The pun was applicable, as that lady had a long nose.
CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE.
A neighbour, having his garden robbed on several occasions, could never hit upon the thief. It happened one morning early, the painter, then a mere boy, walked in the garden sketching, when he observed a man pop his head over the garden wall. Being unobserved, the young artist had sufficient time to sketch the robber’s head, and from its accuracy, on showing it to a neighbour, the fellow was immediately recognised as living in the neighbourhood, and was accordingly apprehended.
THE GERMAN PROFESSOR.
The painter gave all the hours of intermission in his profession to fiddles and rebecs. His musical taste was very great; and he himself thought he wasnot intended by nature for a painter, but for a musician. Happening to see a theorbo in a picture of Vandyke’s, he concluded it must be a fine instrument. He recollected to have heard of a German professor; and, ascending to his garret, found him dining on roasted apples, and smoking his pipe, with his theorbo beside him. “I am come to buy your lute—name your price, and here’s your money.” “I cannot sell my lute.” “No, not for a guinea or two;—but you must sell it, I tell you.” “My lute is worth much money—it is worth ten guineas.” “Aye, that it is!—see, here’s the money.” So saying, he took up the instrument, laid down the price, went half-way downstairs, and returned. “I have done but half my errand; what is your lute worth if I have not your book?” “What book, Master Gainsborough?” “Why, the book of airs you have composed for the lute.” “Ah, sir, I can never part with my book!” “Pooh! you can make another at any time—this is the book I mean—there’s ten guineas for it; so, once more, good day.” He went down a few steps, and returned again. “What use is your book to me if I don’t understand it?—and your lute—you may take it again if you won’t teach me to play on it. Come home with me, and give me the first lesson.” “I will come to-morrow.” “You must come now.” “I must dress myself.” “For what? You are the best figure I have seen to-day.” “I must shave, sir.” “I honour your beard.” “I must, however, put on my wig.” “D—n your wig! Your cap and beard become you! Do you think if Vandyke was to paint you, he’d let you be shaved?”
THE ARTIST’S RETORT TO THE LAWYER.
Having to attend as a witness in an action brought by Desenfans against Vandergucht, both devotees to art, the painter was asked by the cross-examining counsel whether he did not think there was something necessary besides the eye to regulate an artist’s opinion respecting a picture? “I believe,” replied Gainsborough, “the veracity and integrity of apainter’s eyeis at least equal to apleader’s tongue.”
SIR J. W. GORDON was born in Edinburgh in 1788. He was intended by his father, Captain Watson, for the Engineers, but pending arrangements for his entering that service he was allowed to attend the Trustees’ Academy, under Graham, where he showed so much promise, that it was decided he should try his skill as an artist. In 1808 he sent a picture of a subject from “The Lay of the Last Minstrel” to the first public exhibition of paintings in Edinburgh, which was opened in that year; and contributed to most of the exhibitions held since. Never having studied or been abroad, he received his education in the art from the celebrated Graham, master of Wilkie, Allan, and others. In 1826, he assumed the name of Gordon for the purpose, it is said, of distinguishing his paintings from the other Watsons, who contributed at that time to the Edinburgh Exhibition. He first exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1827, and was elected Associate in 1841. In 1850, he was unanimously chosen President of the Royal Scottish Academy, appointed Limner to Her Majesty, and received the honour of knighthood.The next year he was elected a Royal Academician. His industry at his art was continued till within a few weeks of his death, on 1st June, 1864, aged seventy-six years.
LORD PALMERSTON AND THE ARTIST.
“It was before I had a name,” said Mr. Gordon, looking round the room in true story-teller style. “I had exhibited for several years, but without any particular success. One year, however—the year before I painted ‘The Corsicans’—Lord Palmerston took a sudden fancy to my picture, called ‘Summer in the Lowlands,’ and bought it at a high figure. His lordship at the same time made inquiries after the artist, and invited me to call upon him. I waited upon his lordship accordingly: he complimented me upon the picture; but there was one thing about it he could not understand. ‘What is that, my lord?’ I asked. ‘That there should be such long grass in a field where there are so many sheep,’ said his lordship promptly, and with a merry twinkle of the eye. It was a decided hit this; and having bought the picture and paid for it, he was entitled to his joke. ‘How do you account for it?’ he went on, smiling, and looking first at the picture and then at me. ‘Those sheep, my lord,’ I replied, ‘were only turned into that field the night before I finished the picture.’ His lordship laughed heartily, and said, ‘Bravo!’ at my reply, and gave me a commission for two more pictures; and I have cashed since then some very notable cheques of his—dear old boy!”—Belgravia Magazine.
