PICTURE-GALLERIES IN ENGLAND

In 1824 a volume was published, entitled British Galleries of Art, ‘printed for G. & W. B. Whittaker, Ave-Maria-Lane,’ by Thomas Davison, Whitefriars, which is sometimes put forward by second-hand booksellers as by William Hazlitt. The articles composing the volume appeared in the New Monthly Magazine in 1823 (see vols. VII. and VIII.), and their subjects are in most cases identical with those in Hazlitt’s Picture-Galleries in England (Angerstein, Dulwich, the Marquis of Stafford’s Gallery, Windsor Castle, Hampton Court, Blenheim); apart from the internal evidence, however, which is overwhelming, the anonymous author says in his preface that ‘any merit that may attach to the mere plan of “British Galleries of Art” belongs entirely to the author of [the Picture-Galleries in England], the separate Papers of which appeared, (also in a periodical work) about the same time with those of the following which are on the same subjects.’

Hazlitt included his criticism on the pictures of Titian at the Marquis of Stafford’s and at Windsor Castle in the Appendix to ‘The Life of Titian: with anecdotes of the distinguished persons of his time. By James Northcote, Esq., R.A. In two volumes. London. Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, 8, New Burlington Street, 1830.’ See Memoirs of William Hazlitt, vol. II. pp. 212–13, and also the Biographical Sketch by Hazlitt’s son, contributed to The Literary Remains of William Hazlitt, 1836, for particulars of Hazlitt’s share in Northcote’s work. This Appendix to Northcote’s Titian also contains ‘Character of Titian’s Portraits’ from The Plain Speaker and ‘An Enquiry whether the Fine Arts are promoted by Academies and Public Institutions.’

MR. ANGERSTEIN’S COLLECTION

From The London Magazine, December 1822.

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7. Balm of hurt minds. Macbeth, Act II. Sc. 2.

Mr. Angerstein. John Julius Angerstein (1735–1823), merchant and art connoisseur. His collection of pictures formed a basis for the present National Gallery.

8. Colnaghi’s. Paul Colnaghi (1751–1833), of the famous print-selling house. He was of Milanese birth, but a naturalised Englishman.

9. Ludovico Caracci. Lodovico Carracci (1555–1619), of Bologna, the founder of the Eclectic School of Painting, known better as a teacher than as a painter. His nephew, Annibale (1560–1609), was the decorator of the Farnese Palace.

Piping as though he should never be old. Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia, Book I. chap. 2.

10. A letter to his uncle Ludovico. Hazlitt gives this letter in the Appendix to Northcote’s Life of Titian.

Sebastian del Piombo. Sebastiano Luciani (1485–1547) of Venice, a disciple

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of Giorgione. After the death of Raphael he was thought the greatest painter in Rome.

10. And still walking under. Ben Jonson, Underwoods, XXX., ‘An Epistle to Sir Edward Sackvile.’

11. Parmegiano. Francesco Mazzuola (1504–1540), of Parma. Vasari relates that at Rome it was held ‘that the soul of Raphael had passed into the person of Parmigiano.’ He was a follower of Correggio.

Which pale passion loves. Beaumont and Fletcher, The Nice Valour, III. 3.

All ear. Comus, l. 560.

Mask or midnight serenade.

12. Carlo Dolce. Carlo Dolci (1616–1686), of Florence, a painter of tender and placid expressions, highly finished.

Somerset-house. The rooms of the Royal Academy of Arts were here, 1780–1838. See vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, where, by a misprint, these dates are given in the note to p. 435 as 1870–1838.

13. Where universal Pan. Paradise Lost, IV. 266.

Lord Egremont. Sir George O’Brien Wyndham, 3rd Earl of Egremont (1751–1837), stock-breeder and art patron. He first promoted the recognition of Turner.

N. Poussin. Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), of Villers, in Normandy. See vol. VI. Table Talk, pp. 168 et seq.

The British Institution. In Pall Mall (No. 52), built by Boydell to contain his Shakespeare Gallery. The Institution was dissolved in 1866 and the building pulled down in 1868.

Of outward show. Paradise Lost, VIII. 539.

14. Pious orgies. Hazlitt may have been thinking of a passage by Burke. See Select Works, ed. Payne, II. p. 85.

Vice, by losing all its grossness. Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, (Select Works, ed. Payne, II. 89).

Gaspar Poussin. Gaspard Dughet (1613–1675), born in Rome of French parents, Nicolas’s brother-in-law and pupil.

The air is delicate. Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 6.

Sear and [the] yellow leaf. Macbeth, Act V. Sc. 3.

Mr. Wilkie. David Wilkie (1785–1841). He was knighted in 1836.

15. Mr. Liston. John Liston (1776?-1846).

Flock of drunkards. Othello, Act II. Sc. 3.

Mr. Fuseli’s Milton Gallery. Johann Heinrich Fuessly, or Henry Fuseli (1741–1825), of Zurich, who came to England in 1763, writer and painter, opened his Milton Gallery in 1799.

A Catalogue. This list was added to later issues of the Picture-Galleries, with the title-page still dated 1824. The pages so occupied are numbered 19*-22*. The list was not given in The London Magazine.

THE DULWICH GALLERY

From The London Magazine, Jan. 1823.

17. When yellow leaves. Shakespeare’s Sonnets, LXXIII [those boughs].

Allen. John Allen, M.D. (1771–1843), one of the staff of The Edinburgh Review, was warden of Dulwich College, 1811–1820, and master,

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1820–1843. He is chiefly now remembered as the friend and factotum of Lord Holland.

17. Constrained by mastery. Cf. ‘That Love will not submit to be controlled by mastery,’ Wordsworth, The Excursion, VI. 163, 164.

Green and yellow melancholy. Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc. 4.

18. Julio Romano. Giulio Dei Giannuzzi, of Rome (1492–1546), Raphael’s apprentice and best pupil.

Sir Francis Bourgeois. Sir Peter Francis Bourgeois (1756–1811), landscape painter to George III. and painter to the King of Poland. He acquired the collection of Desenfans (see note to p. 19) and bequeathed 371 pictures to Dulwich College, endowing the Gallery also.

19. Mr. Desenfans. Noel Joseph Desenfans (1745–1807), of French birth, whose collection of pictures, bought for a Polish National Gallery, had to be sold when Poland was dismembered.

Shed [casting] a dim ... religious light. Milton, Il Penseroso, 160.

Cuyp. Aelbert Cuyp (1605–1691), the Dutch Claude.

Carlo Maratti. Of Camurano, in Ancona (1625–1713), etcher and painter.

What a delicious breath painting [marriage] sends forth. Middleton’s Women Beware Women, Act III. Sc. 1.

Berkeley. George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne (1685–1753), whose Treatise on the Principles of Human Knowledge, wherein he sets forth his philosophical speculations on Matter and Spirit, was published in 1710.

Palpable [sensible] to feeling as to sight. Macbeth, Act II. Sc. 1.

The eye is made the fool. Macbeth, Act II. Sc. 1.

So potent art. Tempest, Act V. Sc. 1.

20. Teniers. David Teniers (1610–1694), of Antwerp, painter of scenes of peasant life.

Adrian Brouwer. Of Haarlem or Oudenaerde (c. 1605–1638), painter of Dutch interiors.

Potations pottle deep. Othello, Act II. Sc. 3.

Ostade. Adriaen Janzoon van Ostade (1610–1685), of Haarlem, painter of peasant scenes. His brother, Isack van Ostade (1621–1649), was also a painter.

Polemberg. Cornells van Poelenburgh, of Utrecht (1586–1667), landscape and portrait painter.

Crespi. Giuseppe Maria Crespi (1665–1747), of Bologna.

Sanadram. Probably Pieter Saenredam (1597–1665), of Assendelft, who is known for his large church interiors.

Backhuysen. Ludolf Bakhuisen (1631–1708), of Emden, the celebrated painter of sea-storms.

Vandervelde. Willem Van de Velde (1633–1707), the younger, the greatest Dutch marine painter. He lies buried in St. James’s Church, Piccadilly.

Both. Jan Both (c. 1610–c. 1662), of Utrecht. The cattle and figures in his landscapes were usually added by his brother Andries (c. 1609–c. 1644).

21. Jordaens. ?Jakob Jordaens (1593–1678), of Antwerp.

Sacchi. Andrea Sacchi (d. 1661), of Nettuno, near Rome; Carlo Maratti (see note to p. 19) was one of his pupils.

Beechey. Sir William Beechey (1753–1839), portrait painter to Queen Charlotte.

Wouvermans. Philips Wouverman (?1614–1668), of Haarlem, celebrated for his paintings of horses.

22. Ruysdael. Jakob van Ruysdael (c. 1630–1682), of Haarlem, landscape painter.

Hobbima. Meindert Hobbema (1638–1709), Dutch landscape painter.

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23. Entire affection scorneth [hateth] nicer hands. Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Book I. VIII. 40.

Berchem. Nicolaas Pietersz, commonly called Berchem (1620–1683), of Haarlem, landscape painter, whose work is characterised by much delicacy of composition.

Watteau. Antoine Watteau (1684–1721).

24. Body and limbs ... add what flourishes. Cf. Hamlet, Act II. Sc. 2.

Grand caterers and wet-nurses of the state [dry nurse of the church]. Cowper, The Task, II. 371.

Under the shade. As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 7.

Salvator Rosa. Of Renella, near Naples (1615–1673).

25. He has had his reward. S. Matthew, VI. 2.

Andrea del Sarto. Andrea d’Agnolo (his father was a tailor, whence his better-known name), of Florence (1487–1531), the ‘faultless painter.’

What lacks it then? Cf. S. Matthew XIX. 20.

Le Brun. Charles Le Brun (1619–1690), French historical painter. He was one of the principal founders of the Academy, the first director of the Gobelins manufactory, and did much of the decoration of Versailles.

Wilson. Richard Wilson (1714–1782), one of the greatest of English landscape painters.

Guercino. Giovanni Francesco Barbieri, the squint-eyed (1591–1666), of Cento, in the Ferrarese country.

Francesco Mola. Pietro Francesco Mola (1612–1668), a follower of the Venetian School.

26. Giorgione. Giorgio Barbarelli (c. 1476–1511), of Castelfranco, a fellow-student of Titian, and one of the greatest of the Venetian painters.

Guido. Guido Reni (1575–1642), of Calvenzo, near Bologna.

Vanderwerf. Adriaan van der Werff (1659–1722), of Rotterdam.

P. Veronese. Paolo Caliari (1528–1588), of Verona.

Morales. Luis de Morales (d. 1586), of Badajoz, ‘the divine,’ a follower of Michael Angelo and Leonardo da Vinci.

THE MARQUIS OF STAFFORD’S GALLERY

From The London Magazine, February 1823.

27. Forked mountain. Antony and Cleopatra, Act IV. Sc. 12.

Volume of the brain. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5.

Life is as a [lasting] storm. Pericles, Act IV. Sc. 1.

28. Lord Bacon exclaims ... poems of Homer. In the Advancement of Learning, Book I. VIII. 6.

29. A book sealed. Cf. Revelation, V. i.

Hoole’s Version. John Hoole’s (1727–1803) translations of Tasso’s Jerusalem Delivered, and Arioto’s Orlando Furioso were published in 1763 and 1783 respectively.

30. David. Jacques Louis David (1748–1825). During the Revolution he supported Robespierre, but later he became first painter to the first Napoleon.

The foremost man in all this world. Julius Caesar, Act IV. Sc. 3.

Monsieur Talleyrand. Charles Maurice Talleyrand de PÉrigord, Prince de BÉnÉvent (1754–1838), De Quincey’s ‘rather middling bishop, but very eminent knave.’

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30. The late Lord Castlereagh. Lord Castlereagh had committed suicide in a fit of insanity in 1822. See vol. III. Political Essays, pp. 102–3, and note to p. 36 etc.

31. Barry. James Barry (1741–1806). See Hazlitt’s article on him, p. 413 et seq.

Collins. Probably Richard Collins (1755–1831), who was chief miniature and enamel painter to George III.

And o’er-informed the tenement of clay. Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel, I. 158.

32. Like an exhalation [a steam]. Milton, Comus, 556.

33. Which of you copied the other? Said of Menander by Aristophanes of Byzantium.

Note. Cleveland-House. Near Stable Yard, St. James’s, now called Bridgewater House. It was bought by the Duke of Bridgewater in 1730.

34. Albano. Francesco Albani (1578–1660), of Bologna, the friend of Guido Reni, and his fellow-student under the Carracci.

Moroni. Giovanni Battista Moroni (1520–1578), of Bondio, in the province of Bergamo, one of the greatest of portrait painters.

Milk of human kindness. Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 5.

Pordenone. Giovanni Antonio Licinio (1483–1539), of Pordenone, near Udine.

Tintoretto. Jacopo Robusti, or Tintoretto, from his father’s trade, dyeing (1519–1594), the head of Venetian sixteenth century painting.

Note. The late Mr. Curran. John Philpot Curran, the famous orator, had died in 1817.

35. Palma Vecchio. Jacopo Palma (1480–1528), of Serinalta, in the province of Bergamo. He is associated with Giorgione and Titian in the reform of the Venetian school.

Bassan. Jacopo da Ponte, Il Bassano (1519–1592), a follower of Titian, and a member of a family of north Italian painters.

Luca Cambiasi. Luca Cambiaso (1527–1585), of Moneglia, near Genoa, whose greatest work, The Rape of the Sabines, is in the Imperial Palace, at Terralba, near Genoa.

Alessandro Veronese. Alessandro Turchi (1582–c. 1648), of Verona.

Domenichino. Domenico Zampieri (1581–1641), of Bologna, a pupil of the Carracci.

Le Nain. Antoine and Louis Le Nain (b. 1588 and 1593 respectively), of Laon. They painted pictures of rustic life together.

Metzu. Gabriel Metsu (1630–1667), a genre painter, of Leyden. He was a pupil of Dou.

Douw. Gerard Dou (1613–1675), of Leyden, one of the greatest of Dutch painters of humble life.

36. Vangoyen. Jan van Goyen (1596–1666), of Leyden, one of the earliest of Dutch landscape painters.

With yellow tufted banks.

THE PICTURES AT WINDSOR CASTLE

From The London Magazine, March 1823

36. A line of Kings. Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 1.

The oak of Herne the hunter. Merry Wives of Windsor, Act V. Sc. 5.

37. The proud Keep of Windsor. A Letter to a Noble Lord, (Works, Bohn, V. 137).

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37. Verrio. Antonio Verrio (1639–1707), of Lecce, near Otranto. He was employed at Windsor under Charles II. and James II., and at Hampton Court under Anne.

West. Benjamin West (1738–1820), of Pennsylvania. He succeeded Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1792 as President of the Royal Academy.

Zuccarelli. Francesco Zuccarelli (c. 1702–1788), of Tuscany. He was one of the founders of the Royal Academy.

38. Clear-spirited thought.

Mrs. Hutchinson’s admirable Memoirs. Lucy Hutchinson’s memoirs of her husband, the Puritan Colonel, were first published in 1806.

Lely. Pieter van der Faes (1618–1680). His father changed the name to Lely. He was made a baronet by Charles II.

39. Kneller. He was born at LÜbeck in 1646, made a fortune in England as a portrait painter, was knighted in 1692, made a baronet in 1715, and died in 1723. Pope wrote an epitaph for his monument in Westminster Abbey.

Ramsay. Allan Ramsay, portrait painter (1713–1784), son of ‘the Gentle Shepherd.’

40. The Misers. See vol. II. Characteristics, p. 417.

Quintin Matsys. Quentin Massys (1466–1531), of Louvain, the painter of The Entombment, in the Museum at Antwerp.

The still, small voice of reason. Cf. Cowper, The Task, v. 687, and 1 Kings xix. 12.

