Part 7

A drummer, sick of the remonstrances of his wife and child, each of whom made a forcible seizure of his person, actuated by a spirit similar to that of our third Richard, beats a thundering tattoo upon his own warlike instrument; and aided by the ear-piercing fife[91] at his right hand, drowns the noise of the tell-tale woman who thus endeavours to check his ardour and impede his march. A war-worn soldier contemplating a quack-doctor's bill, and a woman peeping out of a pent-house above, end the group at the left corner.

Under a sign of the Adam and Eve a crowd are gathered round two combatants, who appear to be adepts in the noble science of boxing.

"Amid the circle now each champion stands, And poises high in air his iron hands; Hurling defiance; now they fiercely close-- Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows."

A man, who from his dress seems to be of a rank superior to the crowd, inflamed with a love of glory, enters with great spirit into the business now going on, and tries to inspire the combatants with a noble contempt of bruises and broken bones. This is said to be a portrait of Lord Albemarle Bertie, who is again exhibited in "The Cockpit." The scene being laid in the background, the figures are diminutive; but every countenance is marked with interest, and no one more than a little fellow[92] of meagre frame but undaunted spirit, who with clenched fists and agitated face deals blow for blow with the combatants. Somerville, in his _Rural Games_, has well described the passions which agitate the audience in a similar scene at a country wake:

"Each swain his wish, each trembling nymph conceals Her secret dread; while every panting breast Alternate fears and hopes depress or raise. Thus, long in dubious scale the contest hung," etc.

With a humour peculiar to himself, the painter has exhibited a figure shrinking under the weight of a heavy burden, who, preferring the gratification of curiosity to rest, is a spectator, and in this uneasy state waits the issue of the combat.

Upon the sign-board of the Adam and Eve is inserted, "Tottenham Court Nursery," allusive to a booth for bruising in the place, as well as a nursery for plants, and the group of figures beneath.

A carriage laden with camp equipage, consisting of drums, halberds, tent-poles, and hoop petticoats, is passing through the turnpike gate. Upon this, two old female campaigners are puffing their pipes, and holding a conversation in fire and smoke. These grotesque personages are well contrasted by an elegant and singularly delicate figure upon the same carriage, suckling her child; which, it has been said, proves that the painter is as successful in portraying the graceful as the humorous. This very beautiful figure is, however, almost a direct copy from Guido's "Madonna." To show that a little boy at her feet is of an heroic stock, the artist has represented him blowing a small trumpet. The sergeant on the ground beneath seems exerting the authority with which his post vests him in calling his men to order: he has a true roast-beef countenance, and is haughty enough for a general.

The foreground in the centre is occupied by a group of figures, which tell their own story in a manner that perhaps no other artist of any age could have equalled. While an officer is kissing a milk-maid, an arch soldier, taking advantage of her neglected pails, fills his hat with milk: this is observed by a little chimney-sweeper, who, with a grin upon his face, entreats that he may have a share in the plunder, and fill his cap. Another soldier pointing out the jest to a fellow who is selling pies, the pastry-cook, gratified by the mischief, forgets the luscious cakes in the tray on his head, and the military Mercury seems likely to convey them all to his own pocket. The faces of this group are in a most singular degree descriptive of their situations, and consonant to their mischievous employments.

An old soldier, divested of one spatterdash, near losing the other, and felled to the ground by all-potent gin, is now calling for more; his uncivil comrade, supporting him with one hand, endeavours to pour water into his mouth with the other; this the veteran toper rejects with disdain, and lifts up a hand to his wife, who is bearer of the arms and the bottle, and being well acquainted with his taste, fills another quartern.

A child with emaciated face extends its little arms, and wishes for a taste of that poisonous potion it is probably accustomed to swallow: "And here" (says Mr. Thornton in the _Student_), "not to dwell wholly upon the beauties of this print, I must mention an error discovered by a professed connoisseur in painting. 'Can there,' says this excellent judge, 'be a greater absurdity than introducing a couple of chickens so near such a crowd; and not only so, but see their direction is to objects it is natural for them to shun.--Is this knowledge of nature? Absurd to the last degree!' And here, with an air of triumph, ended our judicious critic. How great was his surprise, when it was pointed out that the said chickens were in pursuit of the hen, which appears to have a resting-place in a sailor's pocket!"

An honest tar, throwing up his hat, is crying "God save our noble King, God save the King:" immediately before him an image of drunken loyalty vows de--de--destruction on the heads of the rebels.

