Art in England

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He shrunk from no absurdity or incongruity. His taste was even worse
than his workmanship. He delighted to avenge any wrong he had received,
or fancied he had received, by introducing his enemy, real or imaginary,
in his pictures. Thus, on the ceiling of St. George's Hall, he painted
Anthony, Earl of Shaftesbury, in the character of Faction dispersing
libels; in another place, having a private quarrel with Mrs. Marriott,
the housekeeper, he borrowed her face for one of his Furies. Painting
for Lord Exeter, at Burleigh, in a representation of Bacchus bestriding
a hogshead, he copied the head of a dean with whom he was at variance.
It is more excusable, perhaps, that, when compelled by his patron to
insert a Pope in a procession little flattering to his religion, he
added the portrait of the Archbishop of Canterbury then living. In a
picture of the 'Healing of the Sick,' he was guilty of the folly and
impropriety of introducing among the spectators of the scene, portraits
of himself, Sir Godfrey Kneller, and Mr. May, surveyor of the works, all
adorned with the profuse periwigs of the period. But he could not
transfer to his pictures a decorum and a common sense that had no place
in his mind. Hence he loved to depict a garish and heterogeneous whirl
of saints and sinners, pan-pipes, periwigs, cherubim, silk stockings,
angels, small-swords, the naked and the clothed, goddesses,
violoncellos, stars, and garters. A Latin inscription in honour of the
painter and his paintings appeared over the tribune at the end of St.
George's Hall:--'_Antonius Verrio Neapolitanus non ignobili stirpe
natus, ad honorem Dei, Augustissimi Regis Caroli Secundi et Sancti
Georgii, molem hanc felicissima manu decoravit_.'

The king lavished kindness upon this pretentious and absurd Italian. He
was appointed to the place of master-gardener, and lodgings in a house
in St. James's Park, to be afterwards known as Carlton House, were set
apart for his use. Here he was visited by Evelyn, who records that 'the
famous Italian painter' was 'settled in His Majesty's garden at St.
James's, which he had made a very delicious paradise.' The artist also
dined with the author, and was regaled with 'China oranges off my own
trees, as good, I think, as ever were eaten.' For works executed in
Windsor Castle between the years 1676 and 1681, he received the sum of
L6845, 8s. 4d. Vertue copied the account 'from a half-sheet of paper
fairly writ in a hand of the time.' It particularizes the rooms
decorated, and the cost. For the king's guard chamber, L300; for the
king's presence chamber, L200; for the queen's drawing-room, L250; for
the queen's bed-chamber, L100; and so on, until the enormous total is
reached. Of his paintings in St. George's Hall Evelyn writes, 'Verrio's
invention is admirable, his ordnance full and flowing, antique and
heroical; his figures move; and if the walls hold (which is the only
doubt, by reason of the salts, which in time and in this moist climate
prejudice), his work will preserve his name to ages.' He employed many
workmen under him, was of extravagant habits, and kept a great table. He
considered himself as an art-monarch entitled to considerable state and
magnificence. He was constant in his applications to the Crown for money
to carry on his works. With the ordinary pertinacity of the dun, he
joined a freedom which would have been remarkable, if the king's
indulgence and good humour had not done so much to foster it. Once, at
Hampton Court, having lately received an advance of a thousand pounds,
he found the king so encircled by courtiers that he could not approach.
He called out loudly and boldly--

'Sire! I desire the favour of speaking to your Majesty.'

'Well, Verrio,' the king inquired, 'what is your request?'

'Money, sire! I am so short in cash that I am not able to pay my
workmen, and your Majesty and I have learned by experience that pedlars
and painters cannot give credit long.'

The king laughed at this impudent speech, and reminded the painter that
he had but lately received a thousand pounds.

'Yes, sire,' persisted Verrio, 'but that was soon paid away.'

'At that rate, you would spend more than I do to maintain my family.'

