TITIAN—PORTRAIT OF TITIAN AND HIS MISTRESS.
The full value of this picture cannot perhaps be appreciated better than when it is considered after the examination of a portrait by Rubens. The unaffected breadth, the modest, unambitious reflexes, an air of suffusion rather than penciling, a certain resignation even in the touch, shew us Nature, rather than its image. This charming female displays a mind superior to the cares of the toilet she is engaged with, sees beyond the mirror which her lover holds, and at which her lover, if it be her lover, assists. The great merit of Titian, and perhaps his exclusive merit as to execution, is to be totally free from all pretence, from all affectation. His vehicle conveys the idea of the thing, and passes unobserved. To Tintoret, to Paolo—the thing in general served to convey the vehicle. The Miracle of St. Marc derives all its merit from that whirlpool of execution, which sweeps undistinguished all individual merit into one mighty mass. As a whole, of equal comprehension, energy, and suavity, it astonishes the common man of organs, and the artist who enters into the process of this amalgama, equally; but when the first charm is over, and we begin to examine the parts, we shall not find they were drawn forward, distanced, or excluded by propriety and character."
The intimacy which commenced in Paris, in the year 1801, between Fuseli and Mr. Robert Smirke, the celebrated architect, was kept up; and when he left England for Italy, the former gave him letters of introduction for Rome, which he found very useful. This kindness on the part of Fuseli, was acknowledged by Mr. R. Smirke in the following letter:
"Rome, March 20, 1803.
"dear sir,
"I have, you see, a second time availed myself of your permission to write to you; but as it is now above two months since I sent my last letter, you will not find the intrusion, I hope, troublesome. There is, I always feel, a sort of pleasure in communications of this kind with a distant friend, which is extremely agreeable; when writing, at the moment, I forget the distance of 1500 miles, and am talking with him. You desired I would endeavour to write to you in Italian; I must confess, however, that as yet I feel such a deficiency in my knowledge of that language as to make me afraid of venturing upon so bold a task; and as I have been so neglectful as not to attend regularly to instructions in it, I am afraid it will be yet some time before I can venture. In justification, nevertheless, I have to say that I never avoid the opportunity of being obliged to make use of it; and in the house I live, no language but Italian is spoken.
"It was a considerable time after my arrival in Rome that I succeeded in finding Signor Ven. Gambini, though doubtless only from want of more proper application. I found that his memory of you and your friendship with him had not failed in the slightest degree; he enquired with much kindness after you, and showed me immediately a book, in which he has preserved with care a sketch you made upon one of the leaves; the only memorial, he told me, that he had of your work. He has a bust of you, which he has placed in his principal room, between those of Clio and Melpomene; it gave me really much pleasure to see the remembrance of a friend, absent between twenty and thirty years, so warmly preserved. His reception of me was, as you may suppose, extremely kind and civil; but as I find him surrounded with books, probably in a busy employment, and that so different to mine, I have not seen much of him, nor cannot but be afraid always of being troublesome.
"It is now nearly two months since I arrived in Rome, having scarcely stopt on the road after leaving Pisa, whence my last letter to you was dated, except for two or three days at Sienna. Florence pleased me very much, from the slight view I had of it. I was there but a day, as I purpose spending a month there, at least, on my return from the southern parts of the country. The Gallery, I suppose, must be much less interesting since the French have taken so much from it; but as it is, it struck me particularly. I was much pleased with the arrangement; for though it has nothing of the astonishing coup d'œil of the Louvre, I should think it was better calculated to shew the statues and pictures, and still more, to assist the artist who studies from them.
"I have been very highly gratified with what I have seen in Rome. The numerous remains of excellent Roman art, both in sculpture and architecture; the magnificent appearance of many of the modern buildings; the splendour of the churches, and many collections of paintings, cannot fail to make it always a most interesting place even to those who at other times have felt but slightly the excellencies of art. It has, I imagine, suffered a good deal during the last eight years. What the French have taken, (though perhaps the finest works,) is not the only loss, for the distress and poverty attending the confusions of the country have caused the sale of the best pictures in many of the collections, and a sad neglect in general of their palaces. St. Peter's did not quite equal my expectations. I never anticipated much from the architecture; but it was in the general appearance to the eye that I was in some degree disappointed. The grandeur of the approach (the circular portico, fountains, and vestibule) is certainly most striking; but in the interior particularly, there appears to me a great want of proportion, and from the colossal boys and decorations crowding about it, the just scale much destroyed; neither do I think the richness of the finishings, or the strong glare of light admitted into the building, quite appropriate to the solemnity of its character. In the Vatican adjoining, I believe but little alteration has taken place since you were here, except in the rooms containing the statues. They are chiefly small, but have been fitted up with much elegance. The wonderful picture of Michael Angelo in the Capella Sistina is quite uninjured. Those in the ceiling will not, I am afraid, (as they ought,) resist for ever the injuries of weather. One small piece affected by damp on the outside has fallen. What a pity it is they did not observe the precaution made use of by the ancients, by which many of their fresco works remain as perfect as when first painted! A space of two or three inches was left between the wall and tile on which the stucco was laid, so that it was completely defended from all exterior damps. I was disappointed in the Arabesque paintings of Raphael in the Galleries; of course not in the design, but in the present condition; they are so injured by being exposed to the open air, as to be much obliterated. His fresco paintings in the same palace are in good preservation. Of Michael Angelo and Raphael, though I had seen but very few of their works, and certainly among the least able to appreciate their merits till I came here; I had no idea of what painters they were, nor how they could so represent Nature in all its actions.
"I have seen most of the modern artists of Rome—they are chiefly young. They have many large, bold undertakings in hand; several subjects I have seen, twenty-five feet long, either for churches, or for the Earl of Bristol, an old nobleman here of singular character, who gives sometimes much encouragement, and often beyond, I believe, even his power. The manner of painting is very like what I think I have observed among the French: much attention and minuteness in detail, while the great principal object of the story is perhaps failed in. There is not however, I think, so much extravagance in the representation of action, as I often observed in the modern French pictures. Among the best historical painters here are Camuccini, Landi, and Benvenuti. Of the sculptors, Canova, of course, holds by far the highest rank; many of his works are certainly very beautifully designed and executed. Next to him, one of the name of Maximilian is placed as the best. With respect to the modern architecture, both in its churches and palaces, I must confess myself somewhat surprised that the excellent models of ancient art constantly before them have not been more successfully studied. In general, I think the taste is of rather a heavy, disagreeable kind, but often a sort of magnificence in the whole effect which is imposing. I purpose now leaving Rome for a time, intending on my return to devote some time to more attentive and diligent study. My time hitherto has been employed, for a great part, in seeing all the different antiquities and buildings contained within the extensive walls of the city and in its suburbs. You may not perhaps have heard of my intention of spending two or three months in Greece, as it is within so short a time that I have determined upon it, and consequently since I communicated it to my family at home. I have been making many inquiries here, and find it a journey practicable, and as little subject to difficulties as one can expect; I think too that one may derive more advantage from a study of the ancient works there, which are less known, and which have perhaps been the models of the finest here, than from any in this country. When writing my last letter home, in which I mentioned my intention, I thought of going by way of Ancona, where I should embark in a vessel that went to any part of Greece; since then, I have somewhat changed my plan, purposing now to go by way of Naples and Otranto, and there embarking for Corfu. It may still be nearly a fortnight before I set out, as some preparation is necessary. Greece, it appears, does not afford the little conveniences found in this country for travellers. I am very well provided with letters there from the kindness of some English I have met with here. There is one family from whom I have received much kindness, (the Earl of Mount Cashell's,) with whom I believe you are acquainted, as I have often heard you spoken of in it.
"My paper leaves me no more room than to say, if you should ever have leisure to write me a few lines, they will be received with the greatest pleasure; and wishing you the best health,
"Believe me, your very sincere friend,
"Robert Smirke."
"Henry Fuseli, Esq. R.A."
"My direction will be at Mr. Fagan's, Piazza Colonna, Rome."
In the year 1803, Fuseli left Queen-Anne-Street, and took the lease of a commodious house, No. 13, Berners' Street, which had been built by Sir William Chambers for his own residence; here he remained until December 1804, when he was elected Keeper of the Royal Academy, Mr. Rigaud being then his competitor. The salary and commodious apartments allotted to this office placed him in such circumstances as to render him, in a degree, independent of fortuitous commissions. Although now in his sixty-fourth year, he retained great mental and bodily activity, and from his taste and extensive knowledge in the higher branches of the fine arts, a more judicious choice could not have been made by the Members of the Royal Academy; this opinion was expressed by his late Majesty, George the Third, when the President, Mr. West, laid before him the resolution of the Academicians for his approval.
The following anecdote connected with his election has been told, but not correctly. When Fuseli tendered himself for the office of Keeper of the Royal Academy, Northcote and Opie voted against him; but being conscience-stricken, not only on account of his abilities, but from having received favours at his hands, they considered it right to call upon him the day after the election to explain their motives. After having heard them, and in their explanation they in some degree blamed each other; he answered, in his usual sarcastic manner, "I am sorry you have taken this trouble, because I shall lose my character in the neighbourhood. When you entered my house, the one must have been taken for a little Jew creditor, the other for a bum-bailiff; so, good morning."
This year (1804) Fuseli visited Liverpool for the last time, and passed a great deal of his time while there with Mr. Roscoe: on his return to London, he wrote the following letter to Mr. Joseph Johnson, the nephew of his much respected friend of that name:—
"dear sir,
"Give me leave to return you my warmest thanks for your kindness. Though my circumstances did not permit me to spend as many hours as I could have wished under your hospitable roof, every moment I passed with you and Mrs. Johnson, added some new obligation to those which you had already heaped on me and mine, and it will be one of my warmest wishes to be able to shew, at some time or other, that my gratitude lies deeper than my lips.
"I have spent a day or two at Purser's Cross, which is the name of your Uncle's place; though in the neighbourhood of London, it is a sweet retired and healthful spot, and if he could be persuaded to spend more of his time at it, must be eminently conducive to his health. I hope Mrs. Johnson has not forgot her promise, to come and reside and nurse him there, as soon as it is in her power.
* * * * *
"Please to present my best compliments to all the friends I saw at your house, or in your company.
"I am, dear sir,
"Your obedient friend and servant,
"Henry Fuseli."
"Joseph Johnson, Esq."
CHAPTER X.
The Biographer's Introduction to Fuseli.—New Edition of Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters, superintended by Fuseli.—Establishment of the British Institution, and Fuseli's limited Contributions to the Exhibition there.—Subject from Dante.—Fuseli's Remarks on Blake's Designs.—His Lectures on Painting renewed.—Tribute of esteem from the Students of the Academy.—Letter.—Death of Mr. Johnson, and Fuseli's sympathy on the occasion.—Fuseli re-elected to the Professorship of Painting at the Royal Academy.
In June 1825, Mr. Bonnycastle, late Professor of Mathematics to the Royal Military College at Woolwich, who had then been the intimate friend of Fuseli for twenty-five years, introduced me to him, having observed previously to this introduction, that I should find him a man of the most extensive knowledge, quickness of perception, ready wit, and acuteness of remark, that I had ever met with. This introduction was soon followed by daily intercourse between Fuseli and myself, which ripened into the sincerest friendship, and was the cause of my passing with him many of the happiest hours of my life.
In the year 1805, some of the booksellers wishing to publish an improved edition of Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters, applied to Fuseli, through Mr. Johnson, to be the editor. In consequence of the solicitation of this friend, he accepted the task, but with reluctance, as he had a mean opinion of the work, and constantly designated its author a driveller. To the original he added a great number of names, and either re-wrote the lives, or inserted in notes the characters of most of the principal painters of the several schools.
