'/IJ^'^ V, ■&. f r«- W THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP BENJAMIN ROBEUT HAYDON. LIFE OP BEXJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON, jistomal '§mttx, FROM HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND JOURNALS. EDITED AND COMPILED BY TOM T A Y L E, OF THE INNKE TEMPLE, ESQ. SECOND EDITION. IN THREE VOLUMES. — VOL. L LONDON: LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 1853. London : SpoTTiswooDES and Shaw, New-Street-Square. H32A: EDITOR'S PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. The principal additions made to this Edition are a paper (Appendix I.) on the indications of long-standing disease of brain afforded by post mortem examination of Haydon's head, — an additional letter of Wordsworth, at the end of the Third Volume, — some remarks by Mr. Watts on the question of the public employment of artists, — and a letter (also printed in Appendix I.) from Mr. Bewicke, Haydon's pupil and model for Lazarus, giving an interesting account of the painting of that picture. Besides these additions, many trifling errors have been corrected ; and some inaccuracies in Haydon's re- cording, referred to by the Quarterly Reviewer, arc noticed in foot-notes. An Index and Table of Con- tents have been also added. It would be superfluous here to express my satis- faction at the interest with which these Memoirs have A 2 iv editor's preface to been received. This Is clearly due to the painful, but powerful, exhibition they contain of a brave, though vain, passionate and often erring man, struggling with the consequences, partly of evil times, mainly of per- sonal mistakes, misdoings and miscalculations, — and all these converging to a tragic end. I believe that good has resulted to the memory of the painter from giving to the world this Autobiography — for such it is. Some of the reviewers think other- wise, and attribute the publication to other and lower motives than a wish in Haydon's family to exhibit the beloved husband and father as he was, with all his strength, weakness, heroisms, vanities, triumphs, follies, disappointments, humiliations, joys and agonies. I think, for my part, that they consented to this publication in a loyal spirit of regard and reverence for the dead, believing that the study of his whole life, so shown, would leave behind a result of sympathy and regard far overbalancing the more transient Impressions of disapproval and disgust, while the lessons of the tale are unmlstakeable and of wide application. If I have contributed in any way to the favourable reception of the book by my manner of discharging my editorial duty, I confess it is a source of pleasure to me, the only one I have any right to look for. The balance of expressed opinion seems to be in favour of the way In which I have done my part of the work. Of course there are great differences of opinion as to the THE SECOND EDITION. V good or bad taste of my omissions and retentions in a work which does not profess to be an imprint of the MSS. out of which it has been made up. I do not intend to discuss any of the questions arising out of these differences of opinion, satisfied that the dis- cussion would be useless. After all, it is precisely in such points that an editor must exercise his own judg- ment; and, if he honestly satisfy that, his best course seems to me to " jowk and let the jaw gae by " before his critics in or out of print. Chiswick Lodge, Nov. 12. 1853. A S EDITOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. That part of my editorial remarks which may by many be thought the proper matter of a preface will be found at the end of these volumes instead of the beginnino;. Here I only wish to put my readers in the right point of view for judging the book. Before my work comes to judgment I am bound to tell my judges what it is that I have done, or rather aimed at doing. This is not the biography of Hay don, but his auto- hiography, — not a life of him by me, but his life by himself. It may be the biographer's part to paint his subject with as heroic Ihieaments as he can manage to give him, without falling into glaring disproportion or taking too great liberties with truth. I do not say this is my conception of even a biographer's duty : but readers appear to expect this of those who write lives. But the editor of an auto-biography is relieved from A 4 viii editor's preface to all difficulty on this point. He has only to clean, varnish and set in the best light the portrait of himself which the auto-biographer has left behind him. He may wipe away chills or mildew ; he may stop a hole, or repair a crack ; he may remove impurities, or bring obscure parts into sight : but he has no right to repaint, or restore or improve. Haydon Is presented to the readers of these volumes — I will not say " In his habit as he lived " — but as he thought, or, at any rate, wished the world to believe, he lived. Whether the portrait be a true likeness it is for those who knew him to say. On this point there will probably be as many opinions as critics. At any rate It is better than any other man can draw. The vainest human being knows himself better than the most clear-sighted observer knows him, and his own description of himself will always be the best we can obtain (if he have the needful power and habit of record), for even his mis-statements, exaggerations and perversions are characteristic, and like no other man's. No man who has left an auto -biography has ever succeeded in making himself out a hero In the world's opinion, however strenously he may have been bent on so doing. It Is apparent throughout the twenty-seven folios from which these volumes have been compressed that Haydon believed himself a hero, and thought the world would believe it when these records of him came to light. THE FIRST EDITION. IX My task has been that of presenting the self-por- traiture which Hay don has left behind him within rea- sonable dimensions of canvas, and, as I said before, in such a light as may show the work intelligibly. My labour has been one mainly of condensation and arrangement. I have tried to preserve everything which belonged to the portrait ; and, for the sake of this I have left on one side much interesting matter, especially in the shape of correspondence. I would rather the book had been shorter. But this seemed impossible consistently with fair-dealing towards its subject. Such as it is, I commend it to my readers alike as a curious piece of psychological revelation and a not uninteresting though mournful picture of artist life. Chiswick Lodge, June, 1853. CONTEiNTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. Introduction ... - - Page 1 PART I. CHAPTER I. Birtb and Parentage. — My Family. — Early Recollections. — Early Struggles. — I determine to be a Painter. — My Father's Part- ner - - - - - - -3 CHAP. II. I go to London. — New in London. — Introduction to Northcote and Opie. — Introduction to Fuseli. — I make Acquaintance with Jackson. — Fellow Students. — Fuseli's Influence. — Return Home.— Wilkie - - - - - - 21 CHAP. III. My Fellow Students. — I dissect. — Nelson's Death. — Wilkie's Practice. — Charles Bell's Lectures. — Wilkie's Village Politi- cians. — Wilkie's Triumph. — Wilkie. — Letter from Wilkie. — My first Picture - - - - - 38 CHAP. IV. Visit from Sir G. Beaumont. — My first Dinner in High Life. — Working at my first Picture. — I exhibit my first Picture. — Letter from Sir George Beaumont. — First Visit to Lord Mul- grave. — Presentation of a Cup to Fuseli. — Death of Opie. — "The Concern" in Rathbone Place - - - 57 XU CONTENTS OF CHAP. V. I practise Portrait-painting. — A strange Meeting. — My Mother's Death. — My Mother's Funeral - . - Page 79 PART II. CHAP. VI. My Difficulties with Dentatus. — My first Sight of the Elgin Marbles. — Fuseli's Admiration of the Marbles. — Working from the Elgin Marbles. — From my Journals of 1808. — Journal- keeping - - - - - -88 CHAP. vn. Dinners at the Admiralty. — From my Journals of 1808. — My Advance in Society. — My Dentatus finished. — My Dentatus exhibited. — Caprices of Fashion. — Unfair Treatment of Den- tatus - - . - . - 108 CHAP. VIII. Trip to Devon with Wilkie. — Our Voyage to Plymouth. — Our Visit to Coleorton . - - - - - 128 CHAP. IX. Commission from Sir G. Beaumont. — Dispute with Sir G. Beau- mont. — I dissect a Lioness. — Moulding from a Man. — My Work at Macbeth. — My Difficulties. — Wilkie's Kival : his Illness. — Sebastiano del Piombo's Lazarus. — The Beginning of my Con- flicts. — From my Journals of 1811. — My first literary Contro- versy. — Macbeth is finished. — I attack the Academy. — The Effects of my Attack.— Wilkie's Advice - - -136 CHAP. X. Prince Hoare's Opinion of my Conduct. — From my Journals of 1812. — Letter from Charles Bell - - - 183 CHAP. XI. My pecuniary Difficulties. — My Landlord's Kindness. — Mental Struggles. — I return from the Country. — From my Journals of THE FIRST VOLUME. XIU 1812. — On public Encouragement of Art. — The Year closes. — From my Journals of 1813 - - - Page 192 CHAP. XII. My Intimates in 1813. — Christening Party atHazlitt's. — My Gipsy Model. — From my Journals of 1814. — I break down. — Exhi- bition of Solomon. — Solomon is bought. — My Triumph - 224 PART III. CHAP. XIII. My Triumph : Hazlitt. — My Visit to France with Wilkie. — Dieppe. — Rouen. — Journey to Paris. — The Entrance into Paris. — Ill- ness of Wilkie. — The Allied Troops in Paris. — The Rue St. Honore in 1814. — French Soldiers. — Illustrations of French Character. — Versailles : Rambouillet. — Napoleon's Soldiers. — Vincennes : Belleville. — Paris : Sunday Observance. — A Visit to Gerard's. — Titian's Pietro Martire. — Wilkie's Departure. — Fontainebleau. — Fontainebleau : the Guard. — The Ride back to Paris. — Denon : The Egyptian Race - - - 241 CHAP. XIV. The Freedom of Plymouth voted me. — The Close of the Year. — From my Journals of 1815. — Old Masters at the British Institu- tion. —History of the Elgin Marbles. — The Elgin Marbles 284 CHAP. XV. From my Journals of 1815. — Waterloo: aMonument proposed. — Sir George Beaumont's Advice. — A Waterloo Man's Letter. — Waterloo Anecdotes. — Stories of Waterloo. — An Eccentric. — Moulding the Elgin Marbles. — A Visit from Canova. — Ca- nova 297 CHAP. XVI. Letter from Wordsworth. — Extracts from Journal. — The Phyga- Ician Marbles. — Committee on the Elgin ISIarbles. — On the Judgment of Connoisseurs. — Lord Elgin out of Pocket - 324 XIV CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. CHAP. XVII. I fall in love. — Money-lenders. — The Misery of borrowing. — I propose a Plan for Premiums. — Commission for the Chelsea Pensioners. — Pictures returned from Paris. — My Pupils: the Annals of Art. — Contributions to the Annnls of Art. — My Ac- quaintance with Keats. — Keats. —Discussion on Christianity. — Two Cartoons sent to the Institution. — Close of the Year. — The Grand-Duke visits the Marbles. — Treachery of Sauerweid. — Kindness of Mr. Harman. — The Catalogue raisonnee. — Portrait-painting. — Vituperations of Blackwood. — In Diffi- culties. — Assisted by Mr. Coutts. — A Party : Wordsworth : Lamb : Keats .... Pace 343 CHAP. XVIII. A Commission from Russia. — Letter to Canning. — Letter from Keats. — Offer of a Trip to Italy. — Christ's Entry into Jeru- salem. — A private Day. — Meeting with Scott. — West's Funeral. — I send Jerusalem to Scotland. — My Visit to Edin- burgh ....... 389 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON. INTRODUCTION, When a man writes a life of himself or others the prin- ciple of truth should be the basis of his work. Where all is invention, if consistency be kept high colouring is a merit; but a biography derives its sole interest or utility from its Exact Truth. Every man who has suffered for a principle and would lose his life for its success, — who in his early- days has been oppressed without ever giving the sliglit- est grounds for oppression, and persecuted to ruin be- cause his oppression was unmerited, — who has incurred the hatred of his enemies exactly in proportion as they became convinced they were wrong, — every man who, like me, has eaten the bitter crust of poverty, and en- dured the penalties of vice and wickedness where he merited the rewards of virtue and industry, — should write his own life. If the oppressed and the oppressor died together, both (if remembered at all) might be left to the impartiality of future investigation ; but when the oppressed is sure to die, and tlie oppressor, being a body, is sure to sur- vive, I cannot be blamed for wishing to put my coun- VOL. I. B 2 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. trymen in possession of my own case when they will most undoubtedly at all times be able to ascertain the case of my enemies. I have known and associated with many remarkable men. My life has been connected with my glorious Country's Art. The people and no- bility of England, the grandest people and nobility of the world, have ever sympathised with my fate and often deferred my ruin. jNIy mistakes I hope will be a beacon to the inex- perienced ; my occasional victories, a stimulus to the persevering; and the manner in which I have been elevated from the depths of want and disgrace to the heights of fortune and hope, an encouragement to those who believe, as I believe, that bending before the cor- rections of the Almighty is the only way to save the brain from insanity and the heart from sin. 1786.] BIRTH AND PARENTAGE. PART I. CHAPTER I. BIRTH AND PARENTAGE. A. D. 1786. Many yesu's ago, my sister sent me a journal of my father's, which he had kept for a number of years. I destroyed most of it, and no doubt the Royal Academicians will think that I ought to have de- stroyed the following extracts too. On the 23rd of January, 1786, my father thus writes : — " I went with Miss Squire to hear IMr. Watson, who made an excellent sermon; went home with her and spent a very agreeable hour with her and her mother." " Hay supped with me and left me at twelve." " Dear Sally poorly^^ My mother was called " Sarah," and every husband, from this gentle hint of my father's, will anticipate the approaching catastrophe. The next day, " Very dirty weather ; wind AY. S. W.," says my father. " Sally taken bad, — hope it will end well with her." " Called on Squire." And the next, " Sally taken in labour, and at nine at night was de- livered of a fine hoy. Is as well as can be expected." And so my father's journal launches mc fairly on the world. B 2 4 AUTOBIOGIIAPHY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [l786. The most important as well as the most trivial notes in my father's journal generally concluded with the state of the wind. " Poor Mrs. Burgess died in childbed," says he in one part, — "poor Tom Burgess much afflicted : wind "\V. N. W." I do not know how it is, but that state- ment of the wind always alleviated any pain I felt at the afflictions he related. There was a consolation in find- ing that the course of nature went on. One contrasted the cool perseverance of the Avind doing its duty with the griefs of my father's friends. ^ Poor Tom Burgess had lost his wife, but yet he ou^ht to be comforted, for the wind was not a South- wester. My dear flxther had such a habit of recoi'ding the state of the wind on everything, that I will not positively affirm he did not sometimes head a Christmas account with " Bloioing hard ; tvind S. TV." My father was the lineal descendant of one of the oldest families in Devon, the Haydons of Cadhay. The family was ruined by a chancery suit, and the children were bound out to various trades. Amono- them was my grandfather, who was bound out to Mr. Savery, of Slade, near Plymouth. He conducted himself well, and gained the esteem of his master, who in time made him his steward. In a few years he saved money, and on tlie death of Mr. Savery set up a bookseller's shop in Plymouth, where he died in 1773 from disease of the heart. My grandfather (who was very fond of painting) married Mary Baskerville, a descendant of the great printer. She was a woman of great energy and violent prejudices. She hated the French and she hated the Americans ; and once, when an American j)risoner, who had escaped, crejjt into her house and appealed to her for protection until pursuit was over, though alone in 1786.] MY FAMILY. the house, she told him " she hated all Americans," and turned the poor fellow out into the street. At my grandfather's death, my father succeeded to the business, and married a Miss Cobley, the daughter of a clergyman who had the living of Ide near Exeter. He was killed early in life by the fall of the sounding- board on his head while preaching. lie left a widow and eight children. An opulent merchant at Leghorn, a INIr. Partridge, who had married the eldest sister, immediately took two boys and one girl off their mother's hands. The Russian fleet was cruizing in the Mediterranean at the time and frequently put in to Leghorn. The Ad- miral and officers were often entertained at Partridge's table : and one of them, a Captain Mordwinoff", fell in love with the girl. His prospects being very good, con- sent was given, and Mordwinoff and his young wife started for Kussia, taking with them one of her brothers who had expressed a great desire to enter the Russian army. Mordwinoff got him a commission, and Thomas Cobley joined his regiment during the Turkish war. He was at the storming of Otschacoff" and Ismailoff", and gained a good name during the siege of the latter place by the following act of daring. Close vmdcr the fortifications of the town was a very fine vine loaded with grapes. One day the officers of Cobley's mess in a joke said they should like some grapes for dessert. My uncle offered to go if a guard could be got to cover hiin. This was granted by the Colonel, and away went my vuicle with a ladder and basket. He soon reached the vine, ])lanted the ladder against the wall and commenced picking the grapes. Some of the Turks, observing him, opened a rattling fire, but he filled his basket in spite of them and returned to his own lines without a scratch. INIordwinofF had been educated by order of Catherine and was tlie playmate of the Emperor l\ui1. He rose to bean Admiral in the 6 AUTOBIOGRArilY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [l78C. Eussian navy and was at one time at the head of the Admiralty and President of the CounciL The Em- peror Paul, during the latter and eccentric part of his reign, thought proper to rcAvard his playmate by exiling him to Siberia. On his way, IMordwinofF was recalled by the news of His Majesty's sudden demise. This re- call of Mordwinoff was a most unfortunate thing for me. I should have been sure to have heard often from my worthy relative in Siberia, but I scarcely heard from him at all in St. Petersburo;h. Both by my father's and mother's side, I am well de- scended and connected ; the families always residing on their own landed property. The only estate, however, at present remaining to us, is a small one near Ide, Exeter. Such are the consequences of folly, extrava- gance and law-suits. Surely there is no occasion in England for a Judcan Commonwealth, to restore pro- perty every fifty years, when it hardly ever remains in one family half that time as it is. My ancestors were loyal public-spirited men and my father inherited their spirit. He loved his Church and King, believed England to be the only great country in the world, swore JSTapoleon won all his battles by bribery, did not believe that there was poet, painter, musician, soldier, sailor, general, or statesman out of England, and at any time would have knocked down any man who dai'ed to disbelieve him, or been burnt in Smithfield for the glory of his principles. I remember nothing of my early days of nursing and long petticoats, nor indeed much of any time before I was five years old. I was, I believe, an excessively self-willed, passionate child. As I was one day in a fury of rage which nothing could pacify, my mother enterino; the room with a book of enn;ravino;s in her hand, as a last resource showed, me the " pretty pic- tures," at which, as she used to declare, I became very 1792—4.] EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. f silent and interested, and would not part with the book for the rest of the day. Among my father's apprentices was one (George, I called him) who made love to my nurse, and under pretence of showing me prints and teaching me to draw from them, visited the nursery very frequently. In fact George became so very fond of teaching " little master Benjamin, — the little dear " to draw, that my nurse was obliged to be sent away. About this time a sevei'e fever laid me up for six Aveeks, and my life was repeatedly despaired of. For my recovery we went to Plympton St. Mary, and here I remember sitting, propped up with pillows, on a little pony, watching some gentlemen throwing the fly on the bridge opposite the church in the valley. The delight of this day, with its beautiful landscape and village church, I have never forgotten. I w^as now six years old, and of course old enough to go to school, and well remember my dear mother standing at the door, watch- ing me as I trotted down the street to school, and then I remember for the first time writing my name " Ben- jamin Robert Haijdon, 1792," in a parchment copy- book. In 1793, the King of France was beheaded, and I well recollect the furious discussions which used to arise at breakfast and dinner about the French Revolution. I recollect my mother crying on the sofa, and on my asking her the reason, replying, " They have cut off the Queen of France's head, my dear." I used to wonder what for, and ask, but nobody ever gave me a satis' factory reason. For a boy, this was a most stirring period. Xothinn- was talked of but the Duke of York, the siege of Valcn° cicnnes, Robespierre and Marat. French prisoners crowded riymouth. Guillotines made by them of their meat bones were sold at the prisons; and the 8 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [1794—7. :whole amusement of children consisted in cuttino- off Louis XVI. 's head forty times a day, with the phiy- things their fathers had bought to amuse their young minds. My clilef delight was in drawing the guillotine, with " Louis taking leave of the People " in his shirt sleeves, which I copied from a print of the day. About this time, I remember, while I was caricatur- ing a schoolfellow, my father came behind me and said, '' What are you about, sir? you are putting the eyes in the forehead ! " As I went to school, I observed people's eyes Avere not in the middle of their foreheads, as I had drawn them. To this day and hour I hardly ever paint a head without thinking of my father's remark. My father now sent me to the grammar-school under the Rev. Dr. Bidlake, a man of some taste. He painted and played on the organ, patronised talent, was fond of country-excursions, wrote poems which nobody ever read, one on " the Sea," another on " the Year." I remember him with his rhyming dictionary, com- posing his verses and scanning with his fingers. He was not a deep classic, but rather encouraged a sort of idle country-excursion habit in the school ; perhaps, however, he thus fostered a love of nature. All I know of hydraulics, pneumatics, astronomy, geograi)hy, and mechanics I learnt of him ; but it is so very little^ that I suspect he put us off with amusement for instruction. Finding that I had a taste for art, he always took me Avith another boy from our studies to attend his caprices in painting. Here his odd and peculiar figure, for his back was bent from fever, induced us to play him tricks. As he Avas obliged to turn round and walk away to study the effect of his touches, we used to rub out what he had done before he returned, Avhen his per- plexity and simplicity were delightful to mischievous boys. Once he sent my companion to cut off the skirt 1794—7.] EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. 9 of an old coat to clean his palette with, and the boy cut off the sku't of his best Sunday coat. Poor dear Dr. Bidlake went to Stonehouse Chapel in his great coat the next Sunday, and when he took it off to put on the surplice, the clerk exclaimed in horror, " Good Gotl, sir, somebody has cut off the skirt of your coat ! " He was a kind eccentric man of considerable talent. He brought forward several youths (especially Howard, a charity boy, who has translated Dante), and pub- lished many useful scliool books. My father was much plagued with apprentices who thought they were geniuses because they were idle. One, I remember, did nothing but draw and paint. He was the first I ever saw paint in oil. The head man in the binding-office was a Neapolitan called Fenzi, a fine muscular lazzaroni-like fellow. Fenzi used to talk to me of the wonders of Italy, and bare his fine muscular arm, and say, " Don't draw de landscape ; draw de fee- goore, master Benjamin." He first told me of Kaphaele and the Vatican. I used to run up to Fenzi, and ask him hundreds of questions, and spent most of my half-holidays in his office. I now tried to draw " de feegoore,^^ began to read anatomical books by the advice of Northcote's brother (a townsman), to fancy myself a genius and a historical l)ainter, to talk to myself in the fields, to look into the glass and conclude I had an intellectual head ; and then I forgot all about it and went and played cricket ; never touched a brush for months ; rode a black pony about the neighbourhoood; pinned ladies' gowns together on market-days and waited to see them split ; knocked at doors by night and ran away ; swam and bathed, heated myself, worried my parents and at last was laid on my back by the measles. Here again came my divine art. I looked at my drav/ing-book, at the date 10 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l797. of my last drawing with sorrowful regret and set to work, resolving never to leave it, and I kept my reso- lution. I remember my dear father, to keep me in spirits, one day putting his head in at the curtain and saying, " My dear, Jervis has beaten the Spanish fleet and taken four sail of the line. This will cure ye I " In the summer I was sent to Ridgway, and here I drew from nature for the first time, — a view of the old farm- house, built during the civil wars, and the new Cider Ground on the right of it. The Plym river ran by it a little further on, a hill on the left ascended to Kldgway, and a passage in front across beautiful meadows led to the Church of St. Mary ; on the right you could only get to the road by one of those simple wooden bridges so frequent in Devonshire, and carriages, carts, and horses plunged right into the stream. My father used to show my drawings to his cus- tomers. One of them was a very great man in the town, merchant, and, I believe, consul. John H was a very wortliy but pompous man, exceedingly vain, very fond of talking French before people that could not speak a word of it, and quoting Italian sayings of which he knew little ; liked everything but steady attention to his business, was a good father, good husband, and to play soldiers for a week at any time would have laid his head upon the block. During the dread of invasion, volunteer corps became the rage. The very infants in the nursery played soldiers too. Mr. John H either raised or joined a corps of volunteers, and warier men made him Colonel, that the expense might not fall on their heads. Colonel he was, and devoted himself to the occupation with so much sincerity that his men in discipline and order would certainly not have disgraced a marching militia regiment. After review days, no- thing gave the Colonel so much delight as marching right through the town from the Hoe, to the horror and 1797.] EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. 11 consternation of the apple- worn en. The moment the drums and trumpets were heard soundhig at the bottom of Market Street, the^ scramble to get out of the way amongst the poor old women is not to be imagined. Market Street in Plymouth is a sort of hill, and how often as a boy have I left my draAving, darted down and out to the top of the hill to see the Colonel in all his glory ! First came in view his feather and cap, then his large, red, pride-swollen, big-featured face, with a smile on it, in which grim war, dignity, benevolent condescension, stolidity and self-satisfaction were mixed in equal pro- portions; then came his charger, curvetting with grace- ful fire, now hind-quarters this side, now fore-quarters that side, with the Colonel, — sword drawn and glit- tering in the sun, — recognising the wives and children of the ironmongers, drapers, and grocers, who crowded the windows to see him pass. Then came the band, long drum and trumpets ; then the grenadier company, with regular tramp ; then the Colonel's eldest son John, out of the counting-house, who was Captain; then his Lieutenant, an attorney's clerk; then the Colonel and band turned to the right, down Broad Street — the music became fainter and fainter, the rear lagged after. The Colonel drew up his regiment before his own par- lour windows, and solaced by white handkerchiefs and fair looks, dismissed his men, and retired to the privacy of domestic life, until a new field day recalled him again to the glory of the Hoe, and the perils of apple-stalls and slippery streets. Far be it from nic, however, to ridicule such generous, and even useful, vanities in a wortliy man. II was one of that class who stuck by their Church and King, when to believe either worth defending was considered a proof of narrow mind and antiquated spirit. " Colonel II , my dear," said my father, "likes 12 AUTOBIOfilLAniY OF B. K. IIAYDON. [1798—9. Benjamin's drawings." " What does he know of draw- ings? "said my dear mother, with that corn-age and love of tearinfi; off diso;uises wliich belono-s to all women. " What does he know ? You know, my dear, he must know," said my father, with an emphasis which showed he no more believed it than my mother: but the Co- lonel being a good customer, my father wished before his children to have the air of thinking he must know everything. Thus time rolled on till I Avas thirteen years old. My leisure hours were passed in drawing, my master Bidlake sometimes taking us to Bickley Vale (a beau- tiful spot to the right of Roborough Down) to sketch and drink tea. In classical knowledge I was not disciplined : Bid- lake's mind was too dissipated for concentration. He ■was kindheartcd but a smatterer, and I do not think any man left his school without lamenting the time lost in getting a little of everything, without knowing cor- rectly the principles of anything. My habits now began to be lazy and lax — my father very properly saw that I wanted the discipline of a boarding-school, and accoixlingly I was sent to the Rev. W. Haynes, head master of the Plympton Grammar School, where Sir Joshua was brought up. Haynes put me back into Pha^drus, though I read Virgil and murdered Homer at Bidlake's, and going regularly on as I ought to have done at first I got into Virgil and Homer again, and for the last six months I was the head boy of the school. The "small Latin and less Greek" that I know, are owing to the care of this worthy man, and though, perhaps, the acquirement of my smattering of knowledge with Dr. Bidlake was use- ful, yet I have always had to struggle with the classics. My father had hinted to Haynes my predilection for art, and it was understood that I was not to learn 1800—1.] EARLY STRUGGLES. 13 clrawino; because he had views for me in the countiiiG;- house. However^ I spent my allowance in caricatures which I copied. One half-holidaj, as there was a dead silence in the play-ground, Haynes apprehending mis- cliief bolted into the school and found the boys drawing under my direction with the greatest quiet, I marching about and correcting as I went. At another time we saw a hunt on the hills, and when I came home, tlie boys furnisliing me with burnt sticks, I drew the hunt all round the hall so well that Ilaynes kept it some weeks. At Calcutta is now (1842) settled a merchant, who remembers my trying to etch and to squeeze off an impression with school ink in the table cloth press. With my schooling at Plympton concluded my classi- cal education. I returned home and was sent to Exeter to be perfected in merchants' accounts. Here I did little. The master's son taught crayon-drawing and I drew under him for a short time, but was more cele- brated for electrifying the cat, killing flies by sparks, and doing everything and anything but my duty. At the end of six months I came back for life — unhappy in mind, disgusted with everything but drawing, yet prepai*ed to do what my father thought right and re- solved to make the best of it. I was bound to him for seven years, and now began that species of misery I have never been without since — • ceaseless opposition. Drawing for amusement was one thing but studying the art for a living was another. My father's business realized a handsome income ; I had nothing to do but pursue his course and independence was certain. Now that I was bound by law repugnance to my work grew daily. I rose early and wandered by the sea; sat up late and pondered on my ambition. I knew enough of form to point out with ridicule 14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [iSOl— 2_ the mis-shapen arms, legs, feet and bodies of various prints of eminent men in my father's windows, and was censured for my presumption. I hated day books, ledgers, bill books and cash books ; I hated standing behind the counter, and insulted the customers ; I hated the town and people in it. I saw my father had more talent than the asses he was obliged to bend to; I knew his honourable descent and I despised the vain fools that patronised him. Once after a man had oifered me less than the legitimate price for a Latin Dictionary I dashed the book on its shelf and walked out of the shop. My father restored his customer to good humour by explaining to him the impropriety of expecting a respectable tradesman to take less than the market price. The man, convinced, paid the full sum and took the book. I never entered the shop again. Now what was to be done ? Into the shop I would not go, and my father saw the absurdity of wishing it. He was a good, dear, fond father. We discussed my future prospects, and he asked me if it was not a pity to let such a fine property go to ruin, as I had no younger brother ? I could not help it. Why? Because my whole frame convulsed when I thought of being a great painter. " Who has put this stuff in your head ? " " Nobody : I always have had it." "You will live to repent." " Never, my dear father ; I would rather die in the trial." After that we were silent, at dinner, at tea, at bed- time. Friends were called in ; aunts consulted, uncles spoken to ; my language was the same ; ray detestation of business unaltered ; my resolution no tortures of the rack would have altered. Luckily, I had an illness which in a few weeks ended in chronic inflammation of the eyes. For six weeks I was blind and my family were in misery. At last. 1803.] EARLY STRUGGLES. 15 fancying I could see something glittering I put out my hand and struck it against a silver spoon. That was a day of happiness for us all. My mind, always religious, was deeply affected. I recovered my sight, but never per- fectly, had another attack, slowly recovered from that, but found that my natural sight was gone, and this too^ with my earnest and deep passion for art. " What folly I How can you think of being a painter ? Why, you can't see," was said. " I can see enough," was my reply; "and, see or not see, a painter I'll be, and if I am a great one without seeing, I sliall be the first. ' Upon the whole, my family was not displeased that I could only see sufficiently for business. I could still keep accounts and post the cash books. It would have been quite natural for an ordinary mind to think blind- ness a sufficient obstacle to the practice of an art, the essence of which seems to consist in perfect sight, but "when the divinity doth stir within us," the most ordinary mind is ordinary no longer. It is curious to me now, forty years after, to reflect that my dim sight never occurred to me as an obstacle ; not a bit of it : I found that I could not shoot as I used to do, but it never struck me that I should not be able to paint. The moment my health recovered, I went to see an apprentice of my father's, who had set up for himself and who had brought down from town some plaster casts of the Discobolos and Apollo, — the first I had ever seen, I looked at them so long that I made my eyes ill, and bought them out of a two-guinea piece given to me by my godfather. I doated over them; I dreamt of them, and when well, having made up my mind how to proceed, I wandered about the town, in listless agony, in scai'ch of books on art. My father's apprentice (Johns)^ a man of considerable talent and ingenuity, possessed a library, in which I 16 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [l803. used to read. Accldentallv tumbHns; his collection over I hit upon Reynolds's Discourses. I read one. It placed so much reliance on honest industry, it expressed so strong a conviction that all men were equal and that application made the difference, that I fired up at once. T took them all home and read them through before breakfast the next morning. The thing was done. I felt my destiny fixed. The spark which had for years lain struofrlino; to blaze, now burst out for ever. I came down to breakfiist with Reynolds under my arm and 02:)ened my fixed intentions in a style of such energy that I demolished all arguments. My mother regarding my looks, which probably were more like those of a maniac than of a rational being, burst into tears. My father was in a passion and the whole house w^as in an uproar. Every body that called during the day was had up to bait me, but I attacked them so fiercely that they were glad to leave me to my own re- flections. In the evening I told my mother my re- solution calmly, and left her. My friend Reynolds (a •watch-maker) backed me. I hunted the shop for ana- tomical works, and seeing Albinus among the books in the catalogue of Dr. Farr's sale at Plymouth hospital, but knowing it was no use asking my father to buy it for me, I determined to bid for it and then appeal to his mercy. I went to the sale and the book was knocked down to me at 2Z. 10^. I returned home, laid the case before my dear mother, v/ho cried much at this proof of resolution, but promised to get my fiither to consent. When the book came home my father paid with black looks. Oh, the delight of hurrying it away to my bed- room, turning over the plates, copying them out, learn- inn; the orifrin and insertion of the muscles and then getting my sister to hear me ! She and I used to walk about the house, with our arms round each other's neck, — she saying, " How many heads to the deltoid?" 180.3.] I DETERMINE TO BE A PAINTER. 17 " Where docs it rise?" " Where is it inserted ?" and I answering. By these means, in the course of a fort- night, I got by heart all the muscles of the body. JNIy energy was incessant. My head whirled at the idea of going to London and beginning life for myself. My father had routed me from the shop, because I was in the way with my drawings ; I had been driven from the sitting-room, because the cloth had to be laid ; scolded from the landing-place, because the stairs must be swept; driven to my attic, which now became too small, and at last I took refuge in my bed-room. One morning as I lay awake very early, musing on my future prospects, the door slowly opened, and in crept my dear mother with a look of sleepless anxiety. She sat down on my bed-side, took my liand, and said that my flither blamed her very much for promising that I should go up to London, that he had been talking all night to her, and had said that I should have everything I wished, if I would only give up my scheme. She added, '' My dear Benjamin, you are our only support, and in the delicate state of your poor father's health God only knows how soon 1 may be left alone and unaided. It will break my heart, if, after all my care and anxiety for your infancy, you leave me just as you are becoming able to comfort and console me." I was deeply affected, but checking my tears I told hei', in a voice struggling to be calm, that it was of no use to attempt to dissuade me. I felt impelled by some- thing I could not resist. "Do not," said I, "my dear mother, think mc cruel ; I can never forget your love and affection; but yet I cannot help it — I must be a painter." Kissing mc with wet cheeks and trembling lips she said in a broken voice, " She did not blame me : she applauded my resolution, but she could not bear to part with me." I then begged her to tell my father that it was useless VOL. I. C 18 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B, R. IIAYDON. [l803. to harass me with further opposition. She rose sobbing as if to break her heart and slowly left my room, borne down with affliction. The instant she was gone, I fell upon my knees and prayed God to forgive me if I was cruel, but to grant me firmness, purity, and piety to go on in the right way for success. My father's opposition arose from the peculiarity of his situation. In early life he had been most basely treated by a man whom he had assisted in every possible way, and who returned this lavish generosity by a blow from which my father never recovered. Disgusted with the world he plunged into dissipation to forget himself. The society of the educated and vir- tuous was not stimulating enough, and from one class to another he gradually sunk till nothing pleased or grati- fied him but the company of playei's. This nejxlect of his duties soon led him to embarrass- ment, embarrassment to law costs, and law costs, as a matter of course, to ruin and bankruptcy. However, he recommenced business, and then took into partnership a brother of my mother's, a j\Ir. Cobley, who was the friend of Prince Hoare and Kelly. He was fond of reading, accustomed to the best society, had passed his early life in Italy and acquired a taste for art, but v»^ith all these accompliishments and advantages was so habitually in- dolent, that when he came to see my mother on a six Aveeks' visit, he never had energy to remove, got imbed- ded in the family, stayed thirty years and died. Prince Hoare told me that he was the "pleasantest idle man he had ever known." His mother left him an estate in Devonshire, which he sold to Sir Lawrence Palk, but he was so hideously indif- ferent to the future, that instead of investing what would have been an independence for his life, he kept the money in his portmanteau for many years, taking it out, guinea by guinea, until it was all gone. 1803—4.] MY father's PARTNER. 19 In this condition he came to us on a visit, and finding every comfort remained until he became a jiartner and died in possession of the business. Cobley had lived to see the folly of passing a youth at whist and watering places, associating; w^ith actors and actresses, sellino; a maternal estate, and living on the money till it was spent. As he had suffered by his extreme folly in doing nothing but enjoy himself when he was young, he thought the sound- est morality to preach was the danger of young people enjoying themselves at all. lie was always talking of economy and expense, whilst economy and expense did not interfere with his enjoyments ; and after expatiating on the prudence of eating cold meat the second day, would pretend an enijajTement and dine at an inn, foro-ettino' that his dinner and the cold meat both came from the profits of the business. As a boy I soon saw through this, and gave him hints to that effect, which of course he did not relish. My father had rapidly regained his lost credit, and was getting on well, when my determination to be a painter threw the whole family into confusion and anxiety : Cobley saw a continuance of expenditure on me, when it was hoped I should have been a help. My sister's education w'as not over, and I was still to be supplied. Remonstrances, quarrels, scoldings, took place without end ; till at last, seeing all was useless and cursing my firmness they agreed to let me go and give me twenty pounds to start upon. Profound indeed were the predictions that I would be be glad to return to papa and mamma before a month was over. My i)Oor father worn down with long sickness, the sad effect of trying to drown remembrance in wine, tottered about me. I collected my books and colours — packed my things — and on the 13th of May, 1804, took my place in the mail for the next day. The evening was 20 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l804. passed in silent musing. Affection for liome was smothered not extinguished in me : I thought only of London — Sir Joshua — Drawing — Dissection — and High Art. The next day I ate little, spoke less, and kissed my mother many times. When all my things were corded and packed ready for the mail, I hung about my mother Avith a fluttering at my heart, in which duty, affection and ambition were struggling for the mastery. As evening approached I missed my mother. At last tl'.e guard's horn announced the coming mail ; I rushed up stairs, called her dear name, and was answered only by violent sobbings from my own bed-room. She could not speak — she could not see me, — "God bless you, my dear child," I could just make out in her sobbings. The guard became impatient ; I returned slowly down stairs with my heart too full to speak, shook my ftither by the hand, got in, the trunks were soon on the top, the whip cracked, the horses pranced and started off — my career for life had begun ! 1804.] I GO TO LOXDOX. 