A humane soldier perceiving a fellow heavy laden with a barrel of gin, and stopped by the crowd, bores a hole in the head of his cask, and kindly draws off a part of his burden. Near him is a figure of what may, in the army, be called a fine fellow.[93] As I suppose the painter designed him without character, I shall only observe that he is a very pretty gentleman; and happily the contemplation of his own dear person guards him from the attempts of the wicked woman on his right hand.[94]

The invention of a new term must be pardoned--I shall include the whole King's Head in the word Cattery; the principal figure is a noted fat Covent Garden lady,[95] who, with pious eyes cast up to heaven, prays for the army's success, and the safe return of many of her babes of grace. An officer having placed a letter on the end of his pike, presents it to one of the beauties in the first floor; but the fair _enamorata_, evidently disgusted at the recollection of some part of his former conduct, flutters her fan and rejects it with disdain. Above her, a charitable girl of an inferior order is throwing a piece of coin to a cripple, while another kindly administers a glass of comfort to her companion as a sure relief against reflection. The rest of the windows are crowded with similar characters, and upon the house-top is a Cat coterie, a fair emblem of the company in the apartments beneath.

The substance of the preceding remarks are, in this as in the first edition, taken from the _Student_, vol. ii. p. 162, and were made by the late Bonnell Thornton. In the _Old Woman's Magazine_, Doctor Hill has given an explanation which places it in a point of view somewhat different; I have therefore subjoined the greatest part of it.

_To the Editor._

"SIR,--As you desire my sentiments on Mr. Hogarth's picture, I shall begin with pointing out what is most defective. Its first and greatest fault, then, is its being new, and having too great a resemblance to the objects it represents: if this appears a paradox, you ought to take particular care of confessing it. This picture has yet too much of that lustre,--that despicable freshness which we discover in nature, and which is never seen in the celebrated cabinets of the curious. Time has not yet obscured it with that venerable smoke, that sacred cloud which will one day conceal it from the profane eyes of the vulgar, that its beauties may only be seen by those who are initiated in the mysteries of art. These are its most remarkable faults: and I am next going to give you an idea of the subject, which is the march of some companies of the foot guards to their rendezvous at Finchley Common, when sent against the Scottish rebels, who were advancing on that side.

"Mr. Hogarth, who lets no opportunity escape him of observing the picturesque scenes which numerous assemblies frequently furnish, has not failed to represent them on the spot where he has drawn the scene of his picture.

"The painter is remarkable for a particular sagacity in seizing a thousand little circumstances which escape the observation of the greatest part of the spectators, and it is a collection of a number of those circumstances which has composed, enriched, and diversified his work.

"The scene is placed at Tottenham Court, where, in a distant view, is seen a file of soldiers marching in tolerable order up the hill. Discipline is less observed in the principal design; but if you complain of this, I must ingeniously inform you, that order and subordination belong only to slaves; for what everywhere else is called licentiousness, assumes here the venerable name of liberty.

"A young grenadier, of a good mien, makes the principal figure in the first group; he is accompanied, or rather seized and beset, by two women, one of whom is a ballad-singer, and the other a news-hawker: they are both with child, and claim this hero as the father, and except this circumstance they have nothing in common; for their figures, their humours, their characters, appear extremely different: they are even of opposite parties, for the one disposes of works in favour of the Government, and the other against it.

"On the left hand of this group is an officer embracing a milk-woman; but her greatest misfortune is, not her being hugged by a young cavalier, but in having one of her milk-pails seized by a wag, who pours her milk into a hat, while he is pretending to defend her. Near them is a pieman, who is mightily rejoiced at this roguery; while a soldier, who is fleering in his face, slily steals the pies he carries on his head. The humour of this group is greatly heightened by a chimney-sweeper's boy, who comes laughing to receive some of the milk into his hat, which he carries in his hand.

"On the right hand of the principal group is a Frenchman, who, to give him a more ridiculous appearance, is represented as a man of some importance. He is speaking to a very odd person, to whom he seems communicating the contents of some letters relative to the event which is the cause of this march.

"Behind the Frenchman just mentioned is seen an old sutler, who carries her child at her back, and is smoking a short pipe. In the front, at a small distance, is a drummer, who by the noise of his drum seems to endeavour to stun all thoughts of the fate of his family, who seek in vain to soften him by taking a tender leave.

"One of the young pipers whom the Duke of Cumberland has introduced into several regiments, joins his noise to that of the drum, and by the agreeable appearance of his little person, is a contrast to the rudeness of the objects who are near him, etc. etc."

To the dramatic effect of the picture, the late Mr. Arthur Murphy, whose acknowledged judgment give weight to his praise, bears the following honourable testimony in the _Gray's Inn Journal_, vol. i. No. 20:--

"The era may arrive, when, through the instability of the English language, the style of _Joseph Andrews_ and _Tom Jones_ shall be obliterated, when the characters shall be unintelligible, and the humour lose its relish; but the many personages which the manner-painting hand of Hogarth has called forth into mimic life will not fade so soon from the canvas, and that admirable picturesque comedy, 'The March to Finchley,' will perhaps divert posterity as long as the Foundling Hospital shall do honour to the British nation."

