height, including the pedestal and statue, is one hundred and forty-four
English feet. It was erected in the centre of the forum of Trajan, and
was dedicated to that emperor by the senate and people of Rome in
commemoration of his decisive victory over the Dacians. It is of the
Doric order, and its shaft is constructed of thirty-four pieces of Greek
marble, hollowed out in the centre for the stairs, and joined together
with cramps of bronze. For elegance of proportion, beauty of style, and
for simplicity and dexterity of sculpture, it is accounted the finest
column in the world. The sculptures on the pedestal are master-pieces of
Roman art. The shaft is embellished with bassi-rilievi, representing the
expedition of Trajan against the Dacians, which run spirally,
twenty-three times around the column, and which gradually increase in
size, so that those at the top appear to the spectator, to be of the
same size as those at the bottom. A spiral stair-case, of one hundred
and eighty-five steps, runs up the interior, and receives light from
sixty-three openings in the shaft. A gold medal, struck in commemoration
of the completion of the column, shows that it was formerly surmounted
by a statue of Trajan, holding in one hand a sceptre, and in the other a
globe, in which were deposited the ashes of that prince. Pope Sixtus V.
placed a statue of St. Peter, by the Cavaliere Fontana, in the place of
that of Trajan, which had been destroyed some centuries before. A
greater absurdity than placing the statue of a peaceful apostle over the
sculptured representation of the Dacian war, can scarcely be conceived.
THE DEATH OF APOLLODORUS.
Apollodorus fell a victim to the envy of Adrian, the successor of
Trajan, who himself dabbled in architecture, as well as the other arts.
According to Pliny, he ridiculed the proportions of the temple of Rome
and Venus, which had been built from Adrian’s designs, saying that “if
the goddesses who were placed in it should be disposed to stand up, they
would be in danger of breaking their heads against the roof, or if they
should wish to go out, they could not,” which so incensed the Emperor,
that he banished the architect, and had him put to death. Another
account is, that as Trajan was conversing about some of the buildings,
Adrian, who was present, made some remarks, on which the architect said,
“Go and paint pumpkins, for you know nothing about these matters,” an
affront which Adrian never forgot, and avenged by the death of the
architect when he became Emperor. What a return to the architect of
Trajan’s Column!
HOGARTH.
The talents of this eccentric genius were preëminent in burlesque and
satire. He therefore chiefly devoted himself to delineate the calamities
and crimes of private life, and the vices and follies of the age. He
portrayed vice as leading to disgrace and misery, while he represented
virtue as conducting to happiness and honor. His series of the “Harlot’s
Progress,” the “Rake’s Progress,” “Marriage à la Mode,” gained him great
reputation; and the prints which he engraved and published from them,
although rude specimens of the art, met with an enormous sale, greatly
to his own emolument. Lord Orford characterizes him as a painter of
comedy. “If catching the manners and follies of the age, ‘living as they
rise’; if general satire on vices and ridicules, familiarized by strokes
of nature, and heightened by wit, and the whole animated by just and
proper expressions of the persons, be comedy, Hogarth composed comedy as
much as Moliere.” Others have better characterized him as a great moral
preacher. Alderman Boydell was accustomed to say that every merchant,
shopkeeper, mechanic, and others who had youth in their employment,
ought to have some of Hogarth’s prints framed and hung up for their
admonition.
HOGARTH’S APPRENTICESHIP.
Hogarth was apprenticed, at an early age, to an engraver of arms on
plate. While thus engaged, his inclination for painting was manifested
in a remarkable manner. Going out one day with some companions on an
excursion to Highgate, the weather being very hot, they entered a public
house, where before long a quarrel occurred. One of the disputants
struck the other on the head with a quart pot, which cut him severely;
and the blood running down the man’s face, gave him a singular
appearance, which, with the contortions of his countenance, presented
Hogarth with a laughable subject. Taking out his pencil, he sketched the
scene in such a truthful and ludicrous manner, that order and good
feeling were at once restored.
HOGARTH’S REVENGE.