At this period, a number of noblemen and gentlemen, zealous for the encouragement of the fine arts in England, especially historical painting, established the British Institution, and Fuseli was solicited to send thither some pictures for exhibition and sale. He, however, had no high opinion of the scheme; for although, in common with other artists, he wished it to succeed—for he held that "the man who purchases one picture from a living artist, which may have some pretensions to the highest class of art, does more real service to the fine arts than he who spends thousands upon the works of the old masters;" yet he thought, to use his own words, "from the colour of the egg, it was more likely to produce an ichneumon than a sphynx;" and expressed reluctance to be a contributor. Mr. Coutts, who used every endeavour to promote the establishment and the prosperity of the British Institution, advised him to become an exhibitor, and to send, among other pictures, "The Lazar-house," observing, "I never intended to deprive you of this, it is yours, and therefore sell it, if you can." In addition to this picture, the price of which was fixed at 300 guineas, Fuseli sent "The Nursery of Shakspeare," for which he asked 150 guineas; and "Christ disappearing at Emaus:" the price he put upon this was 100 guineas. The leading members of the Institution hesitated to admit that admirable production of his pencil, "The Lazar-house," considering the subject too terrible for the public eye; and they had three meetings before they came to the resolution of exhibiting it. This hesitation on their part, a slight degree of damage which "The Nursery of Shakspeare" sustained in its removal from the rooms, and the not finding a purchaser for either of the pictures, made Fuseli resolve never to exhibit there again, to which resolution he pertinaciously adhered.[54]
In 1806, he painted from Dante, Count Ugolino being starved to death with his four sons in the Tower, which, from that circumstance, was afterwards called, "Torre della Fame;" this picture, as it came in competition with that well known subject from the pencil of Sir Joshua Reynolds, was admired and censured more than any other he had previously produced. Fuseli took the moment when Ugolino is petrified by his situation,—"bereft of tears, his heart is turned to stone;" he has represented him in a sitting posture with his youngest son stretched dead over his knees, while the other three are either writhing under the agonies of hunger, dying, or given up to despair. This picture (now in my possession) is as superior in drawing, in truth to nature placed under such circumstances, and to the story, as Sir Joshua's soars above it in colour, in manual dexterity, and in chiaroscuro.
Mr. Blake, who was not only a celebrated engraver, but known also for his original designs, distributed this year (1805) a prospectus for publishing an edition of the poem of "The Grave" of William Blair, to be illustrated with fifteen plates designed and engraved by himself. This work was patronized by the names of the principal artists of the day; but before he entered upon its publication, he submitted his drawings to the judgment of the then President of the Royal Academy (Mr. West), and also to Fuseli. The latter, in particular, being pleased with the wildness of the invention, wrote his opinion thereon in the following words:
"The moral series here submitted to the public, from its object and method of execution, has a double claim on general attention.
"In an age of equal refinement and corruption of manners, when systems of education and seduction go hand in hand; when Religion itself compounds with fashion; when, in the pursuit of present enjoyment, all consideration of futurity vanishes, and the real object of life is lost—in such an age, every exertion confers a benefit on society which tends to impress Man with his destiny, to hold the mirror up to life, less indeed to discriminate its characters, than those situations which shew what all are born for, what all ought to act for, and what all must inevitably come to.
"The importance of this object has been so well understood at every period of time, from the earliest and most innocent to the latest and most depraved, that reason and fancy have exhausted their stores of argument and imagery, to impress it on the mind: animate and inanimate Nature, the seasons, the forest and the field, the bee and ant, the larva, chrysalis and moth, have lent their real or supposed analogies with the origin, pursuits, and end, of the human race, so often to emblematical purposes, that instruction is become stale, and attention callous. The Serpent with its tail in its mouth, from a type of Eternity, is become an infant's bauble; even the nobler idea of Hercules pausing between virtue and vice, and the varied imagery of Death leading his patients to the Grave, owe their effect upon us more to technic excellence than allegoric utility.
"Aware of this, but conscious that affectation of originality and trite repetition would equally impede his success, the Author of the moral series before us has endeavoured to wake sensibility by touching our sympathies with nearer, less ambiguous, and less ludicrous imagery, than what mythology, Gothic superstition, or symbols as far-fetched as inadequate could supply. His invention has been chiefly employed to spread a familiar and domestic atmosphere round the most important of all subjects, to connect the visible and the invisible World, without provoking probability, and to lead the eye from the milder light of time to the radiations of Eternity.
"Such is the plan and the moral part of the Author's invention; the technic part, and the execution of the artist, though to be examined by other principles, and addressed to a narrower circle, equally claim approbation, sometimes excite our wonder, and not seldom our fears, when we see him play on the very verge of legitimate invention; but wildness so picturesque in itself, so often redeemed by taste, simplicity, and elegance, what child of fancy, what artist would wish to discharge? The groups and single figures on their own bases, abstracted from the general composition, and considered without attention to the plan, frequently exhibit those genuine and unaffected attitudes, those simple graces which Nature and the heart alone can dictate, and only an eye inspired by both, discover. Every class of artists, in every stage of their progress or attainments, from the student to the finished master, and from the contriver of ornament to the painter of history, will find here materials of art and hints of improvement!"
This opinion he allowed Blake to publish as recommendatory of his work.
In the early part of the year 1806, the Council of the Royal Academy requested that Fuseli would again deliver a course of lectures on painting, which he accordingly did, as Mr. Opie had not prepared his. This course he prefaced by the following address:
"Gentlemen,
"I once more have the unexpected honour of addressing you in this place, at the request of the President and Council, with the concurrence, and at the express desire of the Gentleman whom the Academy has appointed my successor, and whose superior ability, whenever he shall think proper to lay his materials before you, will, I trust, make ample amends for the defects which your indulgence has, for several years, connived at in my recital of these fragments on our art."
Fuseli had now been more than two years Keeper of the Academy, which had afforded the students sufficient time to appreciate the value of his instructions, particularly in the antique school. And in order to mark their sense of the advantages which they had derived from his talents, they presented him, by the hands of Mr. Haydon, then a student, with an elegant silver Vase, the design for which, at their solicitation, was given by that eminent artist Flaxman; it bears the following inscription:—
TO
HENRY FUSELI, ESQ. R.A.
KEEPER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY,
FROM
THE STUDENTS.
1807.
The Vase, by the desire of Fuseli and the kindness of his widow, is now in my possession; and I not only value it as a beautiful work of art, but regard it as a tribute paid to the genius and talents of my honoured friend, whose memory will ever be held most dear in my recollection.
In the summer of 1809, Fuseli wished me to accompany him into the country for a short time; but as I had promised to pass three or four weeks with a relation and friend (who was much esteemed by him), the Reverend Thomas Rackett, at Spettisbury, in Dorsetshire, I could not accede to his solicitations. The following letter written to me while there, as it shews the disposition of his mind, and gives some account of his pursuits, may not be uninteresting in this place.
"Somerset House, 31st August, 1809.
"dear sir,
"Your letter of the 26th, which I found on my desk at my return from Fulham, gave me equal surprise and pleasure; nothing but yourself could have been more welcome, and I should not have waited till now, to present you in answer with a scrawl of mine, had I not been desirous of obliging Mr. Cavallo by adding a specimen of Lavater's hand-writing: several old parcels of letters did I turn over, but that which contains the chirognomic characters of my departed friend, I have not yet been able to light on, and am afraid it is in some bundle of papers at Purser's Cross, to which place I shall probably return on Saturday, and on finding what I want, take care to remit it to you for Don Tiberio.[55]
"The spirit in which you wrote your letter, makes me happy; a mind like yours, fraught with all the requisites for genuine pleasure, is sure to find it or to make it in every place; how much must you enjoy then in the friendly mansion which separates you from me and those real friends you have left here!
"Your account of the Nunneries you have visited, confirms Hamlets verdict: 'Frailty, thy name is woman!' How self-contradictory, that the 'animal of beauty,' as Dante calls woman, should exchange her claims to social admiration and pleasure, and the substantial charms of life, for the sterile embraces of a crucifix or some withered sister, by the dim glimmer of cloistered light,—lost to hope, and marked by oblivion for her own! Tyranny, deception, and most of all, that substitute for every other want, 'the undistinguished space of woman's will,' can alone account for such phenomena.
"September 1st.
"So far I went yesterday, when luckily some one prevented the process of my letter, and opening to-day a parcel I had not thought of before, I found some letters, &c. of Lavater's: what I have enclosed, is the address of one written to me when I lived in St. Martin's Lane; be so kind to present it to your friend.
"What you say of Mr. Rackett's politeness, is extremely flattering, and I beg you will return my respects and best wishes to him and the ladies. As the weather has been so unpropitious, I do not expect to hear of many entomological captures or discoveries: I beg to inform him, that of some pupæ of Sphinx euphorbiæ, found on the spurge of the Devonshire sands, I have reared, perhaps for the first time in England, two beautiful moths.
"My wife is still at Woolwich. Mr. Haughton's respects attend you: and I,
"My dear Sir, remain
"Affectionately and sincerely yours,
"Henry Fuseli."
"To John Knowles, Esq."
I have already noticed the social intimacy which subsisted for so long a time between Fuseli and Mr. Johnson the bookseller; the latter had been afflicted with an asthma for many years. In the month of December, 1809, he had an alarming attack of this disorder, which increasing rapidly, a message was sent to Fuseli, intimating that if he wished again to see Mr. Johnson, he must come without delay. A carriage was instantly ordered, and as it drew up, Mr. Carrick Moore the Surgeon, of whose abilities, Fuseli had the highest opinion, accidently arrived at the Academy. Fuseli, who was in tears and in violent agitation, cried out, "Come with me, I beseech you, Moore, and save, if possible, my valued friend, Johnson." On their arrival at Mr. Johnson's house, in St. Paul's Church-yard, they found him breathing with difficulty, his countenance ghastly, his limbs cold, and his quivering pulse hardly perceptible; he, however, recognised Fuseli, and expressed pleasure at seeing him. But no means which were tried could restore the sinking energies of the vital functions, and the patient in a short time ceased to live.
As Fuseli had been on terms of intimacy and of the strictest friendship with Johnson for nearly forty years, this sad event shocked his sensitive heart. He wrote the day after to Mr. Joseph Johnson, the nephew, in the following terms:—
"London, Somerset House, 21st Dec. 1829.
"my dear sir,
"As the present melancholy occasion must bring you, and perhaps Mrs. Johnson, to London, permit me to request the favour of your remaining with us, and taking a bed at our house during your stay.
"If my grief for the loss of my first and best friend were less excessive, I might endeavour to moderate your's; but I want consolation too much myself to offer it to others.
"My wife joins in my request to you and Mrs. Johnson, and we both remain ever your faithful but disconsolate friends,
"Sophia and Henry Fuseli."
"Joseph Johnson, Esq."
Mr. Johnson was regretted not only by a numerous circle of private friends, but by the literary world in general. Many authors now living, and others who have paid the debt of nature, were fostered by his bounty, and but for his encouragement the world would have been deprived of most of the beautiful poems of Cowper; for, when "The Task," not being appreciated by the public, met with a very tardy sale, its author had made up his mind to write no more. Mr. Johnson, who was well aware of the merits of this poem, urged him to proceed, stating, that he had no doubt it would finally receive that favour from the public which it so justly merited. This expectation was afterwards realized to its utmost extent, and the author received from his publisher a handsome but unexpected gratuity.[56]
Mr. Johnson was a man of probity, liberality, and sound sense, with an acute judgment. The author of this memoir, who witnessed the urbanity of his manners, and partook of the hospitality of his table at least once a-week for some years, can bear testimony to these, as well as to the good sense which he exercised, and the prudence with which he allayed the occasional contests of his irritable guests, many of whom were distinguished men of letters, of various characters, and conflicting opinions. And although the conversation took a free range, yet the placid equanimity of their host regulated in some degree its freedom, and kept it within due bounds. Fuseli was always a favoured guest at this table; when absent, which rarely happened, a gloom for the time pervaded the company: but, when present, his acute taste in poetry, oratory, and the fine arts; his original opinions, singular ideas, and poignant wit, enlivened the conversation, and rendered him a delightful companion. On these occasions, however, Johnson was rather a listener than a contributor; but he enjoyed the animated remarks and retorts of his amusing friend, and in his will left him a handsome legacy.
Fuseli wrote the following epitaph, which gives a just and unvarnished character of this amiable man, and which is placed on his tomb in the church-yard of Fulham:—
HERE LIE THE REMAINS OF
JOSEPH JOHNSON, LATE OF ST. PAUL'S, LONDON,
WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE ON THE 20TH DAY OF
DECEMBER, 1809, AGED 72 YEARS.
A MAN
EQUALLY DISTINGUISHED BY PROBITY, INDUSTRY,
AND DISINTERESTEDNESS IN HIS INTERCOURSE
WITH THE PUBLIC, AND EVERY DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL
VIRTUE IN LIFE; BENEFICENT WITHOUT
OSTENTATION, EVER READY TO PRODUCE MERIT
AND TO RELIEVE DISTRESS; UNASSUMING IN PROSPERITY,
NOT APPALLED BY MISFORTUNE; INEXORABLE
TO HIS OWN, INDULGENT TO THE WANTS
OF OTHERS; RESIGNED AND CHEERFUL UNDER THE
TORTURE OF A MALADY WHICH HE SAW GRADUALLY
DESTROY HIS LIFE.
