Hogarth finding his prints were become sufficiently numerous to form a handsome volume, in the year 1745[50] engraved his own portrait as a frontispiece. In one corner of the plate he introduced a painter's palette, on which was a waving line inscribed "The Line of Beauty." This created much curious speculation, and, as he himself expresses it, "The bait soon took, and no Egyptian hieroglyphic ever amused more than it did for a time. Painters and sculptors came to me to know the meaning of it, being as much puzzled with it as other people, till it came to have some explanation; then, indeed, but not till then, some found it out to be an old acquaintance of theirs,[51] though the account they could give of its properties was very near as satisfactory as that which a day-labourer, who constantly uses the lever, could give of that machine as a mechanical power." "They knew it as Falstaff did Prince Henry—by instinct!"
This crooked line drew upon him a numerous band of opponents, and involved him in so many disputes, that he at length determined to write a book, explain his system, and silence his adversaries. When his intentions were known, those who acknowledged his claim to superiority as an artist were apprehensive that, by thus wandering out of his sphere and commencing author, he would lessen his reputation. Those who ridiculed his system presumed that he would thus overturn it; and the few who envied and hated the man, rejoiced in sure and certain hope that he would write himself into disgrace. All this he laughed at, and in the following little epigram whimsically enough describes his own feelings:—
"What! a book, and by Hogarth! then twenty to ten,
All he's gained by the pencil he'll lose by the pen.
Perhaps it may be so; howe'er, miss or hit,
He will publish,—here goes,—it's double or quit."
Notwithstanding this pleasantry preceding the publication, he frankly acknowledges that the uncharitable spirit with which he was in consequence assailed, and the squabbles it drew him into with those of his own profession, and the dabblers in the arts, gave him greater uneasiness than was balanced by its general success. Thus does he express himself:—
"My preface and introduction to the Analysis contain a general explanation of the circumstances which led me to commence author; but this has not deterred my opponents from loading me with much gross and, I think, unmerited obloquy; it therefore becomes necessary that I should try to defend myself from their aspersions.
"Among many other high crimes and misdemeanours of which I am accused, it is asserted that I have abused the great masters. This is so far from being just, that when the truth is fairly stated it may possibly appear that the professional reputation of these luminaries of the arts is more injured by the wild and enthusiastic admiration of those who denominate themselves their fast friends, than by men who are falsely classed as their enemies.
"Let us put a case: suppose a brilliant landscape had been so finely painted by a first-rate artist, that the trees, water, sky, etc. were boldly though tenderly relieved from each other, and the eye of the spectator might, as it were, travel into the scenery; and suppose this landscape, by the heat of the sun, the ravages of time, or the still more fatal ravages of picture-cleaners, was shorn of its beams and deprived of all its original brightness; let me ask whether the man who will affirm that this almost obliterated, unharmonious, spotty, patchwork piece of antiquity is in the state that it first came out of the artist's hands, does not abuse the painter?[52] and whether he who asserts that though it might once have been bright and clear it is now faded, does not thus place the defects to the proper account, and consequently defend him?