HARLOWE, the painter, was born in the parish of St. James’s, Westminster, in 1787. He was a posthumous child, but his mother took great care of his education, and allowed him to follow the bent of his inclination for the arts, which he studied, first under Drummond, and next under Sir Thomas Lawrence. He was dismissed by Sir Thomas in consequence of claiming as his own a picture Sir Thomas employed him to dead colour. He revenged himself by painting a caricature of Lawrence’s style on a signboard at Epsom, and signed it, “T. L., Greek St., Soho.” On leaving Sir Thomas’s employ, Harlowe made arrangements and started for Italy. Previous, however, to his going abroad, he painted some historical pictures of great merit, particularly one of Henry VIII., Queen Catherine, and Cardinal Wolsey. During his residence at Rome in 1818, he made a copy of Raphael’s “Transfiguration,” and executed a composition of his own, which was exhibited by Canova, and afterwards at the academy of St. Luke’s. He died soon after his return to England, January 28, 1819.
TAKING A LIKENESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
Harlowe was very eccentric, and not a little affected. He used to go to dinner parties in the dress of a field-officer, and he was always ambitious of being taken for a military man. John Kemble disliked the man and his affectations so much, that he refused, even at the request of Sir Thomas Lawrence, to sit to Harlowe, giving as his only reason—“I do not like that man.” Harlowe was engaged at this time on his celebrated picture of Queen Catherine, and finding the grave actor persisted in his refusal to sit, he went to the theatre when Kemble played Wolsey, and seating himself infront of the stage-box, made sketches of his face in every change of its expression, and from them composed the likeness in the picture, which, it is needless to say, is the best portrait of Kemble ever painted. Harlowe used afterwards to say, in speaking of this, “By G—, I painted that portrait so well out of revenge.”
BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON was born on the 25th January, 1786. In common with most true artists, young Haydon early displayed an overpowering love for art. One of his most favourite studies is said to have been drawing the guillotine, with Louis taking leave of the people. At the age of thirteen he was taken to the grammar school at Plympton—the same at which Sir Joshua Reynolds was educated. From thence he was sent to Exeter, to study book-keeping, and at the end of six months was bound to his father for seven years. Within a short time of his signing his indentures, it was evident to both his father and his friends that young Haydon would never do as a tradesman. After much dissuasion, and against all remonstrance, Haydon collected his books and colours, packed up his things, and started for London, in May, 1804. He took lodgings at 342, Strand, and for nine months he saw nothing but his books, his casts, and his drawings. He was introduced by Prince Hoare to Northcote, Opie, and Fuseli; and it was the latter who got the young artist into the Academy. While studying at the Academy he became acquainted withSachom and Wilkie. In 1807, Haydon’s first picture of “Joseph and Mary resting on the road to Egypt,” appeared. About this time his devotion to his art was very close. He rose as soon as he woke—be it three, four, or five,—when he would draw at anatomy until eight; in chalk from nine till one, and from half-past one till five; then walked, dined, and to anatomy again from seven to ten and eleven. Wilkie had obtained for the young artist a commission from Lord Mulgrave for “Dentatus.” Having delayed the painting some months, Haydon in 1808 removed his lodgings to 41, Great Marlborough Street, when he began the noble lord’s commission in earnest. In this year he first saw the Elgin marbles, and he thus expresses his admiration of them: “I felt the future; I foretold that they would prove themselves the finest things on earth—that they would overturn the falsebeau ideal, where nature was nothing, and would establish the truebeau ideal, of which nature alone is the basis. I felt as if a divine truth had blazed inwardly upon my mind, and I knew they would at last rouse the art of Europe from its slumber in the darkness.” His “Dentatus” brought him a prize of one hundred guineas from the British Institution. His next picture, “Macbeth,” he was not so successful with, and did not get the prize that the painter had expected: to make things worse, he relieved himself by quarrelling with the Academy and painting “Solomon.” He then began that system of getting into debt, which was the curse of his whole after-life. His usual companions were Hazlitt, the Hunts, Barnes (of theTimes), Jackson, Charles Lamb, and John Scott. His “Solomon” was so far a success, that it was sold for six hundred guineas. Also the British Institution voted