_MRS. SIDDONS’S NOSE._
Mrs. Siddons sat for her portrait to Mr. Scott, of North Britain,
who observed, the nose gave him great trouble. “Ah!” said the great
actress, “Gainsborough was a good deal troubled the same way. He had
altered and varied the shape a long while, when at last he threw down
the pencil, exclaiming, ‘D--n the nose! there is no end to it.’” The
pun was applicable, as that lady had a long nose.
_CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE._
A neighbour, having his garden robbed on several occasions, could never
hit upon the thief. It happened one morning early, the painter, then a
mere boy, walked in the garden sketching, when he observed a man pop
his head over the garden wall. Being unobserved, the young artist had
sufficient time to sketch the robber’s head, and from its accuracy, on
showing it to a neighbour, the fellow was immediately recognised as
living in the neighbourhood, and was accordingly apprehended.
_THE GERMAN PROFESSOR._
The painter gave all the hours of intermission in his profession to
fiddles and rebecs. His musical taste was very great; and he himself
thought he was _not intended by nature for a painter, but for a
musician_. Happening to see a theorbo in a picture of Vandyke’s, he
concluded it must be a fine instrument. He recollected to have heard
of a German professor; and, ascending to his garret, found him dining
on roasted apples, and smoking his pipe, with his theorbo beside him.
“I am come to buy your lute--name your price, and here’s your money.”
“I cannot sell my lute.” “No, not for a guinea or two;--but you must
sell it, I tell you.” “My lute is worth much money--it is worth ten
guineas.” “Aye, that it is!--see, here’s the money.” So saying, he took
up the instrument, laid down the price, went half-way downstairs, and
returned. “I have done but half my errand; what is your lute worth if I
have not your book?” “What book, Master Gainsborough?” “Why, the book
of airs you have composed for the lute.” “Ah, sir, I can never part
with my book!” “Pooh! you can make another at any time--this is the
book I mean--there’s ten guineas for it; so, once more, good day.” He
went down a few steps, and returned again. “What use is your book to
me if I don’t understand it?--and your lute--you may take it again if
you won’t teach me to play on it. Come home with me, and give me the
first lesson.” “I will come to-morrow.” “You must come now.” “I must
dress myself.” “For what? You are the best figure I have seen to-day.”
“I must shave, sir.” “I honour your beard.” “I must, however, put on my
wig.” “D--n your wig! Your cap and beard become you! Do you think if
Vandyke was to paint you, he’d let you be shaved?”
_THE ARTIST’S RETORT TO THE LAWYER._
Having to attend as a witness in an action brought by Desenfans against
Vandergucht, both devotees to art, the painter was asked by the
cross-examining counsel whether he did not think there was something
necessary besides the eye to regulate an artist’s opinion respecting a
picture? “I believe,” replied Gainsborough, “the veracity and integrity
of a _painter’s eye_ is at least equal to a _pleader’s tongue_.”
[Illustration]
_GORDON (SIR JOHN WATSON), R.A._
Sir J. W. Gordon was born in Edinburgh in 1788. He was intended by his
father, Captain Watson, for the Engineers, but pending arrangements
for his entering that service he was allowed to attend the Trustees’
Academy, under Graham, where he showed so much promise, that it was
decided he should try his skill as an artist. In 1808 he sent a
picture of a subject from “The Lay of the Last Minstrel” to the first
public exhibition of paintings in Edinburgh, which was opened in that
year; and contributed to most of the exhibitions held since. Never
having studied or been abroad, he received his education in the art
from the celebrated Graham, master of Wilkie, Allan, and others. In
1826, he assumed the name of Gordon for the purpose, it is said, of
distinguishing his paintings from the other Watsons, who contributed at
that time to the Edinburgh Exhibition. He first exhibited at the Royal
Academy in 1827, and was elected Associate in 1841. In 1850, he was
unanimously chosen President of the Royal Scottish Academy, appointed
Limner to Her Majesty, and received the honour of knighthood. The next
year he was elected a Royal Academician. His industry at his art was
continued till within a few weeks of his death, on 1st June, 1864, aged
seventy-six years.
_LORD PALMERSTON AND THE ARTIST._
“It was before I had a name,” said Mr. Gordon, looking round the room
in true story-teller style. “I had exhibited for several years, but
without any particular success. One year, however--the year before
I painted ‘The Corsicans’--Lord Palmerston took a sudden fancy to
my picture, called ‘Summer in the Lowlands,’ and bought it at a
high figure. His lordship at the same time made inquiries after the
artist, and invited me to call upon him. I waited upon his lordship
accordingly: he complimented me upon the picture; but there was one
thing about it he could not understand. ‘What is that, my lord?’ I
asked. ‘That there should be such long grass in a field where there are
so many sheep,’ said his lordship promptly, and with a merry twinkle
of the eye. It was a decided hit this; and having bought the picture
and paid for it, he was entitled to his joke. ‘How do you account for
it?’ he went on, smiling, and looking first at the picture and then
at me. ‘Those sheep, my lord,’ I replied, ‘were only turned into that
field the night before I finished the picture.’ His lordship laughed
heartily, and said, ‘Bravo!’ at my reply, and gave me a commission
for two more pictures; and I have cashed since then some very notable
cheques of his--dear old boy!”--_Belgravia Magazine._
[Illustration]
_HARLOWE (GEORGE HENRY)._
Harlowe, the painter, was born in the parish of St. James’s,
Westminster, in 1787. He was a posthumous child, but his mother took
great care of his education, and allowed him to follow the bent of
his inclination for the arts, which he studied, first under Drummond,
and next under Sir Thomas Lawrence. He was dismissed by Sir Thomas in
consequence of claiming as his own a picture Sir Thomas employed him to
dead colour. He revenged himself by painting a caricature of Lawrence’s
style on a signboard at Epsom, and signed it, “T. L., Greek St., Soho.”