21 CHAP. 11. By degrees my feelings softened down, and when we got to Ridgway I actually studied at the inn door the effect of sunset upon a man standing in its golden hue, and maturely thought how to paint it. In the mail was a Plymouth man, Avho persuaded me to go right on without sleeping at Exeter, and riglit on I went. We took up a lady at Exeter, who soon became interested in my eager inquiries and promised that when day broke she would give me the first intimation when we could see the dome of St. Paul's. Long before day- light I was popping out my head to inquire of the guard if it could be seen : he only laughed and grumbled out something behind his thick wrapper. At last, some- Yv'here between Maidenhead and the next stage, the lady said, " There it is ! " I stretched my head and neck and eyes, saying, " Is it really ! " though I never saw any- thing but some spots in the cool grey light of the breaking morning. Day broke — the sun rose — the lark sung — the morninsi: star sank fainter and fainter. Now came the delight of the last stage, — the last stage to London! My Plymouth friend was a man who knew the best inns, the best oyster shops, where was to be found the best porter and the best port. He began with an air of vast superiority to hold forth on the importance of such knowledge to a young man, and, above all things, he cautioned me to be careful, and then he wiidvcd, and glanced sideways at the dozing lady. I looked profound, — he intensely prophetic: "Upon the whole," he said, they get up their fish delightfully in town." lie did not know if he did not relish a turbot better than at a sea- c 3 22 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l804. port — Avlijj lie could not say — " but so it is," lie addecl, "and so you'll find it." By this time we had rattled through Kensington, passed the toll-gate then standing at Hyde Park Corner, and in London I was pronounced to be. We drove up to the White Horse Cellar ; but as lodgings had been taken for me at 342 Strand, I was advised to go on to Clement's Coffee House. There I got out, and in passing the new church in the Strand, I asked the guard what building that was. Mistaking me, he said "Somerset House." "Ah!" thought I, "there's the Exhibition, where I'll be soon !" Our churches in Devonshire are all Gothic, and the flimsy style of this building, with its gaudy exterior, made me naturally ask what it was. I soon found, my lodgings, and when I had washed, dressed and break- fasted, I started off for the Exhibition, creeping along the Strand and feeling much shorter from the height of the houses. I found out the new church. Seeing a man in a cocked hat and laced cloak, I darted up the steps and offered him money to see the Exhibition ! The beadle laughed, and pityingly told me where to go. Away I went once more for Somerset House, squeezed in, mounted the stairs to the great room, and looked about for historical pictures. Opie's Gil Bias was one centre, and a shipwrecked sailor boy (Westall) was the won- der of the crowd. These two are all that I remem- ber. I marched away, saying, " I don't fear you," in- quired for a plaster shop, found one out in Drury Lane, bought the Laocoon's head, with some arms, hands and feet, darkened my Avindow, unpacked my Albinus, and before nine the next morning was hard at work, drawing from the round, studying Albinus and breathing aspira- tions for "High Art" and defiance to all opposition. Eor three months I saw nothing but my books, my casts and my drawings. My enthusiasm was immense, 1804.] NEW IN LONDON. 23 my devotion to study that of a martyr. I rose when I woke, at three, four, or five, drew at anatomy until eight, in chalk from my casts from nine to one and from half- past one until five — then walked, dined and to anatomy a<2^ain from seven to ten and eleven. I was once so lono; without speaking to a human creature that my gums became painfully sore from tlie clenched tightness of my teeth. I was resolved to be a great painter, to honour my country, to rescue the art from that stigma of inca- pacity which was impressed upon it. However visionary such aspirings may seem in a youth of eighteen, I never doubted my capacity to realise them. I had made up my mind what to do. I wanted no guide. To apply night and day, to seclude myself from society, to keep the Greeks and the "Teat Italians in view and to cndea- vour to unite form, colour, light, shadow, and expression, was my constant determination. At Cawthorne's in the Strand I met w^Ith John Bell's work on the bones, joints and muscles. Its admirable perspicuity cleared my understanding at once. I saw its beauty and admired its sense in reducing all muscular action to flexion and extension. I took the book home, hugging it, and it has ever since been the text book of my school. The Sunday after my arrival, I went to the new church and in humbleness begged for the protection of the Great Spirit, to guide, assist and bless my endea- vours, to open my mind and enlighten my luiderstanding. I prayed for health of body and mind and on rising from my knees felt a breathing assurance of spiritual aid which nothing can describe. I was calm, cool, illuminated as if crystal circulated through my veins. I retui'ncd home and spent the day in mute seclusion. After months of intense study I began to think of Prince Iloare and my uncle's letter to him. I delivered it. He had been absent at Bath and received me most c 4 24 AUTOEIOGRxVPlIY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [l804. affectionately. He was a delicate, feeble-looking man, with a timid expression of face, and when he laiiglied heartily he almost seemed to be crying. His fother was a bad painter at Bath, who having a high notion of Prince's genius sent him with a valet to Italy, to get what nature had denied him in the Capella Sistina. He went through the whole routine of labouring for natural talents, by copying Micliel Angelo, copying Raffaele, copying Titian, — came home to be the rival of Reynolds, found his own talents for Art were of the feeblest order, and beino; ^veil educated took refuo;e in writincc farces and adaptations of Spanish and French pieces, which his friends Storace and Kelly fitted with music. He was an amiable but disappointed man, the companion of the democrats Godwin and Holcroft, though an intimate friend of Sir Vicary Gibbs. Prince Hoare called on me — I explained to him my principles and showed him my drawings. He was much interested in my ardour ; told me I was right, and urged me not to be dissuaded from my plan. I flushed at the thought of dissuasion. He gave me letters to Northcote and to Opie ; North- cote being a Plymouth man, I felt a strong desire to see him first. I went. He lived at 39 Argyle Street. I was shown first into a dirty gallery, then upstairs into a dirtier painting-room, and there, under a high window with the light shining full on his bald grey head, stood a diminu- tive wizened figure in an old blue striped dressing-gown, his spectacles pushed up on his forehead. Looking keenly at me with his little shining eyes, he opened the letter, read it, and with the broadest Devon dialect said, " Zo, you mayne tu bee a peinter doo-ee ? what zort of pointer ?" "Historical painter, sir." " Heestoricaul peinter ! why yee'll starve with a bundle of straw under ycer head ! " 1804.] INTRODUCTION TO NORTHCOTE AND OPIE. 25 He then put his spectacles down and read the note again; put them up, looked maliciously at me, and said, " I remember yeer vather, and yeer grand-vather tu ; he used tu peint." " So I have heard, sir." " Ees; he peinted an Elephant once for a Tiger, and he asked my vather what colour the indzide ofs ears was, and my vather told-un I'eddish, and your grand-vather went home and pointed un a vine vermilion." He then chuckled inwardly, enjoying my confusion at this in- comprehensible anecdote. " I zee," he added, " Mr. Hoare zays you're studying anatomy; that's no use — Sir Joshua didn't know it; why should you want to know what he didn't ?" " But Micliel Angelo did, sir." " Michel Angelo ! What's he tu du here ? you must peint portraits here ! " This roused me, and I said, clinching my mouth, "But I won't." "Won't?" screamed the little man, " hut you must f your vather isn't a monied man, is he?" "No, sir; but he has a good income, and will maintain me for three years." " Will he ? hee'd better make'ee mentein yeezclf ; " A beautiful specimen of a brother artist, thought I. " Shall I bring you my drawings, sir ? " " Ees, you may," said he, and I took my leave, I was not disconcerted. He looked too much at my head, I thought, to be indifferent, " I'll let him see if he shall stop me," and off I walked to Opie, who lived in Berncrs Street. I was shown into a clean gallery of masculine and broadly painted pictures. After a minute down came a coarse-looking intellectual man. He read my letter, eyed me quietly, and said, — " You are study- ing anatomy — master it — were I your age, I would do the same." My heart bounded at this : I said, " I have just come from Mr. Northcote, and he says I am wrong, sir." " Never mind what he says," said Opie; " he doesn't know it hlnK^clf, and would be very 26 AUTOBIOGEAPHY OF B. U. IIAYDON. [1804—5. glad to keep you as Ignorant." I could have hugged Opie. " My father, su', wishes me to ask you if you think I ought to be a pupil to any particular man." I saw a different thought cross his mind directly, as, with an eagerness I did not like, he replied, " Certainly ; it will shorten your road. It is the only way." After this I took my leave and mused the whole day on what North- cote said of anatomy, and Opie of being a pupil, and decided in my mind that on these points both were wrong. The next day I took my drawings to North- cote, who as he looked at them lauglied like an imp, and as soon as he recovered said, " Yee'll make a good en2;raver indeed." I saw through his motive, and as I closed my hook said, " Do you think, sir, that I ought to be a pupil to any body ? " " No," said Northcote, " who is to teach'ee here? It'll be throwing your vather's money away." " Mr. Opie, sir, says I ought to be." " Hee zays zo, does he ? ha, ha, ha, he wants your vather's money ! " I came to the conclusion that what Opie said of Northcote's anatomy and Northcote of Opie's avarice was ecp;ally just and true : so took my leave, making up my mind to go on as I had begun, in spite of Northcote, and not to be a pupil, in spite of Opie ; and so I wrote home. I liked Northcote, and used to call frequently ; he was very entertaining, and one day in a good humour at my asking to see some of his studies in the Vatican, he gave me a letter to Smirke, Sir Robert Smirke's father. Smirke received me most tenderly, — he felt interested at my enthusiasm, applauded my plans, lent me drawings, and was really a father to me in the Art. When I recounted my plans to him, lie used to laugh at my evident sincerity. He was a fine, handsome. 1805.] INTRODUCTION TO FUSELI. 27 portly man, and gave me much good advice, but it was curious the power I had of sifting all advice, and dis- carding every thing which interfered with my own decisions. Many miserable moments did Northcote inflict upon me, which Smirke used to laugh at so ex- cessively that my mind was always relieved. I always went in better spirits from Smirke — better informed from Opie — and exasperated from little Aqua-Fortis. At this period a very beautiful woman was acci- dentally introduced to me, and away went all my am- bition. Her grace and beauty nearly drove me insane, till my idleness appeared to me in such vivid colours, that I felt disgusted with my want of firmness, set to work again, drew from four in the morning till night, with only an interval for a hasty meal, and again until two the next morning. After this, I felt exhausted beyond measure, my eyes gave in, and I was laid up for several weeks. Smirke had been elected Keeper of the Academy, but George III., beins^ told that he was a democrat, refused to sanction or sign his appointment. Fuseli was then chosen. Prince Ploare told me that he had seen Fuseli, who wished me to call on him with my drawings. Fuseli had a great reputation for the terrible. His sublime conception of Uriel and Satan had impressed me when a boy. I had a mysterious awe of him. Prince Hoare's apprehensions lest he might injure my taste or hurt my morals, excited in my mind a notion that he was a sort of gifted wild beast. ]\Iy father had the same feeling, and a letter I re- ceived from him just before my calling concluded Avitli these words : — " God speed you with the terrible Fuseli." This sort of preparation made every thing worse, and I was quite nervous when the day arrived. I walked away with my drawings up Wardour Street. I re- 28 AUTOEIOGRArHY OF B. R. nAYDON. [l805. membered that Berners Street had a golden lion on the right corner house and blundered on, till without know- ing how or remembering why I found myself at Fuseli's door ! I deliberated a minute or two, and at last making up my mind to see the enchanter, I jerked up the knocker so nervously that it stuck in the air. I looked at it, as much as to say " Is this fair ? " and then drove it down with such a devil of a blow that the door rang again. The maid came rushing up in astonish- ment. I followed her into a gallery or show room, enough to frighten anybody at twilight. Galvanized devils — malicious witches brewino; their incantations — Satan bridging Chaos, and springing upwards like a pyramid of fire — Lady Macbeth — Paolo and Francesca — Falstaffand Mrs. Quickly — humour, pathos, terror, blood, and murder, met one at every look ! I expected the floor to give way — I fancied Fuseli himself to be a giant. I heard his footsteps and saw a little bony hand slide round the edge of the door, followed by a little white-headed lion- faced man in an old flannel dressing-gown tied round his waist with a piece of rope and upon his head the bottom of Mrs. Fuseli's work basket. " Well, well," thought I, " I am a match for you at any rate, if bewitching is tried ; " but all apprehension vanished on his saying in the mildest and kindest way, " Well, Mr. Haydon, I have heard a great deal of you from Mr. Hoare. Where are your drawings ? " In a fright I gave him the wrong book, with a sketch of some men pushing a cask into a grocer's shop — Fuseli smiled and said, " By Gode, de fellow does his business at least with eneargy." I was gratified at his being- pleased in spite of my mistake. " You are studying anatomy, — you are right. Show me some drawings. I am Keeper of de Academy, and hope to see you dere de first nights." I went away, 1803.] I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH JACKSON. 29 feeling happy that my bones were whole and my breath- ing uninterrupted. Fuseli took his place as Keeper in 1805, after the Christmas vacation, and I well remember on my first night of attendance he came up to me, to the astonish- ment of the students, and pointing his finger at me, said in a voice of thundei', " I know enough of you." The students took it oddly, and said, " Why wliat does he know of you ? " Half in a fright, I began to ask myself if I had unconsciously been guilty of murder. On tliis eventful night I found out to my misery that at a distance I could not see. It was all very well in a small room, but at fifteen feet I could not distinguish a feature. This defect I afterwards remedied by spec- tacles. Fuseli made us a speech before he went away, and thus began my academical career. The next day at eleven, I went to the Academy, and saw a little good-natured looking man in black Avith his hair powdered, whom I took for a clergyman. In the course of the morning we talked. He made a shrewd remark or two, and when we left we w^alked home to- gether, as he lodged in the Strand not far from me. I showed him what I was trying : he said to me, " Sir George Beaumont says you should always paint your studies." " Do you know Sir George, Sir Joshua's friend?" " To be sure I do." I was delighted. " What is your name ? " " Jackson." " And where do you come from?" " Yorkshire." "And how do you know such a man ? " " Know him," Jackson answered, bursting into a laugh. " Why Lord Mulgravc is my patron, and Sir George is his friend." Jackson was a most amiable, sincere, unafiected crea- ture, and had a fine eye for colour. I soon perceived that he drew with a want of firmness, but with a great feeling for effect, and we became exceedingly intimate. 30 AUTOBIOGUAniY OF B. E. TIAYDON. [l805. Jackson was tlie son of a respectable tradesman at Whitby, ^Yhere he was apprenticed to a tailor. Lord JNIulirravc and Sir Georo-e Beaumont were once at the castle, when Atkinson the architect, who was visiting there, showed them two or three pencil sketches of Jackson's. Lord Mulgrave said to Atkinson, " Let us have him up," and Jackson was ordered to the room, where by his simplicity of manner and easy explanation of his sketches, he delighted them all. Sir George (as he told me), asked him if he had ever painted, and on his saying he had not, advised him to copy a George Colman by Sir Joshua, at the castle. They had no colour but white lead, and no brushes but house painters'; however, with Sir George's advice and assistance, he set to work. A Vandyke brown he obtained from the woods ; a fine Indian red from the alum works by burn- ing ; yellow ochre In the grounds, and a blue black, cither from burnt vine stalks, or soot, I forget which ; and with these materials he set to work and made a really wonderful copy. The besetting sin of poor Jackson was indolence, and this soon became apparent. Lord Mulgrave once told us, that when Jackson had finished a picture of Lady Mulgrave and her sister, he was begged to have it packed up immediately and sent off to the Exhibition, as the least delay would render it too late. The next day Lord Mulgrave finding that the picture had not been sent went into Jackson's room and scolded him well, insisting on his immediately seeing the picture packed up and sent off. Jackson left the room, apolo- gising and pi'omising immediate attention to his Lord- ship's desires. As soon as Lord Mulgrave had reached his own room, he bethought himself, "By Gad, I had better perhaps look after that fellow," and out Avent my Lord to see. On going down stairs, the first thing his Lordship did see, was Master Jackson out in the 1805.] TELLOW STUDENTS. 31 courtyard playing battle-door and slmttle-cook with bis Loixlship's Aide-de-camp. Lord Mulgrave used to tell the story with exquisite humour, giving Jackson's attitude and expression, when, as he was just hitting the shuttle-cock, his Lordship's face first broke upon him. Lord jMulgrave went out to give the Aide-de-camp a good rowing for taking Jackson away from his duty. " My Lord, I am not to blame," said the Aide-de-camp, '-for he came and asked me to play." Lord Mulgrave said that he really could not resist this, and burst out into a hearty laugh. This anecdote is an epitome of Jackson's whole life. We told each other our plans of study, and drew al- ways together in the evenings after the Academy was over. One niMit as I saw that a coalhcaver, who was brinsino; some coals into the house, had a fine muscular arm, we got him to sit to us and so made our first draw- in2;s from life. Another student at the same time -was L * * *, the historical painter, a pompous little fellow who was al- ways saying " God bless my soul." He was patronised by Lord D e, looked down on me for not drawing Avith spirit — thought lightly of Jackson because he studied effect — and meant himself to be a grand painter, because — he had a noble patron ! He had an awful feel- ing for the grand style — Oh the grand style ! — and marched about us like a tutor. L * * * had a good worthy heart, and all the affectations of talent without any of the reality. He never drew what he saw, and nearly persuaded me that he was right, but Jackson saved me. As I replied one day to some objection of his with '.- L * * * does not do so and so ; " " L * * * ! " said Jackson, " you draw fifty times better than he does." " No, no." "■ But you do! " and this shook my belief in L * * *'s invincibility. Jackson, in his truthfulness and relish for nature, felt and knew this — I was uncertain. 32 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDOX. [l805. This is the sort of instruction students give to each other, and there is no mode of instruction so effectual. Jackson was of the greatest use to me in pointing out vice in style, and I was of the same use to him in anatomy. Fuseli soon distinguished Jackson, L * * *, and myself. I do not remember to have seen during this quarter of 1805 either Mulready, Collins or Hilton — Etty I never saw, and Wilkie had not yet oome up. "Beware of Fuseli" was in every body's mouth; but havino: hic;her authorities in the m-eat Greeks and Italians I was fearless. I adored Fuseli's inventive imagination and saw his mannered style. In conveying his conception he had all the etiiereal part of a genius, but not enough of the earthly to express his ideas in a natural way. We are made up of body and mind, and one of the greatest proofs of a complete genius is the evidence it gives of this union. A man has no more rio-ht to dislocate an arm and call it the " Grand Style," than he has to put in six toes and call it " Nature as she ouo;ht to be." We have no business to make nature as she never was : all we have to do is to restore her to what she is according to the definite principles of her first creation ; further we have no right to go, and if this be not done with truth, mankind will turn away, let the conceptions conveyed be ever so sub- lime or beautiful. My incessant application was soon perceived by Fuseli, who coming in one day, when I Avas at work and all the other students were away, walked up to me and said in the mildest voice, " Why when de devil do you dine?" and invited me to go back with him to dinner. Here I saw his sketches, the sublimity of which I deny. Evil was in him — he knew full well that he was wrong as to truth of imitation, and he kept palliating it under the excuse of " the Grand Style." He said a subject should interest, astonish, or move ; if it did none of these it w^as 1805.] FLSELI'S INFLUENCE. 33 worth " noding by Gode." He had a strong Swiss accent and a 2;uttural enero-etic diction. This was not affectation in him. He swore roundly, a habit which he told me he had contracted from Dr. Armstrono;. He was about five feet five inches high, had a compact little form, stood firmly at his easel, painted with his left hand, never held his palette upon his thumb but kept it upon his stone, and being very near-sighted, and too vain to wear glasses, used to dab his beastly brush into the oil, and sweeping round the palette in the dark take up a great lump of white, red, or blue, as it might be, and plaster it over a shoulder or face. Sometimes in his blindness he would put a hideous smear of Prussian blue in his flesh, and then, perhaps, discovering his mistake, take a bit of red to deaden it, and then prying close in, turn round to me and say, " By Gode, dat's a fine purple! it's vary like Corregio, by Gode ! " and then, all of a sudden, he would burst out with a quotation from Homer, Tasso, Dante, Ovid, Virgil, or perhaps the Niebelungen, and thunder round to me with " Paint dat ! " I found him the most grotesque mixture of literature, art, scepti- cism, indelicacy, profanity, and kindness. He put me in mind of Archimago in Spencer. Weak minds he destroyed. They mistook his wit for reason, his in- delicacy for breeding, his swearing for manliness, and his infidelity for strength of mind ; but he was accom- plished in elegant literature, and had the art of inspirinf^ young minds with high and grand views. I told him, that I would never paint portrait, — but devote myself to High Art. " Keep to dat ! " said Fuseli, looking fiercely at me : " I will, sir." AVe were more intimate from that hour. He should have checked me, and pointed out that portrait was useful as practice, if ke[)t subordinate, but that I w^as not to allow myself to be seduced by the money that it brought in from making VOL. I. D 34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l805. High Art my predominant object. This would have been more sensible. The drawinsi; for our tickets was from the figure of the Discobolos — Jackson, I and L * * * were admitted at the same time. I remember West praising my draw- ing very much and telling Fusell that it had the exact leap and action of the figure. I proceeded with this figure as with a picture. I drew the extremities large first, sketched parts in shadow in a small book by hold- ing a candle to enlighten them ; and so when drawing the figure, helped by my sketches, I made out the parts, and yet preserved a good general effect by constantly keeping the actual figure before me. Jackson (I think) had at this time painted a picture of Lady Mulgrave and Mrs. Phipps for the Exhibition, as well as the head of an old beggar who used to stand at the corner of the alley which leads to St. Martin's Lane. Poor old fellow, he was taken up afterwards for being, as he told Jackson, an " expositor." We all got our tickets, and with March, 1805, "ended the first term. Jackson and I planned hard work for the summer, and I, being in earnest, put my theory in practice imme- diately ; but I soon found my worthy friend doing every thing but hard work, — going to sales to see fine pic- tures, — walking into the country to study clouds and landscape, so very useful for backgrounds, — and so forth ; in fact, his amiability was such that he never resisted an inclination of his own or of any other person; and I perceived that it required unusual vigour to with- stand his seducing ways. However, I never lost a day, but worked out my twelve or fourteen hours as I felt inclined, when, just as I was in the midst of it, came a letter from home saying that my father was dying. I packed up on the spot, called on Fuseli on my way to the coach and talked to him so energetically that he said, " By Gode you talk 1805.] RETURN HOME. 35 well; wryltc me." In two days I reached Plymouth and found mv lather recovered but much exhausted. My poor mother pressed me to her heart and cried hys- terically. She looked at my spectacles and shook her head. " Don't leave us again, — don't leave us again," she kept sobbing out — and first laughing, then crying, then putting me at arm's length, then clasping me close, she would still mutter to herself, " Don't leave me, don't leave me." It was dreadfully affecting, but I had de- termined to command myself, and I succeeded. The next day I got bones and muscles from the surgeon of the hospital, and was liard at work that very night. Then began the most miserable part of my life. It was a torture. Aunts and cousins, friends and uncles, all in succession scolding, advising, reproaching or appeal- ing, the whole day through. In this state of mind, and with these interruptions, I got through that book of anatomical studies which all in my school have coi)ied, from Charles Eastlake to Lance. But still my life was wretched. My mother watched me day and night, and often creeping into my room at midnight would find me undressed but finishing a drawing before getting into bed. Though I had been a year studying, I had nothing attractive to flatter the vanity of my parents — no patron — no my Lord or Sir George had yet come forward ; — all I had to show were correct drawings of dry bones and drier muscles. " What is Benjamin about ? " said my father to an uncle who had come down from London: " Oh, he is mad,'' replied my uncle ; " I called and found lilm with Albinus on the floor, stretched out on his belly, studying; he's mad certainly." One day I rose with the sun and crossed over to Mount Edgcumbe, and as I roamed througli its beautiful fields in the fresh morning air, I brought my struggles to a conclusitn and made up my mind. ^\'hen I re- turned, I told my father that if he wic^hcd it I would d2 36 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDOX. [l805. stay, but only on a principle of duty ; as I should cer- tainly leave him in the end. He was very much af- fected, and replied that he had also made up his mind — to gratify ray invincible passion ; that I should be tor- mented no longer ; that he could not well afford to support me, but that he would do so until I could sup- port myself. I was deeply touched. I wrote to Jackson, and Fuseli, and I doubt not that I spun out my letters with all sorts of fine sentiments. About a fortnight after came Fuseli's reply, short, characteristic, strong, and with a gentle reproof at the end for boring him with a fine long youthful epistle. No date (it was June, 1805). " My dear Sir, "I might plead the privilege of a sick man for not answering your first letter, but in the state of reconva- lescence in which I am at present, I should be inexcusable were I not to answer the second, which is a pure etFusion of humanity. The lucky escape I have had from an accident *, which threatened death, or worse, is more endeared to me, by the prospect of being suffered a little longer to be useful to such characters as yours : of which I hope to convince you at your return to London, where I sliall be in a few days, ready to receive you and to attend your progress in and out of the Academy. " To be long and at the same time entertaining is given to few ; permit me therefore to subscribe myself at present, " Your warm and sincere friend, " Henry Fuseli." " To be long, and at the same time entertaining," — of course I took the hint, and never bored him a2:ain with four sides of sentiment and profundity, such as young men write to each other, or when they are in love. Jackson Avrote to me on his return to the Aca- demy, and I well remember his saying, " There is a raw, * He had been run over. 1805.] WILKIE. 37 tall, pale, queer Scotchman come, an odd fellow, but there is something in him ; he is called Wilkie." " Hang the fellow," I thought : " I hope with his * something ' he is not going to be a historical painter," — and arranging with my dear family for good, my father having quite recovered, though still weak, I started this time with the blessings and prayers of all for my pro- sperity and success. Hurrah for dear old London — hurrah J n 3 38 AUTOBIOGRArHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l805. CHAP. III. I REACHED town Safely and found Jackson and L * * * glad to see me. They both said that I might rely upon it this Wilkie was a clever fellow. Jackson said he drew too square to please him, but yet he had great truth. L * * * gfvid that his style was vulgar. " But what does Fuseli say ? " said I. " Oh," said Jackson, "he thinks dere's someting in de fellow!" I was made uneasy all night, for Jackson finished by telling me that Wilkie had painted a j:»icture at Edinburgh, from Macbeth, which we all agreed must have been a historical one. The next day I went to draw, but Wilkie was not there. An hour after in he came. He was tall, pale, quiet, with a fine eye, short nose, vulgar humorous mouth, but great energy of expression. After drawing a little he rose up, looked over me, and sat down. I rose up, looked over him, and sat down. Nothing farther passed this day, our first to- gether. Wilkie was very talkative to those near him, but in a whisper. TJie next day I brought the book of anatomical studies, which I had done in Devonshire. The students crowded round me, but Wilkie was not there. The next day, however, he came, asked me a question which I answered, and then we l^egan to talk, to argue, to disagree, and went away and dined together. We used to dine at an ordinary in Poland Street, in a house on the right. You passed through the i:)assage and came to the dining-room with a skylight in it. Many French came there ; and here it was that Wilkie got that old fellow in the Village Politicians reading the 1805.] MY FELLOW STUDENTS. — I DISSECT. 39 paper with his glasses on. Sometimes we used to dine at a chop house at the back of Slaughter's Coffee House in St. Martin's Court; and very often at John O'Groat's in Kupert Street. I now remember poor Hilton, so pale and cadaverous, that we used to call him " The Anatomical Figure." Mulready and Collins were also up this term. Jackson, I and AVilkie became excessively intimate. L * * * thought himself a cut above us, because Lord de D maintained him. ]Mv great increase of knowledge during the vacation made many of the students wonder. They had been dancing about ; I had been hard at work, and had got, by my application, a start that I main- tained. Northcote said that my anatomical studies would make me a good surgeon, but that they were no use for a painter. Opie said they were capital. Fuseli swore that he learnt by looking at them. Smirke was delighted with my rapid progress, and so was Prince Ploare. I now moved more to the West end, as better for health, and took lodgings, at 3, Broad Street, Car- naby Market. "VVilkie lived at 8, Norton Street, in a front parlour, and Jackson still kept to the Strand. Such was Jackson's perfect freedom from all feeling of envy, that he talked to Lord Mulgrave of both Wilkie and myself. His Lordship asked what my intentions were. Jackson explained them fully, and he answered, that if such were my objects, he would give me a commission to set me going, as soon as I begun to paint. On my return to town I had set vigorously to work, and the autumn beginning, I got nearly a whole subject to myself at a surgeon's in Hatton Garden. The sight of a real body laid open exposed the secrets of all the markings so wonderfully that my mind got a new and confirmed spring. The distinction between muscle, tendon, and bone, was so palpable now that there could V 4 40 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HATDON. [l805. be no mistake again for ever. The utility of this pro- cess was wonderful. No principles without this previous information could have availed. I came to the conclu- sion (which a subsequent research has confirmed) that the Greeks must have pursued the same course, however imperfectly. I had now nearly done preparation. No student but Jackson came here ; and he came only twice a week, and drew so indolently that it hardly deserved the name of drawinc;. The news of the battle of Trafalgar and the death of Nelson arrived, I remember, in October, and caused a deep sensation. Napoleon had said just before at Ulm, that it was ships, colonies, and commerce he wanted, and this defeat was ably turned against him. I remember, that after the battle of the Nile, when quite a child, I was walking with a schoolfellow, near Stonehouse, when a little diminutive man, with a green shade over his eye, a shabby well-worn cocked hat, and buttoned-up undress coat, approached us. He was lean- ing on the arm of a taller man in a black coat and round hat (I should think this must have been poor Scott); as he came up, my companion said "There's Nelson!" " Let us take off our hats," said I. We did so, and held them out so far that he could not avoid seeinof us, and as he passed he touched his own hat, and smiled. We boasted of this for months. Just before he embarked the last time, I saw him again with the same man passing by Northumberland House. He had been to Dollond's to buy a night glass, for as I casually called there, I saw his address, written by his own hand, and his glass on the counter. I have a much higher idea of Nelson's reach of mind than most men are inclined to have. His correspon- dence in Clarke's life is masterly. His perfect self- gacrifice, his pure unadulterated patriotism, his intense 1805.] NELSONS DEATH. — WILKIE S TRACTICE. 41 estimate of the character oF the French, and his never being imposed on by their beggarly and bloody plii- losophy, his invariably seeing through their shuffling pretences and never believing that their word was worth more than their morals, his inspired conviction, that England in peace or in war was and would always be the object of their innate hatred, showed a vigour and perspicuity proof against all imposition, and the French in their dread and hatred of him tacitly admitted the truth of his instincts. Hail to his great, his glorious and noble soul ! may his example never be lost in the British navy or among the British people. His death affected me for days. But all fears of inva- sion were now over, and we looked forward to our pur- suits with a degree of confidence which those only can estimate who passed their early days among the excite- ment of perpetual war. I saw his funeral, which, as a clever foreigner well said, showed the nation's generosity and its utter want of taste. Instead of employing the first artist of the day, I believe Ackerman in the Strand designed the whole thino-. At the conclusion of tlie funeral service in the Cathe- dral, the old flag of the Victory was torn into a thousand shreds, each of which was carefully preserved by its for- tunate owner as a relic of the hei'o. Lascelles Hoppner brought me home a fragment, which I religiously kept until it was irretrievably lost in the confusion of my ruin. When the Academy closed in August, Wilklc fol- lowed me to the door and invited me to breakfast, saying in a broad Scotch accent, " Wliare dy'e stay ?" I went to his room rather earlier tlian the hour named, and to my utter astonishment found Wilkic sitting stark naked on the side of his bed, drawing himself by help of the looking-glass ! " My God, Wilkie," said I, " where are 42 AUTOBIOGRAnir OF B. E. HAYDON. [I8O6. we to breakfast ? " "Witliout any apology or attention to my important question, he replied, "It's jest copltal practice ! " I left him, and strolled for an hour over the fields where Is now the Regent's Park. When I returned I rallied him on his "copltal practice," and I shall cer- tainly never forget his red hair, his long lanky figure reflected in the glass, and Wilkle, with port-crayon and paper, making a beautiful study. He showed me his Avonderful picture of the Fair, painted at nineteen, before he had ever seen a Teniers. The colour was bad, but the grouping beautiful and the figures full of expres- sion. But at that time I was too bis; with " Pllgh Art" to feel Its perfections, and perhaps had a feeling akin to contempt for a young man with any talent who stooped to such things. It was about this time that, glad of any employment, Wilkie entered into an en2;a2;ement with an engraver to copy Barry's pictures at the Adelphl. In connection with poor Barry I remember an absurd anecdote. Wilkie had got tickets to see him lie in state, and had asked me to g:o with him. Now, a black coat at a funeral ceremo- nial Is a sine qua non, and Wilkie, not having one in his possession, begged me, if I could, to accommodate him, which of course I readily did, especially as I had two. Neither of us, however, had reflected on our different figures, he long and bony, I short and slight. I got first to the Academy whence we were all to go to the Adelphi, and after waiting some time, at the eleventh hour Wilkie made his appearance In my coat, the sleeves half-way up his arms, his long bony wrists painfully protruding, his broad shoulders stretching the seams until they cracked again, while the waist buttons a}>peared anywhere but where their maker originally intended them to be. He caught my eye, and significantly held up his finger as if to entreat me to be quiet, but with an expression so 1806.] CHARLES BELL'S LECTUEES. 43 ridiculously conscious of his unhappy situation that I thought I should have died with laughing on the spot. We soon set off for the Adelphi, and there we saw poor Barry as he lay amidst his great works, — a pall worthy of the corpse ! Many and many a time have Wilkie and I laughed over the short sleeves and still shorter waist, and it was only the other day (May, 1840), after the lapse of five-and'thirty years, that we remembered it again, and laughed our laugh as of old, though I fear Si?- David did not relish the recollection so much as formerlj^ Though Wilkie di*ew at the Academy with spirit, it was in a style of smartness, so full of what are called spirited touches that it could not be recommended for imitation to students. Tliis style belonged to him and originated with him. It was like the painting of Teniers. Wilkie had brouglit to town a letter to Mr. Greville (who lived in Paddington), a relative of Lord Mansfield, and Lord Mansfield in consequence of Greville's in- troduction gave Wilkie a commission for the Village Politicians. After Christmas we crowded away again to the Aca- demy where the report of Wilkie's commission soon got Avind. At this time a Scotchman, Charles Bell, came to town, and Wilkie taking considerable intei'cst in his success asked me if I would attend a class, were one to be got up, for a course of lectures on anatomy. I was delighted ; we beat up sixteen pupils at two guineas each, and here I concluded my anatomical studies. Bell had great delight in the subject and was as eager as ourselves. Poor and anxious for reputation, he was industrious and did his best. lie had studied and fully understood the api)lication of anatomy to the purposes we wanted. His lectures were, in fiict, his subsequent book, the Anatomy of Expression, for which ^^'ilkie made several of tlie drawings. A miniature painter, 44 AUTOBIOGRArnY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8O6. Saunders, drew the laughing head. Wilklc's best was, I think, Terror with the hands up. In the Academy I do not tliink I had much repute. Perhajis I was not ambitious of a "medal" reputation. I was occasionally pelted with clay for poring over my Gladiator ; but every figure I drew I mastered, and traced causes and effects until I could tell the reason of tlie markings, and could distinguish the difference of style between the Gladiator and Torso, and explain the why and wherefore. I was perhaps too solitary and peculiar ; I passed days and nights in the deepest study and reflection. Wilkie and Jackson were my only associates, and even they perhaps were not sufficiently with me. Jackson's eye for colour was exquisite* Pie took me once to see the Venus and Adonis of Titian, belonging to West, which I have heard Angerstein gave him, after he bought the one now in the National Gallery, At that time I had never seen a Titian, and my rapture was unbounded. Here 1 found, what I had actually before this discovered for myself. Glazing. Few will believe that I had done so ; but it is true. In copying a head, which I could never successfully imitate in colour, it appeared to me on close examination that it was painted lighter at first than at the finish. I tried it, hit it, and told Jackson, as a great secret, how I thought Titian worked in this pic- ture. He burst out into a roar of laughter, and said, "Why every one knows how to glaze!" but, neverthe- less, I was a discoverer. Jackson made interest with some of the principal attendants at Lord Carlisle's and Lord Stafford's and took me to see their galleries. To this dear old friend I owe my first sound princijiles in colour. I never could bear a modern work afterwards, and made up my mind that in future, for colour, execu- tion and tone, I would look back upon the departed great. 1806.] WILKIE'S village POLITICIANS. 45 It was impossible not to like Jackson. His very indo- lent and lazy habits engaged one. His eternal desire to gossip was wonderful. Sooner than not gossip, he would sit down and talk to servants and valets, drink brandy and water with them, and perhaps sing a song. He would stand for hours together with one hand in his trowsers' pocket, chatting about Sir Joshua and Vandyke, then tell a story in his Yorkshire way, full of nature and tact, racy and beautiful, and then start off anywhere, to Vaux- hall or Covent Garden, " to study expression and effect." After some time. Lord Mulgrave thought he had disco- vered that Jackson was beginning to be idle, which his Lordship helped to make him by sending him constantly to sales. At last his carelessness became so apparent that Lord Mulgrave, in a passion, cut off his income and threw him on his own resources. This brought Jackson to his senses. He exerted himself; and he told me that it had saved him. I certainly date his independence of character from that moment. Nor was he so weak but that when he found himself deserted he dared all sorts of things for an honest subsistence, and found himself happier as his own master. I thank God I never had a patron, as he had, and I would have showed the door to any man who had offered such patronage. By the end of March or so, Wilkie had finished Lord Mansfield's conunission, and Jackson told me it was quite equal to Tenicrs in handling, and superior in the telling of the story. I was surprised, and owned that I could not feel its worth, my object was so different. By degrees, as I watched its progress, I began to per- ceive the excellence of its expression, but I disliked its insignificant size and perhaps altogether I did not think highly of it. It was not like Titian ; had no impasto, and was so thinly painted; yet every body seemed so struck with Wilkic's genius that I imagined I must be wrong. 46 AUTOBIOGRAniY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [1806. Jackson told Lord Mulgrave and Sir George of this production of the young student, and they sent him away to bring It down to Harley Street. Wllkle was out, and so Lord JNIulgrave and Sir George called the next day, saw the picture, and were so electrified with It that they each gave him a commission, one for the Blind Fiddler, the other for the Rent Day. WUkle was now up In high life, and If a young man wanted to be puffed at dinners until Academicians became black In the face Lord Mulgrave and Sir George were the men. All this delighted and stimulated both Jackson and me. Wilkle had got the start of us, but he had been studying for five years at Edinburgh. My ambition was so excited that I determined to begin painting at once. The Exhibition time of 1806 approached, and Wilkle began to make a great noise. Sir George described him as " a young man who came to London, saw a picture of Teniers, went home and at once painted the Village Politicians." That was the wonder ! " at once " ! " At once ! my dear Lady Mulgrave, at once ! " and off all crowded to the little parlour of No. 8, Norton Street, to see the picture painted by the young Scotch- man, who never painted a picture or saw one until the morning when he saw the Teniers, and then rushed home and produced the Politicians ! Personal appearance Is everything In high life. A good air and confident modesty make a great Impression. Wilkle was a pale, retiring, awkward, hard-working and not over-fed student. The women did not report well to each other of the artist, but his picture was wonderful ! The last day for sending In the pictures arrived, and Jackson told me that he remained late at night endea- vouring to persuade Wilkle to send his picture In ; but such was his timidity and modesty that he really did not 1806.] WILKIE'S village POLITICIANS. 