Hogarth, in his early career, was once greatly distressed to raise the
paltry sum of twenty shillings, to satisfy his landlady, who endeavored
to enforce payment. To be revenged on her, he painted her an ugly and
malicious hag, her features so truthfully drawn, that every person who
had seen her at once recognized the individual. Woe betided the man who
incurred his ire; he crucified him without mercy. In his controversy
with Wilkes, he caricatured him in his print of “The Times;” and
Churchill, the poet, he represented as a canonical bear, with a ragged
staff, and a pot of porter.
HOGARTH’S METHOD OF SKETCHING.
It was Hogarth’s custom to sketch on the spot any remarkable face that
struck him. A gentleman being once with him at the Bedford Coffee House,
observing him to draw something on his thumb nail, inquired what he was
doing, when he was shown the likeness of a comical looking person
sitting in the company.
HOGARTH’S MARRIAGE.
Hogarth married the only daughter of Sir James Thornhill, who was
dissatisfied with the match. Soon after this period, he began his
Harlot’s Progress, and was advised by Lady Thornhill to place some of
the prints in the way of his father-in-law. Accordingly, early one
morning, Mrs. Hogarth conveyed several of them into the dining room,
when Sir James inquired whence they came? Being told, he said, “Very
well, very well: the man who can produce representations like these, can
also maintain a wife without a portion.” He soon after became both
reconciled and generous to the young couple.
The “Harlot’s Progress” was the first work which rendered the genius of
Hogarth conspicuously known. Above twelve hundred names were entered in
his subscription book. It was dramatized, and represented on the stage.
Fans were likewise embellished with miniature representations of all the
six plates.
SUCCESSFUL EXPEDIENT OF HOGARTH.
A nobleman, not remarkable for personal beauty, once sat to Hogarth for
his portrait, which the artist executed in his happiest manner, but with
rigid fidelity. The peer, disgusted at this exact counterpart of his
dear self, did not feel disposed to pay for the picture. After some time
had elapsed, and numerous unsuccessful attempts had been made to obtain
payment, the painter resorted to an expedient which he knew must alarm
the nobleman’s pride. He sent him the following card:--
“Mr. Hogarth’s dutiful respects to Lord ----. Finding he does not mean to
have the picture drawn for him, Lord ---- is informed again of Mr.
Hogarth’s pressing necessity for 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 appendages, to Mr. Pau, 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; the picture was paid for, and
committed to the flames.
HOGARTH’S PICTURE OF THE RED SEA.
Hogarth was once applied to, by a certain nobleman, to paint on his
staircase a representation of the Destruction of Pharaoh’s host in the
Red Sea. In attempting to fix upon the price, Hogarth became disgusted
with the miserly conduct of his patron, who was unwilling to give more
than half the real value of the picture. At last, out of all patience,
he agreed to his terms. In two or three days the picture was ready. The
nobleman, surprised at such expedition, immediately called to examine
it, and found the space painted all over red.
“Zounds!” said the purchaser, “what have you here? I ordered a scene of
the Red Sea.”
“The Red Sea you have,” said the painter.
“But where are the Israelites?”
“They are all gone over.”
“And where are the Egyptians?”
“They are all drowned.”
The miser’s confusion could only be equalled by the haste with which he
paid his bill. The biter was bit.
HOGARTH’S COURTESY.
Hogarth treated those who sat for their portraits with a courtesy which
is not always practiced, even now, in England. “When I sat to Hogarth,”
says Mr. Cole, “the custom of giving vails to servants was not
discontinued. On taking leave of the painter at the door, I offered his
servant a small gratuity; but the man politely refused it, telling me it
would be as much as the loss of his place if his master knew it. This
was so uncommon and so liberal in a man of Hogarth’s profession, at that
time, that it much struck me, as nothing of the kind had happened to me
before.” Nor is it likely that such a thing would happen again: Sir
Joshua Reynolds gave his servant six pounds annually as wages, and
offered him one hundred pounds a year for the door.
HOGARTH’S ABSENCE OF MIND.
