Ofmrvuue i= : lamps th gold, _s or sums tn sealed bags.” st . Shakespeare eidteeinlinibnndeiaee cae SPE a + BS SSSI SSSI ages TSS met SER a », s . > : y ee ae eS ee eh es ee oe ES EO a Se a Ss bedidtdidididstididididdddidsitiadsatsa : : 5 - : 7 ” 66 md Ae hee hee hh ad Ae he td amends Laddddad pdt ad Sd oA BAMA hte Mirth rt atl A sale hn BEM AMM A tg e4a24 Janta ATE TT a a AE Gornell University Library Ithaca, New York A = A A A A y WORDSWORTH COLLECTION MADE BY CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN ITHACA, N. Y. THE GIFT OF VICTOR EMANUEL CLASS OF 1919 1925 a aa gbe Sip wk Oe THE Pitt Leitiks AND CABLE TALK OF Se Ke aAY DON. Fi, uy ; \ Bee HAYDON, BY DAVID WILKIE. Sans-Gouct Series Ee ie Sees AND DPABLE, TALK OF BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON EDITED BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD NVEAW OVO RK SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG AND COMPANY 1876 | Wer PRSBT thes A. 579IZ27 CoPpyRiGHT BY SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO. 1876. Joun F. Trow & Son, PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS, 205-213 East 12th Street, NEW YORK. Cat Bee Ll , ia =" “ lion” of the season) Pinblie societies, a sume sign of your prosperity, sought the honor of his ‘‘ name and subscription.” Illustrious dukes called upon him. Fine ladies coaxed him out of pen sketches for their albums. Clergymen ‘‘ entreated ” his interest with patrons and ministers to give them livings, or make them deans and bishops. More modest applicants sought ‘‘ appointments only” under government. Strangers sonneted him, and asked his autograph, which, of course, meaned a cheque orasketch. Refugees openly begged his ‘‘ generous charity,” and the young art-students, as a deli- cate compliment, shaved their whiskers and wore square-toed boots and broad-brimmed hats in imitation of theiridol. Then they called upon him to “‘ discuss the Elgin Marbles.” All this was highly troublesome to Haydon, who hated to be disturbed in his painting-room, and had no money to subscribe, interest to give away, or time for gossip. Nor did his own circle of private friends behave less absurdly. They appear to have written sonnets in turn. Leigh Hunt, in the character of a ‘“‘bard,” led the way He ‘* approves and blesses.” -Miss TEA NOON S PCLBLL S. 55 Mitford ‘‘sheds tears.” Reynolds apostrophizes him as the ** saviour of art.” Somebody else sends him to heaven as a modern Raphael and Michel Angelo rolled into one. Another adds the qualities of Leonardo to his credit, and calls upon Europe to build him a palace and endow him with riches. Wordsworth and Keats were the only two who kept their judgment and wrote something sensible. But the rest ‘‘ adu- lated” him to a degree that first flattered him, then made him angry, then made him laugh, and ultimately showed him how difficult and delicate a matter itis for a man of any fame to regulate the ardor and enthusiasm of zealous friends. They always are so ardent, kind and enthusiastic about their hero, they are very hkely with the best intentions to prove his worst enemies. But they get some little fame themselves by admir- ing what they cannot do. HAYDON’S PUPILS. Since his return from Paris, Haydon had been so besought by applicants that he was compelled to establish a school of pupils. By 1816 he had gathered about him a strong school of highly promising young men. That distinguished man and fine gentleman, Sir Charles Eastlake, had been Haydon’s first pupil in 1813. Now the elder Landseers (Thomas and Gharles)- blanvey, -Chatheld, Wkance, Prentis, Bewick and several others joined.* They were all young men, full of high 1Ttis made a matter of reproach against Haydon by biographers, that none of his pupils followed him in historic art. ‘‘ He is the only painter of any eminence who left no school.”? For the matter of that, ‘‘ leaving a school” is no particular proof of want of individual ability in the professor—in art or in politics, or in any profession. And in the case of Haydon, I should have been surprised if any of his pupils—grant- ing that they were equal to it—had followed his particular style of art, seeing to what misery and ruin the neglect of the English nobility and their dislike to English histor- ical painting reduced their master. Noman will educate his son tofamine. Besides, could Haydon do more than he did for his pupils, which was to direct their minds towards that particular department of art for which, in his judgment, they were best fitted? To Edwin Landseer. to his two brothers (Thomas and Charles), to Eastlake, to Bewick, to Lance, and to others, he assigned their several lines. They followed them, and who will be bold enough to say they did not succzed? At least in this re- 56 Bo RR. PPA VOW: design, and became deeply attached to Haydon, for he had that prompt and living sympathy with their feelings and aspirations. which endears a man so much to the younger men about him. Then he was so conscientious a teacher, and never spared him- self, never, like the Earl of Chatham at Walcheren, thought about his health, or of his ‘‘ bon bouillon de tortue, au lieu de se livrer aux détails de l’expédition qui lui était confiée.” On the contrary, Haydon slaved himself in order to make his inves- tigations thorough and his instruction complete. Whether a boy was rich or poor, mattered little enough to Haydon, pro- vided he was industrious and showed talent. ‘‘ Only be indus- trious and succeed in your art,” he said to Bewick, who feared to be rejected because he was too poor to pay any premium, ‘‘ and ¢hat is all I require.” If alad did not show the ability he wanted, nothing would induce Haydon to take him as a pupil. °° What-must / ‘feel,’ writes’ Bewick (30th “Maren 1817), ‘‘when Mr. Haydon rejects so many young men who come to him with letters of recommendation, and who have of- fered him large sums of money! One young man came recom- mended from Edinburgh; Mr. Haydon (as he says) soon found out what he was, and recommended him to begin immediately with portraits.” Of Lance, the fruit painter, acharming story is told. Lance came to London as a boy, found out Haydon, and tremblingly called ‘on iim" and’ asked hs)" terms.” “Perms; my ene man!” said Haydon; ‘‘ when I take pupils I don’t ask the length of their father’s purses. Let me see your drawings, and if you have talent, and are industrious, I will teach you for nothing.” Lance showed some beautiful drawings, was at once accepted, and became one of Haydon’s distinguished pupils. Then Edwin Landseer, seeing his elder brothers advancing so rapidly, grew eager for instruction. He never seems to have worked like the rest in Haydon’s studio, but to have come every week to get instruction, show his work, and get more instruction, spect Haydon can compare well with Sir Joshua Reynolds, for who ever heard of any of his pupils but one—Northcote? And yet he must have had hundreds pass through his studio. Where are their works ?—ED., HAYVDON'S PUPILS. 57 returning home to work it out. Haydon, seeing his strong tendency towards dogs and animals, gave him his own dissec- tions of a lioness to copy, and directed him to dissect animals as the only mode of acquiring a correct knowledge of their internal construction, and guided his studies. When Edwin Landseer’s drawings were sufficiently advanced, Haydon tooka portfolio of them one evening to a grand dinner at Sir George Beaumont’s, and after coffee, showed them round to the minis- ters and nobility who were there, recommending young Land- seer to their especial notice as a boy of great promise, and this Landseer amply redeemed. In the same way Haydon started Bewick as a painter by begging Lord de Dunstanville to allow him to transfer a commission to Bewick, which was agreed to, and Bewick gave such satisfaction he obtained an order fora companion piece. In a stormy lfe of so much personal strife and harass of mind as Haydon’s, it is pleasant to turn aside for a moment and look on the proofs, amidst all his own struggles and dis- tresses, which he daily gives of his most affectionate and gen- erous interest in the success of others, and it was not by any means confined to his art. He was often called on, and always ready to share his slender purse, his food, his clothes, his house, and among his pupils the very patronage by which he lived, in order to advance the interests of others. Most of them felt and acknowledged this in after life. Chatfield re- peatedly calls him his ‘‘ father.” ‘* Be assured,” writes East- lake to him in 1825, ‘‘ be assured that your early kindness to me is among those obligations I am least likely to forget.” ‘“You will have heard,” writes Bewick to his brother (17th September, 1816), ‘‘ how I have been befriended by Mr. Hay- don. ... 1 really do not know how I shall ever be able to recompense him for all that he has done for me.” ‘The whole family of the Landseers, father and children—with one marked exception I regret to say, that of Edwin—write and send hima joint letter at Christmas, 1818, begging him to accept their cartoon drawings for his forthcoming exhibition as a mark of their gratitude and regard. The terms in which the letter is oa 58 B. R. HAYVDON. expressed are highly honorable to both pupils and teacher. ‘“We bear in mind,” theysay, ‘‘ your offer of payment, but we bear in mind also the instruction, etc., which our family has received at your hands, of which we request you to accept the drawings as an acknowledgment, not as a compensation.” * Nor were Haydon’s generous exertions always confined to his pupils. When Belzoni died and his widow fell into difficulties, when Lough, the sculptor, first came starving to London in 1827, Haydon, although pressed to the earth on each occasion, befriended them in every way in his power, and fagged him- self ill in Lough’s case to bring his fine works into public notice. The unionof such perfect disinterestedness with great talents is not often found in other professions than those of art and literature. And the poor never applied to him in vain. ‘‘ Why did you send to me?” he once expostulated with a for- saken outcast who had written to beg for assistance; ‘* why send to a poor man like me?” ‘‘ Because I heard you were humane.” ‘That was his character. EXHIBITION OF CARTOONS. Haydon’s pupils made such rapid progress that he deter- mined in 1816 on a trial which should test their powers to the utmost and show the public what English students, when prop- erly instructed, could do. He obtained leave from his Royal Highness the Prince Regent for two of Raphael’s cartoons to be brought up from Hampton Court to the British Gallery for his pupils to copy. The Prince Regent ordered the “ Paul lat Athens” and the ‘‘ Draught of Fishes” to be sent up to the British Gallery, and Haydon and his pupils at once moved in and made fine copies, Haydon drawing the heads and figures of St. Paul full size. As soon as finished, cartoons and copies were hung up for exhibition and the gallery thrown open to the 1 Why Edwin Landseer refused to sign this letter, I cannot positively say. Haydon, with wounded feelings, has explained it in a note, written, apparently, on receipt of the letter : ‘* Edwin Landseer, though under as great obligations to my instruction, and more for bringing (him) forward in the world—for I sold his first picture—did not sign, for fear of the Academy.” —Eb. EXHIBITION OF CARTOONS. 59 public. The people came in such crowds, the doors were ordered to be closed for fear of damage. At first they refused to believe the copies were the work of any but Italians. When it was known they were the work of young Englishmen the ex- citement became intense, but nothing came of it. Haydonsays he was overwhelmed with anonymous letters ‘‘ threatening him with vengeance ”’ if he continued to work against the interests of the Royal Academy inthis way. ‘‘ Had there been no Academy,” he writes in his Journal, ‘‘ the art would have gone on from this day forever. But their bile was roused, and by ridicule and abuse, and attributing the basest motives to me they succeeded in so alarming the directors that all the good was rendered nugatory. Nothing came of it, and nothing ever will whilst that body, under the mask of doing good to art, seek only their predominance, and by standing between the nobility and the people, baffle every attempt to enlighten either,’ | The next three years were passed by Haydon in a whirl of excitement and work. He appears to have gone out once more into society, while his own ‘‘ breakfasts” at his house in Lisson Grove ' became celebrated in London, not only for their hospi- tality, but for the number of distinguished men who frequented his table. In 1817 the Imperial Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia had come to England, and his brother the Grand Duke Michael followed in 1818, and both had desired Haydon to be presented, and had commanded his attendance at their inspection of the Elgin Marbles. Haydon was received with marked distinction and favor by both. The Grand-Duke Nicholas, on discovering Haydon to be nephew to General Cobley, then commander-in- chief at Odessa, and with whom the Grand Duke had recently spent three weeks at Odessa, treated Haydon ‘‘ a merveille.” In the midst of their conversation the Grand Duke suddenly said, ‘‘ Vous étes un peintre d’histoire. Ot sont vos tableaux? Dans quel édifice public?” His Imperial Highness had a bet- 1 Haydon had now removed to a house in Lisson Grove North, built by Rossi, the Royal Academician. It had aspacious painting-room attached, and here the happiest years of Haydon’s life were passed.—Eb. 60 B. R. HAYDON. ter notion of one of the functions of art than either the British sovereign, his administration, or nobility. ‘* Altesse Impériale,” replied Haydon promptly, ‘‘ dans ce pays-ci, a présent, on ne place pas de tableaux d’histoire dans les édifices publics.” The Grand Duke looked hard at him to see if he was passing a joke on Imperial Russia, but finding a curious expression of disap- pointment on Haydon’s face he changed the subject, turned to the ‘‘ Theseus ” and discussed the beauty of the marbles. The Grand Duke expressed a wish to see more of Haydon, to whom he seemed to have taken a great liking, but if it had come really to the point, I do not believe Haydon would ever have left his country. Hewas too thoroughly proud of her and of her ereat and enthusiastic people. With the Grand Duke Michael, who came over in 1818, Haydon was not so much struck. He says he had less feeling for art, less grandeur, less sublimity of soul, than his illustrious brother Nicholas. The Grand Duke, how- ever, called on Haydon, and paid a long visit to his studio, inspected his studies and his picture of ‘‘ Jerusalem,” which was then much advanced, paid him many high compliments, and expressed his Imperial Brother’s hope to see him one day at St. Petersburg. Alas! my poor father, why did you not go? The Minister of Police, it is true, might have sent you to the Caucasus for some passing indiscretion, but he never would have left you to die broken-hearted by pecuniary distress. You would at least have had the pay and rations of a private soldier. In England you did not even get that. His pupils being now sufficiently advanced, Haydon obtained leave, and sent them to the British Museum to make cartoons of the Elgin Marbles. They succeeded in making such fine cartoons of the Theseus, Ilissus, and the Fates, he resolved to try the effect of their public exhibition the next year. The exhibition of these cartoons in 1818 proved an extra- ordinary success. St. James’s Street was crowded with car- riages from morning till sunset. Foreign ambassadors, dukes and duchesses, all the fine ladies, royalty even, and the million crushed in to see this wonderful ‘‘ Exhibition of Cartoons” by young Englishmen. A caricature of *‘ St. James’s Street EXHIBITION OF ‘CARTOONS. OL in an uproar” filled the shop windows, and increased the mad- ness.* To add to the excitement, the art critics, who made a profitable business out of writing Haydon down, attacked the whole scheme vigorously. But the effect was rather to show that the success a man has in turning the attention of the public to the text he preaches is in proportion to the abuse he receives from the doctrinaires and dunces. The offence of Haydon was, that he tried to bring the public mind into contact with a nobler art than these men understood. But “society,” which had no more feeling for art than Newton’s dog had for his master’s problems, was really dissuaded from supporting the attempt. ‘They came to the exhibition, it is true, but that was for the sake of novelty and amusement, possibly to see what it was which was so abused and caricatured, not for the art, or the object of the artist. Haydon flattered himself and his pride in the aris- tocracy, that the great people came from their love for art, and praised what they saw from a genuine appreciation of the beau- ties put before them. He was perpetually making this mistake, viz., taking the polite flatteries of visitors for real feeling and approbation. But he lived to be undeceived. They would have lavished the same praises on a Hottentot Venus, or a dis- gusting dwarf. But there was one MAN, as Napoleon called him, sitting, afar off, in his own study, who saw and appre- ciated Haydon’s effort. He sent for the entire set of the Ilissus cartoons. These he hung up around his own room at Weimar, and we may depend on it never passed a day without musing among them. Years after, just before his own death, as if to pay a debt of gratitude to Haydon, he wrote, reminding him of these cartoons, and said, ‘‘ My soul has been ele- vated for many years by their contemplation.” That man was Goethe. In England it was flinging a gem to the cock in A‘sop’s fable ; which bird is always much better pleased with a barley- corn. 1 [ had one in my burned portfolio. It was colored after the style of Gillray’s, showed Haydon in a blue coat and broad-brimmed hat, something like a Quaker in colors ; surrounded by young ducks quacking at him, and the whole street in an uproar of footmen and carriages, etc.—ED. 62 B. R. HAYDON. HAYDON’S INTIMATE FRIENDS. During these years Haydon discovered it was necessary, if he wished to be on the watch in the interests of his art, to go more into society, and he went. But he far preferred the easier society of his own literary and professional friends. With these he lived in constant intercourse. Hewas ever a stanch friend, and more than one of them had known with what unbounded generosity, considering his means, he would exert himself on behalf of others in embarrassment or distress. To most of them, however, his position seemed firm and estab- lished. He had made it for himself, and the great picture he was then painting, ‘‘ Jerusalem,” would maintain and increase his reputation and authority on art. Among his intimate friends at this period of his life, there is a striking absence of lords and rich men. He had tried them and found them wanting, and although he still went among them, it is evident with all his love for the aristocracy that he prefers the society of men with brains to men of mere rank or wealth. ~' Horace Smith, Wordsworth, Walter Scott, Keats, Hazlitt, Barnes (of the ‘‘ Times”), Charles Lamb, Wilkie, Coleridge, the Hunts, Ritchie (the African traveller), Du Bois, and Ugo Foscolo, were, more or less, his intimates; with most of these he lived on familiar terms. Often they would meet at one an- other’s houses, and romp like schoolboys, tell inexhaustible stories, and always laugh at each other’s jokes. But their in- terest in art, in literature, in politics and religion, was anything but boyish. They discussed their favorite subjects, debated over classics, fought Napoleon’s campaigns with the fierceness of partisans — Hazlitt always supporting Napoleon, Haydon 1 In his Journal for March, 18=7, I find the following affectionate reference to Keats: ‘‘Keats has published his first poems, and great things indeed they promise. . .. Keats is a man after my own heart. He sympathizes with me, and comprehends me. We saw through each other at once, and I hope are friends for ever. I only know that, ifI sell my picture, Keats shall never want till another is done, that he may have leisure for his effusions; in short, he shall never want all his life while I live.” —Eb. HAYVDON’S INTIMATE FRIENDS, 63 always against him, and in favor of the Duke—very often, it seems, breaking up their evenings in a violent heat, to forget their differences, or meet and renew them on the next occasion. Hazlitt said Haydon was one of the best talkershe knew. ‘‘I find him,” he said to Bewick, ‘‘ albeit the best painter in Eng- land, well read up in the literature of the day, and never at a loss for subjects of conversation, whether of books, politics, men, or things. He talks well, too, on most subjects that in- Ferestuone.) Indeed. better than) any painter” 1 ever” met. Northcote is talkative and original, but he is narrow in his views, and confined in his subjects. Haydon is more a scholar, and has a wider range and versatility of information. One en- joys his hearty joyous laugh; it sets one upon one’s legs as it were better than a glass of champagne, for one is delighted to meet such a cheery spirit in the saddening depression that broods over the hypocrisy and despotism of the world. His laugh rings in my ears like merry bells.” This describes him at the time fairly. Talfourd, Miss Mitford, and Wordsworth have all expressed to me a similar opinion, and I believe most of those who remember him would confirmit. Huis talk was so rapid, so enthusiastic, and without being brilliant, so fuli of anecdote and illustration, and so earnest, it completely carried you away. Wordsworth said, the last time I saw him, at Christmas, 1548, ‘* your father was a fine, frank, generous na- ture, a capital talker, and well-informed.” And as to his art, he said, ‘‘ He is the first painter in his grand style of art that England or any other country has produced since the days of Titian. He may be disregarded and scorned now by the igno- rant and malevolent, but posterity will do him justice. There are things in his works that have never been surpassed, they will be the text-book of art hereafter.”” This was high praise from Wordsworth, but Wordsworth knew what he was talking about, and he was too honest not to be sincere. Haydon had, of course, many personal anecdotes of his friends, and has re- corded some ; but he had such a keen sense of the ridiculous, it would not be fair to repeat them. Of Hazlitt, whose eccen- tricities offered so much opportunity for ight laughter, he had 64 B. R, HAYDON. innumerable stories. Wordsworth added to the stock by one (of Hazlitt’s evening amusements at the lakes) which combined such an union of the fiendish, the ludicrous, and the sublime as not to be surpassed by any story ever told of Hazlitt. Of Coleridge, I have heard him say that he did not always talk, but would sometimes sit silent, apparently taking no notice of the conversation, when suddenly, like the ‘‘ locutus bos” of Livy, he would come out with something so prodigiously wise every- body became silent, and then he would pour forth for an hour, as the humor took him. The story of Lamb, on his way to the India House, leaving Coleridge at Io A.M. in a doorway talking with his eyes shut, and coming back at 4 P.M. to find Coleridge still there with his eyes shut, talking away, as he thought, to Lamb, I have heard my father declare, though only on Lamb’s authority, to be strictly true; but then Lamb de- lighted in such fictions about his friends. Byron he never met. They were to have met, but something prevented Byron from coming, and the opportunity never occurred again; Haydon regretted it all his life. Shelley he met. occasionally: dis account of their first meeting, in 1816, is characteristic ; it was at a dinner—one of the last he went to at Leigh Hunt’s. Hay- don arrived late and took his place at the table. Opposite to him sat a hectic, spare, intellectual-looking creature, carving a bit of brocoli on his plate as if it were the substantial wing of a chicken. This was Shelley. Suddenly, in the most feminine and gentle voice, Shelley said, ‘** As to that detestable religion, the Christian—’ Haydon looked up. But says he in his diary, ‘‘ On casting a glance round the table, I easily saw by Leigh Hunt’s expression of ecstasy and the simper of the women, I was to beset at that evening ‘vi et armis.’ I felt exactly like a stag at bay, and I resolved to gore without mercy.” The result was a heated and passionate argument, and the resolu- tion on the part of Haydon to subject himself no more to the chance of these diseussions. And thus it was, to some extent, he gradually broke off his intimacy with Leigh Hunt. Warmly attached as he was to all his friends, this resolution gave Hay- don certain pain. But the offensively condescending and TA VDONES LNILTWA TE FRIENDS. 65 patronizing tone, which, under the plea of impartiality and fair judgment, Hunt would insist upon assuming when speaking of our Lord and His Apostles, looking down upon them, as it were, from the point of view of a very superior person, irritated and shocked Haydon to a degree that was unendurable. It was al- together inconsistent, in his view, with the relations of man to his God. He protested warmly against it, but being persisted in by Hunt with all the light geniality of his audacious romanc- ings over the Biblical conception of the Almighty, their inti- macy was dissolved. Lateron, Haydon found in Talfourd as faithful and fearless a friend ; he was also a more judicious adviser. Among the gentler sex Haydon had many and sincere friends and admirers ; Miss Mitford was among the oldest and warm- est. With two very opposite characters, Maria Foote and Miss Mellon, afterwards Duchess of St. Albans, he was always a great favorite. Of Holly Lodge he had many lively stories. And as Maria Foote was just at this time delighting the town, Haydon, who used to escort her to and from the theatre, saw a good deal of life behind the scenes, but he soon tired of that. He sympathized with Johnson when he said to Garrick, in excuse for) not again comme ‘behind “* Old Drury,’ * Oh, Davy, Davy, the silk stockings and the white bosoms of your actresses excited my amorous propensities!’ It is so with all studious men. The sandals of Aspasia turned the heads of the Greek philosophers. They come out from their studies into the world, and are first astonished at the vivacity of their own emotions, and then shocked that no one else seems to share them; a little practice renders them equally insensible.’ But Haydon was one of those men who found love in any forma serious affair; he, therefore, preferred a ‘‘ fatiguing virtue to a convenient vice.” The former fitted into his habits of thought and reflection, troubled him least, and did not disturb his principles or shake the peace of his mind. ‘‘ Non ita difficile est quam captum retibus ipsis exire et validos Veneris perrum- pere nodos.” Possibly he was so much liked by the sex on account of this earnestness, and he was evidently much run 66 Bake SLA VaQON: after on account of his good looks and reputation. How it was he was not married much earlier in life it is difficult to say, under all the circumstances that have come to my knowledge ; but he was a striking example that the common belief a clever women can marry any man she likes, is not always true. In love it is sometimes only one of the two that loves. Weas often see clever and fascinating women, trying to attack the man they prefer, succeeding no further than to make him think of the love they feel, or fancy they feel, or wish they felt. He encourages them because it issagreeable, and they continue to tsy for the same reason. The illusions of love are always de- lightful. At length she notices a change in his manner—he is more apt, more spirited by her side. She anticipates her tri- umph, she sees him already at her feet, when—presto !—one fine morning she learns, to her exquisite mortification, that he has married the woman who makes him feel what she has only disposed him to. This was Haydon’s fate. ‘The explanation in his case was, I think, that there are many qualities, in both men and women, which although quite endurable in a friend, would be simply intolerable in a husband or a wife. He had the sagacity and good fortune to find this out in time. ‘“*CHRIST’S ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.” By the early spring of 1820, the ‘* Jerusalem ” was at length completely finished. It was moved down safely to the Egyp- tian Hall, Piccadilly—the frame alone weighed 600 Ibs.—put up without accident, pitched into its place, glazed, and toned ; and towards the end of March the exhibition was ready. The private day was crowded ; dukes and duchesses, court beauties, distinguished foreigners, connoisseurs, and dilettanti. The great doubt of Haydon was the head of our Saviour. He had departed from the traditional type, and in his anxiety and dis- satisfaction at not at first realizing his conception, had painted the head in and out six times. Leonardi da Vinci, in a similar difficulty, left his Christ headless. Haydon says that the mo- ment the picture was up, and he could walk back forty feet to look at it, he felt he had not reached his true conception. Very SCHR eae Y LINGO FERUSALEM.”’ 67 possibly: the power of will to execute is often exhausted by in- tense previous thought. The great world, having no opinion _of_its-own,-but talking of our Saviour as if they had known Him imenuadelyy whispered, ‘‘ This is not like Christ,” and then waited for some authority to praise or condemn, it made little difference to them. Suddenly, Haydon relates, Mrs. Siddons wellkedicimto the room like: a Ceres or a Juno’? She went straight to the picture and stood before it, silent and thinking. Allheld their breath for the awful oracle. At length Sir George Beaumont, in a timid voice, said, ‘‘ How do you like the Christ ?” After amoment, in a loud, tragic tone, she replied, °* It is completely successful.” Society, put at their ease, at once pronounced it the finest head ever painted of our Lord. They would have condemned it with equal grace and facility. The great actress turned to Haydon and said, ‘** The paleness of your Christ gives it a supernatural look.” This settled its success. ‘‘Its supernatural look” was henceforth in every- body’s mouth. There is great virtue in the selection of terms ; many a man’s fortune has been made by a happy phrase. By Monday the reputation of the picture had spread over Lon- don, and the people crowded in to see the great work with a ‘supernatural look.” Before the season closed, upwards of 30,000 persons had come to.see the picture, and saw, in an in- ~~ stant, what had cost years of thought and toil. I have never seen it, and it was not engraved ; but, from the original sketch ~ I have seen, it must have been a marvellously fine work. ~ Wordsworth told me it was ‘‘a masterpiece of conception, ‘color,-character, and.expression.” He admitted the wonder- ful force of expression in the wicked mother in ‘‘ Solomon,” and « the appalling look of ‘‘ Lazarus ;” but, he said, the air of pa- thetic submissiveness of the Penitent Girl in the ‘‘ Jerusalem” touched him ** more tenderly.” Now came the question, what was to be done with sucha work ? The ministers admired it, but ‘what can we dowith it?” they asked, ‘‘and where are we to get the money from?” Haydon wanted 2,o000/. for it. The Church looked at it approvingly, but did not dare, and was too poor to buy for itself. Watson Taylor was urged to buy 68 B, R. HAVDON. it and present it to a church, and it would have been a more creditable extravagance than his silver fire-irons and similar follies. But he had subscribed 300/. towards its painting, and he thought his duty done. The next day he very probably al- lowed himself to be wheedled out of 5,000/. worth of diamonds by some flatterer.! Sir George Beaumont urged the directors of the British Gallery to make the purchase. He said: ‘‘ You have advertised and asked for such works: here_is the finest_ ever painted by an Englishman ; let us buy it and do honor to the art and the artist.’”’ And the directors would have done so, but one man sat at their board who was all-powerful, and that was Mr. Payne Knight. Every dog has his day, little and big, and Mr. Payne Knight, as we have seen, did not let grass grow under his feet when an injury or a mortification was to be in- flicted on the young painter. Thereisno venom like the venom of an old man against a young one when fairly aroused. Mr. Payne Knight argued that Haydon, from the first, had set himself to oppose the authorities, and whatever merits the picture might have, and he did not see many for his part, the fact of its being exhibited in this independent manner was an act of rebellion. Taking in connection with his famous ‘‘ Three Letters,” his forming a school of pupils, his exhibitions of their cartoons, and his whole conduct from the first, it could not be denied that he was acting in opposition to the established authorities in art, ° and he ought to be made to feel his dependence upon them. These arguments carried a majority, and the proposal to pur- chase was finally rejected by one. ‘The noble directors, in their love for high art, somewhat resembled Rousseau, who laying down rules for the nurture and education of children, suffered his own offspring to be brought up at a foundling hospital. “This decision of the directors showed the want of a higher power. Here was a picture the public approved, and would have been glad to possess, lost to the nation and to the country by the weakness of men influenced by the vindictive personal resentment of one man, and that man notoriously of false 1 See ‘‘ Gilbert Gurney,” by Theodore Hook.—Ep. LACRORLE ANI PAIN PER LN SCOTLAND, 69 faste in art. The picture was thrown back on Haydon’s hands, and thus sécured Haydon’s ruin .a. few. years_later.? Lord Ashburnham was so mortified at the rejection of the picture by the directors, that he sent for Haydon, and, begging him ‘‘ not to be discouraged,” said, ‘‘ I cannot buy it myself, but if you will allow me to present you with 1oo/. as a slight expression of my admiration of your beautiful picture, you will do me a favor;” and, taking Haydon’s hand in both of his, left 1007, within it. This was thoughtful and kind of Lord Ashburnham, but not the way Haydon should have been re- warded. The best reward for having wrought so well would have been to give him more work to do. This was what Hay- don entreated. But it was ever denied, or not understood. RiGMiRn VAN) AINE H Ry SiN oC Oil ANID) At the close of the London season he rolled up and sent his picture off by sea to Edinburgh and Glasgow, and exhibited it at both places withgreat success. Lockhart and Wilson, Terry and Sir Walter Scott, who had confounded Haydon’s personal friendship for Leigh Hunt witha political and religious alliance, and had more than once violently attacked Haydon as one of the Cockney school of radicals and sceptics, were astonished to find him a high tory and aristocrat, and a sound Christian ; and something more, a very well read man and a good painter. They changed their tone from that day. The moment they changed their tone and spoke of Haydon as they found him, that part of the press which is supposed to be hberal turned right round, abused Haydon heartily, and forever after repre- sented him) as ‘they did not find him. Such is the effect of party feeling. Lockhart spoke out manfully about the ‘‘Jerusalem.” ‘‘ It is probable,” he says (‘‘ Blackwood,” 1820”), ‘‘ that the absurd x 1Tt was bought by two American gentlemen after Haydon’s sale in 1823, and sent to the Public Gallery at Philadelphia.—Eb. 2 Haydon used to tell a Highland story of the Glasgow Exhibition. A year or two after, a friend sketching in the Highlands was overlooked by a lassie. After a while she said, ‘ Air ye fond of pecturs?” ‘‘ Yes,” said he. ‘*And did ye see a pecturat 70 B. R. HAYDON. style of language in which this picture has been lauded by the critics of Cockayne may have inspired many of our readers, as we confess it had ourselves, with many doubts and suspicions ; but in order to do away with these, we are quite sure nothing more can be necessary than a single glance at this wonderful performance itself. .. . It is quite evident that Mr. Haydon is already by far the greatest historical painter that England has as yet produced. In time, those that have observed this mas- terpiece can have no doubt, he may take his place by the side of the very greatest painters in Italy.” Haydon returned from Scotland late in the autumn, carrying away with him, he says, ‘‘a very complete conception of Scorch shospitallityen seo Walter Scott, Wilson, Lockhart, Jeffrey, Allan, Raeburn (‘‘ that glorious fellow”) had all wel- comed him warmly, though Sir Walter was the only one who knew him ybefore: 2° Princes sStreet,” she writes. = onranceleans sunset, with the castle and the Pentland Hills in radiant glory, and the crowd illumined by the setting sun, was a sight perfectly original. First you would see, limping, Sir Walter, talking as he walked with Lord Meadowbank ; then tripped Jeffrey, keen, restless and fidgety; you next met Wilson, or Lockhart, or Allan, or Thompson, or Raeburn, as if all had agreed to make their appearance at once. It was a striking SGemes: The exhibition of ‘* Jerusalem” in Scotland had been a remarkable success. Upwards of 20,000 more persons, thus making 50,000 in all, had-come_to see the picture—an aston- ishing number if we remember that in those days there were no railroads, and the means of locomotion few, far between, and expensive. But, if the pecuniary success of the exhibition was great it was not wholly sufficient. It materially reduced Haydon’s indebtedness, that is true, but sixty percent. requires a wide margin; the result was, he was still without a reserve. Had the picture been sold, all would have been well; Mr. Glasgaw o’ ‘Christ comin’ to Jurrooslem’?” “TI did,” said he. ‘‘ Ah!” said she, with wild enthusiasm, ‘‘ yon was « pectur. When sa’ a’ the lads and lasses wi’ their hats off, I jest sat me doon an’ grat.” —ED. DESDES LO PAM hie RAISING OF LAZARUS,” 71 Payne Knight had, however, effectually prevented that. Other sehemes were then tried. A public subscription to purchase the picture and present it to the National Gallery, or to a church, was proposed. But the arrangements were inju- dicious, the Government refused its countenance, and both schemes fell through.. The decision of the directors of the British Gallery, as Mr. Payne Knight had foreseen, chilled everybody but Sir George Beaumont and a few devoted lovers of art. Haydon, who was a very practical man in such matters, saw his chance was gone, and set about something else. He had a little money to go on with, and in twenty-four hours had made up his mind, sale or no sale, to paint the next of his scriptural series. The very risk suited his adventurous spirit. Besides, it gave him an excuse to remain in England, in the vain hope of producing a salutary change in the taste of the nobility, and in the disposition of the Government. DEGipEss TOP ADR OTE: “ORAISING OF LAZARUS.” The ‘‘ Raising of Lazarus” was the next picture of his series Haydon decided to paint. He ordered a canvas nineteen feet long by fifteen feet high, and, as usual, with little or no money left, began the third of his great works of this period. Sir George Beaumont, with whom he had now made up his differences—Sir George taking the ‘‘ Macbeth” for two hundred gulneas—wrote to Haydon a letter of the warmest congratula- tions upon his success with the exhibition, at least, of the ‘‘ Jerusalem.” But he addsa closing paragraph of friendly warning, which appears to me to contain an allusion to Mr. Payne Knight and his recent behavior: ‘* Paint down your enemies,” says Sir George, °‘ rather than attempt to write them down, which will only multiply them, and believe me that no man is so insignificant as not to stand a chance of having it in his power to do you a serious injury at some time or other.” 72 B. R. HAVDON. MARRIAGE AND DEBTS. Haydon began the ‘‘ Raising of Lazarus ” in December, 1820; with one break in May, 1821, when he was unsettled by the difficulty of reconciling the mildness of character of our Lord with depth of thought, the form that gives the one destroying the other, he worked at this picture steadily and hard, and by the, 7th) December, 1322, had ‘completed’ it -" Im (Octowen, 1821, he had married a very lovely young widow, to whom he had long been passionately attached. This, perhaps, may have helped him to the rapid completion of his picture, but I fear that pecuniary pressure upon him was the real explanation of the rapidity of his work. For, if his home was now extremely happy, and his health excellent, his external relations with the world, particularly with the usurious part of it, were the reverse of pleasant. In those two years Haydon was made to feel many of the worst and most harassing humiliations of debt. ' He had also one fit of real idleness in May, i821, at the sale of Sir Joshua Rey- nolds’s pictures at Christie’s. It was at this sale Haydon advised Sir George Phillips to buy the ‘‘ Piping Shepherd” for 400 guineas, an enormous price in those days. Haydon says in his Journal that the moment it was found out Ze had advised it, there was a general run down of the picture, to poor Sir George’s great dismay, who thought that he had made a foolish purchase. His entry in his Journal for the day after is worth quotirg. ‘‘20tk May, 1821.—Went again to Reynolds’s sale. I found the 400 guineas of yesterday had made a great noise in town, and Phillips was assailed by everybody as he camein... . In the midst of the sale, up squeezed Chantrey. I was exceedingly amused ; I turned round and found on the ether side, Northcote. I began to think something was in the wind. Phillips asked him how he liked the ‘Shepherd.’ At first Northcote said he didn’t recollect it. Then he said, *Ah! indeed.? ‘Ah! yes; zf zs avery poor thing. Iremember it.’ Poor Phil- lips whispered to me, ‘ You see people have different tastes.’ It served him heartily right, and I was very glad of it. He does not deserve his prize. The moment these people heard I was the adviser they began to undervalue it. I knew that Northcote’s coming up was ominous. ‘The attempts of this little fellow to mortify others are amus- ing; he exists onit. The sparkling delight with which he watches a face, when he knows something is coming that will change its expression, 1s beyond everything. As soon as he had said what he thought would make Phillips unhappy for two hours, he slunk away.” Haydon rates this picture very highly. ‘‘It is the completest bit of a certain ex- pression im the world. Eyes and hands, motions and look, all seem quivering with the remembrance of some melodious tone of his flageolet. The colorand preservation are perfect. It is a work I could dwell on for ages.” —-Ep. MARRIAGE AND DEBTS 73 His creditors refused to believe that he had not realized a much larger sum by the exhibition of the ‘‘ Jerusalem” than was the fact; and that he had not married a fortune, which was not the fact ; and, thus, his very successes became a source of seri- ous embarrassment to him. In this dilemma Haydon con- ducted his affairs with his usual activity and foresight. But the cry of an enraged creditor, inflamed with suspicion and cupidity, was not pleasant to meet in those days without means. Law costs, judgments, writs, and arrests quickly fol- lowed, and a poor man was given no sufficient time from the claim to the attachment of his person to clear himself, ex- cept upon the most exorbitant terms. And how to conceal the matter from his wife! This was the first question with Haydon. It was under these circumstances he committed that offence against morality which has been magnified so much to his discredit. In a moment of terrible pressure which threatened exposure and ruin, he asked two of his elder and former pupils, both young men whom he had started in life, to put their names to bills of some 250/. and 350/. respectively, for an extension of time. Considering that he had almost fed and clothed these men during their pupilage, had, I find, paid the rent for one, instructed them both for nothing, and set them both on their professional road, I must confess I am not so much struck at the enormity of the offence. I had very much rather Haydon had not done what he did, but, having done it, I do not think he could have done it under circumstances so favorable to palliation. It was a reprehensible act, and Haydon regretted it all his life, because, by the time he was imprisoned, he had an unpaid balance still on each bill, which these lads had to pay, and they could illafford it. But most men, at some time or other of their lives, imagine themselves to form an ex- ception to the ordinary rules of prudence and morality. It is this that leads men to do wrong with such excellent intentions. Such, however, was the struggle in which he now found himself engaged. The ruin he had long foreseen was closing in more rapidly upon him than he expected, and unless some extraor- dinary piece of good fortune favored him he would be crushed. 4. 7A | BAS ibe JERS COIONNE) But, crushed: or mot,” he’ must vanish “the Lazarus, = le worked with superhuman energy; he exerted himself beyond the limits of ordinary human endurance—rising early to work at his picture till office hours came, then rushing hither and thither to pacify this creditor, quiet the fears of that, remove the jealousy and ill-will of a third, borrowing money of a fourth and fifth to keep his engagements with the attorney of a sixth; then hastening home to paint ina ‘‘ wild tremor;” to be ar- rested while painting; to hasten off into the city for release ; to fly back again to his picture, and so on from day to day. For here there were— ‘*The thousand ills that rise when money fails, Debts, threats, and duns, bills, bailiffs, writs, and jails.” BEWICK’S ACCOUNT OF HIS EAIN=ING: As I read Haydon’s private Journal at this period of his career, [| am astonished he did not go raving mad. Howa man, with his acute sensibilities, could have borne such violent shocks of mental emotion, and yet concentrate his mind upon the picture before him, is one of the most astonishing facts in mental phenomena. Read the account Bewick, his old pupil, gives of the painting of the head of Lazarus, ‘‘ that most appalling conception ever realized on canvas,” as Sir Walter described it ; and think, if any painter of your acquaintance, living or dead, could have done what Haydon did that morning. ‘¢T remember well,” writes Bewick (8th November, 1853), ‘‘that I was seated upon a box placed upon a chair, upon a table, mounted up as high as the head in the picture, and a very tottering insecure seat it was, and painful, to be pinned to a confined spot for so many hours, for the head, two hands, and drapery were all painted at once, in one day, and never touched afterwards, but left as struck off, and any one looking close to the painting will perceive that the head has never been even ‘softened,’ so successful and impressive it appeared to both painter and model, and so much was it the emanation of BEV TCS MOCO G. OR HLS PAINTING. 75 a wonderful conception executed with a rapidity and precision of touch truly astonishing. And when it is considered that the mind of the painter was harassed and deeply anxious by the circumstances of his arrest at the beginning of his work, when concentrating his thoughts on the character and expression to be represented, any one at all acquainted with the difficulties of the art of painting, will readily concede this portion of so difficult a subject to be a feat of marvellous dexterity and power in the art. ‘* I think Isee the painter before me, his palette and brushes in his left hand, returning from the sheriff’s officer in the adjoining room, pale, calm, and serious—no agitation— mounting his high steps and continuing his arduous task, and as he looks round to his pallid model, half-breathingly whis- Pen aoasoad wi bewicw le lave aust been arrested; that is the third time; if they come again, I shall not be able to go on.’ 1) Can anything more mournful be written of a painter? Surely a.more terrible daily life his worst enemy could not have wished him. Yet Haydon never quailed, never denied himself, but faced every man, and found even sheriff’s officers impression- able and even generous. ‘The first sheriff’s officer who arrested him was so overcome at being left alone with this awful head of Lazarus staring out from the grave-clothes, that on Haydon coming in he refused to take him prisoner, accepted Haydon’s word to meet him at the attorney’s, and rushed from the paint- ing-room.' At length the picture approached completion. The head of our Saviour he left to the last, and spoiled it. Yetitisa grand 1 This has been likened by a ‘‘ Quarterly Reviewer” to the case of Parmegiano, when the soldiers of the Constable sacked Rome. Breaking into Parmegiano’s room, the men were so struck by the beauty of his pictures they protected him. But I think the bailiff has the advantage here. The soldiers irresponsible and flushed with suc- cess, came to rob and revel, and could well afford to be generous. . The bailiff came deliberately to make legal prisoner of the painter, and was bound not to lose sight of him ; yet, he is so struck by the appalling look of Lazarus, he refuses to take the painter from his work, and risks the responsibility of leaving him in his house. This seems to me the finer instance of the two.—En. 76 B. R. HAYDON. work, and despite all the critics have said against it for ‘* this ” and for ‘‘ that,’’ and the obtrusive vulgarity of Mary’s look of astonishment, at which my gorge always rises, it would be diffi- cult to find another painting of the same subject in European art of equal size and equal merit. In the splendor of its color, in its drawing and composition, in its variety of form and ex- pression, it holds its place as a work of art. In the fright, the erief, the movement of the crowd, contrasted with the absorbed attitude of Christ, the evident scepticism of some, the amaze- ment, the curiosity and horror of others, and in the appalling look of the consciousness of a soul brought back to life from death, it exceeds any picture of the same subject I have ever seen. The famous ‘‘ Sebastian del Piombo,” even with the help of Michel Angelo, looks tame and insipid beside it. AT THE EXHIRIRION AND) Adm ONE The exhibition was opened on the 1st March, 1823, and all for a moment seemed to go rapidly and well. It was the lull of the tiger before his spring. Haydon, as if conscious of im- pending mischief, but confident in his good fortune to avert it, shows no interest. He remains at home deep in the compo- sition of his fresh picture ‘* The Crucifixion.” Ina short time all London was crowding to the exhibition ; the receipts were mounting up to 200/. a week, yet he takes no further interest, and neglects to perform a very obvious duty, that of calling his creditors together. Nobody knew better, if this were not done mischief must ensue. It is not the great debts that trouble a man; itis the small ones, as Dr. Johnson said, ‘‘ that rattle about your head like shot.” Yet Haydon did nothing. His chief object seems to have been to conceal the perilous state of his affairs from his wife, and not to admit it even to himself. Every daily emergency that arose he met with an expedient. With all his courage, which was unquestionable, I doubt if he had that rare courage of looking his liabilities fairly in the face ; in my experience I never knew but one man who had. A man on the wrong side of the balance seldom cares to have his banking-book made up. It seems as if men in debt be- PAE SOTA CMON 2 AND EXE COTTON, V7. come so long accustomed to suppression, they dislike the pros- pect of disclosure, even if it brings relief. And thus it was, like fsop’s doe, Haydon went on his own way, hoping more than believing himself secure by the growing success of his exhibi- tion, but taking no pains to secure that security, and not look- ing out for unexpected storms. It is, I admit, difficult for "neck or nothing” men, in a close race and on the eve of apparent success, to believe in immediate disaster. They talk of it, they even look upon it as a contingency, but they never believe in it till everything goes by the board. IRE WOCRUMCIN DION oAND. EXECU LION: Haydon went on with his design for the *‘ Crucifixion,” one of the grandest designs, to judge from his sketches, ever conceived byphissicrile brain, and he left, the —~ Lazarus” exhibition to take care of itself. Meantime an angry and impatient creditor Haydon had quizzed at dinner, and had not called upon as he had promised (he had stayed at home, rubbing in the ** Crucifix- ion”), came over to the exhibition. The sight of the crowds of people and the heaps of shillings pouring inso kindled his cu- pidity, he hurried off to his attorney. The next day (13th April, 1823) an execution was suddenly put in, and the ‘* Lazarus” seized. A few days more, Haydon was arrested, carriec off to prison, and before his wife had quite realized the position, the house was taken possession of and all their property advertised for sale. The blow was sudden and complete, as it was intended. It rolled over them both like a great tidal wave, and drowned out alltheir landmarks. The news travelled far and wide; the ex- hibition room became deserted. The publicwere shocked. It did not know what to do for him. His personal friends, headed by Sir Walter Scott, rallied round him, but it was too late. The lawyers had got hold of everything, and they were not dis- posed to let go except on exorbitant terms. A man with so many powerful friends was not caught every day. But the bulk of the nobility and patrons held back. A few thousands, a trifle from each, would have paid his debts, and placed him 78 B. R. HAVDON. In security to continue his labors. But no. He would paint historical pictures, contrary to their wish, and they were not going to help him now. A few great lords grumbled out their pity, looked on at his sale, never interfered to stop the disper- sion of his collection, and left him mouldering in prison for the whole London season. At the end of July, 1823, Haydon was brought up before the Commissioners, and there being no Opposition, was immediately discharged. He remarks that he was treated with great kindness and consideration by the court. HAYDON OUT OF PRISON. Haydon came out of prison deeply humiliated. The forced inactivity and the severance from his wife and child was hard to bear, and thoughts of them perhaps lay nearer to his heart than all besides. But now that he came out again upon the world to find his house stripped, his school of pupils broken up, and himself deprived of everything that helped to endear his art to him, his prints, his books, his casts, his sketches, his anatomical studies, the very materials of his art, and all his practice. scattered among a thousand purchasers, the loss was too cruel to be forgotten. The memoty of it lasted him for his life, and racked him with anguish from time to time. It has been hastily said that time softens all griefs. But the ‘‘ mis- creant’”’ never restores to us what he has ruined, and the loss of property that cannot be replaced is an inconsolable loss—it remains with us all our lives. A few things only, bought in for him by Sir G. Beaumont, by Wilkie, and by Dr. Darling, were all that he ever recovered. A fourth ‘‘ friend,” who professed ‘** to buy in” generously ‘‘ for poor Haydon, you know,” and so got the cream of the collec- tion at easy prices, was so pleased with his bargains that he forgot to part with them, and has kept them to himself ever since. 1 believe he is still living. If he reads this, he may look at his treasures with increased interest, to think how cleverly he ‘‘ jockeyed” everybody all round in 1823, and that I know it. AAVDON IN RORTRATTORE. 79 HAYDON IN PORTRAITURE. Haydon’s hand was more powerful than patient under por- trait; and his heart was not often in the work, and always re- ‘belled against the control of his sitters and their friends—it was an indignity to his art. The happiness of historical painting, he says, is that ‘“‘every hour’s progress is an accession of knowledge ; the mind never flags, but is kept in one delicious tone of meditation and fancy: whereas, in portrait, one sitter, stupid as ribs of beef, goes; another comes, a third follows. Women screw up their mouths to make them look pretty, and men suck their lips to make them look red. Then the trash one is obliged to talk! The stuff one is obliged tocopy! The fidgets that are obliged to be borne!” All this was only a part of that constant superintendence and control which he resisted, but to which portrait-painters habitually submit, to the injury and degradation of their art. “ They want me to perfume them, like Mawrence,”’ he writes, ““and this] willnotdo.” “‘I must paint a face as / see it,” he used to say; ‘‘ not as you wish others to see it.” If it had been his lot to paint Hannibal or Nelson he would have shown their blind eye. To have painted only that side of their face which did not show the lost eye would have been false, in his opinion ; and, without making the blind eye prominent, he would have shown it, on the ground that, without it, the portrait would not have been true. Thus he made faithful likenesses, but not a pleasant resemblance ; and he never concealed.a defect, or embellished. His great fault appears to be that he saw character too soon, and wanted the tact, so invaluable to a portrait-painter, of seizing the most agreeable expression of a sitter’s face, and rendering the de- fects a cause of skilful concealment. Haydon, on the contrary, seized upon the most striking expression, and often exaggerat- ing it and the defects, rendered the sitter ludicrous. But the character of his heads was capital. His head of Miss Mitford, which I had for many years, was a remarkable case in point ; it was also the best likeness I ever saw of her, but laughable in its force. His portrait of the late Mr. Hawkes, Mayor of Nor- 80 B. R. HAVDON. wich, is another case in point. In attitude and expression you can see it is the man, and his reigning passion; but it is not flattering nor agreeable, and it is forcible to sarcasm. De- cidedly, Haydon failed as a general portrait-painter of agreea- ble resemblance, but he gave the character. And yet portraits of his occur to my mind in which there can be no question of his success; his heads of the Duke of Wellington, of Words- worth, of Clarkson, were as fine as any portrait-painter by pro- fession ever painted. The*heads of such men interested him. I remember two more, widely different in character, and which, for equal beauty in the one, and breadth and power in the other, one must seek something in Reynolds, or Velasquez. One was the pathetic, pensive head of his dying boy, in which that curious out-look which heralds death, and the listless, suf- fering attitude, and wonderful intellectual beauty, were ren- dered with a fidelity, an artlessness, and a natural grace, that showed how Haydon could paint a ‘‘ portrait” when his heart was in his work. ‘The other is a portrait of his old physician, Dr. Darling—a grand old Scotch head, full of brain-power and quiet humor, with just a touch of the keen Scotch ‘* wut” that used to twinkle in the eye of the kindly old man; a portrait that, for depth cf expression, tulmess of giesonded Jite; yand breadth of power, I only fully understood when I went into the gallery at Madrid and studied Velasquez. But such sitters did not come every day; or I doubt not Haydon would have left some reputation as a painter of portraits. But it is to be re- membered these were his chosen sitters. In general, to get bread and cheese, he had to plod on, taking anybody who offered, enduring all ‘‘ that drudgery of portrait’ Hogarth speaks of so bitterly. PAINTING OTHER PICTURES. He relieved his mind, however, by occasionally painting ideal subjects of a miniature size. Thus, he painted a little picture of ‘* Puck,” which his solicitor bought at about a fourth of its fair price ; another of ** Silenus,” which he sold for a trifle ; and another of ‘‘ Juliet at the Balcony,” which his solicitor also PANTING OTHE PICT URES, SI bought at a bargain. Perhaps he took it in part payment of his bill; though the profession is not often satisfied with taking ‘© good will” for any part of their payment: yet when a painter can do no better they may relax—probably they make more out of him. At last Haydon got a commission from a rich City man for a small two hundred guinea historical picture—‘‘ Pha- raoh dismissing Moses ”—and this at once raised his hopes. I have never seen the picture, but the original sketch, in red and black chalk, was long in my portfolio.t| —The composition is noble, and the story well told. A group of kneeling women in the foreground ; the queen and her two daughters lifting up the dead heir to the crown; the queen-mother listening to her boy’s heart for a sign of life; the sisters looking up, one im- ploringly to the king, the other looking back with horror at Moses, who points to the dead child; the king, haughty, but subdued, waves Moses away ; while, in the background, a vast’ and curious crowd of Egyptians tossing up their dead children, are struggling against the guards to get into the palace. The distance is dark and awful, the front groups lighted by torches ; the whole, full of pathos and solemnity. The picture was fin- ished by January, 1826, and was at once sent to the British Gallery for exhibition. By the end of February, 1826, Haydon was once more at work upon an ideal subject, ‘‘ Venus and Anchises,” a cabinet commission from Sir John Leycester, who, on the completion of the picture, begged that it might be sent to the Royal Academy exhibition. Haydon reluctantly consented. It is pleasant to be able to say it was well received and well placed. On the 27th of May he writes in his journal, ‘‘ My exhibiting with the Royal Academy has given great satisfaction to everybody, and they seem to regard me now without the gloomy dislike they used to do. I heartily wish they may become as they seem, 1 The loss of this original sketch, and of some six hundred others, many of them designs for works he never lived to paint, is a national loss to the art. They were all burned, with many valuable documents, and memoranda on Art affairs by Haydon, in the fire at the Pantechnicon, 1874. His journals, fortunately, were in better se- curity. —ED. Q5 B. R. HAVDON. cordial, and that in the end all animosities may be forgotten in our common desire to advance the art. This is my desire ; whether it be theirs, time only will show.” This is frank and sincere, I believe; but his hopes were never realized, and if time showed anything, it was that the ‘‘ Academy” was opposed to him to the last. He adds, a day or two after, ‘‘I should wish to do the good I want accomplished, backed by the Academy; but if I cannot, I must make one more attempt to do it again without them, and perhaps perish before I accom- plish it ; God only knows.” ‘f ALEXANDER AND BUCEPHALUS.”’ Meanwhile, the promise of a five-hundred guinea commission for a picture of ‘‘ Alexander and Bucephalus ” was withdrawn on account of the commercial panic, and Haydon found the “‘ wolf” once more scratching fiercely at his door. In his agony where to turn for help to prevent another disaster, he wrote to Lord Egremont, a man noted for his kindness and liberality to artists. Lord Egremont went off to Carew, the sculptor, who lived in the house opposite to Haydon.’ ‘** What bedevilment has Hay- don got into now?” ‘* None, my lord. He has lost commis- sions he relied on, and of course, having a wife and five chil- dren ,he is anxious that they should not starve.” ‘‘ Is he extrava- samte 2. No. 7sardiGarew, “moti the least. hes domestic: economical, and indefatigable.” ‘* Why did he take that house after his misfortunes?” ‘‘ Because the light was good, and he is at less rent than in a furnished lodging.” ‘‘ Well, he shan’t starve. But why did he write? He has made himself enemies everywhere by his writing.” Lord Egremont came over on the 14th of May, 1826—the first noble lord that had come into Haydon’s painting-room since his ruin in April, 1823. He saw the sketch of ‘‘ Alexander and Bucephalus,” was delighted with it, ordered it for himself, but never thought of leaving the poor painter a sixpence, and went home to his own 70,000/. a year 1 Haydon was now living at the corner house of Burwood Place (then No. 4), the house in which he died. —Eb, > sree ee Ne AN BCE PIAL US.”? 83 and his dinner with a consciousness of having done a good action. It never occurred to him to makeit better. At length, in July, Haydon’s difficulties for want of ready money became so serious that his arrest was imminent. He wrote to Lord Egremont. Iam too pleased to be able to say that Lord Egre- mont did not take offence. Hecameup thenext day and brought 1o0/. with him in advance. It’ was not much, but it saved Haydon for the time. In November, Lord Egremont invited him to Petworth and treated him with great distinction, which would have been very well if Lord Egremont had combined with it a full understanding of the needs of a poor man. For instance, the picture was finished at Christmas, but for sixteen days after, Lord Egremont kept Haydon without the balance due, and involved him, in consequence, in a mass of law-costs, writs, and executions, with three warrants of attorney, three cog- novits, and three actions at law. Indeed, he was only saved from arrest and imprisonment, and the seizure and sale of his property, by the prompt interference of his old friend, Sir Francis Freeling. It was mere want of experience on the part of Lord Egremont, who never in his life had known the want of credit, or of money, and could not conceive such a condition. But this did not lessen Haydon’s sufferings, nor diminish his embarrassment. It would be no bad training for great lords, with heavy rent rolls, to put them early through a course of want, poverty, and imprisonment, that they might gain experi- ence, and acquire consideration for their penniless fellow-men when in the full enjoyment of their own inheritance. ‘‘ Take physic, pomp! Expose thyself to fecl what wretches feel, That thou may’st shake the superflux to them, And show the Heavens more just.” The ‘‘ Alexander,” by Lord Egremont’s desire, was sent to the Academy Exhibition of 1827. Previous to this, and during 1826, in consequence of the pressure put upon him by Lord Egremont, Sir John Leycester, Sir Francis Freeling, and many other friends, Haydon had committed what he afterwards set 84 B. R. HAYDON. down as ‘‘ the disgrace of my life,” although I see no disgrace in it. He sought reconciliation with the Academy. They had made him an offer in 1814, which he had declined. It was now his turn, and they paid him the same compliment. He called on the leading academicians, Flaxman, Lawrence, Shee, Phil- lips, Stothard, Chantrey, Cooper, Soane, and others, with the view to effect a reconciliation. He has left an amusing and characteristic description of his different interviews, but which has lost its chief interest now, although the scene with Flaxman will bear repeating. INTERVIEW WITH FLAXMAN. ‘¢T said, Mr. Flaxman, I wish to renew my acquaintance after twenty years’ interval.” ‘* Mr. Haydon,” said the intelli- gent deformity, ‘‘ l am happy tosee you, walkin!” ‘‘ Mr. Flax- - man, Sir, you look well.” ‘‘ Sir, I am well, thanks to the Lord! I am seventy-two, and ready to go when the Lord pleases.” As he said this, there was a look of real, unaffected piety, which I hope and believe was sincere. ‘¢ Ah, Mr. Haydon, Lord Egremont is a noble creature.” ‘He is, Mr. Flaxman, he has behaved very nobly to me.” ‘Ah; Mr. Haydon,chas hers cdiow e422" 2 A Wihy. Ma. oF laxmian, he has given me a handsome commission.” ‘‘ Has he, Mr. Haydon? I am most happy to hear it—most happy—very happy.” And then, with an elevation of brow, and looking askance, he said, ‘* How is your friend, Mr. Wilkie?” ‘‘ Why, Mr. Flaxman, he is ill—so ill I fear he never again will have his intellects in full vigor.” ‘* Really, Mr. Haydon? why, it is miserable. I suppose it is his miniature painting has strained him, for between you and me, Mr. Haydon, ’tis dwt miniature painting / you know, hem—he—m—e—e—em!”- ‘‘Certainly, Mr. Flaxman, ’tis but miniature painting.” ‘* Ah, Mr. Haydon, the world is easily caught.” Here he touched my knee famil- iarly, and leaned forward, and his old, deformed, humped shoulder protruded as he leaned, and his sparkling old eye, and his apish old mouth, erinned on one side, and he rattled out of his throat, husky with coughing, a Jarry, inward, hesita- LTA YDON IN PRISON AGAIN. 85 ting, hemming sound, which meant that Wilkie’s reputation was ‘‘ all my eye” in comparison with ours. OU USelinSesOMes ok. 9" Yes, oit'- ‘Ah, Mr. Hay- don, he was a man of genius, but I fear of no principle.” “Yes, Sir.” ‘* He has left behind him some drawings shock- Imealyeincdelicate.* “ras he, Sire” “Yes, Mr; Haydon, poor wretch!” said Flaxman, looking ineffably modest. ‘‘ Mr. Flaxman, good morning.” ‘‘ Good morning, Mr. Haydon. I am very, very happy to see you, and will call in a few days.” With the exception of Sir Thomas Lawrence, Cooper, Sto- thard, and Flaxman, he rates the members of the Royal Acad- emy as intellectually very much below par. He notices that in the houses of Sir Martin Shee and Phillips, there was not a sin- gle bust of antiquity or work of art to be seen. Haydon was individually well received, but his ‘‘ admission” was not to be entertained. He was a ruined man; he had lost his influence over ‘‘ society,” and his ‘* school”’ was destroyed. Hewas not elected at any succeeding election. He put down his name for two years in succession, 1826 and 1827, but never received one single vote. HAYDON IN PRISON AGAIN. During these years Lord Egremont seems to have been still the only member of the nobility who kept Haydon in sight. The season of 1827 found him once more without work, paint- ing the ‘‘ Death of Eucles” on his own responsibility. Lord Egremont called and said, ‘‘ I will have the picture if you can- not sell it.” But this was not a real assistance. What a man in Haydon’s position wanted was constant employment and prompt reward. If he did not get this he fell into arrears, and into arrears Haydon soon fell now. Before the London season was half through, he was driven to extremities for want of money ; law-costs, writs, and execution followed in rapid suc- cession. No mercy was shown him by the lawyers—no con- sideration by the nobility. He was like a man buffeting in bondage, driven hither and thither for daily means to meet his daily wants, till at last the catastrophe came. He was again 86 B.*R. HAYDON. seized and thrown into prison. His debts amounted to 17677. 175., of which 636/. were for renewed debts incurred previous to 1823. The moment he was arrested and imprisoned, his noble friends attended a public meeting, voted that Haydon, on account of his merits and distresses, was entitled to public sympathy and relief, and subscribed the magnificent sum of 1207. among themselves, which included 50/. from the Duke of Bedford aud 20/. from the late Duke of Sutherland. They passed a vote of thanks to the chairman, Lord F. L. Gower, and broke up. Anything more absurd or unworthy can hardly be conceived of a body of men of such reputed wealth. Here was a painter, whose genius and merits they all acknowledged, thrown into prison through their negligence and non-employ- ment, for atrumpery debt of 1700/., and they cannot find more than 120/. towards it among themselves, but must appeal to the ‘* public ” for sympathy and aid! ‘There must have been truth in what Lord Durham told Haydon, that three-fourths of the titled nobility in England are insolvent. The whole thing is almost too ludicrous to be credible. Hay- don was detained in prison for two months, and then dis- charged. It was on this occasion when, like Hecuba of Troy, ‘almost run mad through sorrow,” he saw out of his prison window the farce of a ‘‘ mock election” of two M.P.’s for the King’s Bench, being played by imprisoned debtors. Life is the same everywhere. ‘‘ Vous ne pouvez vous imaginer l’horreur d’un naufrage. Vous en pouvez imaginer aussi peu le ridicule.” Haydon lvuoked and laughed in spite of his misery. He eyed the faces, and, struck by the character shown, resolved to paint the scene the moment he was free. Of course, when he came out of prison he found no work waiting for him. That was the last thing the nobility thought of. The only commission he got was from one of his own tradesmen, to copy a head from a miniature! He remarks upon this, ‘‘ To think that, at forty- two years of age, in the very zenith of my powers, and after painting the head of ‘‘ Lazarus,” I should be compelled to do this for my bread! The nobility do not care about my talents, and would rather not be cursed with any one who has the power ‘Min MOCK HMEGTTON.” 67 in a style of art they do not comprehend, and wish not to en- courage because they do not comprehend it.” MME VOC lt He IIONn. In five months, by the generous assistance of those personal friends, Strutt, Talfourd, whose portrait he painted, Burn, and a few others who never left him, he finished the cabinet picture of the ‘* Mock Election,” and exhibited it at the Egyptian Hall in January, 1828. The exhibition was a fair success, but no one offered to buy the picture. Haydon became depressed. ‘“‘ I cannot pray now to the great God to aid and help and foster me in my attempts for the honor of my great country, for lam making no attempt at all. I am doing only that which will procure me subsistence, and gratify the love of novelty, or pander to the prejudices of my countrymen ; even that does not succeed. I have not sold the *‘ Mock Election.” I have no orders, no commissions. ‘The exhibition of the picture gets me a bare subsistence, and that is all. ‘Non sum qualis eram.’ ‘¢ T begin at last to long to go abroad, family and all.” ‘SC HAIRING THE MEMBER.” After a few days’ low spirits, he began a fresh picture, ‘¢ Chairing the Member,” as a companion to the ‘* Mock Elec- tion.” In March the Court came to town, and the King having inquired of Sir Thomas Hammond about the *‘ Mock Election,” and been told that it was full of remarkable portraits and would please him, sent Seguier for it. Anything that had a spice of vice in it the King relished. Haydon, who took down the pic- ture to St. James’s Palace, was adroitly kept by Seguier out of the way of the King, who wished to see him as much as the picture—so Sir Thomas Hammond told me—and after a careful inspection, the King, who showed the greatest interest, declared 83 / B. R. HAVDON. it ‘‘ a d—d fine thing,” commanded it to be left with him, and sent Haydon 500 guineas three days afterwards.’ This act of the king was not matched by any member of the nobility, and before the end of the year Haydon was compelled to sell the companion picture for half its price to a private gen- tleman (who could not afford to pay him for six months). The great lords and their ladies came to its exhibition and looked. Some of them, the Duke of Bedford, for instance, admired it exceedingly, but no one of them would buy it, or recommend it to the notice of the King. ‘PUBLIC: PATRONAGE TOR: AINEING7 The new year, 1829, Haydon opened with a temperate pamphlet in favor of ‘‘ Public Patronage for Painting.” He had some correspondence with the Duke of Wellington, then Prime Minister, on the subject; and, in complhance with the Duke’s request, laid before him a detailed plan for the decora- tion of the House of Parliament. The Duke, in reply, assured Haydon that, zwfrimis, he ‘‘ must object to the grant of any public money for the object.” Haydon then consulted Mr. Agar Ellis, who promises to bring the matter before Parliament when he sees a ‘‘ favorable”? opportunity, and urges Haydon 1 Tn the right-hand corner of the picture is the portrait of a Major Campbell, aman who greatly distinguished himself in the Peninsular War. Hewas imprisoned by Lord Eldon for contempt of Court. He ran away with a ward in Chancery, and on Lord Eldon saying it was “‘ disgraceful ladies of birth should be entrapped by men of low family,’”? Campbell, who was a man of good family, hurled back the insult in words the Chancellor never forgot or forgave. ‘‘ My lord,” said Campbell, ‘“‘my family are ancient and opulent, and were neither coalheavers nor coalheavers’ nephews,”’? alluding to Lord Eldon’s origin. Lord Eldon committed him to prison on the spot, and refused toaccept any apology. Campbell remained, I believe, thirteen years a prisoner. When Lord Brougham came to the Woolsack, in 1834, Campbell was re- leased on special petition by his friends. The King, in 1828, was deeply interested in all this, which he learned from Haydon through Lord Mount Charles, and sent Sir Edward Barnes down to the Bench, to com- mand Campbell to state his services and his wishes, and they should be gratified. Campbell was too proud to reply, refused to make any statement or application, and remained in prison. Haydon describes him as having one of the grandest Satanic heads, a combination of Byron and Bonaparte, he ever met with. I can just remem- ber him ; he came after his release (1834) to see us and sit for his portrait.—Eb, “PUBLIC PATRONAGE FOR PAINTING,” 89 to *‘ continue his pamphlets every year,” so as to keep the sub- ject before the public. This was not very encouraging, so Haydon turned to his palette once more, and worked hard upon two pictures, ‘* Eucles” and ‘‘ Punch,” and before the end of the year had begun another, ‘‘ Xenophon and the Ten Thou- sand first seeing the Sea,” and had painted and engraved a lit- tle sketch of ‘‘ Napoleon at St. Helena.” In January, 1830, Haydon was much affected by the death of Sir Thomas Lawrence, the President of the Royal Academy, and by the election of (Sir Martin Archer) Shee as his suc- cesssor, in preference to Wilkie. The academicians probably had their reasons for this pref- ELENCe, Dili. ELayaon cerused, to) admit them. , He felt such an election as an abuse of the power he had so long desired to see docked. The idea to him was preposterous, that a man like David Wilkie, though not a painter of history, yet a man of acknowledged genius and European reputation, should be put in momentary competition, still more in a position of per- manent inferiority to a portrait-painter of the second order, ‘*an accomplished gentleman naebody ever haird on,” as Sir Walter Scott described the new President. It drew from Hay- don a burst of honest indignation, and brought him and Wilkie more closely together—they had been somewhat estranged since Haydon’s marriage—for the rest of their lives. Wilkie began to see at last what Haydon had seen from the first, that humility and forbearance never met witha fair return from men of mean minds. By such men you may do your duty, and more than your duty, but they will turn upon you at the last, and when their ‘‘ eyesight returns,” as Carlyle says, ‘* fling you out like common sweepings.” ' 1 The defence put forward by Tom Taylor in Haydon’s Autobiography, in support of this election of Sir Martin Shee over Wilkie, is the common defence on such occa- sions, viz., that the man is most wanted and not his profession. I fail to see the force of this. ‘‘ Eloquence” and ‘‘ personal acceptableness ’’ may be valuable qualities in the President of a Royal Academy of Art; but not quite so iiaportant as professional knowledge. ‘‘ Ina painter,” says Sir Joshua Reynolds, “it is particularly dangerous to be too good a speaker. It lessens the necessary endeavors to make himself mas- ter of the language which properly belongs to his art, that of his pencil.” This was 90 B. R. HAYDON. CTT © TNS) oa ACN] iets to NGI This election disposed of, Haydon, by the help of his good friend Joseph Strutt, finished in the early part of 1830 the two small five-hundred guinea pictures ‘‘ Eucles” and ‘‘ Punch,” and exhibited them. He raffled the first, which the nobility did not approve of ; they considered it a reflection on their ‘‘ patron- age.” But as they did not offer to buy it, I do not see the force of their objection. There are people in the world who are never satished. The ‘‘ Punch” Haydon hoped to sell to the King, but he did not succeed. The King commanded it to be sent down to him at Windsor, admired it, and sent it back. This was such an extraordinary proceeding, Haydon felt sure something was ‘‘ wrong.” He wrote to Lady Conyngham and to Lord Mount Charles, learned that the King was offended, but no explanation was possible. Years after, I learned the truth from Sir Thomas Hammond. He told me that he remembered the whole circumstance per- fectly. The King was greatly interested in Haydon, from his picture of the ‘* Mock Election,” and from hearing his history. On seeing or being told of this exhibition of two fresh pictures by Haydon, Mr. Seguier was sent up to London, with orders to bring both pictures down to Windsor, that the King might choose one or both. Seguier, it appears, was fearful if Haydon once got to the King he would so interest His Majesty that Seguier’s own position about the person of the Sovereign would be in peril, and he resolved to prevent any misfortune of this kind. This was the General’s own inference, drawn from what exactly the complaint under which Sir Martin Shee too notoriously suffered. To elect a man President of an Academy of Art, not because he is master of his art, but because he has the gift of volubility, and that without knowledge of his art, is to say that you prefer a blunderbuss to a rifle for close shooting. The foundation of eligibility of a candidate for the Presidency of an Academy of any special art should always be his knowledge of that art. That should be the basis. Upon that you may superadd what qualifications you please, but if high knowledge of his art and power to display it be not there, the man is deficient and has not the first claim. It is like the champagne cup Macaulay speaks of, you may flavor it with what you like, but the basis must be champagne.—ED. “ BUCLES” AND * PUNCH.” QI he had seen at the time and subsequently heard. It is possi- ble also that Seguier, who was closely allied to and in the in- terest of the Academy, had other reasons for keeping Haydon’s influence out of Court. In any case Mr. Seguier came up to London in obedience to the King’s command, called in at the exhibition, admired the pictures greatly to Haydon, but said not a word of the commands of the King. He returned to Windsor Castle that evening and told the King, as if the reply was from Haydon, that the ‘‘ Eucles” was engaged to be raffled for and was not for sale, and to remove the ‘‘ Punch” from the exhibition would offend the public! This was an audacious statement to make under all the cir- cumstances; but it was evidently made with the design of putting the King off by disgusting him. What then must have been Seguier’s perplexity when the King said, pettishly, ‘‘ Well, at all events, he can let me have one of them from to-morrow till Monday, when I promise it shall be returned,” and with this, it is evident the King suppressed all intention of purchase. Mr. Seguier came back to London the same night (5th March), told Haydon the King wished to see *‘ Punch” in such a way as to lead Haydon to believe this honor was due to Seguier’s friendly action. The ‘‘ Punch” was taken to Windsor early the next morning, and the King admired it exceedingly, Sir Thomas Hammond told me. Seguier told Haydon the King was not wholly pleased with it, and on the 8th, Seguier brought it back to the exhibition. And thus it came to pass the King did not purchase the picture, and what was worse, the story getting about the King had rejected it, no one would buy. Haydon could find a buyer in no quarter, and was glad enough to mortgage it for 100/. to a private friend.’ 1 Haydon attributes Seguier’s conduct to the influence of the academicians, and he may have been right, or he may have been wrong. It is possible that a man of his vivid imagination might mistake the real meaning of others, that their persecution of him was not quite so fiery as he supposed, and that when he saw or thought he saw academicians rejoicing over his reverses and disappointments, like the wicked spirits plunging Filippo Argenti into the foul lake, they were doin» nothing but lamenting his misfortunes. Yet I am bound to say there is no proof of this sympathy extant ; nota word of kindness or regret ever comes from any one of them but Wilkie. If there 92 B. R. .HAVDON. This is the picture which was such a favorite with Wilkie. ‘*T have seen and heard him,” wrote Dr. Darling, in 1852, ‘‘pass his hand over the left portion, exclaiming, ‘ How fine, how very fine! if that picture were in Italy you would see it surrounded by students from all parts of Europe engaged in copying.’ ” In England Haydon could not sell it. From this cause we may be prepared for the inevitable result. Haydon fell into arrears with his tradesmen, and, as they made use of the law -of arrest as a means of profit for their sons, who were com- monly their attorneys, cumulative law costs followed rapidly. To one man, I find, on an account of 1o/. odd he pays 117. law costs ; to another, on an account of 6/ he pays 18/. law costs, and on several other small accounts, amounting to some 140/., I find the law expenses reaching to 93/. His current debts were trifling. What embarrassed him were these law costs, and his current debts he could not pay promptly because he was depending upon employment that came to him with a nig- gard hand, or upon payment that came to him from a forgetful One. NO EMPLOYMENT. On coming out of prison in July the usual blank met Hay- don; there was no employment for him from any quarter. By September he was again falling into difficulties. He had no commissions, and he appealed to Sir Robert Peel (8th Septem- ber) to use his influence with the directors of the British Gab- lery to induce them to give him a commission. He might as well have applied to a Board of Guardians for a commission. ‘If I am suffered again,” he writes, ‘‘ to sink into debt from want of employment, and there is no other employment in England for historical painters than that which patrons like yourself bestow upon us, I shall go down to my grave with what powers I may possess rendered nugatory by disappoint- ment, fretted by ruin, and blasted by neglect. Alas! if I de- had been, I feel sure Haydon would have preserved it, he was so grateful for kind words.—ED. WRITES Sho ia, NOK Of WHLEING TON. 93 served assistance when in affliction, do I not deserve employ- ment that affliction may no more come ?”’ Sir Robert Peel, who was a warm supporter of the Royal Academy, replied, on the 1toth of September, and coldly re- quested that ‘* any communication Mr. Haydon may wish to make to the directors of the British Gallery may be made to them directly by Mr. Haydon.” WRITES TO THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. Failing here, he struggled for a few weeks, and at length in an agony of pressure he writes to the Duke of Wellington (12th October), calling his attention to the recent report of M. Guizot to the newly elected king of the French, recommending the king to employ the French historical painters on a series of national pictures in commemoration of the ‘‘ Three Days ;” and he asks the Duke, as Prime Minister, if he can find nothing in the history of England worthy the public employment of our painters of history? The Duke replied the same afternoon, kindly and courteously, regretting there were no funds for such a purpose, and adding that he is ‘‘ much concerned” he cannot point out the mode in which this want of encouragement can be remedied. Haydon replied on the 14th, inasad letter, that lays open to us the condition of his mind. He describes his life and labors and his actual position to the Duke. Then he adds, ‘‘ This perpetual pauperism will in the end destroy my mind. I look around for help with a feeling of despair that is quite dreadful. At this moment I have a sick house without a a shilling for the common necessaries of life. My want of em- ployment and want of means exhaust the patience of my dear- est friends, and give me a feeling as if I were branded with a curse. For God’s sake, for the sake of my family, for the sake of the historical art I have struggled to save, permit me, my Lord Duke, to say, employ me.” This is the most melancholy letter I ever remember to have read. It is impossible to read it and not feel deeply. The Duke, I regret to say, never replied.. Perhaps, as he sat be- Q4 B. R. HAVDON. hind his iron blinds, he felt a certain touch of scorn for the man who could make such a fuss over being starved.’ In a few days, Haydon appealed again to the Duke for pub- lic employment, and received for answer an assurance that Haydon’s ‘‘ own good sense must point out how impossible ” it was for the Duke to comply with the request. The result amounted, in fact, to the uncle’s advice to his starving nephew : ‘* You say you are without money or employment; I cannot help you to either. But your own good sense will tell you what to do. Stick to your profession, and live within your means.” It was during this period that offers of large prices were made to Haydon if he would consent to paint voluptuous nudities for a distinguished marquis. There are many ways, as the late Mr. Croker could tell, of avoiding chronic insolvency in this rich and respectable country. But Haydon preferred to die of starvation, children and all, rather than consent to disgrace his pencil. The ‘‘frigid villany of studied lewdness” he left to 1 Ten years after, finding Haydon still alive, and with a strong appetite, he asked him down to Walmer, fed him well, and having learned that he had made a fine copy sketch of the Duke’s horse ‘*‘ Copenhagen,” the Duke waited patiently for Haydon’s death. Then his Grace sent up to Haydon’s sale and bought the Copenhagen sketch for a couple of sovereigns. ‘This was all the art patronage he ever bestowed upon Haydon. It is all of a piece with the Duke, sending up to us for his *‘ hat”’ the morn- ing Haydon’s death appeared in the ‘‘ Times,” with his allowing himself to be sued for his (Chancellor’s) silk gown at Oxford before they cculd get the money, and the exact repetition of what he did with Fuseli. He would not give Fuseli, living, a com- mission ; but directly Fuseli died, he sent up to his sale and bought for a trifle that gigantic picture of ‘‘ Satan and his Angels,” which used to hang on the staircase at Strathfieldsaye. The Duke, I presume, enjoyed little ‘‘ gains,” and he rated art no higher than he rated cabbages, with which he used to plant the moat at Walmer and sell to his neigh- bors in Deal, on the plea that there were no market gardens near, and then pay his gardener’s wages with the money. As good in its way, as his great predecessor Marlborough teasing Dean Jones to pay him the sixpence the Dean had lost to him at cards, on the excuse he had no change, and wanted to pay the ‘‘ chair” to take him home, and then walking home with the Dean’s sixpence in his pocket! These are the foibles of genius. Butas a set-off (inthe Duke of Wellington’s case), we know that in the year Alexander’s Bank failed, the Duke gave away at least 6000/. in bank notes to military men. The poor painters he left to his brother dukes, who had not so many claims upon them as he. But he need not have sent to us at such a moment as he did for an old hat.—ED. ce Nee OFAC EGC SHUG ia domes T. TEL ENA,” 95 those who liked it; he knew a higher use for his art; and so he walked about the streets in preference, selling his little prints of ‘* Napoleon,”—to such extremities had his art now re- duced him. NAPOLEON, NIUSING Am Si. HELENA,” At length, on the evening of the 8th December, a gentleman called, and was shown into the painting-room. Haydon came up and found Sir Robert Peel. A personal visit from such a friend and supporter of the Royal Academy, and.a man so distin- guished for his taste in art, gave Haydon the greatest satisfac- tion at the moment. It led to the heaviest misfortunes of his life, and unquestionably brought him to his bloody grave. Of Sir Robert Peel’s motive in calling there can be no ques- tion ; it was a good and kindly one. I have reason to believe that he had inquired into Haydon’s history, that he considered him an ill-used man, and came for the express purpose of try- _ing to persuade him either to devote himself to portrait, so as in time to fill the vacant place of Lawrence, or else to give him an opportunity of painting a poetic picture that should be suit- able in size and subject for a private gallery, so as to induce the nobility and patrons to give him employment. Soon after he entered the painting-room, my father has often told me that Sir Robert spoke of the death of Sir Thomas Lawrence, and said what an opening his death had left for a portrait-painter ; this led to some conversation on his merits. Then Haydon showed Sir Robert his casts from the Elgin Marbles. 5ir Robert made a remark which displayed a curious ignorance of anteanad natune. 9 then, coming back to his first intention, he asked Haydon if he had any portraits to show ; Haydon showed him two. Then Sir Robert asked his price for a whole-length portrait ; Haydon replied 100 guineas. Now, it happened that lying on the table or on a chair was the sketch of ‘* Napoleon Musing on the Rocks at St. Helena,” which Haydon had painted and engraved the year previous. Sir Robert, who had seen and knew the engraving before calling upon Haydon, looked at this sketch, said suddenly, ‘‘ Paint me a Napoleon,” 96 BR. PAVDON. but he mentioned no price, nor asked for one, and shortly after took his leave. There was no reference of any kind to the price of a “‘ Napoleon,” my father has often assuped™ mice After Sir Robert had left, Haydon was detailing what had passed to his wife, when, with a woman’s quickness, she asked if any price was named. My father said ‘‘ No.” ‘Then, said my mother, ‘‘ You may depend upon it, he means you to paint the picture for 100 guineas. You had better write and ex- plain.” This was a serious matter. For an ordinary full- length portrait of a living sitter, Ioo guineas was little enough ; but for a life-sized historic portrait, a poetic picture such as ‘* Napoleon Musing at St. Helena” must be made, the picture could not be painted for the money. It would take at least four months to think out and paint, and would cost 300/. in time and material at the lowest estimate. Its current price was 500 guineas ; Sir Thomas Lawrence would have insisted on 800 guineas. The situation afforded another striking instance of the inconvenience (or convenience, from the purchaser’s point of view) of not having ‘‘ a clear understanding.” Haydon objected to write, for fear it should look like an at- tempt to “* raise 7 his price upon >; Sir Robert Peels andere was something high-minded in the objection. He resolved, therefore, to paint the picture to the best of his ability, to place it in the hands of Sir Robert Peel, and then state the facts, leaving Sir Robert to deal with them as he thought fit. This was the noble course to take; but it had more than one defect. Sir Robert Peel might demur, and if Sir Robert Peel did not, from his point of view, feel himself bound to deal with it as 1 Mr. R. Redgrave, R.A., in his “‘Century of Painters” (p. 190), says of this in- cident, ‘‘ having named what he should think a liberal price, he offended the minister by expressing dissatisfaction on being paid the sum he had named.” This is singu- larly incorrect. Haydon never did ‘‘name”’ a price for the ‘‘ Napoleon.” The price he named, viz., one hundred guineas, had reference only, and was meant by him to have reference only, to a portrait of a living sitter. And that price, one hundred guineas, was moderate enough, even Mr. Redgraye wil! allow, for four weeks’ work, about the time such a portrait would occupy. If Mr. Redgrave thinks one hundred guineas sufficient remuneration for four months’ work, the time the ‘‘ Napoleon” pic- ture actually took"Haydon to paint, I can only say I shall be very happy to employ Mr. Redgrave at that rate for works of similar merit.—Ep. GENEROSTIEM OF STR ROBERT PEEL. Q7 Haydon had settled in his mind Sir Robert ought, Haydon would not with patience accept Sir Robert’s decision, and vice versa. The best course would have been to offer to refer the matter to arbitration ; but this, unhappily, was not done by Sir Robert Peel. The commission was given on the 8th Decem- ber, 1830, and the picture was finished by the following April. It is a beautiful conception. Napoleon stands on the edge of the cliff, with his back partly towards you, arms folded, head slightly bent, gazing out upon the vast breadth of sea that rolls between him and Europe. The dying glow of the setting sun lights his profile, the sails of the guard-ship glitter in the dis- tance, and nothing but the One Man, the rocks, the sky, the water, is there. All that ever happened in his life of romance, of poetry, of misfortune, is before you. One hundred guineas! The picture was a bargain at a thou- sand.’ | GENEROSITY OF SIR ROBERT PEEL. Haydon sent down the work to Drayton, and with it went the dreaded explanation. He was not generally a timid man, but he had a keen eye for character. The bleak manners of Sir Robert Peel had affected him. However, he wrote frankly, 1 The late John Wilson Croker (Mr. Rigby of Coningsby), who never allowed merit to anybody else, and who particularly piqued himself upon having been designed by Providence to set the world right in matters on which he was ignorant, was in the habit of declaring that Haydon had stolen the design of this picture from a French print of 1820. It is, of course, within the bounds of possibility that Haydon may have seen such a print. But Mr. Croker only saw the print in Paris, and Haydon never visited Paris after 1814. Unfortunately, too, for Mr. Croker’s infallibility, I had in my possession for many years (it was only burned in the Pantechnicon fire) an origi- nal sketch in Sepia by my father of ‘‘ Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus at break of Day.”? The date of this sketch was 1809. and in it you saw the original of Haydon’s ‘‘Napoleon” of 1830. Achilles with his back towards you, robe loosely. flowing, arms crossed, chin resting on his palm, is pacing the sea-shore at sunrise. Before him nothing but a vast waste of waters rolling in. the sun just breaking on the horizon, a single sail in sight. Anything more exquisitely poetical I never saw. You felt the morning breeze. you heard the surf beating on the beach, you saw the glory of the rising sun, you marked the thoughts oppressing the mind of the Great Chieftain in the very motion of his body, as he paced the shore. This was the origin of ay- don’s ‘‘ Napoleon,”’ as he had himself subsequently recorded in a corner.—Ep. 5 98 BD. aR. SEA SDIO WN. and told him the plain truth. This was a fatal mistake. It is an act of ‘‘ inexcusable weakness,” says Hazlitt, to lay your heart open to a man who is reserved towards you. He is cer- tain to ‘*‘ turn that confidence against you, and exactly in pro- portion as he means to leave it uncopied.” The result proved Hazlitt’s sagacity. Sir Robert Peel drew himself up, resented an application so frank, so unusual in form, and so little flat- tering to his own judgment or the excellence of his intentions, and affecting to regard the explanation as an impudent attempt to extort money, he flung the poor painter a cheque for an ad- ditional 30/,, and never saw his face again. But he kept the picture. This was unworthy, but when I add as the fact that Sir Robert Peel ever after told the story to Haydon’s disad- vantage, and in such a manner as to leave an impression on the minds of his hearers that he had paid 300 guineas for the picture, and that Haydon had then demanded more, there is in Sir Robert’s conduct a want of generosity and a disregard for the strict love of truth, that is, to say the least, not pleasing. But the nature of men, it is well said, as of things, is best seen in small quantities.» It is painful to me to have to speak of this unfortunate transaction. Haydon, with all his courage, did not dare, except privately, and then he always put the blame upon himself, and ended by saying, ‘‘ Well, perhaps I behaved hke a fool.” But he did nothing of the kind, in the first instance. He had trusted to Sir Robert Peel’s generosity, and Sir Robert Peel returned the trust in the manner I have shown ; and then added to the injury by telling the story of his purchase so unfairly as to excite a prejudice against Haydon amongst his own friends. For my part, I believe he never for- gave Haydon the injury he (Sir Robert) had done him. It was the irritation of his conscience that led him to repeat his own story over and over again, for he never could have looked at the ‘‘ Napoleon ” without a twinge. Taking the mere time the picture had cost Haydon, it was 1 “Peel feels things deeply, and does not forgive quickly, and what he forgives least easily is an attack upon his dignity.’—Lord Palmerston to his Brother, 29th Aug. 1844.—ED, ANECDOTE. OF LORD EGREMONT. 99 rewarding him at the rate of 27s.a day! I put it to any man whether that was fair recompense? And then, when the inevi- table difference arose, instead of returning the picture to Hay- don, or offering to submit the question to arbitration, Sir Robert keeps the picture, and absolutely refuses to pay its fair price. He had got a good picture for next to nothing and he meant to stick to it. Such conduct is not distinguished by generosity or candor. The great merchant princes of Italy, when pleased with the work of the painter they had employed, doubled his price of the picture to mark their approbation. Sir Robert improved upon this; taking advantage of a mis- understanding, he paid one-fifth of the fair value, kept the picture, and then tried to ruin the reputation of the painter. ANECDOTE OF LORD EGREMONT. Contrast the conduct of Lord Egremont, as related by Leslie, on a similar indefinite arrangement. A grandchild of Lord Egremont’s was dying at Colonel Wyndham’s, some fifty miles from London. Lord Egremont wrote to Phillips, the portrait painter, to set off and take a sketch of the child at once. Phil- lips being busy, deputed Leslie to go. Leslie posted down that day, sat up all night making sketches, and, returning to town the next day, at once painted a head of the dying child. When Lord Egremont saw the head, he said, ‘‘ What am I to pay for this eshte repieds)) “iwenty-nve guineas.” “<""But “your travelling expenses must be paid?” said the considerate earl. ‘¢ They were five guineas,” said Leslie. Lord Egremont sat down and wrote him a cheque for fifty guineas. The whole thing occupied Leslie about three days. ‘The ‘‘ Napoleon,” on the other hand, occupied Haydon for months. DREADFUL DAYS. The sudden rupture of his friendly relations with Sir Robert Peel reduced Haydon to sad straits, for his family was now srowing up, and the calls upon him in proportion. In spite of all his difficulties hitherto, he had contrived to put one of his step-sons as a midshipman in her Majesty’s navy, and the 100 Be he. aA UO. other he had sent to Oxford. But he had also eight young children at home to support, and the struggle was desperate. Within the next few years his five youngest children died, one after the other, from the effects of the terrible mental distresses of their mother, whose bright face was sad enough now. I can remember the sweet old roses of her sunken cheeks fading away daily with anxiety and grief. Haydon, who was passion- ately attached to both wife and children, suffered all the tor- tures of the damned at the sight before him. His sorrow over the deaths of his dear children was something more than human. I remember watching him as he hung over his daughter Georgiana, and over his dying boy Harry, the pride and delight of his life. Poor fellow, how he cried! and he went into the next room, and beating his head passionately on the bed, called upon God to take him and all of us from this hateful world. Those were dreadful days. The earliest and the most painful death was to be preferred to our life at that time. Who can feel surprised at Haydon entreating the Almighty to afflict his children with every other calamity on earth than a love for painting ? THE REFORM BANQUET, The commission from Lord Grey was to paint the Great Reform Banquet at the Guildhall on the occasion of the passing of the Bill of 1832. The Corporation of the City of London also engaged to take a copy of the picture, and Haydon atonce set to work. It was a picture of portraits; ninety-seven of the leading Whigs and Radicals of the day had to be painted, and thus Haydon found himself compelled to go again into that society from which he had greatly been excluded since 1823. But it was now an unequal combination, and these are always disadvantages to the weaker side, as we shallsee. Lord Grey, Mr. Stanley, Lord Althorp, the Duke of Richmond, Lord Lans- downe, Lord John Russell, Lord Melbourne, Lord Brougham, Lord Palmerston, Sir Francis Burdett, Tom Duncombe, Sir James Graham, O’Connell, Hume, and all the leading members of the reform party of that day sat to Haydon in turn, and THE REFORM BANQUET. IOT satirized each other, while their wives criticized the portraits of each other’s husband. With his sitters Haydon, of course, became on good terms ; but he complains that he found the Whigs more lax in their views on morality, especially on the subject of the Seventh Commandment, than the Tories, who were perhaps just as lax but did not talk about it—and not given to generous hospitality... There was a hard aristocratic selfishness about them that he did not like, and contrasted un- favorably with his old friends. The three men he liked best and who liked him were Lord Melbourne, Lord Palmerston, and Lord Durham. He had no reason to complain of their aristocratic exclusiveness, nor were they chary of their hospi- tality towards him. Upon their opinions of the Seventh Com- mandment he discreetly says nothing. The two first were men of the world, the last a misanthrope, who found in Haydon’s disappointed ambition something congenial with his own. Haydon finished the picture of the ‘‘ Reform Banquet” by the spring of 1834, and by particular desire of the Whigs, ex- hibited it publicly. They hoped it would recall the days of them selon but. the discredit into which Lord” ‘Greys government had fallen kept the Ten-Pounders away, and the general agitation of the times made the exhibition a failure. This inflicted a pecuniary loss of some 240/. upon Haydon. The moment the Whigs saw that the exhibition did not take, they began to abuse the picture, and ‘‘ cut” the painter. ‘This was judicious, but not magnanimous. Yet Haydon could have borne the loss without danger if the Corporation of the City of London had kept faith with him, and taken a copy of Lord Grey’s picture as they had originally agreed. But, to their great disgrace, the Corporation followed suit with the Whigs, and I regret to feel compelled to apply such a term to the Lord Mayor and Corporation of the City of London, that ‘model for the municipalities of Europe”—but they broke faith with the painter in the meanest manner, dishonorably 1 One day at the late Lord Grey’s house, during the first days of their acquaint- ance, and while Lord Grey was sitting to him, luncheon was announced. Lord Grey got up and left the room, and left Haydon in it ; nor was any luncheon sent in.—Ep. 1O2 BB? Ki, HLAVDON, shirked out of their promise, and never offered him the slight- est compensation. Haydon had trusted implicitly to their honor, and they soiled and disgraced it. The moment-Lord Althorp heard of his troubles, he came forward with his great, broad, good heart, said he could not afford to do much, but he would buy all the chalk drawings of the sitters in Lord Grey’s picture and make a gallery of them at Althorp, but Attwood and the Birmingham League he would have none of. This was a help, and Haydon bore Lord Althorp in grateful remembrance all his life. But the rest of the Whig party did nothing. The Tories say it is their prac- tice to desert their friends. They had honored him by allow- ing him to paint their portraits, for which they had paid noth- ing, and that should be sufficient. Lord Grey, with his large family and many claims, could do no more than he did. Lord Palmerston contemplated a commission, but somehow he never cot beyond the contemplation. And thus Haydon was left in the lurch, and to bear the loss incurred by the exhibition of the picture. Now, 248/. taken out of 5252. for nineteen months’ work is a serious matter. Even if we add the 200 guineas Lord Althorp paid for the drawings, it yet leaves Haydon something under 15s. a day for his nineteen months’ labor, and to find his own materials. Decidedly the Whigs were a worse pay- master, than Sir Robert Peels He atleast cave Haydon journeyman painter’s wages. Edward Ellice, one of the lead- ing men of the Whigs, had assured Haydon that the ‘‘ Party” would not let him sink, and had sent Haydon 50/. himself. In his later extremity Haydon turns to his distinguished friend. What follows is given in his Journal with touching simplicity. On the close of the exhibition he writes to Edward Ellice, “athe exhibition has. failed, with a-lossitof 240772) dwand Ellice replies, “* I can give you no advice.” As: claims and embarrassments and lawyers’ threats close on him, Haydon writes again, reminding Mr. Ellice of his promise, and pite- ously adds, ‘‘ Don’t let me sink.” He gets no answer. Again he writes, ‘‘I am sinking,” and Edward Ellice, putting on his hat, goes out to take a stroll in the park, telling his son, LORD DURHAM. 103 ‘Write to Haydon, and say I have gone down to the House.” When Vittoria Colonna received news that her husband, Francesco, was desperately wounded, in great distress, and a prisoner at Ravenna, she immediately addressed him in thirty- seven stanzas of terza rima, and remained, at ease, at home in her villa at Pietralba. I dare say my father was as much com- forted as Francesco. T2ADNERS pc GA SSAINID RAG At length, in July, 1834, when being cruelly pressed by attorneys on all sides, the Duke of Sutherland, out of sheet pity, gives hima 400-guinea commission for ‘‘ Cassandra.” ** But for this commission,”’ writes Haydon, somewhat unnecessarily, leshouldshave been crusied.. On ther 3d September, the Dulce sends*hime at hisvearmest request, ,loo/, °° in advance.” Here was the mischief. He was always taking drafts on the labor of time to come. Yet this 100/. was only in time to save him, for immediately after the arrival of the letter enclosing fie Duke's, cheques anew €xccution is’ put in by order of the Whig Treasury, for arrears of taxes, The Whig finance in those days seldom had a balance and could not afford to forbear. The Duke’s advance is soon paid away—z2oo/. follow in the same course, a vast proportion of it going to the attorneys for their law costs,—and by the end of the year, when ‘°* Cassandra”’ is finished, Haydon has only a small balance to receive, and no further employment in view. LORD DURHAM. The year 1835 was to Haydon a year of terrible struggle, harass, irritation, threats of execution, and actual execution. for ‘‘ arrears of taxes.” Full of what he calls °* heart-breaking apprehensions seizing me at intervals of thought,” he was never for one moment free from that supreme curse of having to make every sovereign he got do the work of ten, and was driven to every extremity in life to get that one. ‘* Why do they not employ me?” he says mournfully one day to Lord Durham, with whom he was very intimate. ‘“* Why ?” says 104 B. R. HAYDON. Lord Durham, *‘ I’ll tell you why ; they can’t afford: it. The sreater part of the nobility of this country is insolvent.” ‘But they marry and mend their fortunes,’ expostulated Haydon ‘‘ No,” said Lord Durham, “ not a bit of it, my dear friend ; their marriages are on credit, like everything else about them.” Lord Durham had no higher opinion of his noble friends than Lord Byron of his; but, unlike Byron with his poor companions, Lord Durham forgot to redeem their cha- racter, by employing Haydon himself. His curious amuse- ment seems to have been to say disagreeable things to his amiable wife in Haydon’s presence, and to look on at Haydon painting and starving, and watch how long his noble friends would leave him unaided and alone to struggle. With all his wealth, I cannot see that he ever did anything for Haydon except give him his portrait, and once send him thirty guineas for a chalk sketch of her favorite boy, which Haydon had madea present to Lady Durham. He vexed the painter sadly in so doing; but this was the man. He would not employ him, but he would accept no presents. PERSONALITY OF HAYDON. Haydon was now in his fiftieth year, (as I well remember him,) a handsome, fresh-colored, robust, little man, with a big bald head, small ears, aquiline features, a peculiarly short upper lip, and a keen, restless, azure-grey eye, the pupil of which contracted and expanded, rose and fell as he talked, just as if some inner light and fire was playing on his brain. He was a very active man; motion was his repose. In fact, he lived in a hurricane, and fattened on anxiety and care. He carried himself uprightly and stamped his little feet upon the ground, as if he revelled in the consciousness of existence, especially in an E.N.E. wind, meeting him, at his own corner, in the month of February.’ He was always a poor man, pru- 1 This love for fresh air he carried to an excess in his own house, and sometimes in those of other persons. It was quite his hobby, as well as his suspicion of a damp bed. Wherever he visited he always did two things: he opened all the windows, and, summer or winter, lighting his bed-room fire, he aired his sheets and mattress. The late Lord Egremont used to tell a story of him on his arrival at Petworth the first night. PERSONALITY OF HAYDON. 105 dent and economical in his own expenditure, jealous of anything that bore the appearance of unnecessary expense, but most generous to others. He was strongly attached to his home and family, peculiarly tender and watchful in illness, and a most devoted husband. Asa father he was anxious, far beyond the common run of parents, for the moral and intellectual progress of his children, always insisting upon the necessity of keeping in view high objects of ambition, in preference to mere worldly advancement, and of placing the attainment of a great public object, above the level of ‘‘ making money.’”’ The ‘‘ comforta- ble” folks, of course, thought, and still think himafool. They are welcome to their opinion. In music he had a fine taste, and preferred Haydn, Handel, and Mozart to all the rest. Of Beethoven he knew little. To the English theatres he seldom went in his later years. He preferred the French plays, enjoying the polished dialogue and perfect acting there. He was once induced by one of the family to go and see Macready in ‘‘ Lear.” He sat out the first act, and then went away, saying he could not stand any more of it. He afterwards ridiculed the whole thing, comparing Macready to a machine wound up to go through a certain rep- Dinner was announced, and Haydon, who had been in the library, had suddenly dis- appeared. Search was made for him, and he was found in his bed-room with his eve- ning coat carefully taken off, and his great coat buttoned round him, pulling his bed to pieces, hauling out blankets, sheets, mattress, and pillows, and spreading them over the backs of the chairs before the huge fire he had lighted. He had forgotten to do it before he came down. ‘The late Sir Peter Fairbairn, of Leeds, used to tell a very similar story of him at Woodsley. ‘There was no harm in this ; but his habit of open- ing windows in other persons’ houses sometimes got him into a scrape. One day he was calling on Dr. Elliotson in town. ‘‘ Pugh,” he said to himself, as he was shown into the room, ‘‘ how can he live in such air?” and walking to the window he unfas- tened it, flung it open, and began to breathe more freely. Dr. Elliotson was a chilly man, and hated open windows. Presently the docr swung aside gently, and the doctor slipped in, on the balls of his toes, like something feline. ‘Ah, my dear Haydon, how are you? Good God, what's that! Eh—what—an open window: Who has dared ?””—and, ringing the bell furiously, there ensued a scene hetween the doctor and his man worthy of Moliére. It is to be hoped that Haydon gave the footman a sover- eign, but he more probably had not got it to give. Another time he indulged himself at, I think, Lord Yarmouth’s, in the same manner. Lord Yarmouth, if it was he, caught him in the act, and walking to the window slammed it down again, and then politely entered into conversation. —ED. ae 106 7 B. R. HAVDON. resentation, and every night in the same part performing ex- actly the same movements, and making exactly the same noises. Edmund Kean, he maintained, never played the same part twice in the same way. The same thing was true, he also said of Mrs. Siddons. Of John Kemble, the machine theory was true. Haydon had studied Edmund Kean from his first ap- pearance in ‘‘ Richard III.” in all his great parts, in his best days. Mr. Lewes, who allows that he only saw Kean in his later and feebler days, asserts, on the other hand, that Kean never trusted to the ‘‘ inspiration of the moment.” This is probably true of Kean’s later period, when his intemperate habits had obscured his fine genius, and he could no longer rely upon the advent of the divine afflatus at the right instant. But Edmund Kean, (as he remembered him,) and Mrs. Siddons, were Haydon’s faith. One curious trait about him I remember was his sanguine buoyancy. Nothing ever depressed him for long. If one effort failed, he would try another in a different direction. He was the most persevering, indomitable man I ever met. With us at home he was always confident of ** doing better next year.” But that next year never came. It was the “ Jack Snipe” of his existence ; for in this respect, poor fellow, he was like that man whose shooting for many seasons, Fonblanque tells us, was devoted with great constancy to the death of one Jack Snipe, which, after all, outlived him. Every year Haydon had his shot, and every year, somehow or other, his bird escaped. Now it was the Reform Bill—then a crisis in the City—then the failure of a patron—then a change of ministers; and so it went on, and the good luck got off. He would never acknowledge to us what he knew to be the true explanation, that his aim was too high to bring down a bird that flew so capriciously, and so low. HAYDON IN HIS PAINTING-ROomM. ] In his painting-room,’ Haydon was thoroughly and essen- 1 This room, the front drawing-room of the house in Burwood Place, was so small —the back room being occupied as the casts and color room—it is surprising how he HIAYDON IN AIS PAINTING-ROOM. 107 tially ahappy man. There he lived in an ideal world, whose language was not speech, but form and color. He had the mind of a poet, and he possessed the capacity of complete abstraction from all interrupting ideas. God had gifted him with this, or he never could have borne the life that was his lot so long. His practice was, after settling the composition, to make an oil sketch, and from this to roughly sketch or scumble in with umber upon his: large canvas, the whole of the subject he intended to paint. This rarely took him more than one day. When this was dry, he would commence with the head of one of the principal figures, or of the principal figure, and complete it at a sitting. Thus day by day he would go through the picture, finishing as he went along, reserving to himself, however, the right of height- ening his colors or deepening his shades at the final glazing. What struck me most with his painting, as compared with what I can remember of Wilkie, and have observed in others, was the marvellous rapidity with which he worked, and the intense precision of his touch, although there was often a period when the result he aimed at was not secured, and this gave him great agitation. But with all that, his painting was singularly swift : it was as if he had seen in his mind’s eye the effect of every touch before he set his palette. He certainly never painted any subject that he had not long thought out. Then when he took his brush in his hand, his mind overflowed, he flew at his _work like a man inspired with fiery impulse, talking to himself in a rapid whisper, and, utterly lost to all the world around, gave reins to his enthusiasm. He never seemed for a moment to naggle or hesitate. If the result was not satisfactory, he be- came greatly agitated. I have seen big drops of perspiration come out of his brow. Another touch or two, and then, per- haps, he would dash it all out, and breathe again freely. In painting the human form, or that of animals, he had always the living model before him. His horses were brought into the house, and stabled for the day on the ground-floor. Every ever succeeded in painting for a distance. It was quite impossible to calculate the effect. —ED. 108 B. RMA OWN: day’s work was painted straight off and done with. He ground his own colors and set his own palette before breakfast. He mixed his tints upon his palette, and completed his work wet. After he had hit the exact expression he wanted, he would never touch it again, but swish down his palette and brushes, and say, ‘‘ There, thirty years of experience are in that, and yet how infinitely below what I aim at! But I shall not do better.” And then he would fling open the shutters and begin to write. HAYDON’S METHOD OF PAINTING. His method of painting was his own. His natural sight was of little or no use to him at any distance, and he would wear one pair over the other, sometimes two or three pairs of large round concave spectacles, so powerful as greatly to diminish ob- jects. He would mount his steps, look at you through one pair of classes, then push them all well back on his head, and paint by his naked eye close to the canvas. After some minutes he would pull down one pair of his glasses, look at you, then step down, walk slowly backwards to the wall, and study the effect through the one, two, or three pairs of spectacles ; then, with one pair only, look long and steadily in the looking-glass at the side to examine the reflection of his work; then mount his steps, and paint again. How he ever contrived to paint a head or a limb in proportion is a mystery to me, for it is clear that he had lost his natural sight in boyhood. Without his glasses he could see nothing distinctly. He is, as he said, the first blind man who ever successfully painted pictures. But then he left nothing to chance. He was singularly careful in his ar- rangements of your position and drapery, and often studied you for long before he began to paint ; and would make many changes, so as to get harmony of light and shadow.’ He 1 Mr. Redgrave, in his ‘‘ Dictionary of Painters,” asserts that Haydon commenced his pictures ‘‘ without plan or forethought.” This is wholly incorrect. I do not sup- pose any painter ever lived, who took more preparatory pains in the design of his works. The evidence of his ‘‘ Journals” is alone sufficient to refute Mr. Redgrave. —ED. HAVDON VON SCHOOLS OF DESTGN. _ 109 strongly disapproved of hoarding up a picture until finished. It should be shown, he thought, in progress; and he always admitted uneducated as well as refined persons of taste. ‘* The instinctive feeling of the untutored,’”’ he would say, ‘‘ is often to be preferred to the delusions of mere artists.” The un- biased decision of the masses whose heart was touched, he thought a safer guide than the fastidious criticism of insipid dilettanti. Of critics, in general, Haydon held a mean opinion. ** There is very little sound criticism in the newspapers upon art,” I have heard him say; °° even less than there is upon literature, and God knows that is little enough. There is noth- ing, however absurd, that does not pass through the head of an art critic.” He attributed this generally to the same cause as Mr. Disraeli, that the critics were commonly men who had tried and failed in literature and art. But, unlike Mr. Disraeli, Haydon never shook himself free from the thraldom of their criticism. It requires a peculiar temperament, or long practice in the discipline of self-control. Arthur, Duke of Wellington, and Mr. Disraeli, are the only two men in modern times who have set public men an example in this respect. HAYDON ON SCHOOLS OF DESIGN. We have arrived at the last twelve years of Haydon’s life. On the vote in Parliament for a National Gallery, in 1832, whether by reason of Haydon’s direct efforts or previous statements I know not, but the fact of our inferiority in design to the French —one of his favorite examples and arguments—was strongly insisted on, was not denied by the Government; and the result was, at last, the founding of a National School of Design. In the scheme for this school Haydon does not seem to have ‘been consulted by the Government, who appear to have pre- ferred to leave the matter in the hands of the Royal Academy. He looked on curiously for the result. In the course of 1835 the Government was delivered of what he declared to be ‘‘ an abominable abortion ’’—a mass of radical defects and meanness —a ‘* school of design”? which was only to teach pattern-draw- ing, and to artisans alone. Haydon’s object with regard to ILMOe Bt Ke HAV DON. Schools of Design was, as we have seen, to establish a great central school in London, independent of the Royal Academy, with branch-schools in the provincial towns ; the course of in- struction in each to be the same, though in different degrees, for artist, artisan, and amateur, and to be based on a knowl- edge of the human form—the source of all fine art. All deco- rative art, Haydon maintained, that was not based on fine art was unworthy the name of art altogether. ‘‘ I wish every door-painter,” he said, ‘‘ to be taught to design and draw the figure ;” that is to say, he aimed at making the humblest work- man acquire a scientific knowledge of the principles of his work. He desired to foster in every pupil that spirit of inquiry and research which should develop the highest skill in every craft. But this large and comprehensive scheme, which would have restored the relations in which the Pupil formerly stood to his Master, and have raised a race of powerful designers for art and manufactures, did not fit into the views of the bureaucrats, nor suit the interests of the Royal Academy. If Haydon’s ereat public plan were carried out, it would substitute Feeling for Rule, it would also draw the art-students from the official Academy school, and lower the influence and reputation of the Royal Academy, or compel its reform. Both parties, therefore, prepared for a struggle. The Academy and the Board of Trade resolved to stifle Haydon’s scheme by making the new school dependent on the Royal Academy, and, by strictly maintaining in the new school, as in the Academy school, the separation between artist and artisan. The artisan was not to be taught to draw the figure, and the School of Design was to be kept as an inferior department of the Academy school, and used merely for instruction in block and pattern drawing. For this purpose Mr. Poulett-Thompson, then President of the Board of Trade, appointed a majority of Academicians on the council of the new school, and these gentlemen, headed by (Haydon’s old friends) Chantrey and Calcott, immediately passed a series of resolutions excluding the study of the human figure from the course of instruction, and effecting other arbitrary changes which struck at every point of Haydon’s scheme. For exam- HAVDON ARRESTED AGAIN. III ple, they required from each student a written declaration that he would not practise in England as a painter of portrait, his- tory, landscape, or animal life, nor, I believe, as a sculptor. The object of this is clear. It was to prevent competition with established artists, and to maintain the official ascendency of the Royal Academy. Meantime Haydon, hearing of what it was intended to do, determined to countermine, and deeply. He besought Lord Melbourne to grant, and Mr. Ewart, M.P., to obtain, a Select Committee to inquire into ‘‘ the best means for extending the knowledge and principles of art and design among the people.” Lord Melbourne, who dreaded anything like a contest with ‘* Professors ”’—‘‘ God help the Minister,” he once said to Hay- don, ‘‘ who interferes in art”—had no objection to pass the responsibility over to a select committee, and thus Mr. Ewart’s committee was obtained during the Session of 1835. In order to aid this committee to the utmost of his power, and to go further, in time, Haydon resolved during the winter of 1835-6 to deliver a series of lectures in London on ‘‘ Painting and Design.” HAYDON ARRESTED AGAIN. Before the close of the year 1836, the insolvency of Lord Audley (who had given Haydon two commissions) involved the painter once more in serious embarrassments. I always know what is coming when I read in his journals such as entries as— ‘20th August. Out the whole day in bitter pecuniary harass. Suffered all my old agonies of torture.” o Sep Sta VV onked. but im agony. On September goth he was arrested while at breakfast with us. I remember the morning well; the timidring; the affected unconcern ; the balancing of his spoon on the edge of his cup ; the whisper in the hall; and the servant coming in with, ‘‘ If you please, sir, Mr. ‘Smith’ wishes to see you.” I shall not forget the expression of pain that passed over his face as he rose and left the room, not venturing to look any of his [12 LF SMe UO Vs children in the face. ‘‘ Tell your mother I have gone out,” he said, sadly ; that was all. In a few minutes we saw him driven away in a hackney coach, accompanied by two men, one sitting on the box. He remained in prison till the 17th November. ‘¢ What a fight it is!” he writes in his journal for the day of his arrest. ‘‘It is wonderful how my health and my dear Mary’s, too, is preserved. But, trusting in God, I have not the least doubt of carrying my great object—a vote of money for art—-and perhaps I shall then sink without tasting its fruits.” He did so, too surely. On the 17th November he was again brought before the Insolvent Court. There was no opposition. Nota question was asked, and he was discharged forthwith.' ANECDOTE OF THE DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND. It was on this occasion of his release that his kind friend, the Dowager-Duchess of Sutherland, drove up to the house to éall. Haydon had not yet arrived. When She found tthe Duchess had called, he wrote to beg of her when she came asain to come in “* State.” She drove up the next day im her court carriage, and with all the magnificence of ducal state, and paid us a long visit. During the winter and spring she occa- sionally sent her carriage up of her own accord, to wait at our door, as if she was in the house. It was all she could afford to do, and she thought it would at least give Haydon credit with 1 Asa specimen of the furious anonymous letters which not infrequently assailed Haydon, the following, one of the least violent and disgusting, may be printed. The date is the 15th September, 1836, and the post-mark, ‘‘ Coventry Street’? :— ““London, 15th Sept., 1836. ‘¢ Allow me to tell you that the public thinks that you are one of the lowest, mean beggars in England, that you are a lazy good-for-nothing fellow, and can do nothing, and ought to be sent to the treadmill as an impostor. ‘¢T hope no one will be swindled with you. The only subscriptions that should be gone into for you is to purchase a broom to sweep the streets. ‘*A Hater, ‘“* 70 B. R. Haypon.”’ “CM. D.” HAVDON’S DETERMINATION. 113 his tradesmen. This was amiable and good of her; but Hay- don wanted employment, not credit. HAYDON’S DETERMINATION. The year 1837, and, in fact, the remaining years of his life, up to the last, seem to have been fairly free from those heart- breaking pecuniary anxieties which had so distressed him since 1823—seven times arrested, four times imprisoned and ruined, and five of his children killed ; for, to explain their deaths by any other cause than the mental anxieties of their mother during these years would be incorrect—Haydon yet came out of the struggle in 1837, strong in health, and firm in his determination to carry his points. Early in 1839 Haydon busied himself with a design for a Nel- son monument. His was a grand idea, a temple decorated with paintings of Nelson’s victories, and portraits of his colleagues and commanders, and in the centre a single statue of the man, inscribed NELSON, ‘© A little body with a mighty heart.” The plan was rejected as “‘ too costly,” and the present dispro- portioned column put up instead. PORTRAIT OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. As soon as the season of 1839 was over, Haydon hurried to Brussels for a week to sketch the field of Waterloo, and so get a background for his Liverpool picture. The sight of Rubens’s abode, the quiet seclusion of his summer house, the silence of Antwerp, the golden splendor of its altars, the power of its pictures, affected him deeply. “'I think I will settle here,” he writes. How curious this idea of repose is so often in the minds of active and ambitious men! ‘‘ But for this cursed desire of glory,” wrote Frederick the Great, ‘*T assure you I should think only of my tranquillity.” L14 B. R. HAYDON. Haydon returned home, soon forgot his longings for a tran- quil life, worked hard at his picture until October, and then, at the invitation of the Duke of Wellington, went down and spent three days with the old Hero at Walmer. The picture was finished by the end of November and sent home. It is a fine picture : the expression of the Duke very beautiful in its age, its power, and its simplicity, and without that silly simper most portraits give him. He looks like ‘‘ an aged eagle just tottering One hisspercehs. IGNORED BY FINE ARTS COMMITTEE. The Fine Arts Committee of 1841 examined everybody within their reach who was supposed to know anything, and many who knew nothing on the subject they were appointed to inquire into. But they refused to send for Haydon, the real proposer of the plan, or to hear one word he had to say. This was the ‘* Elgin Marbles” out of delicacy”? to Mr. Payne Knight, whose absurd sophisms on art Haydon had scattered to the four winds of heaven, and ren- dered him insignificant for the rest of his life, and now it was out of regard for the ‘‘ constituted authorities ” in art, whose ~ maladministration Haydon had brought, by Mr. Ewart’s Com- mittee, before Parliament, that he was to be punished by another, and a more serious exclusion. I believe myself that Sir Robert Peel, as well as the Academy, from something Sir James Graham once said to be apropos of this very committee, was the moving spirit in this matter. Anyhow, the feeling was this : Haydon’s success nay have been very great at Oxford and in the provinces, but we will show what he is thought of in London. Hence, the Fine Arts Committee in their inquiries, ignored Haydon’s existence, either as a professional painter, or as a theorist and public writer upon art, or as the proposer of the plan of decoration. This studied slight upon a man of such undoubted claims to be heard, wounded him. It is lucky for this Committee and for the Royal Commission that followed, Haydon died before he had carried out an intention he certainly case over again. Then it was ‘°° AANA ONG SRE SC O; I15 held, that of writing a ‘‘ public letter” on the proceedings of both, a kind of second edition of his letter on the connoisseurs and the Elgin Marbles in 1816. HIAYDON’S FRESCO. But Haydon subdued his feelings, and went on with what easel-work he had upon hand. Hearing at length the commit- tee held the notion that fresco would be preferable to oil paint- ing for the new Houses, and that, in the opinion of the com- mittee, the English oil painters could not ‘‘ draw well enough fOmwOrk In tresco:;”’ that ““fresco’”’ was not their ‘“* element,” and that ‘* Cornelius and the German painters accustomed to iheSCOMmImMUSt Mem Sent ton.” be became indignant. °° Elere,” he says, ‘* are the patrons of art in England now asking for the Germans to come over and execute ‘ great works’ in our Houses of Parliament, because, as they allege, the English painters are not equal to the task. Who is to blame if the English painters cannot execute great works? Who was it that left poor Barry to live and die in poverty and want because he painted great works ? Who declined to support Reynolds in history, drove Opie into portrait, left Fuseli to live by the print-sellers, and refused to encourage either Hilton or Etty? Who allowed me to be ruined and imprisoned and my school destroyed, because I would paint ‘ great works,’ and dared to tell them that great works should be executed for the honor of their country. Who has pressed down the genius of England by buying nothing but small works and foreign ‘specimens’? Does any man in his senses believe that the exhibitions of the Royal Academy show what English artists wish to paint? No, they bring out what they are obliged to paint, they bring to market the goods which will sell. And now because you have degraded the art by nar- rowing its great calling, you turn round and say, * Let us callin the Germans.’ Shame on you! Shame on you!” Before a week was over he had pulled down part of his paint- ing-room wall, prepared it, and trusting to his rapid practice in ru© B. R. HAVDON: oil, painted in genuine fresco, without retouching, a magnifi- cent half-length of an archangel. I remember well its ideal and unearthly beauty, for I had to sit stripped to the waist as the model, and saw him paint it. The attempt was a complete success, except that it dried lighter than Haydon expected, but this only added to its surprising beauty. The effect was mar- vellous and highly poetical. The committee heard of it, and with the meanness of men came up to see. His painting-room I remember was crowded for days, and anybody who formerly said that ‘‘ no Englishman could paint in fresco,” now declared ‘“ nothing was so easy.” The scorn and contempt with which Haydon listened to their idle gabble can be easily conceived. * GERMAN ART VERSUS ENGLISH ART. Cornelius, the German painter, suddenly arrived in London from Munich. He was received with extraordinary distinction by the Prince, and by Sir Robert Peel. He was taken every- where by Sir Robert’s request. But he never reached Haydon’s studio. This was at least remarkable, for of all men he would come and see, one would think he would come to see the inti- mate friend and correspondent of his own great friend Rumdohr, to say nothing of Haydon’s position in the art. But he never came. Haydon began to scent mischief; he had many and various sources of information. Ina short time he arrived at the conviction that the Prince was in favor of giving the entire control of the decoration of the Houses to Cornelius, leaving the practical part only to the English artists. I believe him to 1 While at Dover, in May of this year 1841, Haydon suddenly received news of the death of Sir David Wilkie on his way home from the East. It rested on his mind like a horrible nightmare for a month, and took him quite away from everything but vain regrets and reminiscences. He was deeply attached to Wilkie, and so [ believe was Wilkie to him. One great regret he had, and that was, that the whole of the thirty-nine academicians were not flung overboard after him, on the principle of sacrificing to the manes of a distinguished man. Woodburn, Wilkie’s companion, told my father that Wilkie literally quacked himself to death with drugs. It is curious how often delicate men and women will persist in this dangerous interference with the chemistry of na- ture.—ED. CMAN ane) PTGS iS MNGLISH ART. ey, have had good grounds for this conclusion. And he had also good reasons for believing that Sir Robert was ‘‘ strongly inclined to think that, ” in this case, asin the other, ‘‘ the views of his Royal Highness were perfectly just.” Haydon goes off to Eastlake (30th October) and has a long conversation. Eastlake had seen Cornelius. On the 2d De- cember, 1841, Eastlake had an interview with Prince Albert with reference to the business of the Royal Commission, of which he was appointed Secretary. The Prince, with all that frankness which appears to have distinguished him in his inter- course with professional men, and probably not aware of Fastlake’s relations with Haydon, spoke out his views on the subject of the decoration of the Houses. What those views were I cannot say; but I think my father knew, and we can easily infer, for in describing his interview with the Prince, after the Prince had spoken, Eastlake, in a letter which has been published, says, ‘‘ I thought that the moment had come when 1 must make a stand against the introduction of foreign artists.” But then, evidently fearing he had gone too far, or with the view to draw the Prince out further, Eastlake immediately modified his objections by saying he saw no reason why **‘ Ger- mans might not be employed under English artists.” But Prince Albert, upon this, said he saw ‘‘ no reason”? for that, and would not admit it was necessary; °* for,” said the Prince, ‘*T am convinced in all that relates to practical dexterity the English are particularly skilful.” This appears to have satisfied Eastlake, and nothing more is needed, I think, to show that Haydon’s information was correct, and that the Prince, who had formed his opinion of English art from Sir Martin Shee and the Academy, for his Royal Highness was not permitted to visit Haydon’s studio or those of the anti-academicians, and anxious to raise a school of fresco in England, had come to the hasty conclusion that no English artist could draw and design sufficiently well to paint in fresco ; hence, in his sincere anxiety to make the public decoration of the Houses worthy of the nation, he sought to introduce the best aid in design that he knew of, and that was from the 118 B. R. HAYVDON. Germans, Cornelius, Hess, and Overbeck. In due time the Prince, supported by Sir Robert Peel, formally made the pro- posal at a meeting of the Commissioners to call over Cornelius, Fess, and Overbeck, and employ them to design the decoration of the Houses. No opposition was offered, those who disap- proved took refuge in silence, and the proposal was carried, In a few hours it came to Haydon’s knowledge. He brooded moodily over it. His loyalty to the Queen and his delight at finding in Prince Albert some indications of a love for High Art prevented any immediate expression of opinion. He seemed all at once to wish to get out of the whole thing; he talked of going to Italy—going abroad altogether. After a while he wrote to Sir Robert Peel offering to go to Italy and make a careful examination of all the existing frescoes, as, in his opinion, it was highly important this should be done, if fresco _was to be employed. Sir Robert Peel coldly acknowledged Haydon’s letter, took note of its main suggestion, and shortly after sent out Mr. Wilson, of the London School of Design. The Royal Commissioners had not met in consultation many times after the breaking of the German stick they had relied on, before they found in what a hopeless predicament they were falling from want of professional men at their Board. Eastlake, their secretary, saved them from making themselves ridiculous by their propositions and counter-propositions, and curious display of incapacity and ignorance on all essential points, by persuading them to adopt Haydon’s plan, 1816-17, of an exhibition of cartoons, in order to test the capacity of the English artists in drawing and design, and thus relieved the Commissioners of the difficulty of selecting and entrusting one man to conduct the whole, and the right men to serve under him. It was a weak plan, a poor expedient—on a par with the practice of the Greek mariners casting lots who should have the management of the vessel, instead of boldly choosing the best seaman. CARTOON COMPETITION. Towards the end of April 1842, a notice of the conditions of this public cartoon competition was issued. Prizes of 300, 200, CATT OON CGOMPE TT 7 TON. It9Q and 100 guineas were to be competed for. The leading paint- ers of established reputation were thus placed upon the same level with their pupils and young students who had never painted a picture. The spirit which dictated this can be easily understood. ‘‘ If it were not for the Royal Academy,” said Collins, the painter, to Haydon at this date, ‘‘ artists would be treated like journeymen :” and there was a good deal of truth in the conclusion, though we may venture to doubt the premise. But the curious feature of this projected public cartoon compe- tition was, that the public were to have no voice in the choice of winners. That was to be done for them beforehand by six judges, of whom Sir Robert Peel put himself at the head! So that we had this result in view: a public competition of artists for a public work was to take place, but certain persons, other than the public, were to choose the artists to be appointed to the work before the public were admitted! The fine ‘‘ Roman hand” again of the greatest Parliamentary Ambiguity that ever lived, is here distinctly visible. One result was, of course, the introduction of canvassing among relatives and friends, anda decision which, under cover of public judgment, was purely patronage without its honor; and, what was of more importance still, without its responsibility. The moment Haydon read the terms of the notice, he had grave doubts of the propriety of a painter of his established reputation descending into the arena to compete with beardless boys. He did not approve of competition after a certain age ; for young men it might do, but selection was the principle for men of established reputation, and they will then form the stu- dents. J regret he did not adhere to this view; but, alas, the legal wolf was once more scratching at his door. He said that if he did not compete, his enemies would have cried out, ‘‘ See, he shrinks from a public trial!” But surely the man who had painted the ‘‘ Judgment of Solomon,” the ‘‘ Jerusalem,” the Slbavaniseuthies. Punch. «the > Curtis,” ,and:his; hundred other works, could have afforded his greatest enemy the enjoy- ment of that little triumph. No, it was no fear of that nature that prompted him to enter the lists; it was the hope of win- 120 Be Tee CLA VIOW, ning a three-hundred guinea prize that decided him. And so he entered the lists, all the while declaring that, if his ‘‘ car- toons” were as perfect as Raphael could make them, he knew he had no chance. He wrote to this effect tome. He said he ought not to compete, that he knew the feeling of prejudice was so strong against him he should be refused, but that he was ‘“so pressed for money” he could not decline the chance. An intimate friend of Sir Robert Peel’s warned him that he had ‘“no chance.” Barry told him “ there is a dead set against you among the Commissioners ;” and Eastlake—good, gentle Sir Charles—though he would have been glad enough, I believe, to help his old master, whose benefits to him he had declared he never could forget to his dying day, was too much engaged in watching the ‘‘ wind,” like a master-mariner in uncertain weather, in the hope of reaching his port, viz., the decoration of the Houses, to maintain Haydon’s claims against such deter- mined hostility to him, and such indifference to art as the no- bility displayed. But he certainly gave Haydon all the hints he dare, and these are not favorable. All this only added zest to the determination of Haydon to compete. He shut himself up with his two cartoons and his pecuniary embarrassments, which were now becoming most harassing from the postponement of two commissions, and other professional disappointments, and worked vigorously for six months, till he had completed the cartoons. One was ‘‘ The Curse of Adam and Eve,” the other, ‘* The Entry of King John of France into London” after Poitiers. This was his answer to Sir Robert Peel and the Commissioners. Sir Robert had the right of reply. There were three distinct parties of competitors: the Royal Academicians and their party ; Haydon and the reform party ; and the young students. The exhibition of cartoons took place at Westminster Hall, in the season of 1543. The result dissi- pated the unjust suspicion that the lay artists of England could neither draw nor design. The power displayed was astonish- ing; and when Haydon went into the room he expressed his joy heartily and without reserve. The young students crowded VLEAOPROOTE VALE PRIZE. 127 round him and congratulated him warmly, saying, ‘‘ We owe this all to you.” This soothed him for what had happened. WHO TOOK THE PRIZE. When the time came for decision, which Sir Robert Peel had proposed should be given before the public were admitted, the six judges went round and made an inspection. The car- toons of the Royal Academicians were so glaringly defective in drawing, expression, and power, it was out of the question to award a prize to any academician. Thecartoons of the reform party and of the young students were pronounced to be so equal in power, drawing, expression, and character, the judges de- clared themselves ata loss how to decide. This looks like artince On the part of Sir Robert Peel. Prince Albert then came in and was shown round. On coming before the cartoon of the English pupil of De la Roche he stopped, and said ‘* That is worth 2000/. ;” Etty and the artists on the committee of judges, says Haydon, ‘‘ held down their heads.” The car- toon was defective in drawing and proportion; but that, in the opinion of such a courtier as Sir Robert Peel had now become, was of no consequence after the remark of the Prince Consort. This cartoon headed the list of three hundred guinea prizes.! 28 ATRIESTUD IOS 72" AN). SS IN| TIRO@) 2 He began the first of hisseries of six pictures in April, 1845. The ‘‘Banishment of Aristides,” a fine subject, forcibly painted, he finished in four months; the second, ‘‘ Nero watching the Burning of Rome,” hastily conceived and painted, he finished in two months. Yet these arduous and impassioned labors 1 My father used to tell a little bit of Court gossip—he had man ysources of infor- mation—as to this particular cartoon. De la Roche was a great friend of the late Lord Ellesmere, and also of his brother, the late Duke of Sutherland, and he be- sought their influence on behalf of his young pupil, though I believe wholly without his pupil’s consent, or even knowledge. The services of the Duchess were also en- listed. All fair enough, if the commission, of which Prince Albert was the head, had not passed a rule that no names of competitors were not be known. But Suckling’s experience of Court life holds good, viz., ‘* He that’s best horsed, that is best friended, gets in soonest; and all that he has to do is to laugh at those that are behind.”—Ep. b22 B, KR. TAVDON. could not recover the year lost in indecision, nor remove that disquiet of the soul which precedes misfortune. He reads, he writes, he works incessantly, but ever and anon I find him re- ferring directly and indirectly to Death as if he felt its awful shadow near. Dr. Hook sends him the ‘‘ Confessions of St. Augustine.” He reads them, reviews his own life, and writes : ‘*'The first step towards fitting the Soul to stand before its Maker is a conviction of its unworthiness.” Then he is more constant in prayer—more curious in his utterances and quota- tions from Scripture, more humble towards Him ‘‘in whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” Suddenly he hears the sad news that his old friend, Colonel Gurwood, has destroyed himself. ‘This affects him profoundly. Now he refuses to record his prayers anymore. ‘‘ I feel them,” he says; ‘‘ but it is too familiar to write them down, and bring them in contact with daily expression of worldly mattters.” It is as if he dared not utter and :record them, Jest the: effort should turn him from the fascination of some shackled pro- pensity, suddenly broken loose and mastering his obedience. He flies for relief to a fresh subject, ‘* Alfred and his First Trial by Jury.” But the weight of Gurwood’s miserable death presses on his mind andheart. In February, 1846, he leaves London in low spirits and goes to Edinburgh. Here he met with his usual enthusiastic reception. His lectures were crowded to excess, and the profuse hospitality of the famous city freely extended to him. Donald may not have more money than suffices for his own modest wants; but he appreciates a man with brains, is a staunch friend, and is always glad to give you a warm welcome in his hospitable home.. The following month Haydon returned to London, and prepared for his exhibition in April. The two pictures, ‘* Aristides” and ‘‘ Nero” were exhibited at the Egyptian Hall. The newspapers spoke highly of them as works of art. But the next room to Haydon’s exhibition was taken by the dwarf ‘‘ Tom Thumb.” The London world rushed inits thousands to see this novelty—dukes, duchesses, earls, and countesses led the van, and all the ‘‘ Public” followed. When they came out from the Presence, the poor people were WRONG IN HIS HEAD. 123 so overcome by their emotions they could not endure the shock, or afford the additional expense of looking at ‘‘ Nero” or ‘* Aristides.” They passed Haydon’s exhibition room, and went off to Grange’s for ice and wafers. After six weeks Hay- don closed his exhibition with the loss of 1117, rolled up his pictures, and went to work vigorously at the next of his series. To his own mind, unless some extraordinary assistance ar- rived, his days were now numbered. But ‘‘ to-morrow knaves will thrive through craft and fools through fortune ; and honesty will go as it did, frost-nipt in asummer suit.” Day by day passed, and no inquiries, no commissions came in, no offers to to buy either of the four large pictures he had now upon his hands. He began to lose confidence in his power to stave off the last day long enough to enable him to complete his series. ‘“ The great thing will be to get them done,” he continually writes in his journal. And he struggled bravely on, flying hither and thither to pacify creditors, raise money, gain time— anything for peace to think and paint. His debts were not lange. ihe price: of a small yacht, or of another diamond necklace, would have covered them all. But no member of the nobility came near him. Prince Albert was one day seen to ride by and to look up at the house, and speak to his equerry. His Royal Highness had not the courage to come in. WRONG IN HIs HEAD. With the month of June came no improvement of prospects, no diminution of pecuniary pressure. He works vigorously. He prays earnestly to be carried ‘* through the evils” of each day, and he entreats the Almighty to preserve his ‘‘ mind,” so as to enable him to bear up against ‘‘ all obstructions.” But at last it dawns upon his too sanguine hopes that all his labor is in vain; the taste of the Nobility for art is no higher than it was fifty years before, and perhaps, after all, he may have mistaken the ‘“‘ feeling’’ of the ‘‘ People.” An old friend, whom he had helped in early life, now offers to lend him tooo/. They are to meet and dine im the City... L keeps the engagement, but after dinner breaks the news to Haydon that he is unable 124 TEI ELAS ONO to advance the money. Haydon drank deeply (hotel wine is not always sound), and the next day, between the disappoint- ment and the dinner, he was ‘‘ wrong” in his “‘ head.” The weather now (14th June) became intensely hot, and he got com- pletely out of health. All the week he was in this state, and could get no rest at night, but he refused to send for medical advice, and gradually abandoned work. It looks as if he felt the end was near, and thought it time to fold his robe about him. But now, avery curious thing happened, upon which a vast deal of fine writing has, in my humble opinion, been need- lessly expended. The 15th June had been a day of great anxiety and no relief. On the 16th June, Haydon wrote to his old friend, the Duke of Beaufort, to explain his situation and ask assistance. The letter reached the duke at Badminton, just as he was going out to enjoy the bright day by shooting rabbits. The duke put the letter into his pocket and took down his gun. Haydon wrote also to Lord Brougham, and, oddly enough, to the Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel. Now, if ever there was a time for one man to do a graceful and generous act towards another he had helped to ruin, this was the moment. Sir Robert Peel, in the midst of all his Corn Law debates, replies promptly, though in a formal letter, en- closing an official order for 50/7. on a fund over which, as Prime Minister, he had official control. SiR ROBERT PEEL’S CONTRIBUTION. It is hardly fair to look your gift horse too curiously over ; but it is to be remarked that only to send 50/. to an artist owing 3000/., and on the brink of arrest and ruin, was the merest illu- sion in the world. It was like that phantom Minerva sends to Hector to tempt him to his fate by making him believe Deipho- bus is at hand. Moreover, Sir Robert’s ‘‘ contribution for your necessities”? did not come out of Sir Robert’s private purse. It was ‘‘public”” money. Considering his position and grave responsibilities at that moment, his prompt reply compares favorably with the Duke of Beaufort’s forgetfulness, and Lord Brougham’s silence. But yet there is something in the gift un- TEAM a LOMO al TLS | 125 pleasing. It came out of the Consolidated Fund, to which Haydon, who for years had been paying his taxes regularly, must have contributed his share. Had Sir Robert Peel made up the price he paid for the ‘‘ Napoleon” to the 500 guineas, which he ought to have given Haydon for the picture, sucha sum (389/.) would have been a real benefit to the painter, and would probably have saved his life. And it would only have been just from the man with 40,000/. a year towards the poor painter who had painted him so fine a picture, had got so. mean a price for it, and was now asking for ‘‘ help.” But no, not one sixpence from his own private purse would Sir Robert Peel give. That would look like concession. How singular that this man, who never had a guiding principle in politics, who would yield everything to pressure, but resist evervthing till he was pressed, should. in a matter of this kind, draw a hard and fast line against the evidence of facts he could not controvert, and refuse to grant to feeling what his stiff-necked pride re- jected. It was not magnanimous. It was wanting in gene- rosity, cold in heart, and unworthy of a man in Sir Robert Peel’s position. But the highest virtue of which the late Sir Robert Peel was capable, and the last he arrived at, was justice to those he had wronged. Wie AS ECRURIn alae 1S! “ Haydon acknowledged the receipt of the 50/, and in the warmth of his own good heart he paid a compliment to that which he assumed to belong to Sir Robert Peel. But it is to be observed, he put the money aside and did not touch it. This is significant. The 18th, 19th, and 2oth of June came, passed, and brought no answer from the Duke of Beaufort or Lord Brougham. Haydon grew gloomy, and became dispirited as a jaded horse. What he suffered during these days, and how acutely, his daily journal tells. He feels his “* heart sink” ; his brain ‘‘ grows confused”; he lies awake at night in ‘“* great agony of mind.” He prays God to bless him through “‘ the evils” of each day. He takes down to a bookseller a parcel of 120 B..R. HAVDON. books he had not paid for, and begs him to ‘‘ take care of them.” He takes an unfinished sketch, upon which he was en- gaged for Sir W., then Mr. Fairbairn,’ and had been part paid for, and carries it to the house of a relative of this friend, and leaves it in the hall, with a hasty message for its care. He does the same with one or two other small works, and he passes one entire day burning vast quantities of correspondence and docu- ments in the court-yard of his house. In the intervals he sits in his painting-room unable to work, staring at his picture like ‘fan idiot,” his brain ‘‘ pressed down by anxiety,” his frenzied eyelids suing in vain for rest. Every post brings him angry de- mands for the settlement of bills, threats of execution, and im- mediate prospect of arrest, imprisonment, and ruin. One by one his last hopes fall from him, like dead leaves fluttering from a bough. Good God! what a picture itis! To think of this man, after forty years of noble work to refine the taste and en- lighten the understanding of the nobility and people of wealthy England, so as to make art in its higher range a delightful mode of moral elevation, and design a means of their material pros- perity, sitting beggared by want of employment, silent and ab- stracted, with all the disjointed fragments of his perishing hopes about him, in a chaos of unspeakable thought, his soul ‘* melt- ing by reason of his trouble,” his brain throbbing with fire, pondering over his past life, and confronting his deep love for his art with his broken fortunes ; till, stung by the®bitterness of the contrast, like a dying gladiator, he determines on self-mur- der, lest he be left to languish in his agony. It is a picture of human suffering, under the uttermost burden of wretchedness, that one does not see into so distinctly. Nor was it wholly creditable to the country, nor, in this case, to the Prime Min- ister of that country in which it was there to be seen. On the morning of the 21st June he enters in his journal :— ‘¢ Slept horribly—prayed in sorrow—got up in agitation.” 1 Tt is now in the possession of Lady Fairbairn, widow of the late Sir William Fair- bairn, Bart., F-R.S. The subject is *‘ Christ before Pilate.”—Ep. THE END NEAR. This loss of rest at night was the worst sign about him. I have heard him say he could face any misfortune if he got his sleep. But he could not support the irritability arising from disturbed rest. The action of his brain became morbid and unhealthy. On Sunday, this 21st June, he walked out with one of the family to dine with his friend, Commissioner Evans, at Hampstead. On his way through the Regent’s Park he com- plained much of the intense heat, and said, the night before, when lying awake, he had understood how it was that people committed suicide; that he had dwelt with pleasure on the idea of throwing himself off the Monument and dashing his head to pieces. He was begged not to dwell on such thoughts, and after a time he grew more calm. He spoke of his embarrass- ments, and appeared to show the greatest repugnance to having to go through again all the degradation and miseries of im- prisonment and ruin. They parted at the Avenue Road bridge, and on parting he said, ‘‘ Tell your mother not to be anxious about me,” and went on his way.' About 5 P.M. he returned home. Hesaid he was not in sufficiently good spirits to stay at Hampstead. At dinner he got up from his chair and turned a glazed picture to the wall: his brain could not bear the reflected light. He looked flushed and haggard, and passed a silent and abstracted evehing. That night he was heard walking about his room nearly the whole night, apparently in great agitation. It was in those wakeful hours he settled his resolve. He was dressed and out of his room early the next morning (22d June), and walked down, before breakfast, to Riviére, a gunmaker in Oxford Street, near Regent Street. Here he bought one of a pair of pistols. He came home about 9 A.M., breakfasted alone, then went to his painting-room, and probably wrote the ! My brother was so struck by this conversation that, on his return, he had the in- tention of calling upon and consulting with the family medical man, but my mother, to whom he mentioned his fears, laughed at the idea of my father committing “‘ suicide,” and begged of my brother to dismiss the suspicion from his mind. Her treatment of lis fears made him put aside his intention.—Ep. 125 B. R HAY DON: letters to his children, his will,! and his ‘‘ last thoughts.” As my mother and sister passed the painting-room door on their way to their rooms, about 10.30 A.M., they tried the door—it was locked—and he called out very fiercely, ‘‘ Who’s there ?” A few minutes after, as if regretting the tone in which he had spoken, he came up to my mother’s room, kissed her affection- ately, and lingered about the room as if he had something to say. But he said little, except to ask her to call that day on an old friend (one of the executors he had just named in his will) and, returned to his painting-room, deliberately wrote in his journal :— ‘* God forgive me.—Amen !” ** Stretch me no longer on this tough world.”—Zear. and in a few moments had destroyed himself. THE END. My poor sister shortly afterwards, returning home alone, and thinking to comfort and console her father in his anxieties, stole eently down to his painting-room, tried the door, it opened, and she looked in. What she saw I never dared to speak to her about. A few weeks before her own death, in the dim twilight of a summer’s night, she told me. At first, in the subdued light of the painting-room, she could not distinguish clearly ; and the awful silence of the room, broken only by the loud ticking of his watch, chilled her heart. It was as if some sor- row had passed into the air, and oppressed her. She looked for him, but he was not sitting at his table, though his watch was there, and his Journal lay open, and some letters and a church-service she had given to him. Norwas he in the further corner where he commonly stood to study his picture. Another glance, and she saw him lying on the floor. At first she thought he had thrown himself on the floor to study the foreground of his picture: she called géntly to him, but he did not answer. She came forward, and leaned hesitatingly over, fearing to dis- 1 Being unwitnessed, it was invalid.—Ep, HAYVDON’S FAMILY. 129 turb him too abruptly, and softly called again. Still he was heedless. She looked steadily at him; he was all on the floor, as if huddled together. Then a horrible, an indescribable dread seized her—he had fallen into a fit. She stepped close to him, her foot slipped as she stooped quickly and touched his head, which was cold as ice. She looked, and his ruddy cheek was white and waxen as if with the pallor of death; a fixed and glassy light was in his eye, and he lay there without motion, pulse, or breath. In a pool of what she first thought red paint spilled upon the floor around her, she saw a razor, and close to it a pistol. Then the awful truth flashed upon her mind. He had destroyed himself, and she was standing in his blood. Thus died Haydon, by his own hand, in his sixty-first year, in full vigor of life, and on the threshold of what appeared to be a hale old age. It was a sad end to a courageous life of galling conditions : a poor reward for forty-two years of faith- ful and struggling service to the public under mountains of calumny, contradiction, and neglect. He was buried in Pad- dington Churchyard, next to Mrs. Siddons, and in the midst of his children who were so dear to his heart. His death created a profound sensation ; and an enormous crowd followed him to his grave. HAYDON’S FAMILY. Haydon left a widow and three children—all that survived out of his family of eight. Two lovely girls and three boys had sunk under the distresses of their home. Indeed, I am sur- prised any of us survived. But a few years, and his widow was laid by his side, worn prematurely to death by the sorrows and anxieties of her life. A few more years, and his only surviving ~ daughter—once one of the most beautiful girls in England— sunk into an early grave, carrying with her the recollections of that terrible day, from the shock of which she never recovered. And this is Historical Painting in England! Immediately on Haydon’s death becoming known, the no- bility joined in a public meeting of condolence to the family, 6% 130 B. ORS LA, VAD OW: | and subscribed a sum of money for the benefit of the widow and daughter, who would much prefer to have refused it, but Lord Carlisle, Talfourd, and other old friends insisted that the grave should cover all resentment, and it was invested for their benefit. | It is, however, some satisfaction to be able to say that, how- ever grateful I shall always feel towards those who subscribed at the time, I have been relieved of the necessity of returning the money to their families, as I had intended, by the fact that, shortly after it came into my possession on the death of my sister, it unexpectedly and hopelessly went down with its bank- ers into the deep insolvent, before the necessary arrangements for its return were completed by my solicitors. THE MUNIFICENT PEEL. Nor must I, in fairness to Sir Robert Peel, for I have no wish to deprive him of his due, neglect to state that, on Haydon’s death being made known to him, he instantly sent to Haydon’s widow an order on the Treasury for 200/., also public money, he removed Haydon’s eldest son from the clerkship given to him in 1845, to a less slenderly paid post under the Board of Customs, and to the public subscription Sir Robert Peel added 100/. of his own. But this was a mere ‘‘ dipping of his napkin in dead Cesar’s blood.” The whole sum total of all he ever gave, of public and private money, including his first 1o/. for the taxes, and the 136/. for the ‘‘ Napoleon,” falls short of the 500 guineas he should have given Haydon in the first in- stance for that picture.! As Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel was then called upon to advise Her Majesty to bestow a pension on the widow of Hay- don. The scale submitted and approved was not profuse. The same spirit of guarded bounty prevailed here, and 2s. 9d. a day was considered, in the words of the Royal Warrant, to meet 1 Lady Peel was so ashamed of the whole transaction that she wrote a most amia- ble letter to my mother, and begged to be allowed to add another official pension of 252. a year, all she had power to confer. When Mrs. Haydon died, in 1854, Lord Aberdeen refused to continue this pension to Haydon’s daughter.—-Ep. PAL RONMAGE OF: PILE NOBILITY. 131 the case of ‘‘ Mrs. Haydon’s distressed circumstances, avd the merits as an artist of her late husband.” Haydon’s debts amounted to about 3000/. His estimated assets were about 2000/. His will is a simple document, ex- pressed with brevity and pathos. He declares himself clear in his intellect and decided in his resolution of purpose. He ac- knowledges his debts with an uneasy apprehension that he was morally wrong in incurring them, but, ‘* considering the preca- rious nature of the profession, pardon may be granted.” He asks forgiveness of his creditors. He declares he meant all in honor.’ He names the Duke of Sutherland, Talfourd, and Oniers eas Mis best tmiendss. Ite callsiSirskobert Peel hs “dear friend.” If it were not that he desired to die in charity with all men, and, that this was written in such an awful moment, I should set it down as the only bit of insincerity in the will, for he well knew that Sir Robert Peel was not his ‘°* dear friend,” but had helped to ruin him, and that the horrible act he was about to commit, he had been greatly driven to by the unceas- ing and deliberate pressure of the Prime Minister. Finally, he begs his wife and family to forgive him, ‘‘ for this additional pang will be the last, and relieved from the burden of my am- bition, they will be happier and suffer less.” The will is written in a firm, bold hand throughout. He wrote letters to his children, and among others, one to Sir Robert Peel, the contents of which have never transpired. PATRONAGE OF THE NOBILITY. With regard to the amount of patronage and support which Haydon received from the nobility, although he had many kind friends among them, such as the late Lord Westmoreland and the late Lord Ellesmere, and others, I find upon careful calcu- lation that he got nothing hike the sums commonly supposed. In the forty-two years of his professional life, Haydon was paid and presented by the nobility, with a sum of money not ex- 1 I have heard one of his largest creditors express his firm belief in this.—Eb. 132 Ee Ro AD OW: ceeding in all 2700/., the greater proportion of which was paid over to him by the Dukes of Bedford and Sutherland. From our Royal Family, Haydon, in that time, received one commission of 500 gs. from King George IV., and one sub- scription of 10 gs. from King William IV. If the weight of gold kings bestow on the professors of art, literature, or science, is any proof of their esteem Haydon must have stood low. Her present Majesty did not honor Haydon with her royal patron- age or support; on the contrary, Her Majesty refused to ap- point him her Historical Painter. His late Royal Highness, the Prince Consort, also declined to employ Haydon when so- licited to do so by one of his friends; and when Haydon, in 1844, requested His Royal Highness’s acceptance of his ‘‘ Essay on Fresco Painting,” His Royal Highness desired the Essay to be returned. ‘‘ Les rois ont plus de cceur que nous. IIs oubli- ent plus t0t les services que les offenses.” Thus, if we put together the patronage of the Sovereign and of the Government, and the patronage and gifts of the nobility, we shall find it does not average more than 8o/. a year. This.is not extravagant support for a rich country like England. It would hardly pay for the models and canvas of a dealer’s hack. Nor is there one instance in the forty-two years of Haydon’s life of any single member of the nobility or Royal Family employing him as their Art Instructor, or having sent pupils, or taking the shghtest interest in his School. How then did' Haydon contrive to live? He maintained himself mainly by the support the public gave to his Exhibitions ; by the help of his personal friends, Dawson Turner and Joseph Strutt, for example, largely and generously accorded ; by the patronage of the untitled classes; by his pupils; and latterly, to a small extent, by his lectures. But he was made, if evera man was, for great public works, and that was denied him by the governing classes. One hour of Lorenzo the Magnificent, would have changed his fate and fortunes. But Sovereigns with a taste for Dutch and German art, Parliaments that knew nothing of the functions of Art, and Prime Ministers who thought drawing of no use, or did not recognize the beauties o1 PATRONAGE OR (NOBILITY, 133 value of the Elgin Marbles, have no sympathy with men like Haydon. ‘They donot understandthem. They are an enigma. The Minister would infinitely prefer they should take a com- mercial view of their art, paint only what pays best, and, to use the words of a recent critic on Haydon, ‘* make themselves comfortable on the ordinary level” and paint ‘‘xeat little histort- cal pictures such as the British millionaire can appreciate,” ' rather than they should seek to raise the taste of the nation by striving to restore a lost excellence, or to simplify principles for the instruction of the people. 1 “Blackwood,” June, 1875.—ED, EE rE: a 4 a ® peel 7 ye oe ie ny i" pa ’ ake eh ra af ate 7 ‘ oe Soh ow = ws y Tee ss me oe ie Vo ae : 4 - Pye ashe 1) 7% Uae _ Ae rat - hee ¥ i 2 i on Ait Oigheyoe ioe ; Ae a Ge - Sen ow a seek. atten tate . ; ra ; a 7 * : a oi te A ee ct LP rere ai Ie ae . ae A eG teh Se youd oe Ger. ie ee air Me a Sart z aah haa ‘ : ; “i A ap oe AW wa ie er 7 oe we " a ae ; : cy , ee ee 4 ; oe oe) he A ra ial ante : a8 eae qs } . i ae be ae ) rah ae rg a 7 = a a 7 : 7 7 r es = io si AS : | DAVID WILKIE IN AN ARGUMENT. LETTERS. From DAVID WILKIE, ox the attack upon the Academy. 29, Phillimore Place, Kensington My DEAR HAYDON, Monday, 3rd February, 1812. have seen your two papers in the Examiner, but al- though I have had occasion to admire what you have formerly written in that paper, and am as for- ward 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 that I cannot congratulate you upon what you have now offered to the public in this paper. You have laid yourself open, not merely to the charge of spleen and disappointment, and to the resentment of the Academy, all of which you no doubt laid your account with, but to a charge that is much worse, and which I dare say you had no notion of when you wrote the pa- pers, that of reviling the Academy in order to ingratiate yourself with the Institution. Thus your panegyric on the general conduct of the Institution, your indignation at the as- persion 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 138 BR LAM DON who will be glad to use 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 who- ever may think proper to attack what you have written, this is what you will be most loudly called upon to answer. In all this, however, you are yourself only concerned. But I am very 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 recriminations 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 certainly have not done, it will be necessary in those who take his part to do a greater injustice to me to restore things to their proper level. I think that con- sideration for his being a competitor for the same premiums that you are contending for should have restrained you. You have certainly got plenty of work upon your shoulders, and I should advise you to get out of it the best way you can. But zs this the way an artist should be engaged? Why not fol- low up the reputation your painting might gain you? Let that carry you through. It will lessen the respect that people would have for your talents as a painter when they find them em- ployed disputing in a newspaper. I shall be miserable till I hear you are going on with your new picture. I shall then only be assured that you have regained your peace of mind. I have been getting on well with my ‘°° Blind Man’s Buff,” which I wish you much to come and see. I called the other day, but I did not find you. Could you come and dine with me on Wednesday the Fast day? I shall be very quiet, and if you come early you can have a ride on the horse. I can dine either at three or four o’clock if you will come. If I donot hear from you I shall expect you. I am, my dear Haydon, Yours most sincerely, DAVID WILKIE. LETTERS. | 130 Letter from WILKIE afler HAYDON’S attack on the Academy. My DEAR HAYDON, April, 1812. I have given the subject of your note some consideration, and, as I believe that under the present circumstances your ¢oing to a private view at the Royal Academy with one of my tickets would do me a very serious injury, I shall esteem it a particular favor if you will not insist on having the ticket for the purpose. If it were necessary to satisfy you that I have no im- proper views in asking such a favor, I should have no objection to destroy the ticket in question, otherwise I think it might be a gratification to yourself as well as to me if I were to give it to our common friend, to whom it might perhaps be of some Service. Yours, DAVID WILKIE. From LEIGH HUNT. My DEAR HAYDON, West End, Hampstead, 25th November, 1812. Mrs. Hunt is going to her modelling again, and wishes for a good original bust, not so large as life, in order that she may be able to work at it easily and on the table of an evening. Do you know anybody who could lend her such a one for two or three months, and a small bust of Apollo, for instance, or any other that has a good poetical head of hair? J am getting better, just in time for those legal rogues, and am preparing my next Sunday’s lash for that poor creature at Carlton House, whom I really commiserate all the while. I hope ‘‘ Solomon” goes on well (what a transition!), but pray don’t forget your ‘‘ Mercury” as an occasional refresh- ment. It is an exquisite little conception, and dipped in poetry. Yours very truly, LEIGH HUNT. 140 SB: URN OTeA NaNO DN’, Zo LEIGH HUNT, zz prison for libelling the PRINCE REGENT. My DEAR HUNT, Friday night, 12th February, 1813. I am most anxious to see you, but have been refused admittance, and was told yesterday you would write to your friends when you wished to see them, by Mr. Cave, the Under- Governor or gaoler. I really felt my heart ache at every line of your last week’s effusion. All your friends were affected, and all complained of the cruelty and severity of your sentence. I am delighted Mrs. Hunt and the children are now admitted to you, and if they ultimately relax, with respect to your friends, I hope in God the pressure of your imprisonment will be greatly lightened. I must say I have been excessively irri- tated at not having seen you yet; and had I gone to you as I intended the day on which the committee sat, I find, my dear fellow, I should have been allowed to see you; but I suffered myself to be advised out of my intention. I have never yet acted by the advice of others, in opposition to my own judg- ment, without having cause to repent it. I assure you, my dear Hunt, I think of you often, with the most melancholy and ex- quisite sensations. After my day’s study I generally lay my head on my hand, draw near the fire, and muse upon you till midnight, till ] am completely wrapped in the delusion of my fancy. Isee you, as it were, in a misty vision. I imagine my- self quietly going to you in the solemnity of evening; I think I perceive your massy person, erect, solitary, nearly lost in deep-toned obscurity, pressing the earth with supernatural weight, encircled with an atmosphere of enchanted silence, into which no being can enter without ashudder. As I advance with whispering steps, I imagine, with an acuteness that amounts to realitv, I hear oozing on the evening wind, as it sweeps along with moaning stillness, the strains of your captive flute; I then stop and listen with gasping agitation, and with associations of our attachment, and all the friendly affecting proofs I have had of it; afraid to move, afraid to stir, lest I might lose one mel- ancholy tone, or interrupt by the most imperceptible motion one sweet and soothing undulation. My dear fellow, Iam not LEP TE RS. 141 ainan of tears, nor do I recollect ever yielding to them but when my mother died. But I declare I felt a choking sensation when I rose to retire to rest after this waking abstraction. I have no doubt we shall talk over this part of our existence when we are a little advanced in life with excessive interest. Let misfortune confirm instead of shake your principles, and you will issue again into the world as invulnerable as you left it. Take care of your health; use as much exercise as you can. Send me word by your nephew, or through Mrs. Hunter, when I can see you, for which I am very anxious; and believe me unalterably your faithful and attached friend, BN. HAY DON: From BENJAMIN WEST. DEAR DIR, Newman Street, 17th February, 1814. The business was not adjusted in time for me to draw out money from my bankers before five o’clock this day, or I would have sent it to you; but I hope the enclosed draft of to- morrow’s date will be adiquate (szc) to keep the wolfe (szc) from your door, and leave your mind in freedom in exercising your talents of acquiring excellence in your profession in painting, of which you have a stock to work upon. Dear Sir, yours with friendship and sincerity, BENJAMIN WEST. P.S.—The gout in my right hand has made it defficult (szc) for me to write this note intelligeble (szc).’ Mr. HAYDON. 1 Haydon (1843) endorses this letter: ‘‘I hope this will be read some day through- out Europe. I hope it will show the great nations—France, Germany, Russia, Spain, and Italy—how England encourages High Art, and in what a condition it leaves its professors, young and old. Whilst I write this I have been eight years without a com- mission from the nobility ; and of the thirty-nine years I have been a historical painter, thirty-two have been without an order of any kind. Hilton could have told a tale as sad: West, but for the King, perhaps worse. At eighty years of age this celebrated old man, who had been taught to rely on his income from the King as long as he lived, 142 B. Lee VeaDOM, From LEIGH HUNT. My DEAR HAYDON, Surrey Gaol, 5th May, 1814. I need not tell you how I rejoice at the sale of your pic- ture,’ and in the conquest you have obtained over the people by the main force of talent and independence. It is a truly English victory. But I must tell you that it is more gratifying to me to have heard from you in the moment of prosperity, than I can express. I have sometimes wished to see you oftener, and would: have liked also (for a particular purpose) to have obtained a sight of your work had it been possible ;? but I knew the demand made upon your time and attention, and waited for the days when you would be more at leisure. Come, then, as soon as you can, and let us judzlize with you. You are bound to be with me when you can, for I trust that we are destined to go down to posterity together, as you know we have often indulged ourselves in hoping. God bless you. Ever your affectionate friend, LEIGH HUNT. 7o LEIGH HUNT. MY DEAR LEIGH HUNT, Paris, 6th June, 1814. The moment Wilkie and I had placed our trunks in our hotel, down we sallied to the Louvre. The gallery of pictures was shut, so we walked about and contemplated the building in its various positions. ‘There is something grand in the exten- sion of its square, but the building itself is mean. Small win- dows by thousands, and chimneys by hundreds, make it look more like a model in wood for a larger building than like the palace itself. This was myimpression. In the middle, Bona- parte has erected a triumphal arch, nearly an exact copy of the had it taken from him by the hatred of Queen Charlotte. The secret reason was, he had visited and been honored by Napoleon in 1802. Such is Royal vengeance ! Royalty, I allow, sometimes rewards fidelity, but it always punishes offence.” —Eb. 1 The ‘‘ Judgment of Solomon.” 