"Pray, Sir, do you happen to recollect where these lines are to be

found?" He took some time to consider, and then answered, "Somewhere in

Pope."--"I find you are well read in the Poets," said Fuseli.--

Discoursing with a lady upon sculpture, who, however, was too well read

in the classics to be a subject of his mischievous pleasantry, he

pretended to inform her of a fine bas-relief which had been received

by the Royal Academy from Rome. "What is the subject?" sheasked.--

"Hector and Andromache," said he, "dashing out against a wall, the

little Astyanax's brains." "Poh! why do you tell me such stuff?"

said she. "Ay! _you_ may laugh," replied Fuseli, "but it would go down

with many a one. I have often said such things in company without

detection; only try it yourself at the next lord's house you may visit,

and see how many fine ladies and dandies will detect you."

His powers in conversation were usually greater than those displayed in

his writings, for in the latter he was always hesitating, and generally

aiming at terseness, to convey his meaning in the fewest possible words;

hence he was sometimes ambiguous, and often obscure. I ventured once to

hint this to him, and he answered, "I endeavour to put as much

information into a page, as some authors scatter through a chapter; and

you know, 'that words are the daughters of earth, and things, the sons

of heaven;' and by this sentiment I am guided."

Little can now be gathered, after such a lapse of years, of his

oratorical powers in the pulpit. But his friend Lavater says, "Nature

designed him for a great orator:" we must then bow to the authority of a

man of his eminence, who had frequently heard Fuseli preach. He,

however, delivered the powerful language in which his lectures are

written in a strong voice, with proper emphasis, and with precision.

Their effect, however, was in some degree lost to those who were not

accustomed to his German pronunciation.

His want of taste for mathematics and the pure physical sciences, and

consequent ignorance of them, has been noticed, and this led him into

some incongruities in his paintings. In a picture of Lycidas, which he

was executing for Mr. Carrick Moore, he introduced the sun just rising

above the horizon, with a full moon, not in opposition to the sun, but

upon the same side. Mr. Moore attempted to convince Fuseli that the moon

never appeared full but when she was diametrically opposite to the sun:

but failing in this, he advised him to consult his friend Bonnycastle,

the Astronomer, upon the point. Some time after, Mr. Moore saw the

picture again, and found that the full moon was changed to a

crescent.--"Ho! ho!" said he, "so, Bonnycastle has convinced you of your

error?" "No such thing," answered Fuseli. "He did not say the full moon

was wrong; but, as she appears inclined to her quadrature, that it was

as well to paint her so; and I have done it."

CHAPTER XIV.

Fuseli's inherent shyness of disposition.--His opinions of various

noted individuals, viz. Dr. Johnson, Sterne, Sir Joshua Reynolds,

Gibbon, Horne Tooke, and Thomas Paine.--His cultivation of English

notions and habits.--His attachment to civil and religious

liberty.--His intimacy with theatrical matters.--His adventure at a

Masquerade.--His powers as a Critic, both in Literature and Art,

with various illustrative examples.--His impressions of

Religion.--One of his Letters on Literature.

The professional excellence, ready wit, great learning and acquirements

in the classics and general literature, which Fuseli possessed, made his

society coveted; and he might have associated with men of the highest

rank and greatest talents of his time. But from childhood, he was of a

very shy disposition, and not apt to make new acquaintances. When a boy,

if a stranger happened to visit at his father's house, he would run away

and hide himself; and with a similar feeling, through life, he

contented himself with the association and attentions of old and tried

friends, without attempting to make new acquaintances; and has often

refused a pleasant dinner-party to meet some known friends, if he

understood that one or two strangers were invited to be of the party.

This shyness gave to many the notion that he was a man of morose

disposition, of severity of conduct, and of uncouth manners. But they

who enjoyed his friendship, witnessed his domestic habits and happiness,

and thus had opportunities of forming an accurate opinion of the good

qualities of his heart and mind, know well the erroneousness of these

opinions.

Fuseli would often be very amusing by giving anecdotes, and sometimes

his opinion, of the merits of several of the literary characters whom he

had met in company, or with whom he had associated. A few of his

remarks, in addition to those already given, recur to memory. Of Dr.

Johnson, whom he sometimes saw at Sir Joshua Reynolds' table, he said,

"Johnson had to a physiognomist a good face, but he was singular in all

his movements; he was not so uncouth in appearance and manners as has

been represented by some; he sat at table in a large bushy wig and brown

coat, and behaved decently enough. On one occasion, the conversation

turned upon ghosts and witches, in the existence of which he believed,

and his only argument was, "that great and good men in all times had

believed in them." My fingers itched to be at him, but I knew, if I got

the better of the argument, that his celebrity was so great, it would

not be credited.--"You know," he continued, "that I hate superstition.

When I was in Switzerland, speaking with Lavater upon the appearance of

the spirit after death, it was agreed between us, that if it were

allowed by the Deity to visit earth, the first who died should appear to

the other; my friend was the most scrupulous man in existence, with

regard to his word; he is dead, and I have not seen him."--Of Sterne he

said, that "he was a good man, knew what was right, and had excellent

qualities, but was weak in practice. When I was invited to meet him at

Johnson's, I expected to hear from the author of 'The Sentimental

Journey,' (which I esteem the most original of books,) either wit, or

pathos, or both; when I saw him, he was certainly nearly worn out, and I

was miserably disappointed, as nothing then seemed to please him but

talking obscenely."--The description which he gave of Sir Joshua

Reynolds was, "that he had an insignificant face, but he possessed

quickness of apprehension; he was no scholar, and a bad speaker. In his

art, he took infinite pains at first to finish his work; but afterwards,

when he had acquired a greater readiness of hand, he dashed on with his

brush. "There is a degree of arrogance," said he, "in Sir Joshua's

portraits, for all his boys are men, his girls women. Sir Joshua,

unassisted with a sitter, had no idea of a face; he copied nature, and

yet there is a perfect degree of originality in his paintings; he had

the affectation to deny genius." Of Gibbon he remarked, "that he had a

good forehead, but a measured way of studying whatever he said." Of

Horne Tooke,--"Tooke is undoubtedly a man of talents; but he is the

greatest chatterer I ever sat down with; one cannot, in his company, put

in a word edgewise; he, however, wishes to be thought a good German

scholar, but in this he is very superficial." He sometimes met Thomas

Paine in society, and has remarked to me, "that he was far from being

energetic in company; to appreciate his powers, you must read his works,

and form your opinion from them, and not from his conversation. Paine

knew less of the common concerns of life than I do, who know little; for

when he has had occasion to remove from lodgings, he hardly knew how to

procure or make an agreement for others, and our friend Johnson[64]

latterly managed these concerns for him. When the popular cry was much

against Paine, it was thought prudent by his friends, that he should

remove from his apartments; and others were taken for him by Johnson,

about four miles distant from those which he inhabited. They went there

in a hackney-coach, for such a vehicle could contain them, with all the

moveables which Paine possessed. On their arrival at the new abode,

Paine discovered that half a bottle of brandy was left behind; now

brandy being an important thing to Paine, he urged Johnson to drive back

to fetch it. 'No, Mr. Paine,' said he, 'it would not be right to spend

eight shillings in coach-hire, to regain one shilling's-worth of

brandy.' Paine was an excellent mechanic; when Sharpe was about to

engrave my picture of 'The Contest of Satan, Sin, and Death,' he

employed a carpenter to construct a roller to raise or fall it at

pleasure; in this, after several ineffectual attempts, he did not

succeed to the expectations of Sharpe, who mentioned the circumstance in

the hearing of Paine; he instantly offered his services, and set to work

upon it, and soon accomplished all, and indeed more than the engraver

had anticipated."

In his notions and habits, Fuseli was completely an Englishman; and

although, when he spoke, no one could take him for such, yet he disliked

to be thought a foreigner; and he has sometimes said to me, "When I

speak in any of the established languages of Europe, I am every where

considered a foreigner, even when I discourse in German, our language at

Zurich being a _Patois_; but I can assure you that this is nervous, and

not without its beauties." No man was a greater stickler for civil and

religious liberty than Fuseli, and no man had a deeper horror of the

slave trade, or a greater dislike to impressing seamen. Paying a visit

to his friend Roscoe, at Liverpool, in the year 1804, this gentleman

pointed out to him all the improvements which had been made in the town

since he was there last, which was within a few years. He observed, "I

do not wonder that you look upon these with some degree of

self-complacency; for they may be considered as the work of your hands,

and as such I view them with interest; but methinks I every where smell

the blood of slaves."[65]

Fuseli esteemed the English character more highly than that of any other

country, and was much pleased with their amusements. The theatre was a

constant source of gratification, and his criticisms on plays and

players were usually severe, but generally acute and just. Meeting

Macklin at Johnson's table, he shewed such deep knowledge in the art in

which that celebrated man was so successful, not only as a writer, but

as an actor, that when Fuseli took his leave, Macklin exclaimed, "I

could sit all night to discourse with that learned Theban." Of Miss

O'Neill he always spoke favourably, and considered that her merits as

an actress, however highly they were esteemed, had been undervalued

rather than overrated. Of Mr. Betty, in 1822, he said, "If his face, on

the whole, do not sanction a prophecy of unrivalled excellence, it does

not exclude him from attaining eminence. Mrs. Pritchard was the allowed

Lady Macbeth of her day, without one tragic feature, or one elegant

limb. It is indeed a little provoking, that he who in Dublin inthralled

the general female eye, when his golden locks inundated his neck,--he

whose kerchief the _ladies_ at Bath of late cut out into a thousand

amulets of love, should be less than the theatric sun of London;--but

still

'Principibus placuisse _Feminis_

Non ultima laus est.'--

If I have murdered Horace's verse, I have improved the sense. As to

former actors, the pupils of Betterton and Booth would probably have

turned up their noses at Barry and Garrick--'But to praise the past,'

has always been a characteristic of age." He was an admirer of Kean in

some characters which he played, particularly in his Shylock. But he

considered that this actor took too wide a range. In writing to a

friend, he says, "I have seen Kean and Mrs. West in Orestes and

Hermione, and desire to see _them_ no more. What could excite the public

rapture at his first appearance in this part, I am at a loss to guess:

if his figure is not absolutely irreconcileable with the character, his

action and expression are balanced between the declamation of Talma, the

ravings of a bedlamite, and sometimes the barking of a dog. Mrs. West is

something of a slender Grecian figure, tall, not ungraceful, and a face

something like Mrs. Madyn's: she was well dressed, and has a good voice,

but no rule of it, and tore her part to tatters in one uninterrupted fit

of raving." In the Italian opera, and in operas in general, he did not

take much delight; for in music his ear was certainly imperfect; but

notwithstanding this, some few simple airs affected him strongly. In

speaking of music, he said, "All your complicated harmonies of Haydn and

Beethoven are fine, I know; because they are esteemed to be so by the

best judges; but I am ignorant, and they say nothing to me. They give to

me no more pleasure than a fine anatomical foreshortened drawing by

Michael Angelo would to an unpractised eye. But the song, 'How imperfect

is expression,' is the key to my heart. How could a Frenchman write it?

Lady Guilford once sang it to me so exquisitely, that I only wished to

hear it over and over again, and to die when it ceased." He always held

an opinion, that the English and French, as nations, possessed no genius

or taste for music, and that their apparent attachment to this science

was assumed, and not natural. Of masquerades, he considered that

Englishmen neither possess the animal spirits nor quickness of repartee

requisite for this amusement, but are apt to drop the fictitious

character they assume, and take up their real one. He instanced this by

the following anecdote:--"At the request of young Lavater, when he was

in England, I went to a masquerade at the Opera House: we were

accompanied by my wife, Mrs. Wollstonecraft, and some others, and were

endeavouring to be amused by the masks, when a devil came howling about

us, and tormented some of the party to such a degree, that I exclaimed

in a loud voice, 'Go to hell!' but the dull devil, instead of answering

in character, 'Then I will drag you down with me,' or making some bitter

retort, put himself into a real passion, and began to abuse me roundly.