On leaving Sir Thomas’s employ, Harlowe made arrangements and started
for Italy. Previous, however, to his going abroad, he painted some
historical pictures of great merit, particularly one of Henry VIII.,
Queen Catherine, and Cardinal Wolsey. During his residence at Rome in
1818, he made a copy of Raphael’s “Transfiguration,” and executed a
composition of his own, which was exhibited by Canova, and afterwards
at the academy of St. Luke’s. He died soon after his return to England,
January 28, 1819.
_TAKING A LIKENESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES._
Harlowe was very eccentric, and not a little affected. He used to go
to dinner parties in the dress of a field-officer, and he was always
ambitious of being taken for a military man. John Kemble disliked
the man and his affectations so much, that he refused, even at the
request of Sir Thomas Lawrence, to sit to Harlowe, giving as his only
reason--“I do not like that man.” Harlowe was engaged at this time on
his celebrated picture of Queen Catherine, and finding the grave actor
persisted in his refusal to sit, he went to the theatre when Kemble
played Wolsey, and seating himself in front of the stage-box, made
sketches of his face in every change of its expression, and from them
composed the likeness in the picture, which, it is needless to say, is
the best portrait of Kemble ever painted. Harlowe used afterwards to
say, in speaking of this, “By G--, I painted that portrait so well out
of revenge.”
[Illustration]
_HAYDON (BENJAMIN ROBERT)._
Benjamin Robert Haydon was born on the 25th January, 1786. In common
with most true artists, young Haydon early displayed an overpowering
love for art. One of his most favourite studies is said to have been
drawing the guillotine, with Louis taking leave of the people. At the
age of thirteen he was taken to the grammar school at Plympton--the
same at which Sir Joshua Reynolds was educated. From thence he was sent
to Exeter, to study book-keeping, and at the end of six months was
bound to his father for seven years. Within a short time of his signing
his indentures, it was evident to both his father and his friends that
young Haydon would never do as a tradesman. After much dissuasion,
and against all remonstrance, Haydon collected his books and colours,
packed up his things, and started for London, in May, 1804. He took
lodgings at 342, Strand, and for nine months he saw nothing but his
books, his casts, and his drawings. He was introduced by Prince Hoare
to Northcote, Opie, and Fuseli; and it was the latter who got the
young artist into the Academy. While studying at the Academy he became
acquainted with Sachom and Wilkie. In 1807, Haydon’s first picture
of “Joseph and Mary resting on the road to Egypt,” appeared. About
this time his devotion to his art was very close. He rose as soon as
he woke--be it three, four, or five,--when he would draw at anatomy
until eight; in chalk from nine till one, and from half-past one till
five; then walked, dined, and to anatomy again from seven to ten and
eleven. Wilkie had obtained for the young artist a commission from
Lord Mulgrave for “Dentatus.” Having delayed the painting some months,
Haydon in 1808 removed his lodgings to 41, Great Marlborough Street,
when he began the noble lord’s commission in earnest. In this year he
first saw the Elgin marbles, and he thus expresses his admiration of
them: “I felt the future; I foretold that they would prove themselves
the finest things on earth--that they would overturn the false _beau
ideal_, where nature was nothing, and would establish the true _beau
ideal_, of which nature alone is the basis. I felt as if a divine
truth had blazed inwardly upon my mind, and I knew they would at
last rouse the art of Europe from its slumber in the darkness.” His
“Dentatus” brought him a prize of one hundred guineas from the British
Institution. His next picture, “Macbeth,” he was not so successful
with, and did not get the prize that the painter had expected: to make
things worse, he relieved himself by quarrelling with the Academy and
painting “Solomon.” He then began that system of getting into debt,
which was the curse of his whole after-life. His usual companions were
Hazlitt, the Hunts, Barnes (of the _Times_), Jackson, Charles Lamb, and
John Scott. His “Solomon” was so far a success, that it was sold for
six hundred guineas. Also the British Institution voted one hundred
guineas to him as a mark of their admiration of this picture. In 1820
he finished his celebrated picture “Entry of Christ into Jerusalem.” By
exhibiting this picture in town, Haydon made a clear profit of £1298.
He then set to work to finish his picture “Christ in the Garden,”
and to sketch his “Lazarus:” the latter he determined should be his
grandest and largest work. Having recently married, he wrote on the
last day of 1821 as follows: “I don’t know how it is, but I get less
reflective as I get older. I seem to take things as they come, without
much care. In early life everything, being new, excites thought. As
nothing is new when a man is thirty-five, one thinks less. Or, perhaps,
being married to my dearest Mary, and having no longer anything to
hope in love, I get more contented with my lot, which, God knows, is
rapturous beyond imagination. Here I sit sketching, with the loveliest
face before me, smiling and laughing, and solitude is not. Marriage has
increased my happiness beyond expression. In the intervals of study,
a few minutes’ conversation with a creature one loves is the greatest
of all reliefs. God bless us both! My pecuniary difficulties are still
great; but my love is intense, my ambition intense, and my hope in
God’s protection cheering.” But the remainder of the painter’s life--25
years--was one dark cloud, here and there relieved by momentary rays of
sunshine. Always in debt; always in danger; always pestered by lawyers
and arrests. It has been with truth observed, that upon one half of
Haydon’s income, many a better man than he had lived. In 1835 we find
him lecturing at Mechanics’ Institutions in the provinces, which for
a time was a pecuniary success. But he was too deeply involved in the
expensive fashions and gaieties of May Fair; and again we find him
in the King’s Bench. Three more years of fearful struggle brought
him to the fearful tragedy which shocked the country on the 22nd of
June, 1846. Having returned from an early walk, Haydon entered his
painting-room, and wrote in his diary:
“God forgive me! Amen.
Finis
of
B. R. HAYDON.
‘Stretch me no longer on the rough world.’--_Lear._
End of twenty-sixth volume.”
