Part 12

Apollodorus fell a victim to the envy of Adrian, the successor of Trajan, who himself dabbled in architecture, as well as the other arts. According to Pliny, he ridiculed the proportions of the temple of Rome and Venus, which had been built from Adrian’s designs, saying that “if the goddesses who were placed in it should be disposed to stand up, they would be in danger of breaking their heads against the roof, or if they should wish to go out, they could not,” which so incensed the Emperor, that he banished the architect, and had him put to death. Another account is, that as Trajan was conversing about some of the buildings, Adrian, who was present, made some remarks, on which the architect said, “Go and paint pumpkins, for you know nothing about these matters,” an affront which Adrian never forgot, and avenged by the death of the architect when he became Emperor. What a return to the architect of Trajan’s Column!

HOGARTH.

The talents of this eccentric genius were preëminent in burlesque and satire. He therefore chiefly devoted himself to delineate the calamities and crimes of private life, and the vices and follies of the age. He portrayed vice as leading to disgrace and misery, while he represented virtue as conducting to happiness and honor. His series of the “Harlot’s Progress,” the “Rake’s Progress,” “Marriage à la Mode,” gained him great reputation; and the prints which he engraved and published from them, although rude specimens of the art, met with an enormous sale, greatly to his own emolument. Lord Orford characterizes him as a painter of comedy. “If catching the manners and follies of the age, ‘living as they rise’; if general satire on vices and ridicules, familiarized by strokes of nature, and heightened by wit, and the whole animated by just and proper expressions of the persons, be comedy, Hogarth composed comedy as much as Moliere.” Others have better characterized him as a great moral preacher. Alderman Boydell was accustomed to say that every merchant, shopkeeper, mechanic, and others who had youth in their employment, ought to have some of Hogarth’s prints framed and hung up for their admonition.

HOGARTH’S APPRENTICESHIP.

Hogarth was apprenticed, at an early age, to an engraver of arms on plate. While thus engaged, his inclination for painting was manifested in a remarkable manner. Going out one day with some companions on an excursion to Highgate, the weather being very hot, they entered a public house, where before long a quarrel occurred. One of the disputants struck the other on the head with a quart pot, which cut him severely; and the blood running down the man’s face, gave him a singular appearance, which, with the contortions of his countenance, presented Hogarth with a laughable subject. Taking out his pencil, he sketched the scene in such a truthful and ludicrous manner, that order and good feeling were at once restored.

HOGARTH’S REVENGE.

Hogarth, in his early career, was once greatly distressed to raise the paltry sum of twenty shillings, to satisfy his landlady, who endeavored to enforce payment. To be revenged on her, he painted her an ugly and malicious hag, her features so truthfully drawn, that every person who had seen her at once recognized the individual. Woe betided the man who incurred his ire; he crucified him without mercy. In his controversy with Wilkes, he caricatured him in his print of “The Times;” and Churchill, the poet, he represented as a canonical bear, with a ragged staff, and a pot of porter.

HOGARTH’S METHOD OF SKETCHING.

It was Hogarth’s custom to sketch on the spot any remarkable face that struck him. A gentleman being once with him at the Bedford Coffee House, observing him to draw something on his thumb nail, inquired what he was doing, when he was shown the likeness of a comical looking person sitting in the company.

HOGARTH’S MARRIAGE.

Hogarth married the only daughter of Sir James Thornhill, who was dissatisfied with the match. Soon after this period, he began his Harlot’s Progress, and was advised by Lady Thornhill to place some of the prints in the way of his father-in-law. Accordingly, early one morning, Mrs. Hogarth conveyed several of them into the dining room, when Sir James inquired whence they came? Being told, he said, “Very well, very well: the man who can produce representations like these, can also maintain a wife without a portion.” He soon after became both reconciled and generous to the young couple.

The “Harlot’s Progress” was the first work which rendered the genius of Hogarth conspicuously known. Above twelve hundred names were entered in his subscription book. It was dramatized, and represented on the stage. Fans were likewise embellished with miniature representations of all the six plates.

SUCCESSFUL EXPEDIENT OF HOGARTH.

A nobleman, not remarkable for personal beauty, once sat to Hogarth for his portrait, which the artist executed in his happiest manner, but with rigid fidelity. The peer, disgusted at this exact counterpart of his dear self, did not feel disposed to pay for the picture. After some time had elapsed, and numerous unsuccessful attempts had been made to obtain payment, the painter resorted to an expedient which he knew must alarm the nobleman’s pride. He sent him the following card:--

“Mr. Hogarth’s dutiful respects to Lord ----. Finding he does not mean to have the picture drawn for him, Lord ---- is informed again of Mr. Hogarth’s pressing necessity for money. If, therefore, his Lordship does not send for it in three days, it will be disposed of, with the addition of a tail and some other appendages, to Mr. Pau, the famous wild beast man; Mr. H. having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it for an exhibition picture, on his Lordship’s refusal.” This intimation had the desired effect; the picture was paid for, and committed to the flames.

