ART IN ENGLAND

Notes and Studies

by

DUTTON COOK. 

LondonSampson Low, Son, and ArstonMilton House, Ludgate Hill. 1869. 

Edinburgh: T. Constable, Printer to the Queen, and to the University. 

CONTENTS. 

 PAGEEARLY ART-SCHOOLS IN ENGLAND 1VERRIO AND LAGUERRE 15A SCULPTOR'S LIFE IN THE LAST CENTURY 28THE RISE OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY 55WIDOW HOGARTH AND HER LODGER 104ALLAN RAMSAY, JUNIOR 123GEORGE ROMNEY 142COSWAY, THE MINIATURE-PAINTER 175THE STORY OF A SCENE-PAINTER 201THE STORY OF AN ENGRAVER 230SIR JOSHUA'S PUPIL 244HOPPNER AND LAWRENCE 260THE PUPIL OF SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE 295TURNER AND RUSKIN 316

PREFACE. 

It will be readily understood that this little volume does not affect toset forth anything like a formal history of the rise and progress of Artin England. The fitting treatment of such a theme would need much morespace--not to mention other requirements--than I have here at command. Ihave designed merely to submit in a manner that may, I trust, beacceptable to the general reader, and not wholly without value to thestudent, some few excerpts and chapters from the chronicles of thenation's Art, with biographical studies of certain of its artists. 

In this way I have felt myself bound so to select my materials as toavoid more travelling over familiar ground than seemed absolutelynecessary. I have therefore assumed the reader's acquaintance with thelives and achievements of the great leaders of native Art--Hogarth, Reynolds, Gainsborough, for instance--and have forborne to occupy mypages with directly rehearsing their famous memoirs. It seemed to medesirable rather to call attention to the stories of artists who, thoughless renowned, less prominent in popular estimation, were yet of mark intheir periods, and had distinct influence on the character and progressof Art in England. Many of these artists were contemporaries, however, and in dealing with their careers severally, it has hardly been possibleto escape repetition of the mention of incidents pertaining to the timesin which they conjointly 'flourished, '--to employ the favourite term ofBiographical Dictionaries. I must ask the reader's pardon if he shouldfind these repetitions intrusively frequent. But the papers hereincontained have, for the most part, already appeared in print, when itwas deemed advisable to make each as complete in itself as waspracticable. They are now reproduced after revision, and, in some cases, considerable extension, but their original form cannot be whollysuppressed or vitally interfered with. I can only hope that what was amerit in their isolated state may not be accounted too grievous a defectnow that they come to be congregated. 

Finally, I would suggest--referring with all due modesty to my ownefforts in this direction--that the lives and labours of our Artworthies form wholesome as well as curious subjects for popular study. Ido not desire to set up the artist--merely in right of his professinghimself an artist--as peculiarly or romantically entitled to publicregard. But a nation's Art is, in truth, an important matter. To itsvalue and significance the community is more awake than was heretoforethe case, and what was once but the topic of a clique has become of verygeneral concern and interest. Sympathy with Art must necessarily withmore or less force extend to the professors and practisers of Art. Surveying the past, one cannot but note that often patronage and publicfavour have been strangely perverted--now cruelly withheld, nowrecklessly bestowed. Here genius, or a measure of talent nearlyamounting to genius, has languished neglected and suffering--herecharlatanry has prospered triumphantly. Something of this kind may behappening now amongst us, or may occur again by and by. Acquaintancewith the past history of native Art--its struggles, trials, troubles, and successes--will surely prove of worth in considering its present andfuture position and prospects. As some slight aid to the diffusion ofinformation on the subject, these otherwise unpretending pages arerespectfully submitted to the reader. 

D. C. 

EARLY ART SCHOOLS IN ENGLAND. 

Charles the First appears to have been the first English Sovereign whoregarded art, not merely as an aid to the splendour of the throne, butfor its own sake. As Walpole says, 'Queen Elizabeth was avaricious withpomp, James the First lavish with meanness. ' To neither had the positionof the painter been a matter of the slightest concern. But from Charlesthe First dates truly the dawn of a love of art in England, the propervaluing of the artist-mind, and the first introduction into the countryof the greatest works of the continental masters. 

At the present day a complaint is constantly arising, that artists arefound to be deficient in general education, while what may be called fordistinction's sake the educated classes are singularly wanting inartistic knowledge. The Universities do not teach art;[1] theArt-schools do not teach anything else. As a result, speaking generally, the painters are without mental culture, the patrons are withoutart-acquirements. (This supposes the patrons to be of the upper classes;but of course at the present time a large share of art-patronage comesfrom the rich middle or manufacturing classes, whose uninformed tastesare even less likely to tend to the due appraisement and elevation ofart. ) Mr. Ruskin, giving evidence before the commissioners inquiringinto the position of the Royal Academy (1863), says, 'The want ofeducation on the part of the upper classes in art, has been very much atthe bottom of the abuses which have crept into all systems of educationconnected with it. If the upper classes could only be interested in itby being led into it when young, a great improvement might be lookedfor;' and the witness goes on to urge the expediency of appointingprofessors of art at the Universities. Upon the question of infusing alay-element into the Royal Academy by the addition of non-professionalacademicians, Mr. Ruskin takes occasion to observe:--'I think if youeducate our upper classes to take more interest in art, which implies ofcourse to know something about it, they might be most efficient membersof the Academy; but if you leave them, as you leave them now, to theeducation which they get at Oxford and Cambridge, and give them thesort of scorn which all the teaching there tends to give of art andartists, the less they have to do with an Academy of Art the better. '

[1] The Slade Professorship, recently instituted, is a step towardsmending this matter, however. 

It is somewhat curious after this to consider an attempt made by KingCharles the First, in the eleventh year of his reign, to supply theseadmitted deficiencies of University instruction: to found an Academy inwhich general and fine-art education should be combined. 

A committee, consisting of the Duke of Buckingham and others, had beenappointed in the House of Lords for taking into consideration the stateof the public schools, and their method of instruction. What progresswas made by this committee is not known. One result of its labours, however, was probably the establishment of the _Musæum Minervæ_, underletters-patent from the king, at a house which Sir Francis Kynaston hadpurchased, in Covent Garden, and furnished as an Academy. This wasappropriated for ever as a college for the education of nobles andgentlemen, to be governed by a regent and professors, chosen by'balloting-box, ' who were made a body corporate, permitted to use acommon seal, and to possess goods and lands in mortmain. Kynaston, whostyled himself _Corporis Armiger_, and who had printed in 1635 atranslation into Latin verse of Chaucer's _Troilus and Cressida_, wasnominated the first regent of the Academy, and published in 1636 itsconstitution and rules, addressed 'to the noble and generouswell-wishers to vertuous actions and learning. ' The Academy--'justifiedand approved by the wisdom of the King's most sacred Majesty and many ofthe lords of his Majesty's most honourable privy council, '--itsconstitution and discipline being ratified under the hands and seals ofthe Right Honourable the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England andthe two Lord Chief Justices--professed to be founded 'according to thelaudable customs of other nations, ' and for 'the bringing of virtue intoaction and the theory of liberal arts into more frequent practice. ' Itsaims were directed to the end that England might be as well furnishedfor the virtuous education and discipline of her own natives as anyother nation of Europe; it being 'sufficiently known that the subjectsof his Majesty's dominions have naturally as noble minds and as ablebodies as any nation of the earth, and therefore deserve allaccommodation for the advancing of them, either in speculation oraction. ' It was considered that a peculiar institution was required forteaching those 'most useful accomplishments of a gentleman'--thesciences of navigation, riding, fortification, architecture, painting, etc. , which, if taught, were yet not practised in the universities orcourts of law. Many of these sciences, it was admitted, were taught inLondon, 'in dispersed places;' but it was convenient to reduce and unitethem in one certain place, and not to teach them perfunctorily andrather for gain than for any other respect--desirable, too, that youthshould have, in a virtuous society, generous and fitting recreations asmight divert them from too much frequenting places of expense and ofgreater inconvenience. The intention of the Academy was also to benefitgentlemen going abroad, by giving them language and instruction, withother ornaments of travel. 'There is no understanding man, ' says theprospectus or advertisement of the institution, 'but may resent how manyof our noblemen and young gentlemen travel into foreign countries beforethey have any language or knowledge to make profit of their time abroad, they not being any way able to get knowledge for want of language, norlanguage for want of time; since going over so young, their years oflicense commonly expire before they can obtain to sufficient ripeness ofunderstanding; which no nation is known to do but the English: for whatchildren of other nations come over to us before they are of able ageand ripeness?' Another inconvenience arising from the want of the_Musæum Minervæ_ was stated to be the necessity many gentlemen wereunder of sending their sons beyond seas for their education, 'where, through change of climate and dyat, and for want of years of discretion, they become more subject to sickness and immature death. '

It was required of gentlemen admitted into the _Musæum_ that they shouldpay fees of at least £5 each, and should bring a testimonial of theirarms and gentry, and their coat armour, 'tricked on a table, to beconserved in the museum. ' There was to be a _Liber Nobilium_ alwayskept, in which benefactors and their benefits were to be recorded, beginning with King Charles, 'our first and royal benefactor;' and itwas provided that if any gentleman should have any natural experiment orsecret, and should communicate it to the _Musæum_ and upon trial itshould be found true and good, his name and experiment should berecorded in _Liber Nobilium_ for a perpetual honour to him. 

The regent was required to instruct personally, or to superintendinstruction in 'heraldry, blazon of coates and armes, practicalknowledge of deedes, and evidences, principles and processes of commonlaw, knowledge of antiquities, coynes, medalls, husbandry, ' etc. TheDoctor of Philosophy and Physic was to read and profess physiology, anatomy, or any other parts of physic. The Professor of Astronomy was toteach astronomy, optics, navigation, and cosmography. Instruction inarithmetic, analytical algebra, geometry, fortification, andarchitecture, was to be given by the Professor of Geometry. A Professorof Music was to impart skill in singing, and music to play upon organ, lute, viol, etc. Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, French, Spanish, andHigh Dutch were to be taught by the Professor of Languages. In addition, a Professor of Defence inculcated skill at all weapons and wrestling(but not pugilism apparently), and ample instruction was to be affordedin riding, dancing, and behaviour, painting, sculpture, and writing. Apreparatory school was also to be annexed for the young gentlemen whoseparents were desirous of having them brought up in the _Musæum_ fromtheir first years. Finally, it was expressly provided that no degreeswere to be given, and the Academy was not to be conceived in any wayprejudicial 'to the Universities and Inns of Court, whose foundationshave so long and so honourably been confirmed. '

For no long time did the _Musæum Minervæ_ flourish. The King's troublesbegan; and in the storms of civil war the Academy for teaching the upperclasses science and the fine arts, manners and accomplishments, fell tothe ground and disappeared utterly. So bitter and inveterate was thefeeling against the King, that, as Walpole says (and Walpole, be itremembered, cherished no reverence for Charles the First--quiteotherwise--under a _facsimile_ of the warrant for the King's execution, he wrote 'Magna Charta, ' and he often found pleasure in considering themonarch's fall), 'it seems to have become part of the religion of thetime to war on the arts because they had been countenanced at Court. ' Soearly as 1645, the Parliament had begun to sell the pictures at YorkHouse. On the 23d July in that year votes were passed ordering the sale, for the benefit of Ireland and the North, of all such pictures at YorkHouse 'as were without any superstition. ' Pictures containingrepresentations of the Second Person in the Trinity, or of the VirginMary, were judged to be superstitious, and ordered to be burnedforthwith. Immediately after the King's death, votes were passed for thesale of all his pictures, statues, jewels, hangings, and goods. Cromwell, however, on his obtaining sole power, made some effort to staythe terrible sacrifice that was being made of the royal collections. 

There was thus an end of King Charles's _Musæum Minervæ_. Yet, if notabsolutely founded on its ruins, at any rate in some measure followingits example, we soon find record of the rise of a similar institution. One Sir Balthazar Gerbier, without Government aid or countenance, butacting entirely on his own responsibility, had opened an Academy 'onBednall-green without Aldgate. ' This was probably in the year 1649. 

Sir Balthazar Gerbier, architect and painter, 'excellent in eitherbranch, ' says a biographer, had led a somewhat curious life. In apamphlet published in Paris, in 1646, addressed 'to all men that lovesTruth, '--singularly rich, thanks to the French printers, in blunders, orthographic and grammatical, --Sir Balthazar gives some account of hisfamily and himself. He was born about 1591, at Middelburg in Zeeland, the son of Anthoine Gerbier, a baron of Normandy, and Radegonde, daughter-in-law to the Lord of Blavet in Picardy. 'It pleaseth God, 'writes Sir Balthazar, 'to suffer my parents to fly the bluddypersecutions in France, against those which the Roman Catholics callthe Huguenots. My said parents left and lost all for that cause. ' Hecame to England when about twenty-one, and entered the service of GeorgeVilliers, 'newly become favourite to King James, being immediately afterBaron, Viscount, Earle, and afterwards created Marquis and Duke ofBuckingham. ' He accompanied Buckingham to Spain, and was employed in thefamous treaty of marriage, though ostensibly acting only as a painter. While in Spain he executed a miniature portrait of the Infanta, whichwas sent over to King James. The Duchess of Buckingham wrote to herhusband in Spain, 'I pray you, if you have any idle time, sit to Gerbierfor your picture, that I may have it well done in time. ' After theaccession of Charles, it appears that Gerbier was employed in Flandersto negotiate privately a treaty with Spain, in which Rubens wascommissioned to act on the part of the Infanta; the business ultimatelybringing the great painter to England. In 1628, Gerbier was knighted atHampton Court, and, according to his own account, was promised by KingCharles the office of Surveyor-General of the works after the death ofInigo Jones. In 1637, he was employed at Brussels in some private statenegotiation with the Duke of Orleans, the French King's brother, and in1641 he obtained a bill of naturalization, and took the oaths ofallegiance and supremacy. According to Vertue, he was much hated andpersecuted by the anti-monarchic party, for his loyalty and fidelity tothe King and his son. At the sale of the royal collection he madepurchases to the amount of £350. The suspension of all art-patronageduring the Commonwealth, probably necessitated the establishment of hisAcademy at Bethnal Green, as a means of obtaining a livelihood. Paintersdid not flourish very much under the rule of the Puritans. 

A fly-sheet, undated, which may be found in the British Museum, setsforth the plan of Gerbier's Academy. He addresses himself 'to allFathers of Noble Families and Lovers of Vertue, ' desires public noticeof his great labours and exertions, and informs the world that 'thechiefe Famous Forraigne Languages, Sciences, and Noble Exercises' aretaught in his establishment. 'All Lovers of Vertue, ' of what age soever, are received and instructed, and each of them may select such studies, exercises, and sciences as are most consonant to his genius. Publiclectures are announced to be read gratis every Wednesday afternoon, inthe summer at three, in the winter at two o'clock. A competent number ofchildren of 'decayed families' are taught without fee. 'Lovers ofVertue' are stated to be thus freed from the dangers and inconveniencesincident to travellers, who repair to foreign parts to improvethemselves, and leave the honour of their education to strangers, running 'the hazzard of being shaken in the fundamental points of theirreligion, and their innate loyalty to their native country. ' The nationis therefore exhorted to reflect seriously on Sir Balthazar's proffers;to embrace them vigorously and constantly to countenance and promotethem, 'since that the languages declared to be taught in the Academyare:--Hebrew, Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Spanish, High Dutch, andLow Dutch, both Ancient and Modern Histories, jointly with theConstitutions and Governments of the most famous Empires and Dominionsin the World, the true Natural and Experimental Philosophy, theMathematicks, Arithmetic and the Keeping of Bookes of Accounts byDebitor and Creditor, all Excellent Handwriting, Geometry, Cosmography, Geography, Perspective, Architecture, Secret Motions of Scenes, Fortifications, the Besieging and Defending of Places, Fireworks, Marches of Armies, Ordering of Battailes, Fencing, Vaulting, Riding theGreat Horse, Music, Playing on all sorts of Instruments, Dancing, Drawing, Painting, Limning, and Carving, ' etc. Certainly Sir Balthazar'swas a sufficient catalogue of arts, sciences, and accomplishments. Thelectures 'composed for the good of the public' were afterwards printed, and to be obtained at Robert Ibbitson's house in Smithfield, near HosierLane. It may be noted that a lecture upon the art of well-speaking, brought upon the lecturer the derision of Butler, author of _Hudibras_. 

In the winter the Academy was moved from Bethnal Green to Whitefriars. Sir Balthazar issued advertisements as to his lectures. It is to befeared his good intentions were not always appreciated by the public ofthe day. In one of his advertisements we find him complaining bitterlyof 'the extraordinary concourse of unruly people who robbed him, andtreated with savage rudeness his extraordinary services. ' Something of avisionary, too, was Sir Balthazar;--yet, with all his vanity as to hisown merits--his coxcombry about his proceedings, --a sort of reformer andbenefactor also in a small way. At one time we find him advertisingthat, besides lecturing gratis, he will lend from one shilling to six, gratis, 'to such as are in extreme need, and have not wherewithal toendeavour their subsistence, whereas week by week they may drive on sometrade. ' By-and-by, however, Sir Balthazar was probably more disposed toborrow than to lend. His Academy met with little support--with ridiculerather than encouragement; was indeed a total failure; and he leftEngland for America. For some years nothing was heard of him. 

In 1660, however, we find him publishing at Rotterdam 'a sommarydescription, manifesting that greater profits are to be done in the hottthan in the cold parts of America. ' This contains an account of hisjourney with his family to settle at Surinam. But there, it seems, hewas seized by the Dutch, treated with much violence (one of his childrenbeing killed), and brought to Holland. He attempted, but in vain, toobtain redress from the States for this strange treatment of him. Heprobably returned to England with Charles II. , for he is said to haveaided in designing the triumphal arches erected at the Restoration. 

Gerbier's name is attached to a long list of books and pamphlets. Someof these are of a controversial character; the author was a stoutHuguenot, fond of denouncing the Pope; oftentimes alarmed at plotsagainst himself on account of his religion, and now publishing a letterof remonstrance to his three daughters who, in opposition to his will, had entered a nunnery in Paris. Other works relate to architecture andfortifications, the languages, arts, and noble exercises taught in hisAcademy, or contain advice to travellers, or deal with politicalaffairs. Mr. Pepys records in his diary, under date the 28th May1663:--'At the Coffee House in Exchange Alley I bought a little book, _Counsell to Builders_, by Sir Balth. Gerbier. It is dedicated almost toall the men of any great condition in England, so that the dedicationsare more than the book itself; and both it and them, ' the diarist addssomewhat severely, 'not worth a farthing!'

Sir Balthazar died in 1667, at Hempsted-Marshall House, which he hadhimself designed, the seat of Lord Craven, and was buried in the chancelof the adjoining church. Portraits of Gerbier were painted byDobson[2]--the picture was sold for £44 at the sale of Betterton theactor--and by Vandyke. The work by Vandyke also contained portraits ofGerbier's family, and was purchased in Holland by command of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and brought to Leicester House. 

[2] A portrait of Gerbier, Sir Charles Cotterel, and W. Dobson, paintedby Dobson, the property of the Duke of Northumberland, was exhibited atSouth Kensington in 1868. 

For something like half-a-century after Sir Balthazar Gerbier's time wefind no trace of another Art Academy in England. 

VERRIO AND LAGUERRE. 

Pope, denouncing the vanity of wealth and the crimes committed in thename of taste, visits Lord Timon's villa, and finds plenty of pegs onwhich to hang criticism--ample scope for satire. With depreciating eyeshe surveys the house and grounds, their fittings and garniture, almostas though he were going to make a bid for them. 'He that blames wouldbuy, ' says the proverb. Then he passes to the out-buildings, takingnotes like a broker in possession under a _fi. Fa_. 

 'And now the chapel's silver bell you hear, That summons you to all the pride of prayer: Light quirks of music, broken and uneven, Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven. On painted ceiling you devoutly stare, Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre, On gilded clouds in fair expansion lie, And bring all paradise before the eye, ' etc. 

Who was Verrio? Who was Laguerre?

ANTONIO VERRIO was born in Lecce, a town in the Neapolitan province ofTerra di Otranto, in the year 1639. Early in life he visited Venice tostudy the colouring of the Venetian masters. He returned a successful, not a meritorious painter. In 1660 he was at Naples, where he executed alarge fresco work, 'Christ healing the Sick, ' for the Jesuit College. This painting, we are told, was conspicuous for its brilliant colour andforcible effect. 

Subsequently the artist was in France, painting the high altar of theCarmelites at Toulouse. Dominici says that 'Verrio had such a love fortravelling that he could not remain in his own country. '

Charles II. , desiring to revive the manufacture of tapestry at Mortlake, which had been stopped by the civil war, invited Verrio to England; butwhen he arrived the king changed his plans, and intrusted the painterwith the decoration in fresco of Windsor Castle. Charles was induced tothis by seeing a work of Verrio's at Lord Arlington's house at the endof St. James's Park, the site of Buckingham House. 'In possession of theCartoons of Raphael, ' Fuseli lectured, angrily, on the subject, yearsafterwards, 'and with the magnificence of Whitehall before his eyes, hesuffered Verrio to contaminate the walls of his palaces. ' But there wasraging then a sort of epidemical belief in native deficiency and in theabsolute necessity of importing art talent. In his first picture Verriorepresented the king in a glorification of naval triumph. He decoratedmost of the ceilings of the palace, one whole side of St. George's Halland the Chapel; but few of his works are now extant. Hans Jordaens'lively fancy and ready pencil induced his critics to affirm of him, 'that his figures seemed to flow from his hand upon the canvas as from apot-ladle. ' Certainly, from Verrio's fertility in apologue and allegory, and the rapidity of his execution, it might have been said that hespattered out his works with a mop. Nothing daunted him. He would havecovered an acre of ceiling with an acre of apotheosis. As Walpolewrites, 'His exuberant pencil was ready at pouring out gods, goddesses, kings, emperors, and triumphs over those public surfaces on which theeye never rests long enough to criticise, and where one should be sorryto place the works of a better master. I mean ceilings and staircases. The New Testament or the Roman History cost him nothing but ultramarine;that and marble columns and marble steps he never spared. '

He shrunk from no absurdity or incongruity. His taste was even worsethan his workmanship. He delighted to avenge any wrong he had received, or fancied he had received, by introducing his enemy, real or imaginary, in his pictures. Thus, on the ceiling of St. George's Hall, he paintedAnthony, Earl of Shaftesbury, in the character of Faction dispersinglibels; in another place, having a private quarrel with Mrs. Marriott, the housekeeper, he borrowed her face for one of his Furies. Paintingfor Lord Exeter, at Burleigh, in a representation of Bacchus bestridinga hogshead, he copied the head of a dean with whom he was at variance. It is more excusable, perhaps, that, when compelled by his patron toinsert a Pope in a procession little flattering to his religion, headded the portrait of the Archbishop of Canterbury then living. In apicture of the 'Healing of the Sick, ' he was guilty of the folly andimpropriety of introducing among the spectators of the scene, portraitsof himself, Sir Godfrey Kneller, and Mr. May, surveyor of the works, alladorned with the profuse periwigs of the period. But he could nottransfer to his pictures a decorum and a common sense that had no placein his mind. Hence he loved to depict a garish and heterogeneous whirlof saints and sinners, pan-pipes, periwigs, cherubim, silk stockings, angels, small-swords, the naked and the clothed, goddesses, violoncellos, stars, and garters. A Latin inscription in honour of thepainter and his paintings appeared over the tribune at the end of St. George's Hall:--'_Antonius Verrio Neapolitanus non ignobili stirpenatus, ad honorem Dei, Augustissimi Regis Caroli Secundi et SanctiGeorgii, molem hanc felicissimâ manu decoravit_. '

The king lavished kindness upon this pretentious and absurd Italian. Hewas appointed to the place of master-gardener, and lodgings in a housein St. James's Park, to be afterwards known as Carlton House, were setapart for his use. Here he was visited by Evelyn, who records that 'thefamous Italian painter' was 'settled in His Majesty's garden at St. James's, which he had made a very delicious paradise. ' The artist alsodined with the author, and was regaled with 'China oranges off my owntrees, as good, I think, as ever were eaten. ' For works executed inWindsor Castle between the years 1676 and 1681, he received the sum of£6845, 8s. 4d. Vertue copied the account 'from a half-sheet of paperfairly writ in a hand of the time. ' It particularizes the roomsdecorated, and the cost. For the king's guard chamber, £300; for theking's presence chamber, £200; for the queen's drawing-room, £250; forthe queen's bed-chamber, £100; and so on, until the enormous total isreached. Of his paintings in St. George's Hall Evelyn writes, 'Verrio'sinvention is admirable, his ordnance full and flowing, antique andheroical; his figures move; and if the walls hold (which is the onlydoubt, by reason of the salts, which in time and in this moist climateprejudice), his work will preserve his name to ages. ' He employed manyworkmen under him, was of extravagant habits, and kept a great table. Heconsidered himself as an art-monarch entitled to considerable state andmagnificence. He was constant in his applications to the Crown for moneyto carry on his works. With the ordinary pertinacity of the dun, hejoined a freedom which would have been remarkable, if the king'sindulgence and good humour had not done so much to foster it. Once, atHampton Court, having lately received an advance of a thousand pounds, he found the king so encircled by courtiers that he could not approach. He called out loudly and boldly--

'Sire! I desire the favour of speaking to your Majesty. '

'Well, Verrio, ' the king inquired, 'what is your request?'

'Money, sire! I am so short in cash that I am not able to pay myworkmen, and your Majesty and I have learned by experience that pedlarsand painters cannot give credit long. '

The king laughed at this impudent speech, and reminded the painter thathe had but lately received a thousand pounds. 

'Yes, sire, ' persisted Verrio, 'but that was soon paid away. '

'At that rate, you would spend more than I do to maintain my family. '

'True, sire, ' answered the painter; 'but does your Majesty keep an opentable as I do?'

Verrio designed the large equestrian portrait of the king for the hallof Chelsea College, but it was finished by Cooke, and presented by LordRanelagh. On the accession of James II. He was again employed at Windsorin Wolsey's tomb-house, which it was intended should be used as a RomanCatholic chapel. He painted the king and several of his courtiers inthe hospital of Christchurch, London, and he painted also at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. 

But soon there was an end of his friends and patrons, the Stuarts. Jameshad fled; William of Orange was on the throne; a revolution had happenedlittle favourable to Signor Verrio's religion or political principles. There is a commendable staunchness in his adherence to the ruined cause:in his abandoning his post of master-gardener, and his refusal to workfor the man he regarded as a usurper; though there is somethingludicrous in the notion of punishing King William by depriving him ofVerrio's art. He did not object, however, to work for the nobility. Forsome years he was employed by Lord Exeter at Burleigh, and afterwards atChatsworth. He was true to his old execrable style. He introduced hisown portrait in a picture-history of Mars and Venus, and in the chapelat Chatsworth he produced a dreadful altar-piece representing theincredulity of St. Thomas. He painted also at Lowther Hall. For hispaintings at Burleigh alone he was paid more money than Raphael orMichael Angelo received for all their works. Verrio was engaged on themfor about twelve years, handsomely maintained the while, with anequipage at his disposal, and a salary of £1500 a year. Subsequently, onthe persuasion of Lord Exeter, Verrio was induced to lend his aid toroyalty once more, and he condescended to decorate the grand staircaseat Hampton Court for King William. Walpole suggests that heaccomplished this work as badly as he could, 'as if he had spoiled itout of principle. ' But this is not credible. The painting was in theartist's usual manner, and neither better nor worse--and his best wasbad enough, in all conscience. His usual faults of gaudy colour, baddrawing, and senseless composition were of course to be found; but then, these were equally apparent in all his other works. Later in life hissight began to fail him, and he received from Queen Anne a pension of£200 a year for his life. To the last royal favour was extended to him, and he was selected to superintend the decorations of Blenheim. Butdeath intervened. The over-rated, overpaid, and most meretriciouspainter died at Hampton Court in 1707. There is evident error inDominici's statement that the old man met his death from drowning on avisit to Languedoc. Walpole, summing up his merits and demerits, says, rather curiously, 'He was an excellent painter for the sort of subjectson which he was employed, without much invention and with less taste!'

The father of LOUIS LAGUERRE was by birth a Catalan, and held theappointment of Keeper of the Royal Menagerie at Versailles. To his son, born at Paris in 1663, Louis XIV. Stood godfather, bestowing on thechild his distinguished Christian name. The young Laguerre received hiseducation at a Jesuit College, with the view of entering the priesthood, but a confirmed impediment in his speech demonstrated his unfitness forsuch a calling. He began to evince considerable art-ability, and, on therecommendation of the fathers of the college, he eventually embraced theprofession of painting. He then entered the Royal Academy of France, andstudied for a short time under Charles Le Brun. In 1683 he came toEngland with one Picard, a painter of architecture. At this time Verriowas in the acme of his prosperity. He was producing allegorical ceilingsand staircases by wholesale. He had a troop of workmen under him, obedient to his instructions, dabbing in superficial yards of pinkflesh, and furlongs of blue clouds. Verrio was happy to secure forthwithso efficient an assistant as Laguerre, and soon found him plenty to do. In nearly every work of Verrio's after this date, it is probable thatLaguerre had a hand. He seems to have been an amiable, kindly, simple-minded man, without much self-assertion or any strong opinions ofhis own. He was quite content to do as Verrio bid him, even imitatinghim and following him through his figurative mysteries, and flounderingwith him in the mire of graceless drawing and gaudy colour andridiculous fable. He had at least as much talent as his master--probablyeven more. But he never sought to outshine or displace him. 

'A modest, unintriguing man, ' as Vertue calls him, he was quitesatisfied with being second in command, no matter how ignorant andinefficient might be his captain. 

John Tijon, his father-in-law, a founder of iron balustrades, said ofhim, 'God has made him a painter, and there left him. '

He worked under Verrio in St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and at Burleigh;he executed staircases at old Devonshire House, in Piccadilly, atBuckingham House, and at Petworth; assisted in the paintings atMarlborough House, St. James's Park; decorated the saloon at Blenheim;and in many of the apartments at Burleigh on the Hill 'the walls arecovered with his Cæsars. '

William of Orange gave the painter lodgings at Hampton Court, where itseems he painted the Labours of Hercules in _chiaro-oscuro_, andrepaired Andrea Mantegna's pictures of the Triumphs of Julius Cæsar. 

The commissioners for rebuilding St. Paul's Cathedral unanimously choseLaguerre to decorate the cupola with frescoes. Subsequently thisdecision was abandoned in favour of Thornhill; but, as Walpole says, 'the preference was not ravished from Laguerre by superior merit. '

Sir James Thornhill received payment for his paintings in the dome ofSt. Paul's at the rate of forty shillings the square yard. The world hasstill the opportunity of deciding upon the merits or demerits of thoseworks. Vertue thinks that Sir James was indebted to Laguerre for hisknowledge of historical painting on ceilings, etc. For decorating thestaircase of the South Sea Company's House, Sir James received onlytwenty-five shillings per square yard. By speculating in the shares ofthe same Company, it may be stated that another artist, Sir GodfreyKneller, lost £20, 000. But prosperous Sir Godfrey could afford to lose;his fortune could sustain even such a shock as that; at his death heleft an estate of £2000 per annum. He had intended that Thornhill shoulddecorate the staircase of his seat at Wilton, but learning that Newtonwas sitting to Sir James, he grew angry. 'No portrait painter shallpaint my house, ' cried Sir Godfrey, and he gave the commission toLaguerre, who did his very best for his brother artist. 

On the union of England and Scotland, Laguerre received an order fromQueen Anne to design a set of tapestries commemorative of the event, introducing portraits of her Majesty and her Ministers. He executed therequisite drawings; but it does not appear that the work was evercarried out. 

In 1711 he was a director of an academy of drawing instituted in London, under the presidency of Kneller. On the resignation of Kneller, therewas a probability of Laguerre being elected in his place; but he wasagain defeated by his rival, Thornhill, probably as much from his ownwant of management and self-confidence, as from any other cause. 

He drew designs for engravers, and etched a Judgment of Midas. Roundthe room of a tavern in Drury Lane, where was held a club of _virtuosi_, he painted a Bacchanalian procession, and presented the house with hislabours. 

He had many imitators; for there are followers of bad as well as of goodexamples. Among others, Riario, Johnson, Brown, besides Lanscroon, Scheffers, and Picard, who worked with him under Verrio. 

His son and pupil, John Laguerre, manifested considerable ability, andengraved a series of prints of 'Hob in the Well, '[3] which had a largepopularity, though they were but indifferently executed. He was fond ofthe theatre, with a talent for music and singing; painted scenery andstage decorations. He even appeared upon the boards as a singer. 

[3] A favourite old ballad farce by Dogget, the comedian. 

Laguerre, in his age, feeble and dropsical, attended Drury Lane on the20th April 1721, to witness his son's performance in a musical versionof Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Island Princess;' but, before the curtainrose, the poor old man was seized with an apoplectic fit, and died thesame night. He was buried in the Churchyard of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. The son subsequently quitted the stage, andresumed his first profession. He etched a plate, representing Falstaff, Pistol, and Doll Tearsheet, with other theatrical characters, inallusion to a quarrel between the players and patentees. He died in veryindigent circumstances, in March 1748. 

Time and the white-washer's double-tie brush have combined to destroymost of the ceilings and staircases of Signor Verrio and MonsieurLaguerre. For their art, there was not worth enough in it to endow itwith any lasting vitality. They are remembered more from Pope's lines, than on any other account--preserved in them, like uncomely curiositiesin good spirits. To resort to the poet for verses applicable, thoughfamiliar:--

 'Pretty in amber to observe the forms Of hair, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms; The things we know are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there!'

A SCULPTOR'S LIFE IN THE LAST CENTURY. 

Horace Walpole, in his _Anecdotes of Painting_, having deplored the lowebb to which the arts had sunk in Britain during the time of George theFirst, proceeds to consider the succeeding reign with greatercomplacency: accounting it, indeed, as a new and shining era. UnderGeorge the Second he found architecture revived 'in antique purity;'sculpture redeemed from reproach; the art of gardening, or, as heprefers to call it, 'the art of creating landscape, ' pressed forward toperfection; engraving much elevated; and painting, if less perceptiblyadvanced, still (towards the close of the reign, at any rate) ransomedfrom insipidity by the genius of Sir Joshua Reynolds. The king himself, it was conceded, had 'little propensity to refined pleasure;' but hisconsort, Queen Caroline, was credited with a lively anxiety to rewardmerit and to encourage the exertions of the ingenious. 

This glowing picture of the period in its relation to the fine arts, contrasts somewhat violently with what we learn elsewhere concerning thepoverty of Richard Wilson, the ill-requited labours of William Hogarth, the struggles and sufferings of James Barry, and generally, of thedepressed condition of native professors of art during the eighteenthcentury. That the portrait-painter (the 'face-painter' as Hogarthdelighted contemptuously to designate him) found sufficient occupationis likely enough; but, otherwise, the British artist had perforce tolimit the aspirations of his genius to the decoration of ceilings andstaircases, and to derive his chief emoluments from painting thesign-boards of the British tradesman: if not a very dignified still aremunerative employment; for in those days every London shop boasted itsdistinct emblem. 

Nevertheless it is certain that in George the Second's reign Fashionbegan to take up with Taste. Dilettanteism became the vogue. Objects of_virtù_ were now, for the first time, indispensable appendages of thehouses of the aristocratic and the rich. A rage for 'collecting'possessed the town, and led to an expenditure as profuse as it wasinjudicious. Of the vast sums disbursed, however, but a small share cameto the native artist. His works were passed over as beneath the noticeof the _cognoscenti_. The 'quality' gave their verdict against modernart and in favour of the ancient masters. A race of old picture-brokersand jobbers in antiquities sprang into existence to supply theincreasing demand for such chattels. The _London Magazine_ for 1737, inan article attributed to William Hogarth, inveighs bitterly againstthese speculators and their endeavours to depreciate every English workin order to enhance the value of their imported shiploads of DeadChrists, Holy Families and Madonnas: the sweepings of the continentalart-markets. Auction-rooms were opened in all parts of London for theexhibition and sale of choice objects of every kind, and became theresort and rendezvous of all pretending to wealth and fashion. Agentswere to be found at the chief foreign cities eagerly exhumingantiquities for transmission to England: certain of immediate sale andenormous profit there. The prevailing appetite seemed to grow by what itfed on. And then, of course, unscrupulous people took to manufacturingantiquities; and, so doing, drove a brisk and remarkably remunerativetrade. 

The neglected British artist naturally made protests and wrote pamphletsmore or less angry in tone, according to the state of his purse and histemper and the extent of his self-appreciation. The press of the periodraised its voice: a less portentous and sonorous organ than it has sincepossessed. Even the players ventured to be satirical on the subject. Itwas early in 1752 that Mr. Foote's comedy of _Taste_ was brought uponthe stage of Drury Lane Theatre, David Garrick both writing andspeaking the prologue. Probably the satire soared rather above the headsof the audience. Foote admits as much in his preface to the publishedplay: 'I was always apprehensive that the subject of the following piecewas too abstracted and singular for the comprehension of a mixedassembly. Juno, Lucina, Jupiter Tonans, Phidias, Praxiteles, with theother gentlemen and ladies of antiquity, were, I daresay, utterlyunknown to my very good friends of the gallery; nor, to speak the truth, do I believe they had many acquaintances in the other parts of thehouse. ' Accordingly _Taste_, on its first production, was only repeatedsome four nights, and, though revived once or twice afterwards, nevertook rank as a stock piece. Yet, as Mr. John Forster says of it, Foote'splay is legitimate satire, and also excellent comedy. 

There is little or no plot. Foote did not care for continuous story; hecould generally secure the favour of the audience by the wit of hisdialogue and a quick succession of lively incidents. In the first actLady Pentweazle sits for her portrait in a broadly humorous scene. Puffis an impudent trader in sham antiquities and objects of _virtù_;Carmine, an artist constrained by poverty to aid and abet him in hisnefarious proceedings; Brush is another confederate. In the second act asale by auction is represented. Carmine appears as Canto the auctioneer;Puff figures as the Baron de Groningen, who is travelling to purchasepictures for the Elector of Bavaria. Lord Dupe, Bubble, Squander, andNovice, are fashionable patrons and collectors of art. The pictures tobe submitted for sale are inspected. One of them is particularlyadmired; but is ultimately discovered to be 'a modern performance, themaster alive, and an Englishman. ' 'Oh, then, ' says Lord Dupe, changinghis tone, 'I would not give it house-room!' The antiquities are thenbrought forward. 'The first lot, ' announces the auctioneer, 'consists ofa hand without an arm, the first joint of the forefinger gone, supposedto be a limb of the Apollo Delphos. The second, half a foot, with thetoes entire, of the Juno Lucina. The third, the Caduceus of theMercurius Infernalis. The fourth, the half of the leg of the InfantHercules. All indisputable antiques, and of the Memphian marble. ' Onecritic objects to a swelling on the foot of Juno as a defect in itsproportion; but the auctioneer informs him that the swelling is intendedto represent a _corn_, and the defect is thereupon pronounced anabsolute master-stroke. Presently the auctioneer proceeds: 'Bringforward the head from Herculaneum.... Now, gentlemen, here is ajewel.... The very mutilations of this piece are worth all the mostperfect performances of modern artists. Now, gentlemen, here is atouchstone for your taste!' He is asked whether the head is intended torepresent a man or a woman. 'The connoisseurs differ, ' he answers. 'Somewill have it to be the Jupiter Tonans of Phidias, and others the Venusof Paphos from Praxiteles; but I don't think it fierce enough for thefirst, nor handsome enough for the last.... Therefore I am inclined tojoin with Signor Julio de Pampedillo, who, in a treatise dedicated tothe King of the Two Sicilies, calls it the Serapis of the Egyptians, andsupposes it to have been fabricated about eleven hundred and three yearsbefore the Mosaic account of the creation. ' A bystander inquires whathas become of the nose of the bust? 'The nose? What care I for thenose?' cries an enthusiastic amateur. 'Why, sir, if it had a nose Iwouldn't give sixpence for it! How the devil should we distinguish theworks of the ancients if they were perfect? Why, I don't suppose but, barring the nose, ROUBILIAC could cut as good a head every whit.... Aman must know d----d little of statuary that dislikes a bust for want ofa nose!'

It must be admitted that this is satire of a good trenchant sort. Thereader will find plenty more of it if he will only turn to the comedyfor himself. Our immediate purpose is with the sculptor for whose nameMr. Foote has found a place in his play. 

The rage for collecting antiquities was only equalled by the passion for'restoring' them when collected. To disinter a torso _here_, and a head_there_, and then to make a sort of forced marriage of the fragments; tograft new feet upon old legs; to dovetail stray hands upon odd arms; toreset broken limbs, and patch and piece mutilations and deficiencies, constituted the delights and the triumphs of the amateurs. Inaccomplishing these exploits the services of foreign workmen wereextensively employed; for, by a curious piece of reasoning, the foreignsculptor, no matter how limited his capacity, was held to be far morecompetent to restore antiquities than the English artist of whateverreputation. It was, doubtless, in consequence of this demand for foreignlabour, and the liberal manner in which its exertions were recognisedand requited, that Louis Francis Roubiliac found his way to thiscountry. 

In his account of the sculptor, Walpole is singularly brief; suppliesvery meagre information; yet when he was compiling his Anecdotes thefame of Roubiliac was at its highest; he was freshly remembered on allsides, and the facts of his early life could have been collected, onewould imagine, without much difficulty. He was born, from all accounts, at Lyons, about the close of the seventeenth century; was a pupil ofBalthazar of Dresden, sculptor to the Elector of Saxony, and came toEngland in 1720. That he was without repute in his native land isevidenced by the fact that no mention of him appears in D'Argenville's_Lives of the most Eminent Sculptors of France_, published in 1787. Ofhis parentage nothing is known. He had apparently received a faireducation; was found to possess a considerable acquaintance with theliterature of his native land; more especially was conversant with theworks of the best French poets, and himself produced original verse ofa respectable quality. Yet, notwithstanding his long residence inEngland, he never mastered the English language so as to be able to useit freely; and in all the anecdotes extant of him he is represented asemploying the broken dialect common to foreigners. 

For some years after his arrival in England his occupation would appearto have been little better than that of a journeyman sculptor, employedunder various masters in botching antiquities. Mr. John Thomas Smith, inhis _Life of Nollekens_, informs us that when Mr. Roubiliac had to mendan antique, he 'would mix Gloucester cheese with his plaster, adding thegrounds of porter, and the yolk of an egg: which mixture when dry formsa very hard cement. ' Walpole states that the artist had little businessuntil Sir Edward Walpole (Sir Robert's second son: Horace was the third)recommended him to execute half the busts in Trinity College, Dublin;but the date of this act of patronage is not supplied. A storyattributed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and set forth in his Life byNorthcote, relates that Roubiliac first secured the patronage of SirEdward Walpole by picking up and restoring a pocket-book he had droppedat Vauxhall, containing bank-notes and other papers of value. The artistdeclined to receive any reward for this service, although ultimately hewas persuaded to accept the annual present of a fat buck, as a testimonyof gratitude and regard; further, he became the object of Sir Edward'sconstant patronage. Horace Walpole says nothing of this story; but thebrothers, it was well known, were not friends, seldom if ever met, andprobably were not closely informed of each other's proceedings. In aletter written in 1745 to his friend George Montagu, Horace Walpolegives an amusing description of the patron of Roubiliac, and, incidentally, reveals the not very brotherly terms subsisting betweenhimself and the knight: 'You propose making a visit to Englefield Green'[where Sir Edward lived], 'and ask me if I think it right? Extremely so. I have heard it is a very pretty place. You love a jaunt--have a prettychaise, I believe, and I dare swear, very easy; in all probability youwill have a fine evening; and added to all this, the gentleman' [SirE. W. ] 'you would go to see is very agreeable and good-humoured, ... Playsextremely well on the bass-viol, and has generally other people withhim.... He is perfectly master of all the quarrels that have beenfashionably on foot about Handel, and can give you a very perfectaccount of all the modern rival painters.... In short, I can think of noreason in the world against your going there but one: _do you know hisyoungest brother?_? If you happen to be so unlucky, I can't flatter youso far as to advise you to make him a visit: for there is nothing in theworld the Baron of Englefield has such an aversion for as for hisbrother!'

It was probably some years before this that Roubiliac had obtainedemployment from Mr. Jonathan Tyers, who in 1732 had become theproprietor of Vauxhall Gardens. The 'New Spring Gardens at Fox Hall' hadin the previous century been a resort of Mr. Samuel Pepys, who has lefton record his approval of the place. 'It is very pleasant and cheapgoing thither, ' he writes in 1667, 'for a man may go to spend what hewill or nothing, as all one. But to hear the nightingale and the birds, and here fiddles and there a harp, and here a Jew's-trump and herelaughing, and there fine people walking, is mighty divertising. ' Sincethe Pepys period, however, the gardens had fallen into disrepute; hadindeed been closed during many seasons. Mr. Tyers took the place inhand, bent upon restoring its fame and fashion. He erected an orchestra, with an organ, engaged the best singers and musicians of the day, builtalcoves for the company, and secured paintings by Messrs. Hayman andHogarth for the further embellishment of the gardens. Then he discussedwith his friend, Mr. Cheere, as to adding works of statuary. Mr. Cheeredealt largely in painted leaden figures, then much employed in 'the artof creating landscape. ' He was 'the man at Hyde Park Corner' of whomLord Ogleby in the comedy[4] makes mention when he says: 'Greatimprovements, indeed, Mr. Sterling! Wonderful improvements! The fourSeasons in lead, the flying Mercury, and the basin with Neptune in themiddle, are in the very extreme of fine taste. You have as many richfigures as the man at Hyde Park Corner!' Mr. Cheere advised Mr. Tyers toset up a statue of Handel. There was some difficulty about the expense. But Mr. Cheere introduced a clever artist, a Frenchman, content to workupon very moderate terms. This was, of course, Louis Francis Roubiliac;who accordingly produced his statue of Handel: greatly to the admirationof the _habitués_ of Vauxhall. It stood, in 1744, on the south side ofthe gardens, under an enclosed lofty arch, surmounted by a figureplaying on the violoncello, attended by two boys; it was then screenedfrom the weather by a curtain, which was drawn up when the visitorsarrived. Mr. Tyers's plans were crowned with success. Fashion wasenthusiastic on the subject of Vauxhall. Royalty patronized; thenobility protected and promoted; and the general public crowded Mr. Tyers's handsome pleasure-grounds. The ladies promenaded in their hoops, sacques, and caps, as they appeared in their own drawing-rooms: thebeaux of the period were in attendance, with swords and powderedbag-wigs, their three-cornered hats under their arms. Read Walpole'saccount (in another letter to George Montagu) of his visit in 1750. Heaccompanied Lady Caroline Petersham and little Miss Ashe--or 'thePollard Ashe, ' as it pleases him to describe her. The ladies had justput on their last layer of rouge, 'and looked as handsome as crimsoncould make them. ' They proceed in a barge, a boat of French hornsattending, and little Miss Ashe singing. Parading some time up theriver they at last debark at Vauxhall, and there pick up Lord Granby, 'arrived very drunk from Jenny's Whim'--a tavern at Chelsea frequentedby his lordship and other gentlemen of fashion. Assembled in theirsupper-box, Lady Caroline, 'looking gloriously jolly and handsome, 'minces seven chickens in a china dish (Lord Orford, Horace's brother, assisting), and stews them over a lamp, with three pats of butter and aflagon of water, stirring, and rattling, and laughing: the companyexpecting the dish to fly about their ears every minute. Then Betty, thefamous fruit-woman from St. James's Street, is in attendance withhampers of strawberries and cherries, waits upon the guests, andafterwards sits down to her own supper at a side table. The companybecome, by-and-by, a little boisterous in their merriment, and attractthe attention of the other visitors; there is soon quite a concourseround Lady Caroline's box, till Harry Vane fills a bumper and toasts thebystanders, and is proceeding to treat them with still greater freedom. 'It was three o'clock before we got home, ' concludes Walpole. Such was afashionable frolic at Vauxhall under Mr. Tyers's management: whenRoubiliac's statue of Handel stood in the midst. 

[4] 'The Clandestine Marriage. '

Vauxhall vanished some ten or a dozen years since. Its latter days weredreary, down-at-heel, and disreputable enough. The statue had departedlong previously. 'It was conveyed to the house of Mr. Barrett, atStockwell, ' records Mr. J. T. Smith in 1829, 'and thence to theentrance-hall of the residence of his son, the Rev. Jonathan TyersBarrett, D. D. , of No. 14 Duke Street, Westminster. ' Mr. Henry Phillips, in his _Musical and Personal Recollections_ (1864), regrets that whenRoubiliac's Handel 'was brought to the hammer, and sold by Mr. Squibb onthe 16th March 1832, for two hundred and five guineas, the SacredHarmonic Society did not purchase it in place of its being bought by Mr. Brown, of University Street. ' Nollekens used to value the statue at onethousand guineas. The plaster model became the property of Hudson, thepreceptor of Reynolds, who possessed a collection of models at his houseat Twickenham. Upon the death of Hudson and the sale of his collection, the model was bought for five pounds by the father of Mr. J. T. Smith, apupil of Roubiliac's, and it then passed into the possession ofNollekens. When Nollekens's effects were sold, the plaster Handel wasknocked down by Mr. Christie to Hamlet, the famous silversmith. Itsfurther history has not been traced. 

The statue of Handel, the first original work that can, with anycertainty, be ascribed to Roubiliac, may be regarded as a fair specimenof the artist's manner. He was of the school of Bernini. He followed thesculptors who infinitely prefer _unrest_ to _repose_ in art. He dearlyenjoyed a _tour de force_ in stone. He liked to deal with marble asthough it were the most plastic of materials: to twist it this way andthat, and rumple and flutter it as though it were merely muslin. Tohave carved a wig in a gale of wind would have been a task particularlyagreeable to this class of artists; they would have done their best torepresent each particular hair standing on end. They adored minutiæ: ashoulder-knot of ribbons, the embroidery of a sword-belt, the stitchesof a seam, the lace of a cravat, were achievements to be gloried in. Andyet, with all this realism in detail, their works are unreal andartificial in general effect; as a glance at any statue by Roubiliacwill sufficiently demonstrate. 

This arises possibly from the artist's fondness for attitude. He seemsto have regarded posture-making as a peculiar attribute of genius. Hisfigures are always in a constrained and over-studied pose: twistingabout in the throes of giving birth to a great idea: filled with thedivine _afflatus_, even to the bursting of their buttonholes and thesnapping of their braces. His Handel is in a state of exceedingperturbation: his clothes in staring disorder, his hair floating in thebreeze. The intention was to represent the composer in the act ofraptured meditation upon music; but, as Allan Cunningham remarks, helooks much more like a man alarmed at an apparition. But then thisexaggeration of demeanour was very much the artist's own manner inactual life. The Frenchman has always a sort of innate histrionicfaculty: he is for ever, perhaps unconsciously, playing a part. SoRoubiliac was himself incessantly acting and attitudinizing, much afterthe fashion of his statues. He seemed to hold that it was expedient, forthe better preventing of mistakes about the matter, that genius shouldalways in such way advertise itself; there was danger lest it should notbe believed in if it left off making grimaces and striking attitudes. Perhaps from his own point of view, and in his own time, the artist wasright. It was necessary then to do something to arrest the attention ofa public apathetic on the subject of art-talent, unless, as Peter Pindarsang, the artist 'had been dead a hundred years. ' Possibly, the only wayfor a man in those days to gain credit as a genius was by affectingeccentricity and unconventionality: taking heed that all his proceedingswere as unlike other people's as possible. Thereupon the world argued:geniuses are not as we are; this person is not as we are; therefore hemust be a genius. Q. E. D. 

Consequently, we find Roubiliac--a thin, olive-skinned Frenchman, withstrongly-marked, arching eyebrows, mobile features, and small, sharp, dark eyes--liable at all times to fits of abstraction, attacks ofinspiration. He will drop his knife and fork while at dinner, sink backin his chair, assume an ecstatic expression: the fit is on him; he mustabandon his meal and hurry away at once to lock himself in his studio, and place upon record the superb idea which has so inconvenientlyvisited him. His companions make allowances for him: men of genius areoften thus. At other times he is absorbed in meditation upon his art:address him, and he makes no reply, fails to hear. While engaged uponhis statue of Handel, he decides that the great musician must havepossessed an ear of exceeding symmetry, and searches everywhere for amodel. He scrutinizes the ears of all his acquaintances. Suddenly hepounces upon Miss Rich, the daughter of the Covent Garden manager. 'MissRich, ' he cries, 'I must have your ear for my Handel!' In WestminsterAbbey he permits himself to be 'discovered'--to use an appropriatetheatrical term--lost in contemplation of the kneeling figure at thenorth-west corner of Sir Francis Vere's monument. His servant, havingthrice delivered a message, without receiving a word in reply, finds hisarm suddenly seized, and his master whispering mysteriously in his ear, while he points to the statue: 'Hush! hush! he vill speak presently!' Atanother time he invites a friend to occupy a spare bed at his house, gives him his candle, and bids him good-night. Presently the friend isheard crying aloud in great excitement and alarm; the bed is alreadyoccupied: the dead body of a negress is laid out upon it. 'I beg yourpardon, ' says the artist, 'I quite forgot poor Mary vas dere. Poor Mary!she die yesterday vid de small-pox. She was my housemaid for five, sixyears. Come along; I vill find you a bed somevhere else. ' All this wasbut acting up to the idea Mr. Roubiliac had formed of the abstractednessand eccentricity of genius. 