So I, to avoid him, retired from the place, and left the others of the

party to battle it out."

As a critic, Fuseli's powers can be best estimated by his writings. In

art--his "Lectures," "Notes to Pilkington's Dictionary," his

"Aphorisms," and "The Fragment of a History of Art," may be instanced.

In the classics--but more particularly in Greek,--by the written

opinions of Cowper, and the oral testimony given in society, by Porson,

Parr, Burney, Symmons, and others. In consequence of his extensive

knowledge in the dead languages, the situation of "Professor of Ancient

Literature" to the Royal Academy became nearly a sinecure, as he

afforded information upon all classical subjects, and furnished the

mottoes for the annual catalogues of the exhibition, which were usually

in Greek, but sometimes in Latin. He, however, kept up the most friendly

intercourse with the Professor of the time, and frequently corresponded

with him, particularly so with Dr. Charles Burney, upon disputed points

or doubtful passages. I am favoured by Dr. Charles Parr Burney with the

following letter, which Fuseli wrote to his father:--

"Somerset House, July 7, 1805.

"MY DEAR SIR,

"You have so often answered my questions, whether pertinent or

idle, that I hope you will do the same now.

"At what period of Greek literature did the word Rheethron,

'fluentum,' change its gender, and from a neuter become a

masculine? In Homer, I believe, it is uniformly neuter, kala,

erateina rheethra: what then do you say to the following

metamorphosis?

Par keladonta rheethron

ho melanchlainos anêr, &c.?

page 250, of an Analytical Inquiry into the Principles of Taste, by

_Richard Payne, Knight_; which is so much the more puzzling, as in

a preceding page, 144, he seems to allow, or to know that it is

neuter, by talking of agraphikon Rheethron? I am afraid the Rheethra of

the Scamander were not the only ones to boil an eel in.

"I am, with great sincerity,

"My dear Sir,

"Devoutly yours,

"Henry Fuseli."

Fuseli corrected many editions of Clarke's Homer, for the use of

students, as they passed through the press, and gave some notes in

Latin, to which the initial letter F. is affixed. An instance may be

offered, not only of his knowledge of this language, but of his power in

recalling words to his recollection. In a Greek Lexicon which he had,

several leaves were wanting, and as an exercise to his memory, he

endeavoured to supply these in his own hand-writing, without reference

to another work.

In general literature, his critical knowledge may be estimated by the

numerous articles which he wrote for the Analytical Review, which are

easily to be distinguished by the peculiarity of their style; and they

generally have the initials Z. Z. affixed; but if it be necessary to

point out any in particular, for the guidance of the reader, the reviews

which have been inserted, page 81, of Cowper's Homer, and Roscoe's

Lorenzo de' Medici, may be instanced. He was not less powerful in _vivá

voce_ criticisms than in his written ones; one or two instances of this,

with regard to works of art, will suffice. In Northcote's picture of

Hubert and Arthur, painted for the Shakspeare Gallery, Hubert is

represented with one hand on his brow, undetermined, and apparently

melted with the touching supplications of Arthur, who, kneeling at his

feet, is shewn clasping his knees.

Fuseli on seeing this picture, said, "He has taken the wrong moment, for

whoever looks at that hesitating Hubert must see that the boy is safe,

the danger past, and the interest gone. He should have chosen the

moment when Hubert stamps with his foot, and cries, 'Come forth; do as I

bid you;' and two ruffians should have appeared rushing in with red-hot

irons; then the scene would have been such as it ought to

be,--terrible." Condemning in general terms a large historical picture,

which a person at table had admired; he was asked for some specific

fault: "Why," said he, "the fellow has crammed into his canvass fifteen

figures, besides a horse, and, by G--d! he has given only three legs

among them." "Why, where has he hidden the others?" was asked. "How

should I know?" he answered, "I did not paint the picture; but I wonder

how any one can talk of a painter and praise him, who has given fifteen

men and a horse only three legs."

Shortly after the first exhibition of the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds,

at the British Institution, he wrote the following criticisms,[66] among

others, upon his pictures of Ugolino, of Dido, and the Infant Hercules,

which may probably be perused with interest, as they have not appeared

in print.

UGOLINO.

"Daimoni' out' ar ti megalizomai oud' atherizô

Oude liên agamai mala d' eu oid' hoios eêstha."[67]

Od. p. [23.] 174.

"From whatever cause this face became that of Ugolino,--whether its

original were that of a noble or a pauper, it is a standard of

grief;--but, more habitual than sudden, the grief of one whom

"sharp misery had long worn to the bones,"--not of him whom

fortune's quick reverse dashed headlong on to despair. The manner

in which he is grouped with his infant son, as it increases the

contrast, adds to our sympathy,--which is however obtained not only

at the expense of the story, but of nature. The whole family were

shut up together in the cage; and when the vigorous partners of the

father in arms writhe in the agonies of hunger, or, unable to

support themselves, droop in languor, is it natural to see a

blooming stripling, unaffected by either, at his ease console the

petrified father?"

THE DIDO.

"This is one of the few historic compositions any where, and

perhaps a solitary one in this collection, of which the principal

figure is the best and occupies the most conspicuous place. Riveted

to supreme beauty in the jaws of death, we pay little attention to

the subordinate parts, and scorn, when recovered from sympathy and

anguish, to expatiate in cold criticisms on their unfitness or

impotence. He who could conceive this Dido, could not be at a loss

for a better Anna, had he had a wish, or given himself time to

consult his own heart, rather than to adopt a precedent of

clamorous grief from Daniel di Volterra. That Iris was admitted at

all, without adequate room to display her, as the arbitress of the

moment, may be regretted; for if she could not be contrived to add

sublimity to pathos, she could be no more than what she actually

became, a tool of mean conception.

"The writer of these observations has seen the progress of this

work,--if not daily, weekly,--and knows the throes which it cost

its author before it emerged into the beauty, assumed the shape, or

was divided into the powerful masses of chiar' oscuro which strike

us now; of colour it never had, nor wants, more than what it

possesses now,--a negative share.

----'Non rem Colori

Sed colorem Rei submittere ausus.'

"The painter has proved the success of a great principle, less

understood than pertinaciously opposed."

THE INFANT HERCULES.

"No eminent work of art that we are acquainted with ever proved

with more irresistible evidence, the truth of Hesiod's axiom, that

"the half excels the whole," than the infant Demigod before us;

whose tremendous superiority of conception and style not only

scorns all alliance with the motley mob of whom the painter

condemned him to make a part, but cannot, with any degree of

justice, be degraded into a comparison with any figure which has

reached us, of an Infant Hercules on ancient or modern monuments of

art. Whatever homage conjecture may pay to the powers of Xeuxis,

whose "Jupiter Enthroned," and "Infant Hercules," tradition joins

as works of equal magnificence, it will be difficult for fancy to

seek an image of loftier or more appropriate conception than that

of the heroic child before us, whose magnitude of form,

irresistibility of grasp, indignant disdain, and sportive ease of

action, equally retain his divine origin, and disclose the germ of

the future power destined to clear society and rid the earth of

monsters.

"This infant, like the infants of Michael Angelo, and of what we

possess of the ancients, teems with the man, but without that

sacrifice of puerility observable in them. Modern art has allotted

the province of children to Fiammingo; it seems to belong, with a

less disputable title, to Reynolds, who inspired the pulpy cheeks

and milky limbs of the Fleming with the manners, (ÊTHÊ) habits, and

the mind of infancy, when first emerging form, instinct to will,

sprouts to puerility, displays the dawn of character, and the

varied symptoms of imitation; but above all, that unpremeditated

grace, the innate gift and privilege of childhood, in countenance,

attitude, and action."

Notwithstanding his great acquirements in the classics, acuteness of

mind, and knowledge of some of the branches of natural philosophy,

Fuseli neither solicited nor was offered any literary or other honours

(except those of the Royal Academy) in this country. Expressing one day

my surprise at this, he answered, "What are such things worth? for I

have known men on whom the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws has been

conferred by the University of Oxford, which prides itself for classical

knowledge, who cannot read correctly a line in the classics; and you

know those who are Fellows of the Royal Society, who do not possess a

philosophical knowledge even of the material on which they work."

Fuseli was seldom induced to speak on religion; but, as he attached

himself to no particular form or sect, which is frequently the case with

foreigners, it would be difficult to give a precise idea of his tenets.

In religion, however, as well as on all other concerns, he thought for

himself, unshackled by those restraints which forms, ceremonies, or

opinions, often impose on the mind. No man that I have ever conversed

with had a higher or more sublime notion of the attributes and

benevolence of the Deity, and no one a better knowledge of the Bible. In

this book he was deeply read, and recollected, when in conversation, not

only those parts which, for historical facts, sublimity, pathos, or

poetic beauty, are impressed on most minds, but also the minor

circumstances, for he could from memory trace the several tribes, and

tell you accurately the genealogy of any particular person. He seldom

took up the Bible, which he frequently did, without shedding tears. One

evening, when talking in a serious mood to a young lady, he related to

her, in his own peculiar and forcible manner, the story of "Joseph and

his Brethren," and with the greatest pathos; and at that part where

Joseph falls on Benjamin's neck and wept, he burst out, while tears

trembled in his eyes, "How finely that is expressed, there are beautiful

things in that book! It's an exquisite book!" He had a perfect reliance

on a future state of existence. "If I had not hope in this," he said, "I

should hang myself, for I have lived and still live for nothing. I am

certain I shall exist hereafter, for I feel that I have had powers given

to me by the Deity, which time has not allowed me to exert or even to

develope. I am capable of doing ten times more than I have done."

This prevailing impression broke forth on many occasions. He had

accompanied Sir Thomas Lawrence to see a collection of fine casts from

the antique, which had recently been formed by Jens Wolff, Esq. then

Consul to his Danish Majesty, and which were arranged in a gallery built

for the purpose by Mr. Smirke, at Sherwood Lodge, Battersea.

In a niche, at the end of the gallery, was placed the colossal statue of

the Farnese Hercules, and by a novel arrangement of the lamps (the rest

of the gallery being in total darkness), a very powerful effect was

given to the statue, which had been turned with its back to the

spectator, and thus presented a vast mass of shadow, defined only by its

grand outline and the strength of the light beyond it; the source of

which was concealed by the pedestal. Its appearance being singularly

striking, in the course of the evening, Mr. Fuseli was taken down to see

it. Sir Thomas Lawrence attended him, and for a few moments was

disappointed by the silence of his friend; but on a servant bringing a

light into the entrance-room, he perceived Fuseli excited even to tears,

as he exclaimed with deep tremulous energy, "No man shall persuade me,

that these emotions which I now feel are not immortal."

In farther corroboration of his opinions on this point, I may give the

following conversation which I heard. Fuseli was maintaining the

immortality of the soul; a gentleman present said, "I could make you or

any man of sense disbelieve this in half an hour's conversation." Fuseli

immediately answered, "That I am sure you could not, and I will take

care you shan't."

Being pressed one day by his friend, the Reverend John Hewlett; upon his

belief in the resurrection of Christ, that gentleman informs me, he

answered, "I believe in a resurrection; and the resurrection of Christ

is as well authenticated as any other historical fact." Although he was

averse to religious controversy, and seldom entered into it, yet, if his

forbearance made others press the subject, he soon shewed that he was

not ignorant of the respective merits of the polemics in the Christian

Church, who have in all times broached and supported contrary opinions

upon disputed points. He has more than once said to me, "There are now

no real Christians, for the religion of Christ died with its great

Author; for where do we witness in those who bear his name, the

humility, self abasement, and charity of their master, which qualities

he not only taught, but practised?"