HOGARTH’S PICTURE OF THE RED SEA.

Hogarth was once applied to, by a certain nobleman, to paint on his staircase a representation of the Destruction of Pharaoh’s host in the Red Sea. In attempting to fix upon the price, Hogarth became disgusted with the miserly conduct of his patron, who was unwilling to give more than half the real value of the picture. At last, out of all patience, he agreed to his terms. In two or three days the picture was ready. The nobleman, surprised at such expedition, immediately called to examine it, and found the space painted all over red.

“Zounds!” said the purchaser, “what have you here? I ordered a scene of the Red Sea.”

“The Red Sea you have,” said the painter.

“But where are the Israelites?”

“They are all gone over.”

“And where are the Egyptians?”

“They are all drowned.”

The miser’s confusion could only be equalled by the haste with which he paid his bill. The biter was bit.

HOGARTH’S COURTESY.

Hogarth treated those who sat for their portraits with a courtesy which is not always practiced, even now, in England. “When I sat to Hogarth,” says Mr. Cole, “the custom of giving vails to servants was not discontinued. On taking leave of the painter at the door, I offered his servant a small gratuity; but the man politely refused it, telling me it would be as much as the loss of his place if his master knew it. This was so uncommon and so liberal in a man of Hogarth’s profession, at that time, that it much struck me, as nothing of the kind had happened to me before.” Nor is it likely that such a thing would happen again: Sir Joshua Reynolds gave his servant six pounds annually as wages, and offered him one hundred pounds a year for the door.

HOGARTH’S ABSENCE OF MIND.

Hogarth was one of the most absent minded of men. Soon after he set up his carriage, he had occasion to pay a visit to the Lord Mayor. When he went, the weather was fine; but he was detained by business till a violent shower of rain came on. Being let out of the mansion house by a different door from the one at which he had entered, he immediately began to call for a hackney coach. Not being able to procure one, he braved the storm, and actually reached his house in Leicester Fields, without bestowing a thought on his carriage, till his wife, astonished to see him so wet, asked him where he had left it.

HOGARTH’S MARCH TO FINCHLEY.

Hogarth disposed of this celebrated picture by lottery. There were eighteen hundred and forty-three chances subscribed for; he gave the remaining one hundred and sixty-seven tickets to the Foundling Hospital, and the same night delivered the picture to the governors.

HOGARTH’S UNFORTUNATE DEDICATION OF A PICTURE.

Hogarth dedicated his picture of the March to Finchley to George II. The following dialogue is said to have ensued, on this occasion, between the sovereign and the nobleman in waiting:

“Pray, who is this Hogarth?”

“A painter, my liege.”

“I hate painting, and poetry too; neither the one nor the other ever did any good.”

“The picture, please your majesty, must undoubtedly be considered as a burlesque.”

“What! burlesque a soldier? He deserves to be picketed for his insolence. Take his trumpery out of my sight.”

HOGARTH’S MANNER OF SELLING HIS PICTURES.

Hogarth supported himself by the sale of his prints: the prices of his pictures kept pace neither with his fame nor with his expectations. He knew, however, the passion of his countrymen for novelty--how they love to encourage whatever is strange and mysterious; and hoping to profit by these feelings, the artist determined to sell his principal paintings by an auction of a very singular nature.

On the 25th of January, 1745, he offered for sale the six paintings of the Harlot’s Progress, the eight paintings of the Rake’s Progress, the Four Times of the Day, and the Strolling Actresses, on the following conditions:

“1. Every bidder shall have an entire leaf numbered in the book of sale, on the top of which will be entered his name and place of abode, the sum paid by him, the time when, and for what picture.

2. That on the day of sale, a clock, striking every five minutes, shall be placed in the room; and when it has struck five minutes after twelve, the first picture mentioned in the sale book shall be deemed as sold; the second picture when the clock has struck the next five minutes after twelve; and so on in succession, till the whole nineteen pictures are sold.

3. That none advance anything short of gold at each bidding.

4. No person to bid on the last day, except those whose names were before entered on the book. As Mr. Hogarth’s room is but small, he begs the favor that no person, except those whose names are entered on the book, will come to view his paintings on the last day of sale.”