47 seem to believe in its merit, nor had lie fully consented when Jackson took his leave. However, to the Aca- demy it went, and there I will leave it for the present. During the progress of the picture his employer called, and said, towards its conclusion, "What am I to pay you for this picture, Mr. Wilkie ? " Wilkie, timid and trembling, said, " I hope your Lordship will not think fifteen fjuineas too much," " Fifteen guineas!" replied his Lordship, " why, that is rather too much ; you had better consult your friends, Mr. Wilkie." *' Fifteen guineas!" I said when I heard it, "a hundred and fifty guineas is not too much. Don't you let him have it, my dear Wilkie." Everybody was of the same opinion. In the mean time his Lordship had beard the picture talked about. Suddenly in he popped upon Wilkie, looked, admired, and said, " I believe Mr. Wilkie that I owe you fifteen guineas: I will give you a cheque." *' No," replied Wilkie, " yovir Lordship told me to consult my friends, as you thought it too much ; I have done so, and they agree that is too little." " Oh, but I considered it a bargain," said Lord Mans- field rising, and leaving the room. On the hanging day the Academicians were so delighted that they hung it on the chimney, the best place for a fine picture. On the private day there was a crowd about it, and at the dinner Angerstein took the Prince up to see it. On the Sunday (the next day) I read in the News, "A young man hy the name of Wilkie, a Scotchman, has a very extraordinary xvorhy I was in the clouds, hurried over my breakfast, rushed away, met Jackson who joined mc, and we both bolted into Wilkie's room. I roared out, " A\'ilkie, my l)oy, your name's in the paper! " " Is it rea-al-ly," said David. I read the puff — we huzzaed, and taking hands all three danced round the table until we were tired! I3y those who remember the tone of Wilkie's "rea-al-ly" 48 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [I8O6. this will be relished. Eastlake told me that Calcott said once to Wilkie, " Do you not know that every one complains of your continual ' rea-al-ly ' ? " Wilkie mused a moment, looked at Calcott, and drawled out, " Do they rea-al-ly ? " " You must leave it off." " I will rea-al-ly." " For Heaven's sake don't keep repeating it," said Calcott; "it annoys me." Wilkie looked, smiled, and in the most unconscious manner said, " Rea-al-ly ! " Jackson, he, and I made an appointment to go to- gether to the Exhibition the next day : Wilkie wasto call on me at 49, Carey Street. Ah ! these unalloyed moments never come twice ; our joy was the joy of three friends, pure from all base passions ; one of whom had proved a great genius, and we felt as if it reflected honour on our choice of each other. Wilkie called accordingly, looking bewildered with his success. Seguier and Jackson met us at Somerset House, and paying our money we mounted the steps, Wilkie and I arm in arm, Seguier and Jackson follow- ing us. I walked straight to the picture, but there was no getting in sideways or edgeways. Wilkie, pale as death, kept saying, " Dear, dear, it's jest wonderful I " After enjoying the triumph, which was complete, we left the Academy and went to dine — Seguier saying to me, " I suppose you'll astonish us next ! " We dined at John O'Groat's, Rupert Street, and jxoino; home with Wilkie found his table covered with cards of people of fashion, people of no fashion, and people of every fashion. The rush was tremendous — Wilkie became drunk Avith success and very idle. Several friends interfered with Lord Mansfield, and Wilkie was advised to call. He did. His Lordship said, " he considered it a bar- gain." " Did you on your honour, my Lord ? " asked 1806.] wilkie's triumph. 49 Wilkie. "I did upon my honour," replied Lord Mansfield. " Then," said Wilkie, " the picture is your Lordship's for fifteen guineas." "Now," said Lord Mansfield, " I hope you will accept a cheque for thirty guineas." This 1 had from Wilkie's own mouth and his veracity is unquestionable. Thus, then, one of the trio — Wilkie, Jackson and Haydon — was fairly launched on the world. Wilkie soon became a constant guest at Lord Mulgrave's, and as I was frequently talked about I was not long behind my sincere friends. Wilkie's reputation disturbed my peace. I could not sleep an hour at a time without restlessness and dream- ing. I got Jackson's old " expositor," and immediately set to work from him and painted a head and hands. As we used generally to breakfast together on Sunday mornings at one another's rooms or at Seguier's (who had come into our circle), the head and hands the next Sunday were brought to the ordeal. They were con- sidered pi'omising: the hands they said were capital, and I was greatly encoui'aged. A\ ith the weakness of our poor nature Wilkie became visibily aifected by his fame, — talked very grandly, — bought new coats, — dressed like a dandy but in vain tried to look one. While wc were at Bell's liis pale anxious look, his evident poverty and struggle, his broad Scotch accent, had all excited the humour of those students who were better off, and to quiz Wilkie was the joke. I remember he came one day with some very fine yellow drawing paper, and we all said, "Why, Wilkie ! were the deuce did you get this ? bring us a quire to-morrow I " He promised he would. The next day, and the day after, no drawing paper! At last we became enraged, and begged him, as he seemed so un- willing to bring us any, to give us the man's address. " W'cel, wccl," said Wilkie, "jest give mc the money VOL. I. E 50 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8O6. first and ye '11 be sure to have the paper !" There was such an evident want of youthful heart and trust in this, that we all roared at Inm. " Ah ! Davie, Davie," said one, " ye come frae Fife," — "And that's just the Scotch part of Scotland," said another, — and so on for the rest of the day. His pe- culiar genius showed itself one day when I was eagerly drawing the skeleton. The oddity of the skeleton with its eyeless holes and bare bones, and ray earnest expres- sion, formed such a contrast, that Wilkie, instead of making his study at the same time, struck with the hu- mour of my position and look, sketched it into his ana- tomical book, and laughed long and loudly over his successful caricature. We had a second course with Bell, and when Wilkie came among the students again his Scotch friends com- menced their old jokes, but, alas ! Wilkie had proved his great genius before the world and their jokes fell dead. Some looked at him with mysterious curiosity, others were silent, and Wilkie drew on quiet and self-pos- sessed, without appearing to notice their failure. He had, and he deserved to have, a complete triumph. We were all chap-fallen, and deserved to be so. Let stu- dents be cautious how they quiz external peculiarities until they are certain what they conceal. Now that he was richer than he had been for some time his first thoughts were turned towards his mother and sister. Something of vast importance was brewing, we could not imagine what ; — I feared a large picture, before I was ready ; — but at last I, as his particular friend, received an invitation to tea, and after one of our usual discussions on art, he took me into another room, and there — spread out in glittering triumph — were two new bonnets, two new shawls, ribbons and satins, and Heaven knows what, to astonish the natives 1806.] AYILKIE. 51 of Cults, and to enable Wilkie's venerable father, like the Vicar of Wakefield, to preach a sermon on the vanity of woman, Avhilst his wife and daugliter were shining in the splendour of fashion from the dress- makers at the west end of London ! I never saw such amiable simplicity of rustic triumph as glittered in Wilkie's expressive face. I felt my at- tachment increased. I saw through his selfish exterior, that there was a heart, certainly, underneath — but I am not quite certain after thirty-six years ! Then came the packing; then the dangers by sea, and the dangers by land ; then the landlady and her daughter, and all her friends, were in consultation deep, and profound were the discussions how to secure " those sweet bonnets from beino; crushed " and " those charmlno- ribbons from sea-water." " There was nothing like it," as Burke said to Boswell on Johnson's dining with Wilkes, *' in the whole circle of diplomacy." All the time Wilkie stood by, eager and interested beyond belief, till his conscience began to prick him and he said to me, " I have jest been very idle," and so for a couple of days he set to, heart and soul, at the Blind Fiddler for Sir George. The progress of this perfect production I watched with delight ; I conceived the world must be right, and if I could not sec his superiority that I must be wrong. I therefore studied his proceeding as he went on and gained from him great and useful knowledge. " What is tliis, and that, and that for ? " brought out answers Avhich I stored up. Ills knowledge in com- position was exquisite. The remarks he made to me relative to his own works I looked into RafFaele for and found them applied there, and then it was evident to me that AV'ilkie's peasant-pictures concealed deep principles of the " ponerc totum " which I did not know. 52 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [1806 It was throiTgli ignorance and not superior knowledge that at first I could not perceive his excellence. This was a great and useful discovery : I found this thin, tall, bony fellow, as Jackson called him, a great master at twenty ! But his eye for colour was really horrid. He put a beastly yellow in his flesh ; he had no feeling for pearly tints or imiyasto. His flesh was meagre, thin, dirty mud. We used to argue about glazing and pure pre- paration of tint without yellow. I painted an old game- keeper (the model of the ol 1 grandfather by the fire in the Blind Fiddler), and then glazed it. Wilkie was so delighted he borrowed my study and tried the fiddler's right hand without yellow, toned it, and really it was the only bit of pure colour in the work. Pie was candid enough to say that I had greatly assisted him in that point ; and told a friend that my study of the head had been of great service, which I believe, for I have always had an eye for colour (first taught by Jackson), which Wilkie never had. The season had now ended, and among the other fashionable departures, Wilkie and Jackson went to Mulgrave Castle to meet Sir George and a party, to paint and spend their time delightfully. I went to and got furiously in love ; forgot blind fiddlers for blind Cupids ; never drew, nor painted ; to ride about the delicious neighbourhood, to read Milton and Tasso and Shakespeare In grassy nooks by the rippling sea, to unbind her hair, and watch her fastening it back with her ivory arms bent back over her head, to hear her thrilling laugh at my passionate oaths of fidelity, — all these were my studies for the va- cation, — studies perhaps not so entirely useless. In the heat of this delirium came a letter from Wilkie. My position, so dangerous but so little considered, now looked me sternly in the face : I started, like the in- 1806.] LETTER FROM WILKIE. 53 fatuated knight in the Bower of Bliss, and retiring to my room read in his letter (dated Malgrave Castle, Sept. 9. 1806.) " It will perhaps give you some pleasure to hear, that you are not unfrequently the subject of convei'sation. It seems Mr. Jackson has spoken very highly of you, several times, to Lord Mulgrave, and I have told them of the picture you are at present engaged on, which has raised their curiosity and expectations : at the same time, Sir George has expressed a desire to call upon you, when he returns to London, and Lord Mulgrave has desired me to transcribe a few lines from a subject which he seems to wish to have painted, as he ad- mires it for its grandeur. He wishes also to know, if you think it would suit your ideas, although he would not wish to put any restraint upon your inclinations. The subject has seldom or never been painted, which his Lordship tiiinks an advantage to it- "I have enclosed the lines in this letter*, so that you may take your own time to think of it ; but I will see you myself before it will be necessary for you to give any opinion. " Sir George Beaumont is to allow me 50 guineas for my picture f, if I am satisfied with it. •■' He says he never intended to fix it at 25 guineas, but only mentioned that, at the time, to Mr. Jackson, as being the lowest that lie would give. I think that this offer is very liberal, and I think you will be of the same opinion. " We are all astonished that Mr. Jackson has not yet arrived, as we hear that he was to leave London more tlian a week ago, but he is not one of those who arc scrupulously punctual to their word, else wc might be very uneasy about him. I find that Lord Mulgrave is as well acquainted with his feelings as we arc. He laughs at his unsteadiness, is amused at his simplicity, admires his talents, but grieves at his want of industry, and moreover observes, that Jackson is a person he never could be angry with." * This was an extract fnim Hook's tionian History, relating to Dentatus, tlie sul)ject I ai'lerwards painted. t The Blind Fiddler. E 3 54 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON". [1806. This roused my spirits. I had got my first com- mission for a grand historical picture, " to set me going," as Lord Mulgrave had promised. It was a triumph for me, a reward for what I had suffered, and I imagined now that ail trouble was at an end. I wrote home. Coblcy was silenced and began to cry ; Plymouth was quite pleased ; I was really a public character, and all my aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, came and congratulated my dear parents, declared they always said it would be so, and only thought a little wholesome opposition a very necessary thing. Cobley always talked of me ; my father swore Lord Mulgrave was of the right sort, as he was an upright and downright out- and-out Tory, for no Democrats or Whigs ever would have thought of such a thing, and then he drank his health in a bumper. Dr. Bidlake prided himself on having taught me ; my school-mates foresaw it ; in fact, opposition was over, and they swore that my fortune was made. How often has my fortune been made in the opinion of friends ! I had now to part from my ladye-love, and I shall say nothing on the subject beyond confessing that on the road to London I cried for the first twenty miles as if my heart was quite broken. However, about the thir- tieth mile, I caught myself laughing at a charming Jittle creature at an inn where we changed horses. I dozed and dreamed of her pretty dimpled face until I scented the London smoke, when all these rustic whims and fancies gave way to deep reflection on High Art and a fearless confidence in my own ambition. So far from the smoke of London being offensive to me, it has always been to my imagination the sublime canopy that shrouds the City of the World. Drifted by the wind or hanging in gloomy grandeur over the vast- ness of our Babylon, the sight of it always filled my 1806.] MY FIRST PICTURE. 55 niincl with feelings of energy such as no other spectacle could inspire. " Be Gode," said Fuseli, to me one day, " it's like de smoke of de Israelites making bricks." " It is grander," said I, " for it is the smoke of a people who would have made the Egyptians make bi'icks for them." " Well done, John Bull," replied Fuseli. Often have I studied its peculiarities from the hills near London, whence in the midst of its drifted clouds you catch a glimpse of the great dome of St. Paul's, announcing at once civilisation and power. I got home before Wilkie, ordered the canvass for my first picture (six feet by four) of " Joseph and Mary resting on the road to Egypt ; " and on October 1st, 1806, setting my palette and taking brush in hand, I knelt down and prayed God to bless my career, to grant me energy to create a new era in art, and to rouse the people and patrons to a just estimate of the moral value of historical painting. I poured forth my gratitude for Ilis kind protection during my preparatory studies and for early directing me in the right way, and implored Him in His mercy to continue that protection which had hitherto been granted me. I arose with that peculiar calm which in me always accompanies such expressions of deep gratitude, and looking fearlessly at my unblemished canvass, in a species of spasmodic fury I dashed down the first touch. I stopped; and said, " Now I have begun ; never can that last moment be recalled." Another touch — and another — and before noon I had rubbed in the whole pictvu-e, when in came Wilkie. " That's jest too dark for rubbing in." *' Why ? " " Because what can ye do darker ? Ye must jest never lose your ground at first." I scraped away until he was satisfied that I had restored the ground sufficiently and got all in like a wash in water colour. He was delighted tliat I had fairly commenced, and K 4 5G AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8O6. when he left me I thought " Now here is a lesson." This is the blessing of beginning ; every day is a lesson and every day an advance. This period in my life was a very happy one. I look back upon it, indeed, as perhaps the happiest of all my student career. The basis of my character was earnestness of feeling. I took up everything as if my life depended upon it, and not feeling sufficient gratification in simply doing all that I could, my imagination was never satisfied if I did not call on the aid and blessincj of God to correct and fortify my resolves. I never rose without prayer, and never retired without it ; and occasionally in the day, in the fervour of conception, I inwardly asked a blessing on my designs. I was fervently alive to the beauty of woman ; and though never vicious was always falling in love. No doubt an Etonian, a Winchester or Rugby boy, or a London dandy, will laugh incredulously at this : but with me, it was a fact. At twenty I had a high and noble object, which sustained me far above the contaminations of a " town life," and carried me at once into virtuous society, without passing through that ordeal of vice which young men think so necessary to clear away schoolboy shyness and fit them for the world. Wilkie, I have every reason to believe, was equally vir- tuous. We both considered our calling a high duty, and we both were anxious to do our best. 180G.] VISIT FROM SIU G. i3EAU3[ONT. 5^ CHAP. IV. The difficulties of a first attempt were enormous. I wanted to make Joseph's head looking down so as to leave the eyes out of sight, and I did it so badly that people said " Why he's asleep ! " So out came that head several times, but at last I hit the look from the model after a lono-, lonjx morning's trial of some ei"ht hours. Oh the ecstacy with which I then rushed to dinner, and the appetite with which I ate ! By this time people began to come to town, and about November, I think. Sir G. Beaumont returned and inti- mated through AVilkie a desire to call. Wilkie informed me in due time and a day was fixed for the awful visi- tation. A thundering knock and trampling horses, a rattling down of steps and flinging open of doors, an- nounced consequence and fashion. The picture was set in a good light, tlie room neat, the chairs old, the carpet worn. In came David Wilkie Introducing Lady and Sir George Beaumont, the friends of Garrick and Sir Joshua. Lady Beaumont was a graceful woman, looking young for her age ; Sir George a tall, well-bred, handsome man with a highly intellectual air. They both eyed me well and were delighted with the picture. " AVcll," said Sir George, " very poetical, and quite large enough for anything." I bowed, but diftered ; explained that my object was Grand Art, and that this was my first attempt. After the usual questions and replies Sir George asked mo to dine in a few days and they then took their leave. 58 AUTOBIOGRArnY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l807. This first visit from a man of rank and repute elevated me a good deal ; Wilkle and I dined together the same evening, and he told me that Lady Beaumont said " I like him very much ; for he has an antique head." This was a great compliment ! I immediately filled four sides (as I was not writing to Fuseli) to my dear parents, with every incident of the visit, — how Lady Beaumont looked — what she had on — how tall Sir George was — how he looked — what he had on — what Lady Beaumont said — what Sir George said — what David Wilkie did 7iot say, and what he ought to have said. Again my fortune was made, again my Plymotheans were in raptures. I myself was in raptures too — thought Sir George and Lady Beaumont models of all the virtues upon earth, and praised them to Wilkie accordingly. Wilkie always looked as if he saw farther into time, but he thou2;ht it rioht not to disturb my enthusiasm. The awful day came, when a youth from the country who had never in his life dined at any table higher than a country parson's was to make his debut at a party in high life. " God only knows how I shall go into the room," thought I : "I will keep behind Wilkie ; at any rate I am a match for him, and I will 7iot drink Lady Beaumont's health in porter." Wilkie called — I had been shaving until my chin was half skinned — washing until I Avas quite in a heat — and dressing and re-dressing until my back ached again — brushino; mv hair — lookincj behind me in the o-lass — putting the glass on the floor and then opening the door — bowing and talking to myself and wishing that my mother could see me ! I was ready and away we drove, I in a cold perspiration. We reached the house, the door opened, and we marched through a line of servants who bawled out our names from the entrance. In went Wilkie and in went I, and in five minutes was much 1807.] MY FIRST DINNER IN HIGH LIFE. 59 niore at ease than I ever had been in my life, sitting on an ottoman talking to Lady Beaumont. Mr. Davy was announced, and a little slender youth came in, his hair combed over his forehead, speaking very dandily and drawlingly. Dance the architect and several others fol- lowed, and after some little chatting in the gallery dinner was served. Davy took Lady Beaumont, the rest fol- lowed as they pleased, and I was placed within one of her Ladyship. The dinner went off well with me, for I felt quite at ease ; every one seemed so kind. At dessert Lady Beaumont, leaning forward, said, " When do you begin Lord Mulgrave's picture, Mr. Haydon ? " Im- mediately all eyes were fixed upon Mr. Haydon who was going to paint a picture for Lord Mulgrave. I was the new man of the night ! '' Who is he ? " was asked. Kobody knew, and that was more delightful still. Davy was very entertaining, and I well remember a remark he made which turned out a singularly successful pro- phecy : he said, " Napoleon will certainly come in con- tact with Ivussia by pressing forward in Poland, and there probably will begin his destruction." This I heard myself five years before it happened. We soon rose for coffee. I found her Ladyship anxious to discuss the subject of Lord Mulgrave's picture, and as I imagined that it would be peculiarly interesting to detail how I meant to paint it, and found that I was really listened to, I became quite entertaining, whilst AVilkic, full of modesty, hung back and seemed frigiitencd to tread within the circle. However, carriages were soon an- nounced, and Wilkie and I took our leaves and walked home. This visit was not satisfactory ; I was paid at- tention to over-eagerly for a novelty, before I had done anything to deserve it. I distrusted the sincerity of those who could give me so much importance on such slight grounds. In a sliort tin;e I was cautioned to be warv of Sir 60 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDOjST. [1807. George ; I wa? told that he regularly had at his table a succession of geniuses who were puffed as great men, whose hopes he constantly excited and as constantly depressed without any reason at all ; in fact that I must take care not to lose my time, but at once be cautious of either offending or relying upon him. I believed this to be calumny, but it had an effect. In a day or two he called, sat whilst I painted, and then took me away in his carriage to show me Lord Ashburnham's pictures at Ashburnham House, and set me down at my own door. He told me Sir Joshua used white of egg, and advised me to do the same, with half a dozen other things, to all of which I paid no attention. I complained to AVilkie that my colours dried too quickly. " What dy'e paint in ?" " Drying oil and var- nish." " Use raw oil ! " " What is raw oil ? " said I. " Why, oil not boiled." I did not know this, and de- lighted with the information ground up with raw oil and have done so ever since. Such was at that time my ignorance of vehicle. The subject I had chosen was a pretty one if poeti- cally treated, and I had so treated it. In the centre was Joseph holding the child asleep ; the ass on the other side ; above were two angels regarding the group, and in the extreme distance the Pyramids at the break of day. The whole was silently tender. The scenery divided interest with the actors. The colour was toned and harmonious, — the drawing correct. I had tried to unite nature and the antique. I never painted without nature and never settled my forms without the antique. I proceeded with the utmost circumspection and I be- lieve that it was rather an extraordinary work for ^ first picture. It was an attempt to unite all parts of the art as means of conveying thought, in due subordination. It had colour, light and shadow, impasto, handling. 1807.] WORKING AT MY FIRST riCTUEE. Gl drawing, form and expression. It took me six months to paint and when I saw it twenty-five years after I was astonished. It was bouglit by Mr. Thomas Hope the year after and is now at Deepdene. By perpetual studying at Lord Stafford's gallery, to which by Sir George's kindness Wilkie, Jackson and I Avere admitted, I had made np my mind as to my 2)rac- tice. I used to mix up tints and carry them down on a bit of pasteboard to the Titians and compare them every Wednesday. By these means it will be seen that I had not neglected the study of the brush, and thus, when I commenced painting I was not ignorant of the theory of practice. Wilkie's success gave me unalloyed pleasure. I was very much attached to him and he seemed to be so to me ; but as this picture drew to its conclusion, he did not give me that encouragement which under similar circumstances, in the warmth of my heart, I should have offered to him. He feared this, and he feared that, and wdien Sir George Beaumont (although admitting it Avas a wonderful first picture) advised me by no means to exhibit it, Wilkie instead of backing me up turned right round from his former opinion and thought that I ought not as it was my first picture ! Now began the anxieties of the art. What was I to do ? To fly in the face of Sir George would offend him ; to obey him would keep me from the world another year. But why I ought not to show it because it was my first, wlien they botli admitted it was by no means like the work of youth, I really could not understand. i\Ianv evenings was all this discussed. Jackson said I ought to exhibit ; Wilkie said I ought not, and our mutual friend Scgaier said, if he was in my place, he would. This decided me. " Wilkie," said Seguier, " does not wish to differ from Sir George." There was something so cold in "W'ilkie's thus with- 62 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l807. drawing his support from a devoted friend, that I really date my loss of confidencG from the hour he thus re- fused me his countenance and denied his first opinions because the man of rank thought otherwise. As the Exhibition time approached, I felt all those cursed tor- turino; anxieties that are the bane of this mode of making your name known to your countrymen — a mode the most absurd, unjust, despotic, and ridiculous, that was ever invented by the most malignant in art. I dreamed that the Exhibition was open, and that 1 hurried into the rooms and could not find my picture ; that I ran about raving for the porter, and at last found myself in the Academy kitchen, and there, under the table and covered over with the servants' table-cloth, found my picture dirty and torn. I became furious, awoke, and found myself sitting bolt upright in my bed ; but for some time I could not rid myself of the delusion. For days I wandered about in hopeless misery ; I could not eat or drink ; I lost my relish for everything ; I could not sleep ; I could not paint ; called on one friend after another affecting gaiety ; bored Fuseli, who, being Keeper, saw what was daily doing by the Com- mittee ; luitil, at last, one morning, when after a timid knock I opened the door at the usual " Come in," Fuseli turned suddenly round with his lion head, the white hair glistening as the light quivered down upon it from the top of his high window, and roared out, "Wale, is it you? for your comfort den, you are hung be Gode, and d d well too, though not in chains yet." " Where, sir, for God's sake ? " " Ah ! dat is a sacrate, but you are in the great room. Dey were all pleased. Northcote tried to hurt you, but dey would not listene ; he said, * Fye, zure I see Wilkie's hand dere.' ' Come, come»' said Westall, ' dat's too bad even for you ! '" " Wilkie's hand," replied I, '' good heavens. 1807.] I EXHIBIT MY FIRST PICTURE. 63 Avhat malice ! I would as soon let Wilkie feed me with a pap spoon as touch a picture of mine. But what petty malignity ! " " ^Yil\c, wale," said Fuseli, " I told him (Northcote), ' you are his townsman, hang him wale.' When I came back whayre de deyvil do you tink he was hanging you ? Be Gode, above de whole lengts and small figures about eight inches. ' Why,' said I, 'you are sending him to heaven before his time. Take him down, take him down ; dat is shame- ful!'"* And so down I was taken and hunfr on the rio-ht of the entrance door in the old Great Boom at Somerset House, which for a first picture by a young student was a very good situation and obtained me great honour. The Blind Fiddler was of course the great source of attraction, and well it might be. Wilkie rose higher than ever. On the day the Exhibition opened we all dined with Hoppner, who hated Northcote, who in his turn hated Hoppner, Hoppner was a man of fine mind, great nobleness of heart, and an exquisite taste for music, but he had not strength for orio-inalitv. He imitated Gainsborough for landscape and Reynolds for portrait. We talked of art, and after dinner Hoppner said, "lean fancy a man fond of his art who painted like Bcynolds ; but how a man can be fond of art who paints like that fellow Northcote, heaven only knows." *' As to that poor man-niillincr of a painter, Hoppner," Northcote used to say to me, " I hate him, sir, I ha-a-a-te him ! " Hoi)pner was bilious from hard work at portraits and harass of high life. He was portrait painter to the * In Nortlicoto's "Conversations" he attempts to clear himself of this, by saying that he was not hanger the year (1S07) my picture came in. Now, on the Otlicial List of Councils of the Academy, Northcote for that year is entered as " /(wng-er," being on the Council. Peace to him! — B. 11. II. 64 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l807. Prince ; and one day M°Mahon having ordered the porter at Carlton House to get the rails repainted, and to send for the Prince's painter, the man in his igno- rance went over to Hoppner. When the Prince visited Hoppner one day, he popped suddenly into his gallery where was his fine portrait of Pitt. " Ah ! all !' said the Prince, " there he is with his d d obstinate face." I had this from Lascelles Hoppner who heard him from an inside room. I must go back a little in order to recall a very inter- esting letter which I received from Sir George Beau- mont while painting my picture, and in the midst of all the difficulties I experienced in bringing it to a close. This letter showed his real heart when in the country, free from the agitation and excitement of London life. He had a family-house at Dunmow, Essex, Avhere his venerable mother lived in seclusion, and where Sir George generally visited her between Christmas and spring. Lord Mulgrave used to quiz him about never allowing any of his friends to come to Dunmow, de- clai'ing that Sir George had something snug there which he did not wish to be seen or known. Pie wrote me, (Dunmow, Feb. 28. 1807.) " I am not surprised, and indeed very little sorry, to hear of your difficulties, for you must remember the more elevated your goal, the greater must be the exertion of every nerve and sinew to reach it ; had you been easily satisfied, I should have formed no interesting hopes of your progress. I myself have merely played with the art, yet I have had experience enough to convince me that the man who fancies attainment easy, has a circumscribed mind, ill calculated to reach any point approaching to excellence. He may perhaps acquire some dexterity of hand, and make a tolerable figure on a tea-board, but he will never obtain that something, which cannot be described, though it reaches the recesses of the heart, without any of the parade of execution. * * * 1807.] LETTER FROM SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. 65 " It, at first thought, seems rather hard, that such a Bix'- mingham gentleman* should, in the multitude of his converts, proceed without difficulty and with great exaltation, whilst you meet with struggles and with disappointments ; yet when you recollect the object of his vanity — that it has little to do with the mind, — that it will never be approved of by an opinion worthy the consideration of a man of sense, — and that it is scarcely more valuable than the applause a rope- dancer receives for his monkey tricks — he certainly ceases to be an object of envy, Avhilst you have the satisfaction of reflecting upon the value of the object you have in view, and that although the present pains and troubles are distressing, yet, when once achieved, not only will your reward be the ap- probation of every man of real taste, but a proper appli- cation of the power acquired will impart useful pleasure, and ultimately pi'omote the causes of religion and virtue. " I should add that at tlie time I am undervaluing mere flippancy of pencil, where pencilling, exclusive of expression, is the object of the artist (which by the way is no bad re- ceipt to make a French painter), yet I by no means approve of that blundering, ignorant, clumsy execution, which some have indulged themselves in. Tlie touch, to my feeling, should be firm, intelligent, and decisive, and evince a full knowledge of the object. This will never be attained but by profound knowledge of drawing, which, I am sorry to say, has been much neglected. Superadded to the great pleasure I expect from the works of yourself and "Wilkie, I hope your steady application to drawing will be an example of incal- culable advantage to the students of the present day. "I contemplate the friendship which subsists between yourself and Wilkie with peculiar pleasure. Long may it last, uninterrupted by misunderstanding of any sort ! I am confident it will not only render your studies pleasing, but your honest criticisms of each other cannot fail of producing mutual advantage. You cannot impress your mind with too exalted an idea of your high calling ! " I now recommenced my Greek to which I had never * I am convinced Sir George alluded to Lawrence. — 13. Iv. II. VOL. I. r 66 AUTOBIOGRAPHY Or B. E. IIAYDON". [l807. paid much attention since I left school, and found that I could scarcely read it with any ease. But I soon discovered that the accui'ate study of a language em- ploys more time than can he spared from any other leading pursuit. I wrote to Sir George about it, and in a few days heard again from Dunmow. Among other things, he wrote, — (March 23. 1807.) " If you determine to master the languages, it will cost you much time and much labour, and for the life of me I cannot conceive how it will advance your great object. If you saved your eyes or strengthened your constitution by air and exercise in the process, I should certainly recommend the undertaking, but on the contrary, it will consume the little time you have to spare for the care of your health — which, whatever a youthful desire of triumph may at present suggest, is as necessary as any other qualification for an artist, and will, without due attention, before you are aware of it, stand a chance of being irretrievably lost. If you think it necessary to paint from Homer, the subject and costume may certainly be as well knoAvn from translations and English comments as from the original. " But for my own part, I have always doubted the pru- dence of painting from poets ; for if they are excellent, you have always the disadvantage of having an admirable pic- ture to contend with already formed in the minds of the circle — nay different pictures in different minds of your spectators — and there is a chance, if yours docs not happen to coincide (which is impossible in all cases) that justice will not be done you. " This remark is particularly applicable in painting from Shakespeare, when you not only have the powerful jDro- ductions of his mind's pencil to contend with, but also the perverted representations of the theatres, which have made such impressions on most people in early life, that T, for my part, feel it more difficult to form a picture in my mind from any scene of his that I have seen frequently represented, tlian from the works of any other poet. 1807.] FIRST VISIT TO LORD MULGRAVE. 67 "Now if you choose judiciously a subject from history you avoid these disadvantages, and the business will be to make the poetry yourself, and he who cannot perform this will in vain attempt to echo the poetry of another. You have asked my opinion and I have freely given it, but many will undoubtedly differ from me. I only speak my genuine feelinfrs." o ■ These letters during February and March prepared the way for my first picture, and Wilkie's immortal one, the Blind Fiddler. No one can read of Sir Georsfe's regard for us (hardly twenty-one any of tlie three) without acknowledging the kindness of his disposition. The season soon began. Lord JNIulgrave came to town and Jackson brought me an invitation to dine. On introduction Lord Mulgrave said, " I hope I shall know more of you." Lady Mulgrave, the Hon. Au- gustus Phipps, Lord Normanby, then a boy, the rest of the family, Jackson, Wilkie and I formed the party at Lord jMulgrave's house in Ilarley Street. At table, during dessert, we got on poetry. Lord Mulgrave said, he did not admire Milton ; that Pitt had often tried to convince him of Milton's genius, but that he could not see it. I defended him — Lord Mulgrave drew up and looked solemn ; Wilkie pale ; Jackson as usual utterly good-natured ; Sir George and Lady Beaumont quiet and surprised. Lord Mulgrave said he agreed with the Scotchman, who, after reading Milton through, said "he thought there was just faults on both sides." This produced a hearty laugh, in which I joined ; but it was evident that my ardour for Milton was a little out of place at my Lord's table, the first time of dining. Lord Mulgrave was a fine character, and as he now produced the laugh and not I, he closed the argument in apparent triumph. I dined there again very soon, and at last Wilkie and I dined there so often and became so much in fashion F 2 68 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l807. that we started chapeaux bras. To please Lord Mul- grave, Jackson used to powder liis head, and once Lord Mulgrave induced Wilkie to do the same, but Whitbread quizzed poor David so unmercifully that he never re- peated it. Lord JMuI grave was a high Tory and a com- plete John Bull. He gloried in Nelson and (I thought) seemed to have an immortal hatred of Napoleon. The name of Napoleon seemed to exasperate his nature be- yond everything. About this time the Whigs were turned out, and the Duke of Portland forming an Ad- ministration gave Lord Mulgrave tlie Admiralty. To the Admiraltv then we used to go : there we dined often and often, and always with pleasure. There we started our chapeaux hras, did the dandy and the buck, saw our names in the Morning Post as guests of the First Lord, met ministers and ladies, generals and lord chamberlains, men of genius and men of no genius, and rose rapidly and daily in hope and promise. Lord Mulgi'ave (Tory as he was), wheu dinner was announced, as soon as all of superior rank had gone off used to say Avith an air, '' Historical Painters first — Haydon take so and so." Once or twice I dined with him alone. He talked on matters of history and politics, and from my general reading and education, he found I relished this conver- sation more than any upon art. He would even talk of Napoleon and of his campaigns, and finding me in- telligent and eager to listen he seemed to take pleasure in informing me in a general way. It is so dehghtful to hear men who have acted talk — they give you no trash but positive information. The Exhibition of 1807 brought me before the world: ray picture was considered a wonderful work for a student, and Sir George and my Lady saw that it was fortunate I had not taken their advice. I sent the Ca- talogue to my dear mother; she read my name in it 1807.] PRESENTATION OF A CUP TO FUSELI. 69 printed for the first time. She read the criticisms ; she kept them all. Before the Academy closed a little matter occurred quite characteristic of English students. Two or three of the body who Avished to ingratiate themselves with the Keeper (Fuseli) proposed to present him with a vase. A subscription was opened, and a committee without either plan or principle formed itself, of which Wilkie and I were members. We were all perfectly ignorant of such matters and after a great deal of discussion we laid a plan before the students after hours. It was re- ceived with shouts of laughter and derision ! Up jumped a little fellow and made a speech, a capital one, in which he tore our proposition to pieces and called the whole thing an absurdity. Everything was going against us ; none would speak in our favour, when at last I screwed myself up, rose, and made my ddhut by bogging them not to attribute our proceedings to disrespect but to simpli- city and inexperience in business ; entreating them to be unanimous one way or the other; enlarging greatly upon the estimable qualities of our Keeper, and finally proposing that the self-elected committee should at once be dissolved, and the whole thing re-founded according: to the popular principles of the British Constitution. Disapprobation and groans gradually sank into silence, which specdil}'' turned into various " hear, hears," and "when at last I said, " Gentlemen, the eyes of England, and not only of England, but I may say of the whole British Empire, are upon you," the " hear, hears," gave way to rapturous applause and my proposition was car- ried nem. con. Wilkie immediately seconded me, pro- posed a room should be hired and the conuuittec chosen at once out of the body of students. This was loudly cheered. AVilkie, I and Dcnman, a pupil of Flaxman, were chosen, and we immediately secured a room at the " Garrick's Head" (opposite Covent Garden Theatre), F 3 70 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l807. for the future meetings. Wilkie was voted to the chair; a committee formed in the regular way ; a Scotchman, a friend of his, made secretary, I treasurer, and after proposals, cheers and votes of thanks, we broke up all in capital humour with each other. We raised 50 guineas at lOs. 6d. each. I had never hr.d so much money in all my life, and I well recollect every night first putting the money under my pillow and then drawing a long French cavalry sabre (which had come out of an old prize at Plymouth) and laying it down within easy reach before going to sleep. At last I thought of a bank, and remembering that Coutt's were Fuseli's bankers, I called and asked the late Sir Edward Antrobus if he would allow me to pay the money in on account of the committee, explaining the object we had in view. He replied in the driest way, " Why, sir, we don't usually open an account with so small a sum!" "Small," thought I, "why there's no end to it!" However, he promised to take care of it for me and did so. Wilkie, Flaxman and I were now de- puted to arrange with a silversmith, and Rundell and Bridges agreed to execute a vase for 50 guineas which should be worthy Fuseli's acceptance. The committee was composed of a great many students, and while regulating the business we met at each other's rooms, had oysters for supper, sang songs, laughed and joked, and found the thing so very pleasant that we all agreed in hoping that it would not be a rapid perform- ance on the part of Rundell and Bi'idges. Wilkie at that time Avas a capital fellow : he had a little kit on which he played Scotch airs with a gusto that a Scotch- man only is capable of. We got so fond of these committees that Fuseli grew fidgetty and at last roared out, "Be Gode ye are like de Spaniards ; all ceremony and noting done ! " I reported the Keeper was getting sore, so we agreed to settle at 1807.] PRESENTATION OF A CUP TO FOSELI. 