HOGARTH’S “ENTHUSIASM DELINEATED,” “THE MAN OF TASTE,” AND “DON QUIXOTE”
In Mr. Austin Dobson’s _Hogarth_, to which all students of that master
are so deeply indebted, the following sentence concludes the list
of “Prints of an Uncertain Date”: “It has been thought unnecessary
to include two or three designs, the grossness of which neither the
ingenuity of the artist nor the coarse taste of his time can reasonably
be held to excuse.” And in this book I have made it a cardinal point to
emulate Mr. Dobson’s excellent example.
We remember in one of Mr. G. Russell’s amusing books the story of
the erstwhile Member of Parliament who had accepted a peerage,
notwithstanding his profession of democratic sentiments. Thereupon
one of his late supporters, {83} with excellent, though somewhat
brutal, metaphor, remarked, “Mr. —— says as how he’s going to the
House of Lords to leaven it. I tell you he can’t no more leaven the
House of Lords than you can sweeten a cart-load of muck with a pot of
marmalade.” _Per contra_, let us always bear in mind, that were the
cart full of marmalade, and the pot of muck, the latter would be fully
sufficient to render the whole an abomination. Fortunately for us, the
Hogarth “Suppressed Plates” which are befitting are of exceptional
interest. And it may as well be pointed out here that those peculiarly
gross ones which are often alluringly alluded to as “suppressed” are
nothing of the sort. So far from being indeed effectively withdrawn
from observation, they have had, as a matter of fact, particular
attention drawn _to_ them by the fussy ingenuity with which their
concealment has been emphasised.
The first of the Hogarth plates which we here reproduce—“Enthusiasm
Delineated”—is of far greater intrinsic importance than any of those
with which we have already dealt in the preceding chapters. It differs
essentially from them not {84} only in the fact that here the artist
himself is the fount and origin of the suppression but also in the
fact that it is a fine example of those palimpsest plates of which
more particular description will be found in later chapters of this
book. Peculiar interest, too, attaches to the circumstance that, superb
as it was in execution, and elaborate to a degree though it was in
conception, it was no sooner finished than the artist deliberately
decided against its publication, and destroyed the engraving after only
two impressions had been taken from the copper. Fortunately for us, one
of these is now in the possession of the British Museum.
It will be interesting to those who are the happy possessors of
_Hogarth Illustrated_ and the _Anecdotes_ to compare this with the
reduced _copy_ (a very different matter) made by Mills and published
in these volumes. For it must always be remembered that Hogarth’s
autograph engravings are infinitely more interesting than the copies,
however eminent the journeyman engraver may have been.
[Illustration: Enlarged detail of Hogarth’s “Enthusiasm Delineated”]
Another plate was engraved by Mills of the size of the original, and
published separately by Ireland {86} in 1795. The date of the original
plate is given in the British Museum Catalogue as 1739, but how that
date is arrived at I am at a loss to understand.
It will be noticed that there are upon the margin of our reproduction
some curious _remarques_ inscribed “the windmill,” “the scales,” and
others. These were drawn in pen-and-ink by Hogarth on the margins of
the two original impressions. They also appear engraved in facsimile on
the second state of Mills’s full-sized plate. It will therefore be well
for owners of this last not to jump to the hasty conclusion that they
are the fortunate possessors of one of the two impressions mentioned
above! It should be added that the MS. inscription on the British
Museum copy differs considerably from that engraved by Mills.
The method by which the suppression of this plate came about is
exceedingly curious.
It is probable that, after the design was completed, Hogarth came to
the conclusion that the intention of the satire might be mistaken, and
that, instead of bringing ridicule upon “the superstitious absurdities
of popery and ridiculous {87} personification delineated by ancient
painters,” it might be considered that his objective was religion
itself.
If this were so, the episode redounds greatly to the artist’s credit,
and throws an effective light upon a little-known side of his
character. It was an act of great nobleness to suppress what was the
result of long toil, nay, more than that, what was perhaps his highest
mental, though by no means his highest artistic, achievement, from what
some might consider hyper-conscientious motives.
It must be remembered that Hogarth lived in a gross and irreligious
age, and that what appears to us exceedingly profane was largely the
result of the outspokenness of the times.