A detection of parallel passages in authors, or of similar figures in

the pictures of painters, was a favourite amusement of Fuseli's, and he

would sometimes indulge in these to the gratification and instruction of

the company by the hour together, for no man was more acute in

discovering plagiarism. I have been indulged by the kindness of a lady

of great literary attainments with the following letter, which will give

some notion of his power in this respect, as far as literature is

concerned.

"Norbury Park.

"Some one, who had a right to write what he liked, even

nonsense;--Tiberius, I believe, began a letter to the Roman senate

thus: 'Conscript Fathers, you expect a letter from me; but may all

the gods and goddesses confound me, if I know on what to write, how

to begin, how to go on, or what to leave out:' his perplexity arose

certainly from a cause very different from that which occasions

mine, though the result appears to be nearly the same. Had I

brought my eyes and mind with me, I might perhaps offer some

tolerable observations on the charms that surround me, to one who

is all eye and all mind; but she who is really possessed by one

great object, is blind to all others; and though Milton could never

have been the poet of 'Paradise Lost,' had he been born blind,

blindness was of service to him when he composed it.

"When I saw you last, you wished me to point out the passage in

Tasso, which appeared to me copied from the Homeric description of

the Cestus of Venus, in the Fourteenth Book of the Ilias; I have

transcribed it from one which I found here in the library:--

"Teneri sdegni, e placide e tranquille

Repulse, cari vezzi, e liete paci,

Sorrisi, parolette, e dolci stille

Di pianto, e sospir tronchi, e molli baci:

Fuse tai cose tutte, e poscia unille,

Ed al foco temprò di lente faci;

E ne formò quel sì mirabil cinto,

Di ch' ella aveva il bel fianco succincto.'

"These ingredients have been tried, they have been tasted, they are

the fruits of a lover's paradise; yet, here they are nothing but an

empty catalogue; and if they have a charm, it lies in the melting

genius of the language: compare them with the following lines from

the Vision of Arthur, in Spenser.

"Caresses sweet, and lovely blandishment,

She to me made, and bade me love her dear,

For dearly sure her love to me was bent,

As when meet time approached, should appear;

But whether dreams delude, or true it were,

Was never heart so ravished with delight.

"When I awoke and found her place devoid,

And nought but pressed grass, where she had lyen,

I sorrowed as much as erst I joyed,

And washed all the place with watery eyn;

From that day forth I cast in careful mind,

To seek her out----

"Thus, as he spoke, his visage waxed pale.

Here is soul, action, passion.

"Adieu,

"Henry Fuseli."

CHAPTER XV.

Character of Fuseli as an Artist.--His early style.--His ardent

pursuit of excellence in design.--His neglect of mechanical means,

particularly as regards Colours.--His professional independence,

unmixed with obstinacy.--His preeminent faculty of invention, and

success in the portraiture of the ideal.--His deficiencies as to

correctness, and disinclination to laborious finish.--Causes of his

limited popularity as a Painter.--His felicity in Likenesses.--His

colour and chiar' oscuro.--His qualities as a Teacher of the Fine

Arts.--His ardent love of Art.--Arrangements as to the disposal of

his Works, &c.--List of his Subjects exhibited at the Royal

Academy, from 1774 to 1825.

It now remains to speak of Fuseli as an artist, and on this subject it

is not necessary to be very diffuse, having been favoured with the able

article, to be found in the Appendix, from the pen of William Young

Ottley, Esq., a gentleman who was for many years the intimate friend of

Fuseli, whose talents as an _amateur_ artist, whose knowledge, taste,

and judgment in the Fine Arts are so eminently conspicuous, and whose

claims to distinction are so well known to the public by his various

works.

It has been shewn throughout this memoir, that the Fine Arts was the

ruling passion of Fuseli, but that his father took more than ordinary

pains to prevent his becoming an artist, and even checked his wishes to

practise in the Fine Arts as an amusement; hence, the benefits which are

considered to arise from that early education which artists usually

receive, were altogether withheld from him. His style of drawing in

early life was formed from those prints, which he could only consult by

stealth, in his father's collection, and these were chiefly from the

German school. From this circumstance, his early works have figures

short in stature, with muscular, but clumsy limbs. But in the invention

of the subject, even in his youth, he took the most striking moment, and

impressed it with novelty and grandeur; hence some of his early

productions tell the stories which they are intended to represent, with

a wonderful felicity, and, in this respect, are little inferior to his

later works; a circumstance which he himself was not backward to

acknowledge. Fuseli always aimed to arrive at the highest point of

excellence, particularly in design, and constantly avowed it. When

young, he wrote in the Album of a friend, "I do not wish to build a

cottage, but to erect a pyramid;" and to this precept he adhered during

life, scorning to be less than the greatest. Until he was twenty-five

years of age, he had never used oil colours; and he was so inattentive

to these materials, that during life he took no pains in their choice or

manipulation. To set a palette, as artists usually do, was with him out

of the question; he used many of his colours in a dry, powdered state,

and rubbed them up with his pencil only, sometimes in oil alone, which

he used largely, at others, with an addition of a little spirit of

turpentine, and not unfrequently in gold size; regardless of the

quantity of either, or their general smoothness when laid on, and

depending, as it would appear to a spectator, more on accident for the

effect which they were intended to produce, than on any nice distinction

of tints in the admixture or application of the materials. It appears

doubtful whether this deficiency in his early education, and his neglect

also of mechanical means, will be detrimental to his fame as an artist,

particularly in the minds of those who can penetrate beyond the surface;

for if he had been subjected to the trammels of a school, his genius

would have been fettered; and it is then probable that we should have

lost those daring inventions, that boldness and grandeur of drawing,

(incorrect, certainly, sometimes in anatomical precision,) so fitting

to his subjects, and that mystic _chiar' oscuro_, which create our

wonder and raise him to the first rank as an artist. He was always proud

of having it believed that, in the Fine Arts in particular, in some of

the languages, and in many branches of literature, he had arrived at

celebrity and eminence, more by his own unassisted endeavours than from

the instructions of others. And, in reference to this, he on one

occasion exclaimed, in the words of Glendower, with a considerable

degree of self-complacency--

"Where is he living, clipped in with the sea

That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,

Which calls me pupil!"[68]

After quitting his paternal roof, the first work of art which, as I have

before stated, appeared to impress his mind with the grandeur of its

proportions, was Rëichel's colossal figure of St. Michael, over the

gateway of the Arsenal at Augsburg; and he afterwards, from having seen

this, altered in some degree the proportions of his figures. But still,

most of the faults of the German school, in this particular, remained,

until after he had visited Italy. The works of the ancients in

sculpture, the frescoes of Michael Angelo and Raphael, and the oil

paintings of the great masters of the Italian school which he studied

there, particularly the two first, produced a still greater change in

the proportions of his figures, and he founded his future works upon

them: if, however, any figure or group of figures may be quoted to have

had a greater influence in this, or to have impressed his mind with more

than ordinary notions of grandeur, the two colossal marble statues[69]

by Phidias and Praxiteles upon Monte Cavallo, may be instanced; these

chiefly regulated his proportions and influenced his style, although it

must be acknowledged that, in the length of limbs, he frequently

exceeded them. I have heard him dilate upon the sensations which were

produced upon his mind when he has sometimes contemplated these grand

works of art, on an evening, when the sky was murky for some distance

above the horizon, and they were illuminated by occasional flashes of

vivid lightning.

Fuseli paid much attention, and gave due consideration to the

suggestions of others, respecting his own performances, particularly

with regard to the proportions of his figures, and indeed courted the

observations not only of the learned, but of those also who are

unskilled in the art, and usually profited by their remarks. When Mr.

Ottley, then a very young man, and always an admirer of the Fine Arts,

was introduced to him by Mr. Seward, in the year 1789, he was painting

the picture of "Wolfram introducing Bertram of Navarre to the place

where he had confined his wife with the skeleton of her Lover,"[70]

which was exhibited the following year, this gentleman observed, "I like

your composition much, but I think the proportions of the figures in the

back-ground, those, I mean, of the Baron and his friend, too long in the

lower limbs." Fuseli paused for a time, and then answered, "You are

right," and immediately reduced them in height.

In invention, which is not within the rules of art, and therefore may

be considered the highest quality of a poet or a painter; no man has

gone beyond him, and perhaps he possessed this quality in a higher

degree than any other artist, since the restoration of the Fine Arts in

Europe. The _portfolios_ of drawings which he left, fully establish his

claim, in this respect, to his being considered a genius of the first

class, and as such place him in the highest rank of artists, Michael

Angelo and Raphael not excepted. These drawings were made with wonderful

felicity and facility; and a spectator would be astonished to see with

what ease and power he invented and executed them. In telling the story

of the subject, he was never deficient; and the designs made by him

would be enough to occupy the lives of many painters to put them upon

canvass; for there was no very striking incident in the poets in

particular, or in the historians, from Hesiod down to our own times,

which, at some period of his long life, had not been the subject of his

pencil. On his drawings, he usually put the time when, and place where

made; but I know of no instance of his having placed either his name or

a monogram upon a picture.

No artist had a more vivid fancy than Fuseli, or was more happy in

pourtraying superhuman and ideal beings: thus, the visions of Dante and

Spenser, and the poetic flights of Shakspeare and Milton, were stamped

even with originality by his pencil; and those scenes which, from their

difficulty to be represented on paper or on canvass, would deter most

artists from attempting them, were his favourite subjects; and in his

delineation of them, he may generally be placed on a par with, and he

occasionally soars above, the poet. Perhaps to no man can the following

lines be more aptly applied than to Fuseli:--

"The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the painter's brush

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation, and a name."

It is, therefore, in these visionary scenes in which he shone most, and

which defy competition; for "the daring pencil of Fuseli transports us

beyond the boundaries of nature, and ravishes us with the charm of the

most interesting novelty."[71] In works of this nature, an occasional

extravagance of drawing rather tends to encrease than to diminish their

interest; so he was thus enabled to introduce therein those heroic and

epic forms so peculiar to himself, which do not so well accord with

subjects of sober history. Fuseli frequently invented the subjects of

his pictures without the aid of the poet or historian, as in his

composition of "Ezzelin," "Belisaire," and some others; these he

denominated "philosophical ideas made intuitive, or sentiment

personified." On one occasion he was much amused by the following

enquiry of Lord Byron:--"I have been looking in vain, Mr. Fuseli, for

some months, in the poets and historians of Italy, for the subject of

your picture of Ezzelin; pray, where is it to be found?" "Only in my

brain, my Lord," was the answer; "for I invented it."

In composition, which has been not inaptly termed "the painter's

invention," he was very happy; for in his productions there are never

"figures to let;" but there is a general link, and one and all tend to

tell the story, and influence the spectator. The disposition and folding

of the drapery were always appropriate and good. He had a high feeling

of grandeur in his male, and of beauty in his female forms: although, in

the former, strength of muscular action is often exaggerated, and in the

latter there is occasionally a degree of apparent voluptuousness; yet

he gave to both great truth of physiognomic expression, being always

intent upon the intellectual part of his art. He was well acquainted

with osteology, or the form and position of the bones in the human body;

in these he seldom erred, although, perhaps, they were often too

strongly marked. He was also skilled in the theory of the anatomy of the

muscles; but as he never painted from, and seldom consulted, living

models after he quitted Italy, except when he occasionally acted as

"visitor in the Life Academy;" so, when he put a figure on paper or on

canvass into a position which he had never seen it assume, either in a

statue or in nature, he was occasionally incorrect in its muscular

action. The models in the "Life Academy" did not tend to correct him in

this, he being more intent upon the progress of the pupils than his own

information: they were therefore usually placed by him in attitudes to

correspond with the antique figures. As no individual form has been

found, in all its parts, to approach, in point of symmetry, to the

celebrated works of the ancient sculptors, so, when Fuseli has been

solicited to paint frequently from life, he has said, "Nature puts me

out;" meaning to convey this notion, that he searched in vain in the

individual for that beauty or grandeur which he had mentally

contemplated. Although he was happy in delineating playful scenes, yet

those which create terror or sympathy in the mind, were his general and

favourite subjects, and these he treated with great power; yet, in

carrying the terrible to its utmost limits, I know of no subject from

his pencil calculated to create horror or disgust. He invented and

composed his pictures with great rapidity, and if he thought of a

subject, and had not a canvass of a convenient size, it was frequently

his practice to rub in the new idea upon a finished picture; hence some

of his ablest productions are lost. As his mind was ever intent upon

something new, it cost him an effort to finish a picture; which

disposition, it appears, he inherited; for, in speaking of an ancestor,

Matthias Füessli, who died at Zurich in the year 1665, he thus expresses

himself:--"His extensive talent was checked by the freaks of an

ungovernable fancy, which seldom suffered him to finish his work. His

subjects, in general, were battles, towns pillaged, conflagrations,

storms."[72]

In painting his pictures, Fuseli used indiscriminately the right hand

or the left; but as the latter was more steady, if he were executing

subjects on a small scale, which required more than ordinary neatness of

touch, they were usually performed with the left. And although some of

his small pictures were highly finished, and touched with great

neatness, yet he excelled in those where the figures were of or above

the size of nature.