Hogarth was one of the most absent minded of men. Soon after he set up
his carriage, he had occasion to pay a visit to the Lord Mayor. When he
went, the weather was fine; but he was detained by business till a
violent shower of rain came on. Being let out of the mansion house by a
different door from the one at which he had entered, he immediately
began to call for a hackney coach. Not being able to procure one, he
braved the storm, and actually reached his house in Leicester Fields,
without bestowing a thought on his carriage, till his wife, astonished
to see him so wet, asked him where he had left it.
HOGARTH’S MARCH TO FINCHLEY.
Hogarth disposed of this celebrated picture by lottery. There were
eighteen hundred and forty-three chances subscribed for; he gave the
remaining one hundred and sixty-seven tickets to the Foundling Hospital,
and the same night delivered the picture to the governors.
HOGARTH’S UNFORTUNATE DEDICATION OF A PICTURE.
Hogarth dedicated his picture of the March to Finchley to George II. The
following dialogue is said to have ensued, on this occasion, between the
sovereign and the nobleman in waiting:
“Pray, who is this Hogarth?”
“A painter, my liege.”
“I hate painting, and poetry too; neither the one nor the other ever did
any good.”
“The picture, please your majesty, must undoubtedly be considered as a
burlesque.”
“What! burlesque a soldier? He deserves to be picketed for his
insolence. Take his trumpery out of my sight.”
HOGARTH’S MANNER OF SELLING HIS PICTURES.
Hogarth supported himself by the sale of his prints: the prices of his
pictures kept pace neither with his fame nor with his expectations. He
knew, however, the passion of his countrymen for novelty--how they love
to encourage whatever is strange and mysterious; and hoping to profit by
these feelings, the artist determined to sell his principal paintings by
an auction of a very singular nature.
On the 25th of January, 1745, he offered for sale the six paintings of
the Harlot’s Progress, the eight paintings of the Rake’s Progress, the
Four Times of the Day, and the Strolling Actresses, on the following
conditions:
“1. Every bidder shall have an entire leaf numbered in the book of sale,
on the top of which will be entered his name and place of abode, the sum
paid by him, the time when, and for what picture.
2. That on the day of sale, a clock, striking every five minutes, shall
be placed in the room; and when it has struck five minutes after twelve,
the first picture mentioned in the sale book shall be deemed as sold;
the second picture when the clock has struck the next five minutes after
twelve; and so on in succession, till the whole nineteen pictures are
sold.
3. That none advance anything short of gold at each bidding.
4. No person to bid on the last day, except those whose names were
before entered on the book. As Mr. Hogarth’s room is but small, he begs
the favor that no person, except those whose names are entered on the
book, will come to view his paintings on the last day of sale.”
This plan was new, startling, and unproductive. It was probably planned
to prevent biddings by proxy, and so secure to the artist the price
which men of wealth and rank might be induced to offer publicly for
works of genius. “A method so novel,” observes Ireland, “probably
disgusted the town; they might not exactly understand this tedious
formula of entering their names and places of abode in a book open to
indiscriminate inspection; they might wish to humble an artist who, by
his proposals, seemed to consider that he did the world a favor in
suffering them to bid for his works; or the rage for paintings might be
confined to the admirers of the old masters.” Be that as it may, he
received only four hundred and twenty-seven pounds seven shillings for
his nineteen pictures--a price by no means equal to their merit.
The prints of the Harlot’s Progress had sold much better than those of
the Rake’s; yet the paintings of the former produced only fourteen
guineas each, while those of the latter were sold for twenty-two. That
admirable picture, Morning, brought twenty guineas; and Night, in every
respect inferior to almost any of his works, six and twenty. Such was
the reward, then, to which these patrons of genius thought his works
entitled. More has since been given, over and over again, for a single
painting, than Hogarth obtained for all his paintings put together.
HOGARTH’S LAST WORK.
A short time before Hogarth was seized with the malady which deprived
society of one of its brightest ornaments, he proposed to his matchless
pencil the work he has entitled the _Tail Piece_. The first idea of this
picture is said to have been started in company, while the convivial
glass was circulating round his own table. “My next undertaking,” said
Hogarth, “shall be the _end of all things_.” “If that is the case,”
replied one of his friends, “your business will be finished, or there
will be an end to the painter.” “The fact will be so,” answered Hogarth,
sighing heavily, “and therefore the sooner my work is done, the better.”