Ireland says that he altered and altered this plate piecemeal until its
final suppression. This, however, I venture to doubt, for reasons given
below. At all events, in the end he had beaten out and re-engraved
every figure save one, and changed, as Mr. Dobson says, what “was a
compact satire” into “a desultory work—a work of genius for a lesser
man, but scarcely worthy of Hogarth.” The final design was entitled
{88} “Credulity, Superstition and Fanaticism: a Medley,” and was
published in March 1762.
Let us now compare the two designs. Hogarth’s general purpose in the
first was, in his own words, to give “a lineal representation of the
strange effects of literal and low conceptions of Sacred Beings, as
also of the idolatrous tendency of Pictures in Churches and Prints
in Religious Books.” In the second his text was, “Believe not every
spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God, because many false
Prophets are gone out into the world.”
Before comparing the designs in detail, I should like to say that,
besides carefully examining the plates for myself, I have collated the
various descriptions of Ireland, Nichols, Mr. Austin Dobson, and Mr. F.
G. Stephens, whose conclusions I have not hesitated to adopt, add to,
discard or modify, as the circumstances have seemed to require.
Let us now particularise the incidents portrayed on the two states
of the plate, both of which are here reproduced for purposes of
comparison.
[Illustration: PLATE I. “Enthusiasm Delineated. (Humbly dedicated to
his Grace the Arch Bishop of Canterbury by his Graces most obedient
humble Servant _Wm. Hogarth_”)]
[Illustration: PLATE II. “Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism. A
Medley”]
Beginning with the preacher, we notice that {89} his is the only figure
practically unaltered and common to both engravings. By his “bull-roar”
(_vide_ the “scale of Vociferation” hanging on the wall to his left) he
has apparently succeeded in cracking the sounding-board above his head.
Notice his shaven crown, exposed by the fallen wig, which intimates
that he is a Papist in disguise; and the harlequin jacket underneath
his gown, which suggests that he is a religious merry-andrew. A point
worth remarking is that the halo surrounds his wig, and not his head!
From his right hand (Plate I.) he suspends a puppet (caricatured from
a picture of Raphael’s) supporting the sacred triangle, which, in
attempting to personify the Trinity, was considered by some to be a
profane materialisation of a mystical idea. This he has ingeniously
turned into a gridiron or trivet of the Inquisition by the simple
addition of three legs. In Plate II. this puppet has been removed and
its place taken by a witch, riding on a broom-handle, who is suckling
what appears to be a huge rat. Beyond the preacher’s hand we find a
further addition in the shape of a cherub, hunting-cap on head, bearing
in its mouth {90} a letter directed “To St. Moneytrap.” The sermon
paper, too, has been turned about so as to bring the words “I speak as
a fool” into greater prominence. In which connection it may be noticed
that in “Enthusiasm Delineated” all the lettering would seem to be from
the burin of Hogarth, whilst that in the “Medley” has been put in by a
writing engraver, with considerable weakening of the general effect.
Dangling from the preacher’s left hand is a devil with a gridiron
(after Rubens), practically identical in both plates, though obviously
re-engraved.
Further puppets hang ready for use on the panels of the pulpit. In
Plate I. they are caricature representations, from pictures of the
Old Masters, of Adam and Eve (suggested by Albert Dürer), of Peter
with his Key, and Paul in a black periwig armed with two swords and
elevated by high-heeled shoes (travestied from Rembrandt), and of Moses
and Aaron. In Plate II. these scriptural puppets are exchanged for
the superstitious images of Mrs. Veal’s ghost (see the writing on the
book), who, according to Defoe, appeared the day after her death to
Mrs. Bargrave {91} of Canterbury, September 8, 1705; of Julius Cæsar’s
apparition, starting at its own appearance in the looking-glass; and
of that of Sir George Villers (_sic_), not “Villiers” as Ireland has
it, whose appearance to an officer at Windsor, charging him to warn
his son, the Duke of Buckingham, of his approaching assassination, is
recorded by Lord Clarendon and Lilly the astrologer.