The death of Opie, which took place rather unexpectedly, in 1807, after he had delivered only four lectures at the Royal Academy, in which he availed himself of several remarks of Fuseli in his unpublished discourses, caused a vacancy in the Professorship, which was filled by the election of Mr. Tresham. This appointment he held until the early part of the year 1810, and then tendered his resignation, declining to lecture under the plea of indisposition. The Academicians met for the purpose of electing a Professor of Painting; but no one offering himself, all being aware of the great talents of Fuseli in this particular, they came to a resolution, that a law which forbids the same person to hold two situations, should be dormant in his case; he was therefore re-elected Professor of Painting on the 10th of February, 1810, and was allowed to retain the joint offices of Keeper of the Academy and Professor of Painting during the remainder of his life. A higher compliment than this could not have been paid to any man, and it marked in an extraordinary manner the estimation in which his talents were held.
CHAPTER XI.
Fuseli's prefatory Address to his resumed Lectures.—His second Edition of Pilkington.—He suffers from a nervous fever, and visits Hastings in company with the Biographer.—His Picture of Marcus Curius, and Letter relative to it.—Letter from Mr. Roscoe.—Canova's Intercourse with Fuseli.—Anecdotes of Fuseli and Harlow.—Letters from Fuseli to the Biographer.—Republication of his Lectures, with additions.—Death of Professor Bonnycastle, and Anecdote concerning him.—Death of Fuseli's friend and patron, Mr. Coutts.—An agreeable party at Fuseli's house.
On the 26th of February 1810, Fuseli resumed his course of lectures, and prefaced them by the following address:—
"Mr. President, and Gentlemen,
"Sincere as my gratitude and pleasing as my emotions must be on being, by the indulgence of the Academy, appointed to address you again, I should feel myself unworthy of this honour were I not to regret the infirm state of health, the unfortunate cause which occasioned the resignation of the Professor of Painting, and disappointed the expectation you had a right to form from the display of his brilliant talents. Severely, however, as this disappointment may be felt by you, it is a consolation to reflect that we still possess him, and that the Academy may still profit by his advice and practical abilities: but what can I offer to mitigate our grief on the awful decree which snatched from us his predecessor, your late lecturer, my departed friend? In him society has lost one of its best members, our Art one of its firmest supporters, the Academy one of its brightest ornaments, and you a solid, experienced, forcible, and lucid instructor. The innate vigour of his mind supplied every want of education; his persevering energy ruled circumstances, and made necessity the handmaid of the art; his judgment, at a very early period, discriminated the art itself from those vehicles of which he possessed, in a very high degree, the most splendid; add to these, that insatiable curiosity, which not only stimulated him to examine every system, and to collect every observation on art, but to court all relative knowledge, and whatever, though more distant, might tend to illustrate his argument, enforce his proofs, or assist his researches; and you have an aggregate of qualities, which, if he had been suffered to complete his course, would have enabled him to present you with a more connected series of instructions for your studies than perhaps ever fell to the lot of any other school, and might have conferred on England the honour of having produced the best combined, least prejudiced, if not the most lofty or extensive system of art.
"Such was your teacher:—to expatiate on the artist before his companions, admirers, rivals, and scholars, within these walls, which have so often borne testimony to the splendour and versatility of his powers, would be equally presumption and waste of time: that characteristic truth, that unaffected simplicity and air of life which discriminate his portraits; the decision, the passion, the colour, the effects that animate his history; the solidity of his method, his breadth and mellowness of touch, now fresh before us, with his writings, will survive and consecrate to memory the name of Opie."
Fuseli, this year (1810), gave a second edition of his "Pilkington's Dictionary of the Painters;" to this he added more than three hundred names and characters of artists, chiefly of the Spanish school, enlarged the notes given in the previous edition, corrected some mistakes in dates, and gave in an appendix a few names which had been omitted in the alphabetical order, and also many particulars of the great masters of the Italian school; the last he considered as too prolix for the body of the work.
In the summer of 1813, Fuseli was attacked with a considerable degree of fever on the nerves, attended with great depression of spirits: this he considered a similar disease, but much milder in its effects than that with which he had been afflicted in 1772, at Rome. This indisposition he felt the more, from having enjoyed for the last forty-three years, an uninterrupted state of good health. His medical friends advised change of air, and more particularly for that of the sea-side. He accordingly determined to pass a month at Hastings, and prevailed upon the writer of this memoir to accompany him thither. The frequenters of this salubrious bathing-place, called by some the Montpelier of England, will hardly recognise, from its present improved state, the description given of it by Fuseli in a letter to a friend; but it was a true picture of the town at that time. "Hastings appears to me to have been constructed by a conspiracy of bone-setters, surgeons, and dissectors, as the most commodious theatre of all possible accidents in contusions, falls, dislocations, sprains, and fractures. The houses of one side of the High-street, i.e. the most inhabited part of the town, are built on what they misname a terrace; but, in fact, it is a mass of stony fragments gathered from the shore, without any other polish than what the wave had left behind; raised four or five feet above the road, unguarded on the edge, and consequently, without the perpetual interference of miracles, fatal to every stranger who approaches them at night, in winter thaws, when spangled with ice, or flooded from the tremendous ridge that beetles o'er the house-tops."
To form an adequate and correct opinion of the extent of Fuseli's talents and information, and a proper notion of his feelings, it was necessary to be an inmate of the same house: from the experience of this and a subsequent opportunity, I can, with truth, assert, that he was not only a most intellectual, but a pleasant and accommodating companion. After a month had been spent at this pleasant watering-place, I had the satisfaction of returning to London with him, he being restored to perfect health.
This year (1813) he painted a picture for Mr. Joseph Johnson, of Liverpool, "Marcus Curius preparing his frugal repast." When Mr. Johnson gave the commission, he said, "I wish the subject to be some mentally heroic action, taken either from the English or Roman History." When this picture was finished, Fuseli addressed the following letter to his friend:—
"London, Oct. 8, 1813.
"dear sir,
"I have not been unmindful of what you so kindly commissioned me to undertake for you, and the picture which I have painted now only waits your commands. The subject, though not English, is congenial with your own mind, and selected from the most virtuous period of Rome. If I remember rightly, you approved of it when we discussed the subjects here; but as you may not perhaps have since had leisure to reconsider it, you will permit me to repeat it as concisely to you as I can, and nearly in the words of Valerius Maximus. 'Marcus Curius, who had repeatedly smitten the Samnites, seated in his rustic chair, preparing his simple meal in a wooden bowl, exhibited to the admiring Legates of the Samnites at once, with the proof of the most rigid frugality, his own superiority. Commissioned by the state, they spread before him treasure, and humbly solicited his acceptance. With a smile of disdain, scarcely deigning to look at it, Curius replied—Take back these baubles to those who sent you, and tell them that Marcus Curius prefers subduing the rich to being rich himself, and that you found him as impregnable by bribes as irresistible in arms.'
"Such is the subject, my dear Sir, which I have endeavoured to compose and execute for you, as well as my capacity and practice permitted; I wish they had been greater. I remain, with my wife's and my own warmest wishes for your own, dear Mrs. Johnson's, and son's health and happiness, dear Sir,
"Your obliged and sincere friend,
"Henry Fuseli."
"Joseph Johnson, Esq."
Fuseli kept up a constant intercourse with his friends at Liverpool, and particularly with Mr. Roscoe. The correspondence which passed between this gentleman and him sometimes had relation to literature, but more frequently to the fine arts; the following is a specimen of the latter:—
"Liverpool, 24th May, 1814.
"my dear friend,
"When my son Robert left us, about ten days since, I sent by him a slight outline of a frieze, under a picture of a Holy Family, by Ghirlandajo, desiring him to give it you, and to enquire whether you agree with me in thinking it likely to be the production of Michelagnolo, who is said to have painted in the pictures of Ghirlandajo, whilst a student with him. Slight as it is, being, in fact, only the copy of a copy, you will be able to form an opinion of it at first sight. The picture is in distemper as well as the frieze, which is executed in chiar' oscuro, in a sort of oblong broken touches, producing on the whole a good effect. The superiority of the style of the frieze to that of the picture is evident, and demonstrates to a certainty that they are the work of different hands.
"I think I also told you, some time since, that I had a picture of Leo X., with the Cardinals de' Medici and Rossi, which I have reason to believe is the copy made by Andrea del Sarto, from that of Raffaelle, and which was first sent to Mantua, afterwards went to Parma, and thence to Capo di Monte, where it is now no longer to be found. Many persons who had seen it there, assure me this is undoubtedly the same picture. I have had it some years, and having been frequently asked whether I had taken it out of the frame to look for the mark mentioned by Vasari, I determined, a few months since, to examine it, and sending for two or three friends, we took it out, and on the edge of the pannel, near the shoulder of the Cardinal de' Medici, found the remains of an inscription, in large letters, which I conjecture to mean, "Andrea Florentinus Pinxit," with the date, which is so far obliterated as to be wholly illegible. At all events, there undoubtedly has been an inscription on the edge of the pannel, a circumstance in itself highly favourable to its being the very picture which Vasari has described. This picture is most highly finished, has an indescribable force of colouring, and is in as fine a state of preservation as the day it was painted. Those who have seen the picture of Raffaelle in the Louvre, assure me that this is in every respect equal to it. I long to have your decision on these two pictures, but hope it will be on the spot.
"I lately got a fine picture by Bernardino Lovini, which confirms in every point the account which Lanzi and you have given of him. It is a Holy Family, with two attendant pilgrims, saints, small life. I think you will admire it for its simplicity, pathos, and beautiful colouring.
"I have a friend in Liverpool, who is a good chymist, and prepares colours, which I believe to be of a superior quality. His name is Strahan, and his agent for the sale of them in London, is Mr. Thos. Clay, No. 18, Ludgate-hill. I shall esteem it a favour if you will make a trial of them, and if they should be found to answer better than those you are already supplied with, would recommend them to your friends. I believe they are already in some degree known amongst the artists; but Mr. Strahan is very desirous that you should make a trial of them; and I have promised him all my interest with you for the accomplishment of his wishes.
"I hope Robert will have called on you before you receive this: for your kindness and friendship both to him and Richard accept my best thanks, and believe me, my dear friend, unalterably yours,
"W. Roscoe."
Canova visited England in the summer of 1816, and was then very much struck with the pictures, as well as pleased with Fuseli's society. This eminent sculptor remarked, that he not only showed the brilliancy of genius in his conversation, but that he spoke Italian with the purity of a well-educated native of Rome. And on his return, the Academy of St. Luke, at Rome, at his request, sent a diploma, constituting Fuseli a member of the first class, an honour which was conferred also, by the like recommendation, upon Sir Thomas Lawrence and Mr. Flaxman.
In the year 1817, Fuseli sat, at my request, to Harlow for his portrait, which is on pannel, of a cabinet size. This eminent painter was highly gratified by the compliment, and exerted every faculty to do his best. Fuseli obliged him and me by giving for this picture twelve sittings of two hours each; and a more perfect resemblance, or characteristic portrait, has seldom been painted. I attended Fuseli at each sitting, and during the progress of this portrait. Harlow commenced and finished his best and most esteemed work, "The trial of Queen Katherine," in which he has introduced many portraits; but more particularly those of the Kemble family; in the performance of this work, he owed many obligations to Fuseli for his critical remarks; for when he first saw the picture (chiefly in dead colouring), he said, "I do not disapprove of the general arrangement of your work, and I see you will give it a powerful effect of light and shadow; but you have here a composition of more than twenty figures, or I should rather say parts of figures; because you have not shewn one leg or foot, which makes it very defective. Now, if you do not know how to draw legs and feet, I will shew you;" and taking up a crayon, drew two on the wainscot of the room. Harlow profited by these remarks, and the next time we saw the picture, the whole arrangement in the foreground was changed. Fuseli then said, "So far you have done well; but now you have not introduced a back figure, to throw the eye of the spectator into the picture;" and then pointed out by what means he might improve it in this particular. Accordingly Harlow introduced the two boys who are taking up the cushion; that which shews the back, is altogether due to Fuseli, and is certainly the best drawn figure in the picture. Fuseli afterwards attempted to get him to improve the drawing of the arms of the principal object (Mrs. Siddons), who is represented as Queen Katherine, but without much effect, particularly the left; and after having witnessed many ineffectual attempts of the painter to accomplish this, he desisted, and remarked, "It is pity that you never attended the Antique Academy."