“Before eleven,” says Tom Taylor, “the hand that wrote it was stiff and
cold in self-inflicted death.”
_INTRODUCTION TO FUSELI._
“Calling at Fuseli’s house,” says Haydon, “the door was opened by the
maid. I followed her into a gallery or show-room, enough to frighten
anybody at twilight. Galvanized devils; malicious witches, brewing
their incantations; Satan bridging Chaos, and springing upwards, like a
pyramid of fire; Lady Macbeth, Carlo and Francisco, Falstaff and Mrs.
Quickly--humour, pathos, terror, blood and murder, met one at every
look. I expected the floor to give way: I fancied Fuseli himself to be
a giant. I heard his footsteps, and saw a little bony hand slide round
the edge of the door, followed by a little white-headed, lean-faced
man, in an old flannel dressing-gown, tied round the waist with a piece
of rope, and upon his head the bottom of Mrs. Fuseli’s work-basket.
‘Well, well,’ thought I, ‘I am a match for you at any rate, if
bewitching is tried;’ but all apprehension vanished, on his saying in
the mildest and kindest way, ‘Well, Mr. Haydon, I have heard a great
deal of you from Mr. Hoare. Where are your drawings?’ In a fright, I
gave him the wrong book, with a sketch of some men pushing a cask into
a grocer’s shop. Fuseli smiled, and said, ‘Well, de fellow does his
business at least with energy!’ I was gratified at his being pleased in
spite of my mistake.... He (Fuseli) was about five feet five inches in
height, had a compact little form, stood firmly at his easel, painted
with his left hand, never held his palette upon his thumb, but kept
it upon his stone, and being very near-sighted, and too vain to wear
glasses, used to dab his beastly brush into the oil, and sweeping round
the palette in the dark, take up a great lump of white, red, or blue,
as it might be, and plaster it over a shoulder or a face. Sometimes in
his blindness he would make a hideous smear of Prussian blue on his
flesh, and then perhaps, discovering his mistake, take a bit of red to
darken it; and then, prying close in, turn round and say, ‘Ah, dat is a
fine purple! It is really like Correggio;’ and then, all of a sudden,
he would burst out with a quotation from Homer, Tasso, Dante, Ovid,
Virgil, or perhaps the Niebelungen Lied, and thunder round with ‘Paint
dat!’... I found him,” continues Haydon, “the most grotesque mixture
of literature, art, scepticism, indelicacy, profanity and kindness: he
put me in mind of Archiman, in Spenser. Weak minds he destroyed. They
mistook his wit for reason, his indelicacy for breeding, his swearing
for manliness, and his infidelity for strength of mind; but he was
accomplished in elegant literature, and had the art of inspiring young
minds with high and grand views.”
_LONDON SMOKE._
Haydon observed to Fuseli: “So far from the smoke of London being
offensive to me, it has always been to my imagination the sublime
canopy that shrouds the city of the world. Drifted by the wind, or
hanging in gloomy grandeur over the vastness of our Babylon, the sight
of it always filled my mind with feelings of energy, such as no other
spectacle could inspire.” “Be Gode,” added Fuseli, “it’s like the
smoke of the Israelites making bricks.” “It is grander,” rejoined
the other; “for it is the smoke of a people who would have made the
Egyptians make bricks for them.”
_HAYDON’S DESCRIPTION OF THE BRITISH SCHOOL OF PAINTERS._
“Never were four men so essentially different as West, Fuseli, Flaxman,
and Stothard. Fuseli’s was undoubtedly the mind of the largest range;
West was an eminent _macchinista_ of the second rank; Flaxman and
Stothard were purer designers than either. Barry and Reynolds were
before my time; but Johnson said, in Barry’s ‘Adelphi’ ‘there was a
grasp of mind you found nowhere else,’ which was true. Though Fuseli
had more imagination and conception than Reynolds, though West put
things together quicker than either, though Flaxman and Stothard
did what Reynolds could not do, and Hogarth invented a style never
thought of before in the world, yet, as a great and practical artist,
in which all the others were greatly defective, producing occasional
fancy pictures of great beauty, and occasional desperate struggles in
high art, with great faults, Reynolds is unquestionably the greatest
artist of the British School, and the greatest artist in Europe since
Rembrandt and Velasquez.”
[Illustration]
_HAYMAN (FRANCIS), R.A._
Francis Hayman was born in Exeter in the year 1708. He studied under
Mr. Robert Brown, portrait painter. He has been described as meriting
the honour of being placed at the head of the English School of
Historical Painters. By his agreeable manners he became intimate with
the _bon vivants_ of the age in which he lived. Being introduced to
Fleetwood, the then manager of Drury Lane, he painted his scenes,
and after the manager’s death married his widow. In Pasquin’s “Royal
Academicians,” we have the following remarks upon this painter, “In
the great point of professional taste, Hayman could not be arranged as
exemplary. Yet I have many doubts if taste is in any instance wholly
intuitive; and am inclined to think that we acquire taste by the
progressive movements of early perception, which, by frequent subtle
inroads upon the mind, make, in the issue, an establishment, and give
a system and a hue to thought. We may discover original genius in a
savage, but never any symptom of that correct association of idea and
action which constitute that practical excellence which we denominate
taste.” Hayman died February 2nd, 1776.
_GLUTTONY._
Hayman was noted for his eating. When an apprentice, he and his fellow
apprentices (some of whose appetites were but little inferior) used
to dine at a public-house in the neighbourhood of the Mansion House.
Instead of declining to treat with them, the shrewd landlord used to
observe, “I should be absolutely ruined by those young painters, but
for one circumstance, which is, that their extraordinary appetites have
become objects of great celebrity and curiosity in this quarter of the
City, where we are such judges of those things: the consequence of
which is that every day we have a gormandizing exhibition, and my house
is full of spectators to see the Great Eaters: the company then retire
to my other rooms to talk the matter over; conversation produces
thirst; and therefore I make up by the sale of my liquor for my loss by
the devastation of my edibles. Long life to the painters, I say! May
their appetites increase with the diminution of what they feed on!”