In the foreground, on the right, we have in both plates a most
remarkable mental thermometer, the bulb of which is inserted in a
Methodist’s brain. In Plate I. the mercury stands at “low-spirits”;
in Plate II. at “lukewarm.” In the first a dove surmounts the whole;
in the second the Methodist’s brain rests upon “Wesley’s Sermons,”
and “Glanvid” (an evident misprint for “Glanvil”) on “Witches.” The
lettering, too, is altered, and, in place of the inscription in the
top division, is a picture of the Cock Lane Ghost, of which Walpole
wrote—“Elizabeth Canning and the Rabbit Women were modest impostors
in comparison of this.” The whole is surmounted by a figure of the
Tedworth drummer immortalised by Addison. {92}
In the adjoining pew a nobleman, as can be seen by the decoration half
concealed by his coat, makes love to a girl, who discards a heavenly
for a very earthly affection, point to which is given by the quotation
from Whitfield’s hymn which can be read on the paper hanging over the
adjacent clerk’s desk. The “mixed expression of religious hypocrisy and
amorous desire” on the girl’s face is marvellously expressed. The other
occupant of the pew is a repentant thief, as may be seen from the “T”
branded on his cheek.
In the first account of the plate given in the _Catalogue of Prints and
Drawings in the British Museum_, the suggestion that the felon sniffs
at a bottle of spirits held in the hands of the image is obviously
incorrect. He is dropping his tears into the bottle. In Plate II. a
less aristocratic and somewhat more decently behaved pair of lovers
occupy the pew. The puppet held by the man is clearly a repetition of
the Cock Lane Ghost, only bearing in its hand a lighted candle in place
of a hammer. What the meaning of this is I fail to understand. Of the
two other occupants of the pew one is weeping and the other asleep.
{93} A winged devil whispers evil thoughts into the sleeper’s ear.
In both plates, on a bracket attached to the side of the pew and
inscribed “The Poor’s Box,” rests a wire rat-trap in place of the
proper receptacle.
Turning now to the clerk’s desk, which in Plate I. has the inscription
“Cherubim and Seraph [ — ] do cry,” and in Plate II. “Continually do
cry,” we find a hideous and brutal-looking clerk singing lustily from
a book which he half supports in his claw-like fingers. Supporting him
are two winged cherubs, the ridiculous nothingness of whose bodies
(so envied by Thackeray in his days of pupilage) is accentuated by
the significant addition of ducks’ feet. Their pitiful faces accord
with the punning inscription on the edge of the desk. In Plate II. the
ducks’ feet have been removed, but to make up for the loss we have the
clerk himself, now a lean and hungry-looking individual, also decorated
with a pair of wings.
Below the desk in Plate I. howls a dog, his collar engraved with
Whitfield’s name, whilst, below the hassock on which he sits, a ragged
{94} figure squats embracing an image. In Plate II. a book entitled
_Demonology, by K. James Ist._, surmounted by a shoeblack’s basket
in which _Whitfield’s Journal_ is stuck, takes the place of the dog,
whilst the boy of Bilston, vomiting forth nails, displaces the ragged
figure. From the neck of the bottle in his hand a figure, similar to
that held by the man in the pew, rises expelling the cork, which falls
to the ground.
In the forefront of Plate I. lies the bloated figure of Mother Douglas,
who, after a most licentious life, was said to have become a rigid
devotee. Hogarth, who has portrayed her in other of his plates, here
ridicules her conversion. A hand belonging to a figure outside the
plate holds a bottle of salts to her nose. In Plate II. Mary Tofts, “ye
Godliman woman,” takes her place. Her well-known imposture, which it
would be out of place to particularise here, gave rise to a voluminous
literature, and a sheaf of remarkable caricatures. In place of the
salts a glass of cordial is applied as a restorative.
[Illustration: The Chandelier in “Enthusiasm”]
[Illustration: The Chandelier in “Credulity”]
In Plate I., behind the prostrate woman a bearded Jew regards the
preacher with mock {96} devotion, what time he kills a flea between
his thumb-nails. Before him lies a book open at a picture of Abraham
offering up Isaac. In Plate II. the figure of the Jew is much weakened,
whilst a knife inscribed “Bloody” is laid across a picture of an altar
on the page of the open book.
In the background of both plates a motley collection of devotees
assists at these religious orgies. To the extreme left of Plate II.,
which, by the addition of several persons in the congregation, has
become greatly overcrowded, a minister directs the attention of a
terrified wretch, whose hair bristles with fear, to the extraordinary
double-globed chandelier above their heads.