2 Haydon subsequently had the picture taken down to Surrey Gaol and put up in the prison, for the amusement and satisfaction of Leigh Hunt and his brother. EELS. 143 arch of Titus, and what is not an exact copy does no honor, but rather reflects disgrace upon French art. Upon the top is a triumphal car, gilded, to which he has yoked the four bronze horses he took from Venice, and on each side is a Victory grappling the bridle. The whole is gilded, and has a showy, but not a sublime look. The shafts of the columns are of red- dish marble, the capitals and bases of bronze. ‘To me this is childish and useless. The long line of view from this arch down the Tuileries gardens, through the Champs-Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe, at the other end, is certainly very long, but that is all. There is nothing natural or affecting in such vofe- walks. After sauntering about till night, we went to bed, and at ten the next morning we were at the Louvre door. To be quite sure about it, I had gone down about 6 A.M., and had inquired of a national guard, who, with the most gentlemanlike manner, entered into conversation about England and the war, about Bonaparte and the revolution, and I can tell you ina manner that you would have been surprised, my dear Hunt, to meet with in a militiaman in England. After breakfast down we went. I kept thinking as I went along, ‘‘ Am I going to see the ‘ Transfiguration ?’ and then I had a sort of whirl in my head. OnIwalked. The first thing that convinced meI was at the Louvre was the politeness of the attendant at the door, who, without looking through you for half an hour, as with us, took my umbrella and opened the door. I jumped two steps : again the ‘‘ Transfiguration” darted in my brain, and I was angry at my own tardiness: away I went three steps—the °‘ Pietro Martyre,” too—four: Correg- gio’s “‘ St. Catherine’”—five ; and, breathless, I came to the top. In an instant I was in, and left Wilkie trotting on at his usual pace. ‘The first glance at the whole gallery disappointed Me Pe oOnimirom tecwmeonanected, I tele quite cool.) Vinee is nothing grand in the first glance. The gallery is on the same childish principles as their gardens and their palaces, viz., inordinate length, and instead of looking large, it looked small, and had the same effect on the mind as when one looks through the wrong end of a spy-glass. 144 B. R. HAYDON. Frankly I tell you also, the ‘* Transfiguration ” was not what I had expected to find in effect; they have ruined the picture by cleaning; but it is only the effect they have ruined, for the expressions are really Raphael’s. And then I drank till my faculties were drowned. ‘There is a ‘‘ Correggio” there which no language in heaven or on earth can do justice to. Itis a simple subject; but how he has treated it! Itis the ** Mar- riage of St. Catherine ;” Christ, the infant, putting the ring on -her finger with the pouting impotence you see in children ; St. Catherine holds out her hands with shrinking modesty, while the Virgin is guiding the child with that delicious smile of maternal vanity which I have a thousand times seen in nature, when a mother’s assistance is obliged to be asked. St. John looks over with an expression of archness and beauty that is divine. You know by what you see that not a word is speak- wg, it is allan emanation of feeling silently lghting their features. It is just one of those transient beauties that gleam forth for a moment, impress, and are lost for ever. Correggio has caught it, and realized it, and kept it alive with a power, a delicacy. a nerve, and a sweetness, as if his imagination had been one perpetual lustre of angels’ smiles. When I see you I must talk to you. I can only say now that my principles of art have had a complete triumph in Wilkie’s feelings, and so they will in all who visit the Louvre. The Royal Library is a perfect forest of books. Oh, you dog, if you were in Paris you would die of surfeit the first week ! I intend to go to all the libraries, so as to be able to give youa good account, and tocollect all the catalogues I can. I saw to-day Michael Angelo’s seal, then a pair of globes thirty feet in circumference, and several other things I will tell you about on my return. There is no difficulty of entrance. You walk in, sit down and order away. Come to Paris. You must, be- fore you finish your poem; for here you will find every book, manuscript, or print that will assist or advance you. At every step in Paris a thousand associations are excited. Mighty buildings, begun by Bonaparte, and now left. Monu- ments of a passed-by glory, ‘* naked subjects to the weeping AE RPE TAS: 145 winds,” unfinished and neglected ; and churches, remarkable for revolutions, and murders and scenes of revolutionary fury ; streets for one thing, buildings for another, that you are affected wherever you turn. ; I could not help observing at the Louvre the slovenly shop- keeping look of my honest countrymen, and silently thinking that from those timid, modest, merchant-looking men had pro- ceeded the finest model of human government. If you were to see them in contact with the Russians, Prussians, or Cossacks, you would not take them for the heroes of the world. They looked hke men who could give a good draft on their bankers ; but for any appearance of genius or heroism, Heaven help us! The French are most horribly ‘* down in the mouth.” They cannot conceal it. It breaks out every moment. If you talk, out come politics, and after acknowledging that we are the greatest power in the world, which they always do at the com- mencement, at the conclusion they begin to cavil about the peace. This morning, at the café, you would have enjoyed to hear a Frenchman and a John Bull argue. They could both speak each other’s native language, but not well enough, if they felt warmly, so that the one generally concluded in furious English and the other in French. ‘‘ Mais vous, vous avez pris Malte et Mile de Prance, est-ce juste: 7? <° Why, , won’t you give us something after fighting twenty. years?” This was roared out in a French café, where no human.being understood him but his antagonist. You can have no notion of the ludi- crous effect. The Théatre Francais is a beautiful theatre, and the actors very good. But the arrangements are so different from Old Eng- land. You pay outside, with a gendarme looking over you, to a woman inside a grid. No noise, no fun; no gods amusing themselves before the play begins; all drilled statues—silent, decent, quiet, snuff-taking Frenchmen. Paris is a filthy hole, and the Palais Royal a perfect Pande- monium in the midst of it. You and all my friends who have never left England can, in your antediluvian innocence of mind, > / 146 B. R. HAYVDON. form no notion of this Halle. It stands in the midst of Paris, and is a fine enclosed square, the alleys full of shops, the houses of gamesters and gambling-tables, brothels, etc. After 9 P.M. never was there such a scene witnessed. The whole is illuminated, and the walks and gardens, which form the centre of the square, full of depravity and villany—stuffed full—so full that as you enter you feel a heated, pestilential air flush your cheeks. The unrestrained obscenity of the language, and the shocking indecency of the people, bewilder and distract ~you. Such 1s the eitech and {he power om tis diabolical place that, like the upas-tree of Java, the people for a mile around it are tinged with its vice, and infected by its principles. I have been to the Champ-de-Mars, where some thousand Russians had been bivouacked. Certainly their conduct had been very proper, for not even a tree had been injured: You cannot imagine the people’s ignorance and indifference to the one who rules them. They know nothing. They ask you questions that make you stare. In everything that concerns politics they know nothing, and seem to suffer some over- whelming influence over their minds that they ought to know nothing. I saw the king go in state to the Corps Législatif, and the people seemed to regard it all as a mere ‘‘ spectacle.” One pleasant Frenchman turned round to me and said, ‘‘ It was nothing to the entry of the Allies!” Upon the whole, Paris has the look of being the residence of a despotic inonarch. Everything that is beautiful, everything that is grand, convenient, or salutary, is near or in the palace. The streets are dirty and miserable, but the Square of the Tuileries is 1500 feet, therefore the people ought to be happy! There is no look of individual, independent comfort. Every- thing seems to originate and to conclude with the monarch. All is vast and melancholy; for to me their Barthelmy fairs, and their childish frippery, where they have such weighty political matters to deal with, are simply repulsive. I look upon them as the monkeys of a showman, which, as far as their chain per- LETTERS. 147 mits them, are guilty of the most grotesque and absurd gesticu- lations, and then look terrified whenever they get a jerk. In haste, believe me ever yours, My dear Hunt, By ky) EIAV DON: To MRIGH EVwONa My DEAR HUNT, Paris, 20th June, 1814. I have got so much to tell you that I do not know how I can squeeze it all into one sheet; however, I will do my best. I have been to Versailles, Rambouillet, Malmaison, and St. Cloud. I have been to the Catacombs, the Jardin des Plantes, Musée Francais, and through ail the gaming-houses of the Palais Royal—such scenes as you, in your antediluvian inno- cence of mind in England, can never conceive, and God grant you never may! Fancy whole rooms full of gamblers ; in each room a table, and each table for a different game. You can gamble for Napoleons down to ten sous; each table was full, from the Napoleon downwards. All eager, silent, anxious; in- tensely alive to the slightest motion or the slightest noise. Young interesting women were wandering about, losing at one table, winning at another ; old harassed villains, with the most -polished manners; and worn-out, ugly, dirty, dissipated dow- agers, smothered in ragged lace, and buried beneath huge bon- nets. The expressions of disappointment, of agonized disap- pointment; of piercing, acute abstraction ; of cold, dreaming vexation ; of chuckling, half-suppressed triumph, were so ap- parent that no man could mistake what was passing within ; and as your eye wandered round, your heart sank as you recognized the thoughts of each. They all looked jaded, fagged creatures, whose whole lives had been passed in the perpetual struggles of opposite passions. There was about them a dissipated neg- lect which marked them. The only sound which disturbed the dreadful silence of the scene was the tinkling of the money, or the smart crack of the stick as the winner jerked it towards his heap. 148 B. R. HAVDON. Fune 22nd.—Versailles at present exhibits a most melan- choly appearance of ruined splendor. Painted ceilings faded ! Crimson tapestry torn, and golden fringes brown with age! During the revolution a wing was occupied by the soldiers, and it bears miserable proofs of their cureless inclination to destroy. The Opera House is vast, ruinous, and dark. The Gardens formal, to my feeling. How any one can look at the delicious gardens of Petit Trianon, a l’Anglaise, and not be converted, is to me extraordinary. Petit Trianon was fitted up most luxuri- ously for Maria Louisa, but she never resided there. Both Bonaparte and the Empress remained at Grand Trianon. The servants who showed us Grand Trianon said that they began to feel the blessings of repose: during Napoleon’s reign they were never suffered to be still for an instant. As Wilkie was fatigued, I set off by myself the next morning to Ram- bouillet, the hunting-seat of the kings of France. It is an old- fashioned building, with two very ancient towers. I was ex- ceedingly affected in going through the apartments of Maria Louisa. Her toilet-table was precisely as she had left it the last morning she dressed her hair; her bed-room very elegant, and by the bed stood a pianoforte, which I touched. Her little salon de repos was close to her dining-room, and it appeared snug and refined in its luxury. The old man who showed me. the rooms said the Empress, on her flight here from Paris, walked the last stage with her child. For the last six days she scarcely ate anything, wandered about the grounds in melan- choly silence. When her departure was fixed she was exceed- ingly afflicted. The old man said she was very amiable and of sweet disposition. I passed on to Bonaparte’s rooms, which were also very luxuriously fitted up. His sadle-d-manger was elegant for a hunting-seat, though it did not approach that at Grand Trianon. From his drawing-room | entered a twilight room of small dimensions. ‘This was Napoleon’s private secret closet for repose and reflection, where he used to retire when exhausted, and to which no one was admitted but the Empress. The little room seemed a complete illustration of the mind and Te ee ase 149 feelings of this extraordinary man. Opposite the window was an elegant arch, under which stood a most luxurious satin couch, with the softest pillows. Round the arch were painted in gold the names Austerlitz, Marengo, Friedland, &c., and down the sides the arms of all the states tributary to France, with groups of warlike implements ; and ‘‘N. N. N.” with the head laurel crowned. When Napoleon lay in indolent seclusion on this luxurious couch, he was reminded of conquered mon- archs and his greatest battles. I was exceedingly interested, and felt as though admitted to the centre of his soul, on a spot where his demon spirit had yet an influence. He could never have risen from such a couch but with a mind filled with vast designs, fevered blood, and his brain in a blaze. Why, I thought, might he not have resolved in this tremendous silence on the murder of D’Enghien, on the gigantic enterprise against Russia? I entered into the secret feelings of one who was first the admiration, then the terror, and latterly the detestation of the world. 1 enjoyed the full luxury of contemplation, and my conductor did not interrupt me till I recovered my perceptions. The English garden was very fine, and the canal superbe et magnifique, as the old man said; on it was a large elegant boat, in which Bonaparte and the Empress used to sail. Ina room at the top of the old tower Francis I. died. I returned to Ver- sailles, and set off next morning for Malmaison and St. Cloud. Poor Josephine was dead, so we could only see the gallery, in which were some extraordinary pictures and statues. St. Cloud was shut up. At every step in France you meet with traces of the gigantic wars that have desolated Europe. There is scarcely a waiter in a coffee-house, or a driver of a fracre that has not served as a soldier, been through a campaign, or been wounded in a battle. On my way to Rambouillet I took upa fine youth, only nineteen, delicate and slender. He had been wounded and taken by the Russians, stripped, and turned off to find his way, naked and bleeding. He said he trembled, and could hardly hold his musket, seeing all his companions fal] around him. If it had not. been for Mme. la Duchesse de la Moskowa (Ney’s wife) he must have died. She got accommo- 150 B. R. HAVDON. dation for him and several other wounded men, obtained his dis- charge when better, and gave him money to take him home. He left Chartres with sixty youths, all of whom were killed but himself. ‘‘ If Bonaparte had remained he would have killed all mankind, and then made war upon animals,” said the boy. Coming back, I met a dragoon from Spain. The coachman of the woztture had served with Moreau, and lost three fingers. The contradictory state of mind of the people is strange. They denounce Bonaparte, yet glory in his victories. They tell you of his genius and execrate his government in the same breath. Talking of him as a conqueror they fire with enthusiasm; as a monarch they anathematize him. I had almost forgotten to mention the Jardin des Plantes, an immense piece of ground devoted to flowers of all countries: and spacious enclosures where beasts, birds, and fish from every clime are kept as nearly as possible in their native manner. ‘There is something of Roman magnificence in all this, and also of Roman callous- ness to human suffering. Last year a bear devoured one of the keepers, an old soldier. In England the bear would have been shot, and subscriptions raised for the soldier’s widow and chil- dren. Here they called the bear by the man’s name, and made a caricature of the scene. I have been told of it repeatedly as a good joke. There is an immense museum of Natural His- tory, in which the skeleton of every animal is kept. I have also visited Voltaire’s house at Ferney ; in his sitting-room were plans of the Alps and Lake of Geneva, and it was full of por- traits, among them Milton and Franklin. On the other side hung his washerwoman and chimneysweeper, with Pope Clem- ent between them!, The ballet at the French Opera is much superior to ours, wonderfully fine and graceful; but the singing miserable. The Italian Opera is good; they do not suffer dancing there. I have seen Denon, and found him a most de- lightful man. I have been to Vincennes, where D’Enghien was shot, and have investigated every atom of the field of battle. I am going to Fontainbleau before leaving Paris, which we do on Saturday week, and hope to see your gracious Majesty about the 5th. Your “‘ Masque,” I expect, is finished and out, and LETTERS. ISI succeeded, I’m sure. I have met with ‘‘ Paradis Perdu”-—one line will be enough for you. Mamlet I have seen—murder! Two fine editions of Dante and Ariosto I have bought for you, with Dante’s private Meditations. If there be no duty, they will all be only 2/. 12s.—old plates, curious and interesting. Kemember me affectionately to your brother John, to your Mrs. PiuiMieaned Mis ivinss Eiunt, also your brother Robert ;\ to Scott, Barnes, and all the heroes. [I am convinced, my dear Hunt, that you might make a fine article on Bonaparte’s secret closet, and all that has been thought of there. TZzeve he revelled in dreams of dominion and conquest, of murder and blood; and when his mind and imagination were fired with a sort of gory, gleaming splendor, perhaps sent for the Empress! Truly and affectionately yours, Eee PAWaD) ON). Lixtract from a Letter from JOHN SCOTT. July, 1815 [after the battle of Waterloo]. The appearance of Brussels after the Battle of Waterloo is most interesting. The streets are crowded with Englishmen who have been “‘in the jaws” of death, all bearing about them the hurts they had received in the terrible conflict. Many of them, fine young men, using crutches, or with arms in slings, strutting nevertheless with a gallant coxcombical air, suggesting the excessive versatility and variety of human nature. It was but the other day they were in the heart of the battle, black with powder and perspiration, fierce, bleeding, groaning, dying. Now, they are out ona fine day, in a gay park—after much careful preparation at their toilette—eyeing the pretty girls, and casting complacent looks at the symmetry of their legs. Brussels appears ike a machine thrown out of gear. All the regular and domestic habits of the place are put to rest for the time being. Nor is the virtue of the place increased by the presence of our troops. A constant amatory parade up and dowr goes on in the streets and parks, The convalescent 152 B. R. HAVDON. officers have but one pursuit ; and the women of Brussels, high and low, married and single, are abundantly susceptible. The place is in a perpetual throng of English, Scotch, Prus- sians, Belgians—officers and privates—all free of constraint, all gay, dissipated and careless. The English are highly spoken of, and the Scotch more highly. The Prussians are universally execrated. I found my friend Logan mending slowly of his wound, and on Friday I set off with him for the field of battle; and glad I was that I had a companion with me who had been something more than a spectator of the battle. I was glad of this, for such is the crowding of the English, such their simplicity or their curiosity, and the extravagance with which they purchase all or any relics, that I found the Belgians very much inclined to Jaugh at their visitors. It was with deep feelings of interest that I heard my com- panion point out tome where he rested in the Forest of Soignies on his march to the field; where he saw the Duke pass ; where the artillery defiled, gcc. All was ‘deeply interestine ; butvor the actual battle I could glean but little or nothing. He saw nothing but what was before him. When we came to the village of Waterloo every inn had chaises, gigs, flacres, cabriolets, and carriages crowded round its door, just as you see in the neigh- borhood of a horse-race or boxing-match. Luncheons, din- ners, drinking at every public-house. I supposed Waterloo was close to the field, but it is not. The Duke’s head-quarters were there, but you advance from Waterloo a mile before you arrive at the village of Mont St. Jean, a much smaller place, about half a mile in front of which the battle was fought. On the field I found a twelve-pound shot, which had plunged from our guns into the heart ofthe French lines. This trophy I car- ried with me for five or six miles ina blazing day, and I mean to bring it home, with the cuirass and other spoils of battle which I havesecured. I postpone what I have to say about the field till my next. I am, dear Haydon, ever yours, JOHN SCOTT. BATTERS. 153 Lixtract of a Letter from DAVID WILKIE. 18th August, 13816, Yesterday morning Lord Lynedoch (Sir Thomas Gra- ham that was) called upon me, and said thatif I should be at home at four o’clock, the Duke of Wellington and a party that came to meet at his house previous to that, would then call on me with him. Upon this information I set to work for the rest of the day to get my rooms put to rights, put all my pictures in order for view, and last, though not least, had to arrange it so that my mother and sister might see the great man from the parlor windows as he came in. Matters being thus settled, we waited in a sort of breathless expectation for their arrival, and at half-past four they accord- ingly came. The party consisted of the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, Lady Argyle and another lady, the Duke of Welling- ton and Lord Lynedoch, to all of which the latter introduced me asthey came in. When they went upstairs they were first occupied in looking at the pictures severally, but without en- tering into conversation further than by expressing a general approbation. The Duke, on whom my attention was fixed, seemed pleased with them, and said in his firm voice, ‘* Very good,” ‘* Capital,” &c., but said nothing in the way of remark, and seemed indeed not much attended to by the company, of whom the ladies began to talk a good deal. They went on this way for a considerable time ; and I had every reason to feel sat- ished with the impression my works seemed to make on the Duke and Duchess of Bedford and the others, but though the Duke of Wellington seemed full of attention, I felt disappointed with his silence. At last Lady Argyle began to tell me that the Duke wished me to paint him a picture, and was explaining what the subject was; whenthe Duke, who was at that time seated on a chair and looking at one of the pictures that hap- pened to be on the ground, turned to us, and swinging back upon the chair, turned up his lively eye to me, and said that the subject should be a parcel of old soldiers assembled together on their seats at the door of a public-house, chewing tobacco Tie 154 B. R. HAYDON. and talking over their old stories. He thought they might be in any uniform, and that it should be at some public-house in the King’s Road, Chelsea. I said this would make a most beautiful picture, and that it only wanted some story or a principal incident to connect the figures together; he said perhaps playing at skittles would do, or any other game, when I proposed that one might be reading a newspaper aloud to the rest, and that in making a sketch of it many other incidents would occur. Inthis he perfectly agreed, and said I might send the sketch to him when he was abroad. He then got up and look- ed at his watch, and said to the company his time was nearly out, as he had to go and dine with the Duke of Cambridge. After they had proposed to go, he made me a bow, and as he went out of the room he turned to me, and said, ‘‘ Well, when shall I hear from you?” To which I replied that my immediate engagements, and the time it would take to collect materials for his Grace’s subject, would prevent me being able to get it done for two years. - ** Very well,” said he, ‘‘ that will be soon enough for me.” They then went downstairs; and as they went out, our people were all ready to see him from the parlor windows: when he got to the gate, he made me a bow again, and seeing at the same time my family at the parlor windows he bowed to them also. As he got upon his horse he observed all the families and the servants were at the windows ; and I saw two lifeguardsmen, the rogues, just behind the pillar at the corner, waiting to have a full view of him. The sensation this event occasioned quite unhinged us for the rest of the day. Nothing was talked of but the Duke of Wellington ; and the chair he happened to sit upon has been carefully selected out, and has been decorated with ribbons, and there is a talk of having an inscription upon it, descriptive of the honor it has received. With respect to the appearance of the man, none of the por- traits of himare like him. He is younger and fresher, more active and lively, and in his figure more clean-made and firmer built than I was led to expect. His face is in some respects odd ; has no variety of expression, but his eye is extraordinary, LET TIGR. I 5 5 and is almost the only feature I remember ; but I remember it so well thatI think I see it now. Ithas not the hungry and de- vouring look of Bonaparte, but seems to express in its liveli- ness the ecstacy that an animal would express in an active and eager pursuit. Zo DAVID WILKIE. 27 tn October, 1 tor I have been at Hampstead this fortnight for my eyes, and shall return with my body much stronger for application. The greater part of my time has been spent in Leigh Hunt’s society, who is certainly one of the most delightful companions. Full of poetry and art, and amiable humor, we argue always with full hearts on everything but religion and Bonaparte; and we have resolved never to talk of these, particularly as I have been recently examining Voltaire’s opinions concerning Chris- tianity, and turmoiling my head to ascertain fully my right to put him into my picture. Though Leigh Hunt is not deep in knowledge, moral, meta- physical, or classical, yet he is intense in feeling, and has an intellect for ever on the alert. Heis like one of those instru- ments on three legs, which, throw it how you will, always pitches on two, and has a spike sticking for ever up and ever heagy tor yous ile, sets at a subject with a scent like a DOME le) Sia, remarkable, man, and created a sen- sation by his independence, his courage, his disinterested- ness in public matters ; and by the truth, acuteness, and taste of his dramatic criticisms, he raised the rank of newspapers, and gave by his example a literary feeling to the weekly ones more especially. As a poet, I think him full of the genuine fcclines, His thind canto in °; Rimintis equal to anything in any language of that sweet sort. Perhaps in his wishing to avoid the monotony of the Pope school, he may have shot into the other extreme ; and his invention of obscene words to ex- press obscene feelings borders sometimes on affectation. But these are trifles compared with the beauty of the poem, the in- 156 B. R. HAYDON. tense painting of the scenery, and the deep burning in of the passion which trembles in every line. Thus far as a critic, an editor, and a poet. As a man,I know none with such an affectionate heart, if never opposed in his opinions. He has defects of course: one of his great defects is getting inferior people about him to listen, too fond of shining at any expense in society, and a love of approbation from the darling sex bor- dering on weakness; though to women he is delightfully pleas— ant, yet they seem more to dandle him asa delicate plant. I don’t know if they do not put a confidence in him which to me would be mortifying. He is aman of sensibility tinged with morbidity, and of such sensitive organisation of body, that the plant is not more alive to touch than he. I remember once, walking in a field, we came to a muddy place concealed by grass. The moment Hunt touched it, he shrank back, saying, ‘‘ It’s muddy!” as if he meant that it was full of adders. . . . He is a composition, as we all are, of defects and delightful qualities, indolently averse to worldly exertion, because it harasses the musings of his fancy, existing only by the common duties of life, yet ignor- rant of them, and often suffering from their neglect. How is your health ¢ Ever yours, B. R. HAYDON.! From GOETHE, on receiving his copies of the ‘‘ Theseus” and °* Fates,” by BEWICK. SIR, Weimar, 16th February, 1819. In answer to your polite letter which you did me the honour of addressing to me last November, permit me to re- mark that if such young men as Messrs. Bewick and Landseer have great reason to rejoice at having found in you so able and so distinguished a master, you must, on the other hand, feel an 1 Haydon adds, in a note of later date, ‘‘ If I ever loved any man ozce with a full- ness of soul it was Leigh Hunt. If I ever reverenced a man in whom virtue, forbear- ance , and principle were personified, it was his brother John Hunt: B. R. H.’°—Ep. 4 As - 2 2 botn—4 pa LETTERS. 157 equal degree of satisfaction to have had it in your power to bring your pupils acquainted with such excellent models as those which your country of late has had the good fortune to acquire.! Those of us at Weimar who love and admire the arts, share your enthusiasm for the remains of the most glorious period, and hold ourselves indebted to you for having enabled us to participate, to such a degree, in the enjoyment and contempla- tion of those works by means of such happy copies. We look forward with pleasure (though we may not live to witness it) to the incalculable effect and influence which will be produced upon the arts by those precious relics, in England as well as in other countries. I have the honor to be, with great regard, Sir, Your most obedient, humble servant, }. Wi GOETHE. From Sir WALTER SCOTT. DEAR SIR, Edinburgh, 7th January, 1821. I just scribble a few lines to thank you for your letter, and to add in reply that at any time you may command any information I have about either incident or costume, should you find a Scottish subject which hits your fancy. In geneial there is a great error in dressing ancient Scottish men like our High- landers, who wore a dress, as they spoke a language, as foreign to the Lowland Scottish as to the English. I remember battling this point with poor Bird, who had a great fancy to put my countrymen, the spearmen of Tiviotdale, who fought and fell at Chevy Chase, into plaids and filabegs. I was obliged at last to compound for one Highland chief, for the tartan harmonised so much with some of the other colors, the artist would not part with him. Adieu, my dear Sir ; proceed to exert your talents in prosecu- tion and in representation of what is good and great, and so, as Ophelia says, ‘‘God be with your labor!” I am very 1 The Elgin Marbles. 158 B. Ry HANA ON: happy to have seen you, and hope to show you one day some of our scenery. By the way, there is a tale of our country which, were the subject, well known as it is, but a local and obscure tradition, strikes me as not unfit for the pencil, and I will tell it you in three words. In ancient times there lived on the Scottish frontier, just opposite to England, a champion belonging to the clan of Arm- strong called the Laird’s Jock, one of the most powerful men of his time in stature and presence, and one of the bravest and most approved in arms. He wielded a tremendously large and heavy two-handed sword, which no one on the west border could use save himself. After living very many (years) with- out a rival, Jock-of-the-Side became old and bedridden, and could no longer stir from home. His family consisted of a son and daughter, the first a fine young warrior, though not equal to his father; and the last a beautiful young woman. About this time, an English champion of the name of Foster, ancient rivals of the Armstrongs, andan Englishman to boot, gave a chal- lenge to any man on the Scottish side to single combat. These challenges were frequent among the Borderers, and always fought with great fairness, and attended with great interest. The Laird’s Jock’s son accepted the challenge, and his father presented him on the occasion with the large two-handed sword which he himself had been used to wield in battle. He also insisted on witnessing the combat, and was conveyed in a litter to a place called Turner’s Holm, just on the frontier of both kingdoms, where he was placed, wrapped up with great care, under the charge of his daughter. The champions met, and young Armstrong was slain; and Foster, seizing the sword, waved it in token of triumph. The old champion never dropped a tear for his son; but when he saw his renowned weapon in the hands of an Englishman, he set up a hideous cry, which is said to have been heard at an incredible distance, and exclaiming, ‘* My sword! my sword!” dropped into his daughter’s arms, and expired. I think that the despair of the old giant, contrasted with the LETTERS. 159 beautiful female in all her sorrows, and with the accompani- ments of the field of combat, are no bad subject for a sketch a la mode of Salvator, though perhaps better adapted for sculpture. Yours, at length, WALEEBER SCOTT. From CC. LAMB. DEAR HAYDON, India House, oth October, 1822. Poor Godwin has been turned out of his house and busi- ness in Skinner street; and if he does not pay two years’ arrears of rent, he will have the whole stock, furniture, &c., of his new house (in the Strand) seized when term begins. We are trying to raise a subscription for him. My object in writing this, is simply to ask you if this is a kind of case which would be likely to interest Mrs. Coutts in his behalf; and wo in your opinion is the best person to speak with her on his behalf. Without the aid of from 300/. to 4oo/. by that time, early in November, he must be ruined. You are the only person I can think of, of her acquaintance, and can, perhaps, if not your- self, recommend the person most likely to influence her. Shel- ley had engaged to clear him of all demands, and he has gone down to the deep insolvent. Yours truly, C. LAMB. Is Sir Walter to be applied to, and by what channel ? From C. LAMB. DEAR H., Tuesday, 2th. I have written a very respectful letter to Sir W.S. God- win did not write, because he leaves all to his committee, as I will explain to you. If this rascally weather holds, you will see but one of us on that day. Yours, with many thanks, Cy WAviE 160 B. RE APAV DON. From Sir WALTER SCOTT. DEAR SIR, (No date.) Iam much obliged to Mr. Lamb and you for giving me an opportunity of contributing my mite to the relief of Mr. Godwin, whose distresses I sincerely commiserate. I enclosea cheque for 10/., which I beg Mr. Lamb will have the kindness to apply as he judges best in this case. I should not wish my name to be made public as a subscriber (supposing publicity to be given to the matter at all), because I dissent from Mr. God- win’s theory of politics and morality as sincerely as I admire his genius, and it would be indelicate to attempt to draw sucha distinction in the mode of subscribing. I was much amused with Mr. Godwin’s conversation upon his return from Edinburgh, some years ago, when he passed a day at this place. I beg my respects to Mr. Lamb, whom I should be happy to see in Scotland, though I have not forgotten his metropolitan preference of houses to rocks, and citizens to wild rustics and highland men. You should have been in Edinburgh to see the King’s recep- tion, which had something very wild and chivalrous.in it, re- sembling more what we read in Olivier or Froissart, than any- thing I ever saw. I congratulate you on the progress of “* Lazarus.” I fear Wet will be long ere I have the pleasure to see it, but I have no doubt it will add to your deserved laurels. Believe me, my dear Sir, faithfully yours, WALTER SCOTT. From Sir WALTER SCOTT. DEAR SR, Edinburgh, 23rd February, 1826. J have received your kind letter, and have little to say in answer but what is reasonably indifferent to myself and will be agreeable to you. I have lost a large fortune, but I have ample competence remaining behind, and so I am just like an oak that loses its leaves and keeps its branches. If I had ever TELE DLO TS 161 been a great admirer of money, I might have been at this moment very rich, for I should have had all I have lost, and much more. But I knew no mode of clipping the wings of fortune, so I might also have lost what I have set my heart upon, and I should then have been like a man who had lost his whole clothes, whereas at present I only feel like one who has forgot his great coat. Iam secure at (all events ?) of the perils which make bad fortune really painful, for my family are pro- vided for, and so is my own and my wife’s comforts for the time we may live. Others will regret my losses more than I do. It would be gross affectation to say I am glad of such a loss, but many things make it more indifferent to me than I believe it would be to most people. I will feel delighted by receiving your mark of kindness. Ican only hope it has not taken up too much of your valuable time. Believe me, dear Sir, yours ever, WALTER SCOTT. P. S.—I hope things go on well with you, as your genius deserves. There is one comfort in the Fine Arts, that the actual profit may be lost, but the pleasure of pursuing them defies fortune. From Sir WALTER SCOTT. My DEAR SIR, 25, Pall Mall, 1sth November, 1827. A battle, said a person fully well acquainted with the SuMjcetuim tact. the, ileroon Waterloo” hhimselitis) very like a ball.” Everybody knows the partner he himself danced with, but knows little about the other couples, so the more extensive the inquiries that are made, the more accurate in- formation will be obtained. If you even jot down a few lines of such anecdotes, addressed to me at Edinburgh (under cover if bulky, to Mr. Croker, Admiralty), I will receive them safe. I should be glad to receive such a mark of your kindness. Particularly I should be desirous to know Shaw’s fate. I am in possession of his skull, poor fellow.’ 1 Shaw was a Life Guardsman killed at Waterloo. He was a remarkably well- made man, and an old model of my father’s. The first French cuirassier who 162 B. Ro HAVDON. I venture to offer my respects to Lord Egremont, whom I had the honor of meeting some years ago. I am truly yours, WALTER SCOTT. From Sir WALTER SCOTT. My DEAR SIR, Abbotsford, Melrose, 2nd August, 1827. Most deeply do I regret the circumstances which render - this trifling remittance, which I now send, of the least conse- quence to you, and am doubly sorry as my present means do not permit, as I would have desired, to enlarge it. But in a few weeks I will be in cash again, and shall have a little at your command, and should the present unpleasant circumstances continue, I will be happy to do something to relieve them. It is indeed very hard that with talents which should enrich you, you should be subject to so much distress. I trust, how- ever, to hear that you are hberated soon from your present unhappy situation, since it seems as unfavorable for the interest of yourcreditors as for your own comfort, that you should remain in a situation where it must be impossible for you to exert your own powers, either for their benefit or for your own. I am with regard, yours faithfully, WALTER SCOTT. From Sir WALTER SCOTT. My DEAR SIR, 4th August. I will speak to Lockhart, for I expect him daily, about what can be done for the subscription. My countrymen are not slow in rendering personal honors and personal attention to the men of genius who visit them, for they have some taste, attacked him, Shaw parried his blow, and before the Frenchman could recover him- self, Shaw cut him right through his brass helmet to the chin, and ‘his face fell off like a bit of apple.’ Shaw afterwards captured an eagle, but lost it, and getting too far away from his troop was surrounded by lancers and speared.—Ep., LETTERS, 163 and plenty of beef and mutton. But cash being scarce with them, I never have great hopes when that is the article wanted. My own situation, still greatly embarrassed, though the weather is clearing to leeward,’ will make it improper for me to give more as a subscriber than a small sum, for there may be people capable of saying I should pay all my own debts before I assist others. I am, in haste, but very truly, yours, WALTER SCOTT. Zo THOMAS MOORE. My DEAR SIR, London, 23rd January, 1830. Unable to bear the prosy procrastination of library readers, I ventured on an indulgence, and bought your book (** Life of Lord Byron”), which I have read and re-read with delight and melancholy. The world will soon acknowledge it as one of the most exqui- site pieces of biography in the language, and although Sheri- dan’s was delightful, yet in style of writing and calmness of deduction you have beaten it hollow. Perhaps you should not have concluded that marriage for men of great genius was likely to be unhappy, because many of such men who were married had been so. Might not the caution have been applied to the character of the woman to be chosen? Surely, when a man of great genius marries a woman who is perfectly content with the reflection of his splendor, and is willing to be informed by him alone, who watches his moments of abstraction, and never intrudes, though lovely as an angel, into his solitude; but when she sees he wishes for solitude no longer, such a wife would have softened and subdued, and not lost Byron, have saved Milton from all his domestic harassings, and have doubled the tranquillity of Bacon or Locke. I venture to think you may do injury to the thoughtless and 1 This may seem of 110 consequence, as what is to leeward must be blown over ; but Scott was right, for it may work back, and hence the old sea-saying, ‘“‘ Always look to’ leeward for your weather.’’—ED. 164 | B. R. HAVDON. unsettled by laying down such a principle as the one I take the liberty to allude to ; and will you pardon my saying that I think posterity will not bear you out in placing Byron by the side of Shakespeare? Byron says of himself (p. 640), ‘‘Z could not write upon anything without some personal experience and Joundation.” Herein, as it appears to me, is contained the whole principle of his genius. He required the stimulus of personal suffering or experience to develop any human feeling, and the excitement of personal observation of spots rendered immortal by others to describe his scenery. Ought this degree of invention to be put on the same level with the self-acting, innate pouring-out of Shakespeare’s faculty ? Shakespeare, who immortalized what he touched by the radiance of his own power, however obscure before; who invented characters independent of his own experience, and conveyed their essence to the reader by a few words, making each man develop himself? Surely not! I wish that I had known Lord Byron. Douglas Kinnaird promised, when I was introduced to him, to introduce me to Byron; but we never met again. Pray pardon this letter, and Believe me, ever your admirer, B. R. HAYDON. from GOETHE. My DEAR SIR, Weimar, 1st December, 1831. | The letter which you have had the kindness to address to me has afforded me the greatest pleasure ; for as my soul has been elevated for many years by the contemplation of the im- portant pictures formerly sent to me, which occupy an honor- able station in my house, it cannot but be highly gratifying to me to learn that you still remember me, and embrace this opportunity of convincing me that you do so. Most gladly will I add my name to the list of subscribers to your very valuable painting,’ and I shall give directions to my 1 “Xenophon and the Ten Thousand.”—Ep. LEE TT ME TOS. ° 165 banker here to forward you the amount of my ticket, through the hands of his correspondents in London, Messrs. Coutts and Co. Reserving to myself the hberty at a future period for further information, as well about the matter in question and the pic- ture that is to be raffled for, as concerning other objects of Art, I beg to conclude the present letter by recommending myself to your friendly remembrance. W. VON GOETHE. To his Wafe. Leeds, 3rd November, 1838; I dined at Dr. Hook’s last night with a large party. Two of the sons of Sir John Sinclair were present. Iasked the elder if he was the one Bonaparte had detained in Prussia in 1806. It was his brother, then only a boy of sixteen. He was travelling from Berlin, and came into the neighborhood of the French armies, was captured by the patrols, and brought a prisoner to headquarters. He was then brought before Napo- leon. Bonaparte was in his tent, with a large map on the table, and Berthier was with him. He looked up fiercely at Sinclair, and asked him where he had come from, and where he was going? Sinclair replied that his father had sent him to travel; and described his journeys. Napoleon sent one of his suite who understood English, and ordered him to read Sin- clair’s letters. The aide-de-camp read the letters, and told the Emperor that they confirmed the boy’s statement. Napo- leon then asked him about his studies, and how far he had got on in Greek. Sinclair said that he was then reading ‘‘ Thucy- dides.” Napoleon said, ‘‘Bravo! now you must stay here until something decisive has taken place;” and ina day or two after the battles of Auerstadt and Jena were fought and won, and the boy was allowed to continue his journey. As I remembered the incident being related in 1806-7, it was satis- factory to have it confirmed by Sinclair’s own brother.* * Mr., afterwards Sir George Sinclair, was travelling with a companion, Mr. Kegel, from Gotha to Leipsic ; and the Prussians being ill informed of the roads by which the 166 : B. R. HAYDON. At Manchester last week they told me that Chantrey, Wilkie, and Shee had been there, and that Chantrey grumbled at the French were advancing, told him he was quite safe to go by way of Glema and Kos- tritz, where the French outposts captured him, carried him to Murat, who senthim on to the Emperor. It is curious to find, by Mr. Sinclair’s account, that although this was only a few days before the battle of Jena, Napoleon did not know where Jena was on the map, and could not find it. But this was a trifle compared to the blunder of the Prussians, who did not know where Napoleon was. Sir George Sinclair’s account is SO interesting itis worth quoting. When brought to the Emperor’s tent, Count Froh- berg opened the door saying, ‘‘ Voila, Sire lejeune Anglais dontje viens de parler a votre Majesté.” ‘The door closed, Mr. Sinciair madea low bow, and on raising his eyes saw a little figure arrayed in a white night-capand dressing-gown ; an officer in uni- form, Marshal Berthier, the Minister at War, standing by his side. ‘‘ The Emperor stood still with his arms crossed, and a cup of coffee in his right hand: he surveyed me attentively, and said, ‘Qui étes-vous?’ My reply was, ‘ Sire, je suis sujet de S. M. Britannique.’ ‘D’ot venez-vous?’ ‘Sire, je viens de Gotha en Saxe; et en me redant de la Leipzig j’ai été arrété par quelques soldats des avant postes, qui mont mené a Gera chez le Grand-Duc de Berg; et, S. A. m’a envoyé ici pour avoir l’hon- neur d’étre examiné par V. M.’ ‘ Par ot étes-vous passé?’ ‘ Sire, je suis pas sé par Weimar, Erfurt, et Jena, d’ol n’ayant pas pu procurer des chevaux pour nous con- duire plus loin que jusqu’a Gleina——’ ‘Ou est Gleina? et qu’est-ce que c'est? ‘Gleina, Sire, est un petit village appartenant au Duc de Gotha.’ ** Upon hearing that I had passed through these places, he paused, and then said, ‘'Tracez-moi le plan de votre route.’ He then sat down ata table, on which a map of Germany was spread... .and, leaning his face upon his thumb and forefinger, looked me ful! in the face, and said,‘ Quel jour étes-vous parti de Gotha?’ At that moment I had forgotten the exact day of our departure ; I began to calculate. This pause, though but a short one, excited the Emperor’simpatience. ‘ Je vous demande, quel jour étes-vous parti de Gotha?’ His abrupt manner, and a significant look which I saw him exchange with Berthier, would have very much interrupted my calculation, had I not concluded it, and named the exact day of our departure. He then looked for Gotha on the map, and asked me a number of questions as to the strength of the Prussians in that place, the reports prevalent in regard to their probable movements, &c. He next sought out Erfurt, and inquired whether I had observed any troops in motion between the two places? He was very minute in his interrogatories with regard to Erfurt. He asked how strong the garrison was there? I replied, that this was a point which [ had not had any opportunity of ascertaining. He asked me if [had been at the parade? I replied in the affirmative. ‘ Howmany regiments were present ?’ ‘Sue, I cannot tell ; the Duke of Brunswick was then at Erfurt, and there seemed to be almost as many officers as soldiers assembled on the parade.’ ‘Is Erfurta well- fortified town?’ ‘ Sire, I know very little about the strength of fortifications.” ‘ Y a-t-il un chateau a Erfurt?’ Upon this point I felt some doubts; but was afraid to plead ignorance again, lest he should imagine thatit was feigned. I therefore boldly said, ‘Oui, Sire, il y a un chateau.” After inquiring whether [ had made any observations on the road between Erfurt and Weimar, he proceeded to question me minutely as to School of Design; but they told me their influence was gone. The School is getting on pretty well. I am to make a re- the state of the latter place, the number of troops quartered there, the destination of the Grand Duke, &c. ‘(Qn my mentioning that Jena was the next place at which we stopped, Napoleon did not immediately discover its exact situationonthe map. I, therefore, had to point to it with my finger, and show him the place at which he soon afterwards achieved so brilliant and decisive a victory. He inquired who commanded at Jena, what was the state of the town, whether I knew any particulars about the garrison, &c.; and then made similar inquiries m regard to Gleina and the intervening road. *‘ Having followed up the investigation until the moment when we were arrested, he paused and looked at me very earnestly. ‘Comment!’ said he, ‘ voulez-vous que je croie tout ce que vous dites? Les Anglais ne voyagent pas ordinairement a pied sans domestique, et comme cela’ (looking at my dress, which consisted in an old box- coat of rough and dark materials, which I had for some time previously only worn asa cover round my legs, when travelling mn a carriage, but which I had been glad to re- sume as an article of dress, over my other clothes, when obliged to travel on toot). ‘Il est vrai, Sire,’ I replied, ‘ que cela peut paratire un peu singulier, mais des circonstances impérieuses, et ’impossibilité de trouver des chevaux, nous ont obligés a cette dé- marche; d’ailleurs, je crois que j’ai dans ma poche des lettres qui prouveront la vérité de tout ce que j’ai dit au sujet de moi-méme.’ **T then drew out of the pocket of the old box-coat some letters. When I laid these upon the table, Napoleon pushed them quickly towards Count Frohberg, nodding to him rapidly with his head. The Count immediately took up the letters, and said to the Emperor whilst opening them, that, from having examined and conversed with me during our journey, he thought he could be responsible for the truth of everything I had said. *¢ After cursorily glancing through some of the papers, he said, ‘These letters are of no consequence, and quite of a private nature ; for instance, here is one from Mr. Sinclair’s father, in which, after reminding him of the attention he had paid to the Greek and Latin languages in England, he expresses a hope that the same care will be bestowed upon the acquisition of the French and German abroad.” ‘‘Napoleon’s features here relaxed into a smile; and I nevercan forget the kind- ness with which he eyed me, whilst he said, ‘ Vous avez donc appris le Crecet le Latin ; quels auteurs avez-vous lus?’ ‘‘T mentioned Homer, Thucydides, Cicero, and Horace; upon whichhe replied, ‘C’est fort bien, c’est fort bien,’ and then turning to Berthier, he added, ‘ Je ne crois pas que ce jeune homme soit espion ; mais l’autre qui est avec lui, le sera, et aura amené ce jeune homme avec lui pour étre moins suspect.’ He then made a slight in- clination of the head, asa signal for me to retire ; upon which I bowed profoundly, and passed into the ante-chamber ; after which Mr. Kegel was introduced.””—Pp. 30, 31, 32, 33, 34: Mr. Kegel was severely examined by the Emperor and minutely questioned. Upon the good pastor remarking that he had believed the French were quite in another direction, and that was also the belief of the Duke of Brunswick and ‘his staff, Napo- leon smiled to himself, saying, ‘‘ Ce sont des perruques. Ils se sont furieusement trompés.” (See Sir George Sinclair’s ‘* Memoir.”’)—Ep. 168 B. R: HAVDON. port to the Committee. It is infinitely better than it was, but on my second visit I had to find fault. From ELIZABETH BARRETT (BROWNING). My DEAR SIR, My intention was to return by your messenger, when he shoulascome for the picture, some expression of my sense of your very great kindness in trusting it with me, together with this sonnet, but having since heard from my sister that it may be almost as long as I wish (no! it can’t be so long) before you send such a messenger, I cannot defer thanking you beyond to- day, lest you should fancy me either struck dumb with the pleasure you conferred, or still worse, born an ungrateful person. Pray, dear Sir, believe how different is the reality from the last supposition. I have indeed looked at your picture until I lost my obliga- tion to you in my admiration of your work, but in no other way have I been ungrateful. How could I beso? I have seen the creat poet who “‘ reigns over us” twice, face to face, and by you Isee him the thirdtime. You have brought me Wordsworth and Helvellyn into this dark and solitary room. How should I not thank you? Judge for yourself, Mr. Haydon. But you will judge the Sonnet, too, and will probably not acquit it. It confesses to speaking unworthily and weakly the feeling of the writer, but se is none the less your obliged ELIZABETH BARRETT. P.S.—A letter from our mutual dear friend, Miss Mitford, says that Mr. Lucas had been talking to her rapturously of your cartoon, ¢#e cartoon which I have seen with my ears. Mrs. BROWNING’S Sonnet on Haypon’s Picture of WORDSWORTH, 1842. ‘* Wordsworth upon Helvellyn! Let the cloud Ebb audibly along the mountain wind, Then break against the rock, and show behind The lowland vallies floating up to crowd JIB IT ITS, 169. The sense with beauty. Hewith forehead bowed And humble-lidded eyes, as one inclined Before the sovran thoughts of his own mind, And very meek with insp'rations proud, Takes here his rightful place as Poet-Priest By the high altar, singing prayer and prayer To the yet higher heavens. A vision free And noble, Haydon, hath thine art releast. No portrait this with academic air ! This is the poet and his poetry.” from the Secretary of LORD NELSON. DEAR SIR, : Brighton, 11th October, 1843. I shall be most happy to give you all the information in my power relative to the Copenhagen affair, especially the cir- cumstances attending that important event, the sending on shore in the midst of the action Lord Nelson’s celebrated note addressed to the ‘‘ Brothers of Englishmen, the Danes.” Lord Nelson wrote the note at the casing of the rudder head, and as he wrote I took a copy, both of us standing. The original was put in an envelope and sealed with his arms. At first I was going to secure it with a wafer, but he would not allow this to be done, observing that it ‘‘ must be sealed,” or the enemy ‘‘ would think it was written and sent on shore ina hive. he man Iesent below for a light never retured, having been killed on his way. To the best of my recollection the admiral wore a plain, blue sort of great coat, with epaulettes or gold lace, but on his breast were his several orders, and he wore a plain cocked hat. Civilians in those days were not required to wear a uniform. My dress was a plain blue coat, blue trousers, with a white kerseymere waistcoat. The decks, as you observe, were perfectly clear fore and aft, and the place where the note was written was on the extreme after part of the ship. Captain Foley commanded the ‘*‘ Ele- phant? Captain: (llWesiger, to the best of my remembrance, held no command, but was merely a volunteer on board Sir 5 170 B. R. HAYVDON. Hyde Parker’s flag-ship, and in consequence of his knowledge of Copenhagen and the Danish language he was considered the fittest officer to be entrusted with the flag of truce. I shall be very glad to see you on Wednesday, and shall be delighted to give you any further information. I am, dear Sir, THOS. WALLIS. Extracts from Letters to his Wife. Edinburgh, 13th March, 1846. Yesterday I dined with old Mr. Cadell, the former partner with Constable, sole proprietor of the Waverley novels, and the possessor of all the manuscripts. He lives some eight miles out of Edinburgh. He has paid by the sale of the novels the greater portion of Sir Walter’s debts, and he says there will be twenty shillings in the pound for everybody. Abbotsford is secured ; and this old hero, Cadell, has made his own fortune out of the novels already. He has bought asplendid mansion, with six hundred acres of land, has a second wife, eight daugh- ters, but no son. Six of the daughters are very pretty, blonde to perfection, fair silky hair, the finest complexions, and dark blue eyes. Watson Gordon, the portrait-painter, was there, an old friend of Wilkie’s, and a Mr. Christie. After dinner out came the manuscripts of Waverley, and all the novels; and more beautiful manuscript I never saw. Shakespeare is said to have been the same ; without a blot or a correction. Pages of little writing, line after line, and so close that ¢zyee of Sir Walter’s pages made sixteen pages of printing. He wrote three pages a day, and hardly ever worked after 1 P.M. How Walter Scott could answer to his conscience for putting his hand to his heart and declaring to George IV. that he was not the author of ‘‘ Waverley” is tome painful. From this sight of his manu- scripts I will alter my style for the printer. Would you be- lieve it, these invaluable manuscripts are in no way secured from fire. I startled Cadell by saying: ‘‘ Why don’t you se- Sketched in the Painting-room from Life, Nov. 1816. LETTERS. 171 cure these papers in a fire-proof box?” He assured me there was no danger. ‘°° But,” I said, ‘‘ you don’t leave your title- deeds to such risks. Take my advice and get a box made and fitted with castors, so that it can be rolled out of the house ina few minutes.” They all agreed it ought to be done, and I have little doubt it will be. It is astonishing how little precaution people take against fire. Watson Gordon took me afterwards to Jeffrey’s soirée. Gor- don himself, the picture of a portrait fag, went home. Up I went, and found Jeffrey’s rooms stuffed with blues and no blues, Scotch beauties and Scotch authors, and Jeffrey himself looking very old, feeble, and the piercing expression of his face soften- ing evidently with a submissive quiescence, which he seemed to repose on without a struggle. A lady, to whom I had been presented after one of my lectures, I took in tosupper. She was very travelled and very talented. Jeffrey sat next to her, and a very handsome lady sat on my other side. I fear beauty carried the day with me; but I returned to my duty, and after the usual intellectual talk of a soirée, I contrived to escape without eating supper, and got home by midnight. Jeffrey said: ‘‘ Haydon, you look fat and well, the sure signs of prosperity.” Ah! thought I, if you knew the trouble I have to pay my bills you would not say that. But such are. the blessings of ‘* appearances.” From KEATS. My DEAR SIR, 20th November, 1816. Last evening wrought me up, and I cannot forbear sending you the following. Yours imperfectly, JOHN KEATS. ‘* Great spirits now on earth are sojourning, He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, Who on Helvellyn’s summit wide awake Catches his freshness from archangel’s wing ; He of the rose, the violet, the spring, 72 B. R. HAVDON. The social smile, the chain for freedom’s sake ; And lo! whose steadfastness would never take » A meaner sound than Raphael’s whispering ; Aud other spirits are there standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come : ‘These, these will give the world another heart And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings? Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.” From KEATS. My DEAR SIR, Thursday afternoon, 20th November, 1816. Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be kept by meas a stimulus to exertion. I begin to fix my eye upon one horizon. My feelings entirely fall in with yours in regard to the ellipsis, and I glory init. The idea of your sending it to Wordsworth put me out of breath. You know with what reverence I would send my well-wishes to him. Yours sincerely, JOHN KEATS. Jo KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, March, 1817. Many thanks, my dear fellow, for your two noble sonnets. I know nota finer image than the comparison of a poet unable to express his high feelings to a sick eagle looking at the sky, where he must have remembered his former tower- ings amid the blaze of dazzling sunbeams, in the pure expanse of glittering clouds; now and then passing angels, on heavenly errands, lying at the will of the wind with moveless wings, or pitching downward with a fiery rush, eager and intent on objects of their seeking... . I feel deeply the high and enthusiastic praise with which you have spoken of me in the first sonnet. Be assured you shall never repent it. The time shall come, if God spare my life, when you will remember it with delight. God bless you! B. R. HAYDON. _ . ee: . eo = LETTERS. 