The subjects of his pencil were never very popular; because they were

generally drawn from poetic imagery, or from classical authors, which

require a poetic eye and mind in the spectator, or a deep knowledge in

the classics, to appreciate properly. He gloried in never having made

his pencil a pander to the public taste, and that he had lived by

painting what pleased himself, and was content to trust to time for a

correct appreciation of his merits. "For when," as he said, "envy shall

no longer hold the balance, the next century will become just, and the

master impede no more the fame of his works." In going home with him one

evening, in a coach, to Somerset House, after having left Mr. Johnson's

house, Bonnycastle being present, Fuseli put to him the following

question:--"Pray, Bonnycastle, what do you consider the reason that I am

not popular as a painter, in a country which has produced Shakspeare

and Milton?" Bonnycastle answered, "Because the public like familiar

subjects, in which there may be individual beauty with fine colouring."

"Is that their taste?" said Fuseli hastily: "then, if I am not their

painter, they are not my critics."

He had a happy method of giving likenesses, from memory, of those

persons whose physiognomic cast of countenance took his fancy; but the

only portraits which he painted regularly from life, were those of Dr.

Priestley, and Mrs. Neunham, a niece of Mr. Johnson's. The portrait of

Dr. Priestley is very characteristic; and Fuseli always felt convinced

that he should have succeeded as a portrait painter, beyond the

expectations of his contemporaries, if he had turned his attention to

that branch of the art.

It has been considered by some, who mistake style for manner, that

Fuseli was in all respects a mannerist. That his pictures always have a

marked and distinguishing character is true; but if he had a manner, it

was peculiarly his own, and it belongs to no other artist. It must

however, in justice, be confessed, that a sort of family-likeness runs

through many of his figures. But if the pictures which composed his

greatest work, the Milton Gallery, be critically compared, one with the

other, it will be found that, in the invention of them in particular,

few painters have made greater deviations than he has done; no two being

composed or painted upon precisely the same principles.

As a colourist, Fuseli has never ranked high; for in his works there is

generally nothing of that splendour which captivates us in the Venetian

and Dutch schools, as they usually have the sobriety of tone which is

more peculiar to fresco than to oil-painting; he was not unaware of

this, and expresses himself thus, in one of his lectures on colour:--"Of

this it is not for me to speak, who have courted, and still continue to

court--colour, as a lover courts a disdainful mistress." But if, by the

term colouring, be meant an adaptation of hues and general tone to the

nature of the subject represented, then he may be considered, in the

strictest sense of the word, a colourist. Yet, if we take a wider range,

we shall find many examples in his pictures which must be acknowledged

by every one to possess fine colour: thus, the back figure of a female

(Sin) in "The bridging of Chaos," the child in "The Lapland Witches,"

and the figure of Sin in the picture of "Sin pursued by Death," may be

adduced as unanswerable proofs of this fact.

When the excellence of particular pigments to produce fine colouring has

been the topic of conversation, he has said, "The colours, as now

prepared in England, are sufficently good; it only requires the mind and

eye to adapt, and the hand to regulate them."

In _chiar'oscuro_, or the art of giving a single figure, or a

composition of figures, their true light and shadow, Fuseli was a

perfect master, and deserves unmixed praise for the breadth of his

masses, and for directing the eye of the spectator to the principal

figures or features in his pictures. In this, perhaps, no master in the

British school has gone beyond him; for in his productions we witness

that union of subject and tone, brought about by a skilful adaptation

and disposition of light and shadow, which we look for in vain in the

works of many other painters.

As a teacher of the Fine Arts, whether Fuseli be considered in his

capacity of Professor of Painting, or in that of Master in the schools

of the Royal Academy, his knowledge stands unrivalled; in the first, for

critical acumen; and in the second, which now more properly comes under

consideration, for the soundness of his judgment, for the accuracy of

his eye, and for the extensive knowledge which he possessed of the works

of the ancient and modern masters. To the students he was a sure guide

and able master, ever ready to assist by his instructions modest merit,

and to repress assumption; and if he felt convinced that a youth was not

likely to arrive at eminence as an artist, he was the first to persuade

him to relinquish that pursuit, rather than proceed in the path which

would only end in ruin or disappointment. He always held the opinion,

however liable to objection, that there is no such thing in the universe

of mind as

----"a flower born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air;"

for every man, he considered, would shew what is in him, and do all that

his nature has qualified him to do. To those who presumed upon a talent

which they did not possess, no man was more severe. It was no uncommon

thing with him, if he found in the Antique Academy a young man careless

about the accuracy of his lines, and intent only upon giving a finished

appearance to his drawing, to cut in, with his sharp thumb nail, a

correct outline, and thus spoil, in the opinion of the student, his

elaborate work. That the English school of design gained great

advantages by his appointment of Keeper of the Academy, cannot be

doubted; and, to be convinced of this, it is only necessary to refer to

the able works of living artists, Hilton, Etty, Wilkie, Leslie,

Mulready, Haydon, Briggs, and others, who were his pupils.

Notwithstanding the variety of his acquisitions, and his profound

knowledge in, and love for, literature, his "ruling passion" was the

Fine Arts; but he never intruded them as the subject of conversation,

unless pressed to do so. He evinced this "ruling passion strong in

death;" for, just before his last illness, he had sent two pictures for

the then ensuing exhibition of the Royal Academy; the larger one, "A

Scene from Comus," finished; the smaller, "Psyche passing the Fates," in

an unfinished state, intending, as is the common practice with the

Academicians, to glaze and harmonize this picture in the situation where

it was to be placed. Its unfinished condition frequently occupied his

thoughts during his illness, and he, but two days before his death,

spoke of it with great solicitude to Sir Thomas Lawrence, wishing it

either to be withdrawn, or that some painter of talents would harmonize

it for him. The last work on which his pencil was employed, and on

which he painted a few days previously to his death, was a scene from

Shakspeare's King John: in this picture, the figure of Lady Constance in

particular, is finely designed, and grief is admirably depicted in her

countenance; he was painting this for James Carrick Moore, Esq., and it

was nearly completed when he died.

The works of art, and the library, which Fuseli left, were disposed of

as follows:--His drawings and sketches were purchased at a liberal

price, by Sir Thomas Lawrence.[73] The Marquis of Bute, the Countess of

Guilford, and other friends, bought pictures and books, at prices named

by myself, to a considerable amount, and the remaining pictures, and the

sketches in oil, were sold by Mr. Christie, and the prints and books by

Mr. Sotheby. A large collection of beautiful drawings, of entomological

subjects, chiefly by Mr. Abbot, of Georgia, in North America, a small

part of which cost him two hundred guineas, were the only articles

reserved, as no sum was offered which was considered as at all adequate

to the value of these, which had been Fuseli's favourite study and

amusement.

The following is a list of the pictures and drawings exhibited by Fuseli

at the Royal Academy, from 1774 to the year 1825 inclusive, making a

total of sixty-nine pictures.

1774--The Death of Cardinal Beaufort (a drawing).

1777--A scene in Macbeth.

1780--Ezzelin Bracciaferro musing over Meduna, slain by him for

disloyalty during his absence in the Holy Land.--Satan starting

from the touch of Ithuriel's lance.--Jason appearing before

Pelias, to whom the sight of a man with a single sandal had been

predicted fatal.

1781--Dido, "Illa graves oculos, &c." (Æneid 4.)--Queen

Katherine's Vision. (Vide Shakspeare's Henry VIII. Act 5.)--A

Conversation.

1782--The Nightmare.

1783--The Weird Sisters--Perceval delivering Balisane from the

enchantment of Urma. (Vide Tale of Thyot.)--Lady Constance,

Arthur, and Salisbury. (Vide Shakspeare's King John.)

1784--Lady Macbeth walking in her sleep.--Oedipus with his

Daughters, receiving the Summons of his Death. (Sophocles.)

1785--The Mandrake; a charm. (Vide Ben Jonson's

Witches.)--Prospero. (Vide Tempest.)

1786--Francesca and Paolo. (Vide Dante's Inferno.)--The

Shepherd's Dream. (Vide Paradise Lost, Book I. line

781.)--Oedipus devoting his Son. (Vide Oedipus Coloneus of

Sophocles.)

1788--Theseus receiving the clue from Ariadne (a finished

Sketch.)

1789--Beatrice. (Vide Much Ado about Nothing.)

1790--Wolfram introducing Bertram of Navarre to the place where

he had confined his Wife, with the Skeleton of her Lover. (Vide

Contes de la Reine de Navarre.)

1792--Falstaff in the Buck-basket. (Vide Merry Wives of

Windsor.)--Christ disappearing at Emaus.

1793--Macbeth; the Cauldron sinking, the Witches vanishing.

(Sketch for a large picture.)--Amoret delivered from the

enchantment of Busirane, by Britomart. (Vide Spenser.)

1798--Richard the Third in his Tent, the Night preceding the

Battle of Bosworth, approached and addressed by the Ghosts of

several whom, at different periods of his Protectorship and

Usurpation, he had destroyed.

1799--The Cave of Spleen. (Vide Rape of the Lock.)

1800--The Bard. (Vide Gray.)--The Descent of Odin (ditto).--The

Fatal Sisters (ditto).

1801--Celadon and Amelia. (Vide Thomson's Seasons.)

1803--Thetis and Aurora, the Mothers of Achilles and Memnon the

Ethiopian, presenting themselves before the throne of Jupiter,

each to beg the life of her Son, who were proceeding to single

combat. Jupiter decided in favour of Achilles, and Memnon fell.

(Vide Æschylus.)

1804--The Rosicrusian Cavern. (Vide Spectator.)

1805--The Corinthian Maid.

1806--Count Ugolino, Chief of the Guelphs, of Pisa, locked up by

the opposite party with his four sons, and starved to death in

the Tower which from that event acquired the name of _Torre della

Fame_. (Vide Inferno.)--Milton dictating to his Daughter.

1807--Criemhild, the Widow of Sivril, shews to Trony, in prison,

the head of Gunther, his accomplice in the assassination of her

Husband.

1808--Cardinal Beaufort terrified by the supposed Apparition of

Gloucester. (Vide Henry VI. Part 2d, Act 3rd, Scene 3.)

1809--Romeo contemplating Juliet in the Monument. (Vide

Shakspeare's Romeo and Juliet.)--The encounter of Romeo and Paris

in the Monument of the Capulets (ditto).

1810--Hercules, to deliver Theseus, assails and Wounds Pluto on

his Throne. (Vide Iliad, Book V. v. 485.)

1811--Macbeth consulting the vision of the armed Head. (Vide

Shakspeare's Macbeth.)--Sarpedon slain in battle, carried home by

Sleep and Death. (Iliad, Book XVII. v. 682.)--Richard the Third

starting from the Apparition of those whom he had assassinated.