Final emphasis is given to the whole satire by the figure of a Turk
(slightly varied in the two plates), who regards with amusement through
the window the idolatry of those “dogs of Christians.”
So much for the details of the plates. As regards the general effect of
the whole, the superiority of the suppressed design will be evident at
a glance. In lighting, balance, and composition, the substituted design
is immeasurably removed from the original. Nor would this be wonderful
if, {97} as Ireland surmised, “the alterations were made by degrees.”
With this view, however, I find it, as I have said above, impossible
to concur. If, as he suggests, the figures were beaten out one by one,
their substitutes would occupy practically identical spaces on the
plate; but a little measurement demonstrates the fact that, with the
exception of the figure of the preacher, which has been left where it
was, and of the mental thermometer, which has been raised, almost the
whole of the design has been shifted downwards.
I am therefore inclined to think that from the first Hogarth, from
one cause or another, made up his mind to change the direction of his
satire, and at once beat out all the figures on the plate save one.
That the arrangement of the new design should coincide generally with
that of the first is, I think, no more than one would naturally expect,
and does not in any way weaken the argument.
In conclusion, it should be pointed out, for the sake of those who
would study the matter further, that the accounts of the impressions of
the several plates in the _Catalogue of Prints and Drawings {98} in
the British Museum_ are not easily found, being somewhat arbitrarily
placed at pages 301–307, vol. iii., part i., and pages 644–648, vol.
ii., respectively.
* * * * *
So far we have seen Hogarth in his character of general iconoclast and
antipapist. It is now our business to deal with him in what was a more
personal polemic.
In the year 1731 Pope first published his notorious attack upon the
Duke of Chandos in his satire _Of Taste: An Epistle to the Right Hon.
Richard, Earl of Burlington_.
Hogarth forthwith entered the lists, and designed and published a
well-deserved pictorial counterblast, allusively entitled “The Man of
Taste,” or “Burlington Gate.” This was immediately “suppressed” on a
prosecution being threatened because of what was deemed its scurrilous
and defamatory character.
Notwithstanding this prompt suppression, however, the design reappeared
the following year, reduced in size, as frontispiece to a pirated
edition of Pope’s “Epistle,” which was included in a pamphlet entitled
_A Miscellany on Taste; by {99} Mr. Pope, etc._, published by Lawton
and others. Its contents were (1) Of Taste in Architecture, an Epistle
to the Earl of Burlington, with _Notes Variorum_, and a complete
Key; (2) Of Mr. Pope’s Taste in Divinity: viz., the Fall of Man,
and the First Psalm, translated for the use of a Young Lady; (3) Of
Mr. Pope’s Taste of Shakespeare; (4) His Satire on Mr. P——y; and
(5) Mr. Congreve’s fine Epistle on Retirement and Taste, addressed
to Lord Cobham. In this copy of the plate Pope, who is shown in the
original by means of the back of his head and figure, and as wearing
a full-bottomed wig, is more distinctly satirised, his face being
displayed in profile, and his head enclosed by a linen cap instead of a
wig. Amongst a few other minor alterations, it may be noticed that the
palette held by Kent is transferred from one hand to the other.
Referring to the republication of Hogarth’s cartoon in this form,
Mr. Dobson seems somewhat inclined to argue against the story of
its “suppression,” or, at any rate, its effectual suppression; but
he does not allude to the important fact that the publisher of this
pamphlet {100} was _also_ promptly prosecuted, and the sale strictly
prohibited. From which it is clear that the suppression was as
unqualified and as prompt as could reasonably be expected.
Steevens indeed mentions a copy upon which the following inscription
had been made:—
“Bo^t. this book of Mr. Wayte, at the Fountain Tavern, in the Strand,
in the presence of Mr. Draper, who told me he had it of the Printer,
Mr. W. Rayner.
“J. COSINS.”
The signatory was an Attorney, and the wording of the memorandum
suggests the intended prosecution.
To return to Pope’s poem. In it he passes the most scathing criticism
upon the splendid but tasteless surroundings of “Timon” at his
stupendous villa.
“Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught
As brings all Brobdingnag before your thought.
To compass this, his building is a town,
His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:
Who but must laugh, the master when he sees,
A puny insect, shivering at the breeze!
Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
The whole, a labour’d quarry above ground.
Two cupids squirt before: a lake behind
Improves the keenness of the northern wind.