71 the next committee what the inscription should be. At the next conmiitee the oysters predominated a little, so we deferred the ultimate consideration to another meet- ing. It happened that among the students we had a Scotch ornamental painter, called Callender, very like Wilkie in face and figure. Who he was nobody knew, but being an Edinburgh man — where they never snuff the candles at a meetino; without addressins; the chair and appointing a sub-committee to take the propriety of the act into consideration — he was thoroughly versed in all the duties of chairman, deputy, secretary and vice, and really Avas a treasure from his knowledge. The students swore that he was Wilkie's brother he was so like him. He made his first appearance during this business, disappeared as soon as it was over and never was seen or heard of afterwards. We soon settled the inscription ; the vase came home, and the day approached upon which it was to be pre- sented. Wilkie, however, was obliged to go to Scotland and I was elected to present it in his place. Here, then, to our infinite sorrow, ended the labours of the com- mittee; but wliether we regretted the oysters or the duties only gentlemen in the habit of belonging to com- mittees can decide. The day came ; the night before I rehearsed to myself the speecli — action, and expression. I imagined I was in Fuseli's presence. I took up a Latin dictionary for the cup and concluded my speech exactly as I placed the supposed cup upon the table before Fuseli. I fan- cied tlie speech was good but the question was how did I look — how ought I to look? The glass only could decide, and eo taking the half-rubbed, broken-down looking-glass of a lodging-house second floor bed-room, with only one pivot pin left, and that excessively loose, I planted it so as to see myself, with a candle over my licad ; repeated my speech ; acted ; finished ; glimpsed at F 4 72 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B, E. IIAYDON. [l807. my features, and felt satisfied that there was no grimace. When I do anything I never consult friends, and never did from a boy. My speech was concise and to the point, and so all the advice about " Don't make it too long," and " let us see," and '' what are you going to say?" was lost upon me. " If I fail," said I, with vast importance, and conscious of the awful responsibility I had undertaken, " the disgrace is mine. If I succeed, yours will be the credit, for the sagacity of your choice." The committee met in Fuseli's middle chamber and then repaired to his gallery with me at their head. Fuseli came out, bowed and looked agitated. The vase was on the table in front : I advanced to the table and said, "Mr. Fuseli, — sir," in such a tremendously loud and decided tone that they all started, but I quickly modulated my voice, and as I concluded I placed the vase before him. Fuseli made a very neat reply, and Flaxman a long speech which bored every one. We then all retired to a cold collation, drank Fuseli's health with three times three, and separated, the committee privately inquiring of each other whether all the busi- ness was concluded, or rather, if no possible affair could be invented for another committee supper. Flaxman said, as we came down to lunch, " The students hit upon the right man in young Haydon," and afterwards com- jiliraented me on my able speech. Keally I have often thought that this little affair, of which I was the head and front, first sowed the seeds of enmity against me in the minds of many of the Academicians. Hoppner was in a fury, and on the first opportunity, gave Wiikle a tremendous rowing, called the students a set of impudent puppies, and declared that had he been in the Council he would have turned us all into the streets ! When we were discussing the thing in its early stages, the Council used to listen at the door and 1807.] DEATH OF OPIE. 73 say, " Now they are talking about it, shall we do any- thino;?" Northcote was on the Council and confessed this to me. Within a very short time, so jealous were the Council and the greneral meetino; of this deserved honour to Fuseli that they actually passed a law forbidding the students ever again to exercise their judgment in such matters, as it belonsced to the Academicians, and to the Academi- cians alone, to decide on the merits of their officers. As if, in such a case, the students, the people really bene- fited by the Keeper, were not the best judges whether they were benefited or not ! The malignant feeling that this simple mark of respect roused among Fuseli's bro- ther R. A.'s excited every one's contempt. They never forgave me and I never respected them afterwards. Just before Wilkie went to Scotland poor Opie died, and we both went to his funeral. Opie died a disappointed man. He had been brought up to London as the wonderful Cornish boy — the gifted genius — and Ire was almost obliged, as he expressively said to Northcote, to plant cannon at his door to keep the nobility away. He had not foundation enough in his art to fall back upon when the novelty was over ; his employment fell off and he sank in repute and excellence. At one time, Iloppner informed me, there was an amazing force and power in his execution ; but he carried the surface of Reynolds to such excess, that (as Wilkie told me) he used tallow, (in his David Rizzio,) to increase the effect of body in his colour — an insane practice which must end in the ruin of the picture. Opie was a man of strong natural understanding, honest, manly and straightforward. His last marriage (with INIiss Aldcrson of Norwich) softened his asperities of manner and greatly ameliorated the coarseness of his female portraits, but still there was always a heavy look 74 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l807. in his works which Is apparent when they are placed by the side of Reynolds or Titian. His lectures ai'e admirable. Of the three, Fusell, Ople, and Reynolds, Opie came nearest to the Greek principles of form, led by his natural sagacity and shrewdness. He was a loss, though not an Irreparable one, and left a gnp In the art. His celebrated wife was a delightful creature. When at Norwich in 1824 I breakfasted with her. In talking of Byron, she said, " His voice was such a voice as the devil temj)ted Eve with ; you feared its fascination the moment you heard it." The last time she saw him was at a soiree where a man took out a glass flute to play on : Byron looked at her and said, " That fellow is go- ino; to let us see his notes as well as hear them." Before leaving this part of my recollections I may as well introduce some little anecdotes, domestic in their kind, about Wili^Ie's picture of the Blind Fiddler, which I remember with pleasure. The mother was painted from a singular girl who lodged In Bathbone Place above some friends of ours. She was a young woman of masculine understanding, not regularly beautiful, but approaching it, full of heart and hatred of worldly feeling, capable of any sacrifices for the man she should love, and with a high standard of manly character and form. The first time I ever saw her Avas with Wllkie, when he called to ask her to sit to him, and on my in- quiring who she was he said he did not know beyond finding her making tea generally for his Scotch friends — he supposed that she was "part of the concern." These friends of Wilkle's were young men who had come from Scotland to work their way to fame and fortune in our great city — one of them, Du Fresne, of French famll}', was a most delightful fellow and he and I soon became very intimate. An attractive girl on the second floor of a house full 1807.] " THE CONCERN " IN RATHBONE PLACE. 75 of young men is in ratlier a dangerous position, and what with Dli Frcsne's fascinating conversation. Will Allan's anecdote. Dr. Millingen's furious admiration of Charles Fox, George Callender's sound sense and quiet humour, Wilkie's genius, and B. li. Haydon's high views and energy of argument, poor Lizzy was so fascinated that she positively forswore her sex and became as much a young man in mind as if she too were going to be a stu- dent in art, divinity, or medicine. She attached herself to the party, made tea for them, marketed for them, carved for them, went to the play with them, read Shakespeare with them, and on one occasion I found her studying, with an expression of profound bewilderment, " Held on the Human Mind." To men of fashion there will be no doubt as to what her position must have been with these young men ; but they are wrong in this case. Suspicion followed suspicion, but she cared not. She had more pleasure in listening to a dispute on art between Wilkie and me, or a political battle between ^PCIaiZCfan and Callender, or an account of the beheading of Marie Antoinette from Du Fresne, (who used to declare that he saw it and flung his red cap In the air,) than in making love or having love made to her. Her position was anomalous but I fully believe it Avas innocent. She was a girl with a man's mind, one of those women we sometimes meet who destroy their fair fame by placing themselves in masculine society with what is perfect innocence in them but could not be innocence in any woman brought up to nurse those delicacies of feeling which arc among the most delightful attributes of the sex. Liz was as interesting a girl as you would wish to sec and very likely to make a strong impression on any one that knew her : however I kept clear and she ultimately married the Frenchman. He was violent in temper and she had great spirit : 76 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l807. they quarrelled as they went to churcli and quarrelled when tliey returned. The marriage was a wretched one. They separated. She went to Paris and he became a surgeon on a slave estate in the West Indies and died from yellow fever. What has become of her I never heard but have always felt a deep interest in her fate. To her I read my first attack on the Academy and she gloried in my defiance. She sat in my first picture and watched the daily j^rogress of Dentatus, saying, wlien I finished it, " Now who would have thouglit of little Ilaydon painting such a work ! " Perhaps some of the pleasantest evenings Wilkie and I ever spent together were those when she and Du Fresne and the whole " concern " of Kathbone Place drank tea with us at the rooms of one or the other. We used to talk over our pictures and their progress ; there have I heard the Village Politicians, the Blind Fiddler, Solomon, Dentatus, Joseph and Mary, and many others discussed, j)raised and objected to as we sat by a winter fire, with our pictures glimmering behind us in dimness and distance, each defect and each beauty analyzed and investigated. Happy period ! — painting and living in one room, — as independent as the wind — no servants — no respon- sibilities — reputation in the bud — hopes endless — ambition beginning — friends untried, believed to be as ardent, and as sincere, as ourselves — dwelling on the empty chairs after breaking up, as if the strings of one's affections were torn out, and such meetings would be no more. There never was a group of young men so various and characteristic, with Lizzy the only woman among us giving a zest and intensity to our thoughts and our arguments. First, was David Wilkie — Scotch, argumentative, uuclassical, prudent, poor and simple, but kindled by a >yl^ 1807.] " THE CONCEEjS " IN EATIIBONE PLACE. 77 steady flame of genius. Then, Du Fresne, — tbouo-jit- less, gay, highly educated, speaking French and Itahan Avith the most perfect accent, reading Virgil and Horace, quoting Shakespeare or Milton, believing in high art, glorying in the antique, hating modern academies, and relishing music like a Mozart. In perfect contrast, came George Callendcr — timid, quiet, unobtrusive, but withal well read. Then Di-. Millinn-cn — a Whis: de- votee, mad at a Westminster election, raving out a speech of Fox's, adoring Sheridan and hating Pitt. Last of all, though not least in our dear love, came B. 11. Haydon, — energetic, fiercely ambitious, full of grand ideas and romantic hopes, believing the world too little for his art, trusting all, fearing none, and pouring forth his thoughts in vigorous language, while Liz, — making tea at the table, — completed the grouji. My tea was so good and my cups so large that they always used to say, " We'll have tea at Hay don's in the grand style." The secret, I believe, of my own and Wilkie's enjoy- ing this circle was that its members always looked up to us as authorities in art. When Wiikie was disposed to talk we all listened, laughed or admired. His conver- sation was so full of good sense, reason and caution, that he was an admirable check and damper to the fury, flash and i*eckless energy of my aspirations. Callcnder, with tame rationality, backed him, — Liz and Du Fresno backed me, and sometimes differences almost risino; to irritation arose, but wc were always brought round by some witty remark or sparkling quotation from Du Fresno. Certainly I never enjoyed any man's company so much as Du Fresno's. He died regretted sincerely, though his latter conduct had estranged one or two friends whom he might have used better. lie Avas a man of nice susceptibility to the genius of others with- 78 AUTOBIOGKAPIIY OF B. R. HAYDON. [!807. out any originality. How many of this species do we not meet in the \voi*ld, pluming themselves ixpon their taste and feeling, on the whole having an idea of what is perfect, yet looking with contempt on all human effort in any art, because it does not come up to their un- practical and impossible notions of beauty, foi-getting that if men despaired because imagination is superior to reality, the world would be full of idle dreamers without busy actors, and would remain stationary in art and science ! Peace to all these friends! M°Claggan is settled in Edinburgh — Allan is the celebrated painter — Du Fresne and Callender dead — and interesting little Liz has disappeared. Heaven knows where ! If this Life should ever reach her, she will remember that I used to say of hei*, as Mahomet said of Fatlma, " She believed in me, when none else would." The success of Wilkie roused their jealousy, and when our dinlno; at Lord ]Mul";rave's was announced in the paper they could hardly conceal it. Kememberlng us poor and struggling, they found us patronised and popu- lar, yet retaining our friendships as before. One of the most difficult things in this world is the management of the temper of friends when you first burst into public repute and leave them in the rear. 1807.] I TRACTISE PORTEAIT PAINTING. 79 CHAP. V. My first picture being considered very promising, I had now begun Lord Mulgrave's Dentatus, but, as I have said before, I found the difficulties so enormous that by Wilkie's advice I resolved to go into Devonshire and practise portraits. Just as I was thinking over my plans came a letter from home saying that my father was again seriously ill and begging me to return at once. This decided me, and I determined, at the risk of privateers and Verdun, to go by sea. I started for Portsmouth, cleared the Needles, had a tremendous gale for three days, and lay to off Portland Head for several hours, but at last Start Point came in sight and then the Sound. Up we sailed right through Haraoaze and landed at North Corner dock, where I had often been as a boy to watch Jack with his pig-tail and dashing girl, lounging along with a long pipe, and in the hoarse manly voice of a fore- top-man cracking his jokes on everything that came in his way — man, woman or French prisoner. As it was early in the morning I got a porter to carry my trunks and started for the house : of course the servants would not hear my knocks, but my dear mother opened her win- dow and seeing me rushed down stairs and clasped me to her heart. I found my father very ill, but the crisis was over, and we all hoped for his recovery which gra- dually took place witli care and change of scene and life. Here 1 resolved, as soon as settled, to paint my friends at fifteen guineas a head, a good price, at which I soou got full employment. Execrable as my portraits were. 80 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l807. (I sincerely trust that not many survive,) I rapidly ac- cumulated money, not, probably, because my efforts were thought successful, even by my sitters, but more be- cause my friends wished to give me a lift and thought that so much enthusiasm deserved encouragement. How few beyond one's kind friends think thus ! During my stay I called on the late Lord Morley, then Lord Boringdon, (at Saltram,) and was received very kindly. I was amazingly struck with Lady Bo- ringdon (afterwards Lady Arthur Paget). She was a very beautiful woman with the largest dark blue eye I had ever seen. Both my Lord and Lady seemed dis- posed to patronise me, but, as usual, I did not succeed in portraits of every-day people, and Lord Boringdon, calling one day when I was out, Avas naturally enough not over well pleased with some of the worst of my bad efforts, which happened unfortunately for my reputation to be on the easel, and I never heard of him more. However, my general success was great, and I Im- proved so much by my short practice that people began to come in fi'om the country to sit, but as I had my commission in London and had obtained a fair facility in painting heads I resolved to bring my provincial labours to a close. But, alas ! my dear mother now began to droop. Incessant anxiety and trouble, and her only son's bursting away from her at a time when she had hoped for his consolations in her old age, gradually generated that dreadful disease angina pectoris. The least ex- citement brought on an aironizino; struo;2;le of blood through the great vessel of the heart, and nothing could procrastinate her fate but entire rest of mind and body. Her doom was sealed, and death held her as his own whenever it should please him to claim her. Her fine heroic face began to wither and grow pale; loss of exercise brought on weakness and derangement. 1808.] A STRANGE MEETING. 81 She imagined that the advice of an eminent surgeon in London might save her, and though I and everybody else knew that nothing could be done we acceded to her wish immediately. I painted her portrait, and as she sat I saw a tear now and then fill her eye and slowly trickle down her cheek, and then she would look almost indiirnant at her own weakness. " I should have wished," she said at last, " to have seen your sister settled before I died, if it had pleased God," and there she stopped. I tried to cheer her against my own conviction; but there was such an evident want of sincerity in my expressions of comfort and hope that they only convinced her I thought as she did. In solitude I started at the thouo;ht of losino- a mother ! There is no feeling so acute as the first dawn of this thought on a young mind. One evening, as we sat I'ound the fire, she wept at the idea of never coming back again. We were all much affected ; my poor fatiier cried like an infant and tried to cheer her against such gloomy anticipations, but the impression in her mind was ungovernable and awful. It is my decided conviction that there exists in persons about to die an instinct of their fixte. The brain, I believe, is affected by the tendency of the vital parts to death and generates presentiments and fears. My dear mother felt her approaching end so clearly that she made every arrangement with reference to her death. I went to Exeter to get her apartments ready at the hotel, the day before she left home. She had passed a great part of her life Avith a brother (a prebend of Wells), who took care of a Mr. Cross, a dumb miniature painter. Cross (who in early life had made a fortune by his miniatures) loved my mother and proposed to her, but VOL. G 82 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8O8. she being at that time engaged to my father refused hiui and they had never seen each other since. He retired from society deeply affected at his disappoint- ment. The day after leaving Exeter we stopped at "Wells as my mother wished to see my uncle once more. The meeting was very touching. As I left the room and crossed the hall I met a tall handsome old man ; his eyes seemed to look me through ; muttering hasty un- intelligible sounds he opened the door, saw my mother, and rushed over to her as if inspired of a sudden with youthful vigour. Then pressing her to his heart he wept, uttering sounds of joy not human ! This was Cross. They had not met for thirty years. We came so suddenly to my uncle's, they had never thought of getting him out of the way. It seemed as if the great sympathising Spirit once again brought them together before their souls took flight. He was in an agony of joy and pain, smoothing her hair and pointing first to her cheek and then to his own, as if to say " How altered ! " The moment he darted his eyes upon my sister and me, he looked as if he felt we were her children, but did not much notice us beyond this. My sister, hanging over my poor mother, wept pain- fully. She, Cross, my uncle and aunt, were all sobbing and much touched ; for my part my chest hove up and down, as I struggled with emotions at this singular and afHictino- meetino;. What a combination of human feel- ino;s and sufferino-s ! Disappointment in love, where the character is amiable, gives a pathetic interest to woman or man. But how much more than ordinary sympathies must he excite, who, dumb by nature, can only express his feelings by the lightnings of his eye ; who, wondering at the con- vulsions of his own heart when the beloved approaches him, can but mutter unintelligible sounds in the struggle 1808.] A STRANGE MEETING. 83 to convey his unaccountable emotions ? In proportion to the inability he feels to express all the deep refine- ments of thouglit for which words only can avail, must suppression add to the intensity of passion ; and Avhen at last his beloved disappears to marry another no kind or delicate explanation can be given to one to whom speech is unintelligible. Thus had this man been left for thirty years brooding over affections wounded as for the mere pleasure of torture. For many months after my mother married he was frantic and ungovernable at her con- tinued absence and then sank into sullen sorrow. His relations and friends endeavoured to explain to him the cause of her going away, but he was never satisfied and never believed them. Now, when the recollection of her, young and beautiful, might occasionally have sootlied his iraao-ination like a melancholy dream, she suddenly bursts on him with two children, the offspring of her marriage with his rival — and that so altered, bowed, and weak- ened, as to root out the association of her youthful beauty with the days of his happy thoughts. There are great moments of suffering or joy when all thought of human frailties is swept away in the gush of sympathy. Such a moment was this. His anger, his frantic in- dignation, and his sullen silence at her long absence, all passed away before her worn and sickly face. He saw her before him, broken and dying ; he felt all his affec- tion return, and flinging himself forward on tlie table he burst into a paroxysm of tears as if his very heart- strings would crack. By degrees we calmed him, for nature had been relieved by this agonising grief, and they parted in a few moments for the last time. During the Avhole of the next day my poor mother was silent, Now and then she would repeat, half to herself — "I have seen them once again — I have seen them once again." The agitation of this meeting brought 84 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HATDON. [I8O8. on several attacks in the heart and she appeared de- pressed and melancholy. Daring the jonrney four mag- pies rose, chattered and flew away. The singular super- stitions about this bird were remembered by us alL I repeated to myself the old saw " one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, and four for death." I tried to deceive my dear mother by declaring that two were for death and four for mirth, but slie persisted that four announced death in Devonshire, and, absurd as we felt it to be, we could not shake off the superstition. The influence of early Devonshire stories and the idle rhymes of nurses and nursery maids held fast in my mind, and I felt such an unaccountable belief that death was near that I almost feared to look my mother in the face. Finding that the fatigue of sleeping on the road and the bustle of every departure harassed the invalid, we pushed on towards London as fast as possible and stopped for the night at Salt Hill. The veiy mention of that place convulses my heart again after thirty-four years ! I yet see my dear, dear mother, leaning on us, as she mounted to her room step by step, trying to jest and relieve our anxiety, Avhile her pale face and wan cheek showed the hollowness of her gaiety. The servants went before with candles ; a clock upon the landinsc seemed to tick with a solemn loudness that made my heart sink ! Seeing my dear mother easy in her chair, I went to my own room, and had begun undressing when my sister came to my door to say that my mother wished me to sit in her room for the night, and that as soon as day broke we would push on for town. I immediately went in, bringing my fire to theirs, hoping that it would last until the day. We all fell asleep in our chairs after a short time. About half-past two I awoke from mere 1808.] MY mother's DEATH. 85 anxiety and found that the fire had sunk and was only- kept alive by two or three masses which rested against the back and front of the o;rate. The heated and silent sparkle of the coals had something about it peculiarly startling. Without moving, I looked up at my dear mother. She was awake and lookino- into tlie fire in- tently as if she read her destiny in its singular shapes. Her fine features were lighted by the dim reflection from the glimmering embeis. Her nose was sharp — her cheek fallen, — she looked as if she saw the grave and pondered on its wonders ! And this was the last time I was ever to see her alive ! My sister moved in her chair and my dear mother start- ing up covered her witli a shawl. This exertion of ma- ternal care brought on the most dreadful attack I had ever seen. Her lips became livid, cold drops stood upon her forehead, and conscious of her pangs she groaned out, "My dear children, I am dying; thank God! you are with me." My sister began to cry : I immediately put hot water to my mother's feet. " Lay me on the bed," she said. I took her in my arms and propping her with pillows gently placed her in a reclining position. I then rang the bell and alarmed the house, sending off an express for a surgeon. After great agony she became quiet, but said, " My dear children, I have lost my sight ; wiiere are you ? " Thinking the surgeon was a long time, I ran down into the stable and taking a horse with only a halter on gallopped off, by the direction of the ostler, to the surgeon's house. When I reached It, I found him — although a human creature was on the })()Int of death — using lighted paper to warm his boots with! Hurrying him off I followed him, ran up to my mother's room, found my sister in tiie hands of strange people, and her — for whom my heart yearned — dead. She had asked for mc, my sister said, and when told « 3 86 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [I8O8. that I had gone for a surgeon, moaned out, " It 's no use," and died. I made the surgeon open a vehi, but without effect. I put my sister into another room, sent them all away, and locked myself in. Like Lear, I placed a glass before her lips, but there was no stain ; and then first I gave way to my violent and unutterable emotions. The day, as it broke, seemed steeped in lurid horror. I did not, could not believe she was dead — I listened if she breathed — I kissed her pale cheeks again and again — I rubbed her hands, and arms, and looked into her sightless eyes. I felt hope useless — I knelt and prayed. In the morning I despatched a messenger to my uncle, who came up immediately and comforted us with his simple and heart-touching piety. He had all the virtues of a country clergyman and all the simplicity ; he called the waiters " Sir," and walked about in the mornino- without his coat with his CD grey hairs streaming back from his forehead. He came out into the world as one bewildered at evervthins;. He tried to calm the agony of my poor sister, but that "fii'stdark day of nothingness" is dreadful — with its consciousness of havinn;: lost the dear beinr^, whose voice in sickness or sorrow, like a guardian angel's, has been heard with gladness, from birth to manliood — dead — gone — past away, and whither ? Oh, the acuteness of that first pang of separation from a Mother ! It is as if a string of one's nature had been drawn out and cracked in the drawino; leavino; the one half of it shrunk back to torture you with the consciousness of having lost the rest. That which as children we hardly conceived possible had happened, — a parent dead ! AY hat disgust did I not feel at eating! — and yet I was hungry — and yet I was ashamed to eat. All the uses of this world how wearing I Then came the coffin and 1808.] MY mother's FUNEEAL. 87 the struggling steps carrying it upstairs — and the undertaker, with his cahn settled features — and the brutal hard-faced nurse Avho claimed the clothes for her perquisite. In a fury I sent the wretch from my pre- sence. I saw my dear mother laid in her coffin, and taking a last long look left the room, — her features stamped upon my mind for ever. The next morning I was up and saw the coffin placed in the hearse, listened as the wheels rolled oiF along the sandy road and imaoined that I still heard them for hours after. Wishing to avoid the funeral we breakfasted late ; while yet at breakfast a rattling noise made us all look up and the hearse passed us on its return at a quick trot. My sister burst into tears, for this gave us a fresh shock. My dear mother had expressed a wish to be bui'ied by her father's side and my success at Plymouth en- abled me to fulfil her wishes. I had her conveyed to Ide where my grandfather possessed property. There following the funeral at a distance I saw her carried to her vault by four old villagers, one of whom re- membered Miss Cobley a healthy rosy child of ten years old. Durinfj; the dinner I stole from the mourners and bribing the sexton descended into the vault and stretch- ing myself upon the coffin for the last time lay long and late, musing on every action of her hard devoted life : on my knees, by her side, I prayed God for his blessing on all my actions and rose prepared for the battle of life ! With a last lingering look I left the vault and returned to our broken home. The next night I left for London to begin my picture, pursued by the in- fluence of my mother whose memory I have cherished and shall cherish for ever. «i 4 88 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. K. HAYDON. [I8O8. PART 11. CHAP. VI. I RETURNED to Loncloii, dear old London, and was welcomed with great affection by Lord Mulgrave and Sir George, Wilkie and all ray other friends. Strolling out one evening with Fuseli, and explaining to him my commissions and prospects, he said, " I think you may vainture now upon a first floor :" so to look after a first floor I went, and found one with every accommodation at 41, Great Marlborough Street. Here I removed and began to make preparations for Dentatus. My paint- ing large heads in Devonshire had greatly advanced me, and I set to work without fearing a head as I did at first. This practice I would always advise a young histo- rical painter to pursue, — after having gone through his preparatory studies let him paint portraits diligently : he will find it of the very first importance. This was "VVilkie's advice to me, and I followed it to my advan- tage. I now recommenced Dentatus in good earnest. I reflected deeply upon the nature of the subject. I felt that the figure of Dentatus must be heroic and the finest specimen of the species I could invent. But hoiv could I produce a figure that should be the finest of its species ? From Fuseli I got nothing but generalisation without 1808.] MY DIFFICULTIES WITH DENTATUS. 89 basis to generalise on. He could not explain to me a single principle. I had nature of course, but if I copied her my work was mean and if 1 left her it was mannered. What was I to do ? How was I to build a heroic form, like life, yet above life ? How I puzzled, painted, rubbed out and began again ! Wilkie knew nothing of the heroic. In the antique I found something of what I wished, but I desired more of nature than I could find in any of the antique figures. I became wretched. At last, after I had painted Dentatus looking fiercely, and a fi-ightened man opposite to him holding up his hand, a painter who called said, " Where did you copy that ? " "Copy!" replied I, "I imagined it with nature before me." This startled him, and I felt certain that I had not missed ray aim, when another was so moved. But my incapacity to make a figure in the true heroic mould still tormented me. In my model I saw the back vary according to the action of the arms. In the antique these variations were not so apparent. Was nature or the antique wrong? Why did not the difference of shape from difference of action ajipear so palpably in the antique as in nature? This puzzled me to death. If I copied what I saw in life Fuseli said, " This is too much like life." If I copied the marble Wilkie said, " That looks as if you had painted from stone." In my first picture I had used the antique based on nature, but the marked parts were few : now, when I had a back, limbs, and arms to deal witli, the knowledge required was greater and the style the highest. Just in this critical agony of anxiety how to do what I fek I wanted, and when I had been rubbing out and painting in again all the morning, Wilkie called. INIy hero was done, though anything but well done, and AVilkie proposed that we should go and see the Elgin Marbles as he had an order. I agreed, dresscJ, and 90 AUTOBIOGRAPnY OF B. E. HAYDON. [I8O8. away we went to Park Lane. I had no more notion of what I was to see than of anything I had never heard of, and walked in with the utmost nonchalance. Tliis period of our lives was one of great happiness. Painting all day; then dining at the Old Slaughter Chop House ; then going to the Academy until eight to fill up the evening; then going home to tea, — that blessing of a studious man, — talking over our respective exploits, what he had been doing, and what I had done, and then, frequently, to relieve our minds fatigued by their eight and twelve hours' work, giving vent to the most extra- ordinary absurdities. Often have we made rhymes on odd names, and shouted with laughter at each new line that was added. Sometimes, lazily inclined after a good dinner, we have lounged about near Drury Lane or Covent Garden, hesitating whether to go in, and often have I (knowing first that there was nothing I wished to see) assumed a virtue I did not possess, and pretending moral superiority preached to Wilkie on the weakness of not resisting such temptations for the sake of our art and our duty, and marched him off to his studies when he was lonoing to see Mother Cxoose. One night when /was dying to go in, he dragged me away to the Academy and insisted on my working, to which I agreed on the promise of a stroll afterwards. As soon as we had finished, out we went, and ni passing a penny show in the piazza, we fired up and determined to go in. We entered and slunk away in a corner ; while waiting for the commencement of the show, in came all our student friends, one after the other. We shouted out at each one as he arrived, and then popped our heads down in our corner again, much to the indignation of the chimney sweeps and vegetable boys who composed the audience, but at last we were discovered, and then we all joined in applauding the entertainment of "Pull Devil, Pull Bakei'," and at the end raised such a storm 1808.] MY FIRST SIGHT OF THE ELGIN MARBLES. 91 of applause, clapping our hands, stamping our feet, and shouting with all the power of a dozen pair of lungs, that to save our heads from the fury of the sweeps we had to run down stairs as if the devil indeed was trying to catch us. After this boisterous amusement, we retired to my rooms and drank tea, talking away on art, starting prin- ciples, arguing long and fiercely, and at midnight separating, to rest, rise and work again until the hour of dinner brought us once more together, again to draw, argue or laugh. Young, strong and enthusiastic, with no sickness, no debilities, fall of liope, believing all the world as honour- able as ourselves, wishing harm to no one and incredulous of any wishing harm to us, we streamed on in a perpetual round of innocent enjoyment, and I look back on these hours, as the most uninterrupted by envy, the least ha- rassed by anxiety, and the fullest of unalloyed pleasure, of all that have crossed the path of my life. Such being the condition of our minds, no opportunity for improvement was ever granted to the one which he did not directly share with the other ; and naturally when Wilkie got this order for the marbles his first thought was that I would like to go. To Park Lane then we went, and after passing through the hall and thence into an open yard, entered a damp dirty pent-house where lay the marbles ranged within sight and reach. The first thing T fixed my eyes on was the wrist of a figure in one of the female groups, in which were visible, though in a feminine form, the radius and ulna. I was astonished, for I had never seen them hinted at in any female wrist in the antique. I darted my eye to the elbow, and saw the outer condyle visibly allecting the shape as in nature. I saw that the arm Avas in repose and the soft parts in relaxation. That combination of nature and idea Avliich I had felt was so much wanting for high art was here displayed to mid-day conviction. 92 AUTOBIOGRArnY OF B. R. HAYDON. [1808. My heart beat ! If I had seen nothing else I had beheld sufficient to keep me to nature for the rest of my life. But when I turned to the Theseus and saw that every form was altered by action or repose, — when I saw that the two sides of his back varied, one side stretched from the shoulder blade being pulled forward, and theother side compressed from the shoulder blade being pushed close to the spine as he rested on his elbow, with the belly flat because the bowels fell into the pelvis as he sat, — ■ and when, turning to the Ilyssus, I saw the belly pro- truded, from the figure lying on its side, — and again, when in the figure of the fighting metope I saw the muscle shown under the one arm-pit in that instantaneous action of darting out, and left out in the other arm-pits because not wanted, — when I saw, in fact, the most heroic style of art combined with all the essential detail of actual life the thing was done at once and for ever. Here were principles which the common sense of the English people would understand ; here were principles which I had struggled for in my first picture with timi- dity and apprehension ; here were the principles which the great Greeks in their finest time established, and here was I, the most prominent historical student, per- fectly qualified to appreciate all this by my own deter- mined mode of study under the influence of my old friend the watchmaker*, — perfectly comprehending the hint at the skin by knowing well what was under- neath it ! Oh, how I inwardly thanked God that I was pre- pared to understand all this ! Now I was rewarded for all the petty harassings I had suffered. Now was I mad for buying Albinus without a penny to pay for it ? Now was I mad for lying on the floor hours together, copying its figures ? I felt the future, I foretold that * Kejnulds, of Plymouth. 1808.] FUSELI'S ADMIRATION OF THE MAEBLES. 93 they would prove themselves the finest things on earth, that they would overturn the false beau-ideal, where nature was nothing, and would establish the true beau- ideal, of which nature alone is the basis. I shall never foro-et the horses' heads — the feet in the metopes ! I felt as if a divine truth had blazed inwardly upon my mind and I knew that they would at last rouse the art of Europe from its slumber in the darkness. I do not say this ?ioiv, when all the world acknow- ledges it, but I said it then, ivhen no one mould believe me. I went home in perfect excitement, Wilkie trying to moderate my enthusiasm with his national caution. Utterly disgusted at my wretched attempt at the heroic in the form and action of my Dentatus, I dashed out the abominable mass and bi-eathed as if relieved of a nuisance. I passed the evening in a mixture of tor- ture and hope ; all night I dozed and dreamed of the marbles. I rose at five in a fever of excitement, tried to sketch the Theseus from memory, did so and saw that I comprehended it. I worked that day and another and another, fearin^j that I was deluded. At last I got an order for myself; I rushed away to Park Lane; the impression was more vivid than before. I drove off to Fuseli, and fired him to such a degree that he ran up stairs, put on his coat and away we sallied. I remember tliat first a coal-cart with eight hoi'scs stopped us as it struggled up one of the lanes of the Strand ; then a flock of sheep blocked us up ; Fuseli, in a fuiy of haste and rage, burst into the middle of them, and they got be- tween his little legs and jostled him so much that I screamed with laughter in spite of my excitement. He swore all along the Strand like a little fury. At last we came to Park Lane. Never shall I forijet his un- compromising enthusiasm. He strode about saying, " De Greeks were godes ! de Greeks were godes 1 " "Wc 94 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. 11. IIAYDON. [I8O8. went back to his house, where I dlnecl with him, and we passed the evening in looking over Quintilian and Pliny. Immortal period of my sanguine life ! To look back on those hours has been my solace in the bitterest afflictions. Had Fuseli always acted about the marbles as honestly as he did then it would have been well for his reputation ; but when he was left to his own re- flections he remembered what he had always said of things on very different principles, and when I called again he began to back out, so I left him after recallinGC what he had felt before he had time to be cautious. He did not behave with the same grandeur of soul that West did. He, too, was in the decline of life ; he, too, used to talk of art above nature, and of the beau-ideal ; but he nobly acknowledged that he knew nothing until he sa^v the marbles, and bowed his venerable head before them as if in reverence of their majesty. Peace and honour to his memory ! There was more true feeling in his submission to their principles than in all Fuseli's boastful sneers. It is curious that the god-like length of limb in the Greek productions put me in luind of Fuseli's general notions of the heroic, and there is justice in the idea. But as he had not nature for his guide his indefinite impressions ended in manner and bombast. The finest ideas of form in imitative art must be based on a know- ledge of the component parts of that form, or an artist is, as Petrarch says, " In alto mar senza governo." I expressed myself warmly to Lord Mulgrave and asked him if he thought he could get me leave to draw from the marbles. He spoke to Lord Elgin and on the condition that my drawings were not to be engraved permission was granted to me. Conscious I had the power, like a puppy I did not go for some days, and when I went was told that Lord Elo;in had changed his mind. The pain I felt at the loss of such an oppor- 1808.] WORKING FROM THE ELGIN MARBLES. 95 tunity taught me a lesson for life ; for never again did I lose one moment in seeking the attainment of an object when an opportunity offered. However, I ap- plied again to Lord Mulgrave and he in time induced Lord Elfin to admit me. For three months I drew until I had mastered the forms of these divine works and brought my hand and mind into subjection. I saw that the essential v>'as selected in them and the superfluous rejected; — that first, all the causes of action were known and then all of those causes wanted for any particular action were selected; — that then skin covered the whole and the effect of the action, relaxation, pur- pose or gravitation was shown on the skin. This ap- peared, as far as I could see tJien, to be the principle. For Dentatus I selected all the muscles requisite for human action, no more nor less, and then the members wanted for his action, and no more nor less. I put a figure in the corner of a lower character, that is, more complicated in its forms, having parts not es- sential, and this showed the difference between the form of a hero and common man. The wiseacres of the time quizzed me, of course, for placing a naked soldier in a Roman army, a thing never done by any artist. Raf- faele did so in Constantine's battle, but thev had nothinfj to do with Raffaele and perhaps never heard of Raffaele's battle. I drew at the marbles ten, fourteen, and fifteen hours at a time ; staying often till twelve at night, holding a candle and my board in one hand and drawing with the other; and so I should have staid till morning had not the sleepy porter come yawning in to tell me it was twelve o'clock, and then often have 1 gone home, cold, benumbed and damp, my clothes steaming up as I dried them ; and so, spreading my drawings on the floor and putting a candle on the ground, I have drank my tea at one in the morning with ccstacy as its warmth trickled 96 ' AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8O8. through my frame, and looked at my picture and dwelt on my drawings, and pondered on the change of em- pires and thought that I had been contemplating what Socrates looked at and Plato saw, — and then, lifted up ■with my own high urgings of soul, I have prayed God to enlighten my mind to discover the principles of those divine things, — and then I have had inward assurances of future glory, and almost fancying divine influence in my room have lingered to my mattrass bed and soon dozed into a rich, balmy slumber. Oh, those were days of luxury and rapture and uncontaminated purity of mind ! No sickness, no debility, no fatal, fatal weak- ness of sight. I arose with the sun and opened my eyes to its light only to be conscious of my high pursuit ; I sprang from my bed, dressed as if possessed, and passed the day, the noon, and the night in the same dream of abstracted enthusiasm ; secluded from the world, re- gardless of its feelings, unimpregnable to disease, in- sensible to contempt, a being of elevated passions, a spirit tliat " Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'erinformed its tenement of clay." While I was drawino; there, West came in and seeing me said with surprise, " Hah, hah, Mr. llaydon, you are admitted, are you ? I hope you and I can keep a secret." The very day after he came down with large canvasses, and without at all entering Into the principles of these divine things hastily made compositions from Greek history, putting in the Theseus, the Ilyssus, and others of the figures, and restoring defective pai-ts; — that is, he did that which he could do easily and which he did not require to learn how to do, and avoided doing that which he could only do with difficulty and which he was In great need of learning how to do. It may, perhaps, be interesting to the student to 1808.] WORKIXG FROM THE ELGIN MARBLES. 