"My wife has been unwell for some time past, owing, I believe, to nursing too long. Apropos—I have just translated a poem on this subject, in two capitoli from the Italian of Luigi Tansillo, in which he endeavours to prevail on the ladies to undertake that important duty to their children. Tansillo was contemporary with Ariosto, &c., and for purity of style is excelled by few of his countrymen. I have sent my version to Shepherd, to revise, &c.; but am yet undecided whether I should publish it.[46] —Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me very truly and affectionately yours,
"W. Roscoe."
"Liverpool, 12th Dec. 1797."
The assistance afforded by these friends enabled Fuseli to carry on steadily the grand work on which he was engaged, and to this, most probably, the public owe many of the pictures of which the Milton Gallery was composed. After acknowledging his gratitude to one of them (Mr. Roscoe), he thus expresses himself, "I shall now endeavour to carry through a work which I consider a monument of myself; whatever I may be, magnis tamen excido ausis, if I do not succeed to give it excellence."
In 1795, Fuseli assisted his friend Mr. Seward by contributing several articles to an amusing and instructive work known by the appellation of "Seward's Anecdotes."
In 1796, he painted a picture for Macklin's Gallery, "The Vision of the Candlesticks," from the Revelations of St. John. For this he chose what may be considered the most sublime moment, the sudden appearance of the apparition and the trance of the saint; but he always regretted that he was limited to size, and tied too much to biblical precision by Mr. Macklin, instead of being allowed to exercise the full range of his fancy on a canvass of larger dimensions.
In the autumn of this year (1796), Mr. and Mrs. Fuseli, with Messrs. Opie and Bonnycastle, passed a few days at Windsor; the object of the two artists was not only to have some relaxation and to see the pictures, but to examine critically the cartoons of Raphael, which were at this time in the Castle. An anecdote or two will show the disposition of the three men. In their journey down by the stage-coach, they were much annoyed by an outside passenger placing his legs over one of the windows. Opie at first gently remonstrated with him; this, however, not producing the desired effect, he pinched his legs, but yet the nuisance continued; at length the coach stopped at an inn. Opie, being enraged, exerted his Herculean strength, and pulled the person to the ground; but this did not produce any rencontre.—When at Windsor, the two painters endeavoured to palm the Scriptural subjects of West upon Bonnycastle for the cartoons of Raphael; but although he was not a competent judge of works of art, yet he was too well read not to detect their intentions. Bonnycastle, however, wished to show his critical knowledge, and ventured upon the observation usually made on the cartoon of "The Miraculous Draught of Fishes," that the boat was not sufficiently large for the men, much less for the lading. Fuseli instantly answered, "By G—d, Bonnycastle, that is a part of the miracle." Being at Windsor, they went to Eton College: here the youths assembled about them, asking the usual questions; "Do you wish to see the Library, Gentlemen," and such like. Fuseli amused himself by answering them in Latin; but Opie, in his usual gruff manner, said to the most prominent among them, "What do you want? I cannot make out to what class of beings you belong, being too little for a man, and too large for a monkey." This was resented as an insult by the mass; and it was only by the great physical powers of Bonnycastle and Opie, that they disengaged themselves and their companion from the crowd of boys who surrounded them. Fuseli was highly provoked, and was apprehensive also of personal violence; and when he got without the barrier, almost breathless with rage, he sat on a large stone by the side of the road and exclaimed, "I now wish I was the Grand Sultan, for I would order my vizier to cut off the heads of these urchins from the rising of the sun until the going down thereof."
By indefatigable industry, Fuseli had now made considerable progress in the pictures which were to compose the "Milton Gallery," and those friends, as well as many of the artists who had been allowed to see them as he proceeded, felt confident of the ultimate success of the exhibition. With such feelings his intimate friend Sir Thomas Lawrence offered to contribute a picture gratuitously, and Mr. Opie tendered his services, not only to paint some pictures, but to manage the concern; under the condition, however, that he was to be a sharer in the profits. These offers Fuseli politely but prudently declined, being determined not to have any assistance whatever in a work, which he wished should be a monument of himself, and feeling, perhaps, that contrarieties of style would not be beneficial to the exhibition as a whole; for his aim was more to give the sublime, quiescent, and playful imagery of the poet in his own powerful manner, than to engage attention by colour or a brilliant execution of the pictures. These observations are not however intended to depreciate the merits of the splendid picture painted from Milton by Sir Thomas Lawrence, of "Satan calling up his Legions," which for a long period was a prominent feature in the collection of his Grace the late Duke of Norfolk, at his house in St. James's Square, and which, by the style of drawing as well as its tone of colour, abundantly prove, that this artist would have been equally distinguished for his powers in treating epic subjects as in portraits, if he had employed his pencil exclusively thereon.
As soon as the intended exhibition was announced by the daily prints, but before the doors of the "Milton Gallery" were opened, the public mind was attempted to be biassed very unfairly by paragraphs in the newspapers calumniating the subjects as well as the execution of the pictures. These critics considered that he had attempted to represent on canvass scenes adapted only to poetic imagery, and thus transgressed the limits of the imitative art, and that his figures were distorted, and his colouring wanting both in force and brilliancy. As it was evident that these observations could have proceeded only from some persons who had seen the pictures through the kindness of the painter, Fuseli considered his confidence betrayed and interests injured by those who came under the mask of friendship; and he always held the opinion that the paragraphs in question were written by or at the instance of one or more of the then members of the Royal Academy.