one hundred guineas to him as a mark of their admiration of this picture. In 1820 he finished his celebrated picture “Entry of Christ into Jerusalem.” By exhibitingthis picture in town, Haydon made a clear profit of £1298. He then set to work to finish his picture “Christ in the Garden,” and to sketch his “Lazarus:” the latter he determined should be his grandest and largest work. Having recently married, he wrote on the last day of 1821 as follows: “I don’t know how it is, but I get less reflective as I get older. I seem to take things as they come, without much care. In early life everything, being new, excites thought. As nothing is new when a man is thirty-five, one thinks less. Or, perhaps, being married to my dearest Mary, and having no longer anything to hope in love, I get more contented with my lot, which, God knows, is rapturous beyond imagination. Here I sit sketching, with the loveliest face before me, smiling and laughing, and solitude is not. Marriage has increased my happiness beyond expression. In the intervals of study, a few minutes’ conversation with a creature one loves is the greatest of all reliefs. God bless us both! My pecuniary difficulties are still great; but my love is intense, my ambition intense, and my hope in God’s protection cheering.” But the remainder of the painter’s life—25 years—was one dark cloud, here and there relieved by momentary rays of sunshine. Always in debt; always in danger; always pestered by lawyers and arrests. It has been with truth observed, that upon one half of Haydon’s income, many a better man than he had lived. In 1835 we find him lecturing at Mechanics’ Institutions in the provinces, which for a time was a pecuniary success. But he was too deeply involved in the expensive fashions and gaieties of May Fair; and again we find him in the King’s Bench. Three more years of fearful struggle brought him to the fearful tragedy which shocked the country on the 22nd of June, 1846. Having returned from an early walk, Haydon entered his painting-room, and wrote in his diary:
“God forgive me! Amen.FinisofB. R. Haydon.
‘Stretch me no longer on the rough world.’—Lear.
End of twenty-sixth volume.”
“Before eleven,” says Tom Taylor, “the hand that wrote it was stiff and cold in self-inflicted death.”
INTRODUCTION TO FUSELI.
“Calling at Fuseli’s house,” says Haydon, “the door was opened by the maid. I followed her into a gallery or show-room, enough to frighten anybody at twilight. Galvanized devils; malicious witches, brewing their incantations; Satan bridging Chaos, and springing upwards, like a pyramid of fire; Lady Macbeth, Carlo and Francisco, Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly—humour, pathos, terror, blood and murder, met one at every look. I expected the floor to give way: I fancied Fuseli himself to be a giant. I heard his footsteps, and saw a little bony hand slide round the edge of the door, followed by a little white-headed, lean-faced man, in an old flannel dressing-gown, tied round the waist with a piece of rope, and upon his head the bottom of Mrs. Fuseli’s work-basket. ‘Well, well,’ thought I, ‘I am a match for you at any rate, if bewitching is tried;’ but all apprehension vanished, on his saying in the mildest and kindest way, ‘Well, Mr. Haydon, I have heard a great deal of you from Mr. Hoare. Where are your drawings?’ In a fright, I gave him the wrong book, with a sketch of some men pushing a cask into a grocer’s shop. Fuseli smiled, and said, ‘Well, de fellow does his business at least with energy!’ I was gratified at his being pleased in spite ofmy mistake.... He (Fuseli) was about five feet five inches in height, had a compact little form, stood firmly at his easel, painted with his left hand, never held his palette upon his thumb, but kept it upon his stone, and being very near-sighted, and too vain to wear glasses, used to dab his beastly brush into the oil, and sweeping round the palette in the dark, take up a great lump of white, red, or blue, as it might be, and plaster it over a shoulder or a face. Sometimes in his blindness he would make a hideous smear of Prussian blue on his flesh, and then perhaps, discovering his mistake, take a bit of red to darken it; and then, prying close in, turn round and say, ‘Ah, dat is a fine purple! It is really like Correggio;’ and then, all of a sudden, he would burst out with a quotation from Homer, Tasso, Dante, Ovid, Virgil, or perhaps the Niebelungen Lied, and thunder round with ‘Paint dat!’... I found him,” continues Haydon, “the most grotesque mixture of literature, art, scepticism, indelicacy, profanity and kindness: he put me in mind of Archiman, in Spenser. Weak minds he destroyed. They mistook his wit for reason, his indelicacy for breeding, his swearing for manliness, and his infidelity for strength of mind; but he was accomplished in elegant literature, and had the art of inspiring young minds with high and grand views.”