Harlow proved himself, on many occasions, to be among the vainest of men, and generally wished it to be believed that he possessed information to which he was a stranger. On one occasion he said to me, "It is extraordinary that Fuseli, who is so fine a scholar, should suffer engravers to place translations under the plates taken from the classical subjects painted by him;" and remarked, "I was educated a scholar, having been at Westminster school, and therefore wish to see the subjects given in the original languages," and then imprudently instanced the print taken from his picture of the death of Œdipus. When Fuseli appointed the next sitting, on our way to Harlow's house, I mentioned this conversation to him, and added, I really think he does not understand one word of Greek or Latin, to which he gave his assent, and remarked, "He has made, I think, an unfortunate choice; for, if I recollect rightly, the Greek passage, as well as my translation of it, are scratched in under the mezzotinto. But before we part, I will bring his knowledge to the test." After he had sat the usual time, he asked for a piece of chalk, and wrote in large letters, on the wainscot, the following passage:—
"κτύπησε μὲν ζεὺς χθόνιος, αἱ δὲ παρθένοι
ῥίγησαν ὡς ἤκουσαν· ἐς δε γουνάτα
πατρὸς πεσοῦσαι, κλαῖον."[57]
After having done so, he said to Harlow, "Read that," and finding by his hesitation that he did not understand a letter, he resumed, "On our way hither, Knowles told me you had said that I ought not to permit engravers to put translations under the prints taken from me, and that you had instanced the Œdipus; now that is the Greek quotation whence the subject is taken, and I find you cannot read a letter of it. Let me give you this advice: you are undoubtedly a good portrait painter, and I think in small pictures, such as you are painting of me, stand unrivalled; this is sufficient merit; do not then pretend to be that which you are not, and probably from your avocations never can be—a scholar."
Unfortunately for Harlow, he was very unpopular with the Royal Academicians, and when he offered himself as a candidate for an Associate of the Academy, there was but one vote in his favour. On the evening of the election, Fuseli was taxed by some of his friends with having given it, and he answered, "It is true, I did,—I voted for the talent, and not for the man." This was not a solitary instance in which Fuseli exercised his judgment as to the fitness of men to fill offices in the Academy; and accordingly voted for them, distinct from any private consideration. On a vacancy happening for the Professorship of Anatomy, Mr. Charles Bell was among the candidates: this gentleman was unknown to Fuseli, except by his works: his vote was requested by one of his best and most intimate of friends (Mr. Coutts) for another person: "I cannot," said he, "oblige you; I know of no man in England who is a better demonstrator than Bell; and for a surgeon, he is a good artist; such a man therefore the Academy wants for their Professor, and, as such, I must vote for him."
The month of September 1817, I passed with my relation and friend, Richard Wilson, Esq. of the Cliff-house, at Scarborough; on this occasion, as was always the case when out of London, Fuseli corresponded with me; two of his letters are preserved, and I cannot refrain from giving them to the public, as they shew the kindness of his disposition, and the terms of friendship which subsisted between us. Understanding that my apartments were about to be repainted, he wrote as follows:—
"To any other person an apology might be necessary; to you, whose friendship can neither be heated or cooled by correspondence or silence, I despise offering any: if by remaining mute, I have deprived myself of one source of pleasure, it has reserved to me another, when we meet: your letter made me happy, because you could not have written it, had you not been so yourself.
"Hammond has perhaps told you that I went to Luton with him and Roscoe: I spent some happy hours there; and, of course, but few. Since my return, I have been riding or crawling in a kind of daylight-somnambulism between this place, Brompton, and Putney-hill. Whether I shall continue so to do the remainder of the month, or go to snuff in some sea air, will depend upon my wife's success or disappointment at Cheltenham.
"The chief reason why I send you this scrawl, is to offer you a bed here at your return, on the same floor with myself, and a chamber as pleasant and as well furnished as my own, viz. with demigods and beauties. I earnestly request you to accept of it, and not to persist in the foolhardy resolution of sleeping in a newly painted room. If Hammond is obliged to have his house painted, pray oblige me with your compliance, and, in giving me the preference, you will be at home, and your brother can surely not except against it, considering the distance at which he lives. I will not take a refusal.
"I feel my head so stupid, my hand so disobedient, my pen so execrable, my ink such a mudpond, that I ought in mercy to save you the trouble of deciphering more. Adieu, love me as I do you, neither more nor less, and hasten your return.
"Ever,
"Henry Fuseli."
"Somerset House, September 12, 1817.
To John Knowles, Esq."
I accepted of his kind offer, and in my letter doing this, gave him a transcript of an epitaph in Latin, inscribed on a brass plate which is affixed to a pillar in the north aisle of Scarborough Church, and which is not only admired there for the expression of feeling which it contains, but for its Latinity. This epitaph is as follows:—
"Dum te, chara Uxor, gelido sub marmore pono, Illustret vigili lampade funus amor; Heu! periit pietas dulcissima, casta cupido, Teque omnis virtus quæ negat esse meam.— Oh! quàm felicem nuperrima Sponsa beâsti! Nunc pariter miserum reddis amata Virum. Iste dolor levis est charos ubi casus amicos, Mors ubi disjungit, sola tremenda venit."
"In piam Memoriam Annæ charissimæ Uxoris, hæc dedicavit mæstissimus Maritus J. North: Obiit die Xmo 4to Augusti, Anno Dom. 1695, Ætatis suæ 22."
In answer to this letter, he wrote to me as follows:—
"Putney-hill, September 20, 1817.
"my dear sir,
"You have given me the greatest pleasure in accepting the offer which I took the freedom of making to you; and my wife, the moment she hears of it, will as much be flattered by your kindness as myself,—for, before she went off, she earnestly desired me to make the request.
"Thanks for the epitaph,—but with all possible respect for Mr. J. North's Latinity and feelings, and notwithstanding the very free, correct, and scholastic manner in which you have transcribed his effusion; bowing likewise to the taste and discrimination of the "Learned" where you are; I must own that the sense of the fourth, and construction of the seventh and eighth lines are not very clear to me.
"I am rambling about here in the charming thickets of this villa, deliciously asleep, if fancy wake me not now and then with the thunder of the wave beneath your feet. You cannot now stay long from
"Yours, ever,
"Henry Fuseli."
"John Knowles, Esq."
The month of September 1818, was passed by me with Fuseli and Mrs. Fuseli at Ramsgate; he was then in excellent health and spirits, and although in his seventy-eighth year, had considerable bodily strength and activity. Our constant practice was, to leave the house about five o'clock in the morning, and sometimes earlier, to walk until eight, breakfast, and employ ourselves during the middle of the day in reading or writing. We walked for an hour before dinner, and did the same in the evening before we retired to rest, the usual hour for which was about ten o'clock. It was at this place that I collated his aphorisms in their present form, under his inspection, and then made a fair copy of them for the press.
In the year 1820, he published a quarto volume, containing three additional lectures, reprinted the three which appeared in the year 1801, with some alterations and additions, and wrote an introduction, which he called "A Characteristic Sketch of the Principal Technic Instruction, Ancient and Modern, which we possess." This work was purchased by Mr. Cadell the bookseller, for three hundred pounds.
Mr. Bonnycastle, the Professor of Mathematics to the Royal Military College at Woolwich, died this year (1821), in the seventieth year of his age;[58] he had been for more than forty years the intimate friend, occasional companion, and always a great admirer of the talents of Fuseli. Bonnycastle was a mathematician of celebrity, independently of which he had a fine taste for poetry and English literature in general; his memory was retentive, his knowledge extensive, and he was ever ready to communicate what he knew. His conversational talents were of the first order, and he occasionally enlivened his remarks with apposite anecdotes. As he was the friend of my youth, I feel much satisfaction in recording here my gratitude for instruction and many acts of kindness received from this amiable man.
The following anecdote will afford a proof of the delicacy and feeling of Bonnycastle's mind, and also of his excellent disposition. When his "Introduction to Astronomy" was published, it was reviewed with a considerable degree of asperity in a popular work of the day. Several of his scientific friends, and Reuben Burrow in particular, considered that it had not been fairly dealt with by the reviewer, and they determined to discover the writer: they at length found out that it was Mr. Wales, Mathematical Master of the School of Christ's Church Hospital. Burrow, who was a man of quick sensibility, and an excellent mathematician, was determined to avenge the cause of his friend, and constantly expressed anxiety for the appearance of some new book by Wales; at length one was published, upon "The Method of Finding the Longitude at Sea by Chronometers." Burrow procured a copy of this work, had it interleaved, and wrote numerous remarks on, and confutations of many parts of it, which he carried to Bonnycastle, and said, "As you have a more polished pen than myself, use these observations of mine, and make up a sharp review of this paltry book for the public." Bonnycastle lost no time in doing this, and was on his road to London, with the review in his pocket for publication, when he accidentally met Wales, who was then in so bad a state of health that he appeared to be in the last stage of a consumption. This affected the mind of Bonnycastle so strongly that, on his arrival in London, he immediately burnt the manuscript review, being determined not to hurt the feelings of a man labouring under disease, and thus perhaps to accelerate his death.
In the year 1822, Fuseli was bereft of another old and valued friend, Mr. Coutts, the opulent banker, with whom he had been acquainted nearly sixty years. This gentleman had on many occasions afforded him valuable proofs of his sincere friendship. With him, and with his family during the latter period of his life, in particular, Fuseli was almost domesticated. By them, his very wishes were anticipated, and he received from their hands, such attentions as can arise only from feelings of respect and regard, accompanied by those comforts and elegancies which wealth alone can bestow. And I cannot refrain from expressing my conviction, that these attentions, which were afforded without the least ostentation, not only contributed to make the winter of his life pleasant, but really prolonged the existence of a man to whom the public are so much indebted as an artist, critic, and teacher of the Fine Arts.
It has been often remarked, that old men do not feel so acutely the loss of relations and friends, as those who are of a less advanced age. But this was not the case with Fuseli; for, although now in his eighty-first year, his faculties were unimpaired, and he still possessed a great degree of sensibility. As one friend dropped into the grave after another, he felt the loss of each, and constantly exclaimed, "It is my turn next," advising me at the same time, as I advanced in life, to cultivate the friendship of men younger than myself, that I might not be left without friends in old age. Although when a younger man he appeared to his acquaintances to cling much to life, yet now when he spoke of death, it was without fearful forebodings. "Death," he used to say, "is nothing; it is the pain and feebleness of body under a lingering disease, which often precedes death, that I dread; for, at my time of life, I can look forward but to a day, and that passes quickly." The following extract of a letter to the Countess of Guilford, dated the 17th of November 1821, and written on his return to London with Mrs. Fuseli, after they had passed some time at Brighton, will further show his feelings on this subject.
"Taciti, soli, e senza compagnia.
"We jogged on, though at a swifter pace than Dante and his guides, sympathising (one at least,) with autumn's deciduous beauty, and whispering to every leaf the eye caught falling, Soon shall I follow thee!
"Indeed, were it not for those I should leave behind, I would not care if now."
Mr. Roscoe this year (1821) visited London. From Fuseli's advanced age, and Mr. Roscoe's weakness of body, the former anticipated that it would be the last time they should meet—which anticipation, I believe, was realized. A day or two after Mr. Roscoe's arrival, I received the following note from Fuseli.
"Sunday, 11th February, 1821.
"my dear sir,
"Old Mr. Roscoe is in town for a few days at his son Robert's house, No. 6, Dyer's Buildings, Holborn: I am to dine with them on Tuesday, at five: Robert came to invite you to the party, but finding you were out of town to-day, requested me to do it for him. You cannot do a thing more agreeable to them or me than comply with our request, if disengaged; and as it probably may be the last time you will see Mr. Roscoe in London, I hope you will suffer no trifling engagement to deprive us of you.
"Ever,
"Henry Fuseli."
"We may go together."
"To John Knowles, Esq."
A few days afterwards I had again the pleasure to meet Mr. Roscoe at Fuseli's table; there were also present, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Mr. Lock, Mr. Howard, R.A., Mr. J. Symmons, and Mr. Robert Roscoe. The conversation was desultory, sometimes upon literature, at others upon art; and at two more intellectual dinner-parties I have seldom been present. Fuseli was animated and energetic, and shewed that he then possessed a mind of the greatest vigour, with an unimpaired memory.
CHAPTER XII.
Decline of Fuseli's Health.—Letter from Mr. James C. Moore.—Fuseli's Bust by Baily, and Portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence.—His last Academical Lectures.—Particulars of his Illness and Death.—Proceedings relative to his interment, with an account of the ceremony.—Copy of his Will.