'True, sire,' answered the painter; 'but does your Majesty keep an open
table as I do?'

Verrio designed the large equestrian portrait of the king for the hall
of Chelsea College, but it was finished by Cooke, and presented by Lord
Ranelagh. On the accession of James II. he was again employed at Windsor
in Wolsey's tomb-house, which it was intended should be used as a Roman
Catholic chapel. He painted the king and several of his courtiers in
the hospital of Christchurch, London, and he painted also at St.
Bartholomew's Hospital.

But soon there was an end of his friends and patrons, the Stuarts. James
had fled; William of Orange was on the throne; a revolution had happened
little favourable to Signor Verrio's religion or political principles.
There is a commendable staunchness in his adherence to the ruined cause:
in his abandoning his post of master-gardener, and his refusal to work
for the man he regarded as a usurper; though there is something
ludicrous in the notion of punishing King William by depriving him of
Verrio's art. He did not object, however, to work for the nobility. For
some years he was employed by Lord Exeter at Burleigh, and afterwards at
Chatsworth. He was true to his old execrable style. He introduced his
own portrait in a picture-history of Mars and Venus, and in the chapel
at Chatsworth he produced a dreadful altar-piece representing the
incredulity of St. Thomas. He painted also at Lowther Hall. For his
paintings at Burleigh alone he was paid more money than Raphael or
Michael Angelo received for all their works. Verrio was engaged on them
for about twelve years, handsomely maintained the while, with an
equipage at his disposal, and a salary of L1500 a year. Subsequently, on
the persuasion of Lord Exeter, Verrio was induced to lend his aid to
royalty once more, and he condescended to decorate the grand staircase
at Hampton Court for King William. Walpole suggests that he
accomplished this work as badly as he could, 'as if he had spoiled it
out of principle.' But this is not credible. The painting was in the
artist's usual manner, and neither better nor worse--and his best was
bad enough, in all conscience. His usual faults of gaudy colour, bad
drawing, and senseless composition were of course to be found; but then,
these were equally apparent in all his other works. Later in life his
sight began to fail him, and he received from Queen Anne a pension of
L200 a year for his life. To the last royal favour was extended to him,
and he was selected to superintend the decorations of Blenheim. But
death intervened. The over-rated, overpaid, and most meretricious
painter died at Hampton Court in 1707. There is evident error in
Dominici's statement that the old man met his death from drowning on a
visit to Languedoc. Walpole, summing up his merits and demerits, says,
rather curiously, 'He was an excellent painter for the sort of subjects
on which he was employed, without much invention and with less taste!'

The father of LOUIS LAGUERRE was by birth a Catalan, and held the
appointment of Keeper of the Royal Menagerie at Versailles. To his son,
born at Paris in 1663, Louis XIV. stood godfather, bestowing on the
child his distinguished Christian name. The young Laguerre received his
education at a Jesuit College, with the view of entering the priesthood,
but a confirmed impediment in his speech demonstrated his unfitness for
such a calling. He began to evince considerable art-ability, and, on the
recommendation of the fathers of the college, he eventually embraced the
profession of painting. He then entered the Royal Academy of France, and
studied for a short time under Charles Le Brun. In 1683 he came to
England with one Picard, a painter of architecture. At this time Verrio
was in the acme of his prosperity. He was producing allegorical ceilings
and staircases by wholesale. He had a troop of workmen under him,
obedient to his instructions, dabbing in superficial yards of pink
flesh, and furlongs of blue clouds. Verrio was happy to secure forthwith
so efficient an assistant as Laguerre, and soon found him plenty to do.
In nearly every work of Verrio's after this date, it is probable that
Laguerre had a hand. He seems to have been an amiable, kindly,
simple-minded man, without much self-assertion or any strong opinions of
his own. He was quite content to do as Verrio bid him, even imitating
him and following him through his figurative mysteries, and floundering
with him in the mire of graceless drawing and gaudy colour and
ridiculous fable. He had at least as much talent as his master--probably
even more. But he never sought to outshine or displace him.