LONDON SMOKE.
Haydon observed to Fuseli: “So far from the smoke of London being offensive to me, it has always been to my imagination the sublime canopy that shrouds the city of the world. Drifted by the wind, or hanging in gloomy grandeur over the vastness of our Babylon, the sight of it always filled my mind with feelings of energy, such as no other spectacle could inspire.” “Be Gode,” added Fuseli,“it’s like the smoke of the Israelites making bricks.” “It is grander,” rejoined the other; “for it is the smoke of a people who would have made the Egyptians make bricks for them.”
HAYDON’S DESCRIPTION OF THE BRITISH SCHOOLOF PAINTERS.
“Never were four men so essentially different as West, Fuseli, Flaxman, and Stothard. Fuseli’s was undoubtedly the mind of the largest range; West was an eminentmacchinistaof the second rank; Flaxman and Stothard were purer designers than either. Barry and Reynolds were before my time; but Johnson said, in Barry’s ‘Adelphi’ ‘there was a grasp of mind you found nowhere else,’ which was true. Though Fuseli had more imagination and conception than Reynolds, though West put things together quicker than either, though Flaxman and Stothard did what Reynolds could not do, and Hogarth invented a style never thought of before in the world, yet, as a great and practical artist, in which all the others were greatly defective, producing occasional fancy pictures of great beauty, and occasional desperate struggles in high art, with great faults, Reynolds is unquestionably the greatest artist of the British School, and the greatest artist in Europe since Rembrandt and Velasquez.”
FRANCIS HAYMAN was born in Exeter in the year 1708. He studied under Mr. Robert Brown, portrait painter. He has been described as meriting the honour ofbeing placed at the head of the English School of Historical Painters. By his agreeable manners he became intimate with thebon vivantsof the age in which he lived. Being introduced to Fleetwood, the then manager of Drury Lane, he painted his scenes, and after the manager’s death married his widow. In Pasquin’s “Royal Academicians,” we have the following remarks upon this painter, “In the great point of professional taste, Hayman could not be arranged as exemplary. Yet I have many doubts if taste is in any instance wholly intuitive; and am inclined to think that we acquire taste by the progressive movements of early perception, which, by frequent subtle inroads upon the mind, make, in the issue, an establishment, and give a system and a hue to thought. We may discover original genius in a savage, but never any symptom of that correct association of idea and action which constitute that practical excellence which we denominate taste.” Hayman died February 2nd, 1776.
GLUTTONY.
Hayman was noted for his eating. When an apprentice, he and his fellow apprentices (some of whose appetites were but little inferior) used to dine at a public-house in the neighbourhood of the Mansion House. Instead of declining to treat with them, the shrewd landlord used to observe, “I should be absolutely ruined by those young painters, but for one circumstance, which is, that their extraordinary appetites have become objects of great celebrity and curiosity in this quarter of the City, where we are such judges of those things: the consequence of which is that every day we have a gormandizing exhibition, and my house is full of spectators to see the Great Eaters: the company then retire to my other rooms to talk the matter over; conversationproduces thirst; and therefore I make up by the sale of my liquor for my loss by the devastation of my edibles. Long life to the painters, I say! May their appetites increase with the diminution of what they feed on!”