His gardens next your admiration call,
On every side you look, behold the wall! {101}
No pleasing intricacies intervene,
No artful wildness to perplex the scene;
Grove nods at grove, each valley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.”
And then, at the end of it all, he proceeds to justify Providence, in
giving riches to those who squander them, in a way that will hardly
commend itself to the student of the dismal science. A bad taste, he
says in effect, employs more hands, and diffuses wealth more usefully
than a good one! One would like to have heard John Stuart Mill on the
subject of “Pope.”
The “Epistle” was addressed to Pope’s patron, the Earl of Burlington,
who was one of the noblemen who had helped to screen him a few years
before on his publication of the _Dunciad_.
“Timon” (mainly though not entirely) referred to the Duke of Chandos,
who was, Johnson says, a man perhaps too much delighted with pomp and
show, but of a temper kind and beneficent, and who had consequently the
voice of the public in his favour.[20] {102}
[20] Bowles says, “As Pope was the first to deal in personalities, the
following severe retaliation was published in the papers of the time:
“Let Pope no more what Chandos builds deride,
Because he takes not Nature for his guide;
Since, wond’rous critic! in thy form we see
That _Nature_ may mistake, as well as he.”
A violent outcry was therefore raised against the ingratitude and
treachery of Pope, who was said to have been indebted to the patronage
of Chandos for a present of a thousand pounds, and who gained the
opportunity of insulting him by the kindness of his invitation to
“Canons,” the Duke’s seat near Edgware.
In a pamphlet entitled _Ingratitude_ published in 1733, of which only
a portion of the frontispiece is in the British Museum,[21] the matter
is thus alluded to. “A certain animal of diminutive size, who had
translated a book into English metre (or at least had it translated for
him), addressed himself to a nobleman of the first rank, and in the
style of a gentleman-beggar requested him to subscribe a guinea for one
of his books. The nobleman entertained him at dinner in a sumptuous
manner, and continued so to do as often as the insignificant mortal
came to his house. After dinner this generous man of quality, taking
him aside, put a bank-note for five hundred pounds into his hands, and
desired he might have but one book. But {103} what was the consequence
of this? Why, truly, the wretch, who is a composition of peevishness,
spleen and envy, having no regard to the benefits he had received,
in a few years after, and without any manner of provocation, or the
least foundation for truth, publishes a satire, as he terms it, but in
reality it is an infamous and calumnious libel, calculated, with all
the malice and virulency imaginable, to defame and render odious the
character of his best benefactor.”
[21] Vide _Catalogue of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum_,
Division I., _Satires_, vol. ii., No. 1935.
From which it will be seen that Hogarth was not out of the fashion in
retaliating upon Pope’s devoted head with the cartoon which we here
reproduce.
Let us examine it in detail. The gate, which is the main feature in the
picture, is a travesty of that which is familiar to old frequenters
of Piccadilly. Until as lately as 1868, it formed the frontage to
Burlington House. It was the joint design of Lord Burlington and
Colin Campbell, and, although well-proportioned and inoffensive,
hardly justifies the fulsome praise which has been bestowed upon
it. Kent, originally a coach-painter, with whose statue Hogarth has
surmounted the {104} structure, was patronised by, and brought
his practical knowledge to the assistance of, Lord Burlington,
himself undoubtedly a man of enlightened taste. The alteration and
reconstruction of the original Burlington House, which had been built
by his great-grandfather, the first Earl, was the first of his many
architectural projects. It was eventually taken down to make way for
the existing Royal Academy and Science Buildings. Lord Hervey laughed
at its inconvenience in the following couplet:—
“Possessed of one great hall of state,
Without a room to sleep or eat.”
The best of Lord Burlington’s and Kent’s joint work is to be found
in the northern park front of the Treasury Buildings in Whitehall,
“which,” says Fergusson, “if completed, would be more worthy of Inigo
Jones than anything that has been done there since his time.”
