crown the whole, he is now exhibited at a gaming-table, where all is
lost! His countenance distorted with agony, and his soul agitated almost
to madness, he imprecates vengeance upon his own head.
"In heartfelt bitter anguish he appears,
And from the blood-shot ball gush purpled tears!
He beats his brow, with rage and horror fraught;
His brow half bursts with agony of thought!"
That he should be deprived of all he possessed in such a society as
surround him, is not to be wondered at. One of the most conspicuous
characters appears, by the pistol in his pocket, to be a highwayman:
from the profound stupor of his countenance, we are certain he also is a
losing gamester; and so absorbed in reflection, that neither the boy who
brings him a glass of water, nor the watchman's cry of "Fire!" can
arouse him from his reverie. Another of the party is marked for one of
those well-dressed continental adventurers, who, being unable to live in
their own country, annually pour into this, and with no other requisites
than a quick eye, an adroit hand, and an undaunted forehead, are
admitted into what is absurdly enough called _good_ company.
At the table a person in mourning grasps his hat, and hides his face, in
the agony of repentance, not having, as we infer from his weepers,
received that legacy of which he is now plundered more than "a little
month." On the opposite side is another, on whom fortune has severely
frowned, biting his nails in the anguish of his soul. The fifth
completes the climax; he is frantic; and with a drawn sword endeavours
to destroy a _pauvre miserable_ whom he supposes to have cheated him,
but is prevented by the interposition of one of those staggering
votaries of Bacchus who are to be found in every company where there is
good wine; and gaming, like the rod of Moses, so far swallows up every
other passion, that the actors, engrossed by greater objects, willingly
leave their wine to the audience.
In the back-ground are two collusive associates, eagerly dividing the
profits of the evening.
A nobleman in the corner is giving his note to an usurer. The lean and
hungry appearance of this cent. per cent. worshipper of the golden calf,
is well contrasted by the sleek, contented vacancy of so well-employed a
legislator of this great empire. Seated at the table, a portly
gentleman, of whom we see very little, is coolly sweeping off his
winnings.
So engrossed is every one present by his own situation, that the flames
which surround them are disregarded, and the vehement cries of a
watchman entering the room, are necessary to rouse their attention to
what is generally deemed the first law of nature, self-preservation.
Mr. Gilpin observes:--"The fortune, which our adventurer has just
received, enables him to make one push more at the gaming-table. He
is exhibited, in the sixth print, venting curses on his folly for
having lost his last stake.--This is, upon the whole, perhaps, the
best print of the set. The horrid scene it describes, was never more
inimitably drawn. The composition is artful, and natural. If the
shape of the whole be not quite pleasing, the figures are so well
grouped, and with so much ease and variety, that you cannot take
offence.
"The expression, in almost every figure, is admirable; and the whole
is a strong representation of the human mind in a storm. Three
stages of that species of madness which attends gaming, are here
described. On the first shock, all is inward dismay. The ruined
gamester is represented leaning against a wall, with his arms
across, lost in an agony of horror. Perhaps never passion was
described with so much force. In a short time this horrible gloom
bursts into a storm of fury: he tears in pieces what comes next him;
and, kneeling down, invokes curses upon himself. He next attacks
others; every one in his turn whom he imagines to have been
instrumental in his ruin.--The eager joy of the winning gamesters,
the attention of the usurer, the vehemence of the watchman, and the
profound reverie of the highwayman, are all admirably marked. There
is great coolness, too, expressed in the little we see of the fat
gentleman at the end of the table."
[Illustration: THE RAKE'S PROGRESS.
PLATE 6.
GAMING HOUSE SCENE.]
PLATE VII.
PRISON SCENE.
"Happy the man whose constant thought,
(Though in the school of hardship taught,)
Can send remembrance back to fetch
Treasures from life's earliest stretch;
Who, self-approving, can review
Scenes of past virtues, which shine through
The gloom of age, and cast a ray
To gild the evening of his day!
Not so the guilty wretch confined:
No pleasures meet his conscious mind;
No blessings brought from early youth,
But broken faith, and wrested truth;
Talents idle and unused,
And every trust of Heaven abused.
