HIS great, and exclusively English painter, was born in London, in 1697. His father was one of that unfortunate tribe of authors whose efforts never achieve fame, and barely secure subsistence. But little is known of the early years of Hogarth, except from the fragment of autobiography which he has left us; but with the vanity which formed so conspicuous a feature of his character, he assigns as a reason for his deficiency of education, that at school he preferred ornamenting his exercises, instead of storing his mind, because, in the latter department, he soon found the blockheads with better memories could surpass him. Be the cause what it might, it is certain that Hogarth derived but slender advantage from the lessons of childhood. At the proper age he was apprenticed to a silversmith; but the limited scope afforded to his genius soon disgusted him with his vocation. While thus employed, however, he gradually acquired some knowledge of drawing; and before his apprenticeship expired, he exhibited some talent for caricature. "He felt the impulse of genius, and that it directed him to painting, though little apprized, at that time, of the mode nature had intended he should pursue. The following circumstance gave the first indication of the talents with which Hogarth afterwards proved himself to be so liberally endowed. "During his apprenticeship, he set out one Sunday, with two or three companions, on an excursion to Highgate. The weather being hot, they went into a publichouse, where they had not long been, before a quarrel arose between some persons in the same room. One of the disputants struck the other on the head with a quart pot, and cut him very much. The blood running down the man's face, together with his agony from the wound, (which had distorted his features into a most hideous grin,) presented Hogarth with too laughable a subject to be overlooked. He drew out his pencil, and produced, on the spot, one of the most ludicrous figures that ever was seen. What made this piece the more valuable was, that it exhibited an exact likeness of the man, with a portrait of his antagonist, and the figures, in caricature, of the principal persons gathered around him." He entered into the academy in St. Martin's Lane on the expiration of his apprenticeship, and studied drawing from the life. The engraving of arms and shop-bills seems, however, to have been the first employment by which he sought to obtain a livelihood. He was soon afterwards engaged in decorating books, and furnished plates for several publications of the day, and among them an edition of "Hudibras," which afforded him the first subject suited to his genius. He now succeeded in getting admission to the gallery of Sir James Thornhill, and began to study the science of painting. It does not appear, however, that he derived much advantage from tuition. All that is valuable in the works of Hogarth, is that for which he was in no degree indebted to others. Tried by the ordinary rules of painting, his pictures would have scarcely provoked a comment; tested by themselves, they place him in the very first rank of creative ability. After making the usual number of guesses as to the precise bent of his powers, he was enabled at last to pronounce the "Open, Sesame!" of the soul, and commence that series of efforts which have immortalised his name. No poet or satirist ever depicted the various frailties and vices of humanity with more terrible vivacity. In his Marriage à la Mode, The Harlot's Progress, Gin Lane, The Idle and Good Apprentice, The Rake's Progress, etc., he has not only lashed the prevailing follies of his own time, but sketched, with the hand of a great moral teacher, the progress and the consequences of evil, from the first incipient assaults of temptation, to the final consummation of the task of ruin. Incidents are crowded upon each other with all the prodigality of genius, as he proceeds in his narrative; yet the most trifling accessory helps to carry forward the main design. There is so much which seems profuse, and yet nothing which we would have omitted. The spectator, to enjoy the works of Hogarth fully, should be acquainted with the history of his time but the charm of the picture is not lost, even upon the most ignorant. The facilities offered by the aid of the engraver will secure the labours of Hogarth from being lost to mankind. The genius enshrined in them, the human nature which they pourtray, will prevent them from being ever forgotten. Like most men who think strongly, Hogarth was fond of coarseness when it disclosed a vigour of expression. Those who censure him for dwelling upon the revolting defects of human nature, forget that the satirist can never be a dilettante. Hercules may have the beauty of Adonis, but the delicacy of conformation is speedily obliterated in the performance of such tasks as the cleansing of the Augean stable. We should doubtless see many imperfections in the aspect of the Titans, but the work they would perform, would be the work of giants. . Nor are we disposed to side with those who rail at Hogarth on the score of his egotism. Genius is always a law to itself, and how can an uneducated, unassisted man, raise himself to distinction, except by habits of the most sufficient self-reliance? Every axiom of conservatism is against him at the outset the love of friends as well as the hate of foes: some are altogether opposed to his climbing, and others fear that he will fall. If he too coincides with the common belief, why then he may become a worthy citizen: but he can never hope to approve himself a man of genius. It is the exaggeration of this necessary confidence which gives offence to mediocrity, but whether expressed or not, that which the world calls "egotism," is essential to every lofty spirit. The quack may fancy himself a national benefactor, but the true physician never believes himself to be a quack. The comic paintings of Hogarth are scarcely inferior in artistic ability to those which have been enumerated: but from the nature of the subjects, have not, as a matter of course, such claims to admiration. The principal are, The March to Finchley, Beer Lane, The Enraged Musician, &c. "All the works of his original genius are, in fact, lectures of morality. They are satires of particular vices and follies, expressed with such strength of character, and such an accumulation of minute and appropriate circumstances, that they have all the truth of nature, heightened by the attractions of wit and fancy. Nothing is without a meaning, but all either conspires to the great end, or forms an addition to the lively drama of human manners. His single pieces, however, are rather to be considered as studies, not perhaps for the professional artist, but for the searcher into life and manners, and for the votary of true humour and ridicule. No furniture of the kind can vie with Hogarth's prints as a fund of inexhaustible amusement, yet conveying at the same time important lessons of morality. "Not contented, however, with the just reputation which he had acquired in his proper department, Hogarth (whose mind was not a little vain) attempted to shine in the highest branch of the art, -serious history-painting. 