The intimates of Fuseli had observed, with much concern, that for two or three years, although his general health did not appear to be materially affected by age, yet there was a predisposition to water in the chest, which usually manifested itself when he took cold, by his being occasionally affected with some difficulty in breathing, irregularity of pulse, and also by the swelling, in a slight degree, of his feet and ancles. These symptoms were repeatedly removed, in a few days, by the appropriate remedies, but after intervals they recurred. On the 23d August, 1823, he sent a note to my house, early in the morning, expressing a wish to see me immediately, which summons I promptly obeyed. On my arrival, he said, that although when we parted at ten o'clock the preceding evening, he did not feel at all indisposed; yet, shortly after he had retired to bed, he found a difficulty in breathing, such as he had never before experienced, and that his legs were much swollen, and wished therefore to consult a friend of mine, Dr. Maton. I told him that the Doctor was absent from London, and therefore advised him to send for a physician with whom he and I were well acquainted, (Sir Alexander Crichton,) to meet his friend and usual medical adviser, Mr. Richard Cartwright; to which proposal he assented. Mrs. Fuseli was at this time at Brighton, for the benefit of her health; and he gave me strict injunctions not to inform her of his indisposition. But as his medical advisers told me the disease was water in the chest, and that the symptoms were alarming, I wrote to Mrs. Fuseli, informing her in some degree of the facts; and, although much indisposed herself, she came immediately to London.
His case, for some time, was considered to be almost hopeless; and Sir Thomas Lawrence, in anxious solicitude for the safety of his friend, advised that Dr. Holland should also be consulted. This gentleman was fully aware of his danger, but coincided in every respect in the propriety of the previous treatment, and said that nothing more could be done. After three weeks of suffering, which Fuseli bore with patience and fortitude, his spirits never having forsaken him, nature made a great effort, and he, contrary to the expectations of his medical attendants, rallied, and in a few weeks more was restored to a state of comparative health.
During this illness, he received the visits of his particular friends in the evening, and conversed with his usual energy; and it must have been highly gratifying to his feelings to see the anxiety which they manifested for his safety; more particularly the Countess of Guilford and her two amiable daughters, the Ladies North, and also Sir Thomas Lawrence,[59] who, with the writer of this account, allowed no engagement to interfere, and were his constant companions every evening. His friends who were absent from London amused him with their letters, one of which is here transcribed.
"dear fuseli,
"I wrote you a few days ago; but as you've got a new doctor, I'll scribble again. Dr. Holland seems to be Lady Guilford's,[60] and every Lady thinks her's the best. Besides, she may deduce from high authority, 'that when two or three are gathered together,' the curer may be amongst them. Independently of their instructions, communicate to her Ladyship, that, from my knowledge of your constitution, I am sure that a glass of hock and soda will be both salutary and agreeable. Half a dozen of the best from Hochheim will then be transmitted to you.
"I say nothing of physic, of which plenty will be prescribed: but, however nauseous, swallow it all. Pour out execrations on the d—d drugs, rail with wit and spleen on the ignorance of your doctors, and obey them implicitly; by all which you will obtain all the relief from physic and physicians that is possible.
"Mr. Knowles sends us frequent bulletins, for which we are most grateful. He acts like your warm and constant friend.
"Friendship was a quality you often extolled: the affection of relations you used to hold cheap, as a mere instinctive sensation; whereas friendship is a rational selection. It was that quality which humanised Achilles, who without it would have been a brute. Bestow some of it, then, upon me, and dictate a few words of comfort; for I have long been, before you knew Knowles, your faithful friend,
"James Carrick Moore."
After his recovery, it was evident that this severe illness had made an inroad on his constitution; for, although it had no apparent effect upon his mental energies, yet it was apparent that his bodily exertions were enfeebled; for, when he was enabled to resume his accustomed exercise of walking, it was not performed with that long stride and firm step for which he had been before remarkable.
In the year 1824, Fuseli sat to Mr. Baily for a bust, which was executed in marble: he had always a high opinion of the talents of the sculptor, and on this occasion said to me, "I assure you, as an artist, that there is much more of truth, expression, and feeling, in Baily's work than in that of his competitors, however much they may enjoy the public favour." On this bust he had the following line chiselled:—
ὙΠΕΡΙΔΩΝ Ἁ ΝΥΝ ἘΙΝΑΙ ΦΑΜΕΝ.
Sir Thomas Lawrence also entertained a high opinion of Mr. Baily's talents as a sculptor; and, in addition to the bust of Fuseli, had those of Flaxman, Smirke, and Stothard chiselled by him. These were placed among the exquisite specimens of ancient and modern art which adorned his dining-room.
In the early part of 1825, he sat for a half-length portrait to Sir Thomas Lawrence, which this great artist executed admirably. At this time the Earl of Eldon was also sitting for his likeness, and Fuseli, not recognizing the countenance, asked Sir Thomas who it was? who answered, "It is the Chancellor." Fuseli took a piece of chalk, and immediately wrote on the picture—
——[61]"Quia me vestigia terrent
Omnia te adversum spectantia, nulla retrorsum."
When Lord Eldon saw this, he was much amused; and on being told that it was written by Fuseli, laughed heartily.
In the spring of 1824, I persuaded him not to lecture, which it was his intention then to do, being apprehensive that the exertion which he must employ would be too great for his diminished strength; in the early part of 1825, he however delivered his last course of lectures, with certainly less of energy of manner, but without much apparent fatigue: he had also prepared some pictures for the ensuing exhibition at the Royal Academy.
Notwithstanding these proofs of remaining powers, on Sunday, the 10th of April 1825, Fuseli, being then on a visit to the Countess of Guilford at Putney Hill, complained of indisposition, while walking in the pleasure-grounds. He was engaged on that day to dine in St. James's Place, with Mr. Samuel Rogers; and Lady Guilford had ordered her carriage to convey him thither; but as his illness continued, Mrs. Fuseli prevailed upon him (with difficulty) to remain in the house, and he gave up the engagement. It was an affecting coincidence, that on the evening before, being out on the lawn with the Ladies North, and looking at the stars, which shone with great brightness, he said, (possibly from the consciousness of symptoms which he considered dangerous,) "I shall soon be amongst them." On the Monday, it was evident to all about him that he was much worse, and he expressed a strong desire to see me; being informed of his illness, I immediately went to Putney, and from his altered appearance had great fears of what would be the issue. The opinions of Sir Alexander Crichton and Dr. Holland, who arrived there shortly after, confirmed my apprehensions, for they said, when questioned by me, that "they could not give any specific name to the complaint; for it appeared to them, that all the functions of nature had given way, and, in their opinion, he could not last many days."
The attentions of the Countess of Guilford and her family to Fuseli were unremitting; every thing was done by them to promote his comfort, and even to anticipate his wishes; the question constantly asked was, "Can nothing further be done to keep him a little longer with us?" but it was too apparent, notwithstanding these kindnesses, and the skill and attention of his physicians, that life was fast ebbing. I saw him every day, and I have reason to believe that, from the commencement of his illness, he did not expect to recover; for, on the Wednesday, he put his hand into mine, and said, "My friend, I am fast going to that bourne whence no traveller returns." But he neither expressed regret at his state, nor, during his illness, shewed any despondency or impatience. I left him at a late hour on the Friday (the evening before he died); he was then perfectly collected, and his mind apparently not at all impaired, but his articulation was feeble, and the last words which he addressed to his physicians, the death guggles being then in his throat, were in Latin: so perfect was his mind at this time, that he said to me, "What can this mean? when I attempt to speak, I croak like a toad."
On Saturday morning, at seven o'clock, he was told that Mr. Cartwright was in the house: as he knew two gentlemen of that name, he was uncertain which it was. On Mr. Cartwright approaching his bedside, he put out his hand, and exclaimed, "Is it you, Samuel?" This gentleman raised him in his bed, and moistened his mouth and lips with liquid, by means of a feather, for which he feebly thanked him.[62]
On Mr. Cartwright's arrival in London, he immediately wrote to me, saying, "he feared ere I received his communication that Fuseli would be no more;" this apprehension of his was shortly afterwards confirmed by a letter from Lady Guilford, informing me that he had breathed his last that morning, (Saturday, the 16th of April, 1825,) at half-past ten o'clock, without much apparent pain, and in complete possession of his faculties; and that, in consequence, my presence, as an intimate friend and executor, being immediately required, both by Mrs. Fuseli and herself, at Putney, she had sent her carriage to enable me to come down without delay.
On my arrival at Putney Hill, I found the Countess of Guilford and the Ladies Susan and Georgina North in deep grief. Fuseli was highly esteemed by these ladies, and reciprocally felt towards them the warmest friendship. He entertained for Lady Susan great regard; but he had for Lady Georgina, that affection which a master usually feels towards an amiable, accomplished, and highly promising pupil. This young lady had devoted much time to the study of the Fine Arts, and, assisted by the occasional hints and instructions of Fuseli, has arrived at eminence in the highest branch, that of historical design. After some preliminary observations, Lady Guilford observed, that she considered it a duty to act upon this melancholy occasion as she was sure her father (Mr. Coutts) would have acted were he alive; and she said, "As to arrangements, I give you, Mr. Knowles, a carte blanche; but observe, it is my wish, as Mr. Fuseli has died here, that his remains should be so placed as will not disgrace a public funeral; for I feel convinced that the Royal Academy will pay that tribute to his memory." Her Ladyship added, (with her usual feelings of generosity,) "but if they fail to do so, then I request you will order such a funeral as is due to the high merits of the deceased; and any additional expense which may be incurred by my wishes, I will gladly reimburse. Remember, my desire is, to have every respect shewn to his remains." A few hours after I had returned to London, Lady Guilford sent me in writing her instructions to the above effect; and said in her note, that "she was induced to do so, that her wishes and intentions might not be misunderstood."
Early on the Sunday morning, I called upon Sir Thomas Lawrence, not only as a friend of the deceased, but in his official capacity as President of the Royal Academy, to inform him of Fuseli's death, and to ask what he considered would be the notions of the Members of the Academy with respect to his funeral. Sir Thomas, who had been for many years the friend and companion of Fuseli, and an admirer of his talents, met this question with feeling and great candour, and remarked that, he knew of no precedent for any public honours being paid to the remains of a Keeper of the Royal Academy. I urged that there could not be a precedent to operate in this case, for, on account of the great talents of the deceased, the Royal Academy had rendered an existing law of theirs nugatory, by allowing him to hold the situation not only of Keeper, but also of Professor of Painting, a compliment which had fallen to the lot of no other man, nor was such an occurrence likely again to take place. Sir Thomas acknowledged that he had strong claims to some distinguished attention being paid to his remains, and promised, under this view of the case, to convene a meeting of the Council immediately, to take the matter into consideration.
After this interview, I went to Putney Hill, for the purpose of removing the corpse to Somerset House; and in the evening, followed the remains of Fuseli there, where Mr. Balmanno, the other executor named in the will, was ready to receive the body. It was, at our desire, placed in a room, around the walls of which were arranged "The Lazar-house," "The Bridging of Chaos," and other sublime productions of his pencil, the subjects being chiefly from Milton.
The Council of the Royal Academy met, in conformity to the summons of their President, and came to the resolution,—to "recommend to the Academicians, at their general assembly about to be called for the purpose, that the President, the Secretary, and Council, should be desired to attend the funeral of Mr. Fuseli." The feeling, however, of many of the Academicians at this general meeting is said to have been, that this recommendation was not a sufficient honour to the memory of so distinguished an artist and professor; for "the remembrance of his gibes and his quillets," which had annoyed many while he lived, was now sunk in death. But as the Members did not wish to disturb the resolution of their Council, it was confirmed.
A curious coincidence took place at this meeting, with that convened in the year 1792 for the purpose of considering how the funeral of Sir Joshua Reynolds should be conducted. I allude to an objection of one member only, in each case, to the honours proposed. With respect to the funeral of Sir Joshua, an architect of considerable abilities and great celebrity, (Sir William Chambers) considered it a matter of duty to object to the body lying in state, and a public funeral taking place from Somerset House, without the sanction of the King; for, said he, "My instructions, as surveyor of the building, are, that the Academy cannot let or lend any part thereof, for any other purpose than that for which it is appropriated." This objection, it is well known, was referred to and overruled by the King. In the case of Fuseli, an Academician, a portrait painter, objected both in the council and at the general assembly to any honour being paid by the Academy, as a body, to the remains of Fuseli. But the observations of this person, I have been credibly informed, created feelings little short of disgust in many of the Academicians present.