THE INVASION; OR, FRANCE AND ENGLAND.

In the two following designs Mr. Hogarth has displayed that partiality for his own country, and contempt for France, which formed a strong trait in his character. He neither forgot nor forgave the insults he suffered at Calais, though he did not recollect that this treatment originated in his own ill-humour, which threw a sombre shade over every object that presented itself. Having early imbibed the vulgar prejudice that one Englishman was a match for four Frenchmen,[96] he thought it would be doing his country a service to prove the position. How far it is either useful or political to depreciate the power or degrade the character of that people with whom we are to contend, is a question which does not come within the plan of this work. In some cases it may create confidence, but in others leads to the indulgence of that negligent security by which armies have been slaughtered, provinces depopulated, and kingdoms changed their rulers.

These two glaring contrasts were designed at a time when there was a rumour of an invasion from France. The sober politician treated this idle report with contempt; but by the credulous it was believed, and the timid trembled when they heard it. To dispel this phantom of the day was one motive for Hogarth's publication of these prints. They are not addressed to the philosopher or the legislator, but to the soldier and the sailor. They are not designed for the contemplation of the informed and travelled man, who considers himself as a citizen of the world; but for the true-born and true-bred Briton, that believes this to be the only country where man can enjoy happiness, and thinks an Englishman is the boast of the universe, the glory of creation, and the paragon of nature!

PLATE I.

FRANCE.

"With lantern jaws, and croaking gut, See how the half-starv'd Frenchmen strut, And call us English dogs! But soon we'll teach these bragging foes, That beef and beer give heavier blows Than soup and roasted frogs.

"The priests, inflam'd with righteous hopes, Prepare their axes, wheels, and ropes, To bend the stiff-neck'd sinner; But should they sink in coming over, Old Nick may fish 'twixt France and Dover, And catch a glorious dinner."

The scenes of all Mr. Hogarth's prints, except "The Gate of Calais" and that now under consideration, are laid in England. In this, having quitted his own country, he seems to think himself out of the reach of the critics, and in delineating a Frenchman, at liberty to depart from nature, and sport in the fairy regions of caricature. Were these Gallic soldiers naked, each of them would appear like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. So forlorn! that to any thick sight he would be invisible! To see this miserable woe-begone refuse of the army, who look like a group detached from the main body and put on the sick-list, embarking to conquer a neighbouring kingdom, is ridiculous enough, and at the time of publication must have had great effect. The artist seemed sensible that it was necessary to account for the unsubstantial appearance of these shadows of men, and has hinted at their want of solid food, in the bare bones of beef hung up in the window, the inscription on the alehouse sign, "Soup maigre à la sabot Royal," and the spider-like officer roasting four frogs which he has impaled upon his sword. Such light and airy diet is whimsically opposed by the motto on the standard, which two of the most valorous of this ghastly troop are hailing with grim delight and loud exultation. It is indeed an attractive motto, and well calculated to inspire this famishing company with courage: "Vengeance, avec le bon bier, et bon beuf d'Angleterre." However meagre the military, the church militant is in no danger of starving. The portly friar is neither emaciated by fasting, nor weakened by penance. Anticipating the glory of extirpating heresy, he is feeling the sharp edge of an axe to be employed in the decollation of the enemies to the true faith, which if any one doubt, he shall die the death. A sledge is laden with whips, wheels, ropes, chains, gibbets, and other inquisitorial engines of torture, which are admirably calculated for the propagation of a religion that was established in meekness and mercy, and inculcates universal charity and forbearance. On the same sledge is an image of St. Anthony, very properly accompanied by his pig, and the plan of a monastery to be built at Blackfriars.

In the background are a troop of soldiers so averse to this English expedition, that their sergeant is obliged to goad them forward with his halberd. To intimate that agriculture suffers by the invasion having engaged the masculine inhabitants, two women ploughing a sterile promontory in the distance complete this catalogue of wretchedness, misery, and famine.

PLATE II

ENGLAND.

"See John the Soldier, Jack the Tar, With sword and pistol arm'd for war, Should _Mounseer_ dare come here; The hungry slaves have smelt our food, They long to taste our flesh and blood, Old England's beef and beer!

"Britons, to arms! and let 'em come; Be you but Britons still, strike home, And lion-like attack 'em, No power can stand the deadly stroke That's given from hands and hearts of oak, With liberty to back 'em."

From the unpropitious regions of France, our scene changes to the fertile fields of England.

"England! bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shores beat back the envious siege Of wat'ry Neptune."

Instead of the forlorn and famished party who were represented in the last plate, we here see a company of well-fed and high-spirited Britons, marked with all the hardihood of ancient times, and eager to defend their country.