MARQUIS OF GRANBY AND THE NOBLE ART.
Being of a lively temper and attached to boxing, the painter frequently recommended the “noble art” to his sitters, in order to give a vivacity to the features. While painting the picture of the celebrated Marquis of Granby, also an admirer of the stimulating exercise with the gloves, the invitation was given and accepted for a few rounds, and at it they went. The contest soon grew warm, and the uproar soon attracted all the inmates of the house, who, much alarmed, rushed into the room, and beheld the pugilistic peer and painter rolling about and mauling each other like enraged bears. Pictures, palettes, the easel, and the other furniture of an artist’s room, were scattered in dire confusion. A few minutes sufficed to smooth their ruffled feathers, and replace the furniture; after which the marquis took his place in high spirits, and Hayman gave the finishing touch to the picture.
THE PAINTER’S FRIENDSHIP FOR QUIN.
In 1755, Hayman etched a small quarto plate of Quin, the actor, in the character ofFalstaff, seated on a drum in a swaggering attitude, with his right elbow resting upon the hilt of his sword, by the side of the body ofHotspur. Quin and Hayman were inseparable friends, and so convivial that they seldom parted till daylight. One night, after “beating the rounds,” and making themselves gloriously drunk, they attempted, arm in arm, to cross a kennel, into which they both fell. When they had remained there aminute or two, Hayman, sprawling out his shambling legs, kicked Quin. “Holloa! what are you at now?” stuttered Quin. “At? why, endeavouring to get up, to be sure,” replied the painter; “for this don’t suit my palate.” “Pooh!” replied Quin, “remain where you are; the watchman will come by shortly, and he will take us both up.”
WILLIAM HOGARTH, who has been called “The Painting Moralist,” was born in London, in 1697. His father was a fine scholar, and his chief dependence was from the produce of his pen; and the son testifies to “the cruel treatment his father met with from booksellers and printers.” In his anecdotes of himself, he says: “Besides the natural turn I had for drawing, rather than learning languages, I had before my eyes the precarious situation of men of classical education.... It was, therefore, conformable to my own wishes that I was taken from school, and served a long apprenticeship to a silver-plate engraver.” It was during his apprenticeship, about the year 1717, he executed a small oval illustration of Pope’sRape of the Lock, which was much praised, and brought the young artist many admirers. The following year, his apprenticeship having expired, he entered the Academy in St. Martin’s Lane, and studied drawing from the life. He supported himself by engraving for the booksellers, and by all accounts a very hard time he had of it. In 1721, his father died “of an illness,” the son says, “occasioned partly by the treatment he received from this sort of people (booksellers), and partly by disappointment from great men’s promises.” And inanother place he complains, “But here, again, I had to encounter a monopoly of printsellers, equally mean and obstructive to the ingenious; for the first plate I published, called theTaste of the Town, in which the reigning follies were lashed, had no sooner begun to take a run, than I found copies of it in the print-shops, vending at half-price; and I was thus obliged to sell the plate for whatever these pirates pleased to give me, as there was no place of sale but at their shops.” And thus, until nearly thirty years of age, this great genius earned hardly enough to maintain himself. It was in the year 1723 that the artist first turned his attention to the stage, and discovered his real genius in his satirical talents. After one or two caricatures his genius was quickly recognised, and his adverse circumstances were at an end. In 1726 he invented and engraved the set of twelve large prints forHudibras. He married, in 1729, the daughter of Sir James Thornhill, the painter, though without Sir James’s consent; but, after two years, seeing the rising reputation of the young painter, and at the earnest entreaties of others, the offended parent forgave the couple. Being reconciled with Sir James, Hogarth took up his brush and began portrait painting. About this time he says of himself: “I married and commenced painter of small conversation-pieces, from twelve to fifteen inches high. This, having novelty, succeeded for a few years. But though it gave somewhat more scope for the fancy, it was still but a less kind of drudgery; and as I could not bring myself