As the funeral was, by this resolution, to be considered a private one, measures were immediately taken by the executors, to meet the wishes of the relative and a friend of the deceased, by ordering such preparations to be made at their expense as they considered due to his merits; and invitations were accordingly sent, by their desire, to the President, Secretary, and other members of the Council of the Academy, and to several of his private friends, to attend the solemnity.
The funeral of Fuseli took place on Monday the 25th of April: it moved from Somerset House at eleven o'clock in the morning, for St. Paul's Cathedral, in the following order:—
Pages bearing funeral feathers, with attendants.
Four Porters in silk dresses.
THE HEARSE,
(Drawn by six horses decorated with velvet and feathers)
Containing the Body enclosed in a leaden coffin; the outer wooden one was covered with black velvet, ornamented with gilt furniture, and bore the following inscription:
HENRY FUSELI, ESQ. A.M. R.A.
KEEPER AND PROFESSOR OF PAINTING TO
THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF LONDON,
DIED THE 16TH APRIL, 1825,
AGED 86 YEARS.[63]
The hearse was followed by eight mourning coaches drawn each by four horses, the first with the two Executors, Mr. Knowles and Mr. Balmanno. In the others were the President, Secretary, Treasurer, and Council of the Academy, and the private friends of the deceased, in the following order:—Sir Thomas Lawrence, President; Henry Howard, Esq. Secretary; Robert Smirke, Jun. Esq. Treasurer. Sir William Beechy, R.A.; T. Phillips, Esq. R.A.; A. Chalon, Esq. R.A.; William Mulready, Esq. R.A.; G. Jones, Esq. R.A.; R.R. Reinagle, Esq. R.A.; J. Wyatville, Esq. R.A.
Lord James Stuart, M.P.; Vice Admiral Sir Graham Moore, K.C.B.; The Hon. Colonel Howard, M.P.; Sir E. Antrobus, Bart.; The Very Reverend Dr. Charles Symmons; William Lock; Samuel Cartwright; Samuel Rogers; Henry Rogers; William Young Ottley; William Roscoe, Jun.; Henry Roscoe; M. Haughton; T. G. Wainewright, and R. B. Haydon, Esqrs.
The procession was closed by the private carriages of the following persons, the intimate friends of the deceased. Mrs. Coutts (now Duchess of St. Alban's), Marquis of Bute, Countess of Guilford; each drawn by four horses, with the servants in state liveries. Lord Rivers; Lord James Stuart; Honorable Colonel Howard; Sir Edmond Antrobus, Bart.; Rear Admiral Sir Graham Moore; Sir Thomas Lawrence; Dr. Symmons; Mr. Lock; Mr. Richard Cartwright; Mr. Smirke, and Mr. Wyatville.
The body was deposited in a small vault formed for the purpose, in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral, between those which contain the remains of his friends, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Opie.
On our return to the Royal Academy, the will was opened, with the contents of which I was previously acquainted, as Fuseli consulted me when he made it; and the following is a copy:—
"I, Henry Fuseli, Keeper of the Royal Academy, of London, being in health and of sound mind, do make this my last will and testament. I do hereby leave and bequeath unto my wife, Sophia Fuseli, all money and every other description of property that I may be possessed of at the time of my decease, to be for her own and sole use. And I do hereby constitute and I appoint, John Knowles of the Navy Office, and Robert Balmanno, of Mornington Place, Hampstead Road, Esquires, as Executors to this my last Will and Testament, revoking all other Wills and Testaments. Given under my hand and seal, this twenty-first day of November, in the year of our Lord One thousand eight hundred and twenty-two.
| "Henry Fuseli", (L.S.) | ||
| "James Jones William Church | Witnesses." |
In carrying this Will into execution, a difference of opinion arose between Mr. Balmanno and myself respecting the propriety of disposing of some of the property by private contract; and the matter was accordingly referred to Mrs. Fuseli. As this lady gave her assent to the view which I had taken of the affair, Mr. Balmanno, in consequence, renounced the trust. The Will was therefore proved by me, solely, in the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, on the 7th September 1825.
CHAPTER XIII.
Fuseli's personal appearance and habits.—Existing Memorials of him in Pictures and Busts.—His method of dividing his time.—Anecdotes exemplifying his irritability.—His attainments in classical and in modern Languages.—Instances of his Powers of Memory.—His intimate knowledge of English Poetry and Literature.—His admiration of Dante.—His Passion for Entomology.—His opinions of some contemporary Artists.—His conversational powers.—Anecdotes.—His deficient acquaintance with the pure Physical Sciences.
It may now be proper to give some description of Fuseli's person and habits. He was rather short in stature, about five feet two inches in height, his limbs were well proportioned, his shoulders broad, and his chest capacious. His complexion was fair; his forehead broad; his eyes were large, blue, and peculiarly expressive and penetrating; his nose large, and somewhat aquiline; his mouth was rather wide; and although his features were not strictly regular, yet his countenance was, in the highest degree, intelligent and energetic; the expression of his face varied in a remarkable manner with the quick impressions of his mind. He was clean and neat in his person and dress, and very particular with his hair, which was carefully dressed every day with powder.
In youth, Fuseli was exceedingly temperate in all his habits: until the age of twenty-one years he had never tasted fermented liquors; and in more advanced age, his usual beverage was Port wine, in a moderate quantity, or Port wine mixed with water; and during the whole of his life he had never even tasted beer. He was habitually an early riser. In London, during the summer months, he usually left his bed-room between six and seven o'clock; but when in the country, he arose between four and five. To these, and to the practice of standing while he painted, he attributed the more than usual good state of health which he had enjoyed. He possessed his faculties in an extraordinary degree to the last period of his life: his fancy was vivid, his memory unimpaired, and his eye-sight so good, that he could read the smallest print without the aid of glasses: if any one of them had failed, it was his hearing; but this, if impaired at all, was only so in a slight degree; and, in my opinion, his complaint of this proceeded rather from inattention, on his part, to any discourse which did not interest him, than from a defect in the organ; for, when his attention was drawn to a subject, or excited, this was in no degree apparent.
Although Fuseli had a great dislike to sit for his portrait, there are the following busts and pictures of him:—A bust in marble, chiselled when he was in Italy; of the merits of this he always spoke in high terms, and it is supposed to be now in Rome. A portrait in profile, by Northcote, taken at Rome in 1778, in the possession of James Carrick Moore, Esq. A drawing by Sir Thomas Lawrence, in 1787, made for the translation of Lavater's physiognomy. A portrait by Williamson, of Liverpool, in 1789, in the possession of William Roscoe, Esq. A picture by Opie, in 1800, which Mrs. Fuseli now has. A very characteristic miniature, by Haughton, taken in 1808, in the collection of the Countess of Guilford; and there are two or three subsequent miniatures by the same artist. An elaborate portrait in oil colours, by Harlow, painted in 1817, in the possession of the writer of this memoir; and one less wrought, by the same artist, for Mr. Balmanno. A bust in marble, executed by Baily, in 1824, for Sir Thomas Lawrence. A portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, taken in 1825, a few weeks before Fuseli's death, is now in the possession of that gentleman's executor. And a bust in clay, modelled from a cast of the face, taken after death, by Mr. Baily, for the Countess of Guilford.
Notwithstanding some eccentricities, Fuseli was a man of method: his daily occupations, which were almost unalterable, will give some notion of this. If the weather were favourable, he usually walked for an hour or two before breakfast; if otherwise, he read some classic author. At breakfast (which generally occupied an hour), he was engaged in looking over drawings of entomology, or in reading some book on that science. After he had breakfasted, and while under the hands of the hair-dresser, he read Homer in Greek. At half-past ten o'clock he went to his study, and engaged himself in painting until four; then dressed, and walked till the time appointed for dinner. In the evening, if not in society, he amused himself in examining prints, executing drawings, or reading the popular works of the time. When out of London, the middle of each day was spent either in drawing, writing, or reading.
From infancy, Fuseli possessed very impetuous passions, which required, when a boy, some degree of coercion, on the part of his parents, to control. This irritability, in one instance, nearly cost him his life. At Lyons, when a young man, he had a dispute with a person, which aroused his feelings to such a height, that in a momentary fit of passion he made use of that agility which he possessed in a considerable degree, and kicked his antagonist in the face. The man coolly drew his sword, and immediately inflicted a very severe wound upon the offending leg. Notwithstanding this violence of disposition, when his anger was aroused even to a high pitch, a kind word or look appeased him in a moment. In the several relations of husband, friend, and master, he was most affectionate and kind; but he required to be sought: if neglected, he ceased to think of the objects whom he had before loved or esteemed; and his constant theme was on such occasions, "I can live without them who can do without me."
He possessed such a degree of pride and self-love in this particular, that if he thought himself slighted, he would resent it, whatever might be the rank or condition of the man: this has been witnessed on several occasions, one of which now recurs to my memory. I accompanied him to a private view of a picture, "The Trial of Queen Caroline;" after we had been in the room a few minutes, he pointed out a clergyman, and said, "That is Howley, the Bishop of London; he and I were very intimate. Before he became a dignitary of the church, he used to come to my house frequently, and sit there for hours together; but for some years he seems to forget even my person." Shortly after, Lord Rivers came into the apartment, and accosted Fuseli in his usual jocular manner, and perhaps not knowing that he had been acquainted with the Bishop, took an opportunity of introducing him. Fuseli immediately said, "I have seen his Lordship before now," and turned upon his heel.
It has been shewn, that Fuseli was educated for the clerical profession, and as a requisite for this, he studied the classics in early life, in order to attain a knowledge of what are called the learned languages: taste led him to continue this study, in which he afterwards proved so eminent; he wrote Latin and Greek accurately, and has often puzzled learned Professors in their attempts to discover whence the passages were derived, when he clothed his own original thoughts in classical language. He was not ignorant of Hebrew; but in this, when compared with Greek and Latin, his knowledge was superficial. In modern languages he was deeply skilled; for he wrote French, Italian, German, and English, with equal facility. On one occasion, when I saw him writing a letter in French, I made the remark, "With what ease, Sir, you appear to write that language!" he answered, "I always think in the language in which I write, and it is a matter of indifference to me whether it be in English, French, or Italian; I know each equally well; but if I wish to express myself with power, it must be in German;"—in which he has left several pieces of poetry. For the pleasure of reading Sepp's work on insects, he gained, late in life, a competent knowledge of Dutch: indeed, he had a peculiar facility of acquiring languages; for in this particular his capacity was most extraordinary. He has told me, that, with his knowledge of general grammar, and with his memory, six weeks of arduous study was quite sufficient time to acquire any language with which he was previously unacquainted. This capacity was evidently owing, in a great degree, to his quickness of perception, and to his possessing a most retentive memory; not of that kind, however, that easily commits to it particular passages for vivâ voce repetition, and are lost as soon as the object for which they were gotten is passed by; on the contrary, what he once attained was seldom or never forgotten. It was a recollection of words as well as things: one or two examples of this will suffice. His friend Bonnycastle also possessed great powers of memory, and he, at Mr. Johnson's table, challenged Fuseli to compete with him: this was immediately accepted. The best mode of trial was submitted to Johnson, who proposed that each should endeavour to learn by heart, in the shortest time, that part of the eleventh book of Paradise Lost which describes a vision shewn to Adam by Michael. Fuseli read this description of the cities of the earth, which is long, and, from the words having little apparent connexion, difficult to be remembered, only three times over, and he then repeated it without an omission or error. Bonnycastle immediately acknowledged himself to be vanquished. When "The Pursuits of Literature" were published, the public were anxious to discover the author, and a friend said to Fuseli, "You ought to know who it is, because he quotes you as authority for one or two of his remarks," and mentioned the passages. Fuseli instantly answered, "It must be Mathias; for I recollect that particular conversation;" and stated the time, the place, and the occasion which drew it forth, although many years had elapsed.
Fuseli's acquaintance with English poetry and literature was very extensive; few men recollected more of the text, or understood better the works of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, and Dryden. In Shakspeare and Milton he was deeply read, and he had gained some knowledge of the merits of the former in early life from the translations into German of some of the plays of Shakspeare, by his tutor Bodmer, who was well read in English poetry, and who subsequently gave a translated "Paradise Lost." Notwithstanding the predilection which Fuseli had for the ancients, particularly Homer, yet he considered the three first acts of "Hamlet," and the second book of "Paradise Lost," to be the highest flights of human genius. Indeed, he had a decided preference for poetry and works of imagination. "England," he once said, "has produced only three genuine poets, Shakspeare, Milton, and Dryden." A friend asked, "What do you say of Pope?"—"Ay, ay," he interrupted, "with Broome, Cawthorne, Yalden, Churchill, Dyer, Sprat, and a long list of contemptibles. These are favourites, I know, and they may be poets to you; but, by Heaven, they are none to me." Another gentleman who was present, maintained the genius of Pope, and thought the "Dunciad" his best production. Fuseli denied this, and added, "Pope never shewed poetic genius but once, and that, in the 'Rape of the Lock.'—A poet is an inventor; and what has Pope invented, except the Sylphs? In the Dunciad, he flings dirt in your face every minute. Such a performance may be as witty as you please, but can never be esteemed a first-rate poem."—He then called his "Eloisa to Abelard," "hot ice."