'From contempt,' says Lord Orford, of the ignorant virtuosi of the age, and from indignation at the impudent tricks of picture-dealers, whom he saw continually recommending and vending vile copies to bubble collectors, and from having never studied, indeed having seen, few good pictures of the great Italian masters, he persuaded himself that the praises bestowed on those glorious works were nothing but the effects of prejudice. He talked this language till he believed it; and having heard it often asserted (as is true) that time gives a mellowness to colours and improves them; he not only denied the proposition, but maintained that pictures only grew black and worse by age, not distinguishing between the degrees in which the proposition might be true or false. He went farther: he determined to rival the ancients, and, unfortunately, chose one of the finest pictures in England as the object of his competition. This was the celebrated Sigismonda, of Sir Luke Schaub, now in the possession of the Duke of Newcastle, said to be painted by Correggio, probably by Furino. It is impossible to see the picture,' (continues his lordship) or read Dryden's inimitable tale, and not feel that the same soul animated both. After many essays, Hogarth at last produced his Sigismonda,-but no more like Sigismonda than I to Hercules. Not to mention the wretchedness of the colouring, it was the representation of a maudlin strumpet, just turned out of keeping, and her eyes red with rage and usquebaugh, tearing off the ornaments her keeper had given her. To add to the disgust raised by such vulgar expression, her fingers were blooded by her lover's heart, that lay before her like that of a sheep for her dinner. None of the sober grief, no dignity of suppressed anguish, no involuntary tear, no settled meditation on the fate she meant to meet, no amorous warmth turned holy by despair ;-in short, all was wanting that should have been there; -all was there, that such a story would have banished from a mind capable of conceiving such complicated woe-woe so sternly felt, and yet so tenderly. Hogarth's performance was more ridiculous than any thing he had even ridiculed. He set the price of £400 on it, and had it returned on his hands by the person for whom it was painted. He took subscriptions for a plate of it, but had the sense at last to suppress it.' "Adverting to this failure of Hogarth's, the late Sir Joshua Reynolds has the following observations upon our artist: Who, with all his extraordinary talents, was not blessed with this knowledge of his own deficiency, or of the bounds which were set to the extent of his own powers. After this admirable artist had spent the greater part of his life in an active, busy, and, we may add, successful attention to the ridicule of life;-after he had invented a new species of dramatic painting, in which probably, he never will be equalled ; and had stored his mind with infinite materials to explain and illustrate the domestic and familiar scenes of common life, which were generally, and ought to have been always, the subject of his pencil;-he very imprudently, or rather presumptuously, attempted the great historical style, for which his previous habits had by no means prepared him he was indeed so entirely unacquainted with the principles of this style, that he was not aware that any artificial preparation was even necessary. It is to be regretted that any part of the life of such a genius should be fruitlessly employed. Let his failure teach us not to indulge ourselves in the vain imagination, that by a momentary resolution we can give either dexterity to the hand, or a new habit to the mind." Before he had become known to fame, Hogarth married the daughter of his old master Sir James Thornhill. The worthy knight himself, one of the tolerably numerous band of "illustrious obscures," was greatly scandalized at the circumstance, and it was not until the rising reputation of his son-inlaw made the alliance a compliment to the lady's family, that he would forgive the insult offered to his dignity. His daughter survived her husband, who died without leaving any children, on the 26th of October, 1764. The following lines, written by Garrick, are carved on his tombstone : "Farewell, great painter of mankind, Who reached the noblest point of art; If nature touch thee, drop a tear ; If neither move thee, turn away, For Hogarth's honoured dust lies here." It is consoling to reflect that he enjoyed in the prime of life a competence principally derived from the sale of engravings from his pictures; the works themselves when sold realising, in a commercial point of view, something like the fiftieth part of their value. The following criticism upon his Marriage à la mode, is from the pen of the ancient German critic, Dr. Waagen, who says, "What surprises me, is the eminent merits of these works as paintings, since Hogarth's own countryman, Horace Walpole, says he had but little merit as a painter. All the most delicate shades of his humour are here marked in his heads with consummate skill and freedom, and every other part executed with decision, and for the most part with care, though the colouring on the whole is weak, and the pictures being painted in dead colours, with hardly any glazing, have more the look of water colours than of oil paintings, yet the colouring of the flesh is often powerful, and the other colours are dispersed with so much refined feeling for harmonious effect, that in this respect these pictures stand in a far higher rank than many of the productions of the modern English school." This series is in the National Gallery, together with the portrait of Hogarth himself. |