173 To KEATS. My DEAR KEaTs, _r1th May, 1817. I have been intending to write to you every hour this week, but have been so interrupted that the postman rung his bell every night in vain, and with asound that made my heart quake. I think you did quite right to leave the Isle of Wight if you felt no relief; and being quite alone, after study, youcan now devote your eight hours a-day with just as much seclusion as ever. Do not give way to any forebodings. They are nothing more than the over-eager anxieties of a great spirit stretched beyond its strength, and then relapsing fora time to languid inefficiency. Every man of great views is, at times, thus tormented, but begin again where you left off without hesitation or fear. Zrustin God with all your might, my dear Keats. This dependence, with your own energy, will give you strength, and hope, and comfort. Iam always in trouble, and wants, and distresses; here / Jound a refuge. From my soul I declare to you J never applied for help, or for consolation, or for strength, but I foundit. I always rose up from my knees with a refreshed fury, an iron- clenched firmness, a crystal piety of feeling that sent me streaming on with a repulsive power against the troubles of life. Never despair while there is this path open to you. By habit- ual exercise you will have habitual intercourse and constant companionship ; and at every want turn to the Great Star of your hopes with a delightful confidence that will never be dis- appointed. I love you like my own brother. Beware, for God’s sake, of the delusions and sophistications that are ripping up the talents and morality of our friend! He will go out of the world the victim of his own weakness and the dupe of his own self-de- lusions, with the contempt of his enemies and the sorrow of his friends, and the cause he undertook to support injured by his own neglect of character.’ 1 This is m reference to Leigh Hunt.—Kp, 174 B. R. HAYDON. I wish you would come up to town for a day or two, that I may put your head in my picture. I have rubbed in Words- worth’s and advanced the whole. God bless you, my dear Keats! Do not despair ; collect incident, study character, read Shakespeare, and trust in Providence, and you w7// do, you must. | Ever affectionately yours, B. R. HAYDON. To KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, 17th September, 1817. I am delighted to hear that you are getting on with your poem. Success to it and to you, with all my heart and soul. Will you oblige me by going to Magdalen College and inquir- ing of the porter there about a young man who, when I was lately at Oxford, was copying the altar-piece at Magdalen by Morales? I am anxious to know about that young man—the copy promised something. Will you, if you can, see the young man, and ascertain what his wishes in Art are? Ifhe has ambition and seems to possess power, all of which you can soon discover. In these cases, should any friend be disposed to assist him up to London and to support him fora year, I will train him in the Art with no further remuneration than the pleasure of seeing him advance. I will put him in the right way, and do all [can to advance him. Do oblige me by exert- ing yourself in this case for me. Perhaps Mr. Bailey may also feel interest. Remember me to him. Yours sincerely, B. R. HAYDON. from KEATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Oxford, 28th September. I read your letter to the young man, whose name is Cripps. He seemed more than ever anxious to avail himself of your offer. He does not possess the philosopher’s stone, nor Fortunatus’ purse, nor Gyges’ ring; but at Bailey’s suggestion, who, I assure you, is a very capital fellow, we have strummed up a LETTERS. 175 kind of contrivance whereby he will be enabled to do himself the benefits you will lay in his path. I have a great idea that he will bea tolerably neat brush. Itis, perhaps, the finest thing that will befall him this many a year, for he is just of an age to get grounded in bad habits, from which you will pluck him. He brought a copy of Mary Queen of Scots. It appears to me that he has copied the bad style of the painting, as well as colored the eye-balls yellow, like the original. He has also the fault that you pointed out to me in Hazlitt on the con- stricting and diffusion of substance. However, I really be- lieve he will take fire at the sight of your picture and set about things. If he can get ready in time to return to town with me, which will be in a few days, I will bring him to you. You will be glad to hear that within these last three weeks I have written a thousand lines, which are the third book of my poem. My ideas with respect to it are, I assure you, very low ; and I would write the subject thoroughly again but I am tired of it, and think the time would be better spent in writing a new romance, which I have in my eye for next summer. Rome was not built ina day; and all the good I expect from my employment this summer is the fruit of experience, which I hope to gather in my next poem. Bailey’s kindest wishes, and my vow of being, Yours eternally, JOHN KEATS. From ‘EATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Wentworth Place, Hampstead, 1818. My throat has not suffered me yet to expose myself te the night air. However, I have been to town in the day-time ; have had several interviews with my guardian; have written him rathera plain-spoken letter, which has had its effect, and he now seems inclined to put no stumbling-block in my way. The difficulty is whether I can inherit what belonged to poor Tom before my sister is of age—a period of six years. Should it not be so, I must incontinently take to corduroy trousers. But I am nearly confident it is all a Bam! I shall see you soon ; 176 B. R. HAYDON. but do let me have a line to-day or to-morrow concerning your health and spirits. Ever your sincere friend, JOHN KEATS. To KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, rotn March, 1818. I have been long, long convinced of the paltry subter- fuge of conversation to weaken the effect of unwelcome truth, and have left company where truth is never found ; of this be assured, effect and effect only, self-consequence and dictatorial constraint, are what those love who shine in conversation at the expense of truth, principle, and everything else which inter- feres with their appetite for dominion. I am most happy you approve of my last Sunday’s defence, and I hope you will like the next equally well. ... I shall come and see you as soon as this contest is clear of my hands. I cannot before, every moment is so precious. Take care of your throat, and Believe me, my dear fellow, Truly and affectionately your friend, B. R. HAYDON. P. S.—At any rate finish your present great intention of a poem. It is as fair a subject as can be. Once more, adieu! BR. Ee To KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, .... 1 feared your ardor might lead you to disregard the accumulated wisdom of ages in moral points, but the feelings put forth lately have delighted my soul: always con- sider principle of more value than genius, and you are safe, because on the score of genius you can never be vehement enough. I have read your “‘ Sleep” and **Poetry.” It is a flash of lightning that will rouse men from their occupations, and keep them trembling for the crash of thunder that will follow. God bless you! let our hearts be buried on each other. B. R. HAYDON. LETTERS. 177 To KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, March, 1818. I shall certainly gomad! In a field at Stratford-upon- Avon, in a field that belonged to Shakespeare, they have found a gold ring and seal, with the initials W. S., and a true lover’s knotbetween. If this is not Shakespeare, who is it >—A true lover’s knot! I saw an impression to-day, and am to have one as soon as possible ; as sure as that you breathe, and that he was the first of beings, the seal belonged to him. © Lord! By hk. HAY DON: From KEATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Teignmoutn, Saturday morning. In sooth I hope you are not too sanguine about that seal ; in sooth I hope it is not Brummagem ; in double sooth I hope it is his, and in triple sooth I hope I shall have an impress‘on. Such a piece of intelligence came doubly welcome to me while in your Own county, and in your own hand, not but what I have blown up the said county for its watery qualifications. The six first days Iwas here it did. nothing but rain: and at that time having to write to a friend, I gave Devonshire a good blowing up ; it has been fine for almost three days, and I was coming round a bit, but to-day it rains again. With me the county is on its good behavior. I have enjoyed the most de- lightful walks these three fine days, beautiful enough to make me content. IV. ‘** Here all the summer could I stay, For there’s Bishop’s Teign, And King’s Teign, And Coomb at the clear Teign’s head, Where close by the stream You may have your cream All spread upon barley bread. Q* 178 B. R, HAYDON, 2. ‘¢'There’s Arch Brook, And there’s Larch Brook, Both turning many a mill ; And cooling the drouth Of the salmon’s mouth, And fattening his silver gill. 3. ‘* There’s the wild wood, A mild hood To the sheep on the lea o’ the down, Where the golden furze, With its green thin spurs, Doth catch at the maiden’s gown. 4. ‘*There’s Newton Marsh, With its spear-grass harsh, A pleasant summer level, Where the maidens sweet Of the Market Street Do meet in the dark to revel. Ser ‘‘ There’s Barton Rich, With dyke and ditch, And hedge for the thrush to live in ; And the hollow tree For the buzzing bee, And a bank for the wasp to hive in. 6. ‘And O and O, The daisies blow, And the primroses are wakened, And the violets white Sit in silver light, And the green buds are long in the spike end, iis ‘¢ Then who would go Into dark-Soho, LETTERS. 179 And chatter with dark-hair’d critics, When he can stay For the new-mown hay, And startle the dappled crickets?” There’s a bit of doggerel ; perhaps you would like a bit of botheral. I ** Where be you going, you Devon maid, And what have ye there in the basket ? Ye tight little fairy just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it? Ze ** Tlove your meads, and I love your dales, And I love your junkets mainly, But behind the door I love kissing more, O look not so divinely. 3. ‘*Tlove your hills, and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating, But oh, on the heather, to Jie together, With both our hearts a-beating. “ake ** ll put your basket all safe in a nook, Your shawl I?ll hang on the willow, And we will sigh in the daisy’s eye, And kiss on a grass-green pillow.” I know not if this rhyming-fit has done anything; it will be safe with you, if worthy to put among my Lyrics. How does the work go on? I should like to bring out my ‘* Dentatus” at the time your epic makes its appearance. I expect to have my mind clear for something new. Tom has been much worse, but is now getting better: his remem- brances to you. I think of seeing the Dart and Plymouth ; but I don’t know; it has yet been a mystery to me how and where Wordsworth went. I can’t help thinking he has returned 180 B. Rk. HAVDON. to his shell, with his beautiful wife and his enchanting sister. It is a great pity that people by associating themselves with the finest things spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead with masks and sonnets and Italian tales ; Wordsworth has damned the Lakes ; Milman has damned the old dramatists ; West has damned wholesale; Peacock has damned satire; Hazlitt has damned the bigoted and the blue-stockinged—how durst the man? He isyour only good damner; and if I everam damned, I should like him to damn me. It will not be long ere I see you, but I thought you would like a line out of Devon. Kemember me to all we know. Yours affectionately, JOHN KEATS, Zo KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, London 25th March 1818. I take it as a great friendly kindness to remember me in this way. Your versicles are beautiful. Surely you will not leave Devonshire without going to Plymouth, the country around which is most exquisite. I will give you letters, and promise you a kind and welcome reception. Do go, my dear Keats; and if you consent, let me know, as I will write to my friends immediately. Go round by the Totness road, which is very fine, and come home by Ashburton and then by Bridgewater, where I have a sister, who will be most happy to see you. I am getting on well, and have got my ‘‘ Christ” better than I have ever had it yet, and in a good state to complete it. I feel very happy to hear your poem is advancing towards pub- lication. God grant it the most complete success, and may its reputation equal your genius. Devonshire has somehow or other caught the character of being “‘ rainy ;” but I must own to you that I do not think it more so than any other county. Pray remember the time of year. It has rained in town almost incessantly ever since you went away. The fact is, you dog, you carried the rain with you as Ulyssesdid the winds, and then, opening your rain bags, LETTERS. 131 you look round with a knowing wink and say, ‘‘ Confound this Devonshire, how it rains!” Stay till summer, and then look into its deep blue summer sky, fresh grass andtawny banks, and silver bubbling streams; nor must you leave Devonshire without seeing some of its wild scenery, rocky, mossy, crag- gy, with roaring rivers, and as clear as crystal. It will do your mind good. Shakespeare, in speaking of some one who is gradually dying, makes another say, ‘‘ How is he ?—Still ill?” ‘* Nature and sickness debate it. at their leisure.” Is not. this exquisite: When I die I'll have my Shakespeare placed on my heart, with Homer in my right hand and Ariosto in my other, Dante under my head, Tasso at my feet, and Corneille under my 5 More II hate Corneille, a heartless, tirade maker. I leave my other side, that is my right one, for you, if vou realize all of which your genius is capable, as lam sure you will. Write to me if you go to Devonshire. I have heard nothing from Wordsworth ever since he went, which I take to be un- kind. Hazlitt is going to lecture at the ‘‘ Crown and Anchor.” Iam sorry for it, though he will get money. It is letting his talent down a little. What affectation in Hunt’s title, ‘‘ Foli- age!” Yours ever, dear Keats, Bek AyD ON: From KEATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Teignmouth, roth April, 1818. Iam glad you are pleased with my nonsense, and ifit so happen that the humor takes me, when I have set down to prose to you I will not gainsay it. Ishould be (God forgive me) ready to swear, because I cannot make use of your assistance in going through Devon, if I was not in my own mind determined to visit it thoroughly at some more favorable time of the year, But now Tom, who is getting greatly better, is anxious to be in town, therefore I put off my threading the county. I purpose 182 B. R. HAVDON. sf within a month to put my knapsack at my back, and make a pedestrian tour through the North of England and part of Scot- land, to make a sort of prologue to the life I intend to pursue, that is to write and to study, and to see all Europe at the lowest expense. I will clamber through the clouds and exist; I will get such an accumulation of stupendous recollections that, as I walk through the suburbs of London, I may not see them. I will stand upon Mont Blanc, and remember this coming sum- mer, when I intend to straddle Ben Lomond. With my soul, galligaskins are out of the question. I ami nearer myself to hear your ‘** Christ”? is being tinted into immortality. Believe me, Haydon, your picture is part of myself. I have ever been too sensible of the labyrinthian path to eminence in Art (judg- ing from poetry) to think I understood the emphasis of paint- -ing. The innumerable compositions and decompositions which take place between the intellect and its thousand mate- rials before it arrives at that trembling, delicate, and snail-born perception of beauty! I know not your many havens of in- tenseness—nor ever can know them—but for this [ hope not what you achieve is lost upon me, for when aschool-boy the abstract idea I had of a heroic painting was what I cannot describe. I saw it somewhat sideways, large, prominent, round and col- ored with magnificence—somewhat like the feel I have of Antony and Cleopatra, or of Alcibiades leaning on his crimson couch in his galley, his broad shoulders imperceptibly heaving with the sea. That passage in Shakespeare is finer than this— ‘“ See how the surly Warwick mans the wall.” I like your consignment of Corneille—that’s the humor of it. They shall be called your posthumous works. I don’t understand your bit of Italian. I hope she will awake from her dream and flourish fair—my respects to her. The hedges by this time are beginning to leaf ; cats are becoming more vocifer- ous; young ladies who wear watches are always looking at them ; women about forty-five think the season very backward ; ladies’ mares have but half an allowance of corn. It rains TESTE TES 183 here again; has been doing so for three days. However, as I told you, I’ll take a trial in June, July, or August next year. | I am afraid Wordsworth went rather huffed out of town. I am sorry for it. He cannot expect his fireside divan to be infallible. He cannot expect but that every man of worth is as proud as himself. Oh! that he hath not ‘‘fit with a war- rener’’—thatis, dined at Kingston’s. I shall be in town in about a fortnight, and then we will have a day or so now and then before I set out on my northern expedition. Wewill have no more abominable rows, for they leave one in a fearful silence. Having settled the Methodists, let us be rational— not upon compulsion, no—if it will out, letit, but I will not play the bassoon any more, deliberately.’ Remember me to Hazlitt. Your affectionate friend, JOHN KEATS. To KEATS. My DEAR KEATS, r4th July, 1818. ( ?) When I called the other morning I did not know your poems were out, or I should have read them before I came, in order to tell you my opinion. I have done so since, and really I cannot tell you how very highly I estimate them. They justify the assertions of all your friends regarding your poetical powers. Ican assure you, whatever you may do, you will not exceed my opinion of them. Have you done with Chapman’s ‘ Homer?’ [ want it very badly at this moment. Will you let the bearer have it, as well as let me know how you are? I am, dear Keats, ever yours, Bak HAY DON: ‘ 3 Keats appears to allude here to the violent political and religious discussions of the set, as much as to an absurd practice they had, when they met, of amusing themselves after dinner by a concert, each imitating a different instrument. ‘The fun was as bois- terous by all accounts as the discussions were heated.—-Ep. 184. B. R. HAVDON. Extract from EATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Wentworth Place, 23rd December, 1818. . ... Believe me, I never rhodomontade anywhere but in your company. My general life in society is silence. I feel in myself all the vices of a poet—irritability, love of effect and admiration ; and influenced by such devils I may at times say more ridiculous things than I am aware of, but I will put a stop to that in a manner I have long resolvedupon. I will buy a gold ring and put it on my finger; and from that time a man of superior head shall never have occasion to pity me, or one of inferior numskull to chuckle at me. I am certainly more for greatness in a Shade thanin the open day. I am speaking as amortal. I should say, I value more the privilege of seeing great things in loneliness, than the fame of a prophet, so I will turn toa thing I have thought on more, I mean your means till your picture be finished. Not only now, but for this year and a half have I thought of it. Believe me, Haydon, I have that sort of firein my heart that would sacrifice everything I have to your service. Ispeak without any reserve. I know you would do so for me. I open my heart to you in a few words. I will do this sooner than you shall be distressed, but let me be the last stay. Ask the rich lover of Art first. “1 will tell you why. I have a little money that may enable me to study, and to travel for three or four years. Unever expect to get anything by my books, and, moreover, I wish to avoid pub- lishing. I admire human nature, but I do not like mex. I should like to compose things honorable to man, but not finger- able over by #zex, so | am anxious to exist with (out) troubling the printer’s devil, or drawing upon men’s or women’s admira- tion, in which great solitude I hope God will give me strength to rejoice. Try the long purses, but donot sell your drawings, or I shall consider it a breach of friendship. Do write and let me know all your present whys and wherefores. Yours most faithfully, - JOHN KEaAtTs. LETTERS. 185 My DEAR HAYDON, Wentworth Place, (no date.) We are very unlucky. I should have stopped to dine with you, but I knew I should not have been able to leave you in time formy plaguing sore throat, which is getting well. . . [have been writing a little now and then lately, but nothing to speak of, being discontented, and, as it were, moulting. Yet I do not think I shall ever come to the rope or the pistol, for, after a day or two’s melancholy, although I smoke more and more my own insufficiency, I see by little and little more of what is to be done, and how it is to be done, should I ever be able to do it. On my soul, there should be some reward for that continual ‘‘agonie ennuyeuse.”’ Yours, for ever, JOHN KEATS. a Jo KEATS. My DEAR IG AaES). 14th January, 1819. Your letter was everything that is kind, affectionate, and friendly, and, depend on it,it has relieved my anxious mind. The ‘‘ agonie ennuyeuse”’ you talk of, be assured, is nothing but the intense searching of a glorious spirit, and the dis- appointment it feels at its first contact with the muddy world. But it will go off, and by-and-by you will shine through it, with fresh lightsomeness. Don’t let it injure your health. For two- years I felt that agony. Write to me beforehand, that I may be home when you come. God bless you, my dear Keats! Wounsmever, B. R. HAYDON. From KEATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Wentworth Place (no date). I had an engagement to-day, and it is so fine a morning that I cannot put it off.. L will be with you to-morrow, when 186 B. R. HAVDON. we will thank the Gods, though you have bad eyes, and I am idle. I regret more than anything not being able to dine with you to-day. J have had several movements that way, but then I should disappoint one who has been my true friend. I will be with you to-morrow morning and stop all day. We will hate the profane vulgar, and make us wings. God bless you! JOHN KEATS. From KEATS. My DEAR HAYDON, Winchester, 3rd October, 18109. Certainly I might; but a few months pass away before we are aware. I have a great aversion to letter writing, which grotvs more and more upon me; and a greater to summon up circumstances before me of an unpleasant nature. I was not willing to trouble you with them. Could I have dated from my ‘‘ Palace of Milan,” you would have heard from me. Not even now will I mention a word of my affairs, only that I shall not be here more than a week more, as I purpose to settle in town and work my way with the rest. I hope I shall never be so silly as to injure my health and industry for the future by speaking, writing, or fretting aboutmy non-estate. I have no quarrel, I assure you, of so weighty a nature with the world on my own account as I have on yours. I have done nothing— except for the amusement of afew people who refine upon their feelings till anything in the un-understandable way will go down with them—people predisposed for sentiment. I have nocause to complain, because Iam certain anything really fine in these days will be felt. I have no doubt that if I had written ‘‘ Othello” I should have been cheered by as good a mob as Hunt; so would you be now if the operation of Painting were as universal as thatof Writing. It is not; therefore it did behove men I could mention, among whom I must place Sir George Beaumont, to have lifted you up above sordid ~ LETTERS. 187 cares. That this has not been doneis a disgrace to the country. When I am tired of reading, I often think them over, and as often condemn the spirit of modern connoisseurs. Upon the whole, indeed, you have no.complaint to make, being able to say what so few men can, ‘‘ I have succeeded.” On sitting down to write a few lines to you, these are the uppermost in my mind, and, however I may be beating about the Arctic, while your spirit has passed the Line, you may playa to” amumute; and consider 1 am -earnest as I can see. Though at this present I have great dispositions to write, I feel every day more and more content to read. Books are becoming more interesting and valuable tome. I may say I could not live without them. If, in the course of a fortnight, “you can procure me a ticket to the British Museum, I will make a better use of it than I did in the first instance. I shall go on with patience, in the confidence that if I ever do any- thing worth remembering, the reviewers will no more be able to stumble-block me than the Royal Academy could you. They have the same quarrel with you that the Scotch nobles had with Wallace. The fame they have lost through you is no joke to them. Had it not been for you, Fuseli would have been, not as he is, major, but maximus domo. What re- viewers can put a hindrance to must be—a nothing, or a mediocrity, which is worse. I came to this place in the hopes of meeting with a library, but was disappointed. The High Street is as quiet as a lamb. The knockers are dieted to three raps per diem. The walks about are interesting from the many old buildings and arch- ways. The view of the High Street through the gate of the city in the beautiful September evening has amused me frequently. At St. Cross there is an interesting picture of Albert Diurer’s, who, living in such warlike times, perhaps was forced to paint in his gauntlets, so we must make all allowances. I am, dear Haydon, yours ever, JOHN KEATS. 188 B. R. HAVDON. From KEATS. My DEAR HayDon, Hampstead, 1820. I am sorry to be obliged to try your patience a few days more, when you will have the book sent from town. I am glad to hear you are in progress with another picture.’ Go ON. Iam afraid I shall pop off just when I (//egzb/e) able to run alone. Ever your sincere friend, JOHN KEATS. 7To KEATS. . My DEAR KEATS. 1820. I have been coming to see you every day; and deter- mined this morning, as I heard you were still ill, or worse, to walk over in spite of all pestering hindrances. I regret, my dear Keats, to find by your landlady’s account that you are very poorly. I hope youhave Dr. Darling’s advice, on whose skill I have the greatest reliance. Certainly I was as bad as anybody could be, and I have recovered; therefore I hope, indeed I have no doubt, you will ultimately get round again, if you attend strictly to yourself, and avoid cold and night-air. I wish you would write me a line to say how you really are. I have been sitting for some little time in your lodgings, which are clean, airy, and quiet. I wish you were sitting with me. Hunt has been laid up, too. Take care of yourself, my dear Keats. Believe me, Ever most affectionately and sincerely your friend, B. R. HAYDON. From KEATS. My DEAR Haypon, Wentworth Place, Hampstead. I am much better this morning than I was when I wrote the note. That is, my hopes and spirits are better, which are 1 “The Raising of Lazarus,” now in the National Gallery.—Ep. PLDT PE ROS 189 generally at a very low ebb from such a protracted illness. I shall be here for a little time, and at home all and every day. A journey to Italy is recommended me, which I have re- solved upon, and am beginning to prepare for. Hoping to see you shortly, ] remain your affectionate friend, JOHN Keats. #4 j To WORDSWORTH. pn My DEAR SIR, London, 29th en 1855. Since the freedom of my native town was voted. to me in honor of my ‘‘ Judgment of Solomon” I have never been so moved as I was on reading your exquisite sonnets. The last is the highest honor that ever was paid, or ever can be paid to me. Keflect, my dear Sir, what I must feel when the first effusion of poetry that ever was addressed to me has been addressed by our greatest poet. I declare to you I was so affected, on recognizing the sensations of my own bosom so sublimely put forth, that I felt as if they had been reached by some inspired being to stimulate and encourage me. Your writing such a fine thing to me is a proof you think I deserve it; and be assured that I willcontinue, by the greatest efforts and most invincible constancy, to render myself daily more worthy of such a high honor. I have read and re-read them ; I read them to Landseer, who is a man of great talent, and an old and never-failing adorer of yours. He is to have a bust. A young man, whom I have never seen, the other day begged, through a friend, to tell me he should be grateful to me as long as he lived if I would allow him to havea ‘ Mask’!! I tell you this, my dear Sir, to convince you how your influence is increasing, in spite of the reviewers. It must give you plea- sure ; you must be made aware of the glory that awaits you. I must say that I have felt melancholy ever since receiving your sonnets, as if I was elevated so exceedingly, with such a drunken humming in my brain, that my nature took refuge in quiet humbleness and gratitude to God. 1 Haydon, about this period, had taken a fine cast himself of Wordsworth’s head. —Ep. 190 B. R. HAYDON. This year has been to me a year of glorious retribution. Without any effort on my part, my miseries have been re- dressed, my talent acknowledged, and my great object ad- vanced. And now, at the winding-up, comes a sonnet from you to carry me to the conclusion of it with glory. You are the first English poet who has ever done complete justice to my delightful Art. Never was so just and true a com- plment paid to it in English verse before, as ‘‘ Whether the instrument of words she use, Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues.”’ This is the truth ; every other poet has shown a thorough igno- rance of its nature, seeming not to know that the mind was the same, the means only different. For this, only, you will have the gratitude of every painter. Indeed, I cannot say to you, my dear Sir, enough about them. I let Scott! see them, and he was exceedingly affected, and thought them what they are— some of your finest, and worthy of Milton—though completely your own. A heart, ‘“Though sensitive yet in the weakest part Heroically fashioned, to infuse Faith in the whispers of the lonely muse.” This went to my heart-strings. How often have I, leaning over a fire nearly out, with my picture before me, untouched for the day from want of money to pay a model; howoften, for a short time, have misgivings made my heart sink; and then something has started me, and I have felt as if a Superior Being had reflected a beam of light upon my brain, and a sensi- tive ring through my frame whispered, ‘‘ Go on!” Eleven years and a-half ago, the very first Sunday after I left home and arrived in town, I went to the new church in the Strand with the most awful feelings, and kneeling, I prayed God to bless my exertions, to grant I might reform the taste of my country; to grant that, before thirty, I might be at the head of my Art; and to grant no obstruction, however great, 1 John Scott.—Epb. LER AECRES: 191 might stop me, but that I might sacrifice myself with delight if necessary. Judge then, my dearest Sir, of my intense feeling to find you so grandly putting forth all the secrets of my soul. I had reverence for your inspiration before; I now revere you with sympathy. God bless you! and grant that the world may be enlightened, to feel the intensity of your poetry, and do you full and ample justice before you leave it. Your notions of Winkelmann appear to me quite true. He was, I believe, well versed in antiquity, but very superficial in his own conclusions—in everything that required thinking out. Such men are but useless rhapsodists, who turn off the minds of all from the beauty and raciness of nature. _I have advanced my picture,' and have got the penitent girl done, as well as her mother and the centurion. I hope to have the sister, who is leaning forward to encourage her, finished shortly. Behind, I intend putting a woman, who may have fol- lowed from Curiosity, and in whose face I shall put a tender concern, a pity—an abstracted pity—as if she were musing on the frailties and the temptations of a lovely girl, as she looked at the penitent one. I have finished a study for it, and it tells well ; it will contrast with, and set off the heart-agonized inter- est of the sister who leans forward. I have thought of another character instead_of this woman, viz., the hard, unfeeling ‘prude, who looks with a sneer of cr el eeleprobation at the penitent girl, chuckling that sze has escaped the vice. It would be a strong character, and would be sure to excite one’s feelings for the penitent, from its cruelty. Characters of this latter kind Raphael seems universally to have rejected. Per- haps he thought them incompatible with beauty and pleasure. All his men and women have one feeling of goodness and benevolence. But there are no women in Raphael so distinct in essence as Goneril, Cordelia, and Beatrice. Characters on this principle are, I venture to think, to be added to the Art. Raphael’s women have all the general lovely qualities that ren- der women such angelic creatures, and possess the graces we wish to be their own, at least those in our own circle; but he 1 *¢Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem.’’—Eb. 192 B. RAV DON. appears to me not to have distinguished them, as nature has done, from each other; nor to have given them those distinc- tive marks in external feature that denote internal variety of feeling. _I have one great favor to ask. Might I ask you to allow Scott to print t the sonnet in the ** Champion ;’ and might he say it was written by you to me? Would you omer to the others, “at separate periods, being printed also? Leigh Hunt’s respect for you seems to increase daily ; his brother it is who has had your bust made. When you come to town again I shall have a fine cast from the ‘‘ Theseus” to show you. Isleep, breathe, and exist among the finest things in Art.’ Myrooms are so full, Ihave hardly space to turn. With my highest respect, I am, my dear Sir, Yours, ‘etc®, B. R. HAYDON. P.S.—Be assured, I will exert myself to make one of my best heads or sketches for your acceptance. If it be possible, it shall be worthy of the sonnets. God grant it may! From WORDSWORTH. My DEAR SIR, Rydal Mount, 13th January, 1816. It gratifies me much that the sonnets, especially the one addressed to yourself, find favor in your eyes and those of your friends. As to your request for permission to publish them, I cannot refuse to comply with it. In regard to that addressed to yourself you deserve a much higher compliment ; but from the nature of the subject it may be found pretty generally interesting. The two others, particularly the ‘“‘ Snow- crested Mountain,” full surely are morsels only for the few. But if Mr. Scott Aeciees it, he is at liberty to give them a place in his Journal when and how he likes.. At the same time, my own feelings urge me to state, in sincerity, that I neers t Alluding to his casts of the Elgin Marbles.—Ep, LETTERS. 193 shrink from solicitation of public notice. I never publish any- thing without great violence to my own disposition, which is to shun rather than court regard. In this respect we poets are much more happily situated than our brother-laborers of the pencil, who cannot, unless they be born to a fortune, pro- ceed in their employment without public countenance. | thank you for the number of the ‘‘ Champion.” After being “found worthy-of-such-eulogy as is there bestowed upon you, the next enviable thing is the ability to praise merit in so eloquent a style. There is also an excellent political essay by Scott at the head of the same number. Pray give my regards to him; and I will take this occasion of stating that it may be agreeable to Mr. Hunt to learn that his ‘*‘ Mask”’ has been read with great pleasure by my wife and her sister under this peaceful roof. They commend the style in strong terms; and though it would not become me to say that their taste is correct, I have often witnessed with pleasure and an entire sympathy the disgust with which in this particular they are affected by the main part of contemporary productions. Iam glad to learn that your picture advances. It is as grand a subject as could be selected. The feelings to be ex- cited are adoration and exultation, and subordinate to these, astonishment and suspense of mind. In all the Evangelists it is written that our Blessed Lord was accompanied with Hosannas. These a silent picture cannot express, and but imperfectly indicate ; but garments may be spread, and boughs may be carried in triumph, and prostrate forms exhibited, as you have done. From the manner in which I have dwelt upon these images you will infer that I think you have done well in rejecting the character of the supercilious prude. I cannot but think such a person discordant with the piece. One of the Evangelists says that the Pharisees called on Jesus to rebuke His disciples, and this is the only feeling mentioned that does not fall directly in with the general triumph and exultation. For there is nothing discordant with these in the question, ‘Ss Who is this 2”? succeeded immediately by the answer, ‘‘ The King of Jerusalem.” In fact, inno stronger manner could the g 194 B. R. HAYDON. overwhelming presence of Jesus Christ be expressed. The request of the Pharisees has indirectly the same tendency. They wished that the disciples should be rebuked, and why? Because their pride was wounded, and their indignation raised by the homage which the multitude paid with such fervor to Jesus on His approach to Jerusalem. A character like that of the-haughty prude belongs rather to the higher kinds of comedy—such as the works of Hogarth—than to a subject of this nature, which, to use Milton’s expression, is ‘‘ more than heroic.” I coincide with you in your opinion as to Raphael’s characters, but, depend upon it, he has erred upon the safer side. Dramatic diversities aid discrimination, (and) should never be produced upon sublime subjects by the sacrifice of sublime effect. And it is better that expression should give way to beauty than beauty be banished by expression. Happy is he who can hit the exact point where grandeur is not lowered, but heightened by detail; and beauty not impaired, but ren- dered more touching and exquisite by passion! This has been done by the great artists of antiquity, but notvery frequently in modern times; yet, much as I admire those productions, I would on no account discourage your efforts to introduce more of the diversities of actual humanity into the management of sublime and pathetic subjects. Much of what Garrick is re- ported to have done for the stage may by your genius be effected for the picture gallery. But in aiming at this object, proceed with reflection, and if you are in doubt, decide in favor of the course Raphael pursued. Before I conclude, I have one word to say of the mode of . publishing the sonnet addressed to you. I would wish that it should appear that the thing was not first addressed to you through the medium of a public journal, but was a private communication of friendship. My wife and Miss Hutchinson send their kindest regards in joining with me in best wishes for your health, happiness, and success. This last word reminds me of your desire that my merits as a poet might be acknowledged during my lifetime. | am quite satisfied on this head. With me it must be a work of BERETS: 195 time : but I frequently receive acknowledgments of gratitude from persons unknown in all quarters of the island. J remain, &c., | WM. WORDSWORTH. LUA. To WORDSWORTH. | DEAR SIR; 31st December, 1816. econ Ouea sonnet) bya youne™ poet. Keats, addressed to me, but beginning with you. I should wish very much to know what you think of it. He promises a great deal, and said in a letter to me, when I said I should enclose it to you, ** The idea of your sending it to Wordsworth puts me out of breath; you know with what reverence I should send my well-wishes to him.” He is quite a youth, full of eagerness and enthusiasm ; and, what greatly recommends him to me, he has a very fine head! He is now writing a longer sort of poem, of ** Diana and Endymion,” to publish with his smaller productions, and (he) will send you a copy as soon as it is out. ieiced not say his reverence for you, my dear Sir, is un- bounded. John Scott has been in town for a short time, dreadfully cut up by the loss of his boy. He brought over a poem written in all the fury and agony of despair, which, I assure you, I think will affect you deeply, and give you a higher idea of his powers than anything he has done. There is a want throughout of pious dependence ; but fora feeling, as it were, of hugging mis- ery, and banqueting on sorrow with fierce and daring defiance, I never read anything so dreadful. It will be published very shortly. I have been getting on furiously and successfully with my picture, and am now suffering in my health a little in conse- quence, but I hope soon to be well and, if God spare my life, to complete it. Hourly and daily, in the morning and in the 1 “ Great spirits now on earth are sojourning, He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake.” —Sonunet to Haypon, dy KEATS, 196 | B. R. HAYDON. evening, does my hope to shine in my glorious Art get more vivid and intense. If my life and eyes are only spared till I can inoculate a sufficient number of daring youths with true principles, I shall have no fear for the art of my glorious coun- try. We must be great in painting, and we wz// be great in’ spite of all the obstructions on earth. I am about to put your head into my picture as a believer by the side of Newton. I cannot quote your ideas, therefore I must do so with your face. If you are coming up this spring, I would wait till then, because I wish to have your hands and every part as it ought to be, which one cannot do from a cast. Do you think you will be in town this season ? With kindest remembrances to Mrs. Wordsworth and Miss Hutchinson, Believe me, dear since, B. R. HAYDON. ~ To. WORDSWORMH. 91 ene “fa And London, 15th April, ane With respect to Hazlitt, I think his motives are easily enough discernible. Had you condescended to visit him when he praised your ‘‘ Excursion,” just before you came to town, his vanity would have been soothed and his virulence softened. He was conscious of what an emergency you had helped him from: he was conscious of his conduct while in your neighbor- hood,’ and then, your taking no notice of his praise added to his acrid feelings. I see him scarcely ever, and then not at my own house. But Leigh Hunt’s weathercock estimation of you I cannot account for, nor is it worth while to attempt. He first attacks you when he had never read your works; then a friend, Barnes,” brought him your *‘ Excursion,” pointed out your son- nets, and Leigh Hunt began to find that he really should have 1 Tt appears by some of Wordsworth’s anecdotes, recorded in Haydon’s Journal, that Hazlitt scandalized the neighborhood at Ambleside by his nocturnal rambles and their consequences, to Wordsworth’s great disgust.—Eb. 2 Mr. Barnes, editor of the ‘‘ Times.” —ED. LETTERS. 197 looked through a poet’s works before he came to a conclusion on the genius displayed in them. Hethen recanted. When you were in town you visited him. You remember what he said, with an agitated mouth, ‘* The longer I live, and the older | grow, | feel my respect for your genius: increase, sir.’”?’ Those were his words. Before a month was over, I again perceived ** doubts,’ and ‘‘ hums,” and ‘“‘ ha’s,” instead of the momen- tary enthusiasm displayed for you, about that time. Scott and I and all his friends accounted for it in the usual way, knowing he never holds one opinion one month, he does not Sophisticate’ himself out of before’ the next 1s over. You explained your political principles to him, and he said he was satished. I think you did a greal deal too much. When first I knew Leigh Hunt, he was really a delightful fel- low, ardent in virtue, and perceiving the right thing in every- thing but religion—he now finds ‘‘ no end in wandering mazes lost,” perplexes himself, and pains his friends. His great error is inordinate personal vanity, and he who pampers it not, is no longer received with affection. JI am daily getting more estranged from him ; and, indeed, all his old friends are drop- ping off. John eto 1S realy a pepe character, My putting in Voltaire’s head has irritated Leigh Hunt Besondl allhope. He intends attacking it. God grant he may; and if worth while, I will answer him with all my might and soul. I never saw anything like the irritation of the Deists about this head. It only confirms me that I have made a capital hit. My turn will come with Hazlitt, for he has the malignant morbidity of early failure in the same pursuit. I have had several side stabs about ‘‘ great” pictures, etc., and the ab- surdity of Art ever existing in England; but he shall see, if he cuts me (up) openly, it shall not be with impunity. In the ‘‘ Edinburgh Encyclopedia,” speaking of English Art, he men- tioned every living painter now eminent, but me! By leaving me out, the blockhead, he made people remark it ; and so he has, in fact, done me good. One night, when I saw him half- tipsy, and so more genial than usual, I said to him, ‘* Why do 198 B. RIGAVDON. you sneer so at the prospects of English Art? you know this is the country where it will next succeed.” ‘‘I dare say it will,” he replied, ‘‘ but what is fe use of predicting success?” He served mea dreadful trick with Wilkie. He asked of mea letter of introduction to see Wilkie’s pictures. I gave it, and the very next Sunday out came an infamous attack on Wilkie’s genius! You may depend, my dear sir, that men of eminence are considered food for such propensities and nothing better. However, enough (of) him. I hope soon to have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Southey. With the greatest respect, Yours ever affectionately, B. R. HAYDON. From WORDSWORTH. 7 : im My DEAR HAYDON, Rydal Mount, 28th February, 1839. “| have had an opportunity of reading your ‘‘ Essay” (on ) Jy painting), in the ** Encyclop. Brit.,” and neither in that nor in | a your letter do I find anything said concerning Michel Angelo, , | | to which I object. = ' I acknowledge him to be liable to all the charges you bring | against him. It would only bea question between us of the 4" dégree in which he isso. Therefore, do not take the trouble ~ | of sending your ‘‘ Essay’ for my inspection. A. There are some opinions in your ‘‘ Essay” about which I (" should like to talk with you, as, for example, when you say Raphael learned nothing from Perugino but what he had to unlearn. Surely, this is far from the truth ; undoubtedly there % isin him, as in all the elder masters, a hardness, and astiffness, (¢”. ¢ and a want of skill in composition; but in simplicity and in depth of expression, he deserves to be looked up to by Raphael to the last of days. The ‘‘ Transfiguration” would have been a much finer picture than it is, if Raphael had not at that period of his life lost sight of Perugino and others, his predecessors. ; Whoever goes into Italy, if pictures be much of an object, (99 & oa \ ~ 2 LETTERS 199 ought to begin where I ended, at Venice. Notas I did with the pure and admirable productions of Fra Bartolomeo at Lucca, and with Raphael at Rome, so on to Florence, Bologna, Pavia, and Milan, and Florence by way of conclusion. Italian pictures ought to be taken in order, or as nearly as may be so, Milan, Padua, Venice, Bologna, Pavia, Florence and Rome. Your ‘‘ Essay” does you great credit. I had asad account of the French Academy at Rome. The students appear to be doing little or nothing, and spend their time in dissipation. Believe me, with kindest regard to Mrs. Haydon, Ever truly yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. To WORDSWORTH. My DEAR WORDSWORTH, London, 31st July, 1836. Your approbation of my treatise is a great pleasure to me. I fear it is thoughtless to speak of Perugino as I did, which I will correct, for you are certainly right. I have the highest opinion of all that simple race. The more we can revert to their simplicity, without their childishness, the better. The Art will decay for the next fifteen or twenty years among the existing artists. But during that time a race will be pre- paring and forming themselves for a Period of Glory which is coming as surely as the saffron streak of dawn announces the rising sun. Wilkie, whose love of money always predominated over his love of Art, has been living on his capital of early fame for the last ten years, till he has so reduced it, that if he does not alter his whole system, he will find the loss of fame the loss of money too. His latter pictures are detestable. He has painted the Queen this year asif he had dragged her through soap suds. Poor little soul! She has not much taste for High Art or high poetry. She and her mother came to see my ‘* Xenophon,” which they did not understand; but laughed heartily at my 200 B Ry MLAVDON ‘* Reading the Zzmzes.” So much for the prospects of historical Art at Court just now, People ask me why the Court does nothing for me. I only reply, °° I am not qualified. .- :l am’ not) very tractablegm certain necessary points of progress to Royalty.” I am likely to be content with my ‘‘ Inward Light.” Adieu! yours ever, B. R. HAYDON. ow fe J fh F ie / PRAY LWW Y ’ ¢ i } r To WORDSWORTH. ee Ten ‘Op 74 SH My DEAR WORDSWORTH, London, 14th January, 1842. A day or two ago the Duke took it into his head to walk out to Leslie's, Pine-Apple Place, to See the. picrune sitemis painting for the Queen, ‘‘ The Christening of the Princess Royal,” and, I believe, to sive Leslie another sittime.- ime Duke walked all the way, which is two-and-a-half miles, and after a great deal of trouble found Leslie’s house. Leslie, who is prudent and economical, keeps a cheap servant, who probably squanders as much again as an intelli- gent one of a better class—and he also keeps his outer garden- gate barred and locked, and one is questioned and cross- questioned before being admitted, as if the house were besieged. After a great deal of trouble, the Duke found out the cottage and rang the bell. After at least ten minutes out came the ser- vant girl, sulky at being disturbed. ‘‘ Is Mr. Leslie athome?” said the Duke. ‘* I don’t know,’ said the girl; = but Pilisees’ Away she went, leaving the Duke in the dirt, without letting him into the garden, and she said to Leslie, “* Here’s, anjold man wants you, sir.” ‘‘ 1s there?” said Leslie ; “* ask him-his name, and what he wants.’”’ Down went the girl. ‘‘ Master Says you must tell your name, and what you want, or I can’t let you in.” The Duke, by this time roused by the question, roared out, ‘* 1 am the Duke of Welbmgton)!”) ° The poor aid jumped up, and ran back to her master, still leaving the Duke outside; out came Leslie in a fright, and, at last, in got his EE LE TES FOS, 201 Grace. He tells the story himself, and jumps up like the girl, with capital humor. Zo WORDSWORTH. London, 16th October, 1842. . In the words of our dear departed friend, Charles Lamb, ‘** You good-for-nothing old Lake Poet,” what has become of your Do you remember his saying that at my table in 1819, with ‘‘ Jerusalem ” towering behind us in the painting-room, and Keats and your friend Monkhouse of the party? Do you remember Lamb voting me absent, and then making a speech descanting on my excellent port, and proposing avore Of thanks: Wo you remember his then voting me present ?—I had never left my chair—and informing me of what had been done during my retirement, and hoping I was duly sensible of the honor? Do you remember the Commis- sioner (of Stamps and Taxes) who asked you if you did not think Milton a great genius, and Lamb getting up and asking leave with a candle to examine his phrenological development ? Do you remember poor dear Lamb, whenever the Commis- sioner was equally profound, saying: ‘‘ My son John went to bed with his breeches on,” to the dismay of the learned man? Do you remember you and [ and Monkhouse getting Lamb out of the room by force, and putting on his great coat, he reiterating his earnest desire to examine the Commissioner’s skull? And don’t you remember Keats proposing ‘‘ Confusion to the memory of Newton,” and upon your insisting on an explanation before you drank it, hisssaying: ‘*Because he destroyed the poetry of the rainbow by reducing it toa prism.” Ah! my dear old friend, you and [I shall never see such days again! ‘The peaches are not so big now as. they were in our .days. Many were the immortal dinners which took place in that painting-room, where the food was simple, the wine good, and the poetry first-rate. Wordsworth, Walter Scott, Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, David Wilkie, Leigh Hunt, Talfourd, Keats, etc., etc., attended my summons, and honored my table. i 9" 202 B. Ri AVION. My best regards to Mrs. and Miss Wordsworth, in which my wife and daughter join. Ever yours, B. R. HAYDON. Zo Miss MITFORD. Edinburgh, 5th December 1820, I left London for Edinburgh in the midst of crackers and bonfires. In the mail were three gentlemen, as silent as myself, until a transparency over an apothecary’s shop, dedi- cated to ‘‘ Jnjured Innocence /” lighted our faculties into furious debate. At it we went the greater part of the night, and Ber- gami, Majocchi, and Her Majesty had their full share of notice, until, tired of argument, we all fell asleep. We got to York the next night, and I staid there two days, saw Castle Howard and one of the finest Vandykes in the kingdom.’ York is very interesting, the gates are all up, and one can have a very good idea of the inconvenience, filth, and impregnability of an ancient city. Iset off for Edinburgh by coach, and got there after a fSCiOUSHOMGM Cyan aoe I had one or two proofs by the inns on the road that England was left behind. Waiters with red Scotch noses, slovenly dirty stockings, filthy hands, and abroad dialect. Landlords cold-blooded, unpolished, and ugly. Never shall I forget, when having determined to go the last stage in a post-chaise, I went in to inquire for the landlord. I was shown to a little withered old man, who was sitting reading an Aberdeen paper, with a rusty brown wig pushed up over his forehead. ‘‘ Can I have achaise?” said I. Without moving or turning his eyes towards me—‘‘I dinnaw but ye mai,” said he, and went on with his reading! Did you ever hear of such provoking, bloodless treatment? I went to bed as soon as I got into Edinburgh, and sallied forth the next morning to see it. My dear Miss Mitford, Edinburgh is the finest city for situation in Europe. The two towns, old and new, are built on 1 The famous portrait of Snyders, painted by Vandyke before he came to England, a perfect work of exquisite coloring, high finish, and grand expression.—Ep. LETTERS. 203 two ridges, which are joined by land bridges, like the towns of antiquity. Some streets run over the others, and afford beau- tiful combinations quite surprising. Towers, arches, houses, streets, bridges, rocks, castles, and craggy hills are tumbled together in a wildness and profusion of contrast and daring beauty, that render the whole town like a wild dream of some genius. I never saw such a beautiful city, and if the inhabi- tants proceed with taste, they will make it the most beautiful place in modern times. I dined with Walter Scott, and was delighted with the unaf- fected simplicity of his family. Jeffrey has a singular expres- sion, poignant, bitter, piercing—as if his countenance never lighted up but at the preception of some weakness in human nature. Whatever you praise to Jeffrey, he directly chuckles out some errorthat you did not perceive. Whatever you praise to Scott, he joins heartily with yourself, and directs your atten- tion to some additional beauty. Scott throws a light on life by the beaming geniality of his soul, and so dazzles you that you have no time or perception for anything but its beauties : while Jeffrey seems to revelin holding up his hand before the light in order that he may spy out its deformities. The face of Scott is the expression of a man whose great pleasure has been to shake Nature by the hand, while to point at her with his finger has cer-. tainly, from the expression of his face, been the chief enjoyment of Jeffrey. . . . Wilson I think the most powerful mind I have yet encountered here. He isa man of great genius, and will be a distinguished figure. No allusion has ever passed about the ‘‘ Magazine.”” They have treated me with great respect, and it would be beneath me to think of what is passed. ‘There is a great concentration of talent in Edinburgh, but yet they have one peculiarity of asmall town. Their stories at table derive their relish from their individuality. They all relate to some one local celebrity that you must know in order to enjoy the story. In London, on the contrary, the stories always refer to some general principle of human character that is found in all the world. But here, they are about ‘‘ Davie,” or ‘‘ Dick,” or 204. B. KR: HAVDON, Sandy,” or some one you never heard of, who is either lame, or stutters, or squints, or has some defect, which is not general, but personal and peculiar. This I suppose must always be the case where the population is limited, and society confined toa small space. 12th January, 1821. I saw Barry Cornwall’s tragedy the first night.’ It succeeded well, and has some exceedingly deep things, but he has not ex- perience enough to compose his materials for the best effect. In Shakespeare, every scene has its point to which all tends and recedes from; and €very point in every Sceme reters to the great leading point in the play, by which means there is never an useless waste of passion nor prominence of situation. The subject of Procter’s tragedy is dreadful. A father marries a young creature his son loved, without knowing it, and the girl marries him under the behef that the son is dead. His letters informing her that he was alive were intercepted by under characters, and when he returns he finds her married to his father! His interview with her is very fine and torturing; and with his father also, but then comes a third regular set inter- view which weakens the effect of the others and of all. There is a want of skilland of composition in this. The third inter- view should have been produced by accident, which would have varied the mode, and rendered the two first more effective. The scene at the feast is very deep. The father and his bride on one throne, and the son on another by himself, while music, gayety, misery, love, and joy, which so often are felt at a splen- did rout, when every visitor, as Johnson says, dreads the hour that is to leave him at his solitary reflections. This is the most striking thing I have seen on the stage. I do not like such subjects. Shakespeare never chose them. His loves, jealousies, horrors, and murders, as well as delights, are allleeitimiate, 2...) But Procter is a man of exquisite and 1 ** Mirandola.’’—Ep, LETTERS. 205 tender genius, and will yet do more beautiful things. My model is come. Adieu! B. R. HAYDON. P. 5.—** Benson” is John Scott, the editor of the ‘‘ Champion.” IT hate this affectation of the age, concealing the commonest thing under nicknames and mystery. TO Miss MITFORD, ' 12th March, 1821. . . . . Poor Scott! his great weakness was yielding to the taunts of men weaker than himself. That such a powerful mind should have been influenced by such an imbecility as his second, a fellow who, tortured by an itching for notoriety, 1 In the midst of settling the composition of ‘‘ Lazarus,’’ news came that the ‘‘Ben- son” of his last postscript, his old friend Mr. John Scott, the editor of the ‘‘ Champion,” had been shot in a duel with M;. Christie, ina meadow behind Chalk Farm, on the Hampstead Road. This duel arose out of a political quarrel between Mr. Scott and Mr. Lockhart (son in-law to Sir Walter Scott), who was suspected to have written certain offensive attacks against Mr. John Scott and his liberal friends, which had appeared in the current number of ‘* Blackwood’s Magazine.” Mr. Scott retal- jated by publishing in the ‘‘ London Magazine” a critique upon ‘* Peter’s Letters to his Kinsfolk,” and in which critique Mr. Lockhart was severely handled. An explanation, an apology, or a meeting was demanded by Mr. Lockhart, and declined by Mr Scott, unless Mr. Lockhart would disavow his connection with ‘‘ Blackwood’s Magazine ;” and this Mr. Lockhartrefused. The quarrel might safely have been allowed to remain where it was but for the interference of Mr. Lockhart’s friend, Mr. Christie, who drew Mr. Scott into a correspondence ; and Mr. Scott, according to my father’s view, smarting under the imputations which were now freely levelled at him, and anxious to prove that his rejection of Mr. Lockhart’s challenge was not from want of personal courage, chailenged Mr. Christie. Thechallenge was accepted, and the duel was fought ato P.M. onthe rs5th of February, 1821. It was a moonlight night; and Trail, Scott's second, knew so little of his business he placed Scott opposite to the moon. Scott meant to kill his man if he could. Christie fired wide the first shot. Scott’s shot grazed Christie’s head. Patmore, Christie’s second, observed this, and at the second shot said, ‘‘ Don’t throw away your fire this time!” Christie steadied his hand and fired low. Scott fell fatally wounded; and after lingering for twelve days in great agony, died on the 27th of February. An inquest was held, anda verdict of ‘“Wilful Murder” returned against Mr. Christie and the two seconds, Mr. Trail and Mr. Patmore, who by that time had placed themselves quite out of reach of Eng- lish law. My father, who had not been on good terms with Mr. Scott, deplored his death as an act of wicked and unnecessary bloodshed. He writes to Miss Mitford a detailed account of the whole of the melancholy incident, with a critique on the dead man and his second in this most mismanaged business.