In seas of sad reflection lost,
From horrors still to horrors toss'd,
_Reason_ the vessel leaves to steer,
And gives the helm to mad _Despair_."
By a very natural transition Mr. Hogarth has passed his hero from a
gaming house into a prison--the inevitable consequence of extravagance.
He is here represented in a most distressing situation, without a coat
to his back, without money, without a friend to help him. Beggared by a
course of ill-luck, the common attendant on the gamester, having first
made away with every valuable he was master of, and having now no other
resource left to retrieve his wretched circumstances, he at last, vainly
promising himself success, commences author, and attempts, though
inadequate to the task, to write a play, which is lying on the table,
just returned with an answer from the manager of the theatre, to whom he
had offered it, that his piece would by no means do. Struck speechless
with this disastrous occurrence, all his hopes vanish, and his most
sanguine expectations are changed into dejection of spirit. To heighten
his distress, he is approached by his wife, and bitterly upbraided for
his perfidy in concealing from her his former connexions (with that
unhappy girl who is here present with her child, the innocent offspring
of her amours, fainting at the sight of his misfortunes, being unable to
relieve him farther), and plunging her into those difficulties she never
shall be able to surmount. To add to his misery, we see the
under-turnkey pressing him for his prison fees, or garnish-money, and
the boy refusing to leave the beer he ordered, without being first paid
for it. Among those assisting the fainting mother, one of whom we
observe clapping her hand, another applying the drops, is a man crusted
over, as it were, with the rust of a gaol, supposed to have started from
his dream, having been disturbed by the noise at a time when he was
settling some affairs of state; to have left his great plan unfinished,
and to have hurried to the assistance of distress. We are told, by the
papers falling from his lap, one of which contains a scheme for paying
the national debt, that his confinement is owing to that itch of
politics some persons are troubled with, who will neglect their own
affairs, in order to busy themselves in that which noways concerns
them, and which they in no respect understand, though their immediate
ruin shall follow it: nay, so infatuated do we find him, so taken up
with his beloved object, as not to bestow a few minutes on the decency
of his person. In the back of the room is one who owes his ruin to an
indefatigable search after the philosopher's stone. Strange and
unaccountable!--Hence we are taught by these characters, as well as by
the pair of human wings on the tester of the bed, that scheming is the
sure and certain road to beggary: and that more owe their misfortunes to
wild and romantic notions, than to any accident they meet with in life.
In this upset of his life, and aggravation of distress, we are to
suppose our prodigal almost driven to desperation. Now, for the first
time, he feels the severe effects of pinching cold and griping hunger.
At this melancholy season, reflection finds a passage to his heart, and
he now revolves in his mind the folly and sinfulness of his past
life;--considers within himself how idly he has wasted the substance he
is at present in the utmost need of;--looks back with shame on the
iniquity of his actions, and forward with horror on the rueful scene of
misery that awaits him; until his brain, torn with excruciating thought,
loses at once its power of thinking, and falls a sacrifice to merciless
despair.
Mr. Ireland remarks, on the plate before us:--"Our improvident
spendthrift is now lodged in that dreary receptacle of human
misery,--a prison. His countenance exhibits a picture of despair;
the forlorn state of his mind is displayed in every limb, and his
exhausted finances, by the turnkey's demand of prison fees, not
being answered, and the boy refusing to leave a tankard of porter,
unless he is paid for it.
"We see by the enraged countenance of his wife, that she is
violently reproaching him for having deceived and ruined her. To
crown this catalogue of human tortures, the poor girl whom he
deserted, is come with her child--perhaps to comfort him,--to
alleviate his sorrows, to soothe his sufferings:--but the agonising
view is too much for her agitated frame; shocked at the prospect of
that misery which she cannot remove, every object swims before her
eyes,--a film covers the sight,--the blood forsakes her cheeks--her
lips assume a pallid hue,--and she sinks to the floor of the prison
in temporary death. What a heart-rending prospect for him by whom
this is occasioned!