Accordingly he began the next day, and continued his design with a
diligence that seemed to indicate an apprehension that he should not
live to complete it. This however he did, and in the most ingenious
manner, by grouping everything that could denote the end of all things:
a broken bottle; an old broom worn to the stump; the butt-end of an old
musket; a cracked bell; a bow unstrung; a crown tumbled to pieces;
towers in ruins; the sign-post of a tavern called the World’s End
falling down; the moon in her wane; the map of the globe burning; a
gibbet falling, the body gone, and the chains which held it dropping
down; Phœbus and his horses lying dead in the clouds; a vessel wrecked;
Time, with his hour-glass and scythe broken; a tobacco-pipe, with the
last whiff of smoke going out; a play-book opened, with _exeunt omnes_
stamped in the corner; an empty purse; and a statute of bankruptcy taken
out against Nature. “So far so good,” said Hogarth, on reviewing his
performance; “nothing remains but this;” taking his pencil, and
sketching the resemblance of a painter’s palette broken. “Finis!” he
then exclaimed, “the deed is done; all is over.” It is a very remarkable
fact, and not generally known, that Hogarth never again took the palette
in his hand, and that he died in about a month after he had finished
this _Tail Piece_.
JACQUES LOUIS DAVID.
This great painter was born at Paris in 1750. His countrymen have
conferred upon him the distinguished title of _The Head and Restorer of
the French School_, which he brought back from its previous gaudy and
affected style, to the study of nature and the antique. His reputation
was established as the first painter in France when the French
Revolution broke out, and filled with an ardent love of liberty, he lent
all his powers in overturning the government, and establishing the
Republic. For this purpose, in 1789, he executed his Brutus condemning
his sons to death. He also executed the designs for the numerous
republican monuments and festivals of the time. He was chosen a deputy
to the National Convention, and voted for the king’s death. During the
Reign of Terror, he was one of the most zealous Jacobins, wholly devoted
to Robespierre; and on the fall of that monster, he was thrown into
prison, and his great reputation as a painter alone saved him from the
guillotine. At length, disgusted with the excesses and revolting scenes
transpiring on all sides, and seeing no hopes of the Republic being
established on a permanent basis, he retired to private life, and
devoted himself exclusively to his pencil. When Napoleon came into
power, perceiving the advantage of employing such a painter as David to
immortalize his glorious victories on canvass, he appointed him his
chief painter, showed him every mark of his favor, and endeavored to
engage him to paint the successes of the French armies. But these
subjects were not congenial to his taste, which ran to the antique. “I
wish,” said he, “that my works may have so completely an antique
character, that if it were possible for an Athenian to return to life,
they might appear to him to be the productions of a Greek painter.” He
however painted several portraits of the Emperor and the members of the
Imperial family, and other subjects, the chief of which were, Napoleon
as First Consul crossing the Alps, and pointing out to his troops the
path to glory, and the Coronation of Napoleon.
On the restoration of the Bourbons, David was included in the decree
which banished all the regicides forever from France, when he retired to
Brussels, where he continued to practice his profession till his death
in 1825.
DAVID’S PICTURE OF THE CORONATION OF NAPOLEON.
The largest picture ever known to have been executed, prior to this
production, is the celebrated Marriage at Cana by Paul Veronese, now at
the Louvre; being thirty-three feet long, and eighteen high: whereas the
present composition, containing two hundred and ten personages, eighty
of whom are whole lengths, is thirty-three feet long, and twenty-one
high. This performance occupied four years in its completion, during
which many impediments were thrown in the way of the artist’s labor, by
the clergy on the one hand, and the orders of the Emperor on the other.
Cardinal Caprara, for instance, who is represented bareheaded, producing
one of the finest heads in the picture, was very desirous of being
painted with the decoration of his wig; Napoleon had also ordered the
Turkish ambassador to be exhibited in company with the other envoys; but
he objected, because the law of the Koran forbids to Mahometans the
entrance into a Christian church. His consent, however, was at length
obtained, and these scruples removed, under the consideration that, in
the character of an ambassador, he belonged to no religious sect.