This plan was new, startling, and unproductive. It was probably planned to prevent biddings by proxy, and so secure to the artist the price which men of wealth and rank might be induced to offer publicly for works of genius. “A method so novel,” observes Ireland, “probably disgusted the town; they might not exactly understand this tedious formula of entering their names and places of abode in a book open to indiscriminate inspection; they might wish to humble an artist who, by his proposals, seemed to consider that he did the world a favor in suffering them to bid for his works; or the rage for paintings might be confined to the admirers of the old masters.” Be that as it may, he received only four hundred and twenty-seven pounds seven shillings for his nineteen pictures--a price by no means equal to their merit.

The prints of the Harlot’s Progress had sold much better than those of the Rake’s; yet the paintings of the former produced only fourteen guineas each, while those of the latter were sold for twenty-two. That admirable picture, Morning, brought twenty guineas; and Night, in every respect inferior to almost any of his works, six and twenty. Such was the reward, then, to which these patrons of genius thought his works entitled. More has since been given, over and over again, for a single painting, than Hogarth obtained for all his paintings put together.

HOGARTH’S LAST WORK.

A short time before Hogarth was seized with the malady which deprived society of one of its brightest ornaments, he proposed to his matchless pencil the work he has entitled the _Tail Piece_. The first idea of this picture is said to have been started in company, while the convivial glass was circulating round his own table. “My next undertaking,” said Hogarth, “shall be the _end of all things_.” “If that is the case,” replied one of his friends, “your business will be finished, or there will be an end to the painter.” “The fact will be so,” answered Hogarth, sighing heavily, “and therefore the sooner my work is done, the better.” Accordingly he began the next day, and continued his design with a diligence that seemed to indicate an apprehension that he should not live to complete it. This however he did, and in the most ingenious manner, by grouping everything that could denote the end of all things: a broken bottle; an old broom worn to the stump; the butt-end of an old musket; a cracked bell; a bow unstrung; a crown tumbled to pieces; towers in ruins; the sign-post of a tavern called the World’s End falling down; the moon in her wane; the map of the globe burning; a gibbet falling, the body gone, and the chains which held it dropping down; Phœbus and his horses lying dead in the clouds; a vessel wrecked; Time, with his hour-glass and scythe broken; a tobacco-pipe, with the last whiff of smoke going out; a play-book opened, with _exeunt omnes_ stamped in the corner; an empty purse; and a statute of bankruptcy taken out against Nature. “So far so good,” said Hogarth, on reviewing his performance; “nothing remains but this;” taking his pencil, and sketching the resemblance of a painter’s palette broken. “Finis!” he then exclaimed, “the deed is done; all is over.” It is a very remarkable fact, and not generally known, that Hogarth never again took the palette in his hand, and that he died in about a month after he had finished this _Tail Piece_.

JACQUES LOUIS DAVID.

This great painter was born at Paris in 1750. His countrymen have conferred upon him the distinguished title of _The Head and Restorer of the French School_, which he brought back from its previous gaudy and affected style, to the study of nature and the antique. His reputation was established as the first painter in France when the French Revolution broke out, and filled with an ardent love of liberty, he lent all his powers in overturning the government, and establishing the Republic. For this purpose, in 1789, he executed his Brutus condemning his sons to death. He also executed the designs for the numerous republican monuments and festivals of the time. He was chosen a deputy to the National Convention, and voted for the king’s death. During the Reign of Terror, he was one of the most zealous Jacobins, wholly devoted to Robespierre; and on the fall of that monster, he was thrown into prison, and his great reputation as a painter alone saved him from the guillotine. At length, disgusted with the excesses and revolting scenes transpiring on all sides, and seeing no hopes of the Republic being established on a permanent basis, he retired to private life, and devoted himself exclusively to his pencil. When Napoleon came into power, perceiving the advantage of employing such a painter as David to immortalize his glorious victories on canvass, he appointed him his chief painter, showed him every mark of his favor, and endeavored to engage him to paint the successes of the French armies. But these subjects were not congenial to his taste, which ran to the antique. “I wish,” said he, “that my works may have so completely an antique character, that if it were possible for an Athenian to return to life, they might appear to him to be the productions of a Greek painter.” He however painted several portraits of the Emperor and the members of the Imperial family, and other subjects, the chief of which were, Napoleon as First Consul crossing the Alps, and pointing out to his troops the path to glory, and the Coronation of Napoleon.

On the restoration of the Bourbons, David was included in the decree which banished all the regicides forever from France, when he retired to Brussels, where he continued to practice his profession till his death in 1825.

DAVID’S PICTURE OF THE CORONATION OF NAPOLEON.