"The wretched, squalid inmate, who is assisting the fainting female,
bears every mark of being naturalised to the place; out of his
pocket hangs a scroll, on which is inscribed, 'A scheme to pay the
National Debt, by J. L. now a prisoner in the Fleet.' So attentive
was this poor gentleman to the debts of the nation, that he totally
forgot his own. The cries of the child, and the good-natured
attentions of the women, heighten the interest, and realise the
scene. Over the group are a large pair of wings, with which some
emulator of _Dedalus_ intended to escape from his confinement; but
finding them inadequate to the execution of his project, has placed
them upon the tester of his bed. They would not exalt him to the
regions of air, but they o'ercanopy him on earth. A chemist in the
back-ground, happy in his views, watching the moment of projection,
is not to be disturbed from his dream by any thing less than the
fall of the roof, or the bursting of his retort;--and if his dream
affords him felicity, why should he be awakened? The bed and
gridiron, those poor remnants of our miserable spendthrift's
wretched property, are brought here as necessary in his degraded
situation; on one he must try to repose his wearied frame, on the
other, he is to dress his scanty meal."
[Illustration: THE RAKE'S PROGRESS.
PLATE 7.
PRISON SCENE.]
PLATE VIII.
SCENE IN A MADHOUSE.
"_Madness!_ thou chaos of the brain, }
What art, that pleasure giv'st and pain? }
Tyranny of fancy's reign!
Mechanic _fancy!_ that can build
Vast labyrinths and mazes wild,
With rude, disjointed, shapeless measure,
Fill'd with _horror_, fill'd with _pleasure_!
Shapes of _horror_, that would even
Cast doubt of mercy upon Heaven;
Shapes of _pleasure_, that but seen,
Would split the shaking sides of _Spleen_.
"O vanity of age! here see
The stamp of Heaven effaced by thee!
The headstrong course of youth thus run,
What comfort from this darling son?
His rattling chains with terror hear,
Behold death grappling with despair!
See him by thee to ruin sold,
And curse _thyself_, and curse thy _gold_!"
See our hero then, in the scene before us, raving in all the dismal
horrors of hopeless insanity, in the hospital of Bethlehem, the senate
of mankind, where each man may find a representative; there we behold
him trampling on the first great law of nature, tearing himself to
pieces with his own hands, and chained by the leg to prevent any further
mischief he might either do to himself or others. But in this scene,
dreary and horrid as are its accompaniments, he is attended by the
faithful and kind-hearted female whom he so basely betrayed. In the
first plate we see him refuse her his promised hand. In the fourth, she
releases him from the harpy fangs of a bailiff; she is present at his
marriage; and in the hope of relieving his distress, she follows him to
a prison. Our artist, in this scene of horror, has taken an opportunity
of pointing out to us the various causes of mental blindness; for such,
surely, it may be called, when the intuitive faculties are either
destroyed or impaired. In one of the inner rooms of this gallery is a
despairing wretch, imploring Heaven for mercy, whose brain is crazed
with lip-labouring superstition, the most dreadful enemy of human kind;
which, attended with ignorance, error, penance and indulgence, too often
deprives its unhappy votaries of their senses. The next in view is one
man drawing lines upon a wall, in order, if possible, to find out the
longitude; and another, before him, looking through a paper, by way of a
telescope. By these expressive figures we are given to understand that
such is the misfortune of man, that while, perhaps, the aspiring soul is
pursuing some lofty and elevated conception, soaring to an uncommon
pitch, and teeming with some grand discovery, the ferment often proves
too strong for the feeble brain to support, and lays the whole magazine
of notions and images in wild confusion. This melancholy group is
completed by the crazy tailor, who is staring at the mad astronomer with
a sort of wild astonishment, wondering, through excess of ignorance,
what discoveries the heavens can possibly afford; proud of his
profession, he has fixed a variety of patterns in his hat, by way of
ornament; has covered his poor head with shreds, and makes his measure
the constant object of his attention. Behind this man stands another,
playing on the violin, with his book upon his head, intimating that too
great a love for music has been the cause of his distraction. On the
stairs sits another, crazed by love, (evident from the picture of his
beloved object round his neck, and the words "charming Betty Careless"
upon the bannisters, which he is supposed to scratch upon every wall and
every wainscot,) and wrapt up so close in melancholy pensiveness, as not
even to observe the dog that is flying at him. Behind him, and in the
inner room, are two persons maddened with ambition. These men, though
under the influence of the same passion, are actuated by different
notions; one is for the papal dignity, the other for regal; one imagines
himself the Pope, and saying mass; the other fancies himself a King, is
encircled with the emblem of royalty, and is casting contempt on his
imaginary subjects by an act of the greatest disdain. To brighten this
distressful scene, and draw a smile from him whose rigid reasoning might
condemn the bringing into public view this blemish of humanity, are two
women introduced, walking in the gallery, as curious spectators of this
melancholy sight; one of whom is supposed, in a whisper, to bid the
other observe the naked man, which she takes an opportunity of doing by
a leer through the sticks of her fan.
