Fuseli's wit, learning, and talents gained him early admission to the
company of wealthy and distinguished men. He devoted himself for a
considerable time after his arrival in London to the daily toils of
literature--translations, essays, and critiques. Among other works, he
translated Winckelmann's book on Painting and Sculpture. One day
Bonnycastle said to him, after dinner,
"Fuseli, you can write well,--why don't you write something?"
"Something!" exclaimed the other; "you always cry write--Fuseli
write!--blastation! what shall I write?"
"Write," said Armstrong, who was present, "write on the Voltaire and
Rousseau _Row_--_there_ is a subject!"
He said nothing, but went home and began to write. His enthusiastic
temper spurred him on, so that he composed his essay with uncommon
rapidity. He printed it forthwith; but the whole edition caught fire and
was consumed! "It had," says one of his friends, "a short life and a
bright ending."
While busied with his translations and other literary labors, he had not
forgotten his early attachment to Art. He found his way to the studio of
Sir Joshua Reynolds, and submitted several of his drawings to the
President's examination, who looked at them for some time, and then
said, "How long have you studied in Italy?" "I never studied in Italy--I
studied at Zurich--I am a native of Switzerland--do you think I should
study in Italy?--and, above all, is it worth while?" "Young man," said
Reynolds, "were I the author of these drawings, and were offered ten
thousand a year _not_ to practice as an artist, I would reject the
proposal with contempt." This very favorable opinion from one who
considered all he said, and was so remarkable for accuracy of judgment,
decided the destiny of Fuseli; he forsook for ever the hard and
thankless _trade_ of literature--refused a living in the church from
some patron who had been struck with his talents--and addressed himself
to painting with heart and hand.