41. Denner. Balthasar Denner (1685–1749), of Hamburg.

THE PICTURES AT HAMPTON COURT

From The London Magazine, June 1823.

The previous article in the series ended with the words:—‘We shall break off here, and give some account of the Cartoons at Hampton Court in our next, as we do not like them to come in at the fag-end of an article.’

42. Fine by degrees. Prior, Henry and Emma, 432.

44. Calm contemplation and majestic pains.

46. The seasons’ difference. As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 1.

Through their looped and tattered ‘wretchedness. Cf. ‘Your loop’d and windowed raggedness.’ King Lear, Act III. Sc. 4.

Sir James Thornhill. He copied the cartoons at Hampton Court, decorated Greenwich, and was much employed by Queen Anne. He was knighted in 1720 by George I. (1675–1734).

47. Like to those hanging locks. Fletcher, The Faithful Shepherdess, I. 2.

48. Dwelleth not in temples. Acts vii. 48.

In act to speak. Pope, The Temple of Fame, 241.

From The London Magazine, July 1823.

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49. In our mind’s eye, Horatio. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.

Warton. Thomas Warton (1728–1790). See vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, p. 120 and note.

50. At every fall. Milton, Comus, 251.

51. Nod to him, elves. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III. Sc. 1.

The breezy call. Gray’s Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.

52. Air [shape] and gesture proudly eminent. Paradise Lost, Book I. 590.

53. It is place which lessens. Cymbeline, Act III. Sc. 3.

54. Sigh our souls. Merchant of Venice, Act V. Sc. 1.

Snyders. Franz Snyders (1579–1657), of Antwerp, painter of hunting scenes.

55. Of the earth, earthy. 1 Cor. xv. 47.

We think it had better not be seen. The Magazine article adds:—‘We never very much liked this picture; but that may probably be our fault.’

PICTURES AT WILTON, STOURHEAD, Etc.

From The London Magazine, October 1823.

The article ends with the words:—‘Blenheim in our next, which will conclude this series of articles.’

Note. The author of Vathek. William Beckford (1759–1844), whose romance was written in French in 1781–1782, translated anonymously into English in 1784, and published in French in 1787.

57. Ranged in a row. ‘Ranged o’er the chimney, glistened in a row,’ Goldsmith, The Deserted Village, 236.

58. Keep their state. Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act V. Sc. 2.

Burke’s description of the age of chivalry. Reflections on the Revolution in France, Select Works, ed. Payne, II. 89.

The mood of lutes [flutes]. Paradise Lost, Book I. 551.

Mount on barbed steeds, etc. Cf. ‘Mounting barbed steeds.’ King Richard III., Act I. Sc. 1. and,

The Goose Gibbie. See Old Mortality.

59. Of all men the most miserable. 1 Cor. xv. 19.

Above all pain. Pope’s Epistle to Robert, Earl of Oxford.

Berchem. See ante, note to p. 22.

Hath a devil. S. Luke vii. 33.

60. Mieris. A family of Delft and Leyden painters, the best known of whom are Frans van Mieris, one of twenty-three children (1635–1681), the ‘prince of Dou’s pupils,’ and William van Mieris, his son (1662–1747).

The porcelain of Franguestan. ‘Vathek voluptuously reposed in his capacious litter upon cushions of silk, with two little pages beside him of complexions more fair than the enamel of Franguistan.’ The description is commented on in a note which explains that they were Circassian boy-slaves.

Sir Richard Colt Hoare. Historian of Wiltshire (1758–1838).

61. Tempt but to betray.

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61. Trace his footsteps.

Though in ruins. Paradise Lost, II. 300.

Of the court, courtly. Cf. ‘Of the earth, earthy.’ 1 Cor. xv. 47.

PICTURES AT BURLEIGH HOUSE

From the New Monthly Magazine, vol. IV., 1822, Table Talk, No. IV.

62. And dull [dead] cold winter. The Two Noble Kinsmen, Act II. Sc. 1.

Faded to the light. Wordsworth, Ode, Intimations of Immortality.

Ways were mire. Milton, Sonnet XX.

63. And still walking under. See ante, note to p. 10.

I was brutish [beastly] like, warlike as the wolf. Cymbeline, Act III. Sc. 3.

Paul Potter. Of Enkhuizen (1625–1654), animal painter.

64. To see the sun to bed. Lamb, John Woodvil, Act II.

Hunt half a day. Wordsworth’s Hart-Leap Well, Part II.

65. Humbled by such rebuke. Paradise Lost, VI. 342.

And in its liquid texture. Ibid., VI. 348–9.

Inimitable on earth. Ibid., III. 508.

66. Hesperian fable true. Ibid., IV. 250.

Dream of a Painter. See Northcote’s Varieties on Art in his Memoirs of Sir Joshua Reynolds, etc. (1813–1815), p. xvi. See also vol. I. The Round Table, note to Guido, p. 162.

Paul Brill. Of Antwerp (1556–1626), a follower of Titian.

67. His light shone in darkness. Cf. S. John i. 5.

Luca Jordano. Luca Giordano (1632–1705), of Naples, ‘Il Presto,’ the quick worker, who imitated all the great painters.

Grinling Gibbons. The wood carver (1648–1720), of Rotterdam. He was brought to public notice by Evelyn, the Diarist, and his work may be seen in St. Paul’s, London, and Trinity College Library, Cambridge.

68. Lords who love their ladies like. Cf. Home’s Douglas, Act I. Sc. 1: ‘As women wish to be who love their lords.’

PICTURES AT OXFORD AND BLENHEIM

From the London Magazine, November 1823

The article ends as follows:—‘We now take leave of British Galleries of Art. There are one or two others that we had intended to visit; but they are at a great distance from us and from each other; and we are not quite sure that they would repay our inquiries. Besides, to say the truth, we have already pretty well exhausted our stock of criticism, both general and particular. The same names were continually occurring, and we began sometimes to be apprehensive that the same observations might be repeated over again. One thing we can say, that the going through our regular task has not lessened our respect for the great names here alluded to; and, if we shall have inspired, in the progress of it, any additional degree of curiosity respecting the art, or any greater love of it in our readers, we shall think our labour and our anxiety to do justice to the subject most amply rewarded.’

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69. With glistering spires. Paradise Lost, III. 550.

Hold high converse. Thomson, The Seasons: Winter, 431.

No mean city. Acts xxi. 39.

All eyes shall see me. Cf. Isaiah xlv. 22–23 and Romans xiv. 11.

70. Clappeth his wings, and straightway he is gone. Cf. Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, 74:

Majestic, though in ruins. Paradise Lost, II. 300.

Giuseppe Ribera. Josef Ribera (1588–1656), of San Felipe, near Valencia, a pupil of Caravaggio and leader of the realist school of his time.

71. Lucid mirror. Cowper, The Task, I. 701.

And fast by hanging in a golden chain. Paradise Lost, II. 1051.

In form resembling a goose pie. Cf. ‘A thing resembling a goose-pie,’ Swift, Vanburgh’s House, l. 104.

The old Duchess of Marlborough. Sarah Churchill, nÉe Jennings (1660–1744), wife of John, 1st Duke of Marlborough.

72. Leave stings. Cf. ‘Would leave a sting within a brother’s heart.’

73. Sure never were seen. Sheridan, The School for Scandal, Act II. Sc. 2. [Other horses are clowns.] See vol. I. The Round Table, p. 150.

Mr. T. Moore’s ‘Loves of the Angels.’ Published Jan. 1, 1823.

75. As if increase of appetite. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.

We are ignorance itself. 1 King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 1.

CRITICISM ON HOGARTH’S MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE

See vol. I. The Round Table, pp. 25 et seq., and notes thereto.

NOTES OF A JOURNEY THROUGH FRANCE

AND ITALY

The circumstances which led to and succeeded the tour in France and Italy described in the following letters will be found detailed in the Memoirs of William Hazlitt, pp. 107 et seq. The journey began in August 1824, shortly after Hazlitt married Mrs. Bridgewater; and it ended in October 1825, by the return home alone of Hazlitt and his son.

CHAPTER I

From the Morning Chronicle, Tuesday, Sept. 14, 1824

90. Forever the same. Add, from the newspaper:—‘The sea at present puts me in mind of Lord Byron—it is restless, glittering, dangerous, exhaustless, like his style.’

Can question thine. Add:—‘Hearing some lines repeated out of Virgil, while B—— and I were sitting near the melancholy Scottish shores, looking towards England, I said that the sound of the Latin language was to me like the sound of the sea—melodious, strange, lasting! So the verses we had just heard had lingered on the ear of memory, had flowed from the learned tongue, for near two thousand years!’

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91. In a great pool. Cymbeline, Act III. Sc. 4.

92. Otto of roses. Add:—‘It was like other beds in France—not aired.’

A compound of villainous smells. Merry Wives of Windsor, Act III. Sc. 5.

Mieris. See ante, note to p. 60.

Jan Steen. Of Leyden (1626–1679), a follower of Van Ostade, Brouwer, and Van Goyen.

93. Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease. Goldsmith, The Traveller, 41–2.

CHAPTER II

September 17

94. Bidding the lovely scenes. Collins, Ode on the Passions.

98. The pomp of groves. Beattie, The Minstrel, I. 9.

99. Note. Gil Blas’s Supper. Cf. Book I. chap. 2.

Note. Chateaubriand ... On the Censorship. FranÇois RenÉ, Vicomte de Chateaubriand’s (1768–1848) phase of politics between 1824 and 1830 was one of Liberalism. His writings in the Journal des DÉbats and elsewhere caused the Chamber to abandon its proposed law against the press.

100. Swinging slow with sullen roar. Il Penseroso, 76.

CHAPTER III

September 24

102. My tables. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5.

103. Like the fat weed. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5.

105. Exhalation [steam] of rich-distilled perfumes. Milton, Comus, 556.

106. Let their discreet hearts believe [think] it. Othello, Act II. Sc. 1.

CHAPTER IV.

September 28

106. First and last and midst. Paradise Lost, v. 165.

Worn them as a rich jewel. Hazlitt quotes from himself. See vol. VI., Table Talk, p. 174.

Thrown into the pit. Cf. Genesis xxxvii. 24.

School calleth unto School. Psalm xlii. 7: ‘deep calleth to deep.’

107. My theme [shame] in crowds. Goldsmith, The Deserted Village, 412.

Brave o’er-hanging firmament. Hamlet, Act II. Sc. 2.

Hang upon the beatings of my heart. Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey.

Stood the statue that enchants the world. Thomson, The Seasons, Summer, 1347.

There was old Proteus. Altered from Wordsworth’s Sonnet, ‘The world is too much with us.’

Sit squat, like a toad. Paradise Lost, IV. 800.

108. The death of the King. Louis XVIII. of France died in September 1824.

Sir Thomas Lawrence. Portrait-painter (1769–1830).

109. To cure [drive] all sadness but despair. Paradise Lost, IV. 156.

Verdurous wall of Paradise. Ibid., IV. 143.

In darkness visible. Ibid., I. 63.

Hulling. ‘Hull on the flood.’ Ibid., XI. 840.

Blind with rain.

Lord Byron ... Heaven and Earth. Sc. III.

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110. Le Brun. See ante, note to p. 25.

Sebastian Bourdon. French painter and engraver (1616–1671). He was one of the twelve artists who founded the Academy of Painting and Sculpture in 1648.

Le Sueur. Eustache Le Sueur (1616–1655), French historical painter, also one of the twelve (see above). He is one of the greatest of French painters, and is often called the French Raphael.

Philip Champagne. Philippe de Champaigne (1602–1674), of the French school of historical and portrait painting, though of Brussels birth. He was one of the first members of the Academy, worked for Cardinal Richelieu, and was greatest as a portrait painter.

David. See ante, note to p. 30.

Daniel Volterra. Daniele Ricciarelli, or Daniele da Volterra from the place of his birth (1509–1566), the friend of Michael Angelo, who aided him in his chief work, the frescoes in the Capella Orsini, TrinitÀ de Monti, Rome.

111. Weenix. Jan Weenix (1640–1719), of Amsterdam, noted for his painting of dead game.

Wouvermans. See ante, note to p. 21.

Ruysdael. See ante, note to p. 22.

Non equidem invideo, miror magis. Virgil, Eclogues, I. 11.

112. Thick as the autumnal leaves. Paradise Lost, I. 303.

113. Founded as the rock. Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 4.

Coop’d [cribb’d] and cabin’d. Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 4.

CHAPTER V

October 5. No. VI. (October 6) in the newspaper, begins at the paragraph ‘The ordinary prejudice,’ etc., on p. 118.

If the French have a fault. A Sentimental Journey. Character, Versailles.

115. Jump at. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 1.

116. The finest line in Racine. ‘Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n’ai point d’autre crainte.’ Athalie, Act I. Sc. 1.

118. Pleas’d with a feather [rattle]. Pope, Essay on Man, Ep. II. 275.

Marmontel’s Tales. Jean Francois Marmontel’s (1723–1799), Contes Moraux (1761), of which several editions have appeared in English.

119. Quickens, even with blowing. Othello, Act IV. Sc. 2.

The melancholy of Moorditch. 1 King Henry IV., Act I. Sc. 2.

120. Rousseau’s Emilius. Published 1762.

La Place. Pierre Simon, Marquis de Laplace (1749–1827), the great astronomer and mathematician.

Lavoisier. Antoine Laurent Lavoisier (1743–1794), the founder of modern chemistry: he was guillotined in the Revolution.

Cuvier. Leopold Christian FrÉdÉric Dagobert Cuvier, better known as Georges Cuvier (1769–1832), the great zoologist and reformer in Education.

Houdon. Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741–1828), one of the greatest of French sculptors. Of his statue of St. Bruno, the founder of the Carthusian order, Pope Clement XIV. said that ‘it would speak were it not for the Carthusian rule of silence.’

121. Laborious foolery. Cf. vol. VIII. p. 554, Hazlitt’s letter to The Morning Chronicle on Modern Comedy.

Horace Vernet. Emile Jean Horace Vernet (1789–1863), the ‘Paul Delaroche of military painting.’

122. Good haters. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, note to p. 180.

PAGE

CHAPTER VI

October 8. Numbered VI. in the newspaper, but see ante, note to chapter V.

122. Guerin. Pierre Marcisse, Baron GuÉrin, French historical painter (1774–1833). His chief work is ‘The Return of Marcus Sixtus’ (1799).

123. Rouget. Georges Rouget (1784–1869), French portrait and historical painter, a pupil of David.

Ward. Possibly James Ward (1769–1859), animal painter.

Haydon. Benjamin Robert Haydon (1786–1846), historical painter, whose pupils included Bewick, Landseer, and Eastlake.

DrÖlling. Michel Martin Drolling (1786–1851), French portrait and historical painter, a pupil of David.

Gerard. FranÇois Pascal Simon, Baron GÉrard (1770–1837), French portrait and historical painter, a follower of David, chiefly celebrated for his portraits.

124. Madame Hersent. Louise Marie Jeanne Mauduit (1784–1862), the wife of Louis Hersent. Both were historical and portrait painters.

Bouton. Charles Marie Bouton (1781–1853), a pupil of David. His collaborator in the invention of the Diorama was Daguerre.

125. Mons. Caminade. Alexandre FranÇois Caminade (1783–1862), French historical and portrait painter.

126. Mr. Hayter. Sir George Hayter (1792–1871), appointed miniature painter to Queen Charlotte in 1816, knighted in 1842. His father, Charles Hayter, was also a miniature painter. Sir George Hayter painted ‘The Trial of Queen Caroline’ (see p. 128).

Mr. Constable. John Constable (1776–1837), one of the greatest of English landscape painters.

127. Copley Fielding. Anthony Vandyke Copley Fielding (1787–1855), water-colour landscape painter.

Jacquot. Georges Jacquot (1794–1874). His work may be seen in the museums of Nancy and Amiens and at Versailles.