Serene, sedate Flaxman, who adored the antique, who held that sculptureshould be nothing if not calm and classical, was little likely tosympathize with Roubiliac, or to comprehend his close following ofBernini, or indeed to care at all for his productions. 'His thoughts areconceits; his compositions epigrams, ' says Flaxman. And then he isastounded that Roubiliac, who, at the ripe age of fifty, accompanied byHudson the painter, also arrived at a period of life somewhat advancedfor study, visited Italy, should presume to return unmoved andunenlightened by what he had seen. 'He was absent from home threemonths, going and returning, ' relates Flaxman, with an air ofindignation; 'stayed three days in Rome, and laughed at the sublimeremains of ancient sculpture!' Positively laughed! To Flaxman, who wascertainly a bigot in regard to the beauties of the antique, if Roubiliacwas something of a scoffer in that respect, this seemed flat blasphemy. Yet it was hardly to be expected that Roubiliac, at the height of asuccessful career, would admit his whole system of art to have beenfounded on error--would consent humbly to recommence his profession, andforthwith prostrate himself at the feet of ancient sculpture. Hisadmiration for Bernini--whom of course Flaxman cordially detested--wasgenuine enough. The Italian's florid manner chimed in with his ownFrench, gesticulating, mercurial notions of art. If excess ofself-satisfaction prevented him from rendering due homage to the relicsof the past--and possibly his early toils as a 'restorer' furthertended to blind him to their value--he was careful to pay tribute to themerits of the artist he had selected for his prototype. Hazlittmentions, on the authority of Northcote, that when Roubiliac, returnedfrom Rome, went to look at his own works in Westminster Abbey, he criedout in his usual vehement way, 'By God! they look like tobacco-pipescompared to Bernini!' And he was not without honest admiration for theproduction of other artists more nearly of his own time. Whenever hevisited the city he was careful to go round by the gates of BethlehemHospital, in Moorfields, over which stood Caius Gabriel Cibber's figuresof Raving and Melancholy Madness: Colley Cibber's '_brazen_, brainlessbrothers, ' as Pope called them, ignorant, possibly from their havingbecome so begrimed with London smoke, that they were really carved instone. Roubiliac highly esteemed these statues. Though in idea evidentlyborrowed from Michael Angelo, they were yet strictly realistic intreatment, and were reputed to be modelled from Oliver Cromwell's giantporter, at one time a patient in the Hospital. When Bethlehem wasremoved to St. George's Fields the surface of these figures wasrenovated by Bacon, the sculptor. They are now deposited in the SouthKensington Museum. 

Indeed, what Flaxman intended as a reproach, may sound in modern earsmuch more like approval. 'He copied vulgar nature with zeal, and some ofhis figures seem alive. ' Roubiliac constantly had recourse to theliving forms about him; Flaxman preferred instead to turn to theantique. We hear of Roubiliac's fondness for modelling the arms ofThames watermen and the legs of chair-porters: in each case theparticular employment inducing great muscular development of the limbsto be moulded. And this desire for independent study was reallycreditable to the artist. He sought to arrive at the correctness of theancients by a pathway of his own: to check, by a distinct reckoning, anindividual reference to nature, and, if need was, fearlessly to departfrom, what they had registered as the result of their investigations. Amore legitimate charge against him was that he was negligent in hischoice of forms for imitation; undervalued refinement of idea; tookaltogether a somewhat mean view of nature, or adulterated it with toolarge an infusion of the dancing-master. Certainly he was fonder of_fritter_ than of breadth; and his draperies are often meagre in effectfrom the multiplicity of their folds, and his attempt at rendering_texture_ in marble. This may be noticed in his statue of Sir IsaacNewton, at Cambridge, where an excess of labour, seems expended on thesilk mantle of the figure--all the small creases and plaitings of thelight material being represented, and the surface highly polished, stillfurther to increase the resemblance. 

This statue, however, was highly admired by Chantrey, [5] and to it, inhis _Prelude_, Wordsworth has dedicated laudatory lines. 

[5] 'Chantrey esteemed highly the works of Roubiliac; he admired hisbusts; and thought the statue of Newton at Cambridge of the bestcharacter of portrait sculpture. The simplicity of the figure, unitedwith the apparent intelligence and thought in the countenance, heconsidered as quite satisfactory; and although he generally disliked theimitation of any particular material in drapery, he was reconciled tothe college dress of the philosopher. From its perfect arrangement, theimitation is so complete that the person who shows the statue atCambridge always informs the visitor that it only requires to be blackto render it a deception. He was inclined to tolerate anything thatdisplayed ingenuity without violating possibility, yet he could neverendure such extraneous and uninteresting matter as the shot, the barrelof powder, and the bent chamber of a piece of artillery in the monumentto Lord Shannon, in Walton Church, which, with much to commend in thetwo figures, has a profusion of objects, and a grey marble background, representing a tent, altogether unnecessary and derogatory to the purityof sculpture. Still Roubiliac was rich in thought and reason, for, inhis monument in Westminster Abbey, where he has represented Death as askeleton, he felt that the thin and meagre bones would be as offensiveas impracticable; therefore judiciously involved the greater part of theemblem in a shroud or drapery, adding thereby to his allegory and aidinghis art. However hostile this style may be to the simplicity ofsculpture, the ability of the artist in the conception and executiondeserves high praise. The beadle of Worcester Cathedral informed afriend of Chantrey's, that when the sculptor was in that city he alwayswent to see the monument to Bishop Hurd by Roubiliac, and remained along time in intent observation of the work, for he thought the artist'spower over the material surprising, though he disliked polishing themarble. '-_Recollections of Chantrey_, by George Jones, R. A. 

The cast taken by Roubiliac from the face of Newton is in the HunterianMuseum, Glasgow. 

There is no necessity for running through a list of Roubiliac's works. But his statue of Shakespeare is deserving of a passing notice. It ofcourse fails to satisfy the students of the bard, who delight to payequal homage to his philosophy as to his poetry. There is nothing of thesage about the work: it is wholly of the _stage_ indeed. It is repletewith Roubiliac's established ecstatic super-elegant manner; with astrong tinge of theatricalism, possibly added by Garrick, for whosetemple at Hampton the statue was undertaken; who attitudinized in aid, as he imagined, of the sculptor's labours, with a cry of 'Behold theswan of Avon!' and who, it must be said, at all times entertained a very'footlight' view of the poet. The price paid for the work was threehundred guineas only. Roubiliac was to supply the best marble he couldfor the money. Unfortunately the block turned out to be much spotted andstreaked; the head was especially disfigured with blue stains. 'What!'cried Garrick, 'was Shakespeare marked with mulberries?' It becamenecessary to sever the head from the shoulders and replace it with oneof purer marble. The statue was completed in 1758. Under the terms ofGarrick's will, it became, on the death of his widow, the property ofthe nation, and it now stands in the entrance-hall of the BritishMuseum. After the purists and the exacting have said their worst againstthe statue, it will yet be found--from the spirit of its execution, itscleverness, and 'go, ' to resort to a vulgarism--charming a very largeclass of uncritical examiners. 

As Lord Chesterfield said of Roubiliac, 'he was the only statuary of hisday; all other artists were mere stone-cutters. ' It is very desirable, in estimating his merits, to bear in mind that he stood alone; hisrivals, Rysbrach and Scheemakers, he had completely outstripped; and, apart from his following of Bernini, he was clearly an artist of anoriginal and creative kind. What is hard to forgive in him, however, andwhat indeed has much detracted from his reputation, is the fact that along list of allegorical monstrosities was in some sort the result ofhis example. Charmed with certain of his works, and possessed just thenby particular memories it deemed deserving of monumental celebration, the nation rushed recklessly to its stone-cutters. The terrible workswhich blemish and blister the walls of our cathedrals and churches werethe consequences. Verrio and Laguerre had long set the fashion ofdisfiguring ceilings and staircases with their incomprehensiblecompositions. Roubiliac carved similar parabolic productions in marbleand set them up in Westminster Abbey and elsewhere. In these, heathendivinities jostle Christian emblems; Paganism is seen abreast of truereligion. In the aisle of a Gothic abbey, John, Duke of Argyle andGreenwich, warrior and orator, expires at the foot of a pyramid, onwhich History, weeping, writes his deeds, while Minerva (or Britannia)mourns at the side, and Eloquence above, tossing white arms in the air, deplores the loss she has sustained. Here we find Hercules placing thebust of Sir Peter Warren upon a pedestal, while Navigation prepares tocrown it with a laurel wreath; a British flag forming the background anda horn of plenty emptying its contents beside an anchor and a cannon. Inthe monument to Marshal Wade, Time is endeavouring to destroy a pillaradorned with military trophies, which fame as zealously protects. Thefamous Nightingale memorial represents a husband shielding a dying wifefrom the attack of Death: a grinning skeleton levelling a javelin as heissues from the opening iron door of a tomb. The admirable execution ofthese works cannot blind the critic to the utter unfitness and folly oftheir conception. 

But Roubiliac's successors far outbid him in absurdity. To a number ofpeople a precedent is always a point of departure--an example to beimitated with violent exaggeration. After our sculptor came a deluge ofimbecility. We are then among stone-cutters who shrink from nothing; weare treated then to clouds that look like muffins--to waves thatresemble pancakes. Apotheosis becomes preposterous; allegory goes fairlymad. Glancing at certain post-Roubiliac achievements, we long for anearthquake. Nicholas Read, the least competent of his pupils, upon thesculptor's death occupied his studio, advertised himself as successor toMr. Roubiliac, and, strange to say, was largely employed: the executionof the monuments to Admiral Tyrrell and the Duchess of Northumberland, in Westminster Abbey, being intrusted to him. During his master's lifethe apprentice had boasted of the great deeds he would do when he hadserved his time. Roubiliac cried scornfully, in his broken English: 'Venyou do de monument, den de vorld vill see vot von d----d ting you villmake of it!' His words were justified by Read's monument to AdmiralTyrrell: possibly the most execrable work in stone in existence; whichis saying a good deal. As Nollekens would often remark of it: 'Read'sadmiral going to heaven looks for all the world as though he werehanging from a gallows with a rope round his neck. '

As Roubiliac's first work was a statue of Handel for Vauxhall Gardens, so his last was a statue of the same great composer for WestminsterAbbey. He died on the 11th January 1762, and was buried in St. Martin'sChurchyard, 'under the window of the Bell Bagnio. ' His funeral wasattended by the leading members of the Society of Artists, then meetingat the Academy in Peter's Court, St. Martin's Lane: the room theyoccupied, it may be noted, having been Roubiliac's first workshop. Theartists following the funeral were:--Mr. (afterwards Sir Joshua)Reynolds, Moser, Hogarth, Tyler, Sandby, Hayman, Wilton, Bartolozzi, Cipriani, Payne, Chambers (afterwards Sir William), Serres, Ravenet, the elder Grignon, Meyer, and Hudson; and the dead master's threepupils, John Adkins, Nicholas Read, and Nathaniel Smith. 

Roubiliac died poor; indeed, seriously in debt. Yet he had married well, it would seem. An old newspaper, under date January 1752, records:'Married Mr. Roubiliac, the statuary in St. Martin's Lane, to MissCrossley of Deptford, worth £10, 000. ' No particulars of his married lifehave come down to us, however. It is probable that his wife predeceasedhim. The money was spent in any case. Perhaps she never possessed somuch as the world gave her credit for. The sale of his effects, afterpayment of his funeral expenses, left only about one-and-sixpence in thepound to his creditors. Though constantly employed, the prices hereceived were small; and a thoroughly conscientious artist, he neverspared time or labour upon the commissions he had undertaken. He wasnot, it is stated, extravagant in his habits; did not waste his means inthe support of a pretentious establishment. On the contrary, his methodof life was very modest: his tastes were simple enough. Society was notyet prepared to admit the professions to her _salons_; her somewhatcostly caresses were reserved for the ingenious of a succeedinggeneration. Roubiliac was content to live that easy pleasant tavern lifefavoured by the men of letters and artists of the eighteenth century, and with which Johnson and Boswell have made us so intimatelyacquainted. A bottle of claret and a game of whist solaced his leisurehours; and these were not numerous: he was constantly to be found in hisstudio, late at night, hard at work long after his assistants hadretired: a vivacious, honest, warm-hearted man, much and justly esteemedby his friends and contemporaries. 

He was a familiar acquaintance of Goldsmith, who in his Chinese lettersspeaks of him kindly as 'the little sculptor. ' He was fond of music, andGoldsmith would play the flute to him. As Sir John Hawkins records, thesculptor once tricked the poet by pretending to set down the notes onpaper as Goldsmith played them. Goldsmith looked over the paperafterwards with seeming great attention, said it was quite correct, andthat if he had not seen him do it he never could have believed hisfriend capable of writing music after him. Roubiliac had jotted downnotes at random. Neither had any real knowledge of music, and Goldsmithplayed entirely by ear. 

His intimate and fellow-sculptor--a painter also--Adrien Charpentier, executed a characteristic portrait of Roubiliac. He is represented atwork upon a small-size model of his Shakespeare. He is touching the eyeof the figure with his modelling tool, and the task, one of somedelicacy and difficulty, adds to the animation of the operator. Hishead, where it is not covered by the fanciful loose head-dress affectedby poets and artists of the period, is bald: possibly shaven, for theconvenience of wig-wearing, after the custom of the time. His dress isdisordered, his bosom bare, his wristbands loose. Had Roubiliac carvedhis own statue in stone, it would probably, in treatment, have closelyfollowed Charpentier's picture. 

A portrait of Roubiliac, painted by himself, was sold forthree-and-sixpence only at the sale of his effects. The prices, indeed, at this sale seem to have been desperately low. There were noantiquities or objects of _virtù_ brought to the hammer: and Mr. Cantowas not the auctioneer! A copy by Reynolds of the Chandos portrait ofShakespeare, with seven other pictures, was knocked down for tenshillings only, the father of John Flaxman being the purchaser. Reynoldshad painted the picture as a present to his friend, Mr. Roubiliac. Itafterwards became the property of Mr. Edmond Malone. 

THE RISE OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 

The famous artists of the Continent almost invariably organize schoolsof art, converting their studios into miniature academies, surroundingthemselves with pupils and disciples who sit at their feet, listen totheir teaching, assist them by painting for them the less importantportions of their works, adopt their processes, and follow their stylesof drawing and colouring. There is something to be said for the system. It is an advantage to the young student to be constantly brought intocontact with a real master of the art; to have the opportunity ofworking under his supervision, and, on the other hand, of watching himat his labours, and of witnessing the birth, growth, and completion ofhis best pictures. The main objection to the plan is that it may developmerely imitative ability rather than stimulate genuine originality; thatit inclines the student to follow too scrupulously a beaten track ratherthan strike out a fresh pathway for himself. He may reproduce thevirtues of his exemplar's art, but he will certainly copy its vices aswell. And then the difficult question arises: when is he to assert hisindependence? At what period in his career is he to cease leaning on histeacher, and to pursue his own devices unaided and alone? He may havetied his leading-strings so tightly about him that liberty of thoughtand action has become almost impossible to him, and the free use of hislimbs, so to speak, has gone from him. It is quite true that the artistshould be a student all his life; but then he should be a student of artgenerally, not of any one professor of art in particular, or he will besimply the pupil of a great master to the end of the chapter, never agreat master himself. 

Objection to a system of instruction that may tend to perpetuatemannerism, to cramp originality, and fetter genius, has of late yearsled to considerable opposition to art-academies generally, whenever moreis contemplated by them than the mere school-teaching of the pupil, andthe affording him assistance at the outset of his professional life. Haydon was fond of declaring 'that academies all over Europe weresignals of distress thrown out to stop the decay of art, ' but that theyhad failed egregiously, and rather hastened the result they had intendedto hinder. Fuseli asserted that 'all schools of painters, whether publicor private, supported by patronage or individual contribution, were andare symptoms of art in distress, monuments of public dereliction anddecay of taste. ' He proceeded afterwards to defend such schools, however, as the asylum of the student, the theatre of his exercises, therepositories of the materials, the archives of art, whose principlestheir officers were bound to maintain, and for the preservation of whichthey were responsible to posterity, etc. Dr. Waagen was of opinion thatthe academic system gave an artificial elevation to mediocrity; that itdeadened natural talent, and introduced into the freedom of art anunsalutary degree of authority and interference. The late Horace Vernetentertained similar views, recommending the suppression of the FrenchAcademy at Rome. M. Say (the Adam Smith of France) held that allAcademies were in truth hostile to the fine arts; and a report of acommittee of the English House of Commons (1836) went far in the samedirection, venturing to predict the probability 'that the principle offree competition in art as in commerce would ultimately triumph over allartificial institutions, ' and that 'governments might at some futureperiod content themselves with holding out prizes or commissions to thedifferent but co-equal societies of artists, and refuse the dangerousgift of pre-eminence to any. '

In England the school of the individual great artist upon thecontinental plan seems to have had no counterpart. Favouriteportrait-painters have, now and then, employed a staff of subordinatesto paint the draperies, and fill in the backgrounds of their works, butthe persons thus employed have been mechanicians rather than artists. Northcote was the pupil of Reynolds, and Harlowe was taught by Lawrence;but in neither case was there much attempt at maintaining a school ofmanner, as it would be understood out of England. The works of Northcoteand Harlowe contain traces of the teaching of their preceptors littlemore than do the productions of their contemporaries, and they certainlybequeathed no distinct traditions of style to their successors. InEngland the foundation of a National Academy, or of an institution inany measure manifesting the characteristics of a National Academy, tookplace long subsequent to the rise of the foreign Academies. And theEnglish Royal Academy, as at present constituted, cannot be said tooccupy a position analogous to that of foreign academies. As wasexpressed in the Report of the Parliamentary Committee of 1836: 'It isnot a public national institution like the French Academy, since itlives by exhibition and takes money at the door, yet it possesses manyof the privileges of a public body without bearing the direct burthen ofpublic responsibility. ' Or, as was succinctly explained by Mr. Westmacott, himself an academician, before the commissioners appointedin 1863 to inquire into the position of the Royal Academy: 'When we wishnot to be interfered with we are private, when we want anything of thepublic we are public;' and then he goes on to say: 'The Academy isdistinctly a private institution, and, admitting it is not perfect, doing great public good all for nothing, ' _i. E_. , without charge. Mr. Westmacott was unconsciously pleading guilty to Haydon's accusation that'the academicians constituted in truth a private society, which theyalways put forward when you wish to examine them, and they alwaysproclaim themselves a public society when they want to benefit by anypublic vote. '

For long years the sentiment had prevailed in England that art was noaffair of the State, had no sort of interest for the governing power ofthe country, or indeed for the general public; and it was, of course, left to those persons to whom an Academy of Art was in any way a matterof necessity or importance, to found such an institution for themselves. Certainly the encouragement given to the painter during the first halfof the eighteenth century was insignificant enough. He was viewed muchas the astrologer or the alchemist; his proceedings, the world argued, were sufficiently foolish and futile, but still harmless; he was notparticularly in anybody's way, and therefore it was not worth anybody'swhile to molest or displace him. But as for patronizing, or valuing, orrewarding him, turning upon him the light of the royal countenance, orcheering him with popular applause, those were quite other matters. King, and Court, and people had vastly different things to think about. He was just suffered, not succoured in any way. He must get on as wellas he could, educating, improving, helping himself. As for aid from theState, that was absolutely out of the question. 

For the benefit of his brother artists and of himself, therefore, SirGodfrey Kneller, who had lived in happier times, so far as art wasconcerned--for the Stuarts had some love for poetry and painting, thoughthe Hanoverian sovereigns had not--instituted a private drawing Academyin London in the year 1711. Of this Academy, Vertue, who collected thematerials for the 'Anecdotes of Painting, ' which Walpole digested andpublished, was one of the first members, studying there some years; andit was probably of this institution that Hogarth wrote in 1760, describing it as founded by some gentlemen painters of the first rank, who, in imitation of the Academy of France, introduced certain forms andsolemnities into their proceedings which were objectionable to severalmembers, and led to divisions and jealousies in the general body. Finally, the president and his followers, finding themselves caricaturedand opposed, locked out their opponents and closed the Academy. 

Sir James Thornhill, who had headed the most important of the partiesinto which the institution had become divided, and who held theappointment of historical painter to George I. , then submitted to theGovernment of the day a plan for the foundation of a Royal Academy whichshould encourage and educate the young artists of England. He proposedthat a suitable building, with apartments for resident professors, should be erected at the upper end of the King's Mews, Charing Cross. The cost of carrying out this plan was estimated at little more thanthree thousand pounds; but although Lord Treasurer Halifax gave hissupport, the Government negatived the proposition, and declined to findthe necessary means. 

Sir James, not altogether daunted by his ill success, determined to dowhat he could on his own responsibility, and without aid from theTreasury. He opened a Drawing Academy, therefore, at his house in JamesStreet, Covent Garden, on the east side, where, as a writer in 1804describes the situation, 'the back offices and painting-room abuttedupon Langford's (then Cock's) Auction Room in the Piazza, ' and gavetickets to all who desired admission. It is to be feared that SirJames's generosity was somewhat abused. Certain it is that dissensionsarose in his Academy as in Kneller's; that one Vandrebank headed anopposition party, and at length withdrew with his adherents to found arival school. According to Hogarth, 'he converted an old meeting-houseinto an Academy, and introduced a female figure to make it more invitingto subscribers. ' But this establishment did not last long, thesubscriptions were not forthcoming, and the fittings and furniture ofthe school were seized for debt. Upon the death of Sir James, in 1734, his Academy was also closed. 

But a school had now become indispensably necessary to the artists ofthe day. After a time they forgot their differences, and again united. Hogarth had become possessed of his father-in-law Sir James Thornhill'sfurniture, which he was willing to lend to an association of artistsfounding a new school; a subscription was accordingly arranged, and aroom 'large enough to admit of thirty or forty persons drawing after anaked figure, ' was hired in the house of Mr. Hyde, a painter inGreyhound Court, Arundel Street, Strand. Hogarth, attributing thefailure of preceding academies to an assumption of superior authority onthe part of members whose subscriptions were of largest amount, proposedthat all members should equally contribute to the maintenance of theestablishment, and should possess equal rights of voting on allquestions relative to its affairs. For many years this academy, which, in 1738, removed to more convenient premises[6] in Peter's Court, St. Martin's Lane, existed in a most satisfactory manner. To this school ofHogarth's, as we may fairly consider it, the majority of the Englishpainters of the reign of George II. And the early part of George III. , owed much of their art education. Perhaps the success of the school wasdue in great part to the discretion and good management of the artistwho had been nominated its chief instructor: George Michael Moser, agold and silver chaser, enameller and modeller, Swiss by birth. Something also it owed to its unpretentious yet practical andutilitarian character. The artists were bound together by mutualconvenience; their school, conferring no degrees, aiming at nodistinction, was of equal advantage to all. It was strictly a privateinstitution, in no way attracting to itself public notice or asking foraid from the public purse. 

[6] Roubiliac's first workshop. 

In 1734 there had been founded in England the Dilettanti Society, composed of noblemen and gentlemen who had travelled abroad, andprofessed a taste for the fine arts. In 1749, this society found itselfrich and influential enough to contemplate the establishment of anacademy of art, and even took steps to obtain a site on the south sideof Cavendish Square, and to purchase Portland stone for the erectionthere of a building adapted to the purpose, on the plan of the Temple atPola. The society then put itself in correspondence with the School ofPainters in St. Martin's Lane, asking for co-operation and assistance inthe carrying out of the project. The painters, however, according to SirRobert Strange's account of the transaction, held back: they objected toaid in the formation of an academy of art which was not to be under theabsolute rule and government of artists. Thereupon the DilettantiSociety declined to find funds for the foundation of an institute overwhich, when completed, they were to possess no influence whatever, inthe management of which they were to be absolutely without voice; andthe negotiation was accordingly brought to an abrupt conclusion. (We maynote here that, curiously enough, the Royal Commission of 1863 proposed, in some degree, a reversion to this abortive project, and recommendedthe introduction of a lay element into the governing body of thepresent Royal Academy. )

The proposal of the Dilettanti Society, though rejected, seems yet, after the lapse of a few years, to have tempted the painters in St. Martin's Lane to enlarge the boundaries of their institution. In 1753they fancied the time had come when, with the support of the generalbody of artists in England, an effort might be made to found a nationalacademy. A circular was addressed to all the well-known artists byFrancis Milner Newton, the secretary of the school in St. Martin's Lane, calling their attention to a scheme for establishing a public academy ofpainting, sculpture and architecture, for erecting a suitable building, receiving subscriptions, appointing professors, making regulations forthe instruction of students, etc. The circular concluded by requestingattendance at a meeting to be held at the Turk's Head, in Gerard Street, Soho, when the election of thirteen painters, three sculptors, onechaser, two engravers, and two architects, in all twenty-one, for thepurposes of the academy, would be proceeded with. But this scheme metwith little support, and was abandoned. Its projectors, defeated andridiculed--the subjects of several caricatures of the period--had tofall back again among their fellow-artists, probably with littleadvantage to the harmony of the general body. 

Yet the plan of an academy, though it had met with very inconsiderableencouragement, was not suffered to die out absolutely; somehow thething took root, and even grew, in a measure, making no very great signof vitality however. But it produced a pamphlet now and then--foundunexpected advocates here and there, dragged on a sickly, invalid sortof existence. In 1755, a committee of artists resumed the idea, but thistime they appeared to the sympathies of the general public, proposing toraise an academy as charitable institutions are established, by aid ofpopular benevolence, and to apply for a charter of incorporation fromthe Crown, the terms of the charter being formally drawn up, and evenpublished. The prospectus made handsome mention of the pecuniaryassistance which had been some time before proffered by the DilettantiSociety; whereupon the society renewed its promise of support, andre-opened negotiations with the committee of artists. But difficultiesagain arose. Sir Robert Strange, who attended the meetings of theparties, found on the part of the Dilettanti Society 'that generosityand benevolence which are peculiar to true greatness;' but on the sideof the majority of the artists, he regretted to observe 'motivesapparently limited to their own views and ambition to govern. ' Again thenegotiation was broken off, the project went to pieces, and now the hopeof establishing a national academy in England seemed in its worstplight--hopeless--gone down to zero. 

In 1757, Hogarth, on the resignation of his brother-in-law, Mr. Thornhill, was appointed, in the sixtieth year of his age, painter tothe king. Hogarth, it may be noted, had always opposed the attempt tofound an academy. He supported the plan of an art-school, deeming suchan institution of practical value to the painter. But he appears to havethought that an academy would only multiply portrait painters, of whomthere was quite a sufficiency, would not create a demand for works ofreal art-value, or improve the taste of patrons in that respect. In1758, Hogarth's idea of an art-school met with unexpected support in theopening of the Duke of Richmond's Gallery of Casts and Statues atWhitehall. Invitation to students was given by public advertisements. For a time Cipriani gave instruction in the gallery, and it is recordedthat the result was a purer taste among British artists in the drawingof the human figure than they had previously displayed. 

And now help was to come to the plan of an academy from a mostunexpected source, in a most accidental way. In the reign of George II. , if little was done for art and artists, great interest was displayed inworks of public benevolence. From that period dates the rise of verymany national hospitals and charitable institutions of various kinds. Among others, the London Foundling Hospital, which was incorporated in1739, and received especial favour and support from the legislature andthe public. To the sympathy with the objects of this charity displayedby the artists, are attributable the first recognition of them by thenation as a community meriting regard and assistance; and ultimatelythe rise and progress of an Academy of Art in England. 

In 1740, when Handel came forward to aid the funds of the charity by theperformance of his oratorios, Hogarth presented to the governors of theinstitution his famous portrait of Captain Coram, and designed anemblematical decoration to be placed over the chief entrance of thehospital, then in Hatton Garden. In 1745, the west wing of the presentedifice in Guildford Street being completed, other artists followedHogarth's example, and presented, or promised to present, to thehospital specimens of their art. In 1746, the grateful court of thecharity elected its artist-benefactors--Hayman, Hudson, Allan Ramsay, Lambert (the scene-painter), Wilson, Moser, Pine, Hogarth, and Rysbrack(the sculptor), among them--to be governors, with leave to dine at thehospital, at their own expense, on the 5th of November in each year, tocommemorate the landing of King William III. , and 'to consider whatfurther ornaments might be added to the building without expense to thecharity. ' For many years the artists availed themselves of thisopportunity--met, dined, drank claret and punch, and discussedprofessional affairs to their hearts' content. 

The Foundling had become quite a pet charity with Parliament and people. It was assisted by donations from the Crown and grants from Government;while voluntary contributions from the public flowed liberally into itstreasury. From 1756 to 1760 nearly 15, 000 children were received intothe asylum. The open, uninquiring system, still existing on theContinent, then prevailed. A basket hung at the gate, in which todeposit the child, on whose behalf the aid of the institution was to beinvoked; a bell was then rung to give notice was forthwith received andprovided for. The hospital to the officers of the establishment, and thefoundling became the resort and rendezvous of all classes. The publicseemed never to weary of watching over and visiting its _protégés_, andthe donations of the artists which adorned the walls of the hospital, were greatly admired and talked about, and soon became of themselves adecided source of attraction. The nation began to appreciate the factthat it possessed some really excellent English painters, and thepainters made the discovery that there existed a large public interestedin them and in their doings, and prepared to give favour and support toan exhibition of works of art. 

In November 1759, a meeting was held at the Turk's Head, Gerard Street, Soho, which seems to have been a sort of house of call for artists, aswell as for literary men, [7] when it was resolved that once in everyyear, at a place to be appointed by a committee, chosen annually, forcarrying the design into execution, there should be held an exhibitionof the performances of painters, sculptors, architects, engravers, chasers, seal-cutters, and medallists, the profits to be expended incharity--'towards the support of those artists whose age andinfirmities, or other lawful hindrances, prevent them from being anylonger candidates for fame;' the charge for admittance to be oneshilling each person. A committee of sixteen was chosen, consisting ofsix painters, two sculptors, two architects, two engravers, oneseal-cutter, one chaser, one medallist, and the secretary, to whichoffice Mr. Francis William Newton had been appointed, to carry out theviews of the meeting. 

[7] It was at the Turk's Head that were held the meetings of the famousLITERARY CLUB, founded by Reynolds. Johnson, Burke, Dr. Nugent, Beauclerk, Langton, Goldsmith, Mr. Chamier, and Sir John Hawkins werethe other original members. 

Application was then made to the Society of Arts, which had beenestablished five years previously by Mr. Shipley, of Northampton(brother of the bishop of St. Asaph), to permit the use of its rooms, then in the Strand, opposite Beaufort Buildings, for the purposes of theproposed exhibition. The Society gave its consent, deciding that theperiod of exhibition should be from the 21st of April to the 8th of May, and only objecting to the proposal that money should be taken at thedoors for admission. This objection was removed by admitting the publicgratis, and charging sixpence for the catalogue of the works of art onview. Sixty-nine artists sent works to the exhibition. The number ofworks exhibited was 130. The Society's rooms were crowded toinconvenience; the exhibition was a great success. There was a sale of6582 catalogues; the proceeds enabling the committee to defray allexpenses, to purchase £100 consols, and to retain a small balance inhand. No record was kept of the number of visitors to the exhibition;the purchase of catalogues was not obligatory, so the amount sold ishardly a clue to the number of visitors. Many doubtless dispensed withcatalogues altogether, and many borrowed from their friends. But theresults of the exhibition satisfied its warmest well-wishers. 

There was but one drawback to the general satisfaction. The Society ofArts conceived itself at liberty to exhibit among the other works thedrawings of certain of its students, whose industry and merit hadentitled them to gold medals and other rewards. The untutored public, misled by the talk about prizes, persisted in regarding these juvenileessays as the works judged by the _cognoscenti_ to be the mostmeritorious of the whole exhibition, and rendered them the homage ofextraordinary attention and admiration accordingly. Mature professors ofart had to endure the mortification of finding their best productionspassed over by the unskilful multitude, and the highest praises awardedto mere beginners. The newspapers of the day--newspapers have never beenvery learned in art matters--fell into the same delusion, and in theirnotices of the exhibition, paid attention only to these most over-ratedprize-holders. 

But, altogether, the artists had good cause to be satisfied. They hadheld the first exhibition of works of art in England, and the exhibitionhad thoroughly succeeded. They had opened up a new source of profit tothemselves in the display of their productions. They had obtained fromthe general public recognition of themselves and their profession. TheCrown might be negligent of them, the State might be apathetic as toaffairs of art, aristocratic patrons might be led astray by the _ignisfatuus_ of love of the old masters, by the fashionable tastes forantiquities; but here was 'the million' on the side of its artistcompatriots; the voice of the nation had declared itself in favour ofthe nation's art. Really there seemed at last to be hope, if notsomething more, for the English painter, and the long-looked-for Englishacademy appeared fairly discernible on the horizon. 

The decided success of the exhibition in the Strand was yet attended bycertain disadvantages. Ill-fortune would probably have closely unitedthe artists; prosperity seems to have divided them--to have engenderedamong them jealousies and dissensions. The proceeds of the exhibitionsoon proved a source of encumbrance and difficulty to the exhibitors. Their original intention had been to apply their profits to the reliefof distressed painters. But now among a certain party a strong feelingwas manifested in favour of devoting the money to the advancement ofart. Finally it was resolved that the matter should stand over until thefunds should have accumulated to the amount of £500, and that a vote ofthe majority of artists should then decide the question. 

Further evidences of disorganization and want of definite aim were tocome. While many artists desired to continue relations with the Societyof Arts, others regarded the conditions imposed by that Society asvexatious and embarrassing. Particularly they objected to theintroduction into their exhibition of the works of the Society'sstudents. They represented further that the exhibition had been 'crowdedand incommoded by the intrusion of persons whose stations and educationsdisqualified them for judging of statuary and painting, and who weremade idle and tumultuous by the opportunity of attending a show;' and byway of remedy, proposed that in future the price of the catalogue shouldbe one shilling, and that no person should be admitted without one, butthat a catalogue once purchased should serve as a ticket of admissionduring the season. The Society of Arts, however, distinctly refusedassent to these changes. The dispute quickened, waxed warm. Finally alarge and distinguished section of the artists, comprising in its ranksthe committee of sixteen who had managed the first exhibition, determined to sever their connexion with the Society of Arts, and toassert their independence. They accordingly engaged a room of anauctioneer in Spring Gardens for a display of their works during May1761. The more timid party still clung to the friendly Society in theStrand, and there held a second exhibition. From the spring of 1761, therefore, there were two exhibitions of works of art in London. 

The exhibitors in Spring Gardens styled themselves the 'Society ofArtists of Great Britain;' the old committee of sixteen being at thehead of the affairs of the new society. The designs on their catalogueby Wale and Hogarth demonstrated their intention to devote their revenueto the relief of the distressed. Of the catalogue, rendered attractiveby these embellishments, 13, 000 copies were sold. No charge was made foradmission; but the purchase of a catalogue was made imperative. Thecatalogue, however, was a ticket of admission for the season. Thereceipts of the exhibition of 1761 amounted to £650. 

At the other exhibition in the Strand, to which sixty-five artistscontributed, the old system prevailed. Visitors were at liberty topurchase a catalogue or not, as they chose; but a check was placed uponthe indiscriminate admission of all classes by requiring from visitorsthe production of tickets which had been distributed gratuitously by theexhibitors, and were readily obtainable. After defraying all expensesthe exhibition produced upwards of £150, which sum was appropriated inbenefactions--to the Middlesex Hospital £50, to the British Lying-inHospital £50, to the Asylum for Female Orphans £50, the small balanceremaining after these donations being distributed among distressedartists. In the following year the Strand exhibitors took the firstpractical measures for founding a provident society for the benefit ofBritish artists by forming themselves into an organized body, with aconstitution and rules for their proper government, and assuming thetitle of 'The Free Society of Artists, Associated for the Relief of theDistressed and Decayed Brethren, their Widows and Children. ' The societywas to be maintained by the sale of the catalogues of an annualexhibition, or by charging for admission to such exhibition, as acommittee of management to be chosen every year should determine; suchcommittee having also power to reject the works sent in that they mightdeem unworthy of exhibition, and to hang or dispose of accepted works'without respect to persons. ' Every artist who contributed works to theexhibition for five years in succession, intermission by reason ofillness or absence from the country not being a disqualification, was tobe a perpetual member of the society and entitled to share in itsbenefits and privileges. In 1763 the institution took legal shape, andwas 'enrolled of record in His Majesty's Court of King's Bench, ' fiftymembers signing the roll. 

Meanwhile the rival association had not been idle. It had increased thenumber of its committee from sixteen to twenty-four; this committeeexercising absolute authority over the affairs of the society. Vacanciesin its numbers were filled up by the remaining committee-men, withoutreference to the society, while it enjoined upon its members that itstransactions should be kept a profound secret from the general body ofthe society. Already a love of rule seems to have gained upon thiscommittee. Its members began to regard themselves in the light ofacademicians for life--as perpetual governors, rather than officers ofthe society, removable at its pleasure: an erroneous view of theirposition which led to much trouble in the sequel. Other changes hadtaken place--a charge of one shilling was made for admission to theexhibition of 1762, the catalogue being given gratis, and appended tothe catalogue appeared an address written on behalf of the society byDr. Johnson, explaining the objects of the exhibition, the reason forcharging for admission to it, and a change that had been determined uponin regard to the appropriation of the society's revenues. 'The purposeof this exhibition, ' declared the address, 'is not to enrich theartists, but to advance the art; the eminent are not flattered bypreference, nor the obscure insulted with contempt. Whoever hopes todeserve public favour is here invited to display his merit. ' When theterms of admission were low, it was stated, the rooms 'were throngedwith such multitudes as made access dangerous, and frightened away thosewhose approbation was most desired. ' A curious plan for appropriatingthe expected profits was then set forth. The works sent in forexhibition were to be reviewed by the committee of management, and aprice secretly set on every work and registered by the secretary. Atthe close of the exhibition the works were to be sold by auction; ifthey sold for more than the price fixed by the committee, the artistswere to receive the increased amount, but if they sold for less, thenthe deficiency was to be made up to the artists out of the profits ofthe exhibition. For the most part the pictures at the subsequent sale byauction did not realize the prices set upon them by the committee, andupwards of £120 had to be paid to the artists out of the exhibitionfunds. Upon the whole, the plan did not work very well. The society'sattempt to come between buyer and seller satisfied neither party. Afterthis one experiment, the scheme was abandoned. 

The society had, however, little reason to complain of want of publicsupport. In 1762 the exhibition produced over £520, and in 1763, £560. In 1764, the receipts rose to £760. But the internal economy of theinstitution was in a less satisfactory state. Many members expresseddiscontent at the arbitrary power exercised by the committee--apermanent body, not always recruited from the best sources, for many ofthe most eminent artists declined to accept office, or were neglectfulof their duties as committee-men, so that ultimately there seemed to bedanger of the whole government of the society falling into the hands ofthe least competent, if the most active, of its members. And the societywas much in want of a distinct legal status. After all, it was but aprivate sort of corporation most imperfectly constituted; it was growingrich without its property being regularly secured to it. Enrolment wasnot regarded as sufficiently answering this object, and it was proposedat a general meeting of the members that the Crown should be solicitedto incorporate the society by charter. The committee, content with theexisting state of things under which they exercised extreme authority, opposed these projects. However, the general body proved too strong forthem; the charter was petitioned for and granted on the 26th of January1765. In substance it followed the terms of the charter which had beenproposed by the artists ten years before, when an attempt had been madeto establish an academy 'on general benevolence. ' It placed no limit tothe number of the society's members, or 'Fellows, ' as they werethenceforward to be called; the committee-men being designated'Directors. ' It gave the society arms, a crest, a constitution, power tohold land (not exceeding the yearly value of £1000), to sue and to besued, etc. ; and it authorized the society, every St. Luke's Day, toelect Directors to serve for the ensuing year. In other respects thecharter was somewhat indefinite; but it was presumed that under thepower to make bye-laws, all points in dispute might be finally dealtwith and adjusted. The 'Fellows' were disposed to be conciliatory. Theyelected the late committee to be the first 'Directors, ' under thecharter. Everything seemed to promise well. Two hundred and elevenartists signed the roll of the society, promising to the utmost of theirpower to observe and conform to the statutes and orders, and to promotethe honour and interest of the 'Society of Incorporated Artists of GreatBritain. '

But between the Fellows and the Directors there seems to have been but ahollow truce after all. They were bent upon different plans and objects. The Fellows entertained practical views enough. The only academy of artwas still the very inadequate private school in St. Martin's Lane--adistinct institution, a common resort of artists, whether members of asociety or not. The Fellows desired out of the funds of their society tofound a public academy of a high class, that should be of real value tothe profession. The Directors, among whom the architects Chambers andPayne were remarkably active, proposed, on the other hand, 'that thefunds should be laid out in the decoration of some edifice adapted tothe objects of the institution. ' The Fellows declared that in thisproject the society, as a whole, had no interest; and at a generalmeeting in March 1767, they carried a resolution 'that it should bereferred to the Directors to consider a proper, form for instituting apublic academy, and to lay the same before the meeting in Septembernext. ' An attempt was then made on the part of the Directors to complywith the terms of this resolution, and yet to reserve the funds of thesociety for the future carrying out of their own pet scheme. 

Dalton, an artist of very inconsiderable fame, who held the appointmentof librarian to the King, was treasurer to the Incorporated Society, anda leading member of its direction. He had, some time previously, attempted to establish a print warehouse in Pall Mall, but thespeculation had signally failed; accordingly the speculator had beenleft with very expensive premises on his hands. He now conceived thathis warehouse might readily be converted into a very respectable academyof arts, and he contrived to obtain the King's encouragement of theplan. Soon, at another general meeting, the Fellows were informed thatthe King intended to take the fine arts under his special protection, and to institute a public academy under royal patronage. At these goodtidings opposition ceased. The resolution passed at the March meeting ofthe society was at once repealed. Universal satisfaction prevailed;there was great rejoicing among the Fellows at the brilliant prospectsdawning upon art and artists. The words 'Royal Academy' were substitutedfor 'Print Warehouse' over the door of Mr. Dalton's house in Pall Mall. The subscribers to the school in St. Martin's Lane, on therepresentation of Mr. Moser that they would thenceforward have freeaccess to the Royal Academy, that their school would be thus superseded, and that their furniture would consequently be of no further use tothem, were prevailed upon to assign to him their anatomical figures, busts, statues, lamps, and other effects and fittings, which wereforthwith removed to Pall Mall. But bitter disappointment was to followall this hopefulness and satisfaction. It soon appeared that there wasno money applicable to the support of the royal establishment. The Kinghad given nothing. The Directors would consent to no outlay from thesociety's funds. The Royal Academy was to be self-supporting. Theartists had in truth gained not at all--were in a somewhat worseposition than before. They were required to pay an annual fee of oneguinea to an academy in which their comfort and convenience were lessstudied than in the old school in St. Martin's Lane. For now thedisturbing element of non-professional membership was permitted. Anyperson, not intending to study, was allowed entrance to the academy, onpayment of an annual guinea. The discontent of the artists was extreme, and was vehemently expressed. 

Public interest in the society, however, had meanwhile in no way abated. The exhibition of 1767 produced over eleven hundred pounds. But thedissensions of the Directors and Fellows had become notorious---arrested general attention, and attracted the comments and censures ofthe newspapers. The Fellows forthwith determined to effect a change inthe composition of the directorate, whose oppression and mismanagementhad been, as they judged, so fatal to the interests of the general body. It was proposed that a bye-law should be passed, rendering compulsorythe retirement of eight out of the twenty-four Directors every year, andthat the retiring Directors should be replaced by other members of thesociety. But this not unreasonable proposition was strenuously resistedby the Directors, who argued that by the terms of the charter exclusiveauthority to originate new laws was vested in them absolutely. It was atlength determined between the contending parties that the questionshould be decided by a reference to the opinion of the Attorney-General. The Directors, after much procrastination, drew up and submitted theircase. The Attorney-General (Mr. William de Grey, afterwards LordWalsingham) was of opinion, in answer to the questions put to him, thatunder the charter the Directors were to make laws, and the general bodyto approve or reject the same, and that, therefore, the Directors werenot bound to take into consideration a resolution of a general meetingin order to form it into a bye-law. But it was suggested that theDirectors should consider how far it might be prudent to accept such aresolution, 'since the same majority that resolved might unite inelecting Directors of the same opinion with themselves, especially inthe case of resolutions that appeared to be reasonable and proper;' theAttorney-General being further of opinion that the proposed bye-law wasnot in any way inconsistent with the terms of the society's charter. Upon this opinion the Fellows acted. They submitted to the Directors theenactment of a bye-law rendering no more than sixteen of the existingDirectors capable of being re-elected for the year ensuing. TheDirectors were obstinate: they declared that the proposed law would bean attack on the freedom of elections, a dangerous innovation, and anungrateful return for all the exertions they had made on behalf of thesociety. At the general meeting following this, held on St. Luke's day, the 18th of October 1768, the struggle terminated: the Fellows, madeless moderate by opposition, elected sixteen of their number to fill theplaces of sixteen old Directors, who were superseded and deposed. Mr. Joshua Kirby was appointed president in the room of Mr. Hayman, who hadsucceeded to that post on the death of Mr. Lambert in 1765; Mr. Newtonand Mr. Dalton were removed from the offices of secretary and treasurer. On the 10th November the eight remaining of the old Directors declaredthat they could not act with their new colleagues, believing them bentupon measures repugnant to the charter and tending to the destruction ofthe society; and accordingly they placed their resignations in the handsof Mr. Kirby, the new president. They desired to be understood, however, as not objecting to all the new Directors. On the contrary, theyprofessed to entertain the highest esteem for Mr. Kirby himself and'some others, ' who had been elected to their offices without takingpart in any intrigue, and who, as being men of honour and ability intheir professions, were extremely proper persons to fill the places theyoccupied. The conflict was thus brought to a close. The Fellows haddelivered their society from the persistent misrule under which it hadso long suffered. The price of this emancipation was, in the firstplace, the loss of all the twenty-four Directors. Further and moreimportant results, however, were to be forthcoming. 

Meanwhile, brief mention must be made of the transactions of the smallerinstitution--the Free Society of Artists. Adherence to the Society ofArts, though it brought with it restriction as to charging for admissionto the annual exhibitions, and made the sale of catalogues almost itsonly source of revenue, was yet maintained by the Free Society for fouryears. But, in 1765, the Free Society no longer availed itself of thepremises of the Society of Arts. An independent exhibition was thenopened at a large room, hired for the purpose, in Maiden Lane, CoventGarden, being part of the warehouse of Mr. Moreing, an upholsterer; andthe exhibition of the following year was also held in the same place. In1767 and 1768 the Society exhibited in two large rooms at the bottom ofthe Haymarket, Pall Mall. The Society published from time to timestatements of its progress. In one of these the growth of the Society, its utility, and purposes, are plainly set forth. Every memberafflicted with illness and applying for relief had been assisted withdonations of from three, five, ten, fifteen, twenty, up to one hundredguineas. The Society possessed funds applicable to the purposes ofbenevolence to the amount of £1200. With a continuance of public favourthe Society trusted to be able in a few years, not only to provide forits distressed, but 'to found an academy, and to give premiums for theencouragement of every branch in the polite arts. ' Up to 1768 onehundred members had signed the Society's roll. 

The story of the two societies has thus been brought down to 1768. Fromthat year dates the rise of a third society--the Royal Academy of Arts:an institution which has long outlived its rivals, which has indeed fedupon and gained strength from their decay and decease, as at the outsetit owed its existence to the success of their previous efforts, andwhich, in spite of constant opposition and bitterest attack, flourishesstill, as though possessed of that longevity which is proverbially theattribute of the threatened. 'The Academy, ' said Haydon, 'originated inthe very basest intrigue. ' Undoubtedly there was intrigue in connexionwith its origin, but not necessarily of the 'very basest' character. Some allowance must be made for 'poor human nature. ' The contestdividing the Incorporated Society had been a very keen one--had beendistinguished by much angry feeling and acrimonious spirit. It washardly to be supposed that the defeated party, the sixteen expelledDirectors and the additional eight who retired in sympathy with theexpulsion of their colleagues, would sit down patiently under theirdefeat: their disgrace as they considered it. They had declined toregard themselves as members of a fluctuating committee, although suchwas distinctly their legal position, removable at the will of thesociety. For eight years they had held the reins of power; thesupposition that these were to be theirs for life had some excuse, andthey argued that their displacement, if in accordance with the letter ofthe law, was yet contrary to its spirit. It was true a majority wasagainst them; but they found fault with the composition of the majority. There had been, they declared, too indiscriminate an admission ofFellows. Inferior practitioners, troublesome, pragmatical, jealous, anxious for power, had availed themselves of the loose terms of thecharter, to creep into the society, and conspire against the legitimateinfluence of the respectable members. This was the Directors' view ofthe case. What was now to be their course? Should they submit, servewhere they had once ruled, sink into simple Fellows, and thus, as itwere, grace the triumph of their foes? Perish the thought! They wouldfound a rival society!

It must not be understood that the Directors, as opposed to the Fellows, were wholly without friends in the society. Though outnumbered, they hadyet a certain small following; while many held aloof from both parties, ill-pleased at the virulence with which their dissensions had beenconducted. Reynolds in particular declined all interference in thecontentions which were rending in twain the society. He had longwithdrawn himself from the meetings of the Directors, declaring himselfno friend to their proceedings, and when he discovered their intention'to raise up a schism in the arts, ' as Sir Robert Strange phrases it, and make a separate exhibition, he declared that he would exhibit withneither body. 

An exhibition of the works of the ex-Directors in competition with theexhibition of the Fellows would have been fair play enough--a perfectlylegitimate and honourable proceeding. It would then have rested with thepublic to declare which exhibition displayed the greater amount of meritand was the more worthy of their encouragement and support. Further, theattempt on the part of the Directors to obtain the favour of the Kingfor their undertaking was hardly to be blamed. But what was distinctlyunjustifiable in their proceedings was their intriguing to secure amonopoly of this favour: to possess themselves exclusively of the royalpatronage, to the detriment and ultimate ruin, not merely of the societytheir own connexion with which had been so violently severed, but of theunoffending and praiseworthy smaller institution--the Free Society. Inthis matter, however, it must be said, the ex-Directors were not aloneto blame. Other patrons of art may exhibit themselves, if they please, as partisans, but a royal patron should not condescend to a position atonce so inequitable and so undignified. To this derogation, however, George III. , good-humouredly weak or pertinaciously obtuse, sufferedhimself to be brought. He became the patron of a clique, and evenyielded himself as an instrument to be employed for the injury of thatclique's antagonists. Whatever had been the faults of the othersocieties as against the founders of the Royal Academy--and it must beadmitted that the Free Society was, perfectly blameless in thatrespect, --as against the Crown they had done nothing to merit royaldispleasure, but, on the contrary, were entitled, with the otherenlightened institutions of the country, to count upon the King'sencouragement. 

Some such demon as, whispering in the ear of Visto, bade him 'Have ataste!' had been wheedling George in. The King proclaimed himself apatron of the arts, and then proceeded to assume the airs of aconnoisseur. Certainly he did not distinguish himself much in thatcapacity; his pretensions were not backed by any real learning. He madewoeful mistakes. For instance, he never appreciated Reynolds, [8] whosemerits one would think were sufficiently patent--needed not a conjurerto perceive them--passing him over to appoint Allan Ramsay serjeantpainter, when Hogarth dying vacated that honorary office. He preferredWest's works, because they were smoother--and Dance's, because theywere cheaper!

[8] It has been alleged that the King objected to Reynolds on account ofthe painter's friendship for Burke and Fox. 

West was the King's pet painter. Dr. Drummond, Archbishop of York, hadobtained for him, in February 1768, the honour of an audience. Theartist took with him to the palace a picture, 'Agrippina landing withthe Ashes of Germanicus, ' which he had executed for the archbishop. TheKing greatly admired the work, and West forthwith received the royalcommand to paint 'The Departure of Regulus for Rome. ' Later in the yeara sketch of the picture was submitted to the King. At this time thenewspapers were full of the dissensions of the Incorporated Society. Concerning these the King inquired of West. The artist--one of the eightDirectors who had voluntarily quitted the Society after the ejection oftheir sixteen colleagues--related to the King the history of theSociety's proceedings from the Directors' point of view. Whereupon theKing stated 'that he would gladly patronize any association that mightbe found better calculated to improve the arts. '

West returned from the palace full of this royal announcement. He atonce put himself in communication with three ex-Directors of theIncorporated Society, --Cotes, a fashionable portrait-painter; Chambers, who had been instructor in architecture to the King when Prince ofWales; and Moser, the gold-chaser and enameller, who had taught the Kingdrawing. These four artists formed themselves into a committee toarrange the plan of an academy. The King, it is stated, took greatpersonal interest in the scheme, and even drew up several laws with hisown hand. He expressed great anxiety that the design should be kept aprofound secret, lest it should be converted into a vehicle of politicalinfluence. The artists did not object to this secrecy; they ratherpreferred that their plan should, as it were, open fire upon their foesunexpectedly, with the suddenness of a battery promptly unmasked. 

We now come to the well-known story of the arrival at Windsor Castle ofKirby, the President of the Incorporated Society, at a time when theKing is inspecting West's completed picture of, 'Regulus. ' Kirby joinsin the general admiration of the work; he turns to West, and trusts thatit is the artist's intention to exhibit the picture. West replies thatthe question of exhibition must rest with his Majesty, for whom thepicture has been painted. 'Assuredly, ' says the King, 'I shall be happyto let the work be shown to the public. ' 'Then, Mr. West, you will sendit to my exhibition, ' adds the President of the Incorporated Society. 'No!' his Majesty interposes, 'it must go to _my_ exhibition--_to theRoyal Academy_!' Mr. Kirby is thunderstruck, --the battery had beenunmasked. Profoundly humiliated he at once retires from the royalpresence, not to survive the shock very long, says the story. However, he lived to 1774. 

