THE MARCH TO FINCHLEY.

"Now I behold the chiefs in the pride of their former deeds; their souls are kindled at the battles of old, and the actions of other times. Their eyes are like flames of fire, and roll in search of the foes of the land. Their mighty hands are on their swords, and lightning pours from their sides of steel. They came like streams from the mountains; each rushed roaring from his hill. Bright are the chiefs of battle in the arms of their fathers."[88]—Fingal, Book I. p. 7.

That so admirable a representation of the manners of England should be dedicated to the King of Prussia,[89] is one of those odd circumstances which must surprise a man who is not acquainted with the history of the plate. Before publication it was inscribed to his late Majesty, and the picture taken to St. James's, in the hope of royal approbation. George the Second was an honest man and a soldier, but not a judge of either a work of humour or a work of art. The corporal or sergeant he considered as employed in a way which dignified their nature, and gave them a title to the name and rank of gentlemen. The painter or engraver, however exquisite their skill, however elevated their conceptions, were on the King's scale mere mechanics.

When told that Hogarth had painted a picture of the Guards on their march to Finchley, and meant to dedicate a print engraved from it to the King of Great Britain, his Majesty probably expected to see an allegorical representation of an army of heroes devoting their lives to the service of their country; and their sovereign, habited like "the mailed Mars," seated upon a cloud, where he might,

"With a commanding voice,

Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."

If such was his expectation, we may readily conceive his disappointment on viewing this delineation. His first question was addressed to a nobleman-in-waiting: "Pray, who is this Hogarth?" "A painter, my liege." "I hate bainting; and boetry too! neither the one nor the other ever did any good! Does the fellow mean to laugh at my Guards?" "The picture, an please your Majesty, must undoubtedly be considered as a burlesque." "What! a bainter burlesque a soldier? he deserves to be picketed for his insolence! Take his trumpery out of my sight."

The print was returned to the artist, who, completely mortified at such a reception of what he very properly considered as his first work, immediately altered the inscription, inserting, instead of the King of England, the King of Prussia (as an encourager of the arts).

Though the fine arts were never much encouraged in Prussia, the painter received a handsome acknowledgment for his dedication, and afterwards circulated proposals for publishing his print by subscription. Thus was it announced in the General Advertiser of April 14, 1750:—"Mr. Hogarth is publishing by subscription a print, representing 'The March to Finchley' in the year 1746; engraved on a copperplate 22 inches by 17: the price, 7s. 6d.

"Subscriptions are taken in at the Golden Head, in Leicester Fields, till the 30th of this instant, and no longer, to the end that the engraving may not be retarded.

"Note.—Each print will be half a guinea after the subscription is over.

"In the subscription-book are the particulars of a proposal, whereby each subscriber of three shillings over and above the said seven shillings and sixpence for the print will, in consideration thereof, be entitled to a chance of having the original picture, which shall be delivered to the winning subscriber as soon as the engraving is finished."

General Advertiser, May 1, 1750.—"Yesterday Mr. Hogarth's subscription was closed: eighteen hundred and forty-three chances being subscribed for, Mr. Hogarth gave the remaining hundred and sixty-seven chances to the Foundling Hospital, and the same night delivered the picture to the Governors."

By the fortunate number being among those presented to a charity which he so much wished to serve, the artist was highly gratified. In a private house it would have been in a degree secluded from the public, and by the lapse of time have been transferred to those who could not appreciate its merit, and from either negligence or ignorance, might have been destroyed by damp walls, or effaced from the canvas by picture-cleaners. Here, it was likely to remain a permanent and honourable testimony of his talents and liberality. Notwithstanding all this, Hogarth soon after waited upon the treasurer of the hospital, and acquainted him, that if the trustees thought proper, they were at liberty to dispose of the picture by auction. His motives for giving this permission it is not easy to assign. They might have their origin in his desire to enrich a foundation which had his warmest wishes, or a natural though ill-judged ambition to have his greatest work in the possession of some one who had a collection of the old masters, with whom he in no degree dreaded a competition. Whether his mind was actuated by these or other causes is not important; certain it is that his opinion changed—he requested the trustees would not dispose of it, and never afterwards consented to the measure he himself had originally proposed. The late Duke of Ancaster's father wished to become a purchaser, and once offered the trustees three hundred pounds for it. I have been told that a much larger sum was since proffered by another gentleman.