_MARQUIS OF GRANBY AND THE NOBLE ART._
Being of a lively temper and attached to boxing, the painter frequently
recommended the “noble art” to his sitters, in order to give a vivacity
to the features. While painting the picture of the celebrated Marquis
of Granby, also an admirer of the stimulating exercise with the gloves,
the invitation was given and accepted for a few rounds, and at it they
went. The contest soon grew warm, and the uproar soon attracted all
the inmates of the house, who, much alarmed, rushed into the room, and
beheld the pugilistic peer and painter rolling about and mauling each
other like enraged bears. Pictures, palettes, the easel, and the other
furniture of an artist’s room, were scattered in dire confusion. A few
minutes sufficed to smooth their ruffled feathers, and replace the
furniture; after which the marquis took his place in high spirits, and
Hayman gave the finishing touch to the picture.
_THE PAINTER’S FRIENDSHIP FOR QUIN._
In 1755, Hayman etched a small quarto plate of Quin, the actor, in the
character of _Falstaff_, seated on a drum in a swaggering attitude,
with his right elbow resting upon the hilt of his sword, by the side
of the body of _Hotspur_. Quin and Hayman were inseparable friends,
and so convivial that they seldom parted till daylight. One night,
after “beating the rounds,” and making themselves gloriously drunk,
they attempted, arm in arm, to cross a kennel, into which they both
fell. When they had remained there a minute or two, Hayman, sprawling
out his shambling legs, kicked Quin. “Holloa! what are you at now?”
stuttered Quin. “At? why, endeavouring to get up, to be sure,” replied
the painter; “for this don’t suit my palate.” “Pooh!” replied Quin,
“remain where you are; the watchman will come by shortly, and he will
take us both up.”
[Illustration]
_HOGARTH (WILLIAM)._
William Hogarth, who has been called “The Painting Moralist,” was
born in London, in 1697. His father was a fine scholar, and his chief
dependence was from the produce of his pen; and the son testifies
to “the cruel treatment his father met with from booksellers and
printers.” In his anecdotes of himself, he says: “Besides the natural
turn I had for drawing, rather than learning languages, I had before
my eyes the precarious situation of men of classical education.... It
was, therefore, conformable to my own wishes that I was taken from
school, and served a long apprenticeship to a silver-plate engraver.”
It was during his apprenticeship, about the year 1717, he executed a
small oval illustration of Pope’s _Rape of the Lock_, which was much
praised, and brought the young artist many admirers. The following
year, his apprenticeship having expired, he entered the Academy in
St. Martin’s Lane, and studied drawing from the life. He supported
himself by engraving for the booksellers, and by all accounts a very
hard time he had of it. In 1721, his father died “of an illness,”
the son says, “occasioned partly by the treatment he received from
this sort of people (booksellers), and partly by disappointment from
great men’s promises.” And in another place he complains, “But here,
again, I had to encounter a monopoly of printsellers, equally mean and
obstructive to the ingenious; for the first plate I published, called
the _Taste of the Town_, in which the reigning follies were lashed,
had no sooner begun to take a run, than I found copies of it in the
print-shops, vending at half-price; and I was thus obliged to sell the
plate for whatever these pirates pleased to give me, as there was no
place of sale but at their shops.” And thus, until nearly thirty years
of age, this great genius earned hardly enough to maintain himself.
It was in the year 1723 that the artist first turned his attention to
the stage, and discovered his real genius in his satirical talents.
After one or two caricatures his genius was quickly recognised, and
his adverse circumstances were at an end. In 1726 he invented and
engraved the set of twelve large prints for _Hudibras_. He married,
in 1729, the daughter of Sir James Thornhill, the painter, though
without Sir James’s consent; but, after two years, seeing the rising
reputation of the young painter, and at the earnest entreaties of
others, the offended parent forgave the couple. Being reconciled with
Sir James, Hogarth took up his brush and began portrait painting. About
this time he says of himself: “I married and commenced painter of
small conversation-pieces, from twelve to fifteen inches high. This,
having novelty, succeeded for a few years. But though it gave somewhat
more scope for the fancy, it was still but a less kind of drudgery;
and as I could not bring myself to act like some of my brethren,
and make it a sort of manufactory, to be carried on by the help of
backgrounds and drapery painters, it was not sufficiently profitable
to pay the expenses my family required. I therefore turned my thoughts
to a still more novel mode--to painting and engraving modern moral
subjects--a field not broken up in any country or any age.” His first
painting is said to have been a representation of Wanstead Assembly,
painted for Lord Castlemaine; which, meeting with much favourable
notice, led him to painting portraits. This part of the profession
was not at all suited to the artist’s peculiar genius; though Nichols
says of Hogarth’s attempts: “He was not, however, lucky in all his
resemblances, and has sometimes failed where a crowd of other artists
have succeeded.” After surprising the country with the production of
his great genius as an artist for many years, in 1753 he appeared in
the character of author, and published a quarto volume entitled, “The
Analysis of Beauty, written with a view of fixing the fluctuating Ideas
of Taste.” Wherein he shows, by a variety of examples, that a curve is
the line of beauty, and round swelling figures are most pleasing to
the eye. Walpole, commenting upon this production from the pen of the
artist, observes: “It has many sensible hints and observations; but it
did not carry the conviction, nor meet the universal acquiescence he
expected. As he treated his contemporaries with scorn, they triumphed
over this publication, and irritated him to expose him. Many wretched
burlesque prints came out to ridicule his system. There was a better
answer to it in one of the two prints that he gave to illustrate his
hypothesis. In the ball, had he confined himself to such outlines
as compose awkwardness and deformity, he would have proved half his
affection; but he has added two samples of grace in a young lord and
lady, that are strikingly stiff and affected. They are a Bath beau and
a country beauty.” It should be added that neither as artist nor author
did Hogarth ever receive flattery from the pen of the courtly Walpole.