Mr. Kirby was a landscape painter of repute in his day. Author of awork on perspective, and the friend of Gainsborough, he had risen fromquite humble life to a position of some eminence, entirely by his ownexertions. It was admitted that he had attained the post of President ofthe Incorporated Society without intrigue on his part, and that both byreason of his professional skill and his private worth, he was entitledto the respect alike of the friends and foes of that institution. TheKing condescended to play an ignoble part when he took pains to mortifyand distress so honest a gentleman. Rival artists might conspire againstthe Society from which they had seceded, and seek to mine its position;but his Majesty stooped very low when he lent his royal hand to thefiring of the train. However, he had thrown himself heart and soul intothe project for founding a new society--the Royal Academy. So that hereared that edifice, he seemed to care little how he might sully hisfingers in the process. In this, as in some other occurrences in thecourse of his reign, he demonstrated sufficiently that he could onoccasion be obstinate and fatuous, wanting both in discrimination and indignity. 

After the scene at Windsor Castle, in which poor Mr. Kirby had beendemolished, a meeting was held at the house of Wilton, the sculptor, ofsome thirty artists, including, of course, the twenty-four ex-Directorsof the Incorporated Society, to hear Chambers, the architect, read theproposed academy's code of laws which had been prepared under theimmediate inspection of the King, and to nominate the officers of theinstitution. Some uneasiness had been felt during the day as to whetherReynolds would or not join the academy. He had hitherto abstained fromall part in the proceedings; but that he should be the first presidenthad been decided by the King in consultation with the otherconspirators. Penny, the portrait-painter, had visited Reynolds to soundhim on the subject, but found him obdurate. West was then deputed towait upon the greatest English painter, and to leave no means untried inthe way of persuading him to join the new association. For a timeReynolds was cold and coy enough, but influenced at last by theallurement of probable knighthood, or the force of other arguments, hepermitted himself to be carried in West's coach to the meeting atWilton's. He was at once declared president; Chambers being appointedtreasurer, Newton secretary, Moser keeper, Penny professor of painting, and Dr. William Hunter professor of anatomy. Reynolds, however, deferredhis acceptance of the post of president until he had consulted hisfriends Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke upon the subject, and it was not untila fortnight after his election that he finally consented to fill theproposed office. 

The first formal meeting of the Royal Academy was held in Pall Mall onthe 14th December 1768. Mr. Chambers read a report to the artistsassembled, relating the steps that had been taken to found the Academy. No allusion was made in this report to the secret negotiations andconsultations with the King; but it was set forth that on the previous28th November, Messrs. Chambers, Cotes, Moser, and West had had thehonour of presenting a memorial to the Crown, signed by twenty-twoartists, soliciting the royal assistance and protection in establishinga new society for promoting the arts of design. The objects of thesociety were stated to be 'the establishing a well-regulated school oracademy of design, for the use of students in the arts, and an annualexhibition, open to all artists of distinguished merit, where they mayoffer their performances to public inspection, and acquire that degreeof reputation and encouragement which they shall be deemed to deserve. ''We apprehend, ' the memorialists had proceeded, 'that the profitsarising from the last of these institutions will fully answer all theexpenses of the first: we even flatter ourselves they will be more thannecessary for that purpose, and that we shall be enabled annually todistribute somewhat in useful charities. Your Majesty's avowed patronageand protection is therefore all that we at present humbly sue for; butshould we be disappointed in our expectations, and find that the profitsof the society are insufficient to defray its expenses, we humbly hopethat your Majesty will not deem that expense ill-applied which may befound necessary to support so useful an institution. ' This memorial, sothe report went on to state, the King had received very graciously:saying that he considered the culture of the arts as a national concern, and that the memorialists might depend upon his patronage and assistancein carrying their plan into execution; further, he desired that a fullerstatement in writing of their intentions might be laid before him. Accordingly, Mr. Chambers had drawn up a sketch of his plan, and, havingobtained its approval by as many artists as the shortness of time wouldallow, had submitted it to the King, who, on the 10th of December 1768, signified his approbation, ordered that the plan should be carried intoexecution, and with his own hand signed Mr. Chambers's plan--'theInstrument, ' as it was then, and has ever since been called. Mr. Chambers then read the Instrument to the meeting, after which theartists present signed an obligation or declaration, promising toobserve all the laws and regulations contained in the Instrument, andall future laws that might be made for the better government of thesociety, and to employ their utmost endeavours to promote the honour andinterest of the establishment, so long as they should continue membersthereof. The Academy thus obtained its constitution, and assumed suchform of legal existence as it has ever possessed. 

The Instrument is simply a document on parchment, signed by the King, but unsealed and unattested. It recites that sundry eminent professorsof painting, sculpture, and architecture had solicited the King'spatronage and assistance in establishing a society for promoting thearts of design, and that the utility of the plan had been fully andclearly demonstrated. Therefore the King, being desirous of encouragingevery useful undertaking, did thereby institute and establish the saidSociety under the name of the 'Royal Academy of Arts in London, 'graciously declaring himself the patron, protector, and supporterthereof, and commanding it should be established under the forms andregulations thereinafter set forth, which had been humbly laid beforehis Majesty, and had received his royal assent and approbation. Therules declared that the Academy should consist of forty members only, who should be called Academicians; they were to be at the time of theiradmission painters, sculptors, or architects of reputation in theirprofessions, of high moral character, not under twenty-five years ofage, resident in Great Britain, and not members of any other society ofartists established in London. Under this rule, it will be noted, thatengravers could not aspire to the honours of the Academy. Sir RobertStrange regarded this as a direct affront to the members of hisprofession, and attributed it to his well-known attachment to theIncorporated Society and hostility to the designs of the ex-Directors ofthat body. The provision that members of other societies were to bedisqualified from becoming members of the Academy, was of course aimedat the rival institutions, and undoubtedly a severe restriction uponthe general body of artists. Of the forty members who were to constitutethe Academy, the Instrument named thirty-six only; a circumstance whichjustified suspicion that the leaders in the enterprise had so small afollowing that they could not muster in sufficient force to complete theprescribed number of original members: or they may have purposely leftvacancies to be supplied as artists of eminence were detached from therival societies or otherwise became eligible. Among the thirty-six, [9]while many artists of fame appear, it must also be said that many veryobscure persons figure, whose names, but for their registry upon thelist of original Academicians, would probably never have been known toposterity in any way. Nearly a third of the number are foreigners. Thereare two ladies, Mesdames Angelica Kauffman and Mary Moser, the first andlast female Academicians. Then there are coach, and even sign-painters, a medallist, and an engraver--Bartolozzi, whose nomination was in directcontravention of the Academy's constitution and an additional injusticeto Sir Robert Strange. The originators of the plan must surely have feltthat they were marching through Coventry with rather a ragged regimentat their heels. The number of reputable names missing from their listwas remarkable: Allan Ramsay, serjeant-painter to the King; Hudson, Reynolds's preceptor, and Romney, his rival; Scott, the marine painter;Pine, the portrait painter; and the engravers Strange, Grignon, andWoollett; beside such artists as Edward Edwards, Joseph Farington, OziasHumphrey, John Mortimer, Robert Smirke, Francis Wheatleigh, and manyothers (members of the Incorporated Society for the most part), who, though ultimately connected with the Academy, had no share in itsfoundation. 

[9] The thirty-six members nominated by the Instrument were:--JoshuaReynolds, Benjamin West, Thomas Sandby (architect), Francis Cotes(portrait painter), John Baker (coach panel painter), Mason Chamberlin(portrait painter), John Gwyn (architect), Thomas Gainsborough, J. Baptist Cipriani (Italian), Jeremiah Meyer (German, miniature painter), Francis Milner Newton (portrait painter), Paul Sandby (water-colourpainter and engraver), Francesco Bartolozzi (Italian, engraver), CharlesCatton (coach panel painter), Nathaniel Hone (portrait painter), WilliamTyre (architect), Nathaniel Dance (portrait painter), Richard Wilson, G. Michael Moser (Swiss, gold-chaser and enameller), Samuel Wale (signpainter and book illustrator), Peter Toms (portrait and heraldicpainter), Angelica Kauffman (Swiss), Richard Yeo (sculptor ofmedallions, engraver to the Mint), Mary Moser (Swiss, flower painter), William Chambers (architect), Joseph Wilton (sculptor), George Barrett(landscape painter), Edward Penny (portrait painter chiefly), AgostinoCarlini (Italian, sculptor), Francis Hayman, Dominic Serres (French, landscape painter), John Richards (landscape painter), FrancescoZucarelli (Italian, landscape painter), George Dance (architect), William Hoare (historical and portrait painter, father of Prince Hoare), and Johan Zoffany (German, historical and portrait painter). The numberof forty was not completed until 1772, when were added Edward Burch (gemsculptor and wax modeller), Richard Cosway (miniature painter), JosephNollekens (sculptor), and James Barry (historical painter). Seven of theoriginal thirty-six Academicians do not appear on the roll of theIncorporated Society in 1766, viz. , Baker, Cipriani, Toms, A. Kauffman, M. Moser, Penny, and Hoare. 

Having named the original members, the Instrument proceeded to lay downrules for the further government of the institution; to prescribe themanner of electing future members, a council, and president, a secretaryand keeper (the treasurer was to be nominated by his Majesty, 'as theKing is graciously pleased to pay all deficiencies'), the appointment ofdifferent professors, the establishment of schools, a library for thefree use of students, and of an annual exhibition of works of art to be'open to all artists of distinguished merit. ' New laws and regulationswere to be framed from time to time, but to have no force until'ratified by the consent of the general assembly and the approbation ofthe King. ' At the end of the Instrument the King wrote, 'I approve ofthis plan; let it be put in execution'--adding his signature. 

This Instrument, with the bye-laws and regulations made upon itsauthority, cannot be said to possess the characteristics or incidents ofa charter, still less of an Act of Parliament, or indeed, to present anyvery formal or legal basis upon which to found a national society. TheCommissioners of 1863, while they recommended the grant of a charter todefine satisfactorily the position of the Academy, considered theInstrument as a solemn declaration by the original members of the mainobjects of their society, to which succeeding members had alsopractically become parties, and were of opinion that its legal effectswould be so regarded in a court of law or equity. It did not appear, however, that the Academy itself was in favour of the objects of itsinstitution being more clearly defined by means of a charter. In 1836, Haydon boldly accused the Academicians that they 'cunningly refusedGeorge IV. 's offer of a charter, fearing it would make them responsible"to Parliament and the nation. "' The charge would seem to have sometruth in it. Certainly the Academy has made no attempt to obtain aprecise definition of its position in regard to the crown and thepublic. 

The Incorporated Society viewed with natural alarm the rise of a rivalinstitution, favoured in so marked a manner by the patronage of thecrown. Sir Robert Strange at once proposed the presentation of apetition, setting forth in plain terms the grievances that would beentailed upon the Society, and upon artists generally, by the illiberalconstitution of the Academy and its apprehended monopoly of the royalprotection. Sir Robert's proposition was, however, not accepted. Apetition of a more cautious nature, from which everything likely tooffend had been carefully eliminated, was presented to the King by Mr. Kirby, the president. His Majesty replied to the prayer of the petition, 'that the Society already possessed his Majesty's protection; that hedid not mean to encourage one set of men more than another; that, havingextended his favour to the Society incorporated by charter, he had alsoencouraged the new petitioners; that his intention was to patronize thearts; that the Society might rest assured his royal favour should beequally extended to both, and that he should visit the exhibitions asusual. ' This reply was gracious enough: but it was not ingenuous. TheKing was not as good as his word. He _did_ mean 'to encourage one set ofmen more than another. ' He visited the exhibition of the IncorporatedSociety in 1769 _for the last time_. In the same year he presented thefunds of the Society with £100, _his last donation_. Meanwhile hisvisits to the Royal Academy were constant, his preference for thatinstitution clearly manifested; between 1769 and 1780 he presented toits funds from his privy purse upwards of £5000. 

The Incorporated Society, shut out from studying in the Royal Academy, determined to open an art-school for themselves and their pupils. Application was made to the Academy for a return of the properties whichMr. Moser had carried away it was now alleged, under false pretences, from the St. Martin's Lane Academy. It was intimated that payment shouldbe made for the chattels in question, or that they should be restored. The Royal Academy, however, took no steps in the matter. Tired ofwaiting, the Incorporated Society at last fitted up at great expense anew studio for themselves at premises in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, occupied in more modern times by the Cyder Cellars. 

Early in 1769 the Academy opened its art-schools in Pall Mall; Reynoldspresiding, read his first discourse. One grave defect in the Academy'sconstitution was then in a measure remedied. The art of engraving wasrecognised: a law was passed, by which not more than six engravers couldbe admitted as 'associates of the Royal Academy. ' In April the firstexhibition was held. The number of works exhibited was 136. Among thesewere four portraits by Reynolds, seven by Cotes (some of them incrayons, in which he was supposed to excel), and three by Gainsborough. West sent two pictures--the 'Regulus, ' of which mention has already beenmade--the firebrand work which brought about indirectly so much mischiefand discussion--and a 'Venus lamenting the Death of Adonis. ' There werealso landscapes by Barrett, Gainsborough, Sandby, Serres, Wilson, andZucarelli, and 'poetical and historical works by Cipriani, Bartolozzi, and Miss Kauffman. The exhibitors were fifty in number; Mr. Pye, in his'Patronage of British Art, ' divides them into, 'Members of the RoyalAcademy, 33; non-members, _having no interest in the revenue_, 17. ' Aglance at recent catalogues will demonstrate the changed proportion nowexisting between exhibiting members and exhibiting non-members, ascompared with the first exhibition of the Royal Academy. [10] By thisexhibition a clear profit of nearly £600 was realized. A sum of about£150 was expended in charity; the surplus was applied towards thegeneral expenses of the Academy. These, however, so far exceeded thereceipts as to necessitate a grant from the privy purse to the amount of£900. The King and Queen visited the Academy exhibition in May, accompanied by a guard of honour. From this incident arose the practice, still existing, of stationing sentries at the doors of the Academyduring the exhibition. 

[10] 'In the year 1862 there were 1142 works exhibited; ofthese 146 were the works of academicians, leaving 996 for thenon-academicians. '--_Sir Charles Eastlake's Examination before the RoyalAcademy Commission_, 1863. 

In addition to a charge of sixpence for the catalogue, visitors wererequired to pay one shilling for admission to the exhibition. Inexplanation of this charge, the following curious advertisement precededthe list of pictures: 'As the present exhibition is a part of theinstitution of an academy _supported by royal munificence_, the publicmay naturally expect the liberty of being admitted without any expense. The Academicians, therefore, think it necessary to declare that this wasvery much their desire, but they have not been able to suggest any othermeans than that of receiving money for admittance to prevent the roomsbeing filled by improper persons, to the entire exclusion of those forwhom the exhibition is apparently intended. '

This advertisement, which was repeated in the Academy catalogue of 1780, would seem at the first sight to suggest that the Academicians hadfailed to comprehend their exact position. Or had the King in hisenthusiasm for their cause led them to believe that he intended todefray their expenses wholly from the privy purse without aid from thepublic? However this may be, it has long been understood that theamounts taken at the doors of the exhibition for admission, and thesales of catalogues, form the real support of the Academy. A grossincome of at least £10, 000 is thus produced, half of which amount, asclear profit, the Academy is enabled every year to add to its everincreasing store of wealth. [11]

[11] Out of its accumulated riches the Academy has defrayed, the cost ofits new Galleries in Burlington Gardens, first opened in 1869. 

Concerning the destinies of the rival institutions but brief mentionmust suffice. Their downfall dates from the rise of the Royal Academy. Still, they died lingering deaths. The Incorporated Society struggledgallantly though vainly against the superior advantages and the royalpreference enjoyed by the Academy. In 1772, the Society built the largeroom, the Lyceum, in the Strand, at an outlay of £7500. But in a year ortwo the decrease in its revenues compelled it to part with the buildingat a sacrifice. In 1776, the Society held no exhibition. In 1777 and1778 it exhibited at a room in Piccadilly, near Air Street. In 1779, itagain did not exhibit. In 1780, it appeared once more at its oldquarters in Spring Gardens. But its existence now was of a veryintermittent kind. In 1781 and 1782 it made no sign. In 1783, and againin 1790, it held exhibitions at the Lyceum. In 1791, it made itsfarewell appearance in public at the rooms in Spring Gardens. In 1836, Mr. Robert Pollard, the last surviving member of the Society, being then81, handed over its books, papers, letters, documents, and charter, tothe Royal Academy. This was the formal surrender of the IncorporatedSociety; but in truth the struggle had been decided against it long andlong before. 

The Free Society dragged on its existence, making feeble annualexhibitions until 1779 inclusive; but at that time it had long outlivedpublic notice. In 1769, it had built a room next to Cumberland House, Pall Mall. But this, ill-fortune probably compelled it to surrender, asin 1775 its exhibition was held in St. Alban's Street. The provident, praiseworthy, modest aims of the Free Society ought to have saved itfrom ruin--ought to have excited public sympathy on its behalf. But thiswas not to be. The Royal Academy was left master of the field. In thesuccess of the King's exhibition, the older institutions were forgottenand lost. 

WIDOW HOGARTH AND HER LODGER. 

On the 26th day of October 1764, died William Hogarth. Very ailing andfeeble in body, but still with his heart up and his mind, as ever, alertand vigorous and full of life, he had moved on the day before from hispleasant snug cottage at Chiswick to his town house in Leicester Fields. He turned now and then in his bed uneasily, as he felt the venomousslanders of Wilkes and Churchill still wounding and stinging him likemosquito bites; else was the good little man at peace. 'I haveinvariably endeavoured to make those about me tolerably happy. ' 'Mygreatest enemy cannot say I ever did an intentional injury. ' So he wroteat the close of his life. And there was much love for him in theworld--culminating in his own household. His servants all had been yearsand years in his service; he had painted their portraits and hung theseon his walls; there is credit to both master and servants in the fact. After all, a man may, if he chooses, be a hero even to hisvalet-de-chambre. None could have dreamt the end was so near. It is notknown that any doctor was attending him. He had read and answered aletter in the morning; fatigued with the effort, he had retired to bed. He was alone when the fatal attack came on: the 'suffusion of bloodamong the arteries of the heart. ' Starting up, he rang the bell with aviolence that broke it in pieces; they had not thought so much strengthremained to him. He fell back fainting in the arms of Mary Lewis, hiswife's niece; she had lived in his house all her life, and was hisconfidential assistant in publishing and selling his prints. Shesupported the poor creature for two hours, and he drew his last breathin her arms. 

Widow Hogarth wore her deep crape, be sure, with an aching void in herheart, and an acute sense of the painful wrench to her life caused bythis bereavement. A fine stately, woman still, though she was nowfifty-five. But six years back she had sat for Sigismunda: the dreadfulmistake in historical art which poor Hogarth had vainly perpetrated inemulation of Correggio. Something of the beauty of the Jane Thornhill, who thirty years before had stolen away with her lover to be married atthe little village church of Paddington, must have yet remained. Theinterment, as all the world knows, took place in Chiswick Churchyard; aquiet funeral, with more tears than ostrich-plumes, more sorrow thanblack silk. It was not for some six or seven years after, that thesculptured tomb was erected, and Garrick and Johnson calmly discussedthe wording of the epitaph. It is 'no easy thing, ' wrote the doctor. Time had something numbed their sense of loss when they sat down toexchange poetical criticism; though habit is overpowering, and it wouldhave taken a good deal, at any time, to have disturbed Johnson from hiswonted pose of reviewer; just as the dying sculptor in the story, receiving extreme unction from his priest, found time to complain of themal-execution of the crucifix held to his lips. 'Pictured morals, ' thedoctor wrote, 'is a beautiful expression, but _learn_ and _mourn_ cannotstand for rhymes. _Art_ and _Nature_ have been seen together too often. In the first stanza is _feeling_, in the second _feel_. _If thou hastneither_ is quite prose, and prose of the familiar kind, ' etc. Etc. 

Hogarth dead and buried, the window shutters re-opened, and heaven'sglad light once more permitted to stream into the rooms, the red eyes ofthe household a little cooled and staunched, came the widow's dreadfultask of examining the property of the deceased, of picking up thefragments that remained. How to live? Survivors have often to make thatpainful inquiry. There was little money in the house. The painter's lifehad been hard-working enough; the labourer was willing, but the harvestwas very scanty. Such a limited art public! such low prices! The six'Mariage a la Mode' pictures had been sold for one hundred and twentyguineas, including Carlo Maratti frames that had cost the painter fourguineas each. The eight 'Rake's Progress' pictures had fetched buttwenty-two guineas each. The six 'Harlot's Progress, ' fourteen guineaseach. The 'Strolling Players' had gone for twenty-six guineas! Opurblind connoisseurs! Dullard dillettanti! Still there was somethingfor the widow; not her wedding portion--that seems to have long beforemelted away. Sir James Thornhill had been forgiving, kind, and generousafter a time--two years--and opened to the runaway lovers his heart andhis purse. But there was little to show for all that now. There hung onthe walls various works by the dead hand. Portraits of the MissHogarths, the painter's sisters; they had kept a ready-made clothes shopat Little Britain gate. Portraits of the daughter of Mr. Rich, thecomedian; of Sir James and Lady Thornhill; of the six servants; and hisown likeness, with his bull-dog and palette; besides these there was thegreat effort, 'Bill Hogarth's "Sigismunda, " not to be sold under £500;'so he had enjoined. Alas! who would give it? (At the sale after thewidow's death it was knocked down to Alderman Boydell for fiftyguineas!) Indeed, it would be very hard to sell all these. And she didnot. She clung to the precious relics, till death relaxed her grasp, when the auctioneer's hammer made short work of the painter's remains, even to his maul-stick. But to live? There were seventy-two plates, withthe copyright secured to her for twenty years by Act of Parliament. These were hers absolutely under her husband's will. Here at least wassubsistence; indeed, the sale of prints from the plates produced, forsometime, a respectable income. And then, too, there was the gold ticketof admission to Vauxhall Gardens (for the admission of six persons, or'one coach'), presented by the proprietor in his gratitude for thedesigns of the 'Four Parts of the Day' (copied by Hayman), and the twoscenes of 'Evening, ' and 'Night, ' with representations of Henry theEighth and Anne Boleyn. 

And the house at Chiswick was a possession of Hogarth's. It was not thenchoked up with buildings, but stood cosy and secluded in its well-storedgarden of walnut, mulberry, and apple trees, with the head-stones to thepoor fellow's pets--the bullfinch and dog Dick, who died the same yearas his master; and a very old mulberry tree stricken by lightning, andonly held together by the iron braces made by his directions, perhapsapplied with his own hands. How full of memorials of the dead painter!Pen-and-ink sketches on the panels of the wainscoted room on the groundfloor: and the painting-room over the stables, with its large window, probably one of _his_ improvements on first taking the house, looking onto the pleasant garden below. Doubtless the widow locked up thepainting-room, and kept the key on the ring at her girdle. Years after, Sir Richard Phillips jotted down his memories of Chiswick--how he, aschoolboy then with his eyes just above the pew door, the bells in theold tower chiming for church, watched 'Widow Hogarth and her maidenrelative, Richardson, walking up the aisle, draped in their silkensacks, their raised head-dresses, their black calashes, their laceruffles, and their high crooked canes, preceded by their aged servantSamuel: who after he had wheeled his mistress to church in herBath-chair, carried the prayer-books up the aisle, and opened and shutthe pew. ' State and dignity still remained to the widow; and there, upin the organ loft, was the quaint group of choristers Hogarth had soadmirably sketched, headed by the Sexton Mortefee, grimacing dreadfullyas he leads on his terrible band to discord. A square, ugly churchenough, with the great Devonshire pew--a small parlour with the roofoff--half blocking up the chancel: a thing to be forgiven _then_, forthe lovely Duchess sat there, and the sight of her angel head was surelyenough to give new zest to the congregation's prayers and praises. Achurch such as Hogarth often drew, with its 'three-decker' arrangementof desks: the clerk, the reader, and the preacher, rising one above theother, and, top of all, one of those old-fashioned massive, carvedsounding-boards, which gave so queer a Jack-in-the-box aspect to thepulpit, and prompted dreamers in dreary sermons, heedless of GeorgeHerbert's counsel that if nothing else, the sermon 'preacheth patience, 'to speculate on severing the iron rod that supported the board, lettingit fall, and so, by one process shutting up, so to speak, both preacherand preaching. 

The house in Leicester Fields also remained: the house on the east sideof the square, called the 'Golden Head, ' with its sign cut by Hogarthhimself from pieces of cork glued together, and gilded over. He oftentook his evening walk in the enclosure in his scarlet roquelaire andcocked hat, now and then, no doubt, casting admiring glances at hisgaudy emblem. The Fields were only just merging into the Square. Welearn that in 1745, the streets were so thinly built in theneighbourhood, that 'when the heads of the Scottish rebels were placedon Temple Bar, a man stood in Leicester Fields, with a telescope, togive persons a sight of them for a halfpenny a piece. ' Just as _we_ aresometimes offered a view of Saturn's rings from Charing Cross! Hogarth'shouse now forms part of a French Hotel. The lean French cook staggeringunder the roast beef in the 'Gates of Calais' picture has been amplyrevenged. The fumes of French ragouts incessantly rise, on the sitewhere the cruel caricature was drawn. [12]

[12] The Sablonière Hotel, however, is now (1869) in course ofdemolition. 

It is hard to say when the widow's income first began to droop--when thedemand for William Hogarth's prints slackened. They circulated largely, but their price was never high. The eight prints of the 'Rake'sProgress' could be purchased at Mrs. Hogarth's house, in LeicesterFields, for one guinea; 'Lord Lovat, ' 'Beer Street, ' and 'Gin Lane, 'for a shilling each only, and all the others could be obtained upon likeeasy terms. It cannot be told when the bill first appeared in WidowHogarth's window--'Lodgings to Let. ' But eight years after Hogarth'sdeath there was certainly a lodger in the house in Leicester Fields--alodger who could exclaim, 'I also am a painter!'

Alexander Runciman was born in Edinburgh in 1736. His father anarchitect, of course the baby soon began to play with the parentalpencils. _That_ is not remarkable--but he evidenced rather more abilitythan the average baby artist. At twelve he was out in the fields withpaints and brushes, filling a sketch-book with crude representations ofrocks, clouds, trees, and water. At fourteen he was a student under JohnNorris, whom it pleased the period to regard as an eminent landscapepainter. He was the wildest enthusiast in the studio--and there aregenerally a good many wild enthusiasts in a studio. 'Other artists, 'said one of his comrades, 'talked meat and drink, but Runciman talkedlandscape!' At nineteen he renounced further tutelage, and started onhis own account as a landscape painter. He commenced to exhibit hisworks. Every one praised, but unfortunately no one purchased. The marketseemed to be only for the show, not the sale of goods. The notionprevailed absolutely that art was an absurd luxury, which but very fewcould afford to indulge in. A middle-class man would have beenconsidered very eccentric and extravagant, who in those days bought apicture, unless it happened to be his own portrait. There was somedemand for portrait painting--_that_ paid--especially if you, thepainter, were nearly at the head of your profession. Poor Wilson hadgiven up portraiture, and soon found himself painting landscapes, andstarving the while. So Runciman also discovered quickly enough--and withcharacteristic un-reason abandoned landscapes and took to historicalart, which, being in much less request even than landscape painting, rather enhanced and quickened his chances of ruin. But somehow hestruggled on. At thirty it occurred to him that he had never been toRome, and that the fact had probably confined his powers and limited hisprosperity. He packed up his things--an easy task--and, with a verysmall purse--that he should have had one at all was a marvel--set outfor the south. He was soon, of course, on his knees, in the regular way, doing homage to Raphael and M. Angelo. There are always professionalconventionalisms. It was as necessary then for the artist to be rapt anddeliriously enthusiastic about his calling as for the lawyer to wear awig and gown. 

At Rome he swore friendship with Fuseli. The Scot was the elder, but theSwiss the more learned. They had probably both quite made up their mindsabout art before they met, and what drew them together was very much thesimilarity of their opinions. Neither was liable to change of view, letwho would be the teacher. Runciman no more took his style from Fuseli, than Fuseli from Runciman, and the unquestionable resemblance betweentheir works was only the natural result of a similarity of idiosyncrasy. They both worked hard together, making painstaking copies of the greatmasters. 'Runciman I am sure you will like, ' Fuseli wrote home, 'he isone of the best of us here. ' No doubt Fuseli found him quite a kindredspirit--mad as himself about heroic art--given to like insaneecstasies--like pell-mell execution--like whirling, extravagantdrawing--like wild ideas interpreted by a like wild hand, and in a likeexecrable nankeen and slate tone of colour. Runciman returned in 1771, and proceeding to Edinburgh, arrived just in time to receive the vacantsituation of professor of painting to the academy established inEdinburgh College, in the year 1760. The salary was £120 a year. Theartist accepted the appointment gleefully, and, had his knowledge andhis taste been equal to his enthusiasm, few could have better fulfilledthe duties of his office. Soon he began to dream of a series of colossalpictures that should make his name live for ever in the annals of art. The dream took form. There were but two or three men in Scotland whowould even hear out the project. Fortunately he lighted on one of these. Sir James Clerk consented to the embellishment of his hall at Penicuikwith a series of pictures illustrative of Ossian, by the hand ofRunciman. 

Ossian was the rage--quotations from the blind bard of Morven were inevery one's mouth. True, Dr. Samuel Johnson had denounced the wholething as an imposition 'as gross as ever the world was troubled with. 'Dr. Blair wrote in defence, 'Could any man, of modern age, have writtensuch poems?' 'Why yes, sir, ' was the answer--'Many men, many women, andmany children. ' Macpherson wrote offensively and violently to Dr. Samuel, who replied heartily enough--'I received your foolish andimpudent letter ... I hope I shall never be deterred from detecting whatI think a cheat, by the menaces of a ruffian ... I thought your book animposture. I think so still. Your rage I defy, ' etc. Etc. What was allthis to Runciman? He had no learning--he cared nothing forantiquarianism. He took for granted that Ossian was authentic. Manynorth of the Tweed looked upon it merely as a national question. Macpherson was a Scotchman, therefore it was the duty of Scotchmen toside with him. His condemners were English, and were jealous, of course, and wrong no doubt. Runciman was hard at work at Penicuik, painting asfor his life, while all this discussion was going on, and Macpherson andhis friends were striving might and main to produce an ancientmanuscript anything like the published poem, and so confute and silenceJohnson, Goldsmith, Burke, Garrick, and lastly Boswell, who did not even_pair_ with the doctor on the occasion, though the question _didaffect_ Scotland. Runciman had sketched out and commenced his twelvegreat pictures. 1. Ossian singing to Malvina. 2. The valour of Oscar. 3. The Death of Oscar, etc. Etc. Who reads Ossian now? Who cares aboutAgandecca, 'with red eyes of tears'--'with loose and raven locks?''Starno pierced her side with steel. She fell like a wreath of snowwhich slides from the rocks of Ronan. ' Who knows anything now aboutCatholda, and Corban Cargloss, and Golchossa and Cairbar of the gloomybrow? For some time the poems held their own, retained their popularity;their partisans fought with their opponents for every inch of ground, even though discovery was mining them. And some fragments found theirway in a fashion to the stage. But a little while ago there was living aballet-master, who owed his baptismal name to parental success in thegrand ballet of 'Oscar and Malvina, or the Cave of Fingal!' But thismust have been produced years after Runciman. The poems had merit, andthat floated them for a long time; but the leak of falsehood made itsway--they sunk at last. And Macpherson? Well, if a poet will be animpostor, he must prepare to be remembered by posterity rather for hisfraud than his poetry. 

He found time to paint some other subjects as well. An 'Ascension' onthe ceiling over the altar of the Episcopal chapel in the Cowgate ofEdinburgh--a wild and ungraceful work according to Cunningham, speakingof it from recollection, though Runciman thought very highly of it. Andhe had patrons and critics loud in their applause. In his picture of'The Princess Nausicaa and her Nymphs surprised at the river side byUlysses, ' one connoisseur detected 'the fine drawing of Julio Romano, 'another, 'the deep juicy lustre of Tintoret, ' and a third 'a feeling andair altogether the painter's own;' which last is probable. In 1772 heexhibited some pictures in London. At all events, there was no bill inWidow Hogarth's window then, for the lodgings were let, and AlexanderRunciman was the lodger. 

'She let lodgings for subsistence:' so runs the story. The demand forWilliam Hogarth's prints was still bringing in some income, however. Lord Charlemont wrote to Edmund Malons from Dublin, June 29th, 1781:--'That men of task should wish for good impressions of Hogarth'sprints is not at all surprising, as I look upon him to have been in hisway, and that too an original way, one of the first of geniuses. Neitheram I much surprised at the rage you mention, as I am by experience wellacquainted with the collector's madness. Excepting only the scarceportrait, my collection goes no further than those which Mrs. Hogarthhas advertised, and even of them a few are wanting, which I wish youwould procure for me, viz. , _The Cock-Match_, _The Five Orders ofPeriwigs_, _The Medley_, _The Times_, _Wilkes_, and _The Bruiser_. As myimpressions are remarkably good, having been selected for me by Hogarthhimself, I should wish to have these the best that can be had; and ifMr. Stevens, who promised me his assistance, should happen to meet withany of these prints of which I am not possessed--I mean suchcompositions as do honour to the author, as for instance, _The Satire onthe Methodists_, _The Masquerade_, etc. --I should be much obliged to himto purchase them for me..... I have no objection to suffering _TheLady's Last Slake_ to be engraved, but, on the contrary, should be happyto do anything which might contribute to add to the reputation of mydeceased friend. But then it must be performed in such a manner as to dohim honour; for otherwise I should by no means consent. One greatdifficulty would be to procure a person equal to the making a drawingfrom it, as the subject is a very difficult one. Hogarth had it for ayear with an intention to engrave it, and even went so far as almost tofinish the plate, which, as he told me himself, he broke into piecesupon finding that after many trials he could not bring the woman's headto answer his idea, or to resemble the picture. ' The lady, let us note, is a portrait of Miss Hester Lynch Salusbury, afterwards Mrs. Thrale andMadame Piozzi. Later his Lordship wrote again:--'I have this momentreceived a letter from Mrs. Hogarth requesting that if _I should permitany one to make an engraving of 'The Lady's Last Stake, ' I would givethe preference to a young gentleman who lodged in her house, as by suchpreference she should be greatly benefited. _ On this application Iconsider it necessary to immediately inform you, as the affection I boretowards her deceased husband, my high regard for his memory, and, indeed, common justice will most certainly prevent me from preferringany one else whatsoever to her in a matter of this nature. At the sametime, I must add, that whoever shall make a drawing from my picture mustdo it in Dublin, as I cannot think of sending it to London. 

'Will you, my dear Malone, be so kind in your morning walk as to call onthis lady and read to her the above paragraph, as such communicationwill be the most satisfactory answer I can give to her letter? The sametime you will be so kind as to mention the circumstances, and myresolution to the person in whose behalf the postscript in your letterwas written. Perhaps matters may be settled amicably between him andMrs. Hogarth, in which case I have no objection, provided the executionbe such as not to disgrace the picture or its author, that the drawingbe made in Dublin, and that Mrs. Hogarth be perfectly contented, andshall declare her satisfaction by a certificate in her own handwriting. I know your goodness will pardon all this trouble from, ' etc. Etc. 

These letters are extracted from Prior's _Life of Malone_. To the lastletter, it is to be noted, Mr. Prior assigns the date of 1787, --surely amisprint for 1781. Etchings by Runciman are extant, and it is clearthat Mrs. Hogarth had looked to his executing an engraving of 'TheLady's Last Stake, ' possibly by way of settling an account owing to herfor his lodgings. The plan fell through, however. It was perhaps notworth Mr. Runciman's while to journey to Dublin to engrave the picture. 

But twenty years after William Hogarth's death the copyrights hadexpired--the poor woman's income from this source was clean gone. Shewas then absolutely 'living by her lodgings;' and it was not until threeyears more 'that the King interposed with the Royal Academy, andobtained for her an annuity of forty pounds. ' Poor Widow Hogarth! Yetshe would not sell her William's pictures left in his house!

Much of the untamed, unmanageable, heterodox nature of Runciman's artpertained to his life generally. Gay, free-thinking, prankish--with atendency to late-houred habits that must have often scandalized hislandlady--and a talent for conversation rare amongst artists, who, as arule, express their thoughts better by their brushes than by word ofmouth; kind-hearted, sociable, never behind in passing the bottle--nowonder he gathered round him a group of eminent men of his day, most ofthem with attributes much like his own, who did not flinch from strongoutspeaking, who were not shocked by many things. Kames, Monboddo, Hume, and Robertson knocked at the late William Hogarth's door, and paidtheir respects to Widow Hogarth's lodger. Did _she_ ever stand beforehis easel and contemplate his works? Doubtless often enough when thepainter was out firing off his smart cracker sayings, and making awaywith his port wine. And what did she think of his art? How differentfrom William's! She could understand _him_ always. There was alwaysnature on _his_ canvas, and meaning and common sense--there was always astory plainly, forcibly told. But Mr. Runciman's meanings were not soclear. What was all the smoke about, and the waving arms, and thedistorted features, and the Bedlamite faces, and, oh! the long legs andthe flying draperies? Surely draperies never did fly like that--at leastWilliam Hogarth never painted them so. And then--really this was toomuch--he, Alexander Runciman, under that roof had presumed to paint a'Sigismunda weeping over the heart of Tancred, ' with William's treatmentof the same great subject actually in the house! To bed, Widow Hogarth, in a rage. 

Of course Runciman had _his_ opinion about Hogarth and his art, despising both, no doubt, and agreeing with Fuseli in deeming him acaricaturist merely, and his works 'the chronicle of scandal and thehistory book of the vulgar. ' It was so much nobler to portraywild-contortions from Ossian, demoniac nightmares and lower regionrevelations, than to paint simply the life around they had but tostretch out a hand to grasp. Yet with all their talk, in the humblermerits of colour, expression, and handling, they were miles behindHogarth. He has been so praised as a satirist, there is a chance of histechnical merits as a painter being overlooked. One only of the 'Mariageà la Mode' pictures, for all that is really valuable in art, might besafely backed against all that was ever done by both Fuseli and Runcimanput together. Yet they looked upon him as rather a bygone sort ofcreature--a barbarian blind to poetic art. Could William Hogarth haveseen the works of Fuseli and Runciman, he would probably have hadsomething to say about _them_!

After a time, Runciman was again back at Penicuik. Perhaps his fervourabout his subject had a little cooled, or the incessant discussions inregard to it had disturbed his faith. In fact the Ossian swindle wasgetting to be, in common phrase, a little blown upon. His health wasfailing him; his mode of life had never been very careful. He fell ill;he neglected himself. He worked on steadily, but with a palpable failureof heart in the business. He achieved his task. Yet the painting of thegreat ceiling, to effect which he had to lie on his back in an almostpainful position, brought on an illness from which he never fairlyrecovered. Some time he lingered, growing very pale and wan, and hisstrength giving way until he could barely crawl about. On the 21st ofOctober 1785, he fell down dead at the door of his lodgings in WestNicolson Street. 

Four years more of life to Widow Hogarth--still, as ever, true to herhusband's memory and herself. Horace Walpole sought to buy forgivenessfor his attack on the 'Sigismunda, '--he had called it a 'maudlin fallenvirago'--by sending to the widow a copy of his 'Anecdotes;' but she tookno heed of him or his gift. Four years more, and then another intermentin the Chiswick sepulchre. The widow's earthly sorrows are at an end;and beneath the name of 'William Hogarth, Esq. , ' they now engrave on thestone, 'Mistress Jane Hogarth, wife of William Hogarth, Esq. Obiit 13thof November 1789. Ætat. 80 years. ' In 1856, on the restoration of themonument, which from the sinking of the earth threatened to fall inpieces, the grave was opened, and there were seen the 'little' coffin ofthe painter and the larger coffin of his widow. There too was seen, literally, 'the hand' Johnson wrote of in his projected epitaph:--

 The hand of him here torpid lies, That drew the essential forms of grace; Here closed in death the attentive eyes, That saw the manners in the face. 

ALLAN RAMSAY, JUNIOR. 

Allan Ramsay, the author of the _Gentle Shepherd_, --'the best pastoralthat had ever been written, ' said Mr. Boswell, whose judgments uponpoetry, however, are not final, --Allan Ramsay, the poet, father of AllanRamsay, principal painter to King George the Third, claimed descent fromthe noble house of Dalhousie; he was the great-grandson of the laird ofCockpen. His claim was admitted by the contemporary earl, who ever tookpride in recognising, as a relative, the 'restorer of Scottish nationalpoetry. ' Certainly the poetical branch of the family tree had been insome danger of being lost altogether--the clouds of obscurity had sogathered round it--the sunshine of good fortune had so ceased to playupon it. The laird's descendants appear to have been of the humblestclass, dwelling in a poor hamlet on the banks of the Glengoner, atributary of the Clyde among the hills between Clydesdale and Annandale. The father of the Gentle Shepherd is said to have been a workman inLord Hopetoun's lead-mines, and the Gentle Shepherd himself, as a child, employed as a washer of ore. Early in the last century he was inEdinburgh, a barber's apprentice. In 1712 he married Christina Ross, daughter of a legal practitioner in that city. In 1729 he had publishedhis comic pastoral, and was then in a bookseller's shop in theLuckenbooths. Here he used to amuse Gay, famous for his Newgatepastoral, with pointing out the chief characters and literati of thecity as they met daily in the forenoon at the Cross, according tocustom. Here Gay first read the _Gentle Shepherd_, and studied theScottish dialect, so that, on his return to England, he was able toexplain to Pope the peculiar merits of the poem. And the poets, Gay andRamsay, spent much time and emptied many glasses together at a twopennyalehouse opposite Queensberry House, kept by one Janet Hall, called morefrequently Janet Ha'. 

It was at Edinburgh that Allan Ramsay, junior, was born, the eldest ofseven children, in the year 1713. Late in life he was fond ofunderstating his age as people somehow _will_ do:

'I am old enough, ' he said once, with the air of making a very frankavowal, 'I am old enough to have been a contemporary of Pope. ' Which wasnot remarkable, considering that Pope did not die until 1744, when Mr. Ramsay must have been thirty-one. 

He had a natural talent for art. He began to sketch at twelve. But hisfather was poor, with a large family to support, --it was not possible toafford much of an education to the young artist. He had to develop hisabilities as he best could. In 1736, the father wrote of him thus simplyand tenderly: 'My son Allan has been pursuing his science since he was adozen years auld: was with Mr. Hyffidg, in London, for some time abouttwo years ago; has since been painting here like a Raphael; sets out forthe seat of the Beast beyond the Alps within a month hence to be awaytwo years. I am sweer' (_i. E. _, loath) 'to part with him, but canna stemthe 'current which flows from the advice of his patrons and his owninclinations. ' This letter was addressed to one John Smybert, also aself-taught artist. He had commenced in Edinburgh as a house-painter, and, growing ambitious, found himself after a time in London, choosingbetween starvation and the decoration of grand coach-panels in Long Acrefactories. In 1728 he settled in Boston, and shares with John Watson, another Scotchman, who had preceded him some years, the honour offounding painting as an art--from a European point of view--in the NewWorld. 

Those who had hesitated in their patronage of the poet were notdisinclined to aid the painter. It is much less difficult a matter tohave one's portrait painted than to be able to appreciate a poem. Meanswere forthcoming to enable the art-student to quit Edinburgh in 1736 forRome. He remained there during three years, receiving instruction fromFrancesco Solimena, called also l'Abate Ciccio, and one Imperiali, anartist of less fame. Of both it may be said, however, that they didlittle enough to stay the downfall of Italian art. 

On the return of Allan Ramsay, junior, to Scotland, we learn little moreof him than that he painted portraits of Duncan Forbes, of his ownsister, Miss Janet Ramsay, and Archibald, Duke of Argyle, in his robesas Lord of Session. Finally he removed to London. 

He was so fortunate as to find many valuable friends. The Earl ofBridgewater was an early patron, followed by Lord Bute, whose powerfulposition at court enabled him to introduce the painter to theheir-apparent of the crown, Frederick, Prince of Wales. Two portraits ofHis Royal Highness were commanded--full-length, and one remarkable forbeing in profile. Still greater fame accrued to him, however, from hisportrait of Lord Bute, who was reputed to possess the handsomest leg inEngland. His lordship was conscious of his advantage, and, during thesitting to Ramsay for his whole-length portrait, engraved by Ryland, wascareful to hold up his robes considerably above his right knee, so thathis well-formed limbs should be thoroughly well exhibited; while, asthough to direct the attention of the spectator, with the forefinger ofhis right hand he pointed down to his leg, and in this position remainedfor an hour. The painter availed himself to the full of the opportunity, and humoured the minister to the top of his bent. The picture was agenuine triumph. Reynolds, never popular at court, grew jealous of hisrival's success, and alarmed lest it should lead to extraordinaryadvancement. When the Marquis of Rockingham was posed before Sir Joshuafor the full-length picture, engraved by Fisher, the nobleman asked thepainter if he had not given a strut to the left leg. 'My lord, ' repliedSir Joshua with a smile, 'I wish to show a leg with Ramsay's Lord Bute. '

The painter prospered steadily, and, of course, was well abused; forsuccess is apt to bring with it envy and satire. Mr. William Hogarth, who objected strongly to competitors, sought to jest down the advancingScotchman with a feeble pun about a Ram's eye! Hogarth was very muchless clever when he had a pen in his hand than when he was wielding abrush or an etching needle. 

The Reverend Charles Churchill, very angry with North Britons generally, wrote sneering lines in the _Prophecy of Famine_:--

 Thence came the Ramsays, men of worthy note, Of whom one paints as well as t'other wrote. 

By-and-by these two critics forgot Ramsay, however, they were so busywith each other, bandying abuse and interchanging mud. The court painterheeded little their comments. He was putting money in his purse. Therewere always sitters in his studio: he had as much work as he could do;while yet he found time for self-cultivation. He must have possessed anactive restless mind. He was not content with being merely a clever, hard-working, money-making painter. Even at Rome he had studied otherthings beside art. As Mr. Fuseli states magniloquently, after hismanner, 'he was smit with the love of classic lore, and desired totrace, on dubious vestiges, the haunts of ancient genius and learning. 'He made himself a good Latin, French, and Italian scholar; indeed, he issaid to have mastered most of the modern European languages, with theexception of Russian. His German he found of no slight service to him inthe court of the Guelphs. Later in life he studied Greek, and acquittedhimself as a commendable scholar. 

Artists, less accomplished, were inclined to charge him with being abovehis business, and more anxious to be accounted a person of taste andlearning than to be valued as a painter. Just as Congreve disclaimed thecharacter of a poet, declaring he had written plays but for pastime, andbegged he might be considered merely as a gentleman. There was no one tosay to Ramsay, however, as Voltaire--nothing, if not literary--said toCongreve, 'If you had been merely a gentleman, I should not have come tosee you. ' On the contrary, the world in general applauded Ramsay forqualities quite apart from professional merits. 

'I love Ramsay, ' said Samuel Johnson to his biographer. 'You will notfind a man in whose conversation there is more instruction, moreinformation, and more elegance than in Ramsay's. '

Perhaps it may be noted that this remark of the Doctor's upon his friendfollows curiously close upon his satisfactory comment upon anentertainment at the house of the painter. 

'Well, sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid dinner!'

'What I admire in Ramsay, ' says Mr. Boswell, 'is his continuing to be soyoung!'

Johnson concedes: 'Why, yes, sir, it is to be admired. I value myselfupon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation. I amnow sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight. ' And thegood Doctor runs on rather garrulously, it must be owned, endingwith--'I think myself a very polite man!'

It was to Mr. Ramsay's house--No. 67 Harley Street--that Mr. Boswellsent a letter for his friend: 'My dear sir, --I am in great pain with aninflamed foot' (why not have said plainly 'the gout, ' Mr. Boswell?) 'andobliged to keep my bed, so I am prevented from having the pleasure todine at Mr. Ramsay's to-day, which is very hard, and my spirits aresadly sunk. Will you be so friendly as to come and sit an hour with mein the evening?'

And it was from Ramsay's house the kind old man despatched his ratherstiff reply: 'Mr. Johnson laments the absence of Mr. Boswell, and willcome to him. '

After dinner the Doctor goes round to the invalid, laid up in GeneralPaoli's house in South Audley Street, and brings with him Sir JoshuaReynolds, whom it is pleasant to find is a frequent guest at his greatrival's hospitable board. 

Ramsay prospers--his reputation increases--he is largely employed, notonly in portraiture, but in decorating walls and ceilings. He has astaff of workmen under him. A second time he visits Rome, making a stayof some months; and journeys to Edinburgh, residing there long enough toestablish, in 1754, 'The Select Society. ' He grows wealthy too. PoorAllan Ramsay, senior, dies much in debt in 1757; the painter takes uponhimself his father's liabilities, and pensions his unmarried sister, Janet Ramsay, who survived to 1804. He is possessed, it is said, of anindependent fortune to the amount of £40, 000; and this before theaccession of King George the Third, and his extraordinary patronage ofthe painter. 

The office of painter to the crown was one of early date. In 1550Antonio More was painter to Queen Mary. For his portrait of the Queensent to Philip of Spain, he was rewarded with one hundred pounds, a goldchain, and a salary of one hundred pounds a quarter as court-painter totheir Majesties. There is some obscurity about the appointments ofpainters to the king during the reign of George the Second. Jervas wassucceeded by Kent, who died in 1748. Shackleton succeeded Kent. Yet itis probable that the king had more than one painter at the same time. For we find Hogarth, who is said to have succeeded his brother-in-law, John Thornhill, [13] the son of Sir James, appointed in 1757, while Mr. Shackleton did not die until 1767, when, as Mr. Cunningham relates thestory of the London studios, he died of a broken heart on learning thatRamsay was appointed in his stead to be painter to George III. This wascertainly about the date of Ramsay's appointment. And now there grew tobe quite a rage for portraits by Ramsay--there was a run upon him asthough he had been a sinking bank. He was compelled to call in the aidof all sorts of people, painting the heads only of his sitters with hisown hand; and at last abandoning even much of that superior work to hisfavourite pupil, Philip Reinagle. So that in many of Ramsay's picturesthere is probably but a very few strokes of Ramsay's brush. The names ofcertain of his assistants have been recorded. Mrs. Black, 'a lady ofless talent than good taste. ' Vandyck, a Dutchman, allied more in namethan in talent with him of the days of Charles the First. Eikart, aGerman, clever at draperies. Roth, another German, who aided in thesubordinate parts of the work. Vesperis, an Italian, who was employedoccasionally to paint fruits and flowers. And Davie Martin, a Scotchman, a favourite draughtsman and helper, and conscientious servant. Mr. Reinagle probably furnished Mr. Cunningham with these particulars. Itwill be noted that the English artist's employment of foreignmercenaries was considerable. This must have been either from the factof such assistance being procurable at a cheaper rate, or that the oldnotion still prevailed as to the necessity of looking abroad forart-talent. 

[13] Concerning the merits and career of John Thornhill, biography hasbeen curiously silent. 

Ramsay succeeded at Court. He was made of more yielding materials thanReynolds; assumed more the airs of a courtier--humoured the king. Perhaps like Sir Pertinax he had a theory upon the successful results of'booing and booing. ' He never contradicted; always smiled acquiescence;listened complacently to the most absurd opinions upon art of his royalmaster. Reynolds was bent upon asserting the dignity of his profession. He did not stoop to conceal his appreciation of the fact that as apainter at any rate he was the sovereign's superior--he _would_ be, touse a popular phrase, 'cock on his own dunghill. ' When the painter'sfriends spoke on the subject to Johnson, he said stoutly 'That theneglect could never prejudice him: but it would reflect _eternaldisgrace_ on the king not to have employed Sir Joshua. ' But Reynoldsreceived only one royal commission: to paint the king and queen, whole-lengths, for the council-room of the Royal Academy, 'two of thefinest portraits in the world, ' as Northcote declared. The king, who wasan early riser, sat at ten in the morning. The entry in Reynolds'pocket-book is 'Friday, May 21 (1779), at 10--the king. ' The queen'sname does not occur until December. The king, who was near-sighted, andlooked close at a picture, always complained that Reynolds' paintingswere rough and unfinished. But Reynolds heeded not. Be sure Ramsay andWest were careful to paint smoothly enough after that. Northcote saidthat the balance of greatness preponderated on the side of the subject, and the king was annoyed at perceiving it; and disliked extremely theease and independence of manner of Reynolds--always courteous, yetalways unembarrassed--proceeding with his likenesses as though he werecopying marble statues. 'Do not suppose, ' adds his pupil, 'that he wasignorant of the value of royal favour. No. Reynolds had a thoroughknowledge of the world; he would have gladly possessed it, but the pricewould have cost him too much. '

The court-painter had soon enough to do, for the king had a habit ofpresenting portraits of himself and his queen to all his ambassadors andcolonial governors. He sat, too, for his coronation portrait, as it wascalled, in Buckingham Palace. The bland, obsequious, well-informedRamsay became a great favourite. He always gave way to the king--wouldhave sacrificed his art to his advancement any day. And he was almostthe only person about the Court, except the servants, who could speakGerman, and the queen was especially fond of chatting with him in hernative language. Their Majesties soon gave over being dignified. Indeed, few persons were more prone to forget their grandeur, although they didnot like anybody else to do so. With his own hands the king would helpWest to place his pictures in position on the easel. The queen--plain, snuff-taking, her face painted like a mask, and her eyes rolling like anautomaton, as eyewitnesses have described her later in life--called onMrs. Garrick one day at Hampton Court, and found the widow of theRoscius very busy peeling onions for pickling. 'The queen, however, would not suffer her to stir, but commanded a knife to be brought, observing that she would peel an onion with her, and actually sat downin the most condescending manner and peeled onions. ' The king, interrupting his sittings to dine off his favourite boiled mutton andturnips, would make Ramsay bring easel and canvas into the dining-room, so that they might continue their conversation during the royal meal. When the king had finished, he would rise and say, 'Now, Ramsay, sitdown in my place and take your dinner. ' When he was engaged on his firstportrait of the queen, it is recorded that all the crown jewels and theregalia were sent to him. The painter observed that jewels and gold ofso great a value deserved a guard, and accordingly sentinels were postedday and night in front and rear of his house. His studio was composed ofa set of rooms and haylofts in the mews at the back of Harley Street, all thrown into one long gallery. 