(Vide Shakspeare.)--Dion seeing a female Spectre overturn his

altars and sweep his hall. (Vide Plutarch's Life of Dion.)

1812--Lady Macbeth seizes the daggers (a sketch for a large

picture).--The Witch and the Mandrake. (Vide Ben Jonson.)--Eros

reviving Psyche. (Apuleius.)--Ulysses addressing the Shade of

Ajax in Tartarus.

1814--Sigelind, Sifrid's mother, roused by the contest of the

good and evil Genius about her infant son. (Vide Liet der

Nibelunge XI.)--Queen Mab.

"She gallops night by night through lovers' brains."

(Vide Romeo and Juliet.)--Criemhild mourning over Sifrid. (Vide

Liet der Nibelungen XVII.)

1817--Perseus starting from the cave of the Gorgons. (Hesiod's

Shield of Hercules.)--Theodore in the haunted wood, deterred

from rescuing a female chased by an infernal Knight. (Vide

Boccaccio's Decameron.)--Criemhild throwing herself on the body

of Sivril, assassinated by Trony, (Das Nibelungen Lied.)--Sivril,

secretly married to Criemhild, surprised by Trony on his first

interview with her after the victory over the Saxons (ditto).

1818--Dante, in his descent to Hell, discovers amidst the flight

of hapless lovers whirled about in a hurricane, the forms of

Paolo and Franscesca of Rimini. (Vide Inferno, Canto 5.)--A scene

of the Deluge.

1820--An Incantation. (See the Pharmaceutria of

Theocrites.)--Criemhild, the Widow of Siegfried the Swift,

exposes his body, assisted by Sigmond her father, King of

Belgium; in the minster at Worms, and swearing to his

assassination, challenges Hagen, Lord of Trony, and Gunther, King

of Burgundy, his brother, to approach the corpse, and on the

wounds beginning to flow, charges them with the murder. (Lied der

Nibelungen, Adventure 17. 4085, &c.)--Ariadne, Theseus, and the

Minotaur in the Labyrinth. (Vide Virgil, Æn. 6.)

1821--Amphiaraus, a chief of the Argolic league against Thebes,

endowed with prescience, to avoid his fate, withdrew to a secret

place known only to Eriphyle his wife, which she, seduced by the

presents of Polynices, disclosed: thus betrayed, he, on

departing, commanded Alcmæon his son, on being informed of his

death, to destroy his mother. Eriphyle fell by the hand of her

son, who fled, pursued by the Furies.--Jealousy (a

sketch).--Prometheus delivered by Hercules (a drawing).

1823--The Dawn,

"Under the opening eye-lids of the morn:

What time the gray-fly winds his sultry horn."

Vide Milton's Lycidas.

1824--Amoret delivered by Britomart from the spell of Busyrane.

(Vide Fairy Queen.)

1825--Comus. (Vide Milton.)--Psyche.

Such were the labours of Fuseli, for exhibition at the Royal Academy of

Arts; but these are only a small part of the pictures executed by him,

during a long and arduous life,--works which will shew to posterity the

energies of his mind, the richness of his invention, and the profundity

of his knowledge.

APPENDIX.

The following article upon the character of Fuseli, as an artist, is

from the pen of William Young Ottley, Esq. F.S.A.

"A very slight comparison of the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds with

the portraits habitually produced by the painters of this country

during the first half of the last century, and whose merits, for

the most part, as pictures, now fit them only for the housekeeper's

room or the garret, will suffice to establish his claim as a

restorer of art and a reformer of public taste. Somewhat later, Mr.

West produced his 'Death of Wolfe,' and some other pictures

representing subjects of our national history, which much surpassed

what had before been done among us in that way; and in landscape,

we had the now justly admired Wilson.

"In the highest department of painting however, which not

improperly may be termed poetic or epic painting, we had still no

artist of any eminence; when in the year 1779, Mr. Fuseli, after a

stay of eight years in Italy, came and settled among us. Of

Mortimer, who had shortly before died young, great expectations, it

is true, had been formed; and we had then also Cipriani, a

Florentine, who, in his way an excellent draughtsman, long

continued uninterruptedly to furnish our portfolios with pretty

designs of sporting Nymphs, Cupids, and Graces. But the former,

although conversant with the human figure, was too easily led to

imitate the deformed and squalid in nature, and was deficient in

greatness of style; and the genius of the latter wanted the nerve

requisite to fit him for subjects requiring force and expression.

"The genius of Mr. Fuseli was of a very different class. An

intimate acquaintance with the learned languages had early enabled

him to fill his mind from the rich storehouses of ancient poesy; he

was all energy and imagination. But in his youth, not then

intending to practise painting professionally, he had not subjected

himself, as an artist, to the restraints of an academic education.

To curb his genius afterwards was impossible; and to this

circumstance we must attribute much of that fine wildness of

character which distinguishes his performances; not unmixed, it is

true, with a certain exaggeration of manner in the drawing and

action of the figures, but which still no person of fancy would

consent to exchange for the regulated but cold manner too often

learned in schools. Had it been the intention of Mr. Fuseli to

devote his pencil to the representation of subjects of real, sober

history, the every-day occurrences of life, this peculiarity in his

style, often amounting to extravagance, would have been

inapplicable. But it has ever been his aim, especially in his

larger works, to soar in the sublime regions of Poetry; and what,

it may be asked, is Poetry, if entirely divested of amplification?

"A style founded upon ordinary nature, such as we see every day, is

certainly ill-fitted to subjects of the above elevated description;

and should it be objected, as a consequence of this fact, that such

subjects are therefore not the proper subjects for painting at all,

may it not be asked, what is then to be said of many of the

greatest works of Michelangiolo, of several of those of Raffaelle,

of the admired performances of Giulio Romano at Mantua, and of many

of the most extensive compositions even of Rubens? Nor can it be

insisted that such cases are not in point, inasmuch as those

artists did not use the same exaggeration of style in their naked

figures as we see in those of Mr. Fuseli: for, although they did

not exaggerate in the same manner, yet they all did exaggerate;

Michelangiolo, by giving to his figures that immensity of

character, which has occasioned them to be appropriately styled 'a

race of giants;' Raffaelle and Giulio, amongst other things, by

encreasing in thickness the limbs of their figures beyond what

nature will commonly be found to justify; and Rubens, by a mixed

augmentation of muscle and obesity, which, were his figures alive,

might, perhaps, be found to have given them, in most cases, the

appearance of encreased strength, without the reality: to say

nothing of Parmigiano, whose works, though deservedly esteemed,

often display, in the outlines and proportions of the figures, a

far greater degree of extravagance than can generally be detected

in those of the respected Professor of Painting to our Royal

Academy.[74] But enough has been said to shew that the greatest

artists have not thought that a style of drawing strictly imitative

of common nature, was well adapted to subjects of an ideal

character. It may be proper that we should now add a few words upon

the style of Mr. Fuseli in particular.

"It is well known that the human figure, trained and disciplined by

gymnastic exercises, presents to the eye an appearance very

different from that which we perceive in the bodies of persons of

inert habits accidentally seen naked, or stripped for the purpose

of being drawn from. The frequent opportunities of viewing the

human figure naked, which were afforded to the ancient Greek

artists, by the public games and festivals used among them, could

not fail to render this familiar to them; and accordingly, besides

the correctness of proportion which we admire in their works, we

find in their statues the nicest distinctions of this kind, exactly

suited to the age, dignity, and habits of life of the different

personages they were intended to represent. To their figures of

Gods and Heroes, it is well known they were accustomed to give

proportions more or less differing from those which they commonly

adopted when representing the figures of ordinary men; and this

variation from any thing like a common standard is especially

observable in the celebrated colossal statue upon Monte Cavallo, of

the sublime excellence of which all men may now form a judgment

from the bronze cast of it lately erected in one of our parks:

for, besides that the arch formed under the breast by the ribs, and

the divisions of the abdominal muscles are more strongly marked in

that statue than in almost all others, the lower limbs bear to the

rest of the figure a greater proportionate length than we find in

perhaps any other example of ancient sculpture. A figure like this,

uniting in the fullest manner strength and activity with dignity,

was peculiarly adapted to subjects of an elevated and energetic

character, such as at all times pressed upon the imagination of Mr.

Fuseli; and accordingly he made its proportions the basis of his

style. If it be urged that he too constantly kept to the

proportions of the above model, it may be answered that few or none

of the painters of modern times have shewn a disposition to imitate

the ancients in that nice discrimination of character in their

naked figures, which has been noticed above; and it is well known

that it has been objected, even against Michelangiolo, the greatest

designer of all, that the numerous figures in his stupendous 'Last

Judgment,' however varied in attitude, are all of nearly the same

character of form. The fact is, that Mr. Fuseli's style of design

is of the most elevated kind, and consequently best suited to

subjects of a very elevated character.

"In respect of invention, composition, clair-obscure, the works of

Mr. Fuseli generally merit unmixed praise; and although in the more

technical parts of colouring, they have not equal pretensions,

still in this also they deserve commendation; being commonly

painted in that solemn tone of colouring which we admire in the

works of the greatest fresco-painters, and which Sir Joshua

Reynolds observes to be so well adapted to the higher kind of

pictorial representation. As an inventor, he equals the greatest

painters that have lived since the restoration of the art. No one

was ever more fully gifted with the rare faculty of at once

discovering, in the writer he is perusing, the point of the story,

and the moment of time, best calculated to produce a forcible

effect in painting. The loftier his subject, the more easily he

reaches it; and when he undertakes that at which another artist

would tremble, he is the most sure of success. The truth of this

was especially made manifest in the year 1799, when Mr. Fuseli

exhibited publicly a large collection of his works, under the title

of 'The Milton Gallery;' the subjects of by far the greater part of

the pictures having been taken by him from the 'Paradise Lost.' The

magnificent imagery of this poem, the beautiful, the sublime, or

the terrific character of the personages represented in it, and of

the actions described, all combined to fit it for the display of

the artist's surprising genius in its fullest force; besides which,

the style of Mr. Fuseli was here exactly suited to his subject. But

although the series, as a whole, was one of the greatest works of

painting ever produced, which (certainly in its kind the most

perfect,) elevating the painter to the same rank as the poet; it

failed, as the poem itself had originally done, to ensure to its

author that immediate share of public favour which was his due, and

which is sure to be attendant upon successful endeavours in those

inferior branches of the art which are more within the range of

public capacity.

"But the fashion or opinion of the day, in matters of taste, is

not always the judgment of posterity; and it cannot be too much

regretted that the principal pictures of the series, at least, have

not been kept together for the future advantage of our artists, and

the gratification of those whose studies might hereafter qualify

them to appreciate their excellence. For be it remembered, by such

persons as might otherwise be too readily induced to undervalue

that which they do not understand, that Sir Joshua Reynolds became,

in the latter part of his life, 'clearly of opinion that a relish

for the higher excellencies of the art is an acquired taste, which

no man ever possessed without long cultivation, great labour, and

attention.'"

VERSES

TO HENRY FUSELI, ESQ. R.A.

ON HIS SERIES OF PICTURES FROM THE POETICAL WORKS OF MILTON.

BY WM. ROSCOE, ESQ.

Spirit of him who wing'd his daring flight

Towards the pure confines of primæval light,

Say, whilst this nether world thy powers confin'd,

Weak child of dust, frail offspring of mankind,

Thy station'd barrier this terrestrial mound,

Th' incumbent vault of heaven thine upward bound,

Thy means the common energies of man,

Thy life a shadow, and thy years a span;

How couldst thou, struggling with opposing Fate,

Burst through the limits of this mortal state?

Thence, soaring high, pursue, with stedfast gaze,

The opening wonders of th' empyreal blaze,

Where countless Seraphs pour, in burning zone,

Concentric glories round th' eternal throne?