to act like some of my brethren, and make it a sort of manufactory, to be carried on by the help of backgrounds and drapery painters, it was not sufficiently profitable to pay the expenses my family required. I therefore turned my thoughts to a still more novel mode—to painting and engraving modern moral subjects—a field not broken up in any country or anyage.” His first painting is said to have been a representation of Wanstead Assembly, painted for Lord Castlemaine; which, meeting with much favourable notice, led him to painting portraits. This part of the profession was not at all suited to the artist’s peculiar genius; though Nichols says of Hogarth’s attempts: “He was not, however, lucky in all his resemblances, and has sometimes failed where a crowd of other artists have succeeded.” After surprising the country with the production of his great genius as an artist for many years, in 1753 he appeared in the character of author, and published a quarto volume entitled, “The Analysis of Beauty, written with a view of fixing the fluctuating Ideas of Taste.” Wherein he shows, by a variety of examples, that a curve is the line of beauty, and round swelling figures are most pleasing to the eye. Walpole, commenting upon this production from the pen of the artist, observes: “It has many sensible hints and observations; but it did not carry the conviction, nor meet the universal acquiescence he expected. As he treated his contemporaries with scorn, they triumphed over this publication, and irritated him to expose him. Many wretched burlesque prints came out to ridicule his system. There was a better answer to it in one of the two prints that he gave to illustrate his hypothesis. In the ball, had he confined himself to such outlines as compose awkwardness and deformity, he would have proved half his affection; but he has added two samples of grace in a young lord and lady, that are strikingly stiff and affected. They are a Bath beau and a country beauty.” It should be added that neither as artist nor author did Hogarth ever receive flattery from the pen of the courtly Walpole. Hogarth died on the 25th October, 1764.
WILKES AND CHURCHILL.
In Mr. Thomas Wright’s work, “England under the House of Hanover,” that writer thus describes the caricature drawn upon the artist by his quarrel with Wilkes and Churchill:—
“They hold him up now as the pensioned dauber of the unpopular Lord Bute, and the calumniator of the friends of liberty. In one entitled, ‘The Beautifyer: a Touch upon the Times,’ Hogarth is represented upon a huge platform, daubing an immenseboot(the constant emblem of the obnoxious minister), while, in his awkwardness he bespatters Pitt and Temple, who happen to be below. This is a parody on Hogarth’s own satire on Pope. Beneath the scaffold is a tub full of Auditors, Monitors, etc., labelled ‘The Charm: Beautifying Wash.’ A print entitled ‘The Bruiser Triumphant,’ represents Hogarth as an ass, painting the Bruiser, while Wilkes comes behind, and places horns on his head,—an allusion to some scandalous intimations in theNorth Briton. Churchill, in the garb of a parson, is writing Hogarth’s life. A number of other attributes and allusions fill the picture.
“A caricature entitled ‘Tit for Tat’ represents Hogarth painting Wilkes, with the unfortunate picture of Sigismunda in the distance. Another, ‘Tit for Tat, Invt. et del. by G. O’Garth,—according to act or order is not material,’ represents the painter partly clad in Scotch garb, with the line of beauty on his palette, glorifying a boot surmounted by a thistle. The painter is saying to himself, ‘Anything for money: I’ll gild this Scotch sign, and make it look glorious; and I’ll daub the other sign, and efface its beauty, and make it as black as a Jack Boot.’ On another easel is a portrait of Wilkes, ‘Defaced by order of O’Garth, and in the foreground ‘a smutch-pot to sully the best and most exaltedcharacters.’ In another print, ‘Pug, the snarling cur,’ is being severely chastised by Wilkes and Churchill. In another he is baited by the bear and dog; and in the background is a large panel, with the inscription, ‘Panel-painting.’ In one print, Hogarth is represented going for his pension of £300 a year, and carrying as his vouchers the prints of ‘The Times,’ and Wilkes, ‘I can paint an angel black, and the devil white, just as it suits me.’ ‘An answer to the print of John Wilkes, Esq.,’ represents Hogarth with his colour-pot, inscribed ‘Colour to blacken fair characters;’ he is treading on the cap of liberty with his cloven foot; and an inscription says, ‘£300 per annum for distorting features.’