Chantry. Sir Francis Legatt Chantrey (1781–1841).

Nantreuil. Charles FranÇois-Leboeuf Nanteuil (1792–1865).

129. Jouvenet. Jean Jouvenet (1644–1717), historical and portrait painter of French birth and Italian descent. He is noted for the gigantic size of his pictures and figures.

CHAPTER VII

October 22. Numbered VIII.

Those faultless monsters which the art [world]. From the Essay on Poetry of John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham.

Hand-writing on the wall. Daniel v. 5.

130. Vice to be hated. Pope, Essay on Man, II. 217–18.

131. Girodet. Anne Louis Girodet-De-Roussy-Trioson (1767–1824), French historical painter. The picture ‘Endymion’ is one of his best known works.

132. Mezentius. See the Æneid, VIII. 485.

Quod sic mihi ostendis. Horace, Ars Poet., 188.

With hideous ruin. Paradise Lost, I. 46.

Accumulated horror.

PAGE

133. It out-herods Herod. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

Note. Dip it in the ocean. A Sentimental Journey, The Wig, Paris.

Note. Perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart. Macbeth, Act V. Sc. 3.

136. Like stars, shoot madly [start] from their spheres. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5.

Paul Guerin. Paulin Jean Baptiste GuÉrin, French portrait and historical painter (1783–1855); his chief work is the one of which Hazlitt speaks.

137. La Thiere. Guillaume Gillon LethiÈre, French historical painter (1760–1832), of Creole birth (Guadeloupe). At one time he was considered David’s rival.

The human face divine. Paradise Lost, III. 44.

Ducis. Louis Ducis (1773–1847), a pupil of David.

138. Magnis excidit ausis. Ovid, Met. II. 328.

CHAPTER VIII

October 23. Numbered IX.

Captain Parry. Captain, afterwards Sir William Edward Parry (1790–1855), explorer of the North-West Passage.

139. Note. Painful scene in Evelina. Letter XXV.

142. Note. My old acquaintance (Dr. Stoddart). Sir John Stoddart (1773–1856), Hazlitt’s brother-in-law. He was knighted in 1826.

144. Mutually reflected charities. Burke, Select Works, ed. Payne, II. 40.

Note. In the manner of Swift. Add, from the newspaper:—‘So accomplished an equestrian (thought I) might ascend a throne with popularity and effect! It was not the first or the last time in my life I have been rebuked for glancing a sceptical eye at the same sort of grave masquerading.—Cucullus non facit Monachum. It was but the other day that I was called to account for having hinted that a subscriber to The Sentinel,^[60] and a patron and prime mover in Blackwood, is not one of the best and greatest characters of the age; or that, if so, then a tool of power, a party-bigot, and a suborner of private slander, in support of public wrong, is one of the best and greatest characters of the age. Mr. Blackwood should take care how he implicates any really respectable character by defending it. The worst ever supposed of the author of Waverley was, that there was a clandestine understanding between him and Mr. Blackwood—through Sir Walter Scott! The Ned Christian^[61] compliment turns upon this. Mr. Taylor of Fleet-street, need not have disavowed the paragraph; it might as well have been laid to the charge of Mr. Taylor of The Sun. The passage was not worth speaking of—but I have since done the same thing better, and the one passage is (cleverly enough) brought forward as a screen to the other.’

145. Thrust us from a level consideration. 2 King Henry IV., Act II. Sc. 1.

Garlanded with flowers.

The lean abhorred monster. Romeo and Juliet, Act V. Sc. 3.

No black and melancholic yew-trees. Webster’s The White Devil, Act IV. Sc. 2.

Pansies for thoughts. Hamlet, Act IV. Sc. 5.

146. The daughter of Madame d’Orbe. SixiÈme Partie, Lettre XI.

146. Ney. Michel Ney (1769–1815), Napoleon’s great general, ‘the bravest of the brave,’ who had five horses shot under him at Waterloo. He urged Napoleon to abdicate after the campaign of 1814, and on Napoleon’s return from Elba was sent to fight him. He went over to his old Emperor, however, and, after Waterloo, was arrested for high treason, condemned to death, and shot in the Luxembourg Gardens.

Massena. AndrÉ MassÉna (1756–1817), another of Napoleon’s generals, ‘the favoured child of victory.’

Kellerman. FranÇois Christophe de Kellermann (1735–1820), the successful general at Valmy (1792).

Fontaine. Jean de la Fontaine (1621–1695), the fabulist.

De Lille. Jacques Delille (1738–1813), French poet and translator of Paradise Lost.

CHAPTER IX

November 17. Numbered X.

147. Mademoiselle Mars. See vol. VII., The Plain Speaker, pp. 324 et seq.

Mrs. Jordan. Dorothea or Dorothy Jordan (1762–1816). See vol. VIII., containing Hazlitt’s dramatic writings, for criticism upon her and the following actresses.

Mrs. Siddons. Sarah Siddons (1755–1831).

Miss Farren. Elizabeth Farren (1759?-1829), Countess of Derby. See vol. VIII., Lectures on the Comic Writers, 165, etc.

Mrs. Abington. Frances Abington (1737–1815).

Miss O’Neil. Eliza O’Neil (1791–1872), afterwards Lady Becher. See vol. I., The Round Table, note to p. 156, and vol. VIII. A View of the English Stage, p. 291.

Flavia the least and slightest toy. Bishop Atterbury’s Flavia’s Fan.

149. Monsieur Damas. For more than twenty-five years one of the most brilliant actors at the ComÉdie FranÇaise. He retired from the stage in 1825 and died in 1834.

151. Midsummer madness. Twelfth Night, Act III. Sc. 4.

Mr. Bartolino Saddletree. See Scott’s Heart of Midlothian.

Whole loosened soul.

Mrs. Orger. Mrs. Mary Ann Orger (1788–1849), chiefly remembered for her excellence in farce at Drury Lane.

152. Mr. Braham. The famous tenor. See note to vol. VII., The Plain Speaker, p. 70.

Note. No single volume paramount. Wordsworth, Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty, XV., Sonnet beginning ‘Great men have been among us.’

153. Odry. Jacques-Charles Odry (1781–1853). He played at the VariÉtÉs for forty years, the idol of his audiences.

Monsieur Potier. Charles Potier (1775–1838), comic actor.

154. Brunet. Jean-Joseph Mira, called Brunet (1766–1851).

Talma. FranÇois Joseph Talma (1763–1826), one of the greatest of French tragic actors.

Mademoiselle Georges. Marguerite-JosÉphine Weimer, otherwise Georges (1787–1867), one of the most famous actresses of her day, beautiful, haughty, and wayward.

PAGE

154. Madame Paradol. Anne-Catherine-Lucinde PrÉvost-Paradol (1798–1843).

Mademoiselle Duchesnois. Catherine-Joseph Rufuin, otherwise Duchesnois (1777–1835), classical tragÉdienne. She was an intimate friend of Talma, and has been considered his equal. The rivalry between her and the beautiful Mlle. Georges extended to their respective admirers and to the press.

CHAPTER X

October 26. Numbered XI.

157. Inigo Jones. The architect of Lincoln’s Inn Chapel, the banqueting-house at Whitehall, St. Paul’s Church, Covent-Garden, etc. (1573–1652).

The famous passage in Burke. A Letter to a Noble Lord (Works, Bohn, V. 137).

Mr. Jerdan. William Jerdan (1782–1869), editor of the Tory Sun (1813–1817), and then associated for many years with the Literary Gazette.

The painful warrior. Shakespeare, Sonnet XXV.

159. What though the radiance. Wordsworth, Ode, Intimations of Immortality [taken from my sight.... Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.]

The burden and the mystery. Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey.

The worst ... returns to good. Cf. ‘the worst returns to laughter,’ King Lear, Act IV. Sc. 1.

And bring with thee [and add to these] retired Leisure. Il Penseroso, 49.

Nature to advantage drest. Pope, Essay on Criticism, Part II. 97.

Paradise of dainty devices. The name given to a collection of poems published 1576 and various times later.

The Frenchman’s darling. Cowper, The Task, IV. 765.

161. With glistering spires. Paradise Lost, III. 550.

Low farms and [poor] pelting villages. King Lear, Act II. Sc. 3.

162. But let thy spiders. King Richard II., Act III. Sc. 2 [treacherous feet ... thy sovereign’s enemies].

Bear the beating of so strong a passion. Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc. 4.

CHAPTER XI

November 2. Numbered XII.

163. I also am a painter. See Vasari’s Lives (ed. Blashfield and Hopkins), III. 32, note 28.

Roubilliac. Louis Francis Roubilliac (d. 1762). See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, p. 89 and note thereto.

164. Bernini. Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini (1598–1680), painter, sculptor, and architect, the Michael Angelo of his day.

And when I think that his immortal wings. Heaven and Earth, Part I. Scene 1.

165. Thinly scattered to make up a shew. Romeo and Juliet, Act V. Sc. 1.

The Chevalier Canova. Antonio Canova, Venetian sculptor (1757–1822) was commissioned by the Roman Government in 1815, after the fall of the Napoleonic Empire, to recover the art treasures that had been taken to France.

Note. He heard it. Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto IV. 141.

166. Vestris. Lucia Elizabeth Bartolozzi, Madame Vestris (1797–1856), the famous actress, subsequently wife of the younger Mathews. See vol. VIII. A View of the English Stage, p. 327 and note.

167. Razzi. Giovanni Antonio dei Razzi of Piedmont (1477–1549).

Cortot. Jean Pierre Cortot (1787–1843). The Virgin and Child was painted for the Cathedral of Arras.

PAGE

167. Espercieux. Jean Joseph Espercieux (1758–1840).

Chaudet. Antoine Denis Chaudet (1763–1810).

168. Gayrard. Raymond Gayrard (1777–1858).

CHAPTER XII

November 4. Numbered XIII

170. The upturned eyes of wondering mortals. Romeo and Juliet, Act II. Sc. 2.

His Devin du Village. Rousseau’s opera (1753), now best known because of the air in it called ‘Rousseau’s Dream.’

171. Derivis. Henri Etienne DÉrivis (1780–1856), operatic singer, renowned for his powerful bass voice.

It is my vice to spy into abuses. Othello, Act III. Sc. 3.

173. Non sat[is] est pulchra poemata esse, dulcia sunto. Horace, Ars Poet., 99.

174. Madame Le Gallois. AmÉlie-Marie-Antoinette Legallois, born 1804. She was a favourite dancer for many years, and retired about 1839.

Nina. An Italian opera, produced at Naples, May 1787. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, p. 325.

Oh for a beaker full of the warm South. Keats, Ode to a Nightingale.

Gazza Ladra. A comic opera by Rossini, produced 1817.

Mombelli. Esther Mombelli (b. 1794).

Pellegrini. FÉlix Pellegrini (1774–1832).

175. The Maid and the Magpie. See vol. VII. A View of the English Stage, pp. 244, 279.

CHAPTER XIII

April 5, 1825. Numbered XIV

Note. Madame Pasta. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, pp. 324, et seq.

176. In summer shade [yield him], in winter fire. Pope, Ode on Solitude.

Maritorneses. From the name of the servant wench in Don Quixote, who had hair like a horse’s tail.

177. A thing of life. Byron’s Corsair, Canto I. 3.

Fit for speed succinct. Paradise Lost, III. 643.

Mark how a plain tale shall put them down. 1 King Henry IV., Act II. Sc. 4.

178. Dr. S. Dr. Stoddart. See ante, note to p. 142.

Famous poet’s pen. Cf. Spenser’s Verses to the Earl of Essex.

182. M. Martine’s Death of Socrates. Alphonse-Marie-Louis de Prat de Lamartine’s (1791–1869) work was published in 1823.

A nation of shopkeepers. See vol. I. The Round Table, note to p. 150.

M. de la Place. Pierre Antoine de la Place (1707–1793) translated Tom Jones. The third edition of 1751 is in the British Museum.

183. L. H. Leigh Hunt.

CHAPTER XIV

April 6. Numbered XV

Devoutly to be wished. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 1.

184. Honest sonsie bawsont face. Burns, The Twa Dogs.

The icy fang and season’s difference. As You Like it, Act II. Sc. 1.

Mr. Theodore Hook. Theodore Edward Hook (1788–1841), novelist and political writer, the Lucian Gay of ‘Coningsby,’ and editor of the Tory ‘John Bull’ newspaper.

PAGE

186. Here was sympathy. The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II. Sc. 1.

De Stutt—Tracey’s ‘IdÉologie.’ Antoine Louis Claude Comte Destutt de Tracy’s (1754–1836), ÉlÉmens d’IdÉologie was published in 1817–1818.

Mignet’s French Revolution. FranÇois-Auguste-Marie Mignet’s (1796–1884) Histoire de la RÉvolution FranÇaise was published in 1824.

Sayings and Doings. Nine novels of Theodore Hook, published 1826–1829.

Irving’s Orations. Probably Edward Irving’s Four Orations for the Oracles of God, published in 1823, a third edition of which was issued in the following year. Cf. vol. iv. The Spirit of the Age, p. 228.

The Paris edition of ‘Table Talk.’ See vol. VI. Bibliographical Note to Table Talk.

187. Note. Mr. Canning’s ‘faithlessness.’ He had the reputation for preferring devious paths. ‘I said of him “that his mind’s-eye squinted,”’ wrote Croker to Lord Brougham, March 1839. See the Croker Papers, vol. II. p. 352.

Note. Like that ensanguined [sanguine] flower. Lycidas, 106.

Note. Francesco Guicciardini’s (1483–1540), History of Italy from 1494–1532.

Note. Enrico Caterino Davila (1576–1631) of Padua, author of a History of the Civil Wars of France.

190. The merit of the death of Hotspur. 1 King Henry IV., Act V. Sc. 4.

He who relished. i.e., Rousseau.

The Magdalen Muse of Mr. Moore. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, p. 368.

191. Where Alps o’er [on] Alps arise. Pope, Essay on Criticism, II. 32.

This fortress, built by nature. King Richard II., Act II. Sc. 1.

Nodded to him. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III. Sc. 1.

193. Hemskirk. Maerten van Veen of Heemskerk, near Haarlem (1498–1574), a follower of Michael Angelo.

Kean. Edmund Kean (1787–1833).

194. With cautious haste [wanton heed] and giddy cunning. L’Allegro, 141.

CHAPTER XV

July 15. Numbered XVI

196. A gentle usher; Authority [husher, vanity] by name. The Faerie Queene I., iv. 13.

197. Teres et rotundus. Horace, Sat. II. 7.

Spagnoletto. Josef or Jusepe de Ribera, otherwise Lo Spagnoletto (1588–1656), of Spanish birth, whose chief work was done in Naples. His subjects are generally delineations of scourgings and other scenes of torture. See ante, note to p. 70.

200. With marriageable arms. Paradise Lost, V. 217.

To-morrow to fresh fields [woods]. Lycidas, 193.

Mr. Crabbe. George Crabbe (1754–1832).

202. Serious in mortality. Macbeth, Act II. Sc. 3.

203. Methought she looked at us—So everyone believes that sees a Duchess!—Old Play. Perhaps Hazlitt had in mind the following lines from Middleton’s Women Beware Women, Act I. Sc. 3.

Mengs. Anton Rafael Mengs (1728–1779), of Bohemian birth, best known by his fresco paintings.

PAGE

204. The sense aches at them. Othello, Act IV. Sc. 2.

205. John of Bologna. Born at Douai about 1524, died 1608, the greatest Italian sculptor, architect, and worker in bronze, after the death of Michael Angelo.

Professor Mezzofanti. Joseph Caspar Mezzofanti (1771–1848), who was created Cardinal in 1838, and who claimed to be able to express himself in seventy-eight languages.

Giotto. Giotto di Bondone (1266–76—1337), the inspirer of naturalistic painting in Italy.