Or hear, and hearing live, the dread alarms

Of heavenly war, and Cherubim in arms;

See in th' abyss the proud apostate hurl'd,

And rising into light, the infant World?

Fav'rite of Heaven! 'twas thine, on mortal eyes

To pour these visions, rich with rainbow dyes,

Peopling the void of space with forms unseen,

Rising from being to what might have been!--

Nor he not breathes a portion of thy fire,

Who "bids the pencil answer to the lyre;"

Marks the bright phantoms at their proudest height,

And with determin'd hand arrests their flight;

Bids shadowy forms substantial shape assume,

And heaven's own hues in mortal labours bloom.

For toils like these, whate'er the meed divine,

That glorious meed, my Fuseli, is thine,

Who first to Truth's embodied fulness wrought

The glowing outline of the Poet's thought.

Artist sublime! whose pencil knows to trace

The early wonders of the kindred race!

Not thine to search th' historian's scanty page,

The brief memorial of a fleeting age;

Not thine to call, from Time's surrounding gloom,

High deeds of cultur'd Greece, or conqu'ring Rome;

Not thine, with temporary themes to move,

Of Hope, Aversion, Pity, Rage, or Love.--

Beyond whate'er the Drama's powers can tell,

Beyond the Epic's high, impetuous swell,

Alike by clime and ages unconfined,

Thou strik'st the chords that vibrate on mankind;

Op'st the dread scenes that Heaven suspensive eyed,

A world created, or a world destroy'd;

Recall'st the joys of Eden's happier prime,

Whilst life was yet unconscious of a crime,

Whilst Virtue's self could Passion's glow approve,

And Beauty slumber'd in the arms of Love;

Till, dread reverse! on man's devoted race

Th' insidious serpent work'd the dire disgrace.

Then first, whilst Nature shudder'd with affright,

Of Sin and Death was held th' incestuous rite;

Then first, o'er vanquish'd man, began their reign,

The fiends of Woe, the family of Pain:

Disease the poison'd cup of anguish fills,

And opes the Lazar-house of human ills--

See Frenzy rushes from his burning bed;

See pining Atrophy declines his head;

See mute Despair, that broods on woes unknown,

And Melancholy gaze herself to stone!

Then, pouring forth from Hell's detested bound,

Revenge, and Fraud, and Murder stalk around;

Till opening skies declare th' avenging God,

And Mercy sleeps, whilst Justice waves the rod.

Yet, whilst the bursting deluge from the earth

Sweeps the rebellious brood of giant birth,

One proud survivor rolls his vengeful eyes,

And with last look the living God defies.

But now the waves their silent station keep,

And Vengeance slumbers o'er the mighty deep;

Again, rejoicing o'er the firm fix'd land,

The favour'd Patriarch leads his household band;

With sacred incense bids his altars blaze,

And pours to God the living song of praise.

Thus, as th' immortal Bard his flight explores,

On kindred wing the daring artist soars;

Undazzled shares with him Heaven's brightest glow,

Or penetrates the boundless depths below;

Or on the sloping sun-beam joys to ride,

Or sails amidst the uncreated void;

Imbibes a portion of his sacred flame,

Reflects his genius, and partakes his fame.

ODE

ADDRESSED TO HENRY FUSELI, ESQ. R.A.

ON SEEING ENGRAVINGS FROM HIS DESIGNS,

BY HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Mighty magician! who on Torneo's brow,

When sullen tempests wrap the throne of night,

Art wont to sit and catch the gleam of light,

That shoots athwart the gloom opaque below,

And listen to the distant death-shriek long,

From lonely mariner foundering in the deep,

Which rises slowly up the rocky steep,

While weird sisters weave the horrid song:

Or when along the liquid sky

Serenely chant the orbs on high,

Dost love to sit in musing trance,

And mark the northern meteor's dance;

(While far below the fitful oar

Flings its faint pauses on the steepy shore,)

And list the music of the breeze,

That sweeps by fits the bending seas;

And often bears with sudden swell

The shipwreck'd sailor's funeral knell,

By the spirits sung, who keep

Their night-watch on the treacherous deep,

And guide the wakeful helms-man's eye

To Helicé in northern sky,

And there, upon the rock inclined,

With mighty visions fill'st the mind,

Such as bound, in magic spell,

Him[75] who grasp'd the gates of Hell,

And bursting Pluto's dark domain,

Held to the day the terrors of his reign.

Genius of horror and romantic awe,

Whose eye explores the secrets of the deep,

Whose power can bid the rebel fluids creep,

Can force the inmost soul to own its law;

Who shall now, sublimest spirit,

Who shall now thy wand inherit,

From him,[76] thy darling child, who best

Thy shuddering images express'd?

Sullen of soul, and stern, and proud,

His gloomy spirit spurn'd the crowd;

And now he lays his aching head

In the dark mansion of the silent dead.

Mighty magician! long thy wand has lain

Buried beneath the unfathomable deep;

And, oh! for ever must its efforts sleep,

May none the mystic sceptre e'er regain?

Oh, yes, 'tis his!--thy other son;

He throws thy dark-wrought tunic on,

Fuesslin waves thy wand,--again they rise,

Again thy wildering forms salute our ravish'd eyes;

Him didst thou cradle on the dizzy steep,

Where round his head the volley'd lightnings flung,

And the loud winds that round his pillow rung,

Woo'd the stern infant to the arms of Sleep,

Or on the highest top of Teneriffe

Seated the fearless boy, and bade him look

Where far below the weather-beaten skiff

On the gulf-bottom of the ocean strook.

Thou mark'dst him drink with ruthless ear

The death-sob, and, disdaining rest,

Thou saw'st how danger fired his breast,

And in his young hand couch'd the visionary spear.

Then, Superstition, at thy call,

She bore the boy to Odin's Hall,

And set before his awe-struck sight

The savage feast and spectred fight;

And summon'd from the mountain tomb

The ghastly warrior son of gloom,

His fabled Runic rhymes to sing,

While fierce Hresvelger flapp'd his wing;

Thou show'dst the trains the shepherd sees,

Laid on the stormy Hebrides,

Which on the mists of evening gleam,

Or crowd the foaming desert stream;

Lastly, her storied hand she waves,

And lays him in Florentian caves;

There milder fables, lovelier themes

Enwrap his soul in heavenly dreams;

There Pity's lute arrests his ear,

And draws the half-reluctant tear;

And now at noon of night he roves

Along th' embowering moon-light groves,

And as from many a cavern'd dell

The hollow wind is heard to swell,

He thinks some troubled spirit sighs;

And as upon the turf he lies,

Where sleeps the silent beam of night,

He sees below the gliding sprite,

And hears in Fancy's organs sound

Aërial music warbling round.

Taste lastly comes, and smooths the whole,

And breathes her polish o'er his soul;

Glowing with wild, yet chasten'd heat,

The wonderous work is now complete.

The Poet dreams:--the shadow flies,

And fainting fast its image dies.

But lo! the Painter's magic force

Arrests the phantom's fleeting course;

It lives--it lives--the canvass glows,

And tenfold vigour o'er it flows.

The Bard beholds the work achieved,

And as he sees the shadow rise,

Sublime before his wondering eyes,

Starts at the image his own mind conceived.

H. K. White.

* * * * *

The following verses were sent to me anonymously, by the post; as they

shew the author to be well acquainted with the works of Mr. Fuseli, I

trust the reader will think with me, there needs no apology for

inserting them in this place. It is conjectured that they are from the

pen of a young lady, who is alike distinguished for personal attractions

and amiability, as for her taste and knowledge; the daughter of a

gentleman who has been frequently mentioned in this Memoir.

A VISION.

Last night I sunk to sleep's soft power resign'd,

When wizard Fancy's wand, before my mind,

Conjur'd in dreams a visionary shew,

That seem'd with vivid Truth's warm tints to glow.

By young Favonius' fragrant pinions fann'd, 5

Amidst Elysian groves I seem'd to stand;

Here, when th' immortal spirit quits its clay,

The sons of Genius dwell in endless day:

Not they who empires founded, or o'erthrew,

Who conquer'd worlds, or who discover'd new; 10

Not Philip's headlong son, not Scipio's foe,

Nor Julius, guilty of his country's woe;

In these fair fields the scourges of mankind

Reap'd not the meed to virtuous fame assign'd.

Here Music sweeps her lyre; her heav'nly lay 15

The Passions hear, enraptur'd, and obey:

Here dwells th' immortal Virgin Poesy,

A noble wildness flashing in her eye;

Inspired Bards around the Goddess throng,

And catch the accents flowing from her tongue. 20

Entranced, whilst gazing on the blissful scene,

I mark'd a Deity of matchless mien,

Her port majestic, in each motion grace,

Fairer she shone than nymphs of mortal race:

I recognis'd the Sov'reign of that art, 25

Which through the eye finds entrance to the heart;

Plac'd on an eminence, she sat alone,

Below her vot'ries press'd around her throne.

Great Vinci first, with greater Angelo,

Sublime expression frowning on his brow, 30

Led on the daring Tuscan band severe:

Next Raphael with calm dignity drew near,

Who join'd to grand conception just design,

Conducting the majestic Roman line;

Then Titian with a gay and brilliant throng, 35

Sprung from the sea-born city, mov'd along;

Corregio in succession next pass'd by,

Leading the graceful School of Lombardy.

A genius vast, original, and bold,

The numerous band of Holland's sons controll'd; 40

And with his Flemish train, of pomp profuse,

The gorgeous Rubens dazzled e'en the Muse.

In order due arranged on either hand,

Beside the silent Queen they take their stand;

Before whose throne Helvetia stood, to claim 45

For an aspiring votary of Fame

Admittance to these realms:--"O Muse," she cried,

"The Master's works contemplate, and decide."

While speaking thus, her wand on high she rear'd,

And lo! a train of pictur'd groups appear'd; 50

Heroic phantoms seem'd to start from night,

And forms of beauty floated 'fore my sight;

From ages past reflected scenes arose,

Of human passions, and eternal woes.

There I beheld pourtray'd the lofty story 55

Of Man's first fall, and Satan's tarnish'd glory.

There rose the spectre Prophet from the tomb,

To Saul announcing his impending doom.

Of Ilion's tale a vision seem'd to speak,

And the long wand'rings of the prudent Greek. 60

There Eriphyle bleeds upon the ground,

While Furies fly t' avenge the impious wound.

In horror plunged, deplor'd Jocasta's son

The fated crimes he strove in vain to shun.

Here stalk'd the shadow of the murder'd Dane; 65

Appall'd, methought I saw th' astonish'd Thane

Hail'd by each wither'd hag;--From Helle's tide

Th' enamour'd youth rush'd to his Sestian bride.

There, lost to hope, the lovers mourn for ever!

Whom not th' infernal whirlwind's rage can sever. 70

The traitor Guelph, too, 'midst his famish'd brood,

Expects in Death th' eternal feast of blood.

In knightly guise th' heroic Virgin's arm

Redeems fair Amoret from magic charm:

And Arthur slept; who woke but to deplore 75

The Beauty lov'd for ever, seen no more.

On the aërial portraiture, amaz'd,

In pleasing wonder lost, intent I gaz'd;

As Sorrow, Guilt, Despair, the scenes express'd,

Awe, Terror, Pity, sway'd by turns my breast; 80

When, suddenly, I saw the heaven-born Maid

Of sacred numbers, from a neighbouring glade,

'Midst the great masters of immortal song,

Toward the throne of Painting move along.

Now blind no more Mæonides, and he, 85

The daring Bard of Man's apostasy,

With buskin'd Sophocles, and lofty Gray,

Spenser, sweet master of the moral lay;

Severely grand, the Florentine sublime,

And Avon's Bard, unmatch'd by age or clime, 90

All crowd the visionary scenes t' admire,

Pleas'd that such scenes their genius could inspire.