For Gray, however, he had a high admiration; and when his opinion was asked by one who imagined that he held him cheap, he said, "How! do you think I condemn myself so much as not to admire Gray? Although he has written but little, that little is done well."
When Addison was mentioned, he exclaimed, "Addison translated the fourth Georgic of Virgil, except the story of Aristæus; you may thence know what his taste was. How can you ask me about a man who could translate that Georgic, and omit the most beautiful part?"
Of the more modern poets, Lord Byron was his favourite; and he always read his writings as soon as they were published, with great avidity. When pressed to read the works of those writers in verse who are admired merely for the beauty of language and smoothness of versification, he exclaimed, "I cannot find time, for I do not yet know every word in Shakspeare and Milton."
He was well versed also in the works of foreign poets; but of these, Dante was his favourite, for his imagery made the deepest impression on his mind, and afforded many subjects for his daring pencil. "There was but one instance," he said, "in which Dante betrayed a failure in moral feeling. It is when Frate Alberigo, lying in misery in Antenora, implores him to remove the ice from his face. Dante promises to do so, on this condition—that the sinner shall first inform him who he is, and for what crime he is punished. But after Alberigo has fulfilled the conditions, the poet refuses to render him the service he had promised. That is bad, you know; faith should be kept, even with a poor devil in Antenora." After a pause, he burst out with Dante's description of the Hypocrite's Punishment—
"O in eterno faticoso manto!"
"How well this is! I feel the weight, though I'm no hypocrite."
He did not accord with the feelings of Rousseau, in an epithet bestowed on Metastasio, "Le bouillant Metastasio!"—"I do not know where he discovered this fire; I am sure Metastasio never burnt my fingers, yet he is sometimes beautiful." Fuseli continued, "I tuoi strali terror de' mortali, &c. (the Coro in the Olimpiade.) These are grand lines."
His knowledge of history and its attendant chronology, was accurate and extensive, and few men understood and remembered better the heathen mythology, and ancient and modern geography.
He was not ignorant of natural history; but that branch which was cultivated by him with the greatest ardour, was entomology, in which he was deeply informed, particularly in the classes lepidoptera and coleoptera, but in the former he took the greatest delight; and in acquiring a knowledge of the habits of insects, he was naturally led into the consideration of their food; hence he was not unlearned in botany. By skill and care, he sometimes reared in his house some of the rarer English insects, among them, the Sphinx atropos, Sphinx uphorbiæ, and others. His great love for entomology induced him occasionally to introduce moths into his pictures, which he painted with great care and fidelity, and when much taken with the subject, he made them frequently incongruous. Thus, in a picture of Lycidas, from the passage in Milton,
"Under the opening eye-lids of the morn,
What time the grey-fly winds his sultry horn,"
which is in the possession of James Carrick Moore, Esq., where the shepherd and shepherdess, (exercising the licence of a painter, he has introduced the latter,) are only ten inches in length, happening to find in Mr. Johnson's garden at Fulham, a beautiful moth, he was so delighted with the insect, that in spite of all propriety and his better knowledge, he painted it the size of nature, hovering above the figures, with expanded wings. This singular appearance in the picture attracted the notice of the celebrated Dr. Jenner, who was skilled also in entomology; and being invited to dinner to meet Fuseli, he consequently enquired the subject. Mr. Moore informed him, that it was from Milton's Lycidas, and from the line,
"What time the grey-fly winds his sultry horn."
"No, no," replied the Doctor, "this is no greyfly, but a moth, and winds no horn; it is a mute." Fuseli, who heard this remark, knew well its accuracy, and therefore said nothing; and the respect which he had already entertained for Dr. Jenner, in consequence of his well-known discovery, which has been so useful to mankind, was heightened, by finding that he possessed also a knowledge of his favourite study; and each was amused during the evening by the other's singularities.
It must be acknowledged that Fuseli was fully sensible of his various acquirements, and never underrated his own powers; although apt to undervalue those of others, particularly of some of his brother artists, and also to speak of them slightingly, because they were unacquainted with literature and even deficient in orthography: after talking with them, he has said, "I feel humbled, as if I were one of them." Mrs. Wollstonecraft was alive to this weakness in Fuseli's character, and on one occasion emphatically exclaimed, "I hate to see that reptile Vanity sliming over the noble qualities of your heart." This feeling with regard to several of the artists,—for he esteemed the acquirements of others,—was not given in reference to their powers as painters, for he had a high opinion of the English school of art in some of its branches. Of Sir Thomas Lawrence he has said to me, "The portraits of Lawrence are as well if not better drawn, and his women in a finer taste, than the best of Vandyck's; and he is so far above the competition of any painter in this way in Europe, that he should put over his study, to deter others, who practise this art, from entering,
'Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch' entrate.'"
Of Turner, he has observed, "he is the only landscape-painter of genius in Europe." Wilkie, he considered "to have most of the qualities of the best painters of the Dutch school, with much more of feeling and truth;" and that "some of the fanciful pictures of Howard have poetic feeling with fine colouring."
Fuseli seldom or never concealed his sentiment with regard to men, even to their faces. Calling upon him one evening, I found Mr. Marchant and Mr. Nollekens in his room: although I was well-known to these gentlemen, he formally took me up to them, and said, "This, Mr. Knowles, is Mr. Marchant, that, Mr. Nollekens, two of the cleverest artists in their way, I believe, in Europe, but in every thing else, two old daddies." Every one knows, who is acquainted with art, the powers which Northcote displays when he paints animals of the brute creation. When his picture of "Balaam and the Ass" was exhibited at the "Macklin Gallery," Northcote asked Fuseli's opinion of its merits, who instantly said, "My friend, you are an Angel at an ass, but an ass at an Angel."
The conversational powers of Fuseli were extraordinarily great, and it was his constant aim to shine in company. He was, however, very averse to protracted discussions, and for a short period would sometimes take the weaker side of the argument, in order to shew his powers; but if he then found his antagonist too strong for him, he often resorted to some witty retort, and dropped the conversation. In society he could not bear a rival; and was dissatisfied if he were prevented from taking a part in the conversation. Shortly after Mrs. Godwin's marriage, she invited him to dinner to meet Horne Tooke, Curran, Grattan, and two or three other men of that stamp; he had no objection to their political opinions, but as they engrossed the whole conversation, and that chiefly on politics, he suddenly retired from their company, and, joining Mrs. Godwin in the drawing-room, petulantly said to her, "I wonder you invited me to meet such wretched company."
His sentiments in society were delivered with an extraordinary rapidity; his language was nervous, and his words well chosen. He possessed much wit, sometimes of the playful but more frequently of the caustic kind; and his ideas were often uncommon, and generally amusing, which being poured forth with an enunciation and energy peculiar to himself, very much increased their effect. Fuseli was quite aware that he expressed himself sometimes too acrimoniously, and, after due consideration, he frequently regretted it. In a letter to his friend Roscoe, he thus expresses himself:—
"It was not necessary that I should be informed by our mutual friend, that your affection for me continues unabated, although, perhaps, you were a little startled by the ferocity of my conversation during your last visit in town. Affection built on the base which I flatter myself ours is founded on, cannot be brushed away by the roughness or petulance of a few unguarded words."
Again, to Mr. Ottley, he writes:—
"my dear ottley,
"My wife tells me I behaved ill to you last night, and insists upon my making an apology for it: as I suspect she may be right, accept my thanks for your forbearance and good-humour, and grant me the benefit of Hamlet's excuse for his rashness to Laertes.
"Let us see you as soon as possible again. Respects to Mrs. Ottley.
"Ever yours,
"Henry Fuseli."
"Tuesday, July 27th, 1813."
Some anecdotes, in addition to those already given, will illustrate better the nature and force of his conversational talents, than any farther description. Discoursing one day with a gentleman at Mr. Johnson's table upon the powers and merit of Phocion; a stranger, who had apparently listened with attention to the conversation, interrupted him by putting this question, "Pray, Sir, who was Mr. Phocion?" Fuseli immediately answered, "From your dialect, Sir, I presume you are from Yorkshire; and if so, I wonder you do not recollect Mr. Phocion's name, as he was Member for your County in the Long Parliament;" and he then resumed the discourse. Bonnycastle and another mathematician were conversing upon the infinite extension of space, a subject in which Fuseli could take no part, so as to shew his powers: he instantly cut it short, by asking, "Pray, Gentlemen, can either of you tell me how much broad cloth it will take to make Orion a pair of breeches?" Calling one morning upon Mr. Johnson, he found him engaged in bargaining with an author for the copyright of a book; after a time, the gentleman took leave; when he was gone, Mr. Johnson said, "That is Mr. Kett, and his work is to be called the 'Elements of Useful Knowledge.'" "In how many volumes?" said Fuseli. "In two octavos," was the answer. "No, no, Johnson," said he, "you cannot be serious; the Ocean is not to be emptied with a tea-spoon." Meeting with a gentleman in society, who piqued himself upon his knowledge of poetry, and boasted of being thoroughly versed in Shakspeare, he exclaimed, in a sonorous tone,
"O, for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest Heaven of invention!"
"Pray, Sir, do you happen to recollect where these lines are to be found?" He took some time to consider, and then answered, "Somewhere in Pope."—"I find you are well read in the Poets," said Fuseli.—Discoursing with a lady upon sculpture, who, however, was too well read in the classics to be a subject of his mischievous pleasantry, he pretended to inform her of a fine bas-relief which had been received by the Royal Academy from Rome. "What is the subject?" she asked.—"Hector and Andromache," said he, "dashing out against a wall, the little Astyanax's brains." "Poh! why do you tell me such stuff?" said she. "Ay! you may laugh," replied Fuseli, "but it would go down with many a one. I have often said such things in company without detection; only try it yourself at the next lord's house you may visit, and see how many fine ladies and dandies will detect you."
His powers in conversation were usually greater than those displayed in his writings, for in the latter he was always hesitating, and generally aiming at terseness, to convey his meaning in the fewest possible words; hence he was sometimes ambiguous, and often obscure. I ventured once to hint this to him, and he answered, "I endeavour to put as much information into a page, as some authors scatter through a chapter; and you know, 'that words are the daughters of earth, and things, the sons of heaven;' and by this sentiment I am guided."
Little can now be gathered, after such a lapse of years, of his oratorical powers in the pulpit. But his friend Lavater says, "Nature designed him for a great orator:" we must then bow to the authority of a man of his eminence, who had frequently heard Fuseli preach. He, however, delivered the powerful language in which his lectures are written in a strong voice, with proper emphasis, and with precision. Their effect, however, was in some degree lost to those who were not accustomed to his German pronunciation.
His want of taste for mathematics and the pure physical sciences, and consequent ignorance of them, has been noticed, and this led him into some incongruities in his paintings. In a picture of Lycidas, which he was executing for Mr. Carrick Moore, he introduced the sun just rising above the horizon, with a full moon, not in opposition to the sun, but upon the same side. Mr. Moore attempted to convince Fuseli that the moon never appeared full but when she was diametrically opposite to the sun: but failing in this, he advised him to consult his friend Bonnycastle, the Astronomer, upon the point. Some time after, Mr. Moore saw the picture again, and found that the full moon was changed to a crescent.—"Ho! ho!" said he, "so, Bonnycastle has convinced you of your error?" "No such thing," answered Fuseli. "He did not say the full moon was wrong; but, as she appears inclined to her quadrature, that it was as well to paint her so; and I have done it."
CHAPTER XIV.
Fuseli's inherent shyness of disposition.—His opinions of various noted individuals, viz. Dr. Johnson, Sterne, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gibbon, Horne Tooke, and Thomas Paine.—His cultivation of English notions and habits.—His attachment to civil and religious liberty.—His intimacy with theatrical matters.—His adventure at a Masquerade.—His powers as a Critic, both in Literature and Art, with various illustrative examples.—His impressions of Religion.—One of his Letters on Literature.