“Several other prints equally bitter against him, besides a number of caricatures against the Government, under the fictitious names of O’Garth, Hoggart, Hog-ass, etc., must have assisted in irritating the persecuted painter.”
GARRICK’S GENEROSITY.
The following anecdote of the mode by which the great actor became possessed of some of Hogarth’s celebrated pictures has been vouched as genuine: the pictures consisted ofThe Entertainment,The Canvass,The Poll, andThe Chairing. “When Hogarth had finished them, he went to Garrick, with whom he was on very intimate terms, and told him he had completed them; adding, ‘It does not appear likely that I shall find a purchaser, as I value them at two hundred guineas; I therefore intend to dispose of them by a raffle among my friends, and I hope you will put down your name.’ Garrick told him he would consider of it, and call on him the next day. He accordingly did so, and having conversed with Hogarth for some time, put down his name for five or ten guineas, and took his leave. He hadscarcely got into the street, when (as Mrs. Garrick, from whom the story is derived, stated) he began a soliloquy to the following effect: ‘What have I been doing? I have just put down my name for a few guineas at Mr. Hogarth’s request, and as his friend; but now he must still go to another friend, and then to another: to how many must he still apply before he gets a sufficient number? This is mere begging; and should such a man as Hogarth be suffered to beg? Am I not his friend?’ The result was, that he instantly turned back, and purchased those fine pictures at the price of 200 guineas, which the artist himself had fixed.” Hogarth’s principal object in painting them, like his other great works, was for the purpose of copying them by engravings. They were published by subscription at two guineas the set. For the first plate ofThe Entertainmenthe had 461 subscribers at 10s.6d.; and for the three others only 165 subscribers; so that there were 296 names to the first who did not subscribe to the other three.
CARICATURE.
On a lady expressing a wish to Hogarth to learn the secret of caricature, he replied, with much earnestness, “Alas! young lady, it is not a faculty to be envied. Take my advice and never draw caricature: by the long practice of it I have lost the enjoyment of beauty. I never see a face but distorted; I never have the satisfaction to behold the human face divine.”
WILKES.
Writing to his friend Churchill, Wilkes says: “I take it for granted you have seen Hogarth’s print against me. Was ever anything so contemptible? I think he is fairlyfelo de se. I think not to let him off in that manner, although Imight safely leave him to your notes. He has broken into my pale of private life, and set that example of illiberality which I wished—of that kind of attack which is ungenerous in the first instance, but justice in the return.”
HOGARTH’S CONCEIT.
At a dinner party Hogarth was told that Mr. John Freke had asserted that Dr. Maurice Greene was as eminent in musical composition as Handel. “That fellow Freke,” said Hogarth, “is always shooting his bolt absurdly, one way or another. Handel is a giant in music; Greene only a light Florimel kind of composer.” “Aye,” rejoined the other, “but at the same time Mr. Freke declared you were as good a portrait painter as Vandyke.” “Therehe was right,” replied the artist; “and so, by G—, I am,—give me my time, and let me choose my subject.”
AN UGLY SITTER.
It happened, in the early part of Hogarth’s life, that a nobleman, who was uncommonly ugly and deformed, came to sit to him for his picture. It was executed with a skill that did honour to the artist’s abilities; but the likeness was rigidly observed, without even the necessary attention to compliment or flattery. The peer, disgusted at this counterpart of his dear self, never once thought of paying for a reflector that would only insult him with his deformities. Some time was suffered to elapse before the artist applied for his money; but afterwards many applications were made by him (who had then no need of a banker) for payment, without success. The painter, however, at last hit upon an expedient, which he knew must alarm the nobleman’s pride, and by that means answer his purpose. He sent him the following card:—
“Mr. Hogarth’s dutiful respects to Lord ——; finding that he does not mean to have the picture which was drawn for him, is informed again of Mr. H.’s necessity for the money; if, therefore, his lordship does not send for it in three days, it will be disposed of, with the addition of a tail, and some other little appendages, to Mr. Hare, the famous wild-beast man; Mr. H. having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it for an exhibition picture, on his lordship’s refusal.”
This intimation had the desired effect. It was sent home and committed to the flames.