"Hogarth's Portrait of Henry Fielding, executed after death from
recollection, is remarkable as being the only likeness extant of the
prince of English novelists. It has various histories. According to
Murphy, Fielding had made many promises to sit to Hogarth, for whose
genius he had a high esteem, but died without fulfilling them; a lady
accidentally cut a profile with her scissars, which recalled Fielding's
face so completely to Hogarth's memory, that he took up the outline,
corrected and finished it and made a capital likeness. The world is
seldom satisfied with a common account of any thing that interests
it--more especially as a marvellous one is easily manufactured. The
following, then, is the second history. Garrick, having dressed himself
in a suit of Fielding's clothes, presented himself unexpectedly before
the artist, mimicking the step, and assuming the look of their deceased
friend. Hogarth was much affected at first, but, on recovering, took his
pencil, and drew the portrait. For those who love a soberer history, the
third edition is ready. Mrs. Hogarth, when questioned concerning it,
said, that she remembered the affair well; her husband began the
picture--and finished it--one evening in his own house, and sitting by
her side.
"Captain Coram, the projector of the Foundling Hospital, sat for his
portrait to Hogarth, and it is one of the best he ever painted. There is
a natural dignity and great benevolence expressed in a face which, in
the original, was rough and forbidding. This worthy man, having laid out
his fortune and impaired his health in acts of charity and mercy, was
reduced to poverty in his old age. An annuity of a hundred pounds was
privately purchased, and when it was presented to him, he said, 'I did
not waste the wealth which I possessed in self-indulgence or vain
expense, and am not ashamed to own that in my old age I am poor.'
"The last which I shall notice of this class of productions, is the
portrait of the celebrated demagogue John Wilkes. This singular
performance originated in a quarrel with that witty libertine, and his
associate Churchill the poet: it immediately followed an article, from
the pen of Wilkes, in the North Briton, which insulted Hogarth as a man,
and traduced him as an artist. It is so little of a caricature, that
Wilkes good humouredly observes somewhere in his correspondence, 'I am
growing every day more and more like my portrait by Hogarth.' The
terrible scourge of the satirist fell bitterly upon the personal and
moral deformities of the man. Compared with his chastisement the
hangman's whip is but a proverb, and the pillory a post of honour. He
might hope oblivion from the infamy of both; but from Hogarth there was
no escape. It was little indeed that the artist had to do, to brand and
emblazon him with the vices of his nature--but with how much
discrimination that little is done! He took up the correct portrait,
which Walpole upbraids him with skulking into a court of law to obtain,
and in a few touches the man sank, and the demon of hypocrisy and
sensuality sat in his stead. It is a fiend, and yet it is Wilkes still.
It is said that when he had finished this remarkable portrait, the
former friendship of Wilkes overcame him, and he threw it into the fire,
from which it was saved by the interposition of his wife."
All the criticisms on Hogarth's _moral_ pictures have an air of
originality and freshness of mind, which is so attractive, as to make us
regret that we have not room for them. In proof of this, only let the
reader turn to Mr. Cunningham's remarks on the Harlot and Rake's
Progress, at pages 98 and 99. His descriptions too of the satirical
pictures are extremely ludicrous, and in effect second only to painting
itself. The following anecdote of the celebrated _March to Finchley_ is
curious, though well known:--
"The original painting was, on the publication of the print, disposed of
by a kind of lottery. Seven shillings and sixpence were fixed as the
price of a print; and every purchaser of a print was entitled to a
chance in the lottery for the picture. Eighteen hundred and forty-three
chances were subscribed for; a hundred and sixty-seven tickets, which
remained, were presented to the Foundling Hospital. One of the
Hospital's tickets drew the desired prize; and on the same night Hogarth
delivered the painting to the governors, not a little pleased that it
was to adorn a public place."
After quoting Walpole's description of Hogarth's _Sigismunda_, in which
he says--
"To add to the disgust raised by such vulgar expression, her fingers
were blooded by her lover's heart, that lay before her like that of a
sheep for her dinner;--"
Mr. C. observes, "this is very severe, very pointed, and very untrue.
The Sigismunda of Hogarth is not tearing off her ornaments, nor are her
fingers bloodied by her lover's heart. It is said that the picture
resembled Mrs. Hogarth, who was a very handsome woman; and to this
circumstance Wilkes maliciously alludes in his unprincipled attack on
her husband. 'If the Sigismunda,' says this polite patriot, 'had a
resemblance of any thing ever seen on earth, or had the least pretence
to either meaning or expression, it was what he had seen, or perhaps
made--in real life--his own wife in an agony of passion; but of what
passion no connoisseur could guess.' That Mrs. Hogarth sat for the
picture of Sigismunda seems to have been known to conscientious John,
and this is supported by that lady's conduct to Walpole. This noble
biographer sent her a copy of his Anecdotes, accompanied by a courtly
and soothing note; but she was so much offended by his description of
the Sigismunda, that she took no notice of his present. The widow of the
artist was poor--and an opinion so ill-natured--so depreciating--and so
untrue, injured the property which she wished to sell: she loved too the
memory of her husband, and resented in the dignity of silence the
malicious and injurious attack. She considered the present as an insult
offered when she had no one to protect her. I love her pride and
reverence her affection."