97 follow the progress of my studies from my Journal of this date. Wednesday, 1th Scptemher, 1808. — Rose at ~ past 6, made sketches from a scull of a horse, tlie anatomy of which I leai'nt. Drew at Lord Elgin's from 10 to 2, and 3 to 6. Walked, came home, had tea and read Boswell's Johnson. This is lazy of me; I must study my art even of a night. Sth. — Drew at Lord Elgin's from 10 till | past 2, and from 3 to 5,45 ; walked about and studied these matchless pi'oductions. I consider truly that it is the greatest blessing that ever happened to this country, their being brought here. The principles they are executed on I am truly ignorant of yet. I beo-in to relish them with a right feeling. God grant I may be able to do something before I die, that may stand in competition with them and do honour to my dear country. Qtli. — Awoke at 6, with my night-cap off; put it on, resolving to get up, but alas ! during that moment, fell asleep and never woke until 8. Drew at Lord Elgin's from 10 till 2, and 3 till ^^ past 6, and finished the best drawing I have done yet. Marble fell down and cut my leg ; went to bed at 12. Am much im- proved this week in the knowledge of horses. IIow the Greeks attended to every variety in the body pro- duced by the slightest movement ! The more I study them the more I feel my own insignificance. May I improve in virtue, purity and industry ; let me admit no deo;rees of excellence, notliinn; but indis- })utable greatness on solid scientific principles,- — the house built upon the rock. Read Boswell's Johnson. There is really no resist- incf this book. 10///. — Awoke at 7, did not begin drawing until | VOL. I. H 98 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [1808. past 10, drew on with some interniptlon to 5. Dined, came home and read Boswell. What has affected rae to-day I do not know, but I have drawn with evident weakness, and on looking at my yesterday's drawing I was truly astonished to see such vigour and spirit ; I cannot tell what has ailed me. I have been disturbed in my thouglits, and, I suppose, not able to apply myself so acutely. ****** I find that if I lie awake in the morning, I feel weak and relaxed, shattered for the day. The true way to preserve my health is to lie on a hard mattrass, sleep six or seven hours, jump out at first Avaking, wash instantly in a cold bath, study for eight hours, drink nothing but weak tea and water, eat tlie most simple food, no suppers, no hashes, or fricassees. When I do this I feel braced for the day and ready for any exer- tion, mental or corporeal. If, however, I transgress in the slightest degree I am sui-e to suffer, am incapable of energy, and the day is resigned without a struggle. To bed at 10. Subtracting every time that I have got up, fidgetted about and idled (for I have contracted a habit of instinctively reproaching myself whenever I do it), I have worked to-day only 5^ hours. llth. — Arose at ^ past 7; breakfasted out; came home and passed the whole day in calmness, prayer and reading. I2th. — Passed the day reading and writing; not able to walk, my leg being very painful. 13th. — My leg still painful; read Boswell; was ex- cessively affected at the account of Johnson's death. When Boswell says " In the morning he asked the hour ? and they told him six ; he answered, that all went on regularly, and he felt that he had but a few hours to live," everything rushed into my mind, — all the accompaniments, the expiring rushlight, day just beginning to break, the attendants gently stepping 1808.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1808. 99 towards the window, whispering to each other, and holding back the curtain to see how day was breaking, the stars twinkling in the clear blue sky before the blaze of sunlight drowned their splendour, and now and then Johnson's awful voice asking pardon of his Creator. It brought many, many things crowding on my mind. \4:th. — Read Homer in English to stir up my fancy, that I might conceive and execute my hero's head with vigour and energy. \5th, — Read eight hours. \Qt]i. — Read nine hours. llth. — Read Virgil; can make it out very well, but his idea of the bird, &c., not so beautiful and true as Homer's, who makes the feathers fly out and quiver in the air. Quite in the feeling of Latin and Greek. Thirteen hours' reading, right eye rather strained. \Sth. — Read Homer; any fine passage I go to the Greek for and make it out, but with great bungling. 20th. — Began my picture again. Wilkie breakfasted with me, on his return from Lord Lansdowne's, a por- trait of whosj lady he has brought home which is truly exquisite ; I had no idea of his being capable of so much : it gives me real pleasure. God bless our exertions and let death only end our improvement. We dined at Lord JNIulgrave's in private; no restraint; his young fixmily all i)laying about us. He talked about the late treaty at Lisbon. On Monday following, I spent the evening with Fuscli, who in the course of his conversation said that a subject should always astonish or surprise ; if it did neither, it was foulty. A long argument on Chris- tianity : both ngrccd that its beautiful morality proved its divinitv. All industrious days, until the Saturday week fol- lowing. Wilkie breakfasted with me, and away we went to Sir W. Beechcy, to endeavour to get his vote for n 2 100 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8O8. Charles Bell as Professor of Anatomy. Sir William made Wilkie sit for his head : while this was performing, I went to call on Smirke, and left Wilkie to break the matter to Sir William ; came back and found it as hope- less with him as with Smirke. In the evening I felt idly inclined, and communicating my wish to go to the play, Wilkie, (who felt equally lazy, only was cunning enough to wait for my proposal), immediately agreed, and away we went. Oct. 8th. — Let me reflect how sillily I have passed this precious day; no reading the Bible, no Latin or Greek, until the evening, and then I fell asleep until I. 9th. — In the evening I wanted to go and see Mac- beth; Wilkie, Avho has no taste for anything tragic, said I wanted firmness ; but I know that if it had been Mother Goose or any absurd comicality he would have had as little firmness. I went, but whether it was that their performing at the Opera House gave the figures less effect, I fancied that Mrs. Siddons acted with very little spirit in the scene where she comes out (when Macbeth is in Duncan's chamber), and says, " That which lias made them drunk, has made me bold." She ought to have been in a blaze. I, who had been accustomed to read Macbeth at the dead of night, when everything was so silent that my hair stood on end, could not, at this moment when I almost fancied Duncan groaning, put up with such a laceration of feeling as the slamming loudly of a box door and the rustling of women taking their seats. I jumped up in a fury and left the house. I will not go again to see any of Shakespeare's plays : you always associate the actors with the characters. No Academy. A negative day. 10^/i. — Determined to obliterate my principal figure, as by doing the parts separately they do not hang well together; what time one loses from inexperience! I 1808.] FROM MY JOUKNALS OF 1808. 10] made up my mind aud did it, aud now am happy that it's over. llth. — Had Sam*; he sat and I sketched in the whole of my figm'e much better. I hope in God I shall do it at last. At the Academy Wilkie and I had some words ; he said I spoke hastily to him^ that I was insensible, and so on. Soon made it up. Greek an liour. ^, \2tli. — Breakfasted with Wilkie to please him, against my own inclination, for I hate to go out of a morning; it disturbs me. Improved my figure; too large I fear. At the Academy. Greek for an hour. 13^//. — Put in the head of my hero, — not at all satis- fied ; not half so well as the sketch. There is always something in a sketch that you can never after get when your feelings are quiescent. I look forward, to that time, the result of many years' incessant stud}^, when I shall be able to paint a picture warm from my brain with fire, cert;iinty and correctness, I must acquire thorough scientific principles first, for facility without science is only a knack. At the Academy. Greek for an hour. 1 -^itli. — Wilkie breakfasted with me ; neither was he pleased with my head ; after he had gone I went to Lord Elgin's to stimulate my conception and saw some casts from moulds wliich he had brought with him ; what productions ! I made drawings of several limbs and dra- peries and came home witli my eye more correct and determined to obliterate everything in my picture that would not bear comparison. I found enough and dashed out my head without a moment's hesitation. I am again clear, and hope God will be pleased to bless my exertions for excellence in my next attempt. At the Academy. Greek an hour. * One of the Academy porters. 11 3 102 AUTOEIOGRAPIIY OF B. E. HAYDON. [I8O8. 15th. — Wilkle and I breakfasted with Wilson ; our church is under repair, and of course we could not go to another ; dined early and went to drink tea Avith one of the porters, a model, formerly in the Life Guards ; he is a very industrious, honest, prudent man ; he is the Academy model, and has sat to me without pay for many days because I had nothing to pay him with. This tea I shall never forget. All his little family were dressed out in their best, and a fire in the par- lour, but Sam and his wife had not returned from church. We were shown in by the eldest girl, all smiles and curtesies, evidently the result of instruc- tions should we arrive before the parents returned. At last a rap was heard and away squeezed all the children to let in fatlier ; Sam shook hands with us and welcomed us to his castle, which was a perfect model of neatness and order ; his wife seemed a bustling woman, and soon had tea ready, and Sam amused us all the evening with capital stories about the old days of the Academy.* I don't know when I have spent a more innocent amus- ing evening than this : everybody seemed to anticipate our wishes, and of course we could not go without tastino" their home-brewed beer. As far as I have gone in this world, I have certainly observed that in most cases, prudence and piety are re- wai'ded by tranquillity and independence, and vice and dissoluteness by misery and want, — of course I mean in a certain class ; and there cannot be a stronger instance in my favour than the cases of the two porters at the Academy. They have both the same wages and advan- tages, and on the one hand one sees how much 50/. a year can do when managed with care, and on the other how little it can do when wasted in debauchery. The one porter has a comfortable little house, an active af- * Poor Sam never forgot this immortal visit : lie boasted of it to his death, and indeed it was no small hcmour on David Wilkie's part after he had painted the Blind Fiddler. — B. R. H. 1808.] FROM Mr JOURNALS OF 1808. 103 fectlonate wife, and a fixmlly of dear virtuous children, all of whom he keeps respectably and happily by his diligence and sobriety. The other squanders his money in an ale-house, leaving his wife and family in want and misery, without a rag to their backs, without a house, and sometimes without abed to lie upon. Will not vice bring its own punishment ? This man, in all probability, will soon lose his place and die in a jail or upon a dung- hill, without a being to lament or a wife to attend him. Surely sometimes the punishment of vice is as certain as the reward of virtue, and who can tell that he is not to be the example ? Came home, read my Bible, and studied Greek. lf)^A. — Painted the chest of my dying figure, not at all well. Heard from my father. \1tli. — Drew at Lord Elgin's; made a good study from one of the figures grappling the Centaurs. At the Academy gained much on my own picture, which looked very, very inferior when I came home. 18#/i. — The chest of my dying figure looked so miser- able that I rubbed it out. \%th. — Drew at Lord Elgin's all day. At the Academy. The same for the rest of the week. IZrd. — At Lord Elgin's from ^ past 9 until 5, with- out intermission; lost 10 or 15 minutes by getting up; dined. At the Academy as usual from 6 to 8 ; 9^^ hours' absolute drawing. Not at nil fatigued and not at all sore, but rather damp and cold. ****** What discrimination and judgment the ancient sculp- tors had! I sketched to-day the back of a Centaur, which has all that heavy vulgar portcr-llkc form which you see in men used to carry burdens, and which agrees with the character of the Centaurs who certainly were not very intellectual. n 4 104 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF E. R. HAYDON. [I8O8. November 1st. — I have begvm this new month by rising early, praying sincerely and studying indus- triously : let this be the character of the remainder of this year and the rest of my life. Drew at Lord Elo-in's from | past 9 until 4, and at the Academy from 6 to 8. In the early part of the morning my mind was dis- tracted by so many exquisite things before my eyes ; I had made sketches, but when I saw the originals I felt a pain at the comparison, mine being so very inferior. I first of all thought of beginning new ones, and then I thought I should be losing time, for I had got tlie com- position and that was the essential point, and so I deter- mined to relieve my mind from this painful apprehen- sion, and began carefully a fine trunk and limbs which soon quieted me and I went on correctly for the rest of the day. It has been the fault of the artists to put the markings of the antique into their figures, without considering their own attitudes, and making the same marking serve for all ; for instance, I have seen that marking in tlie doubled side of the Torso put into iq^right figures exactly as it is in the back side of the Torso, without reflecting that the moment the fio-nre arose that markinf>; would imfold itself and scarcely become perceptible ; I should have marked it so, had I not seen these exquisite things at Lord Elgin's, where it is shown in every attitude with all the variety of nature.* 'Srd. — Drew at Lord Elgin's fi'om 11 to 5 : then AVilkie and I went to see Henry VIIL, which I do not regret, for I gained many ideas. What absurd ambition that is, aiming at a greatness which the frown of a capri- cious prince can destroy. * When I explained tbis in my lectures, 32 years after observing it, I was loudly cheered. Why ? Because it at once touches common sense ! — B. R. II. 1808. J FROM MY JOURNALS OP 1808. 105 4M. — Drew at Lord Elgin's 7^ hours. Went then to see the " Mourning Bi-ide : " what wretched decki- mation and rant after Shakespeare ! 5t1i. — Drew at Lord Elgin's for 7 hours ; my taste improved wonderfully. Ith and Sth. — Put in the head of my old hero. God grant I may make it a fine one ! Dined in the evening at Loi-d Mulgrave's, it being Mr. Augustus Phipps's birtliday, and a very delightful evening I passed. Missed the Academy. AVilkie also. 9th. — Painted the arm, shoulder, and also the head ; you cannot be too long about a picture, provided you are applying your faculties to the diflSculties of the art during the whole time ; if you suspend your exertions, merely because you are not quite certain about the cos- tume, — perhaps because you are not quite certain whe- ther the people you are representing wore a sandal with a heel or a sandal without one, — then, I say, you are idle under the mask of industry. If you are slow because you arc unequal to execute your conceptions, if you are staggered at the difficulties of arrangement and checked by unexpected obstacles, and desist until you are better qualified by deeper me- ditation, depend on it, how slow soever you may be, every step you make will be a firm one, and you will ultimately execute with facility, the result of science, instead of haste. A great painter should make everything bend to his art. If by deviating from rule or from costume he can imj)rove his work or produce finer feelings in those who see it, let him do it and bid defiance to all adversaries or connoisseurs. He docs not paint for them, but to affect the human heart throuLjh human feelinci;. 17ih. — Passed this day industriously as well as Friday and Saturday. I cannot perha[)s say that of the last two months I have passed, iu all, more than four 108 AUTOBIOGRArHY OF B. R. HAYDOX. [1808. or five weeks properly, that is, in devotion without in- termission to study ; among them perhaps, on consi- deration, I may indude this last, for though I have not studied equally, I have regularly, and have fagged hard and made great progress.* My hero's head is finished, but yet I see that it is not what I had determined on, and so out it comes to-morrow : I have made up my mind that it shall be such as the greatest painter that ever lived would have made it. 21^^. — Painted about three hours this day; expected a model who never came, keeping me in a disturbed state ; however, I began the drapery again and improved it. Got a West Indian I had picked up in the streets, a fine head. Took out my hero. Let my life be but an era in the art of my dear country, or let me but add a mite to the cause of human improvement, and I shall indeed die a happy man ! 2^th. — Arose at 7, prayed, walked, set my palette and breakfasted. As I had promised a very modest unas- suming young artist at the Acndemy to call yesterday and give my opinion (as far as I am capable) of a picture, and did not go, I went to-day for fear he might be hurt, to Finsbury Square where he lived, and saw a picture which I fear gives but little hope of future excellence, weak in the extreme, dry, lame, hard and gaudy. I'll go no more to any young man, as I always come back with a higher opinion of myself. Drew at the Academy for an hour and a half, and idled the day in other respects. Wilkie changed his * In the original Journal Is inserted here this characteristic prayer. — "O God Ahnighty ! grant me strength of mind next week, not to presume on the industry of this last week, to be idle, but calmly to consider where I have failed in my duty, and to pray to thee for additional caution and vigour to avoid those defects, so that at the end of this week I may have less to repent of in thy si"ht, through the merits of my Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen." 1808.J JOURNAL-KEEPING. 107 lodgings, and Jackson and I went to tea with him, it being always customary for us to do this with each other on such an occasion. I dare say the dog will grow in- solent in his new rooms ; let me but catch the scamp at such a thing, and I'll pull him down, on the slightest variation to us. 29th. — Sat to-day to Jackson for a portrait for Lord Mulgrave. 30^A. — Here ends the month : I have not been whollv idle, my picture is advanced, and my mind improved and experienced. I dare not pray to God for any blessings, but I humbly hope for everything virtuous, pure and energetic. Amen ! And thus I will conclude my extracts from my Journal for the present. I acquired In early life a great love of the journals of others, and Johnson's recommendation to keep them honestly I always bore in mind. I have kept one now for thirty-four years. It is the history, in fact, of my mind, and In all my lectures I had only to refer to my journals for such and such opinions, to look when such and such thoughts had occurred, and I found them an absolute capital to draw upon. I hope that my journals, if ever they arc thought worthy of pub- lication, may give as much pleasure to others as other journals have given delight to me. The state of a young mind progressing in the art, the sanguine nature of its temperament, the hopes, the fears, the anxieties, the agi- tations which beset a youth on entering life, especially in a refined art, by a path pronounced by all to lead to certain ruin, cannot but be Interesting, at least to others making the same steps with equal ardour and more talent, but not more sincei-ity, than I possessed then, for there I will defy any man, let him be HafFaele him- self, to beat mc. 108 AUTOBIOGUArHY OF B. K. HAYDON. [1808. CHAP. VII. My object In thus detailing tlie secret lilstory of my mind in the progress of the Dentatus, is to be useful to students in every way, to show them that before they can obtain the power of sketching instantaneously, which people applaud in me even now at fifty-five, and which all young men are so ambitious of gaining, they must again and again begin, obliterate and recommence ; they must go to nature, and study the antique, making se- parate studies of each part ; they must fail, not be dis • couraoed, but at it as^ain. The subsequent story of this picture — which built as it was on everlasting principles, and meriting as it did the greatest praise and encouragement, was reviled and ridiculed, notwithstanding all the anxiety and labour recorded here, and notwithstanding that it could be de- fended heroically and successfully — of its progress, its conclusion, its original fate, and its ultimate trlumj)h, contains a moral lesson of infinite value to the enthusi- astic and unadulterated heart, and, therefore, I will jiro- ceed to the final history of a work which the French said established my fame, although many others (nearer home) delared that it had no merit at all. The extracts from my journal concluded with November. The head of my hero was at last done, but the figure only just got in — I could not accomplish it. Again and again I at- tacked the back, but I could not hit it. The model soon got so livid he was of little use. I could not attain that breadth of form and style so essential to the heroic ; so passing the back by for the present, I worked at the flying drapery, upon which I had failed as often as on 1808.] DINNERS AT THE ADMIRALTY. 109 any other part. One day Fuseli called and finding my flying drapery just finislied said that it wanted a prop and dehberately taking a bit of olialk drew a prop such as they put against a tumbling house, for fear it should break Dentatus's le"; in its fall. The moment he was gone I dashed the whole of it out, groanino; within my- self at the inextricable bewilderment I was in. But I never desponded ; I persevered and flew at a difficulty until I surmounted it and saw my way beyond. This was the state of the picture at the l)eginning of the winter of 1808, when Sir George calling, (before going to Dunmow to see his mother,) was very much pleased, and so was Lord Mulgrave. I dined frequently at the Admiralty and spent many very pleasant evenings, but yet this took me away from my studies, which I felt. The convei'sation was interestino; thou2:h some- times weak. Still it pleased my noble employer after the fatigues of oflSce. In fact, he had no greater delight than to talk over a winter fire of pictures and policy ; and Sir George, Jackson, Wilkie and myself were always invited together in order to keep up the aro-ument. Lord IMulgrave fi'cquently made lucky hits at sales and of an evening over his wine he would revel in his acquisitions with a gusto and glee that showed he really relished art. George Colman, the younger, (whose fiithcr Lord Mulgrave particularly liked), sometimes made one of the circle, and one night, just before joining the ladies, we were loitering about the picture of Lord jNIulgrave's brother blocked up in the ice, in the Arctic exj)cdition in which Nelson sailed as a middy. Lord Mulgrave, holding the lamp, said, " What is that my brother has got hold of? Is it a boat-hook?" "No, my lord!" said Colman, in his half-throttled, witty voice, "It's the North Pole ! " 110 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B, R. HAYDON. [I8O8. Lord iSIulgrave was a fine character, manly, perfectly- bred, and as noble an example of his order as I ever knew. He had high notions of art, a great respect for talent, and believed Englishmen as capable of becoming great artists as any people that had ever existed. His treatment of me was nobly generous. As soon as he heard that I was a student with high views he said to Jackson, " I Avill set him going." While Dentatus was in progress he continually said to me, " I hope it will obtain a good place, but I much fear those Academicians will put it in a dark hole if they can — don't depend upon them." I did not depend upon them and worked away ; Sir George left town, and I will now return to my Journal. December \st. — A student who draws outlines only by parts from an idea of being correct deprives his mind of its only chance ; get the whole together and then be as correct as you please. 27id and 3rd. — Painted and advanced my picture. I improved the head and arm of my hero but took it out again. God grant I may do it right at last. Miss Phipps, Lord Mulgrave's eldest daughter, very ill — called to hear how she was — in a dangerous state. Got the whole of my picture more together ; walked at night, and called at eleven on Wilkie. Up till two, writing and reading Homer. 4:t?i. — Breakfasted with "Wilkie; went to church; Sydney Smith preached : he took his stand for Chris- tianity on the conversion of St. Paul. If his vision and conversion Avere the effect of a heated brain or fanaticism, it was the first time (he said) that madness gave a new direction to a man's feelings. Fanaticism he described as a want of perception of the different feelings and habits of mankind. I never heard a more eloquent man. 1808.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 180S. HI Spent the evening in writing my ideas on art for Mr. Hoare who is contributing to the Encycloptedia. 5th. — Sat to Jackson from ten to one ; called at Lord Mulgrave's ; Miss Phipps still very ill ; obliged to go into the city, because the armour that I bor- rowed from the Tovver is getting rusty, and I wanted to see the armourer. As I walked along Fleet Street, I felt very hungry and went into Peele's Coffee House for some soup ; it was such an idle thing to do in the middle of the day, that I shrank back blushing, for fear of meeting Michel Angelo's spectre, crying, " Haydon ! Haydon ! you idle rascal ! is this the way to eminence?"' In spite of this, though, I went in. Appointed to go with Wilkie to a friend of his against my will ; but he had bothered him and so I consented. I was to call for him at the Academy, but he had gone wdien I arrived there, and, glad of any excuse, I returned home, quite delighted at having escaped the distraction of mind I should have experienced among a parcel of argumentative Scotchmen. Qth. — Finished my flying drapery, thank God! at last, and I think it is not badly arranged. Enlarged the shield which gives a more irresistible weiaht to the figure — a more thundering air : got in the head. I wish to express a lofty contempt among his other characteristics : how happy shall I be if I can but finish the head this week as it ought to be. Went off to the Academy ; came away early, my mind was so uneasy about my picture ; after a long strugo-le as to whether this was idleness, I concluded that it was not ; came home direct, took out my j)icturc, put my candle upon the floor, and began to think. Truth must not always be regarded, for the object in painting is to abstract the mind from sensual appetites ; therefore, the means of abstraction must be considered. On this principle I have acted in not making the assassins so 112 AUTOBIOGRAPnY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [I8O8. assasslu-like as perhaps they were. I have endeavoured to give thein as much personal beauty as is not quite inconsistent with their work. If they had all possessed the expression of murderers it might have been more true, but who could have dwelt u})on it with pleasure? It would have been avoided with disgust. I observed yesterday at the Tower in a species of deer brought from the Cape the characteristics of extreme swiftness ; the working of the leg was clear ; the points of bone, the origin and insertions of the muscles, could easily be traced ; evei'y thing clear and braced. It is a good plan thus to survey nature and mingle the charac- teristics of one animal with another to express any par- ticular excellence in a strons-er de2;ree. Wednesday, *lth. — * People say to me, You can't be expected in your second picture to paint like Titian and draw like Michel Angelo ; but I will try ; and if I take liberties with nature and make her bend to my purposes, what then ? " Oh yes, but vou ousfht not to do what Michel Angelo alone might try." Yes, but I will ven- ture, — I will dare anything to accomplish my purpose. If it is only impudent presumption without abihty I shall soon find my level in the opinion of tlie world ; but if it be the just confidence of genius I shall soon find my reward. I have heard that Nelson used to say, " Never mind the justice or tlic impudence, only let * In the original Journal tlie entry for this day commences thus : — "I knelt down before my picture last night, and prayed God to give me strength of mind and vigour of body to go through the work with a firm spirit, not to be daunted by any difficulties however great, not to suffer my youth to be an excuse for in- adequacy, not to think of that for a moment, but to consider how soon I may die, and if unexpectedly that I may be taken doing all a human being can do to advance the art and raise the reputa- tion of my dear country ; but that if It pleased Ilini to prolong my life, that it would also please Ilim to bless with success all my efforts, through Jesus Clu-ist my Saviour. Amen." 1808.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1808. 113 me succeed." This is what no man, of the common timid feelings of mankind, would have dared to say or "eel, and what is the world's opinion of Nelson ? The danger is, if you put these feelings off until you are older or more callable, that you will put them off until death interrupts the possibility of accomplishment. It is very easy to say, " Stop till I am thirty ; " but thirty so gradually approaches, that your excuses will become habitual, and every year, every hour, you will be the more incapable of a beginning. Therefore, whatever you feel, do; don't attend to the advice of those indolent people who live only to amuse them- selves, little above animals whose chief occupation of time is to eat and live. If I had the power I would spit fire at such insignifi- cant wretches ! I have not language to express my indignation at them. "What Homer dared, I'll dare; if I have not ability and energy sufficient to ensure a sound foundation for my daring, I shall soon sink to my proper level ; if I have, I can only prove it by the trial. Genius is sent into the world not to obey laws but to give them ! Nature to the artist is the field that he must work in. God grant that this be not presumption ! but the firm conviction of experience. Would to heaven I could exist without sleej) ! I would get my figure right this night ; but as this is one of the conditions of my existence, I must be content. If I did not fear my eyes being injured I would work at it until I had settled it; but I will be up at the break of day. ^tJi. — After a x\vA\t of continual restlessness and reflections literally excruciating, — for my mind Is quite on the rack about my hero, — I rose in a fever of anxiety and set to work. I hope I have It all right to go upon, but cannot tell until to-morrow. God grant I may be In the right path. Sat up till VOL. I. I 114 AUTOBIOGRAPIir OF B. R. HAYDON. [l80S. one writing for Mr. Hoare. It is not my business to write on Art : old men should write and give the world the result of their experience. 9^/i. — Met a capital model ; put in my head once again . lOth. — Went on with my head and improved it; 'tis not what it ought to be yet, though. There must be no delicacy of feeling or refined sentiment in the head of a man brought up in a camp with the stern heroic feelings of a Roman. Arranged the rocks rightly. On the helmet of one of my figures I have put some light airy ostrich feathers which give a more ponderous look to my hero. 11 M. — Missed my church on purpose to meet a gen- tleman whom I had promised to take to see Wilkie's Cut Finger. He did not come at the time ; and as I never wait for anybody I made calls and idled the day. No church. No religious meditation. Very bad. I2th. — Went to Mr. Henry Hope's to meet Seguier, Avho was to take me to Lord Grosvenor's; he never came, so I called on Fuseli and stopped there for three hours, talking on Art, Italy, Michel Angelo, Homer, Horace, Virgil — enough to make a man distracted. When Fuseli dies, Avhere shall we meet his like again ? I know no one for whom I feel a greater reverence. From my first entrance into the Academy he noticed me in a marked manner and behaved to me like a father. Went to Lord Grosvenor's ; saw his pictures ; idled and chatted the whole day; tied up some specimens of lake for Du Fresno, Avho goes to India, and has promised to brino; nie some home when he returns. 14M. — Began my head again from my new model and improved it much. Got in the neck and shoulders. I5th. — Seguier called and liked it very much; he 1808.] FEOM MY JOURNALS OF 1808. 115 thinks It will do and so do I, in some measure, with a few alterations. I Improved the position of the dying figure. What are those painters doing, who neglecting Nature degenerate into manner and then say that " Nature puts them out," still imitating her to the best of their recollec- tions ? Why does she put them out ? Because they find that she is a perpetual check to Indolence, by re- quiring skill and energy to select her beauties and reject her defects. A man of real genius will not suffer Nature to put him out. He will make Natui'e bend to him ; he wall make his own use of Nature ; he will force her into his service. Consult Nature for everything, for though she may not at all times equal your desires, she will often surpass them ; and while there is this chance she Is certainly worth the trial. Young students on their first acquaintance with her, not fxuding her yield assist- ance in their present particular Avant reject her, not considering that she can never be a substitute but an assistant and therefore Is not to be discarded but manao;ed. \&th. — Went down among the ruins of Athens to consult about legs and feet ; came home ; It was so cold that I became benumbed, In spite of my abstrac- tion. I could stay eight or ten hours in damp weather without inconvenience, but cold works upon you in- sensibly. Drew In the leg and foot of Dentatus, took it out again. I observed in the feet of the Elgin INIarbles the most exquisite system ; the ends of the toes are the parts which are pressed down, the upper joints not so, consequently the flesh must rise up all about the nail and the top and the upper joint still keep its form. This is a system of reason ; this is a system of sense ; this gives motion, probability and truth. Can this be done in all the varieties that the human body is capable of in each part without a continual, unremitting study 116 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [I8O8, of Nature? Can this be done by system witliout Nature ? Can this be done by recollection ? Will Nature ever put a man out who is on the watch for such niceties as these ? It makes one melancholy to see that men are satisfied with this excuse for their in- dolence, yet believe or are willing to believe that they alone are in the sure road to eminence and every one else in the world wrong. Made studies from the feet of a little Hercules in Fuseli's room. In a fine figure there is always a slip of the pectoral coming down upon the ribs. It depends upon the action to show it ; I first observed it in the lying figure (the Ilyssus) at Lord Elgin's; for this alone I am eternally indebted to Lord Mulgrave. Poor dear little Miss Phipps is dead, the sweetest, most acute little thing I ever met with ; she always used to ask me how I got on with my battle picture, dear little soul. I have not been so much aflTected for many months. God be thanked for having so long protected, guided, and befriended me : I fear to dwell upon my happiness. May I deserve a continuance of it by my virtue and piety, my industry and energy. \1th. — Did little. I am everlastingly grateful to Lord Elgin and Lord Mulgrave ; I feel daily what immense knowledge I have gained from these glorious ruins of Athens. \Sth. — At church, Wilkie and I breakfasting first with Seguier. Walked in the park. Read Homer. IQth. — Glazed the drapery; made a sketch of an idea that struck me while at Dover of a colossal statue of Britannia and her Lion on Shakespeare's Cliff right opposite the coast of France. 20th. — Altered the les; and thicfh of Dentatus. After every victory of Buonaparte the people of this country console themselves with finding fresh diflS- culties for him that must be insurmountable. What 1808.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1808. 117 man of such genius thinks of difficulties ? To the in- dolent they may be difficulties but to Buonaparte they are only stimulants. Nothing is difficult. It is we who are indolent. When you find people inclined to treat you Avith re- spect never check it from modesty, but rather increase it by a quiet unassuming air of conscious worth. 2lsi. — A man does not perceive his own improvement or the difficulties that he has conquered until some young beginner brings his first effi)rts, asking for ad vice. You find then that you must carry your con- versation back ten years to bring it to the level of his comprehension.* 22nd. — Began again my shield ; put it into all positions, but the first was the best. 2?)rd. — Always appear thankful for just praise, for though it is no more than you may deserve is there no merit due to those who acknowledge your desert ? How many get their deserts ? Thus end my extracts from my Journal for 1808, a remarkable year in my life, a year in which I first saw those works of art which the Greeks always estimated as their best and greatest productions. ]\Iy early attempt to unite nature with the ideal form of the antique was now proved correct by the perfection of that union in these faultless productions. The advantage to me was immense. No other artist drew there at all for some months, and then only West came, but he did not draw the marbles and study their hidden beauties. He merely made a set of rattling compositions, taking the attitudes as models for his own inventions. This was not doing what I had done, investigating their principles deeply and studiously. AVcst derived little benefit from * In allusion to Eastlake's brinsrinjf me his first hand. — B. It. II. i3 118 AUTOBIOGRAniY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [l809. this method, while in every figure I drew the principle Avas imbibed and inhaled for ever. I owed this enormous advantage to my connection ■with Lord Mulgrave. He saw my efforts to give him a fine work, and he urged and encouraged me in the struggle. He felt the propriety of painting everything from nature ; he got me permission to draw from the marbles, and by his influence sent me armour from the Tower ; he invited me with the familiarity of a friend to his tablcj introduced me to high connections. Lord Darnley, Lord Ashburnham, Lord Farnborough, Lord Dartmouth, Canning and others, — in fact brought me fairly into the most distinguished society, and gave me an influence and an introduction, the effect of which I have never lost, under any circumstances, up to this present hour. Let every student thus see the consequences of a fixed resolution, where conviction of right is rooted. Had I timidly yielded on the first persecutions of my family, no such advance in life could have happened to me. It was only by incessant industry, by a masculine command over myself in avoiding all the seductions and allurements of pleasure, by observing prudent and economical habits, never spending much except on my professional wants and necessities, by virtuous conduct, a never- failing trust in God, and a constant morning and evening appeal to Him, that I first attracted the interest of my fellow students, then the attention of my superiors in art, and lastly the kind consideration of great patrons, who from one quarter and the other heard of the repute of a young determined student, who had high objects in view for the honour of his country's Art, and who certainly had some talent for the trial : and before I had begun to paint, when I hardly knew one colour from another, or the meaning of the word "vehicle," I received a commission for a historical subject. True, perhaps, that I had the advantage of the 1809.] MY ADVANCE IN SOCIETY. 119 friendship of tlie greatest genius in his path — Wilkie — and also of another man of great talent — Jackson ; but let the student consider that when my first commission arrived in 1807, I had only left my father's house for three short years, and now I was lifted, as it were, into the first society of England. I was astonished. It was victory, — it was success at the least, and principally to Jackson's kind and affec- tionate regard for me in reporting my indefatigable efforts was I indebted for this extraordinary advance. It is not to be wondered at, then, that the manners of liifjh life began to fascinate me, and the women of rank with their sweetness, grace and beauty to incline my head to be a little montee. Thoug;h I was never turned aside from my plans by this, yet there was soon a visible alteration in my manners. I dare say I talked rather more grandly to the artists ; I suspect I looked down upon poverty ; I did not relish the society of the middle classes ; I thought their man- ners gross and their breeding hideous ; I dressed better than usual ; after a splendid party of Stars and Garters at the Admiralty I thought an attempt in my own class a very dull affair. I dined with Lord INIulgrave, fre- quently three times a-week, and it was delightful to be, as I have been, alone with his Lordship, and to listen to him talking on past policy. He was full of anecdote, and I remember once in talking about the Copenhagen expedition he said that he, Wclleslcy Pole (now Lord Maryborough) and a clerk in the Admiralty managed all the details, and that the clerk was threatened with nothing less than death if anything was divulged. Many years after this, I was relating it to an old friend Kiley, of the Admiralty, and Iviley immediately said that clerk was himself; he and Lord Mulgrave and "VVellesley Pole copied out all the orders, sitting up for two or three nights alone. I 4 120 AUTOBIOGIIAPIIY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [1809. Lord Mulf^rave first raised my enthusiasm for the Duke of Wellington, by saying one day at table, " If you live to see it, he will be a second Marlborough." I never forgot this, for I believed Lord Mulgrave to be a sound judge. I was often invited when Wilkie and Jackson were not, and it is not vain in me to say that I think it was because, as I have said before. Lord Mulgrave found me better informed on general topics and perhaps with more interest in politics and the war. My room now began to fill with people of rank and fashion, and very often I was unable to paint and did nothing but talk and explain. They all, however, left town at Christmas, and 1 worked away very hard and got on Avell, so that when they returned I w^as still the object of wonder, and they continually came to see " that extraordinary picture by a young man who had never had the advantages of foreign travel." Wilkie was for the time forgotten : at table I was looked at, talked to, selected for opinions and alluded to con- stantly. " We look to 7/ou, Mr. Haydon," said a lady of the highest rank once, " to revive the Art." I bowed my humble acknowledgments ; then a discussion would take place upon the merit and fiery fury of Dentatus ; then all agreed " it was so fine a subject ;" then Lord Mulgrave would claim the praise for the selection ; then people would whisper, " He himself has an antique head ; " then they would look, and some would differ ; then the noise the picture would make when it came out; then Sir George would say, that he had always said " A great Historical Painter would at last arise, and Iwas he." Believing all this to be gospel truth and never doubt- ing the sincerity wnth which it was said I anticipated all sorts of glory, greatness and fame. I believed that he Academy would hail with open arms so extraordi- nary a student, brought up in their own schools, nursed 1809.] MY DENTATUS FINISHED. 121 by their own Keeper, quite a cliild of their own in fact, and one who had never intentionally oifended a soul. I believed that they could not, would not, envy the repu- tation and advance of the very sort of talent they all agreed was wanted in the English SchooL Alas! alas ! how little did I know of human nature ! 