'A modest, unintriguing man,' as Vertue calls him, he was quite
satisfied with being second in command, no matter how ignorant and
inefficient might be his captain.

John Tijon, his father-in-law, a founder of iron balustrades, said of
him, 'God has made him a painter, and there left him.'

He worked under Verrio in St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and at Burleigh;
he executed staircases at old Devonshire House, in Piccadilly, at
Buckingham House, and at Petworth; assisted in the paintings at
Marlborough House, St. James's Park; decorated the saloon at Blenheim;
and in many of the apartments at Burleigh on the Hill 'the walls are
covered with his Caesars.'

William of Orange gave the painter lodgings at Hampton Court, where it
seems he painted the Labours of Hercules in _chiaro-oscuro_, and
repaired Andrea Mantegna's pictures of the Triumphs of Julius Caesar.

The commissioners for rebuilding St. Paul's Cathedral unanimously chose
Laguerre to decorate the cupola with frescoes. Subsequently this
decision was abandoned in favour of Thornhill; but, as Walpole says,
'the preference was not ravished from Laguerre by superior merit.'

Sir James Thornhill received payment for his paintings in the dome of
St. Paul's at the rate of forty shillings the square yard. The world has
still the opportunity of deciding upon the merits or demerits of those
works. Vertue thinks that Sir James was indebted to Laguerre for his
knowledge of historical painting on ceilings, etc. For decorating the
staircase of the South Sea Company's House, Sir James received only
twenty-five shillings per square yard. By speculating in the shares of
the same Company, it may be stated that another artist, Sir Godfrey
Kneller, lost L20,000. But prosperous Sir Godfrey could afford to lose;
his fortune could sustain even such a shock as that; at his death he
left an estate of L2000 per annum. He had intended that Thornhill should
decorate the staircase of his seat at Wilton, but learning that Newton
was sitting to Sir James, he grew angry. 'No portrait painter shall
paint my house,' cried Sir Godfrey, and he gave the commission to
Laguerre, who did his very best for his brother artist.

On the union of England and Scotland, Laguerre received an order from
Queen Anne to design a set of tapestries commemorative of the event,
introducing portraits of her Majesty and her Ministers. He executed the
requisite drawings; but it does not appear that the work was ever
carried out.

In 1711 he was a director of an academy of drawing instituted in London,
under the presidency of Kneller. On the resignation of Kneller, there
was a probability of Laguerre being elected in his place; but he was
again defeated by his rival, Thornhill, probably as much from his own
want of management and self-confidence, as from any other cause.

He drew designs for engravers, and etched a Judgment of Midas. Round
the room of a tavern in Drury Lane, where was held a club of _virtuosi_,
he painted a Bacchanalian procession, and presented the house with his
labours.

He had many imitators; for there are followers of bad as well as of good
examples. Among others, Riario, Johnson, Brown, besides Lanscroon,
Scheffers, and Picard, who worked with him under Verrio.

His son and pupil, John Laguerre, manifested considerable ability, and
engraved a series of prints of 'Hob in the Well,'[3] which had a large
popularity, though they were but indifferently executed. He was fond of
the theatre, with a talent for music and singing; painted scenery and
stage decorations. He even appeared upon the boards as a singer.

[3] A favourite old ballad farce by Dogget, the comedian.

Laguerre, in his age, feeble and dropsical, attended Drury Lane on the
20th April 1721, to witness his son's performance in a musical version
of Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Island Princess;' but, before the curtain
rose, the poor old man was seized with an apoplectic fit, and died the
same night. He was buried in the Churchyard of St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields. The son subsequently quitted the stage, and
resumed his first profession. He etched a plate, representing Falstaff,
Pistol, and Doll Tearsheet, with other theatrical characters, in
allusion to a quarrel between the players and patentees. He died in very
indigent circumstances, in March 1748.

