[Footnote 1: Ludgate was originally built in 1215, by the Barons who
entered London, destroyed houses of Jews and erected this gate with
their ruins. It was first used as a prison in 1373, being then a free
prison, but soon losing that privilege. Sir Stephen Forster, who was
Lord Mayor in 1454, had been a prisoner at Ludgate and begged at the
grate, where he was seen by a rich widow who bought his liberty, took
him into her service, and eventually married him. To commemorate this he
enlarged the accommodation for the prisoners and added a chapel. The old
gate was taken down and rebuilt in 1586. That second gate was destroyed
in the Fire of London.
The gate which succeeded and was used, like its predecessors, as a
wretched prison for debtors, was pulled down in 1760, and the prisoners
removed, first to the London workhouse, afterwards to part of the
Giltspur Street Compter.]
[Footnote 2: Sir John Denham's 'Cooper's Hill.']
* * * * *
No. 83. Tuesday, June 5, 1711. Addison.
'... Animum pictura pascit inani.'
Virg.
When the Weather hinders me from taking my Diversions without Doors, I
frequently make a little Party with two or three select Friends, to
visit any thing curious that may be seen under Covert. My principal
Entertainments of this Nature are Pictures, insomuch that when I have
found the Weather set in to be very bad, I have taken a whole Day's
Journey to see a Gallery that is furnished by the Hands of great
Masters. By this means, when the Heavens are filled with Clouds, when
the Earth swims in Rain, and all Nature wears a lowering Countenance, I
withdraw myself from these uncomfortable Scenes into the visionary
Worlds of Art; where I meet with shining Landskips, gilded Triumphs,
beautiful Faces, and all those other Objects that fill the mind with gay
Ideas, and disperse that Gloominess which is apt to hang upon it in
those dark disconsolate Seasons.
I was some Weeks ago in a Course of these Diversions; which had taken
such an entire Possession of my Imagination, that they formed in it a
short Morning's Dream, which I shall communicate to my Reader, rather as
the first Sketch and Outlines of a Vision, than as a finished Piece.
I dreamt that I was admitted into a long spacious Gallery, which had one
Side covered with Pieces of all the Famous Painters who are now living,
and the other with the Works of the greatest Masters that are dead.
On the side of the _Living_, I saw several Persons busy in Drawing,
Colouring, and Designing; on the side of the _Dead_ Painters, I could
not discover more than one Person at Work, who was exceeding slow in his
Motions, and wonderfully nice in his Touches.
I was resolved to examine the several Artists that stood before me, and
accordingly applied my self to the side of the _Living_. The first I
observed at Work in this Part of the Gallery was VANITY, with his Hair
tied behind him in a Ribbon, and dressed like a _Frenchman_. All the
Faces he drew were very remarkable for their Smiles, and a certain
smirking Air which he bestowed indifferently on every Age and Degree of
either Sex. The _Toujours Gai_ appeared even in his Judges, Bishops, and
Privy-Counsellors: In a word all his Men were _Petits Maitres_, and all
his Women _Coquets_. The Drapery of his Figures was extreamly
well-suited to his Faces, and was made up of all the glaring Colours
that could be mixt together; every Part of the Dress was in a Flutter,
and endeavoured to distinguish itself above the rest.
On the left Hand of VANITY stood a laborious Workman, who I found was
his humble Admirer, and copied after him. He was dressed like a
_German_, and had a very hard Name, that sounded something like
STUPIDITY.
The third Artist that I looked over was FANTASQUE, dressed like a
Venetian Scaramouch. He had an excellent Hand at a _Chimera_, and dealt
very much in Distortions and Grimaces: He would sometimes affright
himself with the Phantoms that flowed from his Pencil. In short, the
most elaborate of his Pieces was at best but a terrifying Dream; and one
could say nothing more of his finest Figures, than that they were
agreeable Monsters.
The fourth Person I examined was very remarkable for his hasty Hand,
which left his Pictures so unfinished, that the Beauty in the Picture
(which was designed to continue as a monument of it to Posterity) faded
sooner than in the Person after whom it was drawn. He made so much haste
to dispatch his Business, that he neither gave himself time to clean his
Pencils, [nor [1]] mix his Colours. The Name of this expeditious Workman
was AVARICE.
Not far from this Artist I saw another of a quite different Nature, who
was dressed in the Habit of a _Dutchman_, and known by the Name of
INDUSTRY. His Figures were wonderfully laboured; If he drew the
Portraiture of a man, he did not omit a single Hair in his Face; if the
Figure of a Ship, there was not a Rope among the Tackle that escaped
him. He had likewise hung a great Part of the Wall with Night-pieces,
that seemed to shew themselves by the Candles which were lighted up in
several Parts of them; and were so inflamed by the Sun-shine which
accidentally fell upon them, that at first sight I could scarce forbear
crying out, _Fire_.
The five foregoing Artists were the most considerable on this Side the
Gallery; there were indeed several others whom I had not time to look
into. One of them, however, I could not forbear observing, who was very
busie in retouching the finest Pieces, tho' he produced no Originals of
his own. His Pencil aggravated every Feature that was before
over-charged, loaded every Defect, and poisoned every Colour it touched.
Though this workman did so much Mischief on the Side of the Living, he
never turned his Eye towards that of the Dead. His Name was ENVY.
Having taken a cursory View of one Side of the Gallery, I turned my self
to that which was filled by the Works of those great Masters that were
dead; when immediately I fancied my self standing before a Multitude of
Spectators, and thousands of Eyes looking upon me at once; for all
before me appeared so like Men and Women, that I almost forgot they were
Pictures. _Raphael's_ Figures stood in one Row, _Titian's_ in another,
_Guido Rheni's_ in a third. One Part of the Wall was peopled by
_Hannibal Carrache_, another by _Correggio_, and another by _Rubens_. To
be short, there was not a great Master among the Dead who had not
contributed to the Embellishment of this Side of the Gallery. The
Persons that owed their Being to these several Masters, appeared all of
them to be real and alive, and differed among one another only in the
Variety of their Shapes, Complexions, and Cloaths; so that they looked
like different Nations of the same Species.
Observing an old Man (who was the same Person I before mentioned, as the
only Artist that was at work on this Side of the Gallery) creeping up
and down from one Picture to another, and retouching all the fine Pieces
that stood before me, I could not but be very attentive to all his
Motions. I found his Pencil was so very light, that it worked
imperceptibly, and after a thousand Touches, scarce produced any visible
Effect in the Picture on which he was employed. However, as he busied
himself incessantly, and repeated Touch after Touch without Rest or
Intermission, he wore off insensibly every little disagreeable Gloss
that hung upon a Figure. He also added such a beautiful Brown to the
Shades, and Mellowness to the Colours, that he made every Picture appear
more perfect than when it came fresh from [the [2]] Master's Pencil. I
could not forbear looking upon the Face of this ancient Workman, and
immediately, by the long Lock of Hair upon his Forehead, discovered him
to be TIME.
Whether it were because the Thread of my Dream was at an End I cannot
tell, but upon my taking a Survey of this imaginary old Man, my Sleep
left me.