Ghirlandaio. Domenico Bigordi (1449–1494), generally called Ghirlandaio, the Garland-maker (his father was a goldsmith), one of the greatest artists in his time, and the teacher of Michael Angelo.

206. Note. Dr. Gall. John Joseph Gall, the phrenologist (1758–1828). See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, pp. 17 et seq. and 137 et seq.

207. By their works [fruits]. S. Matthew vii. 20.

CHAPTER XVI

July 22. Numbered XVII

And when she spake. The Faerie Queene, II., II. 24.

209. Cloud-clapt. Cf. ‘Cloud-capp’d towers.’ The Tempest, Act IV. Sc. 1.

211. My friend L. H. Leigh Hunt.

The rival families of the Gerardeschi and the ——. The missing word should be Visconti.

Enriched. Burns, Tam o’ Shanter, 16.

212. Enchants the world. Thomson, The Seasons, Summer, 1347.

Lord Burghersh. John Fane, eleventh Earl of Westmorland (1784–1859) was appointed minister plenipotentiary to Florence in 1814.

214. Alien Bill. In consequence of the flight from France during the Revolution, Alien Bills were passed in 1792–1793 giving the crown power to banish foreigners.

MoliÈre’s Tartuffe. For the ordinance of the Archbishop of Paris see MM. Despois and Mesnard’s edition of MoliÈre, vol. IV. p. 322.

Fishy fume. Paradise Lost, IV. 168.

215. Paved with good intentions. An old saying: Hazlitt probably had in mind Dr. Johnson’s use of it. (See Boswell’s Johnson, ed. G. B. Hill, vol. II. p. 360.)

216. Omne tulit punctum. Horace, Ars Poet., 343.

218. Otiosa Æternitas. Milton’s SylvÆ, De Ide Platonic Quemadmodum Aristoteles Intellexit.

Redi. Francesco Redi (1626–1698), Italian physician, naturalist and poet. He helped in the compilation of the dictionary of the Academia Della Crusca. See Masson’s Life of Milton, 1881, vol. I. p. 786.

CHAPTER XVII

July 26. Numbered XVIII

219. Bandinello. Bartolommeo Bandinelli, sculptor, of Florence (1493–1560).

The Perseus of Benvenuto Cellini. See Roscoe’s translation of Cellini’s Memoirs, chapters 41, 43, etc.

220. Men of no mark or likelihood. 1 King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 2.

221. Even in death there is animation too. Cf. ‘That were a theme might animate the dead,’ Cowper, Table Talk, 202.

PAGE

221. Forsyth. Joseph Forsyth (1763–1815), whose Remarks on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters, during an Excursion in Italy in the years 1802 and 1803, were published in 1813.

222. Elegant Extracts. Elegant Extracts in Prose, in Verse, and Epistles, 1789, and often reprinted later. Compiled by Vicesimus Knox (1752–1821), Master of Tonbridge School, 1778–1812.

223. Trim’s story of the sausage-maker’s wife. Tristram Shandy, Book II. 17.

Labour of love. 1 Thessalonians i. 3.

As Rousseau prided himself. Les Confessions, Partie II. Livre ix.

224. Just washed in the dew. The Taming of the Shrew, Act II. Sc. 1.

Strange child-worship. Lamb, Lines on the celebrated picture by Leonardo da Vinci; called the Virgin of the Rocks.

Luini. Bernardino Luini (c. 1460–70–c. 1530), whose style so resembles that of Leonardo da Vinci that it is difficult to distinguish their works.

225. Bronzino. A name applied to a family of Florentine painters, Angiolo Allori (1502–1572), Alessandro Allori (1535–1607), and Cristofano Allori (1577–1621).

The late Mr. Opie. John Opie (1761–1807), portrait painter. See vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, p. 343 and note.

A thing of life. Byron’s Corsair, Canto I. 3.

226. Deliberation sits and public care. Paradise Lost, II. 303.

Julio Romano. See ante, note to p. 18.

Andrea del Sarto. See ante, note to p. 25.

Giorgioni. See ante, note to p. 26.

Schiavoni. ?Andrea Meldolla, or Il Schiavone (1522–1582), of Dalmatian birth, a follower of Titian.

Cigoli. Lodovico Cardi, otherwise called Cigoli (1559–1613), Florentine painter, a follower of Andrea del Sarto and Michael Angelo.

Fra Bartolomeo. Bartolommeo di Pagholo del Fattorino, generally called Fra Bartolommeo (1475–1517). Some of his earliest sketches he committed to the flames under the influence of Savonarola in 1489 and, later, became a monk.

Shardborne beetle. Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 2.

Lady Morgan. Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan (1783?-1859), the novelist. Her Life of Salvator Rosa was published in 1823; see Hazlitt’s review of it, vol. X., Edinburgh Review Articles, pp. 276 et seq.

CHAPTER XVIII

July 29. Numbered XIX

229. Old Burnet. Thomas Burnet (1635?-1715), Master of the Charterhouse (1685–1715). See Telluris Theoria Sacra, lib. I. cap. 9.

A thousand storms, a thousand winters. Beaumont and Fletcher’s Philaster, Act V. Sc. 3.

232. A house that had belonged to Milton. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, pp. 189, 190 and note; and the frontispiece to vol. III.

CHAPTER XIX

August 12. Numbered XX

234. Though Mr. Hobhouse has written Annotations. John Cam Hobhouse, Baron Broughton de Gifford (1786–1869). See his Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of ‘Childe Harold,’ containing Dissertations on the Ruins of Rome, PAGE

and an Essay on Italian Literature, 1818, and the Notes to the Canto in Byron’s Poetical Works.

234. He hears it not. Byron, Childe Harold, IV. cxli. with sundry alterations.

236. So sit two Kings of Brentford. Cowper, The Task, I. 78.

237. Youthful poets dream of [fancy] when they love. Rowe’s Fair Penitent, Act III. Sc. 1.

Julia de Roubigne. A novel by Henry Mackenzie, the ‘Man of Feeling,’ (1745–1831), published 1777.

Miss Milner. The heroine of Mrs. Elizabeth Inchbald’s (1753–1821) novel, A Simple Story (1791).

238. Guercino. See ante, note to p. 25.

Garofolo. Benvenuto Tisi, called Garofolo from his birth-place (1481–1559). His best works are to be seen at Ferrara.

239. Gaspar Poussin. See ante, note to p. 14.

Ariosto. Ludovico Ariosto (1474–1533), the author of Orlando Furioso.

Pietro da Cartona. Pietro Berrettini of Cartoni (1596–1669). The ceiling of the grand saloon of the Palazzo Barberini is his; it is generally recognised as one of the greatest accomplishments of decorative art.

240. Andrea Sacchi. A Roman painter (d. 1661). His greatest work is the ‘St. Romuald with his Monks’ in the Vatican.

CHAPTER XX

242. Scribe. EugÈne Scribe (1791–1861).

Cribb. Tom Cribb (1781–1848), the champion pugilist. See vol. IV. The Spirit of the Age, note to p. 223.

244. A tub to a whale. The tradition is an old one, but Hazlitt may have had in mind the Preface to Swift’s Tale of a Tub. The allusion is undoubtedly to Canning’s recognition of the independence of the Spanish American Colonies in 1823.

FÆnum in cornu. Horace, Sat. I. iv. 33.

245. Lily-livered. Macbeth, Act V. Sc. 3 and King Lear, Act II. Sc. 2.

But that two-handed engine at the door. Lycidas, 130.

246. Finds a taint in the Liberal. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, p. 379 and note.

Mr. Waithman. Robert Waithman (1764–1833), linen-draper, pamphleteer, Lord Mayor of London (1823), and M.P. for London (1818–1820, 1826–1833).

Dr. E. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt states that the name should be Edwards. This incident forms a singular parallel with Johnson’s meeting with his fellow-collegian, Edwards. See Boswell, ed. G. B. Hill, III. 302 et seq.

Note. A Mr. Law. Probably a son of Thomas Law (1759–1834), of Washington, writer on finance, whose brother was Edward Law, first Baron Ellenborough (1750–1818).

247. The John Bull. Theodore Hook’s paper. See vol. IV., The Spirit of the Age, p. 217 and note.

Mr. Shee’s tragedy. Sir Martin Arthur Shee (1769–1850), one of the founders of the British Institution, portrait painter, and President of the Royal Academy, 1830–50. See ante, p. 434. His play, Alasco, on the partition of Poland, was accepted by Charles Kemble for Covent Garden, but prohibited by the examiner of plays, George Colman the younger. It was published in 1824.

To be direct and honest is not safe. Othello, Act III. Sc. 3.

Can these things be. Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 4.

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247. Note. Mr. Barrow. Sir John Barrow (1764–1848) was second secretary of the Admiralty, 1804–1806 and 1807–1845. Croker of course was the other secretary of the Admiralty as well as a contributor to the Quarterly.

248. Very stuff o’ the conscience. Othello, Act I. Sc. 2.

Note. Chief Justice Holt. Sir John Holt (1642–1710), Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench (1689–1710), the Verus of The Tatler. See No. 14, May 12, 1709.

249. Man seldom is.

There’s no such thing. Merry Wives of Windsor, Act III. Sc. 3.

250. M. Beyle ... De l’Amour. Marie Henri Beyle’s (1783–1842) work was published in 1822. He is better known under his pseudonym of Stendhal. His best works are Le Rouge et le Noir (1830) and La Chartreuse de Parme (1839).

CHAPTER XXI

September 6. Numbered XXII

Number XXIV., Sept. 9, begins with the paragraph ‘Tivoli is an enchanting,’ etc., on p. 257.

253. Native to the manner here.

Forsyth. See ante, note to p. 221. He speaks of the butcher sticking gold-leaf on his mutton’ (ed. 1813, p. 298).

254. Maria Cosway. Maria Cecilia Louisa Cosway (fl. 1820), miniature painter, of Florentine birth and English extraction. She married Richard Cosway in 1781.

Charlemagne. Lucien Bonaparte (1775–1840), Napoleon’s second brother, published his epic in 1814. Its full title was Charlemagne ou L’Eglise sauvÉe. Hazlitt reviewed it in The Champion, Dec. 25, 1814. See in Lockhart’s Scott (1st ed., vol. II., p. 351), the letter from Scott to Morritt, 26th September 1811, respecting Scott’s refusal to translate the poem. An English version by the Rev. S. Butler and the Rev. F. Hodgson was published, apparently, in 1815.

255. Poor Bowdich. Thomas Edward Bowdich (1791–1824).

The primrose path of dalliance. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 3.

257. Where all is strength below. Dryden, Epistle to Congreve.

258. Lord Byron has described the Fall of Terni. Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto IV. 70.

Poured it out as plain. Pope, Imit. of Hor., Sat. I. 51–2.

260. Sees and is seen. An old phrase.

262. Pietro Perugino. Pietro Vannucci, generally called Pietro Perugino (1446–1523), who had Raphael for a pupil.

Honest as the skin. Much Ado About Nothing, Act III. Sc. 5.

September 13. Numbered XXV

PAGE

265. The busy hum of men. L’Allegro, 118.

Where buttress wall and tower. Altered from Peter Bell, 856–60.

266. Palladio. Andrea Palladio, Italian writer and architect (1508–1580).

267. Lord Byron and Lady Morgan. See note to The Two Foscari.

And Ocean smil’d.

268. And now from out the watery floor. Barry Cornwall, A Vision, ll. 59–75.

CHAPTER XXIII

September 15. Numbered XXVI

From ‘The Picture of the Assumption,’ p. 273, to the end of this chapter, formed No. XXVIII., Sept. 23, in the newspaper, the Sept. 15 article concluding with what is now the first paragraph of Chapter XXIV.

269. Canaletti. Antonio Canal, or Canaletto (1697–1768), painter of Venetian landscapes and London views.

Longhena. Baldassare Longhena, Venetian architect and sculptor (died after 1680).

Sansovino. Andrea Contucci, otherwise Sansovino (1460–1529) one of the greatest sculptors of the Renaissance.

272. Where no crude surfeit reigns. Comus, 480.

Foregone conclusions. Othello, Act III. Sc. 3.

In my mind’s eye. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.

CHAPTER XXIV

See ante, note to p. 268. From ‘we reached Verona’ to the end of the chapter formed No. XXVII., Sept. 20.

277. Motes that people the sun-beam. Il Penseroso, 8.

278. Mr. Beyle. See ante, note to p. 250.

A pyramid of sweetmeats. See Richter’s Titan, vol. I. chap, i., where ‘the blooming pyramid, the island,’ is described in ‘heavy German conceits.’

279. Star-ypointing pyramids. Milton, On Shakespeare.

Chiffinch entertained Peveril of the Peak. See vol. II. chap. viii.

280. Chaos and old [ancient] Night. Paradise Lost, II. 970.

CHAPTER XXV

November 9. Numbered XXVIII

281. In spite of Mr. Burke’s philippic. A Letter to a member of the National Assembly, 1791.

Mr. Moore’s late Rhymes on the Road. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, p. 365, et seq.

Mais vois la rapiditÉ de cet astre. La Nouvelle HÉloÏse, PremiÈre Partie, Lettre XXVI.

282. Forbade us to interpret them such. Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 3.

Simplex munditiis. Horace, Odes I. 5.

PAGE

283. The pauper lad. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, pp. 366–7.

Fables for the Holy Alliance. Published 1823.

Secretary to the Venetian Ambassador. Rousseau was Secretary to the French Ambassador to Venice, M. de Montaign, from August 1743 to August 1744.

Milton’s house. See ante, note to p. 232.

Mr. Washington Irvine. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, p. 311 and note.

284. Mr. Hobhouse ... Westminster. John Cam Hobhouse was elected M.P. for Westminster in 1820.

285. Upland swells. ‘The grassy uplands’ gentle swells.’ Coleridge, Ode to the Departing Year, 125.

The peasant’s nest. Cowper, The Task, I. 227 and 247.

287. Oh! for a lodge in some vast wilderness. Cowper, The Task, II. 2: [contiguity].

And disappointed still.

But the season’s difference. As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 1.

Apparent queen [of night]. Paradise Lost, IV. 608.

CHAPTER XXVI

November 14. Numbered XXIX

From ‘We had an excellent supper,’ p. 293, formed No. XXX., November 15, together with the first part of Chapter XXVII. to ‘detached points and places,’ on p. 298.

291. Nor Alps nor Apennines. John Dennis, Ode on the Battle of Aghrim, St. 3. See vol. VI. Table Talk, note to p. 66.

292. Built a fortress for itself. King Richard II., Act II. Sc. 1.

294. All silver white. Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act V. Sc. 2.

With kindliest interchange. Cf. ‘with kindliest change.’ Paradise Lost, V. 336, and ‘sweet interchange.’ Ibid., IX. 115.

Live a man forbid. Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 3.

CHAPTER XXVII

See ante, note to p. 288. From ‘Basle’ on p. 298 to the end is the article for November 16, headed ‘Concluded.’

296. In shape and station [gesture] proudly eminent. Paradise Lost, I. 590.

Torrents of delight. La Nouvelle HÉloÏse, QuatriÈme Partie, Lettre VI.

297. Reveries of a Solitary Walker. Written after October 1776.

299. Cologne ... Rubens. Rubens was born at Siegen in Westphalia. His parents came to Cologne when he was a year old.

Striking fat its thick rotundity. King Lear, Act III. Sc. 2.

301. Paul Potter. See ante, p. 63 and note.

302. With eyes of youth. Merry Wives of Windsor, Act III. Sc. 2.

303. An English Minister handing the keys. Perhaps Hazlitt refers to John Fane, eleventh Earl of Westmorland (1784–1859), known as Lord Burghersh until 1841, who signed the Convention of Caza Lanza by which Naples was restored to the Bourbons. He was sent on a mission to Naples, 1825, to congratulate Francis I. on succeeding his father to the throne of the Two Sicilies, the Constitution of which country had been abrogated by Ferdinand I. in 1821, and a reign of despotism substituted for it.