Time and the white-washer's double-tie brush have combined to destroy
most of the ceilings and staircases of Signor Verrio and Monsieur
Laguerre. For their art, there was not worth enough in it to endow it
with any lasting vitality. They are remembered more from Pope's lines,
than on any other account--preserved in them, like uncomely curiosities
in good spirits. To resort to the poet for verses applicable, though
familiar:--

'Pretty in amber to observe the forms
Of hair, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms;
The things we know are neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil they got there!'

A SCULPTOR'S LIFE IN THE LAST CENTURY.

Horace Walpole, in his _Anecdotes of Painting_, having deplored the low
ebb to which the arts had sunk in Britain during the time of George the
First, proceeds to consider the succeeding reign with greater
complacency: accounting it, indeed, as a new and shining era. Under
George the Second he found architecture revived 'in antique purity;'
sculpture redeemed from reproach; the art of gardening, or, as he
prefers to call it, 'the art of creating landscape,' pressed forward to
perfection; engraving much elevated; and painting, if less perceptibly
advanced, still (towards the close of the reign, at any rate) ransomed
from insipidity by the genius of Sir Joshua Reynolds. The king himself,
it was conceded, had 'little propensity to refined pleasure;' but his
consort, Queen Caroline, was credited with a lively anxiety to reward
merit and to encourage the exertions of the ingenious.

This glowing picture of the period in its relation to the fine arts,
contrasts somewhat violently with what we learn elsewhere concerning the
poverty of Richard Wilson, the ill-requited labours of William Hogarth,
the struggles and sufferings of James Barry, and generally, of the
depressed condition of native professors of art during the eighteenth
century. That the portrait-painter (the 'face-painter' as Hogarth
delighted contemptuously to designate him) found sufficient occupation
is likely enough; but, otherwise, the British artist had perforce to
limit the aspirations of his genius to the decoration of ceilings and
staircases, and to derive his chief emoluments from painting the
sign-boards of the British tradesman: if not a very dignified still a
remunerative employment; for in those days every London shop boasted its
distinct emblem.

Nevertheless it is certain that in George the Second's reign Fashion
began to take up with Taste. Dilettanteism became the vogue. Objects of
_virtu_ were now, for the first time, indispensable appendages of the
houses of the aristocratic and the rich. A rage for 'collecting'
possessed the town, and led to an expenditure as profuse as it was
injudicious. Of the vast sums disbursed, however, but a small share came
to the native artist. His works were passed over as beneath the notice
of the _cognoscenti_. The 'quality' gave their verdict against modern
art and in favour of the ancient masters. A race of old picture-brokers
and jobbers in antiquities sprang into existence to supply the
increasing demand for such chattels. The _London Magazine_ for 1737, in
an article attributed to William Hogarth, inveighs bitterly against
these speculators and their endeavours to depreciate every English work
in order to enhance the value of their imported shiploads of Dead
Christs, Holy Families and Madonnas: the sweepings of the continental
art-markets. Auction-rooms were opened in all parts of London for the
exhibition and sale of choice objects of every kind, and became the
resort and rendezvous of all pretending to wealth and fashion. Agents
were to be found at the chief foreign cities eagerly exhuming
antiquities for transmission to England: certain of immediate sale and
enormous profit there. The prevailing appetite seemed to grow by what it
fed on. And then, of course, unscrupulous people took to manufacturing
antiquities; and, so doing, drove a brisk and remarkably remunerative
trade.