Hogarth died on the 25th October, 1764.
_WILKES AND CHURCHILL._
In Mr. Thomas Wright’s work, “England under the House of Hanover,”
that writer thus describes the caricature drawn upon the artist by his
quarrel with Wilkes and Churchill:--
“They hold him up now as the pensioned dauber of the unpopular Lord
Bute, and the calumniator of the friends of liberty. In one entitled,
‘The Beautifyer: a Touch upon the Times,’ Hogarth is represented upon
a huge platform, daubing an immense _boot_ (the constant emblem of
the obnoxious minister), while, in his awkwardness he bespatters Pitt
and Temple, who happen to be below. This is a parody on Hogarth’s
own satire on Pope. Beneath the scaffold is a tub full of Auditors,
Monitors, etc., labelled ‘The Charm: Beautifying Wash.’ A print
entitled ‘The Bruiser Triumphant,’ represents Hogarth as an ass,
painting the Bruiser, while Wilkes comes behind, and places horns on
his head,--an allusion to some scandalous intimations in the _North
Briton_. Churchill, in the garb of a parson, is writing Hogarth’s life.
A number of other attributes and allusions fill the picture.
“A caricature entitled ‘Tit for Tat’ represents Hogarth painting
Wilkes, with the unfortunate picture of Sigismunda in the distance.
Another, ‘Tit for Tat, Invt. et del. by G. O’Garth,--according to
act or order is not material,’ represents the painter partly clad in
Scotch garb, with the line of beauty on his palette, glorifying a boot
surmounted by a thistle. The painter is saying to himself, ‘Anything
for money: I’ll gild this Scotch sign, and make it look glorious; and
I’ll daub the other sign, and efface its beauty, and make it as black
as a Jack Boot.’ On another easel is a portrait of Wilkes, ‘Defaced by
order of O’Garth, and in the foreground ‘a smutch-pot to sully the best
and most exalted characters.’ In another print, ‘Pug, the snarling
cur,’ is being severely chastised by Wilkes and Churchill. In another
he is baited by the bear and dog; and in the background is a large
panel, with the inscription, ‘Panel-painting.’ In one print, Hogarth is
represented going for his pension of £300 a year, and carrying as his
vouchers the prints of ‘The Times,’ and Wilkes, ‘I can paint an angel
black, and the devil white, just as it suits me.’ ‘An answer to the
print of John Wilkes, Esq.,’ represents Hogarth with his colour-pot,
inscribed ‘Colour to blacken fair characters;’ he is treading on the
cap of liberty with his cloven foot; and an inscription says, ‘£300 per
annum for distorting features.’
“Several other prints equally bitter against him, besides a number
of caricatures against the Government, under the fictitious names of
O’Garth, Hoggart, Hog-ass, etc., must have assisted in irritating the
persecuted painter.”
_GARRICK’S GENEROSITY._
The following anecdote of the mode by which the great actor became
possessed of some of Hogarth’s celebrated pictures has been vouched as
genuine: the pictures consisted of _The Entertainment_, _The Canvass_,
_The Poll_, and _The Chairing_. “When Hogarth had finished them, he
went to Garrick, with whom he was on very intimate terms, and told him
he had completed them; adding, ‘It does not appear likely that I shall
find a purchaser, as I value them at two hundred guineas; I therefore
intend to dispose of them by a raffle among my friends, and I hope you
will put down your name.’ Garrick told him he would consider of it, and
call on him the next day. He accordingly did so, and having conversed
with Hogarth for some time, put down his name for five or ten guineas,
and took his leave. He had scarcely got into the street, when (as Mrs.
Garrick, from whom the story is derived, stated) he began a soliloquy
to the following effect: ‘What have I been doing? I have just put down
my name for a few guineas at Mr. Hogarth’s request, and as his friend;
but now he must still go to another friend, and then to another: to
how many must he still apply before he gets a sufficient number? This
is mere begging; and should such a man as Hogarth be suffered to beg?
Am I not his friend?’ The result was, that he instantly turned back,
and purchased those fine pictures at the price of 200 guineas, which
the artist himself had fixed.” Hogarth’s principal object in painting
them, like his other great works, was for the purpose of copying them
by engravings. They were published by subscription at two guineas the
set. For the first plate of _The Entertainment_ he had 461 subscribers
at 10_s._ 6_d._; and for the three others only 165 subscribers; so that
there were 296 names to the first who did not subscribe to the other
three.
_CARICATURE._
On a lady expressing a wish to Hogarth to learn the secret of
caricature, he replied, with much earnestness, “Alas! young lady, it is
not a faculty to be envied. Take my advice and never draw caricature:
by the long practice of it I have lost the enjoyment of beauty. I never
see a face but distorted; I never have the satisfaction to behold the
human face divine.”
_WILKES._
Writing to his friend Churchill, Wilkes says: “I take it for granted
you have seen Hogarth’s print against me. Was ever anything so
contemptible? I think he is fairly _felo de se_. I think not to let him
off in that manner, although I might safely leave him to your notes.
He has broken into my pale of private life, and set that example of
illiberality which I wished--of that kind of attack which is ungenerous
in the first instance, but justice in the return.”
_HOGARTH’S CONCEIT._
At a dinner party Hogarth was told that Mr. John Freke had asserted
that Dr. Maurice Greene was as eminent in musical composition as
Handel. “That fellow Freke,” said Hogarth, “is always shooting his bolt
absurdly, one way or another. Handel is a giant in music; Greene only
a light Florimel kind of composer.” “Aye,” rejoined the other, “but at
the same time Mr. Freke declared you were as good a portrait painter as
Vandyke.” “_There_ he was right,” replied the artist; “and so, by G--,
I am,--give me my time, and let me choose my subject.”
