In St. James's Street, London, on the 10th June 1787, was born George
Henry Harlow. His father, an East India merchant for a time Resident at
Canton, had been dead about four months. The widowed mother, only
twenty-seven, and of remarkable personal attractions, was fortunately
left with an ample dower. Mourning her husband, she devoted herself to
her children--five very young girls and the new-born son. Perhaps it was
not unnatural that to the youngest child, born under such
circumstances--the only boy--the largest share of her maternal affection
and solicitude should be given.
He was first placed at the classical school of Dr. Barrow in Soho
Square, then under the tuition of Dr. Roy in Burlington Street; for some
time he was at Westminster. In after-life, in boastful moments, he was
pleased to speak grandly of his classical attainments; of these,
however, he could never adduce any notable evidence. It is probable that
he was at no time a very eager student; he had tastes and ambitions not
compatible with school-learning, and an over-indulgent mother was little
likely to rebuke his want of application, or to desire that her
darling's attention should be fixed upon his books in too earnest a
manner. Certainly before he was sixteen he had left school, and even
then he had devoted much of his time to other than scholastic pursuits.
He was a smart, clever boy, with a lively taste for art, a constant
visitor at the picture-galleries, already able to ply his pencil to some
purpose; yet bent, perhaps, upon acquiring the manner and the trick of
others rather than of arriving at a method of his own by a hard study of
nature. He almost preferred a painted to a real human being--a picture
landscape to a view from a hill-top. He was satisfied that things should
come to him filtered through the canvases of his predecessors--content
to see with their eyes. He was apt to think painting was little higher
than legerdemain, was a conjurer's feat to be detected by constantly
watching the performer, was a secret that he might be told by others or
might discover for himself by examining their works: not a science open
under certain conditions to all who will take the trouble to learn.
These were not very noble nor very healthy opinions to entertain upon
the subject; but at least at the foundation of them was a certain
fondness for art, and there was without doubt promise in the
performances of the young man. Of this Mrs. Harlow was speedily
satisfied, and the friends she consulted confirmed her opinion. It was
determined that he should enter the studio of a painter. Not much care
was exercised in the selection of a preceptor. A Dutch artist, named
Henry De Cort, had settled in London; he produced landscapes of a
formal, artificial pattern--compositions in which Italian palaces and
waterfalls and ruins appeared prominently, formal in colour, neat in
finish, the animals and figures being added to the pictures by other
Dutchmen. There was rather a rage at one time for Italian landscape seen
through a Dutch medium: a fashion in favour of which there is little to
be said. It was not a very good school in which to place George Henry
Harlow. De Cort was pretentious and conceited--worse, he was dull. The
student loved art, but he could not fancy such a professor as De Cort.
He began to feel that he could learn nothing from such a master--that he
was, indeed, wasting his time. He quitted De Cort, and entered the
studio of Mr. Drummond, A.R.A. He applied himself assiduously, 'with an
ardour from which even amusements could not seduce him,' says a
biographer. For, alas! young Mr. Harlow was becoming as noted for his
love of pleasure as for his love of his profession. He remained a year
with Mr. Drummond, and then commenced to sigh for a change.
There is a story that the beautiful Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire
interested herself in the studies of the young man, and that owing to
her influence and interposition he was admitted into the studio of Sir
Thomas Lawrence in Greek Street. Another account has it that Mr. Harlow
and his mother visited the various painters with the view of selecting
one with whom the student would be content to remain until his period of
pupilage was at an end, and that he himself finally selected Sir Thomas
Lawrence. A premium of one hundred guineas was paid. For this sum the
student was to have free access to his master's house 'at nine o'clock
in the morning, with leave to copy his pictures till four o'clock in the
afternoon, but was to receive no instruction of any kind.' It was
supposed, apparently, that the example of Sir Thomas was instruction
enough. But it is possible that Lawrence, while, with his innumerable
engagements, he was unable to bestow much time upon a pupil, was also,
like Sir Joshua, unable to communicate art instruction. He knew very
little of rules, he was little imbued with academic prescriptions, he
painted rather from an instinctive love of beauty and from a purely
natural quickness in observing expression. Harlow might have said of
Lawrence as Northcote said of Reynolds: 'I learnt nothing from him while
I was with him.' Though it seems hard to say that a student could be
long in the studio of either master and benefit in no way.