The professional excellence, ready wit, great learning and acquirements in the classics and general literature, which Fuseli possessed, made his society coveted; and he might have associated with men of the highest rank and greatest talents of his time. But from childhood, he was of a very shy disposition, and not apt to make new acquaintances. When a boy, if a stranger happened to visit at his father's house, he would run away and hide himself; and with a similar feeling, through life, he contented himself with the association and attentions of old and tried friends, without attempting to make new acquaintances; and has often refused a pleasant dinner-party to meet some known friends, if he understood that one or two strangers were invited to be of the party. This shyness gave to many the notion that he was a man of morose disposition, of severity of conduct, and of uncouth manners. But they who enjoyed his friendship, witnessed his domestic habits and happiness, and thus had opportunities of forming an accurate opinion of the good qualities of his heart and mind, know well the erroneousness of these opinions.
Fuseli would often be very amusing by giving anecdotes, and sometimes his opinion, of the merits of several of the literary characters whom he had met in company, or with whom he had associated. A few of his remarks, in addition to those already given, recur to memory. Of Dr. Johnson, whom he sometimes saw at Sir Joshua Reynolds' table, he said, "Johnson had to a physiognomist a good face, but he was singular in all his movements; he was not so uncouth in appearance and manners as has been represented by some; he sat at table in a large bushy wig and brown coat, and behaved decently enough. On one occasion, the conversation turned upon ghosts and witches, in the existence of which he believed, and his only argument was, "that great and good men in all times had believed in them." My fingers itched to be at him, but I knew, if I got the better of the argument, that his celebrity was so great, it would not be credited.—"You know," he continued, "that I hate superstition. When I was in Switzerland, speaking with Lavater upon the appearance of the spirit after death, it was agreed between us, that if it were allowed by the Deity to visit earth, the first who died should appear to the other; my friend was the most scrupulous man in existence, with regard to his word; he is dead, and I have not seen him."—Of Sterne he said, that "he was a good man, knew what was right, and had excellent qualities, but was weak in practice. When I was invited to meet him at Johnson's, I expected to hear from the author of 'The Sentimental Journey,' (which I esteem the most original of books,) either wit, or pathos, or both; when I saw him, he was certainly nearly worn out, and I was miserably disappointed, as nothing then seemed to please him but talking obscenely."—The description which he gave of Sir Joshua Reynolds was, "that he had an insignificant face, but he possessed quickness of apprehension; he was no scholar, and a bad speaker. In his art, he took infinite pains at first to finish his work; but afterwards, when he had acquired a greater readiness of hand, he dashed on with his brush. "There is a degree of arrogance," said he, "in Sir Joshua's portraits, for all his boys are men, his girls women. Sir Joshua, unassisted with a sitter, had no idea of a face; he copied nature, and yet there is a perfect degree of originality in his paintings; he had the affectation to deny genius." Of Gibbon he remarked, "that he had a good forehead, but a measured way of studying whatever he said." Of Horne Tooke,—"Tooke is undoubtedly a man of talents; but he is the greatest chatterer I ever sat down with; one cannot, in his company, put in a word edgewise; he, however, wishes to be thought a good German scholar, but in this he is very superficial." He sometimes met Thomas Paine in society, and has remarked to me, "that he was far from being energetic in company; to appreciate his powers, you must read his works, and form your opinion from them, and not from his conversation. Paine knew less of the common concerns of life than I do, who know little; for when he has had occasion to remove from lodgings, he hardly knew how to procure or make an agreement for others, and our friend Johnson[64] latterly managed these concerns for him. When the popular cry was much against Paine, it was thought prudent by his friends, that he should remove from his apartments; and others were taken for him by Johnson, about four miles distant from those which he inhabited. They went there in a hackney-coach, for such a vehicle could contain them, with all the moveables which Paine possessed. On their arrival at the new abode, Paine discovered that half a bottle of brandy was left behind; now brandy being an important thing to Paine, he urged Johnson to drive back to fetch it. 'No, Mr. Paine,' said he, 'it would not be right to spend eight shillings in coach-hire, to regain one shilling's-worth of brandy.' Paine was an excellent mechanic; when Sharpe was about to engrave my picture of 'The Contest of Satan, Sin, and Death,' he employed a carpenter to construct a roller to raise or fall it at pleasure; in this, after several ineffectual attempts, he did not succeed to the expectations of Sharpe, who mentioned the circumstance in the hearing of Paine; he instantly offered his services, and set to work upon it, and soon accomplished all, and indeed more than the engraver had anticipated."
In his notions and habits, Fuseli was completely an Englishman; and although, when he spoke, no one could take him for such, yet he disliked to be thought a foreigner; and he has sometimes said to me, "When I speak in any of the established languages of Europe, I am every where considered a foreigner, even when I discourse in German, our language at Zurich being a Patois; but I can assure you that this is nervous, and not without its beauties." No man was a greater stickler for civil and religious liberty than Fuseli, and no man had a deeper horror of the slave trade, or a greater dislike to impressing seamen. Paying a visit to his friend Roscoe, at Liverpool, in the year 1804, this gentleman pointed out to him all the improvements which had been made in the town since he was there last, which was within a few years. He observed, "I do not wonder that you look upon these with some degree of self-complacency; for they may be considered as the work of your hands, and as such I view them with interest; but methinks I every where smell the blood of slaves."[65]
Fuseli esteemed the English character more highly than that of any other country, and was much pleased with their amusements. The theatre was a constant source of gratification, and his criticisms on plays and players were usually severe, but generally acute and just. Meeting Macklin at Johnson's table, he shewed such deep knowledge in the art in which that celebrated man was so successful, not only as a writer, but as an actor, that when Fuseli took his leave, Macklin exclaimed, "I could sit all night to discourse with that learned Theban." Of Miss O'Neill he always spoke favourably, and considered that her merits as an actress, however highly they were esteemed, had been undervalued rather than overrated. Of Mr. Betty, in 1822, he said, "If his face, on the whole, do not sanction a prophecy of unrivalled excellence, it does not exclude him from attaining eminence. Mrs. Pritchard was the allowed Lady Macbeth of her day, without one tragic feature, or one elegant limb. It is indeed a little provoking, that he who in Dublin inthralled the general female eye, when his golden locks inundated his neck,—he whose kerchief the ladies at Bath of late cut out into a thousand amulets of love, should be less than the theatric sun of London;—but still
'Principibus placuisse Feminis
Non ultima laus est.'—
If I have murdered Horace's verse, I have improved the sense. As to former actors, the pupils of Betterton and Booth would probably have turned up their noses at Barry and Garrick—'But to praise the past,' has always been a characteristic of age." He was an admirer of Kean in some characters which he played, particularly in his Shylock. But he considered that this actor took too wide a range. In writing to a friend, he says, "I have seen Kean and Mrs. West in Orestes and Hermione, and desire to see them no more. What could excite the public rapture at his first appearance in this part, I am at a loss to guess: if his figure is not absolutely irreconcileable with the character, his action and expression are balanced between the declamation of Talma, the ravings of a bedlamite, and sometimes the barking of a dog. Mrs. West is something of a slender Grecian figure, tall, not ungraceful, and a face something like Mrs. Madyn's: she was well dressed, and has a good voice, but no rule of it, and tore her part to tatters in one uninterrupted fit of raving." In the Italian opera, and in operas in general, he did not take much delight; for in music his ear was certainly imperfect; but notwithstanding this, some few simple airs affected him strongly. In speaking of music, he said, "All your complicated harmonies of Haydn and Beethoven are fine, I know; because they are esteemed to be so by the best judges; but I am ignorant, and they say nothing to me. They give to me no more pleasure than a fine anatomical foreshortened drawing by Michael Angelo would to an unpractised eye. But the song, 'How imperfect is expression,' is the key to my heart. How could a Frenchman write it? Lady Guilford once sang it to me so exquisitely, that I only wished to hear it over and over again, and to die when it ceased." He always held an opinion, that the English and French, as nations, possessed no genius or taste for music, and that their apparent attachment to this science was assumed, and not natural. Of masquerades, he considered that Englishmen neither possess the animal spirits nor quickness of repartee requisite for this amusement, but are apt to drop the fictitious character they assume, and take up their real one. He instanced this by the following anecdote:—"At the request of young Lavater, when he was in England, I went to a masquerade at the Opera House: we were accompanied by my wife, Mrs. Wollstonecraft, and some others, and were endeavouring to be amused by the masks, when a devil came howling about us, and tormented some of the party to such a degree, that I exclaimed in a loud voice, 'Go to hell!' but the dull devil, instead of answering in character, 'Then I will drag you down with me,' or making some bitter retort, put himself into a real passion, and began to abuse me roundly. So I, to avoid him, retired from the place, and left the others of the party to battle it out."
As a critic, Fuseli's powers can be best estimated by his writings. In art—his "Lectures," "Notes to Pilkington's Dictionary," his "Aphorisms," and "The Fragment of a History of Art," may be instanced. In the classics—but more particularly in Greek,—by the written opinions of Cowper, and the oral testimony given in society, by Porson, Parr, Burney, Symmons, and others. In consequence of his extensive knowledge in the dead languages, the situation of "Professor of Ancient Literature" to the Royal Academy became nearly a sinecure, as he afforded information upon all classical subjects, and furnished the mottoes for the annual catalogues of the exhibition, which were usually in Greek, but sometimes in Latin. He, however, kept up the most friendly intercourse with the Professor of the time, and frequently corresponded with him, particularly so with Dr. Charles Burney, upon disputed points or doubtful passages. I am favoured by Dr. Charles Parr Burney with the following letter, which Fuseli wrote to his father:—
"Somerset House, July 7, 1805.
"my dear sir,
"You have so often answered my questions, whether pertinent or idle, that I hope you will do the same now.
"At what period of Greek literature did the word Ῥεεθρον, 'fluentum,' change its gender, and from a neuter become a masculine? In Homer, I believe, it is uniformly neuter, καλα, ἐρατεινα ῥεεθρα: what then do you say to the following metamorphosis?
Παρ κελαδοντα ῥεεθρον
ὁ μελαγχλαινος ανηρ, &c.?
page 250, of an Analytical Inquiry into the Principles of Taste, by Richard Payne, Knight; which is so much the more puzzling, as in a preceding page, 144, he seems to allow, or to know that it is neuter, by talking of ἀγραφικον Ῥεεθρον? I am afraid the Ῥεεθρα of the Scamander were not the only ones to boil an eel in.
"I am, with great sincerity,
"My dear Sir,
"Devoutly yours,
"Henry Fuseli."
Fuseli corrected many editions of Clarke's Homer, for the use of students, as they passed through the press, and gave some notes in Latin, to which the initial letter F. is affixed. An instance may be offered, not only of his knowledge of this language, but of his power in recalling words to his recollection. In a Greek Lexicon which he had, several leaves were wanting, and as an exercise to his memory, he endeavoured to supply these in his own hand-writing, without reference to another work.
In general literature, his critical knowledge may be estimated by the numerous articles which he wrote for the Analytical Review, which are easily to be distinguished by the peculiarity of their style; and they generally have the initials Z. Z. affixed; but if it be necessary to point out any in particular, for the guidance of the reader, the reviews which have been inserted, page 81, of Cowper's Homer, and Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici, may be instanced. He was not less powerful in vivá voce criticisms than in his written ones; one or two instances of this, with regard to works of art, will suffice. In Northcote's picture of Hubert and Arthur, painted for the Shakspeare Gallery, Hubert is represented with one hand on his brow, undetermined, and apparently melted with the touching supplications of Arthur, who, kneeling at his feet, is shewn clasping his knees.
Fuseli on seeing this picture, said, "He has taken the wrong moment, for whoever looks at that hesitating Hubert must see that the boy is safe, the danger past, and the interest gone. He should have chosen the moment when Hubert stamps with his foot, and cries, 'Come forth; do as I bid you;' and two ruffians should have appeared rushing in with red-hot irons; then the scene would have been such as it ought to be,—terrible." Condemning in general terms a large historical picture, which a person at table had admired; he was asked for some specific fault: "Why," said he, "the fellow has crammed into his canvass fifteen figures, besides a horse, and, by G—d! he has given only three legs among them." "Why, where has he hidden the others?" was asked. "How should I know?" he answered, "I did not paint the picture; but I wonder how any one can talk of a painter and praise him, who has given fifteen men and a horse only three legs."
Shortly after the first exhibition of the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, at the British Institution, he wrote the following criticisms,[66] among others, upon his pictures of Ugolino, of Dido, and the Infant Hercules, which may probably be perused with interest, as they have not appeared in print.