_AN UGLY SITTER._
It happened, in the early part of Hogarth’s life, that a nobleman,
who was uncommonly ugly and deformed, came to sit to him for his
picture. It was executed with a skill that did honour to the artist’s
abilities; but the likeness was rigidly observed, without even the
necessary attention to compliment or flattery. The peer, disgusted at
this counterpart of his dear self, never once thought of paying for a
reflector that would only insult him with his deformities. Some time
was suffered to elapse before the artist applied for his money; but
afterwards many applications were made by him (who had then no need of
a banker) for payment, without success. The painter, however, at last
hit upon an expedient, which he knew must alarm the nobleman’s pride,
and by that means answer his purpose. He sent him the following card:--
“Mr. Hogarth’s dutiful respects to Lord ----; finding that he does not
mean to have the picture which was drawn for him, is informed again of
Mr. H.’s necessity for the money; if, therefore, his lordship does not
send for it in three days, it will be disposed of, with the addition
of a tail, and some other little appendages, to Mr. Hare, the famous
wild-beast man; Mr. H. having given that gentleman a conditional
promise of it for an exhibition picture, on his lordship’s refusal.”
This intimation had the desired effect. It was sent home and committed
to the flames.
[Illustration]
_HOPPNER (JOHN), R.A._
John Hoppner was born in London, in the year 1759. In the earlier part
of his life, it was his good fortune to associate with some of the most
brilliant characters of the age. He applied himself closely to the
study of the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and was, in many points,
successful in imitating that celebrated portrait-painter’s beauties.
On his first using the brush, he is described as possessing much
confidence, with little ability.
Edward Dayes, in his “Modern Artists,” in estimating the works of
Hoppner, says:--
“This artist is the best of all the imitators of Sir Joshua, and
would deserve great praise, were his pictures his own; but so far is
that from being the case, that they are composed from the prints of
Reynolds; and the attitudes of the sitters made to answer as well as
circumstances will permit. It is truly astonishing that any one can
lose sight of the charms of that great mistress of the art, Nature,
and tread servilely in the footsteps of any man, however exalted his
rank. The loss of ambition is a sure sign of the decline of the arts;
as, where every one is content to follow, no one will get before. When
a great man appears, weak minds are apt to seek for the rules of art in
his works, instead of applying to Nature: this is precisely the case of
this artist; he has not a wish, or an inquiry to make, that does not
end in Reynolds,--forgetting the old proverb, that when two men ride
on a horse, one must be behind. His colouring is clear and bright, his
handling free; his small pictures are by far the best.”
Hoppner died in Charles Street, St. James’s Square, on the 23rd
January, 1810.
_AN ECCENTRIC CUSTOMER._
The following humorous anecdote is given in the _Literary Gazette_,
1826, as related by Hoppner, to his friend Coombe: A loyal banker
dropped in upon the painter, to _negociate_ for a family picture. It
happened in the memorable epoch of “_life and property men_,” when
London was to be thatched with silver, and paved with gold. “Well, sir,
your most obedient, Mister Painter,” said the squire banker, looking
around, “Sir, yours,” returned the painter, bowing low. The banker
was a fine, portly, pompous-looking citizen, a good subject to his
Majesty, and no bad subject as a sitter, though it happened that he
sat not. “Well, Mister Painter, sir, you have some fine pieces here,
sir. Pray sir, a--what may be the value of that?” pointing to a whole
length of an admiral. “My price for that is two hundred guineas.”
“So!” ejaculated the banker; “a fine, noble-looking fellow, ’pon my
word--very heroical indeed! Ah! Mister Painter, they are our great
_wooden walls_, our prime _bull-works_. This is the land for such
seamen--old England, hey, sir! and those who don’t like it, why let
’em leave it: that’s my toast, sir. But to the point, sir: my business
is to negociate, look you, for a large family piece,--myself, my wife,
and my boys and girls; a fine family, as you shall see, sir,--the same
number as his Majesty’s, God bless him! Now, what is your charge for
such a collection?--_group_, I think you painters call it.” “I cannot
exactly answer that, within five hundred pounds or so,” replied the
painter. “Wheugh-h-h!” whistled the banker. “What, sir, five hundred
pounds?” “Such a subject requires study, sir, great studying--as
how----” “Pooh! pooh! study, Mister Painter? true, sir, but you have
not studied _Cocker_, sir, hey? ha, ha, ha!” “Why, sir, such a work
requires consideration. I should like first to be allowed to see your
family, sir--and then--how to dispose of so many persons--how to employ
them, and--and--” “Oh, my good sir, I’ll save you that trouble; that is
already settled, my good sir:--we are to be painted on our lawn, with a
harpsichord, and all singing _God save the King_.”
_THE ALDERMAN’S LADY._
From a volume of the _Literary Gazette_, 1826, we extract the
following: “There are faces,” Hoppner observed, “without features, and
features without faces.” An alderman’s lady says, “La! Mr. Hoppner,
Sir John looks too grave.” “Why, madam, ’tis the only way to make a
sitter escape looking like a fool.” “But why not make Sir John smile?”
“A _smile_ in painting is a _grin_, and a _grin_ is a _growl_, and a
growl is a bite--and I’ll not alter it,” said the half-mad, irritable
painter; “and if ever I paint another subject, short of a Lord Mayor,
I’ll be d--d!”