The neglected British artist naturally made protests and wrote pamphlets
more or less angry in tone, according to the state of his purse and his
temper and the extent of his self-appreciation. The press of the period
raised its voice: a less portentous and sonorous organ than it has since
possessed. Even the players ventured to be satirical on the subject. It
was early in 1752 that Mr. Foote's comedy of _Taste_ was brought upon
the stage of Drury Lane Theatre, David Garrick both writing and
speaking the prologue. Probably the satire soared rather above the heads
of the audience. Foote admits as much in his preface to the published
play: 'I was always apprehensive that the subject of the following piece
was too abstracted and singular for the comprehension of a mixed
assembly. Juno, Lucina, Jupiter Tonans, Phidias, Praxiteles, with the
other gentlemen and ladies of antiquity, were, I daresay, utterly
unknown to my very good friends of the gallery; nor, to speak the truth,
do I believe they had many acquaintances in the other parts of the
house.' Accordingly _Taste_, on its first production, was only repeated
some four nights, and, though revived once or twice afterwards, never
took rank as a stock piece. Yet, as Mr. John Forster says of it, Foote's
play is legitimate satire, and also excellent comedy.

There is little or no plot. Foote did not care for continuous story; he
could generally secure the favour of the audience by the wit of his
dialogue and a quick succession of lively incidents. In the first act
Lady Pentweazle sits for her portrait in a broadly humorous scene. Puff
is an impudent trader in sham antiquities and objects of _virtu_;
Carmine, an artist constrained by poverty to aid and abet him in his
nefarious proceedings; Brush is another confederate. In the second act a
sale by auction is represented. Carmine appears as Canto the auctioneer;
Puff figures as the Baron de Groningen, who is travelling to purchase
pictures for the Elector of Bavaria. Lord Dupe, Bubble, Squander, and
Novice, are fashionable patrons and collectors of art. The pictures to
be submitted for sale are inspected. One of them is particularly
admired; but is ultimately discovered to be 'a modern performance, the
master alive, and an Englishman.' 'Oh, then,' says Lord Dupe, changing
his tone, 'I would not give it house-room!' The antiquities are then
brought forward. 'The first lot,' announces the auctioneer, 'consists of
a hand without an arm, the first joint of the forefinger gone, supposed
to be a limb of the Apollo Delphos. The second, half a foot, with the
toes entire, of the Juno Lucina. The third, the Caduceus of the
Mercurius Infernalis. The fourth, the half of the leg of the Infant
Hercules. All indisputable antiques, and of the Memphian marble.' One
critic objects to a swelling on the foot of Juno as a defect in its
proportion; but the auctioneer informs him that the swelling is intended
to represent a _corn_, and the defect is thereupon pronounced an
absolute master-stroke. Presently the auctioneer proceeds: 'Bring
forward the head from Herculaneum.... Now, gentlemen, here is a
jewel.... The very mutilations of this piece are worth all the most
perfect performances of modern artists. Now, gentlemen, here is a
touchstone for your taste!' He is asked whether the head is intended to
represent a man or a woman. 'The connoisseurs differ,' he answers. 'Some
will have it to be the Jupiter Tonans of Phidias, and others the Venus
of Paphos from Praxiteles; but I don't think it fierce enough for the
first, nor handsome enough for the last.... Therefore I am inclined to
join with Signor Julio de Pampedillo, who, in a treatise dedicated to
the King of the Two Sicilies, calls it the Serapis of the Egyptians, and
supposes it to have been fabricated about eleven hundred and three years
before the Mosaic account of the creation.' A bystander inquires what
has become of the nose of the bust? 'The nose? What care I for the
nose?' cries an enthusiastic amateur. 'Why, sir, if it had a nose I
wouldn't give sixpence for it! How the devil should we distinguish the
works of the ancients if they were perfect? Why, I don't suppose but,
barring the nose, ROUBILIAC could cut as good a head every whit.... A
man must know d----d little of statuary that dislikes a bust for want of
a nose!'

It must be admitted that this is satire of a good trenchant sort. The
reader will find plenty more of it if he will only turn to the comedy
for himself. Our immediate purpose is with the sculptor for whose name
Mr. Foote has found a place in his play.