[Illustration: The Man of Taste]
Flanking the ex-coach-painter, Hogarth has placed reclining figures
of Raphael and Michael Angelo, who regard the modern architect with
respectful admiration! On the platform is Pope rough-casting the front
of the structure, and {106} incidentally bespattering the passers-by
with whitewash from his huge brush. Chief amongst these is the Duke of
Chandos, who vainly strives to protect himself with his hat. Ascending
the ladder is Lord Burlington, who carries up more whitening for the
beautifying of his own gate and the defilement of his neighbours’
clothes. Over the gate Hogarth has sarcastically inscribed the solitary
word “TASTE.” The double distribution of flattery and satire is an
excellent pictorial burlesque of the _Epistle to Lord Burlington_, and
who can say that it was not richly deserved? At any rate, stroke and
counterstroke were fierce and unhesitating in those days, and, although
Pope’s and his patrons’ influence was sufficient to get Hogarth’s witty
plate suppressed, it is a tribute to the wholesome respect which the
poet had for the artist, that, pugnacious and irrepressible as his pen
generally was, Pope never ventured to make any written retaliation upon
the libeller.
It should be mentioned that this was not the first occasion upon
which Hogarth had attacked the charlatanry of Kent. In the first
plate published on his own account, in 1724—“Masquerades and {107}
Operas”—he had included him in his ridicule of what Mr. Dobson calls
“foreign favourites and dubious exotics.” In that plate, also, he had
ridiculed “Burlington Gate,” and, curiously prompted by the spirit of
prophecy, had labelled it “Accademy (_sic_) of Arts!” He had also, in
the following year, burlesqued Kent’s scandalous altarpiece at St.
Clement Danes, which had lately been taken down in response to the
outcry against its sacrilegious impudence.
By the kindness of the publisher of _The Builder_, I am enabled to
reproduce a wood engraving of Burlington Gate as it actually was, which
appeared in that journal on October 28, 1854. Comparing this with the
cartoon, it will be seen that Hogarth did not scruple to heighten the
effect of his satire by depriving Lord Burlington’s edifice of such
merits as it undoubtedly possessed.
So much for Hogarth in his polemic with Pope. We will now turn for
a moment to Hogarth and his quarrel with Wilkes and Churchill, in
which we shall find him working over an old plate as in the case of
“Enthusiasm Delineated,” but with a very different object in view. Here
he adopts a method {108} of retaliation which, as we shall learn from
later chapters of this book, had become already customary amongst the
producers of political broadsides in the seventeenth century. Hitherto
Hogarth had kept clear of politics, but now, in his sixty-fifth year,
he threw himself into the fray. John Wilkes had started a paper called
_The North Briton_ in opposition to _The Briton_, the organ of the
Tory party of which Lord Bute was the leader. Hogarth had long enjoyed
Bute’s favour. He had also until now been on friendly terms with Wilkes
and his henchman Charles Churchill, the poet. On September 7, 1762,
taking sides with his patron, he published _The Times_ (Plate I.).
This so enraged Wilkes that he retaliated on the Saturday following,
in the seventeenth number of _The North Briton_, with a violent attack
on Hogarth both as man and artist. In the May following Hogarth
retorted by publishing a portrait of John Wilkes which, professing to
be a likeness, cleverly exhibited his most repulsive characteristics.
Wilkes being now on his trial for libel, Churchill came to the rescue
with his savage and slashing _Epistle to William Hogarth_. This was
published on August 1. {110} With a promptitude astonishing in those
days of tardy copper-plate engraving, Hogarth, by a clever expedient,
retaliated within a month with his exceedingly venomous print of “The
Bruiser.” The plate from which this was printed had already done duty
as a portrait of Hogarth himself with his dog Trump, engraved from the
well-known painting now in the National Gallery.
[Illustration: Burlington Gate as it appeared prior to 1868]
Pressed for time, in ill-health, and apprehensive lest the public might
attribute delay in replying to inability to do so, he took the old
plate, burnished out his own portrait, and substituted in its place the
head of a bear, with torn and soiled clerical bands about its neck,
ruffles on its wrists, and clasping against its chest a foaming pot
of beer, in allusion to the personal habits of the poet and ci-devant
parson. With his left paw the beast clasps a huge club, the knots of
which are labelled “Lye 1,” “Lye 2,” referring to the falsities of _The
North Briton_. There are other minor alterations which may be seen at a
glance. The whole was entitled “THE BRUISER, CHARLES CHURCHILL (once
the Rev^d.!) In the character of a RUSSIAN HERCULES, regaling himself
after having killed {111} the MONSTER CARICATURE, that so sorely gall’d
his virtuous friend, the Heaven-born Wilkes.” The plate thus altered is
to be found in five states, particulars of which may be found on p. 286
of Mr. Austin Dobson’s _William Hogarth_, 1891. That here reproduced is
from a _copy_ of the last state engraved by Dent for John Ireland.[22]
It is only in the last two states that the clever little engraving in
front of the palette is to be found.