_A COOL SITTER._
Hoppner was commissioned to paint a certain pompous personage, one of
the cabinet of the king. The great man could not condescend to attend
any painter; so it was to be taken at the great man’s house. It was to
be a _whole length_. “Well, sir,” quoth the Right Honourable, as Mr. H.
made his bow, “I have no time, _sar_, to give to your art, a--unless
you can take a scheme of me at my breakfast.” The repast was already
laid,--a steaming urn, coffee-pot, toast, rolls, muffins, chickens,
and ham. The limner spread his arcana, and commenced to paint, as the
great man commenced his _déjeûné_ by supplying his appetite with half
a muffin, and a cut from the wing of a pullet, together with a slice
of ham. This accomplished, and sipping his tea, without condescending
to notice the artist, he seized the newspaper, took his reading-glass
from his bosom, began dictating to his private secretary, gave orders
to his cook for dinner, dictated again, sipped his tea; and with the
cup hiding his chin, and the newspaper his cheek, pompously exclaimed,
“I desire, Master Hoppner, that you proceed.” “I am going,” replied the
indignant artist, who, stalking out of the room, left the great man all
astounded at the haughty demeanour of a portrait painter.
[Illustration]
_IBBETSON (JULIUS CÆSAR)._
Julius Cæsar Ibbetson was born at Scarborough, in Yorkshire, in 1759;
was apprenticed to a ship painter at Hull, and at an early age came to
London, and practised his art. He painted landscapes, cattle, and some
historical pieces. Benjamin West appropriately called him the Berghem
of England; yet, like many other men of great ability, his genius was
no match for poverty. Mr. Redgrave, in “A Century of Painters of the
English School,” says: “He was one of the jolly companions of George
Morland: like him he lived from hand to mouth; was employed by an
inferior class of picture dealers, and made them his pot companions.”
He published a whimsical book entitled “Humbugalogia,” in which he
fully exposed the ignorance and tricks of professed picture dealers.
Among other rather coarse, but very forcible, illustrations which it
contained, was one to the following effect: “These people say they have
a great love for the fine arts. Yes; just such a love as a butcher
has for a fat ox.” After quitting London, this clever artist resided
for some years in the lake districts of Westmoreland, which he left
to settle at Masham. In 1817, whilst engaged in painting a favourite
hunter of Lady Milbank’s, he took cold, which settled on his lungs, and
terminated his existence on the 13th October, 1817.
_THE TOPER’S REPLY._
According to “Notes and Queries” (vol. viii. N.S., p. 96), there is a
local tradition that whilst Ibbetson was residing at Ambleside, he used
often to ramble as far as the picturesque valley of Troutbeck, which
is about four miles from Ambleside, to indulge in the double enjoyment
of the sweet scenery around, and the “home brewed” within the humble
ale-house there; and that, in commendation of the latter, he painted a
sign with two faces, each “looking the character” admirably: the one
being that of a stout, jolly-faced toper with rubicund nose, and the
other that of a thin, white-faced, lantern-jawed teetotaler; and with
labels from their mouths thus inscribed:--
“Thou mortal man, who liv’st by bread,
What is it makes thy nose so red?”
And,
“Thou silly oaf, with nose so pale,
It is with drinking Birket’s ale.”
The painting has been supplanted by its title in plain letters, “The
Mortal Man,” but the old people say they still remember the sign, and
that it is now preserved in Carlisle.
_THE RECOGNITION._
Ibbetson’s abilities attracted the notice of M. de Loutherbourg, who
introduced him to Mons. Desenfans, of pictorial memory. An invitation
to breakfast placed Ibbetson and Loutherbourg in Mons. Desenfans’
parlour, the walls of which were covered with _chefs d’œuvre_ of art;
and the judgment of the young painter was tried on the merits of the
several masters. When coming to one which seemed to attract Ibbetson’s
particular regard, Mons. Desenfans observed: “That, Mr. Ibbetson, is
a very beautiful example of David Teniers.” There was a pause, Mons.
Desenfans requested Ibbetson’s opinion; whose answer, after another
pause, was: “That picture, sir?--that picture I painted!” Here was
confusion worse confounded. The collector had been taken in: his
judgment had been committed. The murder, however, was out; marks
and circumstances proved the fact beyond doubt. The good-natured
Loutherbourg endeavoured to “take up his mangled matter at the
best:”--“He had frequently been deceived.” Nay, he went further, and
told how, in his younger days, he had himself manufactured a few old
masters. Whether or not this apology mended the business, we know not;
but certain it is that poor Ibbetson was never again asked to breakfast
with Mons. Desenfans.
[Illustration]
_INMAN (HENRY)._
Henry Inman was born at Utica, New York, 20th October, 1801. His
parents were English. His father removed to the city of New York, in
1812, at which early date Inman’s taste for drawing was manifested,
and cultivated to a certain extent at the day-school he attended. The
arrival of Wertmuller’s picture of _Danæ_, about the year 1814, first
suggested the art to him as a profession. It was exhibited at Mr.
Jarvis’s rooms, in Murray Street, and Inman gives the following account
of his second visit to it:--
“On a second visit, when I went alone, I saw Mr. Jarvis himself, who
came up from his painting room into the apartment in which the _Danæ_,
with other works of art, were placed. On observing his entrance, with
maulstick in his hand, and palette on his arm, I removed my hat and
bowed, presuming that he was the master of the establishment. At that
time I regarded an artist with peculiar reverence. Without noticing my
salutation, he walked rapidly towards me, and, with his singular look
of scrutiny, peered into my face. Suddenly he exclaimed, ‘By heavens,
the very head for a painter!’ He then put some questions to me;
invited me below stairs, and permitted me to examine his portfolios.
He shortly after called upon my father, and proposed to take me as a
pupil. I was at this time preparing for my entrance to the West Point
Institution, as a cadet, for which I had already obtained a warrant. My
father left the matter to myself, and I gladly accepted Mr. Jarvis’s
proposal. I accordingly entered upon a seven years’ apprenticeship.
Notwithstanding his phrenological observations upon my cranium, a
circumstance connected with my first effort in oil colours would seem
to contradict his favourable inference. Another of his students and
myself were set down before a small tinted landscape, with instructions
to copy it. Palettes and brushes were put into our hands, and to work
we went. After much anxious looking and laborious daubing, Mr. Jarvis
came up to see what progress we had made. After regarding our work for
some moments in silence, he astounded us with these words: ‘Get up!
get up! These are the most infernal attempts I ever saw. Here, Philip!