Thus, imagining the hero of our piece to expire raving mad, the story is
finished, and little else remains but to close it with a proper
application. Reflect then, ye parents, on this tragic tale; consider
with yourselves, that the ruin of a child is too often owing to the
imprudence of a father. Had the young man, whose story we have related,
been taught the proper use of money, had his parent given him some
insight into life, and graven, as it were, upon his heart, the precepts
of religion, with an abhorrence of vice, our youth would, in all
probability, have taken a contrary course, lived a credit to his
friends, and an honour to his country.
[Illustration: THE RAKE'S PROGRESS.
PLATE 8.
SCENE IN BEDLAM.]
THE DISTRESSED POET.
This Plate describes, in the strongest colours, the distress of an
author without friends to patronise him. Seated upon the side of his
bed, without a shirt, but wrapped in an old night-gown, he is now
spinning a poem upon "Riches:" of their _use_ he probably knoweth
little; and of their _abuse_,--if judgment can be formed from
externals,--_certes_, he knoweth less. Enchanted, impressed, inspired
with his subject, he is disturbed by a nymph of the _lactarium_. Her
shrill-sounding voice awakes one of the _little loves_, whose _chorus_
disturbs his meditations. A link of the golden chain is broken!--a
thought is lost!--to recover it, his hand becomes a substitute for the
barber's comb:--enraged at the noise, he tortures his head for the
fleeting idea; but, ah! no thought is there!
Proudly conscious that the lines already written are sterling, he
possesses by anticipation the mines of Peru, a view of which hangs over
his head. Upon the table we see "Byshe's Art of Poetry;" for, like the
pack-horse, who cannot travel without his _bells_, he cannot climb the
hill of Parnassus without his _jingling-book_. On the floor lies the
"Grub-street Journal," to which valuable repository of genius and taste
he is probably a contributor. To show that he is a master of the
PROFOUND, and will envelope his subject in a cloud, his pipe and
tobacco-box, those friends to cogitation deep, are close to him.
His wife, mending that part of his dress, in the pockets of which the
affluent keep their gold, is worthy of a better fate. Her figure is
peculiarly interesting. Her face, softened by adversity, and marked with
domestic care, is at this moment agitated by the appearance of a
boisterous woman, insolently demanding payment of the milk-tally. In the
excuse she returns, there is a mixture of concern, complacency, and
mortification. As an addition to the distresses of this poor family, a
dog is stealing the remnant of mutton incautiously left upon a chair.
The sloping roof, and projecting chimney, prove the throne of this
inspired bard to be high above the crowd;--it is a garret. The chimney
is ornamented with a _dare for larks_, and a book; a loaf, the
tea-equipage, and a saucepan, decorate the shelf. Before the fire hangs
half a shirt, and a pair of ruffled sleeves. His sword lies on the
floor; for though our professor of poetry waged no war, except with
words, a sword was, in the year 1740, a necessary appendage to every
thing which called itself "gentleman." At the feet of his domestic
seamstress, the full-dress coat is become the resting-place of a cat and
two kittens: in the same situation is one stocking, the other is half
immersed in the washing-pan. The broom, bellows, and mop, are scattered
round the room. The open door shows us that their cupboard is
unfurnished, and tenanted by a hungry and solitary mouse. In the corner
hangs a long cloak, well calculated to conceal the threadbare wardrobe
of its fair owner.
Mr. Hogarth's strict attention to propriety of scenery, is evinced by
the cracked plaistering of the walls, broken window, and uneven floor,
in the miserable habitation of this poor weaver of madrigals. When this
was first published, the following quotation from Pope's "Dunciad" was
inscribed under the print:
"Studious he sate, _with all his books_ around,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound:
Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there;
Then wrote and flounder'd on, in mere despair."
_All his books_, amounting to _only four_, was, I suppose, the artist's
reason for erasing the lines.
[Illustration: THE DISTRESSED POET.]
THE BENCH.
CHARACTER, CARICATURA, AND OUTRE.
It having been universally acknowledged that Mr. Hogarth was one of the
most ingenious painters of his age, and a man possessed of a vast store
of humour, which he has sufficiently shown and displayed in his numerous
productions; the general approbation his works receive, is not to be
wondered at. But, as owing to the false notions of the public, not
thoroughly acquainted with the true art of painting, he has been often
called a _caricaturer_; when, in reality, _caricatura_ was no part of
his profession, he being a true copier of Nature; to set this matter
right, and give the world a just definition of the words, _character_,
_caricatura_, and _outre_, in which humorous painting principally
consists, and to show their difference of meaning, he, in the year 1758,
published this print; but, as it did not quite answer his purpose,
giving an illustration of the word _character_ only, he added, in the
year 1764, the group of heads above, which he never lived to finish,
though he worked upon it the day before his death. The lines between
inverted commas are our author's own words, and are engraved at the
bottom of the plate.
"There are hardly any two things more essentially different than
_character_ and _caricatura_; nevertheless, they are usually confounded,
and mistaken for each other; on which account this explanation is
attempted.
"It has ever been allowed, that when a _character_ is strongly marked in
the living face, it may be considered as an index of the mind, to
express which, with any degree of justness, in painting, requires the
utmost efforts of a great master. Now that, which has of late years got
the name of _caricatura_, is, or ought to be, totally divested of every
stroke that hath a tendency to good drawing; it may be said to be a
species of lines that are produced, rather by the hand of chance, than
of skill; for the early scrawlings of a child, which do but barely hint
the idea of a human face, will always be found to be like some person or
other, and will often form such a comical resemblance, as, in all
probability, the most eminent _caricaturers_ of these times will not be
able to equal, with design; because their ideas of objects are so much
more perfect than children's, that they will, unavoidably, introduce
some kind of drawing; for all the humorous effects of the fashionable
manner of _caricaturing_, chiefly depend on the surprise we are under,
at finding ourselves caught with any sort of similitude in objects
absolutely remote in their kind. Let it be observed, the more remote in
their nature, the greater is the excellence of these pieces. As a proof
of this, I remember a famous _caricatura_ of a certain Italian singer,
that struck at first sight, which consisted only of a straight
perpendicular stroke, with a dot over. As to the French word _outre_, it
is different from the rest, and signifies nothing more than the
exaggerated outlines of a figure, all the parts of which may be, in
other respects, a perfect and true picture of nature. A giant or a dwarf
may be called a common man, _outre_. So any part, as a nose, or a leg,
made bigger, or less than it ought to be, is that part _outre_, which is
all that is to be understood by this word, injudiciously used to the
prejudice of _character_."--ANALYSIS OF BEAUTY, chap. vi.
To prevent these distinctions being looked upon as dry and
unentertaining, our author has, in this group of faces, ridiculed the
want of capacity among some of our judges, or dispensers of the law,
whose shallow discernment, natural disposition, or wilful inattention,
is here perfectly described in their faces. One is amusing himself in
the course of trial, with other business; another, in all the pride of
self-importance, is examining a former deposition, wholly inattentive to
that before him; the next is busied in thoughts quite foreign to the
subject; and the senses of the last are locked fast in sleep.
The four sages on the Bench, are intended for Lord Chief Justice Sir
John Willes, the principal figure; on his right hand, Sir Edward Clive;
and on his left, Mr. Justice Bathurst, and the Hon. William Noel.
[Illustration: THE BENCH.]
THE LAUGHING AUDIENCE.
"Let him laugh now, who never laugh'd before;
And he who always laugh'd, laugh now the more."