Peter Pindar, in his 'Lyric Odes to the Royal Academicians for 1782, 'writes:--

 'I've heard that Ramsay when he died, Left just nine rooms well stuffed with Queens and Kings, From whence all nations might have been supplied That longed for valuable things. Viceroys, ambassadors, and plenipos, Bought them to join their raree-shows In foreign parts; And show the progress of the British arts. Whether they purchased by the pound or yard, I cannot tell because I never heard: But this I know--his shop was like a fair, And dealt most largely in this ROYAL WARE. See what it is to gain a monarch's smile, And hast thou missed it, REYNOLDS, all this while? How stupid! Pray thee seek the courtiers' school, And learn to manufacture _oil of fool_. '

According to Dr. Walcot, King George the Third sat to Mr. Dance inpreference to Reynolds as a matter of economy. Dance charged fiftypounds for a picture. Sir Joshua's price was over a hundred. The kingdecided upon patronizing the painter whose charge was the lower. Pindarsays:--

 'Thank God! that monarchs cannot taste control, And make each subject's poor submissive soul Admire the works that judgment oft cries fie on! Had things been so, poor REYNOLDS we had seen Painting a barber's pole, an ale-house queen, The Cat and Gridiron or the Old Red Lion; At Plympton, perhaps, for some grave Doctor Slop Painting the pots and bottles of the shop; Or in the drama to get meat to munch, His brush divine had pictured scenes for Punch; While WEST was whelping 'midst his paints Moses and Aaron, and all sorts of saints, Adams, and Eves, and snakes, and apples; And devils, for beautifying certain chapels; But REYNOLDS is no favourite, that's the matter, He has not learnt the noble art to flatter. '

The doctor was never weary of launching his satirical shafts at theking. It has been suggested, however, that political considerationsinfluenced the direction of the royal patronage. Reynolds was on termsof intimacy with Fox, Burke, and other prominent members of theOpposition. This, in the eyes of the king, was a grave offence, hardlyto be pardoned, notwithstanding all the great merits of the offender inother respects. 

Ramsay kept an open house and a liberal table, but more it would seemfor his friends' pleasure than his own; for though fond of delicateeating, and as great a consumer of tea as Doctor Johnson, he had littletaste for stronger potations, and we are told that 'even the smell of abottle of claret was too much for him. ' The Doctor entertained differentopinions: he spoke with contempt of claret, --'A man would be drowned byit before it made him drunk, ' adding, 'Poor stuff! No, sir, claret isthe liquor for boys: port for men: but he who aspires to be a hero mustdrink brandy!' Most toper sentiments! But Ramsay did not stint hisguests. And these were constantly of a noble order. Lord Bute, the Dukeof Newcastle, Lord Bath, Lord Chesterfield, and the Duke of Richmondwere often at the painter's table, discussing all sorts of politicalquestions with him. Every man was a politician in those days;especially after dinner. But Ramsay was not content to be simply atalker upon the topics of the day--he became also a writer. Many cleverpapers by him upon history, politics, and criticism were published atvarious times, under the signature 'Investigator, ' and were subsequentlyreprinted and collected into a volume. Upon the question which hadagitated London for some months, as to the truth of the charge broughtagainst the gipsy woman Mary Squire, of aiding in the abduction of theservant girl Elizabeth Canning, Ramsay wrote an ingenious pamphlet. Thesame subject had also employed the pen of no less a person than HenryFielding. Ramsay corresponded with Voltaire and Rousseau, both of whomhe visited. His letters, we are told, were elegant and witty. Thepainter to the king was a man of society. 

A third time he visits Rome, accompanied on this occasion by his son, afterwards to rise to distinction in the army. He employed himself, however, more as a savant than an artist--in examining and copying theGreek and Latin inscriptions in the Vatican. The President of the RomanAcademy introduced the painter to the School of Art, and was ratherpompous about the works of his students. Ramsay's national pride waspiqued. 'I will show you, ' he said, 'how we draw in England. ' He wroteto his Scotch assistant, Davie Martin, to pack up some drawings andjourney at once to Rome. On his arrival, Ramsay arranged his drawings, and then invited the President and his scholars to the exhibition. Theking's painter was always fond of declaring that it was the proudestmoment of his life, 'for, ' he said, 'the Italians were confounded andovercome, and British skill triumphant!' Perhaps the Italian account ofthe transaction, could we obtain it, might not exactly tally with thatof the king's painter. 

Soon Ramsay was again in England resuming his prosperous practice. Thenoccurred the accident which hindered all further pursuit of his art. Reading an account of a calamitous fire, he was so impressed with theidea of showing his household and pupils the proper mode of effectingtheir escape, in the event of such an accident befalling his own house, that he ascended with them to the top storey, and pushing a ladderthrough the loft door, mounted quickly, saying: 'Now I am safe--I canget to the roofs of the adjoining houses. ' As he turned to descend hemissed his step and fell, dislocating his right arm severely. At thistime he was engaged upon the portrait of the king for the Excise-office. With extraordinary courage he managed to finish the picture, workingmost painfully, and supporting as he best could his right arm with hisleft. He declared it to be the finest portrait he had ever painted; andhis friends echoed his opinion. But it was the last he was ever to puthis hand to. 

His constitution yielded; his spirits left him; his shoulder gave himgreat pain; his nights were sleepless. The painter to King George III. Was evidently sinking. Yet he lingered for some years--a shatteredinvalid. Again he visited Rome, leaving his pupil Reinagle to completehis long list of royal commissions. Reinagle's style was so admirablyimitative of his master's, that it was difficult to distinguish one fromthe other. The pupil was instructed to complete fifty pairs of kings andqueens at ten guineas each! The task seemed endless, and was six yearsin hand. Midway, wearied to death with the undertaking, Reinagle wroteto complain that the price was not sufficient. Ramsay trebled it; butthe pupil was wont to confess afterwards that he looked back with a sortof horror at his labours in connexion with the royal portraits. 

The court-painter never recovered his lost health. He wrote from Italyto many of his friends--the first men of the day, both in France andEngland. Then came the home-sickness, which so often precedesdissolution. In the summer of 1784 he set out on his journey to England, hoping to reach it by short and easy stages. He reached Paris withdifficulty: the fatigue brought on a low fever he had not the strengthto support. He died on the 10th of August, at Dover, in the 71st year ofhis age. 

'Poor Ramsay!' Johnson wrote touchingly to Reynolds. 'On which sidesoever I turn, mortality presents its formidable frown. I left three oldfriends at Lichfield when I was last there, and now I found them alldead. I no sooner lost sight of dear Allan than I am told that I shallsee him no more! That we must all die, we all know. I wish I had soonerremembered it. Do not think me intrusive or importunate if I now call, dear sir, on you, to remember it!'

A handsome, acute, accomplished gentleman, outstripping all the paintersof his age in the extent of his learning and the variety of hisknowledge--an artist of delicacy and taste, rather than of energy andvigour--pale in colour and placid in expression, yet always graceful andrefined--there was a charm about Ramsay's works that his contemporariesthoroughly understood, though they could not always themselves achieveit. Northcote gave a close and clever criticism on the king's painter inthis wise:--'Sir Joshua used to say that he was the most sensible amongall the painters of his time; but he has left little to show it. Hismanner was dry and timid. He stopped short in the middle of his workbecause he knew exactly how much it wanted. Now and then we find hintsand sketches, which show what he might have done if his hand had beenequal to his conceptions. I have seen a picture of his of the queen soonafter she was married--a profile, and slightly done: but it was aparagon of elegance. She had a fan in her hand. Lord, how she held thatfan! It was weak in execution and ordinary in features--all I can say ofit is, that it was the farthest possible removed from everything likevulgarity. A professor might despise it, but in the mental part I havenever seen anything of Vandyke's equal to it. I could have looked at itfor ever. I don't know where it is now: but I saw enough in it toconvince me that Sir Joshua was right in what he said of Ramsay's greatsuperiority. I should find it difficult to produce anything of SirJoshua's that conveys an idea of more grace and delicacy. Reynolds wouldhave finished it better; the other was afraid of spoiling what he haddone, and so left it a mere outline. He was frightened before he washurt. ' This was high praise of the king's painter, coming as it did fromhis rival's pupil. 

GEORGE ROMNEY. 

'A curious book might be written on the reputation of painters, ' saysMr. Croker in a note to his edition of Boswell; 'Horace Walpole talkedat one time of Ramsay as of equal fame with Reynolds; and Hayleydedicated his lyre (such as it was) to Romney. What is a picture ofRamsay or Romney now worth?'[14]

[14] The remark has reference to certain odes by Cumberland in honour ofRomney, and to Johnson's comment thereupon:--'Why, sir, they would havebeen thought as good as odes commonly are if Cumberland had not put hisname to them; but a name immediately draws censure, unless it be a namethat bears down everything before it. Nay, Cumberland has made his odessubsidiary to the fame of another man. They might have run well enoughby themselves; but he has not only loaded them with a name--he has madethem carry double. '

That fortune is inconstant and that reputation is a bubble, it washardly necessary for Mr. Croker to assure us. Unquestionably the fame ofthe painter, as of other people, undergoes vicissitudes: varies verymuch accordingly as it is appraised by contemporaries or posterity. Butit may be open to doubt whether the editor of Boswell does notundervalue the artists specified in illustration of his proposition:more especially Romney. That any benefit has accrued to Romney's famefrom the unsafe sort of embalmment it has received in the rhymes of suchpoetasters as Hayley and Cumberland cannot be contended. Even Pope'sverse, though it has saved a name from oblivion, has failed to redeem itfrom contempt. The great poet condescended to sing the praises ofJervas, the pupil of Kneller; but the renown of the painter, Pope'spraises notwithstanding, was fleeting enough. We read of Miss Reynoldsmarvelling at the complete disappearance of Jervas's pictures. 'Mydear, ' said Sir Joshua, in explanation, 'they are all up in the garretsnow. ' For just as humble guests resign their places, content with veryinferior accommodation, when more distinguished visitors arrive upon thescene, so bad pictures yield to better works of art, and quit the wallsof galleries and saloons to take refuge in servants' bedrooms, backattics, and stable lofts; suffering much neglect and contumely incomparison with their former high estate and fortune. 

If we may assume that Romney's pictures are now but lightly valued, itmust be conceded that the time has been when they were very differentlyestimated. For in his day Romney was the admitted rival of Reynolds, whose pupil and biographer Northcote, an unwilling witness, admittingwith reluctance anything to his preceptor's disadvantage, says, expressly:--'Certain it is that Sir Joshua was not much employed inportraits after Romney grew in fashion. ' Reynolds, it cannot be doubted, was jealous of Romney, and spoke of him always rather acridly as 'theman in Cavendish Square;' just as Barry was at one time fond ofdesignating Reynolds 'the man in Leicester Fields. ' 'There are twofactions in art, ' said Lord Chancellor Thurlow; 'Romney and Reynoldsdivide the town; and I am of the Romney faction. ' In his own day, indeed, the recognition of the artist was remarkable. Flaxman, thesculptor, maintained him to be 'the first of all our painters for poeticdignity of conception. ' 'Between ourselves, ' wrote Hayley to Romney'sson, 'I think your father as much superior to Reynolds in _genius_ as hewas inferior in _worldly wisdom_. ' Upon his death three biographies ofRomney were given to the world. Cumberland wrote a brief but ablememoir. Hayley produced an elaborate life, embellished with engravingsand epistles in verse. And the Reverend John Romney published aninteresting, if not an impartial, account of his father's career. Yetthese works have not prevented the painter's name from gradually losingits hold upon the public memory, nor his pictures from sinking farbeneath the valuation originally set upon them. Accident, and the wantof a permanent public gallery in which the best achievements of Englishpainters may be stored and studied and admired by their countrymen, have contributed to these results. Upon the great occasions when Englishpictures have been assembled for exhibition, somehow Romney has been butinadequately represented. In the Fine Art Gallery of the GreatExhibition of 1862 there was but one portrait by Romney to thirty-fourexamples of Reynolds. In the finer and more complete collection atManchester, in 1857, there were five Romneys to thirty-eight pictures byReynolds. Altogether Sir Joshua's memory has been amply avenged for anyneglect he endured in his lifetime by reason of the undue ascendancy ofRomney. 

George Romney was born at Beckside, near Dalton, Lancashire, on the 15thDecember 1734, the son of John Romney, a carpenter and cabinet-maker, who, above his station in taste and knowledge, is alleged to haveintroduced into the county various improvements in agriculturalengineering. Of his union with Ann Simpson, the daughter of a Cumberlandyeoman, four sons were born:--William, who died on the eve of hisdeparture to the West Indies, in the employ of a merchant there; James, who rose to the rank of a lieutenant-colonel in the service of the EastIndia Company; Peter, who gave promise of considerable art-talent, butdied in his thirty-fourth year; and George, the painter, under mention. 

Of a sedate and steady disposition, but somewhat dull and 'backward' athis books, George Romney, in his eleventh year, was taken from school, and, until he arrived at twenty-one, was employed in his father'sworkshop. The lad had manifested skill as a carver in wood; hadconstructed a violin for himself, and read with deep interest Da Vinci's_Treatise on Painting_, making copies of the engravings. His naturaltalent soon further developed itself. His father had a businessacquaintance with one Mr. Alderman Redman, of Kendal, upholsterer. TheAlderman's sister, a Mrs. Gardner, chanced to see some of young Romney'sdrawings, was struck with their cleverness, and encouraged him topersevere, and to make his first essay in portraiture by taking herlikeness. The boy produced a drawing that was much extolled; furtherevidences of his enthusiasm for art were forthcoming; and eventuallyJohn Romney was induced to take his son to Kendal, and apprentice him toan itinerant painter named Christopher Steele, a showy gentleman, whohad been in Paris, aped French manners, wore fantastic clothes, and waspopularly known as _Count_ Steele--a sort of art-Dulcamara, in fact. Articles of apprenticeship were duly signed, sealed, and deliveredbetween John Romney, cabinet-maker, and George his son, of the one part, and Christopher Steele, painter, of the other part. George Romney wasbound for the term of four years, to serve his master faithfully anddiligently, to obey his reasonable commands, and keep his secrets; JohnRomney was to provide his son with 'suitable and necessary clothes, bothlinen and woollen;' and Christopher Steele, in consideration oftwenty-one pounds, covenanted to instruct his apprentice in the art orscience of a painter, and to find him meat, drink, washing, and lodgingduring the said term. Steele was no great artist, though he had studiedunder Carlo Vanloo, of Paris. He troubled himself little enough as tohis pupil's progress, employing him for the most part in grindingcolours and in the drudgery of the studio. But George Romney made thebest of his opportunities. And he was not unhappy. He had fallen in lovewith Mary Abbott, one of two sisters living with their widowed mother, in humble circumstances, at Kendal. But soon Steele was bent on quittingKendal, had made up his mind to move to York, and directed his pupil toprepare to accompany him forthwith. The lovers, of course, were indespair at the thought of their approaching separation. In the end theysecured their mutual fidelity by a hasty and private marriage. Reprovedfor his precipitancy and imprudence, Romney replied that his marriagewould surely act as a spur to his application: 'My thoughts being nowstill and not obstructed by youthful follies, I can practise with morediligence and success than ever. ' While at York he zealously devotedhimself to his art. His wife, left at Kendal, assisted him with suchsmall sums as she could spare, sending him half a guinea at a time, hidden under the seal of a letter; in return he forwarded to her his ownportrait, his first work in oil. 

After staying nearly a year in York, Steele and his apprentice moved toLancaster. Meeting with little encouragement there, Steele, alwaysrestless and embarrassed, determined to try his fortune in Ireland. Thepupil was now very anxious to be quit of his preceptor; he longed to bepractising on his own account. He had at different times lent Steelesmall sums of money, amounting altogether to ten pounds. He now proposedthat both debt and articles of apprenticeship should be cancelled--thatthe release of the debtor should be the consideration for the freedom ofthe apprentice. Steele consented, and George Romney became his ownmaster. 

His prices until he went to London were certainly not high: two guineasfor a three-quarter portrait and six for a whole figure on a kit-catcanvas. The only way of making this poor tariff remunerative was byextreme rapidity of execution; and few men have ever painted so rapidlyas Romney. But this rapid manner has its disadvantages. If habituallypersisted in, it in time renders thorough finish impossible to thepainter. An absolute necessity in Romney's early life, it became adistinct vice in his after works. To this were in part attributable thecrowd of incomplete canvases the painter left behind him at his death, and the characteristic sketchiness traceable even in his most esteemedpictures. 

At York he disposed of twenty pictures by a lottery, which producedlittle more than forty pounds. Among these works was a scene from_Tristram Shandy_, upon which he had bestowed some pains; for at YorkRomney had attracted the notice of Laurence Sterne (whose portraitSteele had painted), and received at his hands marks of attention andfriendship. 

Twenty-seven years old, Romney began to weary of provincialtriumphs, --to long for the wider field of exertion and the moreenlightened recognition he could only find in the capital. He had toiledearly and late to acquire money and skill sufficient for a creditableappearance in town. A son and daughter had been born of his marriage, yet his domestic ties could not bind him to the north, while hisambition was prompting him so urgently to seek certain fame and fortunein the south. He managed to raise a sum of one hundred pounds. Takingfifty for his travelling expenses, he left the balance for the supportof his wife and children, and without a single letter of recommendationor introduction, set forth to try his chances alone in London. He wassoon obliged to send for twenty pounds more, of the fifty he had leftwith his wife. He started southward on the 14th of March 1762, incompany with two other Kendal gentlemen, on horseback. He stayed a dayat Manchester, where he met his old master Count Steele, who warmlygreeted his pupil, and rode with the party next day as far as Stockport. After much alarm from highwaymen--for in those days country banks werenot, and every traveller was his own purse-bearer--Mr. Romney and hisfriends arrived safely at the Castle Inn, London, on the 21st March. Thepainter remained at the inn for a fortnight, until he was able to settledown comfortably in lodgings, in Dove Court, Mansion House. He was soonhard at work upon 'The Death of Rizzio, ' adorning his walls withpictures he had brought with him or sent for afterwards from Kendal, such as 'King Lear, ' 'Elfrida, ' 'The Death of Lefevre, ' and a fewportraits of friends. The Rizzio picture has been represented as 'a workof extraordinary merit, combining energetic action with strongexpression. ' Its fate was sad enough; attracting no notice, producing noprofit, and at length becoming an incumbrance in the studio, the painterdestroyed it with his own hands; or, more probably, cut it up and soldit piecemeal, for one of his biographers mentions having seen certainheads by Romney in which terror was strongly depicted, and which hadevidently formed portions of some larger work. In the August followinghis arrival in town he quitted Dove Court for Bearbinder's Lane. Here heexecuted several portraits at three guineas each, and painted his 'Deathof Wolfe, ' to which was awarded a prize of fifty guineas by the Societyof Arts. Out of this picture arose much controversy. Adverse criticsobjected that the work could not with propriety be regarded as anhistorical composition, because, in point of fact, no historian had yetrecorded the event it pretended to represent; Wolfe's death, howeverglorious and memorable, was too recent to be within the legitimate scopeof high art! Further, Mr. Romney's work was condemned as 'a mere coatand waistcoat picture, ' and much fault was found with his accuraterendering of the regimentals of the officers and soldiers and the silkstockings of the general. A few years later Benjamin West was greatlypraised for his treatment of the same subject; Reynolds, after muchdeliberation and the statement, in the first instance, of a directlycontrary opinion, avowing that the young American's picture wouldoccasion 'a complete revolution in art. ' It had been the plan, theretofore, in pictures of historical events of whatever period, toportray the characters engaged in the garb (or no garb) of antiquity;but West had declined, in placing upon his canvas an event of the year1759, to introduce the costume of classic times; altogether disregardingthe dislike of the connoisseurs to cocked hats, cross-belts, laced-coats, and bayonets, and their demands for bows and arrows, helmets, bucklers, and nakedness. But, in truth, West was merelyfollowing in the footsteps of George Romney, who had already produced a'Death of Wolfe' in the correct dress of the period. There were few tolaud poor Romney, however. Even the decision which gave him the prizewas reversed, and the premium ultimately awarded to Mortimer, who hadexhibited at the same time a picture of 'Edward the Confessor seizingthe Treasurer of his mother. ' Romney was obliged to be content with agratuity of twenty-five guineas. 

The painter's friends at once charged Reynolds with an active share ineffecting this result; and indeed it seems clear that the reversal ofthe decision was due to his interference. They averred that he wasanything but an impartial judge; that he was well aware the 'Death ofWolfe' was the work of a portrait painter; that he could not bear thethought of a rival near his throne, and had laid down the principle'that it was impossible for two painters in the same department of theart to be long in friendship with each other. ' He would not permit anobscure painter from the country to carry off a prize from a student ofMortimer's pretensions. With Mortimer he was on terms of friendship: hisfellow-pupil under Hudson, and, above all, no portrait painter. Whatmeasure of truth there may have been in these allegations it is nowdifficult to decide. Thenceforward Reynolds and Romney were certainlyenemies. Between the two painters, indeed, there never existed theslightest intercourse of any kind. 

The curious treatment he had received from the Society of Arts made muchstir, however, and brought the young painter friends and patrons. Probably the next best thing to securing the friendship of the futurePresident of the Academy was the reputation of having incurred hisenmity. 'The Death of Wolfe' was purchased by Mr. Rowland Stephenson, the banker, who presented it to Governor Varelst, by whom it was placedin the Council-Chamber at Calcutta. Romney moved from the city to theMews-gate, Charing Cross, probably to be nearer the exhibition in SpringGardens, and the Artists' Academy in St. Martin's Lane. At this time, itmay be noted, Dance and Mortimer were living in Covent Garden, whileHogarth and Reynolds had set up their easels in Leicester Fields. Romneynow raised his prices for portraits to five guineas, and saved moneysufficient to enable him to pay a long-dreamt-of visit to Paris. He wasabsent six weeks; and on his return took chambers in Gray's Inn, wherehe painted several portraits of Members of the legal profession, including Sir Joseph Yates, one of the judges of the Court of the King'sBench. In Gray's Inn, too, he painted his picture of the 'Death of KingEdmund, ' which, in 1765, obtained a prize of fifty guineas from theSociety of Arts. For this work, however, he was unable to find apurchaser. In 1767 his circumstances had so far improved that he felthimself justified in moving to a house in Great Newport Street, within afew doors of Reynolds, where he remained until his visit to Italy, in1773. Meanwhile his friends were loud in their laudation of the prodigywho, in historical works, they declared, promised to rival the greatmasters, and in portraiture threatened to wrest the palm from Reynoldshimself. He now raised his prices again, charging twelve guineas for athree-quarter portrait, and found no lack of sitters at the increasedrate. Whether or not he sought for academic honours is not clear;certain it is they were not conferred upon him: and he invariably choseto send his pictures to the rooms of the Chartered Society, in SpringGardens, rather than to the exhibitions of the Royal Academy. Artists, in every way his inferiors, were welcomed to the ranks of 'the forty;'but to Romney never were granted even the poorer dignities ofassociateship. This neglect of him he always ascribed to the sinisterinfluence of Reynolds and his followers, among whom, in this instance, must be numbered Fuseli, who was much given to sneering at Romney as 'acoat and waistcoat painter, ' and who, in his edition of _Pilkington_, says, pertly, 'Romney was made for his times, and his times for him. 'Allan Cunningham suggests, what is probably true, that Romney was a manlikely to take a sort of morbid pleasure in his isolation, and in theodium which would necessarily devolve upon the Academy by its neglect ofan artist of his eminence. His name has gone to swell the list ofpainters of mark who have ventured to defy the influence and oppositionof the Academy, and have single-handed fought their way to successnotwithstanding. 

In 1771, through the introduction of Cumberland, Mrs. Yates, theactress, sat to Romney for a picture of the 'Tragic Muse. ' Of course, this work was completely eclipsed by Reynolds's 'Tragic Muse, ' paintedsome thirteen years later. Notwithstanding the demerits of thePresident's picture, the plagiarism of the pose and draperies fromMichael Angelo's Joel in the Capella Sistina, the incongruities of thetheatrical state-chair in the clouds, the gold lace, plaited hair, imperial tiara and strings of pearls, --still the majestic beauty of hismodel, her classical features, broad brow, grand form and superb eyes, enabled him to surpass immeasurably the effort of his younger and lessfavoured rival. Mrs. Yates, though an accomplished actress, was far frompossessing the personal gifts of the Kembles' sister. To Romney's studioCumberland also brought Garrick, with some hope that the great actormight interest himself in favour of the painter. But Garrick was tooclosely allied with Sir Joshua; he was wilfully blinded to the merits ofRomney. He criticised with most impertinent candour the works he foundin the studio, pausing before a large family group of portraits and withan affected imitation of the attitude of the chief figure, saying, 'Uponmy word, Mr. Romney, this is a very regular, well-ordered family; andthis is a very bright-rubbed mahogany table, at which that motherly, good lady is sitting; and this worthy good gentleman in the scarletwaistcoat is doubtless a very excellent subject--to the state, I mean(if all these are his children)--but not for your art, Mr. Romney, ifyou mean to pursue it with that success which I hope will attend you!'His 'pasteboard Majesty of Drury Lane, ' in truth, knew nothing of thepainter's art; and from any other than Romney would have incurred, as hewell merited, most unceremonious ejection from the studio. He was safeenough with Romney, however, as he probably well knew. The painter, deeply mortified, silently turned the family picture with its face tothe wall. He was extremely sensitive: a curious diffidence mingled withhis conviction of his own cleverness. He was readily disconcerted: at alaugh, a jest, a few words of satiric criticism, he lost faith inhimself, interest in his works; the subject which had promised so muchpleasure now seemed to him fruitful only in pain and disappointment; hewould seek at once a new occupation, and add another to a growing pileof canvases which the ridicule and captiousness of others, and his ownweakness and caprice, had combined to leave for ever incomplete. Perhapsit was by way of balm for the wound he had unwittingly inflicted, bybringing Garrick to the studio, that Cumberland published in the PublicAdvertiser his verses upon the painters of the day, with especialmention of Romney and his picture of 'Contemplation, ' which work, thepoet says in a note, 'the few who attended the unfashionable exhibitionin Spring Gardens may possibly recollect. ' Already the success of theRoyal Academy was telling disastrously upon the 'Society of Artists ofGreat Britain' to which Romney had attached himself. 

In 1773, our painter, in his thirty-ninth year, and in receipt of anincome of some twelve hundred pounds, derived solely from hisprofession, set sail for Italy, bearing with him letters of introductionfrom the Dukes of Gloucester and Richmond to the Pope, and accompaniedby his close friend, Humphrey, the miniature-painter. His Holiness gavegracious permission to the artist to erect scaffolds in the Vatican, thebetter to make copies of the Raphaels which decorate the palace. 

Among the pictures executed during Romney's Italian tour was a portraitof the eccentric Wortley Montagu (Lady Mary's son), who had assumed themanners and attire of a Turk, and who, shortly after his sitting to thepainter, died from a bone sticking in his throat. Another work which hebrought back with him to England was a daring attempt to represent'Providence brooding over chaos. ' In later years, when Lord GeorgeGordon and his mob were sacking the Roman Catholic chapels throughoutLondon, and plundering the houses of all suspected of sympathy with theLatin Church, Romney became alarmed lest his picture should attract theattention of the rioters, and, regarded by them as an evidence ofidolatrous devotion, lead to the destruction of his house and property. The canvas was at once removed out of sight. At the sale of his works, on the death of the painter, his son changed the name of the picture to'Jupiter Pluvius, ' under which more marketable guise it soon found apurchaser. 

On the 7th of June 1775, Romney arrived again in England: his returnbeing celebrated by glowing strains from Cumberland's ready muse. AsGibbon said of the poetic praises of the painter's friends--'If they didnot contribute much to his professional prosperity, they might be justlycalled an elegant advertisement of his merit. ' Sitters of all ranks nowcrowded to his studio. If his absence from England had done nothing elsefor him, it had wonderfully enhanced his reputation. But persons oftaste and quality were of opinion that his visit to Italy had wroughtmarvels. They pretended to see a striking improvement, not merely in themechanical, but also in the mental part of his work; his conceptivepowers were found to be strengthened and enriched, and his method ofpainting benefited beyond measure by his Italian studies; he was nolonger cold, and harsh, and heavy; all was now warmth and light, tenderness and beauty. It was at this time that Reynolds began to speakof Romney as 'the man in Cavendish Square. ' He had established himselfin the spacious mansion which the death of Cotes, the Royal Academician, had left vacant, and which, it may be noted, after the expiry ofRomney's tenancy, was occupied by Sir Martin Archer Shee. Not withoutconsiderable anxiety, however, did Romney enter upon possession of hisnew abode. He was seized with an irrepressible misgiving that he wasembarking upon a career of far greater expense than his success hadwarranted, or than the emoluments of his profession would enable him tomaintain. 'In his singular constitution, ' his biographer Hayley herefinds occasion to observe, 'there was so much nervous timidity united togreat bodily strength and to enterprising and indefatigable ambition, that he used to tremble, when he walked every morning in his newhabitation, with a painful apprehension of not finding businesssufficient to support him. These fears were only early flutterings ofthat hypochondriacal disorder which preyed in secret on his comfortduring many years, and which, though apparently subdued by the cheeringexhortations of frendship and great professional prosperity, failed notto show itself more formidably when he was exhausted by labour in thedecline of life. ' His trepidation was quite groundless, however. He hadno lack of patrons or employment; the Duke of Richmond gave him generousencouragement and support, sat for his own picture, in profile, andcommissioned portraits of Admiral Keppel, Mr. Burke, the Honourable Mrs. Damer, Lord John Cavendish, Lord George Lennox, and others. Thepainter's income soon sprung up to between three and four thousand ayear, produced by portraits only. In 1776 he was seriously ill from aviolent cold caught by standing in the rain, amongst the crowd outsideDrury Lane Theatre, waiting to witness Garrick's farewell performance. He was cured, however, by Sir Richard Jebb, the eminent physician, whoprescribed a bottle of Madeira to his patient, and attended him fromthat time forward in every illness, but generously declined to accept afee for his services. 

And the Mary Abbott whom George Romney had married years before and leftbehind at Kendal, with his son and daughter and thirty pounds, while hesought his fortune alone in London--the wife, his union with whom was tobe as 'a spur to his application'--was she to be denied the sight of herhusband's success, a share in his prosperity, a place in his house inCavendish Square? It is hard to understand the utter unmanliness andheartlessness of Romney's conduct in this respect. There is no word ofaccusation against her--- no hint affecting her character--no questionas to her being in any way unworthy of his love and trust, and of herrightful position by his side. His separation from her, in the firstinstance, was, under all the circumstances of the case, no doubtjustifiable; and it is hardly possible to believe that his originalwithdrawal from Kendal was in pursuance of a plan of deliberateabandonment of his family. But for the protraction of this separation, after the first necessity for it had passed away, there would seem to beabsolutely no excuse. His son, the Rev. John Romney, with a laudabledesire to serve his father's memory, urges, as some faint apology forthe painter's cruelty, that his affairs were at all times lessprosperous than they seemed; that his brothers were a heavy burden uponhim and drained him of his savings; that his professional journeys toParis and Rome consumed all the money he could raise; and that thus a'succession of untoward circumstances threw impediments in the way ofgood intent, till time and absence became impediments also. '

In truth, Romney appears to have been always curiously timid andreticent; to have suffered from excessive moral cowardice. On his firstarrival in London and association with the young painters of the day, hebegan to feel some shame at his early imprudence, and some alarm lest itshould present any hindrance to his professional advancement. He hadgiven 'hostages to fortune, ' and dreaded the result. He was thuspersistently silent on the subject; and, as time went on, it became moreand more difficult for him to avow the marriage he had from the firstmade so much a matter of mystery. And then, too, the prosperous unionsof other artists, his contemporaries, excited his jealousy and increasedhis apprehensions. He began to think it indispensable to the success ofa painter that he should marry well. Nathaniel Dance had been united toMrs. Drummer, known as 'the Yorkshire fortune, ' with eighteen thousand ayear. John Astley had secured the hand of Lady Duckenfield, with anincome of almost equal value. Then, from his literary and poetic friendshe was little likely to receive encouragement to act justly in such amatter. Laurence Sterne was no especially good exemplar of conjugalfidelity. Mr. Hayley and the rest indulged in extremely poetic viewsconcerning the privileges and prerogatives of genius; were opposed totrammels and scruples of any kind in such respect; and poured round thepainter dense showers of versified adulation, so infused with idealityand Platonism that the simple rules of right and wrong were quite washedaway by the harmonious and transcendental torrent. Romney, weak, vain, selfish, suffered himself to be led down paths which, however floweryand pleasant, were yet mean and contemptible enough, and listening tothe twanging of Hayley's lyre, turned a deaf ear to the pining of thepoor woman fading away, alone and deserted in the north--the Mary Abbottwhom he had vowed in his youth until death should them part to love, honour, and cherish. For some thirty years the husband and wife neverset eyes upon each other--were absolutely separated. 

He had now as much work as he could possibly execute. He was often athis easel for thirteen hours a day, beginning at eight in the morning, lighting his lamp when the daylight had gone, and toiling on sometimesuntil midnight. He had five, and occasionally six, sitters a day. Hegenerally completed a three-quarter portrait in three or four sittings, and could accomplish this easily, provided no hands were introduced intothe picture. The sittings varied in duration from three-quarters of anhour to an hour and a half each. His only time now for ideal orhistorical art was in the interval between the departure and arrival ofhis sitters, or when they failed to keep their engagements with him; buthe would regard such disappointments with pleasure, having always athand a spare canvas upon which he could employ himself with some fancysubject. Of course, this close application was not without injuriouseffect upon him in the end. 'My health, ' he wrote, at a later period ofhis life, 'is not at all constant. My nerves give way, and I have notime to go in quest of pleasure to prevent a decline of health. My handsare full, and I shall be forced to refuse new faces at last, to beenabled to finish the numbers I have in an unfinished state. I shallregret the necessity of forbearing to take new faces; there is a delightin novelty greater than in the profit gained by sending them homefinished. But it must be done. ' His annual retirement for a month'sholiday to Hayley's house at Eartham was of little real service to hishealth. He was compelled the while to attitudinize incessantly as agenius. Hayley, in globose language, was always entreating his guest tomoderate his intense spirit of application, conjuring him to rest fromhis excess of labour 'in the name of those immortal powers the Beautifuland the Sublime, ' etc. , while he was at the same time urging the painterto new and greater toils, teasing the jaded man with endlesssuggestions, bewildering him with a jabber of sham sentimentality andhazy æstheticism. 'Whenever Romney was my guest, ' writes Hayley, 'I wasglad to put aside my own immediate occupation for the pleasure ofsearching for and presenting to him a copious choice of such subjects asmight happily exercise his powers. ' Poor Romney was permitted no rest. Hayley was for ever in close attendance gratifying his own inordinatevanity at the painter's cost. He produced four representations ofSerena, the heroine of Hayley's _Triumphs of Temper_. He painted a scenefrom the _Tempest_ for Boydell's Shakespeare Gallery, which projectRomney always claimed to have originated, and Hayley was in the studiositting for Prospero. At Hayley's house a small coterie of poetasters, male and female, assembled for purposes of mutual glorification in themost windbag sort of verse, and were glad to buy portraits and sketchesfrom the painter with such small coin as sonnets and stanzas, and poeticepistles. Romney executes a likeness of Mrs. Hayley, and is rewardedwith eighty-eight glowing lines by her husband, who calls to his aidEolus, Orion, Boreas, Auster, Zephyr, Eurus, Famine, and Ceres for thebetter decoration of his verse. He paints a portrait of Miss Seward, andthe lady's gratitude gushes forth in eulogy of

 .... The pleasures of the Hayleyan board, Where, as his pencil, Romney's soul sublime Glows with bold lines, original and strong, etc. 

'Beloved and honoured Titiano!' she wrote, some years later; 'how thatname recalls the happy, happy hours I passed with you at Eartham; whenby the title 'Muse' you summoned me to the morning walk!' Amongst thedrossy twaddle which passed current as poetry at Eartham, a sonnet inRomney's honour by a true poet--William Cowper--may be counted as puregold. 

In the beginning of 1782 Emma Lyon, then known as Mrs. Hart, afterwardsas Lady Hamilton, first sat to Mr. Romney. Painters and poets enough hadalready been busy celebrating her loveliness, the lady nothing loth. Shetook pleasure in the full display of her charms: holding probably thather beauty was not given her for herself alone, but that the wholeworld, if it listed, might at least look on it and adore. At one timeindeed she was rumoured to have personated the Goddess of Health, whenthe 'celestial' Doctor Graham was giving his strange and indecorouslectures in Pall Mall; but that scandal has been contradicted. Certainit is, however, that her witcheries effectually subjugated Romney andHayley. The painter went fairly mad about her; could not see her oftenenough; was restless and miserable out of her presence; reduced thenumber of his sitters, and admitted no visitors until noon, that hemight have time sufficient to devote to the beautiful Emma and herportraits. This infatuation endured for years. 'At present, ' he wrote toHayley, in 1791, 'and the greatest part of the summer, I shall beengaged in painting pictures from the _divine lady_. I cannot give herany other epithet; for I think her superior to all womankind. ' For along time he seemed to be able only to paint Emma Lyon. His sonenumerates some two dozen portraits, in which she appears as Circe, Iphigenia, St. Cecilia, Sensibility, a Bacchante, Alope, the Spinstress, Cassandra (for the Shakespeare Gallery), Calypso, a Pythoness, Joan ofArc, a Magdalen, etc. ; some of these were left unfinished. But at onetime the form and features of his beautiful model appeared upon thepainter's canvas, let him try to paint what he would. The fair Emma hadabsolutely enthralled him. Absent from the object of his adoration, hewas reduced to despair. He writes to Hayley, complaining that he hasdiscovered an alteration in his Emma's conduct: 'a coldness and neglectseemed to have taken the place of her repeated declaration of regard. 'Hayley sends up some verses for the painter to copy and sign, beginning'Gracious Cassandra, ' and asking pitifully, .... What cruel clouds have darkly chilled Thy favour that to me was vital fire? Oh, let it shine again: or worse than killed Thy soul-sunk artist feels his art expire!

The poet seems to have been not less love-stricken. 'Her features, ' hewrites, 'like the language of Shakespeare, could exhibit all thefeelings of nature and all the gradations of every passion with a mostfascinating truth and felicity of expression. ' Presently the lady hasgiven her hand to Sir William Hamilton and set sail for Naples. Shemakes peace with the painter, however, before her departure; calls uponhim, resumes her former kindness of manner, is as cordial with him asever, and sits to him for a portrait he is to paint _as a present to hermother_. Poor Romney!

In 1794 there were symptoms of decay in the painter's constitution; hismental infirmities increased. He became the victim of a sort ofintellectual superfetation. He was perpetually planning labours of amagnitude which, from the first, rendered them hopelessly impracticable. His brain was morbidly active, while his hand grew tremulous anduncertain, and his sight dimmed. His manner became irritable, and morethan ever timid and suspicious. He wrote to his son: 'I have made manygrand designs; I have formed a system of original subjects, moral and myown, and I think one of the grandest that has been thought of; butnobody knows it. Hence, it is my view to wrap myself in retirement andpursue these plans, as I begin to feel I cannot bear trouble of anykind. ' He quits his house in Cavendish Square and becomes the purchaserof a retreat at Holly Bush Hill, Hampstead, after abandoning a projecthe at one time entertained for the purchase of four acres near theEdgware Road, and covering them with a group of fantastic buildings ofhis own design. To the house at Hampstead he made many whimsicaladditions, however, erecting a large picture and sculpture-gallery, awooden arcade or covered ride, a dining-room close to the kitchen, witha buttery hatch opening into it, so that he and his guests might enjoybeefsteaks 'hot and hot' upon the same plan as prevailed at theBeefsteak Club, then occupying a room in the Lyceum Theatre. The cost ofthese changes amounted to nearly three thousand pounds. With quite achildish eagerness he took possession of his new house before the wallswere dry, and while the workmen were still completing the changes he hadordered. Still he had not room enough for his numberless art-treasures. His pictures were crammed and huddled away any and everywhere. Some werearranged along the wooden arcade, where, exposed to the open air, and tothe alternate action of moisture and frost, they were almost entirelydestroyed in the course of the winter, while some were deliberatelystolen. The painter could do little work now: he could begin, but wasunable to finish or even to resume his undertaking. His appetite for artseemed to fail him; he ceased to have faith in himself; he was preyed onby nervous dejection; weighed down with dark alarms and vagueforebodings. Soon his head is swimming and his right hand numb withincipient paralysis. Hayley visits him for the last time in April 1799, and had 'the grief of perceiving that his increasing weakness of bodyand mind afforded only a gloomy prospect for the residue of his life. 'He lays down his brush for ever. Suddenly, without a word to any one ofhis intentions, he takes the northern coach and arrives at Kendal. Fainting and exhausted, he is received with the utmost tenderness andaffection by his wife. No word of reproach for the neglect and solitudeto which he had doomed her for so many years escapes her lips. Withunremitting solicitude, with religious earnestness, this loving, forgiving woman tends the sick-bed of the sinking man. His mind expiresbefore his body; for months he remains hopelessly imbecile, free fromsuffering, but wholly unconscious; breathing his last at Kendal on the15th of November 1802, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. 

The inconsistency manifest between Romney's wanton cruelty in hisdomestic character, and his reputation among his intimates andcontemporaries for great kindliness of nature, generosity, and generalworth, is remarkable enough. There are many men, however, who appear tothe least advantage when seen by the light of their own fireside. Hayleysays much of his friend's _extreme sensibility_:' his lips, ' writes thepoet, 'quivered with emotions of pity at the sight of distress or at therelation of a pathetic story. ' Cumberland mentions that the painter was, 'by constitution, prone to tears. ' Yet his charity was not for homewear; the distress he did not see troubled him very little. It is vainto seek for any sufficient apology for Romney's shameful treatment ofhis wife and children. If it were possible to forget this deep stainupon his character he would seem, in all other relations of life, to beentitled to esteem and commendation. For the poor and needy he wasready, not merely with his sensibility, but with his purse. To hisfriends he was ever faithful and liberal. After attaining professionaleminence he was almost indifferent to the emoluments of his art, prizingmoney much less for its own sake than for the recognition of hisposition and abilities that it demonstrated; while to all young artistshe was especially kind and indulgent. He was the first to encourageFlaxman, and to appreciate and applaud his works; was ever the cordialand loving friend of the sculptor, as their correspondence amplytestifies. 'I always remember, ' says Flaxman, 'Mr. Romney's notice of myboyish years and productions with gratitude; his original and strikingconversation; his masterly, grand, and feeling compositions arecontinually before me; and I still feel the benefits of his acquaintanceand recommendations. '

Romney's historical pictures are very numerous; though comparatively fewof them can be considered as completely finished works. According toAllan Cunningham's estimate, for one really finished there are five halfdone, and for five half done there are at least a dozen merely sketchedout on the canvas. The painter was all impulse; very eager and impatientat the beginning, but soon wearied, and only by painful efforts andextraordinary labour ever arriving at the conclusion of hisundertakings. There was a want of concentrative power about him; he wasever frittering away his undeniable abilities upon a number of hastilyadopted projects, crudely conceived, and remorselessly abandoned whenthe temperature of his enthusiasm lowered, or any unlooked-fordifficulties appeared in his path. How the erratic and desultory natureof his mind was fostered and aggravated by Hayley's mischievous effortshas already been shown. That the glowing eulogium pronounced by Flaxmanupon his friend's productions will be endorsed by modern critics ishardly to be expected. Indeed, the characteristics upon which Flaxmanespecially dwells as worthy of the highest praise will be ratheraccounted as defects in the present day. The severe imitation of theantique; the artificial simplicity of composition; the bare background;the bas-relief style of treatment; the pseudo-purity which rejectednatural feeling and action in favour of a conventionally idealexpression--these were precious gifts in Flaxman's eyes; to modernartists they will appear rather errors of judgment pertaining to a pastschool of art: false fashions which the present generation of paintershave happily outgrown and abandoned. At the same time, however, itshould not be forgotten that the majority of Romney's works of thisclass will bear comparison with the best productions of hiscontemporaries, and that some of them evince in a remarkable degree hisgrace of manner, skill in expression, and loftiness of aim. 

As a portrait painter Romney will be more prized and remembered, although it is not likely that any existing connoisseurs will be foundto proclaim themselves with Lord Thurlow, of 'the Romney faction, ' asopposed to the school of Reynolds. In contrasting the works of the rivalpainters, it is easy to see that however close a race for fame theyseemed to be running in their own time, there exists in truth a widedistance between the president of the Academy and 'the man in CavendishSquare. ' It is not only that Romney had not the variety of Reynolds;that he could not give to portrait painting the new life with whichReynolds had so happily invested it:--he did not hit character nearly sowell; he could not endow his sitters with the air of repose, ease, andelegance peculiar to the Reynolds portraits; he failed to give interestto his backgrounds, generally too near and flat, and heavily painted;and he had not Sir Joshua's success in subduing the eccentricities ofcostume of the day, and bestowing a certain grace and beauty upon eventhe most exuberant capes, cuffs, ruffles, wigs, cravats, and frills, prevalent a century ago. There is an air of _fashion_ about many ofRomney's portraits as opposed to the look of _nobility_, which is theespecial attribute of Reynolds's pictures. In contemplating a Sir Joshuathere will be found a propriety, an integrity about the work whicheffectually prevents all thought of the parts played by the tailor orthe milliner at the toilet of the sitter. This is not always the casewith Romney's portraits; pattern, and cut, and vogue do not fail toassert themselves. In colour Romney is very unequal; in his own day itwas notoriously inferior to Reynolds's, though in spite of someinstances of chalkiness and thinness, generally rich, pure, andlustrous. But the President's recourse to meretricious methods ofobtaining beauty of tint has ruined the majority of his works, renderingtheir glories fleeting as photographs. Romney prudently adhered to asafer manner. Many of his pictures can even now be hardly less fresh andglowing in colour than when they first left his easel. His carnationsand flesh tints are often singularly fine. His small portraits possessdignity, with force and manliness, however, rather than absolute ease orrefinement. But his chief success was in his female heads. In quick anddistinct appreciation of beauty he was not behind Reynolds; while, occasionally, he attained a certain poetic height of expression it wouldbe difficult to parallel among Sir Joshua's works. 

The fluctuation in fame which Romney has suffered has, of course, fallento the fate of many of his professional brethren. We read, for instance, that Sir Godfrey Kneller sometimes received in payment for a portrait aconsiderable sum in hard cash, with a couple of Rembrandt's thrown in byway of makeweight. Yet now a single specimen of Rembrandt exceeds invalue a whole gallery of Knellers. And Rembrandt died insolvent, whileSir Godfrey amassed a fortune! No one will dispute the justice of thereversal of judgment which has taken place; the elevation of Rembrandtat the expense of Kneller. But it may be a question whether GeorgeRomney has not been unfairly abased, even though it may be agreed on allhands that Sir Joshua Reynolds has not been unduly exalted. Possibly, however, when a man rises or is lifted up to a high pitch of celebrity, it is inevitable that he should in some degree mount upon the prostrateand degraded reputations of his contemporaries. 

COSWAY, THE MINIATURE-PAINTER. 

Biographers seem often to choose between two weaknesses. They are fondof asserting that the hero of their narration comes in truth of a gentlestock, however the clouds of misfortune may for a time have veiled fromgeneral observation the glories of his family tree, --or, failing this, they take a sort of pride in dwelling upon and exaggerating thehumbleness of his descent and condition. He is a somebody, or he is anobody; a gentleman of distinguished origin or an utterly unknowncreature with the vaguest views about his lineage: a waif of thewayside, a stray of the streets, his rise from obscurity to eminencebeing entirely attributable to his own intrinsic merits and exertions. 

To this last-mentioned method of biographical treatment has beensubjected Richard Cosway, painter and Royal Academician of the lastcentury: a man of fame in his day, though that fame may not have comedown to us in a very good state of preservation. The fact that in hisprime he was a man of fashion, a 'personage' in society, the companionof princes, and an artist of eminence, has given a sort of impetus tothe fancy of tracing him back to a vastly inferior state of life. Writers dealing with the painter's story, and prepared to point to himpresently as the occupant and ornament of a 'gilded saloon, ' have founda preliminary pleasure in dilating upon his earlier and humbler positionas an errand-boy in a drawing academy. The contrast was effective, picturesque--dramatic. Contemplate this scene of gloom and degradation;now turn to this other canvas, all sunshine and prosperity. Is not thecomparison impressive? But then it ought to be true. 

This black and white view of the vicissitudes of Cosway's career is due, in the first instance, to Mr. J. T. Smith, engraver, antiquarian, andauthor of the _Life of Nollekens_ and other books. Mr. Shipley, fromNorthampton, brother of the Bishop of St. Asaph, and founder of theSociety of Arts, had established a drawing school at No. 229 in theStrand. Cosway, when quite a lad, says Smith, obtained the notice ofShipley, and was engaged by him to attend in the studio and carry to andfro the tea and coffee with which the housekeeper of the establishmentwas permitted to provide the students at a cost of threepence per head. Nollekens and the father of Smith were among the students, andgood-naturedly, the story goes on to say, gave the boy Richard Coswayinstruction in drawing, and encouraged him to compete for the prizes heafterwards obtained from the Society of Arts. These particulars probablySmith obtained from his father or from Nollekens--if indeed they be notwholly due not so much to his own invention as to the confusion of namesand misconception of incidents to which every one is liable who puts toogreat a strain upon his memory. Allan Cunningham, it may be observed, relates facts concerning Cosway's origin and youth which go far towardscontroverting the errand-boy episode in his life, as chronicled bySmith. 

Richard Cosway was born in 1740, at Tiverton, in Devonshire, a countysingularly productive of famous artists, having given birth among othersto Haydon, Northcote, and Reynolds. The father of Cosway was the masterof the grammar-school at Tiverton: his uncle was for some time mayor;and the family, originally Flemish, and engaged in woollen manufactures, was possessed of considerable property in the town and neighbourhood. Tothe connexion of the Cosways with Flanders was ascribed their ownershipof certain valuable works by Rubens, which first lit up a love ofpainting in the heart of young Cosway, and made him an idle schoolboyand an indefatigable artist. The master of Tiverton school was naturallyindignant at the want of scholarly application of his son and pupil; wasfor birching him into better behaviour, forbidding him to ply his pencilat all under heavy penalties. The boy's uncle, the mayor, and ajudicious friend and neighbour, one Mr. Oliver Peard, seem to havebetter appreciated the situation. They interposed on behalf of the youngartist, and succeeded in obtaining for him permission to make drawingsduring such times as he could be spared from the grammar-school. But atlast it appears to be agreed on all hands that the boy must close hisbooks: he is wilful, and must have his way--become an artist: there isno hope whatever of his succeeding in any other line of life. He is tobe humoured to the top of his bent. His passion is to be cured byindulging it. If he succeeds--well and good, --there is nothing more tobe said. If he fails, his failure will sober him, his friends argue:render him docile and tractable, obedient to parental commands for thefuture. 

He was sent up to London, at thirteen, to study under Hudson, Reynolds'spreceptor (and more remarkable on that account than on any other, thoughhis merits as a portrait-painter are less contemptible than manysuppose); all expenses were to be defrayed by the Mayor of Tiverton andkindly Mr. Oliver Peard. After a year under Hudson, young Cosway enteredShipley's Academy, already mentioned. Probably he was a somewhat puny, insignificant-looking lad, and was therefore made the butt and fag ofthe robuster students, compelled to attend upon them and obey theirbehests, even to performing menial offices, just as younger boys do inother academies--for might is right in the world of school--and thus Mr. Smith's errand-boy story may have originated. But it can be scarcelysaid to be substantiated by the further facts he proceeds to narrate:how that young Cosway in the course of a few years obtained no less thanfive premiums, some of five and one of ten guineas, from the Society ofArts: the first awarded when he was only fourteen years old, the lastwhen he was under four-and twenty. The unskilled errand-boy couldscarcely have received a prize instantly on his commencing to study. 

Quitting Shipley's, he became for a time a teacher at Parr's DrawingSchool, but was soon busily employed on his own account in supplying thejewellers' shops with miniature paintings on ivory; pretty heads andfancy subjects or mythological scenes to be framed with gold or set withdiamonds; the beau of the day was incomplete without a costly snuff-boxadorned with a lid, the prettiness of which, perhaps, somewhat surpassedits pudicity. Cosway seems to have been just the artist to supply ademand of this sort. He was industrious, fond of money, --but ratherbecause it ministered to habits, which were inclined to be extravagant, than for any very sordid reasons--and was without high views as to hisart. He did not mind debasing it a little, accommodating his friends theshopkeepers, and filling his own pockets. And his execution was veryrapid and adroit; he could put just as much work into his subjects aswould give them in uneducated eyes the effect of high finish, while intruth they occupied but little of his time, and provided him with mostample profits. But, if slight, they were certainly elegant; if not verypure in art, they were unquestionably pleasing to a large and importantclass. The demand for specimens of Mr. Cosway's ingenious taste becameat last almost in excess of his powers of supply. 