The friends of the late Mr. Harlow were greatly distressed that his son
should follow the unprofitable business of the Fine Arts. They hastened
to rescue him from ruin, as they believed. They offered him a writership
in India. He declined their assistance. 'I care not for riches,' he
said; 'give me fame and glory!' They could not comprehend an ambition so
absurd; they thought the young man out of his senses, and left him
accordingly. They were even angry with their friend's son that he would
not permit them to tear him from the profession of his choice.
Harlow was excitable, impulsive, enthusiastic. He was well acquainted
with his own ability; indeed he was inclined to set almost too high a
value upon it. He could bear no restraint. If Lawrence had attempted to
impart instruction to him, he would probably have resisted it with all
his might; he was ill at ease under even the semblance of pupilage; he
declined to recognise his own inferiority; he was angry with the
position he occupied in the studio of Sir Thomas. It would seem to have
been difficult to quarrel with one who was always so courtier-like in
manner, so gentle and _suave_ and forbearing as was Lawrence. But it is
possible these very characteristics were matters of offence to Harlow.
He could not give credit for ability to a man who was so calm and
elegant and placid amidst all the entrancements of his profession. He
thought a great painter should gesticulate more, should sacrifice the
gentlemanly to the eccentric as _he_ did, should be feverish and frothy
and unconventional and absurd as _he_ was. And then he possessed a quick
mimetic talent. He had soon acquired great part of Lawrence's manner.
People are always prone to think themselves equal to those they can
imitate, and he was far ahead of all the other young gentlemen who
entered the studio; indeed it may be said that no one has ever
approached more closely to the peculiar style and character of
Lawrence's art than his pupil Harlow. The master admitted this
himself--if not in words, at least in conduct. He employed Harlow upon
his portraits, to paint replicas, and even to prepare in dead colours
the originals. Of course the painting of backgrounds and accessories was
the customary occupation of the pupils.
For eighteen months Harlow remained in the studio of Sir Thomas. A
portrait had been painted of Mrs. Angerstein. In this Lawrence had
introduced a Newfoundland dog, so skilfully represented as to excite the
warmest admiration. Harlow, perhaps, had had a share in the painting of
this dog, and he loudly claimed credit for it. He is said even to have
intruded himself upon the Angerstein family, and to have represented to
them how greatly the success of the picture was due to his exertions. Of
course this conduct on the part of a pupil amounted to flat mutiny. Sir
Thomas informed of it, sought out his pupil, and said to him: 'You must
leave my house immediately. The animal you claim is among the best
things _I_ ever painted. Of course you have no need of further
instruction from me.' Harlow withdrew abruptly. In a day or two
afterwards he was heard of, living magnificently, at the Queen's Head, a
small roadside inn on the left hand as you leave Epsom for Ashstead.
When the host approached with the reckoning, it was found that the
painter was without the means of liquidating it. It was agreed that the
account should be paid by his executing a new sign-board. He painted
both sides: on one a full-face view of Queen Charlotte, a dashing
caricature of Sir Thomas's manner; on the other a back view of the
Queen's head, as though she were looking into the sign-board, while
underneath was inscribed 'T.L., Greek Street, Soho.' Sir Thomas,
informed of this eccentric proceeding, said to Harlow:--
'I have seen your additional act of perfidy at Epsom, and if you were
not a scoundrel I would kick you from one end of the street to the
other.'
'There is some privilege in being a scoundrel, then,' answers the pupil,
'for the street is very long.'
So we read of the quarrel of Lawrence and Harlow, one of those stories
so easy to relate and so difficult to disprove. But there are
incoherencies about it. The portrait of Mrs. Angerstein was exhibited at
the Royal Academy in the year 1800, some years before Harlow had become
a pupil of Lawrence's. The speech about the kicking is a very unlikely
one to have proceeded from Lawrence, while it is still more unlikely
that Harlow would have received it so quietly. Had such language passed
between them it is hardly possible they could have been on the footing
of anything like friendship afterwards, yet we find Lawrence assisting
Harlow in his picture of the Kemble family in quite an intimate way.