[turning to a mulatto boy, who was grinding paints in another part of
the room], take the brushes, and finish what these gentlemen have begun
so bravely!’ All this took place in the presence of several strangers,
who had come to look at the gallery. You can imagine what a shock our
self-love received. Such mortifications are the most enduring of all
remembrances. Notwithstanding this rebuff, I managed to make other and
more successful efforts.”
At the expiration of his apprenticeship, he married Miss O’Brien, and
began business for himself as a portrait and miniature painter. It is
stated that in this latter branch he was very successful, although he
afterwards entirely abandoned it. On his removal to Philadelphia he
painted a portrait of Mr. Rawle for the members of the bar of that
city. At this gentleman’s house he saw a copy of Stuart’s celebrated
portrait of Washington, of which he mentions the following anecdote:--
“Mr. R. informed me, while we were looking at the head of Washington,
that on one occasion, when that great man dined at his house, he sat
immediately beneath the picture, and that position gave Mr. R. ample
opportunity to satisfy himself of the correctness of the resemblance.
I was much pleased with this testimony in favour of its truth, as of
late years an attempt has been made to impeach the justice of Stuart’s
representation of Washington.”
In the midst of his success, Inman appears to have been discontented
with city life; and throughout the journal which he kept, “intended,”
as he says, “for the reception of miscellaneous notes on passing
events,” we find interspersed, longings for the green fields. In a
letter to a friend, he says: “I have always panted to live in the
country, where I can be surrounded by something pleasanter to look
upon than the everlasting brick walls of a city; ... and moreover,
I shall then be better enabled to withdraw myself gradually from
mere face-making: to practise in the more congenial departments of
art--namely, landscape and historical painting.”
He suffered much from attacks of asthma, which visited him in the
summer or autumn of every year, until his death. In 1841 he was
attacked with more violence than he ever experienced before, and he
describes his suffering with characteristic cheerfulness. He speaks of
the grinding agony he endured as his “bosom fiend,” and compares it
with the “vulture gnawing into the vitals of Prometheus.”
In February, 1842, we find him one of the guests at a dinner given to
Mr. Chas. Dickens, at the Astor House; on which occasion Mr. Inman made
a speech, from which it will be seen, though so great and so recent
a sufferer from his complaint, he still retained his cheerful social
qualities. The following is a part of the speech referred to:--
“I would invite your attention, sir, in the first place, to the great
value which the arts of design must attach to the peculiar literature
of the author we delight to honour in the person of our cherished
guest; insomuch as it affords so many admirable themes for pictorial
illustration. The great schools of art, of painting in particular, are
divided into the classical, the romantic, and the picturesque, the
last of which is by far the most popular and most cultivated in this
department of taste. The two first appeal for their sources of interest
to associations connected with the history of the remote past; but the
latter addresses itself to every feeling that links us to ‘the world we
live in,’ with all its thrilling contrasts of happiness and misery, of
vice and virtue.
“Mr. President, I will venture to claim for the writings of Mr.
Dickens, in especial manner, this attribute of the picturesque. He
has sought and found, in the humble walks of life, those unequalled
scenes of pathos, of humour, and of sentiment, which so eminently
characterize his productions. Passing by the abodes of wealth, luxury,
and rank, where the passions are all concealed beneath the mask of
cold convention, he has flashed the light of his genius upon the
gloomy haunts of squalid poverty and suffering virtue, the dark dens
of reckless guilt and crime, until every salient point of interest is
revealed in a thousand glowing objects of contemplation to the student
of morals, of human nature, and of art.
“Another quality which enhances the analogy which I have attempted to
establish, is to be found in the graphic force of his delineations. For
all the purposes of fame, his fictitious personages have already become
intense realities. For instance: who does not firmly believe that those
charming people, Messrs. Winkle, Tupman, Snodgrass & Co., are at this
moment ‘Pickwicking’ it about London in veritable flesh and blood? Let
me ask who that wears a heart does not weep over the memory of poor
Nell, as over one we have known and loved in actual life?
“In conclusion, this picturesqueness, this artistic power, will,
perhaps, sanction the parallel I have introduced in the toast I now
beg leave to offer. I will give you, sir, the ‘Boz’ gallery of written
pictures--may Charles Dickens long live to add new master-pieces to
the imperishable collection!”
On New Year’s Day, 1843, the following singular medley of mirth and
melancholy is entered in his diary: “Stayed home all day. The zest and
cream of life are gone. Two hundred thousand dollars and travelling
would revive me--nothing else; ditto fishing.” On the 3rd January, he
writes: “Fine prospect of starving to death this year. Not a soul comes
near me for pictures. Ambition in art is gone. Give me a fortune, and I
would fish and shoot for the rest of my life, without touching a brush
again.”
In 1844 he came to England, when he was engaged to paint the portraits,
among others, of Dr. Chalmers and Wordsworth. With respect to his visit
to the latter, Inman, in a letter to a friend, says: “Mary and I had
a very pleasant time in Westmoreland, I can assure you; fine weather,
glorious scenery, and a very kind reception from the great poet. Mr.
Wordsworth, who is now a hale old man of 75 years, accompanied me
on one or two of my sketching excursions, for which I feel highly
honoured, as he is not only a good poet, but a most intelligent
and long-headed man in conversation.... I heard from Mr. Carey, of
Philadelphia, who wishes me to paint for him the portrait of the
celebrated writer, the Rt. Hon. Thos. B. Macaulay, M.P., instead of the
fancy piece originally ordered, I have heard from the great man, and
he, in a very complimentary note, has consented to sit in about five
weeks. I shall then come up to London again for this purpose.”