[22] In copying, the design, as will be seen, has been turned from left
to right.
So far we have dealt with work done by Hogarth in his individual
capacity. Let us now turn to such of his collaborative work as suffered
cancellation.
In dealing with the series of suppressed _Quixote_ plates we shall be
brought into touch with two not uninteresting and accessory episodes
in the artist’s career. In the first of these Hogarth made a great
success, where a rival artist had made a signal failure. In the second,
by way of righting the balance of things, fate ordained it that this
same artist should badly best Hogarth, and that in a manner peculiarly
galling to the latter’s vanity.
Hogarth’s father-in-law was Sir James Thornhill, {112} whose drawing
academy in Covent Garden had not proved as valuable an institution
as had been anticipated. Johan Van der Banck, the rival artist above
alluded to, had been one of Sir James’s pupils. By heading a secession
and establishing a rival school he had undoubtedly largely contributed
to the failure of his master’s venture. However, in due time, his
school too proved to be lacking in the elements of success, and came to
an untimely end.
On Sir James’s death the “neglected apparatus” of his father-in-law
passed into Hogarth’s hands, and he set to work to establish the
academy on a different footing. The result was that it became a
successful educational centre, which only ceased to exist many years
afterwards on the establishment of the Royal Academy. A picture by
Hogarth of the interior of the school with the students drawing from
life is to be seen on the staircase leading to the Diploma Gallery at
Burlington House.
In this case Hogarth had the laugh on his side. In the other, which is
immediately relevant to our subject, the laugh was with Van der Banck.
[Illustration: Portrait of Hogarth with His Dog Trump[23]]
[23] The plate being re-engraved for _Hogarth Illustrated_ became
transposed.
[Illustration: _The plate reversed and in its last state, now entitled_
“The Bruiser”]
In 1738 Lord Carteret’s Spanish edition of _Don {113} Quixote_ was
published. For this Hogarth had been commissioned to design a series of
illustrations. Eight of these were executed, but, on being submitted
to Lord Carteret, did not meet with his approval. The commission was
consequently transferred to Johan van der Banck, who thus succeeded
in revenging himself for his former failure, and at the same time
unconsciously provided us with matter for consideration in these
papers. His sixty-eight designs were engraved by Van der Gucht and
republished in the English edition of 1756, of which Charles Jarvis was
the translator. Of Hogarth’s unsuccessful venture John Ireland writes
with some indignation, “As they are etched in a bold and masterly
style, I suppose the noble peer did not think them _pretty enough_ to
embellish his volume and therefore laid them aside for Vandergucht’s
engravings from Vanderbank’s designs.” It is a slight satisfaction to
know that Hogarth’s completed etchings were paid for!
One curious fact about Jarvis’s edition demands our attention. The
plate representing the Don’s first sally in quest of adventure is
without any {114} signature, but the “style of the etching and the
air of the figures” indisputably determine for us the fact that it is
from the pencil and burin of Hogarth, so that it is open to any one who
has access to this edition to judge for themselves of the justice of
Ireland’s strictures upon Lord Carteret.
For those who have not access to Jarvis’s edition it may be mentioned
that a copy engraved by J. Mills appears in Ireland’s _Hogarth
Illustrated_ and in the _Anecdotes of William Hogarth_, published by
Nichols in 1833. Of Hogarth’s eight designs we are therefore left with
only seven, which were “suppressed.” Of these six were published from
Hogarth’s own plates in Baldwin, Cradock and Joy’s splendid collection
of the _Works_ in 1822; whilst previously, in 1798, John Ireland had
published small copies of them together with an unfinished design of
“The Innkeeper” in his possession, engraved by J. Mills. These plates
were used over again in the _Anecdotes_ of 1833 with altered lettering
and the etchings considerably worn.