Certainly there was a quarrel, and Harlow quitted Sir Thomas. A living
writer says, in reference to the sign-board story:--
'I remember to have seen it as early as 1815. Some twenty years
after, missing this peculiar sign from the suspensory iron (where a
written board had been substituted), I made inquiry at the inn as
to the fate of Harlow's Queen's Head, but could not learn anything
of its whereabouts.'
It is not probable that Lawrence was disposed to condemn this more
severely, than as one of those artistic freaks which clever caricaturing
students are every day indulging in.
Thenceforth Harlow determined to set up as a painter on his own account.
He would be a student no longer. He refused to avail himself of the
advantages offered by the Academy--he would not draw there--would not
enrol himself as a student. He would toil no more in the studios of
others--he was now a full-blown artist himself. So he argued. 'Naturally
vain.' writes J.T. Smith, one of his biographers, 'he became
ridiculously foppish, and by dressing to the extreme of fashion was
often the laughing-stock of his brother artists, particularly when he
wished to pass for a man of high rank, whose costume he mimicked; and
that folly he would often venture upon without an income sufficient to
pay one of his many tailors' bills.' He seemed bent upon exaggerating
even the extravagances of fashion. There is a story of his having been
seen with such enormously long spurs that he was obliged to walk down
stairs backwards to save himself from falling headlong. He had a craving
for notoriety. If the public would not notice his works, at least they
should notice _him_. Somehow he would be singled out from the crowd.
People should ask who he was, no matter whether censure or applause was
to follow the inquiry. So he dressed with wild magnificence and
swaggered along the streets and laughed loudly and talked with an
audacious freedom that was often the cause of his expulsion from
respectable company. A glass or two of wine seemed quite to turn his
brain; he was alert then for any frivolity, and he was not always
content with so restricted a libation, when the consequences were even
more to be deplored.
He now offered himself as a candidate for Academic honours. He was not a
likely man to succeed, yet he did all he could to conciliate the more
influential Academicians, and certainly he had merits that entitled him
fairly to look for the distinction. He painted a portrait of Northcote,
said to be the best that had ever been taken of the veteran artist, and
the number of portraits of him was very great. He also painted Stothard
and Nollekens, and the well-known and admirable portrait of Fuseli.
With this he took extraordinary pains, had numerous sittings, and was
two whole days engaged upon the right hand only--a long time according
to the art-opinion of his day, when it was the fashion to finish a
portrait in a very dashing style of execution, after one sitting, and in
a few hours' time. Mr. Leslie allowed Harlow's portrait of Fuseli to be
the best. 'But,' he said, 'it would have required a Reynolds to do
justice to the fine intelligence of his head. His keen eye of the most
transparent blue I shall never forget.' But the Academy would not think
favourably of Harlow. In later days Northcote sturdily declaimed: 'The
Academy is not an institution for the suppression of Vice but for the
encouragement of the Fine Arts. The dragging morality into everything in
season and out of season, is only giving a handle to hypocrisy, and
turning virtue into a byword for impertinence.' There was only one
Academician who could be found to give a vote for Harlow. This was, of
course, Fuseli. He was accused of it, and vindicated himself--'I voted
for the talent, not for the man!' He was seeking to estimate the fitness
of the claimant for art-honours, by means of perhaps the fairest
criterion. The Academy tested on a different plan. It was hard to say
that Harlow's moral character rendered him unfit to associate with the
painters of his day; yet such was the effect of the decision of the
Academy.
Of course he was cruelly mortified, deeply incensed; of course he swore
in his wrath that he would wreak a terrible vengeance upon his enemies.
But what could he do? He could privately abuse the academicians
corporately and severally wherever he went; and publicly he would paint
them down. He would demonstrate their imbecility and his own greatness
by his works. He took to large historical paintings--'Bolingbroke's
Entry into London' and 'The Quarrel between Queen Elizabeth and the Earl
of Essex.' Unfortunately the merits of these achievements were not
sufficient to carry dismay into the hearts of his oppressors. And what
was even worse, no purchaser came for these ambitious works. He was
driven to portrait painting again. He was dexterous in delineating
character, was rapid in execution, had a respectable appreciation of
colour. His first exhibited portrait was one of his mother; she lived to
see him, in a great measure, successful, and died when he was twenty-two
years old. A deep affection seems to have subsisted between the mother
and the son. He was greatly moved at her death, and always mentioned her
name with tenderness. He had soon no lack of sitters. He was recognised
as being, in a certain style of portraiture, second to Lawrence only.
And he next achieved a considerable success in a higher order of art.
His 'Arthur and Hubert' was highly applauded by the public. It was
painted for Mr. Leader, at the price of one hundred guineas. The patron,
however, was less pleased with the vigour and glow of colour of the
work than were the critics, and was not sorry to exchange the picture
for portraits of his children. This was sufficiently galling to the
painter's pride, but he was not rich enough to resent such conduct. He
could not afford to close all dealing with his patron, as he would
greatly have preferred to do.
The next picture--and the one by which of all his works he is the most
popularly known--was that combination of historical art and portraiture
known as the 'Trial of Queen Katherine.' The work was commissioned by
Mr. Welsh the professor of music. It was commenced during the progress
of the artist's portrait of Fuseli, who, examining the first drawing of
the picture, said:--'I do not disapprove of the general arrangement of
your work, and I see you will give it a powerful effect of light and
shade. But you have here a composition of more than twenty figures, or,
I should rather say, parts of figures, because you have not shown one
leg or foot, which makes it very defective. If you do not know how to
draw feet and legs, I will show you.' And with a crayon he made drawings
on the wainscot of the room.
However inclined Harlow may have been to neglect counsel, given in
rather an imperious tone, he did not hesitate to profit by Fuseli's
comments, and accordingly he re-arranged the grouping in the foreground
of his picture. On a subsequent visit Fuseli remarked the change: 'So
far you have done well,' he said, 'but now you have not introduced a
back-figure to throw the eye of the spectator into the picture.' And he
then proceeded to point out by what means this might be managed.
Accordingly, we learn, Harlow introduced the two boys who are taking up
the cushion; the one with his back turned is altogether due to Fuseli,
and is, no doubt, the best drawn figure in the whole picture.
Fuseli was afterwards desirous that the drawing of the arms of the
principal object--Queen Katherine--should be amended, but this it seems
was not accomplished. 'After having witnessed many ineffectual attempts
of the painter to accomplish this, I remarked, "It is a pity that you
never attended the antique academy."' It was only Fuseli who would have
presumed to address such an observation to Harlow; while it was only
from Fuseli that it would have been received with even the commonest
patience.
The Kemble family are represented in this picture; and it is probable
that the painter was more anxious for the correctness of their
portraits, and an accurate representation of the scene, as it was
enacted at Covent Garden Theatre, than for any of the higher
characteristics of historical art. Mrs. Siddons is the _Katherine_; John
Kemble is _Wolsey_; Charles Kemble, _Cromwell_; while Stephen Kemble,
who was reputed to be fat enough to appear as _Falstaff_, 'without
stuffing,' here represents the _King_. These are all admirable
portraits of a strikingly handsome family, firmly and grandly painted,
and full of expression. Perhaps the best of all is Mrs. Siddons', and
the next Charles Kemble's. The whole picture is a highly commendable
work of art, and enjoyed during many years an extraordinary popularity.