In the first group, a young peasant who aspires to a niche in the Temple of Fame, preferring the service of Mars to that of Ceres, and the dignified appellation of soldier to the plebeian name of farmer, offers to enlist. Standing with his back against the halberd to ascertain his height, and finding he is rather under the mark,[97] he endeavours to reach it by rising on tiptoe. This artifice, to which he is impelled by _towering ambition_, the sergeant seems disposed to connive at--and the sergeant is a hero, and a great man in his way; "your hero always must be tall, you know."

To evince that the polite arts were then in a flourishing state, and cultivated by more than the immediate professors, a gentleman artist, who to common eyes must pass for a grenadier, is making a caricature of _le Grand Monarque_. The sovereign of France was in that day as general a subject for copper satire as Mr. Fox is in this. I have seen engravings, where his Gallic Majesty made one of the party, that were not a degree better than the grenadier's drawing, where, to render the meaning obvious, and supply the want of character, or story, every figure had a label hanging to its mouth. That given to this king of shreds and patches is worthy the speaker, and worthy observation: "You take a my fine ships: you be de pirate; you be de teef: me send my grand armies, and hang you all."

The action is suited to the word, for with his left hand this most Christian potentate grasps his sword, and in his right poises a gibbet. The figure and motto united, produce a roar of approbation from the soldier and sailor, who are criticising the work. It is so natural, that the Helen and Briseis of the camp contemplate the performance with apparent delight; and while one of them with her apron measures the breadth of this Herculean painter's shoulders, the other, to show that the performance _has some point_, places her forefinger against the prongs of a fork. The little fifer, playing that animated and inspiring tune "God save the King," is an old acquaintance: we recollect him in "The March to Finchley." In the background is a sergeant teaching a company of young recruits their manual exercise.

This military meeting is held at the sign of the gallant Duke of Cumberland, who is mounted upon a prancing charger,

"As if an angel dropt down from the clouds, To turn and wield a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship."[98]

Underneath is inscribed, "Roast and boiled every day;" which, with the beef and beverage upon the table, forms a fine contrast to the _soup maigre_, bare bones, and roasted frogs, in the last print. The bottle painted on the wall, foaming with liquor which, impatient of imprisonment, has burst its cerements, must be an irresistible invitation to a thirsty traveller. The soldier's sword laid upon the round of beef, and the sailor's pistol on the vessel containing the ale, intimate that these great bulwarks of our island are as tenacious of their beef and beer as of their religion and liberty.

These two plates were published in 1756; but in the _London Chronicle_ for October 20, 1759, is the following advertisement:--

"This day are re-published, price 1s. each, Two prints designed and etched by William Hogarth: one representing the preparations on the French coast for an intended invasion; the other, a view of the preparations making in England to oppose the wicked designs of our enemies; proper to be stuck up in public places, both in town and country, at this juncture."[99]

The verses which are inserted under each print, and subjoined to this account, are, it must be acknowledged, coarse enough. They were, however, written by David Garrick, who, had he thought the subject worthy of his muse, could, I believe, have produced more elegant stanzas.

THE COCKPIT.

"It is worth your while to come to England, were it only to see an election and a cock-match. There is a celestial spirit of anarchy and confusion in these two scenes that words cannot paint, and of which no countryman of yours can form even an idea."--_Sherlock's Letters to a friend at Paris._

Mr. Sherlock is perfectly right in his assertion, that neither of these scenes can be described by words; but where the writer must have failed, the artist has succeeded, and the Parisian who has never visited England may, from Mr. Hogarth's Prints, form a tolerably correct idea of the anarchy of an election, and the confusion of a cockpit. To the right learned and laborious successors of Master Thomas Hearne, it would be matter of curious speculation, and worthy of deep research, to inquire which of these "popular sportes was fyrste practysed in fair Englonde." To their grave and useful investigations I leave the decision of this knotty point. The earliest information of this _gentile_ and _royal_ game which my reading supplies, I find in a treatise, published in 1674, and entitled _The Complete Gamester_, containing instructions how to play at Billiards, Trucks, Bowls, Chess, etc. "To which is added, The Artes and Mysteries of Riding, Racing, Archery, and Cock Fighting. Printed by A. M. for R. Cutler, and to be sold by Henry Brome, at the Gun, at the west end of St. Paul's." To this curious little _vade mecum_ there is a frontispiece divided into five compartments. One of them represents a cockpit, in the centre of which two of the feathered tribe, not unlike ducks, are fighting. The pit is surrounded by a company of crop-eared figures in round hats, with faces as demure and sanctified as are to be seen at a Quakers' meeting. Before many of these most sedate personages are heaps of gold, and (alluding to the print) the following sublime verses:--

"After these three, the cockpit claims a name; A sport _gentile_, and call'd a royal game. Now see the gallants crowd about the pit, And most are stock'd with money more than wit; Else sure they would not, with so great a stir, Lay ten to one on a cock's faithless spur."