1 redoubled my efforts and after another three months of incessant labour finished my second work. It had taken me from April, 1807, to March, 1809, with the interruption of six months' portrait painting at Ply- mouth and three months at the Eloin Marbles, so that it had actually occupied about fifteen months. The moment I had selected for my hero was when he was just rushing out to cut his way through his host of assailants. Kight in front was a terrified soldier, who had lost his arms and was helplessly putting out his hand to defend himself from the terrible blow of the furious Dcntatus, — a natural instinct inducino; all men to shelter their head, even though convinced that their arm must suffer: behind him was a hoary-headed villain watching his time for assassination ; in the background rushing up a pass were the rest of the guard collected by the blast of the trumpeter, while riglit over the head of Dentatus was a soldier just lifting up a piece of rock of great size to dash it down upon his bald front. The princi})lcs of my first picture were here carried much farther, because it was a second picture, and I of course had painted it under greater advantages — with increased experience and the Elgin ^Marbles. The pro- duction of this picture must and will be considered as an epoch in English Art. The drawing in it was cor- rect and elevated, and the perfect forms and system of the antique were carried into painting, united with the fleshy look of every-day life. The colour, light and shadow, the composition and telling of the story were complete. It has, however, appeared to me since that the 122 AUTOBIOGEAPHY OF B. E. HATDON. [l809. expression of contempt In Dentatus is overdone and borders on caricature^ though his action is good. The Academicians said I had attempted too much. But had I not succeeded? Leigh Hunt said, that it was a bit of old embodied lio;htninn;. He was with me when I took it down to the Academy, and, full of his fun, kept torturing me the whole way, saying, " Wouldn't it be a delicious thing now, for a lamplighter to come round the corner, and put the two ends of his ladder right into Dentatus's eye ? or suppose we meet a couple of drayhorses playing tricks with a barrel of beer, knocking your men down and trampling your poor Dentatus to a mummy ! " He made me so nervous with this villanous torture that in my anxiety to see all clear I tripped up a corner man and as near as possible sent Dentatus into the gutter. However, it reached the Academy safely, and in a few days I heard from Fuseli that it had been hung where my first picture was and looked strong, but that while he was away from town for a day or two it had been taken down and put into the ante- room ! West met Lady Beaumont, and told her " We have hung it in the best place in the Academy." Sir George gave a dinner that day and Lord Mulgrave was there. " Well," said he, " have you heard anything of Dentatus?" "Yes," replied Lady Beaumont, "they have hung it in the best place, West told me, in the whole Academy." " And where may that be ?" inquired Lord Mulgrave. " In the centre, I think, of the ante- room. West said," replied Lady Beaumont. Lord Mul- grave looked blank and said, " Did West ever hang any of his own works there ?" There was a dead silence, and then Lord Mulgrave explained where the ante-room was, that it had no window or decent light for any great work, and declared that it was a gross injustice. 1809.] MY DENTATUS EXniBITED. 123 Within a few clays, his Lordship wrote me to ask what he should pay me ? I replied, " that he must not at all consider the length of time it had occupied, be- cause it was only a second pictui'e, and ought not to be taken as the work of an established painter, who is sup- posed to have knowledge to do all that he is capable of in the time that his picture occupies : that this, on the contrary, was the picture of a young man, whose inex- perience produced frequent loss of time, and that his Lordship must not think of remunerating me in any way for such a loss." Lord Mulgrave immediately sent me 160 guineas, say- ing, that notwithstanding the injustice the picture had met with, his opinion was unaltered. He subsequently sent me 50 guineas more. And yet dear Lord Mulgrave, in spite of his belief that his sincere opinion was unal- tered, began at last to fancy that Dentatus would not have been placed where it was, had it really deserved a better place. He did not possess knowledge sufficient to defend his opinions, and when he heard the picture abused by the Academicians in society he felt his faith in its merits waver. Wilkie and I continued frequently to dine at his Lord- ship's table, but there was certainly a distant coolness to me as if he had been imposed upon. Wilkie's picture made as much noise as ever and now he was the great object of attraction where before I had been the lion. The old story in high life ! Before Dentatus made his debut at the Acadcmv, I used to be listened to as if I was an oracle and poor AVilkie scarcely noticed. Now it was his turn and I was almost forgotten. Now he was fre- quently invited without me; Jackson was not there at all, because Lord Mulgrave had parted from him in a pet. These are the caprices and anxieties inseparable from introduction to the company of a class who are ambitious of the cclat of discovering genius but whose 124 AUTOBIOGIlAPnY OF B. K. HATDON". [1809. hearts are seldom truly engaged for It. They^ esteem it no longer, when public caprice or private malignity and professional envy can excite a suspicion that my Lord has been hasty and made a mistake. Being of a sanguine temperament I felt all this neglect severch\ I had believed everybody as sincere as myself: I had been honoured by Lord Mulgrave with more than usual intimacy, and therefore when I saw him so easily affected by the injustice of men whom I had first learnt to despise from his repeated expressions of contempt, I felt it beyond measure, because of course I fully trusted that he, at least, would stand by the youth he had so pushed forward. I believe, from my heart, that he wished It, but his vanity was mortified at so little respect being shown to his rank, in the abuse and neglect of his especial jiroUgd. The extracts from my Journal will show, in a slight degree, how sincerely I had gone to work : how I had re- garded no expenditure of time, provided that there was a chance, by any obliteration of what had taken weeks to complete, of Improving the picture and rendering it more w^orthy of my noble employer ; how I had left it in 1807, to get practice in heads and expression ; how I had entirely rubbed the whole figure out two or three times? especially after seeing the Elgin Marbles — in short' how I had willingly sacrificed tune, money, health and relaxation, that nothing might turn my mind from its great and overwhelming duty. With all this industry, I felt that I deserved the praises of the great, and I gave them credit for meaning what they said. I was so elevated at their praise, and at the visit of crowds of beauties putting up their pretty glasses and lisping admiration of my efforts, that I rose into the heaven of heavens, and believed my fortune made. I walked about my room, looked Into the glass, antici- 1809.] CAPKICES OF FASHION. 125 patecl wliat tlie foreign ranbassadors would say, studied my French for a good accent, believed that all the sove- reigns of Europe would hail an English youth with delight who could paint a heroic picture. Exactly in proportion as I knew the soundness of the principles developed in Dentatus, I believed the praises I heard were evidence of the sagacity of the praisers, forgetting that the same terms would have been applied to the portrait of a race-horse or of a favourite pug, and that my flatterers knew no more of the principles I had discovered than I did before I began. How should they ? They had cost me days and nights of meditation and deep thought, and how should volatile beauties of fashion and dandies of rank see by intuition that which is never seen except the mind be informed ? Sir George Beaumont behaved nobly. He re- doubled his kind attentions, told me not to be discou- raged, and said out boldly that not one of them in the Academy could produce such a work. But Wilkie, Wilkie whom I loved so dearly, the friend and com- l)anion of all my early days and thoughts, he shrank from my defence ! How my heart ached at his cold- ness ! — but it was the timid man. The Academicians felt ashamed, and Sir Francis Bourgeois meeting me at Lord Mulgrave's expressed the regret of the Academy that they could not place my picture where it deserved to be. This was cant and I received it in sullen silence. The more I went into tlic affair the more detestable it proved. The Academicians were evidently annoyed at the eternal praises they had heard of my picture in society. They knew what the enthusiasms of high life were worth, and they determined to check me the moment I got into their power. Great anxiety had been betrayed liy Lord INIulgravc and Sir George for a good place for me, and they had 126 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [1809. called on Phillips who was a hanger for this year. It is natural to suspect that exactly in proportion as anxiety was betrayed about me was ill feeling against me excited. It seemed as if I was being pushed into their faces and brought forward as a rival to their fame- They played their game well. One, as soon as I was up, complained that I had not been done justice to. *' Not done justice to," said the Council, " then do him justice by all means." The picture was immediately taken down by this man and put into the ante-room. This Fuseli told me on his oath. To a temperament like mine it was as-onisins; ! I feared that I had mis- taken my talent. People of fashion were ashamed to acknowledge that they had ever seen either the picture or the painter. My painting-room was deserted. I felt like a marked man. How completely the Acade- micians knew that class whose professions of regard and interest I had credited like a child ! Here was a work the principles of which I could do nothing but develope for the remainder of my life — in which a visible and resolute attempt had been made to unite colour, expression, handling, light, shadow and heroic form, and to correct the habitual slovenliness of the English in drawing, — based iipon an anatomical knowledo-e of the fio-ure wantino; till now in Ensjlish Art, for West and Barry had but superficial knowledge, ■ — the first picture which had appeared uniting the idea and the life, under the influence and guidance of the divine productions of Phidias seen for the first time in Europe and painted by the first artist ever permitted to draw from those remains, — and this picture was ruined in reputation througli the pernicious power of profes- sional men, embodied by royalty for the advancement of works of this very description. I, the sincere, de- voted artist was treated like a culprit, deserted like a leper, abused like a felon and ridiculed as if my preten- 1809.] UNFAIR TREATMENT OF DENTATUS. 127 sions were the delusions of a mficlman. Yet these de- lusions were founded on common sense, on incessant industry, on anatomical investigation and on a constant study of the finest works of the great masters of the Avorld! This is and has been the curse of European Art for two hundred and fifty years, ever since the es- tablishment of those associations of vanity, monopoly, intrigue and envy called Academies, and until they are reformed, and rendered powerless except as schools of study, they Avill be felt as an obstruction to the advancement of Art. 128 AUTOBIOGRArUY OF B. R. nAYDON. [l809. CHAP. VIII. I BEGAN to think I was under a curse and doomed to be so. My brain was affected ; the splendour and re- finements of high life disgusted me. I felt its hollow glitter and became sullen, retired and musingly thought- ful. Lord Mulo-rave seemed to feel for me and thought that a visit to the country would do me good. So he offered me a letter to Sir Roger Curtis, the Port Ad- miral at Portsmouth, asking him as a favour to give me the benefit of a sea trip in a man-of-war bound to Ply- moutl). Wilkie agreed to go with me and we prepared to start. My spirits began to revive at the prospect of seeing my friends again, but I felt the injustice of my treatment and the abuse of the ignorant press too keenly to relish anything very much. We left town for Portsmouth 22nd June, 1809, and were received very cordially by Sir Roger. He showed us over the dock- yard and asked us to dinner, but explained to us that unfortunately the grand expedition * drew everything to Portsmouth, instead of sending anything to Plymouth, and that he should be obliged to put us on board a cutter, the only vessel that was going to Plymouth. The next morning while we were at breakfast we heard a tremendous explosion ; the alarm-bell rang, and we then saw people running in crowds to the beach ; we put on our hats and sallied forth. The first thing I saw was a body lying across the roof of a cottage, as black as a cinder ; the glass in all the little houses near the beach was shivered to atoms. Plere * To Walchcren.— 'Ed. 1809.] TRIP TO DEVON WITH WILKIE. 129 lay some poor fellows blown to pieces : liere an arnij there a mutilated trunk ; here lay one man cut in two : there another dreadfully lacerated, with his jaw fixed, rolling on his back in excruciating agony. The crowd thunderstruck at the horrors before them were all in- quiring, none replying. At last we found that it was occasioned by a woman striking her pipe against some of the soldiers' baggage, among which some powder had been carelessly spilt ; the loose powder caught, ran along the beach and round the baggage, blew up the broken barrel, which in its turn blew up all the barrels on the beach (about a dozen), as well as the sergeant and his guard placed there to prevent any accident. In the afternoon wo went out to see the Caledonia, 120 guns, at Spithead. What a sublime and terrible simpli- city there is in our navy ! Nothing is admitted but what is absolutely useful. The cannon, the decks, the sailors, all wore the appearance of stern vigour, as if constituted only to resist the elements. No beautiful forms in the gun-carriages, no taste or elegance in the cannon ; the ports square and hard ; the guns iron ; the sailors mus- cular. Everything inspired one with awe. What grandeur in the sight of three hiuidred and fifty sail of men-of-war and transports destined for a great enterprise ! Wc rowed and sailed among them for the rest of the day and did not return until the evening to Portsmouth. After waiting three days wc became hopeless and called upon Sir Roger to take our leave as wc had secured our places in the packet-boat. Just as we were upon the point of starting in puffed old Sir lloger and said that he could manage to give us something, as he would recall a cutter that was under weinli and send her round to Plymouth with us. Up went tiie signals from the house and back came the cutter. We were intro- VOL. r. K 130 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l809. ducecl to the Commander by Sir Roger and in a short time were on board and under weigh at last. The transports we convoyed shortly followed and we soon floated by the beautiful shores of the Isle of Wight. As we passed though the Russian fleet the sailors stared at us — so unlike English sailors, their lips co- vered with dirty red mustachios, some in hairy caps, some in green jackets, and some in none. When they laughed they looked like animals. Their ships appeared to be strongly built. The sun set in golden glory spreading his fan-like shades and varied tints into an eternity of space. Even- ing approached, and the transparent moon unveiled her li^ht which o-Httered on the sails of distant vessels. The sky was clear and beautifully blue, while now and then a light and fleecy vapour drifted slowly over the glistening stars. All seemed hushed except the rippling and bubbling of the waters as we cut through them darting the silvery spray on either side. I could not help repeating — " Insplrant auraj nocti, ncc Candida cursus Luna negat ; splendet tremulo sub lumine pontus." In passing through the Needles every one came on deck, and as they faded from us I could perceive the star-like glimmer of the distant lighthouse. I now went below and stretching myself on a locker wrapped in signal flags soon slumbered imperceptibly. Wilkie crept into one of their standing bed-places. Every four hours I heard the whistle for a fresh watch and the mea- sured step of the officer in charge as he walked the deck over my head. Sometimes he would stop and mutter something to the men which the wind carried from me ; and then again pace on in his occupation. Notwithstanding the creaking of the ladders and 1809.] OUR VOYAGE TO PLYMOUTH. 131 beams and the gurgling of the water, as the vessel with a heavy thud jerked herself down, first at one end and then at the other, I managed to get some sleep. When I awoke I went on deck and shivermg joined the master who in his turn was pacing away. The day was just breaking, the moon fading distantly into a heavy body of mist, while the morning star shone with lucid, liquid, trembling agitation. There was a dewy breeze, and as I looked towards the coast and saw the white cliffs of Portland standing as it were alone, a rampart against the foam-crested waves, everything that Homer, Shake- speare, ISIilton and Virgil had said of morning rushed into my mind. In the extreme distance I perceived our companion vessel, bright streaks of light illuminating her white sails like a vision. During the day Wilkie became very ill and remained in bed. I felt some qualms but remaining on deck in the air soon recovered. I found the master an intelligent fellow and the commander a regular sailor. They had seen a ship in every position it Avas possible a ship could be in and knew how to provide for every difficulty. What an advantage over the unexperienced French ! I relished their salt beef and biscuit but poor Wilkie continued almost insensible. lie lay in bed with his nose close to the deck and the scrubbing, scraping and cleaning *in the morning was enough to split the brain of even a healthy head. I felt for him. In the middle of the day, when we were regaling at lunch, who should heave up his awful figure, with head enveloped in red night-cap, but Wilkie, pale, hollow-checked, his quiver- ing lips blue and parched, and his chin unshaven. We received him with a hearty shout, but the sight of the meat and porter and our jolly uproarious air so shook his nerves that he dropped down again in despair. At daybreak next morning we passed the Mew Stone, and 132 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. IIAYDON. [1809. by 3 P. M. were safe at anchor in the Sound. Wilkie quickly recovered his spirits and the next day we were invited to dine with a large party. Under any other circumstances my return would have been a victory, for five years before I had left my native town unknown, now I returned in fair popu- larity, though perhaps injured in reputation by the treatment I had met with. We visited Underwood, and Sir Joshua's birth-place, Plympton, and saw in his bed-room an early attempt at a portrait drawn with his finger dipped in ink. It had the air of his later works. We saw his portrait in the Town Hall. One day we dined with Sir William Elford at Beckliam, and he told us a pleasant anecdote of himself and Sir Joshua. When Sir Joshua had finished his picture for Plymp- ton, he wrote Sir William requesting him to get it hung in a good situation, which Sir William attended to by hanging it between two old pictures, and in his reply to Sir Joshua he said the bad pictures on each side acted as a foil, and set it off to great advantage. Sir Joshua was highly diverted, as these very pictures were two early ones of his own painting. The people of Devonshire treated us very handsomely and we had plenty of amusement. We bathed often, and I taught Wilkie to swim. How the people of London Avould have laughed to see the celebrated David Wilkie stretched on our drawing-room table learning to strike out in time against the next morning's trial. We used to bathe at Two-Coves, a bathing-place of my youth. We left Plymouth after a stay of five weeks, and came to Exeter by the most delightfid road in England. Wilkie was in ecstacies of observant study. After visit- ing Mrs. Hunn (Mr. Canning's mother) at Bath, we returned to London, and in a few days left town again for Coleorton, Sir George Beaumont's seat. 1809.] OUR VISIT TO COLEORTON. 133 There had been a great deal of fun at Lord Mnl- grave's about tliis visit. Sir George, like all men of fashion, had a way of saying pleasant things without the least meaning. He was always full of invitations to Coie- orton, and when he disapproved of my rocks in Dentatus, he said, " There are some capital rocks at Coleorton, which you and Wilkie must come down and study. I will write to you as soon as I get down." When on his return to town he again found fault with the rocks, Lord Mulgrave slily said, " Haydon, what a })ity it was you did not see those unfortunate rocks at Coleorton," and when the picture was up and Sir George attempted to say anything in my defence. Lord Mulgrave would say, " Ah, Sir George, it is all owing to those cursed rocks." Sir George at last, quite ashamed of his wilful forget- fulness, wrote us both a most kind invitation while we v>^ere in Devonshire ; and so, the moment we returned to town, off we set for Coleorton. We got to Ashby-de-la- Zouch at night, slept there, and the next day posted on to Coleorton. The house was a small seat, recently built by Dance in the Gothic style, very near a former house where Beaumont and rietcher used to spend their summers. Sir George, I think, told us he was descended from tlie same family as the dramatist. Both he and Lady Pjcaumont received us very kindl}-, but I could not help thinking that it was more to avoid Lord Mulgrave's future quizzing than from any real pleasure in our company. As I was walking with him next day about the grounds, he said, " Now I hope you and Wilkie will stay a fortnight." " Oh! " said I, per- ceiving the motive, " a month, if you wit;li it, Sir George," and there was a dead silence between us for some moments. However, we passed a fortniglit as de- lightfully as painters could. Sir George painted, and Lady Beaumont drew, and Wilkie and I made our rc- K 3 134 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l809. spective studies for our own purposes. At lunch we assembled and chatted over what we had been doing, and at dinner we all brought down our respective sketches and cut up each other in great good humour. We dined with the Claude and Rembrandt before us, breakfasted with the Kubens landscape*, and did nothing, morning, noon or night, but think of painting, talk of painting, dream of painting and wake to paint asrain. "VVe lingered on the stairs in going up to bed and studied the effect of candle-light upon each other, won- dering how the shadows could be best got as clear as they looked. Sometimes Sir George made Wilkie stand with the light in a proper direction and he and I studied the colour ; sometimes he held the candle him- self and made Wilkie join me ; at another time he Avould say, " Stop where you are. Come here, Wilkie. Asphaltum thinly glazed over on a cool preparation I think would do it." And David and I would su2:o;est something else. We then unwillingly separated for the night, and rose with the lark to go at it again, all of us feeling as jealous as if we were artists struggling for fame. Wilkie and Sir George had the best of it, be- cause after all rocks are inanimate ; and seeing that I should be done up if I did not bring out something to sustain my dignity, I resolved on a study of a horse's head, and without saying a word by dinner next day I painted, full of life and fire, the head of a favourite horse of Su" George's, and bringing it in when the party assembled for dinner, I had the satisfaction of demolish- ing their little bits of study, for the size of life effec- tually done is sure to carry off the prize. The next morning at breakfast I perceived that some- thing was brewing in David's head, and I clearly saw * All now in the National Gallery. 1309.] OUR VISIT TO COLEORTON. 135 that my championship would not be a sinecure. Away went David to his studies, I to my roclvs, Sir George to his painting-room, and Lady Beaumont to her boudoir- Dinner was announced, and in stalked David Wilkie with an exquisite study of an old woman of the village, in his best style, so that the laurel was divided ; but they all allowed that nothing could exceed the eye of my horse. One evening I made Lady Beaumont's maid stand on the staircase with a light behind her, so as to cast a good shadow on the wall, and from her I painted an excellent study for Lady Macbeth. Our fortnight was now fast drawing to a close, and Sir George began to lament that when we had left him he should be compelled to attend to his coal mines. In the gardens he had a bust of Wordsworth, and I think a memento of Wilson. Coleorton is a retired spot: I visited it in 1837, when at Leicester, and Avas touched to see it again after so many years. A group of sculpture had been added near the hall ; my INIacbeth (of which presently) was on the staircase. Jackson, Lord Mulgrave, Sir George and Lady Beaumont were all dead, and I walked tln-ough the house in a melancholy stupor, angry to see the rooms, where once hung the elite of our now national pictures, filled with modern works, and the two superb heads (l)y Sir Joshua) of Sir George and Lady Beaumont pushed high up to make way for some commonplace trash. Sir George said to us one day at dinner, " Words- wortii may perhaps walk in; if he do, I caution you both ajrainst his terrific democratic notions." This was in 1809, and considering the violence of his subsequent Conservatism it is a curious fact to recall. K 4 136 AUTOBIOGRArnY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l809. CHAP. IX. As the whole history of my commission from Sir George is now to be told, I must state that, in 1807, Sir George had called and said, " he must have a sketch by me." A short time after he gave me a commission, to be com- menced as soon as I had finished Dentatus. One day he came, I remember, and tried to persuade me to begin his picture before finishing Lord Mulgrave's. This ap- peared to me so odd a request that I declined to comply with it, and so completed Dentatus and then made his sketch of which the subject — Macbeth — was agreed upon. One day, while I was riding with him at Coleor- ton, he said to me, " What size do you intend to paint Macbeth?" I replied, "Any size you please, Sir George." He said, "Would a whole length be large enough?" "Certainly," I replied; "it is larger than I had contemplated, and I should be highly gratified at being allowed to paint the picture such a size." I returned to town, ordered a whole length, rubbed in and prepared, and after many letters from Sir George, lie at last arrived in town. He called ; I had considerably advanced in the picture, but there was something in his manner which betokened constraint. The next day he called again with General Phipps, and said, " This is the full size^of life ? " " No, Sir George," replied I ; " it is a little less." They then both found fliult. After so many months' labour this was poor encouragement, but he had done the same to Wilkie on The Blind Fiddler. In my anxiety to get rid of these unfavourable impres- sions, I went to Northcote for advice. Northcote's eyes 1809.] COMMISSION FP.OM SIR G. BEAUMONT. 137 sparkled with delight as he said, " He'll never have your picture at all, and he's now beginning to get off." I went home in misery and could scarcely sleep. I was beginning now to encumber my father, and my situation was not pleasant ; for on so important a work as this I had expected an advance to help me through the expenses of my models. While I was sitting in this state the next mornind. — Up late at night ; painted faintly ; altered and improved. 4^/t. — Up late again at night; painted faintly not more than two hours ; out from 4 to 9 ; five hours lost. At Lord Elgin's two hours. bth. — Arose late, at 8 ; painted two hours vigorously, not more ; called on two friends in an indolent raking humour, and really laughed and idled the rest. ^th. — Arose at half past 7. I saw two pictures by Vandyke, who had the pOAver of keeping up that fine solid impasto throughout more than any other man. Acquired great knowledge, though I put it not in prac- tice to-day. Walked to Primrose Hill with Hunt, licad Alfieri's ^Memoirs. Idle, idle ! M 4 168 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8II. The first six months of the year 1811 are now on the eve of closing. If T review them witli rigour what will they exhibit but one scene, with few exceptions, of vice and idleness ? Not absolute idleness though? I have been at times energetically employed, but I have not so conquered my habits as to have that invincible perti- nacity of soul, to be so independent of circumstances, whatever they may be, as to make them bend to me — to proceed, though misfortune oppress me, vice tempt me, or sickness overwhelm me. June I9th. — Arose at half past 5 in the morning ; in my painting-room by 6. At work till 8 ; began again at 10. Seguier called, on whose judgment Wilkie and I so much rely. If Seguier coincides with us we are satisfied, and often we are convinced we are wrong if Seguier disagrees. He thought my Macbeth figure better than it has ever been. In short he congratulated me on its being right. Let me be in want — let me be in misery, hungry and faint, and with no money, as I have been — dispirited from sickness, and despondent from neglect — if, at the end of the day, my exertions have been successful, if my picture be advanced, if my fancy have been ex- jDressed, if difficulties have been conquered, — I can bear all; I can look with complacency on my miseries; I could regard the destruction of the world with firmness, and suffer destruction with it without a struggle. My friends tell, as a wonderful instance of my perse- verance, that after havino- finished Macbeth I took him out again to raise him higher in my picture as it would contribute to the effect. The wonder in ancient Athens would have been if I could have suflTered him to remain. Such is the state of Art in this country ! 27th. — In a torrent of feeling about Homer all the evenmg. 28tk. — Breakfasted with Leigh Hunt, My spirits light from pure digestion. I am now convinced that 1811.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1811. 169 depression of spirits is owing to repletion.* I have cur- tailed my allowance of animal food and find myself able to work after dinner without interruption. My principle is to get as much health as possible^ to stretch it to the highest effort, and yet without injury. Hunt and I dined with Wilkief and spent a very pleasant evening. His picture is nearly finished and a very fine thing he has made of it. We began our pictures after our return from Devon- shire. What a history would the events during their progress furnish to the inexperienced student ! How gaily we began them, how soon were we checked ! I applied to-day, have been completely successful and am going to bed swelling with gratitude to God, overpowered by His goodness. His benevolence, the abundance of His mercy. '60th. — In consequence of the arm being pressed down close to the side the skin is rolled up under the armpit. When the arm is raised this skin is stretched tightly over the body. I had observed this in nature. But, before I ventured to put it in Macbeth I went down to see if I should be authorised by the Greeks. To my delight the first thing I saw in the fragment of the Ju- piter's breast was this very skin. Thus in the grandest and most abstract character did the Greeks attend to these little exquisite truths of nature. September 28th. — It makes me mad to see Sir Joshua in his lectures maintain that the ancients had an easier task than the moderns because of their dress. Suppose they had, it will be more to our honour if we equal them. Instead of giving this handle to indolence he ought to have held it up as a stimulus and said, " If the ancients had less diflSculties to contend with, if we equal or out- strip them, we shall be greater men," and not cant and * Thirty-two years' experience confirms this impression, t ]\Ianor Terrace, Chelsea. 170 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. 11. HAYDON. [I8II. whine about modern artists beino; oblig-ed to remove a vest before they can see the state of things. Home goes every student fi*om his lectures and quiets his conscience by quoting Sir Joshua. Mr. West about this time asserted in three letters to Lord Elgin that he was the first artist to study the Elgin Marbles and transfer their principles to canvas, though he knew I had been drawino; them lono; before he came and though my Dentatus was out two years before his Christ healing the Sick, It is of little consequence who was the first. It is rather Avho made the best use of them. Mr. West thought to bear down the truth by his reputation and station. It was about this time (1811), I accidentally got into my first public controversy, which branched out into the important one of the intellectuality or non-intellectuality of negroes. In consequence of dissecting a lion and comparing its form with that of a man I had founded a theory for a standard figure which I found (and so did Eastlake) borne out in every principle by the standard works of the Greeks. As I went on meditating I used to sketch and explain what I thought to Leigh Hunt, then in the height of his Examiner reputation, when one Sunday, in that jaunty style for which he had such talent he assailed in public the theory I had explained in private. Indignant at his assumption, I resolved, inexperienced as I was, to measure weapons with my light literary huzzar, in fact, to trot him out and see what he was made of, being quite sure of my steed as well as my ground, and being also sure that he had cut a caper Avithout having much knowledge of either. Though this is not the first time Leigh Hunt is men- tioned it is the first opportunity I have had of bringing him fairly on the canvas ; and the account of our ac- 1811.] MY FIRST LITERARY CONTROVERSY. 171 qualntance and who brought It about need no longer be delayed. AVilkie and I in early life used to read some remark- ably clever theatrical critiques in the " News." We were both so pleased that we resolved whichever of the two got acquainted with the critic first should intro- duce him to the other. Wilkie, I beheve, was called on by one of the brothers first. This brought about an in- troduction to Leiijh Hunt. Wilkie invited him to tea to meet me. I was taken ill and could not go, which put Wilkie in a great passion. I afterwards met Ilunt and reminded him of Wilkie's intention, and Hunt, with a frankness I liked much, became quite at home, and as I was just as easily acquainted in five minutes as himself, we began to talk, and he to hold forth, and I thought him, with his black bushy hair, black eyes, pale face and " nose of taste," as fine a specimen of a London editor as could be imagined ; assuming yet moderate, sarcastic yet genial, with a smattering of everything and mastery of nothing ; affecting the dictator, the poet, the politician, the critic and the sceptic, whichever would at the moment give him the air to inferior minds of being a very superior man. I listened with something of cu- riosity to his republican independence, though hating his effeminacy and cockney peculiarities. The fearless honesty of his opinions, the unscrupulous sacrifice of his own interests, the unselfish perseverance of his attacks on all abuses, whether royal or religious, noble or demo- cratic, ancient or modern, so gratified my mind, that I suffered this singular young man to gain an ascendancy in my heart which justified the perpetual caution of Wilkie against my great tendency to become acquainted too soon with strangers, and like Canning's German, to swear eternal friendship with any spirited talented fellow after a couple of hours of witty talk or able repartee. Hunt and I liked each other so much we soon became 172 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [I8II. intimate. His mind was poetical in a high degree. He relished and felt Art without knowing anything of its technicalities. I was painting Dentatus, and when he saw it he entered into it at once. In belles lettres, though not equal to Fuseli, he had a more delightful way of conveying what he knew. He had been educated at Christ's Hospital, and was not deficient in classical knowledge, but yet not a scholar. Then we were nearly of an age ; he being only three years older than myself, and he had an open affectionate manner which was most engaging, and a literary, loung- ing laziness of poetical gossip which to an artist's mind was very improving. At the time of our acquaintance, he really was, whether in private conversation or sur- rounded by his friends, in honesty of principle and un- failing love of truth, in wit and fun, quotation and impromptu, one of the most delightful beings I ever knew. He was fond of being the idol of a circle. Content if the members of it adored he shut his eyes on his faults himself and believed them unseen by others. Finding, when I visited this circle after his first attack on my principles, that there was a sort of chuckling air as if Hunt had demolished my artistical theories, I thought I had no resource but to go into the field. After writing, rewriting, puzzling and thinking, blotting and erasing, reading to Eastlake and taking his advice, I managed to get through my first letter. I went with it to the Examiner office, dropped it into the letter-box myself with a sort of spasm, as if I was done for in even daring to attack such a renowned critic as Leigh Hunt. Never shall I forget that Sun- day morning. In came the pa^^er, wet and uncut ; up went the breakfast knife, — cut, cut, cut. Affecting not to be interested I turned the pages open to dry, and, to my certain immortality, saw, with delight not 1811.] MY FIRST LITERARY CONTROVERSY. 173 to be expressed, the first sentence of my letter. I put clown the pa})er, walked about the room, looked at Macbeth, made the tea, buttered the toast, put in the sugar, with that inexpressible suppressed chuckle of delight that always attends a condescending relinquish- ment of an anticipated rapture till one is perfectly ready. Who has not felt this? who has not done this ? I was twenty-five, rosy and youthful, thin and ac- tive, and looked up to him as my literary superior. Nothing so astonished his infinite superiority as to find one whom he imagined a flushed youth, thoughtless and comparatively unaccustomed to literary warfare, entering the lists with an acknowledged controvei'siallst like himself. My letter was considered perfectly immature and. unintelligible, and I was pitied and begged not to go on, but I knew that my only error was want of practice in expressing myself, and that if I was once warmed I should get over that. So as my first essay excited a reply, I plunged into the fight sword in hand ; caught my adversaries on their weak points and demolished them one after the other, till artists, amateurs and even abolitionists agreed I certainly had the best of the fight. Unfortunately I provoked all this clamour by asserting my belief, founded on physical construction, that the negro was the link between animal and man. In the position of the slavery question at that time nothing more was necessary. During this contest I called on Hunt as usual. Hunt, who had been so used to hold forth as sovereign of editors, felt a little rubbed and pursed up his mouth with a sort of stiffness, but his sense of fun got the better and we were soon at it again on [)oetry, paint- ing, religion, women and war. I wrote to him while the battle raged to strike out a passage for me. He finished his reply, " By the bye, 174 AUTOBIOGRArHY OF B. E. HAYDON, [I8II. I advise you to get a decent, well-tanned buckler, a clypeum septemplicem, by next Sunday ; I am not sure I shall not slice you into wafers." To which I rejoined : — " I am perfectly aware of whom I have got for ray antagonist and will get a shield like that of Achilles. And all I can say is, if you attempt to slice me into wafers, I will do my best, the Sunday after, to crumble you into pounce." This controversy consolidated my power of verbal literary expression and did me great good. I was animated by a desire to write in early life, because Reynolds, having deferred composition till late in life, was accused of not writing his own lectures. I resolved .to show I could use the pen against the very man who might be supposed to be my literary instructor. When Northcote was asked how he liked the letters, he shook his head and said it was a dangerous power. Thouofh this was said with his usual malice it contained a great deal of truth. It was a dangerous power, and having felt the delight of being considered victorious, I soon longed to give another proof of my skill with the pen. Journal. December 2>\st. — The last night of 1811. When I review the past year, I can certainly dwell upon it with more pleasure than on any year since I commenced study. My habits of application have been energetic for at least eight months of the twelve — I ought to be able to say all the twelve. But God grant me this power at the end of the next year. I certainly have, I hope, got better habits. However vicious I am, I never soothe my mind with plausible pretences. My Macbeth is concluded, by God's blessing, with a body still uninjured by application and a mind invi- gorated and refreshed for greater imdertakings, more 1812.] MACBETH IS FINISHED. 175 experienced in all points, and a degree, I hope, nearer to that idea of perfection which I have formed for myself. God in heaven, on my knees I pray it may be my lot to realise my idea of Art before I die, and I will yield my soul into Thy hands with rapture. Amen, with all my soul. INIacbeth beino; thus concluded after a lono- struffslc, without assistance from my father and wholly by dint of borrowing from my friends, I scrutinised my debts before beginning a new work and found they were 6161. 105., of which 200/. was due to my landlord for rent ; and this with no extravagant habits, but solely incurred by the wants of life and the expenses of the work, for the expenses of a work of High Art in Eng- land are dreadful. My picture being now done I thought it my duty to write to Sir George Beaumont (January, 1812), and ask his leave to send it to the British Gallery. By return I received his reply, informing me he could not have any objection to my sending the Macbeth to the British Gallery, as, according to my own proposal, he had no concern with it until he had seen and aj)proved the picture. To which I immediately answered, re- minding him that it was certainly my proposal that he should not sec the picture till it was finished, but not that he should have no concern with it till that time. This affair thus approached a conclusion, and Lord ISIulgrave, knowing the many bitter anxieties under which the picture had been finished (though I never saw him once during that time, and had been utterly deserted by pcoj)le of fashion in consequence of the treatment of the Academy), was so nmch pleased by the picture keeping its place, as he told mc, alongside of the Paul Veronese (now at the National Gallery), that he wrote to Sir George to come up and decide. lie left 176 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l812. Dumiiow, came to town and saw the picture the next day. He called on Wilkie and made the proposal to him which he afterwards made to me. Wilkie told him 1 would refuse it; of that he was convinced. On January 28th he wrote to me, saying he had seen the Macbeth and must decline the possession of it though admitting its merits to be very considerable, and making this proposal : — "I will either give you for the trouble you have had in the commencement of the picture 100/., the picture to be your own property, and this shall put an end to all further negociation ; or you shall paint another picture for me, the size of Mr. West's Pylades and Orestes, with figures upon the same scale, and the price shall be settled afterwards by arbitration." Foreseeing that any further connexion would bring me nearer to ruin than I was already, (for I had in- curred debts of 600/., and when he first ordered the picture I did not owe one shilling — and yet I asked only 500 guineas, no more than I owed,) and taking everything into consideration, I resolved to decline both offers, and did so briefly. Thus this unhappy affair terminated for the present, but there was a fatality about it which made it a torment to Sir George Beaumont and a disturbance to me for years after. Indeed at this moment — thirty-one years after — I am still suffering from its fatal effects. Northcote was delighted. He said, " I told'ee so. I told'ee he'd never have the picture. Your conduct was honest and grand ; his conduct was mean." Thus after three years' hard work the picture was thrown on my hands. I had no return, no money. My situation was really and truly deplorable. Now I felt the full power of that admirable work, " Forster's Essay on Decision of Character." To that I reverted to rouse my spirit and keep up my firmness. I read it and re-read it, prayed with all my heart, and resolved, come what 1812.] I ATTACK THE ACADEMY, 177 would, to proceed with a greater work, to avoid the errors or extravagances of this and try to produce a faultless production. Exasperated by the neglect of my family, tormented by the consciousness of debt, cut to the heart by the cruelty of Sir George, fearful of the severity of my land- lord and enraged at the insults from the Academy, I be- came furious. An attack on the Academy and its abomi- nations darted into my head. I began by refuting an article by Payne Knight on Barry in the Edinburgh Review, which came out in the previous year. Sittino- down one evening, I wrote on all night, and by morning I had completed my exposure for the Examiner and walked about the room as if revenged and better. To expose the ignorance of a powerful patron (thus offending the patrons), and to attack the Academy (thus ensuring an alliance of the Academicians with the patrons), would have been at any time the very worst and most impolitic thing on earth. I should have worked away and been quiet. My picture rose very liigh and was praised. The conduct of Sir George was severely handled. People of fashion were beginning to feel sympathy. In ftict, had I been quiet, my picture would have sold, the prize of three hundred guineas would have been won, and in a short time I might in some degree have recovered the shock his caprice had inflicted. But no. I was unmanaoreablc. The idea of beino- a Luther or John Knox in Art got the better of my reason. Leigh Hunt encouraged my feelings, and without reflection and in spite of Wilkie's entreaties, I resolved to assault. " Hunt," said Wilkie, " gets his living by such things : you will lose all cliance of it. It is all very fine to be a reformer ; but be one with your pencil and not with your pen." VOL. I. N 178 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. About this time Soane had been called to order for making some remarks on a building of Smirke's. He was so enraged he wrote, a pamphlet, invited me to dine, laid his wrongs before me and said, " Shall I pre- cede or follow ? " I replied, " Whichever you please, only I make my debut on Sunday next." As the pamphlet was ready and Mr. Soane was violent it was agreed over a bottle of port that I should begin next Sunday, and that he should follow or pre- cede as he thought best. At any rate an Academician following or preceding me was considered by all three of us to be a very important aid. Thus was this con- spiracy concocted, only I gave them to understand I came forth alone. On the Sunday following ray attack came out first on Payne Knight whom I demolished. All the patrons were in a fury. Who could it be ? Who was this English student ? The Sunday following the attack on the Academy followed, and never since the art was established were its professors In such a hubbub of fury and rage. John Hunt went to the Gallery, and was assailed for the author's name. He told it, and when I saw him he said, " You have fired your arrow and it has struck in the bull's eye." From this moment the destiny of my life may be said to have changed. My picture was caricatured, my name detested, my peace harassed ; so great was the indignation at my impertinence that all merit was denied to Macbeth. West went down and did his best as President to damn the picture before a crowded room. Sir George was at once praised for his resistance to my insolent attempt to force on him a picture he, in fact, never ordered (it was said), and no excuse or palliation for me, either in the case of Sir George or the Academy, was 1812.] THE EFFECTS OF MY ATTACK. 