The scene is laid before the Adam and Eve, in Tottenham Court Road, and entitled, "A Representation of the March of the Guards towards Scotland in the year 1745."

A handsome young grenadier has been denominated the principal figure, but may with more propriety be called the principal figure of the principal group. His countenance exhibits a strong contest between affection and duty; for the manner in which his Irish helpmate clings to his arm, and at the same time with threatening aspect lifts up her right hand grasping the Remembrancer,[90] proves to a moral certainty that to her he has made a matrimonial vow; while the tender, entreating distress of the poor girl at his right hand, seems to intimate that, though she possesses his heart, she can make no claim except to his gratitude and affection, both of which her present situation seems to demand. Her face forms a strong contrast to that of the fury who is on the other side; for while one is marked with grief and tender regret, the other has all the savage ferocity of an unchained tiger: she is an accomplished masculine tramp, perfectly qualified to follow a regiment, and would be as ready to plunder those that are slaughtered as to scold those who escape: being by no means of the class described by Dr. Johnson when, speaking of superfluous epithets, he says, "they are like the valets and washerwomen that follow an army, who add to the number without increasing the force." The papers of which these two claimants are the vendors determine their principles. The mild-tempered, soft-featured gentlewoman with a cross upon a cloak, is evidently a hawker of the Jacobites' Journal, Remembrancer, and London Evening Post, papers remarkable for their inflammatory tendency; while a portrait of the gallant Duke of Cumberland, and the now popular ballad of God save the King, hang upon the basket of her rival.

An old woman immediately behind, with a pipe in her mouth and a child on her back, appears to have grown rather ancient in the service; but notwithstanding her load and her poverty, puffs away care, and carries a cheerful countenance.

Near the child's head a meagre Frenchman is whispering an old fellow, whom Mr. Thornton in his description of the plate calls an Independent; but as in the original painting part of a plaid appears under his greatcoat, the artist most probably intended it for an old Highlander in disguise. Rouquet, who perhaps had his explanation from Hogarth, describes it as follows:—

"A droite du principal group paroit une figure de François, qu'on a voulu représenter comme un homme de quelque importance, afin de lui donner plus de ridicule; il parle à un homme dont la nation est indiquée par l'étoffe de sa veste, qui est celui dont s'habillent les habitans des montagnes d'Ecosse: le François semble communiquer à l'Ecossois des lettres qu'il vient de recevoir, et qui ont rapport à l'évenement qui donne lieu à cette marche. Les Anglois ne se réjouissent jamais bien sans qu'il en coute quelque chose aux François: leur théatre, leur conversation, leurs tableaux, et sur tout ceux de notre peintre, portent toujours cette glorieuse marque de l'amour de la patrie: les Romans même sont ornés de traits amusans sur cet ancien sujet; l'excellent auteur de Tom Jones, a voulu aussi lâcher les siens. Mais le prétendu mépris pour les François dont le peuple de ce pais-ci fait profession, s'explique selon moi d'une façon fort équivoque. Le mépris suppose l'oubli; mais un objet dont on médit perpétuellement occupé: la satire constitue une attention qui me feroit soupçonner qu'on fait aux François l'honneur de les haïr un peu."

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

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

"Amid the circle now each champion stands,

And poises high in air his iron hands;

Hurling defiance; now they fiercely close—

Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows."

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

"Each swain his wish, each trembling nymph conceals

Her secret dread; while every panting breast

Alternate fears and hopes depress or raise.

Thus, long in dubious scale the contest hung," etc.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the Editor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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