First, by his snuff-box subjects, and afterwards by his portraits--onivory or in red and black chalk--after the manner Bartolozzi hadintroduced--Cosway earned large sums. For many years he was reputed tohave been in possession of a handsomer income than could be secured bythe efforts of all his artist-brethren put together. But it must be saidfor him that he worked very hard. At the height of his fame he wouldsometimes boast as he sat down to dinner, that he had during the daydespatched some twelve or fourteen sitters. He would often completeportraits at three sittings of half an hour each. But then his finishwas of the slightest kind, and many of his miniatures can only beregarded, from a modern point of view, as tinted sketches, afterallowance has been made for the perishable nature of the pigments heemployed. He seems to have possessed a trick of enriching the colours ofthe eyes, lips, and cheeks of his sitters, by reducing every other huein the picture to a cold blue-grey tone. By this system of violentcontrast any hint of positive colour gained in warmth and brilliance toa remarkable degree. The miniature painter can hardly help improving andrefining the subjects he deals with; for one reason, because thedelicate nature of the material upon which he works, its exquisitesurface and delicate texture, imparts a marked purity to all his tints. The coarsest complexion gains in lustre and smoothness when attempt ismade to render it upon ivory; the dainty groundwork gleams through andgives beauty and clearness to the swarthiest hues. And then, in additionto this, Cosway had in full the portrait-painter's faculty of flatteringhis sitters. He could hardly fail to please them. He understoodthoroughly how, while preserving a real resemblance, to catch thehappiest expression; to subdue unattractive lines; to modify plainfeatures; to conceal weaknesses; bringing out the really good points ofa face; to light up dull eyes, and flush pale lips and cheeks. Thefaults of his portraits consist in their over-conscious graciousness;they smile and sparkle and are arch and winning to an excess thatsometimes approaches inanity. And he was disposed, perhaps, to recordthe fashions of his time with too intense insistence. There was a ragethen, as we know, for a piling up on the head of all sorts of finery:feathers, lace, ribbons, velvet hats, mob-caps, and strings of pearls. Cosway will hold back from us none of these adornments, rather he willforce upon us a redundancy of them, and contemplating the aspects of thegrandmothers and great-grandmothers of the present generation as theyappear to us according to Cosway's art, we are led to the conclusionthat the dear old ladies were in truth most killing coquettes, withquite an extravagant regard for the dictates of their fashion-books, andoccupied by a passion for ogling their fellow-creatures to an extentthat was decidedly reprehensible. 

But it must be allowed that Cosway suited his customers, and, moreover, in the main satisfied the art-demands of his period. However sterncritics might censure, or rival painters scoff, his success was assured. And in artistic facility and accuracy of drawing, when he cared to beparticular in that respect, he could hardly be said to be behind hiscontemporaries. His copies from the antique were both graceful andcorrect, owing to his frequent practice in the Duke of Richmond'sgallery, and his outlines received the fervent admiration of Bartolozziand Cipriani. He tried his hand now and then at the high historic orderof art of Barry and Fuseli, but his ambition was probably limited to aless pretentious range, --'the little pleasing paradise of miniature, ' asAllan Cunningham phrases it; he cared rather for the caresses of theworld of fashion than the applause of the cognoscenti. In society he wasa power; for could he not by means of his pencil bestow, as it were, acertificate of beauty upon whom he would? Have not many of his sittersacquired, thanks to him, a reputation for good looks which has survivedeven to our day, and which, but for his skilful flattery, they nevercould have possessed at all? So, in drawing-rooms and boudoirs he wasfêted, and fondly greeted, and made much of, while plenty of money wasslipped into his pocket, and so, according to one of his biographers, from the gold he gained and the gaiety of the company he kept, he rosefrom one of the dirtiest of boys to be one of the smartest of men. 

He was, indeed, coxcombical in his smartness. But then he lived in dayswhen, among a large class, a love of fine clothes had risen to quite apassion. Patronized by the Prince of Wales, what could he do but imitatehis patron--who was nothing if not 'dressy?' 'The Macaronis' werefurnishing the sensation of the hour. A party of young gentlemen who hadmade the grand tour had formed themselves into a club, and from theiralways having upon their table a dish of macaroni--a comestible then butlittle known in England--they acquired the name of the Macaroni Club; atleast their name has been generally thus accounted for. The MacaroniClub was to the last century what Crockford's was to this. 'It wascomposed, ' says Walpole, 'of all the travelled young men who wear longcurls and spying glasses. ' In matters of fashion the Macaronis claimedabsolute supremacy. They ruled the world of _ton_--especiallyinteresting themselves in toilet matters. To wear a style of dress thathad not been sanctioned by the Macaroni Club was to be scouted as anouter barbarian. For a time everything was '_à la Macaroni_. ' It becamethe phrase of the hour--springing into existence as suddenly, possessingthe town as wholly, and disappearing at last as completely as suchphrases always do. Of course Cosway must be in the fashion, --must chimein with the universal humour. He dressed in the height of the Macaronivogue. His small plain person was to be seen in all public placesclothed in a mulberry silk coat profusely embroidered with scarletstrawberries, with sword and bag and a small three-cornered hat perchedon the top of his powdered toupée. He assumed a mincing, affected air--atone of excessive refinement and exquisite sensibility. He pretended toan absurd superiority over his fellows, and striving to conceal his realand more honest situation as a hard-working artist, posed himselfincessantly as a creature of fashion. Of course in the end he disgustedhis brother painters, while he did not really conciliate 'the quality. 'The former scorned him, his fine clothes, splendid furniture, and blackservants--the more satirical holding him up to ridicule in the shopwindows, by laughable caricatures, such as 'The Macaroni MiniaturePainter; or, Billy Dimple sitting for his picture:' the latter came tohis feasts, drank his wines, won his money from him at hazard, stimulated his extravagance to the utmost, while they made mouths at himbehind his back, and condemned in secret and among themselves the follyof his conduct. It must be said for the artist, however, that he toiledearnestly and successfully to make his professional earnings keep pacein some sort with his lavish private habits. Cipriani used to relate, that after whole nights had been wasted by Cosway in the most frivolousand worthless of pursuits, he was yet to be found at an early hour inhis studio, sedulously toiling to redeem lost time and money, verypenitent for the past, full of the best intentions for the future: allof course to be abandoned and forgotten when the evening came, thechandeliers were lighted, the cards strewed the table, and the world ofsociety gathered round him in his drawing-room again. 

A less honest source of emolument than his own pencil provided, Coswayfound in helping to supply the demand then existing for specimens of theold masters. The love of the connoisseurs for ancient art, even to itsmost suspicious examples, had survived the satire of Hogarth and theindignation of Barry. The patrons of the day were warmer friends to thepicture-dealers than to the painters. Modern works of any pretence wereat an alarming discount: the productions of the past were at highpremium. Cosway skilfully contrived to reap profits in the doublecapacity of dealer and painter. He joined the ranks of those whom Barry, in a tone of bitter complaint, describes as 'artful men both at home andabroad [who] have not failed to avail themselves of this passion forancient art ... For vending in the name of those great masters the oldcopies, imitations, and studies of all the obscure artists that havebeen working in Italy, France, and other places, for two hundred yearspast. ' Cosway went into the market of doubtful old masters, andpurchased largely; about many of his specimens there was probably nodoubt whatever. These he repaired, re-touched, re-varnished, re-framed, and sold for good prices, as 'masterpieces of ancient art, ' to suchnoble and gentle patrons as had galleries to fill, or walls to cover, and money to part with. This method of proceeding was doubtlessprofitable rather than honourable. Cosway's apologists--Hazlitt amongthem--say for him, that he was 'Fancy's child, ' the dupe of his owndeceptions, that he really believed in the genuineness, the pureoriginality of the old masters he had with his own hand worked upon, almost past identification. But self deception which is so decidedly asource of profit to the deceiver has, to say the least of it, asuspicious element about it. 

Cosway at first occupied a house in Orchard Street, Portman Square; butas his income improved, he moved to No. 4 Berkeley Street, opposite theDuke of Devonshire's wall, and at that time, according to Smith, he wasattended by a negro servant remarkable for having published an octavovolume on the subject of slavery. It was in Berkeley Street that Coswaywas first noticed by the Prince of Wales and his royal brothers, whoseliberal patronage of the painter brought him into fashionable andgeneral estimation. He was appointed painter in ordinary to the Prince;and in 1771 he was elected a Royal Academician. 

Cosway married Maria Hatfield, the daughter of an Englishman who hadmade a fortune by keeping an hotel at Leghorn. There is a tinge oftragedy about the lady's story. Four elder children had been secretlymurdered by a half insane maid-servant, whose crime remainedundiscovered until she was overheard threatening the life of the childMaria. Upon interrogation, the murderess confessed her guilt, and wascondemned to imprisonment for life. Other children were subsequentlyborn to the Hatfields. Charlotte, who lived to become the unhappy wifeof Coombe, the author of Dr. Syntax, and a son, afterwards known as anartist of some promise. Maria Hatfield was educated in a convent, whereshe learnt music and drawing. Subsequently she studied painting at Rome, and there made the acquaintance of Battoni, Maron, Fuseli, Wright ofDerby, and other artists. Upon her father's death she had resolved toreturn to the cloister; but her mother brought her on a visit to London, and a friendship she then formed with the popular Angelica Kauffmaninduced her finally to renounce all idea of a nun's life. Soon shebecame the wife of Richard Cosway. The marriage took place at St. George's, Hanover Square; Charles Townley, of Townley Marble celebrity, giving away the bride. 

She possessed beauty, --she was a fair Anglo-Italian with profuse goldenhair--talent, and money. The year of her marriage she exhibited certainhighly-admired miniatures at the Royal Academy. Her fame spread. Theyouth, the loveliness, the genius of Mrs. Cosway became town talk. Herhusband's house was thronged with people of fashion who came to see, admire the lady artist, and purchase specimens of her art. But Cosway, probably from pride, though it might be from an acute perception of thegreater advantages to be derived from reserve in such a matter, wouldnot permit his wife to paint professionally. A favoured few might nowand then become the possessors of some slight sketches by Mrs. Cosway;occasionally she might honour a lady of rank by painting her portrait;but Mrs. Cosway's ability, it was to be distinctly understood, was notplaced at the service of the general public. Of course this exclusivesystem enhanced the market value of the lady's works considerably, andwhile the majority of people were lauding Mr. Cosway as a husband toofond and indulgent to permit his sweet wife to ruin her health byharassing work at her easel, a judicious minority were perhaps doing Mr. Cosway stricter justice in accounting him a very cunning practitionerindeed, in the way of making the most of Mrs. Cosway's talent. 

For this, it must be said, however, that as the times went, it did notreally need such careful nursing; it was strong enough, or very nearlyso, to run alone: it was of a highly respectable order. The ladypossessed poetic feeling, with considerable artistic facility. Hersketches of scenes from Spenser, Shakespeare, Virgil, and Homer comparenot unfavourably with the designs of many of her contemporaries. And herportraits were of real merit; one of the fair Duchess of Devonshire, painted as the Cynthia of Spenser, extorted unbounded admiration fromthe critics and connoisseurs of the period. 

From Berkeley Street Cosway removed to the south side of Pall Mall, occupying part of the large mansion originally erected by the Duke ofSchomberg--that 'citizen of the world, ' as Macaulay calls him, who wasmade a Duke, a Knight of the Garter, and Master of the Ordnance byWilliam the Third, and falling by his master's side at the battle of theBoyne, was, according to Lord Macaulay, buried in Westminster Abbey;but, in truth, it would seem that his remains were deposited in theCathedral of St. Patrick, Dublin, Dean Swift and the Chapter erectingthere a monument to his memory, and the Dean writing _more suo_ asarcastic epitaph[15] on the heirs who had neglected to do their duty bytheir great ancestor. Schomberg House--after the Duke's death dividedinto three separate houses, and still existing, though in a somewhatchanged and mutilated form, part of it being now occupied by the WarOffice--has sheltered many artists of fame under its roof. Here Jervaspainted--the pupil of Kneller, and the admired of Pope, whose deformitythe painter in his portrait of the poet did his best to mend andconceal; here lived mad Jack Astley, who made so prosperous a marriagewith the rich Lady Duckenfield; and Nathaniel Hone, the RoyalAcademician, retaining on the premises a negress model, famous for herexquisite symmetry of form; then Cosway--and, greatest of all, ThomasGainsborough, dying in an upper room on the 2d of August 1778. In thespacious saloons of Schomberg House, Cosway thought he should find ampleroom and verge enough both for himself and his fashionable friends. 

[15] This epitaph may be read in Mr. Samuel Lucas's _Secularia; or, Surveys on the Mainstream of History_, p. 293. 

And room was becoming very necessary; for Mrs. Cosway's receptions werenow the town rage--were crowded to inconvenience. They were marked bywhat was then a speciality; though it has since become a common enoughcharacteristic of such assemblies. 'Lions' were to be met withthere--literary, artistic, and otherwise. The last new poets, painters, players, were to be seen with their honours in their newest gloss; thelatest discoverers, navigators, and travellers--freshly escaped fromshipwreck or cannibals--the rising stars of the House ofCommons--anybody and everybody of the least note, with the provision, possibly, that they should be 'elegant and ingenious, '--these throngedthe charming Mrs. Cosway's drawing-rooms. The elect of society, for thefirst time on the same floor and under the same roof, met and shookhands, deriving a curious piquant sort of pleasure from the proceeding, with--_Bohemia_; the word must be used, though not an agreeable one, much misused and liable to be misinterpreted, and above all, though inthe Cosway period it was altogether unknown and unheard of. Especiallywere to be noted among the guests the Whig adherents of the Prince ofWales, the politicians of the buff and blue school: little Cosway, busyin the midst of them, attempting a statesman-like attitude, sympathizingwith revolution, and affecting to discover in the convulsions of theFrench nation the dawn of an empire of reason and taste, in which geniusand virtue alone would be honoured. Possibly the painter expressed toounreservedly his views in these respects. A prince may be permitted tomasquerade as a _prolétaire_; but for a bystander to talk redrepublicanism to a royal heir-apparent is rather doubtful taste, to saythe least of it. By-and-by wild Prince Hal came to power, and shrunkfrom his old associates. The Regent abandoned his buff and blue friends, looked coldly upon his whilom political companions: withdrawing hisfavour from Cosway among the rest. The painter troubled himself littleabout the matter. He was too proud or too indifferent to make any effortto regain the royal patronage. If he had done little to merit itsbestowal upon him in the first instance, certainly he had done nothingto deserve its withdrawal from him at last. 

A frequent guest at Mrs. Cosway's during the last ten years of his lifewas Horace Walpole, very pleased at receiving 'little Italian notes ofinvitation' from the winning lady. He relates to the Countess of Ossory, in 1786, his meeting 'la Chevalière d'Eon, ' after many years' interval, at Mrs. Cosway's. He found 'la Chevalière' noisy and vulgar; 'in truth, 'he writes, 'I believe she had dined a little _en dragon_. The night washot, she had no muff or gloves, and her hands and arms seem not to haveparticipated of the change of sexes, but are fitter to carry a chairthan a fan. ' At another time he admits: 'Curiosity carried me to aconcert at Mrs. Cosway's--not to hear Rubinelli, who sang one song atthe extravagant price of ten guineas, and whom, for as many shillings, Ihave heard sing half-a-dozen at the Opera House; no, but I was curiousto see an English Earl [Cowper] who had passed thirty years at Florence, and who is more proud of a pinchbeck principality and a paltry orderfrom Wirtemberg than he was of being a peer of Great Britain when GreatBritain was something. ' Elsewhere he speaks admiringly of Mrs. Cosway, and describes her reception as a Diet at which representatives of allthe princes of Europe assemble. 

From Pall Mall Cosway moved to a larger mansion at the south-west cornerof Stratford Place, Oxford Street. A carved stone lion stood on guard atthe entrance--a fact which incited some wag to affix to the door thefollowing lines, generally attributed to Peter Pindar:--

 'When a man to a fair for a show brings a lion, 'Tis usual a monkey the sign-post to tie on. But here the old custom reversed is seen, For the lion's without, and the monkey's within. '

According to Smith, a certain ape-like look in Cosway's face in ameasure justified the satire. Irritated by the attack, the painter movedonce more--to No. 20 in the same street. 

Dr. Wolcot (Peter Pindar), who had been busy throwing mud and stones atthe Royal Academicians, did not of course spare either Cosway or hiswife. In the lines beginning--

 'Fie, Cosway! I'm ashamed to say, Thou own'st the title of R. A. '

he recommends the painter to find some more honest calling, and bidsMrs. Cosway mend shirts and stockings, and mind her kitchen, rather thanexpose her daubs to the public. Then, as though repenting of hisrudeness, he proceeds:--

 'Muse, in this criticism I fear Thou really hast been too severe: Cosway paints miniatures with decent spirit, And Mrs. Cosway boasts some trifling merit. '

The furniture and fittings of Cosway's house in Stratford Place seem tohave been of a most extravagant kind. He surrounded himself with suitsof armour, Genoa velvet, mother-of-pearl, ebony and ivory, carving andgilding. His rooms were crowded with mosaic cabinets set with jasper, bloodstone, and lapis-lazuli, ormolu escritoires, buhl chiffoniers, Japanese screens, massive musical clocks, damask ottomans, with Persiancarpets and Pompadour rugs on the floor, and costly tapestries on thewalls; enamelled caskets set with onyxes, rubies, opals, and emeraldsloaded the tables; the chimney-pieces, sculptured by Banks, were deckedwith bronzes, cut-glass, models in wax and terra-cotta, Nankin, Dresden, and Worcester china: altogether the place must have been quite abroker's paradise. Yet the painter was immensely proud of it; neverseemed to weary of adding new curiosities to his overcrowded collection. 

The failing health of his wife compelled him at last to tear himselfaway from his splendid and beloved upholstery. He carried the ailinglady to Flanders and to Paris. During the tour his conduct was of themost lordly kind. He possessed, and highly prized, certain cartoonsattributed to Julio Romano, having refused a liberal offer for them fromRussia, because, as he explained, 'he would not sell works of eleganceto barbarians. ' Impressed with the size and emptiness of the LouvreGallery, however, he now offered his cartoons to the French King as agift. They were accepted, and four splendid specimens of Gobelintapestry were bestowed upon the painter in token of royal recognitionand gratitude. These tapestries Cosway, objecting to retain them, possibly lest they should seem to represent a price paid for hiscartoons, forthwith presented to the Prince of Wales. It was the humourof the grand little man to oblige royalty, the while he was moved by akeen regard for his own dignity. While at Paris he painted, by desire ofthe Duchess of Devonshire, portraits of the Duchess of Orleans andfamily, and the Duchess of Polignac; yet, when applied to for portraitsof the King or Queen, he declined the commission, stating that he hadcome abroad for the sake of his wife's health and his own amusement, andnot with professional objects in view. 

For a season Mrs. Cosway seemed benefited by the change, and returnedhome; but a second attack of illness compelled her again to leaveEngland, this time accompanied by her brother--a young artist whoseskill in design had gained him the gold medal of the Royal Academy. Walpole writes to the Miss Berrys at Florence: 'I am glad Mrs. Cosway iswith you.... But surely it is odd to drop her child and husband andcountry all in a breath!' The lady was absent three years, constantlyexpecting her husband to rejoin her; but he was prevented by variouscauses from quitting England. During her stay abroad her daughter died, an only child. It was some relief to the grieving mother to resume herart-labours, and she painted several large pictures for foreignchurches. At Lyons she was persuaded by Cardinal Fesch to attempt thefounding of a college for young ladies, but the war hindered herefforts, although she succeeded subsequently in carrying out a similardesign at Lodi. 

To their one child the parents were tenderly attached, although Walpole, while he admits Mrs. Cosway's affliction to be genuine, goes on to sayrather cruelly, --'the man Cosway does not seem to think that much of theloss belonged to him. ' According to Smith, however, he was dotingly fondof his little girl; was for ever painting her picture; and in oneportrait of her asleep, he introduced the figure of a guardian angelrocking the cradle. The body of the child was embalmed and preserved ina marble sarcophagus which stood in the drawing-room in Stratford Place. It was not until the return of Mrs. Cosway to England that the intermenttook place in Bunhill Row Burial Ground. 

Of Cosway and his wife, it is stated by the biographer of Mrs. Inchbald, who numbered them among her most intimate friends, that they were both'mystics, ' and 'could say almost as much of the unintelligible world asof this. ' Hazlitt describes the painter as a Swedenborgian, a believerin animal magnetism--professing to possess the faculty of second sight, crediting whatever is incredible. Had he lived in these our days, hewould probably have been a spiritualist, an electro-biologist, atable-turner. He was wont to proclaim his ability to converse with thedead or the distant, 'to talk with his lady at Mantua, ' says Hazlitt, 'through some fine vehicle of sense, as we speak to a servantdown-stairs through a conduit pipe. ' Smith tells us that he had oftenheard Cosway relate quite seriously, and with an air of conviction thatwas unimpeachable, conversations he professed to have held with KingCharles the First! Sometimes he would startle sober people by assertingthat he had just come from interviews with Apelles and Praxiteles. Fouryears after Pitt's death, Cosway, at the dinner of the Royal Academy, professed to have been that morning visited by the deceased minister, who declared himself prodigiously hurt, that during his sojourn uponearth he had not given greater encouragement to the artist's talents. Another Academician, however, rather outdid this story. 'How can youtalk such trash, Cosway?' he asked. 'You know all you have uttered to belies; I can prove it. For this very morning, after Pitt had been withyou he called upon me and said, "I know Cosway will mention my visit tohim at your dinner to-day, but don't believe a word he says, for he'lltell you nothing but lies. "' This unlooked-for counter-statement tookCosway by surprise, and left him without a reply. 

Walpole once said of him, happily, that 'he romanced with his usualveracity. ' Hazlitt thought a 'mystic' character was common to artists, instancing Loutherbourg, Sharp, Varley, Blake, and others, 'who seemedto relieve the literalness of their professional studies by voluntaryexcursions into the regions of the preternatural, to pass their timebetween sleeping and waking, and whose ideas were like a stormy nightwith the clouds driven rapidly across, and the blue sky and starsgleaming between. '

For Cosway's wonderful collection of articles of art, antiquarianism, and _vertû_, Hazlitt has only good-natured banter. Of what a strangejumble of apocryphal treasures the painter believed himself thepossessor! And he was without the doubts and anxieties of ordinarycollectors. They strive to believe and to cast aside all suspicion. ButCosway believed without the slightest effort; he was troubled by no hintof suspicion. His relics and curiosities were in his eyes absolutely andunquestionably genuine. His was the crucifix that Abelard prayed to; alock of Eloisa's hair; the dagger with which Felton stabbed the Duke ofBuckingham; the first finished sketch of the Jocunda; Titian's colossaloutline of Peter Aretine; a mummy of an Egyptian king; a feather of aPhoenix; a piece of Noah's Ark, etc. 'Were the articles authentic?' asksHazlitt; and he answers his own question--'What matter? Cosway's faithin them was true!'

Credit is due to the painter for his indomitable good spirits andbuoyancy of heart. His later years were passed in much pain. He had beentwice stricken with paralysis, and the use of his right hand had gonefrom him. Though removed from want, his old extravagant habits hadconsiderably impaired his fortune. He had long left Stratford Place fora humbler, cheaper house in the Edgeware Road. And he had somewhatoutlived his reputation. He had to endure severe criticism upon hisartistic merits: much calling in question of his position as a painter. Still he was always bright and gay and kindly. He would hold up thecrippled, wasted hand that had painted lords and ladies--the kings andqueens of society--for some sixty years, and smile with unabated goodhumour at the vanity of human wishes. So Hazlitt relates: going on tosay of him--'His soul appeared to possess the life of a bird; and suchwas the jauntiness of his air and manner, that to see him sit to havehis half boots laced on, you would fancy (by the help of a figure) thatinstead of a little withered old gentleman, it was Venus attired by theGraces. ' His nature was generous and frank. He gave liberally andcheerfully to almost everybody who applied to him for money. The numberof letters he received requesting pecuniary assistance was stated to bealmost incredible. Of borrowers who never repaid what they borrowed ofhim, and of patrons in default, of whom he was too proud to makerepeated claims for what was strictly his due, a long catalogue mighthave been made. 

He died suddenly at last of a third attack of paralysis, on the 4th dayof July 1821. The seizure occurred as he was taking a carriage drive toEdgeware, and he expired without a groan in a few minutes. He had longbeen in doubt as to whether he should prefer to be buried in his nativeDevonshire or with his favourite Rubens at Antwerp. But struck with theorderly plan of a funeral in the vaults of a London Church, he had said, 'I prefer this to Antwerp or St. Paul's: bury me here. ' He was interredaccordingly at Marylebone New Church (the work of young Smirke, son ofhis brother academician), a select number of his professional andpersonal friends, and a long line of the carriages of his aristocraticpatrons, following the funeral. 

Mrs. Cosway erected, on the north wall, under the gallery of the church, a monument by Westmacott, to her husband's memory. The followingindifferent epitaph by the painter's brother-in-law, 'Syntax' Coombe, was inscribed upon the marble:--

 'Art weeps, Taste mourns, and Genius drops the tear O'er him so long they loved who slumbers here. While colours last, and Time allows to give The all-resembling grace, his name shall live. '

After the death of her husband Mrs. Cosway quitted England, and took upher abode at her Ladies' College at Lodi, where she was much loved andrespected. How long she survived seems uncertain. Some accounts relatethat she died the same year as Cosway. But Allan Cunningham, writing in1833, described her as still living. 

THE STORY OF A SCENE-PAINTER. 

When, in the middle of the seventeenth century, Sir William Davenant, manager of the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, discarded the'traverses' and tapestries which had theretofore been accepted assufficient for the purposes of stage illusion, and substituted regularscenes 'painted in perspective, ' without doubt there were to be foundmany conservative old playgoers who lifted up their voices against thestartling innovation, and prophesied the approaching downfall of thedrama. If the grandsons present marvelled how elder generations couldfor so long have gone without such useful and necessary appliances, assuredly the grandsires were complaining that now things had come to apretty pass indeed, when a parcel of beardless, empty-pated boys, notcontent with stage fittings such as had been esteemed good andsufficient by the late Mr. William Shakespeare and his greatbrother-dramatists, demanded foolish paintings and idle garniture, thatdiverted attention from the efforts of the players and the purpose ofthe playwrights, and had never been dreamt of, and would never have beentolerated in the good, and simple, and palmy days gone by. Unquestionably, the first 'painting in perspective' brought upon theboards was, in the judgment of many, [16] the thin end of a wedge, which, as it thickened, was certain to drive forth and destroy all that wasintellectually and vitally precious in the drama, and to lead the way toa last scene of all in the eventful history of the stage, which shouldbe 'second childishness and mere oblivion. '

[16] 'I decidedly concur with Malone in the general conclusion thatpainted moveable scenery was unknown on our early stage; and it is afortunate circumstance for the poetry of our old plays that it was so:the imagination of the auditor only was appealed to, and we owe to theabsence of painted canvas many of the finest descriptive passages inShakespeare, his contemporaries, and immediate followers. Theintroduction of scenery gives the date to the commencement of thedecline of our dramatic poetry. '--_Annals of the Stage_, by J. PayneCollier, vol. Iii. P. 366. 

But the scene-painter having set foot within the theatre was not to beexpelled. The intruder soon won for himself a large popularity; held hisground against criticism and opposition. He was no mere journeymandauber. From the first he had taken distinct rank as an artist. Lustrousnames adorn the muster-roll of scene-painters. Inigo Jones plannedmachinery and painted scenes for the masques, written by Ben Jonson, for performance before Anne of Denmark and the Court of James the First. Evelyn lauds the 'very glorious scenes and perspectives, the work of Mr. Streeter, ' serjeant-painter to King Charles the Second. In February1664, the Diarist saw Dryden's _Indian Queen_ acted 'with rich scenes asthe like had never been seen here, or haply, except rarely, elsewhere ona mercenary theatre. ' Mr. Pepys--most devoted of playgoers--notesoccasionally of particular plays, that 'the machines are fine and thepaintings very pretty. ' In October 1667, he records that he sat in theboxes for the first time in his life, and discovered that from thatpoint of view 'the scenes do appear very fine indeed, and much betterthan in the pit, ' to which part of the house he ordinarily resorted. Thenames of the artists who won Mr. Pepys' applause have not come down tous. But previously to 1679, one Robert Aggas, a painter of some fame, was producing scenes for the theatre in Dorset Gardens. Nicholas ThomasDall, a Danish landscape-painter, settled in London in 1760, was engagedas scene-painter at Covent Garden Theatre, and was elected an Associateof the Royal Academy in 1771. For the same theatre, John Richards, aRoyal Academician, appointed secretary to the Academy in 1778, paintedscenes for many years. Michael Angelo Rooker, pupil of Paul Sanby, andone of the first Associates of the Academy, was scene-painter at theHaymarket. Other names of note might be mentioned before the modernreputations of Roberts and Stanfield, Beverley and Callcott, Grieve andTelbin are approached; and especially over one intermediate name are wedesirous of lingering a little. The story of the scene-painter of thelast century, who was well known to his contemporaries as 'the ingeniousMr. DE LOUTHERBOURG, ' presents incidents of singularity and interestthat will probably be found to warrant our turning to it for purposes ofinquest and comment. 

The biographers of Philip James de Loutherbourg are curiously disagreedas to the precise period of his birth. Five different writers haveassigned five different dates to that occurrence: 1728, 1730, 1734, 1740, and 1741; and it has been suggested, by way of explanation of thisdiversity, that the painter's fondness for astrological studies may haveinduced him to vary occasionally the date of his birth, in order that hemight indulge in a plurality of horoscopes, and in such way better thechance of his predictions being justified by the actual issue of events. He was born, at Strasbourg, the son of a miniature painter, who died atParis in 1768. Intended by his father for the army, while his motherdesired that he should become a minister of the Lutheran Church, he waseducated at the College of Strasbourg in languages and mathematics. Subsequently he chose his own profession, studying under Tischbein theelder, then under Vanloo and Francesco Casanova; the latter, a painterof battle pieces after the style of Bourgognone. By his landscapesexhibited at the Louvre, De Loutherbourg acquired fame in Paris, and in1763 was elected a member of the French Academy of Painting, being theneight years below the prescribed age for admission to that distinction, say the biographers who date his birth from 1740. Quitting France, hetravelled in Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, and in 1771 came toEngland, moved hitherward probably by the opinion then prevalent both athome and abroad, that (as Edwards puts it in his Anecdotes of Painting)'some natural causes prevented the English from becoming masters eitherin painting or sculpture. ' Shortly after his arrival in England he wasengaged by Garrick to design and paint scenes and decorations for DruryLane Theatre, at a salary of £500; a sum considerably larger than hadbeen thitherto paid to any artist for such services. 

Of gorgeous scenery and gay dresses Garrick was as fond as any managerof our own day; he knew that these were never-failing allurements to thegeneral public. Yet as a rule he confined his spectacle to theafter-pieces; did not, after the modern fashion, illustrate and decoratewhat he regarded as the legitimate entertainments of the theatre. Fornew as for old plays, the stock scenery of the house generally sufficed, and some of the scenes employed were endowed with a remarkablelongevity. Tate Wilkinson, writing in 1790, mentions a scene as then inuse which he remembered so far back as the year 1747. 'It has wings andflat of Spanish figures at full length, and two folding doors in themiddle. I never see those wings slide on but I feel as if seeing my oldacquaintance unexpectedly. ' Of the particular plays assisted by DeLoutherbourg's brush, small account has come down to us. They were, nodoubt, chiefly of a pantomimic and ephemeral kind. For the 'ChristmasTale, ' produced at Drury Lane in 1773--the composition of which has beengenerally assigned to Garrick, though probably due to Charles Dibdin--DeLoutherbourg certainly painted scenes, and the play enjoyed aconsiderable run, thanks rather to his merits than the author's. Someyears later, in 1785, for the scenery of O'Keeffe's _Omai_, produced atCovent Garden Theatre, the painter furnished the designs, for which hewas paid by the manager one thousand pounds, says Mr. J. T. Smith; onehundred pounds, says Mr. O'Keeffe; so stories differ! The scenery of_Omai_ was appropriate to the then newly discovered islands in the SouthPacific, and the play concluded with a kind of apotheosis of CaptainCook. In the course of _Omai_, Wewitzer, the actor who played a chiefwarrior of the Sandwich Islands, delivered a grand harangue in_gibberish_, which of course, for all the audience knew to the contrary, was the proper language of the natives; a sham English translation ofthe speech being printed with the book of the songs. The harangue wasreceived with enormous applause!

As a scene-painter, De Loutherbourg was decidedly an innovator andreformer. He was the first to use set-scenes, and what are technicallyknown as 'raking pieces. ' Before his time the back scene was invariablyone large 'flat' of strained canvas extending the whole breadth andheight of the stage. He also invented transparent scenes, introducingrepresentations of moonlight, sunshine, fire, volcanoes, etc. , andeffects of colour by means of silk screens of various hues, placedbefore the foot and side lights. He was the first to represent mists, bysuspending gauzes between the scene and the audience. He made somethingof a mystery of the artifices he had recourse to, was careful to leavebehind him at the theatre no paper or designs likely to reveal hisplans, and declined to inform any one beforehand as to the nature of theillusions he desired to produce. He secretly held small cards in hishand which he now and then consulted to refresh his recollection, as hisassistants carried out his instructions. 

After Garrick had quitted the stage (in 1776) and sold his share in themanagement of Drury Lane to Sheridan and his partners, it was proposedto De Loutherbourg to continue in his office of chief scene-painter, hissalary being reduced one half. This illiberal scale of remuneration theartist indignantly declined, and forthwith left the theatre. He is said, however, by Parke in his _Musical Memoirs_, to have painted the scenesfor the successful burletta of _The Camp_, produced by Sheridan, atDrury Lane, in 1778. [17] But he now devoted himself more exclusively tothe production of easel-pictures. He had, in 1773, become a contributorto the Exhibition of the Royal Academy. In 1780 he was elected anAssociate; in the following year he arrived at the full honours ofacademicianship. Peter Pindar, in his 'Lyrical Odes to the RoyalAcademicians for 1782, ' finds a place for De Loutherbourg. Havingdenounced the unlikeness of Mason Chamberlin's portraits, he satirizesthe style of art of the landscape painter:--

 'And Loutherbourg, when Heaven so wills, To make brass skies and golden hills, With marble bullocks in glass pastures grazing: Thy reputation too will rise, And people gaping with surprise, Cry "Monsieur Loutherbourg is most amazing!"'

[17] Mr. Puff in the _Critic_, giving a specimen of 'the puff direct' inregard to a new play, says: 'As to the scenery, the miraculous powers ofMr. De Loutherbourg are universally acknowledged. In short, we are at aloss which to admire most, the unrivalled genius of the author, thegreat attention and liberality of the managers, the wonderful abilitiesof the painter, or the incredible exertions of all the performers. '

And in another ode he derides the artist's pictures as 'tea-boards, ''varnished waiters, ' and avows that his rocks are 'paste-board, ' whilehis trees resemble 'brass wigs, ' and his fleecy flocks 'mops. '

Probably the quiet of his studio oppressed our painter somewhat. Thesimple effects attainable in an easel-picture did not satisfy him. Hemissed the appliances of the stage: the coloured lights, thetransparent scenes, the descending gauzes, and cleverly combinedset-pieces. He would not go back to Drury Lane, however; as to that hewas fully determined. He would not toil for ungrateful managers, orpaint backgrounds merely to supplement and enrich the exertions of theactors. He decided upon providing London with a new entertainment; uponopening an exhibition that should be _all_ scene painting. 

Charles Dibdin, the famous sea song writer, who was also a dramatist, acomposer of music, an actor, a scene painter, and a manager, hadconstructed in Exeter Change what he whimsically called 'The PatagonianTheatre:' in truth, a simple puppet-show, upon the plan of thatcontrived years before by Mr. Powell, under the Piazza, Covent Garden, and concerning which Steele had written humorously in the _Spectator_. Dibdin, assisted by one Hubert Stoppelaer, humorist and caricaturist, wrote miniature plays for the doll performers, recited their parts, composed the music, played the accompaniments upon a smooth-toned organ, and painted the scenes. The stage was about six feet wide and eight feetdeep; the puppets some ten inches high; the little theatre was dividedinto pit, boxes, and gallery, and held altogether about two hundredpersons. For half a century no exhibition of the kind had appeared inLondon. The puppet show was old enough to be a complete novelty to theaudience of the day. For a time it thrived wonderfully; then managersand public seem both, by degrees, to have grown weary. Dibdin and hisfriend departed; the exhibition fell into the hands of incompetentpersons; then closed its doors. The dolls, properties, scenery, anddresses were brought to the hammer by merciless creditors; and there wasan end of the puppet-show. In 1782 De Loutherbourg took the theatre forthe exhibition of his EIDOPHUSIKON. 

De Loutherbourg had professedly two objects in view: to display hisskill as a scene-painter well versed in dioramic effects, and todemonstrate to the English people the beauties of their own country. Heaverred 'that no English landscape-painter needed foreign travel tocollect grand prototypes for his study. ' The lakes of Cumberland, therugged scenery of North Wales, and the mountainous grandeur of Scotland, furnished, he said, inexhaustible occupation for the pencil. He opposedthe prejudice then rife among artists and amateurs alike, that Englandafforded no subjects for the higher display of the painter's art. Heconfined the Eidophusikon for the most part to the exhibition of Englishlandscapes under different conditions of light and shadow. 

A chief view exhibited was from the summit of One Tree Hill, Greenwich. There was cleverness evinced in the selection of this landscape. A largepublic are always prepared to be pleased when they are shown somethingwith which they are well acquainted. Each spectator found himself, asit were, individually appealed to. Each had seen One Tree Hill, andcould bring to bear upon the subject his own personal knowledge andobservation, and so test and certify to the painter's skill. The viewwas a set-scene with a moveable sky at the back: a large canvas twentytimes the surface of the stage, stretched on frames, and risingdiagonally by means of a winding machine. De Loutherbourg excelled inhis treatment of clouds; he secured in this way ample room and vergeenough to display his knowledge and ingenuity. By regulating the actionof his windlass he could control the movements of his clouds, allow themto rise slowly from the horizon and sail obliquely across the heavens, or drive them swiftly along, according to their supposed density and thepower to be attributed to the wind. An arrangement of set-pieces cut inpasteboard represented the objects in the middle distance: the cupolasof Greenwich Hospital, the groups of trees in the park, the towns ofGreenwich and Deptford, and the shipping in the Pool; due regard beinghad to size and colour, so that the laws of perspective in distance andatmosphere might not be outraged; the immediate foreground beingconstructed of cork broken into rugged and picturesque forms, andcovered with minute mosses and lichens, 'producing, ' says a critic ofthe period, 'a captivating effect amounting indeed to reality. '

In his method of illuminating his handiworks, De Loutherbourg wasespecially adroit. He abandoned the unnatural system (introduced byGarrick on his return from the Continent in 1765) of lighting the stageby means of a flaming line of footlights, and ranged his lamps above theproscenium, out of sight of the audience. Before his lamps he placedslips of stained glass--yellow, red, green, blue, and purple; and byshifting these, or happily combining them, was enabled to tint hisscenes so as to represent various hours of the day and different actionsof light. His 'Storm at Sea with the loss of the _Halsewell_, East-Indiaman, ' was regarded as the height of artistic mechanism. Theship was a perfect model, correctly rigged, and carrying only such sailas the situation demanded. The lightning quivered through thetransparent canvas of the sky. The waves, carved in soft wood frommodels made in clay, coloured with great skill and highly varnished toreflect the lightning, rose and fell with irregular action, flinging thefoam now here, now there, diminishing in size and fading in colour asthey receded from the spectator. Then we read--'De Loutherbourg's geniuswas as prolific in imitations of nature to astonish the ear as to charmthe sight. He introduced a new art: _the picturesque of sound_. ' That isto say, he simulated thunder by shaking one of the lower corners of alarge thin sheet of copper suspended by a chain; the distant firing ofsignals of distress he imitated by striking, suddenly, a largetambourine with a sponge affixed to a whalebone spring--- thereverberations of the sponge producing a curious echo, as from cloud tocloud, dying away in the distance. The rushing sound of the waves waseffected by turning round and round an octagonal pasteboard box, fittedwith shelves, and containing small shells, peas, and shot; while twodiscs of strained silk, suddenly pressed together, emitted a hollow, whistling sound, in imitation of loud gusts of wind. Cylinders looselycharged with seed and small shot, lifted now at one end, now at theother, so as to allow the contents to fall in a pattering stream, represented the noise of hail and rain. The moon was formed by acircular aperture cut in a tin box containing a powerful Argand lamp, which was placed at the back of the scene, and brought near or carriedfar from the canvas as the luminary was supposed to be shining brightlyor to be veiled by clouds. These contrivances, from a modern point ofview, may strike the reader as constituting quite the A B C oftheatrical illusion. But then it must be remembered that they were, forthe most part, distinctly the inventions of De Loutherbourg, and, upontheir first introduction, were calculated to impress the public of hisday very remarkably. 

For two seasons De Loutherbourg's Eidophusikon, exhibited at thePatagonian Theatre in Exeter Change, and afterwards at a house in PantonSquare, was attended with singular success. Crowds flocked to the newentertainment; the artist world especially delighting in it. Sir JoshuaReynolds, who was a frequent visitor, loudly extolled Mr. De. Loutherbourg's ingenuity; recommending him to the patronage of the mosteminent men of the time, and counselling all art-students to attend theexhibition as a school of the wonderful effects of nature. Gainsborough's ready sympathies were completely enlisted. For a time, after his manner, he could talk of nothing else, think of nothing else;and he passed evening after evening at the exhibition. He evenconstructed a miniature Eidophusikon of his own--moved thereto by DeLoutherbourg's success and the beauty of a collection of stained glass, the property of one Mr. Jarvis--and painted various landscapes uponglass and transparent surfaces, to be lighted by candles at the back, and viewed through a magnifying lens upon the peep-show principle. Butat last the fickle public wearied of the Eidophusikon, as it had beenwearied of Mr. Dibdin's puppets. The providers of amusement had, inthose days, to be ever stirring in the production of novelties. Thesight-seeing public was but a limited and exhaustible body then, littlerecruited by visitors from the provinces or travellers from theContinent. Long runs of plays or other entertainments--the rule withus--were then almost unknown. The Eidophusikon ceased to attract. Theamount received at the doors was at last insufficient to defray theexpenses of lighting the building. It became necessary to close theexhibition and provide a new entertainment. Soon the room in ExeterChange was crowded with visitors. Wild beasts were on view, and allLondon was gaping at them. 

Meanwhile De Loutherbourg prospered as an artist. His reputation grew;his pictures were in request; he was honoured with the steady patronageof King George III. , and was personally an acknowledged favourite atcourt: a thoroughly successful man indeed. Then we come down to the year1789, and find the artist of the Eidophusikon assuming a new character. He has become a physician--a seer--a fanatic--and, it must be said, aquack; a disciple of Mesmer, a friend of Cagliostro; practising animalmagnetism, professing to cure all diseases, and indulging invaticination and second sight. 

Towards the close of the eighteenth century, credulity and impositionshook hands heartily and held a great festival. Throughout civilizedEurope a sort of carnival of empiricism prevailed. Quack was king. Aspurious leaven of charlatanism was traceable in politics, in science, in religion--pervaded all things indeed. The world was mad to cheat orto be cheated. The mountebank enjoyed his saturnalia. Never had heexhibited his exploits before an audience so numerous and sosympathetic--so eager to be swindled, so liberal in rewarding theswindler. Gravely does Miss Hannah More address Mr. Horace Walpole, concerning what she terms the 'demoniacal mummery'--'the operation offraud upon folly' which then occupied the country. 'In vain do we boastof the enlightened eighteenth century, and conceitedly talk as if humanreason had not a manacle left about her, but that philosophy had brokendown all the strongholds of prejudice, ignorance, and superstition; andyet, at this very time, Mesmer has got a hundred thousand pounds byanimal magnetism in Paris, and Mainaduc is getting as much in London. There is a fortune-teller in Westminster who is making little less. Lavater's physiognomy books sell at fifteen guineas a set. The diving[divining?] rod is still considered as oracular in many places. Devilsare cast out by seven ministers; and, to complete the disgracefulcatalogue, slavery is vindicated in print and defended in the House ofPeers! Poor human nature, when wilt thou come to years of discretion?'Mr. Walpole writes back (he has always a _proper_ tone for Miss More, reserving his levity and license for less staid correspondents):--'Alas!while Folly has a shilling left, there will be enthusiasts and quackdoctors;' and he adds, airing his pet affectation--a hatred of royalty, a love for republicanism--'and there will be slaves while there arekings or sugar-planters. '

Joseph Balsamo--more generally known by his pseudonym of Count AlexanderDe Cagliostro, expelled from France, after nine months' durance in theBastille, on account of his complicity in the diamond necklace fraud andscandal--had taken refuge in England, bringing with him a long list ofquackeries and impostures; among them, his art of making old women youngagain; his system of 'Egyptian freemasonry, ' as he termed it, by virtueof which the ghosts of the departed could be beheld by their survivingfriends; and the secrets and discoveries of the great Dr. Mesmer in theso-called science of animal magnetism. Walpole at once proclaims the mana rascal, and proposes to have him locked up for his mummeries andimpositions. Miss More laments that people will talk of nothing else. 'Cagliostro and the cardinal's necklace, ' she writes, 'spoil allconversation, and destroyed a very good evening at Mr. Pepys's lastnight' A discussion of such subjects was by no means compatible withMiss More's notion of a good evening. 

What could have induced simple-minded Mr. De Loutherbourg to put trustin this arch-juggler? Can it have been that from the painter's nativeStrasbourg had come to him unimpeachable accounts of Cagliostro's featsduring his stay there, which had preceded his nefarious expedition toParis? But the artist is ever excitable, receptive, impressible--theready prey of the dealer in illusion and trickery. De Loutherbourg issoon at the feet of the quack Gamaliel; soon he is proclaiming himselfan inspired physician, practising mesmerism. Cosway and his wifedeclared themselves clairvoyants. Other painters of the period weredreaming dreams and seeing visions. Nor was it only the artist worldthat took up with, and made much of, Count Cagliostro and his strangedoings. Wiser people than Mr. De Loutherbourg were led astray by themountebank, though they did not wander so far from the paths of reasonand right, nor publish so glaringly the fact of their betrayal intoerror. Cagliostro was the rage of the hour. The disciples of Dr. Mesmerwere without number. It was in ridicule of general rather than classcredulity that Mrs. Inchbald wrote (or adapted) her comedy of _AnimalMagnetism_, produced on the stage of Covent Garden in 1788. 

A curious fanatical pamphlet, by one Mary Pratt, of Portland Street, Marylebone, was published in 1789. It was entitled, _A List of Cursesperformed by Mr. And Mrs. De Loutherbourg, of Hammersmith Terrace, without Medicine: By a Lover of the Lamb of God_, and was dedicated tothe Archbishop of Canterbury in very high-flown terms. Mr. DeLoutherbourg was described as 'a gentleman of superior abilities, wellknown in the scientific and polite assemblies for his brilliancy oftalents as a philosopher and painter, ' who, with his wife, had been madeproper recipients of the 'divine manuductions, ' and gifted with power'to diffuse healing to the afflicted; whether deaf, dumb, lame, halt, orblind. ' The Archbishop was therefore entreated to compose a form ofprayer to be used in all churches and chapels, that nothing mightprevent the inestimable power of the De Loutherbourgs from having itsfree course, and to order public thanksgiving to be offered up for thesame. In her preface, Mrs. Pratt stated that her pamphlet had beenpublished without the consent of Mr. De Loutherbourg, and that he hadreprimanded her on account of it, and enjoined her positively tosuppress it; but that on mature reflection she had considered it moreadvisable to offend an individual rather than permit thousands of herfellow-creatures to remain strangers to the precious gifts of thepainter. 'I judged by my own private feelings, ' she writes, 'that had Iany relative either deaf, dumb, blind, or lame, how thankful I should beto find a cure (_more especially gratis_); therefore I suffered thepamphlet to be sold, in hopes that by circulating these most solemntruths, many poor afflicted people might come and be healed. '

The cures enumerated in Mrs. Pratt's list would be marvellous enough ifthe slightest credit could be attached to the lady's wild statements. DeLoutherbourg's treatment of the patients who flocked to him wasundoubtedly founded on the practice of Mesmer, though Horace Walpoleappears to draw a distinction between the curative methods of the twodoctors, when he writes to the Countess of Ossory in July 1789:'Loutherbourg the painter is turned an inspired physician, and has threethousand patients. His sovereign panacea is barley water. I believe itis as efficacious as mesmerism. Baron Swedenborg's disciples multiplyalso. I am glad of it. The more religions and the more follies thebetter: they inveigle proselytes from one another. ' In a subsequentletter he writes, in reference to a new religion advocated by Taylorthe Platonist:--'He will have no success. Not because nonsense is notsuited to making proselytes--witness the Methodists, Moravians, BaronSwedenborg, and Loutherbourg the painter--but it should not be learnednonsense, which only the literate think they understand after longstudy. Absurdity announced only to the ear and easily retained by thememory has other guess operation. Not that I have any objection to Mr. Taylor for making proselytes: the more religions the better. If we hadbut two in the island they would cut one another's throats for power. When there is plenty of beliefs the professors only gain customers hereand there from rival shops, and make more controversies than converts. 'This letter was also written to the Countess of Ossory. It was hardly inso free a vein on such a subject that the writer would have ventured toaddress Miss Hannah More; with whom Mr. Walpole was fond ofcorresponding about this period. 

In Mrs. Pratt's List we read of a lad named Thomas Robinson, sufferingfrom the king's evil, and dismissed from St. Bartholomew's Hospital asincurable, brought before Mr. De Loutherbourg, who 'administered to himyesterday in the public healing-room, amidst a large concourse, amongwhom were some of the first families of distinction in the kingdom, ' andwholly cured the sufferer. The two daughters born deaf and dumb of Mrs. Hook, Stable Yard, St. James's, waited upon Mrs. De Loutherbourg, 'wholooked upon them with an eye of benignity and healed them. ' 'I heardthem both speak, ' avers Mrs. Pratt, by way of settling the matter. Amongother cures we find 'a man with a withered arm which was useless, curedin a few minutes by Mr. De Loutherbourg in the public healing-room atHammersmith;' 'Mr. Williams, of Cranbourne Street, ill of a fever, hadkept his bed ten weeks, was cured instantly;' 'a gentleman, confinedwith gout in his stomach, kept his bed, was cured instantly;' 'agreen-grocer in Weymouth Street, Marylebone, next door to the Weavers'Arms, cured of lameness in both legs--went with crutches--is perfectlywell;' 'a Miss W----, a public vocal performer, cured, --but had notgoodness of heart enough to own the cure publicly;' 'a child cured ofblindness, at Mr. Marsden's, cheesemonger, in the borough. ' Other casesare set forth; but the reader will probably consider that specimensenough have been culled from Mrs. Pratt's pamphlet. 

That the proceedings of the De Loutherbourgs attracted extraordinaryattention is very certain. Crowds surrounded the painter's house atHammersmith, so that it was with difficulty he could go in or out. Particular days were set apart and advertised in the newspapers as'healing days, ' and a portion of the house was given up as a'healing-room. ' Patients were admitted to the presence of theartist-physician by tickets only, and to obtain possession of these, itis said that three thousand people were to be seen waiting at one time. Mrs. Pratt recounts 'with horror and detestation 'the wickedness ofcertain speculators in the crowd, who, having procured tickets gratis, unscrupulously sold them, at a profit ranging from two to five guineas, to buyers who were tired of waiting. De Loutherbourg complained bitterlythat out of the thousands he professed to have cured, but few returnedto thank him for the great benefits he had conferred upon them. Hepreferred to believe in the ingratitude of his patients rather thanadopt the more obvious and reasonable course of questioning the perfectvirtue of his curative powers, Mrs. Pratt, in concluding her pamphlet, entreats the magistracy or governors of the police to wait on Mr. DeLoutherbourg and consult with him as to a proper mode of promoting hislabours, and suggests that a 'Bethesda' should be forthwith built forthe reception of the sick, and that officers should be appointed topreserve decorum, and to facilitate the efforts of Mr. And Mrs. DeLoutherbourg, 'without so much crowding. ' Finally she exhorts the worldat large to contribute generously to the promotion of these beneficialobjects. 

But even at the date of Mrs. Pratt's pamphlet the tide was turning--hadturned. The nine days' wonder was over. The mania was dying ofexhaustion. Incidentally, the lady relates that 'having suffered all theindignities and contumely that man could suffer, ' the inspired physicianhad for a time retired from practice into the country. 'I have heard, 'she continues, 'people curse him and threaten his life, instead ofreturning him thanks. ' In truth, as the public credulity waned, thedoctor's cures failed. His labours were of no avail; his prophecies werefalsified. His patients rose against him; the duped grew desperate; themob became exceeding wroth. The house in Hammersmith Terrace wasattacked; stones were thrown, and windows smashed. Not much furthermischief was done, however. De Loutherbourg and his wife prudentlywithdrew from public observation--quitted the kingdom. They were nextheard of in company with their friend Count Cagliostro in Switzerland;Madame Cagliostro having accompanied them in their journey from England. But Count Cagliostro's career of jugglery and fraud was nearly over. Onthe night of the 27th December 1789, he was arrested in Rome, and shutup in the Castle of St. Angelo, whence he never emerged alive. 

In the curious and scarce _Life and Adventures of Joseph Balsamo, commonly called Count Cagliostro_, translated from the Italian, andpublished in London in 1791, copies are given of certain strange papersfound in his possession, concerning which he was examined by theInquisition during his imprisonment. In one of these documents there isunquestionable reference to De Loutherbourg, though the painter's nameis not given at length, and appears surrounded by the jargon ofCagliostro's so-called system of Egyptian freemasonry, of which it isnot possible to render any satisfactory interpretation. We extract fromthe paper the following:--

 '_On the twentieth day of the eighth month_--

 'The Grand Master being employed in his operations, after the usual ceremonies, the Pupil, before seeing the angel, said, "I find myself in a dark room. 