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. 1.—The Innkeeper]
The accompanying reproductions are, save for {116} No. 1., not made
from any of the foregoing, but from the early states of the plates,
never before published, to be found in the British Museum. Thus they
will prove not only of interest to the casual reader but also valuable,
for purposes of comparison, to the possessors of any of the three
editions of Hogarth’s _Works_ mentioned above. The full descriptions of
the plates may be found in Ireland and Nichols, but for the convenience
of the reader I append a short commentary.
No. I. _The Innkeeper_ is from an unfinished etching and is of
particular interest. By some its authenticity is doubted, but John
Ireland believed in it, and I, for one, see no reason to call his
judgment into question, more particularly as this figure bears a more
than chance resemblance to that of “The Innkeeper” in the undoubted
Hogarth referred to above published in Jarvis’s edition. In the Van
der Banck plate, which represents the knighting of the Don by the
Innkeeper, it is also evident that Hogarth’s rival has done him the
compliment of adopting his model.
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. II.—The Funeral of Chrysostom]
No. II. _The Funeral of Chrysostom, Marcella vindicating herself._ This
scene was also taken {118} by Van der Banck for illustration, and a
comparison of the two plates is not favourable to Hogarth.
No. III. _The Innkeepers Wife and Daughter taking care of the Don after
he had been beaten._ “Much superior to the same scene designed by Van
der Banck.”
No. IV. _Don Quixote seizes the Barber’s Basin for Mambrino’s Helmet._
On the whole inferior to Van der Banck’s. The barb of the Don’s weapon
is different from that in the Hogarth design published by Jarvis. The
stirrups and saddling of the horse too are different. These points have
not been referred to before, but I mention them by way of argument
against the authenticity of the Jarvis plate. As I have said before,
personally I have no doubt that it is from Hogarth’s burin.
No. V. _Don Quixote releases the Galley Slaves._ Here the Don is found
wearing the barber’s basin as his helmet. By a not unusual oversight it
will be noticed Hogarth has made his figures left-handed, forgetful of
the reversing process due to printing from a plate. A superior design
to that of Van der Banck, who, as Ireland says, “has {121} given to
two or three of the thieves the countenances of apostles.”
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. III.—The Innkeeper’s Wife and Daughter]
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. IV.—Don Quixote seizes the Barber’s
Basin]
No. VI. _The First Interview of the Valorous Knight of La Mancha with
the Unfortunate Knight of the Rock._ Distinctly superior to Van der
Banck.
No. VII. _The Curate and Barber disguising themselves to convey Don
Quixote home._ An excellent representation of the curate assuming the
dress of a distressed virgin who, by his tale of having been wronged by
a naughty knight, hopes to induce the Don to return to his home.
Whilst on the subject of Don Quixote it may be mentioned that, much
earlier in his career, Hogarth had designed and engraved a plate
dealing with “Sancho’s feast,” but this must not be in any way
identified or confused with the series begun for Lord Carteret,
although Ireland groups them all together.
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. V.—Don Quixote releases the Galley
Slaves]
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. VI.—The First Interview]
So much for Hogarth’s suppressed illustrations, and it is, it must be
confessed, something of a relief to turn again from his cognate art to
that which is individual and typical. For we do not much value Hogarth
as an illustrator. In this character he rarely does more than repeat
for us {124} in another medium the obvious matters already dealt
with in the letterpress. “Illustration,” as Mr. Laurence Housman has
well said, “should be something in the nature of a brilliant commentary
throwing out new light upon the subject, an exquisite parenthesis of
things better said in this medium than could be said in any other: in
a word, the result of another creative faculty at work on the same
theme.” And this in no way describes Hogarth’s work as an illustrator.
It is as a great original painter working out consummately the
homeliest of morals that he appeals to us. Those morals which, to quote
Thackeray, are “as easy as Goody Twoshoes,” the moral of “Tommy was a
naughty boy and the master flogged him, and Jacky was a good boy and
had plum-cake.” For it is in “Marriage à la Mode,” “A Rake’s Progress,”
“Industry and Idleness,” that he succeeds inimitably, carrying out the
motto beneath “Time Smoking a Picture”:—
“To Nature and your Self appeal
Nor learn of others what to feel.”
[Illustration: Don Quixote No. VII.—The Curate and the Barber]
But this only in passing, for our subject debars us from lingering over
Hogarth’s best. {126} From the nature of our theme we are confined
to the examination in the majority of cases of that which verges upon
failure either from artistic or social considerations.
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