179 listened to for a moment. I was looked at like a mon- ster, abused like a plague, and avoided like a maniac. I had imagined truth would have been felt by all and that all would bless him who showed her to them. I knew not that the world always struggles before it stoops to be taught and endeavours by every means to destroy its teacher before it submits to be benefited by his doctrines. But every stipulation with his destiny for safety must be dismissed by him who is ambitious of being a great reformer. I therefore glory in having done it when I did. I would rather have perished at that age in doing it than have waited till I was safer. I gained experience, and could afterwards have pro- ceeded with more caution witliout any imputation on my courage, having proved it first. I was twenty-six years of age when I attacked the Academy. I exposed their petty intrigues, I laid open their ungrateful, cruel and heartless treatment of Wilkie. I annihilated Payne Knight's absurd theories against great works. I proved his ignorance of Pliny, and having thus swept the path, I laid down rules to guide the student which time must confirm, — rules, the result of my own failures, collected and digested within six years, — rules which posterity will refer to and confirm, early acquired without a master or instructor, settled in spite of folly, and put forth in spite of igno- rance or rank. " By Gode," said Fuseli, " the fellow is mad or punisliable." Lawrence did me justice, like a man of spirit and honour, saying that there were grounds for my severity ; that I would be the victim and that the Academy in the end would be benefited. Weakened and harassed as Lawrence was by the habits of society, there were always gleams of power about him which made me lament tliat Nature did not quite finish his capacity. But Wilkie, — Wilkie, to uphold whose N 2 180 AUTOBIOGEAPHY OF B. K. IIAYDON. [l812. genius in the sincerity of my glowing heart I would have stood before a battery of blazing cannon, and have been blown to splinters rather than have degraded his power, — Wilkie shrank back terrified and in order to exculpate himself joined in the abuse of me. Did he gain the esteem of the Academicians ? Not he. They had sense enough to perceive the meanness of the motive and honesty enough to do justice to me. Smirke said in company that all my faults were the result of my good qualities, whilst those of Wilkie were the conse- quences of his heartless ones. Yet he must be excused. He begged me not to do what I did. He entreated I would not defend him. It might be cowardly to decline walking with me in the streets, as he did, but he ought not to be blamed for endeavouring to screen himself from the consequences of violence which he was not to blame for and foresaw. His nature was gentle and timid — mine undaunted, fierce and impetuous, " sempre inclinato allc cose dif- Jiciler Wilkie was content to do what was wanted to be done in Art — I gloried in trying to force people to what they ought. The thing was done and there was an end. I did not anticipate the consequences but I defied them now they were come. Wilkie was really wretched as he was sin- cerely attached to me. " I have seen your two papers in the Examiner," he wrote to me, " hut although I have occasion to admire what you have formerly written in that paper, and am as forward as any one to give you the highest praise (which you certainly deserve for the picture you have lately finished), I must really, as a friend, say I cannot congratulate you upon what you have offered to the public in this paper. You have laid yourself open, not merely to the charge of spleen and dis- appointment and to the resentment of the Academy, which you have no doubt laid your account with, but to a charge 1812.] WILKIE'S advice. 181 which is much worse, and which I dare say you had no notion of when you wrote the papers, that is, of railing at the Academy in order to ingratiate yourself with the Institution. "This, your panegyric on the general conduct of the Institution, your indignation at the aspersion which was attempted to be thrown on the purchase of Mr. West's picture, and your approbation of the plan of giving premiums, will all, I assure you, conspire very much to strengthen ; and although those who know you may be ready to acquit you of any such views, there will not be wanting many who will be glad of so convenient a handle against you. "I do not mention this, I assure you, for the sake of finding fault, but rather to put you on your guard, for it appears to me that whoever may think proper to attack what you have written, this is what you will be most loudly called upon to answer for.. In all this, however, you are yourself concerned. But I am sorry to find by the way you have mentioned my name, and the manner in which you have made me an exception to all that you complain of in the Academy, that I must also become a sharer in the recrimi- nation you have been calling forth, and I can also see that in order to do justice to the person you have opposed me to, which you have certainly not done, it will be necessary for those who take his part to do still greater injustice to me to restore things to their proper level. I think that the consi- deration of his being a competitor for the same premium that you are contending for should have restrained you. "You have certainly got plenty of work on your shoulders, and I should advise you to get out of it in the best way you can. But is this the way an artist should be engaged? Why not follow up the reputation your painting might gain you, and let that carry you through ? It will lessen the respect people would have for your talents as a painter, when they find them employed disputing in a newspaper. " I shall 1)0 misorable till I hear you are going on with your picture — I shall then be assured (hat you have re- gained your peace of mind." N .3 182 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [1812. This was a calm and affectionate counsel and shows the real man — mild — temperate — tender — and cautious. Of course, for my own happiness, it would have been better to have gone on in my art, painting and peaceable, but then I saw the country wanted knowledge of the state of things. I thought that concise and powerful papers by an artist would enlighten them. I saw the artists were the victims of a system which must be shaken to be reformed, and though I brought misery on myself, no man can deny I gave a shock and excited an interest in the country which has never died, and which not one of my predecessors ever did or ever had courage to do to the same degree. Wilkie and I were different beings, yet sincerely at- tached to each other in proportion to the opposition of our natures, though neither approved the excesses in the character of each. In moments of depression I often wished I had followed Wilkie's advice, but then I should never have acquired that grand and isolated reputation, solitary and un- supported, which, while it encumbers the individual with a heavy burthen, inspires him with vigour pro- portioned to the load. 1 gloried in proportion as the world left me — Wilkie only flourished as society nourished him ; I defied the present time for the sake of the future — Wilkie looked to the future through the affections of the time being. But the treachery is yet to be told. Soane the mo- ment my attack appeared lost courage, shrank back, suppressed his pamphlet and left me, young and un- supported, to bear the brunt of the battle. Thus then for the rest of my anxious life my destiny was altered. I had brought forty men and all their high connexions on my back at twenty-six years old, and there was nothing left but " Victory or Westmin- ster Abbey." I made up my mind for the conflict and ordered at once a larger canvas for another work. 1812.] P. HOARE's opinion OF M.Y CONDUCT. 183 CHAP. X. As I was one day walking clown the Haymarket in the greatest anxiety about a debt I could not pay, I met my early and dear friend Prince Hoare ; he admitted the truth of all I had written,. but said, " They will deny your talents and deprive you of employment." " But," said I, " if I produce a work of such merit as cannot be denied, the public will carry me through." " They know nothing of Art," said he. " That I deny," said I; *' the merest shoeblack will understand Ananias." He shook his head. "What are you going to paint?" " Solomon's judgment." " llubens and Raffaele have both tried it." « So much the better," I said; "I'll tell the story better." He smiled, and putting his hand on my shoulder this kind friend said, " How are you to live ? " " Leave that to me." " Who is to pay your rent ? " " Leave that to me," I said again. " Well," said Mr. Hoare, "I see you are ready with a reply. You will never sell it." " I trust in God," said L He shook hands as if I was teie montee, and saying, ^' If you are arrested send for me," walked away. In a short time I began to turn again to my glorious art ; but the thoughts of my position often distracted me and rendered me incapable of painting. Often during this insanity, when I have sat still and have not spoken for hours, artists have said, " Look at him, poor fellow, he is thinking of the Academy." These abstractions grew less and less ; in a few weeks I began my work and soon was lost to all remembrances that had no connexion with ray pursuit. N 4 184 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. Mj Journal thus records my progress, — April 3rd. — My canvas came home for Solomon, 12 feet 10 Inches, by 10 feet 10 inches — a grand size. God in heaven grant me strength of body and vigour of mind to cover it with excellence. Amen — on my knees. 4fh. — Began my picture — perspectived the greater part of the day — felt a sort of check in imagination at the difficulties I saw coming, but, thank God ! instantly a blaze of ent'.-usiastic perseverance burst into my brain, gave me a thorough contempt for my timidity and set me at rest. 6th. — Drew in my figures. Ascertained the per- spective proportions of all the heads ; squared in my pavement ; oiled in my ground. Thus I have advanced my picture, by God's blessing, more methodically than any I have yet done. Searched in the evening Kings ii. for hints for architecture. My hand is more certain than it was from the schooling it has had in wading through the drudgery of Macl^eth and Dentatus. Let this not diminish but increase my exertions. Let them, O God! end only with my existence. I must endeavour to distinguish the effect of Solomon's order on different temperaments, some doubting if it be in earnest, others really alarmed and wondering. 7th. — Advanced my picture. 8th. — Went to the London Institution to search for manners of Israelites. I wish to express in Solomon a fine youthful king of Israel, with delicate hands, clothed in gold, with a sceptre and a crimson robe, his face youthful — dignity com- minsrled with wisdom. The mother should be as if she had burst out of her usual modesty ; the moment she recollected herself she would blush. 9th. — Breakfasted with Wilkic. AValkcd about the 1812.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1812. 185 Regent's Park. Dined with Soane. So has jjassed the present day, without profit, and with bitter remorse of conscience. lOth. — Worked hard, advanced my picture, got in the architecture and part of the back ground, as well as Solomon. I paint with more certainty than I did. Got all in light and thin. 1 1 ^A, — Worked vigorously ; advanced my picture. Got in the two mothers. At the Opera in the evening. The most delightful ballet I ever saw. I '2th. — At chui'ch ; an idle day. 13^A. — Idle. 14^A. — Got in some heads ; advanced my picture. 15th. — Idle. Went to the Institution; looked at West's picture, Christ blessing the Sick. Hard, red, mean, well-composed : nothing can be more despicable than the forms. How the people have been duped ! Yet, on the whole, it is one of his best pictures. Looked at Macbeth afterwards. I must say there is an elevation I don't find In his, though there Is a strawy crispness of manner which is not the right thing. The light spotty, the forms hard, the colouring fleshy, but too light ; she is too near and not big enough ; he too big. The mind cannot make allowance for the difference of size at once and without effort. The attitude certainly right, but the struggle to keep himself on his bent knee ex- cites a painful feeling. Still In spite of its numerous errors (whicli God in heaven grant the artist power and sense to avoid in the next), it is a grand picture. It excites awful feelings. There is an elevation of soul which makes one's breast expand. 17th. — Advanced my picture. ISth. — At Wllkie's private exhibition. Idfh. — Neglected my cluuxh. 20fh. — At Wilkie's private exhil/ition. 2\st. — ■ Industrious; got in the head of my landlord's child. 186 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. 22nd. — Made an accurate drawing for Solomon, from Sammons (Corporal, 2nd Regiment Life Guards, after- wards my servant). 2Srd. — Breakfasted with Wilkie, who is in great glee, of course, about his exhibition, He heartily deserves all his success. 24:th. — Two hours' drawing from Samm ons. Wilkie called and we had a grand consultation about the compo- sition of my picture. 25th. — Five hours' drawino; from Sammons. Finished my study for Solomon. 26th. — Sunday : idle. 27th. — Rode to Hampton Court on Wilkie' s horse. Spent a delicious four hours with the Cartoons. What an exquisite heavenly mind RafFaele had. Nothing can exceed the beaming warmth, the eager look of pure de- votion, in St. John's head in Christ giving the Keys. His delightful face seems to start forward from his hair with gratitude and rapture. His full mouth unable to utter from that sort of choking one feels when the heart is full, his bare, youthful cheek, his long hair, his closed hands, bespeak the ecstatic sensations of rapturous piety, overflowing with gratitude and delight. Again, in the cartoon of Peter healing the lame Man ; while the poor beggar is agitated with hope and attempting to make an effort to rise, while St. Peter, with uplifted hand, is telling him in the name of Jesus Christ to rise, St. John looks down on him with an air of blushing, compas- sionate devotion, as if his heart glowed with feeling. St. John seems to have been a character Raffaele delighted in. It was in fact his own. Whenever he a])pears he has the same look of purity, benevolence, meekness and voluptuous rapture, with a glowing cheek enveloped in long heavenly hair. What a beautiful creature is that too in the corner who with a fairy's lightness is gracefully supporting an 1812.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1812. 187 elesfnnt wicker basket of fruit and flowers and doves and holding a beautiful boy, who carries doves also which are undulating their little innocent heads to suit his motion. She, as she glides on, turns her exquisite features, her large blue eyes, beautiful full nose and little delicate breathing mouth, whose upper lip seems to tremble with feeling, and to conceal, for a moment, a little of the nostril. Never was there a more exquisite creature painted. It is impossible to look at her without being in love with her. liaffaele's flame was so steady and pure. Several bystanders seem to regard the beggar as if with an ejaculation of " Poor man ! " One appears lost in abstraction as if reflecting on his helpless situation. The whole cartoon excites the tenderest sensations, and the most delightful. Think of Fuseli's savage ferocity and abandoned women — the daughters of the bawds of hell, engendered by demons — and then bring to your fancy this exqui- site, graceful, innocent creature dropped from heaven on a May morning ! Think of Fuseli's men — the sons of banditti — and contrast them with the rapturous innocence of St. John ! It can't be borne. The more I see of nature, the more I see of Raffaele, the more I abhor Fuseli's mind, his subjects and his manner ; let me root his pictures from my fancy for ever. (Eleven at night.) Thank God, I am capable of enjoying the sensations Raffaele intended to excite. May they every hour inter- weave themselves with my being, and by mixing with the essence of the Elgin Marbles produce such Art as the world has not yet seen. Grant this, O Thou Great Being, and grant that I may realise this conception before I die. Amen with all my soul. Raffacle's faces are full of the light within, and truly it is a divine light ; his eyes glisten, his checks glow, his 188 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. mouths quiver ; the soul seems bursting for utterance. The heads of every other painter are without this qua- lity of RafFaele's. His children are the germs of his men and women. In comparing his peculiar beauties with the beauties of the Elgin ISIarbles, the way I would distinguish them would be this ; tlie beauties of the Elgin Marbles are those of form ; the beauties of Raffaele are those of form too, but of form as the external agent of the soul. A body can only express action or repose. It can entreat or it can refuse ; but when it must show the refinement of passion how little can it do without the features ; while a look can terrify, can delight, can op- press you with awe, or melt you with love, without a single corresponding or assenting motion of the body. As the end of painting is to express the feelings of men, and as the features alone can express more than the body alone, and as the body is subservient to the intentions of the soul and the features to the expression of them, and as the office of the body is more material and that of the features more spiritual, he that excites emotion by the expression of the features is greater than he who can only express the intentions of the soul or spirit by the form. April is ended ; irregularly passed. The last week made drawing's of heads. May ] 2tli. — I cannot tell how I have passed it. At the Exhibition ; some good portraits ; wretchedly oiF in the higher walks ; every year it will become worse and worse ; more like a shop to get business. Looked over a vast quantity of Stothard's designs. 11 til. — Nothing but horror and idleness to reflect on for the last three weeks. June \iit. — I began, as last summer, to sleep at Wilkie's and walk in the morning. It did me great good. 1812.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1812. 189 We talked of the Cartoons last night, which I had been to see again on Saturday. He said Raffaele's great object was mind only, therefore he never showed any parts but heads and hands, because the face is never so much attended to when the figure is visible. But I said, as* the great organs of intellectual expression are the features, they will always keep their predominance, and as the body expresses the intention of the mind, though in an inferior degree to the features, yet when they are both united the expression of mind will be more perfect. In the wicked mother I will have a grand, tremen- dous creature, regarding the young one with a flushed sneer of malignant fury. The highest style is essence only. If you know not what is accident and what is essence, how can you dis- tinguish accident from essence ? How can you depend on your judgment for clearing accident from essence in external appearances covered with skin which vary in every individual? Whereas, if you know exactly what is underneath you perceive the essential. The time was now fast drawing near when the pre- miums at the Gallery would be awarded. Various were the rumours afloat. The Academicians at every dinner party denounced my conduct and my picture with such violence that the directors were actually afraid to do their duty. Just at this moment a large feebly painted picture of Christ healing the Blind made its appearance at a private exhibition, and Sir George Beaumont (wishing to cry up some novelty now Wilkic and I were old aflairs), rushed at it with an ai)pctitc whetted by the disdain with which I had treated his offer of 100/., and in a week Richter's work was hailed as equal to the Cartoons and declared in every coterie for the remainder of the season the only historical picture ever painted in England. 190 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. To buy it at once was more than the directors' funds could afford. After many consultations they resolved to make up the price, five hundred guineas, by taking away the three hundred guineas premium and the two hundred guineas prize from the exhibitors at the Gallery, who, relying on their honour as noblemen, had sent works to contend for the reward they had themselves offered. They did so, and bought this new miserably painted picture with the money thus literally stolen from us, voting the one hundred guineas left to a bad picture of a poor painter and offering me thirty guineas ! — that I might not be out of pocket for my frame which cost me sixty. Thus concluded the history of Macbeth for the season of 1812. I tore up their note in disgust. I really was for a few minutes staggered but soon recovered my wonted spirit. Though the Academicians detested me, yet this op- portunity of giving a blow to the Gallery which they hated more was too good to let pass. They turned right round, abused the directors, and took me under their patronage with a heartiness perfectly laughable. Lawrence really was furious. He said he never in his life heard or read of such abominable conduct in a body. Here were men oF high station who had pledged their honour to give in 1812 three hundred guineas, two hundred guineas and one hundred guineas to the first, second and third in merit of the historical pictures sent that year, and who gave five hundred guineas of the money to a picture that was never sent at all. Charles Bell, who was very sincerely attached to me, was very unhappy indeed. He knew my distresses : he had before this paid me five guineas for a sketch to help me, and wrote me next day this letter. " Dear Haydon, — I fear you will take this disappoint- ment too deeply. I assure you my disappointment is next 1812.] LETTER FROM CHARLES BELL. 191 to your own. Whether Macbeth be a good or agreeable picture may admit of a doubt, but in that picture there is proof of long study, of capability of drawing superior to any painter of the day. " For the pith and energy of that figure, you ought to have had marked encouragement. " But do not entertain ill thoughts of your judges, nor yet despise their judgments, but rather study to obtain all men's judgment, and then only are you entitled to assert your own, " I do not know who your judges have been, but I am not sure that I would very strongly have opposed them. For see hoAv the case stands. You have so placed yourself, that they could not compliment you without giving undue strength to all you have said against other painters, with- out becoming parties to the angry sentiments you have expressed: therefore in giving no reward but for infex-ior pictures, they have in fact given an honorary one to you. " You have already shown a worthy perseverance ; you have fulfilled a duty too in presenting a laboured picture after gaining a high premium. Now show that your perse- verance and love of Art have a higher object than any re- ward any society can hold out to you. " I entreat you not to be cast down, but to persevere. There is a duty in this which will carry its own reward with it. Send me one of your sketches for the money you owe, and then you know we shall be free for something more ; or finish the sketch I send you with this, and I shall be amply repaid. " I am, ever most sincerely, dear Haydon, "Charles Bell." 192 AUTOBIOaRAPlIY OF B. R. IIAYDON. [l812. CHAP. XL Cast down ! It must have been something more than this to cast me down, though tlie reader will see in a page or two I had quite enough. This decision did me good. It was so glaringly un- just that it turned the scale in my favour. Leigh Hunt behaved nobly. He offered me always a plate at his table till Solomon was done. J<^hn Hunt assured me that as far as his means went I might be easy. Having lost 500 guineas, my price for Macbeth, and now the prize of 300 guineas for which I might fairly have hoped, and being already at the completion of Macbeth 600/. in debt, this additional calamity did not improve my prospect of clearing myself. Besides I was iroiuGr on with another work, and I had not had a shillinor for weeks but what I had borrowed or got from selling book after book, my clothes, everything. I deliberated — not that I ever hesitated, but because I was deter- mined to take a clear view of my position. Naturally, my heart and mind turned to Wilkie, and I thought it stranire that I had never heard a word or received a call from him, nor in fact heard from any friend his feelings on the subject of my position. Perhaps, I thought, he is too much agitated and too pained to call. I had attacked the Academy principally from my deep affection for him, — against his advice, it is true ; but still some sympathy for the feeling which prompted the attack (admitting the act to be rash) was due to so old and devoted a friend as I was. I resolved thei'efore to call on him and hear what he would say ; 1812.] MY PECUNIARY DIFFICULTIES. 193 for as his advice was always cautious, I imagined it was the best thing I could do. First, however, I went to a friend, and said, *' What is to be done ?" " That I can't tell you," said he, with a cold, withdrawing air. I left him in pain and walked quietly to Wilkie. I told him I wanted the common necessaries of life. He looked at me with horror. I said, "Will you advance me lOZ. in addition to the 24/. I owe you?" He shook, got nervous, was oppressed by my presence, looked cold, heartless, distant and fearful I would stay long. He stammered out he could not spare more. I urged on him that he risked all by not helping me now. He persisted he could not. He kept saying, " I told you so, I told you so." He was fright- ened out of his life. This was such a palpable blow at me as a mark of disapprobation for my daring to attack the Academy and refute Payne Knight, that he feared almost to acknowledge he had ever known me at all. I walked out without saying a word. Wilkie seemed delighted at being relieved of my presence. He consi- dered me a ruined man and thought the sooner he dis- engaged himself the better. Ah, Wilkie, the pang I suffered at that moment was more on your account than on my own ! Never shall I forget my melancholy walk through Kensington Gardens back to London. What should I do? I owed my landlord 200/, How was I to go on? Would he allow it? How was I to dine, — to live in fact? A large picture just rubbed in — in Avant that day of a dinner. Shall I give up my Solomon, relinquisli my scliemcs, sell all, retire to obscure lodgings, and do anything for a living ? It would be praiseworthy — it would be more. But if I did, I never could realise enough to pay my debts. Surely it would be wiser to make another cast — to dis- miss despair. I was in health: I had no family. I VOL. I. O 194 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. knew myself capable of subaiittlng to anything, but when once a situation is relinquished it is not possible to regain it. Besides, the ajiparent cowardice, after preaching such heroic doctrines to the students. The apparent cowardice was nothing if I could approach nearer my grand object by it, but I thought I could not by submission do so — and then the meanness ! How could I submit who had told the students that failure should stimulate and not depress ? Contemptible ! How bear my own reflections — how the reflections of others, knowing I deserved them ? Something instantly circu- lated through me like an essence of fire, and striding with wider steps I determined to bear all — not to yield one particle of m.y designs — to go at once for my model — to begin to-morrow and to make the most of my actual situation. " Well done," said the god within, and in- stantly I was invincible. I went to the house where I had always dined, intending to dine without paying for that day. I thought the servants did not offer me the same attention. I thought I perceived the company examine me — I thought the meat was worse. My heart sank as I said falteringly, " I will pay you to-morrow." The girl smiled and seemed interested. As I was escaping with a sort of lurking horror, she said, " INIr. Haydon, Mr. Haydon, my master wishes to see you." " My God," thought I, "it is to tell me he can't trust." In I walked like a culprit. " Sir, I beg your pardon, but I see by the papers you have been ill-used ; I hope you won't be angry — I mean no offence ; but — you won't be offended — I just wish to say, as you have dined here many years and always paid, if it would be a convenience during your present work, to dine here till it is done — you know — so that you may not be obliged to spend your money here, when you may want it, — I was going to say you need be under no appre- hension — hem ! for a dinner." 1812.] MY LANDLOED'S KINDNESS. 195 My heart really filled. I told him I would take his offer. The good man's forehead was perspiring, and he seemed quite relieved. From that hour the servants (who were pretty girls,) eyed me with a lustrous regret and redoubled their attentions. The honest wife said if I was ever ill she would send me broth or any such little luxury, and the children used to cling round my knees and ask me to draw a face. " Now," said I, as I walked home with an elastic step, " now for my landlord." I called up Perkins and laid my desperate case before him. He was quite affected. I said, " Perkins, I'll leave you if you wish it, but it will be a pity, will it not, not to finish such a beginning?" Perkins looked at the rubbing in and muttered, "It's a grand thing; — how long will it be before it is done, sir?" "Two years." "What, two years more, and no rent?" "Not a shilling." He rubbed his chin and muttered, " I should not like ye to go — it's hard for both of us; but what I say is this, you always paid me when you could, and why should you not again when you are able?" " Tliat's what I say." " Well, sir, here is my hand," (and a great fat one it was,) "I'll give you two years more, and if this does not sell," (affecting to look very severe), " why then, sir, we'll consider what is to be done; so don't fret, but work." Having thus relieved my mind of its two heavy loads, I knelt down and prayed with all my soul and rose up refreshed and buoyant. These are the men that honour human nature and these form the bulk of the middle classes. Glorious Old En2;landl A\'hilc such hearts exist never shall foreign hoof trample down the flowers of our native land I I wept to myself when I thought of the treatment of him who had been embosomed in my family, who had shared my heart with a love which had grown with my youth — the friend, the companion of my studies, for o 2 196 AUTOBIOGRArilY OF B. R. HAYDON. [(812, whose reputation I had sacrificed everything. I pitied his ignorance of my character. I mused all the evening on life, and its unaccountable varieties, on death and its endless prospects. I thought of my dearest mother and started as if I felt her influence in my room. I passed the night in solitary gratitude, and rising with the sun relieved and happy, before setting my palette prayed to the Great God who deserts not the oppressed, saying, " O God Almighty, who so mercifully assisted me during my last picture; who enabled me to combat and conquer so many difficulties and gave me strength of mind superior to all, desert me not now, O Lord, desert me not now. " O Lord, Thy mercy is infinite ; to Thee will I again cry. ^'Assist me, O God! My difficulties are again accu- mulating and will yet accumulate ; grant me strength of mind and body again to meet, again to conquer them. Soften the hearts of those at whose mei'cy I am ; let them not harass me , let them not interrupt me. Grant that I may be able to proceed unchecked by sickness with my present great picture and conclude it as it ought to be concluded. Let not the progress of this picture be disgraced by the vice which disgraced the last. Let me be pure, holy and virtuous — industrious, indefutlo;able and firm. " Enable me to conceive all the characters with the utmost possible acuteness and dignity and execute them with the utmost possible greatness and power. " O God, in every point, let my intellectual power rise to the degree wanted for excellence and my vigour of body be proportioned to the fatigue. " O God, in pecuniary emergencies Thou hast never deserted me ; still in such moments stretch forth Thy protecting hand. Amen. Amen. 1812.] MENTAL STRUGGLES. 197 " O God, spare the life of my dear father, till I am independent and able to take my sister, and much longer if Thou pleasest to delight me, but till then, I entreat Thee, till then. Thou Great Being and merciful God. " O God, let me not die in debt. Grant I may have the power to pay all with honour before Thou callest me hence. Grant this for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen." Artists, who take up the art as an amusement or a trade, will laugh heartily at this effusion of trust in God and this fear of being unworthy, but I took up the art by His inspiration. My object has ever been to refine the taste, to enlighten the understanding of the English people and make Art in its higher range a delightful mode of moral elevation. I have ever held converse with my Creator. When sinking, He has cheered me, — when insolent, He has corrected me, — when afflicted. He has elevated me with triumph. He has always whispered to me that I shall carry the great point, to carry which He caused me to leave my home and my family. Am I to be judged by the selfish, the money- getting, the envious and the malignant? If I had Avritten what they understand I miist, as Johnson says, " beg pardon of the rest of my readers." I write this Life for the student. I wish to show him how to bear affliction and disappointment by exhibiting the fatal consequences in myself who did not bear tliem. I wish to give him spirits by showing how rashness is to be remedied, vice resisted and a great wish persevered in, when the last I'csourcc is a prayer to the Almighty. Is tliere a reader, in or out of the art, who will presume to ridicule such a resource, — tlie resource since the world began of all the greatest minds in their greatest sorrows ? I passed the night after this with more calmness, and rising early went to work. INIy female model came as I intended and ordered, and though heated in my feelings o 3 1 98 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON. [1812. and agitated in my intellect I began the fiend of a mother, and getting as usual perfectly abstracted and seeing her expression glittering to my imagination, on leaving off at four I felt and saw that the head was a terrific hit. Green, the sj)lendid model, looked at it with terror. " Surely, sir, I never looked so dreadfully?" " No, your head and form have only been the objects to paint from and put the expression in. God forbid that under any circumstances you should look or feel like that." Having thus brought my mind to act, I went on day after day, and made my correct drawings as usual till the beginning of August, when my health began to be shaken by the variety of my anxieties. So by the assistance of my kind friend, John Hunt, I raised money suflficient for a change of air. I went into Somerset- shire — to Cheddar — where my uncle, a prebend of Wells, had a living. While at Bristol (August 16th), the mail arrived dressed with laurels, bringing intelligence that Lord Clinton had passed through Bath last night at ten o'clock with dispatches from Lord Wellington announcing a victory. Two eagles and flags were hanging out of the carriage window. The people were all rejoicing — all in a bustle — long- ing for the Gazette — cursing the French — praising Wellington. On the road the coachman pointed out General Whitelocke, who lived near. I as well as all the passengers looked through him as he passed. He evidently expected insult. My sister had arrived at Cheddar before me. How I gloried in the ocean beating on a wild shore with angry surf. There is nothing like it. There is 110 expansion of feeling equal to that produced by a sudden opening on the sea after being for months shut up in a street in London. 1812.] I RETURN FROM TDE COUNTRY. 199 My health soon recovered by riding and idling, though I studied Italian hard. My sister had come up to meet me and our parting was painful. My prospects were gloomy : hers at home unhappy. Yet I, at present, could offer her no asylum, and we bade each other farewell with suppressed feel- ings, affectionate and melancholy. On turning to look if she was gone, I saw her standing on the hedge bank, ^vfltching ray progress, till a turn of the road hid us from each other. I entered the inn for the night and order- ino; a bed soon retired. The house was low and mean. I dozed away in a complication of feelings unutterable and bitter. I awoke, and getting up through the blow- ing wind and dashing rain took my place in the coach in a sulky chilliness. What a prospect was mine ! I was leaving the healthy cheerfulness of the country, for smoky, painful, strug- gling London — to proceed with a great work without a shilling, amidst the sneers and sarcasms of malignity and ignorance. The weather operated to increase my depression ; but as I approached London, with its energy, its activity, its ambition, my heart breathed in expanding vigour, and my tenderest affections and bit- terest sorrows were suppressed in the swelling of anti- cipated fame. Oh the glories of a great scheme ! What are all the troubles, the pangs, the broken affections, the oppressions, the wants, the diseases of life, when set against the endless rapture of perpetual effort to realise a grand conception ? I sprang like a giant refreshed to my canvas the next day, mounted a chair on an old table, singing as inde- pendently as a lark, and was soon lost in all the elevated sensations of an ambitious and glorious soul. The Hunts, always generous, helped me as far as they coidd. Leigh, poor fellow, could not spare his o 4 200 AUTOBIOGRAniY OF B. K. HAYDON. [l812. money long enough to be of service, but he did his best. What did Lord Mulgrave ? Nothino;. What Thomas Hope? Nothing. The whole of 1812 I never saw one single person of fashion. I was as forgotten as if I had never been. But I had a light within, which "made the path before me ever bright." Lord Mulgrave was in such a passion with Dentatus, first for not answering his expectations, and then for exceeding them, that he nailed it up and left it in a stable for two years, and when I wanted to see the effect of time on the colours, I found the picture so covered with dust I could not see a face. About this time I was seized with a fury for Italian: I rapidly broke down the difficulties. I soon found out the sense, and beginning on the sonnets of Petrarch I went to work, as I did in Art, by dissection. My Journal records the progress of my picture. October 2nd. All painters have, I think, erred in giving too much an appearance of earnest to Solomon's judgment. The child is dashed up ; the executioner is ranting as if he were going to fell an ox. The delicacy, I think, is to give the incident the air of a truth, without making it laughable : so that the spectator may see the execution was not meant, and yet feel interested for the lovely mother who thought it was. Zrd. Made an accurate drawing for the executioner from my old and faithful model, Sammons, (who goes on Wednesday to Spain). I gave him, and two more who had been my models, (one of them Shaw^the pugilist,) a bottle of wine to drink my health and their own success. They are all attached to my service and are fine fellows. I had Sammons' wrists cast. He sat for Macbeth and Dentatus, and has the cleanest wrists I ever saw. 1812.] FR03I MY JOURNALS OF 1812. 201 Humble as these men are I feel attached to them. In the midst of study I heard from M' Ilkle to let me know he was at Mulgrave, where he had become, of all things in the world, a sportsman ! " 1 have had a notion," he wrote me, " for the first time I ever thought of such a thing, of trying my hand at partridge shooting, and have been already two days out with the gamekeeper. The same is but scarce, and the first day I had to con- tent myself with but shooting a crow that was flying over our heads. The second day, however, the game- keeper and I brought in three brace, one of the par- tridges comprising which Avas of my shooting. This is considered by our sportsmen here as great success for a beginning, and has given me a great relish for the amusement. The fatigue attending it prevents me going out more than twice a-week, but we have contrived to lessen that by riding on ponies to the ground where the game is lodged. I have been trying to learn chess, and also intend to have a touch at billiards. By the time I get back to town, I shall be quite an accomplished gentleman." But he really did kill partridges at last, incredible as it may appear, and asked me with some complacency to eat game of his killing on his return to town, in October. ** I shall be glad," he writes, " if you can get out here on Tuesday at 3 o'clock, and if you are disposed to laugh at my not being able to kill anything better than a crow at my first shot, you will have reason to envy rae the success that so trifling an exploit has led to, when you sec and taste what I have to give you for dinner of my own shooting. I shall be very much dis- appointed if you don't come." Journal. It may be laid down as an axiom, that if wrists arc clear so arc ancles, if elbows so arc knees. Thus, if the 202 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. K. HAYDON. [1812. tendons that go from the radius and ulna to the hand are distinct and intelligible, that is, clean without being skinny, and full and fleshy without being fat (for this is the great characteristic of healthy activity and the Elgin Marbles), the tendons which go from the tibia and fibula to the foot are clean also. Perhaps the secret of character in form, — in contour, — is repetition of curve as of colour. Thus begin by del- toid, and repeat the form it makes without violating truth. Thus you may repeat everything, till you have put your figure together like a map. Sammons, my model, has that extraordinary character perceived in the reclining figure (the Theseus) of the Elgin Marbles — the same exact mixture of bone, ten- don and muscle, which conveys a look of nature without poverty and elevation without manner — the same exact composition of round, straight and elliptic lines — joints tendonous, limbs fleshy, bones angular. This is the beauty of form, — this is the just blending of truth and refinement, that you look for in vain in the hai-d, marbly, puflfed figure of the Apollo, the muzzy Antinous or the myriad fragments of the antique wdiich have inundated Europe for the last three hundred years. For this we are indebted (as the world will one day see) to the in- spired Elgin Marbles. October 5th. Kept down the principal figure : ad- vanced my picture. Ilard Avork for the higher Art in this country, when painters, patrons and people set their faces against great productions. 