— ED. 200 B. R. HAVDON. and without character or sense to get it, goads his friend into a duel, that he may have the éclat of being a ‘** second,” without the risk of a principal, and then pushes him to murder, be- cause, in the imbecility of his faculties, he cannot comprehend that honor could be saved, though blood be not shed—it is horrible. Scott was a man of singular acuteness of understanding and power of mind; but he was not what could be legitimately called a man of genius. His powers of conversation were very creat, his knowledge considerable, and latterly he had supplied the deficiencies of education by an anxious study of Italian and French. He had been badly brought up and badly educated, and had the worst feeling of his nature called forth by the bru- tal treatment of a brutal father. He had seen a good deal of life, had suffered every extremity of fortune, was very entertain- ing, had at bottom a good heart, but so buried in passions that its best feelings were often swallowed up at their appearance. He had a strong tact for character, and, in my opinion, the soundest political feelings of the day. With all this, he was diffident of his powers, and too much underrated his own judg- ment. This made him yield too readily to the suggestions of weaker minds: he wanted decision, and firmness to abide by the consequences of his own actions. . . . Thecurse of his life was arankling consciousness of his inferiority to some of his real friends, and the bitter cruelty of his hatred to Leigh Hunt, his friend and benefactor, is a deep stain on his name. He attacked Byron because Byron took no notice of him at table.’ I foresaw it from the manner in which he related this fact to me and abused Byron for ill-using his wife, at the very time that he (Scott) was ill-using his own! He assailed the politics of the ‘ Examiner,’ after having offered to write for it, and was wounded by rejection ; and he set furiously upon me on his return from Italy, after he had corresponded with me in 1 All public criticism, the late Lord Lytton once said, was the result of ‘‘ Private Friendship ;”’ but evidently this is only half the truth.—Ep. LETTERS. 207 MieemMmasteattectionate: manner. “92 . . ° And how did he attack me? He first asked me for some observations on Art, which I gave to him, and then he tacked these very observa- tions of my own on to his attack, thus making me the leader to my own assassination! Is it to be wondered at I felt hurt? .. It is a consolation to think, poor fellow! that he died believing in a future state, and this he told me last summer in the very field where he was shot. He had no business what- ever to challenge Christie, as it will be seen, but he had got himself into a hole, and was willing to fight anybody to get himself out. Mrs. Scott says that lately he could not sleep, and told her that everybody looked at him as if he was a coward. Poor Scott! The last time I saw him was the first night of ‘‘ Mirandola;” we both came into the orchestra, box and were alone the whole evening ; we shook hands dis- tantly, when he—but enough, God forgive him, and reward him. and make him happy! But it is extraordinary how his death affects me, having had so many interesting conversations with him on the subject of death and immortality. I keep thinking I hear him saying what he thinks of his new state. Poor fellow! [About three weeks later came another blow: news from Rome brought intelligence that his friend Keats had died there on the 23rd of February. Some weeks later on, when discuss- ing his character with Miss Mitford, Haydon writes :—] 21st April, 182t. Keats was a victim to personal abuse and want of nerve to bear it. Ought he to have sunk in that way because a few quizzers told him that he was an apothecary’s apprentice? A genius more purely poetical never existed! In conversation he was nothing, or if anything, weak and inconsistent; he had an 5? exquisite sense of humor,but it was in the fields Keats was in his glory. . . . His ruin was owing to his want of decision of character and power of will, without which genius is a curse. He could not bring his mind to bear on one object, and was at 208 BRE SANTERON the mercy of every petty theory Leigh Hunt’s ingenuity would suggest. . . . He had a tending to religion when first I knew him, but Leigh Hunt soon forced it from his mind. Never shall I forget Keats once rising from his chair and approaching my last picture (‘ Entry into Jerusalem’), he went before the portrait of Voltaire, placed his hand on his heart and bowing low “©, ... Inreverence done, as to the power That dwelt within, whose presence had infused Into the plant sciential sap, derived From nectar, drink of gods,” as Milton says of Eve after she had eaten the apple. ‘‘ That’s the being to whom I bend,” said he, alluding to the bending of the other figures in the picture, and contrasting Voltaire with our Saviour, andhis own adoration to that of the crowd. Leigh Hunt was the great unhinger of his best dispositions. Latterly, Keats saw Leigh Hunt’s weakness. J distrusted his leader, but Keats would not cease to visit him, because he thought Hunt ill-used. This shows Keats’s goodness of heart. He began life full of hope, and his brother told me that he recounted with pride and delight the opinion we had expressed of his powers the first morning he had breakfasted with me. Fiery, impetuous, ungovernable, and undecided, he expected the world to bow at once to his talents as his friends had done, and he had not patience to bear the natural irritation of envy at the undoubted proof he gave of strength. Goaded by ridi- cule he distrusted himself, and flew to dissipation. For six weeks he was hardly ever sober; and to show you what a man of genius does when his passions are roused, he told me that he once covered his tongue and throat, as far as he could reach, with cayenne pepper, in order to enjoy the ‘‘ delicious coolness of claret in all its glory.” ‘This was his own expression. The death of his brother wounded him deeply, and it appeared to me from that hour he began to droop. He wrote his exqui- site ‘‘Ode to the Nightingale” at this time, and as we were one evening walking in the Kilburn meadows he repeated it to me, before he put it to paper, in a low, tremulous undertone, LETTERS. | 209 which affected me extremely. Hehad great enthusiasm for me, and so had I for him, but he grew angry latterly because I shook my head at his proceedings. I told him, I begged of him to bend his genius to some definite object. I remonstrated on his absurd dissipation, but to no purpose. The last time I saw him was at Hampstead, lying on his back in a white bed, helpless, irritable, and hectic. He hada book, and, enraged at his own feebleness, seemed as if he were going out of the world witha contempt for this, and no hopes of a better. He muttered as I stood by him that if he did not recover he would ‘‘ cut his fimodie hited to calm him; but to no purpose. I left him in great depression of spirit to see him in suchastate. Poor dear Keats!? Zo MIss MITFORD. Windscr, zoth October, 1819. Here I am, my dear Miss Mitford, sitting by my dearest Mary with all the complacency of a well-behaved husband, writing to you while she is working quietly on some unintel- ligible part of a lady’s costume. The day is beautiful, cool, sunny, and genial, fit for the beauty and gentle looks of such a creature as my wife. Youdo not know how proud I am of saying my wife. I never felt half so proud of ** Solomon,” or ‘‘ Macbeth,” as Iam of being the husband of this little tender bit of lovely humanity. It rained the whole day yesterday; was dark, dingy, dreary and dull out of doors, but within there was a sunbeam gleam- ing about that made me forget the wind and rain. Mary smiles and says you must not believe one half of what I write now. You must believe a/. My understanding never loses its perspicacity, however agitated are my feelings, or tenderly disposed is my heart ; therefore you will believe it, I feel sure. People are very curious to see my wife, as every one seems 1 Shelley’s beautiful monody on the death of Keats reached Haydon from Pisa in the course of the year, and he was much pleased with it, quotes it in a letter to Miss Mitford, and details how he first met Shelley ata dinner at Horace Smith’s.—Ep. 210 : B. R. HAVDON. surprised. ‘‘ You are a man,” wrote a friend, ‘‘ who I should have thought would have married some young girl at first sight instead of selecting a widow lady.” Ha! ha! I suppose they imagine some o/d widow, whose face presageth snow, instead of rich and rosy youthful beauty. I shall return to town next week and commence my studies. Accept my and my dearest Mary’s thanks for your kind congratulations. I hope you will allow me to sénd you a large bit of wedding cake, and you shall have some to give to every sweet darling you know in your neighborhood, with my best wishes for their happiness. To Miss MITFORD. London, 6th June, 1822. When I married; the artists said -- “" Ah! “he will eet careless and idle, women require so many little attentions,” &c., &c.; as if the few sweet attentions to a woman one pas- sionately loved were likely to be more interrupting to study than the numerous attentions required of a bachelor. In reality I have zever been so industrious, from a love to the Art, as I have been since marriage, from a love to my dearest Mary. Thisis truth, however impolitic the acknowledgment. ‘There never was such a creature ; and although her face is perfect, and has more feeling in it than Lady Hamilton’s, her manner to me is perfectly enchanting, and probably more bewitching to me fvamnuhieralbe altaya rss. tse She has just gone in to breakfast, looking hike Psyche. I think I shall put over my painting-room door, ‘* Love, solitude, and painting.” [ His friend, Wiliam Hazlitt, appears about this time to have been compiling his ‘* Liber Amoris,” of the events leading to which Haydon gives Miss Mitford a lively description : — | 8th September, 1822. Hazlitt at present gives me great pain by the folly with which he is conducting himself. He has fallen in love, toa pitch of insanity, with a lodging-house hussy, who will be his LETTERS. 211 death.! He as been to Scotland and divorced his wife, although he has a fine little boy by her; and after doing this, to marry this girl, he comes back and finds she has been making a fool of him in order to get presents, and in reality has been admit- ting a lover more favored. MHazlitt’s torture is beyond expres- sion ; you may imagine it. The girl really excited in hima pure, devoted, and intense love. His imagination clothed her with that virtue which her affected modesty induced him to be- lieve in, and he is realiy downright in love with an ideal perfec- tion, which has no existence but in his own head! He talks of nothing else day and night. He has written down all the conversations without color, literal as they happened ; he has preserved all the love-letters, many of which are equal to any- thing of the sort, and really affecting; and I believe, in order to ease his soul of this burden, means, with certain arrange- ments, to publish it as a tale of character. He will sink into idiotcy if he does not get rid of it.’ Poor Hazlitt! He who makes so free with the follies of his friends, is of all mortals the most open to ridicule. To hear him repeat in a solemn tone and with agitated mouth the things 1 This adventure would seem to have done Hazlitt good, to judge from the advice he subsequently gave to his son on the subject of marriage. ‘* Choose your wife,” he wrote, ‘‘from among your eguals. You will be able to understand her character bet- ter, and she will be more likely to understand yours. Those in an inferior station to yourself will doubt your good intentions, and mrsapprehend your plainest expressions. All that you swear to them is a riddle, or downright nonsense. You cannot by posst- bility translate your thoughts into their dialect. ‘They will be ignorant of the meaning of half you say, and laugh at the rest. As mistresses they will have no sympathy with you, and as wives you can have none with them. Women care nothing about poets, philosophers, or politicians. They go by a man’s looks and manners. They are an eye-judging sex.” —ED. 2 This incident in Hazlit’'s domestic history appears to haveebeen literally true as here related. In the memoirs since published by his nephew, it is stated that in conse- quence of incompatibility of disposition and temper, Hazlitt, after living with his first wife (Miss Stoddart) from 1808 to 1819, then separatec himself from her, and in 1822 went up to Scotland and effected a divorce, his wife being a consenting party. Onthe termination of his next passion, for the lodging-house girl referred to above, he proposed to the widow of Lieut.-Colonel Bridgewater, a lady of some means, was accepted, and married herin 1324. They went abroad immediately after, and on their road home, in 1825, Mrs. Hazlitt the second preferred to remain in Paris aloue rather than return to England with her husband. A separation then ensued.—ED. 212 B. R. HAVDON, of love he said to her (to convince you that he made love in the true gallant way), to feel the beauty of the sentiment, and then look up and see his old, hard, weather-beaten, saturnine, met- aphysical face—the very antidote of the sentiment—twitching all sorts of ways, is really enough to provoke a saint to laugh- ter. Hehasanotion that women have never hked him. Since this affair he has dressed in the fashion, and keeps insinuating his improved appearance. Aesprings upto show you his pan- faloons /' WWhatabeingitis! His conversation is now a mix- ture of disappointed revenge, passionate remembrances, fiend- ish hopes, and melting lamentations. I feel convinced that his metaphysical habits of thinking have rendered him insensible to moral duty, &c. Zo MIss MITFORD. September, 1823. Sympathize, my dear Madam, with my poor lay-figure. He who has borne the grave-clothes of ‘* Lazarus,” the shield of ‘‘ Dentatus,” and the drapery of ‘* Macbeth,” is now but- toned up ina black coat and waistcoat! I declare to you his awful, stiff misery of appearance make me melancholy. Alas! how are the mighty fallen! Behold him witha coat and cravat, and a waistcoat—stiff, graceless,andadandy! Poor lay-figure ! Thou art bound to suffer the consequences of thy master’s ambition, and it will not be long, I fear, before thou art in boots ! I have finished a half-length ; painted the coat to perfection, the cravat unrivalled, the hand admirably, the head as it ought to be. My sitter is a worthy man, has paid me a fair price ; so that dear Mary and I and Frank jog along, and pay our butcher regularly. We—Mary and I—take it in turns to clean 'Medwin’s description of Hazlitt, when he called to see him at Vevey, on the second marriage tour, shows that matrimony had relaxed the metaphysician’s notions of per- sonal neatness. ‘‘I found him,” says Medwin, ‘‘ with dress neglected, and chin gar- nished with a stubble of some days’ growth.”’ But Hazlitt always hated what he called ‘* the mechanism of society,” in which he seems to have included shaving and clean linen, as well as a clean table-cloth.—ED. LETTERS. 213 brushes and palette, and then we read, romp, walk, or sit down and—laugh! Is not this the perfection of the thing? Have I been to prison for nothing? But, alas! remembrance of what Iam, what I was, and what I may be, sometimes creeps in. I| realize by night in my dreams what my day wofully dispels. I scarcely close my eyes but I am immediately transported be- fore my ‘* Crucifixion,” standing on my high steps, in my large room, painting with demoniac fury. I talk so loud in iny sleep, and utter such incongruous noises, I wake myself, and disturb the house. Oh, believe me, I am sick at heart! . This is a letter, as usual, about nothing but myself. What are you about? Hazlitt was up last week from Fonthill, where Phillips has fixed him to write up, for fifty guineas, what he wrote down from his conscience last year. He came to town for a night or two, and passed nearly the whole of each watch- ing Sally’s door! Hehad another flame, who is at Hampton: down he went to tempt her for Gretna; but her brother, an officer in the Navy, happened to be with her; and ‘‘ officers,” said Hazlitt, ‘* you know, are awkward fellows to deal with!” Oh, the gallant, gay Lothario ! Is this not divine? But still nobody is like him. Wilkie is going to paint the King in his Highland costume. The King lamented Raeburn should have died before he had done this / Royal sympathy ! ZJo Miss MITFORD. 31st May, 1824. While one of the ‘‘-family” was sitting, last week, a hearty weather-beaten, unsophisticated fine creature, who should call but Tom Moore, the very essence of contrast? To see Moore survey my sitter through his glass, like something he was unaccustomed to in fashionable life, with his sparkling, dancing, rosy, Anacreontic, poetical dandyism, was exquisite. Are you not indignant that Byron has been prevented giving 214 B. R. HAVDON. us his own opinion of his own treatment, out of regard to the feelings of others! The waiting maid, perhaps, ‘© Born in a garret, in the kitchen bred !” This is asad business, and shows how Byron mistook his man. Moore had never a veal feeling for Byron as a man, or he could never have breakfasted with John Scott after his shameful attack on Byron, which brought all Byron’s affairs before the world, an attack generated by the basest spite and the meanest feelings ; I had a great mind to take up the busi- ness ; I had written a letter, which my wife made me destroy ; I know the secret history of that infamous attack. Rogers, one morning when I was with Sir Walter Scott, and we were talking about Scott (of the ‘‘ Champion’’), complained of Moore’s break- fasting with him, and said he had told Moore of it. What are the feelings of the living, who are alive to reply, to the character of the dead, who can reply no more? Byron’s fate predomi- nated. But I will one day tell the whole and sole cause of his affairs being brought before the world in so shameful a manner, and which was the source of all the calumny that followed. I cannot take Mrs. Franklin’s friend’s opinion on Byron’s Journal, or Moore’s, who certainly was notasincere friend. ‘‘I shall fight,” said Byron in a letter to Moore, ‘‘and if I get killed, do justice to a brother scribbler.” Moore repeated this to me at table about a fortnight before the news arrived of Byron’s death. What did that mean? Why, it is evident, this—‘‘ You have got my Journal; you have my opinions; publish them. It may offend, but I have been offended ; it may pain, but I have been tortured ; it may look morbid and black, but who made meso? The world. I came to it with the freshness of youth; and its vice and duplicity, its hatred of talent, its detestable-cowardice, its mean want of honor, made me what Iam.” Byron showed society as it is, he had courage foldomit.. 1 Haydon here appears to do Moore an injustice. From the publication of letters from the late and present Mr. John Murray, of Albemarle Street, it would seem that of the DERE RS 216 I have not yet read Byron’s ‘‘ Conversations,” but there was an anecdote in one of the extracts which confirms what I heard long since, but which I could not depend on before. He had an aversion to see women eat. Colonel —— was at Byron’s house in Piccadilly, Lady Byron in the room, and ‘‘ iuncheon,” was brought in—veal cutlets, etc. She began eating. Byron turned round in disgust and said, ‘‘ Gormandizing beast !”’ and taking up the tray, threw the whole luncheon into the hall. Lady Byron cried, and left the room. Byron hated to be interrupted when he was writing, then why did she interrupt him? Because se thought ita whim. To her and her dear delightful maid it might appear a whim; but if, at that moment, he was conceiving some beautiful thoughts, what can you think of a woman who, for some trifle, would inter- rupt her husband’s conceptions? Ihave never saidacold thing, much more a harsh one, to Mary; but if she had come into my room and asked me if I would like roast mutton for dinner, when I was conceiving ‘* Lazarus,” I think she would never have come “‘ circle,”” Moore was really the only one opposed to the destruction of Byron’s Journal, The letters in question are dated 19th May, 1824, and 6th October, blank, and are ad- dressed respectively to Mr.—afterwards Sir Robert Wilmot Horton, and to the editor of the ‘‘Academy.’’ In these letters the Messrs. Murray explain that Byron’s MS, Journal did not, at the time of Byron’s death, belong to Moore, buthad become Mr, Murray’s ‘‘ own private property ” by purchase from Moore in 1821, under certain con- ditions, which conditions Moore allowed to lapse; and that Mr. Murray, senior, in consequence of the failure of Moore to redeem the MSS., was at liberty ‘to dispose of the MSS.” as he ‘‘ thought proper.”” Mr. Murray then states to Mr. Horton that his ‘regard for Lord ‘Byron’s memory, and my request for his surviving family, made me more anxious that the memoirs should be immediately destroyed, since it was surmised that their publication might be injurious to the former, and painful to the latter. As I myself scrupulously refrained from looking into the memoirs, I cannot from my own knowledge say whether such an opinion of the contents was correct or not; it was enough for me that the friends of Lord and Lady Byron united in wishing for their de- struction. Why Mr. Moore should have wished to preserve them, I didnotand will not inquire ; but having satisfied myself that he had no right whatever in them. I was happy in having an opportunity of making, by a pecuniary sacrifice on my part, some return for the honor, and, I must add, the profit, which I had derived from Lord Byron’s patronage and friendship.” | We have all of us heard of a lame excuse; but, as Hannibal said of the prosy old man, ‘‘such a oneas this—never.” (See Appendix, Elze’s ‘‘ Life of Lord Byron.”’ )— ED. 216 B. R. HAYVDON. in a second time.’ Setting aside that, women of rank and family are not fitted for ‘‘ Love and Genius.” Their pride, their importance, their habits of separate rooms, footmen, car- riages, maids, and confidants, are inconsistent with the care a man of geniusrequires. But every wind blows intelligence that. we are right in our estimation of Byron’s character. (An anecdote of Sir Walter Scott follows :—] A friend of mine has been spending some time at Sir Walter Scott’s. Scott is liable to great intrusions of every kind. A stupid chattering fellow got at him bya letter, and stayed a week. He was a great bore, and my friend and another visitor were obliged one day to retire to a window to avoid laughing outright. Sir Walter hobbled up to them and said, ‘‘ Come, come, young gentlemen, be more respectful. I assure you it requires no small talents to be a decided bore!” | like this! There is the geniality of the ‘*‘ Unknown” in it. From Miss MITFORD. od November, 1824. I have just finished Lord Byron’s ‘‘ Conversations” (you are going to be very angry now), and I find my words of enthusiasm for the noble poet very fully justified and borne out. To say nothing of the open and avowed profligacy abroad and at home, only think of the taste which the book shows—the crying down Keats, Milton, Shakespeare, Wordsworth—the crying up Moore’s frippery songs, Dr. Johnson’s heavy criticisms, and his own dull plays. What he says of Shakespeare, and of Words- worth in particular, is disgusting. To fasten on the few and rare grossnesses of Shakespeare, which pure-minded readers pass over almost without consciousness, and forget all that there is of divine in the poet of the world; and to pitch on a few faults of system in Wordsworth, and to speak of him as if he 1“ Flaydon did himself injustice here. He was most patient and forbearing in his painting-room under interruptions.” —ED. 3 EERE. . 217° was no poet at all. Fifty years hence our descendants will see which is remembered best, the author of the ‘‘ Excursion,” or of °° Childe Harold.” But he seems to me to have wanted the power of admiration, the organ of veneration; to have been a cold, sneering, vain, Voltairish person, charitable as far as money went, and liberal so far as it did not interfere with his aristocratic notions ; but very derisive, very un- English, very scornful. Captain Medwyn speaks of his suppressed laugh. How unpleasant-an idea that gives! The only thing that does ‘him much credit in the whole book is his hearty admiration of Seo. but scott did not interfere with him. If Sir Walter had been such a poet as Wordsworth, we should have seen. I would have wagered that he would not have admired the head of ‘*‘ Lazarus,” unless to cry down some one else, or unless you had painted his portrait and flattered him. Then his opinion of prowess! Well, I think this book will have one good effect. Tt will disenchant the whole sex. How very amusing Hazlitt’s letters are, with their good things and their bad things! Where shall we find so much admirable sense and so much sheer non- sense in the same space as is comprised in the letter which talks so aburdly of rfational prejudice, and so finely of the burial- ground of Pére-la-Chaise? This isa letter fortwenty. I have sent them myself. Say everything that is kindest and finest for us all to Mrs. Haydon, and believe me always most faithfully and affectionately yours, M.R. M. Jo Miss MITFORD. You are unjust, depend upon it, in your estimate of Byron’s poetry, and wrong in your ranking Wordsworth beyond him. There are things in Byron’s poetry so exquisite, that, fifty or five hundred years hence, they will be read, felt, and adored throughout the world.! 1 grant that Wordsworth is very pure 1 My father’s admiration of Byron was sincere. In many points, such as his pic- turesque description, and his practical views of men and things, my father preferred Byron to Wordsworth; he thought him more human; and then, I think he admired LO 218 B. R. HAVDON. and very holy, and very orthodox, and occasionally very ele- vated, highly poetical, and oftener insufferably obscure, starched dowdy, anti-human and anti-sympathetic, but he never will be ranked above Byror nor classed with Milton ; he will not, indeed. He wants the constructive power, the /wcidus ordo of the great- est minds, whichis as much a proof of the highest order as any other quality. I dislike his selfish Quakerism ; his affectation of superior virtue; his utter insensibility to the frailties—the beautiful frailties of passion. I was once walking with him in Pall Mall ; we darted into Christie’s. A copy of the ‘* Trans- figuration” was at the head of the room, and in the corner a beautiful copy of the ‘‘ Cupid and Psyche” (statues) kissing. Cupid is taking her lovely chin, and turning her pouting mouth to meet his, while he archly bends his own down, as if saying, > Pretty dear!” Youiremember this: exquisite croup aa Catching sight of the Cupid, as he and I were coming out, Wordsworth’s face reddened, he showed his teeth, and then said in a loud voice, ‘*‘ THE DEV-vV-v-VILS!” ‘There’s a mind! Ought not this exquisite group to have roused his ‘‘ Shapes of Beauty,” and have softened his heart as much as his old gray- mossed rocks, his withered thorn, and his dribbling mountain streams’? I am altered about Wordsworth, very much, trom finding him a bard too elevated to attend to the music of hu- manity. No, no! give me Byron, with all his spite, hatred, depravity, dandyism, vanity, frankness, passion, and idleness, his isolated position as a poet. Wordsworth’s gift, in his opinion, was in describing ‘“those far-reaching and intense feelings and glimmerings, and doubts and fears, and hopes of man, as referring to what he might be before he was born, or what he may be hereafter.”’ In his Journal for 1815, my father sums up Wordsworth as a “‘ great being, who will hereafter be ranked as one who had a portien of the spirit of the mighty ones, especially Milton; but who did not possess the power of using that spirit otherwise than with reference to himself, and so as to excite a reflex action only.’’—Ep. “Byron will be remembered longer by the lyrical pearls which are scattered so copi- ously through his poems, gems which are familiar to every reader of his werks, and can never be forgotten. It is in these that his muse takes her noblest fhght ; th2se are the portions of his poetry which are instinct with the most exquisite beauty, and exer- cise on us the most powerful spell; and we cannot imagine that they will ever fail to fill their readers with rapture.” (Elze’s ‘‘ Life of Lord Byron,” p, 402,)—Ep., LETS TTS: 219 to pion, with all his heartless communion with woods and grass.! - When he came back from his tour, I breakfasted with him in Oxiond street. He read“ fils anata» to me, and very finely. He had altered, at the suggestion of his wife, Laodamia’s fate (but I cannot refer to it at this moment), because she had shown such weakness as to wish her husband’s stay. Mrs. Words- worth held that Laodamia ought to be punished, and punished Sitemwas. ~l will refer to it. Here it is— " ** She, whom a trance of passion thus removed As she departed, not without the crime Of lovers, who, in reason’s spite have loved, Was doomed to wander in a joyless clime, Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers Of blissful quiet in Elysian bowers.” I have itin his own hand. This is different from the first edi- tion. And as he repeated it with self-approbation of his own heroic feelings for punishing a wife because she felt a pang at her husband going to hell again, his own wife sat crouched by the fire-place and chanted every line to the echo, apparently congratulating herself at being above the mortal frailty of lov- ing her William. You should make allowance for Byron’s not liking Keats. He could not. Keat’s peetry was an immortal stretch beyond the mortal intensity of his own. An intense egotism, as it were, was the leading exciter of Byron’s genius. He could feel nothing for fauns, or satyrs, or gods, or characters fast, unless the association of them were excited by some positive natural 1Tn a subsequent conversation, Wordsworth, when questioned, laughed heartily at being reminded of ‘‘ The Devils,” and said, ‘‘he had no idea what he meant at the time.” 2 In an edition of 1863 the verse runs— ‘¢ Ah, judge her gently who so deeply loved ! Her who in reason’s spite, yet without crime, Was in a trance of passion thus removed ; Delivered from the galling yoke of time And these frail elements, to gather flowers Of blissful quiet ’mid unfading bowers.” 220 B, RHA YDON . scene where they had actually died, written or fought. All his poetry was the result of a deep feeling roused by what passed before hiseyves. Keats wasastretch beyondthis. Byron could not enter into it any more than he could Shakespeare.! He was too frank to conceal his thoughts. If he really admired Keats he would have said so.? “(I am afraid 1 am as obscure here as Wordsworth). So,in his controversy with Bowles, Byron really thought Pope the greater poet. He pretended that a man who vera#fied the actual vices or follies was a greater, and more moral poet, that he who invented a plot, invented characters which by their action on each other produced a catastrophe from which a moral was inferred. This at once showed the each of his -gensus.m.9. ae 1 Tn this opinion of Byron, Haydon is also supported by the latest authority, that of Karl Elze, who, in his ‘‘ Life of Byron,” writes, ‘‘ It is intimately connected with the character of improvisation which belongs to the poetry of Byron, that he could write only on the very spot; or at least that he must receive on the spot inspiration for his poetry—and then, alrnostimmediately, /ervexte calanio, commit it to paper; he could not dispense with the immediate stimulus which he received from the external world. . . - He often said he could describe only what he had seen or experienced. .. . According to his view, the poet, before he could describe them, should have expe- rienced all feelings and passions; the poet should live his own poetry..... Mere invention is, he says, the talent of a liar. and all fictions were hateful to him which were mere fictions. . . . All his poems were written, when the fit of inspira- tion was upon him, with the utmost rapidity, and as it were at one cast; even the Can- tos of ‘ Childe Harold,’ and of ‘Don Juan,’ which came forth separately, not excepted. If the first attempt failed he would never proceed to a second ; and the recasting of the third act of ‘ Manfred,’ which occasioned him extraordinary trouble, is the only exam- ple of a departure from his practice. He often says, ‘I must either make a spoon or spoila horn.’ Yet more forcibly he compares himself to a tiger: ‘If I miss the first spring I go grumbling back to my jungle again.’” (Elze’s ‘‘ Life of Lord Byron,” 400-1) —ED. 2 While Keats lived Byron abused him heartily, called his poetry ‘‘ drivelling idiot- ism,”? and threatened to ‘‘skin him,” if the reviewers did not. But after his death and after reading ‘* Hyperion,” he subsequently admitted that it was Keats’ deprecia- tion of Pope which had ‘“‘ hardly permitted me to do justice to his own genius which, matleré all the fantastic fopperies of his style, was undoubtedly of great promise.’’ Jiis fragment of ‘* Hyperion’’ seems actually inspired by the Titans, and is as sublime as 4Eschylus. He isa loss to our literature.”?’ (See Byron’s ‘‘ Life and Letters ” ; also Lord Houghton in Keats’s ‘‘ Life and Letters,”’)—Ep. LETTERS. 221 Zo Miss MITFORD. I saw Kean on Monday night. Since O. P. I never was in such an uproar. Not having any relish to let my chest-bone be pressed into my back-bone, I relinquished the pit, and, sur- veying the struggle for a moment, rushed to the boxes. Here, in my violent rush to get into the stream, I rudely squeezed a lady without meaning it. She was so enraged at the rudeness of everybody before and behind, and on each side of her, which was unavoidable from the pressure; that, rendered furious, she actually, with her most delicate hand, belabored my back, swearing and scolding, which of course being con- scious I deserved, I bore without a murmur, but felt highly hon- ored, though concealing a hearty laugh at her feeble beating. Carriage after carriage came up, and it was a high treat to watch the confidence of old dowagers and their husbands come swarining in fresh from a carriage. After following their tur- bans, you would see their head-dresses whirled round, anda pair of fiery eyes darting upon them in despair. .... Acci- dentally I met Talfourd, and he took me behind the scenes. Kean was agitated, and at intervals kept drinking brandy and water. He acted so finely once, that I could not help shaking his hand as he came off, though I disapprove his conduct... . Talfourd said he could not have shaken his hand. Perhaps he was right. But I could not resist his action; besides, he was irritated at the howling of ,a palpable set of touters. 7Jo MisS MITFORD. 28th March, 1825. I was at Saone’s last night to see this sarcophagus by lamp-light. The first person I met, after seventeen years, was Coleridge, silver-haired! He looked at my bald front, and I at his hair, with mutual looks of sympathy and mutual head- shaking. It affected me very much, and so it seemed to affect him. I did not know what to say, nor did he; and then in his 322 B. R, HAYDON. chanting way, half-poetical, half-inspired, half-idiotic, he began to console me by trying to prove that the only way for a man of genius to be happy was just to put forth no more power than was sufficient for the purposes of the age in which he lived, as if genius was a power one could fold up like a parasol! At this moment over came Spurzheim, with his German simplicity, and shaking my hand: ‘*‘ How doe you doe? Vy, your organs are more parfaite den eaver. Howluckeeyou loseyour hair. Veel you pearmeet me to eintrowdooze you to Mrs. Spurzheim?” I was pushed against Turner, the landscape-painter, with his red face and white waistcoat, and before I could see Mrs. Spurzheim, was carried off my legs, and irretrievably bustled to where the sarcophagus lay. Soane’s house is a perfect Cretan labyrinth : curious narrow Staircases, landing places, balconies, spring doors, and little rooms filled with fragments to the very ceiling. It was the finest fun imaginable to see the people come in to the library after wandering about below, amidst tombs and capitals, and shafts, and noiseless heads, with a sort of expression of delighted relief at finding themselves again among the living, and with coffee and cake! They looked as if they were pleased to feel their blood circulate once more, and went smirking up to Soane, ‘lui faisant leurs compliments,” with a twisting chuckle of fea- tures, as if grateful for their escape. Fancy delicate ladies of fashion dipping their pretty heads into an old, mouldy, fusty, hieroglyphicked coffin, blessing their stars at its age, wondering whom it contained, and whispering ,that it was mentioned in Pliny. You can imagine the associations connected with such contrasts. Just as I was beginning to meditate, the Duke of Sussex, with a star on his’breast, and an asthma inside it, came squeezing and wheezing along the narrow passage, driving all the women before him like a Blue-Beard, and putting his royal head into the coffin, added his wonder to the wonder of the rest. Upstairs stood Soane, spare, thin, caustic, and starched, ‘‘mocking the thing he laughed at,” as he smiled approbation for the praises bestowed on his magnificent house. . . . Cole- ridge said, ‘‘ 1 have a great contempt for those Egyptians with LETTERS, 223 all their learning. After all, what did it amount to, but a bad system of astronomy?” ‘‘ What do you think of this house, Mr. Haydon?” said that dandy COMME Ge Weny Inter- esting,” I said. ‘‘ Very interesting,” he replied, with a sparkle in his eye denoting an occult meaning he was too polite to ex- BEeSS a Vichy CUnOUS,isifnot:”? “? Very cunous,”.I echoed. pov cry isind) of Mr. Soane to open the house so...‘ Very kind,” I replied, as grave as the Chancellor, seeing that he was dying to say something which would come out if I pretended ignorance. ‘* Rather odd, though, stuck about so.” I smiled. ‘* However it zs very kind of Soane, you know, but it’s a funny house, anda ” Just then, Soane was elbowed against him, and both making elegant bows to each other, expressed his thanks to Soane for ‘* admitting him to the enjoyment of such a splendid treat,” etc., etc.—and he went off with Soane downstairs, talking of the Egyptians with all the solemnity of deep learning and of a profound interest in his subject. As I looked at Soane, smiling and flushed by flattery, I thought of Johnson at Ranelagh. ‘‘ There was not a soul then around him who would not, ere they put on their night-caps, envy him his assemblage of rank, and talent, and fashion ; sneer at his antiques, quiz his coffee, and go to sleep, pitying with affected superiority his delusion and vanity.” But Soane isa cood though caustic man. .. . . And nowI must go and paint the carpet my sitter stands on; so adieu to human nature, and let me paint with all my power the color and the texture of a Brussels bit. Ever sincerely yours, eine LANE ONG Zo Miss MITFORD. My DEAR FRIEND, London, roth November, 1825. I have spent three hours with Hazlitt to-day, and spent them with great delight. We talked of Michel Angelo, of Raphael, and—the greatest of all is behind—Leigh Hunt, till we roared with laughter, and made more noise with our laugh- 224 B. R. HAVDON. ing than all the coaches, wagons, and carts in Piccadilly. From what Hazlitt has told me of him in Italy, I do think, upon my soul, that he is the most extraordinary character I ever met with in history, poetry, tragedy, comedy, or romance. Byhis conduct in Italy he has personified what, in idea, would be called ex- travagant. Hazlitt found him moulting near Florence. There he stuck, says Hazlitt, dull as a hen under a pent-house on a rainy day. Hazlitt offered ‘to take him to Venice,” inecean expense. No. Henever went to Rome, Bologna, or Naples. He passed through Paris, and never went into the Louvre, though staying two days! Not he! He was annoyed that Venice, Bologna, Rome, Naples, or Paris should contain any- thing more attractive than Mr. Leigh Hunt; and, consequently, he stuck to his house, expecting a deputation from each town to welcome him to Italy; and because no deputation came he would not honor them by a visit; thus leaving unhappy Venice, unfortunate Bologna, insignificant Florence, and unknown Rome, to bewail their destiny to oblivion, because they had not been immortalized = by the notice of ilustmous, eich i Hazlitt laughed, roared, beat the table, at this realization of our predictions. When he dies he would smile with self-com- placency at the just estimation of his genius. if the Devil made him poet-laureate, while the flames were writhing his vitals. And if he went to heaven—which I hope he may—he would compare himself with the Creator, and chuckle at the idea that, in making man in His own image, the Almighty had been the means of generating at least one in creation whose look and air might render it doubtful to the angels who had existed first. Such is Leigh— *¢ With a nose lightsomely brought Down from a forehead of clear-spirited thought.” Said Hazlitt, ‘‘T’ll take you to Rimini.” No; Rimini, the town was not the poem; he wouldn’t stir. Sorry I am to write so much of a man in whose acquaintance I can no longer feel any pride. He ruined Keats; he has injured me; he perver- ted Byron, Poor Shelley was drowned in going back from LL DL Tae 225 visiting him. Like Scylla, where he comes grass never grows ; and when he treads on what is growing, it withers, as if the cloven hoof of hell had poisoned it.! x Hazlitt looks ill; but his jaunt has done him great good, and his present wife a greater. She is a very superior woman, and will make him a decent being in regard to washing his face and hands (et cetera). He was breakfasting to-day asa gentleman should, and seemed to be living ‘‘ cleanly,” as a gentleman ought. I like Hazlitt, in spite of all: everybody must.’ I write this at the moment of my return. I can never think of Leigh Hunt again without sorrow. Leave the theatre, and stick to your village characters. The theatre seems to be your evil genius. How paltry of Colman! I want to read your play, but you will not lend it! Do go on again with your nature bits. Adieu, my dear friend, B. R. HAYDON. To Miss MITFORD. toth December, 1825. Yes, I have read Moore’s ** Sheridan,” and was deeply interested. But, my dear friend, it is more the excuse of an admirer than the impartial memoir of abiographer. His detail of the process of completing the ‘‘ School for Scandal” is delightful; but it is the process of all men of genius, the mode only may be different. Whether a man of genius makes mem- oranda of his first thoughts on paper, or keeps them locked up in his memory, to be rethought and retouched, it is no matter. ~ 1J believe this description of Leigh Hunt in Italy to have been most unfair and il- liberal on the part of Hazlitt. Hunt had a large family of young children depending upon him, and he had not the means of moving about here and there. Nor would it have been considerate of him to have left his family at Florence in order to jaunt about Italy with Hazlitt, who apparently was not much troubled with a deep sense of the restraints family responsibilities impose upon a man of feeling.—ED. 2 My father was evidently not aware that Hazlitt’s second wife had at this time made up her mind to separate herself from her husband. She had remained in Paris on his coming to London on this occasion, and she never appears to have rejoined him.—Ep, Io* 226 B. R. HAVDON. Those who never put their thoughts down untill their taste 1s satisfied, complete at once what they put down, and get reputa- tion for rapidity. Those on the contrary, ike Sheridan, who note each idea as it rises, are just as rapid in conception though the mode of execution is different. Shakespeare, Homer, and at a great distance Byron, modelled and remodelled, and then poured forth to the vulgar, who, knowing nothing of the inter- nal machinery of the mind, take it for granted the subject was never thought of till it was written, and go away in ignorant astonishment. | I must differ from Moore in his view of Sheridan’s heart. Not- withstanding his passion for Miss Linley and his grief for his father’s death, who used him ill, I question his having a really good heart. His making love to Pamela, Madame de Genlis’s daughter, so soon after his lovely wife’s death, and his marriage, in two years, with a young girl as a compliment to her remem- brance, renders one very suspicious of the real depth of his pas- sion. No man of wit to the full extent of the word can have a cood heart, because he has by nature less regard for the feel- ings of others than forthe brilliancy of his own sayings. There must be more mischief than love in the hearts of all radiant wits. Moore’s life of him wants courage. Society is Moore’s god. He cannot, like Johnson, tell all the truth and bid society defi- ance.! His burning Byron’s MSS. was a sacrifice to his circle,? and his concealments in Sheridan’s life not worthy his native independence . . . The faults of the great Whig leaders are treated leniently by Moore, but the fact is that neither Burke, Fox, nor Sheridan, had the caution or prudence requisite for leaders of their Party, or for Government. Burke’s failure in the result of Warren Hastings’ trial first shook the confidence of Fox and Sheridan as to his infallibility, and afterwards, having 1 But Johnson did not always do this, witness his ‘‘ Life of Addison.” ‘*The ne- cessity of complying with times,” he writes, “‘and of sparing persons, is the great im- pediment of biography. . . . I begin to feel myself wa.king upon ashes under which the fire is not extinguished, and coming to the time of which it will be proper rather to say nothing that is false, than all that is true.” —Ep. 2 See ante, p. 214, by which Moore appears to be exonexated.—Ep., LETTERS. 227 often acted independently of his advice, Burke’s despotic love of rule took offence, and the seed was planted of future separa- tion. I heard Lord Mulgrave say in the presence of other dip- lomatic men that Fox, whenever in power, always showed him- self unfit for a leader, and his extreme imprudence in the Com- mittee of Regency, which Pitt took such advantage of, is an undeniable proof of the truth of Lord Mulgrave’s assertion. However great his genius, however delightful his qualities, he had not discretion enough for a head. Lord Mulgrave once told me that Fox latterly would have come in a Secretary for Foreign Affairs under Pitt.! It was a great pity that Burke accepted a pension, because as he turned outso right about the Revolution it dimmed the glory of genius. Lord Mulgrave said: ‘*‘ Mr. Fox acknowledged af- terwards that Burke was right foo soon.” It was cruel to break up his friendship with Sheridan and Fox, but Burke had no other way of becoming again an isolated object of public aston- ishment. Sheridan and Fox had rather dulled his fame, and his only chance of self-applause, the only chance of soothing his wounded vanity left him, was to burst like a fiery star from his regular orbit, and become the object of wonder and abuse, enthusiasm and admiration, which he was no longer in the ordi- nary progress. Love of power was at the bottom of his heart, depend upon it ; tobe sure, the weakness of the greatest minds. To think that Burke was always giving Barry caution about his temper, while he was such a signal instance of violence him- self. It might be the anger of a great genius so intimately con- vinced of the wicked tendencies of the French Revolution, as to think it a paramount duty to convince the world of his sin- cerity by showing the sacrifices he was willing to make rather 1 This statement has been disputed, but Mr. Pitt did propose Fox as Secretary for Foreign Affairs in his Cabinet of 1804. Lord Stanhope, in his ‘‘ Life of Pitt,” vol. iv., gives a fac-simile in Mr. Pitt’s handwriting of the Cabinet he had desired to combine, and it includes Mr. Fox’s name as Foreign Secretary. The King, however, is re- ported to have said, “‘ Bring me anybody you please, Mr. Pitt, but Mr. Fox,” and so the coalition, if there was one, as Lord Mulgrave hinted, fell through.—Eb. 228 B. R. HAVDON. than even to appear indirectly to sanction it. It might be so. But then the penszon. My dear friend, accepting a pension is like refusing a challenge. The danger escaped in the one in- stance, and the good done to the individual in the other, renders the world justly severe in its conclusions. Had Burke refused the pension, how grandly would his character project on the most distant periods of time! His violence, his lacerating the feelings of Fox, would have been considered a painful and noble duty. But for the paltry comforts of some ‘‘ six or seven summers’? he rendered his sagacity and genius suspected for ever of having been sacrificed to replace his shattered fortunes, and secure himself and his widow from necessity and want. Pardon my presumption in thus giving my opinion of such men. The condition Sheridan was latterly in was really shock- ing. . . . I do not agree with Moore about the desertion of the nobility. He had tired and wearied them to death. He had, indeed. At their country seats he became latterly a wearisome bore—drinking claret till midnight, and then rum punch till five in the morning, ringing up the servants by night, and disturb- ing all the habits of comfort and delicacy in a house. I heard Sir George Beaumont say that at Lady Manners’, in the coun- try, Tom Sheridan was one night going to bed. His father came in and began to lecture him, both being drunk. Tom undressed, put the candle out, and got to bed. The next day he was telling this, and some one said: ‘‘ What became of youn father? = Ohde get a, II — 242 B. R. HAYDON. chance.” ‘‘ Well done,” said the Admiral, and smacked him on the back. The next day he took him on board in his own barge, and Fred passed his examination, and is now an S oincer 10, bier Majyesty:sisenvice: I have only one daughter living, a handsome girl with a splendid figure, determined spirit, plays with exquisite execu- tion, knows French and Italian thoroughly, but has no talent ; is retiring, modest, and feminine. She would rather interfere with the ‘’ dignity” of a man too much for love, I fear. Pll tell you a story. When I went to Walmer I arrived about 9 P.M., and went straight to the drawing-room. The Duke was in capital spirits, and talking away to the whole party staying there. Among other things he talked of the Abbé de Pradt, and what a conceited fellow he was. ‘‘ The first night I came to Paris,” said the Duke, ‘‘in 1814, I was invited to a grand party of Mme. de Staél’s. Pradt got up and made a long oration and said, ‘ We owe the salvation of Europe to ux homme seul/’ Before he gave me time ito blush,” said the Duke, ‘‘ he put his hand on his own heart, and Said Crestenn@iue | aaa A friend of the Duke’s was at Elba when Bonaparte was read- ing Pradt’s published ‘‘ Memoirs,” and Napoleon absolutely roared with laughter. Pradt had stated in these ‘‘ Memoirs” that when he met Napoleon at the Inn at Warsaw, after his retreat from Russia, and conversed with him on the state of affairs, Bonaparte was so impressed with his (Pradt’s) remarks, that he made frequent notes. ‘‘ Now,” said Napo- leon to the Duke’s friend, ‘‘ always hear both sides. I was writing Maret to say, ‘‘ Renvoyez ce coquin de Pradt 4 son 1 This story of the Abbé de Pradt is very like the one told by Spence of Ambrose Philips the poet, and a very vainman. He, Congreve, and Swift, were once discuss- ing Julius Czesar, when the question arose what Czesar was like, in person. ‘‘For my part,” said Philips, ‘‘I take him to have been a lean man, of pale complexion, ex- tremely neat in his dress, and about five feet seven inches high.”” This was so exact a description of Ambrose Philips, Esq., that after a minute or so, Swift politely delivered his opinion that Julius Casar must have been ‘‘a plump man, about five feet fire uiches high, not very neatly dressed in a black gown with pudding sleeves.”,—Ep. LETTERS. 243 archevéque!’” The Duke tells a story better than Sir Walter Scott. My three days at Walmer were more valuable to me than Napoleon’s hundred days were to him. Adieu! Zo Miss MITFORD. My DEAR MARY RUSSELL, 31st May, 1842. On Tuesday, Wordsworth breakfasted with us alone and went to church, and afterwards to Lockhart, who took us to the Zoological—as a part of the wild beasts. Wordsworth’s sil- ver-haired simplicity contrasted with Lockhart’s arch mischief, and was exquisite. Wordsworth sat down to rest and told us a delightful story, so beautifully, as if an Apostle was unbending. I looked up and saw Lockhart relishing the whole thing, as if fora moment bewitched out of his melancholy mocking. What an expression I caught then for one of my Cartoons! So when you see it, remember. The story was this :—A friend of Gains- borough’s had a sweet child who was going away to school. As her father was on a sick-bed he was touched at parting with her. This came to Gainsborough’s ears. So Gainsborough looked out for her, and said to her, ‘‘ My little love, can you keep a Secketa Gont knomw.7. said snes: put Vil try.” “ Well!” sald he, “you come to me to-morrow.” She came, and he painted her portrait, in order that when she was gone it might be placed at the foot of papa’s bed, to delight him. The child went to school enjoying her secret, and the next morning, when her father opened his eyes, there was the image of his darling looking at him from the bottom of his bed! You never heard any human being tell sucha simple story so touchingly. It would have softened the-hearts of the lions and tigers could they have heard it. As Wordsworth was telling this in a shady nook, I sitting by him, Lockhart before us standing, and looking complacently down, the sun shone on Wordsworth’s silvery hairs, while his dull eyes, with that look of internal vision I never saw in any 244 B. R, HAYVDON. other face, told of thought unknown to any but his Maker—out came of the window the long neck and calm, large-eyed head of the camelopard as if above all human anxiety, and with an air of quiescent contempt for all three of us, that was exquisite. TABLE TALK. : 4 eae uh ar Vik 5 bales Pu ae) oe ‘ c 7 rs Fn ( - ohh s ‘a7 (bilge DALK. sana| REMEMBER dining the first time with Canning at 1 Bi Lord Mulgrave’s, in 1808. There were present Lord Dartmouth, Sir Charles and Lady Long, General and , Mrs. Phipps, Angerstein, Lady Harrington, and Charles Bagot, Canning’s private secretary. Canning said nothing important. He appeared to me a little overbearing. He quizzed Dr. Parr for believing in Ireland’s play ; and the con- versation turning upon geometrical staircases, ‘‘ What is the principle ?” said Lord Mulgrave to Canning. -After thinking a moment, he blushed deeply, and said, ‘‘I really do not know.” They then began on politics, in which of course they were all au fait. Napoleon was spoken of with a sort of conviction of his power. Lord Mulgrave had been sent out to Austrian head- quarters on a mission by Mr. Pitt, when Bonaparte was in the Tyrol, and he urged the Archduke Charles to attack Bona- parte. Lord Mulgrave used to say that, had the Archduke attacked, Bonaparte’s destruction was certain. Mrs. Hun, Canning’s mother, I knew well. She was a great friend of my father’s, a woman of masculine habits of mind, very clever, and a great talker. Canning’s father was disinherited by /zs father for marrying her. Never was a mind more adapted for its purpose in art than Wilkie’s. Among a thousand instances I select the following. When with me at Cheddar (1809), we visited the tremendous 248 B. R. HAVDON. rocks and cavern. There was something terrific in their appearance; a wild, ferocious sullen tone, with a burst of light in the sky behind, which showed their proportion sharply. Wilkie felt nothing of this. He was much more interested in studying John Cobley, my uncle, the very essence of simplicity and good faith. We then went into the cavern, through which runs a silent stream of water that vanishes imperceptibly among distant rocks. We fixed two bits of hghted candle on some- thing buoyant, and hiding our own candles, sent our little light- ships floating down the stream. Nothing could be more exqui- sitely poetical than their silent floating away, now illumining the vast cavern, now lost behind some rugged projection, now reappearing, suspended as it were in the air, for the surface of the water could no longer be seen, then glimmering in the far distance, clinging to the rocky roof like a fond memory to our minds, yet irresistibly swept along further and fainter, till they faded away into silent obscurity. They were like helpless spirits borne along the Styx. We tried another, and it upset and sputtered. Wilkie, who had been apparently unconcerned before, now burst forth in an ecstasy of delight, and cried out, ‘‘What a capital subject fora picture; anumber of persons and children setting off these things, and some fizzling and sputtering in the water!” I recollect once at Lord Elgin’s, when I thought he was lost in admiration at the Marbles, he said, on coming out: ‘‘I have been thinking of a capital subject—a parcel of boys, with one of those things they water the gardens with, spouting water over one another!” Nothing refined or grand, or even solemn, ever drew his attention for one moment from his own ludicrous con- ceptions. When he went to West’s funeral, and was standing by the side of the grave, at the most beautiful moment in our Service for the Dead, the costume of one of the officials caught Wilkie’s eye; he nudged the man next to him, ‘‘ Just look at that cocked hat. Isn’t it grand!” 3 Never ridicule personal defects, when telling a story, until you have first thrown your eye round the company, FABLE PALER, 240 When I hear of a great or noble action, I always thank God for giving me the blessings of existence. It consoles me for the meanness and malignity of the rest of mankind. Some persons are so devotional they have not one bit of true religion in them. Marshal Lannes, Duke of Montebello, is dead. (June 16, 1809.) The Bulletin says that Bonaparte passed an hour with him. What a fine scene this would make! Supposing Bona- parte’s fortunes to be on the decline, as I suppose, I think this must give his mind a shock. This is the first of his early friends he has lost and the first serious defeat he has met with. I should like to have been invisible at their meeting. Lannes dying, weak and nervous, advising Bonaparte, must have made him think more seriously of his mortality than anything that ever happened to him before. I see the ghosts of D’Enghien, Palm, Toussaint, Palafox’s friend shot at Saragossa, hovering round their heads, and smiling as if the age of power, murder, and destruction was coming to its end. ... I feel convinced when I survey the state of Europe at this period, and compare it with the state two years ago, that Bonaparte has lost ground, and the historian hereafter may with propriety date his down- fall from his invasion of Spain. Could anything on earth be more impomstic? He has not only lost the use of the Spanish armies and fleets, but he has divided his own forces. He has given a shock to his power he will never recover. ' | This is a proof of Haydon’s political foresight. In 1809 such a view was ridiculed. No one believed in it. The year following, when Napoleon held his famous Court at Erfurt, his power seemed more firmly established than at any period in his history. The splendor and magnificence he displayed on that occasion surpassed anything that had ever been seenin Europe. ‘Come to Erfurt,” he wrote to his favorite actor Talma, ‘Come to Erfurt, and you shall play before a pit full of kings!” Yet amidst all this display of grandeur and authority, Haydon never swerved from his opinion, and de- clared him a lost man unless he abandoned Spain. Subsequent events fully justined this view, and modern writers have adopted it. In 1812, Lord Wellesley, referring im a speech to the state of Europe, said of Napoleon, “ He 1s one of an order of minds that by nature make for themselves great reverses.” But that was three years later, after Vd 250 B. R. HAYDON. One day (1809), driving in the coach from Exeter to Wells, I was excessively amused by a sailor who had belonged to the ‘‘ Victory,” and was at Trafalgar. What he told me had all the simplicity of truth. He said as they were going into action, Lord Nelson came round to them, and told them not to fire until they were sure of their object. ‘‘ When he came down,” said he, ‘‘ we were skylarking, as everything was ready, and guns double-shotted.” ‘‘ What do ye mean by skylarking ?” said I. ‘‘ Jumping over each other’s heads,” he answered, ** to amuse ourselves till we were near enough to fire.” He wasa robust, fine weather-beaten fellow. At some inn we changed at, there was a well-pipeclayed, and clean, but spindle-legged local militia-man, smoking his pipe. Jack and he soon came to a misunderstanding of course. ‘‘If I was thee,” said the militia-man, ‘‘I would have put on a cleaner handkercher about my neck.” ‘* ——your eyes, what d’ye ask for your legs?” said the sailor. No human being could help roaring with laughter, and Jack enjoyed a complete triumph, as he deserved, after being four years at sea. Rigo, a French artist, who accompanied Denon to the cata- racts of the Nile in Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition (1799), spent last evening with me (May 6, 1811). I was curious to get out every anecdote about Napoleon from one who had seen him repeatedly, and indeed had always been with him during the Egyptian expedition. Rigo said the night before the battle of Aboukir, he lay on the ground in the same tent with Bona- parte. About midnight, Bonaparte told Berthier and the rest to go to sleep in their cloaks till daybreak. Rigo said he was never near Bonaparte, but he was attracted by his physiog- nomy : there was something in his face so acute, so thoughtful, so terrible, that it always impressed him, and that this night, when all the rest were buried in sleep, he could not help watching him. Ina little time he observed Napoleon take the soine successes of Wellington in Spain, and when war between Russia and France was certain. In 180g it required no ordinary sagacity to detect the character and bear- ing of the ‘‘ Spanish ulcer,”’ which really destroyed Napoleon.