The largest picture ever known to have been executed, prior to this production, is the celebrated Marriage at Cana by Paul Veronese, now at the Louvre; being thirty-three feet long, and eighteen high: whereas the present composition, containing two hundred and ten personages, eighty of whom are whole lengths, is thirty-three feet long, and twenty-one high. This performance occupied four years in its completion, during which many impediments were thrown in the way of the artist’s labor, by the clergy on the one hand, and the orders of the Emperor on the other. Cardinal Caprara, for instance, who is represented bareheaded, producing one of the finest heads in the picture, was very desirous of being painted with the decoration of his wig; Napoleon had also ordered the Turkish ambassador to be exhibited in company with the other envoys; but he objected, because the law of the Koran forbids to Mahometans the entrance into a Christian church. His consent, however, was at length obtained, and these scruples removed, under the consideration that, in the character of an ambassador, he belonged to no religious sect.

During the execution of this colossal picture, M. David was incessantly interrupted by applications from artists to witness the progress of his work; amongst whom was Camucini, prince of the Roman school, and the late famous statuary Canova, who daily presented themselves at the artist’s painting gallery. At the last visit made by Camucini, he found David surrounded by many of his pupils, and on taking leave of the painter, he bowed to him in the most respectful manner, using the following expressive words on the occasion:

“Adio il piu bravo pittore di scholari ben bravi.”

On Canova’s return to Italy, in order to fulfil what he conceived to be a duty in regard to this artist, he proposed to the Academy of Saint Luke, that he should be received as an honorary member; when the academicians set aside their usual forms, and in honor of M. David, unanimously elected him one of their body, Canova being chosen to announce this pleasing intelligence to their new associate.

The picture was completed in 1807, and prior to its public exposition Napoleon appointed a day to inspect it in person, which was the fourth of January, 1808; upon which occasion, in order to confer a greater honor upon the artist, he went in state, attended by a detachment of horse and a military band, accompanied by the Empress Josephine, the princes and princesses of his family, and followed by his ministers and the great officers of the crown.

Several criticisms had been previously passed upon the composition, which had gained the Emperor’s ear, and in particular, that it was not the coronation of Napoleon, but of his consort; the moment selected by the painter, however, was highly approved by his master, who, after an attentive examination of the work, expressed himself in these words.

“M. David, this is well; very well indeed; you have conceived my whole idea; the Empress, my mother, the Emperor, all, are most appropriately placed, you have made me a French knight, and I am gratified that you have thus transmitted to future ages the proofs of affection I was desirous of testifying towards the Empress.” After a silence of some seconds, Napoleon’s hat being on, and Josephine standing at his right hand, with M. David on his left, the Emperor advanced two steps, and turning to the painter, uncovered himself, making a profound obeisance while uttering these words in an elevated tone of voice, “_Monsieur David, I salute you!_”

“Sire,” replied the painter, “I receive the compliment of the Emperor, in the name of all the artists of the empire, happy in being the individual one, you deign to make the channel of such an honor.”

In the month of October, 1808, when this performance was removed to the museum, the Emperor wished to inspect it a second time; and M. David in consequence attended in the hall of the Louvre, surrounded by his pupils; upon which occasion, at the Emperor’s desire, having pointed out the most conspicuous _éleves_, who received the decorations of the Legion of Honor: “It is requisite,” said Napoleon, “that I should testify my satisfaction to the master of so many distinguished artists; therefore, I promote you to be an officer of the Legion of Honor: M. Duroc, give a golden decoration to M. David!” “Sire, I have none with me,” answered the grand marshal. “No matter,” replied the Emperor, “do not let this day transpire without executing my order.” Duroc, although no friend to the painter, was obliged to obey, and on the same evening the insignia were forwarded to M. David.

The King of Wurtemberg, at the suggestion of the Emperor, also waited upon the artist to inspect his labor, who, on contemplating the performance, and in particular, the luminous brightness spread over the group in which are the pope and Cardinal Caprara, his majesty thus expressed himself: “I did not believe that your art could effect such wonders; white and black in painting afford but very weak resources. When you produced this you had, no doubt, a sunbeam upon your pencil.”

This compliment, which displayed great knowledge of the art, surprised the painter, who, after offering his thanks, added: “Sire, your conception, and the mode in which you express it, bespeak either the practical artist or the well informed amateur. Your majesty has doubtless learned to paint.”--“Yes,” said the king, “I sometimes occupy myself with the art, and all my brothers possess a similar taste; that one in particular, who frequently visits you, has acquired some celebrity; for his performances are not like the generality of royal paintings, they are worthy of the artist. M. David” added the monarch, “I dare not hope to obtain a copy of this picture; but you may indemnify me by placing my name at the head of the subscribers to the engraving, pray do not forget me.”