During the execution of this colossal picture, M. David was incessantly
interrupted by applications from artists to witness the progress of his
work; amongst whom was Camucini, prince of the Roman school, and the
late famous statuary Canova, who daily presented themselves at the
artist’s painting gallery. At the last visit made by Camucini, he found
David surrounded by many of his pupils, and on taking leave of the
painter, he bowed to him in the most respectful manner, using the
following expressive words on the occasion:
“Adio il piu bravo pittore di scholari ben bravi.”
On Canova’s return to Italy, in order to fulfil what he conceived to be
a duty in regard to this artist, he proposed to the Academy of Saint
Luke, that he should be received as an honorary member; when the
academicians set aside their usual forms, and in honor of M. David,
unanimously elected him one of their body, Canova being chosen to
announce this pleasing intelligence to their new associate.
The picture was completed in 1807, and prior to its public exposition
Napoleon appointed a day to inspect it in person, which was the fourth
of January, 1808; upon which occasion, in order to confer a greater
honor upon the artist, he went in state, attended by a detachment of
horse and a military band, accompanied by the Empress Josephine, the
princes and princesses of his family, and followed by his ministers and
the great officers of the crown.
Several criticisms had been previously passed upon the composition,
which had gained the Emperor’s ear, and in particular, that it was not
the coronation of Napoleon, but of his consort; the moment selected by
the painter, however, was highly approved by his master, who, after an
attentive examination of the work, expressed himself in these words.
“M. David, this is well; very well indeed; you have conceived my whole
idea; the Empress, my mother, the Emperor, all, are most appropriately
placed, you have made me a French knight, and I am gratified that you
have thus transmitted to future ages the proofs of affection I was
desirous of testifying towards the Empress.” After a silence of some
seconds, Napoleon’s hat being on, and Josephine standing at his right
hand, with M. David on his left, the Emperor advanced two steps, and
turning to the painter, uncovered himself, making a profound obeisance
while uttering these words in an elevated tone of voice, “_Monsieur
David, I salute you!_”
“Sire,” replied the painter, “I receive the compliment of the Emperor,
in the name of all the artists of the empire, happy in being the
individual one, you deign to make the channel of such an honor.”
In the month of October, 1808, when this performance was removed to the
museum, the Emperor wished to inspect it a second time; and M. David in
consequence attended in the hall of the Louvre, surrounded by his
pupils; upon which occasion, at the Emperor’s desire, having pointed out
the most conspicuous _éleves_, who received the decorations of the
Legion of Honor: “It is requisite,” said Napoleon, “that I should
testify my satisfaction to the master of so many distinguished artists;
therefore, I promote you to be an officer of the Legion of Honor: M.
Duroc, give a golden decoration to M. David!” “Sire, I have none with
me,” answered the grand marshal. “No matter,” replied the Emperor, “do
not let this day transpire without executing my order.” Duroc, although
no friend to the painter, was obliged to obey, and on the same evening
the insignia were forwarded to M. David.
The King of Wurtemberg, at the suggestion of the Emperor, also waited
upon the artist to inspect his labor, who, on contemplating the
performance, and in particular, the luminous brightness spread over the
group in which are the pope and Cardinal Caprara, his majesty thus
expressed himself: “I did not believe that your art could effect such
wonders; white and black in painting afford but very weak resources.
When you produced this you had, no doubt, a sunbeam upon your pencil.”
This compliment, which displayed great knowledge of the art, surprised
the painter, who, after offering his thanks, added: “Sire, your
conception, and the mode in which you express it, bespeak either the
practical artist or the well informed amateur. Your majesty has
doubtless learned to paint.”--“Yes,” said the king, “I sometimes occupy
myself with the art, and all my brothers possess a similar taste; that
one in particular, who frequently visits you, has acquired some
celebrity; for his performances are not like the generality of royal
paintings, they are worthy of the artist. M. David” added the monarch,
“I dare not hope to obtain a copy of this picture; but you may indemnify
me by placing my name at the head of the subscribers to the engraving,
pray do not forget me.”