The rage for collecting antiquities was only equalled by the passion for
'restoring' them when collected. To disinter a torso _here_, and a head
_there_, and then to make a sort of forced marriage of the fragments; to
graft new feet upon old legs; to dovetail stray hands upon odd arms; to
reset broken limbs, and patch and piece mutilations and deficiencies,
constituted the delights and the triumphs of the amateurs. In
accomplishing these exploits the services of foreign workmen were
extensively employed; for, by a curious piece of reasoning, the foreign
sculptor, no matter how limited his capacity, was held to be far more
competent to restore antiquities than the English artist of whatever
reputation. It was, doubtless, in consequence of this demand for foreign
labour, and the liberal manner in which its exertions were recognised
and requited, that Louis Francis Roubiliac found his way to this
country.

In his account of the sculptor, Walpole is singularly brief; supplies
very meagre information; yet when he was compiling his Anecdotes the
fame of Roubiliac was at its highest; he was freshly remembered on all
sides, and the facts of his early life could have been collected, one
would imagine, without much difficulty. He was born, from all accounts,
at Lyons, about the close of the seventeenth century; was a pupil of
Balthazar of Dresden, sculptor to the Elector of Saxony, and came to
England in 1720. That he was without repute in his native land is
evidenced by the fact that no mention of him appears in D'Argenville's
_Lives of the most Eminent Sculptors of France_, published in 1787. Of
his parentage nothing is known. He had apparently received a fair
education; was found to possess a considerable acquaintance with the
literature of his native land; more especially was conversant with the
works of the best French poets, and himself produced original verse of
a respectable quality. Yet, notwithstanding his long residence in
England, he never mastered the English language so as to be able to use
it freely; and in all the anecdotes extant of him he is represented as
employing the broken dialect common to foreigners.

For some years after his arrival in England his occupation would appear
to have been little better than that of a journeyman sculptor, employed
under various masters in botching antiquities. Mr. John Thomas Smith, in
his _Life of Nollekens_, informs us that when Mr. Roubiliac had to mend
an antique, he 'would mix Gloucester cheese with his plaster, adding the
grounds of porter, and the yolk of an egg: which mixture when dry forms
a very hard cement.' Walpole states that the artist had little business
until Sir Edward Walpole (Sir Robert's second son: Horace was the third)
recommended him to execute half the busts in Trinity College, Dublin;
but the date of this act of patronage is not supplied. A story
attributed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and set forth in his Life by
Northcote, relates that Roubiliac first secured the patronage of Sir
Edward Walpole by picking up and restoring a pocket-book he had dropped
at Vauxhall, containing bank-notes and other papers of value. The artist
declined to receive any reward for this service, although ultimately he
was persuaded to accept the annual present of a fat buck, as a testimony
of gratitude and regard; further, he became the object of Sir Edward's
constant patronage. Horace Walpole says nothing of this story; but the
brothers, it was well known, were not friends, seldom if ever met, and
probably were not closely informed of each other's proceedings. In a
letter written in 1745 to his friend George Montagu, Horace Walpole
gives an amusing description of the patron of Roubiliac, and,
incidentally, reveals the not very brotherly terms subsisting between
himself and the knight: 'You propose making a visit to Englefield Green'
[where Sir Edward lived], 'and ask me if I think it right? Extremely so.
I have heard it is a very pretty place. You love a jaunt--have a pretty
chaise, I believe, and I dare swear, very easy; in all probability you
will have a fine evening; and added to all this, the gentleman' [Sir
E.W.] 'you would go to see is very agreeable and good-humoured,... plays
extremely well on the bass-viol, and has generally other people with
him.... He is perfectly master of all the quarrels that have been
fashionably on foot about Handel, and can give you a very perfect
account of all the modern rival painters.... In short, I can think of no
reason in the world against your going there but one: _do you know his
youngest brother?_? If you happen to be so unlucky, I can't flatter you
so far as to advise you to make him a visit: for there is nothing in the
world the Baron of Englefield has such an aversion for as for his
brother!'

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