 '"I see a golden sword suspended over my head. 

 '"I perceive Louth--g arrive. 

 '"He opens his breast and shows a wound in his heart; he holds out a poniard to me. "

 '_Grand Master_. "Is he employed in the service of the Grand Cophte?"

 '_Pupil_. "Yes. "

 '_G. M_. "What else do you see?"

 '_P_. "I see a star. 

 '"I see two. 

 '"I see seven. "

 '_G. M_. "Proceed. "

 '_P_. "Louth--g has retired--the scene changes, I see seven angels, " etc. Etc. 

Cagliostro was ordered by the Inquisition to explain the meaning of thispaper. He professed the profoundest ignorance as to its purport. Therewill probably be no great harm in concluding, therefore, that it did notpossess meaning of any kind. But the reader is left to form his ownopinion on the subject. 

Soon De Loutherbourg was found to be again in England. But he practisedno more as an inspired physician; he now followed sedulously hislegitimate profession. His eccentricities and escapades were overlooked;it seems to have been agreed that he had been more fool thanknave--that he had imposed upon himself quite as much as upon otherpeople. 

A highly esteemed painter, he was permitted to resume his place insociety. In proof of the regard in which he was held, it may be notedthat the guardians of the De Quinceys deemed it worth while to pay DeLoutherbourg a premium of one thousand guineas, to receive as a pupilWilliam, the elder brother of Thomas De Quincey, who had given promiseof skill in drawing. The young fellow died, however, in his sixteenthyear, about 1795, in the painter's house at Hammersmith. A more moderatesum had some years previously been demanded of Mr. Charles Bannister, the actor, for the art-education of his son John. For a payment of fiftypounds per annum for four years, it was agreed that John Bannistershould be taught, boarded, and lodged. But the arrangement came tonothing. De Loutherbourg demanded the payment of the money in advance. He mistrusted the players. They had caricatured him on the stage as 'Mr. Lanternbug, ' in General Bourgoyne's comedy, _The Maid of the Oaks_; andthen his mocking artist brethren caught at the nickname, corrupting it, however, to 'Leatherbag. ' Mr. Bannister was unable or unwilling tocomply with the painter's requirements: so young John was sent to theschool of the Royal Academy, which he soon deserted, and finally trodthe boards, and charmed the town as an actor. Another pupil of DeLoutherbourg, and a close imitator of his worst manner, who is yetworthy of public notice as the founder of the Dulwich Gallery, wasFrancis Bourgeois, knighted by the King of Poland. Edward Dayes, artist, critic, and biographer of artists, is said to have exclaimedeccentrically in reference to Sir Francis: 'Dietricy begat Casanova, Casanova begat De Loutherbourg, De Loutherbourg begat Franky Bourgeois, a dirty dog, who quarrelled with nature, and bedaubed her works!'

By his pictures of 'Lord Howe's Victory on the 1st of June 1794, ' and'The Storming of Valenciennes, ' De Loutherbourg acquired greatpopularity. [18] For Macklin's Bible (most luxurious of editions, inseven folio volumes, published in seventy parts at one guinea each!) hepainted 'The Angel destroying the Assyrian Host, ' and 'The Deluge;' thelatter a particularly spirited and effective performance. Dayes, hiscontemporary, suggests, however, that he was made a historical painterby the printsellers, rather than by the sufficiency of his own genius inthat respect. For the higher purposes of art, his composition was toodefective, his drawing not masterly enough, and his execution too smalland delicate. But Dayes greatly admired De Loutherbourg's 'Review ofWarley Camp, ' in the Royal Collection; especially praising the animalsintroduced, and the cool grey of the general effect; the painter as arule being prone to a somewhat coppery tone of colour. 

[18] 'July 25th, 1798. Went with Geiseveiller to see the picture of the"Siege of Valenciennes" by Loutherbourg. He went to the scene of actionaccompanied by Gilray, a Scotchman, famous among the lovers ofcaricature; a man of talents, however, and uncommonly apt at sketching ahasty likeness. One of the merits of the picture is the portraits itcontains, English and Austrian. The Duke of York is the principal figureas the supposed conqueror; and the Austrian general, who actuallydirected the siege, is placed in a group, where, far from attractingattention, he is but just seen. The picture has great merit; thedifference of costume, English and Austrian, Hulan, etc. , ispicturesque. The horse drawing a cart in the foreground has that faultyaffected energy of the French school, which too often disgraces theworks of Loutherbourg. Another picture by the same artist, as acompanion to this, is the victory of Lord Howe on the first of June;both were painted at the expense of Mechel, printseller at Basle, and ofV. And R. Green, purposely for prints to be engraved from them. For thepictures they paid £500 each, besides the expenses of Gilray's journeysto Valenciennes, Portsmouth, etc'--_Diary of_ THOMAS HOLCROFT. 

In 1808, Turner, appointed Professor of Perspective to the RoyalAcademy, went to live at Hammersmith, in order, it has been suggested, to be near De Loutherbourg, of whose works he was known to be anadmirer. That he should have aided in the art-training and forming ofthe greatest of landscape painters is a real tribute to the merits of DeLoutherbourg. It is something to have been even the fuel that helped thefire of a great genius to burn the more brightly. 

The characteristics of the old scene-painter's art which attracted theattention of Turner, were doubtless the boldness and strength of hiseffects: his rolling clouds and tossing waters; his suddenjuxta-positions of light and shade; his bright and transparent, ifoccasionally impure and unnatural, system of colour. He was of anotherand inferior school to Richard Wilson, Gainsborough, and Constable, who, differing widely in their points of view and in their methods of art, are yet linked together by a common love of the natural aspects of theobjects they studied, and a preference for a tender and temperate overwhat may be called a hectic and passionate rendering of landscape. Butsucceeding or failing, De Loutherbourg certainly aimed at thereproduction of certain pictorial _tours de force_ which they wouldnever have attempted. He was an innovator in the studio as on the stage. According to modern modes of thought he was not, of course, aconscientious worker. His landscapes were indeed begun, continued, andcompleted in his painting-room. A few crude pencil lines upon a cardwere enough for him to take home with him; for the rest he relied uponhis memory or his invention. But in such wise was the general method ofhis time. Painters produced their representations of land and sea afterclose toil by their firesides. There was not much taking of canvasesinto the open air in the days of De Loutherbourg. Pursuing such asystem, he became, necessarily, very mannered; and yet, with other andgreater men, he helped to destroy a conventional manner in art. Ruleshad been laid down restricting the artist to an extent that threatenedto oust nature altogether from painting. It had been decreed, forinstance, that in every landscape should appear a first, second, andthird light, and, at least, _one_ brown tree. Departure from such aprinciple was, according to Sir George Beaumont and others, flatheresy. De Loutherbourg avowed himself a heretic. And he ventured toobject to the old-established, well-known classically-composedlandscape, which was becoming an art nuisance. The thing has disappearednow, but the reader has probably a dim acquaintance with theclassically-composed landscape. It was somewhat in this wise: in noparticular country, a temple of ruins on the right hand was balanced bya trio of towering firs on the left. In the middle distance was raisedanother temple in a more tenantable state of repair, above a rivercrossed by a broken bridge, the ragged arches strongly reflected in thewater; at the back, in the centre of the horizontal line (gracefullywaved with lilac mountains), was the sun, rising or setting, it wasnever quite certain which; whilst little ill-drawn, inch-high figuresstraggled about in the foreground, and furnished a name to the picture:Æneas and Dido, Venus and Adonis, Cephalus and Aurora, Apollo andDaphne, etc. Etc. De Loutherbourg's dashing sea-views and stormylandscapes, although they might savour a little of the lamp and thetheatre, did service in hindering the further production of the'classical compositions' of the last century. 

De Loutherbourg died on the 11th March, 1812, at the house inHammersmith Terrace, which had been the scene of his exploits as aninspired physician. He was buried in Chiswick churchyard, near the graveof William Hogarth. 

THE STORY OF AN ENGRAVER. 

The father of John Keyse Sherwin was a hard-working man, living humblyenough at Eastdean, Sussex, earning his subsistence by cutting andshaping wooden bolts for shipbuilders. Up to his seventeenth year theson, born in 1751, helped the father in his labours. A fine, sturdy, well-grown lad, with abundant self-confidence, young Sherwin seems tohave acquired, now one knows exactly how, an inclination for art. Shownone day, at the house of a rich employer, a miniature painting of somevalue, the youth stoutly asserts his conviction that, if provided withproper materials, he can produce a fair imitation of the work beforehim. Drawing-paper is given him, and a pencil is thrust into a hand thathas grown so hard and horny with constant hewing of wood that itscarcely possesses sensitiveness sufficient to grasp and ply the slimlittle art-implement. The young fellow perseveres, however, and finallyproduces a tolerable copy of the picture. 

Much surprise and interest are excited by this achievement of thewoodcutter's son. In Sherwin's days 'the patron' was a part which richpeople were rather fond of playing. The fact of having discovered a newartist was in itself a sort of certificate of the discoverer's acumenand taste. If the patronized succeeded, the patron forthwith took highrank as a connoisseur; while on the other hand, if the efforts of theprotégé resulted in failure, no great harm accrued to any one; a littlemoney was spent to no purpose: that was all. The mania for patronizingwas harmless enough; if based upon some vain glory, there was still afair leaven of kindliness about it. In the present case, the patron hadlighted upon a really clever fellow. Young Sherwin was well worth allthe money and pains spent upon him by his first employer and friend, Mr. William Mitford, of the Treasury; and but for some inherent flaw in hismoral constitution, would have done his patron and himselfunquestionable credit. 

The young man was taken from wooden bolt-making, sent up to London, andplaced under Bartolozzi, an accomplished and very thriving designer andengraver, who formed one of the original members of the Royal Academy onits institution in 1768. Bartolozzi found his pupil apt. He made, indeed, rapid progress, and about 1772 received the Academy gold medalsfor drawings of 'Coriolanus taking leave of his family, ' and 'Venussoliciting Vulcan to make armour for her son. ' From 1774 to 1780 hisname is to be found in the catalogues of the Academy as an exhibitor ofvarious drawings, original and copied, in red and black chalks, afterthe manner his master had rendered popular. Sherwin had proved himself avigorous, dashing draughtsman, standing high in his preceptor's goodopinion, higher still in his own, and surely gaining the applause of thetown. 

Quitting Bartolozzi, he set up for himself, taking an expensive house inSt. James's Street. He there commenced a desultory system of designing, painting, and engraving; doing less engraving than anything else, however. It was his most legitimate occupation, but it was laborious, took time, was not very highly remunerated, and he wanted to makemoney--as much and as quickly as possible. He had patrons in plenty, eager for his graceful, facile drawings, prepared to pay good prices forthem; and the man himself became a favourite in society. He washandsome, ready, good-natured; well pleased to array his shapely personin smart raiment, disport himself in the drawing-rooms of the noble andrich, and add his name to the unprofitable list of fashion's votaries. 

He had fallen upon 'dressy' times. A handsome young Prince of Wales waspreaching, by example, that costliness of attire was indispensable amonggentlemen; and the woodcutter's son set up decidedly for being agentleman. A record of his costume on one occasion, when he was engagedto dine at his friend Sir Brook Boothby's, has come down to us. Asuperfine scarlet lapelled coat, with gilt dollar-sized buttons; aprofuse lace frill frothing over the top of his white satin, jasmin-sprigged waistcoat; small-clothes of the glossiest black satin, with Bristol diamond buckles; silk stockings, tinged with Scott'sliquid-dye blue, and decorated with Devonshire clocks; long ruffles, falling over hands once so worn with rude labour; extravagant bucklescovering his instep; and his hair piled up high in front, with threerows of side curls, pomatumed and powdered, and tied into a massive clubat the back of his head. Be sure that Mr. Sherwin, thus adorned, presented an imposing aspect; while his morning dress was scarcely lessstriking. Scarlet and nankeen were the colours chiefly favoured for thespring costume of the exquisites of the period. To the taste of a man offashion, Mr. Sherwin added an artist's discrimination. He was verydifficult to please in regard to shades of colour. It is told of himthat he had four scarlet coats made for him before his delicateperception in this respect could be altogether satisfied. He would havethe right tone of scarlet, or none at all. 'Fortunately, ' observes acritic personally acquainted with the fastidious gentleman, 'he had asmany brothers as rejected coats. ' And Sherwin was really kind-heartedand generous. There seems to have been no false pride about him. Withall his success and prosperity, his airs of fashion and pretentiousness, he was not ashamed of his less fortunate relatives--his wood-cuttingfather and brothers. He befriended them as long as he was able; tried tolift them up to his own position; brought them up to town, and did whathe could to make fine gentlemen of them. His efforts were not attendedwith much success, however. Possibly the world of fashion found that onemember of the Sherwin family was quite as much as it wanted. Besides, byreason of his abilities, the artist had a right to notice anddistinction; his relatives were without any such title. They were simplelabouring people, much amazed at the luxury and splendour with whichthey found their kinsman surrounded. A story is told of their diningwith the successful artist; when one of the younger lads, withoutwaiting or asking for a spoon, thrusts his fingers into a dish ofpotatoes to help himself. The father of the family, however, was quickto perceive his son's offence against good manners, and corrected him ina loud whisper: 'Moosn't grabble yer han' 'moong the 'tators _here_!'

At this time Sherwin was making about twelve hundred pounds a year. Withindustry he might have doubled that sum. But he was incorrigibly idle;was without rule or system. For one day that he worked he would wastethree in sauntering about, calling on his friends, and in all sorts offrivolous pursuits. And then the dissipations of the evening were as somany heavy mortgages upon the labour of the morning. His expenditure wasprofuse. He gave away money liberally in charity; was especially fond ofrelieving the distressed widows and orphans of clergymen, observing thatthe children of a poor curate were more to be pitied than those of aLondon artist--since the latter generally had some qualification bywhich they could gain a livelihood. All this had been well enough if Mr. Sherwin had been a man of independent fortune, or had even pursuedprudently his own profession. But, his plan of life considered, he had, in truth, no money to give away. His charity was only another form ofprodigality, He was a gambler, too. Such money as he gained when hewould condescend to work was quickly swept from him at the hazard-table. He was soon deeply in debt; his creditors growing more and moreimpatient and angry every day. 

As an artist, his rapidity and cleverness were remarkable. The late Mr. J. T. Smith, who was for some years keeper of the prints in the BritishMuseum, was in early life a pupil of Sherwin's, and bore testimony tothe singular ability of his master. He was ambidexterous. Occupied upona large engraving, he would often commence a line with his right hand, then, tossing the graver into his left, would meet and finish the lineat the other end of the plate with marvellous accuracy. He had greatknowledge of the human form, and would sometimes begin a figure at thetoe, draw upwards, and complete it at the top of the head in a curiouslyadroit manner. If he had but worked! Commissions poured in upon him, yethe left them unexecuted. He undertook contracts, yet could seldom bepersuaded to execute them. Sometimes when the fit seized him, or whenhis need of ready money was very urgent, he would apply himself withextraordinary energy, commencing a plate one day, sitting up all night, and producing it finished at breakfast-time the next morning. But thisindustry was only occasional and accidental. Speedily he relapsed againinto slothfulness and self-indulgence. 

People of note and fashion at one time thronged Mr. Sherwin's studio. Itwas his boast, that from five to five-and-twenty of the most beautifulwomen in London were to be seen every spring morning at his house. Forone day he hit upon a notable device, which would probably have made hisfortune if he had but given the thing fair play. He had made a drawingof the finding of Moses. No ordinary illustration of a scene fromBiblical history, however. Mr. Sherwin did not depend upon merely theintrinsic merits of his design; for Pharaoh's daughter was a portrait ofthe Princess-Royal of England, and grouped round her were all the mostdistinguished ladies of the English court--the Duchess of Devonshire, the Duchess of Rutland, Lady Duncannon, Lady Jersey, Mrs. Townley Ward, and others--some fifteen in all. Even tiny Moses was said to be aportrait of some baby of distinction, born conveniently at the time. Thepicture was a great success. Popular taste had been cunningly measuredand fitted. This ingenious interleaving of the Bible and the Peeragefound a host of admirers. There were some malcontents, of course: ladieswhose claims to be ranked among court beauties had been summarily passedover by the painter; for he has rather an invidious task before him whoundertakes to decide who are the fifteen most beautiful of English womenof quality. He is certain to make hundreds of enemies if he makesfifteen friends; and he cannot rely for certain upon doing even thatmuch, for, as happened in the present instance, jealousies may spring upamong the chosen fifteen. Mr. Sherwin was charged by certain of theladies portrayed in the picture with partiality and favouritism. Onebeauty had been shown too prominently in the design, greatly to theprejudice of other beauties, who were unfairly restricted to thebackground. And why should one lady be displayed so advantageously--in alight so brilliant--while other ladies not less attractive, as theyopined, were exhibited in so strangely subdued a way, with ugly shadowsmarring the lustre of their loveliness? And then why, was indignantlyasked, why had the artist arranged the portraits so cruelly? Why wasthis charming fair one, whose graces were of an irregular pattern--whosenose has a heavenward inclination--who pretends to no strictness ofbeauty, according to absurd rules laid down in drawing-books--why is shebrought into such fatal juxtaposition with this other severe andclassical-looking and statuesque lady! To be merely a foil? Muchobliged, Mr. Sherwin! The offended belle expressing angry and ironicgratitude sweeps from the painter's studio, gathering her rustlingskirts together that they may not be soiled by the least contact withthe canvases and plaster casts, and other art-paraphernalia and rubbishabout the place. 

The picture was without real artistic value, though undoubtedly prettyand graceful. It was a mere acted charade of the 'Finding of Moses, ' gotup impromptu as it were; the ladies being in ball-room attire, with highpowdered heads, strung with pearls and surmounted with feathers; theirsilken dresses trimmed with laces, and frills, and furbelows; theirfaces well whitened and rouged, according to the mode of the day. It wasmore like a plate from a fashion-book than a scene from Scripturehistory. True, some small attempt at imparting 'local colour' and air oftruth to the thing was just discernible. There was an affectation ofOrientalism about the background--a line of palm-trees and plenty ofpyramids and temples, presumed to be Egyptian, their style ofarchitecture being nondescript otherwise; but these only made theforeground figures appear more utterly preposterous. Still, the picturepleased the town. It was something to see in one group portraits of theprettiest women in the country. There was a great demand for copies ofthe engraving. And yet it was with difficulty the harebrained artistcould be induced to complete the plate, and supply his patrons andsubscribers with prints in return for their guineas. The thriftless, flighty fellow seemed to persist in misconceiving his situation, undervaluing his artist abilities; forgetting that but for these hewould still have been peg-cutting in the Sussex woods. He _would_ regardhimself as a gentleman of independent property, with whom art was simplya pastime--not at all an indispensable means of winning his sustenance. He seemed, indeed, to treat his talent as a sort of obstacle in hispath, blamed the world for having made him an artist, and was fond ofasserting that, for his own part, he should have preferred the army as aprofession!

He was a sort of Twelfth-Night King of Art. For a brief span his successseemed to be without limits. His house was daily besieged by beaux andbelles of quality. 'Horses and grooms, ' says Miss Hawkins in herMemoirs, 'were cooling before the door; carriages stopped the passage ofthe street; and the narrow staircase ill sufficed for the number thatwaited the cautious descent or the laborious ascent of others. ' But, ofcourse, this state of things did not last very long. Mr. Sherwin, by hisindolence--and indolence in his situation was a sort of insolence--soonput himself out of fashion. Fortune showered her gifts at his feet, buthe was too superb a gentleman to stoop and pick them up; so the goddess, wearying of conferring favours that were so ill-appreciated, turned awayfrom him in quest of more reverential votaries. When the footmen of thequality had done with playing fantasias upon his doorknocker, the dunstook their turn, and brought less pleasant music out of it. 

A troublesome time had the fashionable artist. He had to give all hisattention now to the question how his creditors could be evaded. For hepreferred evasion to payment. It never seems to have occurred to himthat the last was as efficacious a mode of silencing a dun's complaintas keeping out of his way; while it was infinitely preferable to thecreditor. But either he had not the money by him at the right moment, orhe wanted it for some other purpose--to spend in punch, probably--for hewas now devoting himself steadily to the consumption of that deleteriouscompound. He had become too idle now to work for more than thenecessities of the moment--to supply himself with pocket-moneysufficient for his immediate requirements. His argument was, that if hecould only postpone payment, he was quite justified in postponing work. The main thing was to avoid, put off, and distance his duns. Curiousstories are told of his efforts and exploits in this respect. An oldengraver, one Roberts, purblind from incessant poring overcopper-plates, after repeated calls, finds at last his mercurial debtorat home, and demands the settlement of his little bill for work done. Sherwin is very civil and obliging, promises to settle forthwith theaccount against him; then, taking base advantage of his creditor'sdefective vision, he makes good his escape, leaving Roberts confrontingthe lay-figure of the studio decked for the occasion with itsproprietor's coat and wig. Imagine the indignation of the creditor uponthe discovery of the imposture! Upon another occasion the artist, splendidly attired--for he is engaged to dine at Sir Brook Boothby's--isprisoned in his room, prevented from stirring forth by the fact that aGerman tailor, a determined creditor who will take no denial, who willlisten to no more excuses, has sat down at the chamber door, to starvethe debtor into surrender. Time passes; there is no exit from the housebut through the studio, and there is posted the inexorable dun, who hasalready waited five hours, who will wait five more--fifty more, if needbe--but he will see his debtor. And Mr. Sherwin has no money. What is heto do?

Presently the siege is raised. Good-natured Lord Fitzwilliam enters, appreciates the situation, produces his pocket-book, and satisfies thetailor's demand. 'Here, Mr. Sherwin, ' says his lordship to the relievedand grateful engraver, 'here is a present for you. Your tailor's receiptfor making a fine gentleman!' And Mr. Sherwin is free at last to go tohis dinner-party with what appetite he may. 

We have another glimpse of the artist--mad with drink, and up all night, alarming the neighbourhood by firing off pistols out of the window totestify his devotion to his patrons of the house of Cavendish, his joythat an heir had been born to the titles and honours of the dukedom ofDevonshire--and then he falls, disappears. Invitations no longer comefrom Sir Brook Boothby and other grand friends; or, if they come, theydon't find Mr. Sherwin at home. As long as he can he keeps his creditorsat bay; then takes to flight--hides to escape arrest. He binds himselfto work for a publisher who harbours and supports him. But it is toolate; he cannot work now if he would. He is greatly changed, hisconstitution has yielded at last to his repeated and reckless attacksupon it. His sight is dim, and his hand is palsied. He has yielded allclaim to be accounted an 'exquisite;' the fashions are nothing to himnow; he is simply a broken-down, worn-out, prematurely old man. Hiscourage has left him, his gay air of confidence has quite gone; hecannot look his misfortunes in the face; he shrinks from, shivers at, and, in his weakness and despair, exaggerates them wildly; they preyupon him, go near to driving him mad. Pursued and tracked to hispublisher's house--or is it merely his fears that mislead him?--he quitshis place of refuge, breaks cover, and flies he hardly knows whither. George Steevens, the editor of Shakespeare, wrote on the first October1790 to a correspondent at Cambridge: 'I am assured that Sherwin theengraver died in extreme poverty at "The Hog in the Pound, " an alehouseat the corner of Swallow Street; an example of great talents rendereduseless by their possessor. ' Miss Hawkins follows this narrative, andthe artist's decease is announced in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ of thesame year. It is proper to state, however, that Mr. Smith, his pupil, has recorded a less melancholy account of Sherwin's death, which tookplace, he says, 'at the house of the late Mr. Robert Wilkinson, theprintseller in Cornhill, who kindly attended him, afforded him everycomfort, and paid respect to his remains, his body having been conveyedto Hampstead and buried in a respectable manner in the churchyard, nearthe east corner of the front entrance. '

He was barely forty when he died. Prints from his engravings are stillhighly esteemed by collectors. If his talent was not of the very firstclass, it was still of too valuable a kind to be flung in thekennel--utterly degraded and wasted. 

SIR JOSHUA'S PUPIL. 

A young apprentice with very little heart in the study of his craft, after the manner of young apprentices, toiling in a watch andclock-maker's shop in the town of Devonport, heard one day the fame ofgreat Sir Joshua's achievements in London sounding through thecounty--became conscious that the good folks of the shire took pride inthe son of the Rev. Samuel Reynolds, Master of Plympton Grammar School. Why should not he, the apprentice, become as great, or nearly so, acredit to Devonport, his birthplace, as was Sir Joshua to Plympton, _his_ birthplace? Could one man only have art abilities and ambitions, and make for himself the opportunity to employ and gratify them? So theapprentice asked himself. And he must have been a clever fellow thatapprentice! He soon convinced himself--that was easy: but he convincedhis family; he convinced several of his townsmen--a more difficulttask, --that the best thing they could do with him was to send him up totown to study under his countryman, Sir Joshua, and to become, like him, a great painter. He had his way at last. In his twenty-fifth year he waspainting in the studio of Reynolds, living under his roof. 

After all, his dearest wishes gratified, perhaps the pupil was littlebetter off. If cleverness, like fever, were contagious, it had been allvery well. But the master was but an indifferent master. He could not, or would not, instruct. He was himself somewhat deficient ineducation--had few rules--only a marvellous love and perception of thebeautiful, and an instinctive talent for its reproduction on his canvas. It was as certain as it was innate, but not to be expressed in words, orcommunicated or reasoned upon in any way. The deeds of genius are thingsdone, as of course, for no why or wherefore, but simply because there isno help for it but to do them. So the pupils painted in the studio oftheir pseudo-preceptor for a certain number of years, copying his works;or, when sufficiently advanced, perhaps working at his backgrounds, brushing away at draperies, or such conventional fillings in ofpictures, and then went their ways to do what they listed, and for themost part to be heard of no more in art chronicles. They had probablybeen of more use to the painter than he had been to them. Certainly ourfriend the clockmaker's apprentice was. For when there arose a cry of'Who wrote Sir Joshua's discourses, if not Burke?' this pupil could givesatisfactory evidence in reply. He had heard the great man, his master, walking up and down in the library, as in the intervals of writing, atone and two o'clock in the morning. A few hours later, and he had theresults in his hands. He was employed to make a fair copy of thelecturer's rough manuscript for the reading to the public. He had notedDr. Johnson's handwriting, for _he_ had revised the draft, sometimesaltering to a wrong meaning, from his total ignorance of the subject andof art: but never a stroke of Burke's pen was there to be seen. Thepupil, it must be said for him, never lost faith in his master. Vandyke, Reynolds, Titian--he deemed these the great triumvirate of portraiture. Comparing them, he would say, that Vandyke's portraits were likepictures, Sir Joshua's like the reflections in a looking-glass, andTitian's like the real people. And he was useful to the great painter inanother way, for he sat for one of the children in the Count Ugolinopicture (the one in profile with the hand to the face). While posed forthis, he was introduced as a pupil of Sir Joshua's to Mr. Edmund Burke, and turned to look at that statesman. 'He is not only an artist, but hasa head that would do for Titian to paint, ' said Mr. Burke. He served, too, another celebrated man. With Ralph, Sir Joshua's servant, he wentto the gallery of Covent Garden Theatre, to support Dr. Goldsmith's newcomedy, _She Stoops to Conquer_, on the first night of its performance. While his friends are trooping to the theatre, the poor author is foundsick and shivering with nervousness, wandering up and down the Mall inSt. James's Park. He can hardly be induced to witness the production ofhis own play. Johnson's lusty laugh from the front row of a side boxgives the signal to the worthy _claque_, who applaud to an almostdangerous extent, in their zeal for their friend, because there runs arumour that Cumberland and Ossian Macpherson and Hugh Kelly are gettingup a hiss in the pit. 

'How did you like the play?' asked Goldsmith of the young painter, whohad been clapping his hands until they ached, in the gallery by the sideof good Mr. Ralph. 

'I wouldn't presume to be a judge in such a matter, ' the art-studentanswered. 

'But did it make you laugh?'

'Oh, exceedingly. '

'That's all I require, ' said Goldsmith, and sent him box tickets for theauthor's benefit night, that he might go and laugh again. 

Sir Joshua's pupil was James Northcote, a long-lived man, born atDevonport in 1746, and dying at his London house, in Argyll Place, Regent Street, in 1831. If he had a Titianesque look in his youth, hepossessed it still more in his age. Brilliant eyes, deeply set; grandprojecting nose; thin, compressed lips; a shrewd, cat-like, penetratinglook; fine, high, bald forehead, yellow and polished, though he oftenhid this with a fantastic green velvet painting cap, and stragglingbunches of quite white hair behind his ears. A little, meagre man, notmore than five feet high, in a shabby, patched dressing-gown, almost asold as himself, leading a quiet, cold, penurious life. He never married. He had never even been in love. He had never had the time, or he hadnever had the passion necessary for such pursuits, or he was too deeplydevoted to his profession. He was always, brush in hand, perched up on atemporary stage, painting earnestly, fiercely, 'with the inveteratediligence of a little devil stuccoing a mud wall!' cried flaming Mr. Fuseli. 

Haydon, with a letter of introduction from Prince Hoare, called uponNorthcote. He was shown first into a dirty gallery, then up-stairs intoa dirtier painting-room, and then, under a high window, with the lightfalling full on his bald grey head, stood a diminutive wizened figure inan old blue striped dressing-gown, his spectacles pushed up on hisforehead. Looking keenly with his little shining eyes at his visitor, heopened the letter, read it, and with the broadest Devon dialect, said--

'Zo you mayne tu bee a peinter, doo 'ee? What zort of peinter?'

'Historical painter, sir. '

'Heestoricaul peinter! Why, ye'll starve with a bundle of straw underyeer head. '

Presently he read the note again. 

'Mr. Hoare zays you're studying anatomy; that's no use--Sir Joshuadidn't know it. Why should you want to know what he didn't?'

'But Michael Angelo did, sir. '

'Michael Angelo! what's he tu du here? You must peint portraits here!'

Haydon was roused to opposition. 

'But I won't!'

'_Won't_, ' screamed the little man, 'but you _must_! Your vather isn't amoneyed man, is he?'

'No, sir, but he has a good income, and will maintain me for threeyears. '

'Will hee? Hee'd better make 'ee mentein yeerzelf. '

'Do you think, sir, that I ought to be a pupil to anybody?'

'No, ' said Northcote. 'Who's to teach 'ee here? It'll be throwing yourvather's money away. '

'Mr. Opie, sir, says I ought to be. '

'Hee zays zo, does hee? ha, ha, ha, ha! he wants your vather's money. '

He received many visitors in his studio. He was constantly at home, andliked to talk over his work, for he never paused on account of thecallers. He never let go his palette even. He went to the door with a'Gude God!' his favourite exclamation in his west country dialect, 'what, is it _you_? Come in:' and then climbed his way back to hiscanvas, asking and answering in his cool, self-possessed way, all aboutthe news of the day. Yet he was violent and angry, and outspokensometimes, was Sir Joshua's loyal pupil. 

'Look at the feeling of Raphael!' said some one to him. 

'Bah!' cried the little man. 'Look at Reynolds; he was all feeling! Theancients were _baysts_ in feeling, compared to him. ' And again: 'I tell'ee the King and Queen could not bear the presence of _he_. Do you thinkhe was overawed by _they_? Gude God! He was poison to their sight. Theyfelt ill at ease before such a being--they shrunk into themselves, overawed by his intellectual superiority. They inwardly prayed to Godthat a trap-door might open under the feet of the throne, by which theymight escape--his presence was too terrible!'

Certainly he was possessed by no extravagant notions of the divinity ofblood-royal. 

'What do you know, ' he was asked, 'of the Prince of Wales, that he sooften speaks of you?'

'Oh, he knows nothing of me, nor I of him--it's only his _bragging_!'the painter grandly replied. 

He could comprehend the idea of distinction of ranks little more thanold Mr. Nollekens, who would persist in treating the royal princes quiteas common acquaintances, taking them by the button-hole, forgetfulaltogether of the feuds of the king's family, and asking them _howtheir father did_? with an exclamation to the heir-apparent of, 'Ah! weshall never get such another when he's gone!' Though there was littleenough veneration for the king in this, as Nollekens proved, when hemeasured the old monarch, sitting for his bust, from the lip to theforehead, as though he had been measuring a block of marble, and at lastfairly stuck the compasses into his Majesty's nose. Even the king, whowas not very quick at a joke, could not fail to see the humour of thesituation, and laughed immensely. 

Modern taste prefers Northcote's portraits to his more pretentiousworks. The glories of Mr. Alderman Boydell's Shakespeare Gallery havepretty well passed away. However, Northcote's pictures were among thebest of the collection. His 'Arthur and Hubert, ' and the 'Murder of thePrinces in the Tower, ' and 'The Interment of the Bodies by torchlight, 'were very forcible and dramatic works of art, and possessed more naturalattractions than the pictures of many of his competitors. His pupilagewith Sir Joshua prevented his falling into the washed leather and warmdrab errors of tone that then distinguished the English school ofhistorical painting. In the picture of the Burial of the Princes, Fuselicriticised--

'You shouldn't have made that fellow holding up his hands to receive thebodies. You should have made him digging a hole for them. How awfullygrand; with a pickaxe, digging, dump, dump, dump!'

'Yes, ' Northcote answered; 'but how am I to paint the sound of dump, dump, dump?'

The Boydell pictures were for a long time very popular, and theengravings of them enjoyed a large sale. 

Of course, Northcote despised Hogarth. Abuse of that painter seemed tobe one of the duties of the British historical artist of that day. Yethe paid him homage; he painted a series of pictures, Hogarthian insubject, and proved to the satisfaction of everybody, one would think, the absolute superiority of Hogarth. Mr. Northcote's moral subjects, illustrative of vice and virtue, in the progress of two young women, arenot to be mentioned in the same breath with the 'Mariage à la Mode. ' Notmerely were they deficient in expression--they were not equal in pointof art-execution, though of course the more modern painter had plannedto excel in both these qualities. But Northcote's portraits are reallyadmirable--broad and vigorous--with much of Sir Joshua's charm ofcolour, if not his charm of manner exactly. 

For fifty years he lived in Argyll Place, passing the greatest part ofthat time in his studio--a small room not more than nine feet by twelve, crowded with the conventional articles of _vertu_ that were thenconsidered to be the indispensable properties of a painter. His maidensister--'Northcote in petticoats, ' she was often called, she was so likehim in face, figure, and manner--superintended his frugal household. Itseconomy was simple enough. The brother and sister were of one opinion. 'Half the world died of over-feeding, ' they said. They went into anopposite extreme, and nearly starved themselves. When there was a cry inthe land about scarcity of food, they did not heed the panic; they wereaccustomed to a minimum of sustenance, they could hardly be deprived ofthat. Fuseli, who sowed his satire broadcast, exclaimed one day: 'What!does Northcote keep a dog? What does he live upon? Why, he must eat hisown fleas!' But the painter did not attempt to force his opinions uponothers, so the kennel and the kitchen fared better than the parlour. Theservants were indulgently treated, permitted to eat as they pleased, anddie in their own fashion--of repletion or apoplexy, if it seemed good tothem. 

If he was cold and callous and cynical to the rest of the world, he wasever good and kind to the pinched elderly lady his sister. By his willhe gave directions that everything in his house should remainundisturbed, that there should be no sale of his property in herlifetime. He was counselled by considerate friends to have all hispictures sold immediately after his funeral while his name was fresh inthe memory of the public; it was urged that his estate would benefitvery much by the adoption of such a course. 'Gude God, no!' the old manwould cry; 'I haven't patience with ye! Puir thing! d'ye think she'llnot be sufficiently sad when my coffin be borne away, and she be leftdesolate! Tearing my pictures from the walls, and ransacking every nookand corner, and packing up and carting away what's dearer to her thanhousehold gods, and all for filthy lucre's sake! No; let her enjoy thefew years that will be spared to her; when she walks about the house lether feel it all her own, such as it be, and nothing missing but herbrother. I'd rather my bones were torn from my grave, and scattered tohelp repair the roads, than that a single thing should be displaced hereto give her pain. Ye'll drive me mad!'

One day there was a great crowd in Argyll Place. Not to see the painter, not even to see a royal carriage that had just drawn up at his door, nora popular prince of the blood who occupied the carriage, but to catch aglimpse of one about whom the town was then quite mad--raving mad: asmall good-looking schoolboy, a theatrical homunculus, the InfantRoscius, Master William Henry Betty. Of course rages and panics andmanias seem to be very foolish things, contemplated by the cool greylight of the morning after. It seems rather incredible now, that crowdsshould have assembled round the theatre at one o'clock to see MasterBetty play Barbarossa in the evening; that he should have played fortwenty-eight nights at Drury Lane, and drawn £17, 000 into the treasuryof the theatre. He was simply a handsome boy of thirteen with a finevoice, deep for his age, and powerful but monotonous. Surely he was notvery intellectual, though he did witch the town so marvellously. 'Ifthey admire me so much, what would they say of Mr. Harley?' quoth theboy, simply. Mr. Harley being the head tragedian of the same strollingcompany--a large-calved, leather-lunged player, doubtless, who had awedprovincial groundlings for many a long year. Yet the boy's performanceof Douglas charmed John Home, the author of the tragedy. 'The first timeI ever saw the part of Douglas played according to my ideas of thecharacter!' he exclaimed, as he stood in the wings; but he was thenseventy years of age. 'The little Apollo off the pedestal!' criedHumphreys, the artist. 'A beautiful effusion of natural sensibility, 'said cold Northcote; 'and then that graceful play of the limbs inyouth--what an advantage over every one else!' As the child grew, thecharm vanished; the crowds that had applauded the boy fled from the man. Byron denounced him warmly. 'His figure is fat, his features flat, hisvoice unmanageable, his action ungraceful, and, as Diggory says (in thefarce of _All the World's a Stage_), "I defy him to extort that d----dmuffin face of his into madness!"' Happy Master Betty! Hapless _Mister_Betty!

Opie had painted the Infant as the shepherd so well known to nurseryprodigies watching on the Grampian Hills the flocks of his father, 'afrugal swain, whose constant care, ' etc. Etc. His Royal Highness theDuke of Clarence, who was a patron of the stage--or the people on it, orsome of them--brought the boy to Northcote, to be represented in a'Vandyke costume retiring from the altar of Shakespeare, '--rather anunmeaning ceremonial. But the picture was a great success, and theengraving of it published and dedicated to the duke. He was then aboutforty--a hearty, bluff gentleman, supposed to be free and breezy in hismanliness from his service at sea, --kindly and unaffected in manner, hadnot the slightest knowledge of art, but regarded Northcote as 'anhonest, independent, little, old fellow, ' seasoning that remark with anoath, after the quarter-deck manner of naval gentlemen of the period. 

The prince sat in the studio while the artist drew the Infant. Northcotewas not a man to wear a better coat upon his back for all that his backwas going to be turned upon royalty. He still wore the ragged, patcheddressing-gown he always worked in. The painting of Master Betty wasamusing at first, but it seemed, in the end, to be but a prolonged andtedious business to the not artistic looker-on. He must divert himselfsomehow. Certainly Northcote's appearance was comical. Suddenly thepainter felt a twitching at his collar. He turned, frowned angrily, butsaid nothing. The prince persevered. Presently he touched lightly thepainter's rough white locks. 

'Mr. Northcote, pray how long do you devote to the duties of thetoilet?'

It was very rude of his Royal Highness, but then he was _so_ bored bythe sitting. 

The little old painter turned round full upon him. 

'I never allow any one to take personal liberties with me. You are thefirst that ever presumed to do so. I beg your Royal Highness torecollect that I am in my own house. '

He spoke warmly, glanced haughtily, then worked at his canvas again. There was silence for some minutes. Quietly the duke opened the door andleft the room. The painter took no notice. 

But the royal carriage had been sent away. It would not be requireduntil five o'clock. It was not yet four; and it was raining!

The duke returned to the studio. 

'Mr. Northcote, it rains. Will you have the kindness to lend me anumbrella?'

Calmly the painter rang the bell. 

'Bring your mistress's umbrella. '

Miss Northcote's umbrella was the only silk one in the house. Theservant showed the prince down-stairs, and he left the house protectedfrom the shower by Miss Northcote's umbrella. 

'You have offended his Royal Highness, ' said some one in the room. 

'_I_ am the offended party, ' the painter answered with dignity. 

Next day he was alone in his studio when a visitor was announced. 

'Mr. Northcote, ' said the duke, entering, 'I return Miss Northcote'sumbrella you were so kind as to lend me yesterday. '

The painter bowed, receiving it from the royal hands. 

'I have brought it myself, Mr. Northcote, ' the duke continued, 'that Imight have the opportunity of saying that I yesterday took a libertywhich you properly resented. I am angry with myself. I hope you willforgive me, and think no more of it. '

The painter bowed his acceptance of the apology. 

'Gude God!' he exclaimed, afterwards telling the story, 'what could Isay? He could see what I felt. I could have given my life for him! Sucha prince is worthy to be a king!'

More than a quarter of a century passed, and then the Duke of Clarencewas the King of England--William the Fourth. The old painter was stillliving, at work as usual, though weak and bent enough now: but with hisbrain still active, his tongue still sharp, his eyes still verybrilliant in his lined shrunken face. 'A poor creature, ' he said ofhimself, 'perhaps amusing for half an hour or so, or curious to see likea little dried mummy in a museum. ' He employed himself in thepreparation of a number of illustrations to a book of fables publishedafter his death. He collected prints of animals, and cut them outcarefully; then he moved about such as he selected for his purpose on asheet of plain paper, and, satisfying himself at last as to thecomposition of the picture, he fixed the figures in their places withpaste, filled in backgrounds with touches of his pencil, and then handedthe curious work to Mr. Harvey, the engraver, to be copied on wood andengraved. The success of the plan was certainly as remarkable as itseccentricity. 

He employed his pen as well as his pencil: contributed papers to the_Artist_, and published, in 1813, a life of Sir Joshua. A year beforehis death he produced a _Life of Titian_, the greater part of which, however, was probably written by his friend and constant companionHazlitt. About the same time Hazlitt reprinted from the _MorningChronicle_ his _Conversations with Northcote_, a work of much interestand value. 

He was in his small studio, brush in hand, very tranquil and happy, within two days of his death. It seemed as though he had been forgotten. 'If Providence were to leave me the liberty of choosing my heaven, Ishould be content to occupy my little painting-room with the continuanceof the happiness I have experienced there, even for ever. ' He spoke ofhis works without arrogance. 'Everything one can do falls short ofNature. I am always ready to beg pardon of my sitters after I have done, and to say I hope they'll excuse it. The more one knows of the art, andthe better one can do, the less one is satisfied. '

Sir Joshua's pupil--'Of all his pupils I am the only one who ever didanything at all'--died on the 13th July 1831, in the eighty-sixth yearof his age. 

HOPPNER AND LAWRENCE. 

I. 

There have always been factions in art; and while the schools havebattled separately, there has been no lack of single combats betweenindividual painters. 

Pordenone painting his frescoes in the cloisters of St. Stefano atVenice with his sword drawn and his buckler at hand, prepared for theviolence of Titian, is a sample of the masters who found it necessary tocombine profession of the fine arts with the business of a bravo. Domenico Veniziano was brutally assaulted by Andrea del Castagno;Annibale Caracci, Cesari, and Guido were driven from Naples, and theirlives threatened by Belisario, Spagnoletto, and Caracciolo. AgostinoBeltrano, surpassed in painting by his own wife, Amelia di Rosa (theniece of an artist of eminence), murdered her in a fit of jealous rage;Michael Angelo was envious of the growing fame of Sebastiano delPiombo; Hudson[19] quarrelled with his pupil Reynolds, who in his turnwas made uneasy by the progress of his rival Romney; and Hoppner, on hisdeathbed, writhed under the polite attentions of Sir Thomas Lawrence. 'In his visits, ' said the poor sick man bitterly, 'there is more joy atmy approaching death than true sympathy with my sorrows. '

[19] A story to this effect has been generally credited; but in the_Life of Reynolds_ by Messrs. Leslie and Taylor, 1865, a differentversion is given of the relations subsisting between Sir Joshua and hispreceptor, and the notion of the one regarding the other with any sortof animosity is rejected, if not altogether disproved. 

II. 

The mother of JOHN HOPPNER was one of the German attendants at the RoyalPalace. He was born in London in the summer of 1759. George the Thirdtook a strong personal interest in the bringing up and education of thechild, whose sweet musical voice and correct ear soon won for him thepost and white stole of a chorister in the royal chapel. Of course therewere motives attributed in explanation of the king's kindness andbenevolence, and the boy himself, it would appear, was not eager tocontradict a slander which ascribed to him illustrious, if illicit, descent. The world chose to see confirmation of the rumours in thisrespect, in the favour subsequently extended to the young man by thePrince of Wales, who supported him actively against such formidablerivals as Lawrence, Owen, and Opie, and was the means of directing astream of aristocratic patronage to his studio. He entered as aprobationer the school of the Royal Academy--passing gradually throughthe various stages of studentship, and emerging at last a candidate forthe highest prizes of the institution. He underwent few of theprivations of the beginner--knew little of the trials and struggles ofthe ordinary student. Almost 'a royal road' was opened for him. So soonas he could draw and colour decently, patrons were ready for him. Mrs. Jordan sat--now as the Comic Muse--now as Hippolyte; a 'lady of quality'was depicted as a Bacchante. Then came portraits of the Duke and Duchessof York, the Prince of Wales, and the Duke of Clarence. He lived inCharles Street, close to Carlton House, and wrote himself 'Portraitpainter to the Prince of Wales. ' The king and queen were quite willingto favour their son's favourite, particularly as they believed, withmany other people of the time, that the heir-apparent 'had a taste. ' Butsoon obstacles came between them and the painter. They had never likedReynolds. Hoppner, full of honest admiration of Sir Joshua, did nothesitate to sound his praises even in the unwilling eyes of royalty. Thequestion, as he held, was one of art, not of kingly predilection. It wasuncourtierlike, and the monarch was much displeased. He could not endurecontradiction or opposition even in regard to matters of which he knewnothing whatever, such as art for instance. Then the giddy proceedingsof the minor and rival court at Carlton House were desperately annoyingto plain 'Farmer George;' and in a small way Hoppner had becomecelebrated in the Prince's circle: for the painter was gaily disposed, witty, and high-spirited. The Prince of Wales having thrown himself intothe open arms of the Whigs, Mr. Hoppner must needs become a zealouspolitician, espousing the principles of the party opposed to the king. He could expect little from their most gracious majesties after that. Heobtained nothing. Certainly he was imprudent. What had a painter to dowith politics? He thus diminished gravely the area of his prospects. Itbecame quite impossible for Tory noblemen and gentlemen of distinctionto bestow patronage upon, sit for their pictures to, a Whigportrait-painter. Why, he might caricature them! And after painting allhis Whig friends and associates, what was he to do? with a rival in thefield by no means to be despised or held cheaply. 

III. 

In the last century it behoved everybody who desired to be accounted 'apersonage, ' or to be ranked amongst 'people of quality, ' to quit Londonat a certain season of the year, and repair to the city of Bath, or 'theBath, ' as it was frequently called. Now a journey to Bath in those dayswas no trifling matter: it involved frequent stoppages by the way, andthe inns and posting-houses upon the road became, necessarily, _very_important, and oftentimes very profitable concerns. Miss Burney, theauthor of _Evelina_, records in her diary the particulars of her journeyto Bath with Mrs. Thrale, in the year 1780. She stopped the first nightat Maidenhead Bridge; slept at Speen Hill the second, and Devizes thethird; arriving at Bath on the fourth day of her journey. The innpatronized by Miss Burney at Devizes was the Black Bear, of which oneThomas Lawrence was the landlord. It is in regard to this establishmentwe have to request that the reader will give us his attention for a fewminutes. 

Mr. Lawrence had been by turns a solicitor, a poet, an artist, an actor, a supervisor of excise, a farmer, an innkeeper, and, of course, abankrupt. Probably he might have retired from the Black Bear with afortune, but that he had a numerous family of sixteen children tosupport, and that he was not particularly well qualified to succeed asan innkeeper. He seems to have set up for being 'a character, ' and hisneighbours were inclined to ridicule and censure him for giving himselfairs. A bustling, active, good-humoured man, he was prone now and thento play the scholar and the fine gentleman, the while he lost sight ofhis more recognised position as a landlord. He wore a full-dress suit ofblack, starched ruffles, and a very grand periwig; was ceremonious andstately in his manners, affected an inordinate love of literature and anair of connoisseurship that contrasted rather strangely with hiscalling. Certainly there was not such another landlord to be seen uponthe road between London and Bath; if, indeed, anywhere else. He wasproud of his elocutionary powers, and in a full, sonorous voice he wouldread aloud select passages from Shakespeare and Milton to all suchpersons as evinced an inclination to listen to him--sometimes, indeed, to people who did not in the least wish to hear him. It is hardly to bewondered at that divers of the Black Bear's customers occasionally feltindignant and outraged when, travel-worn and hungry, eager for the billof fare and supper, they were met by the landlord's proposal toexpatiate for their benefit upon the beauties of the poets, or to recitefor their entertainment certain most elegant extracts. It was food forthe body they desiderated, not solace for the mind; and it was, perhaps, only natural that they should treat Mr. Lawrence's suggestions rathercurtly. Not that the innkeeper was prompt to take offence. The man whorides a hobby-horse seldom heeds or perceives the criticism ofbystanders upon the paces or proportions of his steed. Mr. Lawrencecould obtain a hearing from other quarters. Once a week he visited Bath, and passed an evening in the green-room of the theatre there. The actorswould listen to him, or pretend to do so; some of them would permit himto read their parts to them, and give them counsel as to the manner inwhich these should be rendered on the stage, purposing to revengethemselves afterwards, the rogues, by availing themselves of thecomforts of the Black Bear, without calling for their accounts when theyquitted that hostelry. 

But even a greater celebrity at Devizes than Mr. Lawrence was his sonThomas, born in 1769, youngest of the sixteen children. He seems to havebeen regarded on all hands as a sort of infant prodigy of great use inattracting visitors to the inn. He could stand on a chair and recitepoetry, or he could wield his blacklead pencil and take the portrait ofany one who would condescend to sit to him. 'A most lovely boy, ' writesMiss Burney, --with long, luxuriant, girl-like tresses, that tumbled downand hid his face when he stooped to draw. 'He can take your likeness, orrepeat you any speech in Milton's _Pandemonium_, ' the proud father wouldcry, 'although he is only five years old. ' And at this age he is statedto have produced a striking likeness of Mr. (afterwards Lord) Kenyon. Atseven the portrait of the prodigy was taken, and engraved by Mr. Sherwin, the artist. At eight, it seems, his education was finished. Hisrecitations--he had no doubt been carefully instructed by hisfather--were pronounced to be 'full of discrimination, feeling, andhumour, set off by the various tones of a voice full, harmonious, andflexible. ' Pretty well this, for such a mere baby as he was at the time!He recited on various occasions before Garrick, Foote, John Wilkes, Sheridan, Burke, Johnson, Churchill, and other famous people, restingfor the night or to change horses at Devizes on their road to Bath. OldLawrence lost no opportunity of talking to his customers, and ofexhibiting his wonderful son. All are alleged to have been charmed withhim. Mr. And Mrs. Garrick passing through the town, would retire to asummer-house in the garden of the Black Bear, and amuse themselves forsome time with the recitations of the little fellow. 'Tommy has learnedone or two new speeches since you were here, Mr. Garrick, ' the fatherwould exclaim, bringing forward his precocious boy. 'There was somethingabout him, ' says an authority, 'which excited the surprise of the mostcasual observer. He was a perfect man in miniature; his confidence andself-possession smacked of one-and-twenty. '

Young Lawrence, however, was not able at this time to read at random anypassages from the poets that might be selected for him. He had beeninstructed in particular speeches, and to these, as a rule, he wasobliged to restrict his efforts. For a long time he had been wishing tolearn 'Satan's Address to the Sun, ' a favourite recitation of hisfather's; but old Lawrence had declined to intrust him with so importanta subject. Nevertheless the boy had acquainted himself with the tone andmanner appropriate to the piece, and announced that he was prepared todeliver it in imitation of the elder orator. A family in Devizes, knownto the Lawrences, giving a party one evening, requested that the boymight be permitted to attend and entertain the company with his readingsand recitations. Old Lawrence consented, on condition that the child wasnot asked to read other than the pieces with which he was acquainted, and cautioned his son by no means to attempt anything in which he wasnot perfect, and particularly to avoid the address of Satan. In theevening young Lawrence walked to the house with Shakespeare and Miltonunder his arm, and went through his performances amid general applause. He was then asked which was his favourite recitation in Milton? Hereplied that he preferred 'Satan's Address to the Sun, ' but that hisfather would not permit him to repeat it. On this account, and toascertain whether the child merely performed parrot-fashion, the companywere especially anxious to hear the forbidden reading. Young Lawrence'sdutiful scruples, however, were not overcome until all present hadpromised to intercede on his behalf and obtain for him his father'sforgiveness. As he turned to the interdicted page a slip of paper fellfrom the book. A gentleman picked it up and read aloud--'Tom, mind youdon't touch Satan. ' It was some time before the astonished boy could beinduced to proceed; yet he is said to have eventually dealt with thesubject very creditably and discreetly. 