It was with John Kemble, however, that the artist had his greatest
difficulty, and it was here that Sir Thomas Lawrence rendered assistance
to Harlow. Kemble steadily refused to sit, and great was the distress of
the painter. At last Sir Thomas advised his pupil to go to the front row
of the pit of the theatre (there were no stalls in those days, it should
be remembered), four or five times successively, and sketch the great
actor's countenance, and thus make out such a likeness as he could
introduce into the painting. This expedient was adopted, and not only
was a very good likeness secured, but the artist was successful in
obtaining the expression of the _Cardinal_ at the exact point of his
surprise and anger at the defiance of the _Queen_. Had Mr. Kemble sat
for his portrait, Harlow would probably have experienced the difficulty
Northcote complained of:--
'When Kemble sat to me for _Richard III_., meeting the children, he lent
me no assistance whatever in the expression I wished to give, but
remained quite immoveable, as if he were sitting for an ordinary
portrait. As Boaden said, this was his way. He never put himself to any
exertion except in his professional character. If any one wanted to know
his idea of a part, or of a particular passage, his reply always was,
"You must come and see me do it."'
Harlow had much of that talent for painting eyes which was so lauded in
the case of his master Lawrence. A critic has described the eyes in
certain of Lawrence's portraits as 'starting from their spheres.' The
opinion is rather more extravagant than complimentary, or true. There is
a winning sparkle about them which may occasionally be carried to
excess, but, as a rule, they are singularly life-like.
Sir Joshua had laid it down as a fixed principle that, to create the
beautiful, the eyes ought always to be in mezzotint. To this rule Sir
Thomas did not adhere very rigorously, and indeed, by a departure from
it, frequently arrived at the effect he contemplated.
Ambitious at one time of exhibiting his learning, Harlow thought proper
to express surprise at a scholar like Fuseli permitting the engravers to
place translations under his classical subjects.
'Educated at Westminster school,' he said, rather affectedly, 'I should
prefer to see the quotations given in the original language;' and he was
rash enough to instance the print from the death of OEdipus, as a case
in point. The unfortunate part of this was, that, on the plate in
question, the passage was really engraved in Greek characters under the
mezzotint. Fuseli heard of this criticism: 'I will soon bring his
knowledge to the test,' he said.
On the next occasion of his sitting to Harlow he wrote with chalk in
large letters, on the wainscot, a passage from Sophocles: 'Read that,'
he said to Harlow. It soon became evident that Mr. Harlow was quite
unable to do this. Fuseli thought the occasion a worthy one for
administering a rebuke. 'That is the Greek quotation inscribed under the
OEdipus, which you believed to be absent from the plate, and a word of
which you are unable to read. You are a good portrait-painter; in some
ways you stand unrivalled. Don't then pretend to be what you are not,
and, probably, from your avocations, never can be,--a scholar.'
Mr. Fuseli was inclined to be censorious, but possibly his severity was,
in a great measure, deserved in the case of poor, vain, pretentious
Harlow.
In June 1818, in his thirty-first year, Harlow set out for Italy, bent
on study and self-improvement. An interesting and characteristic account
of his life in Rome is contained in his letter dated the 23d November,
addressed to Mr. Tomkisson, the pianoforte-maker of Dean Street, Soho,
who was in several ways connected with artists, and interested in art.
'The major part of my labours are now at an end, having since my arrival
made an entire copy of the Transfiguration; the next was a composition
of my own, of fifteen figures which created no small sensation here.
Canova requested to have the picture at his house for a few days, which
was accordingly sent, and, on the 10th November, upwards of five hundred
persons saw it; it was then removed to the academy of St. Luke's, and
publicly exhibited. They unanimously elected me an Academician, and I
have received the diploma. There are many things which have made this
election very honourable to me, of which you shall hear in England. You
must understand that there are two degrees in our academy--one of merit,
the other of honour; mine is of merit, being one of the body of the
academy. The same night of my election the King of Naples received his
honorary degree (being then in Rome on a visit to the Pope) in common
with all the other sovereigns of Europe, and I am happy to find the Duke
of Wellington is one also. West, Fuseli, Lawrence, Flaxman, and myself,
are the _only_ British artists belonging to St. Luke's as academicians.
This institution is upwards of three hundred years standing. Raffaelle,
the Caracci, Poussin, Guido, Titian, and every great master that we
esteem, were members. I had the high gratification to see my name
enrolled in the list of these illustrious characters. Now, my dear
friend, as this fortunate affair has taken place, I should wish it added
to the print of Katherine's Trial: you will perhaps have the kindness to
call on Mr. Cribb, the publisher, in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden,
and have it worded thus: _Member of the Academy of St. Luke's at
Rome_.' (This, of course, was by way of reproach to the Royal Academy of
Great Britain.) 'I mention this as it is a grand plate, and indeed ought
to be added. I expect to be in England by Christmas-Day or near it. I
shall have an immensity to talk over. I was much pleased with Naples;
stayed ten days; went over to Portici; Herculaneum and Pompeii, and
ascended Mount Vesuvius: this was a spectacle--the most awful and grand
that I had ever witnessed--the fire bursting every two minutes, and the
noise with it like thunder: red-hot ashes came tumbling down continually
where I stood sketching, many of which I brought away, and different
pieces of the old lava which I hope to show you. The eruption took place
a week or two after I left. But Pompeii exhibits now the most
extraordinary remains of antiquity in the world; a whole city laid open
to view; the habitations are unroofed, but, in other respects, are quite
perfect. The house of Sallust, the Roman historian, was particularly
gratifying to me, unaltered in every respect, except the furniture
(which I believe is now in Portici), the same as it was eighteen hundred
and fifty years ago when inhabited by him. There are many shops; in one
the amphoræ which held the wine are curious, and marks of the cups they
used upon the slabs are distinctly seen: a milkshop with the sign of a
goat is perfectly preserved with the vessels, and also several other
shops in the same perfect state. Rome has been a scene of the utmost
gaiety lately, during the stay of the King of Naples. I was at three
splendid balls given at the different palaces. We were obliged to appear
in court-dresses, and the cardinals added very much to the richness and
grandeur of the party. The ladies looked peculiarly striking, but they
did not wear hoops as in the English court. We had French and English
dances, etc., and the fireworks surpassed all my expectations. Upon the
whole, the entertainments were very novel and very delightful. I am to
be presented to the Pope either on the 2d or 3d of next month. Cardinal
Gonsalvi will let me know when the day is fixed, and I leave Rome
directly after; perhaps the next day--a day that I most sincerely
dread--for I have become so attached to the place and the people that I
expect a great struggle with myself. I should be the most ungrateful of
human beings if I did not acknowledge the endless favours they have
bestowed on me. It is the place of all others for an artist, as he is
sure to be highly appreciated if he has any talent; and I shall speak of
the country to the end of my days with the most fervent admiration. The
Transfiguration, I think, will make a stare in England!'
It was of this same copy of the Transfiguration that Canova had spoken
so applaudingly: 'This, sir, seems rather the work of eighteen weeks
than of eighteen days.'
He gave a picture of 'The Presentation of the Cardinal's Hat to Wolsey
in Westminster Abbey' to the Academy of St. Luke's at Rome, and his own
portrait to the Academy of Florence, in acknowledgment of having been
elected a member. He embarked for England in January 1819. Lord
Burghersh, the English ambassador at Florence, had paid him marked
attentions. Lord Liverpool gave instructions that the painter's packages
should be passed at the Custom House. He established himself in a house,
No. 83 Dean Street, Soho. Everything seemed to promise to him a happy
and prosperous future, when suddenly he sickened with the disease, known
popularly as the mumps. He died on the 4th February 1819, and was buried
under the altar of St. James's Church, Piccadilly. In the churchyard had
been buried, a year or two previously, an artist of less merit,--James
Gillray, the caricaturist.
It is not possible to lay great stress upon the early failings of
Harlow; errors, after all, rather of manners than of morals. Had he
lived, it is likely that a successful career would have almost effaced
the recollection of these, while it would certainly have contradicted
them as evidences of character. As Lawrence said of his dead pupil,
generously yet truthfully, 'he was the most promising of all our
painters.' There was the material for a great artist in Harlow. He died
too young for his fame, and for his art. A proof engraving of one of his
best works (a portrait of Northcote) was brought to Lawrence to touch
upon:--
'Harlow had faults,' he said, 'but we must not remember the faults of
one who so greatly improved himself in his art. It shall never be said
that the finest work from so great a man went into the world without
such assistance as I can give.'