—Ep, LAB IG LE LAUDS, 251 compasses and a chart of Aboukir and the Mediterranean, and measure ; and then take a ruler and draw lines. He then arose, went to the door of his tent, and looked towards the horizon ; then returned and looked at his watch. After a moment he took a knife and cut the table in all ways, like a boy. He then rested, with his head on his hand, looked at his watch for some time, went again to the door of his tent, and again re- turned to his seat. There was something peculiarly awful in the circumstances, the dead silence of the night, the solitary lamp, lighting up Napoleon’s features, the generals sleeping, the feeling that the Turks were encamped near, and that before long a dreadful battle would be fought. Rigo said he could not have slept. Presently Napoleon looked around to see if allslept. Rigo shut his eyes. In a short time Napoleon called them all up, ordered his horse, and asked how long to) daybreak. They told him an hour. The army was then got under arms. Napoleon rode round, spoke to the col- onels and soldiers, told them in his energetic manner that at a mile from them lay a Turkish army which he expected by ten o’clock that morning should exist no longer. Before ten they were annihilated. Kleber, who commanded the reserve, did not join till after the battle. Napoleon was surrounded by trophies: cannon, standards, arms ; and when Kleber suddenly appeared—*S Eh bien, Kleber, qu’avez-vous vu?” said Napoleon. ‘‘ Général,” replied Kleber, ‘‘c’est la plus grande bataille du monde.” ‘“ I] faut déjeuner avec nous,” said Napoleon. Rigo said that after his return from Egypt he had dined with Bonaparte, who was then First Consul. Bonaparte was never more than ten minutes at dinner. Two footmen, the moment he had eaten of one dish, put down a second. He ate of that, drank a few glasses of wine, and retired. The company all rose when he got up, and then stayed two or three hours. Rigo said Napoleon in the field was as cool and collected as in his cabinet. I paint History, but I do not underrate other branches of the art. I have no wish to see one part of the art encouraged at 2182 B. 8. HAYDON. the expense of the other. Let low life and small paintings, water-color, drawing, fruit, fish, horses, dog, and portrait all go on, but let High Art be respected as High Art, and take that rank to which its elevation entitles it. When Voltaire was dying he received the sacrament with greatceremony. His explanation was, ‘*‘ Je ne veux point étres martyr 4 mon age.”’ There isahero. Thereis a philosopher! This is the man to ridicule the saints who proved their sincerity by laying down their lives for principles they believed con- ducive to human virtue in this world, and human happiness in the next. Was Voltaire sincere, or was he not, in ridiculing Christianity ? Ifhe was not, what can we think of such a man putting forth all his skilland wit to perplex the world? If he was sincere, what a mean, cowardly dastard to receive the sacrament merely to ensure his own security by an appearance of belief. ‘‘ Je ne veux point etre martyr 48 mon age.” And why? Surely it was more noble to die a martyr at his age, and inflame the world by his adherence to what he considered truth, and against what he held to be superstition, than by an outward appearance of acquiescence to delude the people into a belief that he repented from fear of personal persecution. I remember Keats repeating to me that exquisite ode to Pan, just after he had conceived it, in a low, half-chanting, trem- bling tone. What a true genius he was! Poor fellow! °'I know the miserable mistake,” said he, ‘‘ I have ignorantly made in devoting myself to Leigh Hunt; but he is not selfish, and I’ll not shrink now he isin trouble.” ‘These were his very words. I was to have made a drawing of Keats, and my neglect really gave him a pang, as it now does me. The anecdote Tacitus relates of Nero in his last moments is 1 This seems to corroborate the estimate Condorcet forms of him (‘‘Vie de Voltaire”). Voltaire, according to Condorcet, was ‘‘a singular mixture of audacity and weakness, without that firmness in conduct which enables a truly courageous man to meet the storm he has roused with fortitude.’’—Eb. TABLE TALK. 253 a thunderbolt of refutation to the whole French Theatre. Vol- taire, in his objection to Shakespeare, says that no ancient Komans would talk together as he has made brutus and Cassius talk, which means that Brutus and Cassius would always have talked as if they were in the forum before an assembly, and never in private give way to the private feelings of men. Now when Nero was obliged to take refuge in the obscure retreat of a freedman, after wading through a marshy meadow, covered with mud, and with daggers placed before him that he might die a Roman’s death, what did he do? Instead of showing any signs of repentance, instead of thinking with horror, as we may be sure Voltaire would have made him, of the murder of his mother, of his brother, of his wife, of his tutor, and of the hun- dreds of innocent men; instead of seeing in his flaming mind’s eye the burning of Rome, and the massacre of the helpless Christians, he walked about the room, and said at last in a most melancholy tone, ‘*‘ What a musician the world will lose!”” Here is a touch of nature deeper than even Shake- speare might have ventured, yet nobody but he would have ventured on it. As I was writing this, a distinguished Frenchman came into my painting-room, and we set-to about the English and French drama. After a hot debate on the superior merits of Shake- speare, he said, with agony in his face, and a shrink in his frame, ‘“Mais, Monsieur Haydon, vous souvenez-vous de Hamlet? Ah! de mettre une téte de mort entre les mains délicates cum jcume) prince! Bah, quel horreur !’’ This was a touch almost equal to Nero’s. Fuseli says that my two women, in the ‘‘ Judgment of Solo- mon,” would never have lived together in the same house. What! does he know so little of human nature as not to be aware a devil may so mask her passions as to impose on, and obtain the confidence of a more innocent woman, and that the she-devil’s real temperament would only be developed when she was thrown off her guard by an event like that related of Solomon ? 254 B. R. HAVDON. All government is an evil, but, of the two forms of that evil, democracy or monarchy, the sounder is monarchy, the more able to do its will, democracy. ' The dogs of Landseer are exquisite, but why does he not paint a Zzon—not a drawing-room lion like Van Amburgh’s, surfeited with boiled beef and biscuits, but a downright savage monarch of the woods? It is extraordinary that Landseer has no notion of the totality of a picture. His backgrounds are always disjointed, and his color always wrong. He has no eye for anything but detail. The world is always willing to believe that he who has any faculty more intensely strong than themselves, must have others as intensely weak. Thus they lay the flattering unction to their souls as soothing to their own incapacity. Johnson says, genius is ‘‘a large mind of general powers, accidentally determined to some particular object.” This is not enough. Genius is a large mind of general powers with a particular organization of faculty to receive the impression more strongly of one particular thing than of any other. Thus music was invented, says Reynolds, by a man at leisure listening to the notes of a hammerer. How many thousand men at leisure would not have removed from what they would have called the noise? But this particular man had a construction of faculties that enabled him to perceive, in the regular noise of a hammer, harmony of sound. Hadanapple fallen on Titian’s head, would the principle of gravitation have occurred to hismind ? Certainly not. He would have taken up the apple, and have thought of its color. Spenser’s ‘* Faérie Queene” made Cowley a poet, be- cause Cowley had the capability to be affected by the harmony of verse. Would Newton have become a poet by reading Spen- 1 ** Therr little finger,’’ as Holles said of the Republicans of Cromwell's days, ‘‘ is heavier that the loins of monarchy.” Nunquam libertas gratior exstat quam sub rege pio. —ED. DABIE ET ARE 20s ser? One of Minasi’s little boys, the other day, when walking with his father and brothers, flung a stone against a brick. Neither his father nor brother heard anything, yet the child cried out with glee, ‘‘ Father, there is music even in bricks,” and at every stone he threw, said, ‘‘ There is music again,’ which means that he had so delicate an organization for the impression of sounds, that to his exquisite sensibility the commonest sounds were musical, Why did not his father and brothers say the same ?' There is no duty more incumbent upon men of talent than in preserving from oblivion the memories of those old friends, however humble, who have helped them in early youth, or shared their hours of relaxation, and whose goodness of heart, or simplicity of mind, compensate for the want of distinguished talents or position. It is a duty, I fear, too often violated or neglected. I remember when Canning was a student at the Temple, a Mr. Steer used frequently to have him to sup, indeed at a time when Canning was very glad of it. Shortly after Can- ning had enlisted under Pitt, he (Canning) was in Christie’s ! But Johnson’s definition does not explain all cases, those, for example, in which the direction is taken against the direction that would be impressed on other minds by the same circumstances. My father’s definition amounts to Channing’s definition, or Channing’s to his, viz., that the distinctive mark of genius is ‘‘ to discern more of truth than ordinary minds ;”’ in short, that genius is insight. Carlyle seems to agree with Johnson. Blair’s definition, that genius is “‘ the power of executing,” is quite below the mark. The power of executing is only a lower form of talent, no higher than in- genuity, between which and grand conceptions there lies a gulf as wide as that divid- ing Abraham from Dives. Sir Joshua Reynolds, adopting Johnson’s definition, raised his theory of *‘ equal aptitude” upon it, in which he maintained that all men in normal health, being originally equal in mental power, genius could be developed by industry.” Buffon, I believe, said ‘‘ genius isindustry.”” But itis something more, surely ; though that ‘‘ intellectual something ”’ is difficult to define, and in its mode of working more diffi- cult to explain. All that we know of the habits of men of genius shows they are the hardest workers at self-improvement ; that they are essentially men of introspec- tive habits, and that they have gained a complete subjection of their attention to their will. Newton and Titian are both reported to have substantially made the same answer to the same question as to how they arrived at such excellent results nv always intending my mind ;” ‘‘ By always thinking about them.’’ One thing only seems to be certain of genius, that while men of talent are all, more or less, the same, no two men of genius are ever alike,—ED. 286 B. R. HAVDON. room, talking to some nobleman, when Steer, who had not seen Canning for some time, happening to come in, went up to shake Canning heartily by the hand. Canning received him as if ashamed! I had this from Seguier, whom Steer told. This was heartless of Canning. The powers of Zerah Colburn are certainly miraculous. At. six years of age his father overheard him, in play, saying what five times three were, and asked him, as a joke, what five times ninety-three were, when to his astonishment the child answered correctly. Hethen asked him how many thirteen times ninety- three were, and was instantly told. He tried the result on paper, and found the child was correct. He tells me he never can describehis feelings at this moment. It was in a wild wood in America where he had encamped to enclose and clear some fresh land. The boy had been born in the log hut, and for such a child, so situated, to answer such questions at six years of age, looked to him like supernatural interference. From this day his powers gradually developed, and extraordinary ones they certainly are. It is an evident faculty from nature of great and refined power. It acts hke a natural power. It can be accounted for; itisnot like an unintelligible gift. It is a natural common power, which every one has, in some degree, carried to the high- est perfection. ‘There is no saying where it will end, for it ap- pears to grow with his growth. There are three supreme agonies in life: the agony of jeal- ousy, the agony of fearing you have mistaken your talents, and the agony of ennui. The first proof of a man’s incapacity for anything is his en- deavoring to fix the stigma of failure upon others. I do not think that Raphael’s ‘* Women” have each the cha- racteristic of a class. ‘They are not Cordelias, or Gonerils, or Beatrices. They have all one general air of loveliness. They exhibit the combined points of interest as women. They are TABLE. TALK 267 tender, gentle, and sweet, inclined to love. They have what we all sympathize with, because their qualities are those that make women delightful ; but yet he never distinguishes them as nature distinguishes them. They are nothing but gentle, ten- der, and sweet. They are not daring or vicious. They are never fascinating jilts or lovely intriguers, never the imperious beauty of opening youth, or the glowing mellowness of ma- turity. They have general qualities, but not particular, dis- tinctive marks of character. The other night I was at a conversazione, and while there the distinguished editor of the ‘‘ * * * Review” camein drunk. He walked into the room and out again. I walked after him and caught him on thestairs. ‘‘ My dear fellow,” he said, ‘‘ I do hope you will get on, paint their aces. Good night, God bless you!” and away he reeled. Lord Londonderry quarrelled with Lady Londonderry, and, said he, ‘‘ My lady, I have not stamina enough for you, and the House of Commons too, and the House of Commons I cannot meplect.”’ I remember once, on a cold May day, meeting Lady London- derry in St. James’s Street. Hamilton said I was ready to show her the Elgin Marbles. ‘‘ Not now, Mr, Haydon,” was her reply. ‘‘ /tzs too cold for marble : when the weather is warmer.” So much for Miladi’s love for the arts. I saw Kean’s ‘‘ Hamlet” last night (28th Oct. 1814), and totally disagree as to its being his worst part. The fact is we are ruined by the ranting habits of the stage. We are become so used to noise, declamation, and fury that was Nature her- self before us she would appear tame and insipid. They com- plain that Kean is insipid in the soliloquies, absurd. What is the impression from his whole acting? Is it not of a heart- afflicted youth who silently wanders for hours in the lobby in despairing desolation ° At these times in nature such a man 258 B: R, HAYDON. so afflicted would soliloquize, and how would hedoit? Would he rant, and stamp, and thunder? Oh, no. He would reason quietly, he would weep at his father’s name, and, in half-sup- pressed sighs and bursting agony, lament his mother’s second marriage. This is the system of Kean, and indeed it is impos- sible that one who feels the heats of passion so quickly should not feel as justly the parts of secret soliloquy. To me his whole conception and execution of ‘*‘ Hamlet” is perfect. You see him wander silently about, weary, in grief, disgusted. If he speaks it is not to the audience, if he shows feeling it is not for applause. He speaks because he feels compelled to utter his sensations by their excess, he weeps because his faculties can no longer retain themselves, and the longer Kean acts the more will he bring the world to his principles. The time is not far distant when his purity, his truth, his energy, will triumph over all opposition. ““ Ne parlez pas des hommes,” said Davoust on the Moscow retreat to a general making his returns, ‘‘ Ve pfarlez pas des hommes, combien de chevaux avez-vous perdus?” This is war ! Beware of those women whose propensity and delight is to correct the errors rather than love the good qualities a man may possess. A pretty life would he lead who marries such a one.! Campbell, the poet, told me once that he never slept but two hours in the night, and was always stupid in the day in con- sequence. Fuseli said to me once that people generally went to church in proportion to their profligacy. I had it onthe tip of my tongue to tell him that I wondered he did not go every day. There must be more malice than love in the hearts of all wits. 1 “* Plus on juge, moins on aime.” ( Balzac ).—Ep. TABLE TALK. 259 Nothing is difficult ; it is only we who are indolent. After the Battle of Waterloo my servant, who was an old Peninsular man, brought several of the wounded to my rooms, on their arrival in London. Wilkie was with me. The de- scription of the men was simple, characteristic, and poetical. They said, when the Life-Guards and Cuirassiers met it was ‘“ like the ringing of ten thousand blacksmiths’ anvils.” One of them knew my models, Shaw and Dakin. He saw Dakin, dismounted, fighting with two Cuirassiers, also dismounted. Dakin divided both their heads with cuts fiveandsix. Another saw Shaw fighting with two Cuirassiers at a time; Shaw, he said, always °‘ cleared his passage.” He saw him take an eagle but lose it afterwards, as when any man got an eagle all the others near him, on both sides, left off fighting and set on him who had the eagle. Afterwards, when lying wounded in the yard at La Haye-Sainte, he heard some one groaning, and, turning round, saw Shaw, who said, ‘‘Il am dying; my side is tom, olf by.a shell.” Corporal Webster, of the 2d .Life- Guards, saw Shaw give his first cut; a Cuirassier gave point at him, Shaw parried the thrust, and before the Cuirassier re- covered, Shaw cut him right through his brass helmet to the chin, ‘‘ and his face fell off him likea bit of apple.” Another model of mine, one of the wounded men—Hodgson—the finest imameor pall. a perfect Achilles, charged up to. the French baggage. ‘The first man who stopped him, he told us, was an Irishman in the Frenchservice. He dashed at Hodgson, saying ‘*____ you, Pll stop your crowing.” Hodgson said he felt frightened, as he had never fought anybody with swords. The first cut he gave was on the cuirass, which Hodgson thought was Silver-lace—the shock nearly brokehisarm. Watching the Cuirassier, however, he found he could move his own horse quicker ; so, dropping the reins, and guiding his horse with his knees, as the Cuirassier at last gave point, Hodgson cut his sword-hand off, and then dashed the point of his sword into the man’s throat, turned it round and round. ‘‘ nae Sites” he added, ‘‘ now I had found out the way, I soon gave it them.” 1) 26Or B. R. HAVDON. As he rode back, a French regiment opened and let him pass at full gallop, then closed and fired a volley, but never hit him or his horse. Then a mounted French officer attacked him ; Hodgson cut his horse at the nape, and as it fell the officer’s helmet rolled off, and Hodgson saw a bald head, and gray hairs ; the officer begged for mercy, but at that instant, a troop of Lancers were coming down full gallop, so Hodgson clove his head in two at a blow, and escaped. He said the recollection of the old man’s white hairs pained him often. Before he got back to the British lines a Lancer officer charged him, and, missing his thrust, came right on to Hodgson and his horse. Hodyson got clear, and cut the man’s head off at the neck at one blow. The head bobbed on to his haversack, where he kept the bloody stain. Waulkieand I kept the poor fellows long and late, and rewarded them well. My man, Sammonc, seemed astounded that the Battle of Waterloo had been won and he not present. The author of ‘‘ Nenia Britannica,” the Rev. Douglas, was one of the most singular characters. In the autumn of 1815, when I was down at Brighton, Douglas was there with Prince Hoare, and I invited Wilkie down to meet them. Wilkie was delighted with Douglas ; he reminded him of the Vicar of Wakefield. Douglas was anantiquary ; and his theory was, that in the early period of urn burials brass only, and not iron, was in use. He excited our curiosity so much that Wilkie and I, and Prince Hoare, plagued him until he got leave to open the great barrow on the hill close tothe church. The toth Hussars were then at Brighton, and I got permission from the colonel for some of the men to dig for us; and early in the morning we set in to work. About noon we came to an urn of unbaked clay, graceful in form, and ornamented like a British shields here's iron, “said i “al hope not. 2) thumeerce Douglas. Luckily for his theory, it was not iron. He was so nervous, be broke the urn, and out tumbled the burned bones of ahumanskeleton. By this time the cockneys had flocked up the hill, and, crowding round, began to pilfer the bones. I PARES AER 261 bought a muffin basket of a boy, put In tite inh, andy put. it under Hoare’s care. Douglas, now his antiquarian theory was safe, jumped into the grave, and addressed the people ox the wickedness of disturbing the ashes of the dead! Wilkie was in ecstasies, and kept saying, ‘‘ Dear, dear, just look at him!” The effect of his large sack of a body, his small head, white hair, and reverend look, his spectacles low down on his nose, and his severe expression as he eyed the mob over them, was indescribable. After a long harangue, he persuaded the cock- neys to stand back, and ordered the hussars to cover up the bones with respect. One day, he had lost a black horse out of his orchard. I said, ‘‘ But why don’t you goto a magistrate?” ‘‘ Ah, my dear friend,” he replied, ‘*‘ perhaps God Almighty thinks I have had him long enough.” Prince Hoare told me an amusing anecdote illustrative of his passion for urns. He and Douglas were conversing about Seed preaching at Athens, “1 wonder,” said Douelas, Pawuortiat DWamaris wast’ “1 do not know,” said Hoare. ‘“ Ah,” said Douglas, with perfect gravity, ‘‘ I wish we could find her urn!” The Greek artists knew nothing of anatomy, decause their medical men knew little! Of course, if this be ground for argument, our artists now must know a good deal, because our surgeons know so much! Literary authority is against me, but the back of the Theseus and the front of the Ilissus are higher authority far. Lord Aberdeen, in 1821, told me the Greeks certainly did not dissect, but I could get 2o authority from him for this assertion. Cockerell told me he was not aware that there was any authority for saying that the Greeks did not dissect. Carlisle, on the other hand, maintains that Pliny and Pausanias prove that the Greeks knew nothing of anatomy. I should like to know where? How comes it that Homer describes the wounds he inflicts, and their conse- 262 B. R. HAVDON. quences, with such accuracy, if anatomy was unstudied? I grant that the Greek surgeons may not have known muscular anatomy as thoroughly as the moderns, but that does not imply total ignorance. In the feet of Venus I can trace the drawings and hints of the most exquisite anatomy. The sculptor who knew how to make the feet and ankles, knew how to make the sides. June 28, 1817, I dined at Kemble’s farewell dinner. A more complete farce was never acted. Many, I dare say, regretted his leaving the stage, but the compliments on all sides wearied you. The Drury Lane actors flattering the Covent Garden actors, the Covent Garden actors flattered Drury Lane. Lord Holland flattered Kemble; Kemble flattered Lord Holland. Then Campbell, the poet, flattered Moore (whom I knew he hated), but Tom Moore, like an honest sensible genius, as he is, said not a word, but drank his wine and—flattered no one. This dinner to Kemble, under the affectation of honoring him, was in reality a masked attack upon Kean. Kemble as an actor, and West as a painter, have more claims on society from the honor of their private characters than from the greatness of their genius. Age, time, and connections have formed around them a phalanx of friends; and, as if symptomatic of their posthumous decay, or from a dislike that the men to whom they have looked up, from childhood to maturity, for all their pictorial or theatrical delights, should be proved, by the Superior promise of such men as Kean, not to be the great creatures they have been taught to believe, they unite to give a lasting testimony of their respect, to make one struggle for the glory of their favorite, with a foreboding that it is nothing but a struggle to put a little oil into the socket of an expiring lamp. Any Gne would have thought that the English Stage took its origin from Kemble, such was the flattering of the night. Garrick was never mentioned. Yet all that Kemble has done for it, is to improve the costume. It was laugh- able to listen, and hear that no one spoke of his genius. This was a true touch. Lord Holland spoke of his critical capacity, his learning, etc., but not a word about his genius. The truth TABLE TALK. 263 is, Kemble is a regular actor but not a great one. Never did Kemble lose possession of himself. Never did nature whisper in his ear one of Kean’s bursts in ‘‘ Othello,” worth all Kemble’s life and the lives of fifty Kembles, if each had lived to the age of Methusaleh. Second-rate ability finds it much easier to imitate Kemble’s droning regularity than to copy the furious impulses of Kean, who cannot point out when they come, or why. Every critic’s self-love was affected by the startling ap- parition of Kean when he sprang into the midst of them, and with one flash of his vigorous eye dwindled the stately march and solemn heartlessness of the Kemble’s mockery into its real insignificance. Every admirer of Kemble felt his judgment impeached ; and, though all had long felt that Kemble was not the highest model of excellence, no one of them liked to acknowledge that Kean was, because Kean did not wait to be found out, but stood forth at once and bid others find him. On telling Wilkie one day that I was reading Homer, he said, with a strong Scotch twang, ‘* Dear, dear, I have no pa- mence with Pope’s Homer.” ‘** Why?” said I. °° Because,” said he, ‘‘ there’s jest such an evident prejudice in favor of the Grecks !” One of the greatest annoyances in life is the remarks of com- mon minds when criticising great works. Such people always miss in great works the very things their minds would not have left out. They never think it possible for a man of genius to have left them out by choice. Oh, no! They imagine such things never occurred to his conception, and thus they chuckle over illusive imperfections with a self-congratulatory air of con- scious superiority.’ Wilkie, with his characteristic prudence, once said to me, “1 The world little knows how many of the thoughts and theories which have passed through the mind of a scientific investigator have been crushed im silence and secresy by his own severe criticism and adverse examination! that in the most successful in- stances, not a tenth of the suggestions, the hopes, the wishes, the preliminary conclu- sions have been realized.”’ (Faraday on “ Education.” )— Ep. 204 B- BR. ANDO. ‘If you just want to get on in the world it is not most condu- cive to your interests to be foo right. It is rather better,” he added, ‘‘to let others imagine that they are right, and you wrong.” This is genuine worldly prudence.’ I spent last evening (1oth March, 1621) with Mrs Siddons, to hear her read ‘‘ Macbeth.” She acts Macbeth herself better than either Kemble or Kean. It is extraordinary the awe this wonderful woman inspires. After her first reading we retired to tea. While we were all eating toast and tingling cups and saucers, she began again. It was like the effect of a mass bell at Madrid. All noise ceased, we slunk to our seats like boors, two or three of the most distinguished men of the day with the very toast in their mouths, afraid to bite. It was laughable to watch Lawrence in this predicament, to hear him bite by degrees, and then stop for fear of making too much crackle, his eyes full of water from the constraint; and to hear Mrs. Siddons, ‘* eye of newt and toe of frog!” and then to see Lawrence give a sly bite, and then look awed, and pretend to be listening. As I stood on the landing-place to get cool, I overheard my own servant say in the hall, ‘‘ What! is that the old lady making such a noise?” ‘* Yes.” ‘°* Why, she makes as much noise as ever.” ‘* Yes,” was the answer, “‘ she tunes her pipes as well as ever she did.” Holt, the boxer, sat to me for his portrait in the ‘‘ Mock Election.’ If I had not made a good likeness, I should have lost my reputation with the ring. MHolt said, ‘‘ I have always heard of you, sir, these twenty years, but not knowing anything of art, I thought you were ‘ an old master.’ ”’ Sir Walter Scott said to me of Lockhart, ‘‘ He is so mis- chievous, he is like a monkey in a china shop.” Keats said to me of Leigh Hunt, “It is a great pity that 1 Wilkie was evidently improving upon Swift’s advice, viz., that the short way to ob- tain the reputation of a sensible man is, when any one tells you his opinion, to agree with him.—Eb. BAB IRE TAOS. 265 people, by associating themselves with a few things, spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead, masks, sonnets, and Italian tales.” Another time, when walking in West-end fields, he said, ‘* Haydon, what a pity it is there is not a Human Dust- hole!” 66! = 2 ° . Combien d’années avez-vous servi?” said the Duchess D’Angouléme the other day to a ‘‘ vieille moustache.” ‘‘ Vingt ans avec Napoleon, et un an sous le Roi.” ‘‘ Ah! vingtans de brigandage, et une année de service.” This is how these Bourbons conciliate the army. The higher some men are gifted by nature, the less willing they are always to acknowledge any obligation to any other being, however just or decent. This applies to Edwin Land- seer particularly. He is a young man of extraordinary genius, but his genius was guided by me, and first brought into notice by my enthusiastic recommendation ef him. When his father brought him to me with his other brothers, I advised him to dissect animals, as I had men. I lent him my dissections from the lion, which he copied, and when he began to show real powers, I took a portfolio of his drawings to Sir George Beau- mont’s one day at a grand dinner, and showed them all round to the nobility when we had retired to coffee. When he painted his Dogs, I wrote to Sir George and advised him to buy it. In short, | was altogether the means of bringing him so early into notice. These things may be trifles, but when I see a youth strutting about and denying his obligations to me, I may as well note them down. The only way to get the confidence of the world is to show the world that you do not want their confidence. I went last night (May 19, 1815) to see Miss O’Neill in 6‘ Tcabella.”’ Really there was no bearing it ; I sat with the tears trickling over my cheeks like a woman. Never tell me that the feelings of a youth are half so intensely strong as those of a 12 266 B. R. HAVDON. man of experience in the world’s troubles. What does a boy know of the passions of the world? What does he know of that mysterious depth of love? When Biron came in, and she screamed and fell on the floor, and then rushed to him, looked at him, dwelt on him, and seemed eager to devour him, what my heart felt! Thus it is: you are born with feelings as with capacity, and as you more easily comprehend what you have previously comprehended, you must more intensely feel another’s agonies if you have previously suffered them. ‘* How use doth breed a habit in a man!” My landlord, now comparatively a rich man, was brought up from low life. Al- though he has a capital house, and every convenience, he never washes his hands in a basin on a washstand, but regularly goes down to the kitchen sink and washes his hands under the tap ! His wife, who was a servant, was once proud of her parlor, but now the parlor is kept for their friends, and he and she kennel in a little fusty back-room, with a broken rug—dusty and kitch- eny. Their whole delight seems to be in perpetually cleaning things, and never enjoying the consequences. Such is the effect of early custom; it forms the habit, and the habit keeps up the custom.’ Wilkie (John), Scott, and Ottley dined with me yesterday (Oct. 3d, 1819). After dinner we insisted that Wilkie, the Tory, the cautious Tory, should drink ‘* Success to Reform.” He resisted a long time, kept putting his glass up to his mouth, and begging to be let off. We then affected great candor, and appealed to his gentlemanlike feelings not to disturb the har- mony of the evening. His simplicity of mind believed us sin- cere, and, with a face like Pistol when he was forced to swallow the leek, he said ‘* Success to Re—re—reform, but very mod- 1 Was it the same “force of early associations” that led the beautiful Princess de Charolais, in the agonies of death, when her father confessor had insisted on the rouge being washed off her face before he administered extreme unction, to cry out to her maids, ‘‘ At least then give me of#ey ribbons. You know without rouge yellow ribbons look frightful on me!” TABLE TALE: 267 erate, remember!” We laughed heartily at our triumph. Three days after he sat to me for Christ’s hand, and seemed full of remorse for his imprudence. When you do not touch his interest or his professional! passions there is not a more delight- ful fellow for amiable feelings than Wilkie. I was in company yesterday with young Betty. He is a bois- terous, good-natured youth; but in spite of all his gayety and fun, his gayety was that of despairingremembrances. His situ- ation is certainly one of the most melancholy and the most sin- gular in the world. His fame, when a boy, was certainly never exceeded by any one; not even Bonaparte had ever a greater share of public attention for the time. Columns of the public journals criticised and lauded him. The prince, the nobility, the ladies doated on him. I remember, when he was confined with a cold, a ‘‘ bulletin” was obliged to be put up in the win- dows of his house to satisfy the eager inquiries of the world. Poor fellow! When grown to man’s estate, without feeling, or capacity, or sense, he attempted again to excite the applause of the world. But, alas! the novelty was over; faults were no longer pardoned, because youth was no longer an excuse for them ; he was now criticised as a man, and he sank like an ex- halation of the evening, never to rise again. His chief amuse- ment now is driving his friends about in his curricle to make their calls, while he sits on the box with as many capes as he can carry. If the servant mistakes him for the coachman his delight is unbounded, and he will repeat the story for a month. He amused us by mimicking the cries of hounds, and the chuck- ling of turkey-cocks ; but he avoided all discussion that could have exposed his intellect, and roared down every attempt at thinking with a noise that made me sigh. He is a melancholy instance that fame not acquired by gradual improvement is an innovation that cannot last. He said he remembered dining with Fox and Sheridan at the House of Commons, but he only remembered the fact. Hazlitt called in (November 3d, 1817), and sat for three 268 B. R. HAVDON. hours, pouring out the result of a week’s thinking. He told me of the three newcharacters for the ‘* Round Table.” One was of a man who had always something to say on every subject of a certain reach; such as, ‘‘ That Shakespeare was a great but irregular genius,” etc. He said some fine things, things which when he writes them will be remembered for ever. I gave him a bottle of wine, and he drank and talked, and told me all the early part of his life, and acknowledged his own weaknesses and follies. Wethen disputed about art. Itold him that he always seemed angry on that subject because he had given it up, and that the art would succeed in spite of his predictions. He would then remember his opposition with pain and mortification. And even if it were to fail, he would also have the pain of hav- ing contributed to it. He denied that he was angry. ‘‘I dare say,” said he, ‘‘ it will succeed, but what is the use of antici- pations of success?” “But where isi)the use,” said) sao morbid anticipations of failure?” ‘‘ Verytrue,” he answered. Hazlitt is a man who can do great good to the art. He prac- tised painting long enough to know it; and he has carried into literature a stock of art-knowledge which no literary man ever did before him. All his sneers and attacks at my views I take as nothing. My object 1s to manage such an intellect for the great purposes of art ; and were he to write against me for six months, still would I be patient. He is a sincere good fellow at heart, with fierce passions and appetites. Appeal to him, he is always conquered and yields. Before long, I venture to predict that he shall assist the good cause, instead of sneering at it. His answer to the vile ‘*‘ Catalogue Raisonné” is the first symptom. When I was at Fontainbleau in 1814, 1 strolled one evening to the Parade. More dreadful-looking fellows than Napoleon’s Guard I had never seen. ‘They had the look of thoroughbred, veteran, disciplined banditti. Depravity, recklessness and bloodthirstiness were burned into their faces. If such fellows had governed the world, what must have become of it? Black mustachios, gigantic bear-skins and a ferocious expression TABLE DALEK 269 were their characteristics. They were tall and bony, but nar- row-chested. On seeing our own men afterwards on the road from Bayonne to Boulogne, it was easy to predict which would have the best of it in a close struggle. Recognizing me, they crowded around me, and their familiar and frank bearing soon took away all dislike. Napoleon was a great man; he had many faults, but he was never beaten. “‘ II €tait trahi—il était trahi.” They all swore they cried when Napoleon took leave. When the eagle was brought up, the ensign turned away his head forcrying. ‘‘ Did he cry?” I said to a grenadier. ‘* He cry,” replied the vieille moustache, ~YEmpereur €tait toujours ferme.” It being a beautiful summer evening, I retired to the Jardin Anglais, and stretching myself out close to the soothing tinkle of a gentle fountain, meditated on Napoleon and his fate, till night had darkened without obscuring the scene. Napoleon, in his feelings, had all the romance of a youth; and few ever have had such power to carry out, in their full in- tensity, the glorious anticipations of youthful imagination. Right opposite his library, in his English garden, was a little column against the setting sun, with a golden eagle grappling the world. This was surely to remind him, in his solitary walks, of the great object of his own life. The evening was delicious ; the fountain worthy of Armida’s garden; the poetry of my mind unearthly for the time; when the crash of the Imperial drums, beating with a harsh unity that stamped them as the voices of veterans in war, woke me from my reverie, and made my heart throb. Never did I hear such drums before; there were years of battle and blood in every sound. Hazlitt sat to me for a head (May 6th.) I never had so pleasant a sitter. He amused me beyond description. I told him I thought him not sound in art; that he appeared to think there would never be another Raphael. He said, ** Am I not Ment, ating the present time:” I Saude. © eiavanlliyegg ‘¢ Then,” said he, ‘‘I have nothing to do with the present times 270 B. R. HAVDON. my business is with what has been done.” ‘‘ Very true,” said I, ‘‘and if you have nothing to do with the present time, why attack it? Let it alone, at any rate.” Thus his real thoughts were evident. The success of painting is to Hazlitt a sore affair after his own failure. My own opinion is that the ‘‘ Memorial of St. Helena” is dictated by Bonaparte himself. There are developments of secret feelings at every new sensation from the novelty of a thing first felt, that could only have come from the man him- self, or have been laid open by Shakespeare. The influence his first little success had in fixing his mind to war is a touch of nature known only to those who, eager for Some pursuit in life and blessed with capacity, make an attempt to try their forte, and, success attending it, the mind bends instantly to ereater efforts in the same road, hoping for more success from ereater exertions, as some success has followed the little effort. Bonaparte’s little affair at Mont Geneéve was the result of true genius acting on any materials. ‘‘ D’aprés cela,” says he, ‘‘ je me sentis beaucoup d’attrait pour un métier qui me réussissait bien.” This genius hasalways anend. It does not follow that all its actions are begun solely with this end in view: many things are the result of chance, many of its connections. Views are always attributed to men of genius, when once their genius is established, from the same short-sighted ignorance which denies them the possession of any views when they begin life, because they exhibit a difference from the rest of mankind, or because they see further than the intellect of their age. ‘* Gé- néral sans emploi, je fusa Paris. Je m’attachaia Barras, parce que je ne connaissais quelui. Robespierre était mort. Barras jouait un role. Il fallait bien m’attacher 4 quelquw’un, et a quelque chose.” This is frank and true. Though profound in his genius, aman of genius does not always act from pro- found intentions, but from attachments, habit, chance, like all other men. Aman of genius always imagines at the beginning of life every man as capable as himself; he does not know that he differs from men till he finds men differ from him. TABLE TALK. 271 When he conceives any plan, he is on the rack till it be executed, for fear of anticipation. ‘‘Je me hatais de le pré- senter,’’ says Napoleon, speaking of his plan for attacking the Austrians in Italy, ‘‘ de peur d’étre prévenu.” In those days, when he beat the Austrians, an officer came to demand peace : “Je me regardais alors four la premiere fois, non comme un simple Général, mais comme un homme appelé a influer sur le sort des peuples. Ye me vis al histoire.” UWHow like this is to the feelings of a youth in a situation he was not born to! ‘Cette paix changeait mon plan. II ne se bornait plus a faire la guerre en Italie, mais a la conquérir.” See the gradual en- largement of plan as circumstances occurred, the secret his- tory of brilliant consequences. Does it not show how brilliant consequences are brought about by common events only being siezed by a superior capacity? Napoleon’s first ambition was to be a colonel of artillery, and he had no idea beyond it. ‘* Un Colonel de l’artillerie me paraissait le ze Dlus ultra de la grandeur humaine.” Then accident threw him into a little affair of posts where there was material for his capacity, and it acted directly. He then began to think if with twelve men he could do so well and be made captain, with more men he could do greater things. Hewent to Toulon: here was a larger field, and his faculty acted again, for genius will act with any material, large or small; he again succeeded and was advanced. He went to Paris. He knew Barras, leaned to his side, was given command of the troops, seized the reserve artillery and beat the sections, married Madame Beauharnais, formed a plan to carry on the war in Italy, by Barras’ interest got command of the Italian army, beat the Austrians till they begged for peace, and then his views again expanded. He determined to conquer Italy ; he conquered Italy, and his ambition then began to extend to the conquest of the world. This gradual expansion of intention 1s very interesting, and could only be explained by him to whom it happened. Itis very simple and true. Those who write the lives of men of genius are always on the look-out to make mankind stare. Genius is nothing more than our common faculties refined to a greater intensity. There are no astonish- Te B. R. HAVDON. ing ways of doing astonishing things. All astonishing things are done by ordinary materials. When aman of genius writes his own life he tells the simplicity of his means in the simplicity of his mind. It is the men of no genius, the blockheads of the world, who, incapable of doing anything by any means, think nothing can be done but by supernatural assistance, that make a wonder of every event when they relate the actions of great men above their feeble comprehension. After all, this life is a strange mixture of candor and con- cealment. Observe how Napoleon excuses his crimes, but never his political errors! His insight into human character is very deep. Nothing can be more interesting than the progress of his mind from the fiery grandeur of youth, when mind and body go hand-in-hand, and the fury of the one is seconded by the vigor of the other through the ripeness of manhood to the hesitations of settled maturity. When we have reached the top we no longer look up, but down. The great object then is to obstruct our inevitable declension to the grave. Daring con- duct, regardless of chances, may hasten but never check our fatal progress. Bonaparte feeling the reflection of public opin- ion as to his infallibility operate on his own temperament after the battle of Pultusk, his feeling a want of confidence in himself he did not know why, his melancholy at his ‘* abatard- issement” after Leipsic, his own indecision from bodily fatigue, that of his officers having palaces to love, his last struggle in the campaign of Mont Mirail, his rushing from Elba with an appearance of the fire of youth, and his blank collapse after Waterloo, proving it only to be the smoke of former fires, are feelings exquisitely natural, and could only be known to the breast that had contained them. There was a time, and I remember it, when Bonaparte was regarded as a supernatural being, whose life was so extraordi- nary that his death was expected to be miraculous. But this little book shows him to have been a man liable, like ourselves, to the influence of events and of diseases, to weaknesses of mind and debilities of body. I rub my eyes to be convinced which is the dream, his per- FABLE TALE ; 273 sonal situation or his past glory? And then I feel disposed to doubt if either be true. Reading the thoughts of this great actor, and remembering the time at which these thoughts must have been thinking upon the great events they relate to, is a pleasure that those only of his time can ever enjoy. It is extraordinary his never mentioning Wellington ; but did he not know that by leaving him out he shows he remembered him, for who could forget him but by intention ? ! With regard to his political conduct I have not much to do; my interest in him is asa humancharacter. That he abused the confidence placed in him by the French nation, that he be- trayed the cause by which he rose, that he belied the good opinion the world had formed of him and forced their willing admiration into horror, that he furiously gave vent to wanton caprices and pushed Europe to arms in defence of its national existence, must be palpable to all and cannot be denied. For however natural it might be for the legitimate sovereigns to hate him, they would have been content to let him reign un- molested from apprehension of his genius for war, if he had only suffered them to be at peace and had not roused them to prefer the risk of their crowns to the inflictions peaceful acquiescence entailed on their people. Oh! that such acause as the cause of talent should have fallen into French hands; a nation vain, thoughtless, and futile, with such an unprincipled genius as Bonaparte at its head. Hewas a genius for war. This is a sufficient answer to all assertions about his pacific intentions. ‘* Avec de tels soldats,” he says, ‘‘ quel est le Général qui n’aimerait pas la suerre? Je l’aime, je l’avoue.” Genius by its nature can only delight in the gratification of its propensities ; hence to such a mind peace could never be iin object of pleasure, but of con- 1 In the “ Diary of a Lady of Quality,” it is recorded by Miss Wynne, of Captain Sweeny, of the Marines, on board H.M.S. ** Northumberland,” that he told her, dur-_ ing the voyage to St. Helena, Napoleon frequently spoke of Wellington, and always in the handsomest manner; and never attributed his own defeat by Wellington at Waterloo, to chance.—ED. te 274 B. R. HAYDON. venience or of necessity, and never was peace granted or de- manded for any other purpose by Bonaparte. Undue preference seems to be given in this world to great generals. No pillar is erected to record the glories of Shake- speare, no palace built for his descendants, no relatives enno- bled by patent. No, the world are not adequate judges of such powers ; they come not within their gross apprehension. But to be sure the fame of generals is like the fame of actors. It is not palpable to posterity, while poets and painters identify themselves with all ages. I must frankly own I[ think our modern poets—always ex- cepting Walter Scott—are unhealthy beings. Poor old Hazlitt, with his fine candor, his consciousness of never shaving and of a soiled shirt, his frank avowal of his vices and follies, his anti- Bourbon thoroughbred hatred, his Napoleon adhesiveness, his paradoxical puttings forth at so much a sheet, his believing himself to be the fine, metaphysical, caustic philosopher, going about lke Diogenes with a lantern impaling all his ac- quaintances, while he is the most impaled of the whole, is worth ten thousand poets, and has more real virtue too. In everything that Burke wrote, spake, or did, there was, to my mind, always a certain want of good taste. In the midst of the most sublime passages he suddenly disgusts you by the grossest similes.’ I have heard Lord Mulgrave say that on the night of the dagger scene in the House, at which he was pres- ent, when the whole House was affected with horror and awe, Burke left his seat and walking to where the dagger he had © thrown down was lying on the floor, he picked it up leisurely, wrapped it in brown paper, and put it into his pocket. The finest touch of what may be called the delusion of Don 1 Rogers relates that Sheridan once said to him, a@frofos of Burke’s speeches, ‘When posterity read the speeches, they will hardly be able to believe that during his lifetime Burke was not considered a first-rate speaker, nor even a second-rate one.?? — ED. BABE VIA TE He 27° Quixote is this. He makes a pasteboard visor, believing it to be strong enough for the stroke of a siant. He fetches it a blow that smashes it to pieces. Mortified, he fits it up again, consoling himself that it is strong enough now, but, says Cer- vantes, “‘ he did not give it another blow to prove it.” This is a Shakesperian touch and worthy of him. This one willing shirk of evidence, lest he might even convince himself against his will, and unsettle his frenzy, contains the whole history of his character, and is a deep, deep glance into human weakness. A curious instance of the truth of Shakespeare. An old friend of my father’s lately died from old age and sheer exhaus- tion. One who was present, in relating to me the manner of the old man’s death, said, ‘‘ Just before he died, with a quiet and composed countenance he began playing with his fingers on the sheets. Nothing could be finer than the way he went out of the world.” In Henry V. Mrs. Quickly says of Falstaff: ‘‘ No sure, I saw ‘him fumble with the sheets and play with the flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends. I knew there was but one way, for his nose was as sharp as a pen and ’a babbled of green fields.! 1 This ‘‘ fumbling ’’ with the sheets, as if picking up the threads, though common to dying people, is often seen in cases where death is a long way off. I believe it to be purely nervous. The more Curious feature is the ‘‘ babbling of green fields.’’ I have heard this often repeated in cases of men of middle life dying ina foreign land. It seems as if the mind ran back, without control, over the records of old impressions. I[ have heard old seamen ‘‘ babble of their childhood ”’ in their dying hours, as if it were an affair of yesterday, when nigh half a century must have passed since they played about their mother’s knee. And the curious feature of itis, that they will talk the thoughts of that day, and not of his later life. A striking instance of this occurs to me. A Frenchman by birth serving on board our ship—he had been in the English ser- vice for many years—fell from aloft, injured himself severely, and died after a few days. He was a great favorite with us all, and as his anxiety seemed about his mother at Lyons, we got upa handsome subscription for her, and soothed his mind. He seemed grateful and resigned. The next night he died. It was my watch, and I was called forward ; his cot was slung under the forecastle. He ‘‘ babbled”’ much about his mother, and the green fields, and the river banks. Suddenly he sprang up. “Je m’étouffe, ma mére, je m’éteuffe, et mourir, parmi ces cochons Anglais,” and he died. ‘These were the early opinions he had heard the Lyons people express of their neighbors over sea.— Ep. 276 B. R. HAYDON. It is singular how success and the want of it operate on two extraordinary men, Walter Scott 2nd Wordsworth. Scott enters a room and sits at a table with the coolness of conscious fame ; Wordsworth with a mortified elevation of head, as if fearful he was not estimated as he deserved. Scott is always cool and very amusing. Wordsworth, often egotistical and overwhelming. Scott can afford to talk of trifles because he knows the world will think him a great man who condescends to trifle. Wordsworth must always be eloquent and profound, because he knows that he is considered childish and puerile. Scott seems to wish to appear less than he really is, while Wordsworth struggles to be thought, at the moment, greater than he is suspected to be. This is natural. Scott’s disposi- tion is the effect of success operating on a genial temperament, while Wordsworth’s evidently arises from the effect of unjust ridicule wounding an intense self-esteem. I think Scott’s suc- cess would have made Wordsworth insufferable, while Words- worth’s failures would not have rendered Scott one whit less delightful. Tom Moore at dinner tells his stories with a hit or miss air, as if accustomed to people of rapid apprehension. It being asked at Paris whom they would have as godfather for Roths- child’s baby, ‘‘ Talleyrand,” said a Frenchman. ‘* Pourquoi, Monsieur?” ‘* Parce qwil est le moins chrétien possible.” Turenne used to say he never spent his time in regretting any mistake which he had made, but set himself instantly and vig- orously to repair it. At Lord Stafford’s, one evening (24th May, 1826), I met Moore and Rogers, and overheard Rogers say, ‘‘ I am inclined to believe it because it gives one pain,” by no means a certain criterion, for if everything is to be believed because it gives one pain, all calumnies must be true on this principle. Hazlitt was there, and as he saw Moore, he came up and whispered, ‘‘I SRE ON é! Sg LE RRA EAN \ Ss WAY X a . ons Lyi A Mersey s hs ET, fri Swe WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 1% os 2 ? Pe hy TABILE TALK. 277, hope he won’t challenge me.” This was quite a characteristic touch. I have no doubt in meeting anybody he has attacked Hazlitt’s predominant feeling is personal fear. Byron is dead! I felt deeply at reading the news. Moore said the other day, when I met him (29th March, 1824), that in a letter from Byron to him (Moore), Byron said, ‘‘I shall fight, and if I get killed do justice to a Brother Scribbler.” ! When John Scott (Editor of the ‘‘ Champion”), who had attacked Byron in the ‘‘ Champion,” was at Venice, Byron sent to him, and Scott went and passed several days with Byron. The secret explanation of John Scott’s disgraceful attack upon Byron in the ‘‘ Champion” (Scott’s newspaper) is simply private spite. Scott met Byron at Hunt’s table when Hunt was in prison, and Byron took no notice of Scott. When Byron, after his separation, wrote his. ‘* Farewell” for private circulation, Scott called on Brougham by chance. Brougham had one, he gave it to Scott, and Scott published it the Sunday following. This was highly dishonorable. Scott had called upon me on his return from Brougham, and showed me the ‘‘ Farewell,” and told me his intention of printing it, which I disapproved. This is the private history of all that noise which took place at Byron’s separation. The ‘‘ Champion” was the first paper that had the ‘* Farewell,” and the attack on it became public instantly. After this, Moore breakfasted with Scott, and I heard Rogers say to Sir Walter Scott that he was very angry with Moore for doing so. When Scott returned from Italy, he one night read his jour- nal (his wife, I believe, has since burnt it), and it contained several things about Byron which made an impression on me. One evening, as Byron was taking Scott, in his gondola, to a party, he placed his hand on his knee and Said, ““ You have 1 See ante, p. 214. 278 B. R. HAYDON. been unlucky, so has every one who has attacked me ; but now we are friends you will be fortunate in life.” ? On another occasion Byron said, ‘‘ I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.” He told Scott that after his separation from Lady Byron, he went to a rout and was regularly cut by all the women of fashion. As he leaned against the mantelpiece, and they were sweeping by, a little red-haired, bright-eyed coquette came flirting up to him, and with a look that was exquisitely inso- lent, said, *“‘ You had better have married me. 1 would have managed you better.” Byron’s great weakness seemed to Scott to be the belief that every woman was mad after him, and withan affected contempt as if he seemed to despise it, he coquetted about you till you seemed to believe it, and then he was pleased. He talked with great complacency of Marie Louise inquiring which was his box at the opera, and affected to disregard it. The day I dined with Miss Baillie, at Hampstead, with Wilkie, Miss Baillie told me that Lord Byron had told her on the very morning he and Miss Milbanke were married and were driv- ing home through the grounds, andall the tenants and peasantry were cheering, Byron said to her, ‘‘ What could induce*you to marry me?” ‘°* Good heavens!” said Lady Byron, ‘‘ because IT loved you.” ‘* No,” said he, ‘‘ you have a spice of Mother Eve, you married me because your friends wished you not to do so. You refused me twice, and I will be revenged.” He hated to see women eat. I have been told many things on this point, which I cannot assert as truth, but which are probable. It is interesting to put down these few things a contemporary remembers. He begged Shelley not to talk of Hell or chosts after dark—it made him ‘‘ uneasy.” A woman in love with Byron at a masquerade rushed over and pulled the mask off the face of another who was walking 1 This was scarcely verified, Scott losing his only child shortly after, and shortly after that was himself shot in a duel with Mr. Christie.—Ep. — TAB: TA LK. 27) with him. Byron talked of this as so shocking, that if not resented there could be no security. He talked as if a great moral principle had been violated. Scott said he was highly amused at the importance Byron attached to this. Mrs, Opie told me, while breakfasting with her at Norwich, that Byron’s voice was the most exquisite of any mortal’s she ever heard ; that it was so sweet, whenever he spoke it startled her ‘‘ as if the Devil was speaking with intent to beguile”’ her. ‘* He gave one the idea,” said she, ‘‘ as if it was such avoice as _had deceived Eve.” The last time she saw him was at a rout. She was sitting on a couch with him, when Lady Caroline Lamb, who was making herself very ridiculous at the time, came over and placed herself between them. As Mrs. Opie did not care to be third in the conversation, she rose and left them ; and she never saw him after. With all his faults, Byron was a fine creature. Moore said that the ‘‘ people of fashion” laughed at his going to Greece, as if the ‘‘ people of fashion”’ were capable of appreciating the motives that influenced such a heart and soul! He knows now what he was so anxious to know. He has come into contact with the mind of the Creator. When Chantrey first set up his carriage, he was not to be borne. It was all day: ‘‘ John, tell Richard to desire Betty to order Mrs. Chantrey’s maid to tell Mrs. Chantrey to send down my snuff-box,” etc. etc. March 2d, 1827.—Dined with Du Bois. Hook told him Croker said he was present when Sir Walter Scott dined with the King. The King said, ‘‘ Let us drink to the health of the author of the ‘ Waverley Novels.’” Sir Walter Scott, without being asked, said: ‘‘ lassure your Majesty, upon my honor and word, I am not the author.” The King said afterwards, ‘‘ I know he has told me a lie, and I hope, while I live at least, he will not acknowledge it.” Anyhow his acknowledgment now does not seem popular. Ov diz, that it is ostentatious, and is made for the sake of puffing his ‘‘ Life of Napoleon.” How 280 B. R. HAVDON. like the world! First damning him because he would not con- fess to the authorship of ‘‘ Waverley,” and then when he does, finding out a paltry motive for his doing it! He was wrong in either case to give his word of honor to the King.! Horace Smith said to Theodore Hook: ‘‘ Theodore, my dear fellow, why do you say such indecent things in the ‘ John Bull?’ ” ‘To which Hook promptly replied: ‘‘My dear Bos, if I were not a little indecent the clergymen would never take me ant? I went one day to the Fives Court to see some sparring with- out the gloves; and the next day I went to see M. Michel, de Paris, give a grand assault of arms. The difference between the two countries was amusing. Donelly, the boxer, kept on winking his eyes, saying, ‘* —— your eyes, you shall have a taste of it directly ;”’ while his opponent growled out, ‘“‘I’ll open your ugly eyes,” etc. Nowat the assault of arms, when M. Michel was hit a tremendous thrust by his adversary right over his foil guard— ** Ah!” cried Michel as he gasped with pain, ‘* Ah! c’est comme une ange!” When all the uproar was going on against the Catholic Emancipation Bill of Wellington, the Bishop of Salisbury wrote a very strong letter against the Government measures. Said some timid waverer to the Duke, ‘‘ Have you seen the Bishop of Salisbury’s letter ?’’ ‘‘ ——the Bishop of Salisbury,” said the Duke; ‘* I mean to carry my Bill.” October 13th, 1828.—Talfourd and Miss Mitford dined with us, and Talfourd made us laugh exceedingly with a good story 1 Rogers, in his *‘ Table-Talk,” relates a similar answer given by Scott to Sheridan ; who one evening, at Lady Jersey’s, and in the hearing of Rogers, put the question to Scott in express terms. ‘‘ Pray, Mr. Scott, did you or did you not write ‘‘ Waverley ?’ Scott replied, ‘‘ Ox wzy honor I did not.’? Rogers remarks upon this: ‘‘ Now though Scott may perhaps be justified for returning an answer in the negative, I cannot think that he is to be excused for strengthening it with ‘on my honor.’ ” TABLE TALK. 281 of Hazlitt. At a card party at Charles Lamb’s, Hazlitt, and Lamb’s brother got into a discussion as to whether Holbein’s coloring was as good as that of Vandyke. Hazlitt denied it. Lamb asserted the contrary ; till at length they both became so irritated, they upset the card-table, and seized each other by the throat. In the struggle that ensued, Hazlitt got a black eye; but when the two combatants were parted, Hazlitt turned to Talfourd, who was offering his aid, and said, ‘‘ You need not trouble yourself, sir. /do not mind a blow, sir ; nothing affects me but an Abstract Idea /”' What a singular look the Duke of Wellington always had, with his greyhound eye, his eagle nose, and singular mouth, hike a helpless infant learning to whistle! Sir Thomas Hammond told me a curious instance of the Queen’s power of recollection. One day in 1827-8, when she was Princess Victoria, and the Queen of Wurtumberg was over here, Sir Thomas Hammond, being in attendance on the Queen, was present at luncheon. At that time the Princess Victoria dined at one o’clock. As he sat down, the Princess Victoria bowed to him, but being bent forward, he did not see it. One of the royal family said, ‘* The Princess bows to you.” Hammond looked up—her face was asredas fire. He bowed, but she never noticed him then, or again. ‘The year after her accession he attended the levee, but her Majesty did not notice him, and as he passed on to the Duchess of Kent, who said, “* My dear, don’t you notice Sir Thomas Hammond, your old- est friend?” She bent her head slightly, and said, ~ tam happy to see Sir Thomas Hammond.” One night, at the Duke of MDevonshire’s, the beautiful Mrs. --— was entreating Lord Melbourne to grant her some favor for a friend. In her eagerness she seized hold of his 1This was the Lamb who had avery curious original picture of Queen Elizabeth. He showed it privately, and by desire, to the Princess Charlotte. The moment she saw it, her Royal Highness most irreverently exclaimed, ‘‘ Oh, Christ! what a fright !”— Ep. 282 B. R. HAYDON. hand, saying, ‘‘ Now do, my dear Lord Melbourne, do /” Lord Melbourne looked round merrily, and said, ‘* Now do, my dear Mrs. ,@o let go my hand; I want to scratch my nose!” Mr. Coke (of Holkham) is full of reminiscences. He told me he remembered a fox killed in Cavendish Square, and where Berkeley Square now stands was a capital place for snipe. He told me a story of Fox. One night at Brookes’s, Fox made some remark upon Government powder, in allusion to some- thing that had happened. Adam considered it a reflection, and sent Fox a challenge. Fox went out and took his station, giving a full front. Fitzgerald, his second, said, ‘‘ You must stand sideways.” ‘** Why?” said Fox, ‘‘ I am as thick one way as the other.” | “Fire !”’ wasigiven. Adam) fined: + “Hoxadia not; and when they said he must, he said: ‘‘ I'll be if I do,” and so they shook hands. Adam’s bullet had hit Fox below the waist, and fell into his breeches. ‘‘ Adam,” said Fox, ‘‘ you would have killed me if it hadn’t been Govern- ment powder !”’ Mr. Coke said that when Burke was dying, Fox went down to see him, but Burke would not see Fox. When he came back, Mr. Coke was lamenting Burke’s obstinacy. ‘‘ Ah!” said Fox; ‘“never mind, Tom. I always find every Irishman has gota piece of potato in his head.” Lord Andover, who is (1833) a very fat man, was greatly plagued at a fancy bazaar, lately, to buy some trifle or other from the ladies’ stalls. At length he rather rudely said, ‘‘ I am like the Prodigal Son, persecuted, by jladies:) «Nios mors retorted Mrs. ». say, rather,.the fatted icalf.”. . Since ten all the other fat men, Lord Nugent, Lord Althorp, etc., have called on Mrs. to beg her to explain it was not they who offended. Never disregard what your enemies say. They may be severe ; they may be prejudiced; they may be determined to LEN BELLS. TAILS. 283 see only in one direction; but still in that direction they see clearly. They do not speak all the truth, but they generally speak the truth from one point of view; so far as that goes, attend to them. Just before waking on Saturday morning (22d September, 1832), I dreamed, and awoke considerably agitated, that I hved in a square, and that Sir Walter Scott lived opposite, on the right side of it—that I went to my window early in the morning, and that I looked across and saw Sir Walter’s house shut up, except Zzs bedroom windows, which were a little open, just as they are when acorpse lies in the room. I called out to my wife, ‘‘ Sir Walter is dead,” and so loudly that I awoke. On the 24th I received the following letter from Abbotsford : ‘* Abbotsford, Sept, 21. ‘‘ Sir Walter Scott died here this afternoon at half-past one.” How often do the uneducated tell us similar facts, and how often do we laugh! But here was a palpable intimation where no human communication could have taken place within a few hours of his death. March 27th, 1833.—Lord Plunkett has an arch humor. ‘¢ When do you sketch O’Connell ?” said one of his daughters. ‘© There is one thing,” said Lord Plunkett, ‘‘ if you could take his head entirely off you would do great good to society.” He looked at the picture (Reform Banquet) and said, “‘ You have put Hume between the candles. Pll lay my life he will be thinking of the expense of so much wax.” I thought I should have died with laughing, for Hume actually said, as he looked eehe candles, “© Thavs bad wax.” ©‘ Why?” said 1. “ Be- cause,” said he, ““ there’s too much snuff; no good wax has any.” Sir John Hobhouse, when sitting to me (7th Nov., 1832), said Lord Byron was not naturally a melancholy, but a merry per- son: that his melancholy when in London was owing to his ) 284. B. R, HAVDON. pecuniary difficulties, that he often wanted 50/., and that he would have been often arrested but that he was a peer. Sir John agreed with me that Lady Byron was not fitted for Byron. There was nothing between them but pecuniary necessity, and that was the sole cause of their separation. He did not like to agree with me as to my suspicions of Moore’s regard, though he did not contradict it. He said Moore, in his ‘* Life of Byron,” had certainly pre- tended that Byron’s early life with those amiable girls in Not- tingham had been virtuously passed, and that had he continued such female connections his vices might have been less; and that had he followed the advice of Hodgson, the parson, it would have been better for him, etc. ‘‘ Now,” said Hobhouse, ‘* this Hodgson was, on the whole, the most dissipated of the set;”’ that Byron came to college perfectly initiated after these innocent experiences in Nottingham; and that neither he (Hobhouse) nor Mathews could teach Lord Byron anything, for of the three he was certainly the most advanced. He said, ‘* Hodgson was a inan always borrowing money of Byron; and when he (Hodgson) married, he wrote to Byron, saying, ‘ In- veni fortune!” Byron read the letter to Hobhouse, and on coming to this, said, ‘‘ I’m glad of it. I hope you'll now drink your own fort, for, —— me, you have been drinking mine these five years.” Hodgson was very fond of giving Lord Byron religious advice. Byron used to say, ‘‘ As soon as he pays me my 1200/. I’ll listen to him.” He said Byron was no scoffer, not in the least, and repressed it in others. He had investigating doubts, but never scoffed. Hobhouse said he was one of the Newstead party; and Hodgson, I think he said, was the clergyman dressed like a monk. There was nothing to be ashamed of; they drank a great deal of wine, ran after all the girls, and had a great deal of fun—as young fellows of twenty-four used in those days.} We then talked of the curious habit of the English people 1 In these days nobody knows what the young men do.—Epb. ‘ TABLE TALK. 286 for breaking off relics instead of being content to let things re- main perfect, and to share the pleasure of contemplation with others. He said the English were, in this respect, the oddest people in the world ; and after heartily abusing them for this atrocious vice of relic-making, he said, in a moment of ab- straction, ‘‘I have lost three great curiosities I valued very | highly—a bottle of water from Castalia; ¢he sling of Bona- ~—s partes carriage, which Iwas allowed to take as a relic ;” and E something else! Was there ever anything like this? The 3 sling of Bonaparte’s carriage! What hope for cure is there?! We then talked of William Hazlitt : Hobhouse said that Hazlitt swore he would never forgive him for striking out a passage | wherein Lord Byron had attacked Hazlitt. ‘‘ Now,” said Hob- house, ‘‘ I meant to do Hazlitt a service, but Ze said it would ‘ have been of the greatest service to him to have been attacked ; by Lord Byron.” ‘‘ The truth is,” said Hobhouse, ‘‘ between you and me, I thought Hazlitt beneath Lord Byron’s notice.” ; I told him I thought in the case of a Revolution, Hazlitt, like Robespierre, would have sheared off heads by the thousand, Fs on a metaphysical principle. Speaking of Napoleon, Sir John said that more knowledge of him had shaken his previous esteem. I asked him what he thought of Walter Scott’s denial, on his honor, to the Prince as to the authorship of ‘‘ Waverley.” Sir John said he thought the Prince had no right to allude to the subject, though he did not approve of such a voluntary denial. He had heard Sir Walter say to Lord Byron that he (Scott) was wot the author, and that without being asked. We then talked politics. He said, had not the Reform Bill been passed, the people would have rolled over the aristocracy | and have crushed them—there would have been no fight. Speak- | ing of the Birmingham Unions, he said Attwood was dethroned, and Dr. Wade the man now. J never had any doubt that Wade was sent down by the Government to start anew Union, so as to divide and distract. 1 This is not quite fair, for B. H. R. was himself as fond of relics as most of us, s though he would never have injured a beautiful fragment to get one.—ED. ll ag i i 286 B. R. HAVDON. Attwood always seemed awkward when he met me after the failure of the Birmingham Radicals to support the proposal which they had accepted of a painting of the Newhall Hill meeting. The fact was, that one hundred of these gentlemen put down their names as subscribers, and never paid their subscription. In thinking over Lady Byron’s unhappy case, I have no doubt she deserves all the handsome things that have been said of her, but still 1 am of opinion that it is much to be regretted she ever left Lord Byron in the depth of his misfortunes. It is a pity she did not stay and console him, as she had failed to correct him. I say it is a pity; and if she had really and truly and passionately loved him could she have left him ? I ask this of any woman who has passionately loved. She married Lord Byron with the romantic notion of reforming him. Alas, this was not love! it might be ambition, vanity, virtue, prin- ciple, but it° was not love. Love “irst, and” then’ correct. Every woman knows how differently she corrects the man she first loved, instead of first correcting him to render him worthy of her affections. These are very different modes of proceed- ing ; and every woman may depend upon it, that if she marry a man with a notion predominant of correction, she takes into her heart from the altar the rooted seed of domestic misery. Nor can I think Lady Byron’s treatment of Lord Byron fair. Her method of accusing him dreadfully, and keeping the public in ignorance of the nature of the accusation, is a more artful way of destroying his character than by telling the truth, Jet it be ever so horrible. The only excuse she had was, that he was mad; and when she found he was not mad, she left him / Mr. Ellice, another early friend of Byron, told me, that after Byron was married he asked Byron how he got on. Byron told him that when he came home he would find half-a-dozen old blues with Lady Byron, who, if a man made a joke, thought he was sure of damnation. Mr. Ellice said Moore knew little of. Byron till he was advanced in life. He said also that Hob- house was always quizzed by Byron, both in letters and conver- TABLE TALK. 287 sation, though he (Ellice) believed Hobhouse was more attached to Byron than to anyone else. I said to Mr. Ellice, ‘‘ There were dreadful reports about Byron and Lady Byron?” He laughed at the calumny, and said she “‘ used him ill.” I said, she married him to reform him.” ‘‘ Yes,” said Mr. Ellice, , noomy to 7eorm him but to vefuse him.” ... . It is: just what I always thought. Jeffrey once said to me, @ fropfos of William Hazlitt, ‘“‘ He always reminds me of the tired ass in the desert, without occu- pation, profession, or pursuit. When the beautiful Mrs. was, one evening, coming out of the House of Lords, said ——, ‘‘ She looks like a Babylonish beauty.” ‘° Eead;” said his friend, ** it’s a kind of Babylonish captivity I should be very proud of.” Dr. Lushington had a fine head ; his expression was judicial : looking out as if he saw results. He told me Lady Byron was perfectly justified in leaving Byron even in his troubles, and that if I knew all the circumstances of the case I should think so. He asked me if | had read his letter to Moore. I said ‘* No.” He said there he had spoken out. We then got upon Lord Brougham. Lushington said he was a most careless man as to application, and never over-tired himself. He said on one morning he brought him an ‘‘ express,” that required an answer by six. Brougham was asleep, and then swore he would not wake. lLushington said, ‘* By Heav- ens, if you don’t get up I’ll throw this jug of water over you; ” on which he turned out, growling at Lushington all the time, and set to work. | On the night before the opening of Queen Caroline’s trial, Brougham dined at Lord Holland’s, and when he came down to the House found he had forgot his notes! He said, ** Lushing- ton, you are the only man I'll trust; go to my chambers, break open the door; here’s the key of my desk, bring me my papers.” Away went Lushington and got the papers. 288 B. R, HAVDON. Lady Blessington told a good story of having fallen desperately in love with Grisi, and finding out that she was sit- ting for her portrait, made an excuse to call on the artist. On being shown into his painting-room he found his divine ** Giulia” making her luncheon, with half a loaf on her knees, a German sausage in one hand, and a pint-pot of porter in the other. His love vanished. Lady Blessington told me that Byron was not sincere. That when she asked him about the Hunts, he always affected never to have seen them above once or twice a week, ‘‘ a notorious story, Mr. Haydon.” She said his nose was not handsome, one eye decidedly larger than the other, but his mouth exquis- ite. Colonel Stanhope told me that Byron agreed with him about the press in Greece, though he argued for mere argument’s sake. Mrs. Leicester Stanhope told me (on the other hand) she had seen a letter from Byron, saying, ‘‘ Can any one relieve me of Lady Blessington, or rather of Count D’Orsay ?” She said the Guiccioli used to watch Byron through a tele- scope when he went out riding. So one day she asked him why he did not take the Guiccioli out with him. He drawled out in his usual way, ‘‘ Consider, consider what a fright she would look in a habit!” ‘* Do you think her handsome?” Lady Blessington asked him. ‘* Handsome?” he replied, ‘‘ she is a horror; she has ved hair.” (Which was not true.) She said then, ‘*‘ Why don’t you take her out walking?” He answered, ‘* Because she shuffles like a duck, and I am lame; a pretty couple!” ** Do you ever tell ber this’ 7 shevasked. veces ‘* What does. she say?” | °“ She: scra-a-atehes, me,’? replied Byron. I met the Countess Guiccioli subsequently, and she was cer- tainly not handsome. She had small eyes, large nose, long upper lip, and weak mouth and chin. ’s beautiful head would have demolished her. eat . ess a ‘ y TABLE STALKS 289 I met that patriarch of dissimulation and artifice, Talleyrand, but once, and once only, and I never shall forget him. He looked like a toothless boa of intrigue, with nothing left but his poison. To see his impenetrable face at a game of whist, watch- ing everybody without a trace of movement in his own figure or face, save the slightest perceptible twitch in the lip, was a sight never to be forgotten. Itwas the incarnation of meaning with- out assumption. He was sent over by Louis Philippe to sound the depths and shallows of the Whigs, and to divert the natural foreign policy of England, which regarded France always with watchful suspicion with one of mutual affection, and extremely well he did his task. He quickly enveloped the Whigs in his web of inextricable diplomacy, and won them over to regard jealousy of France as an antiquated and unjust prejudice. The French and English fleets were soon after to be seen sailing together out of Portsmouth into the North Sea, capturing Dutch barges, in order to cut off from Holland her best province, that it may be more easily absorbed by France, when the European pear is quite ripened once more. Lord Palmerston thought he saw through Talleyrand, and called him ‘** Old Tally.” I dare say ‘‘ Old Tally” had his own opinion of Lord Palmerston. Edward Ellice told me a good story of old Lady Rosslyn. Vice was announced. ihe ladies began to bundle off. “Sit still, sit still,” said old Lady Rosslyn, “‘ it’s na’ catching.” There is nothing a certain class of men will not forgive if you accept their views ; and nothing they will if you do not. Lady Holland took’ an intense pleasure in wounding your self-esteem. One day when I, had got Lord Grey in the best of good humors, and was making a capital sketch of his fine head, she and Lord Lansdowne were announced. She came in, looked at my sketch and said, ‘‘I won’t say.” ‘* She doesn’t like it,” said Lord Grey, snappishly. “‘ Why, Mr. Haydon,” said Lady Holland, ‘‘ Lord Grey’s expression is a very sweet one. I don’t like your nostrils and mouth.” This vexed me, 13 290 B. R. HAYDON. for it was not true, and put dear Lord Grey out of temper. Lord Lansdowne came over and begged to see, and as if to nullify the absurdity of Lady Holland, said, sotto voce, ** It is _ extremely like,” and so it was.' There are degrees of immortality. Onleaving Petworth, and when waiting for the coach to return to Brighton, a man of the village came up, looked hard at me and said, “‘I beg your pardon, sir,, but are you, the great painter: 4) Well ivcant know about that exactly.” ‘‘ But, sir, did you paint the picture of Christ entering into, Jerusalem?” ““ Yes, my iriend, lididae ‘¢ Ah, sir, that was a picture—that was a picture—and what a donkey /” Seguier, the keeper of the king’s pictures, detailed to me the whole story of Theodore Hook’s attack upon Watson Taylor in ‘Sayings and Doings.” When Watson Taylor suddenly came into his immense fortune, Theodore Hook’s father, who had some previous acquaintance with Watson Taylor, wrote and offered professionally to conduct any concert that Watson Taylor might think of giving, and requested an advance of 500/. 1 This Lady Holland was noted for her delight in saying disagreeable things. Moore, in his Diary, writes of her, ‘‘ Poets inclined toa plethora of vanity would find a dose of Lady Holland, now and then, very good for their complaint.” ‘The late Sir Henry Bulwer once told me (he repeats the anecdote in his ** Characters”) that she asked him whether he thought she said ‘‘ disagreeable”? things. Sir Henry told her he thought she did occasionally indulge herself in that attractive caprice. ‘‘ Ah!” she replied, ‘‘ but you know I only want to poke the fire.’”” I said I thought she must have been reading Swift, who likens putting fresh coals on a fire, ‘‘ to a gentle stirring of the passions, lest the mind languish.” ‘‘ Yes,” said Sir Henry, ‘‘ but she aiways poked her fire with a red-hot poker.” Her ladyship certainly practised the art so success- fully on her first husband that he ‘‘ put”’ himself ‘‘ out,” to avoid the nuisance. And nothing but the ézenvetllance im pérturbatrice of her second probably saved him trom a similar happy dispatch. But she was a fine, clever, accomplished woman, and most hospitable. With so many virtues we may well forgive one defect. Like Waller’s wit, her talent and her hospitality were enough to cover many infirmities. She could not help it, I believe. One night the lamps got dim, and the old butler had to bring steps and arrange matters. Lady Holland kept on ‘‘ poking the fire” at him, till at length, goaded to madness, he roared out at her before the whole room, *‘ G— —— it, my Lady, how can I do the thing right if you go on bothering me in this way?” Talleyrand used to say of her, ‘‘ Elle est toute assertion, mais quand vous en demandez la preuve ! Oh, e’est la son secret.” —ED. PABLE. TALK 201 to enable him to make the necessary preparations. Watson Taylor refused ; the Hook family were angered, and Theodore having learned all the history of Watson Taylor’s family from a relative and old college chum of Taylor’s, worked the whole story, which required very little coloring to make it attractive, into “* Sayings and Doings.” Such is the origin of human works : pique, envy, and hatred. Seguier described to me with his usual humor, how Watson Taylor’s bookseller had sent ‘‘Sayings and Doings,” with other new publications, to Taylor’s house, and that it lay on his table for some weeks before he opened it. One morning Seguier called and saw that something was wrong. Watson Taylor after some delay asked him if he had read ‘‘Sayings and Doings.” Seguier said Poves Wo youthink,” said Daylor, “that I. am alluded to?” °° Certainly,” said Seguier. Watson Taylor then said that he would prosecute. Seguier advised him not. ‘Taylor’s fate is a fine moral to those who think to obtain by profuseness the gratitude or respect of the world. He wasa perfect Timon in squandering money. To many people he gave pieces of plate which had cost him athousand pounds, to others rouleaux of notes containing several hundreds, diamonds to some, jewels Or money to another, and yet all were cliscontented, for all thought he might have given more. He was advised to buy my picture of “Jerusalem,” yet because he was advised he declined. Yet if he had, it might have been his least folly, aileast so think Ii. Peace be to him! Hone, the infidel,! who published the ‘‘ Apocryphal Testa- ment’’—he afterwards repented and became religious—was a very clever fellow, and got his repute by his victory over Lord Ellenborough (Lord Chief Justice), who thundered out to him as he was defending himself on his trial, ‘* Pooh, sir, expert- ence makes fools wise!” ‘‘ No, my lord,” retorted Hone, 1 Hone was indicted and tried in 1817 for ‘‘ blasphemous libel.’’ He was tried first before Mr. Justice Abbott, and then tried before Lord Ellenborough, but the brow- beating of Lord Ellenborough had its effect, and the Government failed to obtain a verdict.—ED. 9 292 Be F, TAY DON, ‘‘ experience makes wise men wiser, but experience does not make fools wise, or I should not have been indicted three times for the same thing I have been acquitted of twice before.” Hone was one day telling Godwin how much he admired his essay on ‘** Truth,” but complained to Charles Lamb afterwards that he couldn’t tell why, but Godwin ever since had been cool to him. “" Don’t you know why?” said Mania No. sane Hione. “ Why,” said Lamb, ““Godwin 1s known to be the greatest har living; he thought you were quizzing him.” Lord Essex asked Lady Holland the other day to come down to Cashiobury. She wrote back in her insolent way and said, “’ Before I say yes or no, send me a list of your guests.” * Lord Essex made no reply, which served her right. Somebody once asked Hazlitt about his father. ‘‘* Say noth- ing about my father,” said Hazlitt, ‘‘ he was a good man. His son is a devil, and let him remain so.” Dominic Colnaghi told me that on one occasion, when the Trustees of the British Gallery were discussing whether they should buy an oil picture of Raphael’s for 3,600/7. or not, Shee (President of the Royal Academy) said, ‘‘ They had much better spend their 3,600/. at the Royal Academy. As for his part, he never saw any picture by any old master that would assist him.” Rogers, who was standing by, muttered to Charles Bagot, ‘* I believe him ”—(et ego). When I was painting the ‘* Anti-Slavery Convention” in 1540, I said to Scobell, one of the leading emancipation men, ‘* I shall place you, Thompson, and the Negro together.” This was the touchstone. He sophisticated immediately on the propriety of placing the Negro in the distance. Now, a man who wishes to place the Negro on our level must 1 Lady Holland possibly had heard this of Swift. Lord Bolingbroke once trying to persuade him to come and dine, said, ‘‘I will send you my bill of fare.” ‘*Send me your bill of company,”’ replied Swift.--Ep. TABLE. TALE. 293 no longer regard him having been a slave, and feel annoyed at sitting by his side. Colonel Gurwood told me that the Duke of Wellington com- plained that liberties were taken with him at Court. When he went to Court after William IV.’s death, the Duke of Cam- bridge said, ** Why, Duke, why d’ye have your hair so short?” Directly after, the Duke of Sussex said, ‘‘ Why are you not in mourning, Duke?” The Duke said, ‘‘I ordered black, your iImoydleseiciimess.. Ah! replied: he, <°1t is not black; it’s what the French call ¢éte de négre.” The Duke said to Gur- wood, ‘‘ The Duke of Marlborough, because he was an old man, was treated like an old woman. Iwon’t be. And the reason why I have a right never to have a liberty taken with me, is because I never take a liberty with any man.” Gurwood said that the Duke, although he had known Lord Fitzroy Somerset from a boy, always called him ‘** Lord” Fitzroy. At dinner at Walmer the Duke talked of the want of fuel in Spain, of what the troops suffered, and how whole houses, so many to a division, were regularly pulled down and paid for as fuel. He said he found every Englishman who has a home goes to bed at night. He found bivouacking not suitable to the character of the English soldier. He got drunk, and lay down under a hedge. Discipline was thus injured. But when he introduced tents, every soldier knew his own tent, and, drunk or sober, he got to it before he went to sleep. I said, vour Grace. the Mrench always bivouac.” “’ Yes,” he re- plied, ‘‘ because the French, Spanish, and all other nations he anywhere. It is their habit. They have no home.” Breakfast at Walmer Castle was at ten. The Duke, Sir Astley Cooper, Booth, and myself breakfasted. In the midst of our breakfast, six dear, healthy, noisy children were brought to the indoors. ‘‘ Let them in,” said the Duke, and in they came, rushed over to the Duke. ‘‘ How d’ye do, Duke? How d’ye do, Duke? I want some tea, Duke,” roared young Grey. 4 204 B. R. HAYDON. “* Vou shall have it,” said the Wuke: "if you promise ners slop it over me as you did yesterday.” Toast and tea were then in demand. Three got on one side and three on the other. He hugged them all. Tea was poured out, and I saw little Grey try to slop it over the Duke’s coat. After breakfast they all rushed out on the leads of the cannon, the Duke romp- ing with the whole of them. Amelia Opie told me she had heard Fuseli say of Northcote, ‘* He looks like a rat that has seen a cat.” What: Walter Scott said of Rogers was’ very true: >-“te cracked his jokes like minute guns.” Once after he had looked Jong at my picture of “Christ ‘Blessing Tittle Children; = ie said, ‘‘ When all the figures in the picture get up to walk away, { bee leave to-Secure the’ little ciml im the foresroundi an pretty comphment! Lockhart, meeting me one day, said, with a relish, ‘* Hogg met Black of the ‘ Chronicle’ yesterday, and they both got dead drunk as old friends.” This is hearty, but savage. It is what the negroes do on the Coast of Africa, only they carry it a little further. Chantrey made his fortune by those two children in Lich- field Cathedral. One day, calling on him, I was shown into his work-room, and, on a table, I saw a design for these very chil- dren by Stothard. I could swear to it. A friend of mine was at a lock-up house to be bail for another; while he was sitting there in walked Stothard, arrested by his coal merchant for a bill of 344. He was on his way to the Academy as visitor when it happened. My friend went up to him, said, ‘‘ | know you, what can I do?” and got Stothard out in time to attend his duties. Chantrey was then drinking cham- pagne at luncheon, had employment for life, and will leave a large fortune at his death, all in consequence of Stothard’s genius, while the possessor of the powers by which Chantrey TABI TnL KG 295 rises 1s arrested by his coal merchant, and escapes into the Academy as librarian, to eke out a living. What singular ap- parent injustice appears in the fate of some men of genius and the fortune of others ! At the Polish Ball the Lord Mayor said to Lady Douglas, who squints, ** Which do you prefer, my lady, Gog or Magog!” ‘Of the ¢kree, said Lady Douglas, I prefer your Lordship!” Lady Blessington gave me an account of Lady Morgan and her marriage, which was at least amusing. Lady Morgan (like Lady Blessington) was an Irish girl, a Miss Owenson, and Morgan was an apothecary, who fell in love with her. I forget how Miss Owenson became a fixture at the Priory, but at all events it was very disagreeable to Lord Abercorn, who hated hier, but could; not, get quit of her.. One day the Duke of Richmond was coming his rounds as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, when it was the custom to make a knight at every seat he visited. Hecame tothe Priory, and before leaving he said, ‘Well, Abercorn, do you want any one to be knighted?” ‘‘ By !” said Lord Abercorn, as the idea flashed into his mind, ** the very thing. Knight Morgan, the apothecary, and I'll soon get rid of my plague.’”” Morgan was sent for, and told if he would marry Miss Owenson off-hand he should be knighted. He was knighted, married Miss Owenson, and Lord Abercorn vave her a substantial ‘* present” toget ridof her. ‘* And that,” said Lady Blessington, “‘ is the real history of ‘Sir Charles,’ and ‘ My Lady.’” I should like now to hear Lady Morgan’s history of Lady Blessington’s early life and marriage. The Lord Advocate (Jeffrey) told me many amusing things about Lord Brougham. He knew Brougham from very early years, and at one time, for about eight months, Brougham gave way to all kinds of luxury and extravagance. He had a great notion of giving grand dinners, and, like the ancients, of per- fuming his rooms. He would get all sorts of perfumes, so that when they came in the suffocation was dreadful, and they were 206 B. R. HAVDON. obliged to open the windows. ‘Then he used to smoke hookahs, and use the hot bath at the same time; and one night, being very tipsy, he smoked till he fell asleep in his bath, and was nearly drowned. He was found sound asleep with his lips just touching the water, and the water cold. ‘This cured him of that indulgence. Then he used to make bets how he would come on the race-ground, and give a sealed paper to a friend before betting. Sometimes he would come on in a wheel- barrow; sometimes in a coffin; sometimes in a basket on a man’s shoulder; but he always won his bets. Jeffrey said he belonged with Brougham to a little society, where they had apparatus for chemical experiments, and that Brougham in time by his daring experiments blew the whole apparatus to pieces. I asked him if it were true that Lord Grey had offered Brougham the Attorney-Generalship, and that Brougham had torn up the letter, and said, ‘* 7zatis my answer.” Jeffrey said he had not heard. Jeffrey said the person who influenced Lord Grey to give him the chancellorship told him (Jeffrey) that he had told Lord Grey his salvation depended upon making Brougham Chancellor, Lord Althorp, Chancellor of the Ex- chequer, and the Ministry was formed that afternoon in conse- quence. After Brougham’s acceptance of the Chancellorship he took Lord Grey’s house in Berkeley Square; and when he gave it up in 1834, Bromley, Lord Grey’s agent, told me that never was a house left in such a filthy condition. The bed-rooms were simply unendurable ; and hidden in the handsome satin curtains in the drawing-room, he found a kitchen candlestick, and black lead for the grates. The furniture was nearly all ruined by ill-usage and neglect ; and although Lord Grey gave - Brougham two months in excess of his term to move out, it was next to impossible to get him out; and when he went, instead of paying up the arbitrated sum—for he had insisted on ‘‘ arbitration” as to damages—he sent a cheque short of 157. The cheque was returned, and in three days the full amount was sent. Brougham was certainly wanting in delicate feeling in all the common transactions of life. PABILE TALLER. | 207 Leigh Hunt, in talking to me of Byron (1833), undervalued his poetry, saying, ‘‘ He wrote poetry, yes, such as itis.” This is of a piece with Sir Thomas Lawrence not replying to Hob- house’s first letter on the subject of a monument to Byron, and, when pressed for an answer, saying ‘‘that he did not think Byron of sufficient consequence to deserve a monument.” April 5th, 1832.—Dined at Childron’s Hotel with Major Campbell, who was imprisoned by Lord Eldon for thirteen years for contempt of court. Campbell told me the whole story. He ran away with a ward in Chancery. Lord Eldon said, ‘‘ It was a Shame men of low family should thus entrap ladies of Dice Mixes Word, retorted Campbell, ““my family are ancient and opulent, and were neither coalheavers nor coal- heavers’ nephews,” in allusion to Lord Eldon’s origin. Lord Eldon committed him, and would never forgive the reply. On Lord Brougham’s accession, Campbell petitioned, and by a special order was discharged. When Lord Eldon committed him to prison, his wife, who was only a girl of fifteen, went to his mother’s in Scotland. They allowed him on his word to see her to Gravesend. She cried incessantly, and died soon after ie pirth of her child: froma broken heart. .. . He was atthe storming of Ciudad Rodrigo, Burgos, Badajoz, and St. Sebastian. As early remembrances of his campaigns, his loves, his vices, his triumphs, and his disgraces crowded his imagination, his face, heated by wine, shone out, his eye seemed black with fire, his mouth got long with revengeful feelings. He looked like a spirit escaped from Hades wandering till his destiny was over. He said he had never loved any woman but his first wife. I thought I saw something like a tear fill his tremendous, globular, demoniacal eye, as he said, ‘‘ She was a splendid creature ;” but he clenched his mouth, andit passed. ‘‘ By widaydon, die said, ‘I have seen all the real pleasures, all the humiliations, All the miseries. Death will come; J know it. 1 never curl myself up in bed but I pray never to wake again.” He sits to me on Tuesday; I will make three studies of his head for Satan. : I ee 298 B. R, HAYDON. Ata pleasant party at Mrs. Leicester Stanhope’s one even- ing (her house was a great resort for expatriated Poles), we were talking of Pozzi di Borgo, whose health was failing. I said, Ae cannot snuint a-candle: c= Withomt ane. waddeduamaole: This was severe, but capital.! Wordsworth said, once in a wood Mrs. Wordsworth and a lady were walking, when the stock-dove was cooing. A farmer’s wife, coming by, said, ‘*Oh, I do like stock-doves!” Mrs. Wordsworth, in all her enthusiasm for Wordsworth’s beautiful address to the stock-dove, took the old woman to her heart. ‘‘ But,” continued the old woman, ‘‘some like ’em in a pie; for my part, there’s nothing like ’em stewed in onions!” March 26th, 1845.—A friend of mine called on Sir Robert Peel the other day. On coming out, he said to the old hall porter; “*'l am elad=te see Sir Robert look so well? 2) Ves. sir,” rephed the porter,” yes, sity Sir-ANobert Jooks) quite well. We carry it with a high hand, sir.” Lord Melbourne said to Bulwer one evening, in allusion to Bulwer’s staying away from the House to pursue his lterary work, ‘‘ A little quiet voting is worth a ream of writing.”’ Lady Holland, at table one evening, leaned forward, and 1 Pozzo di Borgo was then Russian Ambassador in London. He is a curious instance of a man carrying the hatred of his youthful days, and ‘‘ nursing his wrath to keep it warm,” into almost every action of his varied life. Expelled trom Corsica by Bonaparte when quite a youth, he vowed the ruin of the Bonapartes, and escaped to Elba. From thence he came to London, where, through Paoli’s influence, he obtained an introduction to Pitt. Lord Grenville, then Foreign Secretary, sent him ona mis- sion to Vienna. From thence he passed into the diplomatic service of Russia, and was sent to Naples. At the peace of Presburg he found it wiser to return to St. Petersburg, for had Napoleon caught him, his shrift would have been short, and his fate certain. After the peace of Tilsit, he found it convenient to leave Russia and seek a refuge at Vienna. After the battle of Wagram, Napoleon insisted on his banishment from Vienna, and he came to London in 1810, where he incited Lord Wellesley to assist a grand scheme for an insurrection in Italy, and a combined attack by Prussia and England on France. It fell through, but the seed for the great Coalition of 1813 was laid, and Pozzi di Borgi lived to see his work succeed. ‘*I did not bury him,” he said of Napoleon, ‘‘ but I helped to fling the last shovel-full of earth on his head. Oe passed once again into the service of Russia, and died in 1842.—Ep. TABLE TALK. 209 said to Allen (Bear Allen), warden of Dulwich, ‘‘ And are you guive sure, Mr. Allen, there is no hereafter?” <“ Quite, Lady Holland, quite,” replied Allen, and went on with his dinner. I asked Sir George Cockburn if it was true that, when he captured Washington, he got in so suddenly the President had barely time to get away and left his dinner. Sir George said it was quite true; they found the table laid and wine ready, and the soldiers and sailors all had leave to takea fair quantity. Sir George said that had he the troops which were sent to New Orleans he could have kept Washington and made peace ; ‘‘ but I fear,” said he, ‘‘my Commander thought there was more plunder at New Orleans than at Washington.” Hallam told me, with great gusto, that when Wordsworth went to the Levee (1845) he was passing before the Queen, when Lord Delawarr said, ‘‘ Kneel, kneel.” Wordsworth, ignorant of Court etiquette, plumped down on both knees, and when he was down he was too feeble to get up again by him- self. Lord Delawarr and Lord Lansdowne helped him up. The Queen was much touched. ‘‘ Paint a picture of it,” said Hallam, with a roguish look. Fune 28th, 1845.—While looking at the cartoons and fres- coes to-day, the Duke of Wellington came in, and toppled away, looking very little at anything. Rogers was there; and it was curious to see old Rogers totter up to the Duke, who turned round and said, ‘‘ How d’ye do?” giving Rogers a squeeze which made him writhe. C. Greville then came up, and the Duke at once began to laugh and talk with him only. Rogers put on his hat and walked off! ‘There is nothing so awkward to aman in the middle-class as ‘‘ making up” toa man of high rank, who, the moment he has noticed him, turns round and leaves him to follow or make the best of his way. Rogers had this to encounter to-day. Rogers was a man of genius, the friend of Byron, yet the Duke did not familiarize with him; but the instant Greville came up—one of his own 300 B. R. HAYDON. class—joking, chatting, and laughing began, without further notice of Rogers. December 3d, 1845.—The Lord Chancellor (Lyndhurst) has been ill from childish over-eating. Not long since, after a hasty dinner, he ate heartily of plum-pudding. He wanted ‘* more.” Lady Lyndhurst begged of him not to eat any more. He persisted, and she began to cry. I know this to be a fact. Such is human nature. One evening (1836), when sitting by myself in my room in prison, there came a knock at my door. I opened it, and the head turnkey (a worthy man, for I have found him feeding the poor prisoners from his own table), after making sundry apolo- cies, begged a few minutes’ conversation. He sidled in and sat down, big with something. ‘* Perhaps, Sir,” said he, taking out and putting across his knee a blue cotton handkerchief, ‘¢ you would scarcely suppose that from seven years old divinity and medicine have been my passions.” ‘‘ Certainly not, Mr. Colwell.” ‘‘ Ah! Sir, ’tis true, and I know, I assure you, much more than most of the doctors or parsons. Why, Sir, you would little think I always cured the cholera! You may won- der, Sir, but it 1s a fact. I never lost a case, and in twenty- four hours they were as well as ever. Ido it all by Zards, Mr. Haydon, by Zar ds you are a public man, Sir, a manof genius, they say, and perhaps you will laugh at a man like me knowing anything. But, Sir,’ said he, looking peculiarly sagacious and half-knowing, yet trembling lest I should quiz, ‘‘ I gather my harbs under the planets, Sir ; aye, and it’s wonderful the cures [| perform! Why, there is old Lord Wynford, he is as bent as an old oak, and if he’d listen to me I’d make him as straight as a poplar.” ‘‘No, Mr. Colwell!” ‘°° I would, though,” he said in a loud voice, re-assured on finding I did not laugh. By this time he had got courage. He assured me he had a wife who believed in him, and that he had cured her often and often ; and here his weather-beaten face quivered. ‘‘ Ah! Mr. Col- well,” said I, ‘‘ your wife is a good motherly woman. It’s a TABLE TALI: 301 comfort to see her face among the others here.” Colwell crew solemn, assured me he had out-argued Taylor, the Atheist, be- fore the people; that he had undoubted evidence Joseph of Arimathea landed at Glastonbury, for at that time the sea came up to the abbey, and ‘‘ What was to hinder him ? And, Vir: Haydon,” said he, drawing his chair closer, and wiping his mouth with his blue handkerchief, which he spread again over his short thighs, that poked out, as it were, from under his waistcoat, ‘‘ would you believe it, I can prove Abraham was circumcised the very day before Sodom and Gomorrah were burned! ” Fune 4th, 1841.--Mackenzie breakfasted with me, and told me some pleasant anecdotes of his government agencies at Morlaix, in 1811, when trying to effect the exchange of prison- ers of war. He said all went well until the Battle of Busaco, when Napoleon became angry. Yet he ordered cannon to be fired in honor of a victory, and the French officials impudently said that, if Mackenzie wished, the Duke of Wellington and his army should come in under the exchange. Afterwards, at Lisbon, he had the Duc de Valmy on parole. The Duc found Lisbon dull, and wished a ball to be got up, that he might see the women. Mackenzie told him-he had better go to church. The Duc asked how long he should have to remain quiet. Apoutan nom, and ahalt,? said Mackenzie. °* Une heure et demie!” he cried out; ‘‘ je n’ai jamais été tranquille pour une heure et demie depuis la Réyvolution.” Lord Ebrington told me that he overheard, at a fair in Ire- land, where a very fine bull was being led about for sale, one Paddy say to the other, ‘‘ Shure, now, an’ who’s got that bull ?” ‘Why, another bull,” said the other. ‘An’ thin there’s two bulls,” said the first. ‘‘ An’ jest no bull at all,” said the other. All this passed as quickly as written, and is an amus- ing instance, if one were wanted, of their ready wit. Sir Walter Scott told me that one day, when in Ireland, he flung a half-crown to the man who opened a gate. The fellow 302 B. R. HAVDON. looked up, and said, in an instant, ‘‘ Ah! shure, now, an’ may God bless yer honor, and let you live till I pay you!” Turner’s pictures look to me as if they were the works of a savage suddenly excited to do his best to convey to his fellow- men his intense impressions of the scenery of nature. Without the slightest power of giving the form, he devotes himself to giving the effects and color of what he sees. It is so much easier to give effects only, like Reynolds, than to combine cor- rect form with effect, like Titian, thatamanof genius, whose want of education in the art obliges him to depend on his own | resources to supply, or to correct his own deficiencies, is sure to be hailed with rapture by the lazy, the idle, the dull, or the affected, the ignorant or the impudent in the art. Sir Joshua Reynolds was for years, and Turner is, the excuse for every Caprice and every impertinence, for every unintelligible scrawl, for every indolent splash, to be considered as the effusions of ‘*genius”’ of an inspired being, too much elevated above mor- tality to condescend to be intelligible. Such inspired beings look with ineffable contempt on the dull-headed correctness of Phidias or Michael Angelo, Titian or Claude, Raphael or Van- dyke. This dropsy of the art, which, by the good sense of the English people, had by frequent tapping been reduced to its natural dimensions, is beginning again to pit and puff. On what metaphysical principles genius can be proved to exist in a picture, because every rational person mistakes an elm-tree for a cabbage; or how making the sun look likea brass kettle, or a man with a lighted torch hke a bit of red ochre at the end of a porte-crayon, is undeniable evidence, for that reason alone, that the man who so painted is a great man, I have yet to learn. Sir Robert Peel has not the manners of the nobility. He wants watveté and condescension of high birth. He always seems to me to possess the consciousness of a farvenu. One of the finest scenes ever witnessed with him happened once at the Royal Academy. Lady Chantrey was a lady’s maid. It is TABLE TALK. 303 no matter how Chantrey became acquainted with her; he married her, and in due time he was knighted, and she became Lady Chantrey. At the next private day before the Exhibi- tion opened, Sir Robert and Lady Peel came up to congratu- late Chantrey, who was there with his wife. Chantrey at once offered his arm to Lady Peel, and Sir Robert could not do less than take Lady Chantrey. Peel’s face, as Chantrey paraded him all down the rooms, was a perfect study. The great people looked unutterable things, and whispered exquisite little asides as they passed. Peel was boiling over with pride and mortification. Chantrey, who was a Horne Tookite at heart, delighted in thus showing the power of station in a parvenu as well as himself, and had ample revenge, to the intense satisfac- tion of the R.A.’s. Hogarth or I could alone do justice to the scene. It is extraordinary how few Royal persons have had sound taste in art. We talk about educating ‘‘ the People,” why not educate the Crown and Aristocracy ? It cannot be denied that, with the exception of Charles I. and Henry VIII., so far as we know, our Sovereigns have generally patronized the worst artists and neglected the best. George I. hated poetry and painting ; George II. cared for neither; George III. thought West and Dance greater than Reynolds, Wilson, Gainsboro’, Hogarth, or Barry ; George IV., though he was a liberal patron of native talent, preferred the Dutch School to all others; William IV. thought Huggins quite as clever a painter as W. Vandevelde ; while, during the greater part of the present reign, it is nota calumny to say that at all the Courts of Europe, not excluding our own, Winterhalter in his day was thought a greater man than Titian, Rubens, Vandyke, or Reynolds ; or any of ourown men—-Watson Gordon, Pickersgill, Knight, Grant, or Phillips. 204 B. R. HAVDON. HERE LIETH THE BODY OF BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON, An English Historical Painter, who, in a struggle to make the People, the Legislature, the Nobility, and the Sovereign of England give due dignity and rank to the highest Art, which had ever languished, and, until the Government interferes, ever will languish in England, fell a Victim to his ardor and his love of country ; an evidence that to seek the benefit of your Country by telling the Truth to Power, is a crime that can only be expiated by the ruin and destruction of the Man who is so patriotic and so imprudent. He was born at Plymouth, 26th January, 1786, and died on the (22d June), 18(46), believing in Christ as the Mediator and Advocate of Mankind :— ‘* What various ills the Painter’s life assail, Pride, Envy, Want, the Patron, and the Jail.” This I wish written upon my tombstone when my day comes: B. R. HAYDON. NAD Ee Albert, Prince Censert, receives Cornelius with distinction, 116. ‘Toadied by Peel, 117- As an Art Judge, 121. Returns Hayden’s Essay, 132. Althorpe, Lord, buys the Chalk Drawings of the Heads in the Reform Banquet, 102. Barrett (Browning,) Elizabeth, Letter, and Sonnet to Hayden, 168. Beaumont, Sir George, calls on Haydon with Lady Beaumont, 20. Founder of the National Gallery, 20. Opinien of Haydon’s ‘‘ Joseph and Mary,” 20. Relishes Haydon’s attack on Payne Knight, 28. Advises Haydon not to ex- hibit ‘‘ Dentatus,’’ 29. West les to him, 30. At Dinner with Haydon and Lerd Mulgrave, 31. Commissions to Paint ** Macbeth,’’ 34. Alarmed at the size of the Picture, 35. Haydon makes it greater, 35. Peace made, 36. Declines the Picture 38. A sad blow to Haydon, 38. Asks Mrs. Siddons her opinion of Haydon’s ‘‘ Christ,’’ 67. Takes back the Macbeth, 71. Buys im some of his ef- fects for Haydon, 78. Beaumont, Lady, visits Haydon with Sir George, 20. West hes to her, . 30. _ Presses an answer out of West, 31. Tells her news to Lord Mulgrave, 31. Bonaparte, Napoleon, discussed by Hay- don and Hazlitt, 62. Haydon paints and engraves a sketch of, 89. Sir Robert Peel commissions Haydon to paint'a Napoleon, 95. History of the transaction, 96, et supra. Mighty build- ings begun by, 144. Rooms of and secret closet at Rambouillet, 148. Inter- view with young Sinclair, 65-68. Roaring over the Abbé de Pradt’s ‘* Memoirs,” 242. e Byron, Lerd, attacked by John Scott, 206. Attacked by Miss Mitferd in a letter to. Haydon, 216. Defended by Haydon, who prefers his poetry te Wordswortls, 217. Feelings tewards Keats, 219. Hay- don zz re the burning of his MSS. by Moore, 226. Campbell, Thomas, contesting the superi- ority of Scett, 232. Charlotte, Prince of Wales a profound judge of art, 47. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, his contempt for the old Egyptians, 222, Cornelius, Peter von, received with dis- tinction by Prince Albert and _ Sir Robert weecl, e126. Does not: zo to Haydon, whe goes fer him, rr6. Design, Founding of a Natienal School of, rog. Haydon’s opinion of, 109, The study of the human figure excluded, ILO. Durham, Lerd, opinion cf the English aristocracy, 104. Will not accept a present from Haydon, 104, Egremont, Lord, Haydon writes to, 82. Conversation with Carew the Sculptor, 82. Orders Haydon’s ** Alexander and Bucephalus,”’ 82. Advances him £100, 83. Keeps him waiting after the picture is finished, €3. Anecdote of, gg. Elgin, Lord, Set down by Payne Knight, 27. Defended by Haydon, 27. What the King of Bavaria wished to advance him, 52. Before the Committee with Haydon, 52. Ellice, Edward, lets Haydon sink while he goes down to the House, 103. Flaxman, John, Haydon’s interview with, 84. 306 Foote, Maria, Haydon escorts her to and from the theatre, 65. Fuseli, Henry, kindness to Haydon, 17. explains the bad hanging of ** Denta- tus,” 32. Remark about Haydon’s ‘Judgment of Solomon.” 253. Why people went to church, 258. George IV. inquires about ‘*‘ The Mock Election,” 87. Haydon takes it to St. James’s Palace, 87. Purchases it for five hundred guineas, 88. Commands ‘*Punch” to be sent to Windsor, go. Admiures it and sends it back, 90. The intrigue that prevented his buying it, gt. Godwin, William, Lamh’s note to Haydon about his affairs, 159. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, refers to Haydon’s letters on the Elgin Marbles, 54, Opinion of the cartoons made from them, 61. Letter to Haydon, 164. Grey, Lord, commissions Haydon to paint the Reforin Banquet, 100, Sitters for and result of the picture, roo. Hammond, Sir Thomas, questioned by the King about‘“The Mock Election,”87. Explains to Haydon the intrigue which prevented the sale of ** Punch,” go. Haydon, Benjamin Robert, grandparents of, r Father ot, 2. Mother of and her connections, 2. Character of his mother,3. Grandfather Haydon’s loyul- ty, 3. Child hfe at Plymouth, 4. ‘lries to copy a print, 6. Begins to draw cor- rectly, 6. Colonel Hawker’s opinion, 7. Introduced to nature by Dr. Bidlake, 7. ‘** Draw de fegore, Master Benjamin,’’8. Removed from school, 8. In his father’s counting-house, 9. Uncle Cobley’s schemes, 9. Painting disapproved of by his father, 9. ‘‘ Whohas put this stuff in your head?” 10. Falls ill, 11. Natu- ral sight injured,ro. Reads ‘*‘Reynolds’ Discourses,” 10. Wants to become an art student, 11. ‘“The boy must be mad,” 11. Sustained by his mother and sister, 11. Parental and filial struggle, 12. Al- lowed to go to the Royal Academy, 12. ‘*God bless you, my dear child,” 12. Ben starts for London, 12. His early knowledge and facility, 13. Personal appearance at nineteen, 13. StudyingAl- binus and Bell,14. Pleasant remarks of Uncle Cobley,14. J.ist of great subjects to be painted,14. Value of anatomy,16. visits Northcote, 16. ‘‘Why, you'll INDEX, starve,” 16. Visits Opie, 17. Advice of Opie,17. Kindness of Fuseli,17. ‘Vhrash- es a student, 17. Praised by West, 17. Makes Wilkie’s acquaintance, 18. Com- mon confabulations, 18. ‘‘ Ecouter, et se taire, 19. Buys his first palette and brushes, 19. Paints his first picture, 19. Makes the acquaintance of the beau- monts, 20. ‘Joseph and Mary” finished 20. Hung on tl:e line, 20. Sold, 21. Lord Mulgrave gives him a commis- sion, 21. Lord Mulgrave’s dinners, 21. Studying languages, 22. Painting por- traits at Plymouth, 23. Commences ‘*Dentatus,”’24. Introducedto theHunts, 24. Criticisms on ‘‘Dentatus,” 25. First sight of the Elgin Marbles, 25. What he saw in them, 26. Studies them three months.26. Comes to the rescue of Lord Elgin,26. Discomfits Mr. Payne Knight, 27. Who were on his side, 28. Three months more at the Marbles, 28. Fin- ishes ‘‘ Dentatus,” 29. Opinions about sending it to the Royal Academy, 29. Hung on the line by Fuselhi, 30. Put in the ante-room by others, 30. Vexed with lnmself, 31. Hung in the dark, 31. The Cabal, 32 Painting-room deserted, 33. ‘Lakes Wilkie home with him, 33. Visits the Beaumonts at Cole-Orton, 34. Begins ‘‘Macheth” for Sir George Beaumont, 34. Studies and compari- sons, 35. At loggerheads, 35. Sir George gives way, 36. The hundred guinea prize, 36. ‘‘ Dentatus’’ wins it, 37. Is cased for two years, 37. Ap- pears as ‘*An English Student,” 37. Art uproar and defection of friends, 38. The editors of the ‘‘ Examiner” give up his name, 38. ‘* Macbeth” declined by Sir George, 38. Origin of his pecuniary troubles, 38. The long struggle before him, 39. Never forgiven for writing the letters, 39. Why he took the field, 39. Character of his attack, 40. One of the worst characters of the age, 40. Con- versation with Prince Hoare, 41. ‘If you are arrested, send for me,” 41. Begins ‘‘The Judgment of Solomon,” 42. ‘‘ Macbeth” at the British Gallery, 42. The expedient of the directors, 42. Hard hit, 43. What Hunt did for him, 43. Position and prospects, 43. Con- ceives a series of pictures, 44. In the greatest extremity and want, 44. Paints himself blind, 45. Is saved from a *“cupper”’ by his oculist, 45. West calls to see his picture, 46. ‘‘ Do you want money ?”’ 46. A little cheque from West, 46. ‘‘The Judgment of Solo- mon” on exhibition, 46. Remark of INDEX. Princess Charlotte, 47. What compe- tent judges thought of it, 47. ‘* Sold,” 47. Extract from his journal, 47. icon ieee ieee isin ir 2 50 BIBLE COMMENTARY. Vol. V. Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Lamentations.......... 5 00 BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES. Edited by R. H. Sropparp. 12mo, cloth. Per vol.... 1 50 In'setsof to: volumes; haltcalit zor hallfiv.ellum, stir 7/ 50) Clot ier -reaterreteielare ers I5 oc Moore and Jerdan. rvol. W2th 4 2llus. Knight and Raikes. 1 vol. W7th 4 zllus. O’Keefe, Kelly, and Taylor. 1vol. Wz7th 4 dlus. Lamb, Hazlitt, and others, xzvol. W72th 4 illus., and fac-simile of letter by Lamb, Constable and Gillies. 1rvol. Wath 4 clus. CRAIK, G. L. A Compendious History of English Literature. New and peer CM 2 NOLS2 SV; CLO. sts sinter ce cevome an Ce ee ee 5 Go DODGE, Mrs. M. M. Rhymes and Jingles. Vth 150 7/lus. New aid cheaper ed 1 50 Hlans Brinker; or, the Silver Skates. By Mrs. M. M. DopGe. New and Clegaz 2a. Crown, ovo, tullvenlt, senso plain scee le ee cee eee 3 00 BUS TES, 2. We che Service ot Erase: Sanare crowmeguon se neae eect aera I 50 EWBANEKS -t.. iy dranlicss sisi .b Dior lOne m A226 eae es fay Pe eee 6 00 GILDER, R. W. The New Day: A Poem in Songs and Sonnets. 12me..... I 50 AARLAND, MARION. Breakfast, Luncheon, and Tea. 12mo...... eas HEADLEY, J.T. Sacred Mountains, Scenes, and Characters le ee a DZATMON. ere ie a: Ha a Pollet ello oues olelatahenavaok =e ofallehe wiuitel ple iaeaxeratetimelel Weleloral otalier ices rettatetenale aiavaicy teil te nme ner a 2 00 Ther Andiron Gack. wvVieaznees Nemec) alos eee rs een Un ae eye 2 00 Washington and His Generals. 16 Portraits. (New ets. T2MO wc eee 2 50 HODGE, CHARLES, LL.D. Systematic Theology. 3 vols. 8vo. New and cheaper GD os wdacia he eons Sn a SPN ORS OER PS REL OE EE ASPEN SL GUS EI a ok 12 0O f{OLLAND, J. G. Sevenoaks; A Story of ‘Vo-Day. 12 zl/us. r2mo0............ I 79 MORRIS, W. O’C. The French Revolution and First Empire. (/x the ‘“‘7pochs of History” Serzes:): 3. IMAPS.. Wy T2MOhi.t ere Ie wiles calc tnereren ake aCe ee eee I oO MULLER, Prof. F. MAX. Chips from a German Workshop. Vol. IV. Cr win BVO" oe SRI Aes eet one epee beg Hees Waleed At. ened ee 2 50 WADAL, EH. 8S. Impressions of London Social Te DAMON tise ae sche eee I 50 ROUSSELHT, L. India and its Native Princes. 317 2l/us., many Ee them Yawllp tog. « 2 Lunvp,: 40g = I 75 LETTERS TO THE JONSES re 75 H 75 Fi:©) Ede AOS BES? WOR KS: Volume, 12m10. MISS GILBERT’S CAREER - $2 00 BAY “PATH ~- - - - =) 2) OO THE MARBLE PROPHECY and other Poems~ - - = sO GARNERED SHEAVES, Com.- plete Poetical Works, ‘‘Bitter _ Sweet,” “‘Kathrina,’”? ‘‘Marble Prophecy,” red_ line edition, beautifully ulustrated. - - ARTHUR BONNICASTLE . 4 00 I 75 *These six volumes are issued in Cabinet size (16mo). ‘‘ Brightwood Edition,” at the same prices as above, C2 =. 7 ne a S | ests . . A a bane “ ¥ 4 4 : ea 22 a on ae . « oe tag Ae? Bia here tate * of . . Sw reSea! : 7 7 a > i as a " ON me 7, - eis nee, Ay. + im” ply es Z, r : a tered, Aa ; SPs 7 a ” a aah 4 ; Wer 7 a de 3 7 2 aoe © a PY 7 Sor f a p hi pu 7 : aut : ive meee th, iat Sent eee get ian era "WS % ae cae tL kia oe 7 = £ a 7A os pot , + =. Pa aa Rhee: 3 eee. : : ant far Ons ea om maa. 2p benee a one Scot \ eae pra s . 7 *. a 7 o EP pos eT teks A a = @ > - - +3 i, a :. ar aie: ane i = a or bo 7 a ~ i ae i — "Ts iT? am 7 7 <1: sw > has a s a - - 7 1. .* “9 , cnn ~~ ay Para va ne i i ie 4 ie: re nee +*ss 3 7 ve = Ted igh’ ye - : , “e Boke Se 7 2 o* o 7 ls en . i. . = was vue ee a. x =. ther eat Pot aa a Res Ee 2 Sx 7 a 7 ah Ak a ao o oes ve 7 ae 7 “72538 9 ate ie: : 7 {. os" —— A : * Se ag re Mae ee ; see ce ; >. * => ; ; a ae A ate rae ao iret ol “: ee s gj Fu yi ee 7 4) z i coal : nae a, or “9 ee y° : B iabe ae é ade ~s iy j Sra ese as A oar mths nak Aiea ue tt oe a = A ° i = . Lee ets . | es 7 | 7 - a . e Lad Se =f ae | : es = et | igh Meee 5-aNe f > an 7 oye ee % 4 — — ena Pee Os 7 eee ae ee a ao : = i a) ace . Tr. 7 7 = er en Jee , 7 ad : . «ot poe <*. is > 7 + a : ; 7 - a : ha! te ; a . an ) Pr a mr a rae : S awa a A > a ® 7 * as ee La = - : ‘se outs vo s : \. © a a - 7 ; Ss / eevee . nme a a y _ id sa ah ae i 7 : ; i. y eae 7 a Xian a Vy a. : : pre as ee Or 7 ee ~ : ee 7 ae. 7 o flig ! @ : ay . = ” ay FOOD + , as sis n° 7 . as "4 ~~ ad ear 7s, ote oS We 7 a sn reas Ja | ie 4 +r; pas a i Wes SAU y 4 WH, Ue te LeAa Ms / Uh VO We ¢ ie Uy, Wi Hes 4 Vy, it Up “eh Hp Wy He "; sy PEE Lio Hy Ki Aaa apr 4 Hf Mi s a ryt Yap Hi th i - i tise Hp y y ! 4 yy ti | inh Dye f f liek “ne ie infatt ri in LY, ui i iy Wh Ay I us i He t sree Hi j hy a ih Ps wip Hi , a Hp Bet aie Te iff We o i Hy f ous aH Wer rf Hot ivf ie as Hh “ Yi i Hh ii Hi i y er His We i | / o ey Wi Hoe ey) “st i iy We ee . 4 AUG oH Bad oy We. Wy ‘45 EY / A ites / _ 7 atone ‘? ley iy He ey