7th. " The hand of the diligent shall bear rule, but the slothful shall be under tribute." The idleness, the wasteful idleness, of this last year I shall repent to the day of my death. I have gained experience, but at a dear rate. Had I exerted myself as I ought my picture would have been well advanced. After attacking the Academy I should instantly have 1812.] . FROM MY JOUKXALS OF 1812. 203 applied myself, but I loitered, got entangled with an infernal woman, which shattered my peace of mind be- fore I could extricate myself, and though I came off, thank God ! without actual falling, yet it was with my habits so broken and my mind so agitated that till now I have not had command of myself as usual. What a warning have I had ! How has my presumptuous security been lowered ! When I think of what a hell I have escaped my head whirls. W^ith the exception of my attacking the Academy, which I shall glory in to my last gasp, my conduct has been abandoned, negligent, irresolute, contemptible ! I nauseate myself. I have never had such a contempt for any human being. After the delights of keen, eager, active employment, none can know what are the horrors of ennui but those who have felt both ; and ejinui is to none so horrible as to those who have been previously always on the stretch. Whoever you are who read this when I am dead, beware of beginnings. Fly from vice. Think not it can be argued against in the presence of the exciting cause. Nothino; but actual flight. Beware of idleness, which leaves you at the mercy of appetite. Employ- ment, employment, and you must be safe. I can never now look at the bust of JNlichcl Angelo without a detestation of myself. Such was not my feel- ing two years ago. 8?/t, ^tli, and \Oth. Vigorously at work. Painted the head of Solomon. I doubt whether I should ex- press any more in him than a general air of royalty, as though absorbed in his greatness. A man who has a fixed purpose to which he devotes his powers is invulnerable. Like the rock in the sea it splits the troubles of life and they eddy around him in idle foam. Young beginners are apt to intrude all they know. 204 AUTOEIOGKAPHY OF B. K. HAYDON. [l812. not considering that the first requisite is to please the eye through the eye ; a multipHclty of parts distracts, disgusts, wearies : hence the necessity of one thing being kept subordinate to another, so that the mind may dwell on as much at a time as it can at once com- prehend. I can to this day recollect a poor creature who saw her son dashed to pieces by a horse, near Temple Bar. Nothing could exceed her dreadful sufFerino;. Her nose and cheeks became a settled purple, a burning tear hung fixed, without dropping, in her eyelid, her livid lips shook with agony, while she screamed and groaned with agi- tated hoarseness on her dear boy. I was passing an hour afterwards : I heard her dreadful screams, which had now become incessant, till they died away from ex- haustion into convulsive sighs. My heart beats at the recollection. I put her expression into the mother in Solomon. November 18th. — My colours in a delightful state. Every thing floated on so exquisitely, I would not have exchanged my situation for Buonaparte's at Moscow without a handsome remuneration, nor yet then. As I was sitting quietly by myself last night near a silent and simmering fire, my picture on one side of me infinitely improved by my day's application, books, colours and casts on the other, I began to feel a sort of congratulation and self-complacency I had not felt for long, when suddenly the thought of death darted into my head, and I shuddered at the fancy of appearing in- stantly before my Creator. I never before reflected so strongly on death, or perceived its inexorable approach with such perspicuity. I saw in my mind's eye that die I must. I asked myself if I were called hence what did I leave behind me to keep me an hour from oblivion? All my vices and follies rushed into my brain. What had I done to merit approbation hereafter ? Alas ! — I sunk 1812.] FEOM MY JOURNALS OF 1812. 205 away Into a melancholy dreary feeling and sat for an hour as if I had heard the hollow roar of the last trump, as if I saw millions start from their graves and stare with wild vacancy as they uncovered their pale faces. 25t]i. — Three years ago, studying the form of Dentatus I found the calf of the Gladiator less than that of the Hercules and other high characters, while the solasus showed all the Avay from its origin, which gives a mean look. Ignorant of the reason I avoided this, but I had not mastered the principle of form enough to select what was requisite for the great actions. Now I have esta- blished the great principle of Greek form, first to select what is peculiai'ly human. The gastrocnemius (calf muscle) is peculiarly himian, and contributes to the great human distinction of standing upright on the feet; the more powerful it is, the more powerfully docs it perform its functions, and when powerful it swells over the solteus ; diminish it, the solasus bursts out and gives a weak, animal look, because the calf is lessened as in animals, and the calf being lessened, a muscle peculiarly human is lessened, and a limb which has a muscle pecu- liarly human lessened approaches the limb of an animal Avhicli has scarcely any such muscle at all. 21th. — There are certainly great traces in Plomer of the simplicity and beauty of the Scriptures. In the Bible whenever a king or any man orders a servant to carry a message the servant delivers it in the A'ery words in which it was delivered to him : it is always so in Homer, and, of course, in Virgil and other imitators. 30M. — Lord ISIulgrave feeling in some degree for my long absence and bad treatment, sent me a ticket to go to see the Prince open Parliament as Regent for the first time. Went to the House of Lords. It was a very grand 206 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812. affiiir; — the beautiful women — educated, refined and graceful, with their bending plumes and sparkling eyes ; — the Chcincellor — " The sceptre and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imj^erial, The tissued robe of gold and pearl," gave a grand sensation, and I could not help reflecting how long it was before society had arrived at that state of peace and quietness, that order and regulation, I Avit- nessed ; — what tumult, what blood, what contention, Avhat suffering, what error, before experience had ascer- tained what was to be selected, and what rejected. The Prince read admirably, with the greatest per- spicuity, and without the slightest provincialism — pure English. He appeared affected at the conclusion. I went down in the evenins; a^-ain to hear the debates. Lord Wellesley made a fine energetic speech, enough to create a soul under the ribs of death. It showed him to be a man of grand and comprehensive intellect. He affirmed in a strain of energy almost amounting to fury that Lord Wellington's means were inadequate ; — that before the battle of Salamanca, so far from his re- tiring to draw the enemy on, he was in full retreat the 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, and part of 22nd, and that it was entirely owing to an error of Marmont that the battle was gained. " But, my Lords, is this a ground to cal- culate upon ? My Lords, if your hopes of success are grounded on the errors of French generals I fear they have a very shallow foundation." He said the great general had not the means of trans- port for his artillery. I went away about the middle of Lord Liverpool's futile reply. I observed Lord Wellesley in the heat of debate put himself repeatedly in the attitude of St. Paul preaching at Athens, which proves the truth of Raffaele's feeling. It was this very night, while listening to Lord 1812. J FKOM MY JOURNALS OF 1812. 207 Wellesley and surveying the miserable tapestry which surrounded him, I conceived a grand series of designs to adorn the ample sides of the house. I became glo- riously abstracted, and settled that an illustration of the best government to regulate without cramping the energy of man would do ; — first to show the horrors of anarchy; — then the injustice of democracy; — then the cruelty of despotism; — the infamies of revolution; — then the beauty of justice ; — and to conclude with limited monarchy and its blessings. This conception I explained to Wilkie, who was de- lighted and said, " If you ever live to see that wished ! " I have lived to see it wished and hoped for and pro- posed. I have lived to lay my plan successively before every minister down to Lord Melbourne and Sir Robert Peel, secretly to influence the government and publicly the people, and I shall yet live to witness its execution under the blessing of that God who has blessed me so often and through so many calamities. This conception matured daily in my mind. I made many sketches; — asked the advice of many eminent friends, especially William Hamilton, then of the Foi'cign Office, who suggested the subject of Nero's burning Rome to illustrate despotism, till at last I brought them to maturity, subject of course to exten- sion, and proposed them, as I have said, to each suc- cessive minister. On public encouragement I find the following remarks in my Journal of this month. {December, 1812.) Do you really expect to raise Art by cncouraglno" pictures two feet long and three feet wide? Do you also agree with the Edinburgh reviewers that Raflaele would have deserved more praise had he painted pictures of more moderate dimensions ? lie has done so and what ai'e they? Fat, oily and leaden. He has painted 208 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. HAYDON. [l812, easel pictures of a moderate size : let us cut off his great works; — liow high would he rank? But people can't afford, — people have not room, — I know it; — Ave do not want private peoj)le to afford such assistance ; — we want and expect you, who are assembled as representatives of the people of England, you who are Peers of taste, we want you Avho stand high in station to act as becomes your station. One of your own class has asserted that a historical picture of ac- knowledged merit, Avith a price proportioned to its skill, would be the longest unsold on the Avails of the British Gallery, and Avould not he, as one of the patrons, be to blame ? Certainly. He forgets he implicates himself. If the churches are not to be open, (and Avhy St. Paul's should not be open as Avell as St. Peter's — why pictures should not be admitted as Avell as statues — no reason on earth can be given) — let the public halls be adorned Avlth subjects characteristic of their relations ; — let the artists be desired to send sketches, and let the best be chosen. At the same time, for the support and en- couragement of the rising students, let premiums still be given of one hundred guineas and fifty guineas, which Avill enable the best to advance on sure ground. Open a prospect to students in the first instance, and enable them, after being thus lifted, to look forward to steady assistance if they display equal improvement and equal industry in the second stage. Without such regvilar and systematic encouragement, nothing will — nothing can — be done in England. Men of ardour and enthusiasm may risk their lives and ruin their health by priA'ations and may produce excellence, but if they are suffered to pass unheeded and neglected Avhat must be the end ? Individual effort, Avithout support, can go to a certain extent, and its efforts may be great wlien enmity and prejudice have ceased. But the artist must be sacrificed 1812.] ON PUBLIC ENCOURAGEMENT OF AET. 209 before the effect can be produced. No man of genius would refuse such a fate if necessary. He has not the proper fire if he shrinks from becoming the Decius of art; but surely he would prefer succeeding whilst alive and confirming his early successes by subsequent exei'tions. You lavish thousands upon thousands on sculpture without effect. You refuse all assistance, all public support, all public opportunities to painting. You load 'your churches, your halls, and your public buildings with masses of unwieldy stone, and allow not one side or one inch of your room for pictures. Is this fair ? is it just ? is it liberal ? You then complain grsat pictures will never do in this country, and conclude that there- fore great pictures should not be painted. This really looks like infatuation. In no country has sculpture been so favoured, fed and pnmpered as in this country. In no country under heaven has such patronage been met by such shameful, disgraceful indolence as in this. IMasses of marble scarcely shaped into intelligibility ; boots, spurs, epau- lettes, sashes, hats and belts huddled on to cover ignorance, and to hide defects ! Surely you are bound to divide your favours and affections. If you shower thousands on Sculpture and fatten her to idleness with one hand, scatter hundreds into the lap of Painting also with tlie other, that her preternatural efforts made witliout friends and without patronage may be fostered and saved from being wholly without effect. No ; year after year, and day after day, monuments and money arc voted in ceaseless round, without discrimination and without thought. However the portrait painters may affect to say, " We may pursue history if wc prefer starvation," whenever I call they always feel little and lament they arc doing " such d d things." They slirink before a student on the brink of starvation. VOL. I. p 210 AUTOBIOGRAPnY OF B. E. HAYDON. [l812. Turenne used to say he never spent his time In re- gretting any mistake he had made but set himself instantly and vigorously to repair it. December lith. — Made a last application to my father for money. He frankly tells me it is impossible : that what I have had is rather beyond his means. I am in the middle of a great picture without a penny for the necessaries of life or for models. However, I never felt more enthusiasm, more vigour, more resolution. This was my situation wdiile engaged on Macbeth. Being new, it cut me deeply but never checked or de- pressed me. But now, broken in to misfortune, I can look at her without shrinking, pursue my intentions Avithout fear, disguise my state by active buoyant spirits, which I never want, and by God's help, and virtue and industry increasing, I have no doubt of sub- duing my picture with honour, and coming out of the battle invigorated and ready for fresh combats. In God I trust who has been always my protector and friend. Amen. December 2 1 St. — Always, recollect, the joints clear, bony, and tendonous ; the limbs full, fleshy and vi- gorous ; the chest wide ; the pelvis not narrow ; the feet arched ; the knees and ancles not small ; the skull capacious ; the face not large. December 29th. — No man so fills without crowding, and has such breadth without emptiness, as RafFaele. The face is his great object : to this he sacrifices every- thing — drapery — hair — form — figure — nothing in fact near it is suffered to come into competition. How strange is the blind infatuation of the country ! Nobody refuses portraits of themselves or their friends on canvases 8, 10, 12 feet long, but every one shuts his door against the illustrious deeds of our own and of other countries unless on the pettiest canvases. At the very time Sir George was harassing me about 1812.] THE YEAR CLOSES. 211 size, Owen Avas painting his mother the same size — a large whole length. December 31st. — The danger of solitude is that a man centres everything too much in himself. He fancies the world is watching and Heaven protectino- him ; that he only is employed ; that he only is ambi- tious. When he goes into society he will find others occupied with works and efforts like his own ; others who have been ambitious and are now humbled ; others who have grandly failed in grandly struggling. This will subdue his own notions of his own importance and send him back to his study prepared for the misfor- tunes and fitted for the miseries of life which would otherwise have come unexpectedly. The above remarks are copied from my Journal of the year. Sketches of all descriptions accompany the re- marks, and they are all deductions made by my solitary fireside at midnight, or after it, when I have mused on my position, felt pain at my desertion, and often while I was in want of the commonest necessaries of study and life. But week after week the picture advanced and I ended the year in high aspirations. My landlord's kindness continued. He had received no rent for three years now. Where I dined on credit I was treated as if I was their best customer. Of people of fashion I saw not one, nor did I condescend to appeal to them for aid. They had first brought me into high life when I had done nothing to deserve the elevation, and then deserted me when I had done something to merit notice. I worked away, always happy, trusting in God, believ- ing myself expressly inspired by Him for a great purpose which I never lost sight of. Wilkic called now and then, when he thought he might with safety, and when he believed I must have friends somehow or somewhere. r 2 212 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDO^T. [l812. From my Journal : — Now comes the last day of 1812. Alas! instead of having worked out my schemes of improvement in morals and in mind, what have I to do at the end of every year but to recapitulate vices, repent, hope amendment and before the new year has ushered in the spring be as contemptible as ever? I am weary. Perfection in virtue and resolution in temptation, I begin to suspect, are never to be attained here ; I can only wonder humbly why one, like myself, with the most awful feel- ings of virtue, should be so silly as to fly into folly where all restraint is forgotten. My feelings about the close of this year are dulled. Things happen but once in this world; as you enter life everything is fresh, beautiful and impressive, but each recurrence is less noticed than the preceding, and perhaps when one leaves life a change is requisite from disgust and weariness. O God ! in Thee I sincerely trust ; desert me not, surrounded as I am with difficulties and danofers. Ex- tricate me ; let me not die, till I have paid all my debts with honour, till I have re-established my fame on an iron foundation, till I am worthy to be called to a purer existence. O God, listen to my prayer for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. Amen. Amen. Thus then ended the year 1812 — a year in which I laid the foundation of all my future trials. Yet, as David Wilkie suffered neaidy as much, though guilty of no violence, of no retaliation, of no daring to expose a public body, or flying in the face of a patron in high life, it is a question if the meekest submission, — if a temper like Newton's and a subserviency like Wilkie's, — would have had any other result than my violence and resistance had. 1813.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1813. 213 What I did I did on a public principle, with a strong feeling of individual wrong ; as belonging to a class, — that of historical painters, — who had neither the rank, the power nor the patronage of portrait painters. All which it was my belief they would have had if the Academy had not been founded and if the portrait painters had not thus been embodied under the exclusive protection of royalty and rank. I was but the humble cliannel of a feeling which is rapidly growing over Europe, and which I have no doubt whatever will become so strong that in the end these hotbeds of mediocrity will sink into the insignifi- cance they so thoroughly deserve. Journal. January \st, 1813. You say "After all beauty is the thing." No, it is not; intellect, the feelings of the heart, are the chief things. The more beautiful the garb expression is dressed in the better, but you may dress expression so beautifully as to overwhelm it. Beauty of form is but the vehicle of conveying ideas, but truth of conveyance is the chief object. If the vehicle attract on its own score, what it intends to con- vey is lost, and the mind will be drawn to a secondary object. So with colour, light and shadow, and all the means of the art, for beauty is but a means. This is the reason that many painters great in de- lineation of beauty take an inferior station. Perfect beauty can only belong to beings not agitated by passion, such as angels. But while human beings can be de- pressed or agitated, roused by terror or melted by love, perfect or regular beauty is incompatible with the ex- pression of such feelings, and the sudrages of mankind will always be in favour of him who conveys feelings at once to their hearts, without weakening them by the insipidity of regular beauty. V 3 214 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. 11. IIAYDON. [l813. No dovibt these feelings should agitate beauty, but then its calmness and regularity are destroyed. The ex- pression may be that of a beautiful countenance, yet the expression should predominate. People of no practice sit still and refine themselves to impossible beings. They forget we are made up of body and mind. Such is our nature. As Art pro- fessedly lays its foundation in that nature it must remind us of it or it will fail in its effect. In the highest style the moment the artist departs from nature, either in action, expression or form, that moment does he cease to interest human beings. All Homer's, all Shakespeare's, characters have the elevations and the failings of men. Do not Homer and Shakespeare interest human beings more than any other poets ? No doubt the characters of Milton are high, but I am talking of the dramatic human variety of this world, not the epic superiority of the other. " It is no matter to me how expression is conveyed," say some ; " I care not for the vehicle." This is the other excess. They forget that the Great Creator of the Universe has clothed the profoundest system in the most delightful garb. The grace and colour of a tiger for a moment make you forget the ferocities of his nature. dtli. — I began and read Nelson's Life in the intervals of painting and hard work, and never was I more de- lighted ; I have always had in me something of Nelson, and loved my country's glory as highly as he. " Had I attended," says Nelson, " less than I have to the service of my country, I should have made some money too. However, I trust my name will stand on record when the money-getters are forgot." \Otli. — Drew at Lord Elgin's all day and evening till late. How deliglitful is the exhausted, faint feel 1813.] FKOM MY JOURNALS OF 1813. 215 after a hard day's labour, with an approving God within, in comparison with the listless horror of an idle day and the stings of a reproachfid conscience. Well do I know them, and sincerely do I thank God I have completely recovered my tranquillity. I have finished Nelson's Life, every syllable, with interest and delight. I had no idea of his powers of mind or of his know- ledge of men and things till I saw his correspondence. He was certainly a most extraordinary man, persevering in pursuing an object, restless and miserable under a chance of missing it, prompt and clear in his conceptions, yet cool and wary ; having conceived a purpose, rapid, energetic, unconquerable, keeping a steady eye, bending his whole soul, his whole body, his whole powers, to carry it. With all the simplicity and enthusiasm of fiery youth, he had all the wisdom and experience of suspicious age. He had the power which all great men have of making others in his society forget their own inferiority. All who came in contact with him, mid- shipman, mate, lieutenant or captain, ambassador or admiral, native or foreigner, all loved him, for none in his presence lost his self-respect. He had the keen eao;er feelin<2;s of genius. To make cai)tive did not satisfy his soul. Anniliilation was his object, and if there were in our being a deeper state of destruction than annihilation, annihilation would have been insipid and absurd, " We have done very well, we must be content," said Hotham. "Content!" answered Nelson, " Content, and well done ! If we liad taken ten sail, and let the eleventh escape, I should not have been content, or have called it well done." This is the man who will not wait fur op[)ortunit3', but makes the most of what he has. Tiiis is the hero who if he commanded a cock-boat would do something the captain of a cock-boat never did before. 1' 4 216 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. E. HAYDON, [l813. Nelson Is an illustrious example to show what a persevering, unclivided attention to one art will do; — how far a restless habit of enterprise, the never resting or taking indolent enjoyment after exertion, will carry a man. He began the war the unknown com- mander of a 60-gun ship, and concluded it the greatest naval captain of his country and famous throughout the world. I have spoken of him before, but of such a hero much can be said, so I hope I shall be pardoned for these extracts. He had all the right feelings of the old school, and detested the liberie and egalite set, with philosophy in their mouths and rapine, murder and ravishment in their hearts. I love him for this, and sign my name to all he wrote and said against this detestable, damnable school, — French or English. Posterity will properly estimate the pure and honourable heroism of our English admirals, in contrast with the ferocious and unprin- cipled French. All Nelson's observations, all his views, were fresh, vigorous and original, for they issued from an innate and powerful faculty impregnated by experi- ence. Conscious of something, he knew not what, he did everything with a sort of authority from his infancy, and yet, with the true feelings of a great mind, was humble and willing to learn when ignorant. The same eagerness, the same enthusiasm, the same powers, the same restlessness, the same determination to go on while in existence, in any art, will carry a man the same length, because such conduct begets confidence in others as Avell as in a man's self: opportunities are then given, for dependence can be placed by those who have the power to bestow opportunities. Nelson's life was a continued scene of glory and vigour. He is an example to all. May those who 1813.] TROM MY JOURNALS OF 1813. 217 have similar views pursue them by similar methods ! Amen with all my soul. Amen. (At midnight ^th January, 1813.) He died at the very moment he ought, for if sym- pathy can be added to admiration what stronger hold can you have on human nature ? When his voice was almost inarticulate, when his sight was dim, when his pain was excruciating, as life was quivering on the borders of another world, and his gallant soul was almost in the presence of the Almighty, he muttered, " I have done my duty, 1 thank God for it." What a glorious spirit ! At such moments if human beings are melted, and forgive injuries and errors, will not a Being of perfect mercy, of perfect benevolence, and of perfect purity, receive and forgive too ? It must be so. Nelson's life was so compressed that one was con- tinually forgetting his earlier glory in the splendour of his latest. He exerted himself in the greatest possible Avay in the shortest possible space. \'2th. — Hard at work — seized in every part of my body with pain. I take it I caught cold at Lord Elgin's last night, after painting in a warm room all day. I was literally frozen when I got home. Succeeded in my back. l^tli. — The greater and more numerous the diffi- culties a man is surrounded with, the more he should be determined to conquer, and exert his talents to the utmost, because, after all, if his picture be so fine that no one can contradict it, it must have its effect. No man docs his utmost. l^tli. — Very ill, and consequently very miserable — tried to work, but so weak, uneasy and uncomfortable, could not go on. How much serenity and energy of mind depend on health and vigour of body . \ltk. — This week is ended. Tiiree days did I apply 218 AUTOBIOGllAPHY OF B. E. UAYDON. [l813. myself most indefatlgably, night and day — two days indifferently — and one day, being ill, weakly and listlessly. This perhaps is an epitome of life. How miserable that a darling object cannot be pursued without in- termission, without sleep, food or relaxation ! But did we make use of the time that is left us, even with all these barriers and weights, how much more might be accomplished. Dark day — hard at work: the light could hardly make its way through the blanket of a sky. About this time Wilkie, who was always pursuing some ignis fatuiis, began to get into his head that he painted too slowly, and that the old masters never used models. This is actually a fact, and he came to me to preach this absurd doctrine when he was painting Blind Man's Buff. I wrote him, in admonition, a letter from which this is an extract : — " you talk of being ruined if you do not paint quicker. No. You will be ruined if you do not paint well ; if you neglect nature, and paint like all mannerists from recollec- tion ; you will be ruined if you neglect to survey both nature and Art, as you used to do; and by observing what others have done, and what others have not done, be either stimulated to outdo or equal their efforts for excellence. Could it be you who unwillingly refused to look at Ostade ? Why? — because you knew it would send you to your own canvas with a stinging and a bitter conscience. Was it you who uttered the sentiment i\\?it feeling looked unlike compo- sition ? What specious, what absurd, what contemptible so- phistry ! Do you not know the difference between sim- plicity and ignorance ? " Every ignorant imbecile blockhead can push in a figui'e without skill or method and call it simpHcity. but it is only those of high capacity who can arrange their materials with the deepest art and yet conceal that art by apparent ne- glect. You are completely altered in your views of Art. 1813.] FEOM MY JOUKNALS OF 1813. 219 You told me the Rent Day was painted in three months. It was; — and I'll tell you why; — because you had nature for everything, and painted with certainty and assurance, depending upon your conception for character and on your model for imitation. No wonder you proceeded rapidly and without restraint. Mark the difference of a different system, — uncertain — muzzy — confused — mannered. " You are either the weakest or the most simple of men to be so impressed and twisted by the opinions of every blockhead that chooses to hazard a notion. I tell you, totally alter your whole system, and again apply yourself to your art with your former eagerness and appetite. If you think your academical honours are to be pushed forward to cloak inattention and manner, you will find yourself awfully mis- taken, and the opinion of the world about yourself, both in regard to your character as a man and an artist, will be entirely changed." This was exactly Wilkie — any plausible fool could persuade him he did not paint in the right way, and I recollect I had the greatest difficulty to get him out of this temporary insanity. Seguier backed me, and w'C succeeded in inducing him to paint from models again. Stothard had been held up to him as more perfect than Teniers, and " Stothard used no models," he said. Meanwhile my picture of Solomon advanced steadily. My Journal of the time shows I never thought more conclusively, and the daily contests with Ilazlitt (whom I had met the year before at Northcote's), with Leigh Hunt and with AVilkle, tended certainly to do my mind a great deal of good, for wc all thought conclusively and differently on all subjects. Journal. January 20th. — To draw well w'liat one sees is what every man can do who studies and has a correct eye — but it is the having a poetical conception of charac- 220 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B, R. HAYDON. [l813. ter In form, and being able to realise It, wlilcli distin- guishes the painter of genius from the common draughts- man. 2lst. — For God's sake, for the sake of the art, for the sake of your character as patrons, bestow on great works that significant, that important encouragement which will give consequence to the higher walk. Ren- der as a public body* that protection to history that portrait has from Individuals. Let us be great in every walk, and In every rami- fication of every walk. Let us go as far, or farther than nature has hitherto allowed man. Let us astonish the world and posterity with a mass of power that shall sweep off all obstructions, and leave future ages In hopeless gaze. I do not say you throw away your time on dogs and fish. Dogs and fish well imitated are worthy encourage- ment ; every part of this delightful art is entitled to protection : but I say, give that assistance to those who attempt to realise a poetical conception which you give to those who imitate what they see. 27th. — What a dellGfhtful habit Is the habit of work. How wretched, how miserable am I to-night from having been out for hours gabbling, idling, dining, when I had feet to prepare for to-morrow ! But before I sleep it shall be done. 29t/i. — Spent the evening with Leigh Hunt, at West- end ; walked out and in furiously after dinner, which did me great good. Leigh Hunt's society is always de- lightful : I do not know a purer, a more virtuous cha- racter, or a more witty, funny or enlivening man. We talked of his approaching imprisonment. He said it would be a great pleasure to him if he were certain to be sent to Newgate, because he should be In the * The directors of tlie British Institution are addressed. 1813.] FROM MY JOURNALS OF 1813. 221 midst of his friends. We botli laughed heartily at the idea of his being in the midst of his friends at Newgate, and his being reduced to say it would be a great pleasure to be sent there. February \st. — The senses have mechanical organi- sations, which act when influenced and not else. AYe know this from habit and experience. The conse- quence is we associate the cause Avhen we sec the re- sult ; and it is on this principle we affect human feel- ings in painting. All the greatest poets have had the various excel- lences of liaffaele and Michel Angelo united. It is astonishing to me they should be considered incon- gruous. What can be more opposite than the feeling conveved in these two lines, "Apt'i ct 'C^ovi]v, aTtpvov It Yioaiicaojvi' and TvpoQ KoXnov tv^Mi'oio ri6ijvr]s ? The one has the stern energy of ^lichel Angelo, the other the delicate voluptuousness of Raffaele. The one gives you the full bosom of a nurse, delicately divided by a zone from her shelving waist and sweeping into the flow of the hip ; then mark the contrast " about the girth like ISIars, about the head like Neptune." Fancy Neptune rearing his awful breast on a summer noon, above the blue, breezy ocean, like a tower dividing the sprayey foam ; then he would dip down, and the dash- ing surge would ripple over his shoulders ; then he would rear up and expose his whole breast ; every now then Nereids and Tritons would splasli up and dis- appear. 5th. — Form, colour, light and shadow are but the means of exciting associations, I have been studying attentively these two last days the Bacchus and Ariadne of Titian, and the Choice of 222 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP B. E. HAYDON. [l813. Paris by Rubens. The Bacclius is, after all, acldressecl to your acquired feelings, the result of education. I could not help observing in both Titian and Rubens the total want of fundamental principles of form in making the opposite lines of a limit or body the same, which is never seen in nature and physically cannot be : it always gives a snapped look. There is a gentility in Titian which borders on in- sipidity. Give me the rich, teeming, racy, careless energy of Rubens, an energy that seems striving after something beyond this dim spot. Though it may carry him over the bounds of propriety, who is there that would not be so carried ? Titian is careful, Titian is modest, Titian is gentle ; Rubens, on the contrary, is energetic, bold, careless : Titian fears that he may overstep the bounds of nature; Rubens seems weary of limits, and bursts out depending on his own powers and heedless of fiiilure. It is a delight to me to know that I can see and prove fundamental errors in such men as these. The Elgin Marbles have so refined my eye that an error strikes it on the moment. Yet nothing can exceed their harmony of colour. Some masters attract by picturesque arrangement; some by colour ; some by form ; but few consider that all these are but different modes of conveying thought. Raffaele never for a moment let either predominate at the expense of the essential point, — natural feeling and expression. The learning of Poussin is not the learning of nature. It is not the learning of the refined beauties of form and expression, but the learning of the habits, customs and notions of the ancients. Phidias, Homer and Shakespeare were the most learned of all men in nature. All other learning ought to be a means to adorn and improve the learning of 1813.] FROM Mr JOURNALS OF 1813. 223 nature. Every fault will be excused if that learning be true, whilst no acquirement will interest if that be deficient. March 3d. — Those Avho neglect nature are to be pitied, poor fellows ! What beauties, what delights do they miss ! To-day, whilst I was painting the child, every time he rested, every time he put himself in an attitude, it was beyond all description. Dear little innocent laughing cherub, oXljklov acnipt Kokm. Except by Clarissa Harlowe I was never so moved by a work of genius as by Othello. I read seventeen houi-s a day at Clarissa, and held the book so long up leaning on my elbows in an arm-chair, that I stopped the circulation and could not move. When Lovelace writes, " Dear Belton, it is all over, and Clarissa lives," I got up in a fury and wept like an infant, and cursed and d d Lovelace till exhausted. This is the triumph of genius over the imagination and heart of its readers. \5th. — A day never passes but I feel the blessing of having thoroughly investigated every difficulty in Joseph and Mary, Dentatus, and Macbeth. I could not have more difficult subjects or subjects requiring greater effort. When it is considered that when I attacked such svibjects I was little better than a raw youth from my father's shop the difficulties I experienced were surely nothing but natural. The age of miracles has ceased. All that is to be ac- quired cannot be acquired Avithout labour. Ignorance must be conquered by research. The only gift from nature is the capability of conquering it ; the only way to conquer it is by putting the capability in action ; the proof that it is conquered is the result. Nature gives no man knowledge. I cannot sketch a foot, a limb, a head, or anything without instinctive re- ference to those pictures. 224 AUTOBTOGRArHY OF B. K. HAYDON. [l813. CHAP. XII. I HAVE hitherto gone on extracting from my Journal to show that a historical painter, as he proceeds, is not always occupied with macgylps and colours. To the young student the extracts will be of use, because they will instruct his mind how it ought to reflect and qualify itself for thinking. The great poets should be used as assistants, never as substitutes. Call thera in as helps, but as seldom as possible paint their descriptions, be- cause, as in painting a picture of Christ, you have a previous picture in everybody's mind to equal, and that will be impossible. My time was diligently occupied all 1813. I never left town, and brought my picture well on. I suffered severely, was reduced to great extremity, had often no money, but always my food and my lodging. JNIy land- lord and landlady wished occasionally to send me up tit- bits and delicacies, but I never would allow it. John and Leigh Hunt were both in prison for their attack on the Prince of Wales. John continually helped me. I used to visit him and breakfast with him often, and have spent many evenings very happily in his prison, and have gone away through the clanking of chains and the crashing of bolts to the splendid evenings at the British Gallery, and thought of my poor noble-hearted friend locked up for an imprudent ebullition of his brother's on a debauched Prince who at that time amply deserved it. Leigh was considered a marfyr by the Radicals and Whigs. Bentham and Brougham equally visited him ; for the party was glad to vent its spite on the Prince by 1813.] MY INTIMATES IN 1813. 225 paying every possible attention to the man who had libelled him. The usual companions of my relaxation at this time were Hazlitt, the Hunts, Barnes (of the Times), Wilkic, Jackson, C. Lamb, with my early friends Du Fresne, Maclnggan, Callendar and Lizzy. C. Eastlake, (who came to town in 1808, and whom my enthusiasm had fired to be a painter), was my pupil. But for me he often told me he should never have thought of it, and the very first chalk hand he ever drew he drew under me from a hand that I lent him. He had taken the lodgings, (No. 3, Broad Street, Carnaby Market), wliere I had lived on the second floor and where I painted my first picture in 1806. Under me he dissected, drew and acquired the elements, and I soon found his mind capable not only of understanding what I taught, but of adding suggestions of his own which gave value to my own thoughts. At first I had scarcely any hopes : his first picture was a failure, tame beyond hope. Eastlake's father, George Eastlake of Plymouth, was a man of distinguished talent, fine taste, powerful conversation and poetical mind, but indolent to a vice. When all my family were persecuting me, he stood by me, encouraged me, recommended Forster's Essay on Decision of Cha- racter, and did my mind great good. To his high as- pirations and noble feeling I have ever felt deeply in- debtetl, though with himself it generally ended, as with Coleridge, in talk. When I met Coleridge first his eloquence and lazy luxury of poetical outpouring greatly reminded me of my old, attached and noble- minded friend George Eastlake. Hazlitt came in at Northcote's one day (1812), and as he walked away with me he praised Macbeth. I asked him to walk up. Thence began a friendship for that interesting man, that singular mixture of friend and fiend, radical and critic, metaphysician, poet and VOL. I. Q 226 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF B. R. nAYDON. [l813, painter, on whose word no one could rely, on whose heart no one could calculate, and some of whose deduc- tions he himself would try to explain in vain. With no decision, no application, no intensity of self-will, he had a hankering to be a painter, guided by a feeble love of what he saw, but the moment he attempted to colour or paint, his timid hand refused to obey from want of practice. Having no moral courage he shrank from the struggle, sat down in hopeless de- spair, and began to moralise on the impossibility of Art being revived in England — not because the people had no talent, not because they had no subject matter, not because there was no patronage, but because he, William Hazlitt, did not take the trouble which Titian took, and because he was too lazy to try. Mortified at his own failure, he resolved as he had not succeeded, no one else should, and he spent the ■whole of his after life in damping the ardour, chilling the hopes and dimming the prospects of patrons and painters, so that after I once admitted him I had no- thing but forebodings of failure to bear up under, croakinsis about the clim.ate and sneerino; at the taste of the public. After most of my heads in Solomon were done, and after many hard days' work, Hazlitt would console me by saying, in his miserable hesitating way, " Why did you begin it so large ? a smaller canvas might have concealed your faults. You '11 never sell it." " No/' said Northcote ; " I'll bet my very life you never do." " AVhy — why — why not ?" stuttered Lamb. Tn our meetings Hazlitt's croaking, Leigh Hunt's wit and Lamb's quaint incomprehensibilities made up rare scenes. Lamb stuttered his qualntness in snatches, like the fool in Lear, and with equal beauty ; and Wilkie would chime in Avith his " Dear, dear." In addition to the men I have enumerated was John Scott, the editor of the Cham'^ion. who had more sound 1813.] CnniSTENIXG TARTY AT HAZLITT'S. 227 sagacity than most of them. Delighting in their con- versation, and constantly with them, it was nothing but natural that when tlie Mohawks of literature in Black- wood assailed the set I should unfortunately come in as one who was as much of a radical and sceptic as those with whom I associated, and I could not complain. In the midst of Hazlitt's weaknesses his parental affections were beautiful. He had one boy. He loved him, doated on him. He told me one night this boy was to be christened. " Will ye come on Friday ? " *' Certainly," said I. His eye glistened. Friday came, but as I knew all parties I lunched heartily first and was there punctually at four. Hazlitt then lived in Milton's House, Westminster, next door to Bentham. At four I came, but he was out. I walked up and found his wife ill by the fire in a bed gown — nothino- ready for guests and everything wearing the appearance of neglect and indifference. I said, "Where is Haz- litt ? " " Oh dear, William has gone to look for a par- son." " A parson ; why, has he not thought of that before ? " " No, he didn't." " I'll go and look for him," said I, and out I went into the park through Queen's Square and met Hazlitt in a rage coming home. " Have ye got a parson? " " No, sir; " said he, "these fellows are all out." " What will you do ? " " Nothing." So in we walked, Hazlitt growling at all the parsons and the church. When we came in we sat down — nobody was come; — no table laid; — no appearance of dinner. On my life there is nothing so heartless as going out to dinner and finding no dinner ready. I sat down; the comi)any began to dro}) in — Charles Lamb and his poor sister — all sorts of odd clever j)co- l)le. Still no dinner. At last came in a maid who laid a cloth and put down knives and forks in a heap. Then followed a dish of potatoes, cold, waxy and yellow. Then came a great bit of beef with a bone like a