They were strange people these Lawrences, and the Black Bear must havebeen a curious kind of inn. Miss Burney was greatly surprised athearing the sounds of singing and pianoforte-playing while she wasbeneath its roof. It was only the Miss Lawrences practising--but theinn-keepers' daughters of the last century were not generally possessedof such accomplishments. Then, still very wonderful for an inn, 'thehouse, ' says Miss Burney, 'was full of books as well as paintings, drawings, and music, and all the family seem not only ingenious andindustrious, but amiable; added to which they are strikingly handsome. Ihope, ' the lady concludes, 'we may return the same road, that we may seethem again. '

As Garrick said of him, young Lawrence's walk in life was at this time'poised between the pencil and the stage. ' To which did he incline?Would he be a player or a painter? It was hard to say. He had been takento town on a visit to Mr. Hugh Boyd (who at one time was supposed to beone of the authors of 'Junius'), introduced to the great painters of theday, and most kindly received by them. Sir Joshua Reynolds hadpronounced him 'the most promising genius he had ever met with. ' Mr. Hoare had been so charmed with the boy's drawings, that he proposed tosend him to Italy with his own son. On the other hand, he had been afrequent visitor in the green-room of the Bath Theatre. Placed upon thetable there, the centre of a group of amused actors, he would recite'Hamlet's Advice to the Players, ' and other passages. On one of theseoccasions, Henderson the tragedian was present, and expressed warmapproval of the child's efforts. Then, in return for the civilities andcompliments he received, young Lawrence would beg that he might take theportraits of his friends among the company. We are told of his attemptto draw the face of Edwin, the comedian, who the while grimaced anddistorted his features, constantly shifting the expression of hiscountenance, greatly to the bewilderment of the boy artist. Finally hestood silent and motionless, watching his model with a kind of despair, until it became necessary to explain the joke that had been practised. It should be said, however, that stories are current in relation tosimilar jokes played by humourists upon other artists. 

Old Lawrence had been compelled to abandon the Black Bear, and hadretreated to Bath with his family. 'Bath, ' we are informed, 'was at thattime London devoid of its mixed society and vulgarity. It contained itsselection of all that was noble, affluent, or distinguished in themetropolis; and amongst this circle our artist was now caressed. ' Itbecame a kind of fashion to sit to him for oval crayon likenesses at aguinea and a half apiece. Portraits from his pencil of Mrs. Siddons andAdmiral Barrington were now engraved, the artist being as yet onlythirteen years of age. His success as a portrait-painter seemed quiteassured; he was making money rapidly, largely contributing to thesupport of his family. Yet he was not satisfied. He was greatly temptedto try his fortune on the stage. His view was, that he could earn more, and so could further assist his father by deserting the studio for thetheatre. Possibly, too, the display and excitement and applause whichpertain to the career of the successful player--and of course he thoughthe should succeed--were very alluring to the young gentleman. He was nowlittle more than sixteen. He took counsel of a friendly actor, Mr. JohnBernard, [20] and favoured him with a private recitation of the part ofJaffier in the tragedy of _Venice Preserved_. Mr. Bernard, it seems, wasnot much impressed by this performance; at least he did not detectsufficient dramatic ability in the young man to justify his proposedchange of profession. The actor, however, did not openly express hisopinion on the subject, but merely said he would bear the case in mindand speak to his manager, Mr. Palmer, in regard to it. Meanwhile hedisclosed what had passed to old Lawrence. Acquainted by experience withthe precariousness of an actor's fortunes, and appreciative also of thevalue of his son's talents as an artist, Lawrence entreated Bernard toexert all his influence in dissuading the young man from his design. Itwas determined at last to cure the stage-struck hero by means of atrick--to pre-arrange his failure, in fact. Palmer, the manager, enteredinto the plan. An appointment was made at Bernard's house, in order thatyoung Lawrence might have a private interview with the manager. In anadjoining room were secreted his father and a party of friends. Bernardintroduced the young man to Palmer, who presently desired a specimen ofthe aspirant's dramatic abilities, and took his seat at the end of theroom in the character of auditor and judge. A scene from _VenicePreserved_ was selected, and young Lawrence commenced a recitation. Forseveral lines he proceeded perfectly, but soon he became nervous, confused--he stammered, coughed, and at last stopped outright. Bernardhad the book in his hand, but he would not prompt, he withheld allassistance. Young Lawrence began again, but his self-possession wasgone--his failure was more decided and humiliating than before. At thisjuncture his father abruptly entered the room, crying out, 'You playJaffier, Tom? Hang me if you're fit to appear as a supernumerary!'--orsome such speech--and then young Lawrence found that his mortificationhad not been without witnesses. 

[20] The father of Mr. Bayle Bernard the dramatist. 

It was very trying to his vanity. He had to listen to remonstrances andappeals of all kinds. Palmer, the manager, assured him that he did notpossess the advantages requisite for success on the stage. Bernard spokewith bitter truthfulness of the trials and sorrows of an actor's life. Other friends drew attention to the brilliant prospect open to thesuccessful painter. Young Lawrence gave way at last. The theatre maythus have lost an agreeable player, but, thanks to the manoeuvre of oldLawrence, Bernard, and Palmer, a famous portrait-painter was secured tothe world of art. 

IV. 

In 1785 he received a medal from the Society of Arts for his crayondrawing of 'Raphael's Transfiguration. ' In 1787, being then seventeen, he exhibited seven pictures at the Royal Academy. He painted his ownportrait, and wrote concerning it to his mother, 'To any but my ownfamily I certainly should not say this; but, excepting Sir Joshua forthe painting of the head, I would risk my reputation with any painter inLondon. ' The picture was broadly painted, three-quarter size, with aRembrandtish effect, as Sir Joshua detected when the canvas was shown tohim. 'You have been looking at the old masters; take my advice and studynature. ' He dismissed the young artist with marked kindness, however. In1789, Martin Archer Shee described him as 'a genteel, handsome youngman, effeminate in his manner;' adding, 'he is wonderfully laborious, and has the most uncommon patience and perseverance. ' About this time hepainted the Princess Amelia, and Miss Farren, the actress, afterwardsCountess of Derby, 'in a white satin cloak and muff;' and full-lengthportraits of the King and Queen, to be taken out by Lord Macaulay aspresents to the Emperor of China. In 1791 he was, at the express desire, it was said, of the King and Queen, after one defeat, admitted anassociate of the Royal Academy by a suspension of the law prohibitingthe admission of an associate under the age of twenty-four. He wasopposed by many of the academicians, and bitterly attacked by PeterPindar. 

Dr. Wolcot was especially angry at the alleged interference of royaltyin the election. In his satiric poem _The Rights of Kings_, heexpostulates ironically with certain academicians who ventured to opposethe nominee of the Court:--

 'How, sirs, on majesty's proud corns to tread! Messieurs ACADEMICIANS, when you're dead, Where can your impudences hope to go?

 'Refuse a monarch's mighty orders! It smells of treason--on rebellion borders! 'S death, sirs! it was the Queen's fond wish as well, That _Master_ LAWRENCE should come in! Against a queen so gentle to rebel! This is another crying sin!

 * * * * *

 'Behold, his majesty is in a passion, Tremble, ye rogues, and tremble all the nation! Suppose he takes it in his, royal head To strike your academic idol dead-- Knock down your house, dissolve you in his ire, And strip you of your boasted title--"SQUIRE. "[21]

 * * * * *

 'Go, sirs, with halters round your wretched necks, Which some contrition for your crime bespeaks, And much-offended majesty implore: Say, piteous, kneeling in the royal view, "Have pity on a sad abandoned crew, And we, great king, will sin no more; Forgive, dread sir, the crying sin, And _Mister_ LAWRENCE shall come in!"'

[21] The diplomas of the Academicians constituted them ESQUIRES. In thelast century this designation was conferred and employed by society withmore scrupulousness than obtains at present. 

The academicians had, it seems, in the first instance, elected FRANCISWHEATLEY, painter of rural and domestic subjects, in preference toLawrence. There had been then sixteen votes for Wheatley, and but threefor Lawrence. 

 'Yet opposition, fraught to royal wishes, Quite counter to a gracious king's commands, Behold the ACADEMICIANS, those strange fishes, For WHEATLEY lifted their unhallowed hands. So then, these fellows have not leave to crawl, To play the spaniel lick the foot and fawn. ' Etc. Etc. Etc. 

In 1792, he attended the funeral of Sir Joshua in St. Paul's Cathedral, when Mr. Burke attempted to thank the members of the Academy for therespect shown to the remains of their president, but, overcome by hisemotions, was unable to utter a word. In 1795, Mr. Lawrence was electeda full member of the Academy, having previously succeeded Sir Joshua aspainter in ordinary to the King--Benjamin West being elected to thepresidential chair. 

'Sir Joshua, ' writes Northcote in his _Life of Reynolds_, 'expected theappointment [of painter in ordinary] would be offered to him on thedeath of Ramsay, and expressed his disapprobation with regard tosoliciting it; but he was informed that it was a necessary point ofetiquette with which he complied, and seems to have pleased Johnson byso doing. '

Burke, reforming the King's household expenses, had reduced the salaryof King's painter from £200 to £50 per annum. But the office wasnevertheless a valuable source of emolument, derived in great part fromthe number of State portraits of the sovereign, required, by usage, forthe adornment of certain official residences, and the duty and profit ofexecuting which devolved, as of right, on the painter in ordinary. Thusthe mansion of every ambassador of the crown, in the capital of theforeign court to which he was accredited, exhibited in its receptionrooms whole-length portraits of the King and Queen of England. And theseworks were not fixtures in the official residence, but were consideredas gifts from the sovereign to the individual ambassador, and remainedhis property--his perquisites on the cessation of his diplomaticfunctions. Each new appointment among the _corps diplomatique_, therefore, brought grist to the mill of the painter in ordinary in theshape of a new commission for a royal whole-length, usually a _replica_of a previous work, but to be charged and paid for according to theartist's usual scale of prices for original pictures. When Reynolds, late in his career, accepted the appointment, its pecuniary advantageswere a matter of indifference to him, or he did not care to be for everreduplicating or reproducing the 'counterfeit presentment' of thesovereign, and a fashion sprung up of compensating the ambassador with afixed sum of money, the estimated market value of the royal portrait;his excellency not being in the least unwilling to accept the specie inlieu of the picture. But Lawrence did not find it expedient to followSir Joshua's example. He claimed a right to execute the portraits, however numerous, of the sovereign, let the diplomatists be ever sowilling to take money instead. This claim was admitted, and he reapedlarge profits accordingly. [22]

[22] See _Life of Sir M. A. Shee_, vol. I. P. 441. 

Add to his unquestionable art-abilities, that he was courtly in manner, an accomplished fencer and dancer, with a graceful figure and a handsomeface; that he possessed an exquisitely modulated voice; and large, lustrous expressive eyes--the light in which seemed to be alwayskindling and brilliant. 

George the Fourth, indeed, pronounced him 'the most finished gentlemanin my dominions. ' And then, though he had abandoned all thought of thestage as a means of obtaining profit, there was nothing to prevent hisdistinguishing himself in back drawing-rooms as an unprofessionalplayer. He was certified by no less a person than Sheridan to be 'thebest amateur actor in the kingdom. ' Lawrence had greatly distinguishedhimself in that respect at a theatrical _fête_ given by the Marquis ofAbercorn in 1803. 'Shall I give you an account of it?' writes thepainter to his sister. 'It was projected by a woman of great clevernessand beauty--Lady Caher.... It was determined to do it in a quiet way, and more as an odd experiment of the talents of the party than anythingelse; but this and that friend would be offended; and at last itswelled up to a perfect theatre (in a room), and a London audience. ThePrince, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, Lord and Lady Melbourne, their sons, Lord and Lady Essex, Lord and Lady Amherst, with a long _etcetera_, and, amongst the rest, Sheridan, were present. ' The playsperformed were _The Wedding Day_, and _Who's the Dupe?_ Lawrencerepresented Lord Rakeland in the one, and Grainger in the other. Theorchestra was behind the scenes. Lady Harriet Hamilton played the organ, Lady Maria the piano; Lady Catherine the tambourine, the Honourable Mr. Lamb the violoncello; other instrumentalists were hired--'a most perfectorchestra--with admirable scenery, and light as day. ' 'The Prince thencame in, and of course the orchestra struck up "God save the King. " Thena little terrifying bell rang--the curtain drew up--and _The WeddingDay_ began. At first, I will own to you, Sheridan's face, the grave Dukeof Devonshire, and two or three staunch critics, made me feelunpleasantly: for I opened the piece. However, this soon wore off; ourset played extremely well--like persons of good sense withoutextravagance or buffoonery, and yet with sufficient spirit. Lady Caher, Mr. J. Madox, and G. Lamb were the most conspicuous--the first sobeautiful that I felt love-making very easy. A splendid supper closedthe business. ' Lawrence seems to have fancied that the propriety of hisjoining in the theatricals might be questioned. Although his father andmother had both been dead some years, their admonitions in respect ofhis old love for the stage were still sounding in his ears. So he writeswith an air of apology to his sister--his senior by some years--'Youknow me too well, dear Anne, to believe that I should be of such ascheme under any but very flattering circumstances; as it is, I wasright to join in it. Lord Abercorn is an old Jermyn Street friend--astaunch and honourable one, and particularly kind to me in real servicesand very flattering distinctions. These all formed one strong reason forjoining in the thing; and another secret one was, that whatever tends toheighten a character for general talent (when kept in prudent bounds) isof use to that particular direction of it which forms the pursuit oflife. I have gained, then, and not lost by this (to you) singular step. I am not going to be a performer in other families. I stick to LordAbercorn's: and for the rest I pursue my profession as quietly and moresteadily than ever. ' Certainly Lawrence seemed a likely man to achievesuccesses, both social and artistic. And he _did_ succeedunquestionably. 

Byron did not criticise leniently his contemporaries, but he records inhis diary: 'The same evening (he is writing of the year 1814) I metLawrence the painter, and heard one of Lord Grey's daughters play on theharp so modestly and ingenuously, that she looked music. I would ratherhave had my talk with Lawrence, who talked delightfully, and heard thegirl, than have had all the fame of Moore and me put together. The onlypleasure of fame is, that it paves the way to pleasure, and the moreintellectual the better for the pleasure and us too. '

V. 

It is clear that Mr. Hoppner, 'portrait-painter to the Prince of Wales, 'had no mean opponent in Mr. Lawrence, 'portrait-painter in ordinary toHis Majesty. '

For a time the rivalry was continued in a spirit of much moderation. Thepainters were calm and forbearing, and scrupulously courteous to eachother. Lawrence was too gentle and polite ever to breathe a word againsthis antagonist, if, indeed, he did not respect his talents too highly todisparage them. Perhaps he was conscious that victory would be his inthe end; as Hoppner might also have a presentiment that he was to bedefeated. He was of a quick temper; was a husband and a father; entirelydependent on his own exertions, though he could earn five thousand ayear easily when fully employed. But certainly the innkeeper's son wasstealing away his sitters: even his good friends the Whigs. He chafedunder this. He began to speak out. He denounced Lawrence's prudentabstinence from all political feeling as downright hypocrisy. He thoughtit cowardice "to side with neither faction, and be ready and willing topaint the faces of both. " And then he commenced to talk disrespectfullyof his rival's art. He claimed for his own portraits greater purity oflook and style. 'The ladies of Lawrence, ' he said, 'show a gaudydissoluteness of taste, and sometimes trespass on moral as well asprofessional chastity. ' This was purposed to be a terrible blow toLawrence. Of course there was plenty of repetition of the remark, andpeople laughed over it a good deal. But in the end it injured Hoppnerrather than Lawrence. The world began to wonder how it was that thepainter to the purest court in Europe should depict the demure andreputable ladies of St. James's with such glittering eyes and carminelips--a _soupçon_ of wantonness in their glances, and a rather needlessundraping of their beautiful shoulders; while the painter to the Princewas bestowing on the giddy angels of Carlton House a decency that waswithin a little of dull, a simplicity that was almost sombreness, apurity that was prudery! The beauties of George III. 's court were notdispleased to be pictorially credited with a levity they did not dare tolive up or down to; and the ladies of the Prince's court, too honest toassume a virtue they had not, now hastened to be represented by anartist who appeared so admirably to comprehend their allurements. PoorMr. Hoppner was deserted by the Whig ladies; he had only now the Whiglords to paint: unless he took up with landscape art, for which he haddecided talent, as many of the backgrounds to his pictures demonstrate. He grew peevish and irritable. He took to abusing the old masters, andcried out at the neglect of living men. Examining a modern work, hewould say: 'Ay, it's a noble picture, but it has one damningdefect--it's a thing of _to-day. _ Prove it to be but two hundred yearsold, and from the brush of a famous man, and here's two thousand guineasfor it. ' Northcote tells of him: 'I once went with him to the hustings, to vote for Home Tooke, and when they asked me what I was, I said, "Apainter. " At this Hoppner was very mad all the way home, and said Ishould have called myself "a portrait-painter. " I replied that the worldhad no time to trouble their heads about such distinctions. '

Hoppner now produced but few pictures, and these met with small success. He looked thin and haggard, talked incoherently, gave way to bitterrepinings and despondency. He resented and misinterpreted, as has beenshown, Lawrence's inquiries as to his health. Certainly there is everyappearance of feeling in Lawrence's letter, where he writes to a friend, 'You will be sorry to hear it. My most powerful competitor, he whom onlyto my friends I have acknowledged as my rival, is, I fear, sinking tothe grave. I mean, of course, Hoppner. He was always afflicted withbilious and liver complaints (and to these must be greatly attributedthe irritation of his mind), and now they have ended in a confirmeddropsy. But though I think he cannot recover, I do not wish that hislast illness should be so reported by me. You will believe that I cansincerely feel the loss of a brother-artist from whose works I haveoften gained instruction, and who has gone by my side in the race theseeighteen years. ' Hoppner died on the 23d January 1810, in thefifty-first year of his age. To quote Lawrence's letters again: 'Thedeath of Hoppner leaves me, it is true, without a rival, and this hasbeen acknowledged to me by the ablest of my present competitors; but Ialready find one small misfortune attending it--namely, that I have nosharer in the watchful jealousy, I will not say hatred, that follows thesituation. ' A son of Hoppner's was consul at Venice, and a friend ofLord Byron's in 1819. 

'Hoppner, ' says Haydon, 'was a man of fine mind, great nobleness ofheart, and an exquisite taste for music; but he had not strength fororiginality. He imitated Gainsborough for landscape, and Reynolds forportraits. ' He held Northcote, Sir Joshua's pupil, however, in greataversion. 'I can fancy a man fond of his art who painted like Reynolds, 'Hoppner would say; 'but how a man can be fond of art who paints likethat fellow Northcote, Heaven only knows!' There was no love lostbetween them. 'As to that poor man-milliner of a painter Hoppner, ' saidNorthcote, 'I hate him, sir, I ha-a-ate him!'

According to Haydon, he was bilious from hard work at portraits and theharass of fashionable life. And his post of portrait-painter to thePrince had its trials. The Carlton House porter had been ordered to getthe railings fresh painted. In his ignorance the man went to Hoppner torequest his attention to the matter. Wasn't he the Prince's painter?Hoppner was furious!

VI. 

The factions of Reynolds and Romney lived again in the rivalry ofHoppner and Lawrence. The painters appeared to be well matched. Hoppnerhad the advantage of a start of ten years, though this was nearlybalanced by the very early age at which Lawrence obtained many of hissuccesses. Hoppner was also a handsome man, of refined address andpolished manner; he, too, possessed great conversational powers, whilein the matter of wit and humour he was probably in advance of hisantagonist. He was well read--'one of the best-informed painters of histime, ' Mr. Cunningham informs us--frank, out-spoken, open-hearted, gay, and whimsical. He had all the qualifications for a social success, andwas not without some of those 'Corinthian' characteristics which wereindispensable to a man of fashion, from the Prince of Wales's point ofview. With Edrige, the associate miniature-painter, and two otherartists, he was once at a fair in the country where strong ale wasabounding, and much fun, and drollery, and din. Hoppner turned to hisfriends. 'You have always seen me, 'he said, 'in good company, andplaying the courtier, and taken me, I daresay, for a deuced well-bredfellow, and genteel withal. All a mistake. I love low company, and am abit of a ready-made blackguard. ' He pulls up his collar, twitches hisneckcloth, sets his hat awry, and with a mad humorous look in his eyes, is soon in the thickest of the crowd of rustic revellers. He jests, gambols, dances, soon to quarrel and fight. He roughly handles a brawnywaggoner, a practised boxer, in a regular scientific set-to; gives hisdefeated antagonist half a guinea, rearranges his toilet, and retireswith his friends amidst the cheers of the crowd. It is quite aTom-and-Jerry scene. Gentlemen delighted to fight coal-heavers in thosedays. Somehow we always hear of the gentlemen being victorious; perhapsif the coal-heavers could tell the story, it would sometimes have adifferent _dénouement_. Unfortunately for Hoppner, he had to use hisfingers, not his fists, against Lawrence--to paint him down, not fighthim. 

He was a skilful artist, working with an eye to Sir Joshua's manner, andfollowing him oftentimes into error, as well as into truth and beauty. Ridiculing the loose touches of Lawrence, he was frequently as faulty, without ever reaching the real fascination of his rival's style. He hadnot the Lawrence sense of expression and charm; he could not give to hisheads the vivacity and flutter, the brilliance and witchery, of SirThomas's portraits. They both took up Reynolds's theory about it being'a vulgar error to make things too like themselves, ' as though it were amerit to paint untruthfully. And painting people of fashion, they had topaint--especially in their earlier days--strange fashions; and anextravagant, and fantastic, and meretricious air clings as a consequenceto many of their pictures; for the Prince of Wales had then a grand headof hair (his own hair), which he delighted to pomatum, and powder, andfrizzle; and, of course, the gentlemen of the day followed the mode; andthen the folds and folds of white muslin that swathed the chins andnecks of the sitters; and the coats, with fanciful collars and lapels;and the waistcoats, many-topped and many-hued, winding about in tortuouslines. It is not to be much marvelled at that such items of costume as'Cumberland corsets, ' 'Petersham trousers, ' 'Brummel cravats, ''Osbaldistone ties, ' and 'Exquisite crops, ' should be only sketchilyrendered in paint. Of course, Mr. Opie, who affected thorough JohnBullism in art, who laid on his pigments steadily with a trowel, andproduced portraits of ladies like washerwomen, and gentlemen likingWapping publicans--of course, unsentimental, unfashionable Mr. Opiedenounced the degeneracy of his competitor's style. 'Lawrence makescoxcombs of his sitters, and they make a coxcomb of him. ' Still 'thequality' flocked to the studios of Messrs. Hoppner and Lawrence, and therival easels were long adorned with the most fashionable faces of theday. 

VII. 

For twenty years Lawrence reigned alone. After the final defeat ofNapoleon, the artist was commissioned by the Regent to attend thecongress of sovereigns at Aix-la-Chapelle, and produce portraits of theprincipal persons engaged in the great war. These Europeanportraits--twenty-four in number--now decorate the Waterloo Hall atWindsor. In 1815 he was knighted by the Regent; in addition he wasadmitted to the Academy of St. Luke in Rome, and became in 1817 a memberof the American Academy of the Fine Arts, an honour he repaid bypainting and presenting to the Academy a portrait of their countrymanBenjamin West. The Academies of Venice, Florence, Turin, and Viennasubsequently added his name to their roll of members, while, through thepersonal interposition of King Christian Frederick, he was presentedwith the diploma of the Academy of Denmark. He was nominated a Chevalierof the Legion of Honour in France, George IV. Giving him permission towear the cross of the order. Charles X. Further presented the painterwith a grand French clock nearly two feet high, and a dessert service ofSèvres porcelain, which Sir Thomas bequeathed to the Royal Academy. Fromthe Emperor of Russia he received a superb diamond ring of great value;from the King of Prussia a ring with his Majesty's initials, F. R. , indiamonds. He also received splendid gifts from the foreign ministersassembled at Aix-la-Chapelle, and from the Archduchess Charles andPrincess Metternich at Vienna; from the Pope a ring and a colosseum inmosaic with his Holiness's arms over the centre of the frame; from theCardinal Gonsalvi, besides other presents, a gold watch, chain, andseals of intaglios, and many beautiful bon-bon boxes of valuable stonesset in gold; gold snuff-boxes, etc. ; a breakfast set of porcelain fromthe Dauphin in 1825, with magnificent casts and valuable engravings fromCanova at Rome. Was ever painter so fêted and glorified! And then he hadbeen, on the death of West, in 1820, elected to the presidentship of theAcademy. 'Well, well, ' said Fuseli, who growled at everything andeverybody, but was yet a friend to Lawrence, 'since they _must_ have aface-painter to reign over them, let them take Lawrence; he can at leastpaint eyes!' In 1829, he exhibited eight portraits; but his health wasbeginning to decline. He died on the 7th June 1830. He had been paintingon the previous day another portrait of George IV. In hiscoronation-dress. 

'Are you not tired of those eternal robes? asked some one. 

'No, ' answered the painter; 'I always find variety in them--the picturesare alike in outline, never in detail. You would find the last thebest. '

In the night he was taken alarmingly ill. He was bled, and then seemedbetter; but the bandage slipped--he fell from his chair into the armsof his valet, Jean Duts, a Swiss. 

'This is fainting, ' said the valet, in alarm. 

'No, Jean, my good fellow, ' Sir Thomas Lawrence politely corrected him, 'it is dying. ' And he breathed his last. 

VIII. 

The obsequies of the departed President were of an imposing kind. Hisremains were removed from his house in Russell Square to Somerset House. There the body was received by the Council and officers of the Academy, and deposited in the model-room, which was hung with black cloth andlighted with wax candles in silver sconces. At the head of the coffinwas raised a large hatchment of the armorial bearings of the deceased;and the pall over the coffin bore escutcheons of his arms, wrought insilk. The members of the Council and the family having retired, the bodylay in state--the old servant of the President watching through thenight the remains of his master. 

The body was interred in St. Paul's Cathedral, in the 'Painters' Corner'of the south crypt, near the coffins of the former Presidents, Reynoldsand West. The Earl of Aberdeen, Earl Gower, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Dover, Sir George Murray, the Right Honourable J. W. Croker, Mr. Hart Davis, andEarl Clanwilliam were pall-bearers. Etty, who followed with the otheracademicians, writes: 'Since the days of Nelson there has not been somarked a funeral. The only fine day we have had for a long time was_that_ day. When the melancholy pageant had entered the great westerndoor, and was half way up the body of the church, the solemn sound ofthe organ and the anthem swelled on the ear, and vibrated to everyheart. It was deeply touching.... The organ echoed through the aisles. The sinking sun shed his parting beams through the west window--and weleft him alone. Hail, and farewell!'

The produce of the sale by auction of his collection of art works andtreasures, etc. , was between fifteen and sixteen thousand pounds. Theestate of the dead man was only just equal to the demands upon it, however. His popularity ought to have brought him wealth, but, strangeto say, he was always embarrassed. Yet he did not gamble, was neverdissipated, never viciously extravagant; but he kept no accounts, wasprodigal in kindness to his brother-artists, and in responding to themany appeals to his charity. Perhaps, too, he rather affected anaristocratic indifference to money. He spent much time in gratuitousdrawing and painting for presents to his friends. It is probable thathis death was hastened by his incessant work, to meet the demands madeupon him for money. Washington Irving saw him a few days before hisdeath, and relates that 'he seemed uneasy and restless, his eyes werewandering, he was as pale as marble, the stamp of death seemed on him. He told me he felt ill, but he wished to bear himself up. ' In one of hisletters the painter wrote: 'I am chained to the oar, but painting wasnever less inviting to me--business never more oppressive to me than atthis moment. ' Still he could play his courtier part in society, and wasalways graceful and winning. Haydon, who never loved a portrait-paintermuch, yet says of Lawrence, that he was 'amiable, kind, generous, andforgiving. ' Further on he adds: 'He had smiled so often and so long, that at last his smile had the appearance of being set in enamel. ' Butthen, Mr. Haydon prided himself on his coarseness, defiance, and hatredof conventionality, deeming these fitting attributes of the high artist. 

It is only as a portrait-painter that Sir Thomas can now be esteemed;and, as a portrait-painter, his reputation has much declined of lateyears. His drawing was often very incorrect, and his execution slovenly. His colour was hectic and gaudy; and in composition he possessed littleskill. He was a master of expression, however. His heads are wonderfullyanimated, and he invested his sitters with an air of high life peculiarto himself. Conscious and a little affected they might be, butcertainly, through his art, they proclaimed themselves people of qualityand distinction. His attempts in another line of art were few and notsuccessful. His 'Homer reciting his Poems' was chiefly remarkable forits resemblance to Mr. Westall's manner, and for containing a well-drawnfigure of Jackson the pugilist. Of his 'Satan calling up the Legions, 'Anthony Pasquin cruelly wrote, that 'it conveyed an idea of a mad Germansugar-baker dancing naked in a conflagration of his own treacle. ' Overan attempt at a Prospero and Miranda, he subsequently painted on thesame canvas a portrait of Kemble as Rolla. 

And was he a male coquette? 'No, ' answers a lady --and it is a questionthat requires a lady's answer--'he had no plan of conquest.... But itcannot be too strongly stated that his manners were likely to misleadwithout his intending it. He could not write a common answer to a dinnerinvitation without its assuming the tone of a _billet-doux_. The verycommonest conversation was held in that soft low whisper, and with thattone of deference and interest which are so unusual, and so calculatedto please. I am myself persuaded that he never intentionally gave pain. '

Perhaps he was not capable of very deep feeling, and liked to test theeffects of his fine eyes. He wooed the two daughters of Mrs. Siddons, never being quite clear in his own mind which he really loved. He tiredof the one and was dismissed by the other, or so rumour told the story;however, his friendly relations with the family do not appear to haveceased. One of the sisters died. 'From the day of her death to that ofhis own, ' writes a biographer, 'he wore mourning, and always used blacksealing-wax. Uncontrollable fits of melancholy came over him, and hementioned not her name but to his most confidential friend, and thenalways with tenderness and respect. ' It would have been more desirable, perhaps, that he should have exhibited a little more feeling during thelifetime of the lady; but perhaps marriage was not in the programme ofHoppner's courtly rival, of the painter 'that began where Reynolds leftoff, ' as the sinking Sir Joshua is reported to have declared of him, rather too flatteringly. 

IX. 

Haydon notes in his diary, under date 25th May 1832, 'I passedLawrence's house (Russell Square). Nothing could be more melancholy ordesolate. I knocked, and was shown in. The passages were dusty; thepaper torn; the parlours dark; the painting-room, where so much beautyhad once glittered, forlorn; and the whole appearance desolate andwretched--the very plate on the door green with mildew. 

'I went into the parlour, which used to be instinct with life; "Poor SirThomas; always in trouble, " said the woman who had the care of thehouse, "always something to worrit him. " I saw his bed-room--small--only a little bed--the mark of it was against the wall. Close to hisbed-room was an immense room (where was carried on his manufactory ofdraperies, etc. ), divided, yet open over the partitions. It must havebeen five or six small rooms turned into one large workshop. Here hisassistants worked. His painting-room was a large back drawing-room; hisshow-room a large front one. He occupied a parlour and a bed-room; allthe rest of the house was turned to business. Any one would think thatpeople of fashion would visit from remembrance the house where they hadspent so many happy hours. Not they. They shun a disagreeable sensation. They have no feeling--no poetry. It is shocking. It is dirty!'

Bitter Mr. Haydon. Perhaps it was not that he loved Lawrence more, butthat he loved his patrons less. For the people of fashion who werecaring so little about the dead Lawrence, cared not at all for theliving Haydon. 

THE PUPIL OF SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 

In St. James's Street, London, on the 10th June 1787, was born GeorgeHenry Harlow. His father, an East India merchant for a time Resident atCanton, had been dead about four months. The widowed mother, onlytwenty-seven, and of remarkable personal attractions, was fortunatelyleft with an ample dower. Mourning her husband, she devoted herself toher children--five very young girls and the new-born son. Perhaps it wasnot unnatural that to the youngest child, born under suchcircumstances--the only boy--the largest share of her maternal affectionand solicitude should be given. 

He was first placed at the classical school of Dr. Barrow in SohoSquare, then under the tuition of Dr. Roy in Burlington Street; for sometime he was at Westminster. In after-life, in boastful moments, he waspleased to speak grandly of his classical attainments; of these, however, he could never adduce any notable evidence. It is probable thathe was at no time a very eager student; he had tastes and ambitions notcompatible with school-learning, and an over-indulgent mother was littlelikely to rebuke his want of application, or to desire that herdarling's attention should be fixed upon his books in too earnest amanner. Certainly before he was sixteen he had left school, and eventhen 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 constantvisitor at the picture-galleries, already able to ply his pencil to somepurpose; yet bent, perhaps, upon acquiring the manner and the trick ofothers rather than of arriving at a method of his own by a hard study ofnature. He almost preferred a painted to a real human being--a picturelandscape to a view from a hill-top. He was satisfied that things shouldcome to him filtered through the canvases of his predecessors--contentto see with their eyes. He was apt to think painting was little higherthan legerdemain, was a conjurer's feat to be detected by constantlywatching the performer, was a secret that he might be told by others ormight discover for himself by examining their works: not a science openunder certain conditions to all who will take the trouble to learn. These were not very noble nor very healthy opinions to entertain uponthe subject; but at least at the foundation of them was a certainfondness for art, and there was without doubt promise in theperformances of the young man. Of this Mrs. Harlow was speedilysatisfied, and the friends she consulted confirmed her opinion. It wasdetermined that he should enter the studio of a painter. Not much carewas exercised in the selection of a preceptor. A Dutch artist, namedHenry De Cort, had settled in London; he produced landscapes of aformal, artificial pattern--compositions in which Italian palaces andwaterfalls and ruins appeared prominently, formal in colour, neat infinish, the animals and figures being added to the pictures by otherDutchmen. There was rather a rage at one time for Italian landscape seenthrough a Dutch medium: a fashion in favour of which there is little tobe said. It was not a very good school in which to place George HenryHarlow. De Cort was pretentious and conceited--worse, he was dull. Thestudent 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 hewas, indeed, wasting his time. He quitted De Cort, and entered thestudio of Mr. Drummond, A. R. A. He applied himself assiduously, 'with anardour from which even amusements could not seduce him, ' says abiographer. For, alas! young Mr. Harlow was becoming as noted for hislove of pleasure as for his love of his profession. He remained a yearwith Mr. Drummond, and then commenced to sigh for a change. 

There is a story that the beautiful Georgiana Duchess of Devonshireinterested herself in the studies of the young man, and that owing toher influence and interposition he was admitted into the studio of SirThomas Lawrence in Greek Street. Another account has it that Mr. Harlowand his mother visited the various painters with the view of selectingone with whom the student would be content to remain until his period ofpupilage was at an end, and that he himself finally selected Sir ThomasLawrence. A premium of one hundred guineas was paid. For this sum thestudent was to have free access to his master's house 'at nine o'clockin the morning, with leave to copy his pictures till four o'clock in theafternoon, but was to receive no instruction of any kind. ' It wassupposed, apparently, that the example of Sir Thomas was instructionenough. But it is possible that Lawrence, while, with his innumerableengagements, he was unable to bestow much time upon a pupil, was also, like Sir Joshua, unable to communicate art instruction. He knew verylittle of rules, he was little imbued with academic prescriptions, hepainted rather from an instinctive love of beauty and from a purelynatural quickness in observing expression. Harlow might have said ofLawrence as Northcote said of Reynolds: 'I learnt nothing from him whileI was with him. ' Though it seems hard to say that a student could belong in the studio of either master and benefit in no way. 

The friends of the late Mr. Harlow were greatly distressed that his sonshould follow the unprofitable business of the Fine Arts. They hastenedto rescue him from ruin, as they believed. They offered him a writershipin India. He declined their assistance. 'I care not for riches, ' hesaid; 'give me fame and glory!' They could not comprehend an ambition soabsurd; they thought the young man out of his senses, and left himaccordingly. They were even angry with their friend's son that he wouldnot permit them to tear him from the profession of his choice. 

Harlow was excitable, impulsive, enthusiastic. He was well acquaintedwith his own ability; indeed he was inclined to set almost too high avalue upon it. He could bear no restraint. If Lawrence had attempted toimpart instruction to him, he would probably have resisted it with allhis might; he was ill at ease under even the semblance of pupilage; hedeclined to recognise his own inferiority; he was angry with theposition he occupied in the studio of Sir Thomas. It would seem to havebeen difficult to quarrel with one who was always so courtier-like inmanner, so gentle and _suave_ and forbearing as was Lawrence. But it ispossible these very characteristics were matters of offence to Harlow. He could not give credit for ability to a man who was so calm andelegant and placid amidst all the entrancements of his profession. Hethought a great painter should gesticulate more, should sacrifice thegentlemanly to the eccentric as _he_ did, should be feverish and frothyand unconventional and absurd as _he_ was. And then he possessed a quickmimetic talent. He had soon acquired great part of Lawrence's manner. People are always prone to think themselves equal to those they canimitate, and he was far ahead of all the other young gentlemen whoentered the studio; indeed it may be said that no one has everapproached more closely to the peculiar style and character ofLawrence's art than his pupil Harlow. The master admitted thishimself--if not in words, at least in conduct. He employed Harlow uponhis portraits, to paint replicas, and even to prepare in dead coloursthe originals. Of course the painting of backgrounds and accessories wasthe customary occupation of the pupils. 

For eighteen months Harlow remained in the studio of Sir Thomas. Aportrait had been painted of Mrs. Angerstein. In this Lawrence hadintroduced a Newfoundland dog, so skilfully represented as to excite thewarmest admiration. Harlow, perhaps, had had a share in the painting ofthis dog, and he loudly claimed credit for it. He is said even to haveintruded himself upon the Angerstein family, and to have represented tothem how greatly the success of the picture was due to his exertions. Ofcourse this conduct on the part of a pupil amounted to flat mutiny. SirThomas informed of it, sought out his pupil, and said to him: 'You mustleave my house immediately. The animal you claim is among the bestthings _I_ ever painted. Of course you have no need of furtherinstruction from me. ' Harlow withdrew abruptly. In a day or twoafterwards he was heard of, living magnificently, at the Queen's Head, asmall roadside inn on the left hand as you leave Epsom for Ashstead. When the host approached with the reckoning, it was found that thepainter was without the means of liquidating it. It was agreed that theaccount should be paid by his executing a new sign-board. He paintedboth sides: on one a full-face view of Queen Charlotte, a dashingcaricature of Sir Thomas's manner; on the other a back view of theQueen's head, as though she were looking into the sign-board, whileunderneath 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 werenot a scoundrel I would kick you from one end of the street to theother. '

'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 storiesso easy to relate and so difficult to disprove. But there areincoherencies about it. The portrait of Mrs. Angerstein was exhibited atthe Royal Academy in the year 1800, some years before Harlow had becomea pupil of Lawrence's. The speech about the kicking is a very unlikelyone to have proceeded from Lawrence, while it is still more unlikelythat Harlow would have received it so quietly. Had such language passedbetween them it is hardly possible they could have been on the footingof anything like friendship afterwards, yet we find Lawrence assistingHarlow in his picture of the Kemble family in quite an intimate way. Certainly there was a quarrel, and Harlow quitted Sir Thomas. A livingwriter 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 moreseverely, than as one of those artistic freaks which clever caricaturingstudents 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 theadvantages offered by the Academy--he would not draw there--would notenrol himself as a student. He would toil no more in the studios ofothers--he was now a full-blown artist himself. So he argued. 'Naturallyvain. ' writes J. T. Smith, one of his biographers, 'he becameridiculously foppish, and by dressing to the extreme of fashion wasoften the laughing-stock of his brother artists, particularly when hewished to pass for a man of high rank, whose costume he mimicked; andthat folly he would often venture upon without an income sufficient topay one of his many tailors' bills. ' He seemed bent upon exaggeratingeven the extravagances of fashion. There is a story of his having beenseen with such enormously long spurs that he was obliged to walk downstairs backwards to save himself from falling headlong. He had a cravingfor notoriety. If the public would not notice his works, at least theyshould notice _him_. Somehow he would be singled out from the crowd. People should ask who he was, no matter whether censure or applause wasto follow the inquiry. So he dressed with wild magnificence andswaggered along the streets and laughed loudly and talked with anaudacious freedom that was often the cause of his expulsion fromrespectable company. A glass or two of wine seemed quite to turn hisbrain; he was alert then for any frivolity, and he was not alwayscontent with so restricted a libation, when the consequences were evenmore to be deplored. 

He now offered himself as a candidate for Academic honours. He was not alikely man to succeed, yet he did all he could to conciliate the moreinfluential Academicians, and certainly he had merits that entitled himfairly 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, andthe number of portraits of him was very great. He also painted Stothardand Nollekens, and the well-known and admirable portrait of Fuseli. With this he took extraordinary pains, had numerous sittings, and wastwo whole days engaged upon the right hand only--a long time accordingto the art-opinion of his day, when it was the fashion to finish aportrait in a very dashing style of execution, after one sitting, and ina few hours' time. Mr. Leslie allowed Harlow's portrait of Fuseli to bethe best. 'But, ' he said, 'it would have required a Reynolds to dojustice to the fine intelligence of his head. His keen eye of the mosttransparent blue I shall never forget. ' But the Academy would not thinkfavourably of Harlow. In later days Northcote sturdily declaimed: 'TheAcademy is not an institution for the suppression of Vice but for theencouragement of the Fine Arts. The dragging morality into everything inseason and out of season, is only giving a handle to hypocrisy, andturning virtue into a byword for impertinence. ' There was only oneAcademician who could be found to give a vote for Harlow. This was, ofcourse, Fuseli. He was accused of it, and vindicated himself--'I votedfor the talent, not for the man!' He was seeking to estimate the fitnessof the claimant for art-honours, by means of perhaps the fairestcriterion. The Academy tested on a different plan. It was hard to saythat Harlow's moral character rendered him unfit to associate with thepainters of his day; yet such was the effect of the decision of theAcademy. 

Of course he was cruelly mortified, deeply incensed; of course he sworein his wrath that he would wreak a terrible vengeance upon his enemies. But what could he do? He could privately abuse the academicianscorporately and severally wherever he went; and publicly he would paintthem down. He would demonstrate their imbecility and his own greatnessby his works. He took to large historical paintings--'Bolingbroke'sEntry into London' and 'The Quarrel between Queen Elizabeth and the Earlof Essex. ' Unfortunately the merits of these achievements were notsufficient to carry dismay into the hearts of his oppressors. And whatwas even worse, no purchaser came for these ambitious works. He wasdriven to portrait painting again. He was dexterous in delineatingcharacter, was rapid in execution, had a respectable appreciation ofcolour. His first exhibited portrait was one of his mother; she lived tosee him, in a great measure, successful, and died when he was twenty-twoyears old. A deep affection seems to have subsisted between the motherand the son. He was greatly moved at her death, and always mentioned hername with tenderness. He had soon no lack of sitters. He was recognisedas 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 waspainted for Mr. Leader, at the price of one hundred guineas. The patron, however, was less pleased with the vigour and glow of colour of thework than were the critics, and was not sorry to exchange the picturefor portraits of his children. This was sufficiently galling to thepainter's pride, but he was not rich enough to resent such conduct. Hecould not afford to close all dealing with his patron, as he wouldgreatly have preferred to do. 

The next picture--and the one by which of all his works he is the mostpopularly known--was that combination of historical art and portraitureknown as the 'Trial of Queen Katherine. ' The work was commissioned byMr. Welsh the professor of music. It was commenced during the progressof the artist's portrait of Fuseli, who, examining the first drawing ofthe picture, said:--'I do not disapprove of the general arrangement ofyour work, and I see you will give it a powerful effect of light andshade. But you have here a composition of more than twenty figures, or, I should rather say, parts of figures, because you have not shown oneleg or foot, which makes it very defective. If you do not know how todraw feet and legs, I will show you. ' And with a crayon he made drawingson the wainscot of the room. 

However inclined Harlow may have been to neglect counsel, given inrather an imperious tone, he did not hesitate to profit by Fuseli'scomments, and accordingly he re-arranged the grouping in the foregroundof his picture. On a subsequent visit Fuseli remarked the change: 'Sofar you have done well, ' he said, 'but now you have not introduced aback-figure to throw the eye of the spectator into the picture. ' And hethen proceeded to point out by what means this might be managed. Accordingly, we learn, Harlow introduced the two boys who are taking upthe 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 theprincipal object--Queen Katherine--should be amended, but this it seemswas not accomplished. 'After having witnessed many ineffectual attemptsof the painter to accomplish this, I remarked, "It is a pity that younever attended the antique academy. "' It was only Fuseli who would havepresumed to address such an observation to Harlow; while it was onlyfrom Fuseli that it would have been received with even the commonestpatience. 

The Kemble family are represented in this picture; and it is probablethat the painter was more anxious for the correctness of theirportraits, and an accurate representation of the scene, as it wasenacted at Covent Garden Theatre, than for any of the highercharacteristics of historical art. Mrs. Siddons is the _Katherine_; JohnKemble is _Wolsey_; Charles Kemble, _Cromwell_; while Stephen Kemble, who was reputed to be fat enough to appear as _Falstaff_, 'withoutstuffing, ' here represents the _King_. These are all admirableportraits of a strikingly handsome family, firmly and grandly painted, and full of expression. Perhaps the best of all is Mrs. Siddons', andthe next Charles Kemble's. The whole picture is a highly commendablework of art, and enjoyed during many years an extraordinary popularity. 

It was with John Kemble, however, that the artist had his greatestdifficulty, and it was here that Sir Thomas Lawrence rendered assistanceto Harlow. Kemble steadily refused to sit, and great was the distress ofthe painter. At last Sir Thomas advised his pupil to go to the front rowof the pit of the theatre (there were no stalls in those days, it shouldbe remembered), four or five times successively, and sketch the greatactor's countenance, and thus make out such a likeness as he couldintroduce into the painting. This expedient was adopted, and not onlywas a very good likeness secured, but the artist was successful inobtaining the expression of the _Cardinal_ at the exact point of hissurprise and anger at the defiance of the _Queen_. Had Mr. Kemble satfor his portrait, Harlow would probably have experienced the difficultyNorthcote complained of:--

'When Kemble sat to me for _Richard III_. , meeting the children, he lentme no assistance whatever in the expression I wished to give, butremained quite immoveable, as if he were sitting for an ordinaryportrait. As Boaden said, this was his way. He never put himself to anyexertion except in his professional character. If any one wanted to knowhis 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 inthe case of his master Lawrence. A critic has described the eyes incertain of Lawrence's portraits as 'starting from their spheres. ' Theopinion is rather more extravagant than complimentary, or true. There isa winning sparkle about them which may occasionally be carried toexcess, but, as a rule, they are singularly life-like. 

Sir Joshua had laid it down as a fixed principle that, to create thebeautiful, the eyes ought always to be in mezzotint. To this rule SirThomas did not adhere very rigorously, and indeed, by a departure fromit, frequently arrived at the effect he contemplated. 

Ambitious at one time of exhibiting his learning, Harlow thought properto express surprise at a scholar like Fuseli permitting the engravers toplace translations under his classical subjects. 

'Educated at Westminster school, ' he said, rather affectedly, 'I shouldprefer to see the quotations given in the original language;' and he wasrash enough to instance the print from the death of OEdipus, as a casein point. The unfortunate part of this was, that, on the plate inquestion, the passage was really engraved in Greek characters under themezzotint. Fuseli heard of this criticism: 'I will soon bring hisknowledge to the test, ' he said. 

On the next occasion of his sitting to Harlow he wrote with chalk inlarge letters, on the wainscot, a passage from Sophocles: 'Read that, 'he said to Harlow. It soon became evident that Mr. Harlow was quiteunable to do this. Fuseli thought the occasion a worthy one foradministering a rebuke. 'That is the Greek quotation inscribed under theOEdipus, which you believed to be absent from the plate, and a word ofwhich you are unable to read. You are a good portrait-painter; in someways 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, pretentiousHarlow. 

In June 1818, in his thirty-first year, Harlow set out for Italy, benton study and self-improvement. An interesting and characteristic accountof 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 arrivalmade an entire copy of the Transfiguration; the next was a compositionof my own, of fifteen figures which created no small sensation here. Canova requested to have the picture at his house for a few days, whichwas accordingly sent, and, on the 10th November, upwards of five hundredpersons saw it; it was then removed to the academy of St. Luke's, andpublicly exhibited. They unanimously elected me an Academician, and Ihave received the diploma. There are many things which have made thiselection very honourable to me, of which you shall hear in England. Youmust 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 theacademy. The same night of my election the King of Naples received hishonorary degree (being then in Rome on a visit to the Pope) in commonwith all the other sovereigns of Europe, and I am happy to find the Dukeof 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 weesteem, were members. I had the high gratification to see my nameenrolled in the list of these illustrious characters. Now, my dearfriend, as this fortunate affair has taken place, I should wish it addedto the print of Katherine's Trial: you will perhaps have the kindness tocall on Mr. Cribb, the publisher, in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, and have it worded thus: _Member of the Academy of St. Luke's atRome_. ' (This, of course, was by way of reproach to the Royal Academy ofGreat Britain. ) 'I mention this as it is a grand plate, and indeed oughtto be added. I expect to be in England by Christmas-Day or near it. Ishall have an immensity to talk over. I was much pleased with Naples;stayed ten days; went over to Portici; Herculaneum and Pompeii, andascended Mount Vesuvius: this was a spectacle--the most awful and grandthat I had ever witnessed--the fire bursting every two minutes, and thenoise with it like thunder: red-hot ashes came tumbling down continuallywhere I stood sketching, many of which I brought away, and differentpieces of the old lava which I hope to show you. The eruption took placea week or two after I left. But Pompeii exhibits now the mostextraordinary remains of antiquity in the world; a whole city laid opento view; the habitations are unroofed, but, in other respects, are quiteperfect. The house of Sallust, the Roman historian, was particularlygratifying to me, unaltered in every respect, except the furniture(which I believe is now in Portici), the same as it was eighteen hundredand fifty years ago when inhabited by him. There are many shops; in onethe amphoræ which held the wine are curious, and marks of the cups theyused upon the slabs are distinctly seen: a milkshop with the sign of agoat is perfectly preserved with the vessels, and also several othershops in the same perfect state. Rome has been a scene of the utmostgaiety lately, during the stay of the King of Naples. I was at threesplendid balls given at the different palaces. We were obliged to appearin court-dresses, and the cardinals added very much to the richness andgrandeur of the party. The ladies looked peculiarly striking, but theydid not wear hoops as in the English court. We had French and Englishdances, etc. , and the fireworks surpassed all my expectations. Upon thewhole, the entertainments were very novel and very delightful. I am tobe presented to the Pope either on the 2d or 3d of next month. CardinalGonsalvi will let me know when the day is fixed, and I leave Romedirectly after; perhaps the next day--a day that I most sincerelydread--for I have become so attached to the place and the people that Iexpect a great struggle with myself. I should be the most ungrateful ofhuman beings if I did not acknowledge the endless favours they havebestowed on me. It is the place of all others for an artist, as he issure to be highly appreciated if he has any talent; and I shall speak ofthe country to the end of my days with the most fervent admiration. TheTransfiguration, I think, will make a stare in England!'

It was of this same copy of the Transfiguration that Canova had spokenso applaudingly: 'This, sir, seems rather the work of eighteen weeksthan of eighteen days. '

He gave a picture of 'The Presentation of the Cardinal's Hat to Wolseyin Westminster Abbey' to the Academy of St. Luke's at Rome, and his ownportrait to the Academy of Florence, in acknowledgment of having beenelected a member. He embarked for England in January 1819. LordBurghersh, the English ambassador at Florence, had paid him markedattentions. Lord Liverpool gave instructions that the painter's packagesshould be passed at the Custom House. He established himself in a house, No. 83 Dean Street, Soho. Everything seemed to promise to him a happyand prosperous future, when suddenly he sickened with the disease, knownpopularly as the mumps. He died on the 4th February 1819, and was buriedunder the altar of St. James's Church, Piccadilly. In the churchyard hadbeen buried, a year or two previously, an artist of less merit, --JamesGillray, the caricaturist. 

It is not possible to lay great stress upon the early failings ofHarlow; errors, after all, rather of manners than of morals. Had helived, it is likely that a successful career would have almost effacedthe recollection of these, while it would certainly have contradictedthem as evidences of character. As Lawrence said of his dead pupil, generously yet truthfully, 'he was the most promising of all ourpainters. ' There was the material for a great artist in Harlow. He diedtoo young for his fame, and for his art. A proof engraving of one of hisbest works (a portrait of Northcote) was brought to Lawrence to touchupon:--

'Harlow had faults, ' he said, 'but we must not remember the faults ofone who so greatly improved himself in his art. It shall never be saidthat the finest work from so great a man went into the world withoutsuch assistance as I can give. '

TURNER AND RUSKIN. 

The difficulty the vulgar have experienced in comprehending that kingsand queens, and generally persons high in authority, are simply men andwomen after all--their ordinary appearance, dress, manners, and habitsnot greatly different from those of the rest of mankind--has been afrequent subject of remark and ridicule. Years back, at the Americantheatres, spectators in the pit were often gravely asking each other, whether the sovereign of England was really accustomed to appear in theLondon streets, wearing a similar wonderful costume to that in which Mr. Lucius Junius Booth was then strutting and ranting as Richard the Third;the fact of the Drury Lane copies of the dresses worn at the coronationof George IV. Having been taken to the other side of the Atlantic, and_The Coronation_ performed at most of the chief cities, supplying, perhaps, an apology for the reasoning which prompted the inquiry. Butthe popular notion, that a monarch habitually walks about carrying onhis head a jewelled crown of enormous value and weight, finds areflection in higher stages of culture and intelligence. An analogousdelusion is traceable amongst people occupying very reputable roundsupon the social ladder. A state of confusion between a man and hisoffice, or his works, is by no means confined to those whom it is thefashion to designate as 'the masses. ' Are we not continually meetingladies and gentlemen, of otherwise commendable intellectual endowments, bent upon bewildering themselves with the notion, that the sentimentalnovelist is necessarily a creature of sentiment--that the comic actor, out of his part and off his stage, is still laughable and amusing--thatthe writer of poetry, as a consequence, lives poetry, and the career ofthe painter is inevitably picturesque?