ON HAYDON’S SOLOMON

From The Morning Chronicle, May 4 and 5, 1814. See Memoirs of W. Hazlitt, vol. I. p. 211, for an account of the circumstances under which this article was written.

PAGE

309. Glover. John Glover, landscape painter in water-colours (1767–1849). He was President of the Society of Painters in Water-Colours in 1815, and was one of the founders of the Society of British Artists in 1824.

Cristall. Joshua Cristall (1767–1847), china-dealer’s apprentice in Rotherhithe, later President of the Society of Painters in Water-Colours.

De Wint. Peter de Wint (1784–1849), of Dutch extraction and Staffordshire birth, a pupil of John Raphael Smith. His subjects are chiefly from the flat lands of Lincolnshire.

Mr. Richter. Henry James Richter (1772–1857), an exhibitor at the Water-Colour Society from 1813 onwards.

Disjecta [disjecti] membra poetÆ. Horace, Sat. I. 4.

THE CATALOGUE RAISONNÉ OF THE BRITISH INSTITUTION

From The Examiner, November 3, 1816. See vol. I. The Round Table, pp. 140 et seq. and notes thereto. The article here reprinted is the first of the series of three ‘Literary Notices’ dealing with the Catalogue. Instead of reprinting the second and third of these papers entirely as promised in vol. I., it has been deemed sufficient to insert here the passages omitted from the two articles as given in their Round Table form.

PAGE

Damned in a fair face. Cf. ‘damned in a fair wife.’ Othello, Act I. Sc. 1.

Madame de ——. StaËl.

Lived in the rainbow. Comus, 298.

312. In the presence of these divine guests. An erratum in the following number of The Examiner (Nov. 10, 1816), states that these words should precede ‘the nauseous tricks,’ instead of preceding ‘like a blackguard.’

313. Sent to their account. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5.

314. To the Jews a stumbling-block. 1 Cor. i. 23.

A quantity of barren spectators. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

Hold the mirror up to nature. Ibid., Act III. Sc. 2.

The glass of fashion. Ibid., Act III. Sc. 1.

Numbers without number. Paradise Lost, III. 346.

315. Lavater. Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741–1801), the student of physiognomy. Holcroft translated his Physiognomische Fragmente zur BefÖrderung der Menschen-Kenntniss und Menschenliebe (1775–1778) into English (1793). See vol. II. The Life of Thomas Holcroft, p. 115.

Spurzheim. See vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, pp. 17 et seq., and 137 et seq.

Mr. Perry of the Chronicle. James Perry (1756–1821), proprietor and editor of The Morning Chronicle. See vol. II. The Life of Thomas Holcroft, p. 89, etc.

With most admired disorder. Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 4.

PAGE

316. To let I dare not. Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 7.

Service sweat for duty. As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 3.

317. This, this is the unkindest blow [most unkindest cut] of all. Julius Caesar, Act III. Sc. 2.

Own gained knowledge. Othello, Act I. Sc. 3.

Turner. Joseph Mallard William Turner (1775–1851).

That’s a feeling disputation. 1 King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 1.

318. To some men their graces serve them but as enemies. As You Like It, Act. II. Sc. 3.

The Second of the Catalogue RaisonnÉ papers was published in The Examiner, November 10, 1816, and proceeds as in The Round Table to ‘the marring of Art is the making of the Academy’ (vol. I. p. 142); then add: ‘He would have the Directors keep the old Masters under, by playing off upon them the same tricks of background, situation, &c. which they play off upon one another’s pictures so successfully at the Academy Great Room. [Note.] The Academicians having out-done nature at home, wait till their pictures are hung up at the Academy to outdo one another. When they know their exact situation in the Great Room, they set to work with double diligence to paint up to their next neighbours, or to keep them under. Sometimes they leave nearly the whole unfinished, that they may have a more ad libitum opportunity of annoying their friends, and of shining at their expense.—had placed a landscape, consisting of one enormous sheet of white lead, like the clean white napkin depending from the chin to the knees of the Saturday night’s customers in a barber’s shop, under a whole length of a lady by ——, in a white chalk dress, which made his Cleopatra look like a dowdy. Our little lively knight of the brush goes me round the room, crying out, “Who has any vermilion, who has any Indian yellow?” and presently returns, and by making his whole length one red and yellow daub, like the drop-curtain at Covent-Garden, makes the poor Academician’s landscape look “pale as his shirt.”^[62] Such is the history of modern Art. It is no wonder that “these fellows, who thus o’er-do Termagant,”^[63] should look with horror at the sobriety of ancient Art. It is no wonder that they carry their contempt, hatred, and jealousy of one another, into the Art itself.’

After the end of the first Round Table paper (‘British Growth and Manufacture’) add: ‘To what absurdities may we be reduced by the malice of folly! The light of Art, like that of nature, shines on all alike; and its benefit, like that of the sun, is in being seen and felt. Our Catalogue-makers, like the puffers to the Gas-light Company, consider it only as a matter of trade, or what they can get by the sale and monopoly of it; they would extinguish all of it that does not come through the miserable chinks and crannies of their patriotic sympathy, or would confine it in the hard unfeeling sides of some body corporate, as Ariel was shut up in a cloven pine by the foul witch Sycorax. The cabal of Art in this country would keep it on the other side of the Channel. They would keep up a perpetual quarantine against it as infectious. They would subject it to new custom-house duties. They would create a right of search after all works of genuine Art as contraband. They would establish an alien-office^[64] under the Royal Academy, to send all the finest pictures out of the country, to prevent unfair and invidious competition. The genius of modern Art does not bathe in the dews of Castalie, but rises like the dirty goddess of Gay’s Trivia out of the Thames, just opposite Somerset-House, and armed with a Grub-street pen in one hand, and a sign-post brush in the other, frightens the Arts from advancing any farther. They would thus effectually suppress the works of ancient genius and the progress of modern taste at one and the same time; and if they did not sell their pictures, would find ease to their tortured minds by not seeing others admired.’

The Second of the Examiner articles includes the first paragraph of the second of the Round Table articles and ends with ‘encouragement of the Fine Arts?’ (vol. I. p. 147). A letter follows, signed H. R., protesting against being pointed out as the author of the Catalogue RaisonnÉ, to which the following paragraph is added in square brackets:—

‘We insert the above letter as in duty bound; for it is a sad thing to labour under the imputation of being the author of the Catalogue—“that deed without a name.”^[65] But we hardly know how to reply to our Correspondent, unless by repeating what Mr. Brumell said of the Regent—“Who is our fat friend?” We do not know his person or address, or by what marks he identifies himself with our description of him—Whether he answers to his name as a cheese-curd, or a piece of whitleather, or as a Shrewsbury Cake; or as a stocking, or a joint-stool; or as a little round man, or as a fair squab man? If he claims any or all of these marks as his property, he is welcome to them. We shall believe him. We shall also believe him, when he says he is not the anonymous author of the Catalogue RaisonnÉ; and in that case, we can have no farther fault to find with him, even though he were the beautiful Albiness.’

The Third of the Catalogue RaisonnÉ articles was published in The Examiner, Nov. 17, 1816, and proceeds as in The Round Table with the following additions.

The quotation from Burke to Barry (vol. I. p. 148) has the following footnote:—

‘Yet Mr. Burke knew something of Art and of the world. He thought the Art should be encouraged for the sake of Artists. They think it should be destroyed for their sakes. They would cut it up at once, as the boy did the goose with golden eggs.’

After such heavy drollery (vol. I. p. 150) add: ‘with the stupid, knowing air of a horse-jockey or farrier, and in the right slang of the veterinary art.’

After will speak more (Ibid.) add: ‘We concluded our last with some remarks on Claude’s landscapes. We shall return to them here; and we would ask those who have seen them at the British Institution, “Is the general effect,”’ etc. [here Hazlitt inserted the criticism on Claude he used later in the article on Fine Arts for the EncyclopÆdia Britannica, see p. 394 of the present volume, ending with ‘What landscape-painter does not feel this of Claude?’]

‘It seems the author of the Catalogue RaisonnÉ does not; for he thus speaks of him:—

“David Encamped.—Claude. Rev. W. H. Carr:—If it were not for the horrible composition of this landscape—the tasteless hole in the wall—the tents and daddy-long-legs, whom Mr. Carr has christened King David, we should be greatly offended by its present obtrusion on the public; as it is, we are bound to suppose the possessor sees deeper into the mill-stone than ourselves; and if it were politic, could thoroughly explain the matter to our satisfaction. Be this as it may, we cannot resist expressing our regret at the absence of Claude Gillee’s Muses.—The Public in general merely know, by tradition, that this painter was a pastry-cook: had this delectable composition to which we now allude been brought forward, they would have had the evidence of his practice to confirm it. It is said to represent Mount Parnassus; and no one, who for a moment has seen the picture, can entertain the smallest doubt of its having been taken from one of his own Plateaux. The figures have all the character and drawing which they might be expected to derive from a species of twelfth-cake casts. The swans are of the truest wax-shapes, while the water bears every mark of being done from something as right-earnest as that at Sadler’s Wells, and the Prince’s Fete of 1814.”

‘This is the way in which the Catalogue-writer aids and abets the Royal Academy in the promotion and encouragement of the Fine Arts in this country. Now, what if we were to imitate him, and to say of the “ablest landscape-painter now living,” that.... No, we will not; we have blotted out the passage after we had written it—Because it would be bad wit, bad manners, and bad reasoning. Yet we dare be sworn it is as good wit, as good manners, and as good reasoning, as the wittiest, the most gentlemanly, and the most rational passage, in the Catalogue RaisonnÉ. Suppose we were to put forth voluntarily such a criticism on one of Mr. Turner’s landscapes? What then? we should do a great injustice to an able and ingenious man, and disgrace ourselves: but we should not hurt a sentiment, we should not mar a principle, we should not invade the sanctuary of Art. Mr. Turner’s pictures have not, like Claude’s, become a sentiment in the heart of Europe; his fame has not been stamped and rendered sacred by the hand of time. Perhaps it never will.^[66]

‘We have only another word to add on this very lowest of all subjects. The writer calls in the cant of morality to his aid. He was quite shocked to find himself in the company of some female relations, vis-À-vis with a naked figure of Annibal Caracci’s. Yet he thinks the Elgin Marbles likely to raise the morals of the country to a high pitch of refinement. Good. The fellow is a hypocrite too.’

Instead of ‘return? nothing‘, the paper ends thus:—‘return; the low buffoonery of a mechanic scribbler, a Bart’lemy-fair puppet-shew, Mrs. Salmon’s Royal Wax-work, or the exhibition of the Royal Academy, King George the Third on horseback, or his son treading in his steps on foot, or Prince Blucher, or the Hetman Platoff,^[67] or the Duke with the foolish face, or the great Plenipotentiary^[68]? God save the mark!’

WEST’S PICTURE OF DEATH ON THE PALE HORSE

From The Edinburgh Magazine, December 1817.

The full title was—Remarks on Mr. West’s Picture of Death on the Pale Horse and on his Descriptive Catalogue which accompanies it.

PAGE

318. It sets on a quantity of barren spectators. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

High endeavour and the glad success. Cowper, The Task, V. 901.

319. So shall my anticipation. Hamlet, Act II. Sc. 2.

319. Like Bayes in the ‘Rehearsal.’ A farce by George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, 1671.

320. Spoken with authority and not as the scribes. S. Mark i. 22.

321. Another enemy of the human race. The phrase is applied to Buonaparte. See vol. VIII. A View of the English Stage, p. 284.

Grin horrible a ghastly smile. Paradise Lost, II. 146.

Monarch of the universal world. Romeo and Juliet, Act III. Sc. 2.

322. Multum abludit imago. Horace, Sat. II. 3. 320.

ON WILLIAMS’S VIEWS IN GREECE

From The London Magazine, May 1822.

324. Mr. Hugh Williams. Hugh William Williams (1773–1829), of a Welsh family, but Scotland was his adopted country. His various sketches gained him the name of Grecian Williams.

325. Close to the gate. Pope, Odyssey, Book VII., 142 et seq.

326. The last paragraph of the essay is a ‘N.B.,’ following the initials W. H.

ON THE ELGIN MARBLES

Two papers from The London Magazine, February and May 1822. The second article began with the paragraph at the foot of p. 331. On p. 344, l. 9 from foot, the following sentence in the Magazine is inserted after the words ‘The Ilissus or River-god’:—‘(of which we have given a print in a former number).’ The frontispiece to the February number was an engraving of the Ilissus by J. Shury.

In 1816 Hazlitt contributed two ‘Literary Notices’ to The Examiner (June 16 and 30), on the Report from the Select Committee of the House of Commons on the Elgin Marbles.—Murray. The second of these two ‘notices’ formed the basis of the London Magazine article. Certain paragraphs not given in the later London Magazine form (the text adopted here) are given below. The first of The Examiner ‘notices’ will be found in the Appendix to the present volume.

The Examiner article, June 30, begins with the quotation from Cowley and then adds, before the paragraph beginning ‘The true lesson,’ etc., the following: ‘According to the account of Pliny, it does not appear certain that Phidias ever worked in marble. He mentions indeed a marble Venus at Rome, conjectured to be his; and another at Athens, without the walls, done by his scholar Alcamenes, to which Phidias was said to have put the last hand. His chief works, according to this historian, were the Olympian Jupiter, and the Minerva in the Parthenon, both in ivory: he executed other known works in brass. The words of Pliny, in speaking of Phidias, are remarkable:—[“That the name of Phidias is illustrious... magnificence even in small things.”—Natural History, Book xxxvi.].

‘It appears, by the above description, that Phidias did not make choice of the colossal height of this statue with a view to make size a substitute for grandeur; but in order that he might be able, among other things, to finish, fill up, and enrich every part as much as possible. Size assists grandeur in genuine art only by enabling the Artist to give a more perfect developement to the parts of which the whole is composed. A miniature is inferior to a full-sized picture, not because it does not give the large and general outline, but because it does not give the smaller varieties and finer elements of nature. As a proof of this (if the thing were not self-evident), the copy of a good portrait will always make a highly-finished miniature, but the copy of a good miniature, if enlarged to the size of life, will make but a very vapid portrait. Some of our own Artists, who are fond of painting large figures, either misunderstand or misapply this principle. They make the whole figure gigantic, not that they may have room for nature, but for the motion of their brush, regarding the quantity of canvas they have to cover as an excuse for the slovenly and hasty manner in which they cover it; and thus in fact leave their pictures nothing at last but monstrous miniatures.

‘We should hardly have ventured to mention this figure of five and thirty feet high, which might give an inordinate expansion to the ideas of our contemporaries, but that the labour and pains bestowed upon every part of it,—the thirty Gods carved on the pedestal, the battle of the Centaurs and LapithÆ on the sandals, would at once make their magnificent projects shrink into a nutshell, or bring them within the compass of reason.—We had another inducement for extracting Pliny’s account of the Minerva of Phidias, which was, to check any inclination on the part of our students to infer from the Elgin Marbles, that the perfection of ancient Grecian art consisted in the imperfect state in which its earliest remains have come down to us; or to think that fragments are better than whole works, that the trunk is more valuable without the head, and that the grandeur of the antique consists in the ruin and decay into which it has fallen through time.’

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326. Who to the life. Cowley, To the Royal Society.

To learn her manner.

327. Alternate action and repose. Cf.

328. After ‘is to us a mystery,’ add, from The Examiner: ‘Further, we are ready (for the benefit of the Fine Arts in this kingdom) to produce two casts from actual nature, which if they do not furnish practical proof of all that we have here advanced, we are willing to forfeit all that we are worth—a theory’ [see p. 331, present volume]. The article then ends with the ten principles and the following note: ‘We shall conclude with expressing a hope, that the Elgin Marbles may not be made another national stop-gap between nature and art.

‘In answer to some objections to what was said in a former article on the comparative propriety of removing these statues, we beg leave to put one question. It appears from the Report of the Committee, that the French Government were, in the year 1811, anxious to purchase the collection of Lord Elgin, who was then a prisoner in France. We ask then, supposing this to have been done, what would have become of it? Would not the Theseus and the Neptune have been solemnly sent back, like malefactors, “to the place from whence they came?”—Yes, to be sure.—The Rev. Dr. Philip Hunt, in the service of Lord Elgin, declares, in his evidence before the Committee, that no objection was made nor regret expressed by the inhabitants at the removal of the Marbles. In the notes to Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,^[69] we find the following extract of a letter from Dr. Clarke to Lord Byron:—“When the last of the Metopes was taken from the Parthenon, and in moving it, great part of the superstructure, with one of triglyphs, was thrown down by the workmen whom Lord Elgin employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building, took his pipe from His mouth, dropped a tear, and in a supplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri, ‘Telos! I was present.’”—It appears that Dr. Philip Hunt was not.’

330. Image and superscription. S. Matthew xxii. 20.

332. So from the ground [root]. Paradise Lost, v. 481.

Laborious foolery. See ante, note to p. 121.

333. Fair varieties. ‘And all the fair variety of things.’ Akenside, Pleasures of Imagination, I.

Mr. Westall. Richard Westall (1765–1836), chiefly remembered by his book-illustrations.

Angelica Kauffman. Maria Anna Angelica Kauffmann (1741–1807), a Swiss painter, chiefly of female characters.

334. Torrigiano. Pietro Torrigiano (1472–1528), Italian sculptor. The bronze tombs of Henry VII. and Queen Elizabeth at Westminster are his. He was imprisoned for heresy and died of hunger.

335. Gay creatures of the element. Comus, 299.

336. Mr. Martin. John Martin, landscape and historical painter (1789–1854), one of the founders of the Society of British Artists.

338. Sir Joshua tells us ... the Idler. Nos. 76 and 82. Cf. vol. VI. Table Talk, p. 131 and note.

Note. Sedet in Æternumque sedebit. Virgil, Æneid, VI. 617–18.

339. Villainous low. The Tempest, Act IV. Sc. 1.

340. To o’erstep the modesty of nature. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

All we hate. Pope, Moral Essays, II. 52.

342. Thrills in each nerve.

347. Mr. Kean. Edmund Kean (1787–1833).

Mr. Kemble. John Philip Kemble (1757–1823).

FONTHILL ABBEY

From The London Magazine, November 1822

348. Omne ignotum. Tacitus, Agricola, XXX.

Ships of pearl and seas of amber. An unacknowledged recollection of ‘seas of milk, and ships of amber.’ Otway, Venice Preserved, v. 2.

349. Breughel. Jan Brueghel (1568–1625), of Brussels, a landscape painter greatly admired by Rubens, in some of whose pictures Brueghel painted the landscapes.

Rottenhammer. Johann Rottenhammer (1564–1623), of Munich, historical painter. Brueghel painted some of his landscape back-grounds also.

Which like a trumpet.

Cumberland. Richard Cumberland (1732–1811), the dramatist, who was sent to Spain on a diplomatic mission in 1780. See his Memoirs, 1807, vol. II. p. 78.

While groves of Eden. Pope, Windsor Forest, 7.

Mr. Ritchie. Joseph Ritchie (1788?-1819), who went out on a government expedition to Africa about 1818.

Bruce. James Bruce (1730–1794), who explored Abyssinia in 1769–1771.

Beckford. See ante, note to p. 56.

351. Whose price is above rubies. ‘The price of wisdom is above rubies.’ Job xxviii. 18.

351. The showman in Goldsmith’s comedy. She Stoops to Conquer, I.

352. In our mind’s eye. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.

Mr. Christie. James Christie, the elder (1730–1803), the London auctioneer. His son, James the younger (1773–1831), was both antiquary and auctioneer.

354. Della Cruscan. See vol. V. Lectures on the English Poets, note to p. 148.

NugÆ CanorÆ. Horace, Ars Poet. 322.

Stella. A family of French painters of various years from 1525 to 1697.

Franks. Frans Francken, the younger, otherwise Don Francisco, of Antwerp (1581–1642), one of a numerous family of painters.

Lucas Cranach. Luther’s friend, the painter whose name is always associated with the Reformation (1472–1553).

Netecher. Caspar Netcher (1639–1684), of Heidelberg, painter of domestic scenes and small portraits. His two sons Constantine and Theodor were also painters.

355. Cosway. Richard Cosway (d. 1821), the miniaturist. This passage about Cosway is substantially repeated in vol. VII. The Plain Speaker, pp. 95–6.

Mr. Cipriani. Giambattista Cipriani, of Florentine birth (1727–1785).

We scarce shall [shall not] look upon his like again. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.

G. Douw. See ante, note to p. 35.

Bassan. See ante, note to p. 35.

JUDGING OF PICTURES

From The Literary Examiner, August 2, 1823

357. Dr. Kitchener. William Kitchiner (1775?-1827), M.D., author of Apicius Redivivus, or the Cook’s Oracle, 1817, a book which passed through many editions.

Mr. Ude. Louis-Eustache Ude, whose book, The French Cook; or the Art of Cookery developed in all its branches, was published in 1813.

As ‘Squire Western would say. See Tom Jones, Book IV. chap, X., etc.

THE VATICAN

From The New Monthly Magazine, November 1827. It was published later in the volume of Hazlitt’s Literary Remains, 1836.

359. L. Landor [W. C. Hazlitt].

360. With hideous ruin. Paradise Lost, I. 46.

361. DivinÆ particula [particulam] aurÆ. Horace, Sat. II. 2.

The rapt soul. Il Penseroso, 40.

Seer blest. Paradise Lost, XII. 553.

As a book where one may read strange matters. Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 5.

Neither the cloud by day nor the pillar of fire. Exodus xiii. 21.

362. His bodies thought.

363. A fiery soul. Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel, I. 156.

365. Hope elevates, and joy brightens their every feature [his crest]. Paradise Lost, IX. 633.

366. On his front engraven thought [deliberation sat]. Ibid., II. 302.

Scattered like stray-gifts. Wordsworth, Stray Pleasures.

366. Stately height though bare. Cf. Paradise Lost, I. 723:

367. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine. Waverley, vol. II. chap. 28.

Fergus MacIvor. Ibid. vol. II. chap. 40.

ENGLISH STUDENTS AT ROME

From The New Monthly Magazine, October 1827

369. The vast, the unbounded. Paradise Lost, X. 471.

371. Petrific mace. Paradise Lost, X. 294.

372. Pan is a god. Lyly’s Midas, IV. 1.

The colouring of Titian. Tristram Shandy, III. 12.

373. The high endeavour. Cowper, The Task, V. 901.

374. Hobbes said well. Leviathan, Part IV., Of the Kingdome of Darknesse, chap. 47.

375. Vox faucibus hÆsit. Virgil, Æneid, II. 774.

Sedet infelix Theseus. Ibid., VI. 617.

His tediousness. Cf. the scene between Leonato and Dogberry, etc. Much Ado About Nothing, Act III. Sc. 5.

376. Tearing [wipe away] from his memory. Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5.

Her [my] commandment all alone. Ibid.

FINE ARTS

An article contributed to the supplement to the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions of the EncyclopÆdia Britannica: 6 vols., 4to, 1824. Signed Z. This essay was based upon articles which appeared in The Champion on August 28, September 11, and October 2, 1814, entitled—Fine Arts. Whether they are promoted by academies and public institutions, and on October 30 and November 6 entitled Character of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Passages omitted from the later publication will be found below. The article is a characteristic example of Hazlitt’s method of using his previous work when writing on a similar subject.

The text here printed is that of the supplementary volumes of 1824, published during Hazlitt’s lifetime, and incorporated later in the uniform issue of the Encyclopaedia Britannica (the 7th) the title-pages of which were dated 1842.

Hazlitt’s article on The Fine Arts and the one on Painting by Haydon, ‘being the articles under those heads contributed to the seventh edition of the EncyclopÆdia Britannica,’ were published in one volume by Messrs. Adam and Charles Black, Edinburgh, in 1838. Hazlitt’s article was also published in the volume of Literary Remains published in 1836.

The Essays in Table Talk, Nos. XIII. and XIV., ‘On certain Inconsistencies in Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Discourses,’ may be mentioned in connection with the subject-matter of the present article (see vol. VI. pp. 122 et seq.), and also four papers contributed to The Champion on Reynolds as critic, November 27, December 4 and 25, 1814, and January 8, 1815. See the final volumes of the present edition, where they are reprinted for the first time.

PAGE

382. The Mistress or the saint. Goldsmith’s Traveller, 152.

388. Bright with excessive darkness.

389. They are of the earth, earthy. 1 Cor. XV. 47.

Vangoyen. See ante, note to p. 36.

Ruysdael. See ante, note to p. 22.

Vanderneer. Probably Eglon Hendrik Van der Neer (1643–1703), of Amsterdam, is meant, since his pictures are characterised by their elaborate finish. His father, Aert Van der Neer (1603–1677), painted moonlight and winter scenes.

390. To hold the mirror. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

To show vice [virtue] her own feature, scorn her own image. Ibid., Act III. Sc. 2.

391. Die of a rose in aromatic pain. Pope, Essay on Man, Ep. I. 200.

Of the great vulgar and the small. Cowley, Horace, Odes, III. 1.

392. After Marriage À la Mode the article in its original issue adds: ‘exhibited lately at the British Institution.’

394. Universal Pan. Paradise Lost, IV. 266.

396. The authority of Sir Joshua Reynolds. From the article in The Champion, Oct. 30, 1814, entitled Character of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

After worth considering add: ‘From the great and substantial merits of the late President, we have as little the inclination as the power to detract. But we certainly think that they have been sometimes over-rated from the partiality of friends and from the influence of fashion. However necessary and useful the ebullitions of public or private enthusiasm may be to counteract the common prejudices against new claims to reputation, and to lift rising genius to its just rank, there is a time when, having accomplished its end, our zeal may be suffered to subside into discretion, and when it becomes as proper to restrain our admiration as it was before to give a loose to it. It is only by having undergone this double ordeal that reputation can ever be established on a solid basis—that popularity becomes fame.’

397. Alone give value and dignity to it. Cf. Lamb’s Essay on the Genius and Character of Hogarth (ed. E. V. Lucas, I. 80), where the words are quoted from Barry’s Account of a Series of Pictures ... at the Adelphi.

Hudson. Thomas Hudson (1701–1779), one of the most fashionable portrait painters of his day, the master of Sir Joshua Reynolds.

After affected position add: ‘He thought that beauty and perfection were one and he very consistently reduced this principle to practice.’

Richardson. Jonathan Richardson (1665–1745), portrait painter and writer on art.

Coypel. A family of French painters of various years from 1628 to 1752.

398. After proportion or form add: ‘This distinction has not been sufficiently attended to. Mr. West, for example, has considerable knowledge of drawing, as it relates to proportion, to the anatomical measurements of the human body. He has not the least conception of elegance or grandeur of form. The one is matter of mechanical knowledge, the other of taste and feeling. Rubens was deficient in the anatomical measurements, as well as in the marking of the muscles: but he had as fine an eye as possible for what may be called the picturesque in form, both in the composition of his figures and in the particular parts. In all that relates to the expression of motion, that is, to ease, freedom, and elasticity of form, he was unrivalled. He was as superior to Mr. West in his power of drawing, as in his power of colouring.—Correggio’s proportions are said to have been often incorrect: but his feeling of beauty, and grace of outline, was of the most exquisite kind.’

399. After and some others add the following footnote: ‘Our references are generally made to pictures in the late exhibition of Sir Joshua’s works in the British Gallery.’

No mark or likelihood. 1 King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 2.

After downright portraits and nothing more, add: ‘What if he had painted them on the theory of middle forms, or pounded their features together in the same metaphysical mortar? Mr. Westall might just as well have painted them. They would have been of no more value than his own pictures of Mr. Tomkins,^[70] the penman, or Mrs. Robinson,^[71] who is painted with a hat and feather, or Mrs. Billington,^[72] who is painted as St. Cecilia, or than the Prince of Wales and Duke of York, or the portraits of Sir George and Lady Beaumont. Would the artist in this case have conferred the same benefit on the public, or have added as much to the stock of our ideas, as by giving us fac-similes of the most interesting characters of the time, with whom we seem, from his representations of them, to be almost as well acquainted as if we had known them, and to remember their persons as well as their writings? Yet we would rather have seen Johnson, or Goldsmith, or Burke, than their portraits. This shows that the effect of the pictures would not have been the worse, if they had been the more finished, and more detailed: for there is nothing so true, either to the details or to the general effect, as nature. The only celebrated person of this period whom we have seen is Mr. Sheridan, whose face, we have no hesitation in saying, contains a great deal more, and is better worth seeing, than Sir Joshua’s picture of him.’

After stiff and confined add: ‘But there is a medium between primness and hoydening.’

400. After ease and elegance add: ‘Sir Joshua seems more than once (both theoretically and practically) to have borrowed his idea of positive excellence from a negation of the opposite defect. His tastes led him to reject the faults, which he had observed in others; but he had not always power to realize his own idea of perfection, or to ascertain precisely in what it consisted. His colouring also wanted that purity, delicacy, and transparent smoothness, which gives such an exquisite charm to Vandyke’s women. Vandyke’s portraits (mostly of English women) in the Louvre, have a cool, refreshing air about them, a look of simplicity and modesty even in the very tone, which forms a fine contrast to the voluptuous glow and mellow golden lustre of Titian’s Italian women. There is a quality of flesh-colour in Vandyke, which is to be found in no other painter, neither in Titian, Rubens, nor Rembrandt; nor is it in Reynolds, for he had nothing which was not taken from those three. It exactly conveys the idea of the soft, smooth, sliding, continuous, delicately varied surface of the skin. Correggio approached nearer to it, though his principle of light and shade was totally different. The objects in Vandyke have the least possible difference of light and shade, and are presented to the eye without being reflected through any other medium. It is this extreme purity and clearness of tone, together with the elegance and precision of his particular forms,^[73] that places Vandyke in the first rank of portrait-painters. As Reynolds had not his defects, he had not his excellences. We accidentally saw the late Lady Mount-Joy at the exhibition of Sir Joshua’s works in Pall-mall: nor could we help contrasting the dazzling clearness of complexion, the delicacy and distinctness of the form of the features, with the half made-up and faded beauties which hung on the walls, and which comparatively resembled paste figures, smeared over with paint. We doubt whether the same effect would have been produced in a fine collection of Vandyke’s. In the gallery of Blenheim, there is a family picture of the Duchess of Buckingham with her children, which is a pure mirrour of fashion. The picture produces the same sort of respect and silence as if the spectator had been introduced into a family circle of the highest rank, at a period when rank was a greater distinction than it is at present. The delicate attention and mild solicitude of the mother are admirable, but two of the children surpass description. The one is a young girl of nine or ten, who looks as if “the winds of heaven had not been permitted to visit her face too roughly”;^[74] she stands before her mother in all the pride of childish self-importance, and studied display of artificial prettinesses, with a consciousness that the least departure from strict propriety or decorum will be instantly detected; the other is a little round-faced chubby boy, who stands quite at his ease behind his mother’s chair, with a fine rosy glow of health in his cheeks, through which the blood is seen circulating. It was like seeing the objects reflected in a glass. The picture of the late Duke and Duchess of Marlborough and their children, in the same room, painted by Sir Joshua, appear coarse and tawdry when compared with “the soft precision of the clear Vandyke.”’^[75]

400. After borrowed from Correggio add: ‘Sir Joshua has only repeated the same idea ad infinitum, and has, besides, caricatured it. It has been said that his children were unrivalled. Titian’s, Raphael’s, and Correggio’s were much superior. Those of Rubens and Poussin were at least equal. If any one should hesitate as to the last painter in particular, we would refer them to the picture (at Lord Grosvenor’s) of the children paying adoration to the infant Christ, or to the children drinking in the picture of Moses striking the rock. Our making these comparisons or giving these preferences is not, we conceive, any disparagement to Sir Joshua. Did we not think highly of him, we might well blush to make them.’

Infant Samuel. The passage in The Champion is slightly different, and quotes a few lines from Mr. Sotheby’s poetical Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont describing the infant Jupiter and the infant Samuel. William Sotheby (1757–1833) was horse-soldier, friend of Sir Walter Scott, and poet.

After but the name add: ‘Sir Joshua himself (as it appears from his biographers) had no idea of a subject in painting them, till some ignorant and officious admirer undertook to supply the deficiency. What can be more trifling than giving the portrait of Kitty Fisher^[76] the mock-heroic title of Cleopatra?’

401. Count Ugolino. The story will be found in The Inferno, Canto XXXIII.

After rest of the figures add: ‘who look very much like apprentices hired to sit for the occasion from some neighbouring workshop. There is one pleasing and natural figure of a little boy kneeling at his father’s feet, but it has no relation to the supposed story.’

401. After charitable donation add: ‘There is all the difference between what the picture is and what it ought to be, that there is between Crabbe and Dante.’

After which they are borne? add: ‘Nothing! Yet Dr. Warton,^[77] who has related this story so well; Burke, who wrote that fine description of the effects of famine;^[78] Goldsmith, and all his other friends, were satisfied with his success. Why then should not Sir Joshua be so too?—Because he was bound to understand the language which he used, as well as that which was given him to translate.’

After dreadful objects add: ‘The idea of Macbeth seems to be taken from the passage in Shakespear—“Why stands Macbeth thus amazedly?”^[79] The poet has in this taunting question of the witches laid open the inmost movements of his mind. Why has the painter turned his face from us?’ Then, the Cardinal Beaufort passage having been given before instead of after that about Macbeth, the Champion article ends thus:—

‘“Garrick between tragedy and comedy” is, to say the best, a very indifferent performance. He appears to be “grinning for a wager.” We cannot conceive how any two ladies should contend for such a prize, nor how he should be divided between them. The muse of comedy is as childish and insipid as the muse of tragedy is cold and repulsive. The whole is mere affectation without an idea. Mrs. Siddons, as the tragic muse, is an improvement on the same false style. It is not Mrs. Siddons, nor is it the tragic muse, but something between both, and neither. We would ask those who pretend to admire this composition, whether they think it would convey to any one who had never seen the original, the least idea of the power of that wonderful actress in any one of her characters, and as it relates to the expression of countenance alone? That it gives an idea of any thing finer, is what we cannot readily make up our minds to. We ought perhaps in fairness to close these remarks with a confession of our weakness.—There was one picture which affected us more than all the rest, because it seemed to convey the true feeling of the story, and that was the picture of the Children in the Wood.

‘To return once more to Sir Joshua’s general character as a painter. He has been compared to Raphael, Titian, Rubens, Vandyke, Rembrandt, and Correggio, and said to unite all their excellences. It will be well to qualify this praise. He had little congeniality of mind, except with the two last, more particularly Rembrandt. Of Raphael, it is needless to say any thing. He had very little of Titian’s manner, except perhaps a greater breadth and uniform richness of colour than he would have acquired from Rembrandt. He had none of the dignity or animation of Titian’s portraits. It is not speaking too highly of the portraits of Titian to say, that they have as much expression, that is, convey as fine an idea of intellect and feeling, as the historical heads of Raphael. The difference seems to be only, that the expression in Raphael is more contemplative and philosophical, and in Titian more personal and constitutional. In the portraits of the latter, the Italian character always predominates: there is a look of piercing sagacity, of commanding intellect, of acute sensibility, which it would be in vain to expect to find in English portraits. The daring spirit and irritable passions of the age and country are as distinctly stamped upon the countenances, and can be as little mistaken as the costume which they wear. Many of them look as if it would be hardly safe to be left in the room with them, so completely do they convey the idea of superiority.^[80] The portraits of Raphael, though full of profound thought and character, have more of common humanity about them.—Of Vandyke, as we have observed before, Sir Joshua had neither the excellences nor defects. Some years ago, we saw his picture of the Marquis of Granby, and Vandyke’s picture of Charles I. (engraved by Strange^[81]) standing by one another, in the Louvre. The difference was striking. The portrait of the nobleman looked heavy and muddled, from the mode of heaping on the colours, and the determination to produce effect alone without attention to the subordinate details defeated itself. The portrait of the unfortunate monarch, on the contrary, displayed the utmost delicacy and facility of execution. Every part would bear the nicest inspection, and yet the whole composition, the monarch, the figure of the horse, and the attendants, had all the distinctness, lightness, and transparency of objects seen in the open air. There are some persons who will still prefer the former mode of execution as more bold and dashing. For the same reason, we might prefer the copies of the head of the Marquis of Granby, which we so often see in conspicuous situations in the vicinity of the metropolis, to the original.

‘Of Rubens our admired countryman had neither the facility nor brilliancy. He was crude and heavy both in drawing and colour, compared with the Flemish painter. Rembrandt was the painter of all others whom Sir Joshua most resembled, and from whom he borrowed most. Strong masses of light and shade, harmony and clearness of tone, the production of effect by masterly, broad, and rapid execution were in general the forte of both these painters. Rembrandt had the priority in the order of time, and also in power of hand and eye. There are no pictures of Reynolds’ which will stand against the best of Rembrandt’s for striking effect and an intense feeling of nature. They are faint, slovenly, dingy, and commonplace in comparison. Rembrandt had even greater versatility of genius. He had an eye for all objects as far as he had seen them. His history and landscapes are equally fine in their way. He might be said to have created a style of his own, which he also perfected. In fact, he is one of the great founders and legislators of art. Of Correggio, Reynolds borrowed little but the air of some of his female heads, and the models of his children, which he injudiciously overloaded with the massy light and shade of Rembrandt, instead of the tender chiaro-scuro of Correggio, the only colouring proper for that kind of soft, undulating, retiring line of beauty. We shall sum up our opinion by saying, that we do not find in the works of Sir Joshua either the majesty and power, the delicacy and refinement, the luxurious splendour, and dazzling invention, neither the same originality of conception, nor perfect execution, which are to be found in the greatest painters. Nevertheless, his works did honour to his art and to his country.

406. Collins. William Collins (1788–1847), painter of rustic life, and father of Wilkie Collins, the novelist, and a friend of Wilkie, the painter.

Heaphy. Thomas Heaphy (1775–1835). He was the first President of the Society of British Artists, 1824.

As if some of nature’s journeymen. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

Note. This subject of the Ideal. Cf. the article contributed to the Atlas under this heading, pp. 429 et seq.

408. Snatch a grace. Pope, Essay on Criticism, I. 154.

It has flourished. The remainder of the essay is based on the two Champion articles of August 28 and September 11, 1814. The first one begins:—

‘The Directors of the British Institution conclude the preface to their catalogue of the works of Hogarth, Wilson, &c. in the following words....

‘“The present exhibition, while it gratifies the taste and feeling of the lover of art, may tend to excite animating reflections in the mind of the artist: if at a time when the art received little comparative support such works were produced, a reasonable hope may be entertained that we shall see productions of still higher attainment, under more encouraging circumstances.”

‘It should seem that a contrary conclusion might more naturally have suggested itself from a contemplation of the collection, with which the Directors of the Institution have so highly gratified the public taste and feeling. When the real lover of art looks round, and sees the works of Hogarth and of Wilson,—works which were produced in obscurity and poverty,—and recollects the pomp and pride of patronage under which these works are at present recommended to public notice, the obvious inference which strikes him is, how little the production of such works depends on “the most encouraging circumstances.” The visits of the gods of old did not always add to the felicity of those whose guests they were; nor do we know that the countenance and favours of the great will lift the arts to that height of excellence, or will confer all those advantages which are expected from the proffered boon. The arts are of humble growth and station; they are the product of labour and self-denial; they have their seat in the heart of man, and in his imagination; it is there they labour, have their triumphs there, and unseen and unthought of, perform their ceaseless task.—Indeed, patronage, and works of art deserving patronage, rarely exist together; for it is only when the arts have attracted public esteem, and reflect credit on the patron, that they receive this flattering support, and then it generally proves fatal to them. We really do not see how the man of genius should be improved by being transplanted from his closet to the anti-chambers of the great, or to a fashionable rout. He has no business there—but to bow, to flatter, to smile, to submit to the caprice of taste, to adjust his dress, to think of nothing but his own person and his own interest, to talk of the antique, and furnish designs for the lids of snuffboxes, and ladies’ fans!

‘The passage above alluded to evidently proceeds on the common mistaken notion, that the progress of the arts depends entirely on the cultivation and encouragement bestowed on them; as if taste and genius were perfectly mechanical, arbitrary things,—as if they could be bought and sold, and regularly contracted for at a given price. It confounds the fine arts with the mechanic arts,—art with science. It supposes that feeling, imagination, invention, are the creatures of positive institution; that the temples of the muses may be raised and supported by voluntary contribution; that we can enshrine the soul of art in a stately pile, of royal patronage, inspire corporate bodies with taste, and carve out the direction to fame in letters of stone on the front of public buildings. That the arts in any country may be at so low an ebb as to be capable of great improvement by positive means, so as to reach the common level to which such means can carry them, there is no doubt or question: but after they have in any particular instance by native genius and industry reached their highest eminence, to say that they will, by mere artificial props and officious encouragement, arrive at a point of “still higher attainment,” is assuming a good deal too much. Are we to understand that the laudable efforts of the British Institution are likely, by the mere operation of natural causes, to produce a greater comic painter, a more profound describer of manners than Hogarth? Or even that the lights and expectations held out in the preface to the British catalogue, will enable some one speedily to surpass the general excellence of Wilson’s landscapes? Is there anything in the history of art to warrant such a conclusion—to support this theory of progressive perfectibility under the auspices of patrons and vice-patrons, presidents and select committees?

‘On the contrary, as far as the general theory is concerned the traces of youth, manhood, and old age, are almost as distinctly marked in the history of the art as of the individual. The arts have in general risen rapidly from their first obscure dawn to their meridian height and greatest lustre, and have no sooner reached this proud eminence than they have as rapidly hastened to decay and desolation.’

409. After symmetry of form add: ‘What then has the Genius of progressive improvement been doing all this time? Has he been reposing after his labours? How is it that the moderns are still so far behind, notwithstanding all that was done ready to their hands by the ancients,—when they possess a double advantage over them, and have not nature only to form themselves upon, but nature and the antique?’

After Guido Reni add:

After critics and connoisseurs add: ‘Art will not be constrained by mastery, but at sight of the formidable array prepared to receive it,

The genius of painting lies buried under the Vatican, or skulks behind some old portrait of Titian from which it stole out lately to paint a miniature of Lady Montagu!’

Into opera attitudes? The Champion reads ‘with the flighty French attitudes?’ and proceeds: ‘Were Claude Lorraine, or Nicolas Poussin, formed by the rules of De Piles^[86] or Du Fresnoy?^[87] There are no general tickets of admission to the temple of Fame, transferable to large societies, or organized bodies,—the paths leading to it are steep and narrow, for by the time they are worn plain and easy, the niches are full. What extraordinary advances have we made in our own country in consequence of the establishment of the Royal Academy? What greater names has the English School to boast, than those of Hogarth, Reynolds, and Wilson, who owed nothing to it? Even the venerable president of the Royal Academy was one of its founders.^[88]

‘It is plain then that the sanguine anticipation of the preface-writer, however amiable and patriotic in its motive, has little foundation in fact. It has even less in the true theory and principles of excellence in the art.

‘“It has been often made a subject of complaint,” says a cotemporary critic’ [Here Hazlitt quotes from an article of his used to makeup the ‘Fragment’ Why the Arts are not Progressive? See vol. I. The Round Table, p. 160. He ends with the words ‘mother earth’ and proceeds]:

‘We intend to offer a few general observations in illustration of this view of the subject, which appears to us to be just. There are three ways in which institutions for the promotion of the fine arts may be supposed to favour the object in view; either by furnishing the best models to the student,—or by holding out the prospect of immediate patronage and reward,—or by diffusing a more general taste for the arts. All of these so far from answering the end proposed, will be found on examination, to have a contrary tendency.’

[The second paper in The Champion begins here, with the motto: ‘It was ever the trick of our English nation, if they had a good thing, to make it too common.’]

‘We observed in the conclusion of our last article on this subject, that there were three ways in which academies or public institutions might be supposed to promote the fine arts,—either by furnishing the best models to the student, or by holding out immediate emolument and patronage, or by improving the public taste. We shall consider each of these in order.

‘First, a constant reference to the best models of art necessarily tends to enervate the mind, to intercept our view of nature, and to distract the attention by a variety of unattainable excellence. An intimate acquaintance with the works of the celebrated masters, may, indeed, add to the indolent refinements of taste, but will never produce one work of original genius,—one great artist.’

409. Cimabue. Giovanni Cimabue, of Florence (1240-?1302), the ‘Father of Modern Painting,’ or more accurately, whose work marks the close of the old school before the opening of the new by his pupil Giotto and others.

Massacio. Tommaso Guidi, or Masaccio (Slovenly Tommy, for his careless manners), Florentine painter (1401–1428).

Carlo Maratti. See ante, note to p. 19.

Raphael Mengs. See ante, note to p. 203.

After pretend to combine add: ‘Inoffensive insipidity is the utmost that can ever be expected, because it is the utmost that ever was attained, from the desire to produce a balance of good qualities, and to animate lifeless compositions by the transfusion of a spirit of originality.’

After uniform mediocrity add: ‘There is a certain pedantry, a given division of labour, an almost exclusive attention to some one object, which is necessary in Art, as in all the works of man. Without this, the unavoidable consequence is a gradual dissipation and prostitution of intellect, which leaves the mind without energy to devote to any pursuit the pains necessary to excel in it, and suspends every purpose in irritable imbecility. But the modern painter is bound not only to run the circle of his own art, but of all others. He must be “statesman, chemist, fiddler, and buffoon.”^[89] He must have too many accomplishments to excel in his profession. When every one is bound to know every thing, there is no time to do any thing. Besides, the student,’ etc.

410. After grace of Raphael instead of ‘and ends in nothing’ substitute: ‘finds it easier to copy pictures than to paint them, and easier to see than to copy them, takes infinite pains to gain admission to all the great collections, lounges from one auction room to another, and writes newspaper criticisms on the Fine Arts——.’

411. After ever he realized add: ‘It is beating up for raw dependents, sending out into the highways for the halt, the lame, and the blind, and making a scramble among a set of idle boys for prizes of the first, second, and third class, like those we make among children for gingerbread toys. True patronage does not consist in ostentatious professions of high keeping, and promiscuous intercourse with the arts.’

After self-constituted judge add: ‘Whenever vanity and self importance are (as in general they must be) the governing principles of systems of public patronage, there is an end at once of all candour and directness of conduct. Their decisions are before the public: and the individuals who take the lead in these decisions are responsible for them.’

After pauperism about it add: ‘They neglect or treat with insult the favourite whom they suspect of having fallen off in the opinion of the public; but, if he is able to recover his ground without their assistance, are ready to heap their mercenary bounties upon those of others, greet him with friendly congratulations, and share his triumph with him.’

After common faith add the following footnote: ‘Of the effect of the authority of the subject of a composition, in suspending the exercise of personal taste and feeling in the spectators, we have a striking instance in our own country, where this cause must, from collateral circumstances, operate less forcibly. Mr. West’s pictures would not be tolerated but from the respect inspired by the subjects of which he treats. When a young lady and her mother, the wife and daughter of a clergyman, are told, that a gawky ill-favoured youth is the beloved disciple of Christ, and that a tall, starched figure of a woman visible near him is the Virgin Mary, whatever they might have thought before, they can no more refrain from shedding tears than if they had seen the very persons recorded in sacred history. It is not the picture, but the associations connected with it, that produce the effect. Just as if the same young lady and her mother had been told, “that is the Emperor Alexander,” they would say, “what a handsome man!” or if they were shown the Prince Regent, would exclaim, “how elegant!”’

412. After professed objects add: ‘Positive encouragements and rewards will not make an honest man, or a great artist. The assumed familiarity, and condescending goodness of patrons and vice-patrons will serve to intoxicate rather than to sober the mind, and a card to dinner in Cleveland-row or Portland-place, will have a tendency to divert the student’s thoughts from his morning’s work, rather than to rivet them upon it. The device by which a celebrated painter has represented the Virgin teaching the infant Christ to read by pointing with a butterfly to the letters of the alphabet, has not been thought a very wise one. Correggio is the most melancholy instance on record of the want of a proper encouragement of the arts: but a golden shower of patronage, tempting as that which fell into the lap of his own Danae, and dropping prize medals and epic mottoes, would not produce another Correggio!’

412. In general. This paragraph, and parts of those which follow, were ‘lifted’ from The Champion article into The Round Table, as well as here. See vol. I. p. 163, and notes thereto.

After highest excellence add: ‘The diffusion of taste is not, then, the same thing as the improvement of taste; but it is only the former of these objects that is promoted by public institutions and other artificial means.’

After smatterers in taste add: ‘The principle of universal suffrage, however applicable to matters of government, which concern the common feelings and common interests of society, is by no means applicable to matters of taste, which can only be decided upon by the most refined understandings. It is throwing down the barriers which separate knowledge and feeling from ignorance and vulgarity, and proclaiming a Bartholomew-fair-show of the fine arts—

‘The public taste is, therefore, necessarily vitiated, in proportion as it is public; it is lowered with every infusion it receives of common opinion. The greater the number of judges, the less capable must they be of judging, for the addition to the number of good ones will always be small, while the multitude of bad ones is endless, and thus the decay of art may be said to be the necessary consequence of its progress.

‘Can there be a greater confirmation of these remarks than to look at the texture of that assemblage of select critics, who every year visit the exhibition at Somerset-house from all parts of the metropolis of this united kingdom? Is it at all wonderful that for such a succession of connoisseurs, such a collection of works of art should be provided; where the eye in vain seeks relief from the glitter of the frames in the glare of the pictures; where vermillion cheeks make vermillion lips look pale; where the merciless splendour of the painter’s pallet puts nature out of countenance; and where the unmeaning grimace of fashion and folly is almost the only variety in the wide dazzling waste of colour. Indeed, the great error of British art has hitherto been a desire to produce popular effect by the cheapest and most obvious means, and at the expence of every thing else;—to lose all the delicacy and variety of nature in one undistinguished bloom of florid health, and all precision, truth, and refinement of character in the same harmless mould of smiling, self-complacent insipidity,

‘It is probable that in all that stream of idleness and curiosity which flows in, hour after hour, and day after day, to the richly hung apartments of Somerset-house, there are not fifty persons to be found who can really distinguish “a Guido from a Daub,” or who would recognise a work of the most refined genius from the most common and every-day performance. Come, then, ye banks of Wapping, and classic haunts of Ratcliffe-highway, and join thy fields, blithe Tothill—let the postchaises, gay with oaken boughs, be put in requisition for school-boys from Eton and Harrow, and school-girls from Hackney and Mile-end,—and let a jury be empannelled to decide on the merits of Raphael, and——. The verdict will be infallible. We remember having been formerly a good deal amused with seeing a smart, handsome-looking Quaker lad, standing before a picture of Christ as the saviour of the world, with a circle of young female friends around him, and a newspaper in his hand, out of which he read to his admiring auditors a criticism on the picture ascribing to it every perfection, human and divine.—Now, in truth, the colouring was any thing but solemn, the drawing any thing but grand, the expression any thing but sublime. The friendly critic had, however, bedaubed it so with praise, that it was not easy to gainsay its wondrous excellence. In fact, one of the worst consequences of the establishment of academies, &c. is, that the rank and station of the painter throw a lustre round his pictures, which imposes completely on the herd of spectators, and makes it a kind of treason against the art, for any one to speak his mind freely, or detect the imposture. If, indeed, the election to title and academic honours went by merit, this might form a kind of clue or standard for the public to decide justly upon:—but we have heard that genius and taste determine precedence there, almost as little as at court; and that modesty and talent stand very little chance indeed with interest, cabal, impudence, and cunning. The purity or liberality of professional decisions cannot, therefore, in such cases be expected to counteract the tendency which an appeal to the public has to lower the standard of taste. The artist, to succeed, must let himself down to the level of his judges, for he cannot raise them up to his own. The highest efforts of genius, in every walk of art, can never be properly understood by mankind in general: there are numberless beauties and truths which lie far beyond their comprehension. It is only as refinement or sublimity are blended with other qualities of a more obvious and common nature, that they pass current with the world. Common sense, which has been sometimes appealed to as the criterion of taste, is nothing but the common capacity, applied to common facts and feelings; but it neither is, nor pretends to be, the judge of any thing else.—To suppose that it can really appreciate the excellence of works of high art, is as absurd as to suppose that it could produce them.’ [The article in The Champion ends with the paragraph ‘Taste is the highest.... Falcon is forgotten,’ which forms the conclusion of The Round Table article also. See vol. I. p. 164. What follows is in the form of a Letter to the Editor of The Champion, October 2, 1814.]

‘Sir,—I beg to offer one or two explanations with respect to the article on the subject of public institutions for the promotion of the Fine Arts, which does not appear to me to have been exactly understood by “A Student of the Royal Academy.”^[92] The whole drift of that article is to explode the visionary theory, that art may go on in an infinite series of imitation and improvement. This theory has not a single fact or argument to support it. All the highest efforts of art originate in the imitation of nature, and end there. No imitation of others can carry us beyond this point, or ever enable us to reach it. The imitation of the works of genius facilitates the acquisition of a certain degree of excellence, but weakens and distracts while it facilitates, and renders the acquisition of the highest degree of excellence impossible. Wherever the greatest individual genius has been exerted upon the finest models of nature, there the greatest works of art have been produced,—the Greek statues and the Italian pictures. There is no substitute in art for nature; in proportion as we remove from this original source, we dwindle into mediocrity and flimsiness, and whenever the artificial and systematic assistance afforded to genius becomes extreme, it overlays it altogether. We cannot make use of other men’s minds, any more than of their limbs.^[93] Art is not science, nor is the progress made in the one ever like the progress made in the other. The one is retrograde for the very same reason that the other is progressive; because science is mechanical, and art is not, and in proportion as we rely on mechanical means, we lose the essence. Is there a single exception to this rule? The worst artists in the world are the modern Italians, who lived in the midst of the finest works of art:—the persons least like the Greek sculptors are the modern French painters, who copy nothing but the antique. Velasquez might be improved by a pilgrimage to the Vatican, but if it had been his morning’s lounge, it would have ruined him. Michael Angelo, the cartoons of Leonardi da Vinci, and the antique, your correspondent tells us, produced Raphael. Why have they produced no second Raphael? What produced Michael Angelo, Leonardi da Vinci, and the antique? Surely not Michael Angelo, Leonardi da Vinci, and the antique! If Sir Joshua Reynolds would never have observed a certain expression in nature, if he had not seen it in Correggio, it is tolerably certain that he would never execute it so well; and in fact, though Sir Joshua was largely indebted to Correggio, yet his imitations are not equal to the originals. The two little boys in Correggio’s Danae are worth all the children Sir Joshua ever painted: and the Hymen in the same picture, (with leave be it spoken,) is worth all his works put together.—But the student of the Royal Academy thinks that Carlo Maratti, and Raphael Mengs are only exceptions to the common rule of progressive improvement in the art. If these are the exceptions, where are the examples? If we are to credit him, and it would be uncivil not to do it, they are to be found in the present students of the Royal Academy, whom, he says, it would be unreasonable to confound with such minds as those of Carlo Maratti, and Raphael Mengs. Be it so. This is a point to be decided by time.

‘The whole question was at once decided by the person who said that “to imitate the Iliad, was not to imitate Homer.” After this has once been stated, it is quite in vain to argue the point farther. The idea of piling art on art, and heaping excellence on excellence, is a mere fable; and we may very safely say, that the frontispiece of all such pretended institutions and academies for the promotion of the fine arts, founded on this principle, and “pointing to the skies,” should be—

‘Absurd as this theory is, it flatters our vanity and our indolence, and these are two great points gained. It is gratifying to suppose that art may have gone on from the beginning, reposing upon art, like the Indian elephant and the tortoise, that it has improved, and will still go on improving, without the trouble of going back to nature. By these theorists, nature is always kept in the back-ground, or does not even terminate the vista in their prospects. She is a mistress too importunate, and who requires too great sacrifices from the effeminacy of modern amateurs. They will only see her in company, or by proxy, and are as much afraid of being reduced to their shifts with her in private, as Tattle in Love for Love,^[95] was afraid of being left alone with a pretty girl.

‘I can only recollect one other thing to reply to. Your correspondent objects to my having said, “All the great painters of this period were thoroughly grounded in the first principles of their art; had learned to copy a head, a hand, or an eye,” &c. All this knowledge of detail he attributes to academical instruction, and quotes Sir Joshua Reynolds, who says of himself—“Not having had the advantage of an early academical education, I never had that facility in drawing the naked figure, which an artist ought to have.” First, I might answer, that the drawing from casts can never assist the student in copying the face, the eye, or the extremities; and that it was only of service in the knowledge of the trunk, and the general proportions, which are comparatively lost in the style of English art, which is not naked, but clothed. Secondly, I would say, with respect to Sir Joshua, that his inability to draw the naked figure arose from his not having been accustomed to draw it; and that drawing from the antique would not have enabled either him or any one else to draw from the naked figure. The difficulty of copying from nature, or in other words of doing any thing that has not been done before, or that is worth doing, is that of combining many ideas at once, or of reconciling things in motion: whereas in copying from the antique, you have only to copy still life, and in proportion as you get a knack at the one, you disqualify yourself for the other.

‘As to what your correspondent adds of painting and poetry being the same thing, it is an old story which I do not believe. But who would ever think of setting up a school of poetry? Byshe’s^[96] Art of Poetry and the Gradus ad Parnassum, are a jest. Royal Academies and British Institutions are to painting, what Byshe’s Art of Poetry and the Gradus ad Parnassum, are to the “sister art.” Poetry, as it becomes artificial, becomes bad, instead of good—the poetry of words, instead of things. Milton is the only poet who gave to borrowed materials the force of originality. I am, Sir, Your humble Servant,

[A note indicates that articles on Sir J. Reynolds’s merits as an artist and a writer will follow: the first two of these articles were those which appeared on October 30 and November 6, 1814. The remaining articles, dealing mainly with Sir Joshua Reynolds as a writer will be found in the final volumes of the present edition.]

JAMES BARRY

413. Contributed to the EncyclopÆdia Britannica, under the signature Z. In the seventh edition of the EncyclopÆdia the signature was printed DD. In addition to the criticism on Barry here reprinted five further notices are credited to Hazlitt by means of the same signature. They are J. B. Basedaw, J. Beckmann, Xavier Bettinelli, G. B. Bilfinger, and G. A. Burger. These notices are purely compilations of the usual Biographical Dictionary order; they are far removed from the scope of Hazlitt’s work, and they do not bear internal evidence of being by him. It has been thought best therefore not to reprint them as his but to mention the names of the subjects as above.

416. Mr. Stuart. James Stuart (1713–1788), painter and architect. His work, The Antiquities of Athens (1762), is largely responsible for the imitations of Greek architecture in London.

419. Mr. Hamilton. Sir William Hamilton (1730–1803), archÆologist and diplomatist. His wife was Emma Hart, the celebrated ‘Nelson’ Lady Hamilton.

419. Count de Firmian. Joseph, Count de Firmian (1716–1782), Austrian diplomatist. He was appointed to Lombardy in 1759 and was practically ruler there. He has the reputation of having been a patron of art.

Mr. Valentine Green (1739–1813). Engraver, writer, and keeper of the British Institution from 1805 until his death.

420. Whatever the hand had done. Boswell’s Johnson (ed. G. B. Hill, vol. IV. p. 224).

421. Dr. Burney swimming in the Thames. See vol. I. The Round Table, p. 35 and note.

ORIGINALITY

An article under the general heading of Specimens of a Dictionary of Definitions. From The Atlas, January 3, 1830.

424. Multum abludit imago. Horace, Sat. II. 3. 320.

Mistress’ eyebrow. As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 7.

Grace is in all her steps. Paradise Lost, VIII. 488.

Whate’er Lorrain light-touch’d. Thomson, The Castle of Indolence, I. 38.

426. Hoppner. John Hoppner (1758–1810), portrait painter. See vol. VI. Mr. Northcote’s Conversations, p. 334 and note.

Jackson. John Jackson (1778–1831), portrait painter, the son of a village tailor in Yorkshire. His finest portrait is one of Flaxman, also a Yorkshireman.

Gayest, happiest attitudes. Akenside, Pleasures of the Imagination, I. 30.

428. Semblable coherence. 2 King Henry IV., Act V. Sc. 1.

The great vulgar and the small. Cowley, Horace, Odes, III. 1.

The strong conception. Othello, Act V. Sc. 2.

That the mind groans withal. Ibid., Act V. Sc. 2.

THE IDEAL

Another of the Specimens of a Dictionary of Definitions, from The Atlas, January 10, 1830.

429. In Hazlitt’s Criticisms on Art, edited by his son, the following passages are inserted in the reprint of The Atlas article, presumably from Hazlitt’s MS.:

After power without effort, add: ‘It is the most exalted idea we can form of humanity. Some persons have hence raised it quite above humanity, and made its essence to consist specifically in the representation of gods and goddesses, just as if, on the same principle that there are court painters, there were certain artists who had the privilege of being admitted into the mythological heaven, and brought away casts and fac-similes of the mouth of Venus or the beard of Jupiter.’

After in every part, beautiful, add: ‘The Venus is only the idea of the most perfect female beauty, and the statue will be none the worse for bearing the more modern name of Musidora. The ideal is only making the best of what is natural and subject to the sense.’

430. Severe in youthful beauty. Paradise Lost, IV. 845.

Inimitable on earth. Ibid., III. 508.

After contradiction in terms, add: ‘Besides, it might be objected captiously that what is strictly common to all is necessarily to be found exemplified in each individual.’

431. Till our content is absolute. Othello, Act II. Sc. 1.

Know, virtue were not virtue.

432. Patient Grizzle. The Clerke’s Tale.

433. The human and the brute. The two paragraphs that follow do not appear in The Atlas, but have been added to the Essay from the source mentioned above.

434. To o’erstep the modesty of nature. Hamlet, Act III. Sc. 2.

ROYAL ACADEMY

The following note occurs in the edition of Hazlitt’s Essays on the Fine Arts, edited by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt (1873). ‘The following note is written at the foot of the [autograph MS.] by Mr. C. Cowden Clarke: “An article written for me in the Atlas newspaper, by William Hazlitt. The autograph is his, and I was at his elbow while he wrote it, which occupied him about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.”’

435. Mr. Shee. Sir Martin Archer Shee (1770–1850), portrait painter from the age of sixteen onwards. He was knighted upon being made President of the Royal Academy in 1830.