While onward the poetic Virgin press'd,

And her who reign'd o'er Painting, thus address'd:--

"O Muse! who charmest silently, attend 95

To Poesy, thy Sister, and thy friend.

No vot'ry of that art o'er which you reign,

The nobler walks could ever yet attain,

Unless I urged him proudly to aspire,

And kindled in his breast poetic fire. 100

Belgia, without my aid, may tint the scene

With golden hues, and mimic Nature's green;

Immortalize the Peasant and his can,

Without selection, imitating Man;

Or through transparent veins life's tide may gush, 105

Tinging Venetian canvass with the blush

Of glowing Nature; uninspir'd by me,

The Rose of Merian may deceive the bee;

At Rembrandt's touch the shining robe may flow,

The diamond sparkle, or the ruby glow; 110

But he whom I inspire disdains such praise;

The soul's emotions, ardent, he displays;

Fearless he wields Invention's magic wand,

Sprites, fays, and spectres rise at his command;

Unveil'd, the Passions at his will appear, 115

E'en Heavenly essences he dares t' unsphere;

As, from Promethean touch each image glows,

And what the Poet thought the Painter shews.

While 'midst Helvetia's native hills, before

This foster-son of Britain sought her shore, 120

I mark'd the future promise in the child;

The fire of genius, vigorous, and wild,

Sparkled in infancy, in manhood blaz'd;

You won his youthful fancy, as he gaz'd,

Th' enthusiast strove your favour to attain, 125

And I propitious, smil'd, and pointed to your Fane.

On Leban's brow the cedar tow'ring high

Boasts not the lowly flow'ret's gaudy dye;

Others may in the humbler parts excel,

But, Queen, did ever artist think so well? 130

Is not the highest merit of your art,

T' exalt the fancy, and to touch the heart?

Then welcome the poetic Painter, Muse,

Nor to my fav'rite deathless fame refuse!"

She ceased; nor vainly pled the Heavenly fair; 135

Th' assenting Muse approv'd her sister's prayer:

"Enter these realms," she cried; "th' award be thine,

Amidst the sons of Genius here to shine,

Where Envy's tongue no longer shall prevail:

Hail Fuseli! Immortal artist, hail!" 140

Resounding acclamations, as she spoke,

Burst on my ear, I started, and awoke.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Those who may be curious to see Fuseli's early style in German, may

consult the Life of Chevalier Hudlinger, in the preface to the

translation of "Mengs' thoughts on Beauty;" and also a letter "from

Switzerland to Winkelmann;" both of which were written by him without

alteration, although they bear his father's signature.

[2] At this time, Rösel's "Insects' Banquet" was his favourite study.

[3] The public are indebted for many of the particulars of Fuseli's

early life to this gentleman, who died in 1816, and was a canon of

Zurich.

[4] Fuseli ever considered Richardson a man of great genius, and one who

had a key to the human heart, and was very indignant, in the latter

period of his life, with a gentleman who spoke contemptuously of

Clarissa Harlowe. This person said in his presence, "No one now reads

the works of Richardson." "Do they not?" said Fuseli, "then by G----d

they ought. If people are now tired of old novels, I should be glad to

know your criterion of books. If Richardson is old, Homer is obsolete.

Clarissa, to me, is pathetic--is exquisite; I never read it without

crying like a child."

[5] "The Frank Intelligencer."

[6] The late Mr. Henry Füessli, of Zurich, from whom the writer has

received much information. Just as this Memoir was completed, this

gentleman closed his mortal career. He died on the 1st of May, 1829, in

his seventy-fifth year. Mr. Füessli was a landscape painter, and held

the honourable situation of President of the Society of Artists at

Zurich. He had been labouring for some years under occasional attacks of

asthma, and died therefrom much regretted.

[7] Mrs. Fuseli died at Zurich, 11 April, 1759, aged 44 years. She was a

woman of a most amiable disposition, and respected by all who knew her.

[8] "Do but the seventh part of what thou canst."

[9] This charter, however, was never granted; the artists received the

patronage of the King, and were by his command associated under the

title of "The Royal Academy." Among its early members we find the names

of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Wilson, who for talent in the

several departments of the art in which they practised, have rendered

their names immortal.

[10] Fuseli wrote in pencil, under this figure, "Fuseli amor mio."--Mr.

Ottley saw this still remaining in the year 1792, when he was at

Bologna, and added "anche amor mio."--W. Y. Ottley.

[11] This was a satirical drawing of the Painters in England at that

time.

[12] Doctor Armstrong died in September 1779.

[13] Mr. Füessli died at Zurich the 6th of May, 1781.

[14] I beg here to acknowledge my gratitude to Mr. Roscoe for having

allowed me to peruse the letters which he had received from Fuseli

during a period of more than forty years, from which I have gleaned much

useful information, and have only to regret, I am sure, in common with

every reader of this memoir, that he did not accede to my wishes of

being the biographer of his friend.

[15] The omissions in this and the succeeding letter, where asterisks

are placed, relate only to the names of subscribers to the translation

of Homer.

[16] Samuel Johnson.

[17] Andrasi pygmaioisi phonon kai kêra pherousai;

Iliad, iii. v. 6.

[18] Tôn auth' Hyrtakidês êrch' Asios, orchamos andrôn

Asios Hyrtakidês.----

Iliad, ii. v. 837-8.

[19] Iliad, v. v. 722-31.

[20] Iliad, xi. v. 15, seq. Conf. Iliad, ii. v. 42, seq.

[21] Iliad, xiv. v. 170, seq.

[22] Iliad, xviii. v. 478-607.

[23] Iliad, iv. v. 105-111.

[24] Iliad, ii. v. 101-8.

[25] Clarke, who has preserved this name in his marginal version,

contends strenuously, and with great reason, that Outis ought not to be

translated; and in a passage which he quotes from the _Acta Eruditorum_,

we see much fault found with Giphanius and other interpreters of Homer,

for having translated it. It is certain that, in Homer, the word is

declined, not as outis -tinos, which signifies no man, but as

outis -tidos, making outin in the accusative, consequently, as a proper

name. It is sufficient that the ambiguity was such as to deceive the

friends of the Cyclops. Outis is said by some (perhaps absurdly) to have

been a name given to Ulysses, on account of his having larger ears than

common.

[26] 'Outis as a _name_, could only denote him who bore it; but as a

_noun_, it signifies, _no man_, which accounts sufficiently for the

ludicrous mistake of his brethren.'

[27] _Vos_, the admirable translator of the Odyss. in German hexameters,

well aware that the question here lay not between grammar and licence,

puerility of conceit, or dignity of fiction, but between sense and

nonsense, without deigning to notice the contest of commentators, has

rendered outis, by "Niemand," in the first instance, and afterwards

varies it with "Keiner."

"Niemand ist mein Name; denn Niemand nennen mich alle.

* * * * *

Niemand würgt mich, ihr Freund', arglistig! und Keiner gewaltsam!

Wenn dir denn keiner gewalt anthut."--

[28] The first, in PYTH. A. v. 28.

gan te kai ponton kat' amaimaketon

The second, in PYTH. R. v. 57-8.

Pempse kasignêtan menei?

Thuoisan amaimaketô;

where the scholiast explains it by akatamachêtos, and the notes deduce it

from a compound of the A epitatikê and maimaô: a derivation more

probable than that of our translator from hama, and the Doric makos;

unless we suppose that Homer made use for his substantives, of the

Ionic, and for his compound adjectives, of the Doric dialects!

[29] Plin. L. xxxiii. c. 4. 'Electro auctoritas, Homero teste qui

Menelai regiam, auro, electro, argento, ebore fulgere tradit.' Helen, he

continues, consecrated a cup of electrum at Lindos, 'mammæ suæ mensura,'

and adds, 'electri natura ad lucernarum lumina clarius argento

splendere.'

[30] Tên de met' Alkmênên IDON----Kai Megarên (_sc._ IDON) kreiontos

hyperthymoio thygatra Tên echen Amphitryônos hyios.----

[31] Bayle is mistaken in supposing that the marriage of Lorenzo took

place in 1471. Speaking of Machiavelli, he says, Il ne marque pas

l'année de ce mariage, ce qui est un grand défaut dans un écrivain

d'histoire; mais on peut recueillir de sa narration que ce fut l'an

1471. _Dict. Hist. art. Politien._ In correcting Bayle, Menckenius falls

into a greater error, and places this event in 1472. _Menk. in vitâ

Pol._ p. 48.

[32] 'How grateful to our sensations, how distinct to our imagination

appear the

"Speluncæ, vivique lacus, ac frigida Tempe,

Mugitusque boûm, mollesque sub arbore somni."

[33] 'Published for the first time at the close of the present work.'

[34] If Virgil has given us a highly-finished personification of Rumour,

if Horace speaks of his _atra Cura_, if Lucretius present us with an

awful picture of Superstition, their portraits are so vague as scarcely

to communicate any discriminate idea, and are characterized by their

operation and effects, rather than by their poetical insignia. Of the

ancient Roman authors, perhaps there is no one that abounds in these

personifications more than the tragedian Seneca; yet what idea do we

form of Labour, when we are told that

"Labor exoritur durus, et omnes

Agitat curas, aperitque domos:"

'Or, of Hope or Fear, from the following passage:

"Turbine magni, spes solicitæ

Urbibus errant, trepidique metus."

'The personification of Hope, by Tibullus, (Lib. II. Eleg. 6.) is

scarcely worthy of that charming author; and if he has been happier in

his description of Sleep, (Lib. I. Eleg. 1.) it is still liable to the

objections before mentioned.'

[35] 'It is commonly understood that the idea of a systematic

arrangement, for securing to states, within the same sphere of political

action, the possession of their respective territories, and the

continuance of existing rights, is of modern origin, having arisen among

the Italian States, in the fifteenth century. _Robertson's Hist. of Ch.

V._ v. i. sec. 2.--But Mr. Hume has attempted to shew that this system,

if not theoretically understood, was at least practically adopted by the

ancient states of Greece, and the neighbouring governments. _Essays_, v.

1. _part 2. Essay 7._--In adjusting the extent to which these opinions

may be adopted, there is no great difficulty. Wherever mankind have

formed themselves into societies, (and history affords no instance of

their being found in any other,) the conduct of a tribe, or a nation,

has been marked by a general will: and states, like individuals, have

had their antipathies and predilections, their jealousies, and their

fears. The powerful have endeavoured to oppress the weak, and the weak

have sought refuge from the powerful, in their mutual union.

Notwithstanding the great degree of civilization that obtained among the

Grecian States, their political conduct seems to have been directed upon

no higher principle: conquests were pursued as opportunity offered, and

precautions for safety were delayed till the hour of danger arrived. The

preponderating mass of the Roman Republic attracted into it's vortex

whatever was opposed to it's influence: and the violent commotions of

the middle ages, by which that immense body was again broken into new

forms, and impelled in vague and eccentric directions, postponed to a

late period the possibility of regulated action. The transactions in

Italy, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, bear indeed a

strong resemblance to those which took place among the Grecian States:

but it was not till nearly the close of the latter century that a system

of general security and pacification was clearly developed, and

precautions taken for insuring its continuance. Simple as this idea may

now appear, yet it must be considered, that, before the adoption of it,

the minds of men, and consequently the maxims of states, must have

undergone an important change: views of aggrandizement were to be

repressed; war was to be prosecuted, not for the purpose of conquest,

but of security; and, above all, an eye was to be found that could

discern, and a mind that could comprehend, so extended an object.'

[36] 'Objects of horror and disgust, the cold detail of deliberate

barbarity, can never be proper subjects of art, because they exclude the

efforts of genius. Even the powers of Shakspeare are annihilated in the

butcheries of Titus Andronicus. Yet the reputation of some of the most

celebrated Italian painters has been principally founded on this kind of

representation. "Ici," says M. Tenhove, "c'est S. Etienne qu'on lapide,

et dont je crains que la cervelle ne rejaillisse sur moi; plus loin,

c'est S. Barthélémi tout sanglant, tout écorché; je compte ses muscles

et ses nerfs. Vingt fleches ont criblé Sebastien. L'horrible tête du

Baptiste est dans ce plat. Le gril de S. Laurent sert de pendant à la

chaudière de S. Jean. Je recule d'horreur."--_Mem. Gen. lib._ x. May it

not be doubted whether spectacles of this kind, so frequent in places

devoted to religious purposes, may not have had a tendency rather to

keep alive a spirit of ferocity and resentment, than to inculcate those

mild and benevolent principles in which the essence of religion

consists?'

[37] Our author has given ample opportunities to Mr. Tenhove, a Dutch

writer on nearly the same subject with his own, to display a disparity

of manner singularly contrasting with his own sober and authentic page.

Mr. T. is apparently a wit and a man of feeling, but at all times ready

to sacrifice matter to whim, or to substitute assertion for proof: thus,

in talking of the celebrated cameo representing the punishment of

Marsyas, once the property of Lorenzo, he tells us, that of old it

belonged to Nero, who used it as the seal of his death-warrants, and who

probably assumed the attitude of the Apollo engraved on it, whilst he

assisted at the flogging of one Menedemus, a singer who had excited his

jealousy; a tale partly invented, partly perverted from Suetonius, who

tells something similar of Caligula and Apelles. In another place, (p.

178, note b.) after ridiculing with somewhat prolix propriety the

Florentine custom of substituting, even in grave writing, the nicknames

of their countrymen to their real ones, he adds, that it is a custom

laughed at and disapproved by the rest of Italian writers, though

undoubtedly he had read of Cola di Rienzi, Massaniello, Titta Borghese,

Giorgione, Il Tintoretto, Frà Bastiano, and Titian himself. "Pauperis

esset numerare pecus."

[38] Giorgio Vasari and Ascanio Condivi. Our author, though a patient

admirer of the first, is offended at the "insufferable minuteness" of

the second. It would be unfair to consider Condivi as the literary

competitor of Vasari, yet great respect is to be paid to a narrative

composed under the immediate eye of Michaelagnolo himself. His "Otto

scudi al mese poco più o meno," whether they reflect much or little

honour on the liberality of Lorenzo, have at least a right to rank with

the "quattro mazzi, che erano quaranti libbre da candele di sego,"

which, the knight of Arezzo informs us, he sent as a present to

Michaelagnolo. Vasari Vita di M. A. B. tom. vi. p. 328.

[39] This lady is called Mrs. Wollstonecraft, instead of Mary

Wollstonecraft, throughout this Narrative, in conformity to the memoirs

which have hitherto appeared of her.

[40] This and subsequent quotations respecting Mrs. Wollstonecraft are

taken from her letters to Fuseli.

[41] "Memoirs of the Author of a Vindication of the Rights of Woman, by

William Godwin."

[42] Mrs. Bysshe Shelly.

[43] Mr. Meyer was a painter of reputation, both in miniature and

enamel.

[44] La Terribil Via, applied by Agostino Caracci to Michael Angelo.

[45] This alludes to Mr. Fuseli's proposals for a gallery filled with

pictures painted by him from subjects taken from Milton's Paradise Lost.

[46] This elegant translation, in verse, was published under the title

of "The Nurse."

[47] Sir Thomas Lawrence, in a discourse which he delivered as President

of the Royal Academy, on the 10th December 1823, says, in reference to

the Milton Gallery, "the many sublime designs by the great author of

this, whose unapproached invention and high attainments enforce this

tribute to living genius."

[48] For an elucidation of this passage, refer to Suetonius, edit.

Burmanni, v. 2. p. 171.

[49] A name which Fuseli gave to a sprained knee.

[50] This alludes to a contest which occurred on the way to Paris: the

"inquisitive traveller," Mr. Farington, was disposed to sleep at St.

Juste; the rest of the party desired to push on. Mr. Moore, who had the

regulation of the journey, decided the question by ordering out the

horses.

[51] Fuseli made this observation not only in reference to the

physiognomic cast of David's countenance, but his face was also

disfigured by a hare-lip.

[52] The writer of this saw the picture in the year 1779, and made

observations on the spot.

[53] In my Lectures.

[54] The British Institution was opened for the first exhibition, on the

18th of January, 1806.

[55] A name by which he generally designated the amiable and ingenious

Tiberius Cavallo, a gentleman well known for his numerous and able works

on Natural Philosophy, who was also on a visit to Mr. Rackett at this

time: at whose hospitable house he usually passed three or four of the

summer months.

[56] Mr. Johnson made Cowper a present of one thousand pounds over and

above their agreement.

[57] The passage is thus translated by Franklin:--

-----"A dreadful clap

Of thunder shook the ground; the virgins trembled,

And clinging fearful round their father's knees,

Beat their sad breasts and wept."

Sophocles Oedipus Coloneus, Act. 5, Scene 1.

[58] Professor Bonnycastle was born at Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire, in

January 1752, and died at Woolwich, 15th of May, 1821.

[59] While these pages were passing through the press, Europe and the

fine arts have been bereaved of the splendid talents of Sir Thomas

Lawrence. This gentleman died, after an illness of a few days

continuance, on the 7th of January, 1830, in the sixty-first year of his

age.

Shortly after Sir Thomas's arrival in London, Fuseli saw "the future

promise" in the youth, and was therefore gratified in making remarks

upon his portraits for his improvement. This kind notice, from a man

whom Sir Thomas held in the highest esteem for talents and various

acquirements, made a deep impression on his mind: he sought an intimacy

with him, which, upon more mature knowledge of the individual, ripened

into the closest friendship. The world is now deprived of these two

great artists, and there can be no other than feelings of deep regret

for their loss. These, however, with regard to myself, are not unmingled

with those of satisfaction, when I consider the many happy hours passed

in their society, and that this pleasure was enjoyed for more than

twenty years.

At the death of Mr. West, in the year 1820, Fuseli was among the most

forward of the Academicians to propose that his friend, Sir Thomas, who

was then on the Continent of Europe, should fill the chair. This honour

he felt due to him, not only for his unrivalled powers as a portrait

painter, but for the elegance of his mind and the urbanity of his

manners. Few men had so pleasing an address; and fewer the happy method

of making this acceptable to the particular persons with whom he

conversed.

Although Sir Thomas Lawrence was not, in the usual acceptation of the

word, a scholar, being unskilled in the dead languages; yet he was well

versed in English literature, had a fine taste for poetry, and I have

heard him recite some lines of his own composition, (full of merit) with

great taste, feeling, and judgment.

Sir Thomas is known to the public chiefly as a portrait painter,--the

only lucrative branch of the art in England. In this, his style was

truly English. In the countenances of his men we see faithful

likenesses; sometimes certainly given with some degree of flattery; but

he was always the more intent in shewing "the mind's construction in the

face." In his portraits of heroes there is always dignity; in those of

statesmen, depth of thought, with firmness of character. In the

delineation of females, in which he chiefly shone, beauty and delicacy

were combined with great taste of attitudes, and which was heightened by

the elegance and disposition of their drapery. His backgrounds were

always appropriate to the portraits; and when his pencil was employed on

large pictures, these were introduced with great taste and power.

The drawings of the human face in black lead pencil, frequently

heightened with a little colour, which he sometimes made to present to

his friends, exceed all praise, for truth, delicacy, and fine finish.

Had public encouragement gone hand in hand with the powers of the man,

we should, no doubt, have possessed some fine epic and dramatic subjects

from his pencil. As a proof of this, I may again be permitted to advert

to the sublime picture of "Satan calling up his Legions," which was

purchased by the late Duke of Norfolk, and came again into the

possession of Sir Thomas, when his Grace's effects were sold: here we

see an epic subject of the highest class treated with invention, great

power of drawing, and brilliancy of colouring. This, with "Homer

reciting his Verses to the Greeks," are the only historical pictures

from his pencil that I am acquainted with, and perhaps the only ones

known. In this advanced stage of my work, I may be excused for giving

only a brief sketch of my friend, whose loss every admirer of the fine

arts in Europe deeply deplores;--a man whose name will go down to

posterity coupled with those of the great masters who have preceded him

in the pictorial art; and as the present high appreciation of his merits

does not rest upon adventitious circumstances, time will rather add to

than detract from his fame.

[60] In this particular, the writer is in error, as Dr. Holland was kind

enough to give his gratuitous attendance, at the earnest request of Sir

Thomas Lawrence.

[61] The passage is as follows:--

"Olim quod vulpes ægroto cauta leoni

Respondit, referam: quia me vestigia terrent

Omnia te adversum spectantia, nulla retrorsum."

Horatii Flacci Epistolarum, 1. i.

It is thus imitated by Pope:--

"Faith I shall give the answer Reynard gave;

I cannot like, dread Sir, your royal cave;

_Because I see, by all the tracks about,

Full many a beast goes in, but none comes out_."

[62] Among the more recent acquaintances of Fuseli, there was no one for

whom he entertained a higher regard than for Mr. Samuel Cartwright; he

has said to me, "Cartwright is a friendly, liberal man, and has the mind

of a gentleman."

[63] At this time, his age could not be accurately ascertained: he was

in his eighty-fifth year, having completed his eighty-fourth on the 7th

of February preceding his death.

[64] At this time, his age could not be accurately ascertained: he was

in his eighty-fifth year, having completed his eighty-fourth on the 7th

of February preceding his death.

[65] Fuseli made this remark in reference to the capital employed, and

the encouragement given to the Slave Trade by some of the merchants of

Liverpool, and the consequent wealth which was derived by many from this

traffic. Every one who is acquainted with the parliamentary history of

this country knows the arduous struggle made for its abolition, and the

part which Mr. Roscoe took, when member of parliament for Liverpool, to

effect this measure. In these efforts he was cordially joined by many of

his intelligent and liberal townsmen.

[66] This and other remarks on the pictures of Sir Joshua Reynolds, were

written at Hastings, in the year 1813, shortly after the first

exhibition of Sir Joshua's works at the British Institution, and sent

thence by Fuseli in letters to Sir Thomas Lawrence.

[67] The passage is thus rendered by Cowper:

"My temper, Sir, inclines not me t' extol

Or to depreciate much, or much admire,--

Full well I recollect thee as thou wert."

[68] First part of Shakspeare's "King Henry the Fourth," Act 3rd.

[69] These statues, which have been named Castor and Pollux by some,

(and by an absurd anachronism, Alexander, by others,) were considered by

Fuseli to be the work of Phidias, and designed for a monument. He was of

opinion that they are duplicate figures; and the subject, "Achilles

curbing and addressing his steed, and astonished at the answer of his

prophetic courser."

[70] This picture is lost: his celebrated work of "Sin pursued by

Death," being painted over it. On this canvass there are no less than

three finished pictures.

[71] Darwin.

[72] See Pilkington's Dictionary, by Fuseli, second edition, page 191.

[73] They are now the property of the Countess of Guilford.

[74] This character of Fuseli was written a short time previously to his

death.

[75] Dante.

[76] Ibid.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,

Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

* * * * *

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

1. Accents and breathings in the Greek quotations have been left

unchanged (both are included somewhat at random). The one exception is

the rough breathing before Andrasi in footnote 17, which should be a

smooth breathing, and has been corrected.

2. Obvious typos have been silently corrected.

3. Alternative spellings have been left unchanged. This includes words

in poetry such as "ravish'd" for "ravished", words sometimes hyphenated,

and the various spellings of painters' names (there are at least four

different spellings of Michelangelo, and three of chiar'oscuro, for

example).

4. Chapter headings (in chapters II, VIII, XIII and XV) vary slightly

from the wording of the Table of Contents. These variants have been left

unchanged, with one exception: the date 1703 in the heading for Chapter

II has been corrected to 1763.

5. Words in italics are marked _like this_.

6. The position of the apostrophe in Italian quotations varies, but no

changes have been made.