How mistaken is this kind of opinion we have hardly need to point out. How prosaic may be a poet's life our readers will probably not care toquestion. And if any doubt haloed the artist with an unreal interest andcharm, the biography of the late Mr. Turner[23] will pretty welldisperse anything of the kind. A statement of the plain facts of thematter clears away all mirage of fancy and romance, and, --as in cruellyrestored pictures, the beautiful glazing well scoured off, --we come thento the mere raw paint, and coarse canvas, unattractiveness, evenugliness. 

[23] In 1861 was published _The Life of J. M. W. Turner, R. A. _, founded onletters and papers furnished by his friends and Fellow Academicians; byWalter Thornbury. In a more recent work, _Haunted London_ (1865), Mr. Thornbury has himself passed judgment upon his _Life of Turner_, pronouncing it to be 'a careless book, but still containing muchcurious, authentic, and original anecdote. '

In truth, the sunshine pictures of Turner were evolved from a life asdingy and uncomely as could well be. It is difficult to conceive anycorrespondence, any _rapport_ between workmanship so exquisite, and aworkman in every way so unattractive, so little estimable. But just asfrom the small dusky insect in the hedges at night proceeds aphosphorescent flame of great power and beauty--just as from amiserable-looking, coarse, common flint are emitted sparks of superbbrilliance, --so from the hands of this strange, sordid, shambling mancame art-achievements almost without precedent in the history ofpainting. 

Joseph Mallord William Turner was born on the 23d April (St. George'sday) 1775, in a house (recently pulled down and reconstructed) oppositewhat used to be called the Cider Cellars in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden. Through a narrow arched passage, closed by an iron gate, was formerlyobtained, by a narrow door on the left-hand side, access to the smallbut respectable shop of William Turner, barber, the father of thepainter. The trade could hardly have been an unprosperous one in thosedays of perukes and powder and pomatumed edifices of hair, and when, moreover, 'the Garden' was a not unfashionable locality. The new-bornwas baptized on the 14th May following, in the parish church of St. Paul's, where also, it may be said, his father had been married (bylicense) to Mary Marshall, also of the same parish, on the 29th August1773. The registers recording these important events are still extant. 

The barber's position was plebeian, though there are no indications ofits having been one of poverty. He came originally from Devonshire. Inquiry as to the descent of the artist's mother is balked by the widelydiffering stories that present themselves. From one account we learnthat she was a native of Islington; from another that she came of a goodNottinghamshire family living at Shelford Manor-house, while yet welearn in another direction that her brother was a butcher at Brentford. We are involved in doubt at last as to whether, after all, her name wasnot _Mallord_ rather than Marshall, and hence the second Christian nameof her son, which else there seems no way of accounting for. All this isobscure enough. Certainly, in the latter part of her life, the poorwoman was insane and in confinement. Turner was uncommunicative uponmost subjects; but in regard to his mother and her family he preserved areticence of unusual severity. 

Mr. Ruskin has amused himself with a fanciful contrast between theboyhood of Giorgione at Venice, and of Turner in Covent Garden. There isno reason to believe that any disadvantage accrued to Turner from hissomewhat uncheerful birthplace. It is hardly the Venetians who are themost alive to the beauties of Venice. But Mr. Ruskin is fond of mountinga richly-caparisoned charger of the imagination, and caracoling round acrotchety circus; and his feats in this respect are so elegantly andadmirably fantastic, that we almost forbear to smile, out of deferenceto so perfect a non-perception of humour, when we find him tracing thepainter back to _Covent Garden Market_ in all his paintings. Mr. Ruskindetects in the corners of Turner's foregrounds 'always a succulentcluster or two of green-grocery!' The artist's _Hesperides_ gleam withCovent Garden oranges; in his _Shipwrecks_ chests of them are flung uponthe waters; and in his _St. Gothard_ a litter of stones reflects CoventGarden wreck after the market! What wonder Mr. Turner was tempted toexclaim now and then about his arch-critic--'He knows a great deal moreabout my pictures than I do. He puts things into my head, and points outmeanings in them that I never intended. '

A silver salver, engraved with heraldic devices, seen at the house ofMr. Tomkisson, the famous piano-forte-maker, is said to have firstinspired the boy Turner with a love for art. He commenced to imitate thedrawing of a certain rampant lion that especially took his fancy. Verysoon after this the father announced that his son William was going tobe a painter. The reader will note that the early ambitions of the boywere at once humoured. There would seem to have been no attempt usualwith poor parents anxious for the commercial success of a child, tothrust the boy into a trade or employment which, though distasteful, would have been profitable to him. Old Mr. Turner probably knew littleenough of art, and could have had but a poor opinion, in a pecuniarysense, of the profession to which his son was desirous of attachinghimself. But no obstacles were thrown in his path; he was soon placedwith Mr. Thomas Malton, a perspective draughtsman, who kept a school inLongacre, and was the son of the author of a practical book on _Geometryand Perspective_. Certainly his poverty and low birth in no way hinderedthe painter; had he been born to rank and wealth, he could only have hadhis will: and he had it without these. 

The little education he ever received was obtained at a school atBrentford; but he could never write or spell correctly. It is probablethat his passion for art absorbed his every thought. Not that hesucceeded with his perspective studies, however, for Mr. Malton broughtthe boy back to his father as a pupil quite beyond all hope. Yet thereal talent of the young painter was already developing itself. Some ofhis drawings exhibited in the Maiden Lane shop found purchasers amonghis father's customers. An engraver employed him to colour prints. Twoor three architects engaged him to fill in skies and backgrounds totheir plans. Soon he had entered the office of Mr. Hardwick, thearchitect, who regularly employed him. 

It is curious to learn that, later in life, Turner, pointing admiringlyto a green mezzotinto of a Vandevelde--a large vessel bearing up againstthe waves--would exclaim, '_That_ made me a painter!' Yet he stoodbefore the work of one of those 'Van-somethings and Back-somethings, 'who, Mr. Ruskin tells us, have 'more especially and malignantly libelledthe sea. ' 'I feel utterly hopeless in addressing the admirers of thesemen, because I do not know what it is in their works which is supposedto be like nature. ' It seems that Turner was more catholic in his tastesthan his panegyrist. 

In 1789, following the advice of Mr. Hardwick, Turner became a studentof the Royal Academy. In the same year Reynolds ceased to paint, owingto the failure of his sight. That Turner, who had been admitted to thePresident's studio to copy portraits, was present when the great painterlaid aside his brush with the solemn words, 'I know all things on earthmust come to an end, and now I am come to mine, ' is one of thosesuppositions in which biographers are prone to indulge, but which fewreaders will be found to credit. In these days Turner's drawing was inadvance of his colour: an order of things which was afterwards reversed. 

In 1790 he first exhibited at Somerset House: the picture being 'LambethPalace. ' From that time, down to 1850 inclusive, hardly a season beingmissed, Turner's name appears in the catalogues of the Academy. In all, two hundred and fifty-seven pictures by Turner were hung on the wallsof the Academy exhibitions, while nearly twenty more were to be seen atthe British Institution. He relinquished all idea of becoming aportrait-painter about the time of the death of Reynolds. His ownportrait in the National Gallery was painted when he was seventeen. Itis executed with skill, although without any charm of colour. Itrepresents a young man of large heavy features, but of a notunattractive appearance altogether. 

Upon a story of a love affair in the painter's early life, we areinclined to lay no great stress. There is no evidence that it affectedhis after-life, or that any excuse can be found in it for the faults ofhis character. Speaking of his own love of money, he would sometimes sayapologetically, 'Dad never praised me for anything but saving ahalfpenny. ' A disappointment in love is more likely to make a man aprofligate than a miser; if it affects him at all seriously, it willmore likely produce a reckless waste than a sordid passion formoney-making. The painter was prospering. He taught in schools, firstcharging five shillings a lesson, then raising his terms to tenshillings, next charging a guinea. What system of painting did he teach, this suspicious jealous man, who always worked with locked doors--whowould never permit another even to see him draw--who seemed to hold (butit was a then prevalent belief with his profession) that art wasproducible by some occult process--was a mystery and a secret, like aconjurer's trick? He founded his style very much on that of his friendand contemporary Girtin, the water-colour painter. Both delighted in agolden yellowness of tone which it is probable Girtin had originated. Turner's regard and reverence for him and his works seem to have beenvery great. He always spoke kindly of him as 'poor Tom!' Of one of hisdrawings in the British Museum, Turner said, 'I never in my whole lifecould make a drawing like that; I would at any time have given one of mylittle fingers to have made such a one. ' At another time he said, 'IfTom Girtin had lived, I should have starved!' Girtin died in 1802; inthe same year Turner was made a Royal Academician; he had been two yearsbefore admitted to the honours of Associateship. The influence of Girtinupon English art has hardly been sufficiently recognised. Mr. Ruskin hashad too little to say on behalf of one to whom it is evident that Turnerowed very much. 

Turner's rapid advance in his profession may be traced in his frequentchange of residence. In 1796 he had quitted his father's house in HandCourt, to occupy rooms at No. 26 Maiden Lane. In 1800 he was at No. 64Harley Street. The following year he had moved to No. 75 Norton Street. In 1804 he was back again in Harley Street. In 1808 he was Professor ofPerspective, of Harley Street, and of West End, Upper Mall, Hammersmith. He moved to Queen Anne Street in 1812, and that continued to be hisaddress in the Academy catalogues up to the time of his death. But fromthe year 1814 to 1826 he was also the tenant of a house at Twickenham, which he first called 'Solus, ' and afterwards 'Sandycombe' Lodge. Hedied in December 1851, at a small house near Cremorne Gardens, Chelsea. This he first tenanted probably about the year 1845. 

A few continental visits, and tours in England, Scotland, and Wales, allundertaken apparently with professional objects, --incessant squabblingswith his engravers, the most wearisome haggling with picture-dealers, genuine hard work, and the production of very perfect specimens oflandscape art, and the outlines of Turner's life seem to be fairlysketched. His passion for his profession was intense, yet with it wasthe keenest love of its emoluments. His industry was beyond all praise, his energy indefatigable; he seemed to live perpetually before hiseasel, or with his sketch-book in his hands, and yet he had a broker'sview as to the worth of everything he did; he appraised his everypencil-stroke, with the full determination of having his price for it. There is hardly a story of his ever giving away a drawing. A lady, inwhose house he was residing, playfully asked him to make a sketch of herfavourite spaniel. 'My dear madam, ' said the painter, astounded andindignant, 'you don't know what you ask!' He once gave three sketches toaid an amateur artist, and most intimate friend and patron, who hadbrought his painting into an embarrassed condition; the sketches showedhim the way out of his difficulty. Undoubtedly this action was verykind; but in the end the miser prevailed over the gentleman. Turnergrowlingly asked for his sketches back again!

The details of his life are not agreeable, and not of much more interestthan the outlines. Mr. Ruskin fixes the following as the maincharacteristics of Turner--_uprightness, generosity, tenderness ofheart_ (extreme), _sensuality, obstinacy_ (extreme), _irritability, infidelity_. ' By the light of all these 'Seven Lamps, ' few people willhave seen Turner besides Mr. Ruskin. Of the last four characteristicsthe painter will be generally found guilty; the first three remain asyet, at best, not proven. We are not tempted, just now, to accounthighly the uprightness of a man who could, and did, defraud the publicby the sale of 'sham proofs' of the engravings of his pictures--of thegenerosity which made provision for his own memorial in stone in St. Paul's, yet left without bread his surviving 'housekeepers' and naturalchildren--of the tenderness of heart which permitted that his father, moved from the shop, should play a servant's part in the gallery inQueen Anne Street, straining canvases, varnishing pictures, and showingin visitors, with a suspicion that he cooked the dinner even if he didnot take the shillings at the door. 'Look'ee here, ' said the poor oldman, who, it is right to state, saw no humiliation in acting lackey tohis prosperous son, 'I have found out a way at last of coming up cheapfrom Twickenham, to open my son's gallery. I found out the inn where themarket-gardeners baited their horses; I made friends with one on 'em, and now, for a glass of gin a day, he brings me up in his cart on thetop of the vegetables!' As a set-off to all this, we have now and then aspasmodic act of kindness: he rebukes Wilkie for talking about the fineeffect of the snow falling while poor Lawrence's coffin was beinglowered into the grave in the crypt of St. Paul's: he drives away theboys who injure his blackbirds: he sometimes gives half-a-crown whenothers would only offer a penny: and there is a story (very vagueindeed) of his once lending £20, 000 without security. But these are butthe halfpennyworth of bread compared to the vast quantity of sack. Thematter seems fairly summed up in the story of the man who said, 'Turneris not ungenerous; _he once paid the toll over Waterloo Bridge for me_!'

Mr. Ruskin charges Turner's faults upon his contemporaries and thepublic who failed to appreciate his genius. But is this for a momentsustainable? _Was_ he unappreciated? His rise could hardly have beenmore rapid. He was a Royal Academician when he was twenty-seven. Hismerits were recognised almost immediately upon his becoming anexhibitor. Anthony Pasquin (Williams), who did not speak well of everyone, loudly commends Turner's genius, and judgment, and originality, in1797. [24] He was quite early a favourite with the public and thecritics. His prices were always high. Mr. Ruskin has declared in his_Economy of Art_, that more than one hundred pounds should never begiven for a water-colour drawing, nor more than five hundred for anoil-painting. But the sums Turner received were greatly in excess ofthese limits. For the 'Rise and Fall of Carthage' he was offered £5000. There is no evidence of his complaining of want of recognition by thepublic. He was dissatisfied, it is true, at the time of Shee's death, that he had not been made President; but this, as he well knew, was amatter that rested entirely with the Academy. 'What has the Academy donefor me?' he would ask petulantly; 'they knighted Calcott, why don't theyknight me?' This involved no charge against his critics. He was passedover for the same reason that Paley was neglected; because, as thecourtly phrase went, he was not a 'producible man. ' In fine, though hebegan with nothing, a barber's son in Hand Court, Maiden Lane, he diedworth £140, 000, and was buried in St. Paul's! This hardly looks likewant of appreciation. 

[24] It may be noted, however, that in 'The Georgian Era' (1834) occursthe following passage:--'Some have gone the length of saying that inmarine views Turner has wrested the palm from all competitors; but withthis, few, surely, will agree who have seen the sea pieces of Powell, anartist who, though but recently deceased, has had no biographer tocommemorate his poverty or his genius. ' The works of Powell, howeveradmirable, are not likely now to be preferred to Turner's. 'The GeorgianEra' is not a work of much repute. 

It has been the fashion to talk as though Mr. Ruskin had _discovered_Turner. Nothing can be further from the fact. Turner had been anexhibitor for more than fifty years when Mr. Ruskin commenced to writeabout his pictures. He had reached the _Rock Limpet_ stage of hiscareer. He could then produce little beyond frantic whirls of colour, and there was a not unnatural tendency to smile at these achievements inthe galleries, and the Hanging Committee were often puzzled to knowwhether they had or not hung the pictures upside down. All that Mr. Ruskin could do, and he did it superbly, was to bring people to thinkless of what Turner then was, and more of what he had been. It is allvery well to denounce severely those who smiled at, or the critics whosaid they could not comprehend, the later Turners. It is presumable thatpictures are sent to exhibitions to be applauded or condemned, as theworld may judge. Mr. Thackeray may be rated for his confession, in amagazine article of the day, that he did not understand the _RockLimpet_, though he added a kindly longing 'for the old day, before Mr. Turner had lighted on the "Fallacies, " and could see like otherpeople. '[25] But was Mr. Ruskin in any better plight? Was _he_ anynearer the painter's meaning? Hear his own story:--

'He (Turner) tried hard one day, for a quarter of an hour, to make meguess what he was doing in the picture of "Napoleon" before it had beenexhibited, giving me hint after hint in a rough way. But I could notguess, and he wouldn't tell me!' It is hard after this to censure soamiable a jester as the late Mr. A'Beckett, for burlesquing the strangepicture called 'Hurrah for the whaler _Erebus_--another fish!' in thewords proposed to be substituted--'Hallo, there--the oil andvinegar--another lobster salad!'[26]

[25] 'What can I say of the Napoleon of Mr. Turner? called (withfrightful satire) "The Exile and the _Rock Limpet_. " He stands in themidst of a scarlet tornado looking at least forty feet high. "Ah!" saysthe mysterious poet from whom Mr. Turner loves to quote--

 "Ah! thy tent-formed shell is like The soldier's nightly bivouac, alone Amidst a sea of blood....... ...... _but you can join your comrades!_"

 FALLACIES OF HOPE. 

'These remarkable lines entirely explain the meaning of the picture;another piece is described by lines from the same poem, in a metre moreregular--

 "The midnight torch gleamed o'er the steamer's side, And _merit's corse_ was yielded to the tide. "

(This was the burial of Wilkie at sea: now in the National Gallery. )

'When the pictures are re-hung, as sometimes I believe is the case, itmight, perhaps, be as well to turn these upside down and see how theywould look _then_. The Campo Santo of Venice, when examined closely, isscarcely less mysterious; at a little distance, however, it is a mostbrilliant, airy, and beautiful picture. O for the old days before Mr. Turner had lighted on "The Fallacies" and could see like otherpeople!'--_An Exhibition Gossip_, by Michael Angelo Titmarsh, _Ainsworth's Magazine_, 1843. 

[26] _The Almanack of the Month_, 1846--in which see also a comicaldrawing, by Mr. Richard Doyle, of 'Turner painting one of his pictures, 'and the accompanying letterpress:--'Considerable discussion has arisenas to the mode in which Turner goes to work to paint his pictures. Somethink he mixes a few colours on his canvas instead of on his palette, and sends the result to be exhibited. Another ingenious theory is thathe puts a canvas in a sort of pillory, and pelts it with eggs and othermissiles, when appending to the mess some outrageous title, he has ithung in a good position at the Academy. Our own idea is, that he choosesfour or five good places in which he hangs up some regularly framedsquares of blank canvas; a day or so before the opening of theExhibition, we believe he goes down to the Academy with a quantity ofcolours and a nine pound brush, with which he dabs away for a fewminutes, and his work is finished, ' etc. Etc. 

'Cut off in great part, ' says Mr. Ruskin, 'from all society, first bylabour and last by sickness, hunted to his grave by the malignities ofsmall critics and the jealousies of hopeless rivalry, he died in thehouse of a stranger. ' As Mr. Leslie, his fellow-academician, remarksupon this passage truly enough, 'This was Turner's own fault. Nodeath-bed could be more surrounded by attentive friends than his mighthave been, had he chosen to let his friends know where he lived. ' But heseldom answered letters; his place of residence was a profound mysteryto all; and he was living under an assumed name. To the Chelseastreet-boys he was known as 'Puggy Booth, ' and by his neighbours he wasdeemed to be an old admiral in reduced circumstances. His house in QueenAnne Street was closed, terribly out of repair--black with dirt. Aftermuch knocking at the door it was opened, if at all, by an old woman, herface half-concealed, owing to some cancerous disfigurement; she hadkept the visitor waiting while she assumed a large apron--hung alwaysbehind the door on a peg, handy for the purpose, --which hid the grimyand tattered state of her dress. The drawing-room was tenanted byhalf-a-dozen Manx cats. In the other rooms, rats and mice made havocwith hoarded drawings and engravings. Many of the pictures in thegallery were warped and cracked, and mildewed by neglect and damp. AtSandycombe Lodge, a few of the academicians, including Mr. Mulready, hadonce been regaled with tea; and Mr. Pye, the engraver, had been treatedto cheese and porter; but of the hospitalities of Queen Anne Streetthere are no records. Rogers, poet and satirist, expressed his wonder ata beautiful table adorning the painter's parlour. 'But how much morewonderful it would be, ' he went on, 'to see any of his friends sittinground it!' And there is the story of the visitor who praised the wine ofwhich he had had two glasses, a year intervening between them. 'It oughtto be good, ' said Turner; 'it's the _same bottle_ you tasted before!'True or false, and their accuracy has been much questioned, that suchstories could be repeated at all, says quite enough for the kind of lifeled by the painter at his gallery. And what claims upon society had theman who chose to conduct himself towards it after this manner?

Yet it is curious to note that Turner was in many ways fitted to besocially successful. He had very considerable humour, and highlyappreciated the jests of others, even when they were directed againsthimself. He sat for a long time shaking with laughter, on a high seat atthe Academy, one varnishing day, when Mulready had said 'that his cowswere like the dough pigs, with currant eyes, in the bakers' shops. ' Hewas gay and playful at times, and shone in careless conversation. Personally he was not less liked than as a painter he was respected byhis fellow-academicians; and yet, from some mental warp, he closed hisdoors against the world, shunned his friends, preferred to livemiserably and obscurely, hoarding his money, and treasuring his works. It is difficult to believe that he was not afflicted, late in life, withsome morbid affection of mind that amounted almost to insanity, notalleviated by a manner of life that was far from regular, and habitsthat were anything but temperate. The more he avoided refined society, the more he found pleasure in dissipation of the lowest kind. 'Melancholy' Burton derived relief and amusement listening to theribaldry of the bargemen. Turner found these and other solaces, it wouldseem, in his occasional mysterious absences from home, and indecoroussojournings at Wapping and elsewhere. 

It is with a sense of relief we turn from the contemplation of theimperfect man to consider the nearly perfect artist. The meanness, thesqualor, the degradation of his _morale_ and life are not discernible inhis works. The affluence of beauty of some of these is indeedmarvellous. But this fallen man had extraordinary gifts as a painter, and these he heightened and intensified by labour and industry the mostceaseless. It would be difficult to conceive any one endowed with akeener sensibility to colour, or with a more devotional love for itsglories; it would be equally hard to estimate the enhancement of theworth of English art effected by the colour of Turner. It should beremembered that he appeared at a time when coldness of tone was almost afashion in painting. The chilliness of the shadows of Lawrence and hisfollowers was remarkable. Turner raised the chord of colour a wholeoctave, if it is permissible to say so, illustrating one art by theterms of another. Mr. Ruskin ascribes to him the discovery of the_scarlet shadow_. It was in truth less a new discovery than there-awakening of an old one. The early masters were well aware of thevalue of warmth in this respect. Wilkie comments in his journal on thegreat picture of Correggio: 'And here I observe _hot shadows_ prevail, _not cold_, as some of us would have it. This he has to a fault, makingparts of his figures look like red chalk drawings, but the sunny anddazzling effect of the whole may be attributed to this artifice. '[27] Ifwe look for a prevalent tone in Turner's pictures--though a prevalenttone is always a vice in a painter, nature being without bias in thequestion of hue--we shall find it to be _yellow_, which he himselfdeclared to be his favourite colour, and which occasioned those jokesabout the 'mustard-pot' as a source of inspiration, to whichart-students were at one time addicted. But, indeed, Turner's sense ofall colour was very limitless. A Mrs. Austin once said to him, 'I find, Mr. Turner, that, in copying one of your works, touches of blue, red, and yellow appear all through the work. ' He answered: 'Well, don't yousee that yourself in nature, because, if you don't, Heaven help you!'Mr. Ruskin writes: 'Other painters had rendered the golden tones andblue tones of the sky; Titian especially the latter in perfection. Butnone had dared to paint--none seem to have seen--the scarlet andpurple. ' In representing the glare of sunlight, Turner surpassed evenClaude. Cuyp hardly attempted this feat, his suns generally gleamingthrough a mist; though Turner standing before a splendid example ofCuyp, exclaimed: 'I would give a thousand pounds to have painted that'In atmospheric perspective he was perfect; but in linear faulty and illgrounded, although he had held the appointment of Professor ofPerspective at the Academy for some years. The drawbacks to his picturesconsist in their frequent sacrifice of truth to effect. From this causehe constantly failed to satisfy critics who were well acquainted withthe scenes and subjects he attempted to represent. A tar said of his_Battle of Trafalgar_ at Greenwich: 'What a Trafalgar! it's a d----ddeal more like a brick-field!' while Sir Thomas Hardy used to call it a'street scene, ' as the ships had more the effect of houses thanmen-of-war. Of the wreck of the _Minotaur_, Admiral Bowles complained'that no ship or boat could live in such a sea. '

[27] In a letter to Phillips he adds, 'No one knew the value of thistreatment better than Turner. '

To Turner's credit must be placed many acts of consideration for, andkindness towards, his brother artists. He has been known to displace oneof his own pictures to make room for the work of a promising beginner. His love for art is the real redeeming point in his history. He wasdevoted to the Academy, which had recognised his genius at an earlydate, and was wholly conservative in his opinion upon all academicquestions. Yet his zeal did not blind him. Haydon, whose life had been agallant though almost fruitless struggle against the despoticexclusiveness of the Academy, drew back, we are told, in the midst ofhis exultation at a brief victory gained over his opponents, and saidcalmly: 'But Turner behaved well, and did me justice. '

Turner's biographer, with a scrupulousness that looks a little liketimidity, has abstained steadily from all demur to the _dicta_ of Mr. Ruskin. Mr. Thornbury's volumes represent rather elaborations thancontradictions of the Ruskin opinions, just as what are known as'variations' in music are rather amplifications of, than departuresfrom, the original theme. But we are by no means sure that Mr. Thornburyhas strengthened the case in the painter's favour. We believe that, atthe bar, the junior counsel has been sometimes found to injure theeffect of his chief's advocacy, by entering into and disclosing mattersof detail which had been purposely left untouched by him. Something ofthe same sort has happened in the present instance. Mr. Ruskin bade usworship his hero, classically screened in a cloud. Mr. Thornbury unveilsthe idol, and the too apparent deformity disclosed renders adoration nolonger possible. Mr. Ruskin's five volumes of _Modern Painters_ willtherefore probably still be considered to comprise the true 'Turneriad. 'A more imposing monument to Turner's memory than is afforded by thisbook, with all its defects, can hardly be. For something like a quarterof a century Mr. Ruskin employed himself in examining and lauding theachievements of Turner. He did not complete his self-imposed task untilthe great painter had been dead some ten years. 

It is really curious to go back to the beginning of this remarkablework. 

In 1843 appeared the first volume of '_Modern Painters: theirSuperiority in the Art of Landscape Painting to all the AncientMasters_. By a Graduate of Oxford. ' A further volume was issued threeyears afterwards, to accompany an extended and amended edition of thefirst. A ten years' pause, and third and fourth portions were given tothe world. Then came 1860, and the final volume. Not, as the authoravowed, that his subject was concluded, for 'he had been led by it intofields of infinite inquiry, where it was only possible to break offwith such imperfect results as may at any given moment have beenattained. ' He stopped because he must stop at some time or other. Thefuture art-writings of Mr. Ruskin will no longer bear the collectivetitle of _Modern Painters_. Perhaps that is all that the 'finis' at theend of the fifth volume really amounts to. 

In his fifth volume, Mr. Ruskin has narrated the history of the birthand growth of his book. He has ascribed to himself from his earliestyears, 'the gift of taking pleasure in landscape. ' This, he says, 'Iassuredly possess in a greater degree than most men, it having been theruling passion of my life, and the reason for the choice of its field oflabour. ' Certain articles in a review condemnatory of the pictures ofTurner offended keenly so ardent an admirer of the king of landscapepainters. Mr. Ruskin addressed a letter to the editor of the review, 'reprobating the matter and style of those critiques, and pointing outtheir dangerous tendency;' for 'he knew it to be demonstrable thatTurner was right and true, and that his critics were wrong, false, andbase. ' The letter grew to be a book; the defence expanded into anattack. What began as a few comments upon a particular branch ofpainting ended in being the most elaborate English dissertation uponart, in its widest and weightiest significance. The title originallyselected for the book was _Turner and the Ancients_; and it was not thenproposed to refer in it to any other modern painter than Turner. But thedesign enlarged, --'The title was changed, and notes on other livingpainters inserted in the first volume, in deference to the advice offriends; probably wise, for unless the change had been made, the bookmight never have been read at all. ' So writes the author in his lastpages; and returning to his first love, it is hard to say whether fromfickleness or from constancy he adds, 'So far as I am concerned, Iregretted the change then, and regret it still. '

To this book, then, commenced almost without a plan, time subsequentlygave form and pattern. At a certain period of his labour Mr. Ruskinpaused to map out the future of his work, to define the limits of hisundertaking. But in examining the concluding volume it will be seen thatthe waywardness of the beginning characterizes also the end. Time hastaken away its gift; the scheme has fallen through; the book ends; butthe design it had gathered to itself as it advanced, which had buddedout from it unexpectedly as it were, remains in a large measureuncompleted. Over the boundaries he had himself imposed, his eloquentdiffuseness long since surged: the book doubled its promised length; andnow the author stays his hand, turns from his toil, and leavesunfinished and shapeless the long-expected 'section on the sea, ' holdingout but vague promise of his ever being able to accomplish, even in aseparate work, his intentions in regard to that portion of his project. 

It is almost of necessity that there should be deviation from theoriginal planned economy of a work occupying more than a score of years;but Mr. Ruskin is more than ordinarily susceptible to vicissitude. It ispart of his idiosyncrasy to start impulsively with an ill-digestedproject, and to run off the lines of his argument upon the slightestprovocation and at the earliest opportunity. So that in his case timeand his own temper have combined to exaggerate the vibration of hisbook. His manner of progression is very much what Mr. Assheton Smith'shuntsman used to denominate 'zedding. ' He cannot proceedstraightforwardly. He must wander from the direct track; as aconsequence, he is betrayed into all sorts of _culs de sac_, wrongturnings, and roundabout roads; and in the end, although much ground isgone over, very little advance is made. He is as the bee which does notmake its final burglarious headlong plunge into the calyx until after aprotracted course of circuitous buzzing and much prefatory waste oftime: and this with all the insect's credit for industry. Soover-perverse a traveller, so ultra-dilatory a bee as the author of_Modern Painters, must_ shorten his journey, _must_ leave much honeyunfilched. He is as the army which commences in orderly retreat and endsin rabble-like riot and demoralization, gaining a place of safety atlast, with the sacrifice of much baggage and treasure. So, as has beensaid, Mr. Ruskin flings away altogether a large division of his idea. Inone place he writes, --

'I find it convenient in this volume, and I wish I had thought of theexpedient before, whenever I get into a difficulty to leave the readerto work it out;' and in another we are stopped by such a half-indolenthalf-arrogant, 'No Thoroughfare' as this. He has been discoursing on theleaf, --then follows an inquiry into the conditions of the stem. Then hetells us:--

'I intended to have given a figure to show the results of the pressureof the weight of all the leafage on a great lateral bough in modifyingits curves, the strength of timber being greatest where the leverage ofthe mass tells most. _But I find nobody ever reads things which it takesany trouble to understand, so that it is no use to write them. _'

In a higher tone he had once announced the aim and principle of hisbook, claiming for it a difference from most books, and 'a chance ofbeing in some respects better for the difference, in that it had notbeen written either for fame, or for money, or for conscience' sake, butof necessity. ' 'I saw an injustice done and tried to remedy it. I hearda falsehood taught and was compelled to deny it. Nothing else waspossible to me. ' In that good time there was no question as to whetherpeople would or would not take the trouble to understand. They weretaught what the teacher deemed to be true, and the risk was on their ownheads if they neglected the teaching. It was of use to write then, intelligibly or unintelligibly, truly and wholly; but this was beforeMr. Ruskin had strayed very much from his road, or broken off, breathless and worn out, from a journey, doubled by aberrations, rendered wearisome by the most wilful wandering, and stopped atlast, --not perfected. 

In extenuation of the delay in the completion of the work, the authorpleads his many employments during five years:--his book on the_Elements of Drawing_; his addresses at Manchester, and his examination, 'with more attention than they deserved, ' of some of the theories ofpolitical economy referred to in those addresses; the ManchesterExhibition, 'chiefly in its magnificent Reynolds' constellation;' avisit to Scotland, to look at Dunblane and Jedburgh, and other favouritesites of Turner's; and the arrangement of the Turner drawings, theproperty of the nation, for the trustees of the National Gallery. Tothis last task Mr. Ruskin set himself with characteristic enthusiasm. Inthe lower room of the National Gallery, when he began his work, therewere 'upwards of nineteen thousand pieces of paper drawn upon by Turnerin one way or other, '--many on both sides, some with four, five, or sixsubjects on each side, --'some in chalk, which the touch of the fingerwould sweep away, others in ink rotted into holes, others eaten away bydamp and mildew, and falling into dust at the edges, in cases and bagsof fragile decay, others worm-eaten, some mouse-eaten, many torn halfwaythrough, numbers doubled (quadrupled I should say) into four, beingTurner's favourite mode of packing for travelling; nearly all rudelyflattened out from the bundles in which Turner had finally rolled themup and squeezed them into his drawers in Queen Anne Street' In the edgesof these flattened bundles lay the 'dust of thirty years' accumulation, black, dense, and sooty. ' With two assistants, Mr. Ruskin was at work, all the autumn and winter of 1857, 'every day all day long, and oftenfar into the night. ' Then, by way of resting himself, Mr. Ruskinproceeded to hunt down Turner subjects along the course of the Rhine onthe north of Switzerland. He crossed Lombardy afterwards, and found, unexpectedly, some good Paul Veroneses at Turin. He had been troubled bymany questions respecting the 'real motives of Venetian work, ' which hehad planned to work out in the Louvre; but 'seeing that Turin was a goodplace wherein to keep out of people's way, ' he settled there instead. 'With much consternation, but more delight, ' he discovered that he 'hadnever got to the roots of the moral power of the Venetians;' that forthis a stern course of study was required of him. The book was given upfor the year. 

'The winter was spent mainly in trying to get at the mind of Titian. 'The issue necessitated his going in the spring to Berlin, 'to see, ' ashe tells us, 'Titian's portrait of Lavinia there, and to Dresden to seethe Tribute Money, the elder Lavinia, and girl in white with theflag-fan. Another portrait at Dresden, of a lady in a dress of rose andgold, by me unheard of before, and one of an admiral at Munich, had liketo have kept me in Germany all the summer. ' How expositive is all thisof the unstable fashion of Mr. Ruskin's temper and writings!

It is not to be marvelled at that the term 'Ruskinism' should be evolvedfrom a system of opinions so impassioned and earnest, so thorough anddeep-rooted, and, at the time at which they were first broached, sosingular and courageous, as those of the author of _Modern Painters_. When Mr. Ruskin took up his pen, the 'old masters' were the religion, and the creed, and the idols, of the connoisseurs. It was of landscapehe was particularly writing, but his fiery condemnation in one sentenceof such names as 'Claude, Gaspar Poussin, Salvator Rosa, Cuyp, Berghem, Both, Ruysdael, Hobbima, Teniers (in his landscapes), Paul Potter, Canaletti, and the various Van-Somethings and Back-Somethings, moreespecially and malignantly those who had libelled the sea, ' carrieddismay into the hearts of collectors, and he was denounced as guilty ofan art sacrilege scarcely more marvellous for its impiety than itsdaring. His opinions, however, have passed through a burning fieryfurnace of criticism, and have survived the ordeal. Earnestness is halfsuccess; and the truth that was the substratum of that earnestness hasaccomplished the rest. 'Ruskinism, ' in its least invective andcensorious form, has a host of followers and disciples. Take as its textthe noble view of it contained in the following words descriptive of thebook:--'It declares the perfectness and eternal beauty of the works ofGod, and tests all works of man by concurrence with or subjection tothat. '

Time, that has given and changed the plan, has also been at work withcertain of the judgments of the book. (It is with the fifth volume weare especially dealing, --for this may fairly be regarded as the 'summingup' of the divers opinions scattered through the earlier portions of thework. ) The author of a book long in hand becomes himself the presidentof a court of appeal, in which his own earlier sentences are to bereversed or confirmed. It is one of the results of the heat and passionof first opinions that they seem to be harshly and cruelly framed whenthe time comes to tone down and qualify them; and the question arises, was it indispensable to be so savage, --was it absolutely necessary thatwhat seemed to be the sword of justice should be wielded so angrily andwithout the slightest tempering of mercy? Still is there worth in theauthor's apology, 'that the oscillations of temper and progressions ofdiscovery ought not to diminish the reader's confidence in the book;''that unless important changes are occurring in his opinions continuallyall his life long, not one of those opinions can be on any questionablesubject true; all true opinions are living, and show their life by beingcapable of nourishment, therefore of change. But their change is that ofa tree, not of a cloud. '

So, then, come repentance and recantation. Mr. Ruskin's 'boy venerationfor Rubens's physical art power, ' and the 'strong expression ofadmiration for him, which to his great regret occur in the firstvolume, ' are now solemnly withdrawn. Rubens is now only a 'healthy, worthy, kind-hearted, courtly-phrased animal. ' But the fault lies asmuch at the door of the time, as at that of the man. The Reformation hadcome and gone. The reformers had cast out the errors, and rent in twainthe fallacies of the Roman Catholic Church. Then came a standing still;a paralysis of religion. The Evangelicals despised the arts; effete andinsincere Roman Catholicism had lost its hold on men. The painters sunkinto rationalism; they became men of the world, 'with no belief inspiritual existence, no interests or affections beyond the grave. ' Theypainted religious subjects, of course; these were duly supplied as perorder, especially martyrdom; they liked the vigorous cruelty of them, and painted atrocities with gusto, deeming they were illustratingreligion; and they painted 'virgins in blue, ' and 'St. Johns in red, ' asmany as were wanted, --but all utterly cold, and soul-less, andirreverential. 'Happily, ' remarks Mr. Ruskin, 'there is just thisdifference between the men of this modern period and the Florentines orVenetians, that whereas the latter never exert themselves fully excepton a sacred subject, the Flemish and Dutch masters are always languidunless they are profane. Leonardo is only to be seen in the 'Cena';Titian only in the 'Assumption'; but Rubens only in the 'Battle of theAmazons'; and Vandyck only at court; and he adds, his indignationmounting as he proceeds, 'absolutely now at last we find ourselveswithout sight of God in all the world!'

In another place Mr. Ruskin's old enemy, Salvator, receives more lenienttreatment than of yore. True, he still regards him as a lost spirit, rendering Michelet's, 'Ce damné Salvator' tenderly as 'that condemnedSalvator. ' But Mr. Ruskin now perceives in him the 'last traces ofspiritual life in the art of Europe, the last man to whom the thought ofa spiritual existence presented itself as a conceivable reality. Allsucceeding men, however powerful, --Rembrandt, Rubens, Vandyck, Reynolds, --would have mocked at the idea of a spirit. They were men ofthe world, they are never in earnest, and they are never appalled. ButSalvator was capable of pensiveness, of faith, and of fear. ' 'He wouldhave acknowledged religion had he seen any that was true, anythingrather than that baseness which he did see. ' 'If there is no otherreligion than this of popes and cardinals, let us to the robber's ambushand the dragon's den. ' 'A little early sympathy, a word of trueguidance, perhaps had saved him. What says he of himself? "Despiser ofwealth and of death. " Two grand scorns; but, oh! condemned Salvator, thequestion is not for man what he can scorn, but what he can love!' Againfurther on, --'In Salvator you have an awakened conscience and somespiritual power contending with evil, but conquered by it and broughtinto captivity to it. ' Generally there is in this last volume adisposition to judge of the painter's art merits, especially in relationto his faculty of imitation, with more kindness and respect than in theearlier volumes. 

This tendency to greater calmness and generosity of view in the case ofSalvator (not to recite evidences of similar nature in other cases) is asign of healthful mental progression. Opinions taken up in the firstinstance, possibly as much from impulse as conviction, grown fromfloating speculations into recognised realities, require to be defendedless strenuously than in the early doubtful phase of their being, andstill less need for their support virulent onslaughts upon antagonisticviews. It is no longer necessary to degrade _some_ painters utterly forthe proper exaltation of some _others_; or it may be better to say, todeify _one_ by the damnification of the whole balance of the fraternity. There have been victims enough on the shrine of Turner, and his manesare now appeased and his wrongs avenged. What need of furtherholocausts? So Mr. Ruskin loosens his grip and half sheaths his knife, and becomes more merciful and pitiful, though yet unable to do fulljustice to those who oppose him: for it is one of his markedpeculiarities that he is unable to shift his point of view. He judgesalways by his own modern _ex post facto_ standard; he cannot see withSalvator's eyes, or with the eyes of his contemporaries, and determinehow fully he met the requirements of his age and time, how honestly hewon the applause of the men about him. Mr. Ruskin asks two questionsonly--'Are these works accurate renderings of nature, as I by educationand study now know nature to be?' and next, 'Are these high art in itspurest, and most ideal, and most godly form?' By such Procrusteanmeasurements he adjusts his decisions, and so misses the swarthyromance, the dramatic coarse fire of Salvator, and fails to appreciatethe vigorous, affluent, gorgeous majesty of Rubens, before whoseluxurious pageant canvas it always seems that, of right, pompouscoronation music should be played, and multitudes huzza and bannerswave. Perhaps some such feelings as these Mr. Ruskin himself at one timeexperienced, until, shocked by what he deemed the excessive mundaneness, the intense unspirituality of the great Fleming, --he revolted to thethoughtful, attenuated poetry of Angelico and the early Italianpainters, to be in time again driven by the too intense asceticism andarchaic debility of this school, to the robust excellence and the morereal and material, though pure and refined, beauty of the Venetians. With them he has now found his golden mean. 

To turn more particularly to the contents of Mr. Ruskin's concludingvolume, and their invariable bearing upon Turner. 

The first half is divided into considerations of 'Leaf' and 'CloudBeauty, ' respectively: 'The leaf between earth and man, as the cloud isbetween man and heaven. ' Many fanciful headings are given to thechapters on these subjects. In the 'Earth Veil' Mr. Ruskin discourses invery delicate poetry, of trees and flowers, which form on the surface ofthe earth a veil of vegetation; 'of strange intermediate being; whichbreathes, but has no voice; moves, but cannot leave its appointed place;passes through life without consciousness; to death without bitterness;wears the beauty of youth without its passion, and declines to theweakness of age without its regret' Passing on, then, to the 'orders ofthe leaf, ' he arranges plants in two classes, --the TENTED PLANTS, whichlive on the ground, as lilies, or crawl on the rocks, as lichen andmosses, leading ever an arab life, and so passing away and perishing;and the BUILDING PLANTS, which soar above the earth in the'architectural edifices we call trees. ' And the builders are againcuriously subdivided. There are the 'builders with the shield, ' withtheir leaves, shield-shaped, raised above, and sheltering their buds asthey rise. Gentle, and pleasant, and conciliatory builders are these, living in pleasant places, and providing food and shelter for man. Andthere are also the 'builders with the sword, ' with sharp-pointed leavesstuck fearlessly out sword fashion, the bud growing amid the points, dwelling in savage places, and of little aid to man, none in the way offood. (They are called 'pines, ' we may explain, vernacularly. ) Mr. Ruskin then goes on to the 'Bud, ' and is at some pains to explain itsgradual development and the scheme of its growth. 'Leaves' he explainsto be 'broadly divisible into mainsails and studding-sails. ' Manydiagrams are given explanatory of the leaf system, its form and mannerand charm, and the 'laws of deflection, of succession, of resilience, 'all fanciful theories arising from the subject, are in turn laid down. In our progress to 'tree-structure, ' we come to 'leaf aspects. ' Thenperhaps the object of this elaborate teaching transpires, and Mr. Ruskinspeaks of the 'Pre-Raphaelites who, some years back, began to lead ourwondering artists back into the eternal paths of all great art, andshowed that whatever men drew at all ought to be drawn accurately andknowingly, not blunderingly nor by guess (leaves of trees among otherthings), ' proceeding to the following curious dictum, --'If you can paintone leaf you can paint the world. ' The Pre-Raphaelite laws 'lay stern onthe strength of Apelles and Zeuxis, put Titian to thoughtful trouble, are unrelaxed yet, and unrelaxable for ever. Paint a leaf indeed!--theabove-named Titian has done it. Corregio, moreover, and Giorgione andLeonardo, very nearly, trying hard. Holbein three or four times, inprecious pieces, highest wrought. Raphael, it may be, in one or twocrowns of Muse or Sibyl. If any one else in later times, we have toconsider. ' There is no endeavour to show how or why accurate drawing ofthe leaf leads to general accuracy in drawing; no analogy is attempted, for instance, between the human and vegetable anatomies. Perhaps thisis as well; only it will strike even the most casual and unprofessionalreader that a student may be able by practice to become a very aptdraughtsman of the leaf skeleton, and yet be a feeble renderer of thehuman. Mr. Ruskin argues, unsoundly enough, from effects; the greatItalian designers of the figure all drew leaves thoroughly well. Amongthe Dutch painters the leaf painting degenerates in proportion to thediminishing power in the figure; therefore, who can draw the leaf candraw the figure. Next comes sharp criticism of the Dutch leaf-treatmentgenerally, and elaborate demonstration, by the aid of many plates, ofthe infinite superiority of Turner, closing with what sounds a strangeadmission after such teachings and such arguments:--'Remember alwaysthat Turner's greatness and rightness in all these points successivelydepend on no scientific knowledge. _He was entirely ignorant of all thelaws we have been developing. _ He had merely accustomed himself to seeimpartially, intensely, and fearlessly. '

The fact is that Mr. Ruskin is disposed to lay far too heavy a stress onthe mere mechanical accuracy of the draughtsman, to think too much ofhis hand, too little of his head. He has been surrounded by a number ofsupple admirers and unquestioning students, who, placing their wholetime and labour at his disposal, have rather pampered, by suchultra-allegiance, his inclination to be dogmatic on these points. 'Studythis for half an hour, ' he says of one illustration; 'Look here for agood five minutes, ' of another; 'or, better still, get pen and paper anddraw it yourself: take care you make it as nearly as you can quiteright, ' and so on. There is something almost ludicrous, only Mr. Ruskinhas little perception of the humorous, about the strained care, theexaggeration of painstakings, bestowed on some of the drawings. Instanceplate 58, drawn by one of his pupils at the Working Man's College (ajoiner by trade), 'an unprejudiced person, ' states Mr. Ruskin, always_posing_ himself as addressing a suspicious and jealous audience, whowould rise against him and turn him off the judgment seat, by fair meansor foul, if they dared, or could. The student was set to work in thespring, the subject being a lilac branch of its real size as it grew, _before it budded_. It will tell how long this rather simple lessonoccupied the student, that 'before he could get it quite right, _thebuds came out and interrupted him_. ' Yet Mr. Ruskin makes strongobjection to the word 'niggling. ' 'I should be glad if it were entirelybanished from service and record. The only essential question aboutdrawing is whether it be right or wrong; that it be small or large, swift or slow, is a matter of convenience only. ' He reserves to himself, however, the right to apply the 'ugly word' to Hobbima. 'A single dustyroll of Turner's brush is more truly expressive of the infinitude offoliage than the _niggling_ of Hobbima could have rendered his canvas ifhe had worked on it till doomsday. ' 'No man before (Turner) painted adistant tree rightly, or a full-leaved branch rightly. '

Chapters on the 'branch, ' the 'stem, ' the 'leaf monuments, ' the 'leafshadows, ' and 'leaves motionless, ' conclude the first division of thebook. They are all in elaboration of his 'leaf-beauty' theory, and arerich in exquisite fancy and admirable writing, but it cannot be thatthey should be detailed or examined here. As a specimen of feeling andpoetry, here are a few lines from many on the lichen:--'As in one sensethe humblest, in another they are the most honoured, of the earth'schildren: unfading as motionless, the worm frets them not, and theautumn wastes not. Strong in lowliness, they neither blanch in heat norpine in frost. To them, slow-fingered, constant-hearted, is intrustedthe weaving of the dark eternal tapestries of the hills; to them slow, iris-eyed, the tender framing of their endless imagery. Sharing thestillness of the unimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance; andwhile the winds of departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossomlike drifted snow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping ofits cowslip gold, far above among the mountains, the silver lichen-spotsrest star-like on the stone, and the gathering orange stain upon theedge of yonder western peak reflects the sunsets of a thousand years. '

In treating of the second portion of the first half of the book, 'CloudBeauty, ' briefness is now indispensable. And first of 'CloudBalancings. '

Why is the soft, level, floating, white mist so heavy? Why so light 'thecolossal pyramids, huge and grim, with outlines as of rocks, andstrength to bear the beating of the high sun full on their fieryflanks?' What are clouds? Water in some fine form or other. But water isheavier than air, --cannot float on it. May, then, clouds be formed ofminute hollow globules of water swimming in the air, balloon-like? Theseand a hundred other questions; and what is the use of asking them? 'Ienjoy them, ' says our author; 'perhaps the reader may--I think he ought, and not love less the clouds of morning or the summer rain because theycome to him with hard questions, with only a syllable or two of answerilluminated here and there on the heavenly scroll. ' And Mr. Ruskin takescredit to himself for not being 'dogmatic' on the subject of clouds. 

Then of 'Cloud Flocks, '--upper clouds, detached, bird-like, withflame-like curves, tender, various, pointing, inquiring. And why do theyassume these forms? Not driven by eddies of wind, they move along, unhurried, compressed in a phalanx, fifty thousand separate groups inhalf of a morning sky, all obedient to one rule of harmonious progress. And so of 'Cloud Perspective, ' cleverly set forth and illustrated, butappealing perhaps too exclusively to the art-student for transfer here, and of 'Cloud Colours. ' Is it well to watch them like Turner? or toneglect them with Claude, Salvator, Ruysdael, Wouvermans, never to looknor portray? Then of the 'Cloud Chariot, ' or cumulus, --not to be drawn, not to be explained; even Turner attempted not that. Mountain-like, electric, brilliant beyond power of colour, endless in variety of form, transitory as a dream; and estimates of weight and movement, and of achariot cloud which soared 20, 000 feet from behind Berne Cathedral! Nextof the 'Angel of the Sea, ' the author's epithet for rain. 'Is Englishwet weather one of the things which we would desire to see art giveperpetuity to?' Assuredly, answers Mr. Ruskin; and under five heads heranges the climates into which the globe is divided with respect totheir fitness for art. See the result:--

 Wood lands Shrewd intellect No art. Sand lands High intellect Religious art. Vine lands Highest intellect Perfect art. Field lands High intellect Material art. Moss lands Shrewd intellect No art. 

The table is worthy of study. 

The second half of the volume treats of 'Ideas of Relation. ' It dealswith Art in its relation to God and man, and with its work in the helpof human beings and the service of their Creator, and inquires into 'thevarious powers, conditions, and aims of mind involved in the conceptionor creation of pictures, in the choice of subject, and the mode andorder of its history; the choice of forms, and the modes of theirarrangement. ' Very forcible and significant are the reflections uponinvention, the 'greatest and rarest of all the qualities of art;' and on'Composition. ' If one part be taken away, all the rest are helpless andvalueless; yet true composition is inexplicable--to be felt, notreasoned upon. 'A poet or creator is, therefore, a person who putsthings together; not as a watchmaker, steel; or a shoemaker, leather:but who puts life into them. '

In the chapter entitled the 'Task of the Least, ' the author argues, adroitly enough, 'that the _minutest_ portion of a great composition ishelpful to the whole, ' and examples from Turner's compositions furnishgood evidence in this respect. Under the titles of the 'Lance ofPallas, ' and the 'Wings of the Lion, ' the Greek and Venetian artinspirations are descanted upon. These are chapters of great interest tothe student. Mr. Ruskin finds the Venetian mind perfect in its belief, its width, and its judgment. Yet it passed away. Not desiring thereligion, but the delight only of its art, in proportion to thegreatness of the power of the Venetians was the shame of their fall. Chapters follow on representative painters--Durer and Salvator, Claudeand Poussin, with comments on the 'faithless' and 'degraded' system ofclassical landscape--Rubens and Cuyp. The next discourse is on'Vulgarity. ' A striking exemplification of it Mr. Ruskin finds in theexpression of the butcher's dog in Landseer's 'Low Life, ' andCruikshank's Noah Claypole in the plates to _Oliver Twist_. He counts'among the reckless losses of the right service of intellectual powerwith which the century must be charged, the employing to no higherpurpose than the illustration of _Jack Sheppard_'and the "IrishRebellion, " the great, grave (using the words deliberately and withlarge meaning), and singular genius of Cruikshank, ' though the worksselected are hardly fair specimens of the artist's general illustrativelabours, and the 'Irish Rebellion' is surely worthy of art record andrendering. The most fatal form of vulgarity is described as dulness ofheart and dulness of bodily sense, general stupidity being its materialmanifestation. 'One of the forms of death, ' suggests Mr. Ruskin's'keen-minded friend, ' Mr. Brett, the painter--a vague enoughdefinition--but it pleases Mr. Ruskin, though he amends it, and settlesat last on the term 'earthful selfishness, ' as embracing all the mostfatal and essential forms of mental vulgarity. Hastening to an end, itcan only now be simply stated that chapters on Wouvermans and Angelicosucceed. Then the 'two boyhoods, ' an interesting and highly-wroughtcomparison of the early lives of Turner and Giorgione, and of thedifferent circumstances under which their art-minds severally dawned anddeveloped. The remainder of the book is almost wholly devoted in glowingstrains, like the pompous glory of the crowning movement of a Beethovensymphony, to loving yet deferential homage to Turner. His works and lifeare traced out and lingered over, not with biographical exactness, butwith some effort to make them explicable of the character of the greatpainter. 'Much of his mind and heart I do not know--perhaps never shallknow; but this much I do, and if there is anything in the previouscourse of this work to warrant trust in me of any kind, let me betrusted when I tell you that Turner had a heart as intensely kind and asnobly true as ever God gave to one of his creatures. ' And in a tonereplete with the most solemn and impassioned poetry and feeling, theauthor brings his great work to an end. Emphatically a great work--anoble jewel in the crown of art literature, resplendent enough to haveits flaws dwelt upon and some imperfections and shortcoming in itssetting pointed out, and yet to lose little in estimation after theutmost has been said and